Make me king

After a record-setting summer for heat here in Canada, reality sets in... Is it any coincidence that the name of the next four months ends in "BRRRRR!"

 

Nature can surprise you. After spending most of the afternoon photographing gators, it was starting to get dark. I thought that my photography window was quickly ending. Then I passed this fenced off field of sunflowers with several deer standing beside it. One was looking through the fence and staring at the sunflowers. I'm sure it was dreaming of having a tasty snack. But then reality set in. The deer and its friend settled on eating some nearby grass instead.

 

Donnelley WMA

Green Pond, South Carolina

This abandoned farmstead outside Shabbona,IL. has all the classic elements-decaying farmhouse,collapsing barn,and bladeless windmill-all nestled in falling down trees down a dead end road.Satellite views from the past show it has been abandoned for a long time,with the old barn beginning its descent this past year...

Amazing statistic of the New York City is that in Manhattan alone there are an estimated 280,000 dogs residing on the island and double that quantity in the outer boros of Queens and Brooklyn. Being smitten by dog love myself the proud owner of the two sweet mixed breed pooches, I often find my ‘street’ photography is of lovable canines. In the largely concrete jungle that is Manhattan, it’s amazing to see dogs of all shapes, sizes and breeds being walked. In the few green spaces on the island, many include dog parks within their confines. I seen dogs in the dogs as early as 5 AM (I walk my guys that early if I have to go into the office early or drive my youngest daughter to the train station) and in Washington Square Park after mid-night. Manhattan in particular poses challenges because a larger portion of the population relies primarily on public transportation, unlike us NY suburbanites in northern Jersey, north New York counties (Rockland and Orange) and Long Island, many don’t own motor vehicles. Owning a canine is a wonderful rewarding experience, but also is a large responsibility that requires forethought . My kids and I having moved in the last year, number 1 on the list is, places that will accept pets, then the question is how big. Well Manhattan those queries resonate even more, even if you find a dog friendly building, the bathroom situation, how do you walk the dog? Full time job? Going to be difficult. That’s why budgeted into the care and upkeep of a pooch dog walkers are a must. Added cost is also a factor, the vets, the groomers, tend to charge a bit more. That why it’s important when considering a dog, that a lot of consideration is taken with all the factors that play into having a loyal four legged companion. This consideration and calculation does not happen some times and the city sponsored and private animal shelters in New York City are full of dogs who at first seemed like a good idea, but then reality set in and became sadly expendable. Dogs are loyal, full of love and always happy to see you, I’ve had my two for 8 and 7 years and adore them. They require attention and time, they are living creatures and if they don’t get a decent amount of attention, they will act up.

I love capturing dogs living and interacting in the city. This dog was a bit tired and was on the lap of his female caretaker happy as could be in Washington Square Park people watching; totally cool.

Captured on an Olympus E-5 with an Olympus Zuiko 70-300mm F4.0-5.6 zoom lens processed in Adobe Photoshop Lightroom.

 

And reality sets in.

Zan's

e d w a r d i a n

s u i t +

d o t s & s t r i p e s

princess skirt

  

" Hands touch, eyes meet

Sudden silence, sudden heat

Hearts leap in a giddy whirl

He could be that boy

But I'm not that girl

 

Don't dream too far

Don't lose sight of who you are

Don't remember that rush of joy

He could be that boy

I'm not that girl

 

Every so often we long to steal

To the land of what-might-have-been

But that doesn't soften the ache we feel

When reality sets back in

 

Blithe smile, lithe limb

She who's winsome, she wins him

Gold hair with a gentle curl

That's the girl he chose

And heaven knows

I'm not that girl "

  

The beautiful and versatile Princess skirt is now also available in a shorter version!! The skirt comes with a separate color - changing HUD with 5 patterns to choose from :D The Edwardian suit comes with two lengths for you to mix&match.

:D :D :D

get it here!

 

@ Angel Manor Estate

It was a long night, driving out of Sydney on a Friday night. The weather promised much and the rich agricultural areas of the deep south beckoned. Despite steam almost being extinct there were still many interesting workings down in the South. We passed the Southbound Mail train on our way with a 42 class class leading and several Up freight trains as we went. Daybreak saw us in the rich heartland of the deep south and as we entered Flat Rock there was the wonderful sight of a 41 class idling on a ballast ready to work out on the branch. The CPH would soon be 'fired up' for the run into town for the locals to do their shopping, indeed it was such alovely dream as reality set in as I was passing through the model railway exhibition in Liverpool during my recent trip there.

Photo By Steve Bromley

 

Dreamworld - St Leonard's churchyard in Downham on a summer's day rendered in infrared creating a dreamworld illusion of reality.

 

Set at the foot of Pendle Hill, in the picturesque Ribble Valley and part of the Forest of Bowland AONB, the village of Downham is often described as the most beautiful village in England. The Gothic architecture of the local parish church of St Leonard’s takes on a whole new dimension when imaged in infrared.

 

Downham, Ribble Valley, Lancashire

 

website | instagram | 500px | twitter

still a stunning sight, especially on such a wonderful (no Phooey) day, but once the wheels hit the ground and the magic of flight ceases, reality sets back in :(

Great Egret in tree top, calling out. I could not hear it...being very far away.

 

Please, please, PLEASE click on the comment box photo to see the value of pricey long lens and pricey teleconverter. Reality sets in. Most won't bother looking. You can be one who does.

Homily021824_1SundayofLent

The Spirit Drove Jesus

 

“The Spirit drove Jesus into the desert.” HE was to confront evil head on and that was his mission. The Kingdom of God, as represented by his very presence was a lightning rod for evil. Jesus would conquer this evil in the desert, but as we know, evil would be his constant and violent companion all the way to the cross. In our short reading from the Gospel of John, Jesus is struggling against two powerful currents or forces. One is on a universal level, God’s plan (our Salvation History) is rolling forth and the second involves Jesus’s choice on whether to participate in this plan or not. Since we feel helpless against the larger forces in our lives, I want on focus on Jesus’ personal denial to temptation-because HIS example is our example… where we make an intimate connection to the unfolding story of our salvation.

 

The next question would be what compels us to make such a choice? The Holy Spirit drives us to!

 

Lent is where the Church creates an opportunity for each of us (like Jesus) to enter a space… a wilderness or desert (a quiet place where the only distractions are our thoughts and feelings.) Not a place outside of us, but one within us…where we humbly go and confront who we really are. Where we have a dialogue with the good and bad tendencies within us. Where we can freely choose to offer up our spiritual sacrifices…a weakness, a temptation, or habit that permanently changes us in the course of forty days. It is moving past these internal voices and whispers that we encounter our God.

 

Because the Holy Spirit is our constant companion, evil is conquered and replaced by something good like praying a daily rosary, reading scripture or helping someone. The end result is that “I” decrease…so Jesus shines through what I do and say.

 

Something I want to stress though, is that even when we say yes to God, bad things will still happen to us. Whether on a global level or on an individual level…evil will affect us…the difference for a believer is that we are not orphaned, and we still have peace in our suffering.

 

My mother and I have been reading Dante’s Divine Comedy for many years now. We have spent a lot of time in purgatory (what Dante called Purgatorio.) I must admit purgatory seems like a perilous place especially when the images are taken from Dante. We don’t give the subject of purgatory much attention these days. However, I must admit, that it does seem like a very long lent-taken seriously. Then a reality sets in… that life on earth gives us the same opportunity to purge those defects that we stubbornly cling too. The goal of Lent and Purgatory seems to have the same purpose. We are struggling to be that person created in the image of God, that very image that God sees in us, but our false self to often gets in the way.

 

In another book that I have been reading Dante’s Divine Comedy, a guide for a spiritual journey by Mark Vernon, he says:

“The Desert Fathers and Mothers of the early Christian centuries did something similar when they entered the wilderness and simultaneously entered an inner landscape, to discover their own torments, frailty, temptations, demons. Like Dante, they needed to travel not so as to escape themselves but to encounter themselves. Without the distractions of the world, the contents of their minds became clearer. It was a necessary preparation for catching sight of God.”

 

Isn’t it interesting, that contemporary culture is also sending the message that participating in religion is unhealthy-we shouldn’t be saddled with guilt and shame. We are encouraged to walk away and forget about sin. Their message is clear, our ego should be given free reign to seek out its own truth and happiness…unhinged from church institutions and their traditions -to float about in the myriad of choices that fail to satisfy. The result is that we seem to be “strangers in a strange land.”

 

In summary, one truth we cannot deny is that each of us will “pass away” one day. What we take with us is what we love, whether it be good or bad. Our “active participation” in Lent intensifies our efforts to live a holy life, and with the companionship of the Spirit we realize Jesus is with us to lighten the load. Jesus does not leave us alone, in addition he’s given us a model to follow in observing lent (a going into the desert experience)...the Holy Spirit drives us towards HIM. Let us turn our hearts to HIM now.

   

It's been a whole year Dad....

Do you think about me? I think about you, a lot.

Do you visit me? I think you do, you are in my dreams from time to time when my heart is hurting. I wake up feeling so torn. Happy, sad, angry, excited...all at one time. For those split seconds in my dream I felt you, heard you...was just like when you last stood in my living room smiling and laughing at the kids. But then reality sets in again and I know you aren't physically here anymore and I get upset again. I know you hate it when I cry but I can't stop them. I miss your voice, I miss your hugs and I miss your lessons in life. You know, the ones that would nearly break me but ultimately mold me into a stronger and better person. Yea, those. I miss those. But it's okay Dad, it's okay. I remember what you've taught me and I can keep growing from that. Passing it down to your grand-daughters, who by the way, are growing so fast. To fast. Please watch over them and help me. I'm raising 3 girls to be like me, the woman you wanted me to be and I'm gonna need all the help I can get! Even though now it's spiritually. Keep visiting Dad. I need you still. My babies need you. And don't worry about Mom, we got her covered. She's good Dad, she's strong. I'm a daughter of fighters. I love you Daddy. I love you so much.

You Lost me

 

It all started with a simple hello and I fell madly in love. I knew my world would never be the same again. I thought you were the best thing that ever happened to me. You said all of the right things and made all the right moves. You said you have never felt this way about anyone before and maybe for some time it was true, but with hindsight, you’re everything I thought you never were. For some reason I thought I knew what real pain felt like, but no amount of time could prepare me for the excruciating pain I feel because of you. Now I finally know what it feels like when a person means everything to you but you mean absolutely nothing to them. I guess I was the fool for allowing you this close to me.

  

Getting to know your hearts desires and your fears, was just a few of the exciting times we shared together. There was so many moments I thought to myself…is this really happening? Is it possible to feel this happy with someone? In return I showed you a piece of me that I’ve never showed to anyone before, because I trusted you completely. In my mind I finally found true love…the kind that would last forever and a day. Now all I can think about is everything I gave to you, and that I’ll never get that back.

  

All the unanswered questions left me paralyzed with fear and uncontrollable tears. Now I’m at a place I thought I’d never be. I am somebody I would have never imagined. The truth is you wanted the best of both worlds, and for some time you had it your way, but making promises you can’t keep is worse than not making promises at all. Someone once said “Sometimes people don’t understand the promises they’re making, when they make them”. Yes, nobody said it will be easy and no one ever said it would be this difficult either, but when you said forever, I guess you meant until you find someone new.

  

I am trying to figure out exactly where things went wrong. I’m questioning everything you ever told me. You lied over and over again, even when you told me I was perfect. So many times you said you are so happy and because I was happy, I thought it must be true, but maybe a happy ever after was never meant to be.

  

I guess the worst part is knowing now that I was just someone that filled an empty space in time, while you were searching for another. I guess I was just a footnote in your life story, while you were a chapter in mine. An entire chapter on heartache, deception, betrayal and love lost. You never truly loved me, you just didn’t want to be alone and for a while, it felt like love. In retrospect it was just a huge misunderstanding that led to a shattered heart.

  

In the end you took more than you deserve. I’m absorbing on how to heal myself and I will be stronger than ever before. Someday I will be happy and in love again with the right person who will love me more than I’ve ever imagined. I will look back at us and realize that in the end the pain was such an emotional metamorphous and worth suffering for because I found someone who cares for me, loves me unconditionally in a way that I never experienced before and treasure the feeling of togetherness and true commitment. At this moment in time I still get sad about everything that happened. Every now and then reality sets in and hits me unexpectedly, then I realize everything was true and real for me at least, but that my life is better without you.

  

Now I’ll erase the messages, delete the numbers, and move on. I’ll have to accept that you are not the person I once thought you were. Yes, it’s hard to forget someone who has given you so much to remember, but every story has an end and in life every ending is just a new beginning.

 

"It's like I'm running in slow motion in a nightmare that never ends. When I try to face it when I wake up, I hate the way reality sets in"

 

3+ in comments

Sometimes, there's more to an image than simple surface appearance ...

 

This set is about observations, ideas, concepts or comments expressed in images.

 

Visit my Beyond/Behind Reality set:

www.flickr.com/photos/t_schnitzlein/sets/1486953/

 

Mosaic compiled for the "Set Announcements" group.

 

Created with fd's Flickr Toys

Alternate Reality, Part I

 

In the USA, the first Monday in September is Labor Day, the last chance of the summer to get out and away from home, to hit the road for a new experience, to seek an alternate version of reality from the dreary, stressful hours and days of work.

 

Labor Day began over 100 years ago as a tribute to the American Labor Movement. This fact is often unknown and at any rate unhonored among the millions of capitalist pawns who hit the highways every September. For many, by the end of the weekend, it surely seems a creation of the Devil himself.

 

It starts by Mom dropping Dad off at the storage lot, cranking up the motor home and taking it to the gas station for a hundred gallons of the Jurassic’s finest. Then it’s back home to hook the Prius to the towbar. The family loads up and off they go down Eisenhower’s best gift to the nation, the Interstate Highway System. It's off to experience the relaxing freedom and glory of one of our National Parks, a few days of relaxation and indulgence under the bright sun and blue sky, breathing the fresh, clean air.

 

The bliss soon experiences a minor setback when the kids find that the wifi doesn’t work and they can’t play their games on the DS. But then they switch to 3G and order is restored. While Mom and Dad sit up front, talking about the things to do at the National Park, the kids have their heads and minds buried in their devices.

 

As they approach the backcountry park, the road narrows and they see more and more copies of themselves. It becomes a virtual conga line of bouncing RVs slowly traversing the curves and bounding over the dips in the pavement.

 

Finally, after a long and tiring day (Wasn’t this what we were escaping from?), they see the rustic entrance sign to the park. After another interminable interval (SPEED LIMIT 15), they arrive at the campground sign and below it see the dreaded message “CAMPGROUND FULL”. The idea that they are self-sufficient, at least for one night, draws some comfort, and they drive on looking for a place to pull over. Each place they see hopefully from a distance turns out, as they approach, to bear a “No Camping” sign, which, for those who can’t read English, has an iconic shaped teepee with a bold red slash through it. They pass multiple others in their expensive home-away-from-homes, each driving around looking for a place to land like the lakeside gnats flying aimlessly.

 

It’s getting dark and if they head for the nearest town, they can get there before bedtime. When they arrive, the motels are playing the same old “No Vacancy” song. All the restaurants are closed. The kids cycle through the stages of whining, screaming, and fighting. The adults are beginning to see some perverse merit to this strategy. Two thousand dollars a month loan payment on the RV, five hundred dollars for gas, tired bones and frayed nerves, and all for this?

 

Alternate reality sets in. The old reality starts to look way better.

 

Part II tomorrow.

Last night we had to say goodbye to Deacon. He suddenly became ill, an ultrasound found his cancer from three years ago returned and spread throughout his abdomen. This morning the reality sets in. This is the last photo I took of him.😢💙

I chose this plane to model for a few reasons:

 

1) it exists to this day and I have seen it in Dayton at the museum

2) it has a Vargas girl which I knew would look cool recreated in Lego form

3) In addition to the girl it has some great artwork on the left side. Vasilije worked his magic so that the skull, bones, and prop are all the outline of their Lego counterparts.

4) The color, desert pink in reality, sets it apart. Most of the bombers that get put into the public consciousness are either early war green/brown in Europe or late war bare metal in Europe or Japan. The story of the B-24s based in Benghazi is lesser known.

 

I changed the name because I do occasionally display publicly where there are younger children about. I'm impressed with the number of adults that knew the plane by name even before I had the decals on. Credit to Vasilije for recommending the name "Brick" instead of "Belle". I think it was the right choice.

Received a reminder today that both of our kids will be in high school next year. It is so hard to believe that the last year of high school is right around the corner for Ben. Seeing a graduation date on paper really drives that home. And my baby girl will be a freshman. Where did the time go? I'm going to do my best to savor every day of this upcoming year, because I know it will be over in a flash.

New Reality sets in for many fastfood restaurants. And that means less foot traffic, customers and consequently, sales.

Lately I get this gnawing sense of time slipping away. It seems to get worse each year, as days blend into weeks, and entire months fall by the wayside. It feels as if one big blur. I try to grab meaning out of each day, and for as many moments of this days. It helps to know time is not being wasted, but does nothing to stem the tide. Change of season hasten the feeling. Summer seems like it will last forever in June. But reality sets in by August, and transforms into a dull feeling of panic and loss as September morphs into October. Daylight is decreasing at an alarming rate. The places I visited all summer seem somehow different now; they just don't feel the same. Sunlight does not look the same. The weather is shifting. It is all quite destabilizing and will continue to be as we settle back into winter. I'm struck now by how quickly things change, light, shadow, weather, clouds. There's a sense of rapidity to things that I didn't really notice back in June. I think the sense sharpen a bit as a result. These thoughts and many more swirled in my mind as I stood beneath a giant maple tree in this old cemetery. Gale force winds were lashing the burial ground, causing the tree limbs to bend and sway before me. It seemed the perfect metaphor for what I was feeling. I loved the juxtaposition of solidarity in the old stones (death) with the fluidity of the leaves (life).

Inyo National Forest on the east side of Yosemite. 9 images, 1 stop increments, layered in Photmatix Pro 5 (default format), final editing Lightroom CC.

Over Labor Day weekend I posted about working in Yosemite National Park (Disillusioned), now I’d like to let you know what it’s like to live in Yosemite housing. Before I start I’d like to give a little history on myself.

I started working as a paperboy at around 7 years old. My brothers, mom and I would get up before school wrap the newspapers, mom would drive us around in the station wagon. My older brother and I would walk from block to block and mom kept us resupplied. She had my younger brother with her in the car, driving from block to block. Not long after that we moved into the country. I bailed hay, plowed and sprayed fields for farmers. At 12, I started bussing tables and doing dishes, 3rd shift on weekends. At 13. I was pumping gas, fixing tires, then repairing automobiles. I did a little factory work last year of high school and graduated early. After graduation I moved to Texas and did road service. From there I joined the Army to see the world. I entered into a Cohort unit, assigned to US Joint Service Special Operations Command (big title). I did live reconnaissance and loved it. Here I was; young, doing some balls to the walls shit and on top of the world. Then, I met this woman that took my breath away, I know cliché. We got married, had a little girl, then came back to the states. I switched over to animal medicine in order to spend more time with my family. I had to trace across the country to go from one school to another, then advanced schooling. We finally ended in Colorado, and then another school. Once I had that finished I enrolled in night college classes. Then again; not much time for the family. My wife wasn’t happy, she wanted to go home to her native country, we discussed what was best for our daughter and she stayed in the states with me. She was 3 at the time. My ex and I are still friends, keep in touch and our daughter visits her often.

Where was I, oh, sadness, my wife left. Anyway, my daughter was devastated, her and her mother were close. In the many challenges in life; watching my daughter suffer through this, was the one of the most difficult. So, dad hunkered down, story time every night, McD’s on Fridays and Pizza Pizza on Saturdays. I was doing ok, but my daughter wasn’t. I still had a lot of obligations; I was running the US Air Force Academy Veterinary Clinic and a volunteer program for Vet Thechs, at the Cheyenne Mountain Zoo, Colorado Springs. It soon came time to reenlist, my daughter was 5 at the time and she needed me more, so I left the Army. It was a great run, got a butt load of medals, was awarded Non-commissioned Officer of the Year and I was privileged to serve with some of the best men and women from around the world.

So, here we are; my daughter and I, heading back to the Midwest, two dachshunds, a betta fish and a big rental truck, driving across America once again. We had a blast, until Ernie (one of the dachshunds) ate the betta fish along the way. I made good money selling my house in Colorado, took that money and started a business, did very well, got very sick, sold my business and bounced back. Became a manager for a company, got promoted to district manager along the way. The recession hit us hard in 2008, with cut backs I got laid-off, my daughter all grown, I headed back out west. I took my time looking for work, made it to Washington state and headed down the coast.

I found this job in Yosemite online, applied and was hired on the spot. Now, I’ll start letting you know what it’s like to live in Yosemite’s housing. I first moved into a housing unit very close to where I worked. It was a nice building and had to share a room with a person. It was no biggie, did it I the Army. One of the housing managers let me in the room, the guy that lived there was not there at the time and the room looked as if it had not been cleaned in years. The housing manger didn’t say a word, gave me the keys and left. I had to clean everything on my side of the room before unpacking. While doing so, my new roommate came in, didn’t say a word, went to his computer and played games all night, way into the night.

As the days went by my roommate was becoming a real dick. He would stay up late playing games, I had to get up at 4:30 am for work. Also, would make as much noise as possible to wake me, at all hours of the night and morning. I caught him holding a large key chain full of keys, raise it above his head and drop it on his nightstand until I woke up. This guy was vulgar, extremely poor hygiene and down-right nasty. I complained to housing and was ridiculed by housing management. There was an older gentleman that I worked with; told me to be careful and don’t piss off curtain people or they will get you fired. He told me my roommate and others make it difficult for their roommates, so they don’t have to share a room. The person will get tired of the harassment and request another roommate.

I’m the type of person that stands up for myself and it didn’t take long for my roommate to rally a few friends to make my life difficult. That was almost 10 years ago and over the years many in the Yosemite community have perfected Workplace Mobbing and Community Stalking. You can call it what you want; but it’s conspired mobbing and harassment, here in Yosemite National Park there are no boundaries.

I eventually moved into another housing area. The day I moved in, I was being blocked in the hallway as I would bring my belongings in. Several people in my building would step out of their rooms, directly in front of me as I brought things in. Then, there was one woman that would rush into the building and crowd me in the hall on every trip. The effort and assertion these people would put into their skits was remarkable and sometimes quite hilarious. Watching grown men and women act like adolescent children was mind-blowing. I lived there for many years, being harassed daily. These people will wait around for hours for me to step out of my room, go to the bathroom, do laundry or use the kitchen; so, they will have an opportunity to harass me. If I didn’t leave my room (say I was sick), they would harass me in my room. My neighbors would stomp pass my room, pound on walls, floors anything to generate continuous noise. These people love to hate, enjoy harassing people and will go to almost any length to do so, and no one is holding them accountable. I lived in that building for over 7 years.

Now let’s move to the current building I’m in. I moved into this building in December of this year, because the other housing area is being closed and cleared. When I moved into this building I received the same treatment, just more intensified. As I brought my belongings in, there were several people in the hallway, then stepping from rooms and around the corners. I’m not exaggerating folks, it was like dodging tennis balls shot from a soda pop canon (got a little board, so just threw that in). Here I am, a big man, 200 lbs, bringing in my frig, shelves, all kinds of things. I’m thinking to myself, what happen to common courtesy?

I get moved in, am kinda excited because it’s one of the nicer buildings, nice size private room, with an attached bathroom. I had to share the bathroom with the guy in the next room; we had private and locked entrances, so thought it wasn’t too bad. My excitement was short lived, as I knew it would be (remember I’ve been here a while). About two weeks in; I came home from a long day at the Fresno VA, did my grocery shopping (so much cheaper out of the park) and no one was in the hallway. I thought it odd, because it’s usually crowded when I have groceries. I get half way down the hall and I’m overwhelmed from the smell of feces. I open the door to my room and the smell was worse. I sat my groceries down, looked around trying to find out where the smell was coming from. I opened the bathroom door, the floors, four walls, the fixtures, threshold to the tub area, the tub, my rug under the sink, were all covered with splattered feces. My rug was covered in liquid feces, my neighbor was in his room with the TV on. I have a strong stomach, but this was BAD. I knew better than blow my top (that’s exactly what these sickos want), so I called to try and contact the night housing manager. The young woman at the switchboard was great; she made several attempts to get him to show up, explained in detail what had happened. He was too busy to even show up at all, maybe had too much shit to do. She did manage to get a young member of our Elite Security Force to show up, just kidding about the Elite part. This young man took pictures, said he would fill out a report, then asked me if I had cleaning supplies. He is standing in this filth, my neighbor in his room TV on, and this guy is expecting me to clean this. Am I the only one that’s thinking this is way beyond OVER THE TOP? My neighbor, an elf or maybe a bear came into the bathroom, covered it in shit and he’s expecting me to clean it. My neighbor is setting in his room, so you know it wasn’t him. It was him, I’m trying to add a little humor to the Bat-Shit-Stupid, I live in every day. Well, I tell the Elite Security guy; that I wasn’t going to clean that mess. He looks kind of puzzled, then says “we can have housing clean it tomorrow”. It just keeps getting stupider, doesn’t it, but no kidding, it’s the truth. I said “my neighbor is in his room have him clean it up, I need to clean up myself and get ready for work in the morning”. He went over, talked to him, told me he would clean it, said he would file a report and left. My neighbor was in there maybe 15 minutes, then all lights out. It was still filthy; my rug covered in feces was turned around under the sink, the walls, floors and fixtures still covered in areas. I ended cleaning the rest myself after many complaints to housing. After this he would continue to leave feces on fixtures and floors, to which I cleaned. After many more complaints to housing and senior Elite management; my neighbor remained for four more months. He would make a mess, then disappear for weeks, leaving me to clean it. I wish I had a job I could just disappear from for weeks, repeatedly. Still scratching my head on that one, not really, I know better. It wasn’t until a week before my daughter came out to visit, that he moved. Again, am I the only one thinking; WHAT A COENCIDENCE! Don’t worry, we have more, so much more, but first I have to pee. You know, all the talk about my bathroom. I’m back. People using feces and urine to harass someone here in Yosemite is not new; look through my photostream, you can see it impacted feces in my Jeep door handle. I have thousands of other pictures, but will spare the public from this madness for now.

Now, I’d like to cover other daily niceties of living in this building, with my current and rotating neighbors. Each and every day I get the stomping down the hall, with an emphasis at my door and you can throw in a loud cough at my door too. Then, there’s my neighbors setting in their rooms for hours, for a chance to step out and block me in the hall. One neighbor two doors down; 6 times in one day. I know, I know, it was just a coincidence. But, this person did the same thing in the previous building we lived in. That person also rallies my neighbors right outside my room; 5-6 of them, talking and laughing loudly, to the point I can’t watch TV with headphones on. Because I asked them if they could move into the kitchen or TV room; I was called a Dick, or maybe she slurred my name (Rick). That was it, no one in Yosemite would call me a Dick for asking them to be courteous, I mean no one…. Well, that caused hissy-fits, retaliation and vilified their misguided notions of me. Yes, Rick is a Dick, we know this now, we have the justification to make his life a living hell. So, they got to it. I get mobbed every time I go to use the kitchen or the laundry room. I’ve picked random times and it’s the same, the same people over and over. They will get right in my face, block me at every turn, turn burners and ovens off, pour filthy water or something onto your washed dishes or in your dishwater. Again, same acts following from building to building and some of the same people too. When I go to do laundry; the person two rooms down and the guy that cleans the building, will wait in the small bathroom in the hallway, so they can fling the door open at me, as I walk pass to put clothes in dryers or collect. Recently, I had someone put a freshly broken chocolate bar under the agitator, in the washer I was about to use. It could have been a coincidence, you think?

This person living two doors down started setting against my wall, in the hallway. She would talk with the people directly across the hall from me, they played loud music with their door open. This gave the person setting against my wall justification to start hitting my wall with a foot or elbow (in their minds). Again, I asked if they could keep it down and not to pound on the floor or my wall. I was met with a “this is a public area and I can be here if I want”. Here we go again, Rick’s a Dick, hissy-fits, retaliation, stomping, coughing, blocking and someone waiting for me when I come home from a hard day at work; to blow smoke in my face, from a nonsmoking area. Cough, cough. With many complaints to housing and senior management the same harassers and harassment continues day after day, year after year. You thought I was about to finish, no not yet.

A few weeks ago, I come home and find a note on my door to call management. I called and was told; there’s a senior employee that is interested in moving into the room next to you, sharing the bathroom. I was told again it was a senior employee with inflection on senior. Well, great as long as it wasn’t an Elite employee. Then I was told this was a female and she didn’t have problems sharing the bathroom with me. I thought to myself; no woman would have a problem sharing a bathroom with me. Then reality set in, Toxic Yosemite, sharing a bathroom with a woman, what can go wrong. Really, I said “I have a problem with it, as Toxic as this place is and you want me to share a bathroom with a woman, yes I have a big problem with it”. I was told, “well she doesn’t have a problem with it”, that was the end of our conversation.

 

I’ve led a very full and rewarding life. My proudest, most fulfilling and rewarding accomplishment was raising my daughter. Tears fill my eyes as think of how proud I am of her. She’s had her struggles through life and has become a beautiful, compassionate, considerate, woman. I was both mom and dad,

so, what I’m about to say is not meant to be mean in anyway.

Last week a woman moved into the room next to me. I don’t know this woman and am not faulting her and will refrain from making judgement. I was setting on the toilet, my nice clean toilet, and there was a knock on the bathroom door. I heard a woman’s voice, I asked if she was moving in, she said yes, so I finished and unlocked the door, hoping it didn’t smell like man poop. She had someone help her move things in, stayed a few days then gone for 3. She came back the other night had a couple visitors, that I do know. I don’t have a problem with visitors, but I went to take a shower and the feminine odor was unbearable. Again, not trying to be mean, but it was bad. I had to take my shower because I leave for work early, so I took my shower, then settled into my room. Before I went to bed I needed to use the bathroom, but had to wait for two women to use it before I could. That was a couple nights ago, there’s still an odor in the bathroom and slightly in my room. I haven’t seen here sense, sound familiar? I’m being honest by saying; I’m very uncomfortable with this. This building has about 40 residents and I think only three of us men. What I do know is; having a woman sharing a bathroom with me, is a vindictive act of retaliation from management.

 

Now as far as my neighbors harassing me day after day; they have no concerns of punishment. They prove this every day. Tuesday, my day off; I was woke at 5:50 am, by someone stomping down the hall and right at my door. I couldn’t go back to sleep, someone was clanging dishes in the kitchen, so I decided to do laundry. I gathered my clothes and headed to the laundry room. The kitchen door was open, another neighbor from across the hall was the one doing dishes, so I closed the kitchen door as I waked by. I put my clothes in the washers and headed back to my room. The kitchen door was open again, so I went to close it. The woman started yelling molester, molester, in Spanish. It didn’t faze me, who knows what kind of crap these people are told. I said people are sleeping, pulled the door stop out and went to my room. As I do my laundry, one of the housing staff keeps walking pass referencing the name of the guy who cleans our building, 4 times. That’s what they do; try to get under your skin. I get my laundry done, set in my room with the door open so my neighbors don’t stomp by and edit photos.

As I edit this image; one of the women from across the hall, stomps up to my room, starts stomping in place, right in front of my door, then starts doing this over the top fake cough. She does this in place stomping, throwing her head back and forth like a two-year-old having a fit. This woman is probably in her mid-forties, but this is acceptable behavior here in Yosemite. Nothing will happen to this woman, or the many that harass me in Yosemite. They will not lose their housing privileges, or jobs, some may even be rewarded. They will continue to harass whomever they are told to, or feel like, year after year.

I’m only midway through the day and decide to gather my camera bag, pack a late lunch and head out. I step out the door, there are 3 housing staff members, 2 neighbors from across the hall and 2 new girls that recently moved in. They were all surrounding my room and I could barely make it through the crowd. One of the new girls rushed ahead of me, one of the housing staff breathing down the back of my neck as I walk down the hall. The girl ahead of me stepped into her room, spun around, stepped right back out and into me. This was an intentional skit, in hopes I would act out in anger and be surrounded by witnesses. These are witnesses that will lie.

 

What I’ve told you is true; it is based on years of collecting evidence, military training (I didn’t receive 12 medals for smelling flowers), life’s experiences and the illegal and unethical actions of the people here in Yosemite National Park. I’ve tried to add a little humor to the Very Toxic living and working conditions in Yosemite. Over the years I’ve seen many good people come, then go, because of this Toxic place. Because of the stigma, retaliation and overwhelming harassment in the workplace; many are terrified to say a word. Look at what we are doing to each other America; this mobbing and hate needs to stop and it will destroy us all. It will not stop until people are held accountable. Will Yosemite’s Superintendent hold these people accountable?

You can hate me, try to discredit me, but you cannot deny the truth.

What is happening in Yosemite is WRONG!

 

Yosemite’s current Superintendent is: Michael T Reynolds

 

Nominated Director National Parks Services is: David Vela

 

• The truth about Yosemite 2016 to current: www.nbcbayarea.com/news/local/Yosemite-Chief-Retiring-Ami...

 

Here is an audio example of Yosemite's Mobbing Community at work: flic.kr/p/2hJ7Rye

  

Update 4-30-19; after 2 recent detailed letters to Yosemite's Superintendent, the harassment, mobbing, waist, fraud, cover-up and retaliation continues.....

On 6-2-19, the San Fransisco Chronicle published a scathing article about Yosemite; giving insight to how toxic and unethical this place really is.

 

12-1-19 Update: the harassment and retaliation continues and has increased. The noise campaigns at work and in housing are off the charts. I left work this morning (12-1-19) because of extreme loud music. The lobby music systems was turned way up and on top of that; an employee that also harasses me in housing, along with her husband, had her boom box blaring on top of the Holiday music blaring. You would think it was Military PSYOPS (Psychological Operations). Speaking of; on 11-29-19, I greeted 3 guest and asked how they were doing. The woman looked totally surprised, then a big smile popped on her face. She said Sir, may I ask you a question, I said sure. She asked who ran the operations here? I told her. She then asked; what’s the matter with the employees here? I told her the truth and said nobody here cares. She went on to tell me; yesterday they witnessed employees being rude to guest at one of our other facilities, one even belittling a German couple because of their limited English. She then said; the people here ignored us this morning, one employee just stood there with earphones in his ears, listening to music. She had other complaints that I can’t mention because I will be terminated.

I asked where they were from and found out that all 3 were active duty Marines. They couldn’t get over the behavior of our employees. I apologized again and thanked them for their service. We went on to briefly discuss the continued decline of common courtesy and ethics in America. Is this why we serve today; so Americans and Corporate America can have the right to treat human-beings, worse than their own pets?

 

6-4-20, Update; Yosemite's leaders continue to allow the hate, mobbing and whistleblower retaliation to flourish.

Thank you for visiting my photostream

J. H. Clarke, Photo, Selkirk, Manitoba.

 

Manitoba Photographer, John Henry Clarke (1860-1923)

 

J. H. Clarke was born in England August 6, 1860. He was married and had one son. They came to Winnipeg to partake in the booming city and he was immediately hired as a photographer by a local firm. Some years later, he joined a group of Manitobans going west to find their fortune in the Klondike Gold Rush. He got as far as Victoria B.C. Then reality set in and he returned to Winnipeg. Many believe he had wisely taken his camera with him. On the way home he took a number of photographs later made into very collectible postcards. He did not number his cards, so we have to guess how many he made into postcards. Mr. Clarke prospered in Winnipeg and then moved to Selkirk in 1903. The back of his cards always say “J.H.Clarke Selkirk, Man.” He died of pneumonia at the Winnipeg General Hospital February 14, 1923 and is buried in Elmwood Cemetery in Winnipeg. LINK to the complete article - www.memoriesfromthelake.net/jhclarke

 

Cathedral Mountain is a 3,189-metre (10,463-foot) complex massif located six kilometres northwest of Lake O'Hara in Yoho National Park, in the Canadian Rockies of British Columbia, Canada. Its shape and structure conjures up a resemblance to a gothic cathedral that has inspired many artists, including Group of Seven's Arthur Lismer, to paint it back in 1928. This picturesque mountain is visible from Highway 1, the Trans-Canada Highway near Kicking Horse Pass. Its nearest higher peak is Mount Stephen, 3.0 km (1.9 mi) to the west. The name Cathedral Mountain was in use as early as 1884 and appeared on George Dawson's 1886 map. The first ascent of Cathedral Mountain was made in 1901 by James Outram, with guides Joseph Bossoney, and Christian Klucker.

My heart is breaking as reality sets in - I'm leaving Israel in less than 10 days. During my two months stay here I've been working hard on a series I photographed during my time in India and Southeast Asia. This is another photo from the series, Love spirit magic adventure .

 

It was photographed in Dharamsala with a beautiful Californian couple named Mariah and Jahsiah.

  

The series so far can be viewed here

  

Facebook || Website || Instagram

   

I shoot the majority of what you see on a camera with a timer. Its not that I don't enjoy my photographers but I want the viewer to see me as I am. I don't retouch these pictures. If I am wearing wig I say it and so on. This is who I am. This is how I look at almost 65. Its not magic and any woman can look like me if not better. Its hard work and there are days I want to say "I Love Ben and Jerry's" three times fast and click my heels with my eyes closed. What fun! But then reality sets in. What helps any woman who wants this is the person behind her. I am talking about Gurls too. Its that special person who keeps telling you how proud they are of you and they acknowledge how hard you are working. I get e-mails all day long and I answer all of them myself. It isn't easy but I do it and I enjoy it very much. This is the question I am often asked and this is the answer I give. There is nothing special about me and I am truly the original girl next door. You want it? You got to go get it and that is the true beauty of it all. It is achievable at any age and at any time in your life.

Left: [Ligeia]

Right: Me

 

I was super excited to work with Eva this week, because she is awesome. We worked together on She's a Rainbow as well, so we've gotten to know each other even better over the past few weeks/months. :)

 

The themes were announced and we got "orange". At first, I thought "Ooh! Fun!" Until reality set in and I realized that I own NOTHING orange. I was thinking about 2 possibilities.. either orange make-up or paint, or orange tights. Eva sent me her image and I peeked at it, which led me to pursue my plan of orange tights. This is the first week that I saw my partner's image before shooting my own, but I am glad this time because I was so stumped! Nothing was clicking in my brain for orange! (By the way, yes, my image is a complete fake color-wise. As I said, I own nothing orange. My carpet is light tan, my dress is grey, and the tights are actually pink. So yeah.. I cheated. :P)

 

See all of the Divine Diptychs on the blog: divinediptychproject.blogspot.com/

J. H. Clarke, Photo, Selkirk, Manitoba.

 

Manitoba Photographer, John Henry Clarke (1860-1923)

 

J. H. Clarke was born in England August 6, 1860. He was married and had one son. They came to Winnipeg to partake in the booming city and he was immediately hired as a photographer by a local firm. Some years later, he joined a group of Manitobans going west to find their fortune in the Klondike Gold Rush. He got as far as Victoria B.C. Then reality set in and he returned to Winnipeg. Many believe he had wisely taken his camera with him. On the way home he took a number of photographs later made into very collectible postcards. He did not number his cards, so we have to guess how many he made into postcards. Mr. Clarke prospered in Winnipeg and then moved to Selkirk in 1903. The back of his cards always say “J.H.Clarke Selkirk, Man.” He died of pneumonia at the Winnipeg General Hospital February 14, 1923 and is buried in Elmwood Cemetery in Winnipeg. LINK to the complete article - www.memoriesfromthelake.net/jhclarke

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Frank Rock Slide, Alberta - Nestled into the side of Turtle Mountain in the Crowsnest Pass area of the Albert District of the Northwest Territories of Canada, the small town of Frank, Alberta was established to support the miners who came to work in the Frank Mine. After the Canadian-American Coal and Coke Company opened the Frank Mine in September 1901, the small community of Frank began to grow around it as cottages for the miners and their families were built, a school was established, and four hotels were erected. Named after Henry Frank, one of the founders of the company, by 1903 the town was home to six hundred people. April 1903, most of the residents of Frank were sleeping. Just after 4 am, the quiet of the cold spring morning was shattered by a deafening rumbling sound. Within 100 seconds, 82 million tonnes of limestone broke off the top of the mountain and thundered down the east face at 70 miles per hour, crushing everything in it’s path, and burying everything under dozens of feet of rock. The slide narrowly missed hitting the town of Frank head on, just clipping the eastern end of the community. When Turtle Mountain came down in what would come to be called the Frank Rock Slide, there were twenty miners working at the mine. Three were topside and were killed instantly by falling rock. The remaining seventeen found themselves trapped underground, buried under tons of rock. The river, dammed by the slide had risen and was pouring into the mine through a secondary tunnel. LINK to the complete article - www.thesocialhistorian.com/frank-rock-slide/

As I was processing this photo I started to think back about my life in Las Vegas before I recently moved to the greater Phoenix area. I knew so many people and built so many relationships over the years. I was very comfortable with life in Las Vegas. Life in Las Vegas was good!

 

That was my life before I got laid off from my old job. After I got laid off from my old job, I had to scramble to find a good paying job because my wife was 7 ½ months pregnant with our first child. Luckily, I found a good job but it was in Phoenix. So, I moved from Las Vegas with my wife and young infant daughter and started a new journey in an unfamiliar place. It was exciting at first but then reality set in and I thought of all the people and places I already missed. Furthermore, my family and I knew no one in Arizona. It was tough to leave my native hometown of Las Vegas.

 

My relocating experience made me think of a talk given by LDS General Authority Edward Dube. It was titled “Look Ahead and Believe.” www.lds.org/general-conference/2013/10/look-ahead-and-bel... I started to think about how much I was living in the past. The talk made me realize that I wasn't optimistic or even grateful about my family's new life in Arizona. Yes. Life was good but life can be better here in Arizona. I just need to look ahead and have faith!

 

This image is copyrighted. Please don't use my images in any way without my permission.

Casa de Chá da Boa Nova (Boa Nova Tea House) is a restaurant designed by the Portuguese architect Álvaro Siza Vieira. Situated on the Atlantic coast of Portugal, it is in the Leça da Palmeira parish in the municipality of Matosinhos in the Porto District. The building is close to the Tidal pools of Leça da Palmeira designed by the same architect, and the Leça Lighthouse, another local landmark. It has been classified as a national monument since 2011.[1]

 

History

The building was designed following a competition held by Matosinhos in 1956, which was won by architect Fernando Távora. After choosing the site on the rocks overlooking the sea, Távora handed over the project to one of his juniors, Álvaro Siza, who was taking the first steps in his career. It was one of his first works, implemented between 1958 and 1963.[1][2][3][4]

 

The building originally functioned as a tea room. It was remodelled in 1991 after a strong storm hit the building. In 2011 it was vacated by the company running it, on the termination of its contract, was allowed to rapidly become run down and was subject to vandalism, despite its classification as a National Monument.[5]

 

In 2014 the Tea House was reopened as a restaurant. The renovation was carried out under the supervision of Siza, in accordance with the original drawings and specifications. As of mid-2023 the building functioned as a Michelin-starred restaurant. This necessitated a change to the original layout in order to fit more dining tables.[1][2]

 

Description

According to Siza, “architects do not invent anything, they transform reality.” Set in an area of rocks, the building is an example of the relation of architecture with an active interpretation of the landscape. The Casa de Chá is accessed from a parking lot, which is about 300 meters away. Access is via a stepped pathway integrated into the rocks, which alternately reveals and hides the sea. On reaching the building, the low eaves of the roof direct the visitor's gaze to the sea. The interior is designed to frame the landscape, utilising large glass panels that blur the boundaries between the building and its surroundings. The presence of wood on the floors, walls and ceilings highlights Siza's admiration for the work of the Finnish architect, Alvar Aalto.[2][3][4]

I was waiting for a bus in a village near Bangalore when I saw something like a 2 headed Velvet Ant moving very fast on the ground. Took a closer look and realized it was very beautiful spider !!! The front pair of legs had beautiful velvet like tufts which it held out with pride while moving about.

 

Now the harsh reality set in. The bus i was waiting for would reach any minute. If i miss it, i would have to wait for at least 3 hours for the next one. With this in mind I quickly got my camera out and started photographing this fast little spider from every angle possible. Initially i thought it was a Salticidae. Eye arrangement which i observed in the zoomed in picture proved me wrong.

 

This spider was a nightmare to photograph. Continuously moving in an erratic manner and turning away from the direction of the camera. I was on the ground struggling for a satisfactory shot when an audience started gathering around me.

 

I had to take the Spider in my hand so that it wouldn't escape among the many pairs of legs all around me :-D

 

I had to answer all the curious questions from the watching audience while holding my breath, trying to get the focus right and frame well.

 

i had to make sure the spider didn't escape among the bushes in a split second while i was reviewing a shot. (Not answering them would be considered rude and I didn't want that).

 

After a few minutes of epic struggle with this beautiful creature the bus arrived. The spider was now safely among the grass and I clumsily boarded the bus with my tripod in one hand , camera in the other and a half open bag on my back :-D

 

The bus journey turned into a Q&A session. The interested students and local people taking a closer look at the pictures, asking all kinda questions, narrating their version of spider stories etc.

 

This is a high ISO shot, didn't have time to set up the lighting.... Not much info is available about this spider, its behavior, feeding and breeding habits.

 

Any info would be appreciated.

 

Spider on Steroids : www.youtube.com/watch?v=feXAaGfrrEg

 

Close-up: www.youtube.com/watch?v=9exsBvhZCCo

If one were stumbling through in the dark, you would think they might get a bit of a sudden scare by these black bears. That is until reality sets in, given the telltale wear and tear these amazing sculpted figures hold.

 

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Scenes like this never fail to give me a little bit of hope.

 

Then reality sets in.....

This is another from my industrial night series. These steps were welded to one of the silos. Would be just perfect if a worker was walking up the steps, alas reality sets in and the realization that who in the right frame of mind would be out there at 1am in the cold...other than myself. The shadows casted here really caught my attention. More to come...

  

Much attention is given to the Fourth Plinth in the northwest corner of Trafalgar Square. Do you know the distinction of the world record holding southeast corner of Trafalgar?

 

Avoiding almost all attention at the south-east corner of Trafalgar Square is a peculiar and often overlooked world record holder; Britain’s Smallest Police Station. It's said this tiny box can accommodate up to two prisoners at a time. Its main purpose was to hold a single police officer. Think of it as a 1920’s CCTV camera! Yes, you were being watched even before 1984 reality set in.

 

You can be forgiven for missing the world's smallest police station. It looks more like a neoclassical Tardis than a police station. There won't be a crowd of curious tourists gathered around it happily snapping selfies.

 

The tiny police station was built in 1926 so the Metropolitan Police could keep a close eye on dubious characters creating mischief during demonstrations prevalent at the time. Back in the day, Trafalgar Square was a magnet for London's protestors, rioters, marchers and pigeons. The story behind its construction is also a wee bit secretive.

 

At the end of World War I, a temporary police box outside Trafalgar Square tube station was due for renovation. Authorities wanted a permanent post to survey the area. The public was having none of that and objected profusely, so the plans were scrapped. Instead, the Metropolitan Police decided to build a less obvious police box. Where? Inside an ornamental light post.

 

Once the light post was hollowed out, it was then installed with a set of castle-style narrow windows in order to provide a 360-degree vista primarily across Trafalgar Square. If it looked like a lamppost and acted like a lamppost, it must be nothing more, right? Cleverly, the designers went a step further and installed a direct phone line back to Scotland Yard. If reinforcements were needed in times of serious trouble, the authorities could easily be alerted.

 

In fact, whenever the police phone was picked up, a clandestine signal flashed. The signal? The ornamental light fighting at the top of the police box. Nearby officers could rush in to break up any melee that might take place.

 

Once the light fitting was hollowed out, it was then installed with a set of narrow windows in order to provide a vista across the main square. Also installed was a direct phone line back to Scotland Yard in case reinforcements were needed in times of trouble. In fact, whenever the police phone was picked up, the ornamental light fitting at the top of the box started to flash, alerting any nearby officers on duty that trouble was near.

 

Though not confirmed, London legend tells us the ornamental light on top of the box, installed in 1826, is originally from Nelson's historic HMS Victory.

 

Is London's smallest police station used today? Yes, but not for Trafalgar Square security reasons. The box is not used by the police today but is instead used as a broom closet for Westminster Council cleaners.

 

Next time you're in Trafalgar Square, be sure to pass by Trafalgar Square and see this tiny marvel for yourself, brooms and all.

 

I help aspiring and established photographers get noticed so they can earn an income from photography or increase sales. My blog, Photographer’s Business Notebook is a wealth of information as is my Mark Paulda’s YouTube Channel. I also offer a variety of books, mentor services and online classes at Mark Paulda Photography Mentor

 

All images are available as Museum Quality Photographic Prints and Commercial Licensing. Feel free to contact me with any and all inquiries.

 

Follow My Once In A Lifetime Travel Experiences at Mark Paulda’s Travel Journal

Reality sets in and the soul wonders aimlessly...

 

Every day passes by, the soul loses track of time. Where will it start, where will it end, what would happen? Too many questions go unanswered. And the only voice in this desolate place is the sound of one's soul.

 

And so aimlessly, one finally stumbles on this enchanted gate, and sees the gate is closed. On the other side is the gate keeper and a view of shadowy figures, of angels but one cannot utter the words or shout from the mouth. Even when the aimless soul scream the loudest, none of these shadowy fairies or angels answer back. One now knows one cannot cross between the world one is in and the enchanted world on the other side of this gate. One realizes that all at the other end seem to be enchanting, dancing, living in harmony, living in joy but while one senses all of this, one cannot hear any sound, or sees beyond the light at the end of the stairs. One now realizes the emptiness, the void, the loneliness, and the vacuum one is in. And one realizes one is imprisoned in one's soul and in silence.

 

One is now thinking this is hell and beyond the gate is the stairway to heaven!

 

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Angel Brush By Brenda found at Deviant Arts

Wing Brush by Stephanie Shimerdla

Lost Soul Brush by Unknown from Deviant Art - I performed some paint brush coloring

Gate Brush by Angela3D Brushes - I performed some layer painting to give a real gate color and look to blend with the side rails

  

I was wishing for colder weather as it is extremely hot outside today and I thought of a barren tree in the winter. I created this papercut using multiple layers of colored cardstock. Looking at this papercut made me feel a little cooler but reality set in rather quickly.

ghost surfers on a shingle beach......the other side of the menu, when I saw these I thought all manner of things, but then reality sets in, I am human and very much a subscriber to the human condition, we are what we eat and love it or hate it, we eat all sorts of things, some more selective than others in their consumption......but that too is a part of the human condition, so really this image is all about reality and not to everyone's taste......so if you view and think yuk......pick the bones out of that.

I always wanted to live in a house like this when I grew up. I was not a spoiled kid, but my parents had a house in a very well-to-do area, and I thought everyone lived in houses and places like this. When I got out on my own around age 21, the hard reality set in.

I dreamed so hard and spent so long working on it wanting to get there as the perfect transgendered girl and the more beautiful and feminine the better. Then cancer came along to potentially blow a hole in it all and then being so very lucky made me realise how fortunate I am and how we should appreciate the now and what we have. I'm sure it's only human but we are never totally satisfied or quite content with what we have. Here am I wishing I was twenty again and famous as the most amazing and charismatic trans porn star ever, whilst some of you just wish you hadn't got two left feet were not hairy or built like a gorilla and others just wish they had the chance to put a dress on for the first time. I think we should all take comfort in the fact that dreaming makes things more wonderful and your cup of tea is always sweeter till you sip it. I live a normal life as Jojo but I have a very lively sexual imagination so I need constant stimulation. I'm not gay as such so in a way I've built a high wall around my garden of transgendered delights to keep out all the related things that don't appeal to me keeping my vision pure. Before you all start thinking I'm a 'bit sad' I've over-simplified it just so to explain and I try to be inclusive but in my imagination at least I've chosen the sexual world I want to live in. And yes I'm sure many of you will agree that the favorite girls I choose and the delicously sensual sexual scenes I use in my images conjure up a Jojo sexual paradise. I'm sure that should reality set in and I was to swop places with them much of it would not be as good as it appears to be, a bit live driving needing to entertain and having sex for fun is quite different to doing it every day for a living.

For a while, I have been dumbfounded by this dumpster aside the regular Burrtec dumpsters. I first thought this was a Athens organics dumpster, which would explain those photos from a while back. However, when my mother let me take this photo, reality sets in.

 

This is a grease dumpster owned by a company named "Darpro". This dumpster isn't compatible with any FL or RL truck, though I think it is collected by a pump truck.

And with advance to REALITY COPY there’s certainly no way of changing this perception only enforcing it, nothing in reality is good enough for “REALITY COPY” that is just another paradox that is not futuristic.

We might be still skeptical about the arrival of REALITY COPY, but its only before its sold at the supermarkets.

What would happen after “Reality Copy” when the progress of all possible levels of true “reality copy” (in technical sense, not psychologically-philosophical) are achieved. The reality hence is copied and sealed.

Technology won’t stop there… one wonders. What is next.

In political sense when reality in representation is something embraced by conservative social power than with “reality copy” the conservative power is the dominating from the social point of view having new level of reality and it’s copy to be controlled.

*seems like the only possibly alternative to REALITY COPY could be ultra radical Invisibility)

In principle the artist aims to deform the reality subjectively to create not the “reality copy” lacking such skills but to convey the artistic poetic goal of expressing whatever given artist wants to express.

In a matter of “reality copy” what is left for the artist to argue with and deform… to question and test… Nothing really changes socially except for more pressure applied to the issue of dealing with self-image and tools to “sell” When a person changes the image the higher the technology the more transformed is the final product.

The progress of mental growth is just as conservative as control on the “visual image of reality” and its copy.

The ongoing technological progress is irreversible as it carries percent of good with bad,

It is common knowledge how for instance internet is benefit and at the same time does damage. A person who knows about the addiction and suffers would acquire the knowledge and hope from the place the person suffers the internet of course.

Same thing is with photography and video. Reality copy would add more psychological problems to the present but create more visual attraction of true-life experience with whatever could be rediscovered in Lifecopy style. Probably is benefits pornography since it will continue same as consumption of food. The basic things… Consumerism benefits since it is super-trained for “instant reach” affect and will commercially exploit the “reality copy” to sell more of “reality copy” gadgets the phones, screens, etc.

New generation of people will repeat the cycle in new technological means of having “reality copy” as nothing new but similar to any visual information currently available.

The creative people are the ones BEHIND the time it seems in a matter of “reality copy” and being unable to have anything is an alternative.

The Invisible alternative is the ONLY ONE to question “reality copy”

That is the power of UNKNOWN.

Techno progress can deal in “reality” bringing higher resolution to the fore to sell new generation of phones and gadgets.

But it really doesn’t change the philosophical issue of questions asked by philosophers, what is life, what is art, why do we live. Questions remain unanswered when techno progress veils those questions with the promise that higher technology would bring the end to all unanswered questions and answer them for people.

So far the techno advance puts the artistic, literary and philosophical field out of business. As when people get the toys (gadgets) and the playground (the podium of internet) the art is irrelevant and completely disconnected from the social phenomenon of self-representation. Art is not interested to question something with no philosophical substance to it.

The commercial art is willing to supply more stuff for consumerism. If its reality-copy than someone empowered by financial wealth (born rich) would come up with more decorative solutions that could serve REALITY COPY in needed fashion, add more details to the “reality set” to those who can afford it.

Same way it is now when people with means live with more things.

“Reality Copy” of people without means would look just as it is in reality, gray and unexciting. To help people without means the software would offer “decoration” solutions to add the faux details able to transform the surroundings to less depressing. It would enter the person into “life copy” of vacation at Caribbean resorts… etc.

What in such situation could be philosophically questioned, if nothing changed in human morality, but techno advance manage to involve people into self-entertainment to such degree that a person is no longer interested to read books about other people or watch movies and hear news. Self-promotion is the ongoing and time-consuming thing. One has to research the “popular” topics.

As to participating in reality activities, there’s the issue of not having time for anything that doesn’t deal with self-promotion and earning a living.

ART commerce is growing commercially going Industrial since supplying consumer goods is always rewarding in sales. On the other hand this and techno revolution reduces interest of writers and philosophers to dig in depths where there is no depth. It makes such people disengaged with the process. When there are no critical voices to the established situation or some few art critics pretend to do what is expected of them – know about current situation not only on the art scene but at large - socially, and have strong voice against the trends that contribute to the lowering of culture. There’s no more liberal freedom since nobody reads the newspapers. Even if the working critics were principal enough to write articles and books they know their voice would not be heard. They are not vociferous about anything at all because there’s a concept of supporting and art endavour since art is in decline and anything that relates to art needs their support.

There are no voices to oppose the current situation for many reasons such as no younger people would be interested in such undertaking also for many reasons of being disoriented in expectation of techno changes or living their me-life.

The young ones are the invisibility movers, every day someone who is young, information and internet savvy adds the invisibility statement to their online identity. I saw it on tumblr and Iheart. (samples year web address – source)

Art consumer goods sell and make the seller get the goods since sale is the rule.

Art critics silently agree and actually it seems if they even try to disagree there is nothing in art that presently shows any direction against the established art situation.

There isn’t anything not saying a serious claim to deny aesthetic values of the art present and past, to turn away from any influence and history by the fashion avant-garde to question than resuscitate (bring back from death) art that lost vitality and practically is a dead art of dominating taste in an authoritarian culture and conformity.

Bring new blood to reinvent the art into weapon against the outlived old and positioning itself as direct opposition AGAINST art that represents culture of the present time.

Culture of consumerism that turned into visual consumerism with the help of internet is hard to oppose and challenge in any attempt of making bid public art spectacle, won’t challenge any concept but serve certain need for entertainment.

 

Invisible art of Paul Jaisini stands against all that is dominating and culturally regressive in the present, false visual multiplicity that imply democracy and absence of segregation in visual sphere, all inclusiveness.

On so many levels Paul Jaisini brings knowledge of how the present condition reflect on a mind. (non-linear thinking, information processing, constant analysis is the advanced state of high analytical creative mind /osd, adad is the side effect but there are more worse side effects) Shows the burst to create in manifestation of genius mind (can do any task without training) but unable to maintain the creative process as wholesome, bored with the immediate results. Invisibility is theoretical stability and result of high impact activity that gives fast result of creativity and genius realized in art. Then instability in the fact of the created art un--preserved and lost, destroyed.

On a lower level of people who start building some blog with enthusiasm dedicating time, research than abandoning it to become digital graveyard demonstrates inability to continue and search for new. Inability to face what yesterday seemed interesting and capture someone’s mind to give the creative boost.

(fast life, no sleep, high tech knowledge, constant search for new, unsatisfied… new is old – altogether supports “CONSUMERISM” when buying is haul more than physically needed, quantity is the need for new.

Invisible art as a concept seem to attract wide public and elite in such diametrically opposed combination, of people without high aesthetics in mind or the complete opposite illuminati-culturati. People with average or below average taste and aesthetic requirements are as interested and supportive as the elite. When it comes to someone in the middle- another phenomena, quite often those who are educated and intelligent take a stand against even one mention of the art being possibly somehow invisible.

These people respond very well and willing to agree with the concept as Invisible art is brought to them by mass media. In the beginning I was using internet to send out essays and saw the proof that as avant-garde wanted to reach people who never acquired artistically developed taste the invisible art was and now is more than ever suits their taste even to degree of obsession.

That’s adds insult to injury when nobody even pay attention and there’s nothing to offer as the alternative.

They want something tangible as the alternative, the grown philosophy to brew in the minds of people and artists as the sign of time.

The invisibility is the idea that has the power to antagonize the “reality copy” but not in a sense that is widely used in the present time. To express social isolation in case of the teens as seen on tumblr. (examples and variations of Invisibility trend in primitive pictures shared every day in such huge quantities no art publication ever knew, teens and pre-teens are those with passion among the rest of us, when they spread the word it goes far, same as the early internet time, when the word would go far distances to large number of people)

Historically known of the episodes when many artists tried to create the so-called invis art but it really didn’t involve much creativity except for the concepts they came up with, but in reality it involved the reduction of visual means and performance art when the audience came up with more ideas acting around the non-existent artwork than the artist.

Personally I discovered high interactive value of the “PRESUMED” invisible painting when I was getting a lot of responses with very interesting commentaries from the people who actually insisted I was sending them info about the invisible artworks. I never made any claims when sending written essays. People decided for me and probably this is the best way for the interactive dialogue to let people decide.

The only known versions of invisible artworks would be not something that can turn into a philosophical school of thought but random reductions of visual means of various artists. It all came to same MOA that involved frames etc., not the process of creativity or life long creativity that would show how such artistic philosophy develops and what various periods of the artist’s life produce by his belief in his artistic style.

The known precedents of exhibiting so-called invisible art were always random statements that never continued to develop in a distinct style.

What one usually expects is a blank canvas, a picture with some written ideas which is more a topography art, a picture that is in a wrapping of covered up and is a found object art. The only known artists who continued wrapping is Christo but his art is not considered invisible even though he hides or attempts to hide what is inside the wrapping….

Recently same as in more distant periods in time many artists are trying to reduce their visual means. There’s a difference though. In previous times artists ventured into reduction of visual means with more ease. The artworks from older times with reduced visual means had much less labor and look less worked on.

Now the reduction of visual means is something that doesn’t fall under the artistic philosophy when an artists trying to prevent an overkill of the visual imagery.

If Rothko worked on his abstract painting laboriously than in current standards his work would be considered not sale’s worthy. Now to be sale-worthy the abstraction is worked to show a lot of workmanship. Surely Rothko doesn’t want anyone to see a lot of workmanship quite the opposite, he wanted his paintings to look fresh and not overdone. And in current standards he would have to toil on every dot in his painting to perfect it.

Today’s abstract paintings look like very hard-worked on simulations of surfaces that look like some textures (varieties of plain or distressed surfaces /stone and whatever is the decorative surfaces of abstracts, patterns that are used in interior design.

Overworked, machine-like is expensive looking enough to sell in the gallery but it creates a certain amount of fatigue in time. The commerce knows about it, the fatigue would bring the art buyer to buy more to add some new life to the art collection ed infinitum.

Art commerce wants more art collectors in the times when art is selling and makes money and should be called what it is – decorative luxury items.

Art or luxury decorative items was always meant for people with wealth and they always wanted to get their money worth.

When abstract painting is done in a manner to be worthy of selling price it is not creativity of conceptual thought and has no abstracted meaning. The craft of simulating surfaces is widely known and is used in interior design. When it is unique that no other craftsman can repeat it is recognized nearly as jewelry and rag-making, etc. All the items that cost money due to the high workmanship and hours, months and sometimes years of creation. Same way was built the historical hand-made furniture. Same way the current abstract decorations will hold in time. It is made for someone as rich as royalties but it doesn’t mean that it has anything to do with artistic creativity, the most mysterious and unexplained human phenomenon.

So anyone who is interested to earn money as a maker of such luxury items and be able to place them in the store for sale – the art gallery, can come up with own recipe for surface replica and start working will find a paying job on the art scene nowadays...

It doesn’t involve questioning of morals, times and life. It involves many hours of working and ability to produce varieties of the same surfaces in good taste. Instead of questioning human spirituality, or questioning art means that someone considers irrelevant and outdated, not for any breakthrough to create something revolutionary new.

Found at a recent estate sale

 

1960’s era (?) Wooden Double Nine Dominoes # 554 made by Cardinal Industries, INC Brooklyn, NY – Made in Western Germany.

 

1960’s era (?) Wooded Double Six Dominoes # 623

Made by Halsam Products INC., 4114-4124 S. Ravenswood Avenue, Chicago, Illinois. USA

 

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Halsam Products Co. & Elgo Plastics, est. 1917

 

Upon encountering an old cylindrical cardboard container of “American Plastic Bricks by Elgo,” nine out of ten people are likely to make the same spontaneous assumption—that they’re looking at a cheap knockoff of LEGO.

 

. . . And a lazy one at that. I mean . . . ELGO? It’s a bit on-the-nose for a toy set involving rectangular interlocking plastic building-blocks, ain’t it? Did they really think they could just swap the first two letters of the name and shamelessly piggyback off the success of those ingenious Danish toy pioneers over at the LEGO Corporation—the one brand forever synonymous with this genre of children’s entertainment?

 

Well, as it turns out, the classic copycat narrative isn’t quite as cut-and-dried here as it first appears. For an accusation of plagiarism to stand up in court, the chronology of the two items in question is just as important as any comparison of their content. And in the case of our Chicago-made American Plastic Bricks, the timeline reveals a surprising truth that flies in the face of our pop-cultural presumptions.

 

That’s right, folks. It was ELGO, not LEGO, that built its bricks first!

 

In what has to rank as one of the more bizarre semi-coincidences in the history of registered trademarks, ELGO Plastics, Inc. was actually established as a division of Chicago’s Halsam Products Company in 1941—long before LEGO entered the American marketplace (1961). Odder still, the inter-locking toy bricks developed by Halsam / ELGO were introduced in the late 1930s, pre-dating LEGO’s foray into that same field (1949’s “Automatic Binding Bricks) by a full decade.

 

Everything may be awesome in Legoland, but original? Not so much.

 

In fairness, it seems that both the Danes and Americans came to their eerily similar identities quite independently. In Denmark, the “LEGO” name had been put into use with the company’s early wood toys as a reference to the phrase “leg godt,” meaning “play well.” Meanwhile, in Chicago, established toy makers Harold “Hal” Elliott and Samuel Goss, Jr. chose to name their new plastics business after themselves: combining the EL from Elliott with the GO from Goss (hence, EL-GO!).

This was standard operating procedure for the duo, mind you, as they’d started their original toy business back in 1917 by using the same cutesy taxonomical technique: HAL Elliot + SAM Goss = HALSAM Products

  

History of Halsam Products Co., Part I: Hal and Sam

 

Before becoming business partners, Hal Elliott (1886-1973) and Sam Goss Jr. (1896-1976) were already family; brothers-in-law to be precise. Hal, a former clothes dealer and insurance salesman, married Sam’s sister Hazel Goss in 1915, putting the two men literally under the same roof for several years at the stately Goss family home in the north suburb of New Trier.

Back then, Hal was known by his birth name, Harold Elliott Hirsch—the German surname having come over with his grandparents. After World War I broke out, however, he elected to swap the order of his middle name and last name as a safeguard against growing anti-German sentiments. He would be Harold H. Elliott from that point forward.

 

Sam Goss Jr., like Elliott, was a second generation American (in his case, of English stock), but he’d been raised into wealth, rather than marrying into it. His father Samuel Goss, Sr. and uncles Frederick and William Goss were the founders of Chicago’s Goss Printing Press Company—known for an innovative “Straightline” rotary press that had become the standard of the newspaper industry in the early 20th century.

 

As Sam Jr. came of age, the obvious progression would have been for his father to simply groom him—and his new brother-in-law Hal—for long term positions in the family business. And indeed, both young men would eventually serve on the board of the Goss Printing Press Co. Before his death in 1922, however, patriarch Samuel Goss Sr. seemed quite intent on seeing the next generation build something of their own first; a business wholly outside the printing industry. Maybe it was the uncertainty of World War I that was the motivating factor, or a nostalgia for the simpler distractions of youth. Either way, the building blocks were soon laid for Sam and Hal’s new venture, and coincidentally, it involved building blocks.

 

II. Chip Off the Old Blocks

 

By most accounts, Hal Elliott and Sam Goss Jr. officially organized the Halsam Products Company in 1917; hence the HAL-SAM name. But according to historian Herman Kogan’s 1985 book Goss: Proud of the Past, Committed to the Future—a history of the Goss Printing Press Co.—it was really Samuel Goss Senior who got the ball rolling, essentially handing his kid the keys to a factory and arranging most of the furniture therein.

 

“Early in 1917,” Kogan writes, “as a hedge against possible economic slowdowns, [Goss Sr.] had purchased a small toy factory in Muskegon Heights, Michigan, which specialized in hand-crafted wooden A-B-C blocks for children. His partner was his son-in-law, Harold Elliott, so the name affixed to the company was Halsam.”

Kogan acknowledges that Sam Sr. subsequently handed off the daily operations of the toy business to Elliott and young Sam Jr., and that the Michigan factory was promptly removed to Chicago at 4114 Ravenswood Avenue. But this still conflicts with the notion that Sam Jr. was the original “SAM” in the HALSAM equation. Kogan goes a step further, too, crediting the elder Goss Sr. with not only buying the toy business, but coming up with the “vital contrivance” of the new enterprise, as well.

 

“Using basic principles of printing presses,” he writes, “[Goss Sr.] designed a machine that stamped letters on the blocks automatically and increased their output a thousand-fold and more.”

The 1961 book Toys in America refutes this, giving credit to the prodigal son, Sam Goss Jr., for applying the technology of his dad’s industry into the toy trade:

“Since his father had been a manufacturer of rotary printing presses for newspapers,” the author states, “it was natural for [Goss Jr.] to adapt the principles of such a press to a continuous column of wooden blocks instead of a sheet of paper.”

Whichever Goss you give the credit to [patent records suggest papa], the result is the same: the Halsam Products Company thrived immediately by relying on modern automation and factory efficiency to make quality alphabet blocks and dominoes at a cheap price. By the time Sam Goss Sr. died in 1922, his son and son-in-law had already turned the upstart toy business into a major player on the national scene, gaining significant ground on the former dominant manufacturer of wooden alphabet blocks, the Embossing Company of Albany, New York.

 

Compared to the Embossing Company’s relatively old-fashioned methods, Halsam’s blocks were produced at a furious pace at the Ravenswood plant, with far fewer workers needed to do so.

With only two attendants, a single block press turned out 175,000 blocks a day,” according to Toys In America. “And with two such presses, the Halsam plant’s output came to 350,000 blocks daily.

 

“Another Halsam machine made dominoes with almost no attention from a human being; as the black hardwood blocks moved forward, the varying numbers of white spots were added, and when the dominoes reached the end of the machine, they slid into a box that held the requisite number for a complete set, already sorted. This machine turned out 8,000 complete sets of dominoes each day, and the demand was such that it never stopped working, except for occasional repair and cleaning

 

Advanced machinery also allowed for quick innovations. When the toy buyers at Marshall Field’s told Goss and Elliott that some parents were complaining about the sharp corners of their alphabet blocks, the company developed rounded corners and introduced “Safety Blocks” to cleverly address the concerns. In the 1920s, grooves were added with the “Hi-Lo” line of wood blocks, enabling easier stacking. Halsam was already becoming an authority on a whole new generation of “construction” toys.

 

III. Re-Construction

 

Notably, Halsam’s entire toy line was wood-based during its early years, so when a small fire broke out in the factory in March of 1928, the “large amounts of wood, sawdust, and celluloid” in the building quickly turned the blaze into a raging inferno, costing upwards of $100,000 in damages (about $1.5 million in modern dough). Had this occurred just 18 months later, it might have permanently destroyed the business, as rebuilding a factory after the stock market crash could have seemed like a fool’s errand. Instead, in these final rosy days of the Roaring ’20s, the fire was seen as the impetus for Goss and Elliott to build a whole new plant on the same location, twice the size of the original.

 

“The new Halsam factory is running at full blast,” read a December 1928 advertisement, suggesting that the re-built, five-story facility had opened less than nine months after the fire. “Our equipment and working conditions are as modern as will be found in any manufacturing institution. . . . Halsam has always been a quality line, and we will not contend that our new modern factory will have any bearing on a better quality . . . our policy has always been to give the best . . . but we do feel that with our increased production facilities, warehouse space and ideal working conditions, we will be better able to serve our many customers and prospective customers.”

 

The expectation was that Halsam’s new factory would be well equipped to handle continued exciting growth in the 1930s, but as a sobering new economic reality set in, the company soon recognized that it would require more than just slick automation to maintain its gains. Clever marketing and new product development would determine whether penny-pinching American families would still give them their business.

 

IV. Mouse in the House

 

And so, just a few years into the Depression, Halsam became one of the first of many businesses to ink a licensing deal with Kay Kamen Ltd., the new merchandising contractor for the Walt Disney Company. Disney was still an upstart animation studio at the time, but Mickey Mouse was rapidly on the rise, and the use of his image on Halsam’s Mickey Mouse Safety Blocks and Mickey Mouse Dominoes (along with Minnie, Pluto, and others) played at least a small role in establishing the character’s iconic status.

 

“We feel quite proud of the fact that we have secured the rights to use Mickey and his family,” Hal Elliott told Playthings magazine in 1934. Not only would the character help generate widespread interest and sales, but, as Elliott emphasized, “the Walt Disney Enterprises are very exact in their requirement for licensing and do not allow the use of their characters except on recognized quality lines of merchandise and by well established and reliable manufacturers.”

 

By 1939, there was even a Halsam toy set called “Disneyland Blocks,” so named nearly two decades before the actual Disneyland theme park opened in Anaheim.

A similar bit of branding ingenuity in the ‘30s can be seen with Halsam’s entrance into the field of “toy building logs,” a genre invented and dominated by Chicago’s Lincoln Logs since the early 1920s.

As the story goes, JC Penney had approached Halsam about making a knockoff version of Lincoln Logs, which were being exclusively distributed through Montgomery Ward stores at the time. Goss and Elliott balked at the idea of copying the design, however, and instead recruited a talented Swedish engineer named Nils I. Paulson—a veteran of the Goss Printing Press Co.—to help them make their own, distinct style of stacking log; square-shaped rather than round.

Patented in 1936, Paulson’s square log design was eventually packaged alternately as Halsam’s “Frontier Logs,” “American Logs,” and “Walt Disney Early Settlers Logs,” among other names. Unlike the LEGO scenario described earlier, American Logs were certainly derivative of a more established product.

 

But Halsam’s marketing team had identified a very specific hole in the existing marketplace. Lincoln Logs, from their inception, had never sold well in the South, where the grandkids of Confederates were still dissuaded from touching anything associated with the 16th president (namesake logs included). Thus, when Halsam’s generically patriotic “American Logs” arrived on the scene, they offered no such impediments, and sold well below the Mason-Dixon Line a result.

 

That was just the first of many successes for Nils Paulson, who would remain a vitally important figure in the Halsam offices for roughly three decades. Besides designing the American Logs and new machines for manufacturing them, he also led the way in the company’s logical evolution from stacking logs to stacking bricks.

 

In 1939, Paulson’s patent application for the “toy building brick” described the concept as such: “toy building members in the form of rectangular parallelepipedons, the sides and ends of which simulate in appearance the sides and ends of a plurality of ordinary building bricks.”

 

Paulson’s brick, which was still made from wood in its original manifestation, also introduced “a new and improved form and arrangement of dowels and sockets . . . whereby any two members of the set may be quickly and easily secured together in the desired relative positions, and yet may be easily separated when it is desired to tear down the structure.”

 

There had been a handful of inter-locking, socket-style brick toys on the market in the years just prior to this—including the rubberized Bild-O-Brik (made by the Rubber Specialties Co. of Conshohocken, Pennsylvania) and Minibrix; a British version introduced by the Premo Rubber Co. in 1935. None had gained any significant traction (pun intended), however, and the race to perfect the concept was wide open.

 

V. Hello Elgo

 

The original run of Halsam’s “American Bricks”—rolled out between 1939 and 1940—were probably more akin to the company’s dominoes than its alphabet blocks or Frontier Logs. All pieces in a set were pressed from hardwood, identical in size and shape, and equipped with a peg, socket, and slot construction—intended to replicate the actual geometry of the brick mason’s trade.

 

From the beginning, the pieces were available in bright reds and yellows, and the full kits included decorative windows, doors, and “shingled” cardboard roofs. Compared to putting together a boring old log cabin, this would have felt like a genuinely awesome leap forward, but in fact, it was more of a hop.

The real leap came in 1941, when Nils Paulson and the Halsam team started a full-scale transition from simple hardwoods to the injected molded plastics of the nuclear age. With early successful experiments making bakelite checkers and dominoes, Goss and Elliott felt confident enough to launch a new division of the company—yup, the pioneering ELGO Plastics—with the next goal of making a plastic version of their interlocking bricks. Elgo’s first offices were located at 1801 Warner Avenue.

 

American Plastic Bricks were probably ready to hit the market as early as 1942, but the new priorities of wartime America shelved the project, as the Halsam plants shifted mostly into government contract work.

When Halsam and Elgo returned to full-time amusement-making after the war, Paulson and the rest of the R&D team had had plenty of time to consider exactly how a plastic brick building set ought to work. Harold Elliott, who’d lived in England during part of the 1940s while leading the UK office of the Goss Printing Press Co., also reported back on some of the popular British construction toys his son Kip (aka Harold Elliott Jr.) had enjoyed playing with while there, including the aforementioned Minibrix and a superior new entry into the genre, the Kiddicraft Self-Locking Building Brick, which was made of injection-molded plastic.

 

According to some sources, Kip Elliott himself was given an active role in the development of Elgo’s American Plastic Bricks, but in point of fact, he was just 16 years old when the toy first hit the market in 1947, so any real leadership would likely have come later.

Interestingly, American Plastic Bricks and Kiddicraft both debuted in ’47, but it’s usually only the latter that’s honored with the title of “predecessor to LEGO bricks,” as Wikipedia puts it. Presumably, this is because the Danish toymakers at LEGO were “influenced” by Britain’s Kiddicraft before they’d seen Chicago’s offerings. But still, if it’s not clear by now, Hal and Sam have never really gotten the credit they’re due.

 

VI. Sturdy and Permanent

 

Keeping in mind that LEGO was still a non-entity in America through the entirety of the 1950s, Elgo’s American Plastic Bricks played a far greater role than the former in introducing Baby Boomers to the concept of snapping together their own miniature plastic cities. Admittedly, Elgo promotional materials also encouraged young builders to “cement together” their creations to make them “sturdy and permanent,” suggesting these early bricks didn’t exactly lock in place reliably on their own. But still, there was plenty of fun to be had and few limitations.

 

“It’s simply fascinating to build modern homes, schools, stores and all sorts of other buildings with American Plastic Bricks,” piped another 1953 ad. “. . . The perfect gift for children four to twelve years and older.”

Unlike a lot of toys of the 1950s, Halsam’s bricks, blocks, and logs also catered fairly equally to boys and girls—both through traditional print advertising as well as the new medium of children’s television

commercials.

 

The American Plastic Bricks container in our museum collection is fine evidence of this unisex branding, as the artwork features both a cartoon boy and girl enjoying their own construction projects while barely tolerating each other.

Men and women co-existed in fairly equal numbers at the Halsam factory, as well, where 175 workers were on the books in 1953—many of them focused on packing and shipping, since the plastic toys virtually manufactured themselves.

 

Back in the ’20s, the company had filled its ranks largely with German-American craftsmen from around the Ravenswood neighborhood, but like the city in general, the diversity of the staff had expanded with each subsequent decade, and a lot of training was done on the job.

By the mid ‘50s, as the next generation of Gosses and Elliotts took on larger roles with the business (specifically Samuel’s sons Sam III and Bill Goss, and Hal’s son Kip Elliott), Halsam Products really reached the peak of its powers.

 

In a particularly symbolic move, the company purchased its original wood block rival, the Embossing Company, which became a short-lived Halsam subsidiary in 1955. Around the same time, Halsam / Elgo outgrew its longtime Ravenswood plant, moving its workforce up the road to a larger, modern, one-story complex (107,000 sq. ft.) at 3610 W. Touhy Avenue in Skokie.

  

While Nils Paulson was still developing exciting new construction toys like the “Skyline Series” (the first skyscraper-focused toy brick set), the ’50s really saw a lot of creative attention paid to product packaging, with vivid colors and tall, tube-style boxes, including the rectangular Club Dominoes container in our museum collection, as well as the American Plastic Bricks mega sets.

  

“For the first time . . . American Plastic Bricks are offered in large, durable tubes that have strong merchandising appeal,” read a 1956 sales sheet. “The spacious tubes are a display in themselves. Clearly identifying labels printed in four colors and high gloss finish easily attract the eye and demand consumer interest.”

 

The same 1956 sales sheet, sent out to potential Halsam Products distributors, defined the company’s mission statement fairly succinctly.

“Each product in the Halsam line must fit one definition: is it a ‘basic tool of play?’ If it is, then we have three great advantages in the highly competitive toy industry:

 

1. The child wants it . . . because Halsam toys fulfill children’s basic desire to build, to create.

2. The parent, who buys it, wants it . . . because the Halsam toy provides a natural, desirable outlet for children’s mental and physical energy.

3. You, the seller, want it . . . because being a basic staple toy the Halsam product maintains high volume sales year after year—all with the attractive profit structures which have made Halsam famous.”

  

VII. Too Cool for Playskool

 

During its time as a family-run business, Halsam never really altered its mission, nor did it experience a real concerning downward trend. Its old reliables—Safety Blocks, Dominoes, Checkers, and Disney tie-ins—were still going strong through the ‘50s, and the company was doing about $4 million in annual sales, with Christmas demands always turning the Skokie plant into a bustling Santa’s workshop of sorts. Harold Elliott had done well enough in life by this point that in July of 1959, his 65-foot yacht—named the Carolyn IV after his daughter—was briefly mistaken by Chicago TV crews for the Royal Barge of the visiting British monarch, Queen Elizabeth II.

  

There’s another story about a certain European visit to Chicago—at roughly this same time period—that’s been passed around through several copy/pasted Halsam histories on the internet, but doesn’t seem to have much hard evidence to substantiate it. According to this apocryphal account, there was actually a face-to-face meeting between representatives of Elgo Plastics (specifically Bill Goss) and visiting dignitaries from Denmark’s Lego Group just ahead of Lego’s entry into the U.S. market in 1961.

 

Lego’s new president, Godtfred Kirk Christiansen [pictured], was dead set on conquering America, and would have been very aware not only of a potential conflict with Elgo’s exisiting plastic bricks, but in the ridiculous similarity of the two company’s names. So, as legend has it, Lego agreed to pay Elgo the whopping sum of . . . $25,000 . . . to “square itself”—whatever that means—and thus storm the shores of the USA unchallenged.

 

Whether that meeting ever happened or not, the way things played out in the 1960s certainly opens up a yacht-load of “what if?” scenarios when it comes to Lego’s rise and Elgo’s fall.

During a hugely successful Christmas season in 1961, the Tribune was already reporting negotiations of a merger between Halsam and Playskool—another Chicago toymaking giant. And by January of 1962, the deal was done. Playskool took ownership of Halsam, Elgo, and the Embossing Company in exchange for $3 million in

Playskool stock.

 

Samuel Goss Jr. and Hal Elliott, both having reached retirement age, took places on the Playskool board of directors. At the time, they probably felt like they’d solidified the business they’d spent the past 45 years building, metaphorically “cementing together” its ability to meet the ever-growing demands of the toy biz in the future. Obviously, it didn’t work out that way.

 

While Playskool continued to manufacture Halsam-branded toys out of the Touhy Avenue plant in the 1960s—including American Plastic Bricks—a series of additional buyouts complicated the arrangement. After Milton Bradley took over Playskool in 1968, Halsam manufacturing was moved under Playskool’s own roof, and holdovers like Kip Elliott and Bill Goss (who’d been working as the VP of Sales and Marketing with Playskool) eventually moved on.

 

By the time Playskool opened its new Chicago factory in 1973, the Halsam name was barely uttered, and “Plastic Building Bricks” were sold under the Playskool brand only. When Hasbro subsequently purchased Milton Bradley in 1984, the closure of Playskool’s Chicago facility essentially buried Hal and Sam’s legacy for good.

  

In 2015, in unrelated news, the Lego Group collected over $2 billion in revenue, making it the largest toy company in the world.

 

Peace Of My Mind

It would have been the fall of 1970. The White House days, The White House being my lodgings on Weston Road for a few years, located next to the Loblaws store where I’d pilfered my moms Players Plains years earlier and kept the coins to barter for friends with pockets full of candy bought at the shabby corner variety store towards the end of Guestville Avenue on the way to Our Lady of Victory school. The very same home once owned by a Doctor that I would walk by as a boy on the way to school, it had meticulously cared for lawns with an abundance of lilac bushes, rose and peony gardens all set behind a painted black ornamental steel fence placed along the outer edges of the entire property. The fence had pointed Victorian styled dagger fleur de lis finial trim at regular intervals. Behind the fence there were numerous hedges to keep the common folk from looking in at the garden parties held in the warm summer time, it was the grandest house.

The same White House where we had thrown the Beatles Abbey Road lawn party one warm summer night in 1969 after acquiring the first copy in Canada of the new album from an executive (to remain unknown) at Capitol Records on Airport Road near, where else, the airport. The same White House where on one of my first hits of acid, I felt as if I had shrunk into a ‘little man’ and tried, rather unsuccessfully to get under the bed, thinking I was a tiny person. In my mind my voice sounded, to me at least like someone on laughing gas, it was very frightful. That same White House where for years, the guys (Bill, Frank and Jack the Bell brothers, Peter, Frank Herbert, the Count) had come to drink our Saturday Night Libations, we were all serious beer drinkers and at times too poor to go to fratty clubs like the Place Pigalle on Avenue Road or the Embassy Tavern on Belair Street near Bloor and Bay.

The White House where the landlady a thin British woman would chastise us for sneaking cases of warm Molsons and Labatts beer up to the room hidden (not very well) in a crammed hockey bag. The landlady’s name was Mrs. Clark . I recall having a letter size black and white poster/photograph mounted on a faded green wall in the room, of a woman who was bent over leg raised to a wooden chair wearing a pair of white panties adjusting her stockings held up by a garter belt, her generous breasts falling out of a white brassier, voluminous dark hair off to one side, a smoke in one hand, a very sultry poster that in a way resembled Mrs.Clark from the fourties, not a naughty photo at all compared to todays smut. There was lots of other ART in the room, various posters that had been thieved around town, of gigs by now famous musicians, like Downchild playing at the Arlington Bar, as well as the Kendall Wall band appearing at Grossmans Tavern, there was an air raid shelter sign taken from a wall in Buffalo the time we (Bill and I) went to enlist in the marines and told to join our own forces, there was a large 8X10 colour photograph of myself driving the MG Midget down the fabled lanes of Windfields Farm that I had made Billy take while perched on the hood of the tiny car.

That room on the third floor of The White House, where instead of walking down to the can to have a leak on the second floor and having to look at Old John in his pee stained ivory one piece long johns who would leave his rooming house door open for all to see into we would piss in a jar or stubby beer bottle or right out the third floor window that faced north up Weston Road. Across the street there was Renatos Pizzeria where for a five dollar bill you could order an Extra Large Buttered Pizza with nothing on it except the crust and butter, delivered! There was the Glenvalley Variety Store where Les Niremberg the actor worked for his parents. My favourite shop was the New Silver Tip Restaurant where many a Sunday morning the Chicken Rice Soup was better than breast milk for curing a hangover.

Peter was attending St. Lawrence University in upper New York State on a full hockey scholarship. He was home for a one week school break, his mom, Isobel offered to put the gas in the car for us to get him back to school. The car was a gold and cream coloured Austin Healey 3000 Mark III. A powerful vehicle with five speeds and an overdrive. Pilfered large Pirelli tires had been installed on the back wheels, the wheel wells had to be altered slightly for them to fit. One of the Ainsworth boys on Victoria Blvd helped install the tires in the back lane near the York Township sheds. He didn’t mind getting his hands dirty. The car had been purchased off a used car lot in the Yonge and Sheppard area for the sum of $400. There was no insurance, only the government sponsored, Unsatisfied Judgment that you could purchase for $50 at the time of registering the vehicle and obtaining license plates. Cars did not require ‘certification or e tests’ as they do today, there were plenty of cheap cars to be had. The funds to purchase the car may have come from my gig at the Continental Can Company where I worked under the name, Mike Cooper for the summer. There was an elegance to the car, it was more than stylish, it was also in my opinion very classy. Although the body of the Healey was beginning to deteriorate, one could overlook the small patches of rust and look at ‘the bigger picture’ so to speak.

Pete and I left for Canton New York around mid morning on a bright golden fall day in October of 1970. I have fond recollections of us passing around a cooked roast beef provided by Mrs. Brennan for our lunch, she had packed it in a piece of tin foil. I remember how good tasting that hunk of beef was, it was probably a Top Sirloin, it was cooked and spiced perfectly. Each of us would tackle the roast like road kill until it was gone. The ride went without incident we pulled up to a Border Crossing the one that crossed at Prescott, Onatrio over to Ogdensberg, New York. Since Peter was a student we were passed into the States without so much as a drivers license being shown.

Canton was about an hours drive from the border, east a bit then south into the farm belt of New York State. In that small community sits one of the establishments hallowed schools, St. Lawrence University. The town itself was comprised of a typical downtown commercial strip with the usual shops and restaurants, pizzerias for the students, bars for the students, places to get eggs and fries, but no vinegar, they didn’t know about vinegar, two eggs and chips cost $1.50. At the time Pete was staying with some guys at a house not far from the campus it was his second year. He had made buddies with a longhair named Arnie and Arnie’s dog Susan a collie. Arnie and Susan lived on a ramshackle wood heated farm not far from town, they got to town driving a side step light green 1956 Chev pick up. A guy named Peanut would come over to the house on his motorcycle, he was a Vietnam veteran later we would learn he died in a crash. The other roommates never seemed to be home. We stacked the beer in the fridge and I recall drinking the beer out of washed out mustard jars. Boiled Oscar Meyer wieners on rye bread were the food choices on the house menu.

The school grounds were comprised of this leafy enclave of brick buildings built in the turn of the century style of architecture, some of the buildings had been around since the 1850s. The school had grown considerably since its founding, in all the walking campus was comprised of almost a hundred acres. For the most part the school had a reputation for having intelligent students, taught by top notch professors. Pete was an exception, he was a jock and an import to boot. Drinking seemed to be the national past time. After freshening up Pete took us to a big frat party on the lawn of this football playing fellows parents three story home on the edge of the main street of town. There were hundreds of people there, all drinking warm pissy beer from kegs that had been set up to serve the crowd. Down the road a bit, another party was taking place in a frat house, more people, more warm beer in plastic glasses, I think it was homecoming weekend. At night we went to the Club Tic Toc and drank more beer, then eggs and chips across the street at the Diner. We stopped into Billys Lower Bar and drank a few more beers then made it home in one piece.

Monday morning The Healey was parked near a driveway of a big home on a side street, a car came down the driveway and backed right into the right side fender, leaving a scratch a few inches long, I got out of the car to surmise the damages, an older lady, perhaps in her seventies got out of her sedan to examine the damage, she was very nice, she went, “oh my god, look what I’ve done” she was very upset with herself. She went in the house and called her insurance broker, who came right over, and calmed her down. She invited me in while she made the call, everything was perfect in the home, like a TV show. The Insurance person came and estimated the damages then she wrote me a cheque for the full amount to have the car repaired $85, can you imagine that, paid for the damages on the spot, the police were not informed. I recall paying Pete the $10 bucks I owed him. By this time I was thinking of heading home to Toronto, I was played out and Pete had classes to think about. I stopped at the local ABC store and bought a case of Ripple Wine for less than two dollars a bottle, threw it in the back seat along with my few clothes and headed towards Canada. I made a right turn at the river and headed along the smooth and barren American side of the St. Lawrence River. The Healey was up to the task, I had her in overdrive and the speedometer read 160 MPH…a short while later the motor blew, I must have blown a cylinder or a piston or whatever it is that gives in a car. It was all I could do to coax the car into a service station where I discovered there was very little oil left in the crankcase.

Fortunately, the car did run and after putting in four quarts of oil that I traded four bottle of Ripple for I limped off to Montreal to visit my mothers mother at her home. It was almost dark by the time I got there. All day long the Canadian radio station had been discussing the FLQ crisis, the kidnapping of the minister Quebec minister Pierre Laporte. There were soldiers with rifles on the streets of Montreal, it was as close to war as our country could be. On the doors of the Healey I put two War is Over If You Want It Posters that I had in the boot of the car. With these anti war posters I drove around the city that the Prime Minister had declared an emergency and invoked the War Measures Act. Numerous soldiers were posted at street corners I could see them snarl as they read the message on the posters.

The visit at my grandmother Lauza Lemay’s house did not go well, she may have been in the early stages of Alzheimers, she was confused, her English was very poor, my French no better we had difficulty communicating. It was very stiff and formal, she came from the type of generation that was more comfortable with visitors who had made prior arrangements. One of my mothers sisters Raymonde was present, she was staying at the home as well, she was very obliging and made me feel comfortable, while relaxing in the basement family room they gave me a gift from my deceased grandfather to take to Ontario, it was one of his paintings, he painted under the nom de plume Leon Yamel, his name spelt backwards. I was offered food and a bed to sleep in which I gladly accepted. The day was just beginning. I left the home in the suburb of St. Laurent and took a drive downtown, the Healey did well in low revs, you wouldn’t know it was sick. All along the streets you could see armed Soldiers ready to take action. The FLQ were considered a terrorist threat capable of dark deeds. This was the international news story of the day.

While waiting for a traffic light to change a man introduced himself, he worked as a DJ at a local radio station, he thought the signs on the car doors were cool, he invited me to come to the station to be interviewed for his evening talk show. I was naturally quite excited, I went to the station where I spoke with the host who interviewed me for quite some time, who knows what words I had given them, something I am sure along the lines of John and Yoko’s War is Over if you Want It. While at the station the DJ gave me some John and Yoko photo enlargements from the recent Bed In which made the World News. Afterwards I went driving around the downtown core, not very subtle as I was looking for trouble by displaying the posters attached to the car doors. This created quite a stir. The contrast between the soldiers the scared residents and the cars message was like the difference between light and dark.

It was getting late, I realized my prescription for Valiums, just a small dose of size 5 pills, was almost out. This is a terrible drug, a drug that though legal when prescribed had the worst effects of any that I had experimented with. I can’t recall why my family doctor had prescribed them to me in the first place. In any case in a very short period of time I was physically wired to the blue pills. The withdrawal was very difficult, I have been told as difficult as any illegal substance to wean oneself from. At the hospital emergency room a Doctor read the label on my old prescription bottle and issued me a temporary prescription for twenty or so pills. I was good to go for another week. The effects the pill had on me was almost instant, the addiction very subtle, the pill in my case would turn this introverted quiet person into a Chatty Cathy. I listened to the interview on the radio station at a downtown restaurant where they changed the station for me at my insistence to hear the eight PM broadcast. Today, I have no idea what the interview was about. Peace I suppose. The celebrity of it all was not a lasting matter, but I must say, as an act of protest it remains quite a moment.

The Healey and I pulled into my grandmothers house around 11 that night, frail and confused, dressed in a nighty the sweet woman opened the door and let me in. I slept well, like a child. Who would know that when I kissed her goodbye in the morning, softly spoke to her in my halting French, ‘bonsoir granmere’ that this would be the last time I would see her.

There remain fond memories of visiting the family in Quebec as a child. One time we all piled into a car my dad had borrowed, he said to mother, ‘make sure you go to the bathroom before we leave’ as the eight of us we piled into the car. Early on, Sue Al and myself played a game we invented called Volkswagen. To win you had to be the first one to spot one of the new car sensations driving on either side of the road, when you saw it, you shouted out ‘Volkswagen’ in order to beat the other person. The other two boys, Kevin and Shane would point their toy revolvers out the window emulating Roy Rogers or was it Hop a Long Cassidy or one of the other cowboy heroes of the day whom we would see on Saturday mornings watching the black and white TV. Barbara was less than a year old on this trip, she was all wrapped up in blankets, put to rest between mom and dad on the front seat. We got off the new 401 near Kingston then stopped for a lunch of salmon sandwiches at a picnic rest along the less busy highway two, along the St.Lawrence River. I distinctly recall a large ship passing us going in the opposite direction, dad explained how the canal system allowed ships to travel with their loads of goods from around the world eventually reaching the Great Lakes. Mom had a pee, we piled back into the car, Montreal was not very much further along the road.

When we got to my grandparents home we climbed the side stairs up to their large suite of rooms in the apartment situated above a commercial building. There was a large upper verandah. Nearby, there was a wonderful park with swings and teeter totters that my younger aunts and uncles would take us to. Everyone was very happy to see Gisele and her family, and of course, the new baby. The smiles were genuine, they remain so. At my grandparents home in Montreal they had their big meal at lunch time, this trip was no exception. A large ham was removed from the oven, there were the usual trimmings, boiled carrots, boiled potatoes, French Stick, as well a yellow fish that they thought was a delicacy, cod. I thought it smelt terrible as well as looked terrible. The men as well as the women drank beer poured from large quart size bottles, brands like Dow and Carlings. Everyone smoked, right there in the living room. The men for the most part wore white shirts and ties of all things. Ladies wore dresses or suits, their finery. My grandfather smoked a pipe and to keep his trousers up he wore suspenders.

That week there were many family gatherings. In order to accommodate us all Alex and I were shipped to Aunt Pauline and Uncle Maurice’s new home. It may have been in Laval. I recall Alex and I being bored to death from listening to Aunt Pauline’s record player, over and over we would play the Patti Page hit, Shrimp Boats are a Coming, over and over and over. In the mornings we would accompany her to the shops where she would pick up the milk and dairy products, fresh bread as well as a bottle of whiskey from the staid Quebec Liquor store for Uncle Maurice. He was a handsome well spoken man who favoured the Detroit Red Wings over the home town heroes the Montreal Canadiens team in the ice hockey. I’m pretty sure he supported the Wings just to irritate everyone else. In those days, the Montreal team was full of stars, such as Maurice ‘the Rocket’ Richard, Jean Beliveau, Boom Boom Geoffrion, Doug Harvey, Jaques Plante the goalie and other flashy players. It was a dynasty. Detroit was no slouch either, the Detroit stars were Alex Delvecchio and Mr.Elbows Gordie Howe as well as Terry Sawchuk in goal. Alex and I would entertain ourselves by walking the block or so to a main intersection and waving at the passerby for something to do. A large bridge passed over the river where we could see a huge concrete set of buildings, a prison, very foreboding, it may have been Bordeaux Prison.

After saying good by at my families home in Montreal I headed towards Toronto and by chance took the wrong turn towards Ottawa, I always, to this day get turned around on the Montreal express routes. I said to myself, ‘oh well, there are people in Ottawa to visit attending school”. The car would falter every now and then and I would pull into remote gas stations and trade Ripple wine for oil. Finally the car struggled to the Ottawa downtown where this girl we knew from high school was staying, she and Peter had a thing going at one time. Mickey, reluctantly gave me her couch to crash on for a few days. The car was left at a garage for analysis, I said several hail marys and our fathers before leaving it there. We drank a few beers and a jug of wine at Mickeys place, took it easy, smoked some reefer. A couple of days later the garage gave me the bad news, “your car needs a new motor”. Well, we all knew I was in no position to pay for that, I agreed to sell it to two guys who saw it at the garage for the sum of $200. Great, except they sent the money to an address in Toronto via post and it never arrived, no amount of pestering the postal authorities would get me satisfaction. The train ride to Toronto from Ottawa was uneventful. I got back to town, flat broke, not a penny in my pocket, I even think Mickey may have paid for my ticket home, to get rid of me. Reality set in, I was fucked up big time on the valiums and didn’t even know it. The rest is history….At one time on top of the world, driving around Montreal in a car festooned with posters that mocked the position of both warring parties, the FLQ and the governement of Canada, there was no crown of roses in Ontario as most folk paid more attention to the baseball and hockey scores than they did the dangerous game of politics being played in their country, we have continued to grow apathetic in regards to politics, I hear an awful lot of vicious language about our current government, much dislike. This week on Facebook, there was a quote from John Lennon, it surprised me, it went something like, "If you want Peace, just declare it, as they do when there is a war, just declare it." In the light of the shambles quickly taking over parts of the Ukraine and the seeds of unrest in Iraq I find his words to have more meaning than ever. Just Declare It........................

For TLC Sept 2014 (Technologic). More info - wp.me/p49kPp-6I

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Castles traditionally hold the title for fantastical tale’s manmade favorite locations, especially during Middle Ages. Huge structures, made up grey and cold stones, have been witness of the grandeur and the decay, as so as the main target for invaders. In the green land of mysticism, these buildings are still present in many of the towns and cities, keeping the country even more bound to the past. And I know that especially you, can feel that up there the air have more than physical particles. There is much more than humidity and grey skies, there is abstraction and mistery.

 

Once we crossed the door of that small coffee shop, we were getting in the universe of that old woman even without noticing it. We had never seen a house like that. The carpet of the stairs, the surprisingly low that all the doorknobs were and the view of the Cashel Castle on the hill. Again, there was something different in the atmosphere. We politely bid farewell, and went back to the street. Raindrops started to pour, making us walk faster and get inside the car, which was parked right in front of the door twenty-five in Ladyswell Street. The front glass was wet, and I realised that the water made the view tremendously beautiful. Even more it was. I picked up my camera and everything happened so fast. I spoted this woman, set my eye on the viewfinder and wait the reality set things in the right place. And it wonderfully happened, invisible to me during 1/250 of a second. We couldn’t believe the image that Cashel had just gave us. A single penny in kilometres of fresh grass.

 

Listening to: Let it go, by Linnea M.

 

Yup, that's the face that shows up when reality sets in.