20220614 HELSINKI. KULOSAAREN KASINO. NAFM2022. PHOTO: ATTE KAJOVA

Ministry for Foreign Affairs produces photo material for media representatives. Please feel free to use the photos for journalistic purposes, considering the following restrictions: One-time picture publishing right, no archiving or reselling. Editorial use only. When publishing the pictures, the name of the photographer and organisation shall be mentioned as a source. No picture manipulation is permitted. The holder of the picture rights and/or the organisation shall at all times retain the copyright to the picture. The publisher is not entitled to transfer rights to a third party. When publishing the pictures, the publisher shall ensure the legality of the context where the pictures are used, obtain the permissions and consents required for their publication, and observe the generally established practices and decency. The publisher shall also obtain the permissions needed for any names, persons, works of art, trademarks, and proprietary rights shown in the pictures. The publisher shall ensure that publication of the pictures does not insult anyone’s privacy or dignity.

 

because some low life sack of dung didn't have the common decency to bring it to the dumps...

Queens Of The Stone Age with John Garcia at the Wiltern Theater, Los Angeles, 20th Dec 2005

  

* if you are going to ignore the copyright on these images and post them elsewhere on the web then at least have the decency to credit me with them *

Very ominous clouds due to deliberately short shutter exposure.

VISIT TO NOKIA AND SITRA. PHOTO: ATTE KAJOVA

 

Ministry for Foreign Affairs produces photo material for media representatives. Please feel free to use the photos for journalistic purposes, considering the following restrictions: One-time picture publishing right, no archiving or reselling. Editorial use only. When publishing the pictures, the name of the photographer and organisation shall be mentioned as a source. No picture manipulation is permitted. The holder of the picture rights and/or the organisation shall at all times retain the copyright to the picture. The publisher is not entitled to transfer rights to a third party. When publishing the pictures, the publisher shall ensure the legality of the context where the pictures are used, obtain the permissions and consents required for their publication, and observe the generally established practices and decency. The publisher shall also obtain the permissions needed for any names, persons, works of art, trademarks, and proprietary rights shown in the pictures. The publisher shall ensure that publication of the pictures does not insult anyone’s privacy or dignity.

Farewell Reception on the occasion of the 11th Arctic Council Ministerial Meeting at Arktikum.

 

Tenor Petrus Schroderus perfoming at Arktikum Glass Hall.

 

Finland hosts the 11th Arctic Council Ministerial Meeting on 7 May in Rovaniemi. Minister-level representatives from the eight Arctic States will convene to review and approve work completed under the two-year Finnish Chairmanship to improve sustainable development and environmental protection in the Arctic.

 

Ministry for Foreign Affairs provides photo material for media representatives, participants and organisers of the meeting. Please feel free to use the photos, considering the following restrictions: Not for commercial purposes nor reselling. When publishing the pictures, the name of the photographer and organization shall be mentioned as the source. No picture manipulation is permitted. The holder of the picture rights and/or the organisation shall at all times retain the copyright to the picture. When publishing the pictures, the publisher shall ensure the legality of the context where the pictures are used, obtain the permissions and consents required for their publication, and observe the generally established practices and decency. The publisher shall ensure that publication of the pictures does not insult anyone’s privacy or dignity.

 

Photo: Jouni Porsanger / Ministry for Foreign Affairs of Finland

This really big dragonfly did not have the decency to pose on something pretty . Actually on a beam on the pergola with the netting for the climatis...But i liked his inner workings!!

Look closely, there is something there.

ift.tt/2gx2zcp

VISIT TO NOKIA AND SITRA. PHOTO: ATTE KAJOVA

 

Ministry for Foreign Affairs produces photo material for media representatives. Please feel free to use the photos for journalistic purposes, considering the following restrictions: One-time picture publishing right, no archiving or reselling. Editorial use only. When publishing the pictures, the name of the photographer and organisation shall be mentioned as a source. No picture manipulation is permitted. The holder of the picture rights and/or the organisation shall at all times retain the copyright to the picture. The publisher is not entitled to transfer rights to a third party. When publishing the pictures, the publisher shall ensure the legality of the context where the pictures are used, obtain the permissions and consents required for their publication, and observe the generally established practices and decency. The publisher shall also obtain the permissions needed for any names, persons, works of art, trademarks, and proprietary rights shown in the pictures. The publisher shall ensure that publication of the pictures does not insult anyone’s privacy or dignity.

I didn't complete the project (yet... someday I will... it'll have a shattered glass effect) but I figured I'd share.

 

A while back, I got extremely angry with someone I loved very very much and wrote the following about him. I was so angry, so that is what inspired this project. The background typography is actually all of the words of the piece I wrote. Warning: it's very angry! ;) I'm not anymore, though :)

 

What is left but dormant rage?

 

I feel as though I'm getting a little farther away from anything worthwhile. Every day that I spend in contemplative disinterest, every hour of dispassionate existence, every worthless minute of self-constructed solitude, every endless second of persistent vexation. I cannot forgive, not truly, not yet, because all the things that went wrong are still going wrong, and my life is still in flames, and all I can do is look away, pretend not to give a fuck. But the truth is, I'm angry. There are ups, but they aren't the norm anymore. I'm not happy now, with a bad day once in a while - instead I've become a lethargic disinterested wretch who forces herself to recognize once in a while that there are still things that are beautiful, worth living for, worth pursuing. But my heart isn't in it now, and my pursuits are nil. It's been so long since I've achieved. Not only that, but it's been long since I've even attempted. No investment of self, no sacrifice, no courage, no hope. And every day, I look at myself and see everything that I lack, and not only can I not figure out how to change it, how to grow, but for the first time in my life, I don't really even care. It's become tremendously difficult for me to care about anything enough to do anything about it. Only enough for me to remember why I'm in the state I'm in, the one I try to suppress and escape from, and think of my sorry scapegoat, and all of the reasons for me to hate him. Then the hate goes nowhere, and does nothing. It simply takes the reels of tape from my most repulsive memories and plays them back in perfect clarity, so that I can be reminded further of my weaknesses. I can't help but hate him for everything. It's a near perpetual loathing that I try to deny for the sake of goodness and decency and forgiveness, but every day that spend distracting myself from my self-orchestrated symphony of perfectly harmonic worthlessness, I return to the fateful question, why? And the answer is always that some people are no damn good, that I got played, lied to, used, manipulated, pressured, run down, attacked, and abandoned. Misfortune, that I ever met him. And the only thing I don't regret about the whole damn thing is telling him that I sincerely wish we'd never met, that my knowing him has been the undisputedly most wretched experience of my entire life. And I can't fucking help but be angry. Every day I waste clenching my fists reminds me, and my life continues to be absolutely empty.

 

Here's a drawing a created for our up-coming-semi-annually-Lockwasher-poker-extravagance. I get some of the good ol' boys together for an evening is filled with BS & debauchery. Rules of decency are loosely enforced, if at all. Let the poker chip fly!

“Costume Design and Home Planning” by Estelle Peel Izor who copyrighted in 1916. Illustrated by Katherine Porter Brown and Rachel Taft Dixon. Published by Atkinson, Mentzer and Co., of Boston, New York, Chicago and Dallas.

 

“The first purpose of Clothes was not for warmth, or decency, but ornament. What changes are wrought, not by Time, yet in, Time! Clothes gave us individuality, distinctions, social polity; Clothes have made men of us.” Carlyle

Queens Of The Stone Age, Schlossberg, Graz, Austria

 

p.s. if you are gonna post my copyrighted images elsewhere on the internet at least have the decency to credit me with them or link them back to here, or i'll probably stop posting them or at least start putting big watermarks on them.

Destroyed by the 1906 Earthquake was improperly engineered and some say the victim of corruption by Boss Abe Ruef and Mayor Eugene Schmitz

 

more from Wikipedia:

In the years following the San Francisco earthquake, Unitarian minister Rev. Leavitt worked with the city's mayor and civil service on relief work. But, ironically, Leavitt later turned against the Mayor and his lieutenants after his discovery of corruption at the highest levels of San Francisco's City Hall, which Leavitt later helped expose. The city's mayor was convicted in the investigation that followed, and the entire Board of Supervisors resigned in the wake of the scandal. "We have dreamed we were living under the government of laws," Leavitt wrote following the attempted assassination of Assistant San Francisco District Attorney Heney, who was investigating corruption Leavitt helped uncover, "whereas we were living under the government of newspapers hired by corrupt corporations, and the enemies of civic decency."

  

Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transvestite, Freedom, Self Expression, All, Inclusive, Acceptance, Acknowledge, Parade, Charlotte, Downtown, Girl, Backside, Young, Different, Rainbow, Colors,Skirt, Tutu, Walk, Legs, Topless, Cover, Decency, Legal, Normal, Diversity

Unspoilt, peaceful, Georgian country parish church, mostly dating from 1719-20 but built on the foundation of a much older church. From the outside, it is a handsome church, X-plan, with an additional wing at the west end, topped by a belfry tower, containing the ducal retiring rooms. The interior, renovated 1784-5 and re-arranged circa 1870, has a typical presbyterian layout with central pulpit and three galleries. Many of the box pews have a central communion table. The north aisle of the church is taller and more sophisticated, built for the Duke of Queensberry and remaining from the earlier church. Inside the Queensberry Aisle is the real jewel of the church: the most amazing monument for the Queensberry burial vault, a baroque mural monument and free-standing baldacchino carved in 1695 by John van Nost to the design of James Smith who was also architect of the later church. A riot of swagged fabric, garlands of flowers, urns, barley-sugar columns, cherubs, skulls and pediments, all in gleaming white marble. 'There are few buildings in which baroque magnificence and presbyterian decency are so happily combined.' (George Hay, Architecture of Scottish Post-Reformation Churches). The churchyard contains some fine 17th-19th century stone monuments, many with classical ornament, including the martyr's monument to Daniel MacMichael and the 1685 monument to the children of William Lukup, Master of Works at nearby Drumlanrig.

Catching up on some back shots from the beginning of the year

 

On a walk around the Addington Cemetery with a wonderful Flickr friend. February 13, 2016 Christchurch New Zealand.

 

There is so much damaged in the cemetery because of the earthquake we have had. It is such a pity as I don' think it will ever be fully repaired.

 

The Addington Cemetery was established in 1858 when the Scottish Presbyterians of St Andrew’s Church purchased land for a cemetery in Selwyn Street. Although not the first cemetery in Christchurch, Addington was in fact the first “public” cemetery, “being open to all persons of any religious community” and allowing the performance of any religious service “not contrary to public decency”.

 

The first burial took place on the 10th of November 1858. The cemetery has several persons of note buried within its grounds including activist Kate Sheppard, Christchurch Mayor Tommy Taylor and members of the pioneer family, the Deans.

For More Info:http://my.christchurchcitylibraries.com/addington-cemetery/

Runner-up in the 'Strangest Misshape' category at the Halifax Agricultural Show. The first prize winner seemed to have vanished, perhaps to protect public decency.

Suomen ulkomaanedustustojen päälliköt kokoontuvat vuosittaiseen tapaamiseensa Helsinkiin 19.–22. elokuuta. Kokous järjestetään Kulttuuritehdas Korjaamolla Töölössä. #slsk19

 

Kuvat: Petri Krook/ Ulkoministeriö

 

Ministry for Foreign Affairs provides photo material for media representatives, participants and organisers of the meeting. Please feel free to use the photos, considering the following restrictions: Not for commercial purposes nor reselling. When publishing the pictures, the name of the photographer and organization shall be mentioned as the source. No picture manipulation is permitted. The holder of the picture rights and/or the organisation shall at all times retain the copyright to the picture. When publishing the pictures, the publisher shall ensure the legality of the context where the pictures are used, obtain the permissions and consents required for their publication, and observe the generally established practices and decency. The publisher shall ensure that publication of the pictures does not insult anyone’s privacy or dignity.

As you can see there is yet another PHOTO THIEF @ work!

How sad, do people really not know what COPYRIGHT means, in SIMPLE words... IF IT IS NOT YOUR IMAGE, THEN, YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO IT!!!

It is an INFRINGEMENT of the LAW!

If you love an image SOOOOO MUCH that you'd like to 'use' it, you have the duty and obligation to ask the creative brain behind the image AND HAVE THE COURTESY and DECENCY then to credit the artist, like you would with a painting or sculpture!

From now on I am going to publicly NAME AND SHAME THEM.

 

This here is Nadja71 www.flickr.com/photos/43653864@N07/4134418002/

 

It is not just from me that she stole… many more, best check!

Also, I know we live in ‘busy’ times, but do give a quick glance at comments above yours, I wrote mine in BOLD and CAPITALS and STLL people invited and awarded!

I again thank ALL the admins for their help and sympathy, Theoro, Weirena, juntos, Geniebell.

YOU CAN HELP BY SENDING THIS TO AS MANY GROUPS AS POSSIBLE!

Prevent it from happening to YOU!

All the best, I’ll have a lie-down now, this exhausts me, I’d much rather be creatively busy then dealing with all this….

THANX, M, (*_*)

 

Please do not use this image on websites, blogs or any other media without my explicit permission. © All rights reserved

   

READ LARGE and On Black

“Costume Design and Home Planning” by Estelle Peel Izor who copyrighted in 1916. Illustrated by Katherine Porter Brown and Rachel Taft Dixon. Published by Atkinson, Mentzer and Co., of Boston, New York, Chicago and Dallas.

 

“The first purpose of Clothes was not for warmth, or decency, but ornament. What changes are wrought, not by Time, yet in, Time! Clothes gave us individuality, distinctions, social polity; Clothes have made men of us.” Carlyle

Sikhism originated in the 15th century, in the Punjab region by Guru Nanak, who preached ideas that were radical for his age: he denounced Hinduism's oppressive caste system and Islam's gender discrimination, preaching that all people can commune with the divine equally, without the intervention of rituals or priests. The Sikh faith is a monotheistic religion, meaning Sikhs worship one God. The three core pillars of Sikhism are: vaṇḍ chakkō (sharing with others, helping those in need, as well as participating as part of a community), kirat karō (earning/making a living honestly, without exploitation or fraud, and speaking the truth at all times) and naam japna (meditating on God’s name to live a life of decency and humility).

The temporary distractions of the material world are seen as an illusion. The qualities of ego, anger, greed, attachment and lust are known as the Five Thieves that rob a person of their ability to realize their oneness with God and creation. Sikhs work to counteract the temptations of these qualities through the values of service, equality, and seeking justice for all. Sikhs also believe that one’s form on Earth is only a temporary vessel for the eternal soul. Thus, the death of the physical body is a natural part of the life cycle, while the soul remains. Death is not an end, but merely the progression of the soul on its journey toward God.

Nine more gurus succeeded Guru Nanak (Angad, Amar Das, Ram Das, Arjan, Har Gobind, Har Rai, Har Krishan, Tegh Bahadur, and Gobind Singh), and continued to spread his teachings across the world.

The last guru, Guru Gobind Singh, named the Sikh sacred text, the Guru Granth Sahib, to be the eternal Guru that would guide the Sikhs going forward. It consists of 1,430 Anks, or pages, and 6,000 Sabads, or line compositions, all are written in poetic verse and are aligning to the rhythmic forms of ancient north Indian classical music. At the core of the Guru Granth Sahib is a yearning for a world governed by divine justice, without oppression of any kind.

The final living guru, Gobind Singh, also established the Khalsa, or order of Sikh soldier-saints. They are recognizable by "The 5 k's," their physical articles of faith: Kesh (unshorn hair and beard), Kirpan (ceremonial sword), Kangha (comb), Kara (steel bracelet) and Kachha (drawers). The Dastar, or turban, is considered a spiritual crown, a token of remembrance of the Sikh principles.

 

Subathu, Himachal Pradesh, India

If you fall in California, please have the decency to do it in style.

Depeche Mode Walking In My Shoes (youtu.be/srqTq3juh_0)

 

I would tell you about the things

They put me through

The pain I've been subjected to

But the Lord himself would blush

The countless feasts laid at my feet

Forbidden fruits for me to eat

But I think your pulse would start to rush

 

Now I'm not looking for absolution

Forgiveness for the things I do

But before you come to any conclusions

Try walking in my shoes

Try walking in my shoes

 

You'll stumble in my footsteps

Keep the same appointments I kept

If you try walking in my shoes

If you try walking in my shoes

 

Morality would frown upon

Decency look down upon

The scapegoat fate's made of me

But I promise now, my judge and jurors

My intentions couldn't have been purer

My case is easy to see

 

I'm not looking for a clearer conscience

Peace of mind after what I've been through

And before we talk of any repentance

Try walking in my shoes

Try walking in my shoes

 

You'll stumble in my footsteps

Keep the same appointments I kept

If you try walking in my shoes

If you try walking in my shoes

Try walking in my shoes

 

Now I'm not looking for absolution

Forgiveness for the things I do

But before you come to any conclusions

Try walking in my shoes

Try walking in my shoes

 

You'll stumble in my footsteps

Keep the same appointments I kept

If you try walking in my shoes

 

You'll stumble in my footsteps

Keep the same appointments I kept

If you try walking in my shoes

Try walking in my shoes

If you try walking in my shoes

Try walking in my shoes

“Costume Design and Home Planning” by Estelle Peel Izor who copyrighted in 1916. Illustrated by Katherine Porter Brown and Rachel Taft Dixon. Published by Atkinson, Mentzer and Co., of Boston, New York, Chicago and Dallas.

 

“The first purpose of Clothes was not for warmth, or decency, but ornament. What changes are wrought, not by Time, yet in, Time! Clothes gave us individuality, distinctions, social polity; Clothes have made men of us.” Carlyle

Minister for Foreign Affairs of Finland Timo Soini and Secretary General Thorbjørn Jagland.

 

The Session of the Committee of Ministers, to be held at Finlandia Hall on 17 May 2019, will mark the end of Finland’s Presidency of the Committee of Ministers of the Council of Europe. At the meeting, Finland will hand over the Presidency to France. More than 30 ministers from the member States of the Council of Europe will attend the meeting. The meeting will be chaired by Foreign Minister Timo Soini.

 

Ministry for Foreign Affairs provides photo material for media representatives, participants and organisers of the meeting. Please feel free to use the photos, considering the following restrictions: Not for commercial purposes nor reselling. When publishing the pictures, the name of the photographer and organization shall be mentioned as the source. No picture manipulation is permitted. The holder of the picture rights and/or the organisation shall at all times retain the copyright to the picture. When publishing the pictures, the publisher shall ensure the legality of the context where the pictures are used, obtain the permissions and consents required for their publication, and observe the generally established practices and decency. The publisher shall ensure that publication of the pictures does not insult anyone’s privacy or dignity.

 

Photo: Kimmo Räisänen / Ministry for Foreign Affairs of Finland

  

“Though I've tried before to tell her,

Of the feelings I have for her

in my heeeeeeeeart,

Every time that I come near her,

I just lose my nerve as I've done

from the staaaaaart!

Every little thing she does is magic!”

 

Zatanna’s ringtone. She sits up from bed and snatches the singing flip phone off her side table, and takes note of the clock in the corner of its screen - it’s 8:30 in the morning. Below this clock, though, is a name - one left unacknowledged before she answers the call.

 

“Hello?”

 

“Zee, where the hell are you?” Zatanna’s close friend and stage manager, Mikey Dowling, whispers through gritted teeth on the other line.

 

“Mikey? What are you talking about?” asks Zatanna, a hand on her forehead.

 

“Remember when we scheduled your magic shows for the season? And when we agreed to have one on October 30th, at 8:30 AM?”

 

“That’s gotta be a typo - why on Earth would I have a show this early in the morning?”

 

“I thought it was a little weird, too, but it’s too late to go back now; there’s already an audience! Biggest in months!”

 

“Shit, seriously? Alright, alright, I’m on my way.” Zatanna hangs up the phone, and casts a spell to reequip her magician attire. She rushes out of her bedroom in a panic, but before she can manage to exit the apartment entirely, she is stopped in her tracks by John Constantine.

 

“Wait,” he says, a hand out.

 

She turns to him, as he stands by the table - the one Alan Dell’s corpse once sat beside.

 

“Where did-..?” Zatanna points to the empty chair.

 

“Oh, he’s still there - I used a cloaking spell. It’s temporary, in this one state of emergency. I’ll figure out something better. Just hasn’t come to me yet.”

 

“‘State of emergency’? What’s going on-“

 

Knock-knock-knock.

 

“Come in, Dee Cee,” John calls out.

 

The door is opened by a man with brunette curls, a sweater of slate blue polyester, and a police badge on display between his fingers.

 

“That’s Detective Dee Cee, to you,” the man says to John - in a thick Jersey accent - before looking down to Zatanna. “Dale Colton. I’m with the SFPD.”

 

“He’s my informant. Or one of, anyway,” John explains.

 

“Whoa whoa whoa, John, you’re not gonna wait for me to close the door first?” asks Dale, a small smirk contrasting with his bushy, worried brows as he carefully pushes the door shut. 'Click,' says the latch.

 

Zatanna’s pupils dilate at the door knob, and she stumbles slightly. “I hate to say this, but I really have to go-“

 

“I overheard, Zee - you have a show scheduled - but, I think you’ve aught to postpone - and I would never tell you that if it wasn’t important,” John assures.

 

“It’s about The Enchantress. There’s been a… Recent development,” says Dale.

 

Any and all of Zatanna’s movement is put to a complete halt.

 

“…There was an attack. On the UCSF Medical Centre,” Dale continues. “We don’t know how many dead. The bodies seem to have disappeared, though the building went from chock-full of patients, staff, to completely empty within a single night. Empty aside from-“

 

“The green fire.” Zatanna’s words are somehow both whispered and echoed. Words of fear. Words of trauma. She turns to John. “Are there… Any leads, on where they might be?”

 

“Not yet,” says John, before nodding to Dale.

 

“This investigation is the number one priority for my precinct and numerous others. We’ve been looking everywhere. She and her victims seem to have completely vanished off the face of the Earth.”

 

“Have you checked underground?”

 

“We have some guys checking Delevinge car tunnels.”

 

“Delevinge… There’s that name again…” John scratches his head.

 

“We’re investigating them, too, actually - thanks for that black market theory, it’s getting us somewhere. See, we’re noticing that their tunnels, their buildings, they’re all over the city - but nobody ever talks about them. Nobody knows what they sell. And it’s like, you really have to think about it to even notice they exist,” Dale explains.

 

“Hmmm. That’s awfully suspicious,” says John. “Could be something psychic at play-“

 

“What about the sky?” Zatanna interjects, following up on her underground comment. “The Enchantress is able to fly, you know.”

 

“Yes, we’re using helicopters - but currently, still, no leads. Which is why I came here; I mean, you guys have got magic or whatever, don’t you have some way of finding her?”

 

“Them,” Zatanna corrects. “Not her. The Enchantress is two people, not one.”

 

“Uh, okay - them - but my question still stands,” says Dale.

 

“It’s not that simple,” John explains.

 

Zatanna nods in agreement with John. “Spells of teleportation do exist, but they require previous physical contact with the person you’re having teleported to you, or the place you're teleporting yourself to. Magic, on the contrary to popular belief, has its limitations.”

 

“And,” John adds, “that’s not even mentioning that we don’t know every spell in existence. And I’d say I could use a psychic map, but again, needs a souvenir of previous contact; like, a hair or something.”

 

“But even if we knew who the host was, and had a hair from them, it probably wouldn’t be enough for a psychic map; the switch to Enchantress shifts tons of biology, so it probably wouldn’t be read as the same person, if I had to guess,” says Zatanna.

 

“Wow, okay, you two really just have every excuse,” Dale laughs.

 

Zatanna steps towards Dale. “You seriously came here thinking we’d have a way of magically fixing everything? We don’t. If we did, we would’ve done it already. We’re not Gods, we’re just… We’re like you. We just happen to have some tools you don’t have, and we’re doing the best we can with them… Although…”

 

“‘Although’?”

 

“I did just get one idea - a potential next move - hold on, lemme try something…” She pulls out a pack of what appears to playing cards. Opens the pack, shuffles them, holds them out before Dale. “Pick a card, any card.”

 

“Are you… Are you serious?”

 

“Just do it, Dale,” John requests.

 

“Could you at least explain the mechanics first?” Dale bargains.

 

“I’ll explain later,” says Zatanna. “After you pick a card.”

 

He pauses, lets out a sigh, then points to the one third away from her right thumb. She flips it around.

 

“What do you see?” Zatanna asks.

 

“The… Burnt down house. The one Enchantress burnt down.”

 

“Okay. Now we’re getting somewhere,” says Zatanna, before reaching for both John’s hand and nodding downward. He looks puzzled for a moment, before taking her hand, and using his other hand to tap Alan’s invisible body on the shoulder. Then, Zatanna reaches for Dale’s hand. He takes it, and then, the trio appear in the remainder of the house. Some walls, frames, floorboards, but it’s all blackened with ash, and smothered in police tape.

 

“I don’t understand, why did the card… What’s going on?”

 

“Psychic cards only work when the viewer isn’t forcing themselves to think of something - it'd muddy the magic. But what we know now, is that this is either a place from The Enchantress’s past, present, or future.”

 

“Past. Obviously past, we know they’ve already been here.”

 

“Hm. Good point. Okay, another option: where’s the nearest Delevigne building from here?”

 

“Across the street from Dunkin’ Doughnuts?”

 

The trio hold hands again, as Zatanna teleports them to Dunkin’ Doughnuts. They cross the road, and open the front doors of Delevigne. Inside is eerily mundane; drowned in shades of tans and beiges, lit with blinding fluorescents.

 

“Do you have a scheduled meeting?” asks a receptionist.

 

“Mhm,” answers Zatanna.

 

“With whom?”

 

She aims her wand in the face of the receptionist. “Eveileb I tsuj dias eht eman fo a reganam ro rehto ytirohtua nosrep ohw skrow ereh! Osla, tegrof I tsuj demia a cigam dnaw ni ruoy ecaf!”

 

“Not being very creative, now are we?” Whispers John, nudging her shoulder - after having quickly traced the letters on his palm to figure out what she’d just said.

 

“I don’t have the energy to be creative right now,” Zatanna whispers back.

 

“Eldon Peck is not seeing anyone at this time, I’m afraid,” says the receptionist.

 

Dale backs away, startled. “That name.”

 

“What? What is it?” Asks John.

 

Without another word, Dale runs off, gets into a vehicle - that is not his - and starts the engine. John and Zatanna run after him.

 

“What’s going on?” John asks again.

 

“Leave me out of this. Find the witch - witches, whatever - on your own. I’m not having any part in this.”

 

Zatanna readies her wand in preparation to stop the vehicle, but suddenly, Dale pulls his firearm from his holster and aims it through the open window.

 

“Don’t touch me with another one of your goddamn spells,” he orders. “Don’t you dare.”

 

John and Zatanna back away from the vehicle, and Dale drives off.

 

“…Hm. Well. That was unexpected,” says John.

 

Zatanna doesn’t respond verbally, but quickly, she goes back to the doors of the Delevigne building - but directly behind the doors, is nothing but a plain brick wall.

 

“Huh. Well, as strange as this all was,” says John, “I think this puts all the puzzle pieces together, yeah?”

 

“Delevingne’s a front for a magic black market-“

 

“-likely run by this ‘Eldon Peck’ fellow-”

 

“-Alan Dell must’ve been a member, or at least investor in the whole thing-”

 

“-His benefits being, perhaps, free knickknacks? The Enchantress artifact, for example-”

 

“-But, this Peck guy must like to keep tabs on his business partners, so he won’t get blowback for any damage caused by said ‘knickknacks’ - hence the DITO.”

 

“Yeah. Okay. Yes. We’re on the same page. But… This still doesn’t tell us where The Enchantress is.”

 

“…I hate to do this,” Zatanna prefaces, wincing, “but do you think I can get back to helping later? It’s just, y’know, with Dale gone, I feel a little less urgency to skip this magic show? Mikey said it’s the biggest audience in months, and…”

 

“Oh, yeah. Sure. Why not. I’ll put a dent in it on my own, no worries.”

 

“Kay, thank you…” Zatanna pulls out her phone, punches in Mikey’s number, brings it to her ear.

 

“Took too long,” says Mikey.

 

“What do you mean, ‘took too long’?” Zatanna pulls the phone away, looks again at the clock in the corner. “It’s been a whole half hour?!”

 

“Mhm. Not to worry, though, cause your ol’ pal Mikey had a backup plan: called in your cousin.”

 

“Zach? Zach is performing right now?”

 

“Mhm. Caught the audience off guard for sure, but most folks are satisfied; he normally charges higher than you do, so this looks like a bargain.”

 

“Huh. Well. Okay, then… Do you still need me there?”

 

“Not really. You can go deal with whatever’s got you so preoccupied, superhero.”

 

“Alright, then - see you tomorrow.”

 

“You don’t have a show tomorrow.”

 

“Oh.”

 

Mikey hangs up.

 

“Well. That’s that, then,” Zatanna sighs.

 

“Breakfast?” asks John.

 

“Huh? Shouldn’t we focus on the case?”

 

“Last night’s been a lot. This morning’s been a lot. Least I could do is buy you a meal.”

 

Zatanna tries to think of a reason to say no, but can’t. “If you insist.”

 

“Cool. Right this way, Madam,” says John in a comedic accent, beginning to turn a corner on the somewhat busy sidewalk, his trench coat flowing.

 

Despite feeling a bit out of body, Zatanna follows - quickly casting a spell to change her attire into something casual, but presentable; a coral coloured lace top and blue jeans.

 

They reach a small restaurant, the sign above the door reading “The Quiet Ambassador”.

 

Inside is decorated in earthy hues; comforting oranges and browns. There are wood carven cacti all around, and tables sporadically occupied by anyone from a young hipster gentleman taking photographs of his omelette, to an elderly woman awaiting her congee to cool. Zatanna cannot help but wonder why the establishment is called The Quiet Ambassador.

 

“Just the two of you?” asks a server, clad in a highlighter yellow uniform that matches nothing about the joint. Despite the contradictions and oddities, there’s something in the air that does bring Zatanna to a state of higher comfort - though, mere at best.

 

“Yep,” John answers the server.

 

“Sit anywhere you like, I’ll be with you shortly.”

 

The Magician and the Detective take a seat by a window, with a perfect view of where they were moments ago. Zatanna looks out that window, ponders where Dale could’ve driven off to. She tries not to worry about it.

 

“Heard you were talking to that Mikey friend of yours. Haven’t seen him in quite a while, how’s he?” John asks.

 

“She - Mikey’s pronoun is she.”

 

“Oh! Right on, right on.”

 

“She’s doing good, though. Can’t believe once upon a time I was bossing her around - how the tables have turned. She’s gotten real confident over the years.”

 

“Ah, well, good for her… Hate to intrude, but do you know how it was for her, getting the meds? I know that stuff’s a bitch to get a hold of in England - any easier here?”

 

“Oh, she didn’t have a need for estrogen; I was the first person she came out to, so, I did my magic on her.”

 

“Huh, I see! She knows that’ll wear off eventually, right?”

 

“It won’t.”

 

“…You gave her a spell-sustaining amulet? Zee, you’ve only got so many of those! You can’t just be handing them out!”

 

“Mikey’s a friend, I think it’d be messed up not to.”

 

“Sure, but what puts her above any other trans person? What gives her the privilege?”

 

“I’d argue helping out one person is better than helping out none - and is that not what a hero’s philosophy should be?”

 

“Alrighty,” says the server, now standing above the duo. “Drinks to start?”

 

“Yeah,” says John, looking to Zatanna. “I’m getting a black coffee, what do you want?”

 

“Um. London fog, please,” Zatanna requests, looking up to the server.

 

“Coming right up.” The server walks off again, putting her pencil behind her ear.

 

Zatanna pauses, staring off at nothing in particular while twiddling a hair strand and bouncing one leg up and down. “What Dale said earlier has got me thinking,” she spits out, immediately regretting it a little. “‘Don’t touch me with another one of your spells. Don’t you dare’.”

 

“What about it?”

 

“Do you ever worry what we do is a violation?”

 

“No more than cops using guns on murderers.”

 

Zatanna’s body tenses.

 

“Sorry, sorry,” John apologizes, “I shoulda known not to use that example right now.”

 

“…I’ve tapped into people’s minds. Made people go to sleep. Turned living beings into other living beings, completely shifted their matter. Even the little things, like turning a baseball bat into a bouquet of flowers. Maybe that bat meant something to that guy, what do I know? What gives me the right?”

 

“Zee. You’re religious, ain’t ya?”

 

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

 

“And here you are,” says the returning server, placing both drinks on the table. “Have you decided what you’ll be eating?”

 

The two both begin skimming the menu.

 

“I’ll have… The coconut breakfast curry,” says John.

 

“And I’ll have the French toast, add strawberries. Thank you so much.”

 

The server smiles as she walks off again, taking the menus with her.

 

“I’ve met lots a blokes,” says John, moving his attention back to Zatanna, “who were so consumed by what’s right, and what’s wrong. If you spend your whole life asking questions, then nothing gets done. Religion’s a negative influence on that - and I mean, anybody who’s seen what you and I’ve seen should know it’s a waste of time.”

 

“If you never question what you believe is right or wrong, true or false, then you risk going your whole life doing nothing but bad things.” Zatanna points her wand at her London fog, discreetly whispers a spell to spike the drink with gin. She stirs it with the wand, slurps the foam off it, then casts a spell to clean it.

 

“And then what? You get punished by some big shot in red, who’s kept track of every bad thing you’ve ever done? Newsflash, I’ve met the guy - and he simply does not care enough about you or anyone else to keep those tabs. All a load of bull-shite and fairytale.” He takes a sip of his coffee.

 

“…You are very close-minded.”

 

“Yeah?” asks John, a defeated smirk on his face and a cigarette behind his ear for later. “I’d love to be wise - love to - but that’s not how life’s shaped me.”

 

“What I mean is just, holy shit, John, we were together for years, and you couldn’t remember that I’m Jewish?”

 

John hides his face behind a tired hand as he begins chuckling to himself. “Bloody hell.” His hand falls as he adds, “even so, doesn’t that still impact your philosophy? Means you believe in God, yeah? What’s that mean for you?”

 

“Not much, in terms of my want to be a good person - I’d just call that human decency.”

 

“And what, you’re saying I don’t have any of that?”

 

“I wouldn’t say that.”

 

“What would you say?”

 

“That you’re not very good at debating.”

 

“I didn’t sign up for a debate, all we agreed to was breakfast.”

 

“In lieu of recent events, I’d debate that a debate was in order.”

 

“Is it done?”

 

“Debatably,” she hiccups.

 

John leans forward, whispers the question “how much gin did you put in that fog?”

 

“Not enough.” Her eyes look even more tired than he does.

 

“Here’s your coconut breakfast curry,” says the server, returning yet again, “and your French toast - with strawberries. Enjoy!”

 

“Cheers,” says John, looking upon the meals. “While my memory may be iffy, my bias against religion may be a little Christ-centric, and my debating prowess may be rough around the edges, one thing you’ve aught to hand me is my judge of character.”

 

“Sure,” Zatanna snorts, taking the first bite of her French toast. “You are a detective, after all.”

 

“And a bloody good one, I’d add. But you see what’s funny about right now, yeah? So much on your mind, and you’re forced to pick a first meal of the day, what do you go with? Most cutesy, whimsical dish on the damn menu. Everywhere you go, your persona follows.”

 

“And in contrast, John Constantine couldn’t bare to add even a touch of cream or sugar to his coffee. Wouldn’t wanna risk brightening your day, now would ya? Would put a stop to that brooding.”

 

They laugh.

 

“If you thought it’d do so much good for me, why didn’t you add a sugar or two with that magic stirrer of yours?”

 

“It crossed my mind - but, it’d be a violation.” That last word brings Zatanna back to the debate - the debate that wasn’t much of a debate, it’s debatable - and her mind wanders on a path from that. She feels the back of her neck.

 

Scarless.

 

Her eyes go big, she backs her chair away from the table as she begins thinking out loud. “You told me to heal myself last night and I chose not to, and I know you didn’t say any spells of your own after that - you’re not nearly as good at subtlety as I am.”

 

“Can you quit it with the criticism?” John laughs, but his face quickly goes serious upon realizing what Zatanna is realizing.

 

“At about 1:30 in the morning, despite my nightmare, I could still hear the door creaking open. You came into my bedroom. And you used a spell on me.”

 

“Zee, wait, I-“

 

“You came into my bedroom. While I was asleep. And you used a spell on me.”

 

“…”

 

Zatanna throws a 50 dollar bill onto the table and storms out of The Quiet Ambassador.

 

And then casts a spell to put the French toast into a takeout box, and then casts another spell to put that in her hand.

  

I guess it's no surprise that we need State Law to enforce Common Decency. Top's Restaurant in Pasadena CA

Vitrine

 

www.mndjet.com/item/3768/swatch-brown-decency-mens-watch-....

2011 Fall Winter Collection. Stainless Steel Case. Metal Strap. Brown Dial. Swiss Quartz Movement. Water Resistant 30 Meters. Case 38mm.

Unspoilt, peaceful, Georgian country parish church, mostly dating from 1719-20 but built on the foundation of a much older church. From the outside, it is a handsome church, X-plan, with an additional wing at the west end, topped by a belfry tower, containing the ducal retiring rooms. The interior, renovated 1784-5 and re-arranged circa 1870, has a typical presbyterian layout with central pulpit and three galleries. Many of the box pews have a central communion table. The north aisle of the church is taller and more sophisticated, built for the Duke of Queensberry and remaining from the earlier church. Inside the Queensberry Aisle is the real jewel of the church: the most amazing monument for the Queensberry burial vault, a baroque mural monument and free-standing baldacchino carved in 1695 by John van Nost to the design of James Smith who was also architect of the later church. A riot of swagged fabric, garlands of flowers, urns, barley-sugar columns, cherubs, skulls and pediments, all in gleaming white marble. 'There are few buildings in which baroque magnificence and presbyterian decency are so happily combined.' (George Hay, Architecture of Scottish Post-Reformation Churches). The churchyard contains some fine 17th-19th century stone monuments, many with classical ornament, including the martyr's monument to Daniel MacMichael and the 1685 monument to the children of William Lukup, Master of Works at nearby Drumlanrig.

This is a similar view to George Street 5, taken 10 years earlier and is the third in a short series of 5 showing most of George Street as it was in 1989.

There is a busker on the right hand side but not the same one as in GS6.

 

Scanned from an old OM2n XP1 negative. XP1 was an interesting film for camera buffs as it was a colour film, developed in the usual colour process, but all the colours were shades of grey. Meaning that it was a black and white colour film.

 

If anyone decides to hack this picture for a facebook site please have the decency to post with watermark intact, don't try to erase it and ask "year anyone".

Biffy Clyro supporting Queens Of The Stone Age, Wintertur, Switzerland

 

p.s. if you are gonna post my copyrighted images elsewhere on the internet at least have the decency to credit me with them or link them back to here, or i'll probably stop posting them or at least start putting big watermarks on them.

Can you see the heart?

 

www.seanslastwish.org/

 

This package of Sunflower seeds was given to me at the LGBT Pride festival last year by the mother of Sean Kennedy. He was murdered in a hate crime against him because his sexual orientation. I spoke at length with this courageous woman, Elke Kennedy who spends most of her time now spreading her sons tragic story and educating people about hate crimes. She gives out the sunflower seed packets as a tangible symbol of hope for a future free of hate. It is my wish that she doesnt have to crusade for what I would consider "common decency" anymore.

  

This year's show brought students from both Lloydminster & Vermilion campuses together to show off their style, budgeting and presentation skills. Students had a $33.33 budget each to go out into the community and purchase an outfit and appropriate accessories for a Business Awards Banquet.

 

They were expected to practice their budgeting skills as they shopped for their outfits. Contestants had to show a good taste in fashion and decency. Finally, contestants were tested on their presentation and interpersonal skills as they walked up and down the runway and answered questions from our ‘celebrity’ judges.

 

The main idea here is to challenge the notion that students have to spend a lot of money to look good for work. Most students struggle with money and this show is a fun way of capturing budgeting, fashion and presentation skills.

Sharper than your TV at home, and slightly bigger.

Whilst waiting for the bus back home yesterday, I managed to shoot a few shots off, of the shoppers ignoring storm Bert. It's always a "dice with death" photographing children these days. Everyone is always so suspicious of your motives. It's a shame really, that it has come to this, but there is nothing illegal about photographing children out in public, so long as decency laws are adhered to.

In a monochrome world of stormy greys and inky blacks, a boy wanders through the rain-lashed streets of Chichester, untouched by the turmoil of Storm Bert. The cobbled roads shimmer with reflected light from faint streetlamps, their glow blurred by the constant downpour. His raincoat, a pale silhouette against the darker tones of the drenched surroundings, flutters with every gust, the hood slipping back to reveal messy, rain-drenched hair.

The boy’s figure exudes innocence and freedom, his small boots sending sprays of water skyward with each careless step. Drops of rain, rendered as streaks of white, cascade from the eaves of ancient stone buildings, their rough textures prominent in the monochrome starkness. The majestic cathedral looms ahead, its spire disappearing into a sky heavy with brooding clouds.

Shadows stretch and ripple in the watery reflections, broken only by the boy’s rippling wake as he steps through puddles. His face, tilted skyward, is an expression of quiet wonder, raindrops tracing silver streaks down his cheeks. Around him, the trees sway like dark sentinels, their wet branches creaking in the wind. He walks on, a figure of unbothered calm amidst a chaotic yet beautiful storm.

Queens Of The Stone Age, soundcheck, Innsbruck, Austria

 

p.s. if you are gonna post my copyrighted images elsewhere on the internet at least have the decency to credit me with them or link them back to here, or i'll probably stop posting them or at least start putting big watermarks on them.

 

One last, almost forgotten, scrap of decency in his progamming flittered. Was the ideal of a world without humans really as optimal as the Sirius Cybernetic Corporation made it sound?

 

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ok, now maybe this is my relatively pointless architecture blog, #5?

 

oh, to clarify: i’m not saying the architecture is relatively pointless, i’m merely suggesting that my blog is relatively pointless. the architecture is anything but pointless, it’s great, even when it’s banal and mundane. it’s my blogging that is relatively pointless. or so i believe. i guess i should work on my syntax.

 

today i’ve decided to go for something a bit more (read: very) obvious. the esteemed and storied (in both senses of the word) castillo del lago.

or, as it’s still referred to, even though she moved out a while ago,: ‘madonna’s house’.

or, by the old timers: ‘bugsy siegel’s house’.

 

i have no idea who lives there now, but they did have the decency to paint over madonna’s pink stripes and return the structures to what they were like in the early 20th century (or so i’m assuming).

 

so, here are some pictures i took yesterday afternoon of castillo del lago, which is arguably one of the coolest and grandest houses in l.a. i’m sure it’s modeled after some remarkable european castle, but in my ignorance i have no idea which one. it’s very big and beautiful and it will probably be called ‘madonna’s house’ for the next 50 years or so.

 

-moby

Next job was to look at the 'decency' screen(?) by the door as the bottom section showed major signs of rot. It was rubbed down and the rotten bits cut out.

11th Arctic Council Ministerial Meeting in Rovaniemi. Minister for Foreign Affairs of Finland Timo Soini and Minister for Foreign Affairs and External Trade of Iceland Guðlaugur Þór Þórðarson.

 

Finland hosts the 11th Arctic Council Ministerial Meeting on 7 May in Rovaniemi. Minister-level representatives from the eight Arctic States will convene to review and approve work completed under the two-year Finnish Chairmanship to improve sustainable development and environmental protection in the Arctic.

 

Ministry for Foreign Affairs provides photo material for media representatives, participants and organisers of the meeting. Please feel free to use the photos, considering the following restrictions: Not for commercial purposes nor reselling. When publishing the pictures, the name of the photographer and organization shall be mentioned as the source. No picture manipulation is permitted. The holder of the picture rights and/or the organisation shall at all times retain the copyright to the picture. When publishing the pictures, the publisher shall ensure the legality of the context where the pictures are used, obtain the permissions and consents required for their publication, and observe the generally established practices and decency. The publisher shall ensure that publication of the pictures does not insult anyone’s privacy or dignity.

 

Photo: Jouni Porsanger / Ministry for Foreign Affairs of Finland

School of Champions is a missionary program to educate children from families whom live and work at the garbage dumps in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico, sorting recyclables. The children start working at the dumps at a very young age in order to help support the family and often grow up without an education. School of Champions have put progams in place to help these kids get educated and realize their potential.

“I am aware that invoking personal decency, personal humility, as the solution to a vast risk taken on our half by corporate industrialism is not going to suit everybody. Some will find it an insult to their sense of proportion, others to their sense of drama. I am offended by it myself, and I wish I could do better. But having looked about, I have been unable to convince myself that there is a better solution or one that has a better chance of working.”

 

The Way of Ignorance: And Other Essays By Wendell Berry

A few days ago I read that this facility is to be restored as a cafe or restaurant and I also discovered that the area was locally known as the "Four Corners of Hell" because crossroad junction of Kevin Street, New Street South, Dean Street and Patrick Street had a pub on each corner and became especially rowdy at closing time.

  

This caught me by surprise [when I first noticed it a few months ago] especially as I should have been aware that these facilities existed having gone to school in Leeson Street and college in Kevin Street. There are two separate entities - a small park and an underground public toilet.

 

Initially I thought that it was an old monument or memorial but upon seeing the entrance I realised that it was an underground public toilet block.

 

In the 1950s and 1960s there were about seventy public toilets in Dublin but all of them have been closed. The underground public toilet block at the junction of Kevin Street and New Street was one of a number that were built in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century in response to an increasing demand for public facilities in the city. Underground facilities such as this were partially hidden from general view in order to satisfy Victorian perceptions of decency. It retains many of its historic features including railings, gates and decorative ventilation shaft.

I wonder why this man was alowed to join the Dutch police. Must be tactics... when waving his ticketbook at ya and flashing that smile ... why would you object? Exactly.

So, I said, why not 'pull a Paris Hilton' and he knew exactly what I wanted :) Great.

But this also calls for a song, because it's that time of the week :)

 

Do I have to put the law on you baby

For all the wicked things you do

Am I gonna have to put the law on you baby

That was not what I wanted to do

 

Do I have to put the law on you baby

To try and make you come out clean

for every evil deed

You're just about the lowest and the dirtiest thing

I've ever seen

 

Did you really think you could pull it off

The perfect crime,

crime of the heart

Do you really think that you'll get away

Do the crime and never ever pay

 

Do I have to put the law on you baby

Lock you up and throw away the key

For the countless counts of low down double-cross you've been about

Have you no decency

 

Did you really think that you could pull it off

The perfect crime, crime of the heart

Did you really think that you'll get away

Escape my justice until you're dying day

 

Though you made it clear from the very start

There was no trusting you with my foolish heart

Though you maybe made it clear that didn't make it right

 

Do you really think you'll get away

You can't escape my justice 'til my dying day

 

Nathalie Merchant