Hug Point State Park. Cannon Beach, Oregon USA

I'm in love with this aircraft. Not just the H-21, but this specific airframe. It's in a far corner of the restoration yard at the Pima Air and Space Museum, and it's the aircraft I find myself wanting to photograph more than any other bird they have on display there. Unfortunately, since it's in the restoration yard, it's off-limits to the public, and ESPECIALLY off-limits during the night photoshoots we're lucky enough to occasionally have out there.

 

I used to hate photographing derelict or stored aircraft. "Dead airplanes bum me out" was my rationale.

 

When you look at an in-service aircraft, you see a living, breathing machine. You see vitality and capability. You see fresh paint and even fresher oil stains underneath it. You smell all the smells of an aircraft in the prime of its life - oil, metal, rubber, and holy crap the jet fuel. At least for me, I'm too busy be awestruck by everything that a modern aircraft is right at this moment to think about what it has done or who has flown it.

 

With a 'dead' aircraft, there's nothing but memory. They're still impressive, especially considering some of the limitations designers and manufacturers faced in terms of contemporary design standards and material sciences and powerplant technology. Yes, they're impressive, but it's not immediate.

 

I don't know what it is about this H-21, but I look at it and I get contemplative. I think about whether any of the silver-haired Air Force veterans who flew or crewed this aircraft are still alive, and if they are, if they ever think about it. Like, when was the last time anyone asked them what they flew? Do they still have start-up and shut-down procedures committed to memory? Where did their careers go after the H-21 was retired? Did they stay in the Air Force? Did they fly professionally as civilians? Did they ever fly at all ever again? Whenever they hear a helicopter, do they close their eyes and imagine their days cruising over a beach or through a mountain pass in an H-21, wishing they could experience that feeling all over again?

 

I look at this old, broken, rusted hulk of a helicopter, and I want to know how it lived and about the men who gave it life.

 

And damn do I ever want to take its picture.

Site-specific перформанс Ірини Плотнікової "IceDora" на фестивалі сучасного мистецтва Гогольфест 2016, Київ, Україна © repor.to/

Trichocentrum longicalcaratum in situ, sans taches dans les pétales et les sépales. L'imagination de la nature n'a pas de limite pour s'adapter á des centaines d'habitats particuliers avec des microclimats spécífiques, créant des especes d'orchidées les plus surprenantes les unes que les autres de par leurs formes, couleurs et parfums. Colombie.

 

Trichocentrum longicalcaratum in situ, without dots on the petals and sepals. Imagination of nature has no limit to adapt to hundreds of particular habitats with specific microclimate, creating more astounding orchid species one than the other by their shapes, colors and fragrances. Colombia.

 

Trichocentrum longicalcaratum in situ, sin manchas en los pétalos y sépalos. La imaginación de la naturaleza no tiene límite para adaptarse a cientos de hábitats particulares con microclimas específicos, creando especies de orquídeas más asombrosas una que la otra por sus formas, colores y fragancias. Colombia.

I am not exactly a huge fan of having one day of the year to decide to be a better human. You should strive to do this every day of the year. What is lacking in humans is that we long for specific time demarcations to make major life decisions. Everyone intelligent already knows we're just stuck in 40AD anyway.

 

I digress, the truth is I make these resolutions every day lately and try to uphold them.

 

Kindness and All Lives Matter:

 

How terrible that a bunch of stupid white people had to ruin the Black Lives Matter movement with "All Lives Matter" when it was really just about their own stupid white guilt and all that.

 

But, to me, the actual concept behind All Lives Matter does make sense. Let me break it down.

 

The lives of animals who feel pain and emotions, who love their young, who live and breathe our same air and, just like us, don't like to graze on plants filled with chemicals or be pumped with growth hormones matter.

 

The lives of Native Americans who have had their land taken time and time again and their culture reduced to meaningless symbols by white people matter.

 

The lives of all women who have to drive several states just to have appropriate medical care or terminate a pregnancy, even if it was a result of an act of rape and/or incest or if their very lives are in jeopardy matter. The lives of women who have not healed after sexual attacks or other attacks of a violent nature matter.

 

The lives of all people with disabilities who struggle to be accepted and loved, be independent, and find gainful employment matter.

 

The lives of Jewish people living amongst anti-semites, especially in places like Montana, matter.

 

The lives of hard working Latinos who provide essential work and are taken for granted, not paid fair wages, and discriminated against matter.

 

The lives of Asians who are still stereotyped and not treated as true experts, artists, and companions matter.

 

The lives of people who are transgender or transexual that cannot use the bathroom of their choice in certain states in America and in the world and are not accepted for their true identity matter. The lives of any two people in love, being it two men or two women, who do not feel safe getting married or even holding hands in public matter.

 

The lives of immigrants living in a country which, at one time, welcomed immigrants as a part of its national identity and has now become hateful and spiteful matter.

 

The lives of Muslims who are stereotyped every day, who are taunted and whose burkas are literally pulled off by white supremacists and Trump supporters matter.

 

And yes, of course, the lives of African Americans who have had their lives taken away by police officers who laugh at the idea of justice and who get off without any kind of consequence matter. The government has actively and systematically defunded public schools for poor minorities and profited off of their imprisonment and it is an outrage.

 

We are at a very crucial time in America's history and, indeed, the world's history. Not enough people realize that "May you live in interesting times" might in fact be the biggest curse. We must work actively to fight even the insidious nonchalant racism. Confront any racism or homophobia within yourself, be a mobile safe space and work to create a safe space in your community. Polite people are boring. Have some integrity and stand up for the oppressed. Even if it kills you and me, your life will have more meaning.

 

Susan B. Anthony was a racist. She wanted only white women to vote. But, Susan B. Anthony died over 100 years ago. We are better now but let's prove it.

 

Happy New Year's. You don't need one specific day to have a resolution. You don't need one particular day to start a revolution.

  

I visited an old talc mine in northern Nevada for the specific purpose of attempting to photograph one of the bats that sleep there during the day. It is quite challenging to get a photo of them as they rest face down along the walls in a passage that I can barely stand in, about chest-high off the floor. Plus, while some light does get in the relatively shallow dig, it is pretty dark for getting a camera to focus and I certainly wouldn’t want to disturb the little critters while they rest up for a night of hunting insects. I took a couple light stands and some little LED panel lights I generally use for nightscape shooting. These lights can be dimmed WAY down so as not to disturb the bats. I also borrowed my wife’s 100mm f2.8 macro lens to for the task. This lens is absolutely tack sharp and purpose built for close-up work and that big aperture lets in lots of light. The downside is that depth of field is almost nil at that focal length and aperture when you’re shooting something from a foot away. Therefore, a single frame may only have the face of a mouse-sized creature in focus and nothing else. By placing the camera on a tripod very low and pretty much leaning the camera to the wall of the passage, I was able to shoot some longish exposures to gather enough light to expose this bat. I also used my mirrorless (Canon R7)camera’s automatic focus stacking feature to shoot 32 separate frames to ensure I’d have sharp sections of the bat from front to back to later merge in Photoshop (the camera also composites them automatically but only in JPEG and I wasn’t super happy with that one). Avid macro shooters actually use a "slider" that physically moves the camera a tiny bit with each shot which produces better results as it eliminates the "breathing" that can occur by changing the focus point each time as it is done here. My result isn’t perfect but, given the challenges and not wanting to spend too much time and disturb the animals, I’m fairly pleased.

 

As to the animals themselves, I believe they are myotis lucifugus or the not-so-imaginatively named Little Brown Bat, a species of “mouse eared” bats that is, interestingly enough, not related to eptesicus fuscus, the BIG brown bat. They are fascinating little animals that I enjoy watching flit around and chase bugs above my patio on summer evenings. They can eat more than half their body weight in insects in a single night (lactating females can actually consume MORE than their body weight in a night at peak lactation). As I read up on them a bit I also found it quite interesting that females only birth one baby per year. That’s definitely not what I’d expect from such a tiny and delicate creature. They can form colonies number in the tens of thousands but this little spot probably only had a dozen or so roosting in it that I saw.

The Canada Goose (Branta canadensis) is a goose belonging to the genus Branta, which is native to North America. It is quite often called the Canadian Goose, but that name is not strictly correct, according to the American Ornithologists' Union.[2]

 

According to the Oxford English Dictionary, the first citation for the 'Canada Goose' dates back to 1772.

 

The Canada Goose was one of the many species described by Linnaeus in his 18th-century work Systema Naturae.[3] It belongs to the Branta genus of geese, which contains species with largely black plumage, distinguishing them from the grey species of the Anser genus. The specific epithet canadensis is a New Latin word meaning "of Canada".

 

A recent proposed revision by Harold Hanson suggests splitting Canada Goose into six species and 200 subspecies. This radical nature of this proposal has provoked surprise in some quarters, such as Rochard Banks of the AOU, who urges caution before any of Hanson's proposals are accepted.[4]

 

The black head and neck with white "chinstrap" distinguish the Canada Goose from all, except the Barnacle Goose, but the latter has a black breast, and grey, rather than brownish, body plumage.[5] There are seven subspecies of this bird, of varying sizes and plumage details, but all are recognizable as Canada Geese. Some of the smaller races can be hard to distinguish from the newly-separated Cackling Goose.

 

This species is 76-110 cm (30-43 in) long with a 127-180 cm (50-71 in) wingspan.[6] The male usually weighs 3.2–6.5 kg, (7–14 pounds), and can be very aggressive in defending territory. The female looks virtually identical but is slightly lighter at 2.5–5.5 kg (5.5–12 pounds), generally 10% smaller than its male counterpart, and has a different honk. An exceptionally large male of the race B. c. maxima, the "giant Canada goose" (which rarely exceed 8 kg/18 lb), weighed 10.9 kg (24 pounds) and had a wingspan of 2.24 m (88 inches). This specimen is the largest wild goose ever recorded of any species. The life span in the wild is 10–24 years.[6]

 

This species is native to North America. It breeds in Canada and the northern United States in a variety of habitats. Its nest is usually located in an elevated area near water such as streams, lakes, ponds and sometimes on a beaver lodge. Its eggs are laid in a shallow depression lined with plant material and down. The Great Lakes region maintains a very large population of Canada Geese.

 

By the early 20th century, over-hunting and loss of habitat in the late 1800s and early 1900s had resulted in a serious decline in the numbers of this bird in its native range. The Giant Canada Goose subspecies was believed to be extinct in the 1950s until, in 1962, a small flock was discovered wintering in Rochester, Minnesota by Harold Hanson of the Illinois Natural History Survey. With improved game laws and habitat recreation and preservation programs, their populations have recovered in most of their range, although some local populations, especially of the subspecies occidentalis, may still be declining.

 

In recent years, Canada Geese populations in some areas have grown substantially, so much so that many consider them pests (for their droppings, the bacteria in their droppings, noise and confrontational behavior). This problem is partially due to the removal of natural predators and an abundance of safe, man-made bodies of water (such as on golf courses, public parks and beaches, and in planned communities).

 

Contrary to its normal migration routine, large flocks of Canada Geese have established permanent residence in the Chesapeake Bay and in Virginia's James River regions. The parks and golf courses of Scottsdale, Arizona have an unusually high concentration of permanent Canada geese.

 

Canada Geese have reached northern Europe naturally, as has been proved by ringing recoveries. The birds are of at least the subspecies parvipes, and possibly others. Canada Geese are also found naturally on the Kamchatka Peninsula in eastern Siberia, eastern China, and throughout Japan.

 

Greater Canada Geese have also been introduced in Europe, and have established populations in Great Britain, the Netherlands, Belgium, and Scandinavia. Semi-tame feral birds are common in parks, and have become a pest in some areas. The geese were first introduced in Britain in the late 17th century as an addition to King James II's waterfowl collection in St. James's Park.

 

Canada Geese were introduced as a game bird into New Zealand and have also become a problem in some areas.

 

Like most geese, the Canada Goose is naturally migratory with the wintering range being most of the United States. The calls overhead from large groups of Canada Geese flying in V-shaped formation signal the transitions into spring and autumn. In some areas, migration routes have changed due to changes in habitat and food sources. In mild climates, such as the Pacific Northwest, due to a lack of former predators, some of the population has become non-migratory.

 

Canada Geese are herbivores although they sometimes eat small insects and fish. Their diet includes green vegetation and grains. The Canada Goose eats a variety of grasses when on land. It feeds by grasping a blade of grass with the bill, then tearing it with a jerk of the head. The Canada Goose also eats grains such as wheat, beans, rice, and corn when they are available. In the water, it feeds from silt at the bottom of the body of water. It also feeds on aquatic plants, such as seaweeds.[6]

 

During the second year of their lives, Canada Geese find a mate. They are monogamous, and most couples stay together all of their lives.[6] If one is killed, the other may find a new mate. The female lays 3–8 eggs and both parents protect the nest while the eggs incubate, but the female spends more time at the nest than the male. Known egg predators include Arctic Foxes, Northern Raccoons, Red Foxes, large gulls, Common Raven, American Crows and bears. During this incubation period, the adults lose their flight feathers, so they cannot fly until their eggs hatch after 25–28 days.

A crèche

 

Adult geese are often seen leading their goslings in a line, usually with one parent at the front, and the other at the back. While protecting their goslings, parents often violently chase away nearby creatures, from small blackbirds to humans that approach, after warning them by giving off a hissing sound. Most of the species that prey on eggs will also take a gosling. Although parents are hostile to unfamiliar geese, they may form groups of a number of goslings and a few adults, called crèches. The offspring enter the fledging stage any time from 6 to 9 weeks of age. They do not leave their parents until after the spring migration, when they return to their birthplace. Once they reach adulthood, Canada Geese are rarely preyed on, but (beyond humans) can be taken by Coyotes, Red Foxes, Gray Wolves, Snowy Owls, Great Horned Owls, Golden Eagles and, most often, Bald Eagles. Canada Goose populations inhabiting areas also inhabited by domesticated geese can and will interbreed with them, producing offspring that often resemble Canada Geese in shape, but with a white or gray body, dark grey head and neck, and off-white chin, with pink feet.[citation needed]

 

The young are learning to find the food, the water, the shalter by watching their parents. They also learn about the predators, and are thought to fly and to swim.[7]

 

The Cackling Goose was originally considered to be the same species or a subspecies of the Canada Goose, but in July 2004 the American Ornithologists' Union's Committee on Classification and Nomenclature split the two into two species, making Cackling Goose into a full species with the scientific name Branta hutchinsii. The British Ornithologists' Union followed suit in June 2005.[8]

 

The AOU has divided the many subspecies between the two animals. To the present species were assigned:

 

* Atlantic Canada Goose, Branta canadensis canadensis

* Interior Canada Goose, Branta canadensis interior

* Giant Canada Goose, Branta canadensis maxima

* Moffitt's Canada Goose, Branta canadensis moffitti

* Vancouver Canada Goose, Branta canadensis fulva

* Dusky Canada Goose, Branta canadensis occidentalis

* part of "Lesser complex", Branta canadensis parvipes

 

The distinctions between the two geese have led to confusion and debate among ornithologists. This has been aggravated by the overlap between the small types of Canada Goose and larger types of Cackling Goose. The old "Lesser Canada Goose" was believed to be a partly hybrid population, with the birds named taverneri considered a mixture of minima, occidentalis and parvipes. In addition, it has been determined that the Barnacle Goose is a derivative of the Cackling Goose lineage, whereas the Hawaiian Goose is an insular representative of the Canada Goose.

 

In North America, non-migratory Canada Goose populations have been on the rise. The species is frequently found on golf courses, parking lots and urban parks, which would have previously hosted only migratory geese on rare occasions. Owing to its adaptability to human-altered areas, it has become the most common waterfowl species in North America. In many areas, non-migratory Canada Geese are now regarded as pests. They are suspected of being a cause of an increase in high fecal coliforms at beaches.[9] An extended hunting season and the use of noise makers have been used in an attempt to disrupt suspect flocks.

 

Since 1999, The United States Department of Agriculture Wildlife Services agency has been engaged in lethal culls of Canada Geese primarily in urban or densely populated areas. The agency responds to municipalities or private land owners, such as golf courses, who find the geese obtrusive or object to their waste.[10] The more humane method of addling eggs and destroying nests also are promoted as population control methods.

 

In 1995, a US Air Force E-3 Sentry aircraft at Elmendorf AFB, Alaska struck a flock of Canada Geese on takeoff and crashed, killing all 24 crew. The accident sparked efforts to avoid such events, including habitat modification, aversion tactics, herding and relocation, and culling of flocks.[11] A collision with a flock of Canada geese[12] was at fault for US Airways Flight 1549 suffering a total power loss after takeoff from New York LaGuardia Airport on 15 January 2009. The plane landed in the Hudson River causing no fatal injuries to the 155 passengers and crew.[13]

 

Geese have a tendency to attack humans when they feel themselves or their goslings to be threatened. First the geese will stand erect, spread their wings and produce a "hissing" sound. Next, the geese will charge. They may then bite or attack with their wings. [14]

 

Canada geese are known for their seasonal migrations. Most Canada geese have staging or resting areas where they join up with others. Their fall migration can be seen from September through the beginning of November. The early migrants have a tendency to spend less time at rest stops and go through the migration a lot faster. The later birds usually spend more time at rest stops. These geese are also renowned for their V-shaped flight formation. The front position is rotated since flying in front consumes the most energy. Canada Geese leave the winter grounds more quickly than the summer grounds.

 

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Canada_Goose

For a full rundown on this specific car, please see the following link from Sotherbys:

 

rmsothebys.com/en/auctions/az17/arizona/lots/r194-1961-fe...

 

In summary, however, is that in the old days, Ferrari (man and company) obsessively built racing cars to win. The modest number of super-wealthy regularly sought out cars from Ferrari to drive on the road, with which he reluctantly complied.

 

Early on, these were barely different to the race cars, such as the 166, 212, and then 250 series. Once the 250 series was producing cars such as the 250 GT Lusso and GTE, the volumes were relatively high (in the hundreds), and so one could purchase a Ferrari by being merely very rich. For those clients who were more special, a series of low volume cars were still available, sold in single, or low double figures.

 

The 1961 400 Superamerica car shown here is a good example. Produced during the period of significant increase in Ferrari road car production, the 400 Superamerica Aerodinamico saw 17 cars produced.

 

The 400 saw a switch to the long-block Columbo V12 engine, as opposed to the Lampredi V12 seen in the preceding 410 Superamerica (which was rarer still). The last 410s visually linked the newer 400s, particularly the 'Superfast' cars.

 

Larger than it initially appears (and larger that 250/275/330 Ferraris of the period), this Lego model is a redo of an earlier attempt. Notable for the inclusion now of the large Technic piston engine.

  

Early settlers sectioned off work areas for specific task, many were only used at different seasonal times. Notice how the smoke trail from this shed, may have with a wind current trend, influenced the directional flow through the trees behind it, effecting their growth when forceful smoke trail was heavy, even steady.

Site-specific by Giuseppe Stampone | The Invisible Dog Art Center a Brooklyn, New York

 

Ordinary Love is the title of the new single of U2 composed for the soundtrack to the biography Mandela: Long Walk To Freedom, a film directed by Justin Chadwick.

The music video for Ordinary Love, directed by Mac Premo and Oliver Jeffers, has as its location the installation "Caronte" by Giuseppe Stampone which is located in the spaces of The Invisible Dog Art Center in Brooklyn, New York.

 

Ordinary Love è il titolo del nuovo singolo degli U2 composto per la colonna sonora del film biografico Mandela: Long Walk To Freedom, pellicola diretta da Justin Chadwick.

Il video musicale di Ordinary Love, diretto da Mac Premo e Oliver Jeffers, ha come location l'installazione site specific "Caronte" di Giuseppe Stampone che si trova negli spazi di The Invisible Dog Art Center a Brooklyn, New York.

   

This old building, once a Convent and now the James Cook Museum in Cooktown has two histories really. If in Cooktown, it should not be missed as it is one of the better regional museums and best dedicated to a specific subject (mostly anyway) that I have seen. Do not miss out. I have a couple of shots from inside coming tomorrow.

 

I can do no better than hand over the whole story to Wikipedia....

 

James Cook Historical Museum is a heritage-listed former convent and school and now museum at Furneaux Street, Cooktown, Shire of Cook, Queensland, Australia. It was designed by Francis Drummond Greville Stanley and built from 1888 to 1889 Hobbs & Carter. It was formerly known as St Mary's Convent and School. It was added to the Queensland Heritage Register on 21 October 1992.

 

This substantial, two-storeyed brick building was erected in 1888-1889 as St Mary's Convent and School. It was the inspiration of the first Vicar Apostolic of Cooktown, Bishop John Hutchinson; designed by former colonial architect Francis Drummond Greville Stanley, of Brisbane; and staffed initially by Sisters of Mercy from Dunvargan in Ireland.

 

Bishop Hutchinson was one of three Irish Augustinian Fathers who arrived in Cooktown in 1884 to take charge of the Pro-Vicariate of North Queensland, established in 1876 and extending from Cardwell to Cape York Peninsula. In the mid-1880s it was appropriate that the Augustinians were based at Cooktown, rather than Cairns, as the former was emerging as the principal town and port of far North Queensland. Such was the rapid progress of Cooktown during the second half of the 1880s that the Pro-Vicariate of North Queensland was constituted the Vicariate Apostolic of Cooktown in 1887. Father Hutchinson was appointed the first Vicar Apostolic and was consecrated a Bishop in August the same year. In late 1887 Bishop Hutchinson returned to Ireland to recruit more priests and to encourage an order of sisters to establish a convent school at Cooktown. There was an existing primary school, staffed by lay teachers, attached to St Mary's Pro-Cathedral in Cooktown, but Bishop Hutchinson envisaged a grander establishment which could offer a superior education, both religious and academic, to the girls (future wives and mothers) of Far North Queensland. It was to operate as both a day school and a boarding school for girls.

 

St Mary's Convent and School was designed by former colonial architect FDG Stanley, one of Queensland's most prolific late 19th century architects. In the 1880s he designed a number of other Catholic churches and institutional buildings, including St Patrick's Church at Gympie (1883–88), additions to St Mary's Church at Maryborough (1884–85), dormitories at St Vincent's Orphanage, Nudgee (1886–87), Holy Cross Church at Bundaberg (1886–88), the Magdalene Asylum at Wooloowin, Brisbane (1888–89), and the Sisters of Mercy Convent at South Brisbane (1889).

 

The tender for St Mary's Convent and School at Cooktown was let about May 1888 to Brisbane contractors Hobbs & Carter, who had erected the much admired Cook Monument at Cooktown in 1887. When Bishop Hutchinson returned from Ireland in June 1888 with five Sisters of Mercy to staff the school, the convent building was far from complete, but work continued rapidly and the building was occupied by May 1889.

 

Stanley's original design was for a two-storeyed brick core with two transverse wings, but when officially opened by Bishop Hutchinson on 12 May 1889, only the core and north wing had been completed, at a cost of nearly £5,000. The intention was to complete the second wing as funds permitted, but this did not eventuate. The substantial brick building was the most imposing structure in Cooktown, pre-dating the Queensland National Bank building in Charlotte Street by about two years. The footings were of concrete and the plinth was constructed of Cooktown granite. Most of the bricks were obtained from Campbell & Sons' brickworks in Brisbane, and shipped to Cooktown. Much of the skilled labour required for the construction also came from Brisbane.

 

Internally, the ground floor comprised a central entrance hall, off which opened a large dining room (also used as the school chapel) to the right and a large reception room for visitors to the left. Behind these rooms were two classrooms, each divided by folding doors. Beyond the reception room was the school hall, a large room 44 by 18 feet (13.4 by 5.5 m), which occupied most of the ground floor of the north wing. Beyond the eastern end of the hall were the lavatories. A central staircase led from the entrance hall to the upper floor, which contained boarders' dormitories at the north end and dormitories for the sisters at the south end. Upper floor lavatories and bathrooms were located above the ground floor lavatories at the east end of the north wing. Boarders used a second staircase on the rear verandah, rather than the grand central stair. At the rear, the kitchen, scullery and servant's room formed a detached wing, connected to the main building via a covered way. Stanley had taken account of the Cooktown climate: the rooms were large, light and airy, and there were deep verandahs front and back. The rear verandahs were enclosed with "curtain boards", and the front verandahs were decorated with cast iron.

 

The site selected was on the crest of the ridge running south from Grassy Hill, above the main street of Cooktown, with a spectacular view over the Endeavour River estuary. By the 1890s the imposing building had become a Cooktown landmark, regularly featured in visiting journalists' descriptions of the town.

 

Bishop Hutchinson had made the establishment of the convent school at Cooktown a personal project, donating much of his own money and borrowing from his relatives in Ireland, but substantial funds were raised locally as well. The community clearly recognised the need for an educational institution for girls in far North Queensland which offered a superior education to that available in small local state schools, and St Mary's was patronised by families of all denominations. It was the first girls' high school in the area and gained a strong reputation for the quality of its music curriculum. World-acclaimed Queensland singer Gladys Moncrieff was educated there.

 

The significance of Cooktown as a port deteriorated in the 1890s, as production from the alluvial diggings on the Palmer Goldfields declined. Bishop Hutchinson died in 1897, and his successor, Bishop James Murray, is understood to have paid off the debt on the convent building by conducting a lecture tour in the United States. In 1906 Bishop Murray moved his residence to Cairns, which had eclipsed Cooktown as the principal port of far North Queensland.

 

Despite the decline of Cooktown - both in population and significance - St Mary's Convent and School remained an important educational facility for girls in far North Queensland until the 1930s. The building suffered substantial damage during the cyclone of January 1907, which demolished the Catholic Church behind the convent and removed part of the convent roof, but was repaired immediately. However, many of the businesses destroyed in the 1907 cyclone were not re-established, and an entire block of shops and offices in the main street of Cooktown, destroyed by fire in 1919, were never re-built. St Mary's boarding school closed in the 1930s but co-educational day classes were continued until 1941, when the building is understood to have been commandeered by United States military authorities.

 

Although the building was returned to the Church in 1945, the school was not re-opened and the Sisters never returned. Another cyclone damaged the building in 1949 and by 1969 it was considered to be in such a ruinous state that tenders for its demolition were called. Following public protest the building was donated to the National Trust of Queensland on condition that it be restored to house the collection of the James Cook Historical Museum at Cooktown. The new Museum was opened on 22 April 1970 by Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II, during her visit to Australia to celebrate the bi-centenary of Cook's charting of the east coast. The former St Mary's Convent and School continues to be maintained by the National Trust, and is one of the principal tourist attractions in Cooktown. In the early 1970s, extensions were made to the rear of the building to house the museum collection. The grounds have been landscaped as the Joseph Banks Memorial Garden, planted with about 40 of the 186 plants catalogued by Joseph Banks and Dr Daniel Solander during their 7-week stay at the Endeavour River in 1770. Each of these 40 plants is peculiar to the Cooktown area.

  

Mom's note on this album page says, "Kathy Freeland's 4th Birthday Party - summer 1948. Kathy, Ed, unidentified boy & Donna Bowman."

 

With no specific date, I've arbitrarily chosen June 1st of that year.

 

**********************************

 

All of the photos in this album are “originals” from the 3-month period that my family spent in Denver from 1947-50 — i.e., the period before I lived in Omaha, Riverside, Roswell, Ft. Worth and a separate stay in Denver in 1951-53 (which you may have seen already in my Flickr archives).

 

Before I get into the details, let me make a strong request — if you’re looking at these photos, and if you are getting any enjoyment at all of this brief look at some mundane Americana from 65+ years ago: find a similar episode in your own life, and write it down. Gather the pictures, clean them up, and upload them somewhere on the Internet where they can be found. Trust me: there will come a day when the only person on the planet who actually experienced those events is you. Your own memories may be fuzzy and incomplete; but they will be invaluable to your friends and family members, and to many generations of your descendants. (Actually, I should listen to my own advice: unlike my subsequent visits to Roswell, Riverside, and Omaha I did not even track this early home down, let alone take any photos.)

 

So, what do I remember about the 3 early-childhood years that I spent in Denver? Since I was only 3 years old when we first moved there, the simple answer is: hardly anything. Here are the few random memories that I can dredge up:

 

1. I don’t think my Dad had even seen the ocean as a boy, but that didn’t stop him from enlisting in the Navy a while after he graduated from high school (there weren’t many other jobs on the Utah-Colorado border in those Depression-era days). He got sent out to the Pacific on some kind of naval vessel … and as it turned out, his ship was behind schedule getting back to home port in Hawaii on the evening of December 6, 1941. The submarine nets into Oahu harbor had been drawn closed, and his ship had to anchor outside … which helps explain why his ship didn’t end up at the bottom of the harbor the next morning.

  

2. Fifty years later, on December 7, 1991, I happened to be in a big park in downtown Tokyo, surrounded by thousands of young Japanese citizens, cheering as they waved their red-and-white national flags back and forth — waiting for a glimpse of the new Japanese empress, who was being presented to the public for the first time after her wedding. I heard someone near me speaking in English, so I asked him if he thought there was anything special about the 50th anniversary of Pearl Harbor Day. He was polite, but he was also puzzled and confused: he had never heard the phrase before.

  

3. But I digress … Dad eventually got back to the U.S. and left the Navy in 1947 while stationed in Washington, DC. Like so many of his generation, he decided to go to college, with most expenses paid for by the G.I. Bill. He managed to get into Denver University, and he went on ahead of my mother and me. I vaguely remember that we took the train all the way out there. (I probably don’t remember it at all; but my mother repeatedly told me about some strange man grabbing me out of her arms, and dashing off to the restroom on the train … all I know is that we arrived in Denver safely.)

  

4. We lived in an old form of military housing, known as Quonset Huts, at the edge of the D.U. campus, and I had a tiny bedroom to myself. I have only a few memories of the place: during the brutally-cold winters, Dad would use a garden hose to fill the tiny patch of grass outside the front door with a sheet of water … which froze, and provided the neighborhood kids with a place to ice-skate.

  

5. Though it wasn’t a hardship, I do remember that we had relatively little money for food. My grandparents still lived out near the Utah-Colorado border (just south of the small town of Vernal), and once a week they would send a dozen fresh eggs to us, packed in a carefully padded wooden box. We also made our own ice cream, and I’ll never forget the time Dad used some food-coloring to make blue ice-cream. I had no idea that ice cream could be any color other than brown (chocolate) or white (vanilla).

 

6. During our last year in Denver, I attended kindergarten. I was allowed to walk to school, which felt like it was miles away, across several interstate highways. But there were no Interstates at the time, and it was probably just a two-lane street a few blocks away…

 

7. At Christmas and a few other times of the year, we drove from Denver to spend the holidays with my grandparents. Not only were there no Interstate highways in those days, but there were also no ski resorts: no Vail, no Aspen. I think we drove on the old highway U.S. 40, and we went through a mountain pass (Rabbit Ear pass?) that was always snow-filled, bitter-cold, and dangerous in the winter. Invariably, Dad had to stop to put tire-chains on the car, a process that entailed much cursing and yelling. But we always got there.

 

8. Dad went to school 12 months of each year, and got a B.S. in Electrical Engineering after just 3 years, in June of 1950. I was allowed to wear his graduation cape and gown for a few minutes, and I snuck a paper airplane into the huge gymnasium where friends and families gathered to watch the graduation ceremony. We were way in the back, way up high; and I was convinced that my airplane would sail all the way across the gym, if only I could throw it. If only, if only … but I didn’t.

 

9. Dad must have gotten a job (back in Glen Oaks, NY) right away, and their lease/rental of the Quonset Hut must have ended at about the same time. I mention that only because he drove back East alone, leaving me and my very pregnant mother behind. We lived in a tiny apartment at an old Air Force base at the edge of Denver (Buckley Field?) until July, when it was time for my mother to head to the hospital and deliver my sister, Patrice. Meanwhile, I was picked up by Dad’s older brother, and driven all the way out to Utah to spend a week with my grandparents … before everyone reconnected in Denver, and we took an airplane flight back East.

 

10. There is probably more … but that’s all I can remember at this point...

This specific KCS local, or as they call them dodgers, starts their day off in Heavener, OK in the early morning. The job makes it to Fort Smith around 07:00 and switches about 2 1/2 - 3 hours then calls to return from Fort Smith. On average timing, from what locals and our findings, they make it back to the main KCS line at about 12:30-13:00. They ask for promotion to open the switch to the main line and proceed. They make it back to Heavener about an hour later.

THE DRUNKEN MUSE

The story "Drunken Muse" was audio recorded on a hidden voice recorder during the conversations about two decades ago. The story-teller didn't know or consent to the recording.

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tape_recorder

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/8-track_tape

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Compact_Cassette

The audio tapes on compact cassettes were never used. The records were partially damaged and lost.

Herewith the unedited transcript version.

 

medium.com/paul-jaisini-paints-invisible-paintings/paul-j...

I am so pumped to get back to painting as I return to the second year of the art school after a full year suspension. As always it is like time-travel culturally speaking, like walking right into the middle ages going through the antique building’s portal.

Art studios are the huge L-shaped lofts with super tall ceilings 20 feet no less with the wall to wall windows so that sunlight illuminates the space from south and east side designed for the purpose so that one could paint there from morning till sunset.

In a studio there are classical gypsum sculptures, expensive copies of Venus de Milo, David, Laocoön and the others. In the art studio there stood the noses, eyes, lips, feet, and palms on the wood shelves.

Sketching the gypsum body parts helps you to build the classic academic base on which stands the whole modern and contempo art. This sort of teaching is specific for the art schools that preserve the traditions they had been founded on. There is only few art schools like this and of this caliber left now. Could be that this is the only legendary school that continues to function as if nothing had changed in the world. In the rest of the world with billions of some art classes nobody knows what does the old tradition of art school is for, its totally unfashionable.

Studying classic art (en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Academic_art) here is the foundation for creativity in any of the art styles.

  

The smell of art is what defines the studio but not from human presence, something like an aroma reminiscent of the eastern market where smoke from hookaahs mix with the oil vapors, exotic fragrance from candles and spices. The Art Studios were never renovated since the times they were built over 150 years ago. The wood floors are saturated with art oils as if the floor is waxed with the organic oils from nuts, linen ( linseed oil, poppy seed oil, and so forth.) Adding to the mix the varnishes used by painters (pine wood varnish, Dammar varnish and others) It makes this ART SMELL to be the most intoxicating and ever-lasting musk.

  

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oil_painting

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oil_painting - Ingredients

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Studio - Art_studio

  

The instance you enter the studio space you feel the belonging to a knighthood and the whole art history. You are the undivided part of those people who left their creation imprints.

Super pumped up after the long break up with the arts after my full year of non-stop party marathons I had returned to the bohemian life style.

Actually my other life style wasn't any different from the bohemian.

The only difference is that there is some meaning in the bohemian life style, something to create, to shape. Not just spend time doing sports and girls but something on a whole 'nother level only with the same sub text and by far more emotionally connected.

The bohemian I think is much more my thing, that fits me as a person. Maybe because my old man is the greatest sculptor.

He is color blind so apparently I took up the torch, I have a very special sense for color.

  

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sculpture

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bohemianism

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Color_blindness

  

There could be an inborn human predicament or inborn genius.

I returned into the world to kiss its ground. I like everything about it, the babeville and its fashion circus.

The art students are known to come up with endless varieties of how to be stylish.

Take me for example, I am chilling in a suit jacket. It was professionally hand-tailored out of a denim Pajamas with stripes and starry silk underlining.

This “look” is completed by my python leather jeans. And over that an authentic LONG military Germany Waffen Elite Officer black Leather Coat from the WWII, only it is without a Swastika.

I never part with my large portfolio and a Field Easel.

EASEL

  

About 700 students attend the studies. The art school accepts only the best of best with few exception such as the kids of celebrity artists, writers and musicians and people who had real power in the city.

I wasn't enrolled for money or the A-lister parents, but for my talents. The Art specialty (painting, drawing, sculpture) teachers here are the world-wide recognized contemporary artists.

In a matter of my working ethics these important artists would point at me as the example of how fast I work, how well I sketch in color, how I always choose the most unexpected and unusual angle for my composition and so on...

  

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Composition_(visual_arts)

name banner gif

  

Optical illusion geometric gif

  

(portraiture, still-life, and landscape)

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Still_life

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Portrait

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Landscape_painting

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Figure_drawing

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Figure_painting

  

I never work on an académie (live drawing of a model, live painting of a model) the given eighty -- ninety hours. My whole process is about six -- nine hours to fully complete the work so I get out of the studio for some action and fun.

I’m probably the strongest in the class. My art professors know I don’t need to be there to distract the others.

When I’ve got nothing to do I start banging the head against the wall. Still I am criticized SUPER harshly for cutting the classes.

At this point I am not aware of the inner workings of “THE SYSTEM”.

I call suitcase with a secret compartment.

At the grade shows I only see the bad grades on my best artworks.

There is another side of the coin. It revealed in the future when I got to befriend a secretary at the Dean’s office. It was about the time of my graduating year.

The art teachers actually always considered me to be the leading artist among all students. They would grade all my artworks high on my personal record I knew nothing about.

That was how the art school’s system pushed the talented students to go further to open up their potential. Pushing to the limits of impossible.

I am harshly criticized for cutting a lot of classes.

There is another side of the coin. It will be revealed in the future when I got to befriend a secretary at the Dean's office. It was about the time of my graduating year.

The art teachers actually always considered me to be the leading artist among all students. They would grade all my artworks high on my personal record I knew nothing about.

That was how the art school's system pushed the talented students to go further to open up their potential. Pushing to the limits of impossible.

Willing or not but the doubts get in my head. I was thinking (rather frantically) that maybe I’m all just misguided. I will work to beef up my skills unable to accept that I am not really a “genius” artist. The bad grades were corrupting my vision.

Totally clueless that these bad grades in my case were used as "disciplinary measures" for my behavior of anarchy. These grades had nothing to do with my artworks.

And yet my best drawings and paintings are graded the lowest. At the same time the art professors are taking my works home. I always find empty walls where my works were displayed for the semester shows.

Sooner or later the missing artworks got me enraged. My classmates tell me the back story on what REALLY had happened.

All the art professors usually go the painting major's finals. So they just took my artworks right off the wall.

Ever since I heard this back story I flaunt how IDGAF to even pick up my works with the bad grades after the finals end.

Like a bunch of some doomsday looters in sight of an electronic store the art students same as the teachers vultured my artworks. Later some of my paintings and drawings were seen at the school's museum, especially the paintings.

The story of the artworks snatched off my exhibit wall developed further.

In the art school the art teachers are the privileged kind who exhibit regularly. All are the accomplished artists with big names.

Another thing about my artworks (no longer mine and in someone else's possession) is the story that involves someone with the top art rep being the art dynasty. Even so it happed that the leading art professor nicknamed Molly (for her annoying facial mole) used my art stuff to have her son who studied same years as me, just never expelled, to apply to an art academy with the highest qualification requirements. Molly's son portfolio sucked. To get him qualified to apply she gave her son all of my artworks she collected.

The juice was given to me by the reliable sources. The story was concurred by the eye--witnesses the students who were applying to the same academy together with Molly's son. Some of these students knew my work by the style, special color palette and the brushwork.

They all knew that Molly's son was using my artworks. He only had to forge his signature and remove mine.

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Study_(art)

  

My drawings, sketches, paintings, watercolors are in "wide" use by others.

I tell that to describe the routine of my life.

It could explain why I was expelled three times for the chronic absence, for sabotaging the lectures -- getting my classmates to leave the studio and go to the movies or to the beach.

Fast forward to that event of the breaking point when I started to work systematically.

  

I was sucked into work as if a drug addiction. I was penetrating deeper to the very core of creativity. Reading books, going to the museums, working in the field, working in the museums to copy masters. I completely forgot all about life around me.

Practically I was devoured and digested with my nails and hair by that devil called the academic art. It sucked out the leftovers of my soul.

I stayed in the studio after the classes to work. There were only few students like this, spiritually close to me. To them it was their life style since the day they had entered the art school unlike me. Whenever I'd get bored with art I'd quit working and just leave without asking permission.

Now as if something had hit me hard and I started to really work. Most art students here typically come from such backgrounds when they did their baby steps and studied in the children's (secondary) art school from an early age and tutored by art teachers at home

I had a tendency to take on a higher complexity unprepared without the experience of any art school training (the eight years on a daily basic with teachers and methodical practice.)

As long as I remember myself I was drawing, during my school years, on the notebooks, with chalk on the asphalt, with stick on the sand. I did it subconsciously, not knowing what I was doing.

IDK, could be due to the several bad bike accidents when my head ended up hitting the brick...

  

Why did my brain moved into the direction of noticing those things that normal people should not be noticing? That the leaves on the trees are not at all green, but violet.

The falling shadows from the street lights are not at all outlined by black, the contours are the absolute blue.

The trees look like people.

There are so much more shades of colors that language could articulate.

Stuff like this filled up my head so that there was no place left for just a thought about girls, more so even the thoughts to manipulate my body functions. For instance using the

bathroom. I almost peed my pants. Truthfully I was on the edge of madness.

I remember how I hallucinated during my work imagining that someone had come into my studio and I spoke to "the guest." My brain was ill, there was no escape from that hell.

  

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Violet_(color)

  

Once I was walking on a street without any awareness. My mind was no longer in command of anything accept the obsession with my painting. As I was pushing the limits of what was humanly possible in a matter of progress from the previous stage when I could draw and paint with intuitive results now I considered as totally armature waste of art materials. My condition would be hard to describe since I could hardly remember what was it like during that madly intense period. I know that I was working non--stop and did make some major break through. It worked but at the same time the progress turned its evil side, I wasn't able to stop even for a brief moment. Something happened to my otherwise incorruptible memory that I could only remember few things from that period. And one of those things was my death walk through the city streets on a day I was supposed to disappear.

When I realized that I was walking automatically, blind and incredibly

avoiding the cars, for the first time I felt the fear of madness that can easily take my life. It wasn't something I would fear if I was in my other life when loosing it would be quite an ordinary thing and not due to my lost mind.

Whatever it was I survived with no chances to stay alive that day. I had more chances to live on when I was shot at execution style, when I was drowning in bad storm, climbing on a building like a cat, and on many others such occasions.

Some guardian angel was looking over me as I came to the final moment of certain death, blind, deaf, disoriented and delusional.

As we finished with draperies, still life, gypsum figures we moved on to the nude. To draw and paint from the live sitter, male or female model.

There comes an old fat hag to be posed before the artists. She will be POSING even during the breaks. She sits professionally without a slight move of her flab folds for us to draw her “forms”. ‘assume it was done for the boys not to get distracted with the female anatomy.

The models with “rounded” forms were chosen so we would study the reflects and double reflects on a “sphere-like” and “cylinder-like” forms.

There would be plenty of the cast shadow (a type of shadow that is created on a form), and a drop shadow ( below the image).

  

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_human_positions

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Figure_study

  

The working objective was to concentrate on the drawing’s construction.

When we’d get a young female model, she’d be so skeletal that we studied the skeleton. This type of models was as unattractive as the fat ones.

The art students without an eye for a drawing and technique produced their works of caricature quality. With the lost proportions the models looked like animals, skinny chickens or fat frogs.

For me it was a serious job, body didn’t exist. I x-rayed the flubs of fat to see the bones to connect them to muscles, to build a form.

  

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Caricature

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Muscle

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Skeleton

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Human_skeleton

  

The illness I call the overdose had progressed and my end was near.

Homies who knew me used to say that I was cracked.

When I moved from the classicism to modern (I refused to see any modern or contemporary art, never wanted to see it, or ever saw it) I entered the Modern art on my own, as my foot stepped into the forth dimension.

I entered the world of mad pressure. Good I stepped in it one foot yet.

I was sleeping in the studio right on the floor near my work and placed an electric heater near by.

It was impossible to heat up whole place where fifty heavy-duty easels only took a quarter of the studio space.

In the center there was a huge round stage made from a special hard wood to hold any number of models when needed for the multiple human-figure compositions.

The place was full of easels, portable and the large for the field. The chairs, tables, palettes, boxes with paint, cases with paper and lots of other art stuff piled up into mountains.

The parquet floor was always covered in fresh oil paints even though the teachers tried in vein to prove a fact that working neatly was by far more productive.

  

We had a dormitory built same year as the art school which was 150 something years ago.

If you stayed late in the studio that was forbidden, you couldn't get to the dorm.

A guard at the main door was a real watch dog, he faithfully guarded the pathway knowing every student's face.

The dorm was occupied by those who couldn't pay for a room or the apartment in the city.

Ten beds were squeezed in a dorm room.

This part of the antique building was never renovated probably b/c it was planned to be turned into more art studios.

But since there were out of town students who had no place to live they were given a place in this dorm.

The beds were of a good prison-like quality so the survival was possible. Another thing is what was happening in the dorm.

On a typical day nobody there had any money left after the expensive art materials. Not a penny to get high. Alcoholic liquid (40-60%) was soaked into the bread.

From one bite of that bread you could instantly drop dead as if your legs got cut off by a train.

The receptors inside the nose absorb the fumes to hit right into the brain, this way the booze doesn't ever enter the digestive system and blood.

It kills or makes one go bonkers.

Some pissheads in desperation poured vodka into a wine bottle cap to inhale it like coke. After one cap screw it was a total alchoholocaust.

There were many ways of economizing: to use a medical thin rubber tube to suck the drink very slowly, one bottle would

serve four alkies.

It was the usual schizophrenic day for me. I had my dose of coffee and ate on a way to the studio.

Those days I didn't miss a class afraid to get expelled for the last and final time.

I couldn't understand this thing about my artworks. Why did my classmates literally begged on their knees to have the C-graded artworks I was never satisfied with.

It became my trade mark to give away all of my stuff left and right. I didn't know why I let go of my drawings and paintings so easy. Now I regret that. It would be interesting to see the growth.

Once I happened to tell a guy from my class who worked very hard on his drawing (he wasn't a good draftsman): "Oh Wow! you are doing a lot of progress, buddy, congrats!" I looked at his portfolio and pointed at a piece: "This drawing here is really mature and quite interesting, you achieved volume and air in just a linear drawing."

The guy suddenly goes red, stares at me wide-eyed with anger or confusion I couldn't quite understand...

"Am I saying something wrong?" I asked.

"You're fucking dissing me!" He answered.

"Why?" I wondered.

"This is YOUR drawing," Was the answer: "I took it, that is when I asked you and you gave it to me, don't you remember?"

I didn't recognize, didn't see my signature, as it was overlapping the drawing.

The guy was holding a grudge for this but it didn't turn him into one of my enemies.

  

At some point I am thankful to the teachers for their sneaky methods and experience on how to tame the most unruly and bring them into the art's stable. On the other hand these people were like sadistic fascists who used their special gases on me experimenting, would I survive it and live on.

The bohemian hyped up life only started after the classes at about seven in the evening. This part of the artist's life was full of sex, booze, and drugs, more sex booze drugs and orgies. The art youth was progressive, the sex - communal with the conveniently shared girlfriends and boyfriends.

Strangely the good times didn't concern me anymore now.

There was a small group of idiots who followed their criteria of achievement: to draw and paint a vase with flowers so that it comes to life, right out of the canvas to the carrying hands of the one who painted it. The flowers turned alive would be given to the girl/boyfriend.

The madness of the 4th dimension.

The art group was lead by me and another guy soon (one month later) to disappear forever for the reasons unknown.

After the classes me and few others searched for a studio. Found it. Not my studio. Any studio with the door unlocked.

As usual I would set a still life. Take off my nazi coat.

Set my next canvas on the easel to start quick sketching.

Out of nowhere shows up some dude who was a new student, he was much older, about twenty three, somewhere from Texas and just plain untalented.

He wanted to hang around with "the power-group" to learn.

There were few girls with the ambition to reach the level of a manly hand in creation.

We all usually worked in grave silence and even a slight noise would be extremely annoying.

If a brush would fall it seemed the atomic bomb had exploded somewhere near. We would exchange vicious cursing at the jittery creaking sneezing noise maker.

When you are focusing intensely and can't quite catch the brush stroke to complete the shaping of a form so that the image would turn real and come out of the flat surface the nerves are high strung to the limit.

The last months I just never left the studio, didn't even come outside. Slept on my German coat in the corner. It was veiled with the drapery. I'd wake up in the morning. The doorman was already used to give me the keys knowing that I sleep and work there. It came with a warning that if I am discovered I must tell any story and solemnly kept the secret.

The memories from those years distract me from telling what I want. It's about the event that had closed for me the entry into the forth dimension.

That day I was getting upset over some stupid teases: "What had happened to you!"

Whether the bros wanted to elevate my mental state, or they needed to get my works it had really caused me distraction. I was focusing on my work. Suddenly I hear the sounds of music in the studio. It jumped me: “Are you out of your fucking minds? That asshole doorman will come here."

"No he ain’t gonna."

"Why?"

"He is passed out, we had to carry him away." Was the answer.

"What is going down?" I worried.

"Not much, nothing is going down, we just want some fun. The way it is on here is so buzz-killing."

Was it some holiday, I didn’t know. Holidays passed by me, I didn’t smoke or drink and only worked. What they were saying didn’t reach me.

“Shut down the music. You’re gone but I must sleep here."

"Why must you sleep here?" Asked Lorenzo (nick-named after his personal preferences of the Benzos)

"Hmm, I guess there will be no way of working today?" I asked.

"Working, way working, you gonna make me some home works," Assured me the dude nicknamed Kuz. "For that I will make your sculpture complete."

As interesting as it was to play with the real forms in sculpting I disliked dealing with the clay. Those times I believed the painting to be so much more in gradations, possibilities and complexity. Now I changed my mind to consider any art media possess the unlimited possibilities.

I agreed. Suddenly the guys were fixing to leave and I had to ask: "So? Who will finish building up the sculpture if you're leaving?"

"No worries, will build it up, brb just a quick run for some booze before the stores closed up."

"What booze? Get out of here go to another studio. I work, don’t mess me up."

"No biggie, son, you can rest for once."

It was pointless to argue, they'd already been drunk and I was only getting nervous. My work wasn’t going good at all. I have changed the lighting set up many ways in vein.

Suddenly, out of nowhere Muse appears. A young, very-very attractive girl about eighteen. The returned gang introduced her to me:

"J-Sin, meet her... lets say Nicky."

"Eh, hello Nicky, who and what are you?" were my greetings.

She smiled to everyone and answered: "I will be posing for you today."

"We agreed about everything, will pay the price,” –explained Lorenzo barely moving his tongue, "She is gonna be happy!"

His bag full of bottles made loud clanking noise.

When the drunks got them out I counted six.

“Yes, this is going to be a wild night.” I was thinking what to do now. I approached the model, took off her coat and hanged it, removed her blouse and explained that she can go behind the curtain.

"Hey, hey! What curtain son, what’s with you? She is from the med school, our people!"

I heard the Kuz's inebriated voice. "She is THE model!"

"What -- nude?" I wondered.

"And what did you think, she'd sit covered up in here?" They burst into laughter.

Suddenly I feel elated with the anticipation of the new and amazing subject for the work. I was fed up with the poor set up and the struggle to "find" the good lighting for the gypsum head. How wonderful it turned out that I could make some picturesque oil sketches.

When the model took off her bra, her young breasts, her nipples instantly distract my attention from work.

Shit, I couldn’t focus. Since we hadn’t a glimpse at such models it was too interesting. Could be that something about this evening or the environment was different. First time in a long while the music was playing, the glasses jingled and filled up with wine.

As she posed we were all doing the quick sketching. She removed everything except her panties.

The drunken assholes wouldn’t let me focus.

"Let me finally have a chance to work." I yelled getting distracted.

They seemed to try bargaining: "We brought you the model, hey girl turn around!" Kuz pulled up her skirt and slapped her buddy. "Look at these buns, you've got to do another

drawing for the semester show."

"Boys, you are so bad!" She giggled to Kuz. "I will spank you for being soooo bad!" And she was laughing in most contagious sexy trills of her childish capricious voice.

  

I didn’t understand what these die--hard drunks were doing at the art school, without any talent or interest in art. My former palls in another life that was long forgotten. Today the serious artists who always worked together with me had left the moment this bad company swam by.

Now I was looking at their watery eyes winking at the model. They caressed her things as she reclined on the wooden stage to rest. I wanted to figure out why did they distract me even more now?

I was the same age as the model. I didn’t see her body, to me now it was the model for painting.

It was getting late when the cold winds penetrate the place from the drafty wall size windows. I put on my sweater in the starting freezer. The one meter or the three feet and 33/8 inch walls are like the thermos to absorb and hold the cool temperature. I looked at the laughing bunch who labored on my sculpture.

One was drawing a huge flying dick with wings with a charcoal right on a white wall.

I had finished sketching the figure. I came up to the stage to set up the heater. I asked the model if she could sit some more taking breaks whenever she needs to move.

When she looked at me she was constantly smiling.

"Sure she’ll sit! And she'll lay, right, sweet buns?"

I held my breath working imagining how awesome would be to have such a model every day. With a shaky hand I was working fast as a machine expecting any minute now she would say that she is too cold to sit another minute and she leaves, its all over. I will have to kill her and sit her lifeless body on a chair to complete my work.

“Shit! Shit! Shit!"

The heater I placed caused the red reflexes on the body. I was painting and had to get the color right. So I removed the heater. The model immediately complained about the cold. Kuz brought her a glass of wine asking me why did I remove the heater.

From wine her face flushed red. I tried to adjust the color scale, laying brushstrokes over the whole figure.

Meanwhile the music turned up it was getting real loud.

The model took her break.

I walked after her studying her forms.

"Is something wrong?" She asked.

"Its all right, could you turn this way."

"Oh, I see. Same in our med school, the nut cases," She openly declared to the others when I was on a floor looking from a lower viewpoint.

"Who is this?" She asked: "What kind of a mental is he?"

"Its a disease, but it will pass" – was the answer for her. "Sometimes it is terminal. Not his tho, his will pass, he loves the young girls very much…"

Something from the stupid jokes had reached me.

"Hon, now he needs the medical attention. You are the medic? We are forever in debt to yous for allowing us come to the mortuary and for helping with the dead bodies... What we have here is a zombie. You are the goddess who saves the body as your calling."

What I heard was polluting my pure artistic brain with that life I refused. Now I was paying attention not to the mammary glands but to her breasts. Her back muscles are slightly weak. As I looked over the skeleton the muscles slowly disappeared. No matter how hard I tried to focus my x-rays were weakened. Maybe the electricity turned off inside my head.

"Pour me some," I asked.

Six months of my immaculate virginity and celibacy was broken by a wine glass. The red wine like the blood of innocents was running in my throat filling up the brain that shortly was boiling with vigor. So I said:

"Could you please remove your panties?"

"It wasn’t the deal," protested the model with her eyes glowing like honey.

Lorenzo interrupted her:

"For god’s sake, take of your panties, what is it to you, aren't you a medic?"

"I thought someone here was shy, as for me" She lustfully licked her lips. "Well, of course its nothing."

"Who is shy?" Asked someone.

"Him the weirdo!" She giggled in a very cute bubbly little voice.

"Are you shy?"

"It seems it was me who asked her to remove the panties." I explained.

She just jumped right out of her panties not without pleasure it seemed.

I imagined how to position her, what pose should she take.

"Hey!" I asked Kuz to pour me another glass. He was cheering me on yet reminding that I should first finish the drawing.

"Later," I mumbled turning to the model: "Would you please sit on a chair and spread your pretty legs a little, as much as you wish."

"Hey, Alex, so he is normal?" She asked.

I was far away from normality. A actual girl weaved from the reality. But the process was a transformation with splitting dimensions.

She was turning more real when I touched her to show how to position her legs.

I glimpsed at the red pubic hair seeing the pink flesh of her vaginal lips.

I couldn't focus on my work. Could the “female anatomy” destroy the temple of magic I was erecting for the eight months?

I returned to my easel and continued working. She was fidgeting changing poses uncomfortable this something hurting that... But it was only natural, she was sitting naked on a plain hard wooden chair. She was sliding from one side of the chair to another. I was buzzed from wine and couldn’t work, but I tried to complete my work just to annoy these assholes who screwed up my day. First work was washed off with turpentine and I wiped up the canvas dry with a rag.

I was sketching now not with a charcoal but brushing in umber. It resulted in an interesting tonality and I was captured again. The model squirming on her hard chair complained.

"Yo, why don’t you lay her down, what is she suffering for?" Asked Alex, "Lay her the fuck down, why not."

Right! I thought a little and told her to lay on the stage. Underneath her I spread some drapery.

After few wine glasses I took off my sweater, my cheeks were on fire. Hers too. I unbuttoned my shirt, my blood was boiling, the body was washed with the warmth.

The heater was moved away.

"So true that wine warms you up," she said to Alex.

"Jay, so tell me how to lay her down there. Sit, sit, you poor thingy, I'll assist you" And he jumped on the stage. "Do you want her legs spread this way?" he asked opening

up her legs so that her whole anatomy was showing.

"Is this ok for you?" He winked at me: "Is it good?"

"Oh no, can’t show it like this at the mid-semester show." Thinking some I added: " Let it be, lift her leg a little higher, like this. Turn her head down."

"Like this?" He kissed her on the lips.

"Alex, the fuck you're doing, I don’t have any time."

"Work, keep drawing, go on!" he said. "We won’t disturb you."

I was outraged after I just washed everything off my canvas ready to work, but this wasn't going anywhere. I kept asking Alex what did he mean by not disturbing me when he messed everything up. I heard the girls laughing trills. "For real, he is ill!"

"The sick can be cured." Insisted Alex. "Will hill him." He slurred.

Of course, I own them my very life. If it weren't for them –- that’s it, finito.

Kissing her on the lips and winking at me Alex continued bugging me: “Is this right?”

For like ten minutes I was staring in the infinity in the emptiness… Then I yelled: "Why are you sucking her? Get away from her, let her lay there quietly."

Only to hear some nonsensical mumbling.

"But I want you to work on the position, is this position right?"

"Right, just fuck off of her."

Meanwhile Kuz, I noticed, was taking off his pants. He said: “Let him go fuck himself. Motherfucker is gonna fuck us up today, if he doesn’t want it, so fuck it.”

Now I thought I knew what they wanted from me.

I saw Alex’s naked butt as he laid on the stage, banging the girl and his ass wiggled.

I started sketching their nude asses.

My consciousness was still in the process of transforming.

I thought of how interesting were their poses.

Lorenzo came up to me and took the brushes from my hands placing all in my field easel he closed up.

"Listen, J-man, you’re being a fucking buzzkill. Go draw some vases, fuck off to another studio. You don’t want it. For free?"

I didn't understand him what did he mean. He explained:

"What do you see Alex is doing right now?"

"He is fucking his girlfriend." I said.

Lorenzo continued:

"Whose girlfriend? What we have here is a

scientist, from the med school who is helping us in our artistic quests, to understand the core of anatomy not only from the outside but from the inside. I recommend you, in order to comprehend, as you must know, you can only know the truth from the inside, experiencing the inside, to understand the outside. That’s why I seize the brushes. Here is another glass of wine. Drink!"

I looked at him as a doctor listening to his drunken bullshit.

"The most important thing for you is to understand from the inside. See, you can’t understand it from the outside, it’s not how things are done."

"Yes knowing the internal anatomy helps, take a muscle, body doesn’t exist without muscles." I agreed.

"Hell yeah, yeah… ha ha…that’s what I am going about. Look how Alex is working how he is learning."

I looked at the bare ass's motions back and forth, at the girl who was lifting her legs and actively moving her hips. Alex jumped off, wiped up his cock with the drapery, he also wiped out the girl. “Who is next?”

Kuz was kissing her from one side, when Lorenzo said:

"He worked very hard today, he must learn from the inside. You see, because he just can’t break through the inside."

When Kuz was mounting her, Lorenzo spanked him loudly:

"You can wait, the man needs the muse, get it? Understanding the Muse comes only from the inside.." They all bust into laughter.

Lorenzo nearly helped my cock inside the girl cheering on: "Just do it, little one, everything is gonna be great. Honey, turn him back into a soldier that we've lost."

"The man is gone, the man known yesterday is not the man you meet, forever, around the corner, in London or in the street..." chanted Nick appearing from nowhere. He continued slurring his poems.

Hearing the noise I didn’t know what’s going on as I kissed her breasts.

"Feel the forms." I heard the racket near by as I was buzzing off the wine and licking the girl's body. On the other side Lorenzo had joined in groping her breasts. To be more at ease I moved her body closer to the stage’s edge. I was on top.

I didn't hear any sounds of music, the entry door was covered with the draperies as the orgy just steamed up for the whole night.

I woke up on the stage from loud knocking.

The art students asked me what happened to the busted still life set.

I exhaled my dragon breath to hear no more questions. Took my coat and left the building. Walking the street I met Alex.

"Your face is not yet blushed, your eyes are a bit foggy, can’t say anything after the sleepless night. Like Cures Like."

He grinned getting money out of his pocket. "Let us get some treatment."

We walked to the known spot for aching heads gathering.

   

Specific designs requested by my client. Tons of work but I am happy with how they came out!

Nike Foamposite Pro Neon Blue / Turquoise

Nike Air Jordan XI (11) Retro Concord

Nike Air Jordan III (3) Retro Coutdown Split Black Cement

Nike Air Jordan I (1) Retro Low Sneakers

Site-specific перформанс Ірини Плотнікової "IceDora" на фестивалі сучасного мистецтва Гогольфест 2016, Київ, Україна © repor.to/

Spain : 1980 - 1986

This specific model was built in Spain during the 1980s. It was the civil version of the military lightweight Land Rover Santana, also different from the British one.

4 cylinder 2286cc engine

69 PS DIN @ 4000 rpm

4 speed manual gearbox

4 wheel drive

Length : 3,65m

Weight : 1510 kg

Speed : 105 km/h

 

More info here : www.wikiwand.com/en/Santana_Motor

Because the theme for this year’s Convention was Supermodel, I did have a few expectations and one specific wish that I have was to see Adele with the 2.0 sculpt. It was such a relief to find out that Glamazon Adele is (almost) everything that I hoped for. There are other characters that could channel Naomi Campbell but it’s really a no-brainer Adele is that one doll who should, but for some reason I can’t see her represent Naomi with the 3.0 sculpt. Sure that sculpt is very close to Naomi’s facial features but l’m gonna call it like it is. 2.0 is a much better sculpt… for many reasons. One of those reasons is that 2.0 has a much relaxed expression. There’s a certain ease and effortlessness to the sculpt which is a contrast to 3.0’s stern expression. I also find 2.0’s face balanced and much more symmetrical. Of course 2.0 have those sultry lips that I can’t get enough of. She is just mesmerizing in every angle I can’t even stop from staring. She is modeling 360 degrees! As fabulous as the OOAK Obsession Adele was with the 3.0 sculpt which may have been considered for Adele, I’m so glad that we got 2.0 mass produced.

 

One of the things I was worried about was for the Convention dolls to have the same face designs as the main collection and true enough they do. But the designers proved me wrong. It didn’t matter. For almost three years now I find the face designs for Fashion Royalty to be lackluster. It was the “almost there but not quite” faces that didn’t impress me. In 2013 the "Classic" look seemed out-dated. In 2014 we had great eye designs but the eyebrows were not on point. In 2015 the vintage style which was a departure from the usual designs turned out to be unimpressive. This year Fashion Royalty put their best face forward. Something we haven’t seen in ages. We have the sass, the haughty expressions, and the arched eyebrows back. Each of the dolls’ faces, particularly for the Convention, were designed flawlessly. I love that the entire FR collection is consistent and cohesive with the face design as that does not happen all the time like in some of the past collections. Half of the dolls look great and half are so-so.

 

While Glamazon is flawless in my eyes, she was that one doll I wanted side glancing. It’s like everyone else was side glancing except for her. Integrity why are you doing this to me?! LOL. Why am I obsessed with side glancing eyes and why does it matter you ask? For Adele in particular, the last time she had the best side glance was The Muse, Paparazzi Bait, Something Sexy and Bodacious. It’s the squint and the side eye that I want perfected with Adele. To me side glancing eyes gives the dolls’ personality as opposed to the stoic look that they give when they’re looking straight forward. Although I’m not holding my breath, I’m hoping to see Adele with the 2.0 sculpt as the W Club Exclusive and hopefully they give her a variant of the face design that has side glancing eyes like what they did to Love, Life and Lace and Sister Moguls Agnes this year. Vanessa 1.0 showed up as the Exclusive last year, so it’s not impossible to see Adele 2.0 as the Exclusive this time.

 

For Glamazon to have the lowest edition size of 350 in the collection is somehow frustrating. Integrity lowered her edition size as last year’s table centerpiece Time and Again Adele is still in stock up to this day and they don’t want that to happen again. In my opinion, dolls of color do not sell not because of their skin tone but for me the design is a huge factor on that. I mean, looking at those two versions of the same character and I think it’s safe to say they are miles apart. Time and Again is matronly while Glamazon is sexy. Obviously with Glamazon selling out at the Convention only means they’ve done something right with the character and we want our sexy and sultry Adele back and hopefully this won’t be the last.

the implied absence of explicit specificity

Swanholme Nature Reserve, Lincoln, Lincolnshire.

 

Swanholme Nature Reserve was formed from a series of flooded sand and gravel pits and has a mosaic of habitat types. The species found within them are important features both nationally and locally in terms of biodiversity.

 

It is an important wildlife site for Lincoln and was designated a Site of Specific Scientific Interest (SSSI) in 1985, and a Local Nature Reserve status was granted in 1991. The site was formally a gravel quarry, and now the 63-hectare site consists of dry heath, wet heath, sphagnum bog and open water habitats.

 

Most lionesses reproduce by the time they are four years of age. Lions do not mate at a specific time of year and the females are polyestrous. Like those of other cats, the male lion's penis has spines that point backward. During withdrawal of the penis, the spines rake the walls of the female's vagina, which may cause ovulation. A lioness may mate with more than one male when she is in heat. Generation length of the lion is about seven years. The average gestation period is around 110 days; the female gives birth to a litter of between one and four cubs in a secluded den, which may be a thicket, a reed-bed, a cave, or some other sheltered area, usually away from the pride. She will often hunt alone while the cubs are still helpless, staying relatively close to the den. Lion cubs are born blind; their eyes open around seven days after birth. They weigh 1.2–2.1 kg (2.6–4.6 lb) at birth and are almost helpless, beginning to crawl a day or two after birth and walking around three weeks of age. To avoid a buildup of scent attracting the attention of predators, the lioness moves her cubs to a new den site several times a month, carrying them one-by-one by the nape of the neck.

 

Usually, the mother does not integrate herself and her cubs back into the pride until the cubs are six to eight weeks old. Sometimes the introduction to pride life occurs earlier, particularly if other lionesses have given birth at about the same time. When first introduced to the rest of the pride, lion cubs lack confidence when confronted with adults other than their mother. They soon begin to immerse themselves in the pride life, however, playing among themselves or attempting to initiate play with the adults. Lionesses with cubs of their own are more likely to be tolerant of another lioness's cubs than lionesses without cubs. Male tolerance of the cubs varies—one male could patiently let the cubs play with his tail or his mane, while another may snarl and bat the cubs away.

 

File:Lion Cubs Phinda 2011.ogv

Video of a lioness and her cubs in Phinda Reserve

Pride lionesses often synchronise their reproductive cycles and communal rearing and suckling of the young, which suckle indiscriminately from any or all of the nursing females in the pride. The synchronisation of births is advantageous because the cubs grow to being roughly the same size and have an equal chance of survival, and sucklings are not dominated by older cubs.Weaning occurs after six or seven months. Male lions reach maturity at about three years of age and at four to five years are capable of challenging and displacing adult males associated with another pride. They begin to age and weaken at between 10 and 15 years of age at the latest.

 

When one or more new males oust the previous males associated with a pride, the victors often kill any existing young cubs, perhaps because females do not become fertile and receptive until their cubs mature or die. Females often fiercely defend their cubs from a usurping male but are rarely successful unless a group of three or four mothers within a pride join forces against the male. Cubs also die from starvation and abandonment, and predation by leopards, hyenas and wild dogs.Up to 80% of lion cubs will die before the age of two. Both male and female lions may be ousted from prides to become nomads, although most females usually remain with their birth pride. When a pride becomes too large, however, the youngest generation of female cubs may be forced to leave to find their own territory. When a new male lion takes over a pride, adolescents both male and female may be evicted. Lions of both sexes may be involved in group homosexual and courtship activities; males will also head-rub and roll around with each other before simulating sex together.

Site-specific pieces made of building materials by Amir Harrari after visiting the Wave Hill site and researching its history and architecture.

www.wavehill.org/arts/artists/amir-hariri/

 

Sunroom Space at Glyndor Gallery, Wave Hill, Riverdale, the Bronx, NYC -- July 13, 2019

Decibelle is one of many creations from a group of various engineers. Their goal is to create androids that are catered to a specific task. She was created as a radio technician and was programmer to be a social communications tower. She is the older sister to Circuit, who was created by the same group.

After a sudden power down, she awoke to a new world where she was sheltered from the world. Due to her being unable to travel and move, she used her skill to gather others who would travel to her location and get her information from there. She grew bored with her time, wanted to interact more with the world around her. She had heard of people who would perform on the Internet for fun and money.

She outfitted herself with the appropriate equipment for gaming, the most popular genre of online entertainment. She gave herself an alternate face to her original ‘cyclops’ face that is meant for function, with a cleaner looking face that she assumed viewers would like more. She marketed herself as playing games she had never played before, and while streaming online, she had her webcam pointed from the waist up to hide her tower-like lower body.

She was recognized quickly, and was later contracted by news outlets and broadcast studios to cover events and add commentary. She developed small drones to be her outside eyes, and experience traveling in the world she resides without being able to leave.

 

Check out my YouTube for more MOCs like this!

 

goo.gl/1axFRH

  

Innerworldly

Things at hand

In the labyrinth

 

Made a specific visit here to photograph the colorful foliage reflecting into the pond.

Miki H. (An Inspiration Station) and I photographed the foliage here last year; think I'm going to make it a yearly tradition.

 

Along Main Road

Sweet Valley, Pennsylvania

Sunday, October 11th, 2015

 

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(2PJL) Coast City -

 

My name is Kyle Rayner...and I'm afraid that I might kill a man tonight. Dr. Arthur Light, to be specific. Just hours ago, he kidnapped my girlfriend Alex, and is now using her as bait to lure me to him. He claims that he will kill her if I don't give him the 'light' which I still am not sure what he means by that.

 

My ring located Dr. Light in an abandoned warehouse near the docks, which is only 50 meters away. Before landing, I scan the warehouse for both Dr. Light and Alex. My ring detects them both in the middle of the building. I'm actually a bit surprised that Alex is indeed here, like he promised.

 

I make myself an opening in the building's wall via a rocket launcher from my ring. As I enter the warehouse, I outstretch the hand that my ring is placed on and use it as if it were a flash light. I wander aimlessly through the dark building until I finally see Alex.

 

Once noticing me, she beings to struggle in her restraints as a way to single me to cut her loose. I nearly begin to assure her that it's alright, and even almost say her name, but then I remember that she doesn't know that it is me. To her, I'm just the man that they call Green Lantern on T.V.

 

Suddenly, out of the shadows, comes Dr. Light. I brace myself as his hands and eyes begin to glow, almost as if he is planning to attack.

 

"Kyle Rayner?" asks Dr. Light.

 

I realize now that my identity will be revealed to Alex if I assure him that I am indeed who he believes. I take a moment to ponder my options, yet decide that my only choice is to reveal my secret.

 

"Yes...I am Kyle Rayner." I respond.

 

Alex muffles something through the tape over her mouth and begins to struggle even more.

 

"Good...good! Now...give me the light! Give it to me!" orders Dr. Light.

 

"I don't know what you're talking about, what is the 'light'?" I reply.

 

"Don't play games with me boy...give me it...give me the power!"

 

"Hey, you've gotta understand, I don't know what you're talking about! Please, just let her go, leave her out of this. I'm here now, you don't need her anymore."

 

"No...no...no, no that won't work at all! You won't give me the light! Give it to me...give me the light...or she dies...I'll kill her!"

 

Alex begins to sob. I begin to understand that Dr. Light won't take no for an answer. The only way to get Alex out now is a with a fight. I'm sure that I can buy her enough time to escape, I just don't know if I can make it out as well.

 

"I'm not going to let that happen...you are not going to touch Alex." I demand.

 

I send a blast from my ring in his direction yet he deflects it by constructing a shield made of pure light. Next I fashion a large baseball bat, while he assembles a sword like light structure. As I engage in a duel with Dr. Light, I construct a pair of scissors and have them begin cutting through the tape around Alex.

 

I get about halfway done, before my focus is stopped due to a blow to my stomach from Dr. Light. Luckily, it was enough to free Alex's arms, which allows her to continue removing the tape. Knowing this, I focus my attention on defeating Dr. Light.

 

I assumed a giant mech-suit and charge at Dr. Light. I grab him using my suit's claw and begin to fly up towards the ceiling. I slam my other claw through the roof and continue to rise higher up and out of the warhouse. I planned on taking the fight away from the city, to avoid any unnecessary losses, yet I was rendered unable to do so as Dr. Light caused some sort of light explosion, causing me to loose my grip around him.

 

He flies back into the city, I assume to use it's large buildings as cover. I dismantle the mech-suit as a means to increase my speed, although Dr. Light is too fast. I hit him with a blast from my ring, causing him to drop down into the middle of Coast City Park. The civilians there quickly run as they see us enter the park grounds. Good, less things to worry about.

 

Dr. Light gets up and tries to regain flight, though I manage to construct a pair of strong ankle cuffs around him before he can do so. He blasts the cuffs off of his legs and stands up. I assemble a shield and slam into him sending him through the large, metal statue of the other Green Lantern located in the middle of the park.

 

I rush towards him though I'm knocked onto the floor as he fires a blast at my feet. He continues to fire more projectiles at me, though luckily I manage to assemble a brick wall between us to counter the attacks. Eventually, he stops shooting, noticing that he cannot break through the construct, and takes flight. He moves over the wall and then drops right above me, hoping to crush me when he lands.

 

Still on the ground, I roll backwards, just as he slams into the ground creating a large crater. I leap at Dr. Light and tackle him. We struggle to our feet, each grabbing the others knuckles, trying gain the advantage.

 

"The light! Give me the light!" Dr. Light pleads.

 

"I can't do that, I don't even know how to do that! And I won't let you hurt Alex!" I reply.

 

"I just need the light! Give me the light, Kyle Rayner! Give it to me!"

 

"You have to understand! I don't know what you mean!"

 

"Lies! AHHHH!"

 

Dr. Light fires a blast from his hands straight into mine. I drop down into the grass, my hands burning and covered in flames. Dr. Light stands over me with his arms outstretched in front of him, ready to deliver the final blow.

 

"Give it to me...please!" Dr. Light begs.

 

Surprisingly, he falls to his knees and his eyes fill with tears. It was at this moment that I notice that Dr. Light wasn't the bad man that I thought he was. Something else was going on here, and I'm going to find out...

 

Next - Love

 

Really sorry for the long read, I just didn't want to rush through this issue, as it is a quite important point in the volume. I hope that you all enjoyed it anyway. Thanks for reading! -Michael

DISCLAIMER: THIS ISSUE CONTAINS GRAPHICALLY DEPICTED VIOLENCE. PROCEED WITH CAUTION

 

Klarion the Witch Boy had teleported himself to the headquarters of the illegal smuggling organization “The Otherkind”, in hopes of purchasing an item he’d had his eyes on for quite a while. “The Helm of Flame”. An ancient weapon, myths say that the mask can transform your body into that of a demon, if you read a specific ancient script. There is no known proof of this, however. On opposite sides of the room stood several members of the group, working in different ways, like stocking shelves or chopping up wood to make more shelves. Waiting to purchase this item, Klarion had stood silent in the dark, cold, damp cement building, unnoticed.

 

Klarion: …Ahem?

 

A bearded man was sitting on the floor, who now looked up from his can of tomato soup to look into Klarion’s demonic eyes.

 

Bearded man: Eh? Oh, uh… Is this the guy?

 

The bearded man spoke with a raspy Russian accent, before looking up to The Rip, who was the organization’s leader. The Rip’s appearance was an odd one. A silhouette, entirely blacked out, standing at roughly 6’7”.

 

The Rip: Indeed it is. Klarion. It is an honour to meet you.

 

The Rip spoke in a very smooth but deep voice. It wasn’t loud, but when he spoke, it felt as if it was the only thing you could hear. It grabbed your attention instantly.

 

Klarion: Why, thank you. You know what I came for, yes?

 

The Rip: I do remember, yes. The Helm of Flame.

 

Klarion: Mhm! Now shall your servant fetch it for me, along with the script?

 

The Rip: I’d prefer if you weren’t to degrade my coworkers, but yes, Alec shall grant it to you. Alec?

 

He turned to the bearded man… Or at least Klarion assumed he did. With a man who appears physically as a mass of darkness it’s hard to tell.

 

Alec: Alrighty… Just a second…

 

He took one last spoonful from the tin can, a small portion of it spilling on his bright blue overcoat before he stood up. He set the can and spoon on the filthy stone floor before he waddled to the Helm of Flame on the shelf, before handing it to Klarion.

 

Alec: Here ya’ go.

 

Klarion: …There’s chowder on the script. It’s filthy, and that’s unacceptable..! Fetch me another.

 

Alec: Uh… Y’know there’s only one of ‘em, right?

 

The Rip walked over to Klarion, and tapped his fingers against the corner of the script.

 

The Rip: Ghålli-shï.

 

Suddenly, the script was cleaned.

 

Klarion: Thank you, that is much more adequate… Now, how much for each?

 

Klarion rummaged through a leather wallet, while holding the helm and script under his arm.

 

The Rip: 1.5 million in total-

 

Klarion: 5 million, you say? Alrighty…

 

Klarion handed The Rip the 5 million dollars.

 

The Rip: Ötałlo-kå.

 

With a poof of purple smoke, the money vanished.

 

Klarion: Pleasure doing business with you.

 

The Rip: The pleasure is mine, Klarion.

 

Klarion: Shalån-Greėm.

 

Klarion vanished. A moment after, a worker in an orange sweater walked from the shadows. He hadn’t been doing anything to help the organization, unlike the others.

 

Man in orange: What a brat.

 

Both Alec and The Rip turned to the man in orange…

 

The Rip: …What did you just say, Walter?

 

Alec: Sh#t, dude…

 

The two other members of The Otherkind stopped working and turned to “Walter”. One was a man in a black coat and orange scarf, the other a young woman in a purple sweater.

 

Man in scarf: Oh, dear lord…

 

The woman in purple simply put her hands over her mouth in shock.

 

Walter: I’m just sayin’. What? You all thought it, be real.

 

The Rip: You understand in the 2 months of being here you’ve done nothing but stand around, correct? Watching your coworkers work painfully hard while all you have to do is stock shelves, and yet you can’t even do that right? The others have been doing their jobs correctly for years, and after being here for 2 months, you can’t even manage to be kind to my client.

 

Walter: I really don’t see what the big deal is.

 

Alec: Shut up! Dude, seriously!

 

The Rip: I hadn’t had to speak to you about your laziness, as much as it had frustrated me. But this? Mocking a client? You think you have the right to do that?This is where I draw the line.

 

The Rip walked slowly and ominously towards Walter while speaking…

 

Walter: He was just a kid, who cares?

 

The Rip: You’re not listening to me, are you? You never listen to me. You don’t deserve to be part of this organization. You have such little respect that probably didn’t even attempt to remember my name.

 

Walter: “Rip”, right?

 

The Rip stood in place…

 

The Rip: Yes. Surprisingly, you got that right… But do you know why that is?

 

Walter: Uh… No.

 

The Rip: Well… Let me show you.

 

The Rip’s chest and stomach spread open like a vertical mouth, pointed with jagged fang-like spikes. From the gaping void in his torso appeared long, reddish tendrils. The first latched around Walter’s right arm. Then the left. And then his legs. This was the first time The Rip had seen Walter express genuine fear.

 

Walter: Agh, Christ..! I-… I can’t move!

 

The rest of The Otherkind were silent, watching what was happening. The tentacles seemed to grow even longer, pulling Walter high into the air as his eyes opened wider, his forehead shining with sweat. More tendrils appeared, rubbing their pointed tips against Walter’s freakishly warm skin. The man in the scarf ran to help Walter, only to be knocked back by one of the tentacles, causing him to be bashed against a stone wall.

 

Man in scarf: *uff*!

 

The Rip: Stay back, Malcolm. This is necessary.

 

Suddenly, one of the tentacles tore the left leg straight off of Walter, it dropped to the floor, blood spilling out from the gaping wound and onto the limb in puddles. Walter tried to scream, but his mouth was being filled by the tentacles. Tears ran down both his and most of the other members’ faces.

 

Alec: What the hell!?

 

Malcolm: Jesus…

 

The woman in purple was silent, her pupils microscopic, her whole body was shaking. This horrific sight had seemed to effect her the most out of the members. Through the gaps between the hands covering her eyes she noticed the tentacles tugging even harder on each of the limbs, the sound of cracking bones echoed through the room. Eventually all three remaining limbs split apart, leaving a pile of broken pieces on the floor. Walter was nothing but broken bones, torn skin, muscle, and large masses of blood. Walter’s head was still fully intact when it hit the floor, however, his eyes were still wide open and his jaw fully extended, staring into the souls of the remaining members.

 

Woman in purple: No… No no no…

 

She fell to her knees, her hands dropping to the floor, her tears breaking through like a waterfall. Malcolm stood beside her, putting his hand on her shoulder to comfort them. Meanwhile all the tentacles sucked themselves quickly back into The Rip, before he reached his hand down to Walter’s mutilated corpse.

 

The Rip: Ötałlo-kå.

 

What was rest of Walter disappeared. The Rip turned to the other members.

 

The Rip: I am deeply sorry if you found the visuals of Walter’s deserved punishment a tad graphic.

 

Malcolm: “A tad”? You slaughtered the poor guy. Look at Cindy here, look what you did.

 

“Cindy” looked up at The Rip, a hint of rage behind her tears.

 

Cindy: You monster!!!

 

She got up and lunged at The Rip, only for him to put his hand forward in a shielding position.

 

The Rip: Hīdoth-pöl.

 

She teleported back where she was before.

 

The Rip: Your anger is justified, though please, take this experience as a lesson. I love you all deeply, you’re like family to me. I’d rather not be forced to punish one of you like I did today. So stay in line. Thank you. Now, back to work.

 

~Madam Web

On May 16th I headed to two destinations with specific targets.

 

My first stop was Elliston Park where a Great Tailed Grackle had been seen. This was such an rare sighting for our city. This poor lost bird was not welcomed by the Common Grackles. They had picked on it to the point of it losing many of it's feathers. When I arrived it was sitting on the pathway as if that offered protection from being bullied. Eventually a Common Grackle came along to harass it. It had great difficulty getting airborne. I left the area to explore an adjacent wetland. When I returned I learned that a hawk had come along and put the Great-tailed Grackle out of it's misery. Such is the cycle of life :(

 

Thanks all for your visits and comments! They are all greatly appreciated!

What you see here; is a couple, blocking the bread I normally purchase. This was on 7-25-28, at 2:25 pm, at the Grand Junction, Colorado, Walmart. They were set up; before Koda and I, made the turn into the mile long bread section. They can be seen looking at us, as we turn, then stalling for several minutes. Directly in front of the bread I purchase. Blocking it completely. Maybe the guy thought I would be intimidated, by his size? Behind them, at the end of the aisle, was a Walmart employee, watching the whole skit. This is all captured on the Walmart, Grand Junction, Colorado, surveillance cameras. Can’t they, FBI Director Christopher Wray? This could be pretty much any Walmart, in the United States of America. Like the one in Laramie, Wyoming; depicted in my photostream.

They, along with many others; will set up in place. In front of items I purchase regularly. Like another woman on the same day. She had a small baby in her cart. She was attractive and nicely dressed. As Koda and I, approached the department I purchase a specific item in. She pushes her cart in front of that item, then walks away. Her cart had a small baby in it, wrapped in a baby carrier. She stepped away, then looks directly at us. This, again, was a conspired act. In hopes that I act out, and be persecuted for it. What are the chances that her child, will grow to be a bully in school, at work, or involved in Gang Stalking? We had another woman, using her teenage daughter, to get into Koda’s face, in hope he may act out. They followed us throughout the store.

Prior, to the above events; we were in the automotive section. A very well dressed, older woman; stood with her empty cart, in the oil section. She watched every move I made, and my oil selection. She was gathering information, for my next intentional blocking. She followed us throughout the store, then walked in front of our car, as we were leaving. Again, this is all captured on Walmart surveillance cameras. These cameras, many times, reviewed by our many Law Enforcement Agencies. So, why FBI Director Christopher Wray; don’t your Agents, do anything about Gang Stalking? They are fully aware of it, in the United States of America. They have been for decades!

We did come across a mother with two young children. One was in her cart, the other standing close to her, eating cheese squares. She said Mom, look at the dog. She was amazed at Koda, walking so calmly. We stopped, I very seldom do. I told the little girl “If you were to give him a piece of cheese, he will do tricks for you”. She smiled, but was afraid to approach Koda too closely. Koda sat patiently waiting a tasty cheese morsel. Her mother asked if it was OK. I said yes, but the little girl too shy, let her mother give it to him. Koda, was so gently taking it. He did several tricks for them, and the smiles were endless. We continued shopping, to be mobbed and harassed by others.

I’ve seen this over and over again, not the mother and two kids I just mentioned. Parents, willing to put their, and other children, possibly, in harms way, to harass my dog. This happened repeatably two years ago, in Grand Junction, CO. I called law enforcement, told the officer what was happening, showed him a couple of pictures. He said “next time this happens, take videos, and call me”. I did just that. After repeated phone calls and messages; he did not return any of my calls. These were people using young children, to harass Koda, right after I adopted him. American’s willing to put their children, in harms way, to harass a newly adopted, strange, dog.

Before we went to Walmart, we were at St Mary’s Hospital, in Grand Junction, Colorado. This like all hospitals; are supposed to be a place of help and healing. What we received was harassment and mobbing. Before we even entered the hospital, we were chased down by a guy with a weed-wacker. We walked towards the front side, of a patch of grass, so Koda could pee. As Koda, sniffs out a place to pee; the guy with a weed-wacker, comes rushing right at him. Koda, looked at him like the piece of shit that he is, and didn’t flinch or bark. I told Koda, as I do many times, “Koda, your working”. Me, on the other hand; walked up to the guy and asked “Is this how you harass a service dog, in Colorado”. He walked away quickly.

We walked into the main entrance of St Mary’s hospital, had a guy rush to crowd us, in the revolving door. Once we were in; there was a man playing a piano, in the main lobby. It was so loud, I couldn’t hear the woman, I asked for directions. She said something about the purple line. She had to repeat it several times. This tactic, is done to Targets, on a regular basis, They overwhelm you with noise, and talk over you; when you ask someone for help, or try to place a food order somewhere. In hopes, you are overwhelmed by the noise campaign, frustration, and won’t return. It didn’t faze me, Koda the Magnificent, and I, were on our way. We went to check into the clinic, but I was way early, and decided to go back to the main lobby. While I was driving, they called to schedule the appointment. It was at 1pm, but I scribbled down two number ones, making it look like 11. I get a lot of calls, while driving, or preoccupied by something.

The maniac, wasn’t smashing keys on the piano, anymore. I sat down, and Koda lay at my feet. There was a Security Guard standing in front of us. He and another guy, starts hugging each other. Perps, do this all the time; excessive, over-exaggerated, Public Displays of Affection. I mentioned before; these Perps have their tales, and they will throw it in your face. After the fake PDA, the other guy starts talking, almost yelling, pointing outstretched arm and finger, directly at Koda. He’s looking directly at Koda, while doing so. I said, “Sir, he’s a service dog”. The guy continues to point, talking extremely loud. He says to me, “I’ve raised more dogs than you’ll ever know”. He then starts doing a chicken dance. Flapping his arms. I looked to the Security Guard and asked, “are you going to allow this”. “This is a service dog”. He made excuses for the guy, and dismissed it. I asked if he knew the guy, he said he new his first name as Rod, didn’t know his last. They had pulled their skit, so the security guard walked away. They other guy was walking away too, but came back, pointing again. Again, It did faze Koda a bit. I nurse walked by, and I asked her; “is this the way you treat your patients”. She caught the tale end of it, as the Security Guard, just walked away from us. She said she would get a patient’s advocate, She did, the advocate spoke with me. I explained the situation, what had happens, as Koda lay at my feet. She said, she would gather more information, and call me back. She did, and told me the security guard, did tell her, he new the guy that was harassing Koda. The guard told me he didn’t really know him, just his first name.

Koda and I had enough of their bullshit. We had time to grab lunch, before our appointment. We walked about two blocks, to a Deli. As we waited for street lights across from the Deli. A woman came out from a child day care place. She stood in the small parking lot. She had something in her hand beside a phone. Then a car alarm went off, several feet from her. It continued, as the woman looked at us, in a stern manner. Once the light turn green, and we were able to cross, the car alarm stopped, and the woman went back inside. We get the car alarm treatment a lot. It’s another noise campaign, intended to onset anxiety in a Target. It didn’t faze Koda, we crossed, when the crosswalk audio began beeping.

We ordered our lunch, sat down and waited. There was no one ahead of us, but the stall began. The woman that took our order, clapping her hands for no apparent reason. She would walk behind the counter, throw her arms into the air, slap her palms to geather, and make a loud clap. It’s another Perp tale. They want you to know they are involved in Gang Stalking. She then brought out two big bags of ice, started slamming them on a counter, by the soda machine. She then, poured them into the top of the machine, as slow as possible. After that, she went back to clapping. A couple of people came in. A man that was eating when we came in, stood up, walked out of his way, to dispose of his trash. So he could stare Koda down, as he walked by.

We had our lunch and left. We just crossed the street, some guy was chasing us down with an electric cart thing. I’m supersized he didn’t have American flags, sticking out from the thing. I then heard a woman yelling, so I turned around. The woman that took our order at the deli, was yelling, asking if I left my credit card there. I knew I didn’t, I used a debit card. She asked if I was sure, I said yes. She wanted to stall me, as two young boys come racing at us on bicycles. The guy setting on the electric cart watching our response. These Perps, will do whatever it takes, to stall someone, until others show up to harass a Target. These same sequence of events, have been recorded and documented over and over. These conspired acts, have been repeated, from one state to another. It may change up a bit, but it’s always delaying a Target, so others can show up and get their licks in.

We made it back to the St Mary’s Hospital. We went to our clinic to check in. There was a woman in the clinic lobby, without a face mask. We get this often, in a required mask area. They want the Target to say something, to start a confrontation. I don’t bite, and the woman looked disappointed. The woman checking us in, wanted me to give her my social security and phone number out-loud. This was a small lobby, anyone in there could hear me giving personal information. Information, that can be used to steal your identity. The woman, even wanted me to repeat my social security number. Which was total bullshit. I told her, I shouldn’t be giving this information out-loud. They should have a form. She said they don’t, this is how they check people in. A lot of these acts, are designed to get a Target riled up, just before a blood pressure test. I just went with the flow, and got the ultrasound on my carotid arteries. The technician that did it, was decent, and enjoyed Koda. I told him, the only time Koda acted out, was when a doctor, had his finger up my ass, checking my prostate. I was kidding with him. This Hospital, has a 2 Star rating. I wonder why?

After our long morning of being baited, and hated; we headed back to camp. I spent the rest of the day, and night, trying to access, my medical records and MRI test. We vets, use MyHealthVet, to access this information online. I haven’t been able to access my MRI, and it was done on 5-27-22.

Here we are, and it’s Tuesday. I finally contact, tech support, with MyHealthVet. A woman named Monica, help me. I can’t give this woman enough praise. She spent over an hour with me. It wasn’t by catch, or browser. Someone had locked me out, my password was no longer valid, and I couldn’t reset it. She told me this happens often. I had the same thing happen, to my Flickr account. Monica, was finally able to remove my old password. This woman was extremely patient, kind and understanding.

I set a password and was able to download, and view my MRI results, and the images. They were worse, than I had anticipated. I could go into detail, but I’ll spare you. If you read my last post; you would have read the bullshit the Neurologist, with Barrows Neurological Institute, in Phoenix, puts me through.

I had my fist visit with him on 4-14-22. He said he reviewed my records, and if I was having vision problem in only one eye; it could not be a neurological problem. He, along with my VA primary care doctor, wanted to dismiss my physical problems, as migraine headaches. Even though, I told them I don’t have migraine headaches, I very seldom have mild headache. I asked for an MRI, on my brain.

He said there’s nothing in my records, warranting an MRI. I had to insist. They didn’t return my many calls to see if they received my MRI, for a video call on 7-18-22. On that call, he talks down to me again, telling me, it’s my responsibility, to insure they had it. When his staff, and Phoenix VA, Community Care person, didn’t return my calls for weeks. He still set up the video call, knowing they didn’t have it. Then on the call he tells me “anyone can read your MRI, to you”. But, they are holding off, releasing me to another physician, and Neurologist. Because, he wants to have another video call, go over my MRI (that he didn’t want done in the first place), so they can bill the VA, again. He is postponing, my care. Even though I told my physician, and the Community Team in Phoenix, the bullshit, they have pulled. I want to repeat this; my care is being delayed, so a man that didn’t want me to have an MRI, who’s staff doesn’t return my calls, so they can continue to bill the VA. This mans actions, and lack of, show; he could care less about my outcome, or receiving the Neurological care that I need. The nurse that has been corresponding with me, on my primary care team; has been a real dick too. They don’t want to release me to Grand Junction, either. When a patient is transferred to another VA facility, they lose their funding for that patient. Meanwhile, I’m denied the urgent care, I desperatly need.

Now, I’m setting up for a video call, with my Rheumatologist, in Phoenix. She’s one of the good ones. She puts all the bullshit aside, and looks out for her patients. I’m going on line, a black Cadillac, yes a Cadillac, parks about 100 meters behind us. Then, I hear a small drone flying around. I take a couple of pictures, from a window. They gather their things and slowly leave. I get cued to click onto the link. As soon as I do, gunshots, just to the left side of our motorhome.

I’m on the call now, my Rheumatologist able to access my MRI. She said, Rick, you need to see a Neurologist ASAP. I told her, I know. She was angered at the shit I’m going through, told me to keep a close eye on my blood pressure. Just as she did, a Jet dives, right over the top of our motorhome. It was probably, a National Guard Jet. They have a small base, in Grand Junction. Planes and jets, flight paths, are often diverted over a Targets whereabouts. It’s another conspired act, of overwhelming harassment. It also helps validitfy, the amoral actions of all the other minions. I will set up at a new boondocking site, in the middle of nowhere. Within a couple of days, there’s planes and jets, buzzing our motorhome. Colorado, Wyoming, Arizona; it doesn’t matter where I’m at. It’s not that I camp within flight patterns. The flight patters are changed, so aircraft can harass, surveil, and intimidate a Target.

Then, within minutes, the Village Idiots, start showing up. I have documented and recorded this, for many years.

We head back to St Mary’s Hospital, that afternoon. I had an appointment with a Vascular Surgeon. As we get close to the clinic within the hospital. One of the clinic staff is walking towards us, with her mask pulled down. As we get closer, she pulls it up. She left the clinic for her break, like the staff did in at the license branch, in a previous post. We walk into the clinic, no one at the window, so we set down in the unoccupied lobby. One of the women calls us back, said the other woman is gone, she will check check us in. She called us back to a crowded small hallway, so Koda and I could be mobbed. This creepy older couple walk right up to us, as we stood there at the counter. Then, there were a couple nurses, that had to get in on the action. The woman behind the counter, says she will get my information. As the older guy starts fake coughing, right in our face. He, and the woman, give Koda the stare down. She disappears, the guy steps to our other side. He continues to cough, as others work their way closer to us. This, all, in a very small hallway. The woman behind the counter said, “Oh, we already have your information. So, we just stood there. I finally had enough, and said, “if your done with this show, we will be in the lobby”. She quickly says, the nurse will take you back now.

The first thing the nurse did, was take my blood pressure. You can imagine, how high it is by now. We get this treatment all the time, at the VA. They do everything they can it elevate your blood pressure, so they can document it in your chart. But, when you try to address your valid medical problems, they dismiss them. Saying, if we don’t see it, we can’t put it in your records. The nurse took my vitals, and said the doctor will be in shortly.

The doctor knocked on the door, then entered, with two young women. He introduces them; one as a nurse in training, the other as his Physicians Assistant. Koda, laying at my left side. One of the women positioned to stare directly at him; as the doctor told me, one of my carotid arteries my be completely blocked. He said, we have had patients describe the gray curtain, in their eyes, like you have. He then says, there is no chance of a stroke. Which was bullshit. He may have had the two Honey Pots in there, in case, he has to collaborate a story. I have see this a lot, in questionable doctors. Like my Primary Care Doctor, in Phoenix. She and the Neurologist with Barrows, wanted to dismiss the extensive blood flow restrictions, as migraine headaches. Now, I’m seeing physical proof, that they are not. I’m falling on my face; because my brain is not getting the blood flow it needs, to produce the neurons, that signal for my left leg to lift, when I need it to. The doctor says he will, discuses the gray spot with the Ophthalmologist, and get back to me in 2-4 weeks. I have one artery completely blocked, blockage in another one, and he will get back to me in 2-4 weeks. I have addressed this with VA doctor, after doctor, for over two years. I’m told I’ll have to wait another 2-4 weeks, for a game plan. As brain tissue dies off, because of blood flow restrictions.

This is what happens to Americans, not gust veterans, that dare question, their medical care, or lack of. People go to a hospital for help and healing, and are harassed and dismissed. If you dare question these doctors, or medical facilities; your life will be a living hell. Like they did to my mother, in another Catholic Hospital. She truly feared the nurse treating her, after she took a bad fall in her 80s. My sister was there to witness, the rude and dismissive treatment. My mother pleaded with my sister, not to say anything. There are many great people in the medical field. Their dedication and sacrifices, are often overshadowed by the Bullies, that work along side them. Gaslighting and Workplace Mobbing, is off the charts in the medical field. Administrators, and what is labeled as leadership, allow it. Like many, many in the corporate world. Like our FBI Director.

The rest of the week, is filled with the same conspired acts of gaslighting, harassment and mobbing. We have the Village Idiots, walking around the back and sides of our motorhome, as we lay in bed at night. When I get up to pee in the middle of the night, they zoom pass the back of our motorhome. Like the Bully pictured in the white Tacoma, in the previous post. They will then stop and shine their lights, into our bedroom windows. I even had one shining their lights in to the bathroom, while I took a dump. I don’t know what kind of fetish, these sick fucks have with poop. Koda can’t take one outside; with out a plane and these idiots, showing up to watch, and harass him, as he scrunches up to drop one. It happened again this morning.

I spent the rest of the week making phone calls and emails to patient advocates and my primary care provider in Phoenix. They won’t transfer my care to Grand Junction. I was told by a dick in my primary care team; they will not release my care because the Neurologist that didn’t want me to have an MRI, scheduled a video call to read it. They won’t release my care to another Neurologist. I’m told, I need to coordinate with him, for a meeting on 8-18-22. I don’t know how I’m suppose to do this, when his staff won’t return my phone calls. Meanwhile, they bill the VA, for video calls. When, on the last one, he told me “anyone can read your MRI”.

Now were into Friday. I started writing this the day before. We’ve had the Village Idiots keeping us sleep deprived for three nights now. Zooming pass the back of the motorhome, walking around it, hitting the motorhome with something, as we lay in bed. They don’t want to be captured on camera, so they pick up the harassment and mobbing at night.

I took Koda for a short walk. A plane the keeps showing up as we step out, is overhead. It has a black underbelly, with white wings. I ignore it, and try to get Koda a little exercise. After, we went back in. I began my phone calls again. I called the Phoenix VA, to continue, trying to get my care transferred. I told everyone; I didn’t want to see the Neurologist from Hell again, or have anything to do with him. I told the young woman about the young patient advocate, that laughed at me, as I tried to explained what was going on. The supervisor that was trying to cover for the person in Community Care, that didn’t return my calls. They don’t seem to fucking get it. Veterans die every day; waiting for a phone call, or authorization for care. My close cousin did. He died in his mothers living room recliner. She was making him breakfast, called him into the kitchen. He didn’t come, she went into the living room, and found him dead, in her recliner. He was a Vietnam War Veteran, waiting for authorization, to receive VA care. Thiis is what happens, when Bullies, and Administrators, can pick and chose who receives care.

The woman I spoke with said she will forward this to the head supervisor, but she may not respond because its Friday. It was the 1st thing Friday. While I was on the phone with her; one of the Village Idiots is stopped behind our motorhome, harassing Koda, as he looked out the window. I stepped out with my camera, he spins off, throwing gravel and dust into the air. Here comes a plane again, buzzing directly overhead. I take a couple picks, go back inside.

I decided to call the White House VA Hotline. This was recommend to me by a Community Care Nurse, here in Grand Junction, trying to get me transferred. I spent an hour and 24 minutes speaking to a woman. I told her about the Neurologist dicking me around for months, and still wants too. I told her about being laughed at, by someone who was supposed to be my advocate. I told her about the Village Idiots shooting their high powered rifles over and in front of our motorhome. From Colorado, to Wyoming, to Arizona. I told her about the Village Idiots, keeping us up at night, and sleep deprived. I told her about me, being locked out of my medical and testing records. I told her, this is not a Biden Story, or a Trump Lie; these are facts. She didn’t seem at all surprised. She said she would start a case, it would take 2-4 weeks, for them to possibly get a resolution. Now, I have to wait another 2-4 weeks. How many veterans will die, waiting 2-4 weeks for a response? How may, Mr Denis Richard McDonough, VA Secretary? Meanwhile, Republicans block a bill, that would help fund the care of veterans dying from exposure to burn pits.

It’s not just the Republicans. Look at all the legislators that jumped on board, for the 880 billion dollar spending bill for defense. Or the 280 billion, to subsidies their buddies in the tech field, that will make billions from chip manufacturing. We have a former president that lied, pushed his lie, to start a 20 year war. Now, our legislators, won’t take care of the men and women that served in that war. How many of these legislators, have spouses, family, and corporate friends, making millions from these contracts. AS, they turn their backs on veterans once again. Right Joe! Have another televised meeting with your corporate friends, like you recently did. Like you did last year too. So, they can tell the American people, how great you are. Meanwhile, veterans are dying, awaiting care. Other veterans, and other United States Citizens, are being used as test subjects, for Direct Energy Weapons. Right, Mr. CIA, and FBI, directors.

It had been another taxing morning. It was mid afternoon, I was drained. I went to the bedroom, laid down to take a nap. Koda, lays at my feet. Withing 5 minutes, there was a jet, that dove right at, and over the top of, our motorhome. Not shortly, after my call, to the White House VA Hotline. Seriously people, this shit happens! The rest of the day was filled with noise campaigns, Village Idiots zooming pass, on a state highway. Every time we stepped out of the motorhome.

This is what happens to United States Citizens, that dare to speak out, about the vast corruption within our government, the defense and medical industry, and corporate America. This is what happens to Targeted Individuals, in the United States of America. It’s not a Biden, Bullshit Story, or a Trump Lie; these are facts. I don’t want your sympathy, your money. I want everyone to know the truth.

All photos, and content of my photostream, are free to download, copy, print and share. All I ask, is that they maintain my logos and copyright info. Help me share the truth! Knowledge, Truth and Exposure, are powerful tools. Please bare with me; when I try to post these truths, my internet speeds slows, or drops completely. Many times, unable to award those very deserving, in the many Flickr groups. I was even unable to edit my last post, from spelling and grammar.

 

Thanks for visiting our photstream. I have to go. Koda, is trying to protect me from the chipmunk, at our door. The poor guys has been a bit, stressed. He had to take a double poo, this morning; while planes and the Village Idiots, bombarded him with noise. Oh shit, here comes another National Guard Jet. I’m going to get some serious hate, from this post. My connection, just timed out.

Midnight Shadows

Part 1

 

Maybe is because of the specific role-play games my twin and I grew up playing. Maybe it’s also because of My love of dressing up in elegant attire and the wearing of jewellery. Or just maybe I am one of those mystic magnets of a soul that attracts this sort of thing to happen?

 

I had actually written this one out a year after it happened because someone suggested to me to do so, but wish now I had done so right after it happened so I would have a more descriptive memory of it.

 

It’s brief because the actual incident as it played out, happened so fast that it all was such a blur, there are no real recollections as far as detailed descriptions go.

 

Not even sure if it fits in with this collection of stories based on role play and similar games from youth and young adulthood.

 

For it may have been a game, but it certainly was not one of ours.

 

££££££££££

 

This rather harrowing experience occurred on the evening of a fancy dress Girl’s only party I attended some years ago.

 

My twin brother I were 22 years old at the time, as was my best friend Ginny.

 

The party mentioned was a BAFTA themed get together held in the nearby city.

 

Ginny and I were both attired for the party as though we were attending the real thing, which was the idea. And we were not alone in dressing up like that.

 

For at this annual party held by a university chum’s older sister, everyone attending was mandated to dress up like an actress attending the awards ceremony.

 

Ginny, as always when she does fancy proper, was drop-dead gorgeous.

 

She looked smashing, poured into her shimmering, off one shoulder gown of thin silk, silver with copper threads woven in. The gown really had a nice sexy fluid flow as she moved. Long elbow-length gloves of a dark copper satin, finished the effect.

 

She was wearing her good earrings. A pierced ear style set with real diamonds(1/2 Carat diamond with a dangling a pear-shaped 1 1/2 carat diamond), a diamond rhinestone choker, a matching rhinestone bracelet, and two cocktail rings. The 2 carat earrings and one of her rings were real, the rest good quality antique rhinestones.

 

Her silky hair, a darker natural red than mine, was worn up with an elegant bun held with a long silver clip on one side. Several strands purposely fell alongside her freckled face, adding a rather far too cute effect.

 

Myself, I was wearing a pretty party dress of Mum’s. One that I (and Papa) felt she looked breathtakingly beautiful wearing it on a night out.

 

It was a solid coloured sky blue taffeta dress that shone with a tight sleekness down along my figure. Maybe a bit too tight for it outlined my every curve, making me look sexier than I knew I was. The skirt was higher in front( touching just below my knees) than in the back where it swished a few inches above my ankles and my deep blue silk stiletto heels. The neckline of the dress was of a long open scoop and had wavy ruffles running along with its opening, the sleeves went to my elbows, ending in ruffles. With it, I was also wearing deep blue 3/4 length satin gloves.

 

For jewellery, I wore mum’s full set of enticingly sparkling rhinestones. The pricey imitation diamonds that Papa teased he needed sunglasses to look at her whenever Mum wore them out, which was a lot.

 

The centerpiece of the set was undoubtedly the long glittery necklace that looked like an upside-down,loosely attached, elongated pyramid filled with blazing diamond-like stones.

This eye-catcher hung down low along the open neck of the dress, swaying a few inches up from my (small)cleavage.

 

The set also had a matching bracelet, long earrings, and a ring. I added two more of my real gemstone rings for effect.

 

My own freshly washed long, naturally red hair was pulled back in a plait and I had a thin diamond chip encrusted silver Tiara to hold it all in place.

 

Please get a good mental picture of how Ginny and I were dressed up for the affair before reading on( and I hope you will read on) it should add a little clarity to the story.

  

Midnight Shadows

Part 2

  

To fit in with the party theme my twin brother actually was able to again borrow papa’s friend’s elegant antique car. An old dark purple Rolls Royce.

 

My brother dressed the part as a chauffeur( at Ginny and my puppy-eyed request), wearing a suit, formal shirt, and bow tie. He refused to wear the white gloves or hat though.

 

He thoroughly was into playing his role, opening the door for each of us as we were helped into the back, with him sitting alone upfront.

 

The party was at a house 30 minutes away in the city, with about 25 guests expected to attend.

 

All of whom had gone wild with their fancy dress ideas.

 

Gowns and formal dresses, many of which were old bridesmaids affairs, flowed, shined, and shimmered along with our fellow guest's youthful female figures.

 

Copious amounts of Gemstones, mostly rhinestone with more than a few real ones, were glittering with amazing brilliance from their mistresses.

 

As you can imagine, I was really into that atmosphere and it was really for me, a quite enjoyable and engaging experience.

 

The party itself was a lot of fun and very enjoyable for all in attendance. This was the pre-cell phone era, so we all were quite focused on the party.

 

On and off we watched the awards show, but the main attraction was the drinking and guessing games we played.

 

We also had a fashion show with a makeshift red carpet that everyone did a catwalk along.

 

My mum’s rhinestone attracted a lot of notice, they sparkled so much.

 

And yes, once when mum was wearing them out a lady actually asked if they were real. We all had a good laugh over that.

 

My brother and even Ginny commented on how they would sparkle in the city street lamps as we drove under them on the way in.

 

By the time the party was winding down we all

were feeling pretty well lit, and very huggy.

 

All too soon it was time to go.

 

After my twin brother had dropped us off, he waiting for us at the riverside pub named Poet and the Peasant.

 

He told us to call at the pub and then wait inside the house for him to arrive. The neighborhood was nice enough, but still, it was the city, so he felt more comfortable if we were to not be out wandering.

 

He would honk the Roll’s horn at the curb to let us know when he was there.

 

We called from the house after midnight when ready and he told us he’d be there in about 15 minutes after leaving the pub where he was playing darts with a few lads.

 

We had told others about the Rolls Royce, and some had asked to see it. So, ignoring my brother’s request, we all gathered outside to wait.

 

Twenty minutes later my brother drove up, spying our group he honked the horn as he pulled up curbside.

 

Playing the part in front of so many well-dressed ladies, my brother was in his glory as helped each of us slip into the back seat of the rolls Royce, closing our doors like a gentleman, before hopping back in the driver's seat to take us home. Honking the horn again to the few remaining jealous admirers who waved us on.

 

We felt like real movie stars at that.

 

And like real movie stars, we soon had a following.

  

Midnight Shadows

Part 3

 

It was after my brother turned off the street where the party house was located, that he first noticed the red auto behind us.

 

He was not sure where it had come from, but, something he could never put a finger on, made him think that it was a deliberate appearance

 

The red auto, keeping about two car lengths behind, began to match my brother’s turns as he began to take his usual way home. The car never signaled its turns he noticed.

 

Not saying anything to us chattering away in the back leather seats, he turned off into a side street at random to see what would happen. The auto turned down the same street following, again no turn signal.

 

My brother then turned down another street and pulled the Rolls over midway along it, stopping at the curb directly in front of a house, so the auto could pass if he also turned In behind.

 

It did come around the same corner, but instead of passing the parked Rolls, the red auto ominously pulled to the curb about three houses behind us, leaving its lights on.

 

Ginny and I had been chatting happily in the back seat, my brother stopping the Rolls Royce first drew our attention that something was up.

 

When asked what’s going on, he said that he thinks someone in an automobile is following us.

 

We laughed at him, thinking he was trying to play games with us.

 

On the way to the party, he kept teasing us on how sparkly our jewels were in the rearview mirror when illuminated by street lights.

 

I had snickered saying

“it’s a good thing your here to protect us then Luv.”

 

He had looked back at me with a wicked smile in his eyes. “Ah, true lass, but what if I was a thief in disguise?”

 

So now we both thought he was just trying to put a scare into us playing off on those remarks.

 

Not smiling at our taunts, he sternly told us to just turn around and watch the auto parked down the road with the headlights on.

  

Midnight Shadows

Part 4

  

We both turned in our seats, surprised to see that he was right.

 

“Who do you think it is?” Ginny asked reasonably.

 

“Really don’t know, Luv?” He answered putting the Rolls in gear.

 

He pulled away, and after a few seconds so did the auto with the headlights on.

 

My brother then took two more random turns down roads and we realized he was really telling the bloody truth.

 

We knew then it wasn’t something my brother had dreamed up as role-play with his lads. He would not stoop this low and besides, to tell the truth, he was not all that good of an actor to pull it off.

 

The auto kept pace, matching

us turn for turn.

 

I would think by then whoever was in the red Auto knew that we realized they were tailing us. But they still kept following.

 

I remember as we watched from the back, Ginny and I turning to look at each other, both of us not really knowing what to do if even there was anything we could have done?

 

I can also clearly recollect how Ginny’s diamond earrings were glimmering as I looked into her concerned face. But bit my tongue.

 

I did not want to alarm her with my thoughts. Knowing how expensive her earrings were. That, plus the fact most of the jewellery I was wearing belonged to Mum, really gave me worries. Still, I knew Ginny was also harboring similar unsaid concerns.

 

Neither of us daring to give voice to those worries, lest it became a reality.

 

But two elegantly clad young ladies being driven around inside a Rolls Royce with a chauffeur at the wheel could say the least, easily attract notice. Something we had not given any thought to as we planned out this evening.

 

Inviting attention, both when arriving in the city, and as well as when they were leaving it.

 

Both of us turned back to look out the window.

 

Again watching the bright headlights, I shuddered at another thought that popped into my head.

 

What if the occupants of the red auto had followed us in, and while we were enjoying the party, had been waiting patiently for us to leave it?

 

That really creeped me out and I shivered.

 

My brother, silent with unspoken worries of his own, was keeping to the well lit, residential streets while trying to think of how to get out of this if he needed to.

 

It could be just two joyriders doing this on a lark after all.

 

A second issue was that the big Rolls Royce was a lumbering beast not made to outspeed pursuit.

 

Then there was a third issue: He also did not want to lead our shadowers near to where Ginny or we both lived.

 

We still lived in a rambling country cottage with my parents. Ginny lived a few houses over in the old stone house that had once been a summer home for a large, prewar, estate owner.

 

Not voicing any of these concerns to his passengers, my brother stayed in the city, which he knew quite well.

 

Turning up a boulevard he saw a traffic light ahead.

 

We pulled up to it and the Red Auto stopped about a car length back.

 

We could make out the shadowy figures of two unmistakable males, talking to each other as they were pointing fingers.

 

They were not just pointing at us, but past us. That gave me the creeps as I told my brother what the occupants were doing.

 

The light turned green, and without signaling, he turned the Rolls to the right, entering a Main Street.

 

The red auto did the same, not signaling either.

 

Approaching another light as it was turning red, my brother ran it, cutting off a lurching double-decker just coming into the intersection.

 

As we received a blast of horns for our transgression, my brother shifted into a higher gear and forced the whining old Rolls into its top speed.

 

All I remember at that point, was thinking we were not going fast enough at all.

 

But this maneuver held up the red auto only long enough for us to turn down an alley between two businesses about 3/4 of a block past the red light. I was watching our rear and I knew the red auto, just leaving the intersection, had seen us turn.

 

My brother knew that the alleys on this street all let out onto a road that ran along the grounds of a rugby stadium.

 

There were street lamps on the opposite side of the road from the stadium. There were no lights on at all on the stadium side, making the area darker at night than India ink.

 

We pulled out of the alleyway without seeing any following headlights yet coming in behind us.

 

“There is usually a patrol car parked along the stadium at night, “my brother said.

 

“Keep an eye out”

 

But of course, tonight was the exception, no cars were parked there.

 

I was looking back at the alleyway we had left and I saw headlights casting along the brick walls.

 

I gave warning, but it came out as a girlish shriek.

 

“I see it.” My brother said, he had killed the headlights and was already turning into the exit end of the stadium’s long parking lot

 

My twin pulled the Rolls under the shadows of some trees that lined the inner side of the parking lot, facing the way we had come.

 

We all scrunched down and waited.

  

Midnight Shadows

Part 5

  

A few very long seconds later, the red auto, driving slowly, appeared at the end of the alley and stopped.

 

Then, without signal,

it slowly turned off onto the street and started going in the opposite direction, at a crawl.

 

Looking For our Rolls Royce we probably rightly suspected.

 

Our hearts were pounding and I believe we were all holding our breaths with disquieting

 

trepidation.

 

The red auto went down past that end of the stadium.

 

My heart leaped into my throat as I put a hand to my beating breasts, watching it turn up the next street leading back to the intersection with the red light we had blown through.

 

My brother put in the clutch, keeping the headlamps off, he slowly turned the auto around.

 

Ginny and I sat up and watched behind us.

 

We turned off the parking lot went back the opposite of where our pursuers had gone.

 

Once in the street my brother turned on the headlamps and gave the old engine some gas. We turned up the next street and then some side streets.

 

Nervously we watched the streets behind us. But only saw a few headlights coming on the road, and they were all false alarms.

 

Finally circling around we made it back to the Main Street that led to the highway turnoff.

 

Nervously all three of us scanned the cars parked along both sides of the streets. But no one pulled out behind us that seemingly going on forever stretch of road.

 

Apparently we had lost our shadowers in the red auto.

 

We made it to the turnoff without further mischief befalling us and went onto the highway and headed back home.

 

We never saw the red auto again.

 

Ginny and I were spending the rest of the weekend in her basemen bedroom at her house, her parents bring out of town.

 

Neither of us was ashamed to admit we accepted my brother’s offer to spend the night upstairs.

 

When we got to her place, Ginny helped us raid Uncle’s small bar in the basement. We sat up for the rest of the early morning, still fully dressed, talking it over.

 

We all believed was no lark, hoax, or a joke being played on us. The occupants of that red auto seemed all too intent on something.

 

To this very day, none of us have any real idea of what that intent may have been, just only our speculation.

 

I do remember that we had come up with a whole gauntlet of theories before turning in.

 

But we are all quite ok with not finding out which theory was the correct one that night.

 

And Like me, I’m sure we all finally drifted off to sleep considering what may have played out if...?

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

 

Would love to hear thoughts on this in the comments below. Especially if anyone has ever had a similar experience.

 

Specific Perfection ENB ------- it is hidden at the moment

In specific, Holy Week is the week just before Easter that extends from Palm Sunday until Holy Saturday and marks the last week of Lent. It has earned the name 'Holy', according to the Orthodox Church, due to the significant events that take place for Christianity in regard to the sufferings of Jesus Christ.

 

Saturday evening is filled with the anticipation of celebrating Easter Sunday. In some areas, people begin to gather in the churches and squares in cities, towns and villages by 11pm for the Easter liturgies. A few minutes before midnight, all the lights are turned off and the priest exits the altar holding candles lit by the Holy Light, which is distributed to everyone inside and outside the church. At midnight, the priest exits the church and announces the resurrection of Jesus. Many people carry large white candles called lambada, and the church bells toll as the priests announce “Christ is Risen!” at midnight. Each person in the crowd replies with a similarly joyous response.

 

The capital of the Republic of Cyprus is also its cultural heartbeat.

 

Nicosia is the capital and largest city on the island of Cyprus, as well as its main business centre.

 

There is one thing the photograph must contain, the humanity of the moment.

 

We are making photographs to understand what our lives mean to us.

 

The best thing about a picture is that it never changes, even when the people in it do.

 

The camera is an instrument that teaches people how to see without a camera.

 

I really believe there are things nobody would see if I didn’t photograph them.

 

Rarely do I make specific plans on one of my photographic excursions, but this time I did. No, it was not for this picture! I had checked the moon rise to coincide with the opposing sunset overlooking the Western face of the Tetons. Everything was planned perfectly... except, the moon reared it's head right on queue, but some distance North of the Tetons and outside my planned shot.

 

So, I turned my camera towards the sunset and shot Fall River without the Tetons in the background and without the moon. I guess it just goes to show that "The Best Laid Plans of Mice and Men" are filled with the planning of man and full of flaws. Guess I'll just go on being a photographer of the opportunities that are presented to me and somehow... I'm just fine with that.

Lovely and friendly little squirrel!

  

Visit : www.refordgardens.com/

 

Visit: en.wikipedia.org/wiki/American_red_squirrel

 

American red squirrels should not be confused with Eurasian red squirrels (Sciurus vulgaris); since the ranges of these species do not overlap, they are both commonly referred to as "red squirrels" in the areas where they are native. The specific epithet hudsonicus refers to Hudson Bay, Canada, where the species was first catalogued by Erxleben in 1771. A recent phylogeny suggests the squirrels as a family can be divided into five major lineages. Red squirrels (Tamiasciurus) fall within the clade that includes flying squirrels and other tree squirrels (e.g., Sciurus). There are 25 recognized subspecies of red squirrels.

 

Red squirrels can be easily identified from other North American tree squirrels by their smaller size, territorial behavior and reddish fur with a white venter (underbelly). Red squirrels are somewhat larger than chipmunks. The Douglas squirrel is morphologically similar to the American red squirrels, but has a rust-colored venter and is restricted to the southwestern coast of British Columbia and in the Pacific Northwest of the United States. These species' ranges do not overlap. (Wikipedia)

 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

LES JARDINS DE MÉTIS | REFORD GARDENS

 

Visit : www.refordgardens.com/

  

Elsie Stephen Meighen - born January 22, 1872, Perth, Ontario - and Robert Wilson Reford - born in 1867, Montreal - got married on June 12, 1894.

 

Elsie Reford was a pioneer of Canadian horticulture, creating one of the largest private gardens in Canada on her estate, Estevan Lodge in eastern Québec. Located in Grand-Métis on the south shore of the St. Lawrence River, her gardens have been open to the public since 1962 and operate under the name Les Jardins de Métis and Reford Gardens.

  

Born January 22, 1872 at Perth, Ontario, Elsie Reford was the eldest of three children born to Robert Meighen and Elsie Stephen. Coming from modest backgrounds themselves, Elsie’s parents ensured that their children received a good education. After being educated in Montreal, she was sent to finishing school in Dresden and Paris, returning to Montreal fluent in both German and French, and ready to take her place in society.

 

She married Robert Wilson Reford on June 12, 1894. She gave birth to two sons, Bruce in 1895 and Eric in 1900. Robert and Elsie Reford were, by many accounts, an ideal couple. In 1902, they built a house on Drummond Street in Montreal. They both loved the outdoors and they spend several weeks a year in a log cabin they built at Lac Caribou, south of Rimouski. In the autumn they hunted for caribou, deer, and ducks. They returned in winter to ski and snowshoe. Elsie Reford also liked to ride. She had learned as a girl and spent many hours riding on the slopes of Mount Royal. And of course, there was salmon-fishing – a sport at which she excelled.

 

In her day, she was known for her civic, social, and political activism. She was engaged in philanthropic activities, particularly for the Montreal Maternity Hospital and she was also the moving force behind the creation of the Women’s Canadian Club of Montreal, the first women club in Canada. She believed it important that the women become involved in debates over the great issues of the day, « something beyond the local gossip of the hour ». Her acquaintance with Lord Grey, the Governor-General of Canada from 1904 to 1911, led to her involvement in organizing, in 1908, Québec City’s tercentennial celebrations. The event was one of many to which she devoted herself in building bridges with French-Canadian community.

 

During the First World War, she joined her two sons in England and did volunteer work at the War Office, translating documents from German into English. After the war, she was active in the Victorian Order of Nurses, the Montreal Council of Social Agencies, and the National Association of Conservative Women.

 

In 1925 at the age of 53 years, Elsie Reford was operated for appendicitis and during her convalescence, her doctor counselled against fishing, fearing that she did not have the strength to return to the river.”Why not take up gardening?” he said, thinking this a more suitable pastime for a convalescent woman of a certain age. That is why she began laying out the gardens and supervising their construction. The gardens would take ten years to build, and would extend over more than twenty acres.

 

Elsie Reford had to overcome many difficulties in bringing her garden to life. First among them were the allergies that sometimes left her bedridden for days on end. The second obstacle was the property itself. Estevan was first and foremost a fishing lodge. The site was chosen because of its proximity to a salmon river and its dramatic views – not for the quality of the soil.

 

To counter-act nature’s deficiencies, she created soil for each of the plants she had selected, bringing peat and sand from nearby farms. This exchange was fortuitous to the local farmers, suffering through the Great Depression. Then, as now, the gardens provided much-needed work to an area with high unemployment. Elsie Reford’s genius as a gardener was born of the knowledge she developed of the needs of plants. Over the course of her long life, she became an expert plantsman. By the end of her life, Elsie Reford was able to counsel other gardeners, writing in the journals of the Royal Horticultural Society and the North American Lily Society. Elsie Reford was not a landscape architect and had no training of any kind as a garden designer. While she collected and appreciated art, she claimed no talents as an artist.

 

Elsie Stephen Reford died at her Drummond Street home on November 8, 1967 in her ninety-sixth year.

 

In 1995, the Reford Gardens ("Jardins de Métis") in Grand-Métis were designated a National Historic Site of Canada, as being an excellent Canadian example of the English-inspired garden.(Wikipedia)

 

Visit : en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Elsie_Reford

 

Visit : www.refordgardens.com/

 

LES JARDINS DE MÉTIS

 

Créés par Elsie Reford de 1926 à 1958, ces jardins témoignent de façon remarquable de l’art paysager à l’anglaise. Disposés dans un cadre naturel, un ensemble de jardins exhibent fleurs vivaces, arbres et arbustes. Le jardin des pommetiers, les rocailles et l’Allée royale évoquent l’œuvre de cette dame passionnée d’horticulture. Agrémenté d’un ruisseau et de sentiers sinueux, ce site jouit d’un microclimat favorable à la croissance d’espèces uniques au Canada. Les pavots bleus et les lis, privilégiés par Mme Reford, y fleurissent toujours et contribuent , avec d’autres plantes exotiques et indigènes, à l’harmonie de ces lieux.

 

Created by Elsie Reford between 1926 and 1958, these gardens are an inspired example of the English art of the garden. Woven into a natural setting, a series of gardens display perennials, trees and shrubs. A crab-apple orchard, a rock garden, and the Long Walk are also the legacy of this dedicated horticulturist. A microclimate favours the growth of species found nowhere else in Canada, while the stream and winding paths add to the charm. Elsie Reford’s beloved blue poppies and lilies still bloom and contribute, with other exotic and indigenous plants, to the harmony of the site.

 

Commission des lieux et monuments historiques du Canada

Historic Sites and Monuments Board of Canada.

Gouvernement du Canada – Government of Canada

 

© Copyright

This photo and all those in my Photostream are protected by copyright. No one may reproduce, copy, transmit or manipulate them without my written permission.

 

Specific Perfection ENB www.nexusmods.com/skyrim/mods/62978/?

 

CAD25 texture pack www.nexusmods.com/skyrim/mods/49241/?

 

W.A.T.E.R v. 2.02 -------couldn't find the link :/

 

Joy of Ship www.nexusmods.com/skyrim/mods/61808/?

Queercircle #Collective [Single], #Site-specific #performative #environmental #installation #artwork #queer, #woke, #antifa and #inclusive [Sketchbook], 2024, London

 

Altro titolo - Another title: ContemporaryArt needs Tags, 2024

 

[Fototeca Fondazione Omeri]

 

sites.google.com/view/fabioomero/artists

If you have followed my blog at all you have certainly noticed that one specific aspect in my pictures is connected to colors. For some unknown reason I've always been very drawn to colors when dealing with photography (I cannot do b&w stuff). I could even say that because of this preference my early experiences with digital cameras were mostly disappointing: I couldn't stand the standard look of the early digital cameras because colors were so different and flat compared to golden era of film photography. And because of this disappointment 'getting good colors' became the thing that I kept of chasing for years.

 

It's one thing to recognize that the flat look and 'the standard and objective' colors, which most of the current digital cameras provide out of the box, doesn't actually carry any resemblance to the visual legacy that was left from the era of film photography. Just take a look, for example, old Kodachrome slides and compare them to your JPEGs and you should see two very different interpretations of colors and also become aware that these differences are not only about 'technological advancement' but also artistic choices. Behind the Kodachrome (and other films) there is a artistic interpretation of 'what looks good' and how the colors should be reproduced. JPEG on the other hand is much more 'objective' (read: flat) with some minor contrast and skin color correction thrown in. No wonder why standard JPEGs from the camera look so boring (though they have really been getting better with time).

 

While it's easy to point JPEGs with your finger, it's entirely different thing to determine what are 'good colors'. For example, while I like film era colors, I don't think we should concentrate to reduplicate them as they were – instead I think we should bring in some influences from that visual era there but then continue to define what are good colors at 21th century photography. Rather than ready-made-Lightroom-presets this calls for a cultivated taste regarding colors, which is much harder. I would love to transfer something from the film era legacy to today's photography, but at the same time I don't want photographs to look like they were taken 20 or 30 years ago (read: faded look) as I think it is intellectually dishonest to add a feeling of nostalgia to a picture from a digital filter. Like I said, it's a difficult question.

 

So how I have I solved this 'getting good colors' so far? I believe everyone has to develop their own 'theory of good colors' and 'methodology' to get there eventually. For me it's a three part response: Zeiss glass, VSCO-presets as a starting point and editing. I used to search for clear and bright colors and ultimately found my answer from Zeiss lenses. I'll be first one to admit that there are also other manufacturers out there who deliver great equipment color wise, but for some reason I found Zeiss to provide those small nuances which made difference to me (from my current setup I think the Batis 2/25 is the best followed by the Touit 2.8/50M). Then I use VSCO-presets as a starting point. They give me an easy way to explore whole bunch of different looks which I would never come across without them. Do they look like film? In some cases yes, but I usually erase the vintage look by editing. If I would recommend some of their film packs I would say that the Film Pack 04 is great and Film Pack 07 provides pretty nice starting points for general explorations as well – other ones are way too much vintage for my taste. But even with Zeiss glass and VSCO-presets it comes down to editing. Sometimes it's easy to see what the picture asks for, but sometimes it takes much longer to realize what is wrong with colors or how I should adjust them. It looks like I will never get rid of this task as much as I would like to. Like I said, colors are complicated thing once you step outside of the supposition of objective colors.

 

Ps. For this particular picture I used Provia 100F emulation from the VSCO Film pack 04. One of my favorites, but most often provides way too much contrast which is frustrating with some images. It also shifts the white balance in a nonlinear way that it's difficult to edit. I've also noticed that one cannot just slap on slide film preset to any picture as the end result would look just bad. Slide film emulations, such as the Provia 100F, works as a good starting point when used with conditions that would be similar to real world use of that particular film - in this case it means a lot of sunlight.

 

Days of Zeiss: www.daysofzeiss.com

Specific Perfection ENB www.nexusmods.com/skyrim/mods/62978/?

 

Rxkx22's Julia www.flickr.com/photos/94888663@N07/12209032733/in/photost...

Generally speaking, when I get dolls with necks that are this cracked, I replace their bodies with a donor. However, Miss Ariel uses a very specific body mold, so I wanted to try my best to repair it, since it's unlikely I'll find her a donor anytime soon. I used acrylic to fill in the crack. I then heated her neck up in order to pop the neck articulation back in. Ordinarily, I would have simply placed the joint back into the neck prior to repair, but since the hole was so huge, the acrylic filler kept sticking to the joint. Afterwards, I painted over the patch (not super well since her head covers most of the crack). Most of the time, I don't bother painting over acrylic filler patches since doll heads cover them nicely. But Ariel obviously had such a huge chunk missing from her neck, I decided to play it safe and mask the patch with skin toned paint. Once I reattached her head, I could barely see the patch anyways, which worked out nicely. Her head has full mobility after the repair, and she feels very solid and secure. I'm so happy I was able to fix poor Ariel up--it can't be fun being decapitated!

 

Tutorial: How I Repair Broken Doll Necks

www.flickr.com/photos/athousandsplendiddolls/17144705869/...

Specific goals thwarted by the winds.

 

Out to la Pointe the other morning with a specific goal of photographing the cliffs before the bird migration and nesting begins on the west facing cliffs which by then will be a strict "No-go".

 

However the winds prevented me to continue including reduced visibility, I'm hoping for another crack at it BUT I did come away with what I think is a rather stunning image worth sharing.

 

For those who may not be aware, much of what you see is now private property (it's been sold), though the new owner has been gracious enough to still allow walkers along the walking trail following the perimeter to continue enjoying the majestic views from this spot. There are few things they ask/expect... they include no vehicular traffic (including ATV'S etc), no overnight camping, don't litter amongst a few other simple requests which are posted on signs as one approaches the property. All that is asked is that the few requests be respected.

 

*I'm grateful to have had permission* to have access for this project before the nesting begins, the seabirds will soon be arriving as the weather warms, it'll be critical to avoid disturbing them and other wildlife that is common here.

 

I hope you enjoy this photo.

 

© Michel JS Soucy

www.michelsoucy.ca

www.michelsoucy.com

Presa spudoratamente da un'idea di Giona

 

Unashamedly inspired from an idea by Giona

  

Tutte le foto di ieri / all the pics taken yesterday by us: MWFOx

Swanholme Nature Reserve, Lincoln, Lincolnshire.

 

It was formed from a series of flooded sand and gravel pits and has a mosaic of habitat types. The species found within them are important features both nationally and locally in terms of biodiversity.

 

It is an important wildlife site for Lincoln and was designated a Site of Specific Scientific Interest (SSSI) in 1985, and a Local Nature Reserve status was granted in 1991. The site was formally a gravel quarry, and now the 63-hectare site consists of dry heath, wet heath, sphagnum bog and open water habitats.

 

Rhesus macaque 普通獼猴/恆河猴 (Specific name: Macaca mulatta)

Being on opposite sides of the city centre and effectively serving their own specific portions of the rail network, Manchester's two principal stations (Piccadilly and Victoria), at one time, required some form of frequent road link. Latterly, with modifications not only to the physical rail network, relocation of most services to Piccadilly and the return of the trams, 'Centreline' as we once knew it was deemed to be obsolete.

For many years, the principal performers on the service were specially built little Seddon Pennine IV 'midi-buses' which were effectively a heavy duty coach chassis shortened and fitted with a smaller engine and auto box. They weren't perhaps ideal in layout as city buses, but there was little else available at the time and certainly nothing as durable. When their time came for replacement, Dennis (who at the time would build almost anything you asked for as they strove to make inroads) came up with an equally heavy duty little bus in the form of the 'Domino'. The latter owed much to the firm's Dominator double decker which enjoyed reasonable success at the time, but its chassis was built like the proverbial battleship. Northern Counties, partially owned by Greater Manchester Transport at the time, built the neat, if slightly odd looking body in this case. Sadly the overall product proved to be something of a disappointment with poor reliability and horrendous fuel consumption. Because of those facts and that their purpose (ie The Centreline service) was about to evapourate, they were prematurely withdrawn and stored. None went for further service elsewhere, but thankfully an example was saved for preservation.

Here C766 YBA sits outside Piccadilly station when about three or four years old.

Butterflies reproduce the way other animals do -- sperm from a male fertilizes eggs from a female. Males and females of the same species recognize one another by the size, color, shape and vein structure of the wings, all of which are species specific. Butterflies also recognize each other through pheromones or scents. During mating, males use clasping organs on their abdomens to grasp females.

 

Many male butterflies deliver more than just sperm to their mates. Most provide a spermatophore, a package of sperm and nutrients the female needs to produce and lay eggs. Some males collect specific nutrients to produce a better spermatophore in an attempt to attract a mate. Some females, however, don't have a choice -- in some species, males mate with females before they have left their chrysalis or swarm the chrysalis waiting for the female to appear. In most species, males and females look a lot a like, but females often have larger abdomens for carrying their eggs.

 

Females store the sperm in a sac called a bursa until she's ready to lay her eggs. She fertilizes her eggs as she lays them, using the last sperm she received first. For this reason, males of some species will leave a substance that dries into a film on the female's abdomen in an effort to keep her from mating with other males. Females lay their eggs one at a time or in batches of hundreds depending on their species.

 

A butterfly has to take special care when laying eggs. The eggs must be kept warm and at the right humidity level. Too much moisture and the egg will rot or be attacked by fungus. Too little and the egg will dry out. Caterpillars also need to start eating as soon as they hatch, so most of the time females place the eggs directly onto a plant the caterpillar will eat. Typically, the eggs attach to the underside of a leaf so they are hidden from predators.

 

In spite of all the effort female butterflies make to protect their eggs, very few make it to adulthood. Ants, birds and other animals can eat the eggs themselves. Also caterpillars and butterflies are popular snacks for everything from birds to bats. Some insects also lurk in or around flowers to prey on adult butterflies. A butterfly's chrysalis also has few defenses from predators and, at all stages of life, a butterfly can succumb to fungi and diseases.

 

Kite Butterfly, Rice Paper, Idea leuconoe

Wings of the Tropics, Fairchild Tropical Botanic Garden, Miami FL

www.susanfordcollins.com

Site-specific перформанс Ірини Плотнікової "IceDora" на фестивалі сучасного мистецтва Гогольфест 2016, Київ, Україна © repor.to/popenko