** Blogged at Pixel Phasion 4 Men **

we decided to do a handmade christmas this year. so- we filled baskets found at thrift stores & garage sales with handmade goodies.

 

read more over at him + her!:

himandherweekly.blogspot.com/2009/12/no-10-tis-season.html

I gave him some money in exchange for letting me take his picture. Well spoken, he said he's been living on the street for a year and a half. He did not look in too bad a shape untill he smiled and I saw he had some of the worse teeth I have ever seen on a person. I thanked him for the photos and wish him well.

French Quarter

New Orleans, Louisiana

There's a little bird the comes everyday to steal the cat food on our deck. I was watching him yesterday, when I turned around and noticed that Jinxie was busy watching him too!

“Let him learn the prudence of a higher strain. Let him learn that everything in nature, even motes and feathers go by law and not by luck, and that what he sows he reeps.” -Ralph Waldo Emerson

Rijksmuseum van Oudheden, Leiden - Rapenburg 28.

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Domitian (Latin: Domitianus; 24 October 51 – 18 September 96) was the Roman emperor from 81 to 96. He was the son of Vespasian and the younger brother of Titus, his two predecessors on the throne, and the last member of the Flavian dynasty. During his reign, the authoritarian nature of his rule put him at sharp odds with the Senate, whose powers he drastically curtailed.

 

Domitian had a minor and largely ceremonial role during the reigns of his father and brother. After the death of his brother, Domitian was declared emperor by the Praetorian Guard. His 15-year reign was the longest since that of Tiberius. As emperor, Domitian strengthened the economy by revaluing the Roman coinage, expanded the border defenses of the empire, and initiated a massive building program to restore the damaged city of Rome. Significant wars were fought in Britain, where his general Agricola attempted to conquer Caledonia (Scotland), and in Dacia, where Domitian was unable to procure a decisive victory against King Decebalus. Domitian's government exhibited strong authoritarian characteristics. Religious, military, and cultural propaganda fostered a cult of personality, and by nominating himself perpetual censor, he sought to control public and private morals. As a consequence, Domitian was popular with the people and army, but considered a tyrant by members of the Roman Senate.

 

Domitian's reign came to an end in 96 when he was assassinated by court officials. He was succeeded the same day by his advisor Nerva. After his death, Domitian's memory was condemned to oblivion by the Senate, while senatorial and equestrian authors such as Tacitus, Pliny the Younger, and Suetonius propagated the view of Domitian as a cruel and paranoid tyrant. Modern revisionists instead have characterized Domitian as a ruthless but efficient autocrat whose cultural, economic, and political programs provided the foundation of the peaceful second century.

 

Domitian was born in Rome on 24 October 51, the youngest son of Titus Flavius Vespasianus—commonly known as Vespasian—and Flavia Domitilla Major. He had an older sister, Domitilla the Younger, and brother, also named Titus Flavius Vespasianus.

 

Decades of civil war during the 1st century BC had contributed greatly to the demise of the old aristocracy of Rome, which a new Italian nobility gradually replaced in prominence during the early part of the 1st century. One such family, the Flavians, or gens Flavia, rose from relative obscurity to prominence in just four generations, acquiring wealth and status under the emperors of the Julio-Claudian dynasty. Domitian's great-grandfather, Titus Flavius Petro, had served as a centurion under Pompey during Caesar's civil war. His military career ended in disgrace when he fled the battlefield at the Battle of Pharsalus in 48 BC.

 

Nevertheless, Petro managed to improve his status by marrying the extremely wealthy Tertulla, whose fortune guaranteed the upward mobility of Petro's son Titus Flavius Sabinus I, Domitian's grandfather. Sabinus himself amassed further wealth and possible equestrian status through his services as tax collector in Asia and banker in Helvetia (modern Switzerland). By marrying Vespasia Polla he allied the Flavian family to the more prestigious gens Vespasia, ensuring the elevation of his sons Titus Flavius Sabinus II and Vespasian to senatorial rank.

 

The political career of Vespasian included the offices of quaestor, aedile, and praetor, and culminated in a consulship in 51, the year of Domitian's birth. As a military commander, Vespasian gained early renown by participating in the Roman invasion of Britain in 43. Nevertheless, ancient sources allege poverty for the Flavian family at the time of Domitian's upbringing, even claiming Vespasian had fallen into disrepute under the emperors Caligula (37–41) and Nero (54–68). Modern history has refuted these claims, suggesting these stories later circulated under Flavian rule as part of a propaganda campaign to diminish success under the less reputable Emperors of the Julio-Claudian dynasty and to maximize achievements under Emperor Claudius (41–54) and his son Britannicus.

 

By all appearances, the Flavians enjoyed high imperial favour throughout the 40s and 60s. While Titus received a court education in the company of Britannicus, Vespasian pursued a successful political and military career. Following a prolonged period of retirement during the 50s, he returned to public office under Nero, serving as proconsul of the Africa Province in 63, and accompanying the emperor Nero during an official tour of Greece in 66.

 

That same year Jews from the Province of Judaea revolted against the Roman Empire, sparking what is now known as the First Jewish–Roman War. Vespasian was assigned to lead the Roman army against the insurgents, with Titus—who had completed his military education by this time—in charge of a legion.

 

Of the three Flavian emperors, Domitian would rule the longest, despite the fact that his youth and early career were largely spent in the shadow of his older brother. Titus had gained military renown during the First Jewish–Roman War. After their father, Vespasian, became emperor in 69 following the civil war known as the Year of the Four Emperors, Titus held a great many offices, while Domitian received honours, but no responsibilities.

 

By the time he was 16 years old, Domitian's mother and sister had long since died, while his father and brother were continuously active in the Roman military, commanding armies in Germania and Judaea. For Domitian, this meant that a significant part of his adolescence was spent in the absence of his near relatives. During the Jewish–Roman wars, he was likely taken under the care of his uncle Titus Flavius Sabinus II, at the time serving as city prefect of Rome; or possibly even Marcus Cocceius Nerva, a loyal friend of the Flavians and the future successor to Domitian.

 

He received the education of a young man of the privileged senatorial class, studying rhetoric and literature. In his biography in the Lives of the Twelve Caesars, Suetonius attests to Domitian's ability to quote the important poets and writers such as Homer or Virgil on appropriate occasions, and describes him as a learned and educated adolescent, with elegant conversation. Among his first published works were poetry, as well as writings on law and administration.

 

Unlike his brother Titus, Domitian was not educated at court. Whether he received formal military training is not recorded, but according to Suetonius, he displayed considerable marksmanship with the bow and arrow. A detailed description of Domitian's appearance and character is provided by Suetonius, who devotes a substantial part of his biography to his personality:

 

He was tall of stature, with a modest expression and a high colour. His eyes were large, but his sight was somewhat dim. He was handsome and graceful too, especially when a young man, and indeed in his whole body with the exception of his feet, the toes of which were somewhat cramped. In later life he had the further disfigurement of baldness, a protruding belly, and spindling legs, though the latter had become thin from a long illness.

 

Domitian was allegedly extremely sensitive regarding his baldness, which he disguised in later life by wearing wigs. According to Suetonius, he even wrote a book on the subject of hair care. With regard to Domitian's personality, however, the account of Suetonius alternates sharply between portraying Domitian as the emperor-tyrant, a man both physically and intellectually lazy, and the intelligent, refined personality drawn elsewhere.

 

Historian Brian Jones concludes in The Emperor Domitian that assessing the true nature of Domitian's personality is inherently complicated by the bias of the surviving sources. Common threads nonetheless emerge from the available evidence. He appears to have lacked the natural charisma of his brother and father. He was prone to suspicion, displayed an odd, sometimes self-deprecating sense of humour, and often communicated in cryptic ways.

 

This ambiguity of character was further exacerbated by his remoteness, and as he grew older, he increasingly displayed a preference for solitude, which may have stemmed from his isolated upbringing. Indeed, by the age of eighteen nearly all of his closest relatives had died by war or disease. Having spent the greater part of his early life in the twilight of Nero's reign, his formative years would have been strongly influenced by the political turmoil of the 60s, culminating with the civil war of 69, which brought his family to power.

 

On 9 June 68, amid growing opposition of the Senate and the army, Nero committed suicide and with him the Julio-Claudian dynasty came to an end. Chaos ensued, leading to a year of brutal civil war known as the Year of the Four Emperors, during which the four most influential generals in the Roman Empire—Galba, Otho, Vitellius and Vespasian—successively vied for imperial power.

 

News of Nero's death reached Vespasian as he was preparing to besiege the city of Jerusalem. Almost simultaneously the Senate had declared Galba, then governor of Hispania Tarraconensis (modern northern Spain), as Emperor of Rome. Rather than continue his campaign, Vespasian decided to await further orders and send Titus to greet the new Emperor.

 

Before reaching Italy, Titus learnt that Galba had been murdered and replaced by Otho, the governor of Lusitania (modern Portugal). At the same time Vitellius and his armies in Germania had risen in revolt and prepared to march on Rome, intent on overthrowing Otho. Not wanting to risk being taken hostage by one side or the other, Titus abandoned the journey to Rome and rejoined his father in Judaea.

 

Otho and Vitellius realized the potential threat posed by the Flavian faction. With four legions at his disposal, Vespasian commanded a strength of nearly 80,000 soldiers. His position in Judaea further granted him the advantage of being nearest to the vital province of Egypt, which controlled the grain supply to Rome. His brother Titus Flavius Sabinus II, as city prefect, commanded the entire city garrison of Rome. Tensions among the Flavian troops ran high but so long as either Galba or Otho remained in power, Vespasian refused to take action.

 

When Otho was defeated by Vitellius at the First Battle of Bedriacum, the armies in Judaea and Egypt took matters into their own hands and declared Vespasian emperor on 1 July 69. Vespasian accepted and entered an alliance with Gaius Licinius Mucianus, the governor of Syria, against Vitellius. A strong force drawn from the Judaean and Syrian legions marched on Rome under the command of Mucianus, while Vespasian travelled to Alexandria, leaving Titus in charge of ending the Jewish rebellion.

 

In Rome, Domitian was placed under house arrest by Vitellius, as a safeguard against Flavian aggression. Support for the old emperor waned as more legions around the empire pledged their allegiance to Vespasian. On 24 October 69, the forces of Vitellius and Vespasian (under Marcus Antonius Primus) met at the Second Battle of Bedriacum, which ended in a crushing defeat for the armies of Vitellius.

 

In despair, Vitellius attempted to negotiate a surrender. Terms of peace, including a voluntary abdication, were agreed upon with Titus Flavius Sabinus II but the soldiers of the Praetorian Guard—the imperial bodyguard—considered such a resignation disgraceful and prevented Vitellius from carrying out the treaty. On the morning of 18 December, the emperor appeared to deposit the imperial insignia at the Temple of Concord but at the last minute retraced his steps to the Imperial palace. In the confusion, the leading men of the state gathered at Sabinus' house, proclaiming Vespasian as Emperor, but the multitude dispersed when Vitellian cohorts clashed with the armed escort of Sabinus, who was forced to retreat to the Capitoline Hill.

 

During the night, he was joined by his relatives, including Domitian. The armies of Mucianus were nearing Rome but the besieged Flavian party did not hold out for longer than a day. On 19 December, Vitellianists burst onto the Capitol and in a skirmish, Sabinus was captured and executed. Domitian managed to escape by disguising himself as a worshipper of Isis and spent the night in safety with one of his father's supporters, Cornelius Primus.

 

By the afternoon of 20 December, Vitellius was dead, his armies having been defeated by the Flavian legions. With nothing more to be feared, Domitian came forward to meet the invading forces; he was universally saluted by the title of Caesar and the mass of troops conducted him to his father's house. The following day, 21 December, the Senate proclaimed Vespasian emperor of the Roman Empire.

 

The Conspiracy of Claudius Civilis (detail), by Rembrandt (1661). During the Batavian rebellion, Domitian eagerly sought the opportunity to attain military glory, but was denied command of a legion by superior officers.

 

Although the war had officially ended, a state of anarchy and lawlessness pervaded in the first days following the demise of Vitellius. Order was properly restored by Mucianus in early 70 but Vespasian did not enter Rome until September of that year. In the meantime, Domitian acted as the representative of the Flavian family in the Roman Senate. He received the title of Caesar and was appointed praetor with consular power.

 

The ancient historian Tacitus describes Domitian's first speech in the Senate as brief and measured, at the same time noting his ability to elude awkward questions. Domitian's authority was merely nominal, foreshadowing what was to be his role for at least ten more years. By all accounts, Mucianus held the real power in Vespasian's absence and he was careful to ensure that Domitian, still only eighteen years old, did not overstep the boundaries of his function. Strict control was also maintained over the young Caesar's entourage, promoting away Flavian generals such as Arrius Varus and Antonius Primus and replacing them with more reliable men such as Arrecinus Clemens.

 

Equally curtailed by Mucianus were Domitian's military ambitions. The civil war of 69 had severely destabilized the provinces, leading to several local uprisings such as the Batavian revolt in Gaul. Batavian auxiliaries of the Rhine legions, led by Gaius Julius Civilis, had rebelled with the aid of a faction of Treveri under the command of Julius Classicus. Seven legions were sent from Rome, led by Vespasian's brother-in-law Quintus Petillius Cerialis.

 

Although the revolt was quickly suppressed, exaggerated reports of disaster prompted Mucianus to depart the capital with reinforcements of his own. Domitian eagerly sought the opportunity to attain military glory and joined the other officers with the intention of commanding a legion of his own. According to Tacitus, Mucianus was not keen on this prospect but since he considered Domitian a liability in any capacity that was entrusted to him, he preferred to keep him close at hand rather than in Rome.

 

When news arrived of Cerialis' victory over Civilis, Mucianus tactfully dissuaded Domitian from pursuing further military endeavours. Domitian then wrote to Cerialis personally, suggesting he hand over command of his army but, once again, he was snubbed. With the return of Vespasian in late September, his political role was rendered all but obsolete and Domitian withdrew from government devoting his time to arts and literature.

 

Where his political and military career had ended in disappointment, Domitian's private affairs were more successful. In 70 Vespasian attempted to arrange a dynastic marriage between his youngest son and the daughter of Titus, Julia Flavia, but Domitian was adamant in his love for Domitia Longina, going so far as to persuade her husband, Lucius Aelius Lamia Plautius Aelianus, to divorce her so that Domitian could marry her himself. Despite its initial recklessness, the alliance was very prestigious for both families. Domitia Longina was the younger daughter of Gnaeus Domitius Corbulo, a respected general and honoured politician who had distinguished himself for his leadership in Armenia. Following the failed Pisonian conspiracy against Nero in 65, he had been forced to commit suicide. She was also a granddaughter of Junia Lepida, a descendant of Emperor Augustus. The new marriage not only re-established ties to senatorial opposition, but also served the broader Flavian propaganda of the time, which sought to diminish Vespasian's political success under Nero. Instead, connections to Claudius and Britannicus were emphasised, and Nero's victims, or those otherwise disadvantaged by him, rehabilitated.

 

In 80, Domitia and Domitian's only attested son was born. It is not known what the boy's name was, but he died in childhood in 83. Shortly following his accession as Emperor, Domitian bestowed the honorific title of Augusta upon Domitia, while their son was deified, appearing as such on the reverse of coin types from this period. Nevertheless, the marriage appears to have faced a significant crisis in 83. For reasons unknown, Domitian briefly exiled Domitia, and then soon recalled her, either out of love or due to rumours that he was carrying on a relationship with his niece Julia Flavia. Jones argues that most likely he did so for her failure to produce an heir. By 84, Domitia had returned to the palace, where she lived for the remainder of Domitian's reign without incident. Little is known of Domitia's activities as Empress, or how much influence she wielded in Domitian's government, but it seems her role was limited. From Suetonius, we know that she at least accompanied the Emperor to the amphitheatre, while the Jewish writer Josephus speaks of benefits he received from her. It is not known whether Domitian had other children, but he did not marry again. Despite allegations by Roman sources of adultery and divorce, the marriage appears to have been happy.

 

The Triumph of Titus, by Sir Lawrence Alma-Tadema (1885), depicting the Flavian family during the triumphal procession of 71. Vespasian proceeds at the head of the family, dressed as pontifex maximus, followed by Domitian with Domitia Longina, and finally Titus, also dressed in religious regalia. An exchange of glances between Titus and Domitia suggests an affair upon which historians have speculated. Alma-Tadema was known for his meticulous historical research on the ancient world.

 

Before becoming Emperor, Domitian's role in the Flavian government was largely ceremonial. In June 71, Titus returned triumphant from the war in Judaea. Ultimately, the rebellion had claimed the lives of tens of thousands, perhaps hundreds of thousands, a majority of whom were Jewish. The city and temple of Jerusalem were completely destroyed, its most valuable treasures carried off by the Roman army, and nearly 100,000 people were captured and enslaved.

 

For his victory, the Senate awarded Titus a Roman triumph. On the day of the festivities, the Flavian family rode into the capital, preceded by a lavish parade that displayed the spoils of the war. The family procession was headed by Vespasian and Titus, while Domitian, riding a magnificent white horse, followed with the remaining Flavian relatives.

 

Leaders of the Jewish resistance were executed in the Forum Romanum, after which the procession closed with religious sacrifices at the Temple of Jupiter. A triumphal arch, the Arch of Titus, was erected at the south-east entrance to the Forum to commemorate the successful end of the war.

 

Yet the return of Titus further highlighted the comparative insignificance of Domitian, both militarily and politically. As the eldest and most experienced of Vespasian's sons, Titus shared tribunician power with his father, received seven consulships, the censorship, and was given command of the Praetorian Guard; powers that left no doubt he was the designated heir to the Empire. As a second son, Domitian held honorary titles, such as Caesar or Princeps Iuventutis, and several priesthoods, including those of augur, pontifex, frater arvalis, magister frater arvalium, and sacerdos collegiorum omnium, but no office with imperium.

 

He held six consulships during Vespasian's reign but only one of these, in 73, was an ordinary consulship. The other five were less prestigious suffect consulships, which he held in 71, 75, 76, 77 and 79 respectively, usually replacing his father or brother in mid-January. While ceremonial, these offices no doubt gained Domitian valuable experience in the Roman Senate, and may have contributed to his later reservations about its relevance.

 

Under Vespasian and Titus, non-Flavians were virtually excluded from the important public offices. Mucianus himself all but disappeared from historical records during this time, and it is believed he died sometime between 75 and 77. Real power was unmistakably concentrated in the hands of the Flavian faction; the weakened Senate only maintained the facade of democracy.

 

Because Titus effectively acted as co-emperor with his father, no abrupt change in Flavian policy occurred when Vespasian died on 24 June 79. Titus assured Domitian that full partnership in the government would soon be his, but neither tribunician power nor imperium of any kind was conferred upon him during Titus' brief reign.

 

Two major disasters struck during 79 and 80. In October/November 79, Mount Vesuvius erupted, burying the surrounding cities of Pompeii and Herculaneum under metres of ash and lava; the following year, a fire broke out in Rome that lasted three days and destroyed a number of important public buildings. Consequently, Titus spent much of his reign coordinating relief efforts and restoring damaged property. On 13 September 81, after barely two years in office, he unexpectedly died of fever during a trip to the Sabine territories.

 

Ancient authors have implicated Domitian in the death of his brother, either by directly accusing him of murder, or implying he left the ailing Titus for dead, even alleging that during his lifetime, Domitian was openly plotting against his brother. It is difficult to assess the factual veracity of these statements given the known bias of the surviving sources. Brotherly affection was likely at a minimum, but this was hardly surprising, considering that Domitian had barely seen Titus after the age of seven.

 

Whatever the nature of their relationship, Domitian seems to have displayed little sympathy when his brother lay dying, instead making for the Praetorian camp where he was proclaimed emperor. The following day, 14 September, the Senate confirmed Domitian's powers, granting tribunician power, the office of Pontifex maximus, and the titles of Augustus ("venerable"), and Pater Patriae ("father of the country").

 

As Emperor, Domitian quickly dispensed with the republican facade his father and brother had maintained during their reign. By moving the centre of government (more or less formally) to the imperial court, Domitian openly rendered the Senate's powers obsolete. In his view, the Roman Empire was to be governed as a divine monarchy with himself as the benevolent despot at its head.

 

In addition to exercising absolute political power, Domitian believed the emperor's role encompassed every aspect of daily life, guiding the Roman people as a cultural and moral authority. To usher in the new era, he embarked on ambitious economic, military, and cultural programs with the intention of restoring the Empire to the splendour it had seen under the Emperor Augustus.

 

Despite these grand designs, Domitian was determined to govern the Empire conscientiously and scrupulously. He became personally involved in all branches of the administration: edicts were issued governing the smallest details of everyday life and law, while taxation and public morals were rigidly enforced. According to Suetonius, the imperial bureaucracy never ran more efficiently than under Domitian, whose exacting standards and suspicious nature maintained historically low corruption among provincial governors and elected officials.

 

Although he made no pretence regarding the significance of the Senate under his absolute rule, those senators he deemed unworthy were expelled from the Senate, and in the distribution of public offices he rarely favored family members, a policy that stood in contrast to the nepotism practiced by Vespasian and Titus. Above all, however, Domitian valued loyalty and malleability in those he assigned to strategic posts, qualities he found more often in men of the equestrian order than in members of the Senate or his own family, whom he regarded with suspicion, and promptly removed from office if they disagreed with imperial policy.

 

The reality of Domitian's autocracy was further highlighted by the fact that, more than any emperor since Tiberius, he spent significant periods of time away from the capital. Although the Senate's power had been in decline since the fall of the Republic, under Domitian the seat of power was no longer even in Rome, but rather wherever the Emperor was. Until the completion of the Flavian Palace on the Palatine Hill, the imperial court was situated at Alba or Circeii, and sometimes even farther afield. Domitian toured the European provinces extensively, and spent at least three years of his reign in Germania and Illyricum, conducting military campaigns on the frontiers of the Empire.

 

For his personal use, he was active in constructing many monumental buildings, including the Villa of Domitian, a vast and sumptuous palace situated 20 km outside Rome in the Alban Hills.[citation needed]

In Rome itself, he built the Palace of Domitian on the Palatine Hill. Six other villas are linked with Domitian at Tusculum, Antium, Caieta, Circei, Anxur and Baiae. Only the one at Circei has been identified today, where its remains can be visited by the Lago di Paola.

 

The Stadium of Domitian was dedicated in 86 AD as a gift to the people of Rome as part of an Imperial building program, following the damage or destruction of most of the buildings on the Field of Mars by fire in 79 AD. It was Rome's first permanent venue for competitive athletics, and today occupied by the Piazza Navona.

 

In Egypt too, Domitian was quite active in constructing buildings and decorating them. He appears, together with Trajan, in offering scenes on the propylon of the Temple of Hathor at Dendera. His cartouche also appears in the column shafts of the Temple of Khnum at Esna.

 

Upon his accession, Domitian revalued the Roman currency by increasing the silver content of the denarius by 12%. Domitian's tendency towards micromanagement was nowhere more evident than in his financial policy. The question of whether Domitian left the Roman Empire in debt or with a surplus at the time of his death has been fiercely debated. The evidence points to a balanced economy for the greater part of Domitian's reign. Upon his accession he revalued the Roman currency dramatically. He increased the silver purity of the denarius from 90% to 98% – the actual silver weight increasing from 2.87 grams to 3.26 grams. A financial crisis in 85 forced a devaluation of the silver purity and weight to 93.5% and 3.04 grams respectively.

 

Nevertheless, the new values were still higher than the levels that Vespasian and Titus had maintained during their reigns. Domitian's rigorous taxation policy ensured that this standard was sustained for the following eleven years. Coinage from this era displays a highly consistent degree of quality including meticulous attention to Domitian's titulature and refined artwork on the reverse portraits.

 

Jones estimates Domitian's annual income at more than 1.2 billion sestertii, of which over one-third would presumably have been spent maintaining the Roman army. The other major expense was the extensive reconstruction of Rome. At the time of Domitian's accession the city was still suffering from the damage caused by the Great Fire of 64, the civil war of 69 and the fire in 80.

 

Much more than a renovation project, Domitian's building program was intended to be the crowning achievement of an Empire-wide cultural renaissance. Around fifty structures were erected, restored or completed, achievements second only to those of Augustus. Among the most important new structures were an odeon, a stadium, and an expansive palace on the Palatine Hill known as the Flavian Palace, which was designed by Domitian's master architect Rabirius.

 

The most important building Domitian restored was the Temple of Jupiter on the Capitoline Hill, said to have been covered with a gilded roof. Among those completed were the Temple of Vespasian and Titus, the Arch of Titus and the Flavian Amphitheatre (Colosseum), to which he added a fourth level and finished the interior seating area.

 

In order to appease the people of Rome an estimated 135 million sestertii was spent on donatives, or congiaria, throughout Domitian's reign. The Emperor also revived the practice of public banquets, which had been reduced to a simple distribution of food under Nero, while he invested large sums on entertainment and games. In 86 he founded the Capitoline Games, a quadrennial contest comprising athletic displays, chariot racing, and competitions for oratory, music and acting.

 

Domitian himself supported the travel of competitors from all corners of the Empire to Rome and distributed the prizes. Innovations were also introduced into the regular gladiatorial games such as naval contests, nighttime battles, and female and dwarf gladiator fights. Lastly, he added two new factions to the chariot races, Gold and Purple, to race against the existing White, Red, Green and Blue factions.

 

The military campaigns undertaken during Domitian's reign were generally defensive in nature, as the Emperor rejected the idea of expansionist warfare. His most significant military contribution was the development of the Limes Germanicus, which encompassed a vast network of roads, forts and watchtowers constructed along the Rhine river to defend the Empire. Nevertheless, several important wars were fought in Gaul, against the Chatti, and across the Danube frontier against the Suebi, the Sarmatians, and the Dacians.

 

The conquest of Britain continued under the command of Gnaeus Julius Agricola, who expanded the Roman Empire as far as Caledonia, or modern day Scotland. Domitian also founded a new legion in 82, the Legio I Minervia, to fight against the Chatti. Domitian is also credited on the easternmost evidence of Roman military presence, the rock inscription near Boyukdash mountain, in present-day Azerbaijan. As judged by the carved titles of Caesar, Augustus and Germanicus, the related march took place between 84 and 96 AD.

 

Domitian's administration of the Roman army was characterized by the same fastidious involvement he exhibited in other branches of the government. His competence as a military strategist was criticized by his contemporaries however. Although he claimed several triumphs, these were largely propaganda manoeuvres. Tacitus derided Domitian's victory against the Chatti as a "mock triumph", and criticized his decision to retreat in Britain following the conquests of Agricola.

 

Nevertheless, Domitian appears to have been very popular among the soldiers, spending an estimated three years of his reign among the army on campaigns—more than any emperor since Augustus—and raising their pay by one-third. While the army command may have disapproved of his tactical and strategic decisions, the loyalty of the common soldier was unquestioned.

 

Once Emperor, Domitian immediately sought to attain his long delayed military glory. As early as 82, or possibly 83, he went to Gaul, ostensibly to conduct a census, and suddenly ordered an attack on the Chatti. For this purpose, a new legion was founded, Legio I Minervia, which constructed some 75 kilometres (46 mi) of roads through Chattan territory to uncover the enemy's hiding places.

 

Although little information survives of the battles fought, enough early victories were apparently achieved for Domitian to be back in Rome by the end of 83, where he celebrated an elaborate triumph and conferred upon himself the title of Germanicus. Domitian's supposed victory was much scorned by ancient authors, who described the campaign as "uncalled for", and a "mock triumph". The evidence lends some credence to these claims, as the Chatti would later play a significant role during the revolt of Saturninus in 89.

 

One of the most detailed reports of military activity under the Flavian dynasty was written by Tacitus, whose biography of his father-in-law Gnaeus Julius Agricola largely concerns the conquest of Britain between 77 and 84. Agricola arrived c. 77 as governor of Roman Britain, immediately launching campaigns into Caledonia (modern Scotland).

 

In 82 Agricola crossed an unidentified body of water and defeated peoples unknown to the Romans until then. He fortified the coast facing Ireland, and Tacitus recalls that his father-in-law often claimed the island could be conquered with a single legion and a few auxiliaries. He had given refuge to an exiled Irish king whom he hoped he might use as the excuse for conquest. This conquest never happened, but some historians believe that the crossing referred to was in fact a small-scale exploratory or punitive expedition to Ireland.

 

Turning his attention from Ireland, the following year Agricola raised a fleet and pushed beyond the Forth into Caledonia. To aid the advance, a large legionary fortress was constructed at Inchtuthil. In the summer of 84, Agricola faced the armies of the Caledonians, led by Calgacus, at the Battle of Mons Graupius. Although the Romans inflicted heavy losses on the enemy, two-thirds of the Caledonian army escaped and hid in the Scottish marshes and Highlands, ultimately preventing Agricola from bringing the entire British island under his control.

 

In 85, Agricola was recalled to Rome by Domitian, having served for more than six years as governor, longer than normal for consular legates during the Flavian era. Tacitus claims that Domitian ordered his recall because Agricola's successes outshone the Emperor's own modest victories in Germania. The relationship between Agricola and the Emperor is unclear: on the one hand, Agricola was awarded triumphal decorations and a statue, on the other, Agricola never again held a civil or military post in spite of his experience and renown. He was offered the governorship of the province of Africa but declined it, either due to ill health or, as Tacitus claims, the machinations of Domitian.

 

Not long after Agricola's recall from Britain, the Roman Empire entered into war with the Kingdom of Dacia in the East. Reinforcements were needed, and in 87 or 88, Domitian ordered a large-scale strategic withdrawal of troops in the British province. The fortress at Inchtuthil was dismantled and the Caledonian forts and watchtowers abandoned, moving the Roman frontier some 120 kilometres (75 mi) further south. The army command may have resented Domitian's decision to retreat, but to him the Caledonian territories never represented anything more than a loss to the Roman treasury.

 

The most significant threat the Roman Empire faced during the reign of Domitian arose from the northern provinces of Illyricum, where the Suebi, the Sarmatians and the Dacians continuously harassed Roman settlements along the Danube river. Of these, the Sarmatians and the Dacians posed the most formidable threat. In approximately 84 or 85 the Dacians, led by King Decebalus, crossed the Danube into the province of Moesia, wreaking havoc and killing the Moesian governor Oppius Sabinus.

 

Domitian quickly launched a counteroffensive, personally travelling to the region accompanied by a large force commanded by his praetorian prefect Cornelius Fuscus. Fuscus successfully drove the Dacians back across the border in mid-85, prompting Domitian to return to Rome and celebrate his second triumph.

 

The victory proved short-lived, however: as early in 86 Fuscus embarked on an ill-fated expedition into Dacia. Fuscus was killed, and the battle standard of the Praetorian Guard was lost. The loss of the battle standard, or aquila, was indicative of a crushing defeat and a serious affront to Roman national pride.

 

Domitian returned to Moesia in August 86. He divided the province into Lower Moesia and Upper Moesia, and transferred three additional legions to the Danube. In 87, the Romans invaded Dacia once more, this time under the command of Tettius Julianus, and finally defeated Decebalus in late 88 at the same site where Fuscus had previously perished. An attack on the Dacian capital Sarmizegetusa was forestalled when new troubles arose on the German frontier in 89.

 

In order to avert having to conduct a war on two fronts, Domitian agreed to terms of peace with Decebalus, negotiating free access of Roman troops through the Dacian region while granting Decebalus an annual subsidy of 8 million sesterces. Contemporary authors severely criticized this treaty, which was considered shameful to the Romans and left the deaths of Sabinus and Fuscus unavenged. For the remainder of Domitian's reign Dacia remained a relatively peaceful client kingdom, but Decebalus used the Roman money to fortify his defenses.

 

Domitian probably wanted a new war against the Dacians, and reinforced Upper Moesia with two more cavalry units brought from Syria and with at least five cohorts brought from Pannonia. Trajan continued Domitian's policy and added two more units to the auxiliary forces of Upper Moesia, and then he used the build up of troops for his Dacian wars. Eventually the Romans achieved a decisive victory against Decebalus in 106. Again, the Roman army sustained heavy losses, but Trajan succeeded in capturing Sarmizegetusa and, importantly, annexed the Dacian gold and silver mines.

 

Domitian firmly believed in the traditional Roman religion, and personally saw to it that ancient customs and morals were observed throughout his reign. In order to justify the divine nature of the Flavian rule, Domitian emphasized connections with the chief deity Jupiter, perhaps most significantly through the impressive restoration of the Temple of Jupiter on the Capitoline Hill. A small chapel dedicated to Jupiter Conservator was also constructed near the house where Domitian had fled to safety on 20 December 69. Later in his reign, he replaced it with a more expansive building, dedicated to Jupiter Custos.

 

The goddess he worshipped the most zealously, however, was Minerva. Not only did he keep a personal shrine dedicated to her in his bedroom, she regularly appeared on his coinage—in four different attested reverse types—and he founded a legion, Legio I Minervia, in her name.

 

Domitian also revived the practice of the imperial cult, which had fallen somewhat out of use under Vespasian. Significantly, his first act as an Emperor was the deification of his brother Titus. Upon their deaths, his infant son, and niece, Julia Flavia, were likewise enrolled among the gods. With regards to the emperor himself as a religious figure, both Suetonius and Cassius Dio allege that Domitian officially gave himself the title of Dominus et Deus ("Lord and God"). However, not only did he reject the title of Dominus during his reign, but since he issued no official documentation or coinage to this effect, historians such as Brian Jones contend that such phrases were addressed to Domitian by flatterers who wished to earn favors from the emperor.

 

To foster the worship of the imperial family, he erected a dynastic mausoleum on the site of Vespasian's former house on the Quirinal, and completed the Temple of Vespasian and Titus, a shrine dedicated to the worship of his deified father and brother. To memorialize the military triumphs of the Flavian family, he ordered the construction of the Templum Divorum and the Templum Fortuna Redux, and completed the Arch of Titus.

 

Construction projects such as these constituted only the most visible part of Domitian's religious policy, which also concerned itself with the fulfilment of religious law and public morals. In 85, he nominated himself perpetual censor, the office that held the task of supervising Roman morals and conduct. Once again, Domitian acquitted himself of this task dutifully, and with care. He renewed the Lex Iulia de Adulteriis Coercendis, under which adultery was punishable by exile. From the list of jurors he struck an equestrian who had divorced his wife and taken her back, while an ex-quaestor was expelled from the Senate for acting and dancing.

 

As eunuchs were popularly used as servants, Domitian punished people who castrated others and wanted to ban the eunuchs themselves. Subsequent emperors made similar prohibitions, but Domitian may have been the first to do so. Despite his moralizing, Domitian had his own favorite eunuch boy, Earinus, who was commemorated by the contemporary court poets Martial and Statius.

 

Domitian also heavily prosecuted corruption among public officials, removing jurors if they accepted bribes and rescinding legislation when a conflict of interest was suspected. He ensured that libellous writings, especially those directed against himself, were punishable by exile or death. Actors were likewise regarded with suspicion. Consequently, he forbade mimes from appearing on stage in public. Philosophers did not fare much better. Epictetus, who had set himself up in Rome as a professor of philosophy, remarked that philosophers were able to "look tyrants steadily in the face", and it was Domitian's decree of 94, expelling all philosophers from Rome, that caused Epictetus to shift his base to the recently founded Roman city of Nicopolis, in Epirus, Greece, where he lived simply, worked safely and died of old age.

Coin of Domitian, found in the Buddhist stupa of Ahin Posh, dedicated under the Kushan Empire in 150–160, in modern Afghanistan.

 

In 87, Vestal Virgins were found to have broken their sacred vows of lifelong public chastity. As the Vestals were regarded as daughters of the community, this offense essentially constituted incest. Accordingly, those found guilty of any such transgression were condemned to death, either by a manner of their choosing, or according to the ancient fashion, which dictated that Vestals should be buried alive.

 

Foreign religions were tolerated insofar as they did not interfere with public order, or could be assimilated with the traditional Roman religion. The worship of Egyptian deities in particular flourished under the Flavian dynasty, to an extent not seen again until the reign of Commodus. Veneration of Serapis and Isis, who were identified with Jupiter and Minerva respectively, was especially prominent.

 

4th century writings by Eusebius maintain that Jews and Christians were heavily persecuted toward the end of Domitian's reign. The Book of Revelation and First Epistle of Clement are thought by some to have been written during this period, the latter making mention of "sudden and repeated misfortunes", which are assumed to refer to persecutions under Domitian. Although Jews were heavily taxed, no contemporary authors give specific details of trials or executions based on religious offenses other than those within the Roman religion. Suetonius mentions having seen in his youth a nonagenarian being stripped by a procurator to see if he was circumcised.

 

On 1 January 89, the governor of Germania Superior, Lucius Antonius Saturninus, and his two legions at Mainz, Legio XIV Gemina and Legio XXI Rapax, revolted against the Roman Empire with the aid of the Germanic Chatti people. The precise cause for the rebellion is uncertain, although it appears to have been planned well in advance. The Senatorial officers may have disapproved of Domitian's military strategies, such as his decision to fortify the German frontier rather than attack, as well as his recent retreat from Britain, and finally the disgraceful policy of appeasement towards Decebalus.

 

At any rate, the uprising was strictly confined to Saturninus' province, and quickly detected once the rumour spread across the neighbouring provinces. The governor of Germania Inferior, Aulus Bucius Lappius Maximus, moved to the region at once, assisted by the procurator of Rhaetia, Titus Flavius Norbanus. From Spain, Trajan was summoned, while Domitian himself came from Rome with the Praetorian Guard.

 

By a stroke of luck, a thaw prevented the Chatti from crossing the Rhine and coming to Saturninus' aid. Within twenty-four days the rebellion was crushed, and its leaders at Mainz savagely punished. The mutinous legions were sent to the front in Illyricum, while those who had assisted in their defeat were duly rewarded.

 

Lappius Maximus received the governorship of the province of Syria, a second consulship in May 95, and finally a priesthood, which he still held in 102. Titus Flavius Norbanus may have been appointed to the prefecture of Egypt, but almost certainly became prefect of the Praetorian Guard by 94, with Titus Petronius Secundus as his colleague. Domitian opened the year following the revolt by sharing the consulship with Marcus Cocceius Nerva, suggesting the latter had played a part in uncovering the conspiracy, perhaps in a fashion similar to the one he played during the Pisonian conspiracy under Nero.

 

Although little is known about the life and career of Nerva before his accession as Emperor in 96, he appears to have been a highly adaptable diplomat, surviving multiple regime changes and emerging as one of the Flavians' most trusted advisors. His consulship may therefore have been intended to emphasize the stability and status quo of the regime. The revolt had been suppressed and the Empire returned to order.

 

Since the fall of the Republic, the authority of the Roman Senate had largely eroded under the quasi-monarchical system of government established by Augustus, known as the Principate. The Principate allowed the existence of a de facto dictatorial regime, while maintaining the formal framework of the Roman Republic. Most Emperors upheld the public facade of democracy, and in return the Senate implicitly acknowledged the Emperor's status as a de facto monarch.

 

Some rulers handled this arrangement with less subtlety than others. Domitian was not so subtle. From the outset of his reign, he stressed the reality of his autocracy. He disliked aristocrats and had no fear of showing it, withdrawing every decision-making power from the Senate, and instead relying on a small set of friends and equestrians to control the important offices of state.

 

The dislike was mutual. After Domitian's assassination, the senators of Rome rushed to the Senate house, where they immediately passed a motion condemning his memory to oblivion. Under the rulers of the Nervan-Antonian dynasty, senatorial authors published histories that elaborated on the view of Domitian as a tyrant.

 

Nevertheless, the evidence suggests that Domitian did make concessions toward senatorial opinion. Whereas his father and brother had concentrated consular power largely in the hands of the Flavian family, Domitian admitted a surprisingly large number of provincials and potential opponents to the consulship, allowing them to head the official calendar by opening the year as an ordinary consul. Whether this was a genuine attempt to reconcile with hostile factions in the Senate cannot be ascertained. By offering the consulship to potential opponents, Domitian may have wanted to compromise these senators in the eyes of their supporters. When their conduct proved unsatisfactory, they were almost invariably brought to trial and exiled or executed, and their property was confiscated.

 

Both Tacitus and Suetonius speak of escalating persecutions toward the end of Domitian's reign, identifying a point of sharp increase around 93, or sometime after the failed revolt of Saturninus. At least twenty senatorial opponents were executed, including Domitia Longina's former husband Lucius Aelius Lamia Plautius Aelianus and three of Domitian's own family members, Titus Flavius Sabinus, Titus Flavius Clemens and Marcus Arrecinus Clemens. Flavius Clemens was a cousin of Domitian, and the emperor had even designated Clemens' two young sons as his successors, calling them as "Vespasian" and "Domitian". Some of these men were executed as early as 83 or 85, however, lending little credit to Tacitus' notion of a "reign of terror" late in Domitian's reign. According to Suetonius, some were convicted for corruption or treason, others on trivial charges, which Domitian justified through his suspicion:

 

He used to say that the lot of Emperors was most unfortunate, since when they discovered a conspiracy, no one believed them unless they had been murdered.

 

Jones compares the executions of Domitian to those under Emperor Claudius (41–54), noting that Claudius executed around 35 senators and 300 equestrians, and yet was still deified by the Senate and regarded as one of the good Emperors of history. Domitian was apparently unable to gain support among the aristocracy, despite attempts to appease hostile factions with consular appointments. His autocratic style of government accentuated the Senate's loss of power, while his policy of treating patricians and even family members as equals to all Romans earned him their contempt.

 

According to Suetonius, Domitian worshipped Minerva as his protector goddess with superstitious veneration. In a dream, she is said to have abandoned the emperor prior to the assassination.

Domitian was assassinated on 18 September 96 in a conspiracy by court officials. A highly detailed account of the plot and the assassination is provided by Suetonius. He alleges that Domitian's chamberlain Parthenius played the main role in the plot, and historian John Grainger cites Parthenius' likely fear over Domitian's recent execution of Nero's former secretary Epaphroditus as a possible motive. The act itself was carried out by a freedman of Parthenius named Maximus, and a steward of Domitian's niece Flavia Domitilla, named Stephanus.

 

According to Suetonius, a number of omens had foretold Domitian's death. The Germanic soothsayer Larginus Proclus predicted the date of Domitian's death and was consequently sentenced to death by him. Several days prior to the assassination, Minerva had appeared to the emperor in a dream. She announced that she had been disarmed by Jupiter and could no longer give Domitian her protection. According to an auspice he had received, the Emperor believed that his death would be at midday. As a result, he was always restless around that time. On the day of the assassination, Domitian was distressed and repeatedly asked a servant to tell him what time it was. The servant, who was himself one of the plotters, lied to the emperor, telling him that it was already late in the afternoon. Apparently put at ease, the Emperor went to his desk to sign some decrees. Stephanus, who had been feigning an injury to his arm for several days and wearing a bandage to allow him to carry a concealed dagger, suddenly appeared:

 

...he pretended that he had discovered a plot, and was for that reason granted an audience: whereupon, as the amazed Domitian perused a document he had handed him, Stephanus stabbed him in the groin. The wounded Emperor put up a fight, but succumbed to seven further stabs, his assailants being a subaltern named Clodianus, Parthenius's freedman Maximus, Satur, a head-chamberlain and one of the imperial gladiators.

 

During the attack, Stephanus and Domitian had struggled on the floor, during which time Stephanus was stabbed by the emperor and died shortly afterward. Domitian's body was carried away on a common bier and unceremoniously cremated by his nurse Phyllis. Later, she took the emperor's ashes to the Flavian Temple and mingled them with those of his niece, Julia. He was 44 years old. As had been foretold, his death came at midday.

 

Cassius Dio, writing nearly a hundred years after the assassination, suggests that the assassination was improvised, while Suetonius implies it was a well-organized conspiracy, citing Stephanus' feigned injury and claiming that the doors to the servants' quarters had been locked prior to the attack and that a sword Domitian kept concealed beneath his pillow as a last line of personal protection against a would-be assassin, had also been removed beforehand.

 

Dio included Domitia Longina among the conspirators, but in light of her attested devotion to Domitian—even years after her husband had died—her involvement in the plot seems highly unlikely. The precise involvement of the Praetorian Guard is unclear. One of the guard's commanders, Titus Petronius Secundus, was almost certainly aware of the plot. The other, Titus Flavius Norbanus, the former governor of Raetia, was a member of Domitian's family.

 

Upon the death of Domitian, Nerva was proclaimed Emperor by the Senate.

The Fasti Ostienses, the Ostian Calendar, records that on the same day as Domitian's assassination, the Senate proclaimed Marcus Cocceius Nerva emperor. Despite his political experience, this was a remarkable choice. Nerva was old and childless, and had spent much of his career out of the public light, prompting both ancient and modern authors to speculate on his involvement in Domitian's assassination.

 

According to Cassius Dio, the conspirators approached Nerva as a potential successor prior to the assassination, suggesting that he was at least aware of the plot. He does not appear in Suetonius' version of the events, but this may be understandable, since his works were published under Nerva's direct descendants Trajan and Hadrian. To suggest the dynasty owed its accession to murder would have been less than sensitive.

 

On the other hand, Nerva lacked widespread support in the Empire, and as a known Flavian loyalist, his track record would not have recommended him to the conspirators. The precise facts have been obscured by history, but modern historians believe Nerva was proclaimed Emperor solely on the initiative of the Senate, within hours after the news of the assassination broke. The decision may have been hasty so as to avoid civil war, but neither appears to have been involved in the conspiracy.

 

The Senate nonetheless rejoiced at the death of Domitian, and immediately following Nerva's accession as Emperor, passed damnatio memoriae on Domitian's memory; his coins and statues were melted, his arches were torn down and his name was erased from all public records. Domitian and, over a century later, Publius Septimius Geta were the only emperors known to have officially received a damnatio memoriae, though others may have received de facto ones. In many instances, existing portraits of Domitian, such as those found on the Cancelleria Reliefs, were simply recarved to fit the likeness of Nerva, which allowed quick production of new images and recycling of previous material.[181] Yet the order of the Senate was only partially executed in Rome, and wholly disregarded in most of the provinces outside Italy.

 

According to Suetonius, the people of Rome met the news of Domitian's death with indifference, but the army was much grieved, calling for his deification immediately after the assassination, and in several provinces rioting. As a compensation measure, the Praetorian Guard demanded the execution of Domitian's assassins, which Nerva refused. Instead he merely dismissed Titus Petronius Secundus, and replaced him with a former commander, Casperius Aelianus.

 

Dissatisfaction with this state of affairs continued to loom over Nerva's reign, and ultimately erupted into a crisis in October 97, when members of the Praetorian Guard, led by Casperius Aelianus, laid siege to the Imperial Palace and took Nerva hostage. He was forced to submit to their demands, agreeing to hand over those responsible for Domitian's death and even giving a speech thanking the rebellious Praetorians. Titus Petronius Secundus and Parthenius were sought out and killed. Nerva was unharmed in this assault, but his authority was damaged beyond repair. Shortly thereafter he announced the adoption of Trajan as his successor, and with this decision nearly abdicated (Wikipedia).

Night comes and goes with little possibility of sleep. As the first rays of morning penetrate their small cell, Larry and Rita finish catching Niles up on everything that’s happened, and how they came to be here. Niles listens with astute interest as Larry finishes the tale, clenching his fists when he gets to Eric’s betrayal. They share the gloom of their cell in silence. Niles looks over to Cliff, staring pensively at the ground. He hasn’t said a word since they got here.

 

Niles: Cliff? You haven’t said anything all night. What’s troubling you?

 

Cliff pulls his gaze from the floor, Brain’s words still echoing through his mind.

 

Cliff: Huh? Yeah, I’m fine.

 

The four of them sit there for an hour or so, attempting despite the humidity of the morning to go to sleep. It doesn’t come. After a while, Rita sits up and finally plucks up the courage to ask the question they’ve all been wanting to ask since they arrived.

 

Rita: Niles… what did you mean before, when you said you had to leave? Where were you going? And no dodging the question this time!

 

Larry and Cliff look at Niles. Niles fidgets uncomfortably against the wall. He takes a moment before answering.

 

Niles: It’s… complicated.

 

They watch him eagerly.

 

Niles: There’s a lot I can’t tell you. Not because I don’t want to, believe me… but because it would be irresponsible of me. However, due to the current circumstances…

 

He looks around the cell.

 

Niles: I may not have much choice. Perhaps I was wrong to think you all unready…

 

He takes a long, drawn out breath. He is about to speak, but before the words can see the light of day a rumbling noise comes from behind the door. All of them look over to it as it is heaved open and Mallah, grin on his leathery face, barges in.

 

Mallah: It’s time.

 

Before anyone can protest, he grabs Niles under the shoulders and hauls him onto his back. Larry jumps up, but halts as Niles raises a hand to him.

 

Niles: Listen to me! Find Senec – tell him Niles Caulder sent you! He’ll know what needs to be done…

 

Mallah slams the door shut behind him, and just like that he’s gone. Larry looks round to the others, and is comforted by the fact they look just as confused as he is.

  

====================

  

Every step Mallah takes causes Niles great discomfort as he bounces around on his back. Mallah adjusts his grip, pulling Niles’ arms over his shoulders. Niles murmurs uncomfortably.

 

Niles: Don’t you get tired of lugging people around all day? It seems that’s all you do.

 

Mallah looks ahead and grunts.

 

Mallah: I enjoy it. Keeps the mind active.

 

Niles: But I remember you, Mallah. You used to be such an excitable little chimp; so full of life. What happened?

 

Mallah: Life grinds you down. I read Sartre and smoke cigarettes now. What more can I say?

 

Niles sighs as Mallah walks into the central room decked out with machinery. Niles isn’t surprised to see Brain, proudly stood to the side of the machine he had called ‘The White Room’. As he is dumped on the ground, he spots a forlorn looking Eric Morden sat on a crate at the edge of the room, looking at his feet. Mallah steps over Niles and joins Brain.

 

Brain: Niles Caulder… after all these years, our debt will be settled.

 

Niles sits up on his arms and groans.

 

Niles: Oh not this nonsense again. If you’re going to kill me bloody well get on with it.

 

Brain scoffs obnoxiously.

 

Brain: And ruin all my fun? Oh no no mon cheri, we do this on my terms I am afraid. Mallah, prepare ‘im.

 

Mallah moves around the other side of the machine and disappears out of view.

 

Brain: Mallah will momentarily administer a small, epidermal injection to your spine. Following this, you will lose all control of your body and will be completely paralysed.

 

Niles: Afraid I’m going to run away, are you?

 

Brain: Silence!

 

Niles smirks.

 

Brain: You will then be placed inside the void of the White Room, where you will be subject to… uhm… torture… of the mind… and soul…

 

Niles frowns and holds up a hand.

 

Niles: A moment, if you would. Are you even remotely certain of what this thing will do?

 

Brain pauses for a second.

 

Brain: The creators of the machine left detailed instructions…

 

Niles: Yes, on how to build the thing. But do you actually know what it will do to me once I’m inside?

 

Brain pauses again.

 

Brain: Well… not exactly, no.

 

Niles sighs.

 

Niles: So you don’t even know if this thing will work?

 

Mallah re-emerges from round the machine, clutching a syringe and a straitjacket.

 

Mallah: Of course it will you ‘airless monkey! I ‘ave worked long and ‘ard to ensure this machine is in perfect working condition! Your death will be as unpleasant as it needs to be!

 

He joins Brain and glares at Niles on the floor.

 

Niles: Your master here didn’t sound so certain.

 

Mallah looks round at Brain.

 

Mallah: Really, my love?

 

Brain: Of course not! I know ‘ow ‘ard you ‘ave worked! It is impossible it will fail!

 

Niles: If you’re so uncertain why don’t you test it out?

 

Brain and Mallah go quiet. Brain considers for a moment and laughs mockingly at Niles.

 

Brain: Very good, Caulder, very good. And who would you ‘ave me test it on, eh? Myself, perhaps? Mallah? Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice and… you shall not again!

 

Niles chuckles along with them for a moment and turns and points over to the corner of the room.

 

Niles: What about him?

 

Eric, still sat moping on his crate, is startled and looks over at them. Mallah looks at Brain for a second and shrugs. Brain goes quiet, and after a moment whispers under his mechanical breath.

 

Brain: Everything ‘appens for a reason…

 

He snaps back into life.

 

Brain: Fine Caulder. ‘Ave it your way. Mallah, prepare ‘im!

 

Mallah rushes across the room. Before Eric can even register what’s going on, he is pulled to his feet and dragged over to face the White Room. He tries to plead with Brain, but a meek grunting sound is all his mouth can produce. Mallah forces his arms into the straitjacket and secures it tightly around his body. He then seizes Eric by his scalp, pulling him into the air like a wet dishcloth, and jabs the needle into the base of his spine. He squirms, thrashing his legs about wildly, then goes still. A bead of sweat drips down his forehead and into his wet, unblinking eye. He tries to scream, but it makes it as far as his throat and gives up – it’s like his jaw is wired shut. Niles watches with morbid fascination as Mallah holds his rigid body securely against his chest and pulls the door to the White Room open.

 

Niles notices how the machine’s interior seems to go on forever, like a morose optical illusion; a terrible white horizon stretching out into a bleak infinity. Mallah drops Eric down on a single seat in what must be the centre of the machine and closes the door on him. Niles shifts uncomfortably on the ground. Mallah goes to a control panel next to the machine and presses a couple of buttons. A terrible mechanical sound fills the air as the White Room buzzes into life, and Niles is suddenly aware how glad he is to be out here and not inside the machine, now vibrating angrily. Mallah grabs a lever, the lights in the compound flickering madly, and pulls it down.

  

====================

  

Larry paces around the cell anxiously. He watches Cliff as he tries and fails one more time to pry the door off its hinges and fall back against the wall, defeated.

 

Larry: We can’t give up this easily!

 

Rita sits on the ground, replaying Niles’ final words in her head.

 

Rita: What did Niles mean – ‘find Senec?’ What’s Senec?

 

Larry: That’s not gonna matter if we can’t get out of here. Come on big guy, one more try!

 

Cliff holds his hands up.

 

Cliff: It won’t budge man, I’m tellin’ ya. Can’t Casper the unfriendly ghost come out?

 

Larry: He doesn’t exactly take requests, Cliff…

 

Cliff: How convenient…

 

Rita: BOYS!

 

She stands up, arms to her side, and glares at them. Larry is about to reply, before he realises why she’s shut them up. The walls of their cell begin to shake as if hit by a minor earthquake, and the single bulb suspended from the ceiling starts to flicker.

 

Larry: Oh god… Niles…

 

He opens his jacket and puts a hand on his chest. Nothing.

 

Larry: Come on, please…

 

Cliff goes over to him and stares at his chest, like a hapless father watching his wife in labour. He raises his fists encouragingly and bounces up and down on his knees.

 

Cliff: Yeah, c’mon buddy… you can do it! I didn’t mean what I said before!

 

They both stare at Larry’s chest as the tremors intensify. As nothing continues stubbornly to happen, Rita takes a breath and unbeknownst to the boys kneels down.

 

Rita: Here goes nothing…

 

She focuses all her attention on her right hand. She pictures herself as the hulking mass of flesh in her bed, as the puddle on the floor of the cave, as a monster hiding away from the world… and remembers Cliff’s words: ‘I don’t think you’re a monster…’ Her arm melts. She grits her teeth and concentrates all her energy on her now flat right arm, keeping the rest of her body together. Her arm shifts, and she winces as she imagines it twisting along the ground. After a few seconds her arm responds, and it begins to stretch out across the ground of their cell and towards the door like a fleshly, shapeless snake. It reaches the gap underneath the door and pushes through it to the outside. She winces as she focuses her attention on now getting it to move upwards, and sure enough it does. She feels it winding its way up the cool metal door of their cell like a rapid growing vine, stopping as it reaches the bolt on the outside of the door. She shuts her eyes, imagines herself undoing it, and opens her eyes in surprise as she hears the bolt slide out of its lock and the cell door creak open.

 

Larry and Cliff don’t move. Rita falls back against the ground, exhausted, and focuses on reforming her arm.

 

Rita: A woman’s work is never done.

 

Larry and Cliff dart over to her, lifting her up gently.

 

Larry: Rita… wow…

 

Rita: Niles…

 

Cliff pushes the door open fully and makes a break for it, followed closely by Larry and a recovering Rita. The three of them run down the corridor and towards the source of the noise, careful to maintain their balance as the corridor around them shakes violently. They burst into the compound’s central room and freeze when they lay their eyes upon the White Room, shuddering aggressively and smoking. The wires sprouting out from its roof tremble as brilliant white light radiates out from a single window on its door, casting deep shadows around the room. They spot the Brain and Mallah, embracing to the side of it, and a deep dread fills their hearts. They are about to cry out for it to stop, but notice Niles, sprawled across the ground before it and covering his eyes. They rush over to him.

 

Rita: Niles! What’s happening?

 

He holds up a hand.

 

Niles: I think we may be about to find out…

 

They stare at the White Room as its movement reaches an erratic crescendo and ends. They shield their eyes from the dazzling white light that fills the room as the door erupts off its hinges and a silhouetted figure emerges from within.

 

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

MANIFESTO GLEITZEIT 2015

BY STELLY RIESLING

Featured below is another original art work of mine in homage to THE PIONEER OF INVISIBLE ART — PAUL JAISINI. Forget all the copycats that came after him — Master Paul Jaisini was the *FIRST* of a totally original concept and the *BEST*. My favorite thing about him is that he’s a voice, not an echo, which is quite rare.

DISCLAIMER: This is for anyone who is a hater OR wishes to better understand me, what I’m all about, so you can decide whether I’m weird or normal enough for you — a kind of very loose manifesto, rushed and unrevised, full of raw uncut emotion that I don’t like to be evident in my writing as lately I prefer a more professional, formal style, so we can consider this a rough draft of the more polished writing to come when I have extra time. I might return to this text later and clean it up or break it into separate parts. Right now it’s a long-winded hot mess, so if you manage to make any sense of it, BIG PROPS TO YOU. lol …and if you manage to read it ALL, you have my solemn respect!!! in a day when reading has been reduced to just catchy headliners and short captions of images once in a while. The consequence of this one-liner internet culture is non-linear, tunnel thinking, which is baaaaaad.

There lives among us a most enigmatic and charismatic creature named Paul Jaisini who led me into the wonderful world of art, not personally, but through descriptions of his artworks in essays written and published online by his friend, which painted the most fascinating images in my mind. Early on as a kiddo, I experimented with photography, simple point and shoot whatever looked attractive to me. Digital manipulation of my photographs with computer software followed… and somehow I learned useful drawing techniques along the way to combine existing elements with nonexistent ones, which allowed me to elevate the context for my ideas. Later, I started creating my own digital art from scratch for my friends and family as a favorite pastime. They would shower me with praise and repeatedly encouraged me to share my “different” vision with the rest of the world… it took a while and wasn’t easy to overcome the insecurity of not being good enough along with a gripping fear of being harshly criticized, but one day I woman-ed up and started publishing my work on the web, reminding myself that my livelihood didn’t depend on a positive reception.

Paul Jaisini’s role in all this has been to not disgrace myself, even if what I do is just a hobby. And I would never do him and other genius artists the disservice of calling myself a professional because I know I’ll never be as good as any of the GIANTS of pre-modern history. Be the best or be nothing, no middle ground.

People’s jealousy in the past, future and present over my obsessive love of Paul Jaisini, which they are well aware is purely plutonic, has caused them to despise the man and has made many relationships/friendships impossible for me. I refuse to have such people in my life because by harboring any negativity towards Paul, they unknowingly feel that way about me and express it to me. It’s their own problem for not realizing this. Paul’s new art movement, Gleitzeit, shaped me into the allegedly awesome girl I am today, giving my art more edge, more “sexy” because it refined my vision of the world and propelled me to attain the skills necessary to not dishonor my family name through tenacious pursuit of perfection. Since the beginning of my life, I attempted to depict what I saw in visual, musical and literal forms, but continuously failed without adequate training and determination. Paul Jaisini’s Gleitzeit was the answer to my prayers. Who I am today I owe mostly to him and his selfless ideals of the artverse that I’ve given unconditional loyalty to (he has this cool ability for hyper-vision to see whole universes, not itty bitty worlds, hence I call it an artverse instead of art world, with him in mind). So again, anyone who hates Paul Jaisini hates ME because, regardless of what he means to you, he is the most important person in my life for making me ME. The way a famous actor, dancer or singer inspires others to act, dance or sing, Paul inspired me to become a better artist, better writer, better everything. More people would understand if he was a household name because they’re wired to in society. But we’re inspiring each other all the time in our own little communities without being famous, so if someone has the ability to change even ONE person’s life immensely with creativity, it is a massive achievement. And passionate folks like myself are compelled to scream it from the cyber rooftops. So here I am. It’s whatever.

Furthermore, I’d like to address here a few pressing matters in light of some recent drama brought on by both strangers and former friends. To start, I never judge the passions, interests or likes of others, which are often in my face all over the place, so likewise they have no right to judge any of mine. It is quite unfortunate and frustrating how very little understanding and education the majority of people have or want to have. Their logic is as primitive as a chipmunk when it comes to promotion of fine art on the web: “spamming, advertising, report!” It’s their own problem that they fail to understand what it’s about due to the distorted lens through which they see the world or inability to think for themselves; an inherent lack of perception or inquisitiveness. Well, guess what? Every single image, every animation, every video, every post dedicated to Mr. Paul Jaisini and “Gleitziet” (to elaborate: a revolutionary new art movement Paul founded with his partner in crime and personal friend, EYKG, who discovered him and believed in him more than anyone) has an important purpose. Every one of those things you run across is a piece of a puzzle, a move in a game, an inch down a rabbit hole; the deeper you go, the more interesting it gets; the more levels you pass, the more clues unfold, the greater the suspense and nearer the conclusion (yet further). You earn awesome rewards like enlightenment, spiritual revelations, truths, knowledge, wisdom and the most profound reward of all: the drive to improve yourself to the absolute maximum, so an unending, unshakable drive. People often make a wrong turn in this cyber game and go back a few levels or get stuck. Those that keep on pushing, however, will come to find the effort has been worth it. And what awaits you in the end of it all? The greatest challenge to beating the game: YOUR OWN MIND. You will be forced to let go of every belief you held before you had reached the last level, to completely alter your mindset and perception of the world, of life, of yourself. But by the time you’ve gotten to that point, it will be as easy as falling off a cliff! (It is a kind of suicide after all — death and rebirth of spirit.)

Paul Jaisini does NOT, *I repeat* does NOT use mystery and obscurity to his advantage as a clever marketing ploy, no, he’s too next level for that with a consciousness so rich, he should wear a radioactive warning sign (he’ll melt your brain, best wear a tinfoil hat in his presence as I certainly would.) The statement he makes is loud and clear, hidden in plain site for those who take the time to connect the dots and have enough curiosity to fuel their journey into unknown territory (an open mind and flexible perception helps a lot). Actually, anyone with an IQ above 90 is sure to figure it out sooner or later. Hint: You don’t have to SEE an extraordinary thing with your eyes to know it exists, to understand it and realize its greatness — you can only feel it in your bone marrow, your spinal fluid, your heart and soul. The moment you do figure it out, as the skeleton key of the human soul, it will unlock the greatness and massive potential buried deep within, changing the doomed direction humanity is undoubtedly headed. I don’t speak in riddles, I speak in a clear direct way that intelligent humans will understand, so I’m counting on them.

GIG is an international group of artists and writers that support Paul Jaisini’s Gleitzeit. We started off as an unofficial fan club of Jaisini in 1996, comprised of only 6 individuals spanning 3 countries, and eventually escalated in status to an official fan group across the entire globe. A decade later it had grown to hundreds of fans. Nearly another decade later, there are thousands. Let’s not leave out another delightful group of vicious haters that have been around for nearly as long as us since the late 90s and have also grown in impressive numbers. Now, for the record (and please write this one down because I’m sick of repeating myself), Paul Jaisini himself is not part of our group and has nothing to do with us. He loves and hates us equally for butchering his name and making him appear as a narcissistic nut-job in his own words. He casts hexes on us for the blinding flash we layer over the art that members contribute to GIG — “disgusting-police-lights, seizure-inducing-laser-lightshow, bourgeois-myspace-effects retarded-raver shit” in Paul’s words. Ahh, how we love his sweet-talking us. In a desperate attempt to please him, those among us who make the art and animations have spent countless hours and sleepless nights trying to solve a crazy-complex quantum-physics type of equation = how to not create tacky or tasteless content. He does fancy some of it now, we got better, that’s something! In the reason stated below, our mission just got out of hand at some point.

What little is known about Paul Jaisini, even in all this time, is he’s a horrible perfectionist who slaughtered hundreds of innocent babies — I mean — artworks of remarkable beauty created by his own right hand (mostly paintings, some watercolors and drawings). He’s a fierce recluse who wants nothing to do with anyone or anything in life. But those few of us who know of an incredible talent he possesses (one could go as far as calling it a superpower), could not allow him to live his life without the recognition he FUCKING DESERVES more than any artist out there living today and, arguably, yesterday. We use whatever means necessary to reach more people, lots of flash and razzle-dazzle to lure them into our sinister trap of a higher awareness. Mwahaha! The visual boom you’ve witnessed in both cyber and real worlds, that is GIG’s doing — two damn decades of spreading an art virus — IVA. InVisibleArtitis… or a drug as in Intravenous Art. It’s whatever you want it to be, honey.

Our Gleitzeit International Group (GIG) started off innocently enough and gradually spiraled out of control to fight the haters, annoying the hell out of them as much as humanly possible. They don’t like what we do? WE DO MORE AND MORE OF IT. But never without purpose, without a carefully executed plan in mind collectively. If we have to tolerate an endless tidal wave of everyone’s vomit — e.g., idiotic memes and comics; dumbed-down one-liner quotes; selfies; so-called “art photography” passed through one-click app filters; mindless scribbles or random splatters by regular folks who have the nerve to call themselves serious/pro artists; primitive images of pets, babies, landscapes, random objects, etc… then people sure as shit are gonna tolerate what we put out, our animated and non-animated visual art designed for our beloved master, Paul Jaisini, who has shown us the light, the right path to follow, taught us great things and done so much for us — and so in our appreciation of him, we stamp his name on everything, for the sacrifices he has made in the name of art, to save our art verse, he’s a goddamn hero. There’s a book being written in his dedication where little will be left to the imagination about him.

If Paul Jaisini was as famous as Koons or Hirst, for example, people would know it’s not him posting stuff online with his name on it but fans creating fanart like myself among others. But noooooo, such a thing is unfathomable to most people - the promotion of another artist. Like, what’s in it for us? Uhh, nothing?? This is all NON-PROFIT bitches, the way art should be. It’s a passion FIRST, a commodity/commercial product/marketable item LAST and least. Its been that way for us since the early 90s to this day. Not a single member of GIG has sold an art work (neither has Paul Jaisini who’s a true professional) and we want to keep it that way. We do it for reasons far beyond ego. So advertising? Really? How the hell do you advertise or sell thin air, you know, invisible paintings, invisible anything? Ha ha, very funny indeed. The idea here is so simple, your neighbor’s dog can grasp it. Our motives: replace fast food for the mind with fine art, actual fine art. You know, creativity? Conscious thought? Talent? Skill? Knowledge? All that good stuff rolled into one to bring viewers more than a momentary ooohand aaahh reaction. Replace the recycled images ad nauseum; repetitious, worn-out ideas; disposable, gimmicky, money-driven fast art for simpletons. Stick with the highest of ideals and save the whole bloody planet.

Fine art is often confused with craft-making. This often creates bad blood between classically trained artists who put out paintings that leave a lasting impression, that make strong conversation pieces, that are thought-provoking and deep… and trained craftspeople whose skills are adequate to create decorative pieces for homely environments — landscapes, still lifes, animals, pretty fairies, common things of fantasy, and other simplicity. Skills alone are not enough for high art, you need a vision, a purpose, the ability to tell a story with every stroke of your brush that will both fascinate and terrify the viewers, arousing powerful emotions, illuminating. I have yet to see a visible painting in my generation that does anything at all for me, other than evoke sheer outrage and disgust. What a terrible waste of space and valuable resources it all is.

Paul Jaisini leads, we follow. He wishes to remain unknown - so do most of us. I’m next in line, slipping into recluse mode, no longer wanting to attach my face, my human image to my art stuff. I wish to be a nameless, faceless artist as well, invisible like P.J., and in his footsteps I too have destroyed thousands of my own artistic photography and digital art made with tedious, labor-intensive handwork. The whole point of this destruction is achieving the finest results possible by letting go of the imperfect, purging it on a regular basis, to make way for the perfect. I love what I do so it doesn’t matter, I know I’ll keep producing as much as I’m discarding, keeping the balance. Hoarding is an enemy of progress, especially the digital kind as there’s absolutely no limit to it. It’s like carrying a load of bricks on your back you’ll never use or need.

The watering down of creativity that digital pack ratting has caused as observed over the years is most tragic. For the creative individual, relying on terabytes of stock photos or OSFAP as I call them (Once Size Fits All Photos) instead of making your own as you used to when you had no choice, being 100% original, is a splinter in the conscience. It’s not evil to use stock of, say, things you don’t have access to (outer space, deep sea, Antarctica, etc.), but many digital artists I know today can’t take their own shot of a pencil ‘cause they “ain’t got no time for that!” How did they have time before? Did time get so compressed in only a decade?

Ohhhhh, and the edits, textures, filters, plug-ins and what-have-you available out there to everyone and their cats… are responsible for the tidal wave of rubbish that eclipses the magnificent light of the real talents.

I can tell you with utmost sincerity there is no better feeling on earth than knowing your creation is ALL yours, every pixel and dot, from the first to the last. It’s not always possible to make it so, but definitely the most rewarding endeavor. I’m most proud of myself when I can accomplish that.

Back to Paul Jaisini, from the start there have been a number of theories floating around on what his real story is. One of my own theories is that he stands for the unknowns of the world who can’t get representation, can’t get exhibited at a decent gallery because highly gifted/trained artists aren’t good enough - those kind of establishments prefer bananas, balloon dogs, feces, gigantic dicks/cunts, and all kinds of what-the-fucks…

So again, you don’t get the Paul Jaisini thing? That’s your problem. Don’t hate others for getting it. People are good, very good, at making baseless assumptions and impulsively spewing it as truth. They criticize and judge as if they’re high authorities on the subject yet they clearly lack education in fine art or art history and possess little to no talent or skill to back up their bullshit. My little “credibility radar” never fails. When they say I know this or I know that, I reply don’t say “I know” or state things as fact as a general rule of thumb - instead say “I assume/believe” and state the reasons you feel thus to appear less immature, especially about a controversial topic like invisible art. I have zero respect or tolerance for egomaniacs who think they know it all and act accordingly like arrogant pricks. Who can stand those, right? Once again, a good example would be: I, Stelly Riesling, believe everything I’ve written in this little manifesto to be correct based on personal experience and observation from multiple angles, thorough research and sufficient data collected from verifiable sources (and don’t go copying-pasting my own words back at me, be original). Just because you or I say so doesn’t make it so. Just because you or me think or believe so doesn’t make it true or right. I only ask that my opinions are regarded respectfully and whoever opposes them does so in a mature, civilized manner. We should only be entitled to opinions that don’t bring out the worst in us.

I don’t normally take such a position, but the time has come to stand up for what I believe in! It’s quite amusing and comical how haters think calling me names, attacking me or my interests or members of the project I’m part of for years is going to change something. It only makes more evident the importance of what I’m doing so I push on harder still.

Words of advise to those who can identify with me, with my frustrations over people’s reluctance to change their miserable ways, with our declining art world…

DON’T waste time on people who sweat the small stuff, whose actions are consistently inconsistent with their words. DO waste time on people who always keep their eye on the ball—the bigger picture of life.

Paul Jaisini’s invisible paintings are more than hype, more than your lame assumptions. Here’s one I got that’s pure gold: a cult! It started out as A JOKE OF MINE that was used against me. I told a then-good friend that he should come join our little “art cult” in a clearly lighthearted manner, and later he takes this idea I put in his head first and accuses me of being in an (imaginary) cult—the jokes on me eh?. But wait, aren’t cults religious? Our group consists of people around the world of different faiths (or none at all) so how could that ever work? If religion was about making fine (non-pop) art mainstream and bringing awesome, fresh, futuristic concepts to the collective consciousness, the world would not be so fucked up today because talent, creativity, originality and individuality would be the main focus, not superficial poppycock; those things would be praised and encouraged and supported in society by all institutions, not demonized and stigmatized.

Here is one thing I CAN state as solid fact: only one person close to Paul Jaisini knows the TRUE story, or at least some of it: EYKG. Everything else that has ever been said about him is myth, legend, gossip, speculation, the worst of which is said by jealous non-artists (wannabes, clones, posers, hang-ons, unoriginal ppl in general) and anti-artists (religious psychos, squares, losers and -duh- stupid ppl). Sadly, people are unable to see the bigger picture by letting their egos run their lives or repeating after others as parrots.

Commercial art, consumerism, and ignorance of the masses truly makes me want to curl up in a ball, not eat or drink or move until I die, just die in my sleep while dreaming of a better world, a world where real fine artists rule it with real fine art as they used to and life is beautiful once again….

Well I hope that settled THAT for now, or perhaps inadvertently made matters worse. I hope I didn’t sound too pissed from all these issues that keep popping up like penises on ChatRoulette… just got to me already! Can you tell? I had to put my foot down, stomp ‘em all!

To be continued, still lots more ignorance and pettiness to battle… Till then peace out my bambini. MWAH!

 

St. Gregory Roman Catholic Church. Crown Heights, Brooklyn

 

Photo taken by Herwart Schneider and kindly provided by him for inclusion on this page.

  

München-Riem

August 1983

 

N8416

Boeing 707-323C

20088 / 727

American Trans Air (ATA)

 

N8416 is coming in to land on Riem’s runway 07.

 

Information from flickr - thanks to Paul:

New to American Airlines as N8416 in 1968. To American Trans Air in 1982 then to Boeing in 1984. To Transbrasil as PT-TCN in 1985, leased to AeroBrasil in 1991 then to Beta Cargo as PP-BRR in 1997. Withdrawn from use at Sao Paulo-Guarulhos (GRU) in 2006 and scrapped in 2009.

 

Registration details for this airframe:

www.scramble.nl/database/civil/details/B707_646

 

This airframe as N8416A with American Airlines at SJU in March 1980:

www.airhistory.net/photo/243921/N8416A

 

N8416A with American Trans Air at PHL in April 1983:

www.flickr.com/photos/23032926@N05/5234583032

Bob Garrard’s note concerning the registration: During the early '80s ATA had 8 707s in the fleet, all but one had an "A" suffix on the registration. This should be N8416, but had the "A" applied in error. A photo taken a month later shows it correctly.

 

This airframe as PT-TCN with TransBrasil at GIG in July 1986:

www.flickr.com/photos/150730665@N08/46982409884

 

PT-TCN with AeroBrasil Cargo at SNN in 1993:

www.flickr.com/photos/shanair/39907737003

 

PT-TCN with AeroBrasil Cargo at MIA in November 1994 (later colours):

www.flickr.com/photos/guidojet/51120582787

  

This airframe as PP-BRR with BETA Cargo at POA in April 2001:

cdn.jetphotos.com/full/1/17154_1043432349.jpg

 

PP-BRR with BETA Cargo at Manaus-Eduardo Gomes in March 2006:

www.flickr.com/photos/pslg05896/31622882481

 

PP-BRR with BETA Cargo at GRU in October 2007 (later colours):

www.flickr.com/photos/88821481@N00/1646633111

 

PP-BRR still intact at GRU in December 2011:

cdn.jetphotos.com/full/4/84479_1325726382.jpg

  

Scan from Kodachrome slide.

Gotcha! (You can find him in the original size image)

What's up, all my HULKAMANIACS!!

 

Him again!!

We're not Hulkamaniacs!

He's still orange...

 

Since it's late in the evening the Hulkster said to himself, 'I'm gonna ride down there to the Beejoo Planks and tell all my Hulkamaniacs a bedtime story before they leave!'

 

...

Well, we were thinking of leaving early tonight.

We started thinking that when you showed up.

 

It goes like this! Once upon a time all the wrestlers in the world got together for the biggest rumble ever, to see who was the biggest, baddest wrestler on the planet!

 

Great story, thank you Hulk, goodnight!

 

And they fought and tore the whole stadium down! But then they heard a sound like a tornado and that whole stadium, and all the wrestlers in was lifted right up!!

 

I thought the stadium was torn down.

Shh!

Well, I'd appreciate some continuity.

 

And all the wrestlers in the world looked and saw the 26 inch golden pythons! It was the Hulkster, lifting up the whole shootin match just like Atlas!!!

 

Oh, no, not the 'pythons'.

That isn't 'gold'.

That's 'I fell asleep at Palm Beach Tan again.'

 

And the Hulkster roared, "WHATCHA GONNA DO, WHEN HULKAMANIA RUNS WILD ON YOU!!?" And all the wrestlers in the world bowed down before the Hulkster!

 

What kind of story was that!?

Would you PLEASE stop interacting with him?

Don't feed the Big Orange Goblin. He'll leave.

__________________________

A year of the shows and performers of the Bijou Planks Theater.

  

That was so stupid.

I know! Everyone knows Speedo would have won that rumble!

 

Crack!

 

"Daddy, no!"

 

Leonard hit the ground hard. His cheek was set aflame, tiny droplets of red leaking from his lips. Lewis, his father, stood above him, his fist balled tightly.

 

"You shut the fuck up!" he yelled, his opposite hand pointing at Lisa, Leonard's sister. The girl sat crying, a fainter red mark on her cheek. "When I'm done with this little fucker, you're getting punished."

 

Leonard jolted up, ramming his small fist into his father's stomach. "Don't touch her!" he yelled, tears running down his swelling face. "If you do… I'll kill you!"

 

"Why you miserable…"

 

Crack. Crack. Crack.

 

Hours passed after Lewis' rampage. Leonard had suffered multiple injuries from the man; a black eye, a busted lip, and paintball-like bruises riddling his stomach. Lisa had taken far less of the attack, only receiving a small bruise on her cheek.

 

The girl was currently curled up next to him, her cheeks stained with tears. Leonard had calmed her down enough after the incident, singing her to sleep.

 

He couldn't sleep, however. His eyes needed to stay open at all times. He never knew if he'd need to be awake to save his sister from the maniac, so he kept awake, no matter how tired he truly was.

 

-^-

 

"I'm not playing around, Lisa," Lewis yelled, jolting up from the dinner table. "You're gonna go to that boy and apologize, you understand me? Whatever the hell he wants, he's gonna get!"

 

"He was forcing himself on me!" Lisa snapped back. "I wasn't going to sit there and… and let him…"

 

"You sent him to the emergency room cause clawed his damn eyes out, you stupid bitch!" he said, walking towards Lisa. "You're lucky he's not pressing charges, as long as you do what he wants!"

 

Lisa cowered as Lewis stood over her. She had grown up and learned some self defense from Leonard… but she was still a fourteen year old girl.

 

Smack.

 

Her body dropped to the floor, the mark of her father's ring now imprinted on her red cheek.

 

"Daddy, please…"

 

"You wanna be a tough girl?" he asked, undoing his belt and folding it into a weapon. "Let's see how tough you really are."

 

Lisa raised her arms to block the hit, but the sound of the door opening caused both to freeze.

 

"What the hell?"

 

Leonard stood in the doorway dressed in his work uniform. He was small for a sixteen year old, but his eyes were burning with anger.

 

"What the hell!?" he repeated, dropping the toolbox he was carrying.

 

"I-I-I-Its fine, Leo," Lisa said, forcing a smile. She could see the rage in her brother… a rage that wouldn't end well for him. "I-I-I'm fine."

 

"You're finally back," Lewis said, side-eyeing Lisa. "Find anywhere that'll be an easy enough run?"

 

"What are you doing to my sister!?" Leonard asked, walking towards the two. "Well!?"

 

"Don't try and act tough, Leo," Lewis said, turning his full attention to Leonard. "A fine, wealthy gentleman wanted to take your sister here somewhere nice. This bitch had the audacity to claw his damn eyes out!"

 

Leonard's head snapped to Lisa, a worried expression appearing on his face. "Blaine?" he asked, Lisa nodding her head lightly. "That son of a… I'm going to kill that sick bastard."

 

"The hell is wrong with you?" Lewis yelled, pointing the belt at Leonard. "That bastard's rich! Your sister passed up the opportunity of a lifetime!"

 

"He was trying to r-ra…" Lisa said, shuddering at the word.

 

"Put the damn belt down, now," Leonard said, Lisa shaking her head violently for him to stop.

 

"Oh, ho ho, Leo," Lewis chuckled. "I thought you'd finally gotten the lesson through your dense ass skull that you aren't shit."

 

"Try me."

 

Lewis charged forward, the belt ready to crash down against Leonard.

 

"Daddy, no!"

 

Bang!

 

Lisa's eyes widened, her hands shooting to her mouth.

 

Leonard stood firm, his right hand extended and holding a revolver. Lewis had stopped in his tracks, a trail of crimson running down from the center of his chest.

 

"L-L-Leo..." Lewis said, his voice trailing off as blood began to deep from the corners of his mouth.

 

"I told you…" Leonard started, staring at Lewis' body as it toppled over, "I'd kill you."

 

-^-

 

"There was a call reporting a gunshot from your home, Leonard," Detective Joe West said, sitting across from Leonard in the CCPD Interrogation Room. "Your father was dead when we got there, your sister with a bruised cheek, and you with a 357 in your hand. It isn't too hard to put together what happened."

 

"Congratulations, detective," Leonard said, clapping his hands, rattling the cuffs around his wrists, "you can do your jobs."

 

Joe's mouth curved into a frown. "I understand that… topics like these can be difficult to go about… especially with a stranger," he sighed, leaning forward in his chair, "but I want to make it clear, I'm going to do everything I can to help you. No child should have to go through what you have been.

 

"I was able to get your sister into a good home," Joe said, finally gaining Leonard's attention. "The charges pressed on her for attacking Travis Blaine weren't easy to work around, but she's in good hands."

 

"Who are they?" Leonard asked, sitting up fully in his chair. "What do they do? What neighborhood are th-"

 

"Hey, it's okay, relax," Joe said, placing a family photo on the table. "She'll be moved in with the Bivolo family. They're good people, they own a nice book store downtown. They even have a son her age."

 

Leonard's shoulders relaxed, leaning back in the seat. "That's… that's good," he said, eyes shifting down to the photo. "You'll make sure Blaine doesn't try anything?"

 

"I don't think he'd ever try anything again," Joe said, with a slight chuckle. "Not unless he's looking to be a pirate."

 

"Funny…" Leonard responded, a slight smile appearing on his face."Thank you, detective…"

  

"I wouldn't ever want one of my boys to go through what either of you are," Joe said, placing the photo back into the folder. "I'm gonna help you any way I can. I promise."

 

-^-

 

"Leonard Snart, meet your cellmate," the officer said, pushing the 16 year old forward. "Play nice… or don't."

 

As the cell door slammed behind him, Leonard watched as the person on the top bunk shifted, hopping down in a swift motion. The boy stood about 5 inches taller than Leonard, his mass much larger to go with it. He had short, nearly buzzed brown hair and light burn marks running along his exposed forearms.

 

"Names Michael, friends call me Mick," he said, eyeing Leonard down. "You look young to be in here."

 

"That's because I'm not supposed to be," Leonard responded, not intimidated by his cellmate's stature. "You look like you're pretty young yourself, Mick."

 

"Thought I said my friends call me that," Mick said, his eyes narrowing.

 

"Thought we'd be friends," Leonard responded, walking past Mick and sitting down onto the bottom bunk. "If not… well that would make the next couple years a lot more irritating."

 

Mick grunted, leaning back against the wall with his arms crossed. "So, what got you in here? Like I said, you look pretty damn young."

 

Leonard nodded, laying back on the hard bed. "You're right, I'm only sixteen," he confirmed, staring at the top bunk's underside. "Shot my old man… bastard had it coming, but murder's still murder."

 

"Hm, guess the justice system failed both of us then?" he responded, leaning his head back against the wall. "Got what the doctors call Pyromania, pretty insatiable. I tried to keep it in check, I'd make small campfire's when I could, just trying to watch the flames… wasn't ever enough."

 

"You end up burning something?" Leonard asked, turning his head to look at Mick. "Or someone?"

 

"Not intentionally…" Mick mumbled, his head hanging. "It's… fuzzy, I don't even remember what I did… I just remember sitting outside on my dad's truck bed… I remember how the fire fought the wood and danced with the air… until nothing but ash was left."

 

"You'd think Pyromania would get you sent to a psych ward, not Iron Heights. Guess you're right about the justice system," Leonard said, sitting up from the bed. "I take it your…"

 

"Seventeen… burning your family alive doesn't really sit too well with them, freak obsession or not," he said, sliding down the wall to sit on the floor. "Killing your dad… seems like something that could've been worked with though."

 

"It… was supposed to… there was a detective from the CCPD who was planning to help me through this, get me parole, even," Leonard explained. "I only learned this morning that his wife was murdered a week ago…"

 

"So the bastard left you high and dry?"

 

"I don't blame him," Leonard answered, looking at the small photo of him and his sister he held. "He mentioned he had kids… I commend him for putting those he cares about first in his life. I'd do the same. Every. Single. Time."

 

"Snart."

 

Leonard blinked, looking up from the glass, ball shaped object in his hand.

 

"Find anything useful?" Mick asked, leaning on the doorway of the backroom. "Colors and I found a couple pistols, but that's it."

 

"Actually," Leonard started, placing the glass object down and picking up a folder. "I think I have… the Weather Wizard."

 

"Mardon?" Mick asked, walking into the room and looking over Leonard's shoulder. "He didn't leave a backup of that stick, did he?"

 

"No… but these schematics he left are more than simple enough to read," Leonard said, flipping through the folder. "I can't rebuild the weather wand, I don't think Mardon had enough equipment for any backups… but I might be able to use these and create something just as good."

 

Mick snatched the folder, quickly flipping through the pages. "Simple to read…" he said, tossing the folder back to Leonard. "The first page is nothing but trigonometry. Need anything from me and Bivolo?"

 

"Actually… those guns you found might be useful."

 

"Got it."

 

Leonard looked back at the schematics, picking up a marker from the box and pulling the cap off with his mouth.

 

"Well then, let's get started."

 

Building Montage Song Link (because that's what would be the next section of this :P)

 

-^-

 

Roy stepped into the backroom that Leonard had been in for the past eight hours. Mick had gone in and out of the room throughout the day, but had been told to leave each time. Leonard had finished now, calling Mick and himself into the room.

 

"So… you made firearms?" Roy asked, looking at the two weapons on the workbench. "I think you may have… miscounted how many of us there are."

 

"Not exactly," Leonard said, picking up the smaller weapon, handing it to Mick. "Try it out."

 

Mick looked at the weapon in his hand, then to the makeshift dummy across the room. "What's the canister for?"

 

"Just shoot the gun, Mick."

 

Mick narrowed his eyes, pointing the gun towards the target. As he pulled the trigger, a funnel of flames fired from the weapon's muzzle. Mick's narrowed eyes widened, his finger leaving the trigger, watching as the dummy was set ablaze.

 

Roy stared in awe, not noticing Leonard pick up the other gun, firing a blue beam at the dummy, freezing it solid. "That's… an ice ray? And a pocket flamethrower?" Roy asked, looking between the two weapons.

 

"Mardon's schematics are brilliant," Leonard said, taking the flamethrower from Mick and placing both weapons back on the bench. "It wasn't easy, but I was able to convert his temperature technology into a cold gun and a flamethrower."

 

"Leonard, that's incredible!" Roy exclaimed, a frown stretching across his face quickly after his praise. "Your creativity is astonishing… but, what about me?"

 

Leonard smirked, walking around the room to a few stands with black cloth strung over them. "These weapons obviously play with temperature, luckily," he began, pulling off the sheets, "Mardon created a suit for himself to withstand said temperatures. He left behind the materials he used, so I did a little sewing."

 

Mick walked up to the all black suit with neon highlights, his eyes narrowing at the design. "You want me dressing up like a firefighter?"

 

"The bases he used for his costume seemed to be bunker suits," Leonard explained, walking over to the baby blue suit. "figured the aesthetic worked well enough for you, Mick."

 

"So you care about aesthetics now?"

 

"Times are changing, Mick. In a city with people like The Flash and Weather Wizard, a trio of bank robbers won't cut it." Leonard grabbed the flamethrower once more, handing it to Mick. "So it's up to you; you want the suit and flamethrower, Heatwave?"

 

Mick smirked, taking the gun from Leonard's hand.

 

"Leonard, what. About. Me," Roy said, standing with his arms crossed and staring at the exchange the two had.

 

"Don't worry, Roy," Leonard reassured, pulling off the final sheet. Roy tilted his head, staring at the onesie on display. "You'll be using those special powers."

 

"What?" He asked, stepping back. "Leonard, I'd advise you not to make jokes like that."

 

"There weren't enough parts here to make a third gun, so it was tough," he began, taking off a black gauntlet from the suit, "but the temperature and weather schematics were able to help me make these. Conductors that can filter your powers, all while surviving the heat of lightning, force of windstorms, and the cold of blizzards."

 

Roy opened his mouth, but was too shocked to speak. His eyes locked onto the gauntlet as he exhaled loudly. "A-are you sure?"

 

"Am I ever not?"

 

"Okay… but what now?" Mick said, flicking his helmet's visor up and down. "What's the plan, Snart?"

 

Leonard smiled, picking up his cold gun and firing it at the dummy once more. "Now? We end the Flash."

 

NEXT TIME: A New Year's Eve Brawl, Flash vs The Rogues!

Chapter 1 - Episode 8

Location: Desert Wasteland - Horizon's Edge, World of Ruin

 

Ash stepped out of the rusting shack, looking out into the vast emptiness of the gorge before him. Horizon's Edge was a poor mining settlement located on the western rim of the Burning Canyon. The Wanderers here lived a harsh life, digging in the dirt for minerals they could barely afford to sell. The Melting Sands that flowed through the settlement and down into the Burning Canyon like slow-moving waterfalls, posed a constant threat, one false step could be the difference between life and death. A vicious cycle, Ash thought to himself.

 

Ash was a fearsome warrior, heavily armored and courageous beyond words. He stood alone, looking out into the Canyon; he could still hear the distant sounds of her voice, screaming in agony. She was just a child, and didn't deserve such a fate. Ashamed, dishonored, and alone, Ash fled from his former raider clan to the settlement of Horizon's Edge. A place he thought safe, a place where he could atone for his sins. Ash was a raider. He had taken many lives. But this life, tortured his soul, burning in sorrow. He knew that in time, they would come for him. They would track him to this place, force him to rejoin their ranks, or suffer the consequences. If he refused, they would burn Horizon's Edge to the ground, and kill everyone who lived here. His very presence in Horizon's Edge put the Wanderers living here in constant danger. This only compounded their already bleak existence, many of whom face death around every corner. If it wasn't the Burning Canyon or the Melting Sands that claimed lives, it was an imminent raider assault.

 

Ash had grown tired of killing, killing for the wrong reasons. A deep feeling of regret had come over him in recent years. He watched his fellow raiders slay innocents without regard for life. After the incident, he came to realize that life was something sacred, and he took that away from those he slew. And for what? What did the inhabitants of these settlements even have to offer? Nothing. The Calamity that fell from the sky destroyed this world, countless seasons ago.... was he so different? Every night, Ash is visited by all the Wanderers he took from this world, in nightmares that seemed to never end. They would speak to him; they would say "Welcome Ash". He could never shake the images of them from his head. One day, he would join them in peace. He would join her in peace, who smiles upon him, who doesn't blame him for what he did. Only the innocence of a child could think this way. He was forever grateful.

 

Ash wouldn't let the Wanderers living here suffer the way he has. He couldn't. He won't. He would fight for them, until his dying breath. The time will come when he would have to make a stand against the raiders. The settlers here knew nothing of his past, but strength came in numbers. He would have to prepare them, without revealing who he was, or what he has done. Ash clenched his makeshift battle axe, driven by a new fiery passion, to protect innocent lives, not destroy them. Horizon's Edge will live on, let them come, Ash thought to himself. He would be ready.

 

Aftermarket parts are from Cape Madness, Brick Forge, Brick Warriors, and Brick Arms.

 

Faves, comments, and feedback are appreciated, thank you!

 

To be continued....

Optimized by JPEGmini 3.18.4.211102121-AP 0xbb5e956a

but I discovered him

 

Blue spottet stingray

Blaupunkt Rochen

 

Red Sea

Sinai, Egypt

about 18-20m depht

Scuba diving, Nov. 2011

 

we divers don't touch anything

Olympus 35 RC

JCH Street Pan

VILLE VALO from HIM (2nd Prototipe)

Custom Taeyang by Sheryl Designs to Karlfromleads

 

MODIFICATIONS:

Complette Make Up

Replaced acrylic eyes

©2007-2010 Sheryl Designs Eyemech Modification

 

Real Ville Valo

Hilo en el Foro de Pullips: Pullip. es

Hyena lays in muddy grass, as tsetse flies crawl on him, Serengeti National Park Tanzania

"non-Catholic cemetery of Taormina: the tomb of Sofia Raabe (immediately behind the tomb of her brother von Gloeden) with the Cross on which the dates of birth and death are reported: Von Gloeden worked in his house-studio in front of the Hotel San Domenico Palace, with him lived his sister Sofia Raabe (1847-1930), daughter of his mother's first husband, who helped him to run the house-studio, and in receiving the illustrious guests who came to visit him"

 

“cimitero acattolico di Taormina: la tomba di Sofia Raabe (subito dietro la tomba di suo fratello von Gloeden) con sopra la Croce sulla quale sono riportate le date di nascita e di morte: Von Gloeden lavorava nella sua casa-studio di fronte l’Hotel San Domenico Palace, con lui viveva sua sorella Sofia Raabe (1847-1930), figlia del primo marito di sua madre, che lo aiutava a governare la casa-studio, e nel ricevere gli illustri ospiti che lo andavano a trovare”

  

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clicca sulla piccola icona per attivare lo slideshow: sulla facciata principale del photostream, in alto a destra c'è un piccolo rettangolo (rappresenta il monitor) con dentro un piccolo triangolo nero;

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Qi Bo's photos on Fluidr

  

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www.fotografidigitali.it/gallery/2726/opere-italiane-segn...

 

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The photographer Baron Wilhelm von Gloeden: and some "secret stories” of Taormina ...

At the age of about 11-12, I made a very particular discovery, I found a fair number of ancient photographs (they had been well hidden by my grandmother) inside an ancient chest of drawers in our house in Taormina, for me it was a huge surprise, the a taste for the forbidden appeared in me for the first time, they were black and white photographs, they portrayed naked boys, or only partially dressed in drapes or sheets, they were posed to imitate certain statues (or drawings) of the Greco-Roman period; I was very intrigued by them, every now and then I went to look at them, without ever feeling discomfort, I did not consider them vulgar photographs. Some of the photos were the size of a postcard, others of various sizes increasingly larger, up to a format similar to A3; on the back there were stamps, there were also, inside small red cardboard boxes, glass plates, not large, looking at them against the light, they let us glimpse images of naked boys, or only partially dressed: they were photographic negatives made on glass plates. What was that particular photographic material hidden by my grandmother in the dresser of our house? Let's take a step back in time let's teleport to April 2, 1787 when the German poet, narrator, playwright Johan Wolfgang von Goethe (1749-1832) lands in Palermo, following his Grand Tour in Italy (the word "tourism" derives from it) he will say of Sicily that it is a place of splendor, beauty and harmony, but at the same time a place of poverty, suffering, misery and social injustice; Goethe wrote the book "Journey to Italy", revealing himself to be one of Italy's most passionate admirers, stating that "Sicily is the key to everything" (the incredible resemblance of thought with the great Sicilian writer and journalist Leonardo Sciascia (1921-1989) who published in 1979 the book entitled “Sicily as a metaphor”). At the time of Goethe (and for a long time to come) the knowledge of Sicily was made up of stereotyped ideas, it was considered a land of mysteries, a den of brigands, which aroused fear in travelers, tourism did not exist, very few knew a foreign language, journeys with carriages were slow, nothing strange therefore that Taormina was an unknown village at the time. Garibaldi, in the year 1860, frees Sicily from the domination of the Bourbons. In February 1863, Count Ottone (Otto) Geleng (1843-1939) arrives in Taormina from Germany, he is a landscape painter, he begins an intense pictorial activity, thus succeeding in making Taormina and its landscapes known in the various cultural circles of Germany and France. Count Otto thus invites the then painter (who later became a photographer) Baron Wilhelm von Gloeden (1856-1931) to come to Taormina to treat his "subtle ache", pulmonary tuberculosis, which would have benefited from the mild climate of Sicily. Von Gloeden, twenty-two, arrived in Taormina in 1878, became passionate about photography by taking lessons from the local engineer and photographer Giuseppe Bruno (1836-1904), perhaps also a teacher of Giovanni Crupi (1859-1925), landscape photographer friend of von Gloeden, Crupi himself could also have contributed to the training as a photographer of the young von Gloeden. Like Otto Geleng's paintings, the photographs of the young Wilhelm also began to entice the then bourgeoisie across the border to come to Sicily: in the last 20 years of the 1800s the foundations were being laid for tourism in Sicily. The photographs taken by von Gloeden had as their subject young Sicilian adolescents dressed in the old-fashioned way with drapes, or completely naked, at most adorned with wreaths of flowers or laurel leaves placed on their heads, the young models assumed well-studied poses under the directed by the photographer baron, designed to create scenes that wanted to reconstruct the atmosphere of the mythical Arcadia (bucolic landscape of ancient Greece). In his poetics we can find the interest in disguise and transvestism, the young fisherman is made ambiguous by making him wear a wig, made resembling a young Sicilian girl; the images are not produced for the sole and mere trade, they are works that will be published in various famous magazines (such as "The National Geographic Magazine" or "the photographic progress", A. Stieglitz publishes his nudes on “Camera Notes"), also participating in international photographic exhibitions. The young models are filmed among ancient ruins, in rocky environments, outdoors, eliciting a spiritual feeling full of nostalgia, which follows pictorial models of German romanticism. In the photographic book "Verga photographer" (created on the discovery of 327 glass plates and 121 celluloid frames), in Giovanni Verga (1840-1922) great Sicilian narrator, it is possible to observe his photographs interwoven with "realism", while in the photographs of von Gloeden the symbolism andthe spiritualism predominate, however Wilhelm will also produce documentary-type photographs, photographing the terrible earthquake (and tsunami) of Messina (and Reggio Calabria) of 1908. Von Gloeden seems fully integrated into the Taormina society , nevertheless suffers heavy homophobic attacks from the local press and from important characters from Taormina, including Otto Geleng himself, who will be sued by the baron, which will then be withdrawn upon payment of 896 lire, and a restorative declaration published in the "Gazzetta di Messina" . Von Gloeden worked in his house-studio in front of the Hotel San Domenico Palace, with him lived his sister Sofia Raabe (1847-1930), daughter of his mother's first husband, who helped him manage the house-studio, and in the to receive the illustrious guests who visited him (such as Oscar Wilde, FA Krupp, Richard Strauss, the German emperor Wilhelm II, Eleonora Duse). Von Gloeden died on February 16, 1931 at the age of 74, he was buried in the non-Catholic cemetery of Taormina, his heir was his all-around assistant Pancrazio Buciunì known as "il moro" (1879-1963) ("u 'moru", family nickname), which continues the activity, selling the prints: he undergoes two searches in full fascist regime with partial seizure and destruction of the photographic material that belonged to von Gloeden (fascism persecuted homosexuals, the repression of homosexuality was entrusted to the fascist police, which confined many homosexuals to the islands of the Mediterranean, Lipari was one of these, see the beautiful film by Ettore Scola "a special day"), Buciunì undergoes two trials for detention of obscene material, and, despite an adverse appraisal by the appointed expert prof. Stefano Bottari, holder of the chair of history of medieval and modern art at the University of Messina, who declares much of the seized material obscene, the Court of Messina, demonstrating tolerance and open-mindedness, acquits Buciunì. At this point in the story we return to my grandmother's dresser and reveal the little mystery: the hidden photographs belonged to my great-grandfather Don Gaetano D'Agata (1883-1949), von Gloeden's assistant photographer, also on the baron's teaching, he made nude photographs, as well as landscape or portrait photographs; Don Gaetano was a globetrotter, in our family album he is portrayed in various parts of the world, always in the company of beautiful women: but I will never know if those "forbidden photos" were taken by my great-grandfather Gaetano or by Von Gloeden himself, because my grandmother, having understood that I was going to peek at them in secret, made them disappear permanently, and I never heard anymore of that photographic material. For my part, it is only right to mention other figures who contributed to making Taormina the current destination for international tourism. Lady Florence Trevelyan (1852-1907), was Queen Victoria's lady-in-waiting, she was then sent into exile in various parts of the world by Queen herself, she arrived in Taormina and stayed there forever, she was a woman of exceptional gifts, endowed with great sensitivity and humanity, animal rights activist, philanthropist, passionate about esotericism, she was married to the then mayor and doctor of Taormina dr. Salvatore Cacciola, she were one of the first women admitted to world Freemasonry (her husband Cacciola also belonged to Freemasonry): I have already talked about it previously in one of my photographic stories. On the occasion of the XXI festival of the two worlds in Spoleto, in 1978, the essayist and literary critic Roland Barthes (1915-1980) curated an exhibition entitled "Wilhelm von Gloeden", with interventions by artists such as Andy Warhol, M. Pistoletto and J. Beuys. Finally, Raffaella Perna, Researcher in History of Contemporary Art at the University of Catania, underlines in her book on "Wilhelm von Gloeden, disguises, portraits, tableaux vivants", of how LaChapelle, Witkin, Mapplethorpe are the contemporary artists who they are indicated as heirs of von Gloeden's poetics.

P.S. Von Gloeden's photographs were made by photographing both the large panels with gigantographic reproductions of von Gloeden's works, which are located at the entrance of the Mocambo bar in Taormina, and in the shop-bazaar of the photographer from Taormina, my late friend, Nino Malmbrì (owner of the baron's original photographic material). The photographs of Gaetano D’Agata, were taken from my family album: in a photo a little damaged, but exceptional for its historical and emotional value, my great-grandfather, the photographer Gaetano D'Agata, here very young, holds his daughter "Ninitta" (a of the four children, had by three wives), she is my paternal grandmother; in another photo, the photographer Gaetano D'Agata poses next to her a few years later, with my grandmother already a young girl; always made by great-grandfather D'Agata there is both a portrait photo, a close-up, of my very young grandmother "Ninitta", and there is a photo of her posing as a peasant girl, with a painted backdrop behind her, as if used in studio photos; finally I put two photos taken by my great-grandfather Gaetano "en plein air" of bathers, "the location" is the beach of Mazzarò (Taormina). The photographs of the tombstones of the characters mentioned in the story were taken in the Catholic and non-Catholic cemetery of Taormina; the monumental funerary complex of Count Otto Geleng at the top presents the bust of his son Ermanno, the presence of symbolisms such as the hourglass, the rooster, the book (the Holy Bible) and the god mercury, makes me believe that Count Otto was part of the Masonic lodge of Taormina, at the time the mayor of Taormina was also part of it, dr. Cacciola and his wife Lady Florence Trevelyan: in his palace, Dr. Cacciola, built a temple, which became the first Masonic lodge in Taormina: the "Renaissance" (1904).

  

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Il barone fotografo Wilhelm von Gloeden: ed alcune “storie segrete” di Taormina …

Io, all’età di circa 11-12 anni, feci una scoperta molto particolare, trovai un discreto numero di antiche fotografie (erano state ben nascoste da mia nonna) dentro un antico comò in casa nostra a Taormina, per me fu una enorme sorpresa, il gusto del proibito si affacciò in me per la prima volta, erano fotografie in bianco e nero, ritraevano ragazzi nudi, o solo in parte vestiti con drappi o lenzuoli, messi in posa imitavano certe statue (o disegni) del periodo greco-romano; io ne ero rimasto molto incuriosito, ogni tanto le andavo a riguardare, senza mai provare disagio, non le consideravo fotografie volgari. Alcune foto erano della grandezza di una cartolina, altre di varie dimensioni sempre più grandi, fino ad arrivare ad un formato assimilabile all’A3; sul retro c’erano impressi dei timbri, c’erano anche, dentro dei piccoli scatoli in cartoncino di colore rosso, delle lastrine in vetro, non grandi, guardandole in controluce, lasciavano intravedere immagini di ragazzi nudi, o poco vestiti: erano i negativi fotografici realizzati su vetro. Cosa ci faceva quel materiale fotografico, così particolare, nascosto da mia nonna nel comò di casa nostra? Facciamo un salto indietro nel tempo teletrasportiamoci al 2 aprile 1787 quando a Palermo sbarca il poeta, narratore, drammaturgo tedesco Johan Wolfgang von Goethe (1749-1832), in seguito al suo Grand Tour in Italia (turismo deriva da esso) dirà della Sicilia che essa è luogo di splendore, bellezza ed armonia, ma al tempo stesso luogo di povertà, sofferenza, miseria ed ingiustizia sociale; Goethe scrive il libro “Viaggio in Italia”, rivelandosi uno dei più appassionati ammiratori dell’Italia, affermando che “la Sicilia è la chiave di tutto” (incredibile la rassomiglianza di pensiero col grande scrittore e giornalista siciliano Leonardo Sciascia (1921-1989) che pubblica nel 1979 il libro dal titolo “la Sicilia come metafora”). Ai tempi di Goethe (e per molto tempo ancora) la conoscenza della Sicilia era fatta di idee stereotipate, era considerata terra di misteri, covo di briganti, il che incuteva timore nei viaggiatori, il turismo non esisteva, pochissimi conoscevano una lingua straniera, i viaggi con carrozze ertano lenti, nulla di strano quindi che Taormina fosse all’epoca un villaggio sconosciuto. Garibaldi, nell’anno 1860, libera la Sicilia dalla dominazione dei Borboni. Nel febbraio del 1863, dalla Germania giunge a Taormina il conte Ottone (Otto) Geleng (1843-1939), egli è un pittore paesaggista, inizia una intensa attività pittorica, riuscendo in tal modo a far conoscere Taormina ed i suoi paesaggi nei vari circoli culturali della Germania e della Francia. Il conte Otto invita così l’allora pittore (poi divenuto fotografo) barone Wilhelm von Gloeden (1856-1931) a venire a Taormina per curare il suo “mal sottile”, la tubercolosi polmonare, che avrebbe tratto giovamento dal clima mite della Sicilia. Von Gloeden, ventiduenne, nel 1878 giunge a Taormina, si appassiona alla fotografia prendendo lezioni dall’ingegnere e fotografo locale Giuseppe Bruno (1836-1904), forse anche insegnante di Giovanni Crupi (1859-1925), fotografo paesaggista amico di von Gloeden, il quale Crupi stesso potrebbe anche aver contribuito alla formazione come fotografo del giovane von Gloeden. Così come i dipinti di Otto Geleng, anche le fotografie del giovane Wilhelm incominciarono ad invogliare l’allora borghesia d’oltre confine, a venire in Sicilia: negli ultimi 20 anni dell’800 si stavano gettando le basi per il turismo in Sicilia. Le fotografie realizzate da von Gloeden avevano come soggetto giovani adolescenti siciliani vestiti all’antica con drappi, o completamente nudi, tutt’al più adornati da coroncine di fiorellini o foglie d’alloro messi sul capo, i giovani modelli assumevano pose ben studiate sotto la regia del barone fotografo, atte a realizzare scene che volevano ricostruire l’atmosfera della mitica Arcadia (paesaggio bucolico dell’antica Grecia). Nella sua poetica possiamo riscontrare l’interesse per il travestimento ed il travestitismo, il giovane pescatore viene reso ambiguo facendogli indossare una parrucca, reso somigliante ad una giovane ragazza siciliana; le immagini non vengono prodotte per il solo e mero commercio, sono opere che verranno pubblicate su varie riviste famose (come “The National Geographic Magazine” o “Il Progresso fotografico”, A. Stieglitz pubblica i suoi nudi su “Camera Notes”), partecipando anche ad esposizioni fotografiche internazionali. I giovani modelli sono ripresi tra antichi ruderi, in ambienti rupestri, all’aperto, elicitando un sentimento spirituale carico di nostalgia, il che ricalca modelli pittorici del romanticismo tedesco. Nel libro fotografico “Verga fotografo” (realizzato su ritrovamento di 327 lastre in vetro e 121 fotogrammi in celluloide), in Giovanni Verga (1840-1922) grande narratore siciliano, è possibile osservare le sue fotografie intessute di “verismo”, mentre nelle fotografie di von Gloeden predomina il simbolismo e lo spiritualismo, purtuttavia Wilhelm produrrà anch’egli fotografie di tipo documentaristico, andando a fotografare il terribile terremoto (e maremoto) di Messina (e di Reggio Calabria) del 1908. Von Gloeden sembra pienamente integrato nella società taorminese, ciononostante subisce pesanti attacchi omofobi dalla stampa locale e da importanti personaggi taorminesi, incluso lo stesso Otto Geleng, i quali verranno querelati dal barone, querela che verrà poi ritirata dietro pagamento di 896 lire, ed una dichiarazione riparatoria pubblicata sulla “Gazzetta di Messina”. Von Gloeden lavorava nella sua casa-studio di fronte l’Hotel San Domenico Palace, con lui viveva sua sorella Sofia Raabe (1847-1930), figlia del primo marito di sua madre, che lo aiutava a governare la casa-studio, e nel ricevere gli illustri ospiti che lo andavano a trovare ( come Oscar Wilde, F.A. Krupp, Richard Strauss, l’imperatore tedesco Guglielmo II, Eleonora Duse). Von Gloeden muore il 16 febbraio 1931 all’età di 74 anni, viene sepolto nel cimitero acattolico di Taormina, il suo erede è il suo assistente tutto fare Pancrazio Buciunì detto “il moro” (1879-1963) (“u’ moru”, soprannome di famiglia), che ne prosegue l’attività, vendendone le stampe: il quale subisce in pieno regime fascista due perquisizioni con parziale sequestro e distruzione del materiale fotografico che apparteneva a von Gloeden (il fascismo perseguitò gli omosessuali, la repressione dell’omosessualità fu affidata alla polizia fascista, che confinò molti omosessuali nelle isole del mediterraneo, Lipari fu una di queste, vedi il bellissimo film di Ettore Scola “una giornata particolare”), Buciunì subisce due processi per detenzione di materiale osceno, e, nonostante una perizia avversa da parte del nominato perito prof. Stefano Bottari, titolare della cattedra di storia dell’arte medioevale e moderna dell’Università di Messina, che dichiara osceno gran parte del materiale sequestrato, il Tribunale di Messina dimostrando tolleranza ed apertura mentale, assolve il Buciunì. A questo punto del racconto ritorniamo al comò di mia nonna e sveliamo il piccolo mistero: le fotografie nascoste appartenevano al mio bisnonno don Gaetano D’Agata (1883-1949), assistente fotografo di von Gloeden, anch’egli sull’insegnamento del barone, realizzò fotografie di nudo, oltre che di paesaggio o ritratto; don Gaetano era un giramondo, nel nostro album di famiglia lui è ritratto in varie parti del mondo, sempre in compagnia di belle donne: ma io non saprò mai se quelle “foto proibite” erano realizzate dal mio bisnonno Gaetano o da Von Gloeden stesso, perché mia nonna, avendo capito che le andavo a sbirciare di nascosto, le fece sparire definitivamente, e di quel materiale fotografico non ne seppi più nulla. Da parte mia, è doveroso citare altre figure che contribuirono a rendere Taormina l’attuale meta del turismo internazionale. Lady Florence Trevelyan (1852-1907), era dama di corte della regina Vittoria, dalla stessa regina Lady Florence fu poi mandata in esilio in varie parti del mondo, giunse a Taormina e qui vi restò per sempre, era una donna dalle doti eccezionali, dotata di grande sensibilità ed umanità, animalista, filantropa, appassionata di esoterismo, fu sposa dell’allora sindaco e medico di Taormina dott. Salvatore Cacciola, fu una delle prime donne ammesse alla massoneria mondiale (apparteneva alla massoneria anche il marito Cacciola): ne ho già parlato in precedenza in un mio racconto fotografico. Robert Hawthorn Kitson (1873-1947) era un pittore britannico omosessuale, egli lasciò l’Inghilterra a causa dell’emendamento Labouchere, che rendeva illegale qualsiasi atto omosessuale nel Regno Unito (1885), giunse a Taormina e qui si stabilì, costruendo nel 1905 Casa Cusani, una villa con vista sull’Etna, oggi casa museo; nella sua sala da pranzo si trovano gli affreschi “proibiti” realizzati da Frank Brangwyn, essi narrano dell’amore omosessuale tra Kitson ed il suo compagno Carlo Siligato: nel 1908 in seguito al terremoto che distrusse Messina (e Reggio Calabria), essi adottarono un bambino che era rimasto orfano, divenendo di fatto una famiglia omosessuale, all’epoca assolutamente proibita; gli affreschi di Casa Cuseni sono ispirati alle fotografie di von Gloeden, così come nella villa, si trova una “autocromia a colori” del 1910, realizzata da von Gloeden, documento eccezionale che testimonia la volontà del barone di sperimentare nuove tecniche. In occasione del XXI festival dei due mondi di Spoleto, nel 1978, il saggista e critico letterario Roland Barthes (1915-1980) cura una mostra intitolata “Wilhelm von Gloeden”, con interventi di artisti quali Andy Warhol, M. Pistoletto e J. Beuys. Infine, Raffaella Perna, Ricercatrice in Storia dell'arte contemporanea all'Università degli Studi di Catania, sottolinea nel suo libro su “Wilhelm von Gloeden, travestimenti, ritratti, tableaux vivants”, di come LaChapelle, Witkin, Mapplethorpe siano gli artisti contemporanei che vengono indicati come eredi della poetica di von Gloeden.

P.S. le fotografie di Von Gloeden sono state realizzate fotografando sia i grandi pannelli con gigantografiche riproduzioni delle opere di von Gloeden, che si trovano all’ingresso del bar Mocambo di Taormina, sia nel negozio-bazar del fotografo taorminese, compianto mio amico, Nino Malmbrì (possessore di materiale fotografico originale del barone). Le fotografie di Gaetano D’Agata, sono state prese dal mio album di famiglia: in una foto un pò rovinata, ma eccezionale per il suo valore storico e per me affettivo, il mio bisnonno, il fotografo Gaetano D'Agata, qui molto giovane, tiene in braccio sua figlia "Ninitta" (una dei quattro figli, avuti da tre mogli), lei è la mia nonna paterna; in un'altra foto, il fotografo Gaetano D'Agata posa accanto a lei qualche anno dopo, con mia nonna già ragazzina; sempre realizzate dal bisnonno D'Agata c'è sia un foto-ritratto, un primo piano, di mia nonna "Ninitta" molto giovane, e c'è la foto di lei mentre posa come contadinella, con dietro un fondale dipinto, come si usava nelle foto da studio; infine ho messo, due foto realizzate dal mio bisnonno Gaetano "en plein air" a delle bagnanti, "la location" è la spiaggia di Mazzarò (Taormina). Le fotografie delle tombe dei personaggi menzionati nel racconto, sono state fatte nel cimitero cattolico ed acattolico di Taormina; il complesso monumentale funerario del conte Otto Geleng in alto presenta il mezzobusto del figlio Ermanno, la presenza di simbolismi come la clessidra, il gallo, il libro (la Sacra Bibbia) ed il dio mercurio, mi fa ritenere che il conte Otto facesse parte della loggia massonica di Taormina, all’epoca ne faceva parte anche il sindaco di Taormina, dott. Cacciola e sua moglie Lady Florence Trevelyan: nel suo palazzo il dott. Cacciola, realizzò un tempio, che divenne la prima loggia massonica di Taormina : la "Rinascimento"(1904).

  

 

Photo taken by Manfred Kaffine and kindly provided by him for inclusion on this page.

  

München-Riem

ca. summer 1968

 

ex-SE-ERC "Istanbul"

Douglas DC-7B

45088/723

Türk Hava Yolları (THY) - Turkish Airlines

(leased from Transair Sweden)

 

This aircraft had suffered a nose gear collapse at Riem on 20 January 1968 and run off the runway. Damaged beyond repair, it would remain at the airport as a fire trainer until it was completely destroyed in 1976.

 

Initially, the damaged aircraft was placed on the grass east of the Lufthansa maintenance hangar. By May 1968, the engines had been removed and the THY livery had been painted over in black. Some time in the early 1970s, the wreckage was moved to the eastern part of the airport near the village of Salmdorf. It can be seen in the background of many photos from that time.

 

Delivered to Eastern Air Lines as N819D in October 1956. To Transair Sweden in May 1965 and leased to THY from March 1967. Written off at Riem in January 1968.

 

Registration details for this airframe:

www.planelogger.com/Aircraft/Registration/SE-ERC/635862

 

ex-SE-ERC at Riem in July 1968, engineless and in neutralized colours:

imgproc.airliners.net/photos/airliners/6/9/1/0216196.jpg

 

SE-ERC near the Lufthansa maintenance hangar in the background of this photo from July 1971:

imgproc.airliners.net/photos/airliners/1/1/7/1646711.jpg

 

Several small photos showing the aircraft’s decline on this page:

swissair00.ch/a_Fotos/ne-di-ai__-___xv_.html

  

Scan from Kodak middle format (6x6 cm) slide, cropped to 3:2 aspect ratio.

Barry, my gorgeous boyfriend!

The same family. The little boy bent down to pic up some stones when another wave came over and soaked him - poor little thing... but I did laugh!

Wow! I am surprised at the response! For those curious, the image was made up of shots I took in June of 2006. So the elements that make this up are sort of like my own stock photos. Zun "modeled" :-) for me last year and this shot of him was taken on my kitchen counter. (hope you don't mind me telling)

 

The sky is real. It's was an attempt to get a sharp shot of the full moon that failed bad.. but I kept several versions of this with the blurred moon. In Photoshop I flipped this horizontal and merged both halves on one layer. I did manage to get a clear shot of the moon during that same weekend. That is the moon you see here.. I made a selection of the moon and pasted it on to it's own layer and put it on top of the blurred moon in the original photo. I then took Zun's image and masked out the wall and counter. The picture of the orchid was taken on my bathroom vanity. I got a lot of use out of that single flower. It was the last one left on the plant. It fell off when I bumped the plant.

 

I masked out the flower and put it on it's own layer and then created many more layers with it. I rotated some, changed the color balance and sharpness on others and did a lot of resizing and masking to achieve the color and lighting effects.

 

I softened up Zun's picture using multiple methods and used color samples of his skin to paint and emphasize his eyes and lips and facial structure. Lastly I created the abstract swirl near his head by using lens flare and then distorting it with wave and ripple filters. Believe me! This an overview. I did a more things than I can recall here.

 

Still I can see spots that need more work. :-) It took about six hours over the course of the week and many versions to get this.

 

Zun... Thanks for the inspiration!

Luke 4:14-30

14 And Jesus returned in the power of the Spirit into Galilee: and there went out a fame of him through all the region round about. 15 And he taught in their synagogues, being glorified of all. 16 And he came to Nazareth, where he had been brought up: and, as his custom was, he went into the synagogue on the sabbath day, and stood up for to read. 17 And there was delivered unto him the book of the prophet Esaias. And when he had opened the book, he found the place where it was written, 18 The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he hath anointed me to preach the gospel to the poor; he hath sent me to heal the brokenhearted, to preach deliverance to the captives, and recovering of sight to the blind, to set at liberty them that are bruised, 19 To preach the acceptable year of the Lord. 20 And he closed the book, and he gave it again to the minister, and sat down. And the eyes of all them that were in the synagogue were fastened on him. 21 And he began to say unto them, This day is this scripture fulfilled in your ears. 22 And all bare him witness, and wondered at the gracious words which proceeded out of his mouth. And they said, Is not this Joseph's son? 23 And he said unto them, Ye will surely say unto me this proverb, Physician, heal thyself: whatsoever we have heard done in Capernaum, do also here in thy country. 24 And he said, Verily I say unto you, No prophet is accepted in his own country. 25 But I tell you of a truth, many widows were in Israel in the days of Elias, when the heaven was shut up three years and six months, when great famine was throughout all the land; 26 But unto none of them was Elias sent, save unto Sarepta, a city of Sidon, unto a woman that was a widow. 27 And many lepers were in Israel in the time of Eliseus the prophet; and none of them was cleansed, saving Naaman the Syrian. 28 And all they in the synagogue, when they heard these things, were filled with wrath, 29 And rose up, and thrust him out of the city, and led him unto the brow of the hill whereon their city was built, that they might cast him down headlong. 30 But he passing through the midst of them went his way,

Optimized by JPEGmini 3.18.4.211102121-AP 0xe84691a3

Tim thinks on Film Freak’s last words to him about a ‘production assistant’ wishing him to ‘taste the flames’ as he had. His thoughts were cut short however as the man in the Aquaman costume cried out,

  

“Are you just going to stand there?! The building’s burning down!!” Snapping back to reality, Tim nodded,

  

“Right…just…give me a minute…” Tim looked around quickly as a flaming piece of wood nearly landed on his shoulder. Beginning to run around the room, using his domino mask to analyze the various walls. Each one was reinforced, none of the items on his utility belt could possibly make a dent.

  

“This is hopeless!” The woman dressed as Wonder Woman screamed as the elderly homeless man dressed as Green Lantern put his hand on hers. He clearly was disabled, Tim could tell with one look as his legs were severely underused, however the ‘Green Lantern’ attempted to calm ‘Wonder Woman’ down with,

  

“I know this boy.” Tim froze, waiting for the old man to continue, “He’s Robin…the Boy Wonder…he’ll save us. He works with Batman, they do the impossible.”

  

“Unless he can tear apart the walls with his bare hands we’re completely screwed…hey hands off…” ‘Aquaman’ said as ‘Flash’ finally recovered and began to assault Tim. However, Robin was ready for this as he grabbed the man from the back of his neck and the middle of his back before tossing him into the fireplace in one fluid motion. Having a moment of realization, Tim quickly ran up to the fireplace before dragging the once again unconscious ‘Flash’ out and looking up.

  

“We can get out this way!” Tim called back to the hostages. The fire raging harder than before, Tim made sure that every costumed hostage was at the fireplace before retrieving his grappling gun. Before aiming it at the top of the chimney however, he noticed the ‘Green Lantern’ was still sitting at the table. Pointing to ‘Aquaman’, Tim said, “You. Pick him up and bring him over here.” ‘Aquaman’ rolled his eyes before walking over to ‘Green Lantern’. Tim first grabbed the woman dressed as Wonder Woman around the waist before firing his grappling gun out of the burning building. First testing to see that it had connected with a solid object by tugging on the cord, Tim and ‘Wonder Woman’ ascended out of the faux house. Setting her down gently on the rooftop, Tim turned back and fired his grappling hook back down to connect with the ‘Flash’s shoe. Dragging the mind controlled man up by his foot, Tim set him down next to ‘Wonder Woman’, who began to scream as the flames reached the rooftop.

  

“C’mon man, hurry this up!” ‘Aquaman’ cried out, ‘Green Lantern’ in his hands.

  

“Let me get him up here first!” Tim called down.

  

“No way! Get me out of here!” ‘Aquaman’ yelled again, setting ‘Green Lantern’ down as he did. Tim, filled with anger, answered,

  

“Fine.” Before shooting his grappling hook into the ‘Aquaman’s shoulder. The man cried out in pain as Tim began hoisting him up. Just as he began to pull ‘Aquaman’ out of the chimney, Tim felt the ‘Flash’ moving behind him. The brainwashed celebrity, who Tim had not identified yet beneath the Flash costume and mind control device, punched him in the arm. Letting out a cry of pain while simultaneously kicking the ‘Flash’ in the shin and holding on to ‘Aquaman’ with all of his might, Tim attempted to maintain his composure. However, the amount of sweat accumulating on his face as well as the amount of smoke in the air meant one thing: the structural integrity of the small set was nearly at its end. Tim landed a punch that sent ‘Flash’ tumbling off of the roof, effectively saving him and finally knocking him out cold upon hitting the ground. After doing so, he lifted ‘Aquaman’ out of the chimney just as it collapsed in on itself. Flaming bricks, albeit fake bricks, all landed on the ‘Green Lantern’ below. Tim felt his lungs constrict the way they did anytime he and Bruce had done the inevitable: they let someone die. While sharing Bruce’s philosophies on the value of life, Tim was always more shaken by the death of innocent civilians than the death of a criminal. The ‘Green Lantern’ still had a smile on his face although he was long gone in a crumpled heap under flaming rubble. Breathing heavily, Tim turned to ‘Aquaman’ and ‘Wonder Woman’, saying, “We need to get off this rooftop now.” Even through ‘Aquaman’s stubborn and childish attitude, he remained silent and grim as he performed a flip off of the rooftop to land perfectly on the ground. Tim was taken aback by this impressive physical feat as he helped ‘Wonder Woman’ around the flames and onto the ground just as the roof of the set caved in. Still thinking about the old man in the Green Lantern costume as the structure went up in flames, ‘Wonder Woman’ said,

  

“Thank you, Robin.” Tim turned to her, ‘Aquaman’, and the ‘Flash’ as he nodded,

  

“All in a days work.” Even a half hearted smile was impossible, although it became even more complicated as ‘Aquaman’ quickly threw a punch that knocked ‘Wonder Woman’ clean out. Tim reached for his staff before realizing in the chaos he had dropped in in the burning set. Raising his fists to ‘Aquaman’, Tim asked, “Why’d you do that?” ‘Aquaman’ smiled as he removed his wig, revealing jet black hair as he explained,

  

“Sorry kid, you picked the short straw this time.”

  

“You’re Film Freak?” Tim asked. The man laughed,

  

“No…no…no…the name’s Jaret Row, I’m here to make sure Film Freak reaches his climax,” Tim looked at Jaret funny as the man stumbled back on his words, “I mean…he thinks you’ve gone too far. I’m going to bring you to him.” Shaking his head, Tim said,

  

“Unlikely.” But just as he began to spring into action, a stage light crashed over Tim’s head from behind. As he collapsed to the ground, vision blurring, he looked up to see a pale man in a white shirt with dress pants. His hair was styled as if he was a movie star of the 1920s, and he wore a lanyard with the name WESTON on the key card.

  

“Actually, very likely, Robin,” Film Freak said as he stood over his fallen foe, “You see, I’ve decided to take on screenwriting duties as well, and I’ve made some extensive rewrites. It’s time for you to witness your end…now.” Just as Film Freak finished, his henchman Jaret quickly stomped on Tim’s face, knocking him out as well.

A Double Play...for Doubleday?

 

Hah, well if not for him...for me at least. To those that are even casual students of our National Pastime will know the name Abner Doubleday and the town of Cooperstown. The latter is a quaint upstate New York village beside Otsego Lake that is home of the Baseball Hall of fame. The former is the alleged inventor of the game of baseball in that very town in 1839, hence the choice to locate the hall of fame here in 1937. And while most historians believe the Mills Commision's assertions about Doubleday and Cooperstown are nothing but fiction, the legend still sticks here.

 

But to railfans there is more than just baseball in Cooperstown. The Cooperstown & Charlotte Valley operates a heritage railroad and museum along the historic line of the same name first opened in 1869. The original road came under D&H ownership in 1903 and was operated as branch of that Class 1 for 67 years. The branch was sold to the Delaware Otsego Corp in 1970 and freight trains continued to operate into the mid 1980s along with excursion trains. The last freight ran in 1987 and the line was completely moribund until being sold to the Leatherstocking Chapter of the NRHS in 1996. Incidentally, despite selling the branch the Delaware Otsego Corp (parent company of the NYS&W) retained ownership of the passenger depot in Cooperstown where they still maintain their corporate headquarters despite having no rail operations in town.

 

Despite having been in existence as a tourist railroad for more than two decades I'd never visited the operation. But in a twist of good fortune I made a totally unplanned trip to Binghamton chasing an NS train on the old D&H the day prior to this photo. While out that evening with an old railroader/railfan friend he told me that the CACV just happened to be celebrating the 150th anniversary of the opening of their railroad the very next day.

 

Based out of the small town of Milford south of Cooperstown they had a full weekend of special events and extra trains. The highlight of the event was the first steam locomotive to traverse these rails since the 1970s and included a bit of rare mileage almost into downtown Cooperstown.

 

Viscose Company #6 is an 0-4-0 saddle tank loco built by Baldwin in 1924. Originally assigned to the American Viscose Company plant in Roanoke, VA she was sold for scrap in the early 1960s. Never cut up she languished for decades in the yard of Gem City Iron & Metal Company in Pulaski, VA. Purchased by Scott Symans of Dunkirk, NY in 2004 and restored over the next three years she now travels by truck to shortlines and tourist railroads all over the country that do not have steam locomotives of their own.

 

She weighs 60,000 lbs and has a 17,360 lb tractive effort.

 

Here she is just starting to pull south from her photo op at the Cooperstown village welcome sign just north of here at Chestnut St. / Route 28 crossing.. This little bit is rare mileage as the normal northern limits of CACV operations is the runaround track a half mile south of this point and this crossing is clearly out of service and marked exempt.

 

So there you have it...a double hit of rare mileage and rare steam...and all totally unplanned!

 

Cooperstown, New York

Saturday July 13, 2019

 

Him and his tongue. He's such a goof.

ca. 2006 --- Zooey Deschanel --- Image by © Susanna Howe/Corbis Outline