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"Billions of bilious blue blistering barnacles!"
(Oftenly said by Capitaine Haddock, Hergé’s fictional character in The Adventures of Tintin)
"Ten thousand thundering typhoons" this is a portrait of the Andean Empress of all llamas, Lydia of San Theodoros, known for raising an army of Picaros riding llamas in order to defeat General Tapioca’s tank arsenal held by 3487 colonels and 49 corporals and for ending the numerous guerrillas during Ramon Alcazar's regime.
Nowadays the banana republic is still under the yoke of a military government and the Empress is leading an underground movement with the hope to recapture Tenuzco, the capital of her Paztecas ancestors.
This picture was shot In the main room of Hotuatabotl one of the magnificent Paztec pyramids in Trenxcoatl.
Join the photographer at www.facebook.com/laurent.goldstein.photography
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St Andrew and St Patrick, Elveden, Suffolk
As you approach Elveden, there is Suffolk’s biggest war memorial, to those killed from the three parishes that meet at this point. It is over 30 metres high, and you used to be able to climb up the inside. Someone in the village told me that more people have been killed on the road in Elveden since the end of the War than there are names on the war memorial. I could well believe it. Until about five years ago, the busy traffic of the A11 Norwich to London road hurtled through the village past the church, slowed only to a ridiculously high 50 MPH. If something hits you at that speed, then no way on God's Earth are you going to survive. Now there's a bypass, thank goodness.
Many people will know St Andrew and St Patrick as another familiar landmark on the road, but as you are swept along in the stream of traffic you are unlikely to appreciate quite how extraordinary a building it is. For a start, it has two towers. And a cloister. And two naves, effectively. It has undergone three major building programmes in the space of thirty years, any one of which would have sufficed to transform it utterly.
If you had seen this church before the 1860s, you would have thought it nothing remarkable. A simple aisle-less, clerestory-less building, typical of, and indistinguishable from, hundreds of other East Anglian flint churches. A journey to nearby Barnham will show you what I mean.
The story of the transformation of Elveden church begins in the early 19th century, on the other side of the world. The leader of the Sikhs, Ranjit Singh, controlled a united Punjab that stretched from the Khyber Pass to the borders of Tibet. His capital was at Lahore, but more importantly it included the Sikh holy city of Amritsar. The wealth of this vast Kingdom made him a major power-player in early 19th century politics, and he was a particular thorn in the flesh of the British Imperial war machine. At this time, the Punjab had a great artistic and cultural flowering that was hardly matched anywhere in the world.
It was not to last. The British forced Ranjit Singh to the negotiating table over the disputed border with Afghanistan, and a year later, in 1839, he was dead. A power vacuum ensued, and his six year old son Duleep Singh became a pawn between rival factions. It was exactly the opportunity that the British had been waiting for, and in February 1846 they poured across the borders in their thousands. Within a month, almost half the child-Prince's Kingdom was in foreign hands. The British installed a governor, and started to harvest the fruits of their new territory's wealth.
Over the next three years, the British gradually extended their rule, putting down uprisings and turning local warlords. Given that the Sikh political structures were in disarray, this was achieved at considerable loss to the invaders - thousands of British soldiers were killed. They are hardly remembered today. British losses at the Crimea ten years later were much slighter, but perhaps the invention of photography in the meantime had given people at home a clearer picture of what was happening, and so the Crimea still remains in the British folk memory.
For much of the period of the war, Prince Duleep Singh had remained in the seclusion of his fabulous palace in Lahore. However, once the Punjab was secure, he was sent into remote internal exile.
The missionaries poured in. Bearing in mind the value that Sikh culture places upon education, perhaps it is no surprise that their influence came to bear on the young Prince, and he became a Christian. The extent to which this was forced upon him is lost to us today.
A year later, the Prince sailed for England with his mother. He was admitted to the royal court by Queen Victoria, spending time both at Windsor and, particularly, in Scotland, where he grew up. In the 1860s, the Prince and his mother were significant members of London society, but she died suddenly in 1863. He returned with her ashes to the Punjab, and there he married. His wife, Bamba Muller, was part German, part Ethiopian. As part of the British pacification of India programme, the young couple were granted the lease on a vast, derelict stately home in the depths of the Suffolk countryside. This was Elveden Hall. He would never see India again.
With some considerable energy, Duleep Singh set about transforming the fortunes of the moribund estate. Being particularly fond of hunting (as a six year old, he'd had two tutors - one for learning the court language, Persian, and the other for hunting to hawk) he developed the estate for game. The house was rebuilt in 1870.
The year before, the Prince had begun to glorify the church so that it was more in keeping with the splendour of his court. This church, dedicated to St Andrew, was what now forms the north aisle of the present church. There are many little details, but the restoration includes two major features; firstly, the remarkable roof, with its extraordinary sprung sprung wallposts set on arches suspended in the window embrasures, and, secondly, the font, which Mortlock tells us is in the Sicilian-Norman style. Supported by eight elegant columns, it is very beautiful, and the angel in particular is one of Suffolk's loveliest. You can see him in an image on the left.
Duleep Singh seems to have settled comfortably into the role of an English country gentleman. And then, something extraordinary happened. The Prince, steeped in the proud tradition of his homeland, decided to return to the Punjab to fulfill his destiny as the leader of the Sikh people. He got as far as Aden before the British arrested him, and sent him home. He then set about trying to recruit Russian support for a Sikh uprising, travelling secretly across Europe in the guise of an Irishman, Patrick Casey. In between these times of cloak and dagger espionage, he would return to Elveden to shoot grouse with the Prince of Wales, the future King Edward VII. It is a remarkable story.
Ultimately, his attempts to save his people from colonial oppression were doomed to failure. He died in Paris in 1893, the British seemingly unshakeable in their control of India. He was buried at Elveden churchyard in a simple grave.
The chancel of the 1869 church is now screened off as a chapel, accessible from the chancel of the new church, but set in it is the 1894 memorial window to Maharaja Prince Duleep Singh, the Adoration of the Magi by Kempe & Co.
And so, the Lion of the North had come to a humble end. His five children, several named after British royal princes, had left Elveden behind; they all died childless, one of them as recently as 1957. The estate reverted to the Crown, being bought by the brewing family, the Guinnesses.
Edward Cecil Guinness, first Earl Iveagh, commemorated bountifully in James Joyce's 1916 Ulysses, took the estate firmly in hand. The English agricultural depression had begun in the 1880s, and it would not be ended until the Second World War drew the greater part of English agriculture back under cultivation. It had hit the Estate hard. But Elveden was transformed, and so was the church.
Iveagh appointed William Caroe to build an entirely new church beside the old. It would be of such a scale that the old church of St Andrew would form the south aisle of the new church. The size may have reflected Iveagh's visions of grandeur, but it was also a practical arrangement, to accommodate the greatly enlarged staff of the estate. Attendance at church was compulsory; non-conformists were also expected to go, and the Guinnesses did not employ Catholics.
Between 1904 and 1906, the new structure went up. Mortlock recalls that Pevsner thought it 'Art Nouveau Gothic', which sums it up well. Lancet windows in the north side of the old church were moved across to the south side, and a wide open nave built beside it. Curiously, although this is much higher than the old and incorporates a Suffolk-style roof, Caroe resisted the temptation of a clerestory. The new church was rebenched throughout, and the woodwork is of a very high quality. The dates of the restoration can be found on bench ends up in the new chancel, and exploring all the symbolism will detain you for hours. Emblems of the nations of the British Isles also feature in the floor tiles.
The new church was dedicated to St Patrick, patron Saint of the Guinnesses' homeland. At this time, of course, Ireland was still a part of the United Kingdom, and despite the tensions and troubles of the previous century the Union was probably stronger at the opening of the 20th century than it had ever been. This was to change very rapidly. From the first shots fired at the General Post Office in April 1916, to complete independence in 1922, was just six years. Dublin, a firmly protestant city, in which the Iveaghs commemorated their dead at the Anglican cathedral of St Patrick, became the capital city of a staunchly Catholic nation. The Anglicans, the so-called Protestant Ascendancy, left in their thousands during the 1920s, depopulating the great houses, and leaving hundreds of Anglican parish churches completely bereft of congregations. Apart from a concentration in the wealthy suburbs of south Dublin, there are hardly any Anglicans left in the Republic today. But St Patrick's cathedral maintains its lonely witness to long years of British rule; the Iveagh transept includes the vast war memorial to WWI dead, and all the colours of the Irish regiments - it is said that 99% of the Union flags in the Republic are in the Guinness chapel of St Patrick's cathedral. Dublin, of course, is famous as the biggest city in Europe without a Catholic cathedral. It still has two Anglican ones.
Against this background then, we arrived at Elveden. The church is uncomfortably close to the busy road, but the sparkle of flint in the recent rain made it a thing of great beauty. The main entrance is now at the west end of the new church. The surviving 14th century tower now forms the west end of the south aisle, and we will come back to the other tower beyond it in a moment.
You step into a wide open space under a high, heavy roof laden with angels. There is a wide aisle off to the south; this is the former nave, and still has something of that quality. The whole space is suffused with gorgeously coloured light from excellent 19th and 20th century windows. These include one by Frank Brangwyn, at the west end of the new nave. Andrew and Patrick look down from a heavenly host on a mother and father entertaining their children and a host of woodland animals by reading them stories. It is quite the loveliest thing in the building.
Other windows, mostly in the south aisle, are also lovely. Hugh Easton's commemorative window for the former USAAF base at Elveden is magnificent. Either side are windows to Iveaghs - a gorgeous George killing a dragon, also by Hugh Easton, and a curious 1971 assemblage depicting images from the lives of Edward Guinness's heir and his wife, which also works rather well. The effect of all three windows together is particularly fine when seen from the new nave.
Turning ahead of you to the new chancel, there is the mighty alabaster reredos. It cost £1,200 in 1906, about a quarter of a million in today’s money. It reflects the woodwork, in depicting patron Saints and East Anglian monarchs, around a surprisingly simple Supper at Emmaus. This reredos, and the Brangwyn window, reminded me of the work at the Guinness’s other spiritual home, St Patrick’s Cathedral in Dublin, which also includes a window by Frank Brangwyn commisioned by them. Everything is of the highest quality. Rarely has the cliché ‘no expense spared’ been as accurate as it is here.
Up at the front, a little brass plate reminds us that Edward VII slept through a sermon here in 1908. How different it must have seemed to him from the carefree days with his old friend the Maharajah! Still, it must have been a great occasion, full of Edwardian pomp, and the glitz that only the fabulously rich can provide. Today, the church is still splendid, but the Guinesses are no longer fabulously rich, and attendance at church is no longer compulsory for estate workers; there are far fewer of them anyway. The Church of England is in decline everywhere; and, let us be honest, particularly so in this part of Suffolk, where it seems to have retreated to a state of siege. Today, the congregation of this mighty citadel is as low as half a dozen. The revolutionary disappearance of Anglican congregations in the Iveagh's homeland is now being repeated in a slow, inexorable English way.
You wander outside, and there are more curiosities. Set in the wall are two linked hands, presumably a relic from a broken 18th century memorial. They must have been set here when the wall was moved back in the 1950s. In the south chancel wall, the bottom of an egg-cup protrudes from among the flints. This is the trademark of the architect WD Caroe. To the east of the new chancel, Duleep Singh’s gravestone is a very simple one. It is quite different in character to the church behind it. A plaque on the east end of the church remembers the centenary of his death.
Continuing around the church, you come to the surprise of a long cloister, connecting the remodelled chancel door of the old church to the new bell tower. It was built in 1922 as a memorial to the wife of the first Earl Iveagh. Caroe was the architect again, and he installed eight bells, dedicated to Mary, Gabriel, Edmund, Andrew, Patrick, Christ, God the Father, and the King. The excellent guidebook recalls that his intention was for the bells to be cast to maintain the hum and tap tones of the renowned ancient Suffolk bells of Lavenham... thus the true bell music of the old type is maintained.
This church is magnificent, obviously enough. It has everything going for it, and is a national treasure. And yet, it has hardly any congregation. So, what is to be done?
If we continue to think of rural historic churches as nothing more than outstations of the Church of England, it is hard to see how some of them will survive. This church in particular has no future in its present form as a village parish church. New roles must be found, new ways to involve local people and encourage their use. One would have thought that this would be easier here than elsewhere.
The other provoking thought was that this building summed up almost two centuries of British imperial adventure, and that we lived in a world that still suffered from the consequences. It is worth remembering where the wealth that rebuilt St Andrew and St Patrick came from.
As so often in British imperial history, interference in other peoples’ problems and the imposition of short-term solutions has left massive scars and long-cast shadows. For the Punjab, as in Ireland, there are no simple solutions. Sheer proximity has, after several centuries of cruel and exploitative involvement, finally encouraged the British government to pursue a solution in Ireland that is not entirely based on self-interest. I fear that the Punjab is too far away for the British to care very much now about what they did there then.
After over one thousand days into the Saudi bombing of Yemen, which is almost entirely UK/US equipped and supported, the first large protest takes place in London of a few hundred people outside Downing Street.
[ Just in case anyone is interested I have attached a link to my research on British crimes in and against Yemen since the bombardment of Aden in 1839. Use the following url and scroll down the list of countries alphabetically for Yemen - roguenation.org/choose-by-country/ ]
They are outraged that the British government is not just rolling out the red carpet for one of the most brutal family dictatorships in the Middle East, but also quite deliberately facilitating and aiding the Saudi terror bombing of civilian targets in Yemen, including numerous schools and hospitals, in the full knowledge that this will only exacerbate the world's worst humanitarian crisis.
Since the war in Yemen started the UK has exported over £4.6 billion worth of arms, including Typhoon and Tornado aircraft as well as weaponry and Paveway IV bombs which have been used with appalling consequences in Yemen. We have even been training the Saudi air force.
The same day as the protest against the welcoming of Mohammad bin Salman at Downing Street, the British corporate owned mainstream media embarked on a massive campaign to whitewash the crown prince who has become Saudi Arabia's feared absolute ruler and who's corrupt regime has a cosy relationship with many of Britain's biggest businesses.
The deaths of tens of thousands in Yemen was, several newspapers claimed, of little or no importance in comparison to the prince's reforming zeal. The decision to allow women to drive and the reintroduction of cinemas was highlighted as the evidence that this was a regime Britain could and should support economically and diplomatically. That the Saudi government has just launched a brutal purge of political opponents and the country's Shia minotiry was not considered important or relevant.
Not since Hitler instigated a purge of his paramilitary SA in 1934, has the British press gone so far out of its way to praise a murderous dictator. Then Hitler was lauded as a moderating influence on the Nazi party. This was a deception carefully cultivated by Hitler's minister of propaganda Jozef Goebbels. Today the Saudi dictatorship have also become highly skilled in developing a propaganda campaign of which Goebbels would have been envious and the British Spectator magazine has even honoured MBS, a standard shortening of the Saudi tyrant's name, with the title "Prince of PR.."
MBS clearly understands that images of dead and dying children in Yemen could cost him dearly, so he has spent hundreds of millions of dollars to influence the British media and public, buying numerous pages of advertising in multiple newspapers, but especially in The Financial Times, so crucial in influencing Britain's business elite. Similarly billboards went up across London lauding Bin Salman as a "great reformer."
For anyone who might feel even partially persuaded by the media attempt to whitewash the Saudi regime, try and imagine how the media would react in another similar situation. Let us suppose Iran, which has been introducing extensive reforms and is now far more democratic than Saudi Arabia which makes no pretence at holding elections, had been bombing Israeli civilians for three years killing tens of thousands. Let us suppose the British government now not only welcomes the Iranian leader to visit London, but promises to continue supplying British aircraft and bombs to Iran in the full knowledge that this would mean that more Israeli schools and hospitals would be bombed and that a large part of the Israeli population could die from cholera and famine. Would the British media be so supportive then ? Of course, not, they would almost certainly demand military action against Iran. The very opposite of what they are doing now !
Surveys conducted by the Yemen Data Project, a group of academics, human rights and national security experts, showed that as of 2016 at least one third of all Saudi air strikes had hit civilian targets with the United Nations estimating in 2017 that 5,000 civilians had been killed by the Saudi bombing. The predictable indirect consequences of the bombing however have been even more catastrophic.
Britain continues to be complicit in one of the worst war crimes of the twenty first century by supplying the aircraft and weapons and the diplomatic support for Saudi Arabia's three year bombing campaign. This together with a tight blockade on basic imports of food, fuel and other essentials has created the world's worst humanitarian crisis with 76% of the population in need of humanitarian aid and 8.4 million at risk of famine, according to the United Nations World Food Programme. Additionally, over one million Yemenis have now contracted cholera while a recent outbreak of diphtheria is spreading rapidly.
While British media outlets focus on alleged Iranian violations of the arms embargo on Yemen, there is a deafening silence on the devastating role played by British aircraft and weapons, with the government granting arms export licenses worth £1.12 billion to Saudi Arabia during 2017 alone.
To think, all these events were set in motion by one simple action. Caused by one simple man. It’s interesting to consider that this could have all been avoided, had he not caught that blade in mid-air. Then again, I act as if the decision to train him was then out of my hands when it was anything but. I could have simply said no.
But I didn’t, and now the consequences of my inability to say no are becoming back to haunt us all. Does that make all this my fault?
The pain Talia’s been forced to endure.
The pain of being abandoned.
The pain of losing a child.
Would this all have been prevented were I simply able to say no?
I knew from the moment I lay eyes on him that he was no ordinary man. The fire in his eyes. The rage. It was clear as day that he was a tortured soul who sought to lash out at the world. A world that had taken everything he held most dear. For most, that would be a sign of much needed caution. One with volatile potential should never be underestimated. But of course, that was not enough to dissuade my intrigue.
Both Talia and I knew, whether we liked to admit it or not, that Bruce was a rare specimen. Chances are we would never find another like him for decades, and given my declining health.
Time was not something I had the pleasure of. Nor do I currently.
Despite my concern, I agreed to have him join our order. In fact, I went further. I took it upon myself to train him. Such an action made Bruce a target almost instantaneously, after all, who wouldn’t want to learn why the Head of the Demon would part with tradition and choose to train a complete stranger. It’s arguable that the target I placed on Bruce all but guaranteed his alienation from the rest of the League, and would eventually lead to his attempt to escape. You’d have to be foolish to trust the same people who have all tried to take your life after all.
However, the alienation also accomplished something of far greater significance. It pushed both Bruce and Talia closer together. Just as I’d hoped. The fire in his heart would burn many of his foes. But his passion for Talia would keep the blaze alight, and guarantee her own safety when my time finally came. At least…that was what I hoped for.
Instead the results where the opposite.
Rather than Talia forging him into the man he was destined to become, he began to change her. I should have seen it sooner. The greater hesitancy she showed when I would demand her to make an example of an enemy. Her reluctance to dine with both Nyssa and I on an evening. All because of him.
How I did not see it, that night she begged me to not force Bruce to undergo the final trial, I do not know. My own arrogance blinded me from the reality that lay before my eyes. My own daughter was in love, and she would have done anything for him.
To this day, I cannot be certain that the feelings were mutual between them. Part of me likes to think that they were, if only to know that Talia loved a man who cared greatly for her. But his actions speak far louder than his words ever did. If he truly cared for her, why did he abandon her? Why did he never come back for her? Most of all, where was he when she almost lost her life, giving birth to Damian?
It’s only when I properly consider his actions that I’m forced to accept the brutal reality.
He never loved her.
He simply used her to accomplish his own goals.
Now he swings around the streets of that vermin infested disgrace that his father cherished until the day he died. For a while, I regretted having Thomas Wayne be killed for Marcus to complete his trial. After all, Thomas Wayne held a significant sway across a large part of the United States and no doubt would have been a powerful ally. But with what his son has done to my family. The pain he’s caused. The lives he’s ruined.
I wish I’d made the man suffer for an eternity. Just as I will make his son suffer for all he's done to my family.
Fifteen years earlier….Twenty three hours after Bruce and Talia fled from Nanda Parbat…
Ubu: My Lord!
RG: Speak, Ubu.
Ubu: They’ve found her.
RG: And him?
Ubu: Gone sir. According to Talia, he left her in the middle of the night whilst she was asleep.
RG: He’ll likely have fled to his own castle, believing it a suitable bastion to protect him from my wrath. How naïve. Where is she now?
Ubu: The honour guard is bringing her back now.
RG: Good. Have her brought to me the moment they return.
Ubu: Yes, Master.
It would take the honour guard two hours to return her to Nanda Parbat. By all accounts she came willingly, which only cemented my view of what had transpired to lead up to this. Talia hadn’t chosen to help him flee, she’d be coerced by her own feelings towards him. Feelings which I had a significant influence in creating. In many regards, the events that caused Talia to betray my trust and help Bruce escape were my own doing. Had I known that the feelings Talia felt for him outweighed her loyalty to me, I would have separated them immediately.
A daughter who would choose the love of a stranger over blood is a danger to all. It was my duty as Head of the Demon to remind her of her place. Whether she was my child or not, no-one betrays the Demon without severe repercussions. Nyssa had learnt this long ago. But I couldn’t help but feel heartbroken knowing that my precious Talia would have to be taught this lesson herself.
By the time the honour guard returned Talia to Nanda Parbat, my body was beginning to falter. It had been two days since I had last entered the pit and the sands of time were taking their toll on my body. I knew then and there that once I had dealt with Talia, I would need to bathe in the pit’s waters. At least, that’s what I like to keep telling myself. It helps to justify what I did to her that day.
As she entered my chambers I couldn’t help but feel conflicted. She was after all, my own flesh and blood. Regardless of what it is you hear about me, you must remember that above all else. I always consider myself a father first, and a teacher second. Even if my actions say contradict that at times.
TG: Father……
I say nothing.
If there’s one thing I know, it’s that Talia is always worried when I do not answer her, and for good reason. My silence implies uncertainty, which almost always guarantees a struggle between my desire to lash out and the necessity to remain composed before my followers.
TG: Father?
RG: I did not expect this Talia. Not from you.
TG: I’m…..sorry…..
RG: I expect Nyssa to disappoint me. That poor child can do little else besides fight and kill. But you, I expected so much more from you, Talia.
TG: I know, father.
RG: It pains me to know that after everything I’ve done, all that I seek to accomplish to make your life better, this is how you treat me. You cast me aside, as if I were nothing.
TG: I didn’t want to do this, father. But I was left with no choice.
RG: LIAR!
Before I can coin my next response I reach out with my right hand and slap Talia in the face, causing her to collapse on the ground.
To this day I do not know whether I slapped her out of choice, or out of blind rage. But what I do know, is that she didn’t see me as her father in that moment. She saw me as Head of the Demon.
RG: Belief in lack of choice is a sign of weakness. A demonstration of a lack of spirit to force an alternative solution.
TG: Like when you lacked the spirit to offer an alternative to killing Dusan?
How willingly Talia mentioned his name did catch me off guard at that moment. She of all people was aware of my desire to have a son as a suitable heir. But that could never have been Dusan. The birth deformities meant he was too weak to survive even with exposure to the pit. But regardless, to have taken his life to ensure Bruce’s ascension to Demon’s Heir was perhaps the most painful decision I’d ever had to make. For her to mock me with him…it surprised me.
I’d never known her to be so cruel.
RG: Dusan was a disgrace to our family.
TG: Then what does that make me then, father?
RG: …..A disappointment.
The idea of stepping on her as she lay on the ground was tempting for having tried to use Dusan against me. Evidently she learnt more from Bruce than simply blind stupidity.
RG: Where is he?
TG: He’s gone.
RG: So I have been told. Where?
TG: How should I know?
RG: You risked your own legacy to help him escape, there’s no way you’d just allow him to leave without at least telling you where he was going. Now, where is he?
TG: What makes you think I let him leave?
RG: Nothing, because I know he left you in the middle of the night. All on your own.
TG: Don´t…
RG: In a land ruled by a tyrant who would be more than happy to make an example of my family.
TG: Father….
RG: How fortunate we found you, after he left you to die.
TG: HE DIDN’T LEAVE ME TO DIE!
RG: His actions say otherwise.
It was at that moment that I noticed a piece of paper sticking out from a pocket in her clothes. Obviously, it was from him. No doubt explaining his intentions for abandoning her. Before she has a chance to notice that I’ve spotted it, I grab hold of it and remove it from her pocket.
RG: How quaint. He claims he loves you, and that’s why he couldn’t bring himself to put you through such pain by forcing you to abandon your family.
TG: At least he cares for those he loves, unlike some.
RG: I saved your life during childbirth.
TG: By allowing mother to die.
RG: You’re welcome.
TG: Why do you care, father? Bruce is gone. He’s beyond your reach. You’ll never see him again.
RG: Oh my dear Talia. We both know, there’s no-one who is beyond my reach. Ubu!
Ubu: Yes, master?
RG: Take Talia to Pagan Mar.
Ubu: Master?
RG: She has chosen her path. She wises to act like a traitor, so she must be punished like a traitor.
TG: Father you can’t!
RG: Actions have consequences, Talia. It saddens me that I have to remind you, but if you cannot respect me as your father. Then I shall force you to respect me as the Demon’s head.
To this day I regret sending Talia to Pagan Mar. It’s a fate worse than death to be sent there. Death is swift and painless. Pagan Mar is anything but, which is why so few in the League have ever dared to oppose me. And after I’m done with Gotham, no-one else ever will….
"A gun is only good when it is used by the right person. But the wrong person wielding it will only reap the consequences." - CT-2971 'Threat'
Narrator- "They say that a big gun doesn't make a big soldier, it only makes them look like an embarrassment and, somewhat, disappointing. Many clones in the Republic all basically carry DC-17 Blaster Rifles, Blasters or, for some, the Heavy Repeaters that can pack a punch. Each clone that had been cloned, trained and supervised have all gone under the choice of weapons that they chose or deemed worthy for their desires. Once they picked their weapons, they would go through months of hard and difficult training in order to really feel and get into character with their own weapons. Sounds odd, but accurately true.'
'However, one clone amongst many chose not to choose the three basically picked weapons. And that specific clone was CT-2971, or what many call him, Threat."
_________________________
(Dantooine, Clone Barracks, Three months after the Battle of Jabiim)
A few months after the Battle of Jabiim, inside one of the Clone Barracks, Threat, along with a few other members of the squad and army were taking the time to get some target practice done, considering they were pretty much bored out of their minds. They haven't had any contact with any Separatist forces for an entire week, and most of the clones were getting anxious, annoyed and impatient. So to kill some time, they all decided to at least shoot some targets during their free time.
Threat- "Refresh!"
Reloading his guns, he watches as the target refreshes the hologram image of a Super Battle Droid, clearing away the gun barrel holes from the image. Swiftly, Threat aims his pistol and blaster at the target, hitting the droid picture with another round of blazing lasers, penetrating through the image once again.
Figuring that he waisted enough ammo, he reloads his guns as the clips fell to the floor. Hitting the button next to him, the target picture suddenly slides up to him so he could get a good look on how he did. From what see saw, the image was half burned and ripped apart from the devestating attacks from his guns. From his perspective, it was a perfect and deadly success.
Threat- "Ah! Another clean hit. Nothing like the smell of a stentch of blaster fire to boil your blood up."
???- "So this is where you went, eh Threat ol' boy?"
The voice of that person made him cringe so. Slowly turning his head around, he was faced with none other than his clone brother, Degree, who was accompanied by Kydan, Calena and his commander, Breona. The look on Degree's face had a goofy grin that made you want to punch him for no apparent reason.
Degree- "We thought you went to the other barracks to go watch some Twi'lek dancers or something."
Threat- "It's to my best interest to only point and shoot droids, not go off and have some pleasure by watching some dancers."
Degree- "Aw, come on Threat! You might find yourself a good looking wife or something!"
Degree's jokes always made his blood boil in annoyance. In all honesty, he loved his brother. He may have been the opposite of him and all, but he did care about his brother and his squad very much. However, when Degree would start to act like this, he had the intuition to just punch the man right in the jaw. And that moment was now.
Threat- *Angrily* "Degree, I'll--"
Kydan- "Okay, okay, that's enough you two! I don't need another broken out firefight right in the middle of our own barracks, and I don't need the 'both of you' to start that."
Both of the clones backed off a bit, their expressions changing to a frown as they tried not to look over at their leader, guilt rushing over them.
Threat- "Y-yes sir, sorry sir."
Degree- "Yeah, me too sir."
Kydan- "Good. Now, to the point; what were you doing Threat?"
Getting some of his pride back, he gestures over to the targetting panel that was still filled with blaster fire from earlier as he shows them his DC-17 Blaster and pistol.
Threat- "Just making some good use with these, sir. Some of the boys and I were getting bored from just standing around and doing nothing, so we decided to come on over and shoot some targets to blow off some stress and what not."
Kydan- "Hm...that's understandable. It has been boring, considering that the Separatist hasn't made a move over the past week or so. I can see why you guys would want to do something like this."
Out of the three, only Breona and Degree understood why Threat would do something like this. If there wasn't anything to fight, you might as well blow off steam with some dummies for target practice. But for Calena, she didn't understand one bit.
Calena- "Not wanting to sound rude, but this makes no sense."
Kydan- "Why's that?"
Calena- "Why would you get so stress over on the peace and quietness we're receiving? Don't you like it that we don't have to fight any Separatist forces from time to time?"
Threat- "Sadly ma'am, my blood and cloning DNA is all about fighting. That's what we were breeded for; to fight a war and win a war, with guns in our bare hands. I couldn't see myself without a blaster in both of my hands. It doesn't feel right."
She still didn't get it. She knew that the clones were all bred and trained to mostly fight, but she would have thought that they would at least like the peace and quiet from time to time.
Calena- "I still don't understand..."
Kydan- "Give it a break trooper. Cale' over here will never understand about why quietness and peace doesn't fit well with us."
Calena- "Excuse me?! What did that mean?!"
Turning to face her, Kydan gave off one of his devious and goofy grins. That meant that he was about have fun with whatever he was about to start.
Kydan- "Well, obviously someone as yourself, your highness, you have never picked up a gun in your life, nor have ever shot one off. So you have no idea what we mean."
Calena- *Glare* "That's because guns aren't for Jedi like myself. Even Obi-Wan once said, 'Blasters and other guns are so uncivilized.' So why would I want to do so?"
And this was where thigns were about to go crazy.
Kydan- "Well that's because you're a woman."
That one sentence caused Calena to go from annoyance to extreme anger and a deadly cold glare. Even Breona, Degree and Threat himself were pretty shocked and scared at her sudden expressions. If they knew that Kydan was gonna do something stupid like this, they would have left them to do whatever. However, they were now stuck.
Calena- A woman?! All because I'm a woman?! Listen here, you bloody gyneros shinnre, I could woop your sorry can out of the barracks!
(Shinnre, it means clueless moron, or, in Star Wars terms, piece of Bantha fodder)
Kydan- "Oh? Is that a challenge I'm hearing, princess?"
Calena- "You bet your damn title it is! Threat! Lend me your blaster!"
Threat- "U-Uh...y-yes ma'am..."
Taking the gun away from Threat, she watches and waits as Kydan takes position where Threat had originally stood from and aims his pistol at the target in front of him.
Calena- "I doubt you can hit that target from that far..."
Smirking, and without even looking, he turns his head away from his target and pulls the trigger three times on his pistol, fire a triple shot of yellow blazing lasers at the hologrammed target. Satisfied, he pushes the button on the side as the frame detatches from its position and slid in front of them all.
What came next suprised every one of them. His shots had hit both the head, neck and stomach of the target perfectly. Threat, who was an expert on these things, was actually more suprised than everyone else. He had met someone like his officer who could make their shots precise with just a pistol and three shots. At this moment, he actually thought he had admired the Commander.
Calena- "Wh-Wha-?! B-But how the-?!"
Kydan- "Your turn, my lady."
Rapidly shaking her head, she huffs and pushes Kydan to the side in order to get her chance at the target. However, as she held the blaster in her hand firmly, she couldn't shake the feeling of nerves slithering up on her. She had never touched a gun before, let alone look at one up close before. She was pretty terrified.
Threat- *Whisper* "Has the general ever held a gun before, commander?"
Breona- *Whisper* "Not that I know of..."
Degree- *Whisper* "I guess we're gonna find out if she's good or not."
She could sense and feel the peering eyes on her. She knew that if she messed up, she would lose the fight with Kydan, and a bit of her own pride. So, shakily pointing the gun at the target, she tried her hardest to steady herself from making a grave mistake.
And with the use of only her finger, she pulls the trigger all the way as the shot flies out of the barrel. However, when her eyes were closed, she didn't see where she had shot at. Unfortunately, that was where everyone started to panic.
When the laser bolt flew out of the barrel, it had missed its designated target and hit the sides, causing the shot to bounce off the wall into another, repeating each action swiftly. Knowing that it was bad to stand, Kydan, Threat, Breona, Degree and all the other soldiers inside dropped to the floor quickly as they could before they got hit too.
When Calena saw them taking cover, she was utterly confused by this act. But when the shot passed right by her head, she quickly understood why and dropped to the floor herself as the laser bolt kept bouncing off the steel plated walls.
What felt like an eternity, the shot finally stopped, leaving the entire room filled with fire shot marks all over the barracks. Feeling that it was now safe enough, everyone on the floor began to stand up as they took in their surroundings, seeing the marks all over.
Threat- "Wow..."
Breona- "No joke."
Degree- "The general did all that?!"
Kydan- "Sheesh Cale', it was as if you wanted to kill us or something."
Calena- "I-I didn't mean it! The gun slipped!"
Kydan just scoffed at her, knowing well enough that it was not.
Kydan- "Yeah, sure! If the gun slipped, it wouldn't have triggered the outcome of your doing. Face it, you were too scared to hold the gun in place and just pulled the trigger with your eyes close, didn't you?"
Calena became angry once again at him. But, sadly and truly though, she knew he was definitely right. This was her first time holding a gun like that, so she wasn't sure how to really handle the thing. She made a serious note that when holding something like that is 'way' different than wielding a lightsaber.
However, either way, she wasn't about to let Kydan win this without a fight.
Calena- "Well...i-if it wasn't for your cocky smile and obnoxious noises, I would have done a better job."
That was when Kydan gave a devilish grin.
Kydan- "Really? You like my cocky smile huh?"
When he said that, her face quickly turned to a red blush.
Calena- "N-No! I didn't say that!"
Kydan- "But you implied."
Calena- *Blushes even more* "No I didn't! I'll show you!"
Just as she was about to aim and shoot the gun once again, Threat had grabbed his pistol out of her hands and pushed her to the side gently.
Calena- "Hey!"
Threat- "Sorry ma'am, but under these circumstances, I've seen quite enough of how you shoot. And...sorry about this ma'am, but you ain't good enough to hold any blaster whatsoever. This ain't for everybody ma'am. And out of all them, that someone is you...general."
Calena wanted to argue back at the soldier, but just sighed in defeat. It was definitely true; she wasn't one out of many to hold a blaster like that. She was better off wielding a lightsaber than such an uncivilized weapon like that. So instead of yelling, she sighed.
Calena- "Yeah...maybe your right, Threat."
Threat just blinked in response. He was right?
Threat- "...Excuse me, ma'am?"
Even Breona and Degree were a bit confused from that. They actually thought that the general would have yelled and scolded their brother for that comment, not be right about it.
Calena- "I'm a Jedi. I've been trained and honed to wield a lightsaber only. I wasn't taught how to hold or use a blaster before in my life. So I'm agreeing with you Threat; I ain't the kind of person to use something like that."
Threat- "Uh...of-of course, general."
Calena then turned to Kydan and sighed heavily. She didn't want to say it. Gosh, she really didn't like saying it at all, especially to him. But, in utter defeat, she had to.
Calena- "And...you were right too, Kydan."
Kydan- *Smirked* "Kinda figured. But don't take it too hard, Cale'. Not many people know how to hold a blaster so much. I didn't start using one til' a little while after the Battle of Taris. It took some time to get use to, but it just takes much practice. Besides, I'm sure you'll get the hang of it eventually. I've seen you stuff like that before, and I know that you'll get even better later on. Your just like that is all."
As he finished his sentence, her faint pink blush returned to a beat red color. And that didn't go unnoticed by both Breona, Degree, and Threat, who out of the threew of them was confused as to why his general was blushing all of sudden. But quickly, he saw her shake her head quickly and just smile.
Calena- "Yeah, you're right. Thanks."
Kydan- *Wink* "No problem. Now, we should get back to the command center and update our status to the Jedi."
Calena-" Good idea. Breona, you coming?"
Breona- "Nah, I think I'm gonna stay here with the boys and shoot some targets myself. You two can go on ahead sirs."
Kydan- "Alright then. See ya' guys."
With that, Kydan and Calena leave the barracks and head over to the command center while Breona stayed and chatted with Degree and Threat.
And the first thing Threat wanted to ask was what Breona and Degree already knew from the beginning.
Threat- "Breona? Why was the general blushing at the commander like that?"
Breona- "Not too sure yet. But I have a strong feeling as to why though...
Threat- What would that be?"
Degree- "Well I definitely know what it will be...Commander Kydan is gonna get some bow-chicka-bow--OW!"
Before Degree could finish his sentence, Breona had hit him in the back of the head.
Breona- "Don't go off saying something like that, you idiot!"
Degree- *Moans* "Ow...but it's true sir!"
Threat- "What is?"
Breona- *Smirks* "The general has a thing for the commander."
Threat- "Thing? What do you mean?"
Breona- "You know...she, well...likes him."
Threat- "Well of course she likes him. They're our officers and both of them are friends, right? I would have thought that they liked each other that much."
As he finished, all Degree could was laugh histerically, falling down to the floor with a thud. Threat didn't understand why he was laughing whatsoever. He just thought that his brother had finally cracked his shell and was now broken.
Breona- "Well, yes, they are friends...but that's not what I meant trooper."
Threat- "Then what did you mean sir?"
Breona- "The general...has a crush on the commander. And that meaning...she loves him. However, she won't admit it to him nor anyone else."
It took a bit for Threat to finally understand what Breona said. But when he did, he looked a bit suprised. He didn't realize that the general liked the commander like that. He just thought they were like a brother and sister, but didn't realize that it was that far down the line, considering how they argued and challenged each other like that.
However, even though it was suprising, all he was able to do was just smirk at his brother. His eyes giving off a hint of glint in them.
Threat- "Hm...then I guess this will be an interesting war after all, sir. I gotta' say...this is gonna be one heck of a squad someday, especially with our commanding officers in charge of us."
_________________________
I gotta' say, I really enjoy making some different side comics with the crew. Even though they are based from different Clone Wars years that seperate from the series a bit, it really helps out considering that it describes who the clone is and how they really are when around their brothers or leaders. It will also show how they fitted into the main group in the near future. So I think we'll continue doing this, if it continues to do well. So if any of you liked what you saw and liked the little side stories, please let us know by showing your guy's constant support...or leave a simple fave to show your love.
So thank you all for your gracious supprot for our comic series, and please, continue to give us feedback on how the stories are going and what we could do to improve. Cause, after all, it always helps having great advise from you all. So again, thank you all and, as always, have a fan-tucking-tastic day/night! See ya' in the next one.
- Director K.W., CGN Crew Members
Scandalous Consequences.
Salamandres nécromanciers empires respiration invisibles répercussions absurdes arriérés lois,
построенные молнии недобросовестный трудности зондирующие трупы перерывов несравнимо противный,
vigoratur actus timere chlamys ardet retro quaestiones recipiunt ad aenigmata,
επιδεικτική παιχνίδια δαιμόνιος διάνοιες αυστηρή περιττά γκροτέσκο περιστάσεις άγρια αποτελέσματα,
derivato deliberateness mentale distinti periodi meditativi assorbenti riflessioni comprensioni sorprendenti,
Beobachtungen genietet verstümmelte Untersuchungen gewalttätige Eindrücke, die unzufriedene Feinde kalt machen,
нанете осакаћени резултати необичног сведочење је прегледи тајанствени оптужити послови затворени Лаугхс,
Założenia przenoszony błahe zarzuty rzucanie zbieżne poglądy próbami uprzedzeń,
آراء قاطعة لا غنى عنها يتصور قطع الاتصالات فهم مجلة يدخل في,
消え去る詩の仮定悪党の理由収入極端な争いの抽出者裏切り者の夢.
Steve.D.Hammond.
Harper Lake used to be an oasis in the Mojave Desert that attracted bird and wildlife from all corners of the desert. In a region starving for water and resource, it was a valuable stop for birds and animals alike.
This is what it looks like today. You can go to goole maps and zoom in on a satalite and see the decline in just the time the older pictures were taken to the more accurate, closer ones of today. Barely any water at all remains, and we're the reason.
This is the ugly side of agriculture, the sad reality that the effects we have on the earth extend far beyond the glaciers of Antarctica, but right here at home. Where is this photo? Harper Lake, Lockhart, California. You can drive here from Los Angeles in less than 3 hours, but you don't see Hollywood cameras here. This is the side of us we like to ignore, this is the consequence of us.
It's up to us to decide how long we let it continue.
A consequence of the withdrawal of the 10 was the LTs being displaced to the 27, and then the ADHs from the 27 to the E3 to displace SPs.
This process is roughly half complete as of today, and this is the new order on the E3, with ADH45030 at Drayton Bridge. 7.12.18
2455 South Kensington-Shepherds Bush 49
TE1571 Shepherds Bush-Acton Central 607
TEH1464 Acton Central-Gypsy Corner 266
DE20077 Gypsy Corner-Acton 440
2572 Acton-Ealing Broadway 427
2451 Ealing Broadway-Greenford E1
ADH45030 Greenford-Drayton Bridge E3
2462 Drayton Bridge-Ealing Broadway E1
2571 Ealing Broadway-Acton 427
TEH1452 Acton-Hammersmith 266
DPS30694 Hammersmith-Barnes Stn 72
707019 Barnes-Waterloo
The phased introduction of the Public Service Vehicles Accessibility Regulations 2000 means that whilst single-deck buses over 7.5 tonnes must be fully compliant from 1st January 2016, double deckers have a further 12 months grace. Therefore, Olympians can still be legally used on registered local bus services until January 2017. Not that I'm complaining. However a less able-bodied bus passenger who could until now easily board an elderly low-floor Dart may have a different opinion.
First South West (Devon & Cornwall as was) still operates a diminishing number of Volvo Olympians in Cornwall. However, their days appear to be numbered as more replacement Volvo B7TLs are due to be cascaded from South Yorkshire.
Surprisingly, one of the Olympians still giving sterling service in Cornwall is former First Cymru Palatine II-bodied 34162, which was new to the Bristol fleet and arrived in South Wales with her three sisters in 2008. She transferred to the South West in August 2014 after being replaced at Pontardawe depot by a former Hampshire & Dorset Alexander ALX400-bodied Volvo B7TL, bowing out after operating on the Llanelli Eisteddfod Park & Ride contract in the first week of the month.
In this late May 2014 shot, she is leaving Neath's Victoria Gardens on Service 903 (Neath-Pontardawe-Ystalyfera-Ystradgynlais-Abercraf), which caters for Neath Port Talbot College students.
'A life without consequences. . . that's a dream I live out constantly. Or at least every night. I live this life I live drinking Coke, breathing air and not having time for uptight. Only time for living. Man, the price to pay. In short, there are always consequences.'
- Lucas Hopper
Nah, my ears aren't that big. . headphones.
No, mis oídos no son tan grandes. . auriculares
Miami, FL (it's not quite paradise, but it's so near I feel it every morning)
Instead of a Christmas tree... On New Year's Eve, I want to congratulate everyone with this photo.
Bellow I wrote a short (actually not...) congratulation for everybody in Russian. It would be quite hard for me to make it in English with all meaning I want to share, so feel free to use translation services you prefer to get the ideas...
Искренне желаю всем (в том числе и себе) плодотворного нового года. Для тех, кто использует празднование нового года в качестве точки отсчета, желаю преуспеть в том, чтобы всегда и везде фокусироваться на том, на что можно повлиять, как-то изменить. Остальным же желаю получить прекрасные плоды вашего труда (в том числе и над собой). Пусть всё, что вы посадили в этом году, во всех предыдущих годах прорастет в этом году и даст свои плоды. Но также желаю вам помнить о том, что нужно ещё и регулярно поливать и ухаживать за растениями… Желаю всем принятия того, что вы можете повлиять лишь на малую часть от того, что вас окружает. И вдохновения для того, чтобы продолжать свой путь, продолжать сотворять свою жизнь, делать ваш внутренний и окружающий мир лучше, добрее, наполнять радостью. Пусть всё способствует вашему росту и слиянию с Природой, своим чистым Сознанием.
В эти дни непременно стоит отметить для себя и поблагодарить себе и окружающему миру за все пройденные уроки, приобретения, провалы, ошибки. За то, что ни смотря ни на что мы продолжаем наше космическое путешествие. А если нам до сих пор трудно понять кто мы такие и что мы делаем в этом мире - то это повод начать предпринимать маленькие, пусть даже крошечные действия… Стоит фокусироваться на действиях, а потом уже на размышлениях или рефлексии…
Пусть в Новом году будут только благостные последствия наших действий (или бездействия). Пусть окружающие вас люди и обстоятельства всячески помогают вам, а вы в свою очередь инвестируйте в них. Что стоит наша жизнь, если в ней отсутствуют другие люди?…
Мира, Гармонии и Целостности в Новом году!
Happy Holidays everyone!
In Slavutych, the President of Ukraine Volodymyr Zelenskyy and his wife Olena paid tribute to the Ukrainians who eliminated the consequences of the 1986 Chornobyl nuclear power plant accident.
“38 years ago, the Chornobyl disaster occurred. A radiation accident whose consequences went far beyond Ukraine, and even our entire Europe. The world felt that disaster. But still, it was localized. People stood up to defend life and fulfilled their duty,” the Head of the State said.
The memory of heroes — liquidators of the Chornobyl disaster was honored with a minute of silence.
Volodymyr Zelenskyy thanked everyone who protected lives 38 years ago and presented the Orders of Merit of the third class and the Orders “For Courage” of the third class to Chornobyl NPP employees and liquidators of the accident.
The President expressed his respect to all the people in Slavutych for saving us all then and helping Ukraine in the spring of 2022, during the full-scale Russian invasion.
“Slavutych did not submit to the occupiers. It showed its temper. It fought. It defended itself. And we all saw you right here on this square. We also saw the heroism of those of our people who worked shifts at the station during the Russian occupation. People saved Ukraine in 2022, and it is only people, our entire nation, that will defeat Putin. No evil can stand against brave people who do everything to protect life,” he noted.
Volodymyr Zelenskyy also talked to the residents of Slavutych, including the relatives of the captured National Guardsmen, who appealed to the Head of State to return the Chornobyl NPP defenders home.
“We will definitely return everything. Not only our territory, but first of all our people, all our POWs: both military and civilians, warriors of both our Armed Forces and our National Guard. We remember everyone. We will definitely do it,” the President assured.
A personal consequence of BREXIT?
Haus Lange in Krefeld is an address of pilgrimage for architectural studies and those people interested in Ludwig Mies von der Rohe’s style setting early work. Splendid and ageless architecture and garden environment.
Most recently this building became a new home for BREXIT refugee family that felt no longer welcome in England. Has it really become ‘a home’? If you watch the series of photos I took you might feel shocked as I was when I first lingered thru the stylish rooms. The car was still packed. The door was open… I entered as invited, saw valuable furniture, most goods still in boxes, piles of books. The pantechnicon obviously just left. Also very obvious: The landlady, mother and wife also left and will stay absent: ‘You will never see me again’ written on the mirror. That wasn’t a good sign. I felt sorry.
Then to my utmost horror I found the host floating dead in the pool… A husband, a father: dead! And nobody seems to care!
Even more desperate the boy hiding in the dining room – his distressed body language seems to ask: Can this my home? Where is my mother? Who is my mother? Where are my roots?
You may form your own opinion on this photo story – but being uprooted is the worst prerequisite for a new and positive start. Reasons are manifold. But if it comes to politics as a cause: Think before you vote, choose well whom you elect. It might affect your families’ life, too.
The artists Michael Elgreen and Ingar Dragset make us think with their fictive story and installation of an unhappy start in Haus Lange, Krefeld.
I as a photographer tried to transfer this mood and the atmosphre into 17 picture series ‘Die Zugezogenen’.
Krefeld, February 2017
Thomas Kopf
Berlin boasts two zoological gardens, a consequence of decades of political and administrative division of the city. The older one, called Zoo Berlin, founded in 1844, is situated in what is now called "City West". It is the most species-rich zoo worldwide. The other one, called Tierpark Berlin ("Animal Park"), was established on the long abandoned premises of Friedrichsfelde Palace Park in the eastern borough of Lichtenberg, in 1954. Covering 160 ha, it is the largest landcape zoo in Europe. And honouring its past as landscape park, it still has large gardened areas.
Berlin boasts two zoological gardens, a consequence of decades of political and administrative division of the city. The older one, called Zoo Berlin, founded in 1844, is situated in what is now called "City West". It is the most species-rich zoo worldwide. The other one, called Tierpark Berlin ("Animal Park"), was established on the long abandoned premises of Friedrichsfelde Palace Park in the eastern borough of Lichtenberg, in 1954. Covering 160 ha, it is the largest landcape zoo in Europe.
Robert George Kelly
Irish, 1822-1910
National Gallery of Ireland
Dublin, Ireland
This picture, shown in Dublin in 1848, depicts the sorry consequences of the eviction of a desperate family from their home in rural Ireland. Constabulary men arrest a young father for attacking his landlord's agent, who lies gravely injured on the road. In the background, one group of mounted soldiers attend the vacated cottage as another engages enraged locals. Kelly derived the title of the painting from the response of the Catholic priest, who gestures the heavens in despair as a tear falls down his cheek.
He assigned an alternative title,"An Ejectment in Ireland," to the painting when exhibiting it in London in 1853, presumably in an attempt to make the work less contentious. He was unsuccessful, however, as the picture was criticized for its 'vulgar' subject matter.
Quequén, Puerto de Necochea, Pcia. de Buenos Aires, Argentina
Copyright © Susana Mulé
© All rights reserved.
© Please don't use this image on websites, blogs or other media without my explicit permission
A breach of copyright has legal consequences
If you are interested in this picture, please contact me. Thanks.
susanamul@yahoo.com.ar
Went through one of the worst shit in my life because of this fuckin place. I'll never ever forget this place and the mother fuckin cops who dont give a fuck about people and fuck around for money. Have I used the word 'fuck' too much? Well...I dont give a fuck.
New England is laced with thousands of miles of abandoned railroads. Some were never of much consequence and should never have been built while others were once heavy duty signaled mainlines.
This is one of the latter types and arguably this structure was the most famous on the line. This is Joslin Arch on the former Boston and Maine Cheshire Branch that provided the Fitchburg Railroad and later the B&M a connection from the east west mainline at South Ashburn, MA northwest 54 miles to Bellows Falls, VT. Organized by businessmen in the important town of Keene, NH the Cheshire Railroat opened its thru route in 1849 and was independent for its first 40 years until being absorbed by the FRR.
Engineered and built to a gold standard it featured some 20 stone arch bridges but none more impressive than this one at MP 89.4 (measured from Boston) crossing the East Branch of the Ashuelot River in South Keene. The largest on the line it is 45 ft above the river and has an inside diameter of 60 ft with a total length including the wing walls of 186 ft. Built in 1847 of locally cut granite it served for over 120 years until the last train ran in late 1971 or early 1972, I don't know exactly. In its glory days however countless milk trains fro. the Rutland connection passed on their way to Boston as well as glamorous passenger trains such as the Green Mountain Flyer and the Mount Royal. But none were more famous than The Cheshire that from 1944 to 1952 used the famous number 6000, the pioneering 1935 Budd Built 'Flying Yankee' articulated streamlimer modeled after the Burlington's famed Pioneer Zephyr. To see a picture of the fluted stainless steel speedster on this very structure check out this link: blog.nhstateparks.org/from-railroad-to-rail-trail-a-histo...
If you care to learn more about the Cheshire I HIGHLY recommend the book Iron Roads of the Monadnock Region by Blodget and Richard's.
Keene, New Hampshire
Friday August 19, 2022
A consequence of the recent re-organisation of Stagecoach operations in the North West of England has seen the Preston and Chorley-based operations transferred to the Cumbria and North Lancashire business, resulting in the pair of Ribble Express liveried Scanias technically now no longer with Ribble, although still seeing regular use on the X2, a service which serves a part of the region unrelated to the pair's new parentage. 15300 illustrates the point when seen in Preston at the start of its journey.
This image is copyright and must not be reproduced or downloaded without the permission of the photographer.
A personal consequence of BREXIT?
Haus Lange in Krefeld is an address of pilgrimage for architectural studies and those people interested in Ludwig Mies von der Rohe’s style setting early work. Splendid and ageless architecture and garden environment.
Most recently this building became a new home for BREXIT refugee family that felt no longer welcome in England. Has it really become ‘a home’? If you watch the series of photos I took you might feel shocked as I was when I first lingered thru the stylish rooms. The car was still packed. The door was open… I entered as invited, saw valuable furniture, most goods still in boxes, piles of books. The pantechnicon obviously just left. Also very obvious: The landlady, mother and wife also left and will stay absent: ‘You will never see me again’ written on the mirror. That wasn’t a good sign. I felt sorry.
Then to my utmost horror I found the host floating dead in the pool… A husband, a father: dead! And nobody seems to care!
Even more desperate the boy hiding in the dining room – his distressed body language seems to ask: Can this my home? Where is my mother? Who is my mother? Where are my roots?
You may form your own opinion on this photo story – but being uprooted is the worst prerequisite for a new and positive start. Reasons are manifold. But if it comes to politics as a cause: Think before you vote, choose well whom you elect. It might affect your families’ life, too.
The artists Michael Elgreen and Ingar Dragset make us think with their fictive story and installation of an unhappy start in Haus Lange, Krefeld.
I as a photographer tried to transfer this mood and the atmosphre into 17 picture series ‘Die Zugezogenen’.
Krefeld, February 2017
Thomas Kopf
This picture is taken at one of my favorite spots in town, Fjällgatan, looking west.
Taken on Sunday, at approximately 4:50 pm.
Look at the number of cars on a Sunday afternoon, and not during rush hours.
The demolishing / restructuring of Slussen sure takes it toll in many ways.
From what I understand, the project will not be finished until the year 2023....
A consequence of climate change: After the warmest Christmas ever - about 15 °C - plants started blooming. Now they are covered with snow.
I promised this upload for Thursday, but a day early never hurt anybody, right? It’s been quite a while since I’ve posted a teaser photo! A consequence of my slower upload schedule, sadly, as well as just the fact that for some series I don’t have any teasers, haha. But for this one I definitely do, and I also think it’s going to be a fairly easy one to figure out – so have at it in the comments! I look forward to reading your guesses, and sharing this new destination with you soon.
As a programming note, “soon” will mean “mid-July,” as I’m pressing pause on my uploads once again until then. Work has unfortunately gotten busy again, but the main driver of that is simply that I’m also taking some time off work not to have any obligations for a while, and thought it’d be best to take flickr off my plate for that time period, too. I do hope to have a blog post out by the end of June, but as for regular photos, check back about a month from now for this new series to begin!
(c) 2022 Retail Retell
These places are public so these photos are too, but just as I tell where they came from, I'd appreciate if you'd say who :)
Have you ever felt passionate about feeling passionless? I'm talking about the grey days, the in-between moments like the Nova Scotian forest, after autumn but before winter. What do you say about the feeling of unfeeling, the solid state of sleeping in, wanting to awaken, but not wanting to get up?
It can be an expansive expression, standing in an open field with nothing but shivering grass between you and the furthest distance. Will Oldham called it "that grand dark feeling of emptiness", and I can't conceive of a clearer term for it.
I feel unendingly lonely on desperate days like these, with a chill in my fingertips and a creaking of naked branches, filling my ears with the quietest sounds. The world bends overhead, and the skeleton forest shines pale against the greying sky, like a small child on an x-ray. I hold myself close and write odd words without understanding their consequence. They peel back the layers of fallen leaves shrouding my soul. I pile them up elsewhere, and jump feetfirst into them instead.
I miss my love on days like these, indeed, I miss love itself – and in the voices of a softly settling forest, I whisper tales of dryness, hardness, and the fullness, surely, the overflowingness, of emptiness...