View allAll Photos Tagged hypocrite
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“I appeal from your customs. I must be myself. I cannot break myself any longer for you, or you. If you can love me for what I am, we shall be happier. If you cannot, I will still seek to deserve that you should. I must be myself. I will not hide my tastes or aversions. I will so trust that what is deep is holy, that I will do strongly before the sun and moon whatever inly rejoices me and the heart appoints. If you are noble, I will love you; if you are not, I will not hurt you and myself by hypocritical attentions”
― Ralph Waldo Emerson, Self-Reliance
#A #coronavirus #pandemic #COVID19 #infection #Dr.AnthonyFauci #MikePence #trumpcausescancer #windmill #windpower #windturbine #antivaxxer #bigfoot #UFO #lochnessmonster #flyingsaucer #mythology #atlantis #bermudatriangle #flatearth #wikileaks #angels #fallenangels #45 #BiggestBaby #dirtydiaper #TheMuellerInvestigation #WilliamBarr #AttorneyGeneral #Report #TheEmperorsNewClothes #TheExorcist #Pazuzu #God #JesusChrist #LindaBlair #possessed #KingofDemons #SarahSanders #hypocrite #Exorcism #Pampers #TheWall #NeverGiveIn #Bullshit #dirtydiaper #diaperrash #PooPooBaDoop #Clemson #Wendys #burgerking #football #KellyanneConway #SarahHuckabee #Trolls #Kremlin #KremlinTroll #RussianTroll #RobertMueller #FISA #SteveBannon #MikePence #Twitter #Tweet #wiretap #Twit #wiretapped #Twat #dontaldtrump #WashingtonDC #MamaAyeshas #wallofpresidents #CIA #GOP #KKK #ISIS #FBI #BLM #LGBT #Russia #VladimirPutin #Russianinterference #AlternativeFacts #MicrowaveOven #Camera #sexdrugsandrockandroll #HillaryClinton #BernieSanders #BarackObama #PresidentoftheUnited #plannedparenthood #bigot #jihad #OsamabinLaden #DumpTrump #NotMyPresident #Dontee #DonteesInferno #thewalkingdead #republican #pedophile #WomensMarch #badhombre #conservative #rape #RiencePriebus #DonaldMcGahn #FrankGaffney #JeffSessions #GeneralJamesMattis #GeneralJohnKelly #StevenMnuchin #AndyPuzder #WilburRoss #CathyMcMorrisRodgers #MitchMcConnell #KTMcFarland #MikePompeo #NikkiHaley #LtGenMichaelFlynn #BenCarson #BetsyDeVos #TomPrice #ScottPruitt #SeemaVerma #PaulRyan #TrumpTower #MarriageEquality #KuKluxKlan #NewYorkCity #Hanksy #MelaniaTrump #BarronTrump #IvankaTrump #TiffanyTrump #EricTrump #DonaldTrumpJr #JaredKushner #conflictofinterest #emolument #RiggedElection #TemperTantrum #Tweet #Twitter #Twit #ManChild #DiaperBlowout #Trump #poop #turd #bigbaby #manindiapers #Inauguration #ScottBaio #TedNugent #TheRockettes #RadioCityMusicHall #MormonTabernacleChoir #Medusa #breitbart #lies #NationalEnquirer #douchebag #POS #Pussy #PussyGrabber
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In a corporatized nation only the politically powerful & very rich do not get their pockets picked. One cannot look upon our youth & not bemoan what awaits them, debt peonage in return for pursuing an education, thereafter servitude with little prospect of getting deserved rewards, no influence over anything meaningful when voting, decades of day to day body & mind ruining anxiety over such things as being housed, having health care, feeding the children they may soon have, ceaseless bombardment of news designed not to inform or enlighten but to frighten them into alienated conformity with & subordination to invisible masters.
The truthful American journalist now most effectively expressing the overwhelmingly dismal consequences of modern casino capitalism is Chris Hedges. This morning - September 26, 2012 - I read his latest essay, which can be found along with the rest of his great work at Truthdig.com. Hedges reminds us, first, that, in the presidential campaign we're now suffering, the two major candidates, Obama & Romney, are spending two & one-half billion dollars to manipulate us with lies.
EXCERPT: We will be assaulted this January when automatic spending reductions, referred to as “the fiscal cliff,” begin to dismantle and defund some of our most important government programs. Mitt Romney will not stop it. Barack Obama will not stop it.
And while Romney has been, courtesy of the magazine Mother Jones, exposed as a shallow hypocrite, Obama is in a class by himself. There is hardly a campaign promise from 2008 that Obama has not broken. This list includes his pledges to support the public option in health care, close Guantanamo, raise the minimum wage, regulate Wall Street, support labor unions in their struggles with employers, reform the Patriot Act, negotiate an equitable peace between the Israelis and the Palestinians, curb our imperial expansion in the Middle East, stop torture, protect reproductive rights, carry out a comprehensive immigration reform, cut the deficit by half, create 5 million new energy jobs and halt home foreclosures. Obama, campaigning in South Carolina in 2007, said that as president he would fight for the right of collective bargaining. “I’d put on a comfortable pair of shoes myself, I’ll … walk on that picket line with you as president of the United States of America,” he said. But when he got his chance to put on those “comfortable pair of shoes” during labor disputes in Madison, Wis., and Chicago he turned his back on working men and women.
Obama, while promising to defend Social Security, also says he stands behind the planned cuts outlined by his deficit commission, headed by Morgan Stanley board member Erskine Bowles and former Sen. Alan Simpson, a Wyoming Republican. The Bowles-Simpson plan calls for cutting 0.3 percentage points from the annual cost-of-living adjustment in the Social Security program. The annual reduction would slowly accumulate. After a decade it would mean a 3 percent cut. After two decades it would mean a 6 percent cut. The retirement age would be raised to 69. And those on Social Security who continued to work and made more than $40,000 a year would be penalized with further reductions. Obama’s payroll tax cuts have, at the same time, served to undermine the solvency of Social Security, making it an easier target for the finance corporations that seek to destroy the program and privatize the funds.
But that is just the start....
• Please continue to full text ⤵⤵⤵
How Do You Take Your Poison?
Pub'l. Sept. 24, 2012 @ Truthdig.com
By Chris Hedges
www.truthdig.com/report/item/how_do_you_take_your_poison_...
###
So I was called by this group of guys who run some of the art shows here in my town , they wanted to talk with me about doing a show with my work , I got there , and first problem :
Guy on the fuckin door says : this is not a public building
Tripper : I know I was called by . . . (not saying names)
ToyCop (security guard) : Hold down wait outside
Tripper : fuck you I'm not waiting outside call . . . (guys name) and let him know I'm here , you know what fuck it , I got his cell phone # right here , so I gave this guy a call , and he said sorry about that
ToyCop : He answers the phone , and says . . . yes Sir , No Sir , yes Sir , Mr Trippes (yes Trippes fuckin idiot couldn't even say Tripper , I mean c'mon how hard is it) please follow me
So after this fuckin bullshit I go have a chat with a couple of "Artist" and to sumarize everything I tell you this , I am not paying nobody to show my work , and to top it off , they told me I will have to tone it down a bit as I am . . . well Different ?? Different ?? what the fuck ?? so now I'm an Alien ?? What am I ??
Hey Fuck you , you fuckin Fucks , I rather be a genuine nobody , than a fuckin hypocrite somebody
**
Strobist info :
SB800 1/4 - Naked , Apollo Softbox 5ft from subject (camera Right) , 5ft high , subject 5 ó clock
SB600 1/16 - Naked (camera Left) 2ft high , subject 9 ó clock
SB600 1/16 - Naked (camera Right) 2ft high , subject 3 ó clock
Sigma 18-50mm f/2.8 @ 18mm f/5.6
Nikon D300 : ISO 800 - 1/20
this is painted on the side of the B17 flying fortress Sally B...wartime logo's to adorn the planes so many went off and died in..facebook blocked this yet are fine to allow girls selling sex to send me friend requests?????
Finally, A Sequel To Kill Bill - IMRAN™
"Grab Them By The Pussy Wagon" - From the new Quentin Tarantino movie, "Kill Bill (Of Rights & The Constitution)"... starring Donald Trump as Putin's Bitch, Senator McConnell as Moscow Mitch, and GOP (Grab Our Pussies) Women. Coming soon to a tiny movie theater parking lot near you.
© 2020 IMRAN™
#women #politics #sexualharassment #Republicans #Trump #QuentinTarantino #quentintarantinomovies #humor #democracy #Putin,
3 And in the morning, It will be foul weather to day: for the sky is red and lowring. O ye hypocrites, ye can discern the face of the sky; but can ye not discern the signs of the times?
Matt 16:3
The California State Capitol building showing the front facade and steps. A truly beautiful building.... but....
Do you ever feel that man has lived these times before. No words said it better than these (paraphrased)
"How terrible it will be for you, leaders of the people, you hypocrites! You are like whitewashed tombs that look beautiful on the outside but inside are full of dead people's bones and every kind of impurity.
...los prejuicios y fantasías de la clase hipócrita, clase que son casi todas las clases, por cierto.
Dentro y fuera de cualquier red social, dentro y fuera de Flickr, dentro y fuera.
# # #
...prejudices and fantasies of the hypocrite class, almost all classes, by the way.
Inside and outside any social network, inside and outside Flickr, inside and outside.
# # #
Hypocrisy & Communication series
www.holyspiritspeaks.org/videos/movie-break-through-the-s...
Introduction
Pastors and elders of the world of religion are all people who serve God in churches. They frequently read the Bible and give sermons to believers, pray for them and show them compassion, but why do we say they are hypocritical Pharisees? Especially with regard to their approach to the return of the Lord, not only do they not seek or examine anything, but on the contrary they wildly defy and condemn the work of Almighty God. Why exactly is this?
Storyline:
2,000 years ago, when the Lord Jesus did the work of redemption, He suffered wild slander and condemnation by the Jewish religious community. The Jewish leaders joined forces with the Roman government and nailed Him to the cross. In the last days, Almighty God—the Lord Jesus returned in the flesh—has arrived in China to do the work of judgment. Again, He faces the frenzied condemnation, suppression, and arrest this time by the Chinese Communist government and the religious world. The widespread rumors and misconceptions that judge and defame The Church of Almighty God are like an invisible snare, enshrouding and controlling innumerable believers. The tragedy of history repeats itself …
The heroine of this movie is one of those countless believers. When she first heard Almighty God's gospel of the last days, she was confused by the rumors of the CCP government and the religious leaders. She was trapped, lost in her confusion … After several intense debates, Almighty God's words led her to realize the truth, and she was finally able to see through the actual facts behind the rumors. She broke through the snare and beheld the appearance of the true God …
Terms of Use： en.godfootsteps.org/disclaimer.html
UGUUUU... kind of a crappy picture, but I felt like I should upload it anyways, since I haven't uploaded anything in forever. Fury is kind of... furious with Rouge at the moment because of Rouge's constant spying on everyone, and a whole bunch of complicated stuff that is going to be in one of the future pic fics. (Need to get back in the habit of making those XD)
In a way, this is also a representation of a lot of my life right now. You see I have this one "friend" classmate who is so ignorant, hypocritical, self-absorbed, close-minded, idiotic, and just pure annoying who suddenly adopted herself to my close group of friends. Normally I'd be very accepting of anyone coming into this "group" of ours, but we are so close with each other and she suddenly decided to butt her way into our group even though she just causes drama, and quite a few of us don't like her(which she knows) because of many stupid and mean things that she says and does to us. She has to butt her way into EVERY situation and cause drama over everything when she isn't involved in what's going on. She's hurt my feelings on many occasions and then she acts all high and mighty about it, like she knows everything and always has to be right even though she just criticizes and acts like a complete hypocrite. For instance she makes a bad pervy joke, then somebody takes it the slightest bit further and she acts overdramatic and squeamish about it, then if you point out the fact she brought it upon herself she just smiles and says, "Oh, I know :)" She also hurts my feelings ALOT and I'm sick of it. She makes fun of what tiny boobs I have(which I'm REALLY self-conceious about) and how hers are so much bigger when they actually aren't compared to rest of her body because she has a "brick" shaped body build up and then talks about how big hers are when they are just like mine in her body's proportion. She today said in front of everybody, "God, You're so RATIONAL TODAY! What's up with that?! Are you on drugs?!" and I responded, "What are you talking about? I'm pretty rational of a person, I just don't vocalize it that often. And yes, as a matter of fact I am on drugs... For ADHD." and she just made a big scene about it with her skepticism.
Point is, she just is not a pleasant person to be around and I could go on and on for hours about her and her selfish/mean ways, but I won't. I'm really stuck in this situation and I just don't know what to do, do you guys have any advice??
Branch Breeze Other Side
The best I could do.
And to the most I proved.
That despite my good intentions.
It was impossible to uphold my moral bar.
So my reputation as a hypocrite emerged.
Then grew exponentially.
I was mistaken.
My aspirations.
My metaphors.
My delusions of nobility.
They were just that.
Brilliantly intoxicated.
I was fooled by my capacity.
God will meet all your needs
"And my God will meet all your needs according
to His glorious riches in Christ Jesus." Phil. 4:19
Until we are brought into the depths of poverty,
we shall never know nor value Christ's riches.
If, then, you are a child of God, a poor and
needy soul, a tempted and tried believer in
Christ, "God will meet all your needs."
They may be very great.
It may seem to you, sometimes, as though there
were not upon all the face of the earth such a
wretch as you—as though there never could be
a child of God in your state . . .
so dark,
so stupid,
so blind and ignorant,
so proud and worldly,
so presumptuous and hypocritical,
so continually backsliding after idols,
so continually doing things that you
know are hateful in God's sight.
But whatever your need be—it is not beyond the
reach of divine supply! And the deeper your need,
the more is Jesus glorified in supplying it.
Do not say then, that . . .
your case is too bad,
your needs are too many,
your perplexities too great,
your temptations too powerful.
No case can be too bad!
No temptations can be too powerful!
No sin can be too black!
No perplexity can be too hard!
No state in which the soul can get, is beyond
the reach of the almighty and compassionate
love, that burns in the breast of the Redeemer!
Kohl: “I respect Joan for not coming. She’s the only one of you that isn’t a hypocrite.”
Bette: “Can you please not say things like that!? We’re here to comfort Katherine.”
First off, this edit sucks. I'm not an editor. I think I've made this clear. However, they're all so gorgeous. I'm jealous.
Moving on, I have many things to say about these 4 girls, but I have something else to say first.
What am I going to talk about?
Well, Sherlock, read the title. Yeah, fans. I'm talking about fans.
Fans - shut up. Shut up for two seconds. Stop putting them all against each other. Before you say it, no, it's not just Selena's fans doing this. Yes, some of them treat her like a goddess and I'm not saying that's correct, but have you ever looked other fans?
Taylor fans are defensive. I include myself in this, I'm a defensive person. It's what I do. However, the hate towards her fans are hilarious because most of them are frommm... [oh, and by the way, someone can totally continue this for me because, um, look at the person writing this.]
Demi fans. Demi fans are like, posting stuff every two seconds about her. Look, I like Demi. I'm not trashing her, but some of her fans piss me off? Why? They're so damn defensive. Every little photo where someone's like "I think she's changing a little bit..." even if this is positive OR negative, they're like "EVERYONE CHANGES! LOOK AT SELENA! ARE YOU THE SAME AS WHEN YOU WERE 5?!?" &blah blah blah blah. Have you ever thought that she might have actually, I don't know... changed? Yeah, she has. But in Demi's defense [I look hypocritical here. xD], all teenagers change. It's natural, I guess. However, I think some people don't accept that or something. I'm not exactly sure why people hate her for changing.
Anyway, continuing on - Miley fans. Oh my fucking gosh, they annoy the hell out of me. Every two seconds "SLUTLENA HOMEZ NEEDS TO DIE IN A HOLE FOR DATING NICK, FUCK HER." and "THIS CONTEST IS RIGGED! MILEY DIDN'T WIN. . ." -Miley wins- "OH THAT'S FAIR!" Um, have you ever considered that Miley isn't going to win them all...? Oh, and here's another thing--bullying Selena and her fans doesn't make you look cool.
Don't believe me when I say people act like this? Oh, okay then. I'm going to tell you a couple of stories.
Demi Fanatic Story
So, I was talking to this chick. Obviously, she was Demi Lovato obsessed. That's sort of how we started talking as funny as that is. I said that I liked the new Demi Lovato album but I thought the older one was better and she agreed, so yeah, we talked for a while. Then she was like "Okay, other than Demi, who do you like?" I said Taylor and a few other people. She didn't care about the other people, but she had a BIG problem with me liking Taylor. She was just like "You support that bitch?" I said "Yeah." After that, she was like, insane. These were her words, exactly:
"Anyone who supports her are just deaf zombies who wouldn't know good music if it spit on them."
As you can tell, our friendship didn't last long.
That's all I can think of right now with fans. Tell your experiences with some fans in the comments or something, I want to know.
ANYWAY, SUPPORT-Y STUFF TIME!
Basically, all I have to say is... no one really cares. Hating doesn't make you look cooler, I swear. Are you so insecure that you have to bully a celebrity? Does your life feel complete now that you made fun of someone? Seriously? That's just sad. It's not cool or funny to make fun of celebrities. This is called bullying. Yeah, that's not cool.
That's all I have to say to that.
And I feel like such a gleek for ending that with "That's not cool." COOL POINTS IF YOU RECOGNIZED THAT!
Anyway, um... comment if you agree. Or disagree. Or you know, whatever.
Matthew 15 [The Voice]
Jesus: Why do you violate God’s command because of your tradition? ...” Haven’t you let your tradition trump the word of God? You hypocrites! Isaiah must have had you in mind when he prophesied,
People honor Me with their lips,
but their hearts are nowhere near Me.
Because they elevate mere human ritual to the status of law,
their worship of Me is a meaningless sham.
(to the multitude) Hear and understand this: - What you put into your mouth cannot make you clean or unclean; it is what comes out of your mouth that can make you unclean.
Every plant planted by someone other than My heavenly Father will be plucked up by the roots. So let them be. They are blind guides. What happens when one blind person leads another? Both of them fall into a ditch.
..the things that come out of your mouth—your curses, your fears, your denunciations—these come from your heart, and it is the stirrings of your heart that can make you unclean. For your heart harbors evil thoughts—fantasies of murder, adultery, and whoring; fantasies of stealing, lying, and slandering. These make you unclean—not eating with a hand you’ve not ritually purified with a splash of water and a prayer.
To smoke, as an act of rebellion, while being a teenager, does not seem rebellious to me at all. It is ignorantly giving in to indoctrination from both the immediate circle of friends and the huge, aggressive cigarette manufacturers assisted by the media.
I have often reasoned with myself that if our teenagers want to rebel against society, if they strive to become independent and think for themselves, so why on earth do they fall like flies into the vicious nets of nicotine advertising pushers? Indoctrinators who don't give a damn about anything at all but their greed for money and power?
If our children achieve the understanding and grasp the fact that they are being utterly manipulated-- played smoothly like the play-dough they used themselves not too long ago-- in the hands of those guilt-free companies & fancy executives, would they let themselves be used without a fight?
These companies, who despite the hypocritical label "hazardous to your health" on their products, become more sophisticated in masking their bloody claws into trendy, polished palavers, all in order to get our children as fast as they possibly can and turn them into addicts for life, would our children then so easily fall into these well calculated traps? If they saw the catch in time?
Wouldn't our beloved children rebel against this despicable wickedness which robs them of their freedom, and in the long run of their heath as well, wouldn't they then boycott all those damned cigarettes? After all our children see us, their role models, adults who try numerous times to quit smoking, yet fail again and again and jeopardize our health. If only they would see the plot when there is still time.
My beloved Aunt started to smoke as a joke when she was only 16 y/o. Like everybody else she wanted to appear tougher than she was, she wanted to be popular. Throughout her life she inhaled large amounts of the addictive drug until her lungs were totally pierced and black with tar. She tried to quit smoking time after time, succeeded only for a week or so, went on smoking and continued to struggled for nearly 60 years. All in vain, she was doomed from her very first "supposedly innocent" cigarette.
I saw her agony, I saw her terrible suffering. I saw her die in horrible pain, totally in the merciless arms of the cruel lung cancer caused by nicotine.
If only our children could see in time the traps that are put out for them disguised as freedom of choice.
I still remember that cigarette which I deliberately took in order to aggravate my mom-- I was only 15 or 16 y/o at the time, it was my job to rebel against her, right?
It all started a few days earlier. Two of my high-school mates called me to have a cigarette with them in a hidden corner of the school yard. One of the girls, Yona was her name-- beautiful, thick long blond braid hanging heavily on her back, smart girl, bright in class-- was my idol, someone I looked up to and wanted to be as good as she, especially in mathematics, a subject I had always difficulties with. The other girl, Devorah, was already a smoker, as far as I can recall. Yona had always enough pocket money to buy cigarettes and so she offered me one. I took it and sucked on it, not really knowing what to do, but i didn't want to appear childish so I went on blowing some smoke. After a few minutes my mouth had a disgusting taste in it and I felt nauseated, however, I still didn't stop, all I wanted was to be like Yona, popular and at the top of our class. If she did it it was an act of boldness and daring which I admired.
I decided to buy a packet of mint flavored cigarettes, called Polaris at the time, mid 60's, and waited for the moment to confront my mother. The opportunity didn't take long to show up.
That Friday afternoon, after school was done for the week, Mom and I were sitting and discussing something which I can't remember now what it was. I opened my little brown leather purse, took out the unopened package of cigarettes, tore up the cellophane wrapping, pulled out a long, white cigarette, elegantly, so I thought, putting it in my mouth, waiting excitedly for the reaction of my strict disciplinary mother. I was ready for a wild fight and about to lit my liberating cigarette, my act of rebellion, when Mommy said very calmly:
"Alors, Poupetta, tu fumes maintenant?"... So I see that you have taken up smoking, huh..."
"Yes!" I said triumphantly, provocatively, anticipating the big revolution I had in mind, imagining my mother's fuming outburst and uncontrollable anger.
Well, come on, give it to me, Mom, my 15-16 years old energy boiled in me.
Well... I sat there, still holding onto that famous cigarette, but the spark from that friction I was delivering so eagerly didn't get on fire. Neither did my cigarette for that matter. It was simply dull. Mom said no more, so unlike her, I thought, she always lectured me, always. Why, only the other day she was praising Yona, who came for a visit, urging me to take after her studious nature, I who had nothing but the Beatles on my mind!
It was a total flat disappointment, no reaction was boring and so I didn't see why I should go on pretending I liked smoking when I actually despised the smell and taste of it. And if I couldn't even get Mom aggravated so why on earth bother at all.
"Here, Mommy, take it," I said handing her the brand new package of Polaris mint cigarettes.
Then why don't you post a picture of a RL Kimono instead of asking for an exact redo of the same one Aryanna already sells?
How is that not copying existing content? Apart from the slander you spread about Okiya's what does the location of her shop have to do with anything? Is it because she stood up for us?
Before pointing fingers, your destinguished Okiya is in the middle of a quote: Prison,rp,realistic,mesh,criminal,urban,city,police,entertainment,okiya,geishas,store,fullperm,inmate,cop,correctional,marvel,asylum,mental,medical,doctor,lawyer,police,Geishas." In a general Sim, it is not allowed to have displays of violence, which no doubt happen in a prison. Surely that is the perfect zen environment to enjoy a cup of tea. Isn't that a bit hypocritical?
To smoke, as an act of rebellion, while being a teenager, does not seem rebellious to me at all. It is ignorantly giving in to indoctrination from both the immediate circle of friends and the huge, aggressive cigarette manufacturers assisted by the media.
I have often reasoned with myself that if our teenagers want to rebel against society, if they strive to become independent and think for themselves, so why on earth do they fall like flies into the vicious nets of nicotine advertising pushers? Indoctrinators who don't give a damn about anything at all but their greed for money and power?
If our children achieve the understanding and grasp the fact that they are being utterly manipulated-- played smoothly like the play-dough they used themselves not too long ago-- in the hands of those guilt-free companies & fancy executives, would they let themselves be used without a fight?
These companies, who despite the hypocritical label "hazardous to your health" on their products, become more sophisticated in masking their bloody claws into trendy, polished palavers, all in order to get our children as fast as they possibly can and turn them into addicts for life, would our children then so easily fall into these well calculated traps? If they saw the catch in time?
Wouldn't our beloved children rebel against this despicable wickedness which robs them of their freedom, and in the long run of their heath as well, wouldn't they then boycott all those damned cigarettes? After all our children see us, their role models, adults who try numerous times to quit smoking, yet fail again and again and jeopardize our health. If only they would see the plot when there is still time.
My beloved Aunt started to smoke as a joke when she was only 16 y/o. Like everybody else she wanted to appear tougher than she was, she wanted to be popular. Throughout her life she inhaled large amounts of the addictive drug until her lungs were totally pierced and black with tar. She tried to quit smoking time after time, succeeded only for a week or so, went on smoking and continued to struggled for nearly 60 years. All in vain, she was doomed from her very first "supposedly innocent" cigarette.
I saw her agony, I saw her terrible suffering. I saw her die in horrible pain, totally in the merciless arms of the cruel lung cancer caused by nicotine.
If only our children could see in time the traps that are put out for them disguised as freedom of choice.
I still remember that cigarette which I deliberately took in order to aggravate my mom-- I was only 15 or 16 y/o at the time, it was my job to rebel against her, right?
It all started a few days earlier. Two of my high-school mates called me to have a cigarette with them in a hidden corner of the school yard. One of the girls, Yona was her name-- beautiful, thick long blond braid hanging heavily on her back, smart girl, bright in class-- was my idol, someone I looked up to and wanted to be as good as she, especially in mathematics, a subject I had always difficulties with. The other girl, Devorah, was already a smoker, as far as I can recall. Yona had always enough pocket money to buy cigarettes and so she offered me one. I took it and sucked on it, not really knowing what to do, but i didn't want to appear childish so I went on blowing some smoke. After a few minutes my mouth had a disgusting taste and I felt nauseated, however, I still didn't stop, all I wanted was to be like Yona, popular and at the top of our class. If she did it, it was an act of boldness and daring which I admired.
I decided to buy a packet of mint flavoured cigarettes, called Polaris at the time, mid 60's, and waited for the moment to confront my mother. The opportunity didn't take long to show up.
That Friday afternoon, after school was done for the week, Mom and I were sitting and discussing something which I can't remember now what it was. I opened my little brown leather purse, took out the unopened package of cigarettes, tore up the cellophane wrapping, pulled out a long, white cigarette, elegantly, so I thought, putting it in my mouth, waiting excitedly for the reaction of my strict disciplinary mother. I was ready for a wild fight and about to lit my liberating cigarette, my act of rebellion, when Mommy said very calmly:
"Alors, Poupetta, tu fumes maintenant?"... So I see that you have taken up smoking, huh..."
"Yes!" I said triumphantly, provocatively, anticipating the big revolution I had in mind, imagining my mother's fuming outburst and uncontrollable anger.
Well, come on, give it to me, Mom, my 15-16 years old energy boiled in me.
Well... I sat there, still holding onto that famous cigarette, but the spark from that friction I was delivering so eagerly didn't get on fire. Neither did my cigarette for that matter. It was simply dull. Mom said no more, so unlike her, I thought, she always lectured me, always. Why, only the other day she was praising Yona, who came for a visit, urging me to take after her studious nature, I who had nothing but the Beatles on my mind!
It was a total flat disappointment, no reaction was boring and so I didn't see why I should go on pretending I liked smoking when I actually despised the smell and taste of it. And if I couldn't even get Mom aggravated so why on earth bother at all.
"Here, Mommy, take it," I said handing her the brand new package of Polaris mint cigarettes.
TRIGGER WARNING: I usually try to keep my language here at least PG-13, but the topic I'm discussing in this post requires me to say a particular word enough times to earn me an R rating. Specifically, I say it six times, and, really, considering the stance I'm taking here, not saying the word would be oddly hypocritical. If you do not want to see this word in writing, I strongly advise that you skip the following text.
Here's a bland picture I've been holding on to for a little while, because I meant to attach it to a rant. I took this focusing on a flag outside some law enforcement fan's house in the metropolis of Waynetown, Indiana. You can see two flags on this pole. At the top, there's one of those American flags that have been color-shifted over to something that I think's supposed to be pro-cop, only it's hard to tell because it's old, and the colors have all faded. At the bottom, there's a flag that says, "Let's Go, Brandon."
I'm posting this because that Brandon flag is the dumbest thing in the world.
You might know the history if you pay attention to news of dumb things. It all goes back to a NASCAR race, when a young driver named Brandon Brown won the second-tier, Xfinity Series stock car race last October at Talladega. The Xfinity Series is NASCAR's version of the minor leagues, and it usually runs the day before the big Cup races I pay attention to. But the sports TV guys need practice, too, so they run the Xfinity races for a small audience on some cable channel, and they cover them the same way they cover the big races. And so, when Brandon Brown won his very first Xfinity race, the TV people went to the Winners Circle to interview him live on cable TV. That's when the crowd at Talladega started a chant during this live broadcast that said -- and pardon my English, but this is a quote -- "Fuck Joe Biden." Because, I guess, conservative types have spent the better part of a decade building their entire personalities with cult-like obsession around what they think of the President of the United States, and the most natural thing in the world for them is to celebrate a bush league stock car race by obscenely chanting their political opinions on national television at random and unrelated moments. And sure, this was a cable channel, but it wasn't one of those cable channels, and the FCC still doesn't like having that particular word broadcast on live television to people with overly sensitive ears. So the announcer tried to cover it up, saying something like, "Well, look at how much the crowd is behind Brandon Brown, chanting 'Let's go, Brandon!'"
And thus, a meme was born.
Conservative rednecks everywhere decided this was funny, so a bunch of them adopted "Let's Go, Brandon!" as their motto, their way of saying "Fuck Joe Biden" without actually saying "fuck," even though these are presumably all adults who've heard the word before without it busting their ear drums. But no, they think this little bit of euphemistic misdirection is the most clever thing ever, and they all cackle like maniacs over it.
The thing is, it's all pointless and dumb, because words have meanings, and these meanings translate into thoughts and feelings in a human mind that matter far more than the noise that conveys them. When you say a word, your goal isn't to make a sound. It's to convey a meaning. You want to trigger a particular thought inside somebody's brain and have them picture a certain thing. And it doesn't really matter which sound your mouth makes to convey that thought, whether you say "hell" or "heck," "goddammit" or "gosh dangit," "shoot" or ... something else. You're still putting the same thought in somebody's head. The thoughts and messages are still the same. Like, for instance, when I said "something else" just now, there's a pretty good chance your brain thought of human excrement. I didn't have to say the word to convey the image. A euphemism might avoid a sound we've randomly decided is an ugly word, but it doesn't avoid the ugly thought, and the thought is what matters. So if you're going to convey the ugly thought, you might as well be honest about it and use the ugly word.
There's also a certain kind of sniveling weasel quality to the "Let's go, Brandon" thing, like you're too much of a wimp to even stand by your thoughts. There were a lot of times during the administration of Brandon's ... er, Biden's predecessor when I wanted to say, "Fuck Trump." And you know what? I said it, because that's what I meant, so I might as well commit.
I'm generally a fan of President Biden's work over the last couple of years, but honestly, I don't care if you or anybody else wants to tell him to fuck off. But have the courage of your convictions. Don't act like you're some middle school kid afraid to have your mommy slap a bar of soap in your mouth for saying a naughty word. And don't act like you're some genius because you figured out a juvenile way to avoid a particular collection of sounds we arbitrarily declared obscene. Fuck that. Don't be a baby. Just say it.
What a cool poster that just showed up in the post! We know nothing about it, aside from a clear inspiration from this photo I took, and the URL: www.thebirdmachine.com
Thanks Bird Machine!
See Inspirations and Hypocrites for the whole story.
be kind
don't be a bully
or a hypocrite
stay open to ideas
even if they are different than your own
and, if they are different than yours
does it matter?
does that person deserve your ridicule
or disrespect
or derision?
just lead by example
even when your leaders don't
treat others the way you want to be treated
and, for those who will not
or cannot do the same
wish them well
and let them go
be a good human
because humanity needs it
The modern West is said to be Christian, but this is untrue: the modern outlook is anti-Christian, because it is essentially anti-religious; and it is anti-religious because, still more generally, it is anti-traditional; this is its distinguishing characteristic and this is what makes it what it is. Undoubtedly, something of Christianity has passed even into the anti-Christian civilization of our time, even the most 'advanced' of whose representatives, to use their own jargon, cannot help, involuntarily and perhaps unconsciously, having undergone and still undergoing a certain Christian influence, though an indirect one; however radical a breach with the past may be, it can never be quite complete and such as to break all continuity. More than this: we even assert that everything of value that there may be in the modern world has come to it from Christianity, or at any rate through Christianity, for Christianity has brought with it the whole heritage of former traditions, has kept this heritage alive so far as the state of things in the West made it possible, and still contains its latent possibilities. But is there anyone today, even among those calling themselves Christians, who has any real consciousness of these possibilities?
The West is undeniably encroaching everywhere; its influence first made itself felt in the material domain, since this comes most directly within its reach, working through conquest by violence or through commerce, and by securing control over the resources of other countries; but now things are going still further. Westerners, always animated by that need for proselytism which is so exclusively theirs, have succeeded to a certain extent in introducing their own anti-traditional and materialistic outlook among other peoples; and whereas the first form of invasion only affected men's bodies, this newer form poisons their minds and kills all spirituality. In point of fact, it was the first kind of invasion that made the second one possible, so that it is ultimately only by brute force that the West has succeeded in imposing itself upon the rest of the world, as, indeed, must necessarily be the case, since in this sphere alone lies the superiority of its civilization, so inferior from every other point of view. The Western encroachment is the encroachment of materialism under all its guises and cannot be other than this; none of the more or less hypocritical veils, none of the moralistic pretexts, none of the humanitarian declamations, none of the wiles of a propaganda that knows how to be insinuating the better to achieve its destructive ends, none of these things can gainsay that Western encroachment is the encroachment of materialism; this could be disputed only by the gullible, or by those who have an interest in aiding a process that is truly 'satanic' in the strictest sense of the word.
(Satan, in Hebrew, is the 'adversary', the one who 'turns things upside down'; this is the spirit of negation and subversion, which is identical with the descending or 'downward' tendency (tamas) - 'infernal' in the etymological sense of the word - and which governs beings in this process of materialization, upon which the whole development of modern civilization is based.)
Excerpts from:
René Guénon - The Crisis of the Modern World
Another three hours pass by and the clock strikes 9pm exact. Still nothing. Where can he be? Come on you spineless coward. Show yourself and face your punishment. Sure enough no sooner does the thought cross my mind that I get an alert. He’s been spotted. Where?
I quickly race to the computer and trace his position. He’s at the county fair. Of course. The perfect place he could hide himself, in the middle of a fun fair. No ordinary person would ever think that he’s in the middle of such a public event, but I know this monster. It’s his way of mocking both me and the GCPD. His gloating will cost him dearly.
I hear the elevator coming down from the house. Alfred’s on his way down. No doubt he heard the alert as well, I need to get gone before he tries to stop me. Given that he had Clark try to talk me down he’s clearly against this vendetta campaign. Hypocrite. He had a vendetta against Uncle Marcus for trying to change my Father’s will and was more than willing to kill him when he had the chance to do so. Now the situation arises for me to confront the man I hold a strong vendetta against and he tells me to ignore it. Such a hypocrite.
I’ve been preparing the new suit for this moment, and now it’s time to put it to use. After a couple of minutes I’m ready and I walk towards the batmobile. But of course Alfred blocks my path.
“Get out of the way Alfred.”
“No. I can't let you do this.”
“Get out of my way.”
“I won’t just sit by and let you make a decision that you shall live with the rest of your life.”
“He has to pay for what he’s done. Jason deserves no less.”
“This has nothing to do with Jason! This is you wanting a reason to justify what you plan to do!”
“Stand aside Alfred, I won’t ask again.”
“And I still won’t move. Trust me. I know from experience. Taking a man’s life, that sticks with you for the rest of yours and I won’t let you add that to the burden you already carry.”
I have no choice. Alfred won’t move willingly. As much as it pains me to do so, I push him out the way and continue to walk towards the batmobile. Alfred knows he can’t physically stop me, I’m too strong for him to hold back so he’s forced to keep pleading with me to not go.
“Bruce please. Think about what you’re doing!”
I ignore him. It pains me to do so, but it’s the only choice. If I even stop to acknowledge him he’s got the advantage and will use it to try and stop me going out there. But I cannot let that happen.
“This man is a monster yes, but let Gordon know where he is! He can have the fair evacuated and the Joker in chains! This time he can be put in Blackgate where he’ll rot for the rest of his life!”
Sorry Alfred. I know you’re trying your best to try and persuade me to not go through with it, but I must. Jason deserves that much from me at least. I climb into the batmobile and lock it. Alfred presses himself against the window.
“If you take his life tonight, you’ll be destroying all that you’ve worked so hard for!”
I turn on the ignition and prepare the booster for departure. But then Alfred says it. The words of that deliver a punch to my chest.
“It’s not what your parents would want of you.”
It’s a painful comment. Telling me blatantly how far I’m straying from my parents wishes. I've never wanted to do such a thing since they were taken from me. But I have no choice.
“I know Alfred. They would never approve of this. But I will not allow Jason’s sacrifice to go unpunished.”
With that I roar the engine to life and race out of the cave. Mother. Father. I’m sorry. But tonight I must avenge my son.
ive just been lolling around all day, thats half term for ya!
this idea just popped into my head, i was reading a magazine and it seems like every page you turn theres a new way to make you eyes prettier or you bum seem bigger. im not going to say i never get paranoid about my looks because i do, it just seems crazy that you would go out and do these things just to make yourself a little bit better.
love the skin your in ;)
i sound like a hypocrite
The Gilded Cage is the starship of bounty hunter Ciron Duali.
When his Serenno noble family made it clear that they didn't want him to lead the family, and when he decided to become a bounty hunter, he used his own considerable funds to procure a custom starship.
He decided on a heavily customized Korpik and Laani single-crew long-range scout.
To further project the air of a rich dandy playing bounty hunter, he had the outer hull silver-plated. As lavish as the outer shell was, the more spartan was the interior.
It had enough room for a bunk bed, very compact storage units, a small armory, room for two carbonite-frozen bounties, and for a small speeder bike.
Two heavy blaster cannons, and two droid-controlled defensive dual blaster turrets provided enough offensive capabilities.
The ship's name signified his break from the family. Breaking with its traditions, its stifling constraints. Yet, hypocritically, Duali ignored how he had profited massively from his family's riches.
Done in Studio.
An Ideal Husband is an 1895 comedic stage play by Oscar Wilde which revolves around blackmail and political corruption, and touches on the themes of public and private honour. The action is set in London, in "the present", and takes place over the course of twenty-four hours. "Sooner or later," Wilde notes, "we shall all have to pay for what we do." But he adds that, "No one should be entirely judged by their past." Together with The Importance of Being Earnest, it is often considered Wilde's dramatic masterpiece. After Earnest it is his most popularly produced play.[1]
Background
In the summer of 1893, Oscar Wilde began writing An Ideal Husband, and he completed it later that winter. His work began at Goring-on-Thames, after which he named the character Lord Goring, and concluded at St. James Place. He initially sent the completed play to the Garrick Theatre, where the manager rejected it, but it was soon accepted by the Haymarket Theatre, where Lewis Waller had temporarily taken control. Waller was an excellent actor and cast himself as Sir Robert Chiltern. The play gave the Haymarket the success it desperately needed.
After opening on 3 January 1895, it continued for 124 performances. In April of that year, Wilde was arrested for 'gross indecency' and his name was publicly taken off the play. On 6 April, soon after Wilde's arrest, the play moved to the Criterion Theatre where it ran from 13–27 April. The play was published in 1899, although Wilde was not listed as the author. This published version differs slightly from the performed play, for Wilde added many passages and cut others. Prominent additions included written stage directions and character descriptions. Wilde was a leader in the effort to make plays accessible to the reading public.
Themes
Many of the themes of An Ideal Husband were influenced by the situation Oscar Wilde found himself in during the early 1890s. Stressing the need to be forgiven of past sins, and the irrationality of ruining lives of great value to society because of people's hypocritical reactions to those sins, Wilde may have been speaking to his own situation, and his own fears regarding his affair (still secret).[2] Other themes include the position of women in society. In a climactic moment Gertrude Chiltern "learns her lesson" and repeats LORD GORING's advice "A man's life is of more value than a woman's." Often criticized by contemporary theatre analyzers as overt sexism, the idea being expressed in the monologue is that women, despite serving as the source of morality in Victorian era marriages, should be less judgemental of their husband's mistakes because of complexities surrounding the balance that husbands of that era had to keep between their domestic and their worldly obligations.[3][4] Further, the script plays against both sides of feminism/sexism as, for example, Lord Caversham, exclaims near the end that Mabel displays "a good deal of common sense" after concluding earlier that "Common sense is the privilege of our sex."
A third theme expresses anti-upper class sentiments. Lady Basildon, and Lady Markby are consistently portrayed as absurdly two-faced, saying one thing one moment, then turning around to say the exact opposite (to great comic effect) to someone else. The overall portrayal of the upper class in England displays an attitude of hypocrisy and strict observance of silly rules.[4]
Dramatis Personae
The Earl of Caversham, K.G.
Lord Goring, his son. His Christian name is Arthur.
Sir Robert Chiltern, Bart., Under-Secretary for Foreign Affairs
Vicomte De Nanjac, Attaché at the French Embassy In London
Mr. Montford, secretary to Sir Robert
Mason, butler to Sir Robert Chiltern
Phipps, butler to Lord Goring
James, footman to the Chilterns
Harold, footman to the Chilterns
Lady Chiltern, wife to Sir Robert Chiltern
Lady Markby, a friend of the Chilterns'
The Countess of Basildon, a friend of the Chilterns'
Mrs. Marchmont, a friend of the Chilterns'
Miss Mabel Chiltern, Sir Robert Chiltern's sister
Mrs. Cheveley, blackmailer, Lady Chiltern's former schoolmate
Plot
An Ideal Husband opens during a dinner party at the home of Sir Robert Chiltern in London's fashionable Grosvenor Square. Sir Robert, a prestigious member of the House of Commons, and his wife, Lady Chiltern, are hosting a gathering that includes his friend Lord Goring, a dandified bachelor and close friend to the Chilterns, his sister Mabel Chiltern, and other genteel guests. During the party, Mrs. Cheveley, an enemy of Lady Chiltern's from their school days, attempts to blackmail Sir Robert into supporting a fraudulent scheme to build a canal in Argentina. Apparently, Mrs. Cheveley's dead mentor and lover, the Austro-Hungarian Baron Arnheim, convinced the young Sir Robert many years ago to sell him a Cabinet secret, a secret that suggested he buy stocks in the Suez Canal three days before the British government announced its purchase. Sir Robert made his fortune with that illicit money, and Mrs. Cheveley has the letter to prove his crime. Fearing the ruin of both career and marriage, Sir Robert submits to her demands.
When Mrs. Cheveley pointedly informs Lady Chiltern of Sir Robert's change of heart regarding the canal scheme, the morally inflexible Lady Chiltern, unaware of both her husband's past and the blackmail plot, insists that Sir Robert renege on his promise. For Lady Chiltern, their marriage is predicated on her having an "ideal husband"—that is, a model spouse in both private and public life that she can worship: thus Sir Robert must remain unimpeachable in all his decisions. Sir Robert complies with the lady's wishes and apparently seals his doom. Also toward the end of Act I, Mabel and Lord Goring come upon a diamond brooch that Lord Goring gave someone many years ago. Goring takes the brooch and asks that Mabel inform him if anyone comes to retrieve it.
In the second act, which also takes place at Sir Robert's house, Lord Goring urges Sir Robert to fight Mrs. Cheveley and admit his guilt to his wife. He also reveals that he and Mrs. Cheveley were formerly engaged. After finishing his conversation with Sir Robert, Goring engages in flirtatious banter with Mabel. He also takes Lady Chiltern aside and obliquely urges her to be less morally inflexible and more forgiving. Once Goring leaves, Mrs. Cheveley appears, unexpected, in search of a brooch she lost the previous evening. Incensed at Sir Robert's reneging on his promise, she ultimately exposes Sir Robert to his wife once they are both in the room. Unable to accept a Sir Robert now unmasked, Lady Chiltern then denounces her husband and refuses to forgive him.
In the third act, set in Lord Goring's home, Goring receives a pink letter from Lady Chiltern asking for his help, a letter that might be read as a compromising love note. Just as Goring receives this note, however, his father, Lord Caversham, drops in and demands to know when his son will marry. A visit from Sir Robert, who seeks further counsel from Goring, follows. Meanwhile, Mrs. Cheveley arrives unexpectedly and, misrecognized by the butler as the woman Goring awaits, is ushered into Lord Goring's drawing room. While she waits, she finds Lady Chiltern's letter. Ultimately, Sir Robert discovers Mrs. Cheveley in the drawing room and, convinced of an affair between these two former lovers, angrily storms out of the house.
When she and Lord Goring confront each other, Mrs. Cheveley makes a proposal. Claiming to still love Goring from their early days of courtship, she offers to exchange Sir Robert's letter for her old beau's hand in marriage. Lord Goring declines, accusing her of defiling love by reducing courtship to a vulgar transaction and ruining the Chilterns' marriage. He then springs his trap. Removing the diamond brooch from his desk drawer, he binds it to Cheveley's wrist with a hidden device. Goring then reveals how the item came into her possession. Apparently Mrs. Cheveley stole it from his cousin, Mary Berkshire, years ago. To avoid arrest, Cheveley must trade the incriminating letter for her release from the bejewelled handcuff. After Goring obtains and burns the letter, however, Mrs. Cheveley steals Lady Chiltern's note from his desk. Vengefully she plans to send it to Sir Robert misconstrued as a love letter addressed to the dandified lord. Mrs. Cheveley exits the house in triumph.
The final act, which returns to Grosvenor Square, resolves the many plot complications sketched above with a decidedly happy ending. Lord Goring proposes to and is accepted by Mabel. Lord Caversham informs his son that Sir Robert has denounced the Argentine canal scheme before the House. Lady Chiltern then appears, and Lord Goring informs her that Sir Robert's letter has been destroyed but that Mrs. Cheveley has stolen her letter and plans to use it to destroy her marriage. At that moment, Sir Robert enters while reading Lady Chiltern's letter, but as the letter does not have the name of the addressee, he assumes it is meant for him, and reads it as a letter of forgiveness. The two reconcile. Lady Chiltern initially agrees to support Sir Robert's decision to renounce his career in politics, but Lord Goring dissuades her from allowing her husband to resign. When Sir Robert refuses Lord Goring his sister's hand in marriage, still believing he has taken up with Mrs. Cheveley, Lady Chiltern is forced to explain last night's events and the true nature of the letter. Sir Robert relents, and Lord Goring and Mabel are permitted to wed.
Reception
The play proved extremely popular in its original run, lasting over a hundred performances. Critics also lauded Wilde's balance of a multitude of theatrical elements within the play. George Bernard Shaw praised the play saying "Mr. Wilde is to me our only thorough Playwright. He plays with everything; with wit, with philosophy, with drama, with actors and audience, with the whole theatre."[2]
Selected Production History
An Ideal Husband was originally produced by Lewis Waller, premiering on the 3rd of January, 1895 in Haymarket Theatre. The run lasted 124 performances. The original cast of the play was:[5]
Mr. Alfred Bishop, THE EARL OF CAVERSHAM, VISCOUNT GORING, Mr. Charles H. Hawtrey, SIR ROBERT CHILTERN, Mr. Lewis Waller, VICOMTE DE NANJAC, Mr. Cosmo Stuart, MR. MONTFORD, Mr. Harry Stanford, PHIPPS, Mr. C. H. Brookfield, MASON, Mr. H. Deane, JAMES, Mr. Charles Meyrick, HAROLD, Mr. Goodhart, LADY CHILTERN, Miss Julia Neilson, LADY MARKBY, Miss Fanny Brough, COUNTESS OF BASILDON, Miss Vane Featherston, MRS. MARCHMONT, Miss Helen Forsyth, MISS MABEL CHILTERN, Miss Maud Millet, and MRS. CHEVELEY, Miss Florence West.
Oscar Wilde was arrested for "gross indecency" (homosexuality) during the run of the production. At the trial the actors involved in the production testified as witnesses against him. The production continued but credit for authorship was taken away from Wilde.[2]
An Ideal Husband was revived for a Broadway production featuring the Broadway debut of film stars Michael Denison and Dulcie Gray. Denison and Gray had earlier starred in a West End Theatre revival that had proved extremely popular for English audiences.[6]
Film, television and radio adaptations
1935 film
Main article: An Ideal Husband (1935 film)
A 1935 German film directed by Herbert Selpin and starring Brigitte Helm and Sybille Schmitz.
1947 film
Main article: An Ideal Husband (1947 film)
A lavish 1947 adaptation was produced by London Films and starred Paulette Goddard, Michael Wilding and Diana Wynyard
1998 film[edit]
Main article: An Ideal Husband (1998 film)
It was adapted for the screen in 1998. It starred James Wilby and Jonathan Firth
1999 film
Main article: An Ideal Husband (1999 film)
It was adapted once more for the screen in 1999. It starred Julianne Moore, Minnie Driver, Jeremy Northam, Cate Blanchett and Rupert Everett. The film adapts the play to some measure, the most significant departure being that the device of the diamond broach/bracelet is deleted, and instead Lord Goring defeats Mrs. Cheavley by making a wager with her: if Sir Robert capitulates and supports the scheme in his speech to the House of Commons, Goring will marry her, but if he sticks to his morals and denounces the scheme, she will give up the letter and leave England.
Television and radio
The BBC produced a version which was broadcast in 1969 as part of their Play of the Month series. It stars Jeremy Brett and Margaret Leighton and was directed by Rudolph Cartier. It is available on DVD as part of The Oscar Wilde Collection box-set.
BBC Radio 3 broadcast a full production in 2007 directed by David Timson and starring Alex Jennings, Emma Fielding, Jasper Britton, Janet McTeer and Geoffrey Palmer. This production was re-broadcast on Valentine's Day 2010.
L.A. Theatre Works produced an audio adaptation of the play starring Jacqueline Bisset, Rosalind Ayres, Martin Jarvis, Miriam Margolyes, Alfred Molina, Yeardley Smith and Robert Machray. It is available as a CD set, ISBN 1-58081-215-5.
Quotes
LORD GORING: Life is never fair, and perhaps it is a good thing for most of us that it is not.
SIR ROBERT CHILTERN: All sins except a sin against itself, love should forgive.
SIR ROBERT CHILTERN: It is not the perfect, but the imperfect, who have need of love. It is when we are wounded by our own hands, or by the hands of others, that love should come to cure us – else what use is love at all?
LORD GORING: Fashion is what one wears oneself. What is unfashionable is what other people wear. Other people are quite dreadful. The only possible society is oneself.
MRS. CHEVELEY: Morality is simply the attitude we adopt towards people whom we personally dislike.
PHIPPS: I will speak to the florist, my lord. She has had a loss in her family lately, which perhaps accounts for the lack of triviality your lordship complains of in the buttonhole.
LORD GORING: Extraordinary thing about the lower classes in England - they are always losing their relations.
PHIPPS: Yes, my lord! They are extremely fortunate in that respect.
****************************************************
This Bit comes from when the Americans were filming their version of the play “an Ideal Husband”
A couple of newspapers picked up on it at the time.
The film was shot on several sites, including an Italian waterfront.
At the end of the week it was their custom to have a “wrap” party celebrating the end of the week’s shoot.
The ball scene had been filmed that day and most of the cast attended the get-together still in costume. This included 3 of the minor actresses who had bonded during the filming.
After the revelry was dying out, these 3 decided to go it alone, leaving the stage room to hit several of the bars and a casino located on the riverfront. Making a decidedly poor decision, they opted to wear the elegant gowns and shimmering jewelry they had donned for the stylish ball act( much of which was later cut from thye movie, including their roles) .
Needless to say the young trio of pretty actresses garnered a considerable amount of male attention as they made their rounds. They left their last stop in the wee early hours of the morning only to discover they taxi they had paid to wait for them had vanished. A dapper young man with a foreign accent that made the girls swoon came upon the young ladies, and after they explained their predicament, offered some aid. He invited them to a back room off a nearby alley to wait while he brought his private car around, suggesting that it would be a place of refuge to stay warm from the cool ocean air( only one of the actresses had a wrap).
About ten minutes after he had left them a masked man burst in brandishing a wicked looking blade. He demanded their ”jools” and “perses” than after receiving their valuables, had them strip down to their silky undergarments. He then bundled the lot and ran off. They could hear tires screeching off in the night. The dapper male never returned, and it was hours before their pitiful cries of help were heard by a passing vagrant, who after making sure they had nothing more of value, disappeared, than must have had a change of heart, for he summoned a patrolman to help them.
Two of the ladies had been wearing prop gowns and rhinestones, but the third, a minor relative of the New York Cabot family, had been waering her own designer gown(worth 2000 pounds) and her family diamonds( worth 55000 pounds sterling) So it was generally regarded that the ladies were scammed by a couple of professionals who had been out on the prowl for such prey, knew where to find it, and how to acquire her valuables.
Then, two weeks later another young lady, again unescorted, had decided to do a tour of the same riverfront establishments. She did so after attending a relatives wedding reception. She had met a rather handsome man while out drinking, and the pair had set off for a second bar when a masked man mugged them of their valuables. Including a 30000 lira ring she had worn, and 10000 Lira of other jewellery. Her friend dropped her off at the bar and went for help, disappearing in the night. Her description of the pair matched the ones who had robbed the Actresses.
Courtesy of Chatwick University Archives
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I normally wouldn't have cared about a BMW X6, but seeing one of these in Havana is way too unusual and... ironic/hypocritical not to shot
... is the question posed by this beautiful hunk of woman who stars in the TV sitcom "Sex and the City." She asks the burning question, would you rather look at me or an abandoned, trashed piece of condemned real estate?" The message she has for me is, "Look at the beauty in life, not the ugliness. Accept the beauty, not the ugly, Try to make things beautiful, not ugly." Then of course, someone thinks perhaps I'm a hypocrite because I make so many of my people distorted and ugly. That leads me to explain my goal, which is that most of us are neither movie star beautiful, not, as the saying goes, butt-ugly." We vary and we are diverse. We are truly beautiful in our diversity and I celebrate that diversity. In this wonderful, multisensational life we live, here are a few seconds for me to tell you how I see the beauty of God, as opposed to the bloated, pompous, self-righteous hypocracy of so many Pharasitic Bible thumpers. Give Sister Rosetta Tharpe a moment and see if she can explain God to you:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=UNq8DejQRN8
I received this "testimony" of Sister Rosetta Tharpe from delanceyplace.com and here's what they had to say:
In today's excerpt - Sister Rosetta Tharpe, viewed by some as the first rock and roll guitarist. Tharpe first gained widespread attention performing in Barney Josephson's Café Society, a New York City nightclub, in the late 1930s and early 1940s. Josephson's club was the first to both feature black jazz artists and allow black patrons in the audience, and he brought a stellar variety of previously little known black talent to the broader public - including Billie Holiday and Lena Horne. Here Josephson reminisces about Tharpe:
"Sister Rosetta Tharpe not only could sing electrifying gospel but what an acoustic guitar she could play. [Jazz promoter] John Hammond explained, 'She is one of the first to use it for melody-plucked lines. Her technically astonishing lead breaks invented the rock and roll guitar.' In his 1938 'From Spirituals to Swing' concert, Sister Tharpe 'was a surprise smash; knocked the people out.'
"Rosetta Tharpe was a child star. Born in 1915 in Cotton Plant, Arkansas, she was a baby when her mother took up preaching, traveling from church to church to spread the gospel. As a four-year-old, Rosetta was already singing and playing the guitar. She was the big attraction that brought in the worshippers to her mother's services. Rosetta Tharpe was a pioneer. When she sang gospel on a secular stage she scandalized the sanctified church. They never forgave her. Religious folk opposed singing in cabarets; it was synonymous with the Devil, God's enemy. They told Sister Tharpe that either she serve the devil or God. She would respond that the Lord knew her heart and it wouldn't lead her astray. She was the first gospel singer to sign with a major recording company and to appear in a nightclub - mine. Her song style was filled with blues inversion. ... She bent her notes like a horn player, and syncopated in swing band manner. My secular audiences were fascinated with her blues-oriented gospel, a first for many of them.
"[Critic Malcolm Johnson wrote] 'Sister Rosetta Tharpe rates unqualified enthusiasm for the stirring quality of her songs, sung in the spiritual vein of swing tempo. At Cafe Society she is offering some new compositions of her own.' "
I have only one rule for learning. "Before you decide what you believe and who you are, remove head from ass."
sense of.her
choices
..heads/tails?
www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZDQ-WxU73Os
©MadDreamer 2👽23/ All rights reserved. Do not use without written permission from photographer.... damn it.
LBC: Is this cannabis-growing mother the biggest hypocrite out there? t.co/1BHaSr7JbD t.co/x9DBJFj5RP (via Twitter twitter.com/Luandrew169/status/768066724784668672)
Another picture based on a dream, where my friend was veiled, but wearing a normal bathing suit at the same time. I felt totally negative about it.
I wanted to express this photographically as well.
This was quite challenging for me, as I truly have a very intense irrational phobia of spider webs. Yeah, spider webs, hehe. I kept getting shivers while editing this.
Follow me :)
Ornate door knocker of Needful Things, an antique furniture and art business, in St James’s Street, Kemp Town, Brighton, East Sussex.
Needful Things is the name of Stephen King novel and film.
The kitsch shop is like a splendid part of the Addams Family mansion plonked down onto the street.
The local council claim that the shop does not have planning permission for the style of front door, (and would not gain it, even if applied for).
There appears to be a hypocritical element in the local council's attitude. In the same street an unlicensed Starbucks has been the focus of protesters as it has been operating for some time despite not having the appropriate planning permission.
Media:
* "Stephen Miller Is an Immigration Hypocrite. I Know Because I’m His Uncle," by David S. Glosser, Politico Magazine, August 13, 2018
* Stephen Miller's uncle: Family were refugees," CNN, August 14, 2018
* "Trump Administration Angel of Darkness Stephen Miller Allegedly Wanted to Bomb Migrant Boats: Report," by Bess Levin, Vanity Fair, June 27, 2023
Stable Diffusion
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#COVID19 #infection #Dr.AnthonyFauci #trumpcausescancer #windmill #windpower #windturbine #antivaxxer #bigfoot #UFO #lochnessmonster #flyingsaucer #mythology #atlantis #bermudatriangle #flatearth #wikileaks #angels #fallenangels #45 #BiggestBaby #dirtydiaper #TheMuellerInvestigation #WilliamBarr #AttorneyGeneral #Report #TheEmperorsNewClothes #TheExorcist #Pazuzu #God #JesusChrist #LindaBlair #possessed #KingofDemons #SarahSanders #hypocrite #Exorcism #Pampers #TheWall #NeverGiveIn #Bullshit #dirtydiaper #diaperrash #PooPooBaDoop #Clemson #Wendys #burgerking #football #KellyanneConway #SarahHuckabee #Trolls #Kremlin #KremlinTroll #RussianTroll #RobertMueller #FISA #SteveBannon #MikePence #Twitter #Tweet #wiretap #Twit #wiretapped #Twat #dontaldtrump #WashingtonDC #MamaAyeshas #wallofpresidents #CIA #GOP #KKK #ISIS #FBI #BLM #LGBT #Russia #VladimirPutin #Russianinterference #AlternativeFacts #MicrowaveOven #Camera #sexdrugsandrockandroll #HillaryClinton #BernieSanders #BarackObama #PresidentoftheUnited #plannedparenthood #bigot #jihad #OsamabinLaden #DumpTrump #NotMyPresident #Dontee #DonteesInferno #thewalkingdead #republican #pedophile #WomensMarch #badhombre #conservative #rape #RiencePriebus #DonaldMcGahn #FrankGaffney #JeffSessions #GeneralJamesMattis #GeneralJohnKelly #StevenMnuchin #AndyPuzder #WilburRoss #CathyMcMorrisRodgers #MitchMcConnell #KTMcFarland #MikePompeo #NikkiHaley #LtGenMichaelFlynn #BenCarson #BetsyDeVos #TomPrice #ScottPruitt #SeemaVerma #PaulRyan #TrumpTower #MarriageEquality #KuKluxKlan #NewYorkCity #Hanksy #MelaniaTrump #BarronTrump #IvankaTrump #TiffanyTrump #EricTrump #DonaldTrumpJr #JaredKushner #conflictofinterest #emolument #RiggedElection #TemperTantrum #Tweet #Twitter #Twit #ManChild #DiaperBlowout #Trump #poop #turd #bigbaby #manindiapers #Inauguration #ScottBaio #TedNugent #TheRockettes #RadioCityMusicHall #MormonTabernacleChoir #Medusa #breitbart #lies #NationalEnquirer #douchebag #POS #Pussy #PussyGrabber
A #terrorist #Taliban #jihad #MexicanWall #racism #jihad #nobannowall #confederateflag #Nazi #Islam #Freedom #AmericanNaziParty #TheRollingStones #Democrat #CivilRights #Idiot #abortion #tinfoilhatsociety #tyrant #foxnews #MerylStreep #Liberal #SaturdayNightLive #AlecBaldwin #MelissaMcCarthy #AdolfHitler #BenitoMussolini #Dictator #Megalomaniac #KingComplex #Demagogue #Narcissist #Delusional #Nuts #Oligarch #Populist #tyrant #Narcissistic #Autocracy #Oligarchy #DelusionsofGrandeur #GodComplex #MangoMussolini #DerPumpkinfuhrer #Apocalypse #NuclearButton #OvalOffice #civilliberties #goldenshowers #tinyhands #discrimination #TrumpGate #freedomandjusticeforall #TheBible #JesusChrist #The12Apostles #FredPhelps #GodHatesFags #WestboroBaptistChurch #RedNeck #ScienceFiction, #rapistsandmurderers #antiGay #homophobe #dinosaurs #religiousright #AmericanFamilyAssociation #hategroup #BruceJenner #CaitlynJenner #BarbieandKen #Mattel #PopeFrancis #QueenElizabeth #KeepYourPeckerUp #PatRobertson #BatteredWomanSyndrome #FranklinGraham #Cracker #JudyGarland #TheWizardofOz #BarbraStreisand #BettyWhite #MarilynMonroe #ValleyoftheDolls #PeytonPlace #DowntonAbbey #MaggieSmith #JudyDench #EvaGreen #MissPeregrine #DarylDixon #jabbathehutt #EmperorPalpatine #StarWars #StarTrek #RickGrimes #TeaParty #GlennBeck #RushLimbaugh #fakeNews #politicallyincorrect #BillMaher #AngelaMerkel #TheresaMay #RosieODonnell #MegynKelly #TheManchurianCandidate #BadCombOver #commemorativecoin #collectorsitem #ebay #buffalonewyork #artvoice #carlpaladino #byecarl #OutrageFatigue #hotair #weaponsofmassdestruction #motherofallbombs #farts #farting #robertmueller #bombingsyria #kellyanneconway #brettkavanaugh #sexualassault #harrassment #metoo #supremecourt #kanyewest #kimkardashian #idiot #incoherent #dumptrump2020 #rosegardenmassacre #ivankatrump #jaredKushner #Donaldtrumpjr #erictrump #Stephenmiller #mitchMcConnell #Williambarr #KellyAnneConway #KayleighMcEnany #LyingBitches #sarahhuckabeesanders #sexdrugsandrockandroll #Death #Dying #GrimReaper #AlternativeFacts #liarliarpantsonfire #masturbation #jerkoff #Disinfectant #Purell #Re-election2020 #God #Lysol #Coronavirus #SteveBannon #syphiliticskinlesions #Pandemic #DrAnthonySFauci #MikePence #Death #dying #AsktheMortician #pneumonia #infection #flu, #influenza, #quarantine #socialdistancing #6feet #HopeHicks #WilliamBarr #handsanitizer #trumpslies #wipes #narcissisticpersonalitydisorder #deathtoll #stayathome #workfromhome #homeschooling #ventilator #medicalmask #novelcoronavirus #sociallydistant #SeanHannity #FakeNews #TuckerCarlson #infectiousdisease #FoxNews #CNN #epidemic #CDC #AndrewCuomo #CenterForDiseaseControl #worldhealthorganization #recession #depression #contagious #ProudBoys
Hypocrites
"You...hate wickedness..." Psalm 45:7
“Be angry, and do not sin...” (Eph.4:26) There can hardly be goodness in a man if he be not angry at sin; he who loves truth must hate every false way. How our Lord Jesus hated it when the temptation came! Thrice it assailed him in different forms, but ever he met it with, “Away with you, Satan!...(Mat.4:10)” He hated it in others; none the less fervently because he showed his hate oftener in tears of pity than in words of rebuke; yet what language could be more stern, more Elijah-like, than the words, “Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! for you devour widows’ houses, and for a pretence make long prayers...(Mat.23:14).” He hated wickedness, so much that he bled to wound it to the heart; he died that it might die; he was buried that he might bury it in his tomb; and he rose that he might forever trample it beneath his feet. Christ is in the Gospel, and that Gospel is opposed to wickedness in every shape. Wickedness arrays itself in fair garments, and imitates the language of holiness; but the precepts of Jesus, like his famous scourge of small cords (Jhn.2:15), chase it out of the temple, and will not tolerate it in the Church. So, too, in the heart where Jesus reigns, what war there is between Christ and Belial! And when our Redeemer shall come to be our Judge, those thundering words, “Depart from me, you cursed (Mat.25:41)” which are, indeed, but a prolongation of his life-teaching concerning sin, shall manifest his abhorrence of iniquity. As warm as is his love to sinners, so hot is his hatred of sin; as perfect as is his righteousness, so complete shall be the destruction of every form of wickedness. O you glorious champion of right, and destroyer of wrong, for this cause has God, even your God, anointed you with the oil of gladness above your fellows. (Heb.1:9) Hallelujah, God bless
_____
As PMQs drew near today, Parliament Square was in almost as shambolic a state as Liz Truss's Government as she was struck in traffic, Insulate Britain having glued themselves to the road outside Parliament ensuring all the traffic was gridlocked as were the pavements. All pedestrians were being held back and nobody was allowed on the Parliament Pavement.
Still Daniel Hannan, now known as The Lord Hannan of Kingsclere, one of the architects of Brexit ennobled for having destroyed his country with promises of non-existent sunlit uplands, clearly thought he was beyond the realm of the little people, stepping out, despite having been asked to wait by the police officer. He then shimmied past one officer, flashing his House of Lords Pass to prove 'e was not one of the 'oi polloi but was delightfully returned to the prole soup from which he had emerged, politely but firmly by the police officers. We're all in this Trussterfuck together thanks to people like him.
Tre foto a Spoleto sotto il sole di gennaio:
Ombre_la città si muove o sta ferma.
Memoria corta_la città è polemica.
Liberamente_la libertà dell'arte.
Three photos of Spoleto under the January sun:
Shadows_the city moves or stands still.
Remembrance Day "short and hypocritical"
Liberamente_the freedom of art.
Will it be so again
that the brave, the gifted are lost from view,
and empty, scheming men
are left in peace their lunatic age to renew?
Will it be so again?
Must it be always so
that the best are chosen to fall and sleep
like seeds, and we too slow
in claiming the earth they quicken, and the old usurpers reap
what they could not sow?
Will it be so again -
the jungle code and the hypocrite gesture?
A poppy wreath for the slain
and a cut-throat world for the living? That stale imposture
played on us once again
Will it be as before -
peace, with no heart or mind to ensue it,
guttering down to war
like a libertine to his grave? We should not be surprised:
we knew it
happen before.
Shall it be so again?
Call not upon the glorious dead
to be your witness then.
The living alone can nail their promise to the ones who said
it shall not be so again.
Please keep our badgers in mind, these are the creatures we're fighting for: inquisitive, intelligent, charismatic, playful, feisty and downright beautiful ! The killing continues but we mustn't pretend it's not happening, this weekend is thought to be the biggest one for the butchers, it's thought they'll be out in force slaughtering these magical animals. I appreciate most people can't spend all night out on badger patrol in the week particularly but maybe weekends are easier for anyone living nearby, here's some contact details if you want to get involved :
www.facebook.com/stop.the.cull
You've probably been hearing all sorts of horror stories about those on badger patrol being harrassed and persecuted by the police, the killers ( and their bouncers ), the NFU and everyone involved. Reports of people being shot at is hardly surprsising, anyone capable of slaughtering badgers is clearly capable of hurting a person, these dangerous criminals should be put on a register. The people out on badger patrol though are heroes in my eyes, brave souls who fight for what is right no matter the hassle, the cull is failing in every way !!!
And yes I know I'm a hypocrite for not getting to the cull zones myself but that's because I'm a neurotic wreck, apologies for not being a great flickrer lately, this is just a total nightmare and it's hard to stay positive. The last badger to come in the video by the way I think is the boar and he certainly wasn't gentle with the cubs, they're built to take that though, he has no way of knowing if the cubs are his or not.
PS It's not speeded up by the way !
PPS just saw this inspiring story about a woman who flew all the way from the US to help on badger patrol, as the kind comments I get from people from the US and Canada prove there really is global outrage at this :
www.thisisgloucestershire.co.uk/American-mother-arrested-...
I think in Simon's list of 50 best Suffolk churches, Woolpit comes in at number 31. It is now that I remember that I cannot remember why I should go to Woolpit on what would be the last of the EA church visits this year, as Mum was home and in the care of the district nurse, and there was nothing else we could do, not in actions, money or time given. She really has to stand on her own two feet now.
Anyway; Woolpit.
I decided to go, and after looking on the map I saw that with some create route planning, I could go down the 143, then double back and join the A14 eastwards before turning south down our old friend, the A12.
On the way I did also visit Stowlangtoft, which was a wonderful church, a church filled with wonderful things that seemed to hang together as a whole. Woolpit would have to be something special to trup St George.
And it nearly did. Nearly. Woolpit is a picture perfect village, all timber framed buildings, narrow lanes and impossible to park in. I drove through it finding a kind of space just past the church. I could see from the tower and building it was a church on which the Victorians had been very busy.
Most glorious is Mary's roof; double hammerbeam adorned with 208 angels one of the wardens told me. It had been counted several times during a dull sermon. Or two.
The wardens were building the crib for Christmas, so were using a pallet as a base, or something like that. I didn't see it finished, but Ken Bruce was booming out from a radio, preaching the Gospel According to Popmaster to all who would listen.
The angels in the roof and on the walls of the church are indeed impressive, as is the rood screen, but not sure if they are original. There are carved pew ends aplenty, but to my eye, not as well carved or as old as at Stowlangtoft. I could be wrong. But I snap a few anyway.
But I received a warm welcome here, and it is a fantastic church for me.
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2008: Woolpit is a village which I often visit, and it is always a pleasure to go into the church. But the entry for St Mary was one of the last on the original Suffolk Churches site, making its appearance in late 2001. In fact, I think it was the last of the old-style entries. I was getting a bit wordy by then.
Woolpit was one of the longest entries, and this wasn't just because there is so much to see. I went off at a great tangent about the meaning of medieval iconography, and how it survived the Reformation. It certainly got some thoughts clear in my own head, even if it confused other people. I actually wrote the entry in the back of an old exercise book sitting outside a café on the Cote d'Azur in southern France. Reading that back, it seems a little pretentious, but I really was there. Here in Ipswich on a frosty February evening, I can't help remembering the heat as I scrawled in the pad.
I've left the original entry almost entirely as it was, apart from the removal of one absolute howler, which I won't mention. I am not sure if Woolpit still has a Sunday market, and I am sure that someone will tell me if it has not. Paul Hocking is no longer Rector of Woolpit, but to my eyes the church continues to go from strength to strength, feeling at once busy and at the heart of its community, the still centre of a busy village. I like it very much.
2001: The clear blue waters of the Mediterranean swirl around my legs, then past me, buffeting the rocks along the silver beach. Millions of tiny flecks of mica swarm through the current, washed out of the hills of Southern Provence. They shine for a fraction of a second with all the light the high summer sun can give, a universe caught in a moment; then turn, disappearing, making of the water a shimmering skein, an ancient memory.
The sea is at the start of all European civilisation. Here, history wells about me. I think of Europe, and the fragmentation of nations. I think of the Balkans, and the Reformation, and the same water surrounding, tending, isolating. I think of time passing.
A week before, I'd been standing in the cool nave of the church of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin, Woolpit - or at least, that is what it probably was once, back then. Today, it is dedicated simply as 'St Mary', in common with the majority of Suffolk's medieval churches, among which it is one of the finest, some say. This is mostly by virtue of its beautiful porch, and extraordinary angel roof.
But is that true? For there are those who love this church that, perhaps, never look up at the porch or roof. Is it the plethora of 15th century bench ends that captures the imagination? Or could it be Richard Phipson's outrageous 1850s tower and lacy spire, straight out of the Nene Valley, its evangelistic slogans around the side in a Victorian equivalent of Piccadilly Circus neon? It ought not to work, and yet it does. Or is it that supremely articulate view to the east, perfect of proportion despite the stripping away of its medieval liturgical apparatus? Above all else, and above most others, this is a church with presence.
It was the bench ends that I was thinking of as I immersed myself out of the intensity of the Provencal sun. A number of questions occured to me, as they have done on other occasions, in other churches. Who made them? What did they mean by them? And how did they survive the iconoclasms of the Protestant Reformation? Here in Southern Europe, I thought I might have found some answers.
Woolpit, then. It is perhaps the most perfect of all Suffolk villages. Not sleepy, and chocolate boxy, but to actually live in. Its shops and pubs are arranged around the pleasant village square, and Phipson's crazy spire towers above them. Woolpit still has its school, and you wouldn't need to get in the car every time you needed a loaf of bread, as you'd have to do in some of Suffolk's more famously picturesque villages, like Kersey and Tuddenham. And Woolpit has its Sunday market, beloved of hundreds of non-sabbatarian junk-hunters each week.
Further, Woolpit has its mythology; the two green children, who climbed out of the ground, speaking a strange language and afraid of the sunlight. The boy died soon after, but the girl grew up and married; she learned to speak English, and told of St Martin's Land, from where she and her brother had emerged. There are holes in the ground around Woolpit, quarries where bricks were made in the 19th century. But perhaps there was once something much older, for every Suffolk schoolchild knows that the name 'Woolpit' is nothing to do with wool, but with the wolves that once lived in the pits here...
So, it is a well-known village. It is because of this as much as anything about St Mary itself that makes this church so well-known to people who haven't heard of the even more interesting and beautiful church of St Ethelbert, Hessett, barely three miles away.
Your first sight of St Mary will be Phipson's crazy spire, visible from miles away, and quite unlike anything else in East Anglia. Suffolk is a county where spires are rare enough, anyway. From the far side of the Gipping valley you can see this one and two others, piercing the soft harvest mist in autumn. They are Phipson's equally absurd Great Finborough, and the 1990s blade of St Peter and St Mary, Stowmarket. There are only about a dozen more in the whole of the county. The excuse for this one was that the tower was struck by lightning in 1852, bringing down the previous lead and timber affair (presumably like the one at Hadleigh). The font is contemporary with the tower, suggesting that the old one was destroyed by the fall.
In the 1950s and 1960s, the artist John Piper produced a series of screen prints of aspects of Suffolk churches; for most, he used the fine perpendicular tower, ramifying it in bold Festival of Britain primary colours. But for Woolpit, he chose the porch, because it is Suffolk's finest. Cautley thought it the best in all England. It is two-storey, 15th century, contemporary with the nave. Mortlock tells us that they were both built by wealthy Bury Abbey, who owned the living here. As at Beccles, it rises way above the south aisle, tower-like in itself.
A rood group of niches surmounts the shields of East Anglia above the door. More flank them. Mortlock says that the work began in the early 1430s, and the niches were filled by a bequest of 1473, suggesting that the porch was forty years in the making. The south aisle and chancel are slightly earlier, the north aisle slightly later, so it is the nave that promises us great things, and doesn't disappoint.
You step into cool darkness, and look up. It is breathtaking. This is Suffolk's most perfectly restored angel hammerbeam roof. It may not have the drama of Mildenhall, the exquisiteness of Blythburgh, the sheer mathematics of Needham Market, but it shows us in detail more than any other what the medieval imagination was aiming at. From the still, small silence of the church floor below, you look up into a great shout of praise. Here are hundreds of figures, both angelic and human. The profusion is ordered, as if some mighty hymn were in progress.
Paul Hocking thinks that it is a representation of the Te Deum Laudamus: We praise thee, O God, we acknowledge thee to be the Lord... To thee all Angels cry aloud, the Heavens, and all the Powers therein. To thee Cherubim and Seraphim continually do cry Holy Holy Holy Lord God of Sabaoth... The glorious company of the Apostles praise thee, the goodly fellowship of the Prophets praise thee, the noble army of Martyrs praise thee...
I know this, because he told me so. I was busy photographing bench ends when this very enthusiastic American bounced in with another visitor, and gave him a whistlestop tour of the church, describing the details with great knowledge and understanding. Solicitously, he talked to me afterwards about what I was doing, and asked me if I'd met the Rector of Woolpit yet. I said that I went out of my way to avoid Rectors wherever possible. He laughed, and replied that, on this occasion, I'd failed, because he was, in fact, the Rector.
After I'd coughed miserably, and he'd laughed again, we had a long chat, uncovering a few mutual aquaintances. He described the roof, which he has obviously spent a lot of time exploring. He pointed out the way the wall posts contained Saints, some with apostolic symbols, some with books, and some with martyr's palms. There are angels on the hammerbeams above, and bearing symbols below. John Blatchly counted 128 angels alone. Some of the shields have letters on them. Are they an acrostic, as on the east chancel wall at Blythburgh? Do they indicate individual Saints? The great Henry Ringham completely restored this roof in 1862, but Mortlock thinks that one of the angels is not his, and I agree - you'll find it in the south west corner. Paul Hocking argues that the restoration was nowhere near as complete as has been made out, and that many features are original.
Henry Ringham also restored the range of bench ends, by duplicating some of the medieval ones, as he did at Great Bealings and Tuddenham St Martin. All are rendered with his customary skill. If Ringham did restore this roof, then the imagery must have been destroyed at some point. One instinctively thinks of William Dowsing, the Puritan inspector of the churches of Cambridgeshire and Suffolk, who progressed across the counties during the course of 1644. His delight in the destruction of angel roofs was matched only by that at the destruction of stained glass.
And Dowsing did visit this church. He arrived here in the afternoon of February 29th 1644. It was a Thursday, and he had come here across country from Helmingham, where he had found much to do. He also planned to visit Beyton that day, but in the end stayed overnight at the Bull hotel, and inspected All Saints there in the morning. He then rested for the weekend - the following week, he had a busy tour of southern Cambridgeshire ahead of him.
Dowsing records in great detail what he found to do at each church. In the case of Woolpit, the angel roof is the Dog That Didn't Bark: My Deputy. 80 superstitious pictures; some he brake down, and the rest he gave order to take down; and three crosses to be taken down in 20 days. 8s 6d. There are only two possible reasons why Dowsing doesn't mention the roof. Either he didn't notice it (extremely unlikely) or it had already been destroyed. This second option seems certain; mid-Suffolk was a strongly protestant area, and nearby Rougham, which clearly had a similar roof, was not visited by Dowsing, but was vandalised even more comprehensively than Woolpit. Most likely, the destruction at both churches dated from a hundred years earlier, although it is possible that the Rougham and Woolpit congregations had been puritan enough in the 1630s to do it to their own churches themselves.
Beneath the roof, the church is broad, its two aisles giving room for the panoply of medieval liturgical processions. At the east end of the south aisle was once the shrine of Our Lady of Woolpit, a site of medieval pilgrimage in connection with a nearby holy well. Apart from the front rows, many of the benches appear to be in their original positions. Some of the bench ends are 15th century, others are Ringham's 19th century copies. I wandered around the medieval bench ends, running my hands over them, crouching down and engaging them, face to face. For anyone educated in a Marxist or Weberian historical tradition, as most of my generation were, interpreting the less-obviously liturgical or theological features of a medieval church is fraught with difficulties. One possibility is to do a Cautley, and try not to interpret them at all. But it is more fun to try to do so, don't you think?
The bench ends of Woolpit are remarkable for their abundance. They are not representations of sacraments, virtues and vices as at Tannington and elsewhere, or Saints as at Ufford and Athelington. They are almost all non-allegorical animals, although not the art objects we find at Stowlangtoft, or the mysterious beasts of Lakenheath. Perhaps a good comparison is the similar body of work at nearby Combs. Indeed, although they do not appear to be from the same workshop, it is likely that their creators knew of each others' work. There are dogs, with geese hanging from their mouths, and another which may be a cat with a rat or lizard. There are lions and bears, and a chained monkey, and birds in profusion. So who did them, and why are they here?
There is one school of thought that says that they are simply there to beautify the church, and that they were made by local craftsmen doing what they were best at. If they could do lions, they did lions. If they could render a decent rabbit, then that is what they did. And so on.
But I think that there is rather more to it than that. On my journey down through France, I had spent an afternoon in one of my favourite towns, Autun, in Burgundy. One of the reasons I like Autun is its 11th century Cathedral of St-Lazaire; this is Lazurus, raised by Christ from the dead, and until the 18th century his relics were venerated at a shrine here. St-Lazaire is most famous for its great tympanum above the west door, generally recognised as one of the greatest Romanesque art treasures in the world, and with International Heritage status. It was created during the middle years of the 12th century, and shows the Last Judgement. To emphasise Christ's majesty over all the world, it features all manner of beasts, domestic, wild and mythical.
Throughout the Cathedral, animals infest the famous capitals, which tell the Gospel story. Abbe Denis Grivot, in his Un Bestiaire de la Cathedrale D'Autun (Lyon, 1973) argues that the 12th century creators of all this filled it with animals to echo the final verse of the 150th Psalm, the crowning point of that great sequence of hymns of praise: Let everything that hath breath praise the Lord!
Standing in the nave at Autun, I instantly recalled Paul Hocking's words about the roof at Woolpit, when he said he thought it was a representation of the Te Deum Laudamus. The Te Deum is one of the canticles; another is the Benedicite, traditionally sung through Lent: Oh all ye Works of the Lord, bless ye the Lord; praise him and magnify him for ever... O ye whales, and all that move in the Waters, bless ye the Lord... O all ye Fowls of the air, bless ye the Lord... O all ye beasts and Cattle, bless ye the Lord: praise him, and magnify him for ever!
Could it be that the bench ends at Woolpit, and elsewhere in Suffolk, were intended to reflect and represent the praise defined in the canticles and psalms? Both would have been central to the liturgy of the medieval Catholic church. Perhaps the bench ends of Woolpit are liturgical and theological after all.
How would a carpenter, or group of carpenters, go about creating a set of benches like the ones at Woolpit? Who were they? Almost certainly, they were locals. They might have been itinerant jobbing carpenters, but I don't think so. The bench ends at adjacent Tostock are clearly by the same hand. But those at nearby Stowlangtoft and Norton are not, and a third hand seems to be responsible for those at Combs, as I previously mentioned. I do not think that the mutilated ones at Rougham and Elmswell are either; they were probably from the same workshop as each other.
So, we have a conscious attempt by skilled members of a community to create a hymn of praise in carved oak, by representing as many beasts as they felt capable of making. Where did they get their ideas from? They would have had no problems with oxen, cocks, conies - these were all around them, in their daily lives. The person who carved the hunting dog here was very familiar with it. Perhaps it was his own. What about monkeys and lions? These are more problematic. In medieval bestiaries, exotic creatures had fabulous legends attached to them, which gave them a theological symbolism.
But this symbolism doesn't usually seem intended when we see them on bench ends. Sometimes they are rendered accurately, but more often wild animals are fairly imaginary; I think particularly of Barningham's camel, and Hadleigh's wolf. It isn't enough to say that the carvers could have seen pictures of exotic beasts. This is fairly unlikely. Probably, the ordinary people of Woolpit never saw a book other than the missals, lectionaries and hagiographies used in church.
They might have seen pictures of lions and monkeys in wall paintings, either in other churches or here at Woolpit. They might have seen them carved in bench ends, for the same reason. In fact, the representation of wild animals varies so much as to suggest that this is not the case - compare, for example, the lions of Combs with those of Stowlangtoft. Probably, they were created in the imagination from descriptions and attributes in stories. But I think that there is a strong possibility that the woodcarvers of Woolpit did see lions and monkeys in real life.
Here in Catholic Southern Europe, there are many remote small towns which, by virtue of being so very far from each other, take on a rich and complex life of their own. Even small villages have their shops, their craftsmen, their tradespeople; they replicate a situation that existed in Suffolk until well into the 19th century, and in some cases beyond, before the great industrialisation and easy transport swept it away. Further, there are traditions here still that we have lost. Whenever I come here, I am fascinated by the itinerant entertainers, who move from village to village, giving a single performance befre moving on. This must also once have been true of England. The thing that fascinates me most is the multitude of small family circuses.
Many of them seem to be of Italian or Romany origin; all family members have multiple roles, from the oldest grandparent to the youngest child, selling tickets, doing acrobatics, being the straight men to the clown (who is typically Grandpa). They all put up the tent before the performance, and take it down afterwards. They move on, through the remote hills of Provence and the Languedoc, performing on village greens, wastegrounds, the corners of fields, even traffic islands.
As I say, I am fascinated, and can rarely resist them, even though I am shocked, even appalled, by the easy cruelty to animals. Performing animals are still often chosen for their curiosity value, if you can call running around in a circle to the crack of a whip 'performing', poor things.
The choices are strange indeed; camels and zebras often feature; I have seen an old bear on a chain, and at one circus in remote Languedoc a hippopotamus of all things - it caught bread thrown by the crowd. There was no safety fence between the seats and the ring, no Health and Safety Executive to penetrate these lost valleys. I do not know if such circuses existed in medieval Suffolk. But I think that they probably did. Suffolk is a maritime county, and exotic animals were widely known and exhibited in medieval Europe. Before the Protestant Reformation cut us of from the mainland, clerics and merchants thought of themselves as European, and travelled widely - English sovereignty was a hazy concept at best, and 'Britishness' was still centuries away from being formulated as an idea. People owed allegiance to their village, their parish, and their lord, not to the Crown and Parliament in London.
Were the woodcarvers of Woolpit and Tostock remembering this? A circus visit, perhaps back in their childhood? Exotic animals rendered inaccurately, to be sure, but with an enthusiastic nostalgia for that exciting moment in their lives? Was there a lion? A monkey, or a bear? How much more powerful if they also knew the fabulous legends about the beasts - and had seen them in real life!
Some of the carvings at Woolpit are allegorical. One shows a monkey dressed in monk's robes. This, I think, is a joke at the expense of the itinerant friars who went from parish to parish, preaching repentance in the streets. They were sanctioned by the Pope, but were beyond the jurisdiction of the local Bishop. They didn't always go down well with the local Priest and congregation, who considered the Friars nosey and hypocritical. A monkey is often a symbol of foolish vanity - hence, a Friar thinking he was better than anyone else. What better way to make the point than to slip him in as one of the creatures praising the Lord?
How did they survive? But why should they have been destroyed? We make the mistake of thinking of the Puritans as vandals. But the more you read about William Dowsing, the more he emerges as being a principled, conservative kind of chap, despite his clearly flawed and fundamentalist theological opinions. He had no reason to destroy animal bench ends. They weren't superstitious - even Dowsing didn't think Catholics worshipped animals. If he didn't think they were meant to represent the canticles, he wouldn't even have considered them religious. Amen to that.
So much for the 17th century. What about the 19th? St Mary is one of the most enthusiastically restored of Suffolk's churches, despite its survivng medieval detail. But it was done well. Mortlock thought that the 19th century pulpit was the work of Ringham - but the brass lectern is pre-Reformation, a fine example. The rood screen dado panels have sentimental 19th century Saints on them, that may or may not duplicate what was there before. They are actually very good, particularly the gorgeous Mary of Magdala. They have their names painted on the cross beams for the less hagiologically articulate Victorians - from left to right across the aisle they are Saints Barbara, Felix, Mary of Magdala, Peter, Paul, Mary, Edmund and Etheldreda. It is unlikely that Saint Felix would have been on a medieval roodscreen, and Mary almost certainly wasn't - it would have relegated her to a position of no more importance than the others. If it reflects anything of what was there before, it was probably St Anne with the infant Virgin.
The top part of the screen was renewed in 1750, and dated so. The gates are probably a Laudian imposition of 120 years earlier, as at Kedington. This may suggest that, by the time of Dowsing's visit, the chancel was being used for some other practical purpose. Above, high above, set in the east nave wall over the chancel arch, is one of the wierdest objects I've seen in a medieval church. It was installed in the 1870s, and is clearly meant to echo the coving of a rood loft. Goodness knows what it actually is, but it is painted in garish colours, and inscribed with texts. In one of those moments where Cautley and credibility part company, he describes anyone who doesn't think it is a genuine medieval canopy of honour as 'stupid'. I suppose that it has a certain curiosity value.
The three-light window above it would have given light to the rood. The east window contains one of Suffolk's best modern Madonna and child images which was made by the artist Ian Keen for the King workshop in the early 1960s. Ian Keen was also responsible for the beautiful St Margaret in St Margaret's church in Norwich, and for the memorable window of St Francis with a labrador at Somerleyton near Lowestoft.
I turned back westwards, past a superb medieval bench end of the three Marys. This is a delight, and you'd travel to London to see it if it was in the V&A. Mary the mother of Jesus, Mary the mother of James and Mary of Magdala huddle together, perhaps on the morning of the Resurrection. One of them has a lily of the Annunciation. One head is destroyed - but was it vandalised? Or is it the result of carelessness, the wear and tear of the centuries? Would 17th century puritans have destroyed it if they'd seen it?
Dowsing rarely mentions bench ends, so perhaps few were left by then anyway. So how could it possibly have survived the violent zeal of the 16th century Protestants, battering the Church of England into existence with their axes, pikes and bonfires? How, even after the 1540 edict of Edward VI which ordered the destruction of all statues and images of Saints, especially those of the Blessed Virgin Mary, is it still there at all?
Still more questions than answers, I suppose. I dived beneath the water, and there was beneath me a restless current, shifting and reshifting the silver sand into unique patterns, the work of millennia, still changing, never the same.
- le Rayol Canadel, Cote d'Azur, August 2001.
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The revenge upon her would be sweet, even though it was purely theoretical.
She was the very epitome of every stuck up girl who ever passed judgment on those she refused to view as an equal. And I? I possessed the subtle skill to knock her smirking ego down a few pegs.
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In late spring of the year 1952, a, bank rented safety deposit lockbox, dusty from many years gone by, was opened. The box had laid unclaimed, the banks records having been destroyed during the Nazi blitzes of World War Two. When its existence became known, an attempt was made to contact the owner, whose family surname was well known in the county. The name turned out to be an alias, no such person ever existed.
Please read the account below to learn more about the person who was believed to have rented the strongbox, as well as what he had placed inside……….
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Case Study 84 :
Warning, these are the raw, bare unusual facts as originally recorded. Some names, times, places and some facts have been altered for obvious reasons.
Exerted from the private letters of Mr. Harley Q. circa early 1900’s.
Name: Harly Q. circa 19 …
Subject: Seemingly a rather dexterous scoundrel
Place: A large coastal metropolis
Time: A period of time in late autumn
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Harly’s story as related:
The following affair occurred during my younger days when my youth and its’ raw passions were still a strong pull on my reactions! Now, how do I start?
The Blonde dancing in front of me was was dressed up like a movie star on a red carpet. Only about nineteen, her slinky gown created the impression of having been poured along her curvy, voluptuous figure, like shimmering liquid satin, fluidly swishing as she swirled about the massive chamber! It all made her appear far older and mature than she obviously thought she was. For some, her looks and personality may have been seen as charming and fun. “But for me personally, the only thing charming about her was the way her abundant sparkling jewellery played with the lights from the large chandeliers which held my upmost command!
But wait, I may be placing the carriage before the steed…….
Allow me to restart:
I had taken a long train into town with the intention of spending a few days relaxing from my previous month of hectic “professional” affairs. Rewarding myself, I located my lodging in a fancy upscale hotel situated across the street from a cavernous Ballroom, checking in for a fortnight. Since my social calendar was unusually light, with only the one high society event, a wedding that I was planning to attend the following Sabbath, at a “chapel” located in one of the cities sprawling suburbs. I spent the first day perusing the cultural calendar of the local papers, and ended up circling one or two events of interest that would be taking place later that month. I than took care of my remaining personal business, locating a reputable bank and renting out one of their lockboxes, before allowing myself some time off from my endeavors.
I than spent the first portion of my week taking in moving picture shows, visiting stores and hanging out at the local museums and antique shoppes. It felt great not worrying about work, although I will did admit that my mind scoped out a few prospects as I was out and about, walking amongst the great masses..
It was mid-week during my stay, while making my way back to the hotel suite, that I decided on a whim to pop into the Ballroom to see what it was all about. I walked into the massive lobby full of activity and wandered about, looking into the massive main ballroom, meeting rooms and various party rooms. As I was leaving I discovered a wall containing posters for all the upcoming events. One poster caught my eye. It advertised the occurrence of a Halloween Ball to take place that very weekend, Tickets still available. The Ball seemed to be the very type of party I was partial to, combining all of my favorite types of affairs, a large gathering frequented by the rich, and everyone attending would be in costume.
Purchasing a pair of tickets (less questions asked) I went out the very next morning scouting various shops in search of my own costume. I finally settled on a highwayman’s attire. It seemed appropriate, and the ribbon style “ masque” over my eyes set off the vacation beard that had been growing quite nicely since my last outing. On my way out to pay for the costume I spied a half off bin. On top of the pile was a phantom of the opera mask. On impulse I added it to my bundle and went to the checkout.
Although I really didn’t have the feeling that this concern would lead to anything, I mean, who wears good jewellery with a costume ? But a little bored by the inactivity, I was none the less growing excited about the venture. I still decided to play it cautious by setting up my usual safe guards, just in case.
A few blocks away from the Ballroom and my hotel suite I found a small chain style motel. Going to the desk I purchased rent for a room for the night, paying in advance. Going into the small room I laid down my purchases and headed back out to the street via a back stairwell, bypassing the registrars chambers. I headed back to my hotel suite to prepare for the evening.
After showering, I changed into a suit, shirt and tie. I then headed out onto the street a couple of hours before the ball was set to begin. Regaining my small quarters in the chain motel I changed into my new persona for the evening’s festivities and left via the same back door I had used earlier. I walked back to the Ballroom, getting my share of looks until I reached my destination, where I blended right in with the other arriving costumed guests.
I followed the stream to the ballroom proper. The main doors leading inside were large, made of a fancy scrolled oak, held open, and guarded by a pair of burly security types.
Apparently which, I soon gathered, was appearing to be the only security present for the evening’s festivities. Capital, I thought, smirking to myself as I joined my fellow guests.
I walk onto a landing, immediately in front of a long bannister guarding a set of wide stairs ascended downwards. I went off to one side, and paused at the railing, starting to survey with eager anticipation, the crowded room below.
All was quite glittering, as large chandeliers set off a spectrum of colors with any crystal or glass it touched. It especially created shimmers as it played off the colorful jewelry the lavishly costumed ladies present were wearing. Several dozen couples were dancing in front of a 17 piece orchestra, a slow dance, and many were dancing almost too close. Many more people were mingling around tables of appetizers. A large, chattering crowd was also gathered at the long oak bar that took up one whole side of the huge room. It was to the bar that I headed, to observe the merry proceedings.
But the Ball, as it turned out, was a bust, so to speak. Although several attempts were made to ask a number of charming (to me) ladies to add me to their dance cards, they all were, unfortunately, full. I should have suspected it would turn out this way, but I still harbored an all too familiar nagging feeling in the back of my head that something was still going to happen, call it intuition if you need to label it. So I nursed my drink, reminiscing about how I had reached this point in my then still young life…..
Ralph Waldo Emerson, one of my favorite poets, once said” Do not go where the path may lead, go instead where there is no path and leave a trail.”
Long before the the time I discovered this quote I found that my life’s path had already been heading that way.
Without boring anyone with far too many details of my rather complicated youth, I discovered while quite young that I had a certain knack for adeptness at being able to nimbly pick pockets. When I was eighteen ( having graduated high school at seventeen) and out on my own in the world, I found this skill quite useful. But it was at a wedding reception in my early twenties where I became of age, so to speak.
She was older than me, resplendent in a sleek black satin gown with bright white frills, long white satin gloves upon which graced a pair of diamond bracelets. She was very tipsy and would not take no for an answer when asking for a dance partner. She cornered me and before I could catch my wits, we were in a close embrace on the dance floor. I was totally mesmerized by the feel of her warm figure emitting through the sensuous satin gown. My eyes feasted upon the dazzling show put on by her flashy twin bracelets. When the exquisitely long dance ended and she moved on: I was left with a lot of pleasantly mixed feelings, I was also left with my first trophy, the Lady’s appealing necklace of pearl that I had ever so delicately sipped off her throat, using the sleekness of her satin gown to its fullest advantage.
I found myself enthralled with my new “hobby”, and over the course of the next couple of years sought out fancy dress affairs to better learn how to master the art of attracting and dancing with any lady I chose. Along the way I managed to accumulate quite a few trophies for my efforts. I stayed under everyone’s radar by picking out only those females who had been enthusiastically imbibing and by allowing myself to acquire only one trophy per gathering, two if the function was large enough.
During this period I made two discoveries: One was that most women would rather assume their jewel had been merely lost long before ever considering that they had been robbed of it. The second was that most of my collection of pretty trophies carried an equally pretty price, and could quite acceptably be turned into ready cash.
So, by the tender age of twenty two, my life started to lead where there had ever been but few tracks. And thus we finally come to this particular branch of my rather unique, lengthily crooked trail….
So, there I was, on a bar stool, alone and growing more bored by the minute, wishing something interesting would happen. I can remember thinking, as I looked over my fellow partiers about a saying that I had always found to be amusingly true. “If you want to know what God thinks of money, just look at the people he gave it to.” I don’t know who first said it, but brother, the person was right on the money. As I had witnessed for myself time and time again. So I just settled in and watched the amusing antics of the wealthy among the crowd, especially those of …“the girl!’
The girl was a stunning young blonde who was probably just fresh out of high school, with the maturity level of a grade schooler!
I kept catching my eye on her all evening, and once or twice, was sure she caught mine looking. But I was not watching her for the reasons she would think were mine. To her I was just some male face in the crowd, exhibiting his lust. But, the reason my eyes kept traveling upon her was for an entirely different one. I just found nothing to be more annoying than a sulky, immature young whelp who believes she is the apple of everyone’s eye, making an absolute nuisance of herself. She was running around, making silly remarks about people, sometimes to their face. Hanging out with her group of friends whom seemed to be of the same mold as my blonde, one girlfriend was even dressed appropriately enough, as a willowy witch.
The Blonde was dressed up like a movie star on a red carpet. Only about nineteen, her slinky gown created the impression of having been poured along her curvy voluptuous figure, like shimmering liquid satin, fluidly swishing as she bounced about the massive chamber, slipping in and out amongst the guests! It all made her appear far older and mature than she obviously thought she was. For some, her looks and personality may have been seen as charming and fun. “But for me personally, the only thing charming about her was the way her abundant sparkling jewellery played with the lights from the large chandeliers which held my command! But I had decided, as far as I could tell, that she was wearing nothing but cheap rhinestones, which like her, appeared totally fake. But, as they say, appearances can sometimes be deceiving!
This girl was the epitome of every condescending stuck up high society girl that probably everyone has had the misfortune to be the victim of. The girl, who mainly because of her looks, was popular with everyone like her, and had no use for those who, forever what reason they deemed, was ostracized by those of her type. In high school I knew girls like this one, and was a witness, sometime victim, to many a scene of arrogance displayed by girls like her. This one was young, too young to be acting the way she was. Her mannerisms were just a beacon, reaching out out to be taught a lesson.
Wallowing in my boredom, a spark began to kindle into flame deep within my brain. Determined not to let the evening be a total loss, I decided act upon it. My plan being to theoretically get revenge on all those smirking girls who tormented me during high school, by knocking this cocky little scamp down a few pegs, using the best of my abilities..
Now, I’m not one normally to act as judge, jury, and executioner in most situations, in my selected line of work it would be hypocritical. But obviously old wounds’ had been opened, this long haired girl scampering about reminded me of ones whom had ridiculed me, another lifetime, one that I had left behind A long time ago. The opportunity for bittersweet revenge had presented itself for the taking, and the pull to obtain a little solace by using my unique talents was far too great to resist. Talk about mixing pleasure with business I though wickedly to myself, smiling with the inviting thought.
Believe me, this girl would be no innocent victim, and nothing I was about to attempt would leave her with any type of lasting impression, or harm. But if I could cause her at least some considerable discomfort to ruin the rest of her evening out, it would be reward in and of itself! I again eyed her sparkling jewels with all the seriousness I would have given any I was really interested in acquiring. Although she didn’t fit my favorite pre-requisite, she certainly was not drunk on alcohol, she was merely just intoxicated in her own questionable self-esteem, which can work just as well.
I waited until her friends had all apparently deserted her for the evening and leaving her, quite vulnerably, alone. I walked up behind her and tapped her shoulder. She whirled facing me, her eyes going from happy expectations to a glare! “What do you want!? she snipped disdainfully”. Calmly I held her gaze, “I was hoping you would help me win a bet” I asked in what I hoped was my most wily voice. She was curious, but wary of me, “as you should be my pretty miss”, I remember thinking to myself. Her eyes sized me up and down, and I seized the moment to take in her jewels, not at all disappointed in them, but my curiosity was aroused about her necklace, I definitely needed to get a closer look to appraise them! “Why should I help you,” she practically spitted out he words like daggers.
“It’s this way miss, a couple of boys over at the bar bet me 50 quid that I could not get a dance with the prettiest girl here.” “Me?” she asked primping, no I confessed, I picked you, they had wanted me to dance with someone far less pretty, in my opinion.
I don’t think so; she said with a slight hint of hesitation, my card is full. Just for fifteen minutes I implored. That’s all I need (which was the truth), and Ill split my winnings with you on top of it. She finally bought it, hook line, sinker and pound signs in her adorable violet coloured eyes. Fifteen minutes she specified, before, be-grudgingly, allowing me to lead her to the dance floor.
Now, as I took her stiff body in my arms, I was able to satisfy my curiosity about the girl’s necklace, and it caused a dilemma to rear its thought provoking head. While she was busy looking around to make sure none of her friends saw her dancing with me, I allowed myself a couple of precious minutes to think. Her long rhinestone earrings were clip held, and an easy pick. I wanted to try for them both,( I knew how I would do it), and losing a pair of earrings would send a message that they had not just fallen away. Also, I would be suspected by her, which suited me just fine. However, my dilemma was caused by the vixen’s pretty necklace. While the rest of her plentiful jewels were cheap rhinestones as I had suspected the row of diamonds that rippled blazingly around her throat were in fact, the real McCoy. So, which should I go for? The necklace would be profitable and easy but she may just suspect its clasp had broken. The earrings would be just for a sporty trophy, not worth anything but for the knowledge that she would know she had been a victim. Ah, life’s precious little quandaries!
So, I continued with the dance, my partner still rigid, so very true to her character. Then, with five minutes left, I made up my mind on what she would not be leaving the ball still wearing. She was a charmer, this disdainful one. Her stiff figure was warm to the touch, underneath the scintillating slippery gown. The show her sparkling jewels produced was most pleasing to the eye. All in all quite a pretty portrait, a shame it was that I was not allowed to appreciate it. Which was fine by me! I was able to concentrate freely on the task at hand. I looked around, the coast was still clear. Then eyeing for one last time her mesmerizingly swaying long earrings and the flickering diamonds that graced her pretty little throat, I executed my move..
By the time the final five minutes were up I had the selected jewelry in my pocket without even the slightest notice from my unwilling dance partner. Then, fifteen minutes to the second (good thing I had been keeping track of the time) she broke it off. “Thank you”, I said, to which she mumbled, “my money, sir!” I told her I had to collect it, and would meet her by the ladies powder room. I left her waiting, smiling inwardly to myself at the empty space from which the missing jewelry was glaringly gone from her.
She had no doubt that I would be back with her money, was I not merely like one of her household servants, who routinely, without question or error, existed to do her bidding. It would be a major jolt to her system when she realized I was not coming obediently back to her. I had no doubt she would spend some time searching me out for her money once she realized I was not coming back forthwith, with the intention of lecturing me on how I should act around my betters. So I knew that her immediate attention would be elsewhere upon realizing I was tardy, and that it would take quite a bit of time before she recieved a second shock of an altogether different sort.
I left with my prize, walking past the two guards with such a carefree air that even they would never have suspected that I could possibly have been up to any mischief. I made good time getting back to the dingy motel room. Changed out of my costume and back into the shirt and tie I had worn. The highwayman costume, which had served me well, I rolled in a bundle under my arm, I again left by the back stairwell and retraced my earlier steps, whistling, back to the suite in the hotel. Along the way the costume was stuffed unceremoniously into a handy trash bin. My little operation had been a complete success. The evening was after all, not going to be a total loss.
Back in my suite I stowed the newly acquired jewels the girl had worn into one of my many secret hiding spots. There they would be safe until I could convey it to my banks lockbox on Monday. As I finished I, spied the phantom of the opera mask lying discarded on top of a table. A shame it would not be used….
A thought washed over me that would not be denied! Risky, but it would make my evening complete. I quickly shaved off the thin beard, and restyled my hair. I changed from my suit into my tux and tails. Scooping up the phantom mask I headed back to the costume ball. Placing the mask on before entering, I presented my second ticket( not very often did the opportunity arise to use both of the pair of tickets I customarily purchased!) I walked past the two security types without a second glance from them, they absolutely did not recognize me, which meant I had passed that test. My objective now was to try and catch the second half of the show; namely the shimmering liquid satin gowned brats squawking reaction when she first discovered her jewels were gone.
I regained a bar seat just in time.
She did not disappoint!
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Epilogue
When, in the presence of both bank and county officials, the strong box was opened, it was found to contain a fairly large collection of the Kings currency, equaling roughly £500 , and a selection unmatched jewelry, rings, single earrings, bracelets, and necklaces, worth a almost £3.000. Also inside was small a bundle of papers. The papers, old and yellowed, appeared to contain the partial handwritten journals of a certain Mr. Harly Q___ , esq. The papers were examined, but gave no clues to who Harley was, or to his current whereabouts. But the journals presented clues as to Harly’s nature, and as a consequence the money and jewels were considered stolen goods and handed over to the authorities. No one knows what became of them, as for the papers, they were handed over to a relative of one of the government officials, and also, for a period of time, lost.
The journal was rediscovered amongst the personal files of the late Professor Sedwig Dermitt phd, llc.a dex,
Recovered, restored, and now kept in the human behavioral archives of the criminology dept, Chatwick U.
Courtesy of Chatwick University Archives
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