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"Keep,
Keep blinking,
Keep breathing,
Keep living,
Keep...
doing it all, but
whatever you do,
Don't quit"
j. iron word
@ bristol zoo (october 2, 2010)
"7 Days of Shooting" "Week #7" "Archives" "Black and White Wednesday"
The next challenge is 'freelensing'. The lens isn't attached to the camera but handheld a short distance in front. With it's short flange distance, my Nex 5n is an obvious choice of camera. Here are my 'learning' photos with a mixure of 50mm and 85mm lenses. It's a bit like tilt/shift photography but blinking hard to do. There is no photoshop trickery here - purely optical stuff. Well Ok, i had to adjust some odd colour casts and boost contrast here and there.
November 7, 2042
29 years have passed since Bruce Wayne retired as Batman. He and Selina Kyle moved to Corto Maltese, a country where the ‘’Caped Crusader of Gotham’’ is nothing more than an urban myth, and have led a safe life there. After changing their identities to Matches Malone and Irena Dubrovna respectively to avoid them getting recognized, the two married a few decades earlier and got a daughter named Helena together roughly 17 years ago. Although Bruce sometimes misses the life he lived before this, he wouldn’t trade his current one for anything.
It is a quiet night when Bruce gets awoken by some noise coming from the kitchen. He tries to get back to sleep, but hears something isn’t right when he hears something clattering on the ground. Bruce gets out of bed, puts on a dark red bathrobe and walks downstairs to investigate. Making sure to walk as silently as possible in order to remain unnoticed, he takes a peek around the corner but doesn’t find anything out of the ordinary there. Everything is just as he left it the day before, without any signs of a break-in. He prepares to head back to bed as he notices some sound coming from upstairs now. He hears a window opening in another room, but as he slams open the door he finds another empty room. He takes a look outside the window he heard getting opened which has a view over the wide garden of their house, but he fails to spot anything there either. Bruce decides to leave it be for now and to contact the authorities the next morning as he returns to bed. However, as he enters the bedroom, he is met with a gruesome sight.
Before him he sees his wife Selina reaching for her throat, struggling to breathe as blood spills everywhere. He rushes to help her and notices that her throat has been slit open by a sharp object. Knowing that he can’t do anything to help her himself Bruce grabs the phone on the nightstand and dials 911 hoping that he can save her life that way. He gets connected to an emergency medical dispatcher and gives the necessary information to call an ambulance. After this, he lifts her up out of bed and carries her downstairs to make it easier for the paramedics to get her in the ambulance, trying everything to comfort her as he does so. He lays her on the couch as he hears the sirens of the ambulance approaching in the distance. The paramedics rush inside the house, putting her on a brancard and bringing her into the ambulance as Bruce can only watch. He stands next to the brancard in the ambulance, holding her hand as he hears the heartbeat monitor flatlining.
A week has passed since the murder on Selena. Both Bruce and Helena are still processing the event. Despite the best work from the local police force they did not manage to find any clues as to who did it, leaving them without a single idea as to why it happened. After not having slept for almost a week and refusing to enter the place where his wife got her throat slit, Bruce decides to finally go in there to clean the mess from that night. As he takes the blood-stained sheets off the bed, he sees something weird under the sheets; a playing card with a bloody, golden knife pierced through it. He takes the knife out of it and takes a look at the card, noting a short message written on there in a messy handwriting.
“Why the long face, Bruce? I know this truly puts a smile on my own face.”
He turns over the card, almost losing his balance in shock as he sees the trademark design Joker always used on the front of the card. Despite him finding out his identity years ago and ruining his life shortly after, Bruce hoped that he would leave him alone now that he is retired. He looks up what he has been up to for the past years, and finds out Joker has supposedly been in the highest security wing of Arkham for the past 25 years. Despite his instincts telling him to leave it be and just continue to make the most of his retirement, he can't seem to shake off the urge to return to Gotham to get to the bottom of this.
A couple of days later, Helena gets awoken by her dad early in the morning. She puts on some clothes and steps outside her room as her dad prompts her to follow him to the attic. As they are making their way there, Bruce asks her if she ever heard of the Batman. Although she has read the rumors online of a vigilante dressed as a bat fighting crime in Gotham for several years, she never really believed them to be real. Despite all of the evidence, from pictures in newspapers to blurry videos of somebody in a bat costume flying over Gotham, something about it just seemed weird to her. Knowing that her parents lived in that city for some time she did ask them about it once, but her dad said all the stories were just hoaxes made up by the police force in order to scare off criminals.
After walking up the stairs Bruce turns on a light to illuminate the messy attic. He makes his way over to a wooden closet in the back with a big padlock around the door. As he looks around for something, Helena notices a lot of little trinkets filling up the attic; some kind of jester hat, a glass dome with an old handgun in it, a cane with a weird question mark on it along with a bunch of other items. Bruce finds the key and opens the closet, revealing a suit hanging upside down in it. Helena notices a bat symbol on the chest of the suit as she begins to put together the pieces; her dad was Batman. She picks up a bat-shaped weapon from the ground as Bruce takes the suit out of the closet.
“Pack up your stuff.” Bruce says. “We’re going to Gotham.”
---------------------------
A few days later, after getting on the next flight to Gotham City and after telling Helena of his suspicions, the two arrive in the city. Although Bruce didn’t expect Gotham to look exactly like how it did when he left with Selina almost 30 years ago, he’s still shocked to see how much it changed. As he looks at the skyline of the city through the window of the airport, he sees that the dark and mundane buildings of the city he used to know have all been replaced with tall, futuristic skyscrapers. All personnel on the airport have also been replaced with androids and computer systems. While Bruce struggles to get used to this new and completely different Gotham, Helena guides them to a metro line leading right into the center of the city.
Another hour passes before the two find their way to the center of Gotham, making their way towards the newly rebuilt Wayne Enterprises building; a gigantic black structure, contrasting sharply with the clean lightly colored buildings surrounding it and with a big neon-lit sign on top of the roof. Knowing he left most of the gadgets he used as Batman in one of the floors of the building, Bruce hopes that he can still find and use them. He tries to enter, but he gets halted by a security guard asking him why he wants to enter the building. Bruce directs the guards attention towards the sign on the structure as he pulls out his ID-card, making sure to point out the fact that the name plastered on the building belongs to him. The guard nods and lets the two in, turning on his earpiece and muttering something to the person on the other end as he does so.
As they find themselves in the lobby, a well-dressed young man approaches Bruce and Helena. He introduces himself as Lucius Fox Jr, current CEO of Wayne Enterprises and son of the late Fox Sr, who he used to know back during his prime as a vigilante. He talks about the stories his father used to tell about him before getting to the reason he is here. Fox guides them to one of the elevators in the building and touches in a specific code into the panel after they enter. A fingerprint scanner flips open from the wall as he asks Bruce to put his thumb on it. He does so and feels the elevator descending downwards right after, despite there officially not being any levels below ground in this building. The elevator stops going down after a short while, giving way to a dimly lit storage area filled with items hidden under big pieces of cloth when the doors open. Bruce walks over to one of the bigger items and takes the cloth of it, seeing that someone put the Batmobile under there. He walks around the place and takes a look at more of the items, seeing that most of what he stored in the Batcave when he retired has been put in here. He sees that one of his batarangs, an old prototype for a suit for Robin and even the old Batsignal were brought to this place. As Bruce shows Helena some of the objects, reminiscing about when he was still in his prime, he suddenly hears a female voice behind him.
He turns around and sees Barbara Gordon sitting in a wheelchair behind him. She and him haven’t seen each other since the Joker paralyzed her from the waist down almost thirty years ago, with Barbara cutting off all contact with him shortly after the incident. She begins talking about how after Bruce left Gotham nobody was left to look after Wayne Manor. Roughly 15 years ago, when plans were announced to tear down the vacant house, Lucius Fox took it upon himself to get all of the items left in the Batcave out of there before someone would stumble on them during the demolition. Out of the faint hope that the Dark Knight would one day return to Gotham, he decided to store all of his items right under the Wayne Enterprises building instead of destroying them.
During this time, Barbara had moved back to Gotham and got a position within the GCPD again. She got assigned to lead the investigation behind the addicting, strength-enhancing drug known as Venom which had been becoming more and more popular in Gotham over the past years. Due to it becoming more and more difficult to keep track of all the Venom-related incidents within the city, she reached out to Wayne Enterprises for help. Fox Jr. showed her the storage space and asked her to help him look after the Dark Knight's gadgets. Although she refused at first, wanting nothing to do with Bruce and the Batman after the incident at Wayne Manor, she eventually agreed in case he would ever return to Gotham.
Barbara then shows Bruce something she has been working on in the past years. After the company abandoned their contract to make military equipment years ago, many projects which were still a work in progress got scrapped and left behind in the Applied Science division. One of these projects was a prototype for an exosuit which would give more strength to older or wounded soldiers, allowing them to be more effective in battle despite their handicaps. Seeing how Bruce isn’t as strong as he was in his prime almost 30 years ago, she modified and prepared the prototype for him to use as a new suit. He walks over to the suit, seeing a gun-metal gray suit with a black cowl and purple gloves outfit on display. He contemplates his decision for a moment, doubting if adopting his Dark Knight-persona again is the right choice, but the thought of figuring out who was behind the murder on his wife finally convinces him to do it. Right next to his outfit is an old, red and green-colored suit originally intended for Duke Thomas to which Helena takes a liking. Bruce tries to talk her out of it at first, remembering the guilt he felt after letting the first Robin getting killed, but her insisting on helping solve the murder on her mother persuades him to let his daughter help him out.
A few days have passed when a young man walks down Park Row, now more commonly known as Crime Alley after the murder on the Waynes took place there almost 50 years ago. After finishing his 10-hour shift at LexCorp all he wants to do is go home, but his way gets blocked by a figure emerging from the shadows. He tries to turn around, but two other people are blocking the way there as well. He notices they are all holding some kind of weapon in their hands as one of them asks him to hand over his valuable possessions. The man, paralyzed with fear, finds himself too scared to do anything. Seeing that the man isn’t complying with them, the criminal commands the other two people to beat the man up and to take whatever valuable he has from him after that. They approach the young man, but the two stop in their tracks as the streetlights illuminating the alley suddenly all burst apart. All of the criminals get their phones out of their pockets and turn on the flashlights to investigate as they find a weird, bat-shaped weapon on the ground. Before any of them can react, a shadowy figure drops from the rooftop and lands on top of one of the criminals, knocking him out instantly. The young man drops to the ground in fear while the remaining criminals aim their flashlights at the figure. Before them stands a person with most of his figure hidden behind a completely black cape, wearing a cowl with spikes on top of it. While they can't see the face of the person, the white eyes of his cowl suddenly light up as he looks the two right in the face.
In their youth, every kid in Gotham heard the ghost stories of the Batman from their parents, who would come after them if they ever commit a crime. Most kids always thought this was just a myth told to keep their kids from doing anything stupid, but the two criminals are doubting the legitness of these stories as they lay their eyes upon the figure in front of them.
One of the criminals clenches his fist around the wooden baseball bat he’s holding and charges at the Batman. He swings the weapon at full force in an attempt to hit him, but Batman grabs the bat right before it strikes him and tests out the power of his new suit by breaking it in half with his hands. After throwing away the one half, he uses the other half to beat up the perpetrator. Once he’s done with him, Batman redirects his attention to the other criminal as he slowly approaches him. Out of fear he pulls out a gun from his back pocket, bringing Bruce back to what happened 50 years prior in this exact alley for a short moment. He fires the gun several times, but finds that the Batman is unphased by the bullets as he continues to steadily walk towards him. Before he’s able to run away, the Bat grabs him by the coat and lifts him in the air. He grabs the gun out of his hand and tosses him against the wall, breaking the gun in two and dropping it on the ground.
Then he turns to the young man who is still cowering in fear. He walks towards him as the man tries to get away too, scared that he is going to beat him up too, but stops once he sees that he is just offering him a hand to get up. For the first time since the start of the fight, Batman begins talking and warns him to not go through this alley again as he won't always be there to protect him. He unbuckles the grappling gun from his utility belt, but right before he goes away the man asks him who he is.
‘’Me?’’ He asks. ‘’I’m Batman.’’
Upon returning to the Wayne Enterprises building not too long after, Batman starts the engine of the Batmobile up for the first time in thirty years. Using Barbara’s connections with the Arkham Asylum, she was able to get him and Helena into the high-security wing of the prison in order to meet up with the Joker. After parking the vehicle in front of the gate, the two head inside to investigate the Clown Prince of Crime’s involvement with the murder on Selina. They register themselves at the front desk and have to follow a security guard in order to get to the proper wing. While they are walking through the lower-security wings of the prison Batman notices a lot of people, both inmates and employees of the facility, staring at him in disbelief. As they descend into the higher security levels Batman begins to see some more familiar faces like Edward Nigma, who is scribbling dozens of tiny question marks on the wall of his cell and even the Condiment King who tries to greet him like an old friend.
After making their way through the complex, the guard unlocks the big door leading to the high-security wing. As the gate opens in front of them, Batman and Robin see a long hallway with cells on each side. Despite almost every single cell having their lights on, the one at the end of the wall is completely dark. While Batman avoids any contact with the inmates in this wing, only focused
on the cell at the end of the hall, Helena takes her time to see who is in which cell. Although most of them are empty, she sees one with plants covering every inch of the cell belonging to Pamela Isley and another right next to the one Batman is walking towards containing Mr. Freeze, now not much more than a corpse being kept alive by his own suit. Batman stands in front of the dark room, only being able to make out a vague silhouette in the darkness. He orders the guard to turn on the light, and sees the Joker staring right into his eyes on the other side of the glass when the lights flicker on.
He has changed a lot since their final confrontation which led to the death of Duke Thomas; he abandoned his long tousled, spiked up hairstyle in favor of a shorter swept back one, his permanent white make-up almost seems to have faded from his skin, and his smile has disappeared from his face. While Joker does his best to strike a conversation with him, acting like he’s an old friend of his who he hasn’t seen in years and asking what made him come out of retirement, Batman only responds by taking the playing card out of his pocket and holding it in front of his face. Batman explains his suspicions, showing him the message on the back of the card. Joker becomes genuinely confused, stating that he hasn't used those cards in decades because he lost his motivation to commit crime after he drove the Dark Knight out of Gotham. Along with that he has been on constant supervision within this prison, locked behind bulletproof glass walls 24/7, so someone would’ve noticed if he got out of his cell to deliver the card somehow.
“Listen Bats, I know you don't trust me at all, but for once I'm not making some sick joke. I swear i was not involved with the murder on your wife.”
After this, Joker asks to see it for himself stating that he might be able to figure out some more clues. He manages to slip his fingers through one of the openings in the glass wall, insisting him to hand over the card. Batman hesitates for a moment, but agrees to give it to him in a moment of desperation. He attentively looks at it from all angles, noting how the handwriting is just slightly off from how he actually writes and how the design of the card doesn’t quite match up to what he used as well. As he asks Bruce if he even bothered to check the item for any traces of DNA on it before coming up with this plan, he notices some low beeping coming from the inside of the card. He tears it open without a second thought, discovering that a strange flat device with a blinking light has been sitting in the card this whole time. Joker tosses the torn pieces of the card away to examine the thing, seeing the symbol of an owl embedded on the back of it. Before Joker can comment on it, the device begins beeping louder and louder while the light begins blinking faster as well. Batman realizes he unknowingly gave the Joker an explosive and tries everything he can to prevent it from going off, but it's too late. Joker looks him in the eye for one last time, putting a big smile on his face right before he gets engulfed in a sea of flames.
Batman and Robin manage to get out of the blast zone just in time. After the dust settles, he sees that the entire back of the prison wing has been obliterated. Nothing’s left of Joker and his cell along with the ones holding Freeze and Ivy next to it. Only some smoldering pieces of the playing card remain, floating through the air and burning up before they can be salvaged. Alarms start going off as a group of guards rushes into the wing, forcing Batman and Robin out of the wing. As they get guided out of the building, moving past the chaos which has erupted in the other parts of the facility, Batman is struggling to comprehend what he just witnessed. His head’s filled with burning questions; Why did someone pretend that the Joker was behind the murder? Why was there an explosive hidden in the card? Why was there an owl printed on said explosive? And most importantly, why was it detonated at that exact moment?
The sun has begun to rise when Bruce and Helena return from their trip to Arkham. As they use a hidden entrance to get inside the Wayne Enterprises building, stories about the explosion in the prison start flooding every news station. Almost all of them point towards the Batman having brought an bomb into the facility on purpose in order to finally get rid of his arch nemesis, despite there not being a lot of actual evidence to support this. Bruce parks the Batmobile in the storage facility and steps out, looking around to see if Barbara is around here anywhere. He calls out for her, but as his voice echoes through the place without a response he begins to think something is not right. Bruce spots three figures standing in the distance, but before he can identify them the lights suddenly turn off. A voice echoes through the space, saying something about the ‘’Court of Owls’’ wanting to see the Dynamic Duo. He tries to approach them, but suddenly feels a small dart piercing through his cowl and hitting him in the neck. He falls to the ground, feeling himself getting dragged away towards the Court as his vision turns black.
-----------------------------
Gateshead Millennium Bridge - Newcastle-upon-Tyne, England.
I found another fascinating bridge, this one's on the RIver Tyne in a city called Newcastle-upon-Tyne in the Northeastern part of England. It's a multi-purpose bridge as it not only ferries pedestrians and cyclists across Gateshead and Newcastle, but the lower level also lifts up for a passing ship. The upper bridge arc also changes colors every few minutes.
This award-winning bridge was designed by architects Wilkinson Eyre and structural engineers Gifford. It is also referred to as the 'Blinking Eye Bridge' or the 'Winking Eye Bridge' because of its shape and its tilting method. In terms of height, the Gateshead Millennium Bridge is slightly shorter than the neighbouring Tyne Bridge, and stands as the 16th tallest structure in the city.
The circular building behind the bridge is the Sage Gateshead, a musical conference hall.
Camera/Lens: Nikon D700; 16-35mm f/4.0;
Exposure: 30 sec.; Aperture: f/13; ISO: 200; Focal Length: 21mm;
Copyright 2010 - Yen Baet - All Rights Reserved.
Do not use any of my images without permission.
The local rolls past the depot on the way out of town. While this isn't the last visit CN will make to Prentice it is the last time I'll see them perform this ritual. I'm not sure what the story was behind the CSX covered hopper, it was along for the ride making the trip to and from Prentice this day. It may be a Rhinelander car that was easiler to bring along than stash at Bradley before making the trip.
January 17, 2022.
Here is an 8-minute total exposure of planetary nebula NGC 6826 in the constellation Cygnus. It is known as the “blinking planetary” because it appears to blink when viewed in a telescope as your eye looks around the field of view. The inset image has been increased by 400% and had several software manipulations done to help bring out some fine details in the structure. You can clearly see the two bright areas on either side known as FLIERs, or Fast Low-Ionization Emission Regions. Tech Specs: Meade LX90 12” telescope, Antares Focal Reducer, and Canon 6D camera. 8-minutes of collected data using 15-second subs at ISO 3200. Imaging date: August 22, 2016.
Sometime and for some people, to build a dream into reality it’s so hard. Like if we need to make ladder to reach the star on the sky.
Every second in life is full with a lot of chances, depend on us we going to take a time to grab one of that chance or we just want to let the star fall exactly on us. But if we just want to wait till that star fall, till when we going to wait ? Sometime we are waiting one door to open, without realizing if the other door is already open for us. And when then finally we decide to choose the open door that chance is already gone and those doors also close.
Nothing wrong to dream to become the best in our life, but remember, there are skies after the skies. Like to remember, even though you can fly to the sky, but one day you need to step on the ground. Once you are flying, don’t be swollen with pride coz maybe one day when you fall, the people will be offended with you. Remember…there is at least one star of each person. It just a matter of who can reach that star 1st.
In the eighteenth century, the Scandinavian naturalist Carl Linnaeus tackled the heroic task of classifying life diversity into a hierarchical grouping system based on their overall similarity. It is to him that we owe the modern nomenclature of kingdom, phyla, class, order, family, and finally binomial scientific name (genus + species).
Hinting at the principle of evolutionary continuity a century before Darwin, Linnaeus aired interesting opinions concerning the position of humans within this classification. In 1747 he wrote in a letter to a German fellow naturalist:
"I demand of you, and of the whole world, that you show me a generic character—one that is according to generally accepted principles of classification, by which to distinguish between Man and Ape. I myself most assuredly know of none. ...But, if I had called man an ape, or vice versa, I should have fallen under the ban of all the ecclesiastics. It may be that as a naturalist I ought to have done so".
Letter to J. G. Gmelin (1747) as quoted by Jeffrey H. Schwartz, Sudden Origins: Fossils, Genes, and the Emergence
However, even in all his love for nature he found little place in his heart for herps. He was particularly horrified by toads and snakes (which he conflated together with other amphibians, reptiles and fish into the class of Amphibia). This is how he introduced his AMPHIBIA in the tenth edition of his main publication, Systema Naturae (1758):
"These most terrible and vile animals are distinguished by their unilocular and single
chambered heart, arbitrary lungs, and divided
penis.
These foul and loathsome animals are abhorrent because of their cold body, pale color, cartilaginous skeleton, filthy skin, fierce face, calculating eye, offensive voice, squalid habitat, and terrible venom; and so their Creator has not exerted his powers to make many of them".
Pretty harsh, right? Relax, Carl, it ' s just a frog ... An Iberian treefrog (Hyla molleri), to be precise.
#frog #iberian #treefrog #hyla #molleri #green #pond #amphibian #anfibio #ranita #san Anton #verde #nature #naturaleza #zoology #popsci #carl #linnaeus #macro #night #wildlifephotography #wildlife #fauna #iberica #salvaje
Blades of Salvation
Alberquerque, New Mexico, 11:41 A.M
“Check. Check. No sign of activity yet. Keep lights on patrol.”
“Copy that. We’ll keep looking.”
The winds breezed through the chilly atmosphere. It was already close to noon, and Patrick was tired. His sore eyes kept blinking. “Duty has been hard these days.,” he thought to himself. “Maybe I’ll just finish another shift and head home for a good rest....”
His brief, inner tranquility was interrupted through the sound of his comms.
“Patrick! Intruder on the east gate. Go find out what’s happening. And don’t get sloppy.”
“I’m on it.”
As the line went out, he quickly hurried to the spot as he was told. Heavily armed guards we pointing their guns over the unknown person, and security was fortified. The sound of computers in this particular branch was buzzing pretty high.
Guard 1: “Sir, there’s a scruffy, bearded man in some damaged armoured bodysuit carrying a body—in some sort of bodybag.”
Patrick: “How did he appear?”
Guard 1: “Uh...well, just a couple minutes ago. Definitely not teleportation, he had a car with him”.
(Note: Cars don’t have wheels in this universe and time of age, it’s advanced and can harness electricity and anti gravity, kinda better than hoverboards and a bit similar to police spinners from Blade Runner.)
Patrick: “Any weapons?”
Guard 1: Nope. None detected.
Patrick: Fine, but I’ll have to use the mic to make sure.”
***
Patrick: “Hello? whoever you are, you better speak up. And just to make sure you’re listening.
Unnamed person: “I’m all eyes and ears.”
Patrick: “Good.”
Unnamed person: “Look at my tag and see what it says.”
Patrick: “Crew, zoom in on him. Okay—closer.....closer. Right there, Green.”
Guard 1: “Yup, Green.”
Patrick: So, Mr. Green, what brings you here? How can I know there’s nothing in the bag?”
Unnamed person: Please, just call me Green. Inside me is a comatose body of my friend. I have nowhere to go but ended up here in New Mexico, approaching this military base that was supposed to be designated. And I am in need of desperate help.”
Patrick: “Please, scan it.”
Green: “No need for seeing, it’s definitely a body. I can open it up if you like—“
Guard: “No need for that. My superior has confirmed it.”
Patrick: “Of course. Now, a few more checks.....and you can pass. We will be escorting you to a room for safety. Anything you need?”
Green: A shave would do fine, at the very least.
*******
*hours later*
Patrick: “Your companion in the bodybag is safe. My friends will handle it with care. Now are you ready to explain why are you here?”
Green: *scratches clean shaven chin* “Well, I bet your friends next door are watching me.”
Patrick: “Only for extra measures.”
Green: “I’ll take that as a yes.”
Patrick: “Anyways, we should start. Now let me ask you: What are you here for? Why hide your friend in a bodybag?”
Green: “To seek refuge for now. I need a good place to settle. No way I could hide my friend somewhere, and I stole him from the hospital.”
Patrick: “Go on....though, something must have happened at the beginning.”
Green: “The start? Fine, though everything I say might not sound....very believable. So let me ask you this: have you ever heard of the Exiled Spectres? Are you aware of it?”
Patrick: “Little. Very little. Our boss hasn’t told us much about it. Why?”
Green: “Because I am a part of it. Used to be once. Now that I’m saying it, it will be confidential information. All of this started with the CIA. Then shit goes down, we are nothing now. Me and my friends—-still alive out there, are disavowed spies.....no, nothing, people without an identity. Nomads that are exiled into hiding.”
Patrick: “The CIA? And what was the cause.”
Green: “The man who goes by the name of North. Mr North. They worked with him. There were us who feared him and worked with him, some who stood up against this man—-were blatantly killed like his toys....”
Patrick: “North? I thought he was only a rich magnate....some tech mogul....”
Green: “But he’s more than that.”
As the conversation went on (for hours), Patrick started to feel uneasy. His mind was subjected to lots of secret and sensitive material—unlike the ones he had seen or heard before. Now he knew the history, the operations, everything. By the time Green went to executions, he heard one of soldiers wanting a bin. Then another quit the room.
Patrick: “Wait...stop. That’s a lot to process.”
Green: “It’ll sink in. I’m pretty sure your friends don’t feel comfortable either. You sweated a bit as well. Listen, these are secrets no one will tell you, so you’re lucky to have me here. Your superiors are as aware as I am, however I’ve served my agency for a long time, I have now knowledge.”
Patrick: “Then....how about we get to your friend? Are you ready tell me about him?”
Green: “I did the unthinkable. To ensure my own survival, I turned against the original team. I had to work for North. Tried to kill my friend, but to no avail. North had an agent who shot him down. My feelings and gratitude overtook my coldness—-so I left with his body.”
Patrick: “And?”
Green: “We left.”
Patrick: “So in the aftermath of your escape?”
Green: “I’d like to tell you more....but only if you can get me Doctor Edens.”
Patrick: “Which Edens?”
Green: “Vergil Remus Edens. Get him on the line, and tell him I will be meeting him——now.
——****——
For more lore and story understanding, you can refer to this:
www.flickr.com/photos/128407574@N08/44230869771/in/album-...
www.flickr.com/photos/128407574@N08/43488451895/in/album-...
This mynah was just blinking, however it indeed lost a toe, but I will post another pic soon showing its incredible hunting capabilities o_o
Not so sharp. It was blinking its eye. Could have used a high Shutter Speed. But love to share with you all. Have a great Sunday !
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I took these photos to practise trying to click when my daughter isn't blinking. Her pale eyes are so sensitive to light and when I photograph her I only end up with a few shots where she isn't blinking or mid blink.
There is always an exception though - as you can see this shot is mid-blink - but I think it gives her expression attitude! It's mocking and almost contemptuous!
Explore 11/7/14
The blinking things are back. This was taken on zoom.
Better viewed large and thank you for your favourites. :O)
I shot this blinking traffic light from my seat on a commuter train. I didn't notice that the droplets on the window were reflecting the light's bright red color -- and I certainly didn't see the tiny valentine (see note) that one of these droplets created. No trickery involved.
Bubo virginianus, blinking wilth one eye, on her nest in a ledge high on a wall at the Wildflower Center in Austin. This owl has returned to this nest 7 or 8 years in a row.
Gateshead Millenium Bridge - Newcastle-upon-Tyne, England.
Another fascinating bridge on the RIver Tyne in a city called Newcastle-upon-Tyne, Northeastern part of England. It's a multi-purpose bridge as it not only ferries pedestrians and cyclists across Gateshead and Newcastle, but the lower level also lifts up for a passing ship. The upper bridge arc also changes colors every few minutes.
This award-winning bridge was designed by architects Wilkinson Eyre and structural engineers Gifford. It is also referred to as the 'Blinking Eye Bridge' or the 'Winking Eye Bridge' because of its shape and its tilting method. In terms of height, the Gateshead Millennium Bridge is slightly shorter than the neighbouring Tyne Bridge, and stands as the 16th tallest structure in the city.
The circular building behind the bridge is the Sage Gateshead, a musical conference hall.
I had previously posted a similar photo of this bridge during evening twilight. This, however, was shot early morning.
Camera/Lens: Nikon D700; 16-35mm f/4.0;
Exposure: 30 sec.; Aperture: f/14; ISO: 100; Focal Length: 20mm;
Copyright 2010 - Yen Baet - All Rights Reserved.
Do not use any of my images without permission.
Made with sterling silver, UV resin, mica powders and circa. 1940s vintage 'blinking' dolls eyes.
Cold connections.
"Father!"
Smack. The head hits the floor, rolling like a bowling ball. His arms and body are still twitching, his eyelids blinking one last time. I stare into his lifeless eyes, seeing it all.
Lies. A story. Make believe.
"Good riddance, no one likes a liar."
My head tilted up, seeing a mirror. I am holding a sword, dripping in Atlantean blood. A liars blood.
Good riddance.
Knock, knock
Jackson's head shot up, eyes wide open. The sword at his bedside is already drawn, aimed in front of him. Sweeping his room, he sees no one is present.
Knock, knock
"Jackson? It's Jackie. Can we talk?"
Jackie? Oh. I'm at N.E.M.O. I had forgotten.
"I'll be there in a moment." He calls back, sliding his legs off the bed. Jackson's room here is plain, only his equipment decorating it. His father had told him not to worry about such a feeble thing, that they wouldn't be staying. It kind of hurts him knowing this, but it must be done.
Dropping to the floor, he slides his shoes on and makes his way to the door. His clothes are still his pajamas, but it doesn't cross his mind. Opening the door, he sees it also didn't bother the girl standing outside. Jackie is wearing a tank top and shorts, her hair in a short ponytail.
"Hello Jackie. What's the matter?" His voice is still groggy from waking up only moments ago, but the sincerity is still present. "Oh, it's nothing major. I was just hoping we could go talk." She was lying through her teeth, he could tell easily. It was something his father had taught him. He gives her a nod, as they begin walking into the hallway.
The walk is completely silent. Both of the teenagers aren't speaking. There is a dread in Jackson's stomach, he knows something is wrong. He knows that she needs help.
I want to help, she's my friend, but I don't know how. It hurts to feel like this.
The pair arrives at the overhang, that's what they've been calling it the past few months anyways. They both sit down, their legs hanging off the balcony. No one was currently training, leaving them in complete and still silence.
"So what's it like?" Jackie initiated. "Being born of two different worlds?"
Jackson looked down, his eyes filled with the pain and memories of the past. "It isn't too special, really." He sighed as he looked up to her. "I am honestly weaker because of it. My Xebelion blood is suppressed by my human side. I can still manipulate water and such, but not to the level of other purebloods."
"Still," Jackie smiled, "it must be cool to be someone who is on both sides of the coin."
"Yeah well, it isn't always the best. I was made fun of quite a lot because I was always so much weaker than my classmates. So much so that I had to be moved into private lessons from the queen. I never felt like anyone got me. I always was an outcast, not having a mother, my fa…" He caught himself, "caregiver... being best friends with the King. Everyone thought I was just some kind of spoiled heir. I just wanted people to talk with. Be friends with."
"I… I feel the same way." She looks down now, the same way Jackson had a moment ago. "During normal school, I was pushed aside because of my lack of social skills. I couldn't make friends when I didn't know what to say. I didn't know how to speak to someone that hadn't spoken first… but no one ever did."
As Jackson was about to speak, he noticed something he hadn't before. Running up Jackie's arms were bruises, on her shoulders looked like hand prints. The sight froze him, he stopped talking, stopped breathing.
They were fresh, maybe an hour old.
Jackie was confused, "Jackson? Are you ok?" His eyes met hers, he knew pain. He had felt it, but hers was different. Her eyes looked like they were so tired, ready for the pain to end.
"I'm glad you're here." He explained. He needed to help her, but he just. He didn't know how to. "I feel like you understand me, on a level that no one else does. Someone that I've needed for a long…"
His sentence is interrupted by something soft pressing against his lips. His were eyes locked onto Jackie pressing her lips against his, with his cheeks flaring with red. All he could do was sit there before she pulled away, realizing he wasn't kissing back.
"Jackie…"
"Jackson I… I'm sorry, I…" she looked away, realizing he didn't reciprocate what she felt. "Jackie I don't… feel *that way* about you." He empathized *that way*, trying to help her understand.
All she did was nod, eyes burned into the floor. She looked as if she was shot with a revolver, straight through the heart.
"I-it isn't you- or that I don't like you per say… I think you are really pretty. I just- I don't… like girls."
"Oh."
"I'm- I'm sorry, Jackie. I-"
She stood up slowly. He could see a tear run down her cheek as she turned. She started to walk away at a quick pace. "Wait Jackie! Jackie!" He called. He called again, standing, but she didn't turn her head, she only moved faster. It hurt him more than anything else had.
His first friend. The only person to ever talk to him about something other than his father or his Atlantean side. She was the first person he has cared for that wasn't a family member, or fake family member.
And he hurt her.
Male Acorn Woodpecker. Note all the holes made by these birds in the tree . Riverside CA 29th March 2020
Howl
Allen Ginsberg (1926-1997)
For Carl Solomon
I
I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked,
dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix,
angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night,
who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat up smoking in the supernatural darkness of cold-water flats floating across the tops of cities contemplating jazz,
who bared their brains to Heaven under the El and saw Mohammedan angels staggering on tenement roofs illuminated,
who passed through universities with radiant eyes hallucinating Arkansas and Blake-light tragedy among the scholars of war,
who were expelled from the academies for crazy & publishing obscene odes on the windows of the skull,
who cowered in unshaven rooms in underwear, burning their money in wastebaskets and listening to the Terror through the wall,
who got busted in their pubic beards returning through Laredo with a belt of marijuana for New York,
who ate fire in paint hotels or drank turpentine in Paradise Alley, death, or purgatoried their torsos night after night
with dreams, with drugs, with waking nightmares, alcohol and cock and endless balls,
incomparable blind streets of shuddering cloud and lightning in the mind leaping towards poles of Canada & Paterson, illuminating all the motionless world of Time between,
Peyote solidities of halls, backyard green tree cemetery dawns, wine drunkenness over the rooftops, storefront boroughs of teahead joyride neon blinking traffic light, sun and moon and tree vibrations in the roaring winter dusks of Brooklyn, ashcan rantings and kind king light of mind,
who chained themselves to subways for the endless ride from Battery to holy Bronx on benzedrine until the noise of wheels and children brought them down shuddering mouth-wracked and battered bleak of brain all drained of brilliance in the drear light of Zoo,
who sank all night in submarine light of Bickford's floated out and sat through the stale beer afternoon in desolate Fugazzi's, listening to the crack of doom on the hydrogen jukebox,
who talked continuously seventy hours from park to pad to bar to Bellevue to museum to the Brooklyn Bridge,
a lost batallion of platonic conversationalists jumping down the stoops off fire escapes off windowsills off Empire State out of the moon
yacketayakking screaming vomiting whispering facts and memories and anecdotes and eyeball kicks and shocks of hospitals and jails and wars,
whose intellects disgorged in total recall for seven days and nights with brilliant eyes, meat for the Synagogue cast on the pavement,
who vanished into nowhere Zen New Jersey leaving a trail of ambiguous picture postcards of Atlantic City Hall,
suffering Eastern sweats and Tangerian bone-grindings and migraines of China under junk-withdrawal in Newark's bleak furnished room,
who wandered around and around at midnight in the railway yard wondering where to go, and went, leaving no broken hearts,
who lit cigarettes in boxcars boxcars boxcars racketing through snow toward lonesome farms in grandfather night,
who studied Plotinus Poe St John of the Cross telepathy and bop kabbalah because the universe instinctively vibrated at their feet in Kansas,
who loned it through the streets of Idaho seeking visionary indian angels who were visionary indian angels,
who thought they were only mad when Baltimore gleamed in supernatural ecstasy,
who jumped in limousines with the Chinaman of Oklahoma on the impulse of winter midnight streetlight smalltown rain,
who lounged hungry and lonesome through Houston seeking jazz or sex or soup, and followed the brilliant Spaniard to converse about America and Eternity, a hopeless task, and so took ship to Africa,
who disappeared into the volcanoes of Mexico leaving nothing behind but the shadow of dungarees and the larva and ash of poetry scattered in fireplace Chicago,
who reappeared on the West Coast investigating the FBI in beards and shorts with big pacifist eyes sexy in their dark skin passing out incomprehensible leaflets,
who burned cigarette holes in their arms protesting the narcotic tobacco haze of Capitalism, who distributed Supercommunist pamphlets in Union Square weeping and undressing while the sirens of Los Alamos wailed them down, and wailed down Wall, and the Staten Island ferry also wailed,
who broke down crying in white gymnasiums naked and trembling before the machinery of other skeletons,
who bit detectives in the neck and shrieked with delight in policecars for committing no crime but their own wild cooking pederasty and intoxication,
who howled on their knees in the subway and were dragged off the roof waving genitals and manuscripts,
who let themselves be fucked in the ass by saintly motorcyclists, and screamed with joy,
who blew and were blown by those human seraphim, the sailors, caresses of Atlantic and Caribbean love,
who balled in the morning in the evenings in rosegardens and the grass of public parks and cemeteries scattering their semen freely to whomever come who may,
who hiccuped endlessly trying to giggle but wound up with a sob behind a partition in a Turkish Bath when the blond & naked angel came to pierce them with a sword,
who lost their loveboys to the three old shrews of fate the one eyed shrew of the heterosexual dollar the one eyed shrew that winks out of the womb and the one eyed shrew that does nothing but sit on her ass and snip the intellectual golden threads of the craftsman's loom,
who copulated ecstatic and insatiate and fell off the bed, and continued along the floor and down the hall and ended fainting on the wall with a vision of ultimate cunt and come eluding the last gyzym of consciousness,
who sweetened the snatches of a million girls trembling in the sunset, and were red eyed in the morning but were prepared to sweeten the snatch of the sunrise, flashing buttocks under barns and naked in the lake,
who went out whoring through Colorado in myriad stolen night-cars, N.C., secret hero of these poems, cocksman and Adonis of Denver—joy to the memory of his innumerable lays of girls in empty lots & diner backyards, moviehouses' rickety rows, on mountaintops in caves or with gaunt waitresses in familiar roadside lonely petticoat upliftings & especially secret gas-station solipsisms of johns, & hometown alleys too,
who faded out in vast sordid movies, were shifted in dreams, woke on a sudden Manhattan, and picked themselves up out of basements hungover with heartless Tokay and horrors of Third Avenue iron dreams & stumbled to unemployment offices,
who walked all night with their shoes full of blood on the snowbank docks waiting for a door in the East River to open full of steamheat and opium,
who created great suicidal dramas on the appartment cliff-banks of the Hudson under the wartime blue floodlight of the moon & their heads shall be crowned with laurel in oblivion,
who ate the lamb stew of the imagination or digested the crab at the muddy bottom of the rivers of the Bowery,
who wept at the romance of the streets with their pushcarts full of onions and bad music,
who sat in boxes breathing in the darkness under the bridge, and rose up to build harpsichords in their lofts, who coughed on the sixth floor of Harlem crowned with flame under the tubercular sky surrounded by orange crates of theology,
who scribbled all night rocking and rolling over lofty incantations which in the yellow morning were stanzas of gibberish,
who cooked rotten animals lung heart feet tail borsht & tortillas dreaming of the pure vegetable kingdom,
who plunged themselves under meat trucks looking for an egg,
who threw their watches off the roof to cast their ballot for an Eternity outside of Time, & alarm clocks fell on their heads every day for the next decade,
who cut their wrists three times successfully unsuccessfully, gave up and were forced to open antique stores where they thought they were growing old and cried,
who were burned alive in their innocent flannel suits on Madison Avenue amid blasts of leaden verse & the tanked-up clatter of the iron regiments of fashion & the nitroglycerine shrieks of the fairies of advertising & the mustard gas of sinister intelligent editors, or were run down by the drunken taxicabs of Absolute Reality,
who jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge this actually happened and walked away unknown and forgotten into the ghostly daze of Chinatown soup alleyways & firetrucks, not even one free beer,
who sang out of their windows in despair, fell out of the subway window, jumped in the filthy Passaic, leaped on negroes, cried all over the street, danced on broken wineglasses barefoot smashed phonograph records of nostalgic European 1930s German jazz finished the whiskey and threw up groaning into the bloody toilet, moans in their ears and the blast of colossal steamwhistles,
who barreled down the highways of the past journeying to each other's hotrod-Golgotha jail-solitude watch Birmingham jazz incarnation,
who drove crosscountry seventytwo hours to find out if I had a vision or you had a vision or he had a vision to find out Eternity,
who journeyed to Denver, who died in Denver, who came back to Denver & waited in vain, who watched over Denver & brooded & loned in Denver and finally went away to find out the Time, & now Denver is lonesome for her heroes,
who fell on their knees in hopeless cathedrals praying for each other's salvation and light and breasts, until the soul illuminated its hair for a second,
who crashed through their minds in jail waiting for impossible criminals with golden heads and the charm of reality in their hearts who sang sweet blues to Alcatraz,
who retired to Mexico to cultivate a habit, or Rocky Mount to tender Buddha or Tangiers to boys or Southern Pacific to the black locomotive or Harvard to Narcissus to Woodlawn to the daisychain or grave,
who demanded sanity trials accusing the radio of hypnotism & were left with their insanity & their hands & a hung jury,
who threw potato salad at CCNY lecturerson Dadaism and subsequently presented themselves on the granite steps of the madhouse with the shaven heads and harlequin speech of suicide, demanding instantaneous lobotomy,
and who were given instead the concrete void of insulin Metrazol electricity hydrotherapy psychotherapy occupational therapy pingpong & amnesia,
who in humorless protest overturned only one symbolic pingpong table, resting briefly in catatonia,
returning years later truly bald except for a wig of blood, and tears and fingers, to the visible madman doom of the wards of the madtowns of the East,
Pilgrim State's Rockland's and Greystone's foetid halls, bickering with the echoes of the soul, rocking and rolling in the midnight solitude-bench dolmen-realms of love, dream of life a nightmare, bodies turned to stone as heavy as the moon,
with mother finally *****, and the last fantastic book flung out of the tenement window, and the last door closed at 4 A.M. and the last telephone slammed at the wall in reply and the last furnished room emptied down to the last piece of mental furniture, a yellow paper rose twisted on a wire hanger on the closet, and even that imaginary, nothing but a hopeful little bit of hallucination—
ah, Carl, while you are not safe I am not safe, and now you're really in the total animal soup of time—
and who therefore ran through the icy streets obsessed with a sudden flash of the alchemy of the use of the ellipse the catalog the meter & the vibrating plane,
who dreamt and made incarnate gaps in Time & Space through images juxtaposed, and trapped the archangel of the soulbetween 2 visual images and joined the elemental verbs and set the noun and dash of consciousness together jumping with sensation of Pater Omnipotens Aeterna Deus
to recreate the syntax and measure of poor human prose and stand before you speechless and intelligent and shaking with shame, rejected yet confessing out the soul to conform to the rhythm of thought in his naked and endless head,
the madman bum and angel beat in Time, unknown, yet putting down here what might be left to say in time come after death,
and rose incarnate in the ghostly clothes of jazz in the goldhorn shadow of the band and blew the suffering of America's naked mind for love into an eli eli lamma lamma sabacthani saxophone cry that shivered the cities down to the last radio
with the absolute heart of the poem butchered out of their own bodies good to eat a thousand years.
II
What sphinx of cement and aluminium bashed open their skulls and ate up their brains and imagination?
Moloch! Solitude! Filth! Ugliness! Ashcans and unobtainable dollars! Children screaming under the stairways! Boys sobbing in armies! Old men weeping in the parks!
Moloch! Moloch! Nightmare of Moloch! Moloch the loveless! Mental Moloch! Moloch the heavy judger of men!
Moloch the incomprehensible prison! Moloch the crossbone soulless jailhouse and Congress of sorrows! Moloch whose buildings are judgement! Moloch the vast stone of war! Moloch the stunned governments!
Moloch whose mind is pure machinery! Moloch whose blood is running money! Moloch whose fingers are ten armies! Moloch whose breast is a cannibal dynamo! Moloch whose ear is a smoking tomb!
Moloch whose eyes are a thousand blind windows! Moloch whose skyscrapers stand in the long streets like endless Jehovas! Moloch whose factories dream and choke in the fog! Moloch whose smokestacks and antennae crown the cities!
Moloch whose love is endless oil and stone! Moloch whose soul is electricity and banks! Moloch whose poverty is the specter of genius! Moloch whose fate is a cloud of sexless hydrogen! Moloch whose name is the Mind!
Moloch in whom I sit lonely! Moloch in whom I dream angels! Crazy in Moloch! Cocksucker in Moloch! Lacklove and manless in Moloch!
Moloch who entered my soul early! Moloch in whom I am a consciousness without a body! Moloch who frightened me out of my natural ecstasy! Moloch whom I abandon! Wake up in Moloch! Light streaming out of the sky!
Moloch! Moloch! Robot apartments! invisable suburbs! skeleton treasuries! blind capitals! demonic industries! spectral nations! invincible madhouses! granite cocks! monstrous bombs!
They broke their backs lifting Moloch to Heaven! Pavements, trees, radios, tons! lifting the city to Heaven which exists and is everywhere about us!
Visions! omens! hallucinations! miracles! ecstacies! gone down the American river!
Dreams! adorations! illuminations! religions! the whole boatload of sensitive bullshit!
Breakthroughs! over the river! flips and crucifixions! gone down the flood! Highs! Epiphanies! Despairs! Ten years' animal screams and suicides! Minds! New loves! Mad generation! down on the rocks of Time!
Real holy laughter in the river! They saw it all! the wild eyes! the holy yells! They bade farewell! They jumped off the roof! to solitude! waving! carrying flowers! Down to the river! into the street!
III
Carl Solomon! I'm with you in Rockland
where you're madder than I am
I'm with you in Rockland
where you must feel strange
I'm with you in Rockland
where you imitate the shade of my mother
I'm with you in Rockland
where you've murdered your twelve secretaries
I'm with you in Rockland
where you laugh at this invisible humour
I'm with you in Rockland
where we are great writers on the same dreadful typewriter
I'm with you in Rockland
where your condition has become serious and is reported on the radio
I'm with you in Rockland
where the faculties of the skull no longer admit the worms of the senses
I'm with you in Rockland
where you drink the tea of the breasts of the spinsters of Utica
I'm with you in Rockland
where you pun on the bodies of your nurses the harpies of the Bronx
I'm with you in Rockland
where you scream in a straightjacket that you're losing the game of actual pingpong of the abyss
I'm with you in Rockland
where you bang on the catatonic piano the soul is innocent and immortal it should never die ungodly in an armed madhouse
I'm with you in Rockland
where fifty more shocks will never return your soul to its body again from its pilgrimage to a cross in the void
I'm with you in Rockland
where you accuse your doctors of insanity and plot the Hebrew socialist revolution against the fascist national Golgotha
I'm with you in Rockland
where you will split the heavens of Long Island and resurrect your living human Jesus from the superhuman tomb
I'm with you in Rockland
where there are twentyfive thousand mad comrades all together singing the final stanzas of the Internationale
I'm with you in Rockland
where we hug and kiss the United States under our bedsheets the United States that coughs all night and won't let us sleep
I'm with you in Rockland
where we wake up electrified out of the coma by our own souls' airplanes roaring over the roof they've come to drop angelic bombs the hospital illuminates itself imaginary walls collapse O skinny legions run outside O starry-spangled shock of mercy the eternal war is here O victory forget your underwear we're free
I'm with you in Rockland
in my dreams you walk dripping from a sea-journey on the highway across America in tears to the door of my cottage in the Western night
The Blinking Eye Bridge over the river Tyne between Gateshead and Newcastle, England. Bridge tilts open every midday or when masted vessels need to pass through.
Croxall Lakes Nature Reserve, Staffordshire
"Finally a break in the clouds revealed this sunset on a very still windless day"
"Taken across a man-made lake, restored from a former a sand and gravel quarry"
We visited the Great Smoky Mountain National Park early June in order mainly for some sunrise and sunset photography and the famous synchronized firefly show. However it was all ruined by a tornado and thick fogs all around the overlooks we had planned except for the very first day.
After several hour driving, we headed directly to the Clingmans Dome Overlook. The weather was so unpredictable at this high elevation that it has changed from sunny to windy stormy followed by an misty, foggy sky. We have waited and waited and waited hoping that it could open just for a while. Eventually our dream came true. The clouds in the west just broke while the sun setting just above the top of the mountains. The lighting of the scene changed dramatically but it lasted only a few minutes. We couldn't be happier that it allowed us just in time to shoot this amazing moment.
drinking in the morning sun
blinking in the morning sun
shaking off the heavy one
heavy like a loaded gun
what made me behave that way?
using words I never say
i can only think it must be love
oh, anyway, it's looking like a beautiful day
someone tell me how I feel
it's silly wrong but vivid right
oh, kiss me like the final meal
yeah, kiss me like we die tonight
when my face is chamois-creased
if you think I'll wink, I did
laugh politely at repeats
yeah, kiss me when my lips are thin
cause holy cow, I love your eyes
and only now I see you like
yeah, lying with me half-awake
stumbling over what to say
well, anyway, it's looking like a beautiful day
so throw those curtains wide!
one day like this a year'd see me right!
one day like this by Elbow....had this beautiful song stuck in my head all day....
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