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Water based oil on canvas, 36" x 48"
Original tiger photograph by Tommy Simms on Flickr.com
The ancestors of modern tigers evolved of 42 million years.
www.livescience.com/17723-sabertooth-cats-powerful-arms.html
Hearing the interview with Alan Rabinowitz on Krista Tippett’s NPR show called, “Being,” touched me on many levels. As a child Rabinowitz was crippled with a stuttering problem that was so severe, they put him in the classes with the kids who had learning problems and forgot about him. He couldn’t speak to people, but he could speak to animals. And as this broken child connected with a broken, caged leopard in the zoo he made a promise. If he could ever complete a sentence, he’d be the voice for the animals. Rabinowitz went on to learn how to control his breath and now he is doing what he said he would do for the big cats. He’s doing it very well. He's got a PhD in Zoology, acts as the CEO for panthera.org, and he's really making a difference. Years later as he’s tracking a wild black panther through the jungle, the panther slips in behind him and he comes face to face with it. Now he measures his spirit to this healthy, wild animal and the story comes full circle. Rabinowitz says this about tigers:
“Spiritually I feel very strongly about the tigers. I think you can drop me off any place in the world and I can tell you if the big cats are around me or not. I have been face to face with wild lions, with wild jaguars, and there is a real energy emanating from them. I’ve been in jungle and watched as big cats move through the jungle and hear all of the animals go silent as the big predator moves through it. The energy in a jungle with big predators is a very, very different energy, and when you truly merge with it and feel it, it’s not a dangerous energy. It’s not a negative energy — completely the opposite. It’s this huge, positive, overwhelming force which humbles you, makes you realize that there are things much greater on the Earth than you.”
Peter Levine wrote one of my favorite books. It’s called, “Waking the Tiger.” Levine talks about the fight or flight response everyone has to a traumatic event. When something bad happens to you and it leaves you paralyzed with fear, the energy of the event slips inside you. It keeps hurting you. You spend all your time replaying the event over and over looking at the situation from different angles to make sure it never happens to you again. Meanwhile it saps your strength. However, if you can look at the event, re-write the story, re-focus the energy and wake the tiger, you can get the energy to move through you instead of letting is get stuck inside you. This process makes you strong. Learn how to re-create yourself. Learn how to re-create the world by waking the tiger and facing what paralyzes you.
It really works. I had a healthy case of PTSD from a car accident as a child. I connected with parrots to make myself strong. I helped write a book that rocked the avian world. When I was in a second car accident a few years ago, I knew what to do. I avoided a lot of the pitfalls I stepped directly into as a much younger person because I moved the energy differently. And now when I look at the gut wrenching incident at Zanesville, Ohio where all those animals got shot. I watch how the pain disappears from the horizon but still rolls around in our psyches and I simply must say out loud it’s not enough to witness the event. We have to do something with it.
Here's the link for Krista Tippett's show
being.publicradio.org/www_publicradio/applications/formbu...
Beth Martell - Your Voices, Your Stories | A Voice for the Animals with Alan Rabinowitz [onBeing.or
being.publicradio.org
With the extinction of the tiger so close, transforming our own hearts is paramount.
A small little deer followed Wander into the room.
"Hrm...um...I uh...", Raen stuttered nervously. She hadn't spoken in weeks, and her voice felt foreign.
Wander's eyes looked poofy and red. The little deer in the floor looked up at Raen as though it was trying to speak to her. It's eyes also looked sad.
"Can...can I sit down?", Wander muttered quietly. "I just have to talk to someone, and so...I chose you", she finished dumbly.
Ex Hong Kong Leyland / Dennis Condor at Market and Stutter in San Francisco working for Big Bus Tours. passing Neoplan AN440 #8346 on route 2.
While I was photographing Wheatears, this beautiful male Yellowhammer alighted briefly on the tattiest piece of bailer twine but I quite liked the depth perspective so decided to upload. Yellowhammer is another name that has been in use since the sixteenth century. Here in Yorkshire I hear people call them Yellow Buntings and I used to think how old fashioned it was, but Yellow Bunting wasn't recorded in print until about 200 years after Yellowhammer.
This was one of the first bird songs that I learnt as a child. It is usually rendered "a little bit of bread and no cheese" but only the cheese bit chimes with me. To my ears the song is a slow stutter with a drawn out cheeeese at the end.
Yellowhammers thrive wherever there is a mixture of arable land and grassland, which is none too frequent in this era of specialised farming. Numbers have declined by more than 50% over the past 50 years or so, and the main range contraction has been in the upland fringes and the west where livestock farming has squeezed out arable. They can usually find bits of grassland (where they feed on large insects like grasshoppers and beetles) tucked among intensive arable areas.
Busy Gothenburg intersection at night.
Nikon D600, 24mm f/1.4.
Video recorded at 1080p30, 1/30s, f/1.4, ISO1000.
Video speed-up with ffmpeg command-line tool:
ffmpeg -i IN.MOV -filter:v "setpts=0.1*PTS" -an OUT.MOV
Post-speedup stabilization in iMovie to counter cheap timelapse rotator stuttering. I have heard of a ffmpeg video stabilization filter, but I have not had any success with it yet. Anyone tried that with good results? Please let me know. :)
non-woven landscaping (ground cover, weed control) membrane, weatherings, encrustations and other cumulative stutterings and insults
Niihama / Cambridge
20 August 2018
He loved words. That, he learnt much later, would be his undoing. At some point the words got stuck. He wasn’t sure when that happened, it might have been in the fallopian tube, it might have been much earlier. He didn’t remember when they first began to tumble out, or stutter out rather. To begin with there were so few of them, but at the same time he couldn’t recall when they turned staccato, when they had begun to trip each other up, when they started to pile up in his head refusing to let each other fall out of his mouth.
It was usually just one word. The thing was he saw it, that word, coming. Even as he was boasting to his friends about a new adventure, or whatever, he could see it coming. I say that word, but in truth, there were a lot of them, and one word would be fine one day, and on another could quietly set up a barricade in his throat and refuse to budge. Some words were impossible, his own name for Christ’s sake, why the hell would that get stuck? His own name in Gaelic was even worse, but that’s jumping ahead.
Anyway, in the long run, he ended up with all these words stuck up inside his head, all blocked by one little bastard of a word flicking his epiglottis and making a ridiculous noise there, impersonating a machine gun in his throat. It hurt too, that stoppage, or rather those far from standard stoppages.
However, he had realised lately that he wasn't going to let pronouns, or any other words for that matter, stop him now. This was a new talking anyway, this was a talking to himself. It was a talking he was doing with a keyboard on a screen, stuttering didn't matter at all, at all. There was sometimes a hesitancy, but that could always be corrected, nudged into a type of flowing. He knew no one was listening anyway, so it didn't matter. This was a new sort of freedom.
He knew it would have to become more private as he went along. He was both dreading and looking forward to this.
This is the time lapse movie I made of the rock sculpture I did yesterday. You're probably getting bored of me saying it but click play then pause to download the video then once downloaded you view it with stuttering. And you'll need to play it twice. The first time it plays an AVI it seems to go at 4 times the speed it should. The second time should be fine. I have no idea why.
It was interesting to see that the rainbow arches I made yestreday weren't very popular despite getting a few views. That is very useful feedback for me so thank you. I hope that it means that the comments I do get are genuinely because you like something and if you don't like something as much then you don't favourite or leave comments. I really hope my assumption is correct because it should mean what you are writing are genuine, useful comments rather than just being nice!
There were a lot of people around yesterday in the park and I felt rushed and a bit pressured and didn't put enough effort into all the things I normally would. I think it shows and it seems so do you. Resting on my laurels (as opposed to making something out them!) is not good and constructive feedback will keep me focussed on doing what I do to the best of my ability.
Also please know that I do read every single one of your comments with great interest and I really appreciate the time that everyone gives to write comments on my pictures. I may not answer everyone individually (but I would like to) but I take a lot of notice of what every single person writes. I appreciate it a great deal.
I had many 100's of new contacts made last weekend and it will take me a good while to be able to look at everyones photos as I like to do. So please don't think I am ignoring anyone or not grateful for the kind words you all have left me, its just that I am a bit swamped at the mo and have too many projects on the go at once. A lot of my effort is going into two books I am compiling at the moment, I hope to have them finished soon.
It is also quite challenging to keep coming up with new and different ideas whenever I make something so it may be time to step back for a little while and refresh my inspiration. (However I am always saying that as I expect my ideas to dry up any moment as I don't know where they come from but the ideas do seem to keep coming)! So I hope everyone sticks around if I do take a short break, I still want to share what I do with everyone if you want me to.
A few hours sat at my desk at work will soon put me in the right frame of mind though. It only takes a little pointless shuffling of papers to help me come up with some fresh ideas to carry out! Who would work a job with so little creative content? Me and countless millions of others I am sure.
Have a nice rest of the weekend whatever you are up to.
Richard.
Ps. Apologies for the lack of humour but my comedy writer has gone on holiday!
So, it appears you have decided to dry-mount yourself into being. After a stuttering start you have, perhaps, found your beginning. You have decided to submit yourself to a Galápagos finch spreadeagling, a pinning to a specimen board, a desiccated permanence, exposed to the inquisitional gaze of the curious.
It’s not like it’s the first time you have been dry-mounted.
You realise that all anomalies will be on show, everything that marked you out as ‘strange’, and set you on your relentless choiceless course. The microscope will show that shrunken hippocampus, whilst the descriptions will provide some evidence of coping mechanisms generated to deal with that particular state and its nascence.
You have collaborators in this self-pinning, you hand-picked women for that role, three mainly, but there have been others. You ‘choose’ women, from outside family, for their caring and delicacy. This generated itself naturally because for the most part, you don’t like men, or rather you don’t trust them. There have been a few exceptions, of course, and perhaps there will be more of that later.
Rack,
Now I'm worried about you and glad I'm coming over soon. Don't croak, but I'm sure that's not immediately imminent. Fuck this lurgy! I'm going to phone you this evening because e-mail is not enough, and I want to hear your voice reassuring me, or telling me that you are scared, or whatever. You know you upset me but that's only because I love you too much and I know you might need a sounding board to share your fears with. Thank God (who?) for your ‘him indoors’. I hope he's managing OK. I wish you were here, but I recognise that this is just a selfish wish. I will see you again very soon. Galvanised to write, eh? Write then. Write to me. Let's write an e-mail novel together; a sort of 'Les Liaisons Dangereuses' with contemporary STD undertones...sounds a bit like ‘Rent’, doesn't it?
Talk to you later
Your Bilious Ruin xxx
PS: I didn't get your last missive.
The unravelling began casually, or in retrospect it seemed casual, even though it began with the spectre of mortality looming. They had already been through this too often together in their history, their shared story. That tale embraced tragedy and humour early on, in fact from the first day, or at least from that day when she impressed herself on his consciousness indelibly. Ruin guessed she had been a presence before that, but only one that merged attractively with all that was exciting about negotiating a new and bohemian life in New York City in 1987.
Central to that excitement was another plague. This lurgy was different from the one we are all, universally, enjoying now. It was a plague with an added sting, that stigma generated by the unfortunate entanglement of sex and shame in the human psyche, that particular hatred of one’s own needy, hormonally generated, essence.
"The vampire finch is sexually dimorphic as typical for its genus, with the males being primarily black and the females grey with brown streaks. It has a lilting song on Wolf, a buzzing song on Darwin, and whistling calls on both islands; only on Wolf, a drawn-out, buzzing call is also uttered."
The Divine Wiki
I hereby extend to you a heartfelt welcome to this spiralling, purple, display-case of our dry-mounted utterings, stutterings, liltings, whistlings, buzzings, and drawn-out vampiric screechings, permanently fixed in this skewered skewwhiff comedy of missteps and celebratory 'fatal' errors.
In scripted (2013) a 3D sensor uses head-tracking to follow participants’ movements as if from above, and responds by drawing unbroken, charcoal-like lines of their actions, which then fade slowly on a parchment-like background. As we write with our bodies, gesture-tracking software recognizes shapes that resemble letters from the alphabet, projects and speaks them aloud.
Ex Hong Kong (China Motor Bus) Leyland / Dennis Condor at Market and Stutter in San Francisco working for Big Bus Tours.
=====It's A Bop=====
Bringing You Gestures and Dancers On SL!
You can Buy These On Marketplace!
Stutter-Marianas Trench
marketplace.secondlife.com/p/Its-A-Bop-Stutter-Marianas-T...
NEW YORK, NEW YORK - JULY 11: <> attends the 2022 Freeing Voices, Changing Lives Gala at Guastavino's on July 11, 2022 in New York City. (Photo by Dimitrios Kambouris/Getty Images for American Institute for Stuttering)
Stuttering, cold and damp
Steal the warm wind tired friend
Times are gone for honest men
And sometimes far too long for snakes
In my shoes, a walking sleep
And my youth I pray to keep
Heaven sent hell away
No one sings like you anymore ...
Soundgarden
Live at the Fox Theater
Detroit, MI
May 17, 2017
Oh I really need to know
Or else you gotta let me go
You're just a fantasy girl
It's an impossible world
All I want is to be with you always
I give you everything
Pay some attention to me
All I want is just you and me always
Give me affection
I need your perfection
Cause you feel so good
You make me stutter, stutter
From stuttering to therapy for stroke survivors, the WSU Speech and Language Clinics provide speech-language services for community members of all ages.
Learn more: www.clas.wayne.edu/CSD/Wayne-State-Speech-and-Language-Ce...
|please read Ta's Story about resilience|
When I was younger, I suffered from a very severe speech impediment, a stutter. So severe, to the point I was physically not able to put words out of my mouth. No matter how hard I tried, the words just got more and more stuck and it got more and more frustrating. So I gave up speaking altogether. Not only was it frustrating, but quite embarrassing. It was during that key time in a kid's childhood when they begin to make life long friendships and I couldn't even introduce myself and say "Hello, my name is Ta." I was bullied and put down for the way I spoke and sounded. It made me become painfully shy and quiet. I see people just throw words around, saying stupid, hurtful things, just to hear the sound of their own voice and taking such a simple ability for granted, speaking. When I tried to speak and voice my opinion, all the eyes in the room began to roll and voices toppled over mine because no one had the patience to hear it. One of the very few people that actually did in fact have the patience wasn't even a person. It was my dog. Dante. Our family got our boxer dog when my stuttering was at it's worst when I was about 7. I spoke to him for hours about my day and how I was feeling. I was able to say what I needed to say and actually get it out before someone interrupted me. I didn't get talked over or made fun. It must sound ridiculous that I spoke to a dog, but Dante was such an incredible listener. I felt I always had his attention. Very recently, we had to put down Dante. He was 11 years old. He was one of my best friends and I miss him terribly. There are a couple good things I got out of my impediment. The first, I realized my passion in life is animals and becoming a veterinarian. How perfect of a job would it be to heal the best listeners, animals! The second, is that silence is golden and many things are better left unsaid. To this day, I fear public speaking and meeting new people. My stutter did continue through elementary school and middle school, and even a little in high school, but less severe due to speech therapy. One of the greatest things I learned in speech therapy is that the people that matter are the ones that care to listen.
Ex Hong Kong (China Motor Bus) Leyland / Dennis Condor at Market and Stutter in San Francisco working for Big Bus Tours.
Dois textos fundamentais para entender as bases biológicas da gagueira persistente do desenvolvimento:
1) O que a neurociência já sabe sobre a gagueira: bit.ly/NPBThD
2) Pesquisa genética revela face desconhecida da gagueira: bit.ly/SYZU8M
Mayor Bill de Blasio and actress Emily Blunt present Eric Dinallo with an award during the American Institute for Stuttering Award Dinner at Guastavino's in Manhattan on Monday, June 25, 2017. Michael Appleton/Mayoral Photography Office
Based on a delightful song I am hazarding a shaky opinion this is Melospiza melodia. Little brown birds - who knows? But, I took this advice fron the Cornell Lab of Ornithology: "Don’t let the bewildering variety of regional differences this bird shows across North America deter you: it’s one of the first species you should suspect if you see a streaky sparrow in an open, shrubby, or wet area. If it perches on a low shrub, leans back, and sings a stuttering, clattering song, so much the better."
In scripted (2013) a 3D sensor uses head-tracking to follow participants’ movements as if from above, and responds by drawing unbroken, charcoal-like lines of their actions, which then fade slowly on a parchment-like background. As we write with our bodies, gesture-tracking software recognizes shapes that resemble letters from the alphabet, projects and speaks them aloud.
Part of the Temperance Movement "it is said that a plasterer's labourer, named Richard Turner, was accustomed to stutter out in Lancashire dialect his hatred of the 'moderate' doctrine, "I'll hev nowt to do with wi' this moderation -- botheration -- pledge; I'll be reet down tee-tee-total for ever and ever."
British postcard in the Picturegoer series, London, no W 516. Photo: Universal International.
British actor Boris Karloff (1887-1969) is one of the true icons of the Horror cinema. He portrayed Frankenstein's monster in Frankenstein (1931), Bride of Frankenstein (1935), and Son of Frankenstein (1939), which resulted in his immense popularity. In the following decades he worked in countless Horror films, but also in other genres, both in Europe and Hollywood.
Boris Karloff was born as William Henry Pratt in 1887 in London, England. Pratt himself stated that he was born in Dulwich, which is nearby in London. His parents were Edward John Pratt, Jr. and his third wife Eliza Sarah Millard. ‘Billy’never knew his father. Edward Pratt had worked for the Indian Salt Revenue Service, and had virtually abandoned his family in far off England. Edward died when his son was still an infant and so Billy was raised by his mother. He was the youngest of nine children, and following his mother's death was brought up by his elder brothers and sisters. As a child, Billy performed each Christmas in plays staged by St. Mary Magdalene's Church. His first role was that of The Demon King in the pantomime Cinderella. Billy was bow-legged, had a lisp, and stuttered. He conquered his stutter, but not his lisp, which was noticeable throughout his career in the film industry. After his education at private schools, he attended King's College London where he took studies aimed at a career with the British Government's Consular Service. However, in 1909, the 22-years-old left university without graduating and sailed from Liverpool to Canada, where he worked as a farm labourer and did various odd itinerant jobs. In Canada, he began appearing in theatrical performances, and chose the stage name Boris Karloff. Later, he claimed he chose ‘Boris’ because it sounded foreign and exotic, and that ‘Karloff’ was a family name. However, his daughter Sara Karloff publicly denied any knowledge of Slavic forebears, Karloff or otherwise. One reason for the name change was to prevent embarrassment to his family. He did not reunite with his family until he returned to Britain to make The Ghoul (T. Hayes Hunter, 1933), opposite Cedric Hardwicke. Karloff was extremely worried that his family would disapprove of his new, macabre claim to world fame. Instead, his brothers jostled for position around him and happily posed for publicity photographs. In 1911, Karloff joined the Jeanne Russell Company and later joined the Harry St. Clair Co. that performed in Minot, North Dakota, for a year in an opera house above a hardware store. Whilst he was trying to establish his acting career, Karloff had to perform years of difficult manual labour in Canada and the U.S. in order to make ends meet. He was left with back problems from which he suffered for the rest of his life. In 1917, he arrived in Hollywood, where he went on to make dozens of silent films. Some of his first roles were in film serials, such as The Masked Rider (Aubrey M. Kennedy, 1919), in Chapter 2 of which he can be glimpsed onscreen for the first time, and The Hope Diamond Mystery (Stuart Paton, 1920). In these early roles, he was often cast as an exotic Arabian or Indian villain. Other silent films were The Deadlier Sex (Robert Thornby, 1920) with Blanche Sweet, Omar the Tentmaker (James Young, 1922), Dynamite Dan (Bruce Mitchell, 1924) and Tarzan and the Golden Lion (J.P. McGowan, 1927) in which James Pierce played Tarzan. In 1926 Karloff found a provocative role in The Bells (James Young, 1926), in which he played a sinister hypnotist opposite Lionel Barrymore. He worked with Barrymore again in his first sound film, the thriller The Unholy Night (Lionel Barrymore, 1929).
A key film which brought Boris Karloff recognition was The Criminal Code (Howard Hawks, 1931), a prison drama in which he reprised a dramatic part he had played on stage. With his characteristic short-cropped hair and menacing features, Karloff was a frightening sight to behold. Opposite Edward G. Robinson, Karloff played a key supporting part as an unethical newspaper reporter in Five Star Final (Mervyn LeRoy, 1931), a film about tabloid journalism which was nominated for the Oscar for Best Picture. Karloff's role as Frankenstein's monster in Frankenstein (James Whale, 1931), based on the classic Mary Shelley book, propelled him to stardom. Wikipedia: “The bulky costume with four-inch platform boots made it an arduous role but the costume and extensive makeup produced the classic image. The costume was a job in itself for Karloff with the shoes weighing 11 pounds (5 kg) each.” The aura of mystery surrounding Karloff was highlighted in the opening credits, as he was listed as simply "?." The film was a commercial and critical success for Universal, and Karloff was instantly established as a hot property in Hollywood. Universal Studios was quick to acquire ownership of the copyright to the makeup format for the Frankenstein monster that Jack P. Pierce had designed. A year later, Karloff played another iconic character, Imhotep in The Mummy (Karl Freund, 1932). The Old Dark House (James Whale, 1932) with Charles Laughton, and the starring role in MGM’s The Mask of Fu Manchu (Charles Brabin, 1932) quickly followed. Steve Vertlieb at The Thunder Child: “Wonderfully kinky, the film co-starred young Myrna Loy as the intoxicating, yet sadistic Fah Lo See, Fu Manchu's sexually perverse daughter. Filmed prior to Hollywood's infamous production code, the film joyously escaped the later scrutiny of The Hayes Office, and remains a fascinating example of pre-code extravagance.” These films all confirmed Karloff's new-found stardom. Horror had become his primary genre, and he gave a string of lauded performances in 1930s Universal Horror films. Karloff reprised the role of Frankenstein's monster in two other films, the sensational Bride of Frankenstein (James Whale, 1935) and the less thrilling Son of Frankenstein (Rowland V. Lee, 1939), the latter also featuring Bela Lugosi. Steve Vertlieb about Bride oif Frankenstein: “Whale delivered perhaps the greatest horror film of the decade and easily the most critically acclaimed rendition of Mary Shelley's novel ever released. The Bride of Frankenstein remains a work of sheer genius, a brilliantly conceived and realized take on loneliness, vanity, and madness. The cast of British character actors is simply superb.” While the long, creative partnership between Karloff and Lugosi never led to a close friendship, it produced some of the actors' most revered and enduring productions, beginning with The Black Cat (Edgar G. Ullmer, 1934). Follow-ups included The Raven (Lew Landers, 1935), the rarely seen, imaginative science fiction melodrama The Invisible Ray (Lambert Hillyer, 1936), and The Body Snatcher (Robert Wise, 1945). Karloff played a wide variety of roles in other genres besides Horror. He was memorably gunned down in a bowling alley in Howard Hawks' classic Scarface (1932) starring Paul Muni.. He played a religious First World War soldier in John Ford’s epic The Lost Patrol (1934) opposite Victor McLaglen. Between 1938 and 1940, Karloff starred in five films for Monogram Pictures, including Mr. Wong, Detective (William Nigh, 1938). During this period, he also starred with Basil Rathbone in Tower of London (Rowland V. Lee, 1939) as the murderous henchman of King Richard III, and with Margaret Lindsay in British Intelligence (Terry O. Morse, 1940). In 1944, he underwent a spinal operation to relieve his chronic arthritic condition.
Boris Karloff revisited the Frankenstein mythos in several later films, taking the starring role of the villainous Dr. Niemann in House of Frankenstein (Erle C. Kenton, 1944), in which the monster was played by Glenn Strange. He reprised the role of the ‘mad scientist’ in Frankenstein 1970 (Howard W. Koch, 1958) as Baron Victor von Frankenstein II, the grandson of the original creator. The finale reveals that the crippled Baron has given his own face (i.e., Karloff's) to the monster. From 1945 to 1946, Boris Karloff appeared in three films for RKO produced by Val Lewton: Isle of the Dead (Mark Robson, 1945), The Body Snatcher (Robert Wise, 1945), and Bedlam (Mark Robson, 1946). Karloff had left Universal because he thought the Frankenstein franchise had run its course. Karloff was a frequent guest on radio programs. In 1949, he was the host and star of the radio and television anthology series Starring Boris Karloff. In 1950, he had his own weekly children's radio show in New York. He played children's music and told stories and riddles, and attracted many adult listeners as well. An enthusiastic performer, he returned to the Broadway stage in the original production of Arsenic and Old Lace (1941), in which he played a homicidal gangster enraged to be frequently mistaken for Karloff. In 1962, he reprised the role on television with Tony Randall and Tom Bosley. He also appeared as Captain Hook in the play Peter Pan with Jean Arthur. In 1955, he returned to the Broadway stage to portray the sympathetic Bishop Cauchon in Jean Anouilh's The Lark. Karloff regarded the production as the highlight of his long career. Julie Harris was his co-star as Joan of Arc in the celebrated play, recreated for live television in 1957 with Karloff, Harris and much of the original New York company intact. For his role, Karloff was nominated for a Tony Award. Karloff donned the monster make-up for the last time for a Halloween episode of the TV series Route 66 (1962), which also featured Peter Lorre and Lon Chaney, Jr. In the 1960s, Karloff appeared in several films for American International Pictures, including The Comedy of Terrors (Jacques Tourneur, 1963) with Vincent Price and Peter Lorre, The Raven (Roger Corman, 1963), The Terror (Roger Corman, 1963) with Jack Nicholson, and Die, Monster, Die! (Daniel Haller, 1965). Another project for American International release was the frightening Italian horror classic, I tre volti della paura/Black Sabbath (Mario Bava, 1963), in which Karloff played a vampire with bone chilling intensity. He also starred in British cult director Michael Reeves's second feature film, The Sorcerers (1966). He gained new popularity among a young generation when he narrated the animated TV film Dr. Seuss' How the Grinch Stole Christmas (Chuck Jones, Ben Washam. 1966), and provided the voice of the Grinch. Karloff later received a Grammy Award for Best Recording For Children after the story was released as a record. Then he starred as a retired horror film actor in Targets (Peter Bogdanovich, 1968), Steve Vertlieb: “Targets was a profoundly disturbing study of a young sniper holding a small Midwestern community, deep in the bible belt, terrifyingly at bay. The celebrated subplot concerned the philosophical dilemma of creating fanciful horrors on the screen, while graphic, troubling reality was eclipsing the superficiality so tiredly repeated by Hollywood. Karloff co-starred, essentially as himself, an aged horror star named Byron Orlok, who wants simply to retire from the imagined horrors of a faded genre, only to come shockingly to grips with the depravity and genuine terror found on America's streets. Bogdanovich's first film as a director won praise from critics and audiences throughout the world community, and won its elder star the best, most respectful notices of his later career.”. In 1968, he played occult expert Professor Marsh in the British production Curse of the Crimson Altar (Vernon Sewell, 1968), which was the last Karloff film to be released during his lifetime. He ended his career by appearing in four low-budget Mexican horror films, which were released posthumously. While shooting his final films, Karloff suffered from emphysema. Only half of one lung was still functioning and he required oxygen between takes. he contracted bronchitis in 1968 and was hospitalized. Early 1969, he died of pneumonia at the King Edward VII Hospital, Midhurst, in Sussex, at the age of 81. Boris Karloff married five times and had one child, daughter Sara Karloff, by his fourth wife.
Sources: Steve Vertlieb (The Thunder Child), Wikipedia, and IMDb.
From stuttering to therapy for stroke survivors, the WSU Speech and Language Clinics provide speech-language services for community members of all ages.
Learn more: www.clas.wayne.edu/CSD/Wayne-State-Speech-and-Language-Ce...
ELECTRIC BALLROOM
CAMDEN, LONDON
17TH FEBRUARY 1994
1. SPASTICA
2. ROCKUNROLL
3. LINE UP
4. ANNIE
5. CONNECTION
6. IN THE CITY
7. S.O.F.T
8. STUTTER
9. WAKING UP
10. BRIGHTON ROCK
11. SEE THAT ANIMAL
12. VASELINE
13. STUTTER
ASTORIA LONDON
28TH OCTOBER 1994
1. SPASTICA
2. ROCKUNROLL
3. 2:1
4. LINE UP
5. ANNIE
6. CAR SONG
7. NEVER HERE
8. SEE THAT ANIMAL
9. STUTTER
10. WAKING UP
11. S.O.F.T
12. BLUE
13. CONNECTION
14. VASELINE
On Thursday, I was Professor Allan. I gave Blue a brief, stammer-and-stutter-filled introduction to the basics of photography and how to use her camera. She's got a Rebel XTi, which is the DSLR I started with, and it was really weird to hold one of those again and then hold my 5D. After just a very short while holding the XTi, my 5D suddenly feels enormous and bulky. Holding the XTi, it doesn't feel particularly small, it just changes how I feel the camera I've used nearly every day for the past two years. Weird.
I shot this through the window of my hotel room in Shanghai with my Olympus E-M5 Mark II and Voigtander 25mm. I used a Lenskirt to block the reflection and had the camera on a tripod. The image quality is not so great because of the thick window and ISO 800, but it's not bad. I sped up the playback to make it more snappy.
I hope it plays ok. Streaming video here in China is nearly impossible for me right now without the video stuttering and buffering.
More photos from Shanghai are in my set
More photos taken with the Nokton 25mm are in my set
Pôster brasileiro de "O Discurso do Rei" (The King's Speech, Reino Unido, 2010), filme que conta a história do reinado de George VI ("Bertie") — pai da rainha Elizabeth II —, monarca britânico que, apesar de ter disfemia (gagueira persistente), liderou seu país após a grave crise da abdicação, que quase desestabilizou a Inglaterra durante o difícil período que antecedeu a entrada do país na 2ª Guerra Mundial.
Trailer legendado:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=FcwPoPqQDRE
Sinopse do filme:
Bertie (Colin Firth) se vê diante de um grande dilema ao ter de assumir o poder após a morte de seu pai, George V (Michael Gambon), e a escandalosa abdicação de seu irmão, Eduardo VIII (Guy Pearce). Em virtude da disfemia (gagueira persistente) que possui desde a infância, enfrentar um microfone para fazer pronunciamentos à nação representa um desafio maior do que estar em um front de batalha. O ano era 1936 e o Reino Unido vivia um momento crítico de sua história. Preocupada com os percalços que a gagueira traria a Bertie no exercício do poder, com o país à beira de uma guerra e precisando desesperadamente de um líder, sua esposa (Helena Bonham) resolve pedir ajuda a um fonoaudiólogo nada ortodoxo, o australiano Lionel Logue (Geoffrey Rush). Baseado na história real do Rei George VI, o drama nos mostra os bastidores da difícil e desesperada luta do monarca para reencontrar a própria voz e evitar o colapso institucional de seu país.
Sobre a gagueira:
A gagueira é um distúrbio do neurodesenvolvimento que afeta a fluência da fala e pode causar forte impacto negativo na vida da pessoa que gagueja. Dada a importância da comunicação no dia a dia, a gagueira tende a prejudicar consideravelmente a funcionalidade do indivíduo em vários aspectos da vida, sobretudo nos âmbitos acadêmico, social e ocupacional. Assim como o Rei George VI, cerca de 1% da população adulta, em todos os países e culturas do mundo, sofre de gagueira persistente. O distúrbio surge tipicamente na infância, atinge 5% das crianças e persiste na idade adulta em 1% delas. Apesar da prevalência relativamente alta, a gagueira infelizmente ainda não recebe a atenção e o cuidado que necessita. A maioria dos casos tem origem neurológica ou genética e a intensidade dos sintomas pode ser influenciada por fatores como estresse, estado emocional e cansaço físico. Não há cura, mas um bom tratamento pode reduzir a frequência e a severidade dos bloqueios, diminuir a relutância em falar e melhorar a autoestima.
Na mesma época retratada no filme "O Discurso do Rei" (década de 30), uma pesquisa feita por Mary Tudor, estudante de psicologia clínica da Universidade de Iowa, nos Estados Unidos, tentou provar que as pessoas podiam ser "convencidas" a se tornarem gagas.
Orientada por Wendell Johnson, professor da universidade e portador de gagueira desde os 6 anos de idade, Tudor trabalhou com 22 crianças -- 10 delas diagnosticadas com gagueira antes do experimento --, durante seis meses de 1939.
Divididas em grupos, as crianças órfãs sem gagueira eram levadas a acreditar que tinham problemas de fala. Já parte daquelas com o distúrbio de verdade eram convencidas de que falavam normalmente. A intenção era provar a crença de Wendell Johnson de que a gagueira nascia de causas psicológicas, em vez de causas físicas.
Mas o experimento de Tudor falhou completamente, deixando uma grande interrogação em relação à causa da gagueira. Se ela não é um comportamento aprendido, o que ela é afinal? Apenas no início do século XXI, com o advento de métodos avançados de neuroimagem que possibilitaram a investigação da microestrutura da matéria branca do cérebro (a parte conectiva do tecido neural), a ciência começou a dispor de instrumentos adequados para responder esta pergunta.
A aplicação dessas novas ferramentas de pesquisa aos estudos sobre gagueira tornou realidade algo que anteriormente se julgava impossível: a descoberta de um substrato neurológico para o distúrbio. Utilizando um tipo especial de ressonância magnética conhecido como DTI (diffusion tensor imaging), neurocientistas encontraram rupturas microscópicas nas conexões de matéria branca situadas logo abaixo de regiões do córtex cerebral importantes para a produção da fala (pontos em vermelho na imagem acima).
Este impressionante achado sepultou outra premissa fundamental da teoria de Wendell Johnson: a de que a gagueira não comportava uma base física.
(Fonte da imagem: Sommer et al. Disconnection of speech-relevant brain areas in persistent developmental stuttering. The Lancet, August 3, 2002; 360: 380‐383.)
*** Chapter 3 - σημαδιακός ***
} Cavendish Institute of Anthropology {
} Nottinghamshire, England {
“You, you, and you… keep your distances,” says Dr. Minerva, not too loudly.
Diana and Iris’ trip through the latter’s portal was instantaneous, with no mental resistance from the being whom Iris had invoked. It was evident, in fact, that this being called Epimetheus had been praying for their arrival long before Iris had, in the way they found him standing——in a manner that was equal parts stately and awkward——at Dr. Minerva’s desk; she, playing the principal, and he the delinquent.
He is an audacious head taller than Diana, and wears not but an armored skirt, greaves over his sandals, and a baldric which bears no weapon. His hair is young, disagreeing with the lines of his cheeks and mouth. His eyes are marbled like galaxies.
“Hello,” Epimetheus reflexively spouts to his allies, realizing a moment later that he would have liked to express a welcome of greater magnitude. He rebounds by promptly turning his back, and tries to appease Minerva.
“This… is Lady Diana, the one I mentioned…”
The study feels more like an extended mausoleum to Diana, what with every window’s curtains let down. One is boarded. Minerva’s library rises column after column: Dark leather spines, absorbing the minimal setting sunlight that could find its way in.
Minerva dips her chin to look over her spectacles with bloodshot eyes. “That’s Wonder Woman,” she deduces pointedly: Once again, not too loudly.
Epimetheus cringes from this. “Oh. I do see now. Using man’s name for her might have been more reassuring for you to hear.”
“No I don’t… care that it’s Wonder Woman…”
Minerva restarts, seeing Diana and Iris wanting to change the subject. “Sorry, this nice man introduced himself, to inform me he’s taking me to Hell. Think you could help a girl out?”
“What? He—” Diana gives Epimetheus a look of disbelief that makes him reflect on his verbiage. She clears her head. “Dr. Minerva, we need your help and our time runs short. The Golden Apple must be found.”
Minerva is unimpressed. “I couldn’t have guessed. Look, you aren’t the f—“
“Please, Minnie,” Epimetheus steps in, “you must trust Diana…”
“Oi, where are you getting ‘Minnie’ from?!” Minerva protests, looking him up and down.
Epimetheus stutters. “Pardon me, Eris told me it was your favored—“
“What ‘heiress’?”
“Barbara,” Diana uses this time.
Barbara sighs, at the plaque in front of her.
“The threat of the apple could be more grave than any of us fathom.”
“‘Dr. Minerva’,” Barbara insists rigidly. “We’re not mates. And besides I’ve earned it.”
The end of Iris’ staff clangs on the tile as she advances on Barbara. “If you have the faith in your discoveries that we do, and if the apple’s position in Hades is yet a mystery, you will allow us to help. You know of Wonder Woman, that she has fought wars alongside your nation. She will fight for you now.”
The others can see Barbara weighing them, in the vein of an outnumbered duelist. With Diana in the middle of another plea, the professor switches gears. She gives a marginal berth to Iris’ tufted wings——and a mystified peek to the very same——on her way to a particular section of her study, where she begins snatching book after book. Diana witnesses Barbara’s reservations receding, and giving way to the craving for knowledge which governed her more than cynicism ever could. This makes the Amazons' princess smile.
Barbara relocates some strands of hair from her vision, hunching over her load. “I have a lot to gather here. If we’re going to do this, and get it right.”
“We will get it right, and it is because we have you. … The manuscript?” asks Diana, noticing that in the sea of Barbara’s work on her desk, one bound parchment took pride of place. It appeared a longer read than the Iliad. She expected nothing less of Eris.
“The poem… is a nuisance. Most of it is reiterative, of the Underworld, broadly. If it has any answers for the apple’s precise coordinates, I do believe we will have to decode the wording through other texts. Only one line about its abandonment stood apart, in my mind.”
Barbara navigates the manuscript’s daunting pages for all of three seconds, then groans. “Oh sod it. … 'αλεπούδων,' 'κλαυθμός'… I-it was, ‘By the father’s hand, where the foxes’ cries are loudest.’”
“‘The father’s hand’…”
“Is that Iris? THAT Iris?” Barbara interrupts Diana’s brainstorming with a deep whisper.
Diana beams, surprised. “Mm.”
Not ready to be having fun just yet, Barbara relegates herself to a tilt of the neck and a casual: “This is a bloody trip.”
At this time, Iris has become a curiosity to Epimetheus also, as they stand away from the tomes and riddles being tackled by the other two. To satisfy this curiosity, the elder employs very little finesse.
“Haven’t we… I have seen you before—"
For eons, the goddess has wished not for this encounter, but Iris was informative, by nature, and the words she was to deliver were none too often her own. The few she has for Epimetheus are bold, and aggrieved, and he receives them now.
She refrains from eye contact. “Arke. You remember my sister Arke. She was loyal to your father and the others during the Titanomachy.”
With great strain, Epimetheus finds a response not wholly inconsiderate. “Forgive an old man. I’m sure that Arke’s loyalty is not forgotten to the others of my bloodline.”
“Of that, I am sure also. The Olympians had her cast into Tartarus with them.”
It is difficult to say which of the two wishes more that Iris’ bitter statement could be undone. Their overdue dialogue ends.
Barbara knocks on her desk, for Epimetheus’ ear. “Oi big man. You want to go and make sure you got all the Jerries, while we sort this?”
Diana does not think she hears correctly. “… German soldiers, here?” She turns for the corridor past Barbara’s workspace.
“The worst kind. It tried to say, before, I’ve had company here,” Barbara mentions critically. “They’ve had me cornered ever since I finally got my findings published… and that called for more than a few strings and teeth to be pulled. The first proper recognition I get for it, for realizing the Olympians were real players in our history, and it isn’t from the university, it’s from these fascists. That’d be my luck.”
Barbara takes a breath and cocks her head, whilst sifting through her papers. “… which is yet another reason to keep this short. They’re obsessive about the apple. They have this insane bitch with a mask… she’s tried to drug me into sharing more than I know.”
Diana freezes.
“Don’t be alarmed, Lady Diana,” Epimetheus tells her, with a timorous pride, “Eris brought me here herself, and I checked each room. Minn… —nerva’s tormentors are all accounted for; I asphyxiated them. Stealthily, you know.”
This does nothing to pacify the princess. “And this masked woman was among them?”
“Hm, well—”
“‘Eris’,” Barbara clutches her forehead, at the first of her two revelations. “Wait, did you just pop in here like these two did? They’ve had a perimeter outside! They’re going to be trying to radio every last blighter in here!”
Diana thrusts the pivotal manuscript into Barbara’s arms. “We must go, now. Iris…?”
“Go where? Wait! All my work—”
“I am sorry,” is Barbara’s compensation, “but we cannot linger here to collect everything.”
Barbara pulls out of Diana’s light grasp. “Oh yes we can; this is my life! I am not leaving it to—“
On cue, a commotion rings through the institute’s halls. Men, and boots, and the clacking of firearms. Diana’s attention flits from Barbara, to the shadows moving beyond the study’s surrounding curtains, to the vacant scabbard at Epimetheus’ side. In another swift hand-off, the Amazon has lent her own sword and shield to her estranged cousin. His reaction is timid.
“Oh, that would have been very, very good. I don’t… these things don’t always come to me…”
“Iris?” Diana prompts a second time, preparing both fists.
“I… can’t see her,” Iris reports. Her words and her staff both shake. “She will not answer!”
Diana curses Eris’ name. “… Take us to Olympus, then! To Zeus, to anyo—“
The initial strike is too fast for even Diana to counter. But not for Iris. The mild messenger of the gods suddenly swells with a kinetic rush and rotates her caduceus parallel with her arm, spinning off of the floor like a top to deflect a hazy, lavender blast unleashed from the hallway. This succeeds in defending Barbara, who stumbles into the bookcase to her back, meanwhile Iris’ interception robs her of balance; she contacts the study's tile on her side, gasping from the heat, of which there is plenty coursing through the staff that scorches her hand.
The second is dealt with by Diana, as Epimetheus inefficiently avails her shield. The bolt crackles past him, into the waiting vambraces of Wonder Woman; they clash together like the jaws of a bear trap, atomizing the shot. Her armor is able to withstand the residual heat unlike Iris, but one surge of energy escapes the vice, and scores a shoulder. The Amazon is brought to one knee. Through the stabbing pain, she isolates a voice——that of the attackers’ commander——reaching her pulsing eardrums as a garbled, but shrill,
“OAFS! You will kill the professor! Let her handle this.”
Diana grimaces. “Occult weaponry. Amplified by… cybernetics.”
She heaves like a workhorse to stand, cracking the masonry below her. Epimetheus again positions himself in front. The men are fast approaching, but with their cannon-like armaments aimed down. They are soldiers, nonuniform but identifiably-German, in remnants of raiment a fair decade out of style.
Diana takes Epimetheus’ shoulder. “No. Protect Minerva, and I will Iris.”
The two circle over, daring the wall of mercenaries with every step each side takes. Barbara retreats to a display shelf, hands behind her and feet together. Though she cannot even pick herself off the floor, to rescue their party, Iris unthinkingly and valiantly calls to the Olympians with her caduceus, only to feel the implement lock in place above her head in an invisible, iron grip that makes her own nearly crumple.
Diana senses the disturbance, and without fully turning her body from the more insistent threat of the soldiers, she lets fly her lasso at Iris’ hindrance. The enchanted rope clings to its mark, as its power over deception dispels some equally supernatural cloak on, first, an arm: Encrusted in an indigo armor with a constant, viscous animation to it. Then the body——a woman’s——dressed as aristocracy, but for a collared cape that speaks to an exceptional, outré conceit. The last of her disguise fizzles out as she anchors the lasso around her own shoulder. From the copper shell she has for a face comes the voice. It is an Indian intonation, distorted with the hum of servos, and inexorable hatred.
“If you protect her,” Doctor Cyber growls, “how will you run this time?”
The villainess pulls Diana off her feet and into a brutish blow from Iris’ staff; its owner has not let go still, and uses Cyber’s wild swing to win the tug-of-war. With her reclaimed weapon, Iris tumbles closer to some soldiers, as Diana’s flight ends in an explosion of dust and paper on the far wall. Cyber shows no interest in recapturing Barbara, who has but one guardian remaining. Cyber only has eyes for the Amazon.
Not wasting an ounce of momentum inadvertently given to her, Iris skids on one shin and braces the caduceus against her back to take the knees out from under three of the soldiers who did not anticipate the fight coming to them so abruptly. She kicks off a fourth’s chest to vault back to Epimetheus, who squares off with one impetuous colossus among the Germans: Per his orders, he is all too glad to lay down his gun, as it is an invitation to brawl with the similarly-statured Titan. Epimetheus’ abashed expression is the man’s downfall, for as he boldly tries to take the immortal’s gifted shield and hilt right out of his hands, Epimetheus shoves him the length of the hall from which he entered, and out the window at its end. Epimetheus clears his throat and conventionally points Diana’s sword at the next closest man.
Cyber whips the stolen Lasso of Truth around one arm, then absently aims the other behind herself, letting loose a cartridge from a mechanism on her wrist. It fractures close enough to Iris’ landing that it knocks the goddess flat on her back with its momentary, concussive burst of hard-light. Epimetheus’ shield catches most of the assault for him and he is blown back to Barbara, but stays upright. Unconcerned with her results, Cyber is not caught off guard by a revived Diana rocketing back into the fray. Awareness, however, is no match for the speed at which Diana plants a knee in Cyber’s torso, and bashes her mask with both fists clasped in a club. The Amazon tucks and rolls to come to Iris’ aid, who is set upon by two gunmen with clear shots. Diana, in desperation, punches straight through one’s weapon, spilling the blistering properties of its battery on all three of them. Three of them scream; Diana’s is the only one that lasts.
Not all of the men are dissuaded, now descending on both dazed women. Epimetheus is met with a dilemma; there is no time to consciously ignore his mission from Diana when he overhand lobs her shield to save her. The overlarge discus drops two soldiers at once, and gongs to the ground. Epimetheus takes the one step back to Barbara, who looks at him expectantly.
“I should’ve… I, thought I could throw it to make it come…”
Coping with her burns, Diana’s agony takes on a whole new life as she feels the ebb within the arteries of her neck and legs disobey her, slowing, then churning in an unseen storm. It is not powerful enough to move her unwillingly, but the heroine capitulates to the internal pull, tripping back toward Cyber. Wonder Woman’s foe is on her stomach from her bludgeoning: One of her hands extends to the princess to perpetuate the unearthly tractor field, and with the other, Cyber is menacing her own men via a claw swirling with a fearful vortex, to keep them from executing Diana.
“Fool. You were most generous with blood samples when we last parted.”
Another merciless yank from Cyber, and Diana almost topples. She can see out the corner of her eye that Iris stirs, but the goddess is again close to being seized. Just before it is out of her reach, Diana lofts with one arm the desk bearing all of Barbara’s pertinent research, ridding Iris of several assailants, and eliciting an anguished cry from Barbara. Diana falls the rest of the way into Cyber’s clutches, with the mad doctor’s left hand grabbing her right, and its armor sealing around them to ensure a close-quarters resolution.
“Don’t disappoint me now.”
Cyber batters the warrior princess with a gauntlet laden with the same energies as the soldiers’ weapons, alternating jabs into knees, then a rib, the underarm… but Diana’s capacity for pain has been met, tenfold, and the latest torment now revitalizes her. She flexes her right hand straight through the enveloping alloy, shattering Cyber’s fingers and the device bewitching her Amazon blood. Cyber screeches, slashing until she has Diana by the hair, and then activates thrusters on her upper arms. The pair is supersonic for that split-second of spiking into the floor, rattling both powerhouses a great deal.
With Cyber’s attrition at last coming to a valley, the air clears, and both sides realize the relative sloth of the battlefield, elsewhere. Epimetheus finds he is keeping less and less of the mob at bay, sans the shield, and Barbara——recognizing she is wanted alive——now reverses their positions, to guard him from gunfire. The Titan holds his blade with his arms coming around the woman’s head.
“This isn’t going to work for us,” Barbara infers.
Diana picks her head out of stone. The world passes for her in slow-motion: Across the room but considerably closer to their allies, Iris is on two feet, and a hand. Their alliance's only hope lay in her.
The Amazon’s shifting makes Cyber come to, who groggily takes the lasso and fastens it to her adversary’s neck. Her windpipe closing off, Diana is able to command: “TO IRIS!”
Epimetheus answers by collecting Barbara at the waist and feinting away from the attackers, while the messenger goddess slides her staff to the very limit of her grasp in order that she crack one last impinging soldier in the jaw. Iris falters once in straightening her legs, but summons the spirit to make one long stride, then another, for the bounding Epimetheus. She readies the caduceus, knowing full-well that Diana means to be left behind. It is natural for them both. In the millennia she has had as an agent in this universe, Iris’s function remains to be at the beck and call of her own kind, carrying out orders she despises, whether or not it comes from one she might name as a friend. Iris obeys, as always, so that in her own way, she can love.
It is then that the barbed spear, tossed from behind the soldiers’ ranks, pierces clean through the goddess’ chest. She startlingly falls to her knees, and errantly, Epimetheus stops running, out of shock. In this time, his and Barbara’s pursuers have converged, cordoning them from their would-be rescuer. Barbara rips herself from Epimetheus’ arm, charging vainly at the Germans; she puts a gash in one’s cheek, using a geode she pocketed from her own collection, but is predictably subdued.
The spear is rooted in the floor, drenched in gold by the blood of Iris’ ancestry. She is conscious, and so very still even as her biology panics for air. Her back stays straight while she stares, and thinks. Diana has seen now too, and through Cyber’s torture, she yells. Tears come next; as bare a response as any creature can surrender to, it is a fearsome sight when worn by an Amazon.
Iris’ final moments in the mortal plane are spent with pragmatism and much-earned self-interest, evenly, because in understanding that the caduceus she holds cannot be lost to Diana’s enemies——not even for the race to bestow the apple——the Goddess of Rainbows finds a silver lining for her own.
“I’m going to be with my sister, Diana,” she rasps with relief.
Iris’ winged shoulder takes one more shot from a soldier’s cannon, but she completes her staff’s motion in time, drawing and puncturing a hole in their dimension underneath herself to fall into Tartarus: Forbidden to her by Olympus for countless dawns, and where Arke has been calling, for an eternity. The goddess is swallowed up, untraceable, and the quiet of death is resonant throughout the institute.
Shining, black boots cross over to the murderous spear, and a beautiful hand dislodges it: All of this, belonging to the Baroness von Gunther. She is known to Diana, enough that the princess expects the sickeningly-pleased smile she currently boasts.
Epimetheus’ hands are figuratively tied, with his surviving comrades being placed further in check by guards at every passing second. Cyber has tethered Diana into a cumbersome bow by stamping the lasso’s ends under a plated heel. Smugly, Von Gunther takes her place beside the mechanical woman; that is, slightly in front of her, and not by mistake. The two nemeses tower over a grounded Diana.
“In all our happy altercations, Wonder Woman, have I failed to tell you what this is?” Von Gunther asks innocently, waving the spearhead under Diana’s chin. “… My birthright. A weapon passed down from my ancestors, die Walküre.”
Like a seasoned thespian, she paces her gloating to conclude as does her brief walk to Barbara. She regards Epimetheus’ wear along the way, in condescension.
“By my blood and this tool, it is my burden to decide who lives and dies in battle. Over mortals… or the other, die Walküre have dominion.”
Von Gunther turns her nose up at Barbara’s glower, backsteps, and runs Epimetheus through with her spear.
He yelps like he’s stubbed a toe, which deflates Diana and Barbara’s exclamations before they even begin. Securely staked into the library’s tile and unable to budge the baroness’ hold, Epimetheus nevertheless shows no signs of true injury, instead looking all around himself in a fit speaking mostly to embarrassment. No ichor spills from his body. Von Gunther jerks the stave as though its penetration were in question.
“No god can—“ she sputters.
The Titan of Afterthought smirks weakly.
Cyber is disgusted at Von Gunther’s inadequacy, so much so that her leash on Diana slackens. “The other, then, if you so need another body. The Amazon will know more than she could.”
Barbara’s teeth gnash. She strains against three pairs of hands.
“Let her alone,” comes Diana’s guttural bargain, “and I will help you. Harm them and you will know only my fury.”
Having been enjoying their present relation, Doctor Cyber scoffs. “Oh Wonder Woman. We both know it takes far less than one dead mongrel for you to become a butcher. Or is that just it? You’ve found your ‘nobility’. That’s why the winged one can die before your eyes, unavenged.”
“Play with your food later, Cyber,” Von Gunther obliviously criticizes. She releases Epimetheus, but the gun in the small of Barbara’s back makes certain his passivity.
“Allow Dr. Minerva her affects, or whatever is left of them. The Panzer has notified us; we leave for Greece.”
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excuse me, sir, I'm a stutterer
I guess that means I can't speak straight
I can't wait for reality to reshape me
I'm deep in the woods on a hunt for heart
the passion of playing someone else's part
and I start with the sighing sound
of a predator praying to escape the hound
the war goes on in a world without doors
the metaphor murders the bore
and wonders what your worry was for
if you must be afraid, be afraid right now
don't think about tomorrow
there's plenty to fear right here in the shadow
but close as a ghost in my myopic ear
the whisper of a whimper is all I hear
getting drunk in a rut, a god with a gut
lay me somewhere soft, and call me sire
rest my feet on the ottoman empire
let me lose my way, every day
I don't know what I'm knowing
but I'm growing
where I'm going...
© Steve Skafte
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