View allAll Photos Tagged stutter
I went to a completely different moorland today more than 10km from the place where I photographed a Cuckoo yesterday. And to my delight there were two male Cuckoos calling incessantly and chasing each other round. I managed to take quite a few photographs though mainly in flight as they hardly ever landed. I was particularly pleased to capture this flight shot against a land background.
There's an old English folk song about the Cuckoo that Paul Simon's song "April come she will" is loosely based upon. There are several variations but the usual one is:
In April come he will.
In May he sings all day.
In June he changes tune.
In July he prepares to fly.
In August go he must.
If he stays until September,
Tis more than the oldest man can remember.
The bit about changing tune in June is that they often begin to stutter Cuck-cuck-oo. And it is true that they usually depart in August, rarely being seen in September.
What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?
— Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle
Can patter out their hasty orisons.
No mockeries now for them; no prayers nor bells;
Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs,—
The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;
And bugles calling for them from sad shires.
Anthem for Doomed Youth
BY WILFRED OWEN
We will remember them and pray that we never let it happen again
Their given name has been used colloquially to suggest cowardice, but there is nothing about the Yellow-bellied Sapsucker, or its activities, that would give the impression of faintheartedness. These woodpeckers of eastern North America have derived their name from their peculiar pursuit of tree sap. They peck shallow holes in the bark of trees and then sit, lapping up the tree sap and any insects trapped within it. Like most woodpeckers, they use drumming, in addition to vocalization, to announce their presence. But while most woodpeckers have a characteristic, uniform rhythm to their drumming, the sapsucker’s drumming is distinctively stuttering. It makes them easier to locate by sound. #YellowBelliedSapsucker
Great Horned Owl
Great Horned Owls are nocturnal. You may see them at dusk sitting on fence or tree limbs at the edges of open areas, or flying across roads or fields with stiff, deep beats of their rounded wings. Their call is a deep, stuttering series of four to five hoots.
1/500 sec @ f/6.4 - 552 Focal Length - ISO 800
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It's another overcast, dreary morning here today, 16 November 2016, with a temperature of -2C (windchill -5C). It would have been my oldest daughter's birthday today.
This photo of a Great Horned Owlet was taken on 6 May 2016, in a local natural area/park. Unfortunately, I had half a dozen errands to run before allowing myself to go out with my camera, so I didn't get there till late, and the light quickly began to fade. No time to look around the area for any other birds on this visit.
This beautiful owlet had been on the ground for a while before I arrived. There were a few people there and more came and went. However, I later heard that the owlet had been able to claw and flap its way up one of the trees and was safely out of reach of most predators. Meanwhile, the other fledgling had been very high up in a different tree, along with Mom. I'm glad I did call in at this location when I did, as this beautiful little owl gave us a few chances for photos when it was up on a log or down on the ground, usually partly hidden by the plants and bushes. I don't know how it ended up on the ground, but obviously it fell from somewhere or misjudged flying distance when it finally left the nesting tree. An interesting world for it to explore, though it wasn't very steady on its feet yet : ) In this photo, I think it was looking at the nearest big tree, knowing that somehow it had to reach it and climb up it.
Things seem to happen so fast this spring and I missed seeing the two owlets balancing on the rim of the nesting tree, exercising their wings before fledging. Also, I had been so busy that I only went over to see the youngsters a handful of times. Looking on the more important side, this meant one less person intruding on their area, of course, though I have to say that these owls are remarkably tolerant of humans. If a Canada Goose, on the other hand, should get anywhere near the nest or the little ones, Mom or Dad flies in for an immediate attack.
"With its long, earlike tufts, intimidating yellow-eyed stare, and deep hooting voice, the Great Horned Owl is the quintessential owl of storybooks. This powerful predator can take down birds and mammals even larger than itself, but it also dines on daintier fare such as tiny scorpions, mice, and frogs. It’s one of the most common owls in North America, equally at home in deserts, wetlands, forests, grasslands, backyards, cities, and almost any other semi-open habitat between the Arctic and the tropics.
Great Horned Owls are nocturnal. You may see them at dusk sitting on fence posts or tree limbs at the edges of open areas, or flying across roads or fields with stiff, deep beats of their rounded wings. Their call is a deep, stuttering series of four to five hoots." From AllAboutBirds.
Well, almost, lol!
On 23 April 2015, I went on a birding walk with friends at Carburn Park. On the way home, I called in to see the Great Horned Owl family for just a short while mid-afternoon, on 23 April 2015. The oldest owlet was still out on a coniferous tree branch that was right by the nesting tree, and the two younger owlets were still in the nest. I think this must have been the "middle" owlet, exercising those wings that were not quite ready for flight, with Mom looking on. Called in again yesterday, 2 May 2015, after a great, full-day birding trip south of the city. Dad was in a fairly nearby tree, and the two youngest owlets were still on the nest. Only stayed a few minutes and didn't see Mom and the oldest owlet. No activity going on at all - and there were no other photographers there.
"With its long, earlike tufts, intimidating yellow-eyed stare, and deep hooting voice, the Great Horned Owl is the quintessential owl of storybooks. This powerful predator can take down birds and mammals even larger than itself, but it also dines on daintier fare such as tiny scorpions, mice, and frogs. It’s one of the most common owls in North America, equally at home in deserts, wetlands, forests, grasslands, backyards, cities, and almost any other semi-open habitat between the Arctic and the tropics.
Great Horned Owls are nocturnal. You may see them at dusk sitting on fence posts or tree limbs at the edges of open areas, or flying across roads or fields with stiff, deep beats of their rounded wings. Their call is a deep, stuttering series of four to five hoots." From AllAboutBirds.
Today, 14 November 2019, I have just posted five more odds and ends of photos, from way back in my archives, instead of going through photos taken more recently. Mind you, I shouldn't be posting anything, as I have started (yet again) backing up and deleting photo folders from my hard drive, as I am pretty well out of space. Also, I will have to take my computer in as soon as possible, to get it changed over from Windows 7 to Windows 10, seeing as support/security for Windows 7 comes to an end in January. So, a fair bit of deleting would be a good thing to do before I take in my computer. Not to mention a good thing before my computer crashes! I have added the description that was under another photo taken the same day, 6 May 2016.
Yet another overcast, dreary morning here today, 18 November 2016, with a temperature of -3C (windchill -7C). The sun is supposed to come out this afternoon, which would be a really welcome sight.
This photo of a Great Horned Owlet was taken on 6 May 2016, in a local natural area/park. Unfortunately, I had half a dozen errands to run before allowing myself to go out with my camera, so I didn't get there till late, and the light quickly began to fade. No time to look around the area for any other birds on this visit.
This beautiful owlet had been on the ground for a while before I arrived. There were a few people there and more came and went. However, I later heard that the owlet had been able to claw and flap its way up one of the trees and was safely out of reach of most predators. Meanwhile, the other fledgling had been very high up in a different tree, along with Mom. I'm glad I did call in at this location when I did, as this beautiful little owl gave us a few chances for photos when it was up on a log or down on the ground, usually partly hidden by the plants and bushes. I don't know how it ended up on the ground, but obviously it fell from somewhere or misjudged flying distance and missed an intended branch when it finally left the nesting tree. An interesting world for it to explore, though it wasn't very steady on its feet yet : )
Things seem to happen so fast this spring and I missed seeing the two owlets balancing on the rim of the nesting tree, exercising their wings before fledging. Also, I had been so busy that I only went over to see the youngsters a handful of times. Looking on the more important side, this meant one less person intruding on their area, of course, though I have to say that these owls are remarkably tolerant of humans. If a Canada Goose, on the other hand, should get anywhere near the nest or the little ones, Mom or Dad flies in for an immediate attack.
"With its long, earlike tufts, intimidating yellow-eyed stare, and deep hooting voice, the Great Horned Owl is the quintessential owl of storybooks. This powerful predator can take down birds and mammals even larger than itself, but it also dines on daintier fare such as tiny scorpions, mice, and frogs. It’s one of the most common owls in North America, equally at home in deserts, wetlands, forests, grasslands, backyards, cities, and almost any other semi-open habitat between the Arctic and the tropics.
Great Horned Owls are nocturnal. You may see them at dusk sitting on fence posts or tree limbs at the edges of open areas, or flying across roads or fields with stiff, deep beats of their rounded wings. Their call is a deep, stuttering series of four to five hoots." From AllAboutBirds.
Walden Ponds Wildlife Habitat, Boulder, Colorado
From the Cornell Lab of Ornithology:
A rich, russet-and-gray bird with bold streaks down its white chest, the Song Sparrow is one of the most familiar North American sparrows. 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.
Bigger, if you please. Are ashy feet aesthetically pleasing? I swear, it wasn't as bad as it looks...
Today, while I was taking that picture of my feet, this guy (with his friends) stopped in his car and asked me out. Being the socially inept girl that I am, I declined almost immediately.
What's your name?
McKenzie.
What are your taking pictures of?
Uhm.. .lots of things. I'm, uhm, I'm a photographer.
Hey, McKenzie... You wanna take down my number?
No. [giggle]
Aww, why not?
[silence]
C'mon, it'd make my day. I'm a good guy.
No. [more giggles]
To be fair, he caught me unawares. He did. He was cute and he caught me unawares. I didn't know what to do. So I declined. I was embarassed and I stutter a bit when I'm nervous. I'm glad he was in his car. I was probably starting to turn pink. And he disturbed me. You know that zone you get in when the world sort've fades out? I was there and he ripped me out of it.
His name is Jersey and he will be seeing me around. He will wear me down, he said.
Heh.
Well, I've always been a "no means try harder" sorta girl when it comes to being asked out... So we'll see.
Doesn't mean he has a chance, though. More like.. the chance of a chance.
Better Than Worse by Final Fantasy goes extraordinarly well with this photo... so should you like to listen to it, lemme know and I'll send it to you.
4:30 - 6:00 am
Denver Cdo. Sept 2.
1968...alone
Let's see now... "It wasn't too long ago, but it feels like, years ago, since I've felt the warm hello of the Sun...lately things..." and then he was interrupted by the slow motion speeded up sound that sometimes cut so deep, that sound was from those chellophane typewriters...Exactly. Constantly from the south side of those carpets and but anyway Sweet Rome was on my mind. "She gave so sweetly..." And on he walked until after crowning Ethel the dog the Only Queen of ears, the sky cracked wide open and split many of his Brothers and Sisters heads all over the world apart at the approximately same... "That's law and order", said the Border Guard as his hard head weighted something like wet bread -- which to explain through brain rain as that's...well...Bro, is this here country all what much ahead?
And said the owner of the velvet horse who heard all this... "I just know that I'm going to get involved here" and slams the machine in Reverse, splitting both suns apart in doing so, probably. He got to Fantasy Fjords on the hurry up side and also can you dig... Oh Oh! watch that stick and judge your distance from that Blue Suede kick!!... (SWISSHHH KNOCK...!?!!..) Anyway...can you dig that something came by here not too terrible long at all...I was bathing my eye...just a 1000 foot above those same old tired skies and...you know, that sound there and after that, everywhere, Bathed me to a physical. And he Blurted out the sound burnt the side of his inner wall also passing by and the liquid rainbow melted EROS all through his rooms and rooms of ears that he was hiding from Ethel the Queeny. And he thumbed a lift from his head and heads straight to anywhere to tell his woman, the world; that it was physical...GASP.
And (the chellophane begins to crattle and crake) His old lady Terra Mama, Jumps in his face and says... "What's physical?!" and he stutters, smiles, and retaliates with...well...er, ah...what is music m'love? PUFF PUFF.
And they probably found out that it was.
by this time.
Jimi Hendrix
electric lady land -
TITLE: Letter to the room full of mirrors.
Sky Vista Pond, Lemmon Valley, Washoe Co, Nevada (April 22nd, 2018). 8. Small suburban pond fringed with cattails and tules
Male, in the throes of the comical swollen-neck, tail-up bubbling/stuttering courtship display, beating the water into foam with its big expanded-end bill to the accompaniment of staccato popping noises.
More shots of the bubbling display—
www.flickr.com/photos/fugl/28481955388/in/album-721576818...
www.flickr.com/photos/fugl/35185735265/in/album-721576818...
More Ruddy Duck photos--
Jim Gordon closed the door to his office and hung his coat on the wall. The sun was just setting on Gotham City, but the Commissioner's work was only just beginning.
Stacks of paper littered his desk as he dragged his feet in exhaustion. It had been hours since his last cup of coffee, yet there were about four or five empty mugs on his desk. Grumbling to himself about the mess, he sat down in the dark room. The light entering from the West window was enough to mask the room in a yellow hue. He pushed some of the mess aside, only to start another one with a new stack of files.
A cold breeze waltzed across his cheek as he sat down. He wondered to himself if the repairman fixed the draft yet. The breeze met him once more, this time shuffling the blinds in the window. Gordon payed it no mind as he rummaged through files. Leaning back in his chair, he removed the glasses from his face, and cleaning them poorly with his button down shirt. Holding the frames up to the evening light, he checked for smudges. He sighed before returning them to his nose. Rummaging through more paper, Jim decided to clean his mess enough to keep sane. Reaching down, Gordon found a drawer to his desk open, and a folder was missing!
"It's been a long time, Jim" A deep voice spoke from the shadows. Jim couldn't pinpoint where the voice was coming from, but he knew who his visitor was.
Startled for only a moment, The Commissioner sighed again, then stood, pressing his knuckles down upon the wood of his desk. "You've got a lot of nerve coming back here." Jim said without raising his head.
"I came to return these...." A muscular arm clad in all black, held out a folder from the shadows. The folder was marked [BATGIRL] in bold red ink, stamped over the GCPD Crest. Jim didn't move.
The shadowed figure stepped into the light, and rested the documents on his desk. "I didn't know this would happen..." He spoke
"You... You didn't know?" Jim stuttered, struggling for the right words. "You're Batman for crying out loud, how did you not see this coming?" His eyes raised to see The Dark Knight. Only a few feet away from him and Gordon still struggled to see the full extent of his body.
"Barbara will be okay. ...She needs you to be there for her" Batman said without breaking eye contact. The two stone walls kept eyes locked on one another, before finally Gordon dropped his head in disappointment.
Batman's head turned to the west window, the yellow light still fading. "I think I found him, Jim” Gordon didn't respond. "She's a strong Woman. She's a fighter like you. She's made it through worse"
Gordon bashed the desk with his fist, "Don't you talk to me about her strength! Her endurance!” He stared Batman down once more, “Damnit Bruce! My Barbara won't ever walk again because of that... monster!"
"That only means we need to carry her."
"Don't take pity on me! You knew exactly what she was doing the moment she signed on with you!" Gordon came around from behind his desk standing face to face with The Batman.
"But you know what?” Jim pointed firmly in Batman's direction, “Keeping me in the dark about this was immoral! Sending a kid out at night, doing what you do, it's profanity!" Jim's whole body was tense now.
"I found him.” Batman spoke as calmly as before, “I found the Joker. Tonight, it ends."
"You'll do no such thing! You've done enough already!" Jim's voice raised, pulling his sidearm from his breast holster.
Batman backed into the shadow once more, "Don't try to stop me Jim." His voice coming from all around the room. Gordon could no longer see him.
"Batman!" Gordon shouted into the darkness "I'll never forgive you for this!"
"You shouldn't."
Batman's voice trailed off as the blinds on the window shuddered once more. Gordon aimed his gun quickly to the window, but it was to late. He was gone.
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These one-shot stories have been regularly accompanied by some kind of song, so here's something I felt set the tone quite well youtu.be/8-wIg90lagk
Thank you Hans Zimmer :)
So right off the bat (heh... puns) I'd like to say that this was pretty heavily inspired by some of Tim Lydy's older vignettes. Yes, I know I mentioned it before, but I needed to remind you. Like, I have flat out stole that window build from him *cough* flic.kr/p/gd6Bew *cough*
But yeah, I was really channeling some inner BTAS, so naturally who else to take inspiration from, than the guy who's practically built every episode in Lego at one point :P
There is a few other images of this build over on my Patreon, some even including Batgirl, plus Joker and Harley too!
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Do you think Commissioner Gordon's mustache is beautiful? Visit my Patreon to see early photography, behind the scenes images, and WIPs of upcoming projects, and we'll chat about his lovely lip hair :)
This will be long but deserving.
They say there is always someone out there for you. Someone who touches your life and your soul like no one ever has. For me it's this gorgeous Princesa here. From the first moment I looked at her, I knew. I knew she was the one. I refused to acknowledge it at the time because we both were very destroyed by our pasts in that time, but fast forward some time later the way my body reacted was undeniable. My heart leapt in my chest in February. Tiny butterflies danced in my stomach at the same time I felt like I was free falling towards the ground. You know like when you go on a roller coaster and the first drop happens. But what really hit me was the way my breath pulled in my throat. It was instantaneous. I stopped breathing at the sight of her. And I never wanted to look away. It didn't take long for me to realize she was the one for me. Our time together has been a culmination of events that I couldn’t deny. I knew, if I didn’t love her before that moment, I fell over the edge into a bottomless ocean that was only for her. I knew I was never going back. So instead of speaking, I kissed her, hard. When my lips collided with hers, I wrapped my one arm around her waist, placing the other under her chin, pulling her closer. And her arms tightened around me an instant later. That was when I knew. With every cell in my body, every beat of my heart, I knew I found my home.
Regardless of where our paths take us, for me, her and I, that's how it was meant to be. She's not someone you just love the idea of, I love her for her and all that she is, and has yet to be. Whether it's this life or the next or the next after that. That's what my heart believes. We've been sparks and music, and she's brought me to life. Like a jumpstart beneath the stars. And suddenly, my heart beat once more. After so long of feeling like I was a burden in life, a lost cause, something that was broken beyond recognition, someone that could never heal or be the same ever again. She healed me, but at times also left me feeling terror. We were always in perfect harmony, and I lived in the moment like it could be our last. Because it could be but in my heart it was always her and I. That's how it was meant to be. We've been parts of a puzzle that fit perfectly together. Like the sun finally exploded into life and she became my shadow. Like she was the sun blazing in a cloudless sky. Then suddenly, my eyes needed to adjust, and I didn't mind because she put me back together, and I could only ever hope I was the missing piece in her life too. Because otherwise, I'm just a melody waiting for a broken chorus to turn me into a sad song.
There were many times my dreams have always been scattered. Stuck somewhere between what was, what is, and what could be. While I'm dreaming, I'm never really sure where I am until I'm awake again. Sometimes, the dreams can't stop soon enough. But others those special nights when I believe my dreams might actually be true. I find that I'm caught between two different worlds. The one that's real. And the one that exists beyond this existence. That's where I am when I'm with her. That's where I feel most alive. That's where I feel free because I'm with her. She makes life better. She turns the darkness I have around and chases it away. On days I thought I was going to crumble and the demons would lurk inside me, the memories would always haunt me, she made it better. It was worth it. It was worth it because this beautiful soul of a person made sure surviving hell was worth it because it brought me to her and I don't know where I would be if it weren't for her. For me the world begins and ends with her.
She caught my eye and I haven't turned my head since. It was like I opened my eyes for the first time and after a lifetime of dark, I could see light. It felt like coming home. Like I was already there. And I never wanted to leave. Even after all these years, I still catch myself in awe of her from the moment we became friends, to the first I love you's, and from the moment we fell in love. I don’t ever want what I feel to stop no matter where we both end up in life. I want us to always take a piece of each other wherever we end up. No matter what life it is I know I will forever be powerless to help myself and I will always want her. It was everything about her that caught me off guard. It was more than her beautiful smile, or the sound of her unguarded laugh. It was more than the brilliance of her eyes, or the way she saw me. It was more than the way she carried herself, or the gentleness in her touch. It was more than her mind and her creativity, ingenuity, and intelligence. It was everything. Before I realized it, she became my everything. And my heart was no longer mine because it was hers, and I couldn't stop myself from loving her. She became my forever home and she will always be that for me.
Today, tomorrow, and forever.
I had someone ask me once why would I want to be with her. I simply said something along the lines of, I cannot see it any other way, she is everything. When I think more clearly on it, the way I saw it really was, we might fall into each others orbits like a binary star or fully collide in a tragic and ineffable supernova of personalities; but I couldn't see us passing each other by-I have fully cross the event horizon of her gravity and I believe that she has been embraced by mine as well. Through the inexplicable refrain of our worlds mellifluous and meandering melodies, I have found in her the chorus to my verse and the bridge to my resolution. A song composed by fate using the notes that make up who we are-our shared curiosity tempts us to listen if we dare.
And I dare.
If anyone was to ask me what I loved most about her, it will take me a bit because physically, I love how fucking gorgeous she is, despite her own reservations about how she looks at times. I love her cute little nose, especially when she scrunches it up when she would smile at me. The things I would do to her nose... I love her naturally flawless skin; her plain face with no makeup is so beautiful. I love her beautiful eyes, despite her always using filters to hide their real beauty along with her face. Her eyes are so expressive, that I don't think she realizes how much she says with them. I could look into them all day and not get bored. I love her smile, always bringing light to my life and can bring joy even when at the lowest of lows. I love her tattoo's because they fit her so well and make her so much more attractive. I love the sound of her voice and her laugh, even though she hates both but it's so soothing to me. I love when she opens up and becomes comfortable with sharing her vulnerability with me. I love when she's brutally honest with everyone and sets anyone straight. I love how easily flustered she can get sometimes. I love when she turns into a brat and gets all pouty, all are the cutest. I love how hard she may seem to others but her heart is so very loving but only certain people get to see that. I love her sly looks she gives when certain things are said that annoy her. I love the way she tries to contain a laugh or smile on voice or on her stream but can't. I love when she tries to express feelings and has the cutest stutter and gets all giggly.
Honestly, there is so much I could go on about but personally, I love how warm, kind, and generous she is. I love how rare her heart is and that if you do right by her you may just get to see the sides not many get to see. She treats everyone equally until they give her a reason to see them differently. She's been through hell more times than most and I love how brave and strong she is to keep going after everything she's been through. She doesn't let single obstacles in her way to stop her from overcoming anything and forging her into the amazing woman she is. Not only that but the things she's faced that shaped her into being one of the best moms I ever had the chance to know. I know she is wracked with self doubt which adds to her cuteness to me but I only wish that one day she is able to see the amazing woman and mother that I have seen over the years. Behind all that her capacity to love is my most favorite but again not everyone gets to see certain sides of her which I love because that's what makes it real. That's what makes it and her, rare. Despite her always being the one to not be good at expressing these things when she does that is what makes her different from anyone I ever known and that's what makes me love her so much more.
I could go on and on for days, to months, to years about this little sunflower but I think I made it pretty clear. I'm writing all this in hopes one day no matter where she is at she can look back at this and remember despite her struggles, her moods she would always make being with her exciting and new every single day. To never doubt herself and think she is hard to love because I learned how to love her in any struggle, any mood. She could flip her mood on me to yell at me, swear at me, abuse me, degrade me, etc but I still would love her if that. I will love her unconditionally, forever and always. I'm not one to turn on someone I love or see them differently because of how they react to things. Everyone reacts differently to things and for reasons whether it be because of their present or past. I believe in talking through things to get to better solutions, not belittling anyone for their reactions. So I'd do anything to make things better when needed as long as who I am with is feeling secure and ok. That's what she will always deserve.
Relationships and sometimes even friendships are like tending to a garden. The more love and love attention you give it, the stronger and more likely the plant (relationship) will stay alive. But not all people are the same plants. Some people are desert plants that don't require much tending or watering. But some people are delicate little flowers who need more tending to. It's important to know what type of plant you and your significant other is, so you can cultivate your garden together. Relationships are only as successful as the amount of time and effort you put into them. So hopefully one day she'll get it all. Me always being attentive to her every need, yet giving space when needed. Leaving little gifts and notes places for her to find throughout the day to make her smile. Always making sure she is looked after before myself. Planning special things to make her feel special. Treating her how she should have been treated in all her previous relationships. To always take care of her and love her with all my being, never faltering, always standing by her, pushing her on, motivating her, being there when she is sad. No matter what I would be willing to do everything I could so that she didn't cry or be broken like all the other times. I'd sacrifice anything for her not caring what would happen to me as long as she was ok. These are all things I have done and would always do but I hope no matter what path she ever chooses that she is loved this way and only this way because she deserves nothing less.
With all that said, Lucipurr, you’re my heart and my soul in any life there is. You are everything I ever needed to know that being broken doesn’t mean that you have to stay that way. You see, you gave me hope. In those moments of desperation, you’ve been there to pick me up and dust me off. You taught me how to stand tall with my head held high and that I was deserving of everything good and to be loved. You were the only person to ever show me what that word really means and what it truly feels like to be loved the right way. You have no clue how much I adore you. No matter how much I tell you words will never capture my love for you and thanking you would barely cover what you’ve done for me through the years. I only hope I have been able to do the same at some point for you. I hope after all this you get it a bit more than the times I've tried to express things. I also hope one day you'll understand no matter where our paths take us that everything we have shared was real.
Multiple Multiple exposure with Lomography's micro 4/3 experimental lens using the incorporated stutter instead of the in camera shutter.
About me : q.ennev.com/a
2 of my photos went explored and the amount of views and favorites on them is crazy for me! I also reached over 400 contacts today and I'm super excited about it!
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You seriously have to have no life in order to complete this challenge with good pictures. I've shut out a lot of people and I don't have any friends.. Its not like I have options to go make new friends because I'm home schooled so I literally just sit here at home, do homework, eat, sleep, and take pictures. I've always been a loner even when I was in school but at least I was around people. My social anxiety is horrible now, I can't even talk normally to people without getting nervous or stuttering. I know the only way to get over it is getting out and hanging out with people but I don't know how.. Maybe I can start doing tumbling or get into a club of some sort cause this is getting bad :(
211/365
over the past three or so days, i've gotten less than 12 hours of sleep in total.
now that i'm reunited with my own bed, i don't think i want to sleep at all.
#223: sometimes, i stutter.
Watagans National Park, New South Wales, Australia
Contact me on jono_dashper@hotmail.com for use of this image.
I've been so in love
I stutter as my life unfolds
Don't ask you won't be told.
You broke the promise
I'm lying on the floor tonight
To dream of all those empty memories of singing on that carousel we'd ride together.
Hey Mother, hey hey Mother.
Why do you cry?
Tell me what the birds have said about my father.
Hey Father, what do you know?
"Lovers on the carousel won't ride forever."
I walk to the ocean.
I'm looking through kaliedoscopes to see the colors.
Don't say you "saw writing on the walls,"
If you believe that simple words will make a difference.
Sick sick my heart.
I want to die, so that I can stop this crying.
Explore.
Shutter Stutter
I planned to take a set of photographs around our back yard, starting with the view from the bedroom window. I set the camera directly on the window sill instead of on the stubby tripod. Obviously not the best idea.
But I still like the result.
Ondu 6x12 Multiformat Pinhole Camera
Kentmere Pan 100 exposed at 200, developed in D76 1:1 15.5 min
Epson Perfection V500 Photo scanner
#ilfordfilm, #kentmere100, #kentmerepan100, #pushedonestop,
#ondu6x12 #ondu_pinhole, #pinholecamera, #pinhole, #woodencamera,
#blackandwhite, #shootfilmstaypoor, #ishootfilm,
#myhouse, #neighborhood, #irondequoitny, #shutterstutter,
Going back in time a bit here ! More or less the same view as shown in the 2021 and 2022 pictures, and something of a half-way house between them in terms of the site itself. I do remember it like this, although sadly not with North Western vehicles parked there, my interest having only started to emerge five years after their demise. Given that there is one of the Alexander-bodied Bristol RELLs in shot, that dates the photo to probably 1970 or 1971, but I have no definite information.
Talking of which - today is a very notable one for North Western aficionados, as it is exactly 50 years since they ceased to exist as a bus operator on March 4 1972, with their operations being taken over by SELNEC and Trent, with Crosville having assumed control of the south Cheshire depots in January 1972. The firm stuttered along as a pure coach operator from Hulme Hall Road for another couple of years, before it morphed into National Travel (North West). The company only ran from 1923 until 1972, so they have now been gone for longer than they were ever there !
I am grateful to my good friend Peter Roberts for allowing me to take copies of his slide collection for future use - indeed, he is very keen for them to be shared among a wider audience, so I shall put out some more very soon, starting with a bit of a North Western tribute.
The story behind this man is unknown to me. This man, unfortunately had trouble speaking, he mumbled his words and stuttered. However, one thing I understood was that he had a woman's name written with ink on his hand. He said— it was his lover.
There's an old English folk song about the Cuckoo that Paul Simon's song "April come she will" is loosely based upon. There are several variations but the usual one is:
In April come he will.
In May he sings all day.
In June he changes tune.
In July he prepares to fly.
In August go he must.
If he stays until September,
Tis more than the oldest man can remember.
The bit about changing tune in June is that they often begin to stutter Cuck-cuck-oo. And it is true that they usually depart in August, rarely being seen in September.
Slow moving truck with its hazard flashers blinking crosses the tracks on Navy Drive, Stockton, California.
Night, available light only.
Reprocessed and replaced, September 2024.
Despicably Rotten Scoundrel
My thanks to everyone who has helped me with ideas in writing this story. You all know of whom I speak.
The opening scene is a formal charity ball in Scotland, at the seaside town of Clachtoll.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Despicably Rotten Scoundrel
“I’m not really wicked, just written that way…!”
A pickpocketing female thief’s rather despicable and rotten tale told from her perspective….
“I’m not jealous, just an opportunist.”
^^^^^^^^^^
I do love a good old-fashioned charity ball.
It’s a place where rich twits, sorry, guests love to show off their finery, flaunting the fact they are wealthy enough to be invited to donate a bit of their easily earned, or given, cash. Also wealthy enough to be shorn of some of their wealth by other, shall we say, less proper manners.
Now, it’s true that there are mostly adults at these types of charity things.
But they also have a tendency to doll up their younger sons/daughters and bring them along to pretty much just display them. The poor dears are usually bored and desperate to be noticed. Which works to my advantage.
A bit of juicy, easy ripe pickings on the side with usually some surprisingly profitable results.
And then there are the parents and other adult guests, who once they have imbibed enough, become subtle and compliant enough for my fingers to do their task of acquiring their more valuable adornments
And I never thought of pickpocketing as right out stealing, preferably thinking of it as teaching a life lesson to those foolish enough, or young enough, to present a vulnerably easy target. And earn my living in the process.
But why the soliloquy one may ask?
Well, the last time I attended such a function I deliciously petted away a pair of pearl necklaces, a single and double strand, from two very different but equally gullible, charming quite young ladies who were attending a grown-up Ball for the first time. Their pearls fetched a surprising value.
One was in soft velvet the other was in sleek silk-covered chiffon. Both were easily woven into my web.
At the same affair, I also lifted an expensive diamond brooch from a wealthy lady as well as two fat leather wallets from a pair of tuxedo-wearing gentlemen.
But then I attracted nosey official notice and had to make a hasty exit. Blimey, a girl’s got to make a living.
And now here I was, a year later, standing across the street from yet another charity ball in Scotland. Smoking a leisurely cigarette as I watch the rich ladies' attire flowing down elegantly beneath furs and satin evening wraps of the mostly female guests pouring into the venue.
I spotted a group of younger ladies dressed elegantly in a collection of silks and satins, no wraps. They were off to the side smoking and chatting away amiably. They appeared to be an accepting lot, and I instinctively saw them as an acceptable way to camouflage my entrance.
I crossed the street and walked up behind them close enough to get a feel for the manner of conversation. They were all Scottish judging by their accents. Being Welsh myself I was hoping they would jump at the opportunity to talk with a newcomer to the area.
They were, and soon I was in with them thicke as thieves. Which was rather fitting.
The ball was in full swing by the time all of my adopted group decided to enter the establishment and I waltzed right in with them, easily escaping the notice of two security bulls who were keeping an eye on the entrance.
Once safely inside I made an excuse to leave them, promising them I’d catch up with them again. A promise I meant to keep for they were wearing some really lovely jewellery, and once they had drunk up a bit, should make them easy marks.
I licked my lips with anticipation over that future activity.
Once I broke away I circled the perimeter of the massive hall, watching the dancers in the middle. Looking out for an opportunity of any sort.
By the bar, a pair of young men were chattering away, and I pushed myself between them as I passed through. Easily lifting a gold watch from one of the tuxedoed pair.
I then spied with my little eye an elegant lady wearing taffeta, placing a solid gold compact inside her small pearl-handled white beaded clutch purse. I stood near bye, and as she bent down to adjust a strap on her high heel, I walked past and snatched the purse up, hiding it in my own larger purse.
I walked quickly off in another direction.
Then my heart stopped as I spied a young lady sitting at a table alone watching what I assumed were her guardians dancing.
What made it inviting was that no one was watching her.
In a chair next to her hung a luxurious sable, too valuable to trust in hat check.
Laying upon the chair was a small silvery clutch purse, worth quite a bit by my scrutiny. The girl was holding a purse of her own, a pretty, small satin number with rhinestones. Too expensive to pass up.
She was fidgety, either bored or needed to use the loo.
I walked up to her.
“Hello, luv.” I said as she looked up at me with a happy cherub face, glad to have someone to chat with.
“Aye Miss, halo. ” she answered with that darling soft accent that the young scot lassies all seem to have.
She was pretty, wearing a gold sequined blouse with long sleeves and a high collar. A long black skirt sleekly poured from her waist, held there by a gold belt with a large rhinestone clasp. Her long red hair was down hiding any jewels she may be wearing in her ears. Around her neck though, was a twisted strand silvery necklace with 5 real diamonds hanging down in a v shape at the necklace’s centre.
“You’re such a cutie I murmured reaching around and lifting her hair from her backside and running it through my fingers, eyeing her dazzling earrings set with real diamonds…and how they were set in her earlobes. They are old fashioned hinged clasped twins, valuable. My mouth drools over this discovery, for it could be child’s play to lift them.
She squirmed gleefully at my praise.
“Thank you, miss.”
I laid my hand on her shoulder, feeling the ultra-soft material of her blouse. I caressed my fingers along her sleeve.
“Your outfit is quite smashing Lass.”
With a woeful tone of voice she admitted:
“This was my sister's miss, I wanted a gown of my own, but papa said to wait till next year, and then I can wear real makeup!”
I petted her along the sleek backside of her blouse.
“You’ll look beautiful then I’m sure. As you look now, without makeup. And speaking of beauty, that darling purse you're holding is rather pretty. Is that your sister's also?
She shook her head no, the diamonds at her ears and throat erupting into frenzied sparkles. She held the purse up.
“Father Christmas brought it.”
I reached down and touched its exquisite satiny material.
“Very pretty. Something to take care of, especially tonight.”
Possessing the same curiosity of youth that needed me pearls last year, she bought into it, asking…
“Why tonight miss?”
I leaned in and explained.
“A lady had her purse stolen a little while ago, right from her table. The police are looking for him. You may want to put yours somewheres safe until he is caught. “
She looked at her purse worried, not sure what to make of what I had said.
I place my hand reassuringly on her elbow and pointed down to a purple silk-lined pocket of the sable.
“There miss, place it inside the pocket. No one will see it there.”
She obediently bent over to do so, while I placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, petting the delicious gold-colored material that covered it.
I looked around making sure the coast was clear, saying to her….
“Oh, and the other purse as well.”
She reached over to the table and picked it up. My fingers moved into position. As she leaned over to put it inside I easily undid the simple hook and circle clasp of her necklace and pulled the dangling piece from around her throat and slipped it inside my pocket in a blink of an eye.
She turned and looked at me with wildly opened concerned eyes.
“Oh. I’m sure they will catch him soon. Then you can take it back out. But for now, your purse is safe, as well as your sister’s”
She shook her head, earrings again flicking an expensive dance. But nothing glimmered where her necklace had been.
“My sister is not here miss. . She’s in France. It’s just me ,mum and dad.”
I knelt between her and that chair that held the gorgeous sable cost.
“Oh, please point them out to me.”
With young obedience, she surveys the crowd.
As she searched, and as I watched her face, my hand was feeling along the rich sable, reaching inside the sable coats’ pocket and pulling out the two small purses, placing them into my own, now sitting on the floor.
Her still-searching eyes lit up and she said…
“There they are…”
She was pointing to a rather handsome couple. The father is in a dark black tux with a black satin vest. Her mum was sumptuous in a long black satin gown with rhinestone trimmings. She was displaying a rather delicious set of diamond jewellery. My fingers itched, but I had done enough here.
I squeeze her shoulder, rising, as she again was becoming mesmerized by watching the dancers. Her earrings were tempting me, and I will admit I tried forcing myself to pass them by, but…
“Must take my leave sweetie, charming to have met such a pretty girl.”
She answered, keeping her eyes on the dance floor.
“Thank you, miss.”
I went in front of her and knelt looking into her doe-like wide green eyes.
“I think you will look positively lovely next year in your gown. I think you should wear your hair up.”
She smiled at me as I lifted up her silky hair.
“Thank you miss, I’m looking ever so to it, hopefully, I can wear one like mums…”
As she said that, my fingers were expertly caressing off the jewels dangling freely from her earlobes with a very practiced stroking touch of my own.
With her earrings clutched in my hands, I told her I hoped she would, and looked towards her mother on the dance floor.
She looked also and as she was I plopped her earrings in my purse and took leave.
I then hurriedly made my way to the bar for a drink and a breather. I had meant to pace myself this evening and not repeat my mistake from a year ago.
I mulled over my drink, watching the crowd, admiring the pickings they wore or carried. The drink and my delicious thoughts took their effect and I realized I needed to urgently use the loo, sorry, powder my nose, as the wealthy ones would say.”
I headed inside the nearest one and found one empty stall remaining. It was then a large group of women came in and gathered around the sinks and side tables waiting their turn.
I exited and with practiced quickness, looked them over, eyeballing a few plump purses, and the rings and bracelets that adorned the wrists, fingers holding them. I focused on an ornate diamond clip worn in the blonde hair of a young lady dressed in black velvet, my fingers tingled. Licking my lips I yelled…
“Mouse, there’s a mouse in my stall!”
In the ensuing panic, I forced myself into their startled midst as I hurried to leave. Bumping into the velvet-gowned young lady, she tripped and started to fall, as it was playing out, my hand snaked up through her hair easily whisking out the startled young thing’s fancy diamond clip in the process.
I made the door and left. Marveling at how easy that score had been. The fact that the flashy hair clip had been the only jewel probably allowed to be worn by the young lady did not faze me a bit.
I walked around the outer rim of the room, basking in the clever way I had nicked that expensive diamond clip from the unwary young victim.
It was then, in a side alcove of couches and comfy chairs, I spotted the group I had come in with. Already going on with drink-induced chatting and giggling. All very touchy-feely and huggy
I was all in for a bit of that action, seeing a multitude of opportunities for my fingers to be employed with.
I grabbed a tray of drinks that was sitting waiting for one of the waiters.
Took it over where it was well received by this group of wealthy young ladies.
And soon was again in thicke with them, laughing and doing some touching of my own upon their softly, expensively, attired figures.
I easily lifted fat wallets from two unguarded evening purses, before deciding to up my game.
One of the ladies, Trish, dressed in a silk dress with a nice diamond drop pendant and an even nicer gem-filled bracelet was telling a story that I wasn’t paying any attention to. What I was paying attention to was the other 3 dames in the group. All three dolled up in satin gowns with some very nice jewelry set with gemstones that matched the colors of their sumptuous designer gowns.
We were all huddled very close together around Trish to listen in to her captivating gossiping story told in a whisper.
They were not watching me.
I was holding onto one of the listening broad's blue satin gloved hands, managing to slowly work off her cocktail ring, a large sapphire surrounded by diamonds.
As we all put hands to our mouths to gasp over a particularly juicy bit of Trish’s story I placed my hand up along the backside of another listener's sunset-red taffeta gown.
Reaching for her necklace I undid the clasp, then waited until another highlight of Trish’s story had us all leaning in closer before slipping the ruby set gold necklace from around my victim’s throat without missing a beat.
Trish finally reached the climax of her story and the ladies turned toward each other and started talking about it over.
I just smiled the said.
“Really. That’s quite a delicious story.”
Though I still had no clue about her babbling.
But as I said that I place my left hand on the diamond-clad wrist of her right hand, over her vulgarly pricy bracelet. She put her other hand on my chest. I swore she was coping a feel.
She chirped...
“Isn’t it a riot, really I cannot believe it happened.”
As she said that, looking earnestly for approval in my hazel eyes with her heavily mascaraed blue ones, I squeezed her wrist, undoing her diamond bracelet and lifting it into my palm.
Transferring the bracelet to my pocket. I picked up a drink and chatted with them for a good ten minutes.
I finally found an opportunity to bid them adieu.
I received hugs all around. As I hugged Trish, my fingers nimbly undid her pendant and I slipped it off as her friends began yet another conversation.
Trish was in a hurry to join in so I had a very easy time of it.
I headed back out the hallway, finally letting out my breath, to have a smoke and take a well-earned break as I decided what to do next.
This patch was proving a gold mine, but have I had my run?
That would be a big No, to my run of luck being over that evening!
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
As I headed out I passed one of the rental guards. He looked bored. I noticed his open handcuffs attached to his belt.
I went up, acting tipsy, and placing my hand on his shoulder winked at him
“Happy to see you on the job.”
As I told him that my other hand lifted off his cuffs, mainly because I take a fancy to acquire anything shiny.
I then head out to the exit.
A man and lady are on the ground by the stairs smoking right under a ‘no smoking sign.
They did not appear to be a couple.
The male is wearing a fitted suit and what I considered a power tie, smoking a long thin cigar. I can tell he is wealthy by his silver Rolex and a fat wallet.
The man is randy ,obviously hitting on the girl. Not successfully I might add.
He eyes me with flirty interest.
I eyed the girl.
She was an early 20ish model of the type one would call mousey. Very tipsy and coy. I was surprised she wasn’t coming onto the bloke's advances.
Emilie, the girl, was wearing a fitted designer dress of gold satin with rhinestone trimmings. She was sporting a nice collection of expensive gold jewelry, pouring all along her body from ears, neck wrists, and hairpiece. She had no less than 5 cocktail rings that flashed rippling out along her fingers as she smoked.
I had the inkling, mainly by how she carried herself. that she may have been wearing gold jewelry this evening, but she also owned and could have been wearing diamonds. But gold did not interest me. Her diamonds would have.
So I found myself wishing our randy male fellow smoker would chase away the girl so I can relieve the git of his deliciously tempting expensive watch.
I pulled out one of my two lighters, the round one with no fuel, and unsuccessfully tried to lit my cigarette.
The male whose name was Sebastian, leaned over to light it for me and I nimbly picked his wallet.
The rental cop just then stuck his long nose outside the main door.
Looking down upon our small group he lectured
“‘Ere no. No doing that there. Take your business to the park yonder.”
He went back inside.
Sebastian sighed, giving us both a look. Sensing, incorrectly I might add, that neither of us are interested in him, he tossed the nub of his cigar and followed the guard inside.
Since I had just started my cigarette I crossed the street. The girl followed me, gaily chirping in my ear
“ That’s probably the only thing the guard is allowed to do, and thank you for saving me from that bore Sebastian. “
She pulled out a cigarette and asked if I had a light. I hesitated, then pulled out my square lighter and easily lit it. She guided my hand to her mouth. Her eyes were looking int mine, exploring. I felt her fingers subtlety caress my wrist.
It just may have been in gratitude, but that’s not what I read in her eyes.
Now I don’t lean that way, unless it’s to my benefit. Her gold jewelry now did appear to me to be one, a benefit I mean.
“Thank you she whispered coyly.”
Your welcome I said, taking up her hand and purring how pretty she looked this evening. Which was no lie, on several levels.
Yes. I dolled myself up pretty well she said. Her fingers wrapping around mine.
“I think you look lovely also..” she complimented me with a shyness I found almost as fetching as her gold necklace.
I had read the signs correctly, now if only I was right about everything I had deduced about her. My mind already wrapping around a plan.
I let her pull me to her. I could feel her perking breast’s running scintillating along my own through the thin material of my dress. Her breathing became deeper.
I responded by spitting out my cigarette and clasping my hands behind her and digging my fingers into her hinny.
She squealed with delight. Her own cigarette tumbling from her thicke red lips.
She went onto her tippy toes and planted a kiss upon my mouth. I responded by adding my tongue to the party.
She raised her knee up between my legs and began massaging my sweet spot sending prickly waves of pleasure through my entire being. Though my real center of pleasure lay upon her gold jewels and the way they were delightfully shimmering as she played along with my figure.
I raised my hands around her back. My leg went up as she stopped. Feeling it there she began to rub along it. Exciting herself.
Running my fingers to the back of her throat as all of my marks attention was on pleasuring herself, I had the pleasure of undoing the clasp of her three-strand gold necklace and lifting it from the front of her dress to behind her back and into my fist.
She whispered.
“There’s a playground up on the hill “
I answered, startled at how husky my voice was coming out
“ A playground, I like the sound of that. “
I let her lead, my hand wrapped around her silken waist. Holding tightly onto my prize.
^^^^^^^^**
Reaching the deserted playground,
We embraced, sucking and kissing passionately
I sat her on the bench. Had her lie down.
She giggled as my hands went up underneath her dress, and silk slip. I then discovered why she was giggling, she was not wearing panties.
My fingers delved inside past wet hairs and probed as she arched her back in ecstasy. She spread her dress open, revealing plump breasts striking inside her thin gold satin brocade patterned brassiere. She managed to undo it and flung it onto the grass. Then began to massage her naked breasts, rings sparkling, solid gold bracelets glinting. Her exposed breasts cooled in the misty air.
My free hand went up and joined in with her fun. Her rings were pleasingly digging into my flesh as I dig deeper into hers.
She was moaning with deep guttural primeval pleasure. Her whole figure is on electric, lava-hot fire.
Then shrieking so loudly it echoed, in a flash of seething back-arching ecstasy, she came….
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Later we sat on a bench smoking. She was basking in delight.
“So happy I met you…!” she said cheerfully.
I intentionally didn’t answer.
She looked up into my face.
“I know this is cliche but want to go to my flat?”
I looked at her, then looked over her remaining gold jewelry. It was calling out to just take me, as I answered her question...
“Gorgeous, simply Gorgeous. Oh I’m going to you flat Luv , but alone!”
She looked at me confused, trying to think through her horny drink-induced haze just what I was prattling on about.
I pulled the cuffs from my bag.
Going around behind her I raised her arms, she was totally pliable. Not really registered what I was holding. I pulled her arms behind the bench. Cuffing around one wrist, I cuffed the other end to a metal leg set in concrete.
As I looked into her eyes I saw they were starting to spin and sure enough, she passed out, for whatever reason, fear or just physically spent…
I checked her pulse, she wasn’t dead, just in a cold dead faint.
I began stripping the sully Lass of her remaining gold jewelry. Pulling out her earrings, undoing her hairpiece, and unfastening her many bracelets. Then methodically working away, I sucked off her rings. And finally, I unclasped a gold ankle bracelet.
Picking up her purse I found her address and the numbered key to her flat. I left her surprisingly mock designer purse on the bench. But emptied her wallet, discarding it on the ground.
As I checked her over for any missed valuables I thought of giving her a little more pleasure, but decided I was better off just letting her sleep it off.
Walking quickly out of the playground I cut to the opposite side of the park.
Hailing one of the parked cabs I gave him her address. Using her money to pay for it when we got there.
It was in a very posh neighborhood, I licked my lips wondering if I was right to be expecting diamonds somewhere inside her flat.
As I enter the block of flats I see a well-dressed man unlocking the door next to my victim's numbered door.
I say “Ello” and he jumps.
“Thought you were my wife.”
I had moved closer spying a fat wallet bulging from his pocket
I purr saying cheekily:
“No, wish I was, did you lose her now?
“Ah, here she is, found her now didn’t I.”
I turn. My eyes bugging out. I forgot all about lifting wallets as I saw his wife come inside, dazzling like some ornate overfilled display case at Tiffanies.
She was wearing a deep blue brocade patterned silk dress with flashy sapphire rhinestones adorning the neckline and waistline.
Her hazel eyes had been masterfully made up with black eyeliner and blue mascara. She looked like a picture actress from a Telly show.
She was wearing a stunning set of sparkling sapphire and diamond-encrusted jewellery. A full array, hanging from her ears, neck wrists, and fingers. One ring was especially flashy
Perched on her head was a short diamond studded tiara.
I had seen many tiaras this evening, but none this close to my already trembling fingers.
At the rather daringly low cut of her gown hung a very expensive sapphire/ diamond brooch successfully stealing away the prominence of the lady’s beautifully plump breasts.
She floats up to us.
They are both happily tipsy and introduce themselves as my new neighbor.
They both ask if I would like to join in for a nip, or a nightcap.
Bird in hand I thought. Let this one go.
I smile at the pretty pair
“Rain check please I need my beauty sleep.”
I give them both a hard look over, openly relishing the rich attire, and beckoning trimmings, of this clueless couple as they bid me farewell and go inside their flat
Then with those succulent imaginings, I use the key to my victim’s flat and go inside to rob the joint.
I waste no time, heading directly to the girls' bedroom where I knew the good stuff would be found.
Finding the bedrooms down a corridor, I go inside the master room and methodically begin with the contents in the drawers of a large oak wardrobe, feeling through satin, silk, and lacy undergarments. I find a velvet case holding some nice pearls and empty them into my purse. Then felt along some prickling soft dresses and gowns, being rewarded with finding a gold broach and diamond pin for my efforts.
Knowing there has to be more I check behind the many pictures on the walls.
Finding one, a painting of ‘Twelve Sunflowers by Vincent Van Gogh, set on a hinge that, when opened, exposed a wall safe. Expertly I place an ear to it as I work the tumblers, finding the combination quite easily.
Opening it I see several items. An old, loved Teddy Bear, a bundle of letters tied with ribbon on top of some photos, an oblong box that looked strikingly like the one I keep my vibrator in, and more importantly, three thin velvet-covered cases. Pulling out the largest case. I opened it.
My eyes opened wide, like a child who has been visited by Father Christmas. I had found her diamonds. A nice full collection of sparking “ice” that I quickly let slide into my purse. The others two cases contained evening jewellery also. One was a nicely ornate set of 24 Caret gold and the last was a set of glittery sapphires. I empty them all quickly.
Time enough later to drool over the nice haul I was taking.
I left the safe open and lifting my now very weighty purse, started to leave her bedroom to make my escape.
But then I spied it… and a naughty thought entered my head.
Sitting on a hook in a shadowy corner was a new dress, not yet taken in for a fitting. A short sleek black satin number with a sassy low-cut top, ribbed waistband, and above-the-knee hemline.
I go over and admire it. On a whim I slip off my dress, then undo my bra, to try it on.
Brilliant, it fits me like a hand in a glove.
Going back to the wardrobe, still wearing the dress, I pull out a small satchel and dump its contents on the floor.
I place my bulging purse inside, then neatly fold the dress I had been wearing and place it on top. Adding my bra also, relishing the feel of the material upon my naked breasts.
I also snatch up a pair of silver rhinestone-adorned high heels I had admired and place them inside also.
I headed out, more than satisfied with my evening’s haul, I had every intention of planning to call it a night.
But, as I was leaving the flat, I see my victim’s new neighbor, the man, as he is locking the door.
Putting the key in his pocket he turned and spots me standing there.
I gave him my best foxy smile, asking in my best new neighborly fashion
“We’re you off to in such a hurry luv everything, all right? Didja Lose your wife again?”
“So sorry”. he apologized in a high voice. not questioning why I was now back out in the hallway in a different dress, though his eyes went down to take a brief study of my breasts, then my legs gracefully sticking out from the dress’s shamefully high hemline.
He answered, obviously flustered on several levels.
“It’s a bother I need to go back to the restaurant, my wife left her bloody expensive purse there.”
A fish hooked, now to play him I thought as he walked up to me.
“Hope you not too long. And about that nightcap, knock on my door first when you get back luv.”
I reached down and began fingering his John Thomas, I gave it a good wank, finding the boy was already hard.
He was not displeased by my copping a feel, in the least.
He stuttered, before dashing off.
“I, I h’have 30 minutes to find a cab and get there before it closes.”
I smile. My hand was on his room key which I had lifted from his pocket.
^^^^^^^^^^
Flipping the keys in my hand, I went to the outside entrance and from a side, window saw the husband catch his cab.
“Bully,” I thought, that gives me 45 minutes, more than enough time.
I carefully walk down the deserted hallway and reach the flat of the friendly, wealthy, couple.
I carefully pry open the door and have a look and listen.
There is no one in the main room, which is unlit. It all appears to be the same layout, though opposite, as the flat I just burgled.
I carefully close and lock the door and slip into the shadows, my eyes adjusting, aware that I am running against the clock.
I hear movement from the area I know is the flats’ kitchen. Then the light clicks on. My objective, again, is the master bedroom’s wall safe. I’m hoping the Wife had had enough time to slip into something more comfortable and put her jewels away in the wall safe.
But I needed to take a look.
I took a peak in the kitchen. I could see her figure moving about. She was still wearing her gown…and jewels. I would have to deal with that later. But first the safe. From a reflection, I saw her Mascara was askew. They’ve been naughty tonight.
I move over to the small corridor off which lie the bedrooms. I see the master bedroom door is slightly open. Candlelight flickered out from the bottom, dancing along the polished oak wood floors.
Reaching the door to the master bedroom, I open it, slip inside, and lock the bedroom door behind me.
They have indeed just moved in. There were several traveling cases of various sizes. Shirts, trousers, and ties hung on a corner stand. In another corner, an oil Landscape painting was on the floor under the closed wall safe, waiting to be put up. Next to the safe was a large double tigerwood wardrobe.
I continue to quickly survey the rest of their room.
From the opposite side of the room, the candle was lit on a vanity reflected in the mirror. Something glittered. Shiny I thought.
I go over and see several 14k gold and silver necklaces, bangle bracelets, and rings all laid out in a heap inside an open case.
Suddenly I hear the door knob rattling
“Luv. Your back? You’ve got the chambre door looked”
“Chambre is it?” I thought. Pretty fancy for a flat. Even an upscale one like this.
Dropping the small satchel I go over to the door. Tapping on it I unlock it and stand by the wall so I will be behind the door as it opens.
The wife swished in, unknowingly talking to her still-absent husband in her heavy lowland Scottish accent.
“Guid lord laddie, sneaking about on myself are ya now? Well I….. umpph ?”
I had snuck out from behind the door, gripping her from behind, one hand on her mouth cutting off her sentence, the other pointing a finger in the small of her elegantly attired back like I was holding a pistol on her.
I hissed Into a diamond dangling ear.…
“Okay my pretty bird, this is not your husband, but a thief. You know what a thief does, now dontcha?”
She nodded weakly and I felt her figure go limp.
“Good, now not a sound out of you. Go and sit on that stool yonder,”
As I guided her, she went obediently to the oak vanity stool. As we passed a spot where more of her husband's ties hung, I whipped off a handful.
I pulled out the stool and she sat down facing the vanity mirror, giving her a clear sweeping view of the master bedroom behind her.
In the reflection of the mirror, she saw me, recognized who she thought I was(new neighbor), and looked at me with sad, large puppydog-like, questioning eyes.
I quickly, perhaps a bit roughly, pulled her hands behind her and tied them up using her husband's neckties. Then, using the same, I bound each ankle to the front legs of the stool.
“Now lady, where’s your husband?”
Tearfully she lied in a pleading tone…
“Not here, but he is coming back soon.”
Of course, I knew better, but I said…
“Then I’ll take my chances.”
She started to say more, but I cut her off by gagging her with a blue-striped Etonian Club tie that went well with her blue mascara.
Again in her ear, I whispered sternly.
“Going to be a good girl now, aren’t ya Lass?!”
She gave me a feeble nod yes.
I look down at the open case of day jewelry.
I reach in and begin scooping out the contents into the satchel as she watches and quivers in uneasy discomfort.
I knelt beside her.
“Okay my pretty one, time for you to take some weight off, time for me to trim your feathers.
She balked as I ran my fingers, intently, up along her gown, my fingers scintillating with the feel of its soft material.
Ignoring her muffled pleas I reached up and yanked out a long gem-studded pierced earring from each ear. I dropped them inside the satchel at my knees.
Then facing her, smiling with wicked intent, I unclamped her heavily jewel-laden necklace and let it slide down between her fear-perked breasts before reaching in deep and after a bit of fondling, finally fished out. I plopped it on top of her earrings, where it lay sparkling with intense fire.
I moved behind her, watching her watch me as I worked off her wide sparkling bracelets, dropping them onto the necklace, then I sucked off each of her rings, spitting them out into the growing pile inside the leather satchel. The last one, the big one I had admired, I left it in my mouth and looked at it in the mirror. My victim shuddered. I spit it out onto the glistening pile inside the satchel.
In the reflection of the mirror, I carefully watched her reaction, as I also watched my hands, snaking around feeling along her voluptuous bosom. I groped down along the pair of pert beauties, finally reaching down below her ample breasts, and unfastened the stunning brooch she had been so daringly wearing out, begging all evening to be stolen by any thief-minded observer.
And it was now mine!
I said as much to her, and she squirmed at my sneering words.
“Sweetie, you have probably no idea how much interest you generated amongst thieves like me when wearing a brooch like this out for an evening. I could barely pay attention to my dinner at the restaurant we were all at. I’m surprised you did not lose it earlier, but then, that’s my luck for tonight.”
I pocketed the brooch. This was too special to lose.
“Okay princess, now your precious crown..!”
I stood up and played with her hair, running my fingers through her silky locks I reached for her shimmering diamond-encrusted tiara and worked it out.
I placed it carefully in with the rest of my newly acquired jewelry collection.
Then I placed my head on top of her own and looking at her in the mirror pulled down her gag. I then said to my hapless prey.
“Let’s have the numbers to the safe pretty bird.”
She shook her head
“It’s empty. My jewels are still in the bank she pleaded.”
I cooed into her now naked ear.
“Liar, your eyes are a dead giveaway. “
I smiled at her reflection with a very pernicious look before continuing:
“But, even if your eyes were wrong, I’ll still be having a look won’t I now luv. I live to be looking at the insides of safes, empty or not. It’s a quirk of me own”
She shook her head no again.
I sighed. Redid her gag, picked up the delightfully 2/3rds full satchel carried it over to the safe.
Putting my ear against it and worked the tumblers. With the practice I had with the other flat’s safe, I had it opened in no time.
Inside was several healthy bundles of £ notes and five velvet-covered cases. I stuffed the notes into the satchel. Pulling out each case I opened them finding my eyes almost blinded by the assorted jewels they contained as the candle lite played over them. I would say that each case contained £75,000 worth of gems. A very nice haul.
As I emptied the last case I threw it on the blue satin cover of the king-sized bed and looked at my victim, thoroughly wilted down.
I said to her…
“What’s in there?”
Her eyes opened wide looking at the spot along the wall I was pointing to…
Chuckling I went to the double wardrobe I had been pointing to, and opened it, seeing a fine collection of my victim's clothing. Including gowns of every color and type of rich material. I looked them over, selecting a rather sleekly pretty one of blood-red satin with the diamond rhinestone trimmings that outlined the gown's bosom and waist, a design of the sort that always catches my eye.
Watching my hapless victim, I placed it against my figure as I looked at her, and then as I slid my fingers up and down its sensuously fine length, I admired myself in the mirror.
“Well my pretty one, it needs taking in, but I can make it work.”
I placed it gently inside the satchel, which I then closed up.
Then I thought pearls, they always have pearls?
Deviously I abruptly snapped out a question, though I suspected I knew the answer.
“Where are your pearls lady!”
She jumped at my sharp words, her eyes involuntarily dropping down to the shelves at the bottom of the wardrobe.
I knelt and began opening the shelves and once again found my fingers swimming through some rather luxurious silk and satin underthings.
Why these rich twit females think that places like their lingerie drawers make for an excellent place to hide their valuables will always be a mystery to me.
It was in the bottom drawer, underneath some long dress slips, where I found not one, but two cases that when opened I was pleased to see contained two sets of quite lovely pearls.
I held one necklace of pearls, a double strander, to my throat where it lay prettily down along my black satin dress just reaching my own delightfully perked naked breasts, and admired it in the mirror, seeing my victim slump down even more in despair.
I dropped the necklace into the satchel, quickly followed by the rest of the cases gleaming contents.
I then walked over with the satchel and standing above her lied to her reflection in the mirror...
“Okay pretty bird, lastly now, where’s the delicious evening purse I saw you with at the restaurant tonight?”
Wide-eyed she tried to tell me, words muffled by her gag, that she didn’t have it, forgotten it there hadn't she now.
I said to her, tweaking her chin:
“I believe you this time luv, ….Toodles..”
Then left her there, tied up in her bedroom.
^^^^^^^^^^
I headed down the hall and peeked out the outside door to the corridor.
Seeing it was empty I went out, locking the door behind me.
Going to the flat of my first victim I tossed the key inside and left the door unlocked.
Sighing with relief, I headed out.
^^^^^^
As I leave the complex of posh flats I see a cab coming down the street.
I quickly move into the shadows.
The cab pulls to the curb, and not surprisingly, my victim’s husband exited the cab.
I stay hidden in the shadows as he hurries past me unseen.
As he went inside the door, I slip from the shadows and jump in the back of the very same cab he had just exited, startling the driver who was a tad bit reluctant to take on another fare, that was until I waved a £50 note in his face.
I let out a deep breath as we drove off.
I was on pinpricks for the whole drive, though it was less than 9 kilometers away.
I had the driver drop me off at the hotel across from the one I was staying at this week.
I went inside, snuck out a side door, and when the coast was clear, crossed the street and walked into my hotel.
In my room, I picked up my already packed bags( a precaution I always take before leaving my room in case of the need for a quick getaway ), put on my leather jacket, and headed down to the front desk.
For during the ride here in the cab I reasoned to myself that tonight it would be a good idea to promptly check out of my hotel and take the first early morning train to…anywhere far away.
Which is exactly what I did.
So, on a roll of the dice so to speak, I took the train to my next adventure.
Her next Adventure:
“A Nefariously Rotten Scoundrel”
Fini
I had a lot of flickering in the sky while processing this sequence in LRTimelapse. I ran it through deflicker multiple times in LRTimelapse, but it would not go away. I used the Deflicker plugin in Davinci Resolve and that cleaned up the flickering. The plugin made playback in Resolve a stuttering mess and added time to rendering, but it worked in the end.
This was not my usual encounter with a stranger I would come to photograph.
When I was much... much... younger, I used to go to the Renaissance Faire in a rather risqué, 1970's peasant-style dress designed by Gunne Sax, getting into the whole fantasy of the annual event. I gave up the dress, and the Faire, decades ago. When I did return this year, I wore more practical gear: jeans, sunhat, and sturdy walking boots. I went with only one thought in mind: to get photographs. I was no longer part of the Faire or the magic; I had morphed into a pragmatic observer.
I spotted Melinda's stall from a distance. Her pieces of jewelry reminded me of a museum exhibit. But the moment she emerged from the shadows, I found myself blurting out, "I must photograph you!" (or something equally embarrassing).
I stuttered out an apology for my rudeness but tried to cover up by saying she must be used to loads of photographers asking her to pose. With quiet grace, she quelled my nerves and readily agreed to being photographed. I lost myself for the next few minutes in a sort of photographer's high.
After I showed her the images, she casually asked if I would like to photograph her husband. Of course, says I, as he emerged from behind the dark, velvet curtains. In that moment, I began to think maybe I had not lost my belief in magic.
Attila was equally gracious; they both spent more time than I could have asked for allowing me to fumble my way through the shoot.
We chatted awhile talking about art and the creation of their wearable sculptures, each piece designed and handmade by them. Both are exceedingly kind and generous people, as well as brilliant artisans.
Rather than repeat their story, read their bio (fascinating) on their website at wizarts.us/pages/gallery after admiring their handiwork. There is also a YouTube video with music composed and played by Melinda.
I didn't want this to come across as some star-struck, magical experience... but it was.
-------------------------
Visit my Human Family/100 Strangers album
Find out more about the project and see pictures taken by other photographers: 100 Strangers Flickr Group.
For street portraits and stories from The Human Family, visit The Human Family Flickr Group.
Har har har! See those wilted, withering flowers around me? Thanks to Flickr I had the perfect poison, the sap of their servers! Condensed malfunction! Enhanced stuttering! Mwuahahaha!!
The smallwort (Scharbockskraut) lost all green and will sleep until next spring. Those yellow pathces gave me the idea to make a picture with Scarecrow, the last two days with a forced shutdown and tons of malfunction afterwards gave me the idea for the title.
Toy Project Day 1395
I know that most people looking at this will assume it is a Curlew, but this was one of two Whimbrels that have spent the past two days in a field not far from my village. Most of the time they keep at the far side of the field but occasionally they get spooked by alarm-calling Oystercatchers and take flight allowing slightly closer views in flight. Alas there was a dark, brooding sky this morning when I photographed this but I thought it was worth posting as it is a species I rarely encounter. My shutter speed was only 1/640 so I was surprised how sharp the wings came out, especially as yesterday's Wheatear had blurred wings at 1/1250. I was surprised to see just how inconspicuous the stripey head is from this angle. I can see a dark stripe through the eye but cannot see the darker crown at all. But apart from being slightly smaller with a slightly shorter, less-curved and thicker beak, they are pretty much identical to Curlews, though the call is very different.
The name Whimbrel was first seen in print in John Ray's Ornithology (1678) which was supplied by a correspondent from the North Riding of Yorkshire. Thomas Pennant also used it ninety years later in 1768 in his British Zoology, and it has been the standard name ever since. The name is imitative of the stuttering call which was apparently known as whimmering in northern dialect. The scientific name Numenius phaeopus is more straightforward to interpret. Numenius translates as new moon referring to the shape of the bill, and phaeopus means dusky-footed, though the grey legs are similar to Curlew.
All the time I find myself
with empty lungs,
breath let out, chest stopped
in its rise and fall,
keeping time with the heart
when the heart stutters and stalls.
Here, in breathless places,
in spaces swelled with
hushed dread, in mental caves
where words echo unsaid,
here all the truth and lies
of the world wait, here
is where the lungs
snatch breath, once more,
and deflate.
Here the blood runs cold,
slowed to a stop-go beat.
Here we swear to not repeat
mistakes we've made before:
to look before the leap,
to let the heart build first
a firm foundation,
to coax a bit of joy into
every inhalation.
---
I was going to post something else tonight, but then I fell hard for this image. The poem seemed to follow from there... it's been too long since I've written one, so it seemed like time to do so.
I cant stop thinking about you. You are contantly in my mind. You make my heart beat every so fast. You make my lose my apetite. You make my stutter.
You make me feel in love....
______-
so, a little twist on the stuff i normally do, but i think i like it =P and im 85% pleased on the way it turned out =D
Oh, and during this session, i found out how hard it is when using the self timer to get just the right shot xD
This is from when i covered my room in newspaper for the ballet shot =P
xoxo
:0 this has over 2000 views =0 i cant believe it!
Yesterday morning, I went on a birding walk with a group of friends, to Fish Creek Park. When owls are seen, they tend to be the highlight of a walk, and yesterday we were able to see six Great Horned Owls, 4 adults and 2 young ones.
The owl in this photo is a male, Dad to three young ones. We only saw two of the babies yesterday morning - this was the first time I had seen two. I had only been to see these owls once before. As males always do, they perch and rest in a tree that has a good view of the nest, keeping watch over the female and the babies. Even though this owl looks like he's fast asleep, he will be wide awake in a split second if anything, such as a Canada Goose, threatens the nest.
"With its long, earlike tufts, intimidating yellow-eyed stare, and deep hooting voice, the Great Horned Owl is the quintessential owl of storybooks. This powerful predator can take down birds and mammals even larger than itself, but it also dines on daintier fare such as tiny scorpions, mice, and frogs. It’s one of the most common owls in North America, equally at home in deserts, wetlands, forests, grasslands, backyards, cities, and almost any other semi-open habitat between the Arctic and the tropics.
Great Horned Owls are nocturnal. You may see them at dusk sitting on fence posts or tree limbs at the edges of open areas, or flying across roads or fields with stiff, deep beats of their rounded wings. Their call is a deep, stuttering series of four to five hoots." From AllAboutBirds.
Cavendish Mews is a smart set of flats in Mayfair where flapper and modern woman, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd has set up home after coming of age and gaining her allowance. To supplement her already generous allowance, and to break away from dependence upon her family, Lettice has established herself as a society interior designer, so her flat is decorated with a mixture of elegant antique Georgian pieces and modern Art Deco furnishings, using it as a showroom for what she can offer to her well heeled clients.
Today we have not strayed far from Cavendish Mews and are still in Mayfair, but are far enough away in her mind that Lettice has chosen to take a taxi, hailed for her by her maid Edith from the nearby square, to Bond Street where the premises of the Portland Gallery stand. She is sharing the taxi with her friend Minnie Palmerston, a banker’s wife whom she met at the Embassy Club, which is also on Bond Street. Minnie decided to attempt to redecorate her own dining room with disastrous results, so she has enlisted the assistance of Lettice, who has already established a colour palette and has ordered wall hangings and fabric for new dining chairs, to repair the damage she has done. As the taxi pulls up to the kerb, Lettice and Minnie both peer through the window at the impressive three storey Victorian building with Portland stone facings, which is where the gallery takes its name from. The ground floor part of the façade has been modernised in more recent times, and now sports magnificent plate glass windows through which passers by may look at the beautiful objets d’art artfully presented in them. Currently one window is full of brilliantly painted pottery which reminds Lettice of her Aunt Eglantine’s works, whilst the other has a single modernist statue of white marble set up against a rich black velvet curtain, bathed in light from a spotlight, giving it a very dramatic look.
“That’ll be four and six, mum.” the taxi driver says through the glass divider between the driver’s compartment and the passenger carriage as he leans back in his seat. Stretching his arm across the seat he tips his cap in deference to the well dressed ladies swathed in fox furs and stylish hats in the black leather back seat.
After paying the taxi fare for them both, Minnie encourages Lettice to alight from the taxi first. As they spill from its door, they are both mid laugh over an amusing story about a mutual acquaintance that Minnie shared with Lettice.
Minnie remarks excitedly as the taxi chugs away belching out fumes, “And thinking of gossip, I read in the newspapers that your friend Elizabeth* is going to be the Princess of Wales**.”
“You’re such a gossip, Minnie darling.” Lettice chides her friend mildly as she guides them both across the busy footpath and towards the door. “You’d be the last person I’d share Elizabeth’s confidences with.”
“So she has…”
“If she had shared any with me!” Lettice quickly extinguishes Minnie’s burrowing for gossip with a definite statement in serious and well modulated tones. “As it is, I haven’t seen her since she went to spend Christmas at St Paul’s, Walden Bury. Now come along. We are here to pick objets d’art for your dining room, not prattle about idle gossip.”
“You’re such a spoil sport!” Minnie sulks.
“I’m not when it comes to interior design.” Lettice assures her. “Now let’s find something to go with those wonderful paintings of your husband’s.”
Lettice ushers Minnie through the full length plate glass doors on which the Portland Galleries’ name is written in elegant gilt font along with the words ‘by appointment only’ printed underneath in the same hand. As the door closes behind them, shutting out the sound of noisy automobiles and chugging busses and the clatter of footsteps on the pavement and the chatter of shoppers, the air about them changes. In the crisp and cool silence of the gallery the ladies’ heels click across the black and white marble floor.
“Now, I’ve ordered wall hangings from Jeffrey and Company*** to deck out the dining room. It’s metallic and red dioxide in colour,” Lettice enthuses, suddenly aware of how her well modulated tones bounce off the hard surfaces and objects on display in the gallery. “It’s so striking, I know you’re just going to love it.”
“Hhhmmm,” Minnie muses in a non-committal fashion as her eye flits around the red painted gallery hung with paintings and populated with tables, cabinets and pillars upon which stand different sculptures and other artistic pieces.
“The wallpaper, Minnie,” Lettice sighs in exasperation, misunderstanding Minnie. “I’ve ordered it. Goodness, I do wish you’d concentrate for more than five minutes for a change.”
“Well, I’ve been thinking about that, Lettice darling.”
“About what?”
“About the wall hangings Lettice darling.” Minnie purrs. “I’m wondering whether we shouldn’t reconsider how the dining room is to be furbished.”
“Reconsider, Minnie?” Lettice looks with shocked and wide eyes at her friend. “What on earth do you mean, reconsider?”
“Well, I was just wondering whether it mightn’t be better to have gold wallpaper instead.”
“Gold wallpaper?”
“You know darling, to represent the golden sands of Egypt.” Minnie says with a dramatic air, raising her right hand to her forehead, her eyes drifting upwards in the affected stance of a silent film star. “Everyone I know is going positively wild over anything Egyptian after the discovery of that boy king’s tomb****. Simply mad for it, darling! All of Charles’ frightfully boring banking friends can talk of nothing else, and nor can their wives.” She giggles. “They’ve finally got something interesting to talk about.”
“But we’re here today, Minnie darling, to pick ornaments to decorate the room with. The papers are already ordered at great expense.” Lettice looks with concern at her friend. “You can’t go and change your mind now.”
“Of course I can, Lettice darling!” Minnie scoffs with a wave of her maroon coloured leather glove clad hand. “Charles is footing the bill. He’ll pay for whatever you ask, carte blanche.” She cocks one of her well manicured eyebrows over her glittering eye. “He’s convinced that anything you choose will be a patch on anything I’ve done thus far, which in reality probably isn’t too far from the truth.”
“Exactly!” Lettice retorts. “And I’ve chosen red dioxide as the colour for the dining room, not gold.”
“But gold would be so fashionable, Lettice darling!” Minnie insists. “So now!”
“And it might just as quickly be yesterday, tomorrow.” Lettice retorts, irritated at little by the fickle nature of her friend. “I’m trying to help you come up with a dining room that won’t need redecorating for a while.”
“But I…”
Lettice silences Minnie by holding up her navy glove clad hands in protestation. “I promise that it will be modern and fashionable, and yet timeless too.” She plays her trump card knowingly. “Don’t you trust me, Minnie darling?” She gazes at her friend with dewy eyes. “After all, you did ask me to redecorate the room for you. Don’t you trust my judgement any more?”
“Oh… oh no!” Minnie stutters in reply. “No! Of course I do. Your taste is excellent. Of course, you’re right.”
“Then metallic red dioxide wallpaper it will be.” Lettice says with a satisfied sigh.
“Well, I’ll settle for some rather exotic looking Egyptian statues then,” Minnie says. “Like that one you have on your mantle.”
“My ‘Theban Dancer’***** do you mean?”
“Yes, yes! She’s the one!” Minnie enthuses. “Or that daringly modern one you have on your dining room sideboard.”
“Well, they both came from the Portland Gallery, so I’m sure we can find some beautiful examples to suit you here.” Lettice assures her as she entwines her arm with her friend. “Come on, let’s see what there is.”
“Ah! Miss Chetwynd!” a mature frock coated man greets Lettice with a broad smile. Taking her hand, he kisses it affectionately, yet with respect. “How do you do.”
“Mr. Chilvers!” Lettice greets the smartly dressed man with a warm smile and the familiarity of the regular client that she is. “How do you do.”
“And to what do we owe this great pleasure of your visit today, Miss Chetwynd?” Mr. Chilvers asks obsequiously, releasing Lettice’s fingers and clasping his hands together in front of him.
Born Grand Duke Pytor Chikvilazde in the Russian seaside resort town of Odessa, the patrician gallery owner with the beautifully manicured and curled handlebar moustache fled Russia after the Revolution, escaping aboard the battleship HMS Marlborough****** from Yalta in 1919 along with the Dowager Empress Maria Feodorovna and other members of the former, deposed Russian Imperial Family. Arriving a in London later that year after going via Constantinople and Genoa, the Russian emigree was far more fortunate than others around him on the London docks, possessing valuable jewels smuggled out of Russia in the lining of his coat. Changing his name to the more palatable Peter Chilvers, he sold most of the jewels he had, shunned his Russian heritage, honed his English accent and manners, to reinvent himself as the very British owner of an art gallery in Bond Street, thus enabling him to continue what he enjoyed most about being Grand Duke Pytor Chikvilazde and enjoy a thriving arts scene. As one of his more high profile customers, Mr. Chilvers happily fawns over Lettice, delighted that she chooses to patronise his very exclusive gallery for pieces to decorate the interiors of her clients’ homes with.
“Mr. Chilvers, this is my friend Minnie Palmerston. I’m redecorating her St John’s Wood dining room. Minnie, this is Mr Chilvers. He owns and runs the Portland Gallery.”
“Charmed, I’m sure.” Mr. Chilvers raises Minnie’s hand to his lips and kisses it, all the while admiring the beautiful redhead with striking green eyes, swathed in maroon and draped in red fox furs.
“Minnie’s taken rather a shine to my ‘Theban Dancer’ and my ‘Modern Woman’, Mr. Chilvers,” Lettice explains. “Perhaps you can show us something of a similar vein?”
“It would be my pleasure, Miss Chetwynd, Miss Palmerston,” Mr. Chilvers croons. “Right this way. I think I might have just the thing.”
“He’s the gallery owner,” Lettice whispers to her friend behind her hand. “He always thinks he has something.” She pauses. “Although to be fair, this is an amazing gallery and he often does.”
Minnie looks at Lettice with a hopeful smile.
Indicating for them to follow him with an open palm gesture, Mr. Chilvers leads the ladies through the gallery.
The rich red walls are hung with all kinds of modern paintings, many not dissimilar to those that grace the walls of Minnie and Charles’ dining room. Lettice’s own drawing room paintings come from the gallery. Dour street scenes and vibrant abstract still lives hang alongside dynamic portraits. Most of the furnishings are black japanned wood and made in a very stark, yet stylish way, so as not to distract from the artworks that sit upon their surfaces. Hand painted pottery in bright colours and ornate spun glass pieces sit upon tables and buffets and inside mirrored cabinets whilst statues stand proudly on pillars and stands. The air is rich with the fragrance of ornate floral arrangements strategically set about the gallery as colourful foils to compliment various artworks. Everywhere there is colour and interest.
“What kind of display are you looking for, ladies?” Mr. Chilvers asks as Lettice and Minnie follow in his sweetly spiced eau de cologne wake.
Minnie looks alarmingly at Lettice, who quickly answers for them both, “I have two rather tall pillars that will stand either side of an existing new tile fireplace. I also have a simple black japanned sideboard.”
“Is there a mantle on the fireplace?” the gallery owner asks as they walk.
“A small central recess only, Mr. Chilvers.” Lettice says knowledgably, much to Minnie’s surprise, for even as the owner of the fireplace she has never so much as considered whether it has a mantle or not.
“And the specifics of the room?” Mr. Chilvers asks, running his index finger along the edge of a display table as he does, rubbing his clean thumb and forefinger together and releasing a satisfied sigh as he does.
“It’s my dining room.” Minnie begins. “I tried to do the redecoration myself but…”
Lettice quickly places a forbidding arm across Minnie’s chest, silencing her. Minnie glances at her friend whose eyes widen as she shakes her head to indicate that the gallery owner doesn’t need to know about Minnie’s decorative disasters.
“The room,” Lettice says smoothly over the top of her friend. “Is in an early Victorian townhouse, so it has high ceilings and is tall rather than wide. I have metallic red dioxide papers embossed with leaves and flowers on order from Jeffrey and Company. Mr. and Mrs. Palmerston are devotees of modern art, Mr. Chilvers, so the paper, whilst striking, is really there to support their paintings already chosen for the room.”
“Always the arbiter of smart and select taste, Miss Chetwynd.” Mr. Chilvers replies with a smile as he glances back at the two ladies and tweaks his moustache. “So, something tall, perhaps, with some gilding?”
“Quite so, Mr. Chilvers.” Lettice agrees.
“And nothing too ornate, of course.” he adds.
“Indeed no, Mr. Chilvers.” Lettice concurs.
“You are very fortunate in your choice of interior designer, Mrs. Palmerston.” He turns back and keeps walking. “Too many women with too much time on their hands take it upon themselves to redecorate rooms, creating a disastrous and gauche pale imitation of what they have seen elsewhere, which simply doesn’t suit their homes.”
Minnie’s eyes grow wide as she glances at Lettice in alarm. Lettice silently raises he finger to her lips to indicate that she hasn’t said anything about Minnie’s attempt to redecorate her dining room herself, which makes Minnie sigh with relief.
“Rather like creating a Maida Vale dining room in St John’s Wood, would you say, Mr. Chilvers?” Minnie asks a little nervously.
“Quite so, Mrs. Palmerston. Well said.” he agrees as his pace slows. “I do so dislike bored ladies like that. I have no time for artless women who dabble in art, and I won’t have them in my gallery.”
“Oh!” Minnie bluffs with false joviality. “Oh, my husband and I quite agree with you. There is nothing worse than a poorly decorated room, Mr. Chilvers, full of tasteless tatt.” She is so grateful that the imposing gallery owner has his back to her so that he cannot see the colour of her face betraying the truth of Minnie’s experience.
“Indeed, Mrs. Palmerston,” he agrees. “But that is something you won’t have to suffer under the skilled artistic eye and adept hands of Miss Chetwynd. She has found the profession that suits and showcases her skills admirably.”
“Yes,” Minnie says, blushing deeper and smiling coyly. “I’ve seen the work she has done to the home of friends of ours.”
“Ah,” Mr. Chilvers purrs as they reach a corner of the gallery. He stops in front of a beautiful, and unusually, round flame wood cabinet on a large pedestal. “I think, ladies, you might find something to your liking in here.” He opens up the doors and turns to the two ladies. “A selection of modern sculpture and some of my finest Venetian glass*******. There are also some rather fetching sculptures to either side.” he adds with a wave of his elegant hand. “Well, I’ll leave you to discuss your choices with your client, Miss Chetwynd. I do hope, Mrs. Palmerston, that you will find something to please you.”
The two ladies watch him sweep away before turning to the cabinet.
“Thank you for not telling Mr. Chilvers about my… you know.” Minnie starts gesticulating wildly.
“You nearly gave the game up yourself, Minnie.” Lettice chides her friend kindly in a conspiratorial whisper. “Mr. Chilvers is a frightful snob. It’s almost like he comes from the highest echelons of some European aristocracy, and yet even with Leslie’s help I’ve been unable to trace him prior to opening this gallery in 1920. He’s quite the mystery! And,” she adds. “He doesn’t let just anyone shop here, even by appointment.”
“Which would explain why Charles and I have never been here.” Minnie replies.
“Indeed. Well, I think Mr. Chilvers would refuse Charles automatically on face value. Being a banker, I think he would consider him far too gauche and newly minted for his establishment.”
“Oh.” Minnie casts her eyes downwards.
“Don’t do that, Minnie darling!” Lettice puts a comforting arm around her friend. “You are a good person, and so is Charles.” She rubs Minnie’s arm. “Don’t worry about Mr. Chilvers snobbery. I can already tell that he likes you. I knew he would admire you for your striking fiery red tresses and stunning green eyes. He finds you intriguing.”
“He does?”
“Yes. He didn’t even acknowledge poor Margot on the one occasion I brought her here.”
“But she’s richer and better connected than I am.”
“Sshhh!” Lettice shushes her friend with a finger to her lips. “He obviously doesn’t think so.”
“It’s a funny way to run a business, I must say.” Minnie says as she picks up a beautiful glass comport of aqua blue and toys with it in her hands, feeling the cool material between her fingers.
“Mr. Chilvers seems to rise above all that, which is why I think he is from a very aristocratic European family. Italian perhaps?” She picks up a tall Venetian glass vase with amber decoration around its base, holding it up as if it serves as proof as to Mr. Chilver’s lineage.
“With a name like Chilvers, he can hardly be Italian, Lettice darling!” Minnie replaces the comport on the shelf.
“Oh, you can be so dense sometimes, Minnie darling!” Lettice giggles. “You don’t imagine that Chilvers is his real name, do you?”
“Well…” Minnie gulps.
“Of course it’s not! If he’s an Italian prince, or count, he probably has a real family name of Chiavaroli or Chiodini.” Lettice giggles girlishly as the syllables roll around like a foreign language in her mouth. “Anyway, going back to what I was saying before, if through being connected with me, you receive a foray into the joys of exclusive shopping here, I know you will find many a fine piece to ornament your home with. Once Mr. Chilvers knows you have taste.”
“He hasn’t seen the disaster I made of my dining room.” Minnie blurts out, interrupting her friend.
“And he doesn’t have to know about it.” Lettice soothes quietly. “Just keep mum.”
“Yes!” Minnie sighs. “Me and my big mouth. One day you won’t be around, and I’ll get myself into real trouble.”
“Well, luckily I was here, Minnie darling.” Lettice says with a smile. “Anyway, once Mr. Chilvers knows you, he’ll forgive you if you bring Charles: especially if Charles brings an open chequebook.”
“Do you think he might be Russian?” Minnie asks quietly, looking discreetly over her shoulder to Mr. Chilvers as he sits at his black japanned desk in the middle of the gallery, scribbling notes into a ledger.
“Who?” Lettice asks, wide eyed as she removes the copy of the ‘Theban Dancer’ from the middle shelf of the cabinet and considers whether it will fit onto the recess of Minnie’s dining room fireplace.
“Mr. Chilvers, of course, Lettice darling! Now who’s being dense?”
“Good heavens no!” Lettice scoffs. “He’s English is far too good and his manners too impeccable to be a Russian emigree. Have you ever met any? They can be quite horrible and so terribly haughty, even if they are now all as poor as church mice.” She too looks over to Mr. Chilvers, who either doesn’t know he is being scrutinised, or is far too polite to acknowledge it. “No, he’s Italian, I’m sure of it.” She sighs as she admires his dark hair, pale skin, and sharp cheekbones. “Now, this isn’t helping us pick any pieces for your dining room, Minnie darling. I was thinking that the ‘Theban Dancer’ you like might just fit on the small recess on your fireplace. Do you really like her enough to want her? Is she exotic enough for your current tastes?”
The two women begin to look earnestly at the objects around them to select pieces for Minnie’s dining room, and all the while, Mr. Chilvers writes in his ledger, the nib of his fountain pen scratching across the surface of the page, his ears ever alert to every whisper of conversation in his gallery, but his eyes remaining downcast out of deference for Lettice, one of his favourite customers.
*Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon, as she was known at the beginning of 1923 when this story is set, went on to become Queen of the United Kingdom and the Dominions from 1936 to 1952 as the wife of King George VI. Whilst still Duke of York, Prince Albert initially proposed to Elizabeth in 1921, but she turned him down, being "afraid never, never again to be free to think, speak and act as I feel I really ought to". He proposed again in 1922 after Elizabeth was part of his sister, Mary the Princess Royal’s, wedding party, but she refused him again. On Saturday, January 13th, 1923, Prince Albert went for a walk with Elizabeth at the Bowes-Lyon home at St Paul’s, Walden Bury and proposed for a third and final time. This time she said yes. The wedding took place on April 26, 1923 at Westminster Abbey.
**In early January 1923 a newspaper ran a gossip item that Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon was soon to be engaged to Prince Albert the Duke of York’s elder brother, the Prince of Wales – a story that reportedly annoyed her. Rumour has it that part of Elizabeth’s hesitance to marry Albert was due to her being in love with David – the loftier “catch” – however, these stories are highly unlikely and probably have more to do with trying to explain her later hatred for Wallis Simpson. More likely, she knew that the story meant more pressure for her to make up her mind about Albert and she knew the rumour would wound him
***Jeffrey and Company was an English producer of fine wallpapers that operated between 1836 and the mid 1930s. Based at 64 Essex Road in London, the firm worked with a variety of designers who were active in the aesthetic and arts and crafts movements, such as E.W. Godwin, William Morris, and Walter Crane. Jeffrey and Company’s success is often credited to Metford Warner, who became the company’s chief proprietor in 1871. Under his direction the firm became one of the most lucrative and influential wallpaper manufacturers in Europe. The company clarified that wallpaper should not be reserved for use solely in mansions, but should be available for rooms in the homes of the emerging upper-middle class.
****On the 4th of November 1922, English archaeologist Howard Carter and his men discovered the entrance to the boy king, Pharaoh Tutankhamun's tomb in the Valley of the Kings, sparking a worldwide interest in all things Egyptian. The craze he started became known as Tutmania, and it inspired everything from the architecture of public building and private houses alike to interior design and fashion. Famously at the time, socialite Dolores Denis Denison applied one of the earliest examples of getting the media of the day to pay attention to her because of her dress by arriving at the prestigious private view of the King Tut Exhibition in London, dressed as an Egyptian mummy complete in a golden sarcophagus and had to be carried inside by her driver and a hired man. Although it started before the discovery of the tomb, the Art Deco movement was greatly influenced by Egyptian style. Many of the iconic decorative symbols we associate with the movement today came about because of Howard Carter’s discovery of Tutankhamun's tomb in the Valley of the Kings.
*****The exquisite sculpture “Theban Dancer” was cast by the esteemed Belgian-French sculptor Claire Jeanne Roberte Colinet, and is one of the most recognised figures representing the exoticism and frenetic energy and movement of the 1920s. Cast in the 1920s, the “Theban Dancer” is gilt and enamelled bronze, usually sitting upon a marble plinth.
******In 1919, King George V sent the HMS Marlborough to rescue his Aunt the Dowager Empress Maria Feodorovna after the urging of his mother Queen Dowager Alexandra. On the 5th of April 1919, the HMS Marlborough arrived in Sevastopol before proceeding to Yalta the following day. The ship took Dowager Empress Maria Feodorovna and other members of the former, deposed Russian Imperial Family including Grand Duke Nicholas and Prince Felix Yusupov aboard in Yalta on the evening of the 7th. The Empress refused to leave unless the British also evacuated wounded and sick soldiers, along with any civilians that also wanted to escape the advancing Bolsheviks. The Russian entourage aboard Marlborough numbered some 80 people, including forty four members of the Royal Family and nobility, with a number of governesses, nurses, maids and manservants, plus several hundred cases of luggage
*******Venetian glass is glassware made in Venice, typically on the island of Murano near the city. Traditionally it is made with a soda–lime "metal" and is typically elaborately decorated, with various "hot" glass-forming techniques, as well as gilding, enamel, or engraving. Production has been concentrated on the Venetian island of Murano since the Thirteenth Century. Today Murano is known for its art glass, but it has a long history of innovations in glassmaking in addition to its artistic fame - and was Europe's major centre for luxury glass from the High Middle Ages to the Italian Renaissance. During the Fifteenth Century, Murano glassmakers created cristallo—which was almost transparent and considered the finest glass in the world. Murano glassmakers also developed a white-coloured glass (milk glass called lattimo) that looked like porcelain. They later became Europe's finest makers of mirrors.
Whilst this up-market London gallery interior complete with artisan pieces may appear real to you, it is in fact made up completely with pieces from my 1:12 miniatures collection, including pieces I have had since I was a teenager.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
On the top shelf of the round Art Deco display cabinet are a selection of 1:12 artisan glass pieces. Each one is made from real blown glass and is decorated with spun glass patterning in a different colour. They all come from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering.
On the middle shelf is a miniature artisan hand painted Art Deco statue on a “marble” plinth. Made by Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality of the detail in their pieces, it is a 1:12 copy of the “Theban Dancer” sculpture created by Claire-Jeanne-Roberte Colinet in 1925. She is flanked by two hand coloured spun glass comports. These I have had since I was a teenager. I acquired them from a high street shop that specialised in dolls and doll house miniatures.
The New Woman Art Deco statue on the bottom shelf of the cabinet is a hand painted 1:12 artisan pewter miniature also from Warwick Miniatures Ireland. She is named “Christianne”, and she also comes in a more risqué form as a nude.
The very striking round mirror backed mahogany Art Deco cabinet is made by high end miniature furniture maker, Bespaq. It comes from their Swanson range. The two pedestals either side of it were also made by Bespaq.
The two statues on the pedestals are 1:12 artisan miniatures also from Warwick Miniatures Ireland, however they have been had painted by me.
The black console table and the table in the foreground were made by Town Hall Miniatures.
The two porcelain vases on the console table have been hand painted and came from an online miniatures specialist on E-Bay. The glass comport is a 1:12 artisan glass piece made from real blown glass and is hand tinted. It comes from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering.
The paintings on the wall come from Amber’s Miniatures in the United States.
The vase of flowers in the foreground is beautifully made by hand by the Doll House Emporium.
The Clarice Cliff style Art Deco tea set and tray on the table in the foreground have been hand painted and came from an online miniatures specialist on E-Bay.
Herman's Pond, Rancho San Rafael, Reno, Washoe Co, Nevada (June 15th, 2018). 2. Large county park in NW Reno.
Male, engaging in the comical swollen-neck, tail-up bubbling/stuttering courtship display. The display is a quite striking one, involving beating the water into foam with the bill to the accompaniment of staccato popping noises and often ending with short dashes (4-5 ft long) across the surface of the water.
More shots of the bubbling display--
www.flickr.com/photos/fugl/35185735265/in/album-721576818...
www.flickr.com/photos/fugl/39828318910/in/album-721576818...
www.flickr.com/photos/fugl/50941115392/in/photostream/
More Ruddy Duck photos--
High above the streets of Metropolis, Superman floats gracefully above the city. People bustling to and from their destinations, Cars honking at bikers in the road, steam rearing from manhole covers. Birds fluttered atop the skyscrapers, cooing as they greeted one another.
He can hear it all. The brake pads on an old taxi down on 11th Ave, a mother soothing her child after a long afternoon nap seven blocks away. Even the sound of exasperated breathing, from a shop owner hiding under his checkout counter. He could hear feet shuffling, a few murmured demands, a cash drawer open... and the sound of a slide being cocked back over a loaded gun!
He could hear the gun fire, as he instantly flew it's direction! Seconds later he was outside the small store, it was as if time was slowed. Superman floated in gracefully as the bullet trudged closer and closer to the shop owner. Superman landed softly, stepping through the doorway, a hooded gunman was aiming towards a cowering older man, a bullet was mid-flight between the gun and the man's heart. Superman walked calmly up to the heated projectile. Reaching out, he plucked it from the air without the slightest hesitation.
Time returned to normal as he turned to the shop keeper, “It's okay now” He spoke sternly, giving a small smile. “Are you hurt?”
“Uh gee uh... wow...no, I guess” The owner stuttered in a loss for words. His tense body relaxed significantly as Superman turned to the gunman. He was barely legal to own that weapon, Eighteen, maybe Nineteen.
He stood there stiff, still aiming straight at the store counter where superman stood, but shock cascaded over his face. He lowered the gun slowly, and began to cry.
“I'm so sorry...” tears welled up as the boy dropped the firearm “Superman, I'm sorry...”
“I'm not the one you should be apologizing to, Son” Superman said taking a step back letting the two characters see eye to eye once more. Silence fell onto the room, their heartbeats slowed.
“Com'ere,” Superman gestured with an open arm, inviting him to the counter. The boy shuffled under his arm and hugged Superman tightly. “My Mom... she's sick...” The boy sniffled, “I just want to help her...” He looked up to Superman, then over to the Shopkeeper “I'm... I'm sorry.” The boy emptied his pockets of wadded Twenty's and two rolls of quarters.
“My wife...” The shopkeeper said, stepping closer “She knows a doctor. She could get her to take a look at your Mom...”
Superman grinned subtly as the boy released the vice-grip from around his waist to lean against the counter to talk with the shop owner. The three talked for what felt like hours. Later, an officer came by at Superman's request to take the boy home.
Before leaving, Superman took the boy's handgun from the floor and crushed it into the size of a golf ball, tossing it into a trash bin as he exited the shop. He slowly floated back into the sky, and the sounds of Metropolis found his ears once again. He smiled. No one got hurt today.
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Okay, let's set the tone...
www.youtube.com/watch?v=EngKxF3Cqh4
Oh man, it feels like I'm the last kid on the block to get this fig! Adam's Indestructible Hero is a fantastic figure!
Superman is far overdue for a new look, seeing as the first, and only time Lego had made a Superman fig was from 2011. The planned N52 costume from The Lego Batman 3 video game never saw the light of day, and I was pretty bummed about that. So obviously when Phoenix Customs announced their figure based on Jim Lee's design, I would be an idiot not to buy one :P
This fig also came with a starched cape with an 'S' symbol printed on the back, but for artistic purposes I left it out, substituting a sponge-y cape to give this photo just a bit more fluidity with the invisible breeze I image when I look at these photos.
Also, thinking about it now, this could almost be a sister piece to Gotham in Red... flic.kr/p/FfLKRJ
Oh and like always, there is a bunch of cool bonus stuff over on my Patreon, including some different set-ups to the fig and the lightning, and a side by side comparison of the original photograph to the completed image you're seeing here :)
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If you think this photograph is worth at least a dollar, check out my Patreon to see early photography, behind the scenes images, and WIPs of upcoming projects!
Cavendish Mews is a smart set of flats in Mayfair where flapper and modern woman, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd has set up home after coming of age and gaining her allowance. To supplement her already generous allowance, and to break away from dependence upon her family, Lettice has established herself as a society interior designer, so her flat is decorated with a mixture of elegant antique Georgian pieces and modern Art Deco furnishings, using it as a showroom for what she can offer to her well heeled clients.
Today however we have left the hustle and bustle of London, travelling southwest to the pretty Cornish town of Penzance. A short drive out of the town, friends of Lettice, newlyweds Margot and Dickie Channon, have been gifted a Recency country “cottage residence” called ‘Chi an Treth’ (Cornish for ‘beach house’) as a wedding gift by the groom’s father, the Marquess of Taunton. Margot, encouraged by her father Lord de Virre who will foot the bill, has commissioned Lettice to redecorate a few of the principal rooms of ‘Chi an Treth’. In the lead up to the wedding, Lord de Virre has spent a great deal of money making the Regency house habitable after many years of sitting empty and bringing it up to the Twentieth Century standards his daughter expects, paying for electrification, replumbing, and a connection to the Penzance telephone exchange. With their honeymoon over, Dickie and Margot have finally taken possession of their country house gift and invited Lettice to come and spend a Friday to Monday with them earlier in the year so that she might view the rooms Margot wants redecorating for herself and could start formulating some ideas as to how modernise their old fashioned décor.
After gaining approval from Margot for her designs, Lettice has returned alone to ‘Chi an Treth’ for two days. Margot in her desire to turn ‘Chi an Treth’ from a dark Regency house to a more modern country house flooded with light, has instructed Lettice to dispose of some of the darker historical pieces of furniture from the house and replace them with newer, lighter pieces. This idea rather upset Lettice, who has a very strong sense of history. Fortunately, her dear friend Gerald came up with the idea that she can repaint and re-purpose a few pieces, thus satisfying Margot’s desires for lighter and newer pieces, whilst also keeping the history of furnishings intact within ‘Chi an Treth’. And that is why Lettice is back in Penzance. She has selected several rather nice pieces for repurposing, reupholstering and repainting or re-staining, and already they are on their way back to London in the back of a lorry which arrived at ‘Chi an Treth’ this morning. Lettice will deal with the selection of pieces when she returns to the capital later in the day.
Whilst in the vicinity, Lettice has decided to spend a leisurely afternoon in and around Penzance before travelling back to London by train, exploring the town’s sights. Not driving a motor car, Mr. Trevethan, one of ‘Chi an Treth’s’ caretakers and its only gardener, has put himself and his pony trap at Lettice’s disposal. With his knowledge of the area, having been born and bred in Penzance, Lettice has taken in some of the area’s churches, including the St. Pol de Leon Church in Paul with its recently installed Arts and Crafts Movement memorial window to Lieutenant William Torquil Macleod Bolitho, designed by Robert Anning Bell, the Gulval Parish Church, St. Mary the Virgin Church, and St. Hilary Church. Mr. Trevethan has also shown her Lanyon Quoit*.
Going home to ‘Chi an Treth’ for his dinner** and to collect Lettice’s luggage to then deliver to the Penzance railway station, Mr. Trevethan has left Lettice in town so that she can amuse herself and take luncheon at her leisure before walking down to the station in time to catch her afternoon train to London. Wandering along Penzance’s Chapel Street with its interesting huddles of mish-mashed Victorian, Georgian and older single and two storey buildings, whilst looking for a small café to take tea and a light early afternoon meal, she walks past a Georgian glass window full of interesting bits and pieces that catches her eye and distracts her from her search.
“Mrs. Trevithick’s Treasures.” she reads aloud from the sign painted in an elegant cursive script above the window and then bursts out laughing. “Goodness, is everyone in Penzance a Tre-something?”
Looking again in the window she spies through her own ghostly and distorted reflection some old and rather ornate Victorian vases, a green glass water jug decorated with flowers, two Staffordshire dogs, some horse brasses, a set of fire irons and some blue and white pottery amongst many other things crammed in together. The interesting array of items, placed in a deliberate, yet at the same time a higgledy-piggledy fashion suggests to Lettice that Mrs. Trevithick might indeed have some treasures, if only you took the time to explore.
She glances at the dainty gold wrist watch on her left hand, a gift from her Aunt Eglantine when she turned eighteen. “Oh well, there is a dining car on the train,” she assures herself. “I’ll forego luncheon in town.”
Ignoring her stomach’s gently rumbling protestations, she pushes open the door to Mrs. Trevithick’s Treasures and wanders in.
A bell above the door clangs noisily as Lettice steps across the threshold, announcing her presence. For a moment she is plunged into darkness as her eyes adjust from the bright spring sunshine outside to the dimmer interior of the curiosity shop. A comforting smell, a mixture of bees’ wax polish and old paper, reminds her of the premises of the cabinet maker and upholsterer that she employs in London. The shop is quiet, with only the sound of ticking clocks, and the muffled sound of passing foot traffic and gulls outside breaking the soft silence. As her sight returns, she discovers a large and wide low ceilinged room decorated with William Morris wallpaper which, like the window, is full to bursting with a haphazard arrangement of interesting and mismatched items. Chintz covered armchairs that would suit a cosy seaside cottage jostle for space with high backed Victorian dining chairs with ornate barley twist decoration. Tables of all sorts of shapes and sizes cluster about, covered in embroidered doilies, decorative china and tableware, figurines, novelty teapots and pieces of silver plate. The walls are covered in everything from clocks and paintings of differing shapes and sizes to an impressive stuffed deer’s head.
“Can I help you, dear?” a Cornish accented female voice pipes up from somewhere deep within the shop’s interior.
Lettice turns towards a cabinet full of brightly coloured glass which is where the voice appears to have originated from. It is then she sees the woman hunched over a desk covered in open books and papers, peering up at her through a pair of rather thick spectacles.
“Mrs. Trevithick, I presume?” Lettice asks.
“I am dear. Can I help you?” She smiles cheerily, revealing a set of lovely white teeth. “Are you looking for something in particular?”
Lettice considers Mrs. Trevithick for a moment. She is much younger than she assumed a proprietor of such a shop would be, possibly being only a little older than she herself, with pale almost translucent skin, alert brown eyes and raven black hair set in a Marcelled wave***. She is a doughy woman with thick limbs and a burgeoning stomach stretching the cheap fabric of a gaily floral spring frock. Green and red glass beads cascade down her front, the strands pushed together by her heavy breasts.
“Ah,” Lettice hesitates. “No. No thank you. I’m just having a browse. Thank you.”
“Very good dearie,” Mrs. Trevithick replies happily as she settles back down over the desk where she resumes sorting paperwork. “Just let me know if you do.”
Lettice wanders away, pausing momentarily to admire a rather nice chess set put out on an inlaid chess table before moving along to peer into a large cabinet set against a wall, its glass front covered in Art Nouveau fretwork.
“It’s a lovely piece that.” Mrs, Trevithick pipes up from her desk, causing Lettice to gasp and jump at the shattering of the shop’s silence. “It comes from a very nice house here in Penzance. A very good quality piece from a nice family.”
“Yes,” Lettice acknowledges. “I’m sure it is. It’s very fine.”
She quickly moves on, and glances at an old and dark wooden screen.
“That came from an old widow’s cottage,” Mrs. Trevithick calls again from her seat at her desk. “Lots of history in that one.”
“Quite.” Lettice’s clipped reply slice sharply through the musty fug of the shop as she hurriedly steps away from the screen, slightly unnerved by the proprietor’s keen interest in her every move around the shop.
“Yes,” Mrs. Trevithick continues, groaning as she heaves herself up from her seat, the beads down her front tinkling and clunking as they knock together with her movement. “Poor old dear, she died of the influenza a few years back, before she could tell me it’s whole provenance.” The bulging figure of the female proprietor is now full revealed as she waddles out from behind the desk, her curvaceous hip narrowly missing a rather pretty fluted cranberry glass vase with a gilded lip. “But I think it might be mid Victorian.”
Lettice cannot help herself. “I think you’ll find it’s probably Georgian,” she corrects the shopkeeper.
“Oh?” Mrs. Trevithick’s face narrows slightly as her mouth goes round in surprise, obviously unused to being told by potential customers the age of her pieces. “Know something about antiques do you, dearie?”
“Yes. I’m an interior designer.” Lettice says proudly.
Yet even as she speaks, Lettice realises her mistake, for Mrs. Trevithick’s dark eyes sparkle as she catches on to that little piece of information and clings to it, rather like a fisherman expertly hooking a prize catch of a fat fish.
“You’re not from around these parts, are you?” Mrs. Trevithick notes, moving closer.
“Ahh, no.” Lettice replies noncommittally as she distractedly picks up a rather ugly and garishly painted teapot in the shape of Queen Victoria.
“From London?” the shopkeeper persists, her tongue running along the inside of her teeth.
“Yes.” Lettice replies laconically as she replaces the unattractive squat piece of vulgar Victorian pottery to its place atop a prettily embroidered doily.
“A friend of the new master and mistress of ‘Chi an Treth’ then?” Mrs. Trevithick asks. “They come from London. Well at least Mrs. Channon does. Of course, Mr. Channon is the Marquess of Taunton’s son. However, you must know that, being their friend.”
Lettice sighs, realising that now she has given herself away a little, her battle for anonymity is all but lost under the gently lilting, yet persistent interrogation of an expert town gossip like Mrs. Trevithick. No doubt Mrs. Trevethan, or even her husband would have spread the gossip of the newlyweds arriving, followed closely by their two fine friends from London, through Penance via the shops they frequented or in Mr. Trevethan’s case, one of the town’s pubs. Lettice remembers what the parochial village gossip at Glynes**** is like. Whilst Penzance is significantly larger than the village of Glynes, evidently the insatiable desire for attractive gossip, especially from out-of-towners like Lettice, is just as rampant.
“Would you perchance happen to be the young woman from London commissioned to redecorate some of the principle rooms of ‘Chi an Treth’ then?” the proprietor’s sausage like fingers steeple in front of her heavy breasts as she moves even more closely to Lettice, like a hunting dog hot on the trail of its prey. Mrs. Trevithick’s voice is thick with expectant delight, and she sighs with undisguised pleasure when Lettice affirms that she is indeed the woman whom she refers to. “Well, this is a pleasant surprise then isn’t it?”
“Is it?” Lettice feigns a lack of concern as she eyes a rather nice wall clock with a shining brass pendulum, the face set to the wrong time, doubtless on purpose by Mrs. Trevithick to confuse her browsers and help them forget the time so they will delay longer in her shop and perhaps buy something.
“Yes.” the shopkeeper enthuses, her lashes batting slightly as she speaks. “For as you can see, I am a purveyor of old things that their former owners no longer wanted.”
Lettice’s eyes grow wide with shock at the blatant attempt the other woman has made to acquire pieces from ‘Chi an Treth’s’ interior furnishings through her. Fortunately, her back is turned to Mrs. Trevithick, so she cannot see Lettice’s repugnance of her. “I… I don’t quite follow,” Lettice pretends misunderstanding, turning to face the shop proprietor with her own lids lowered slightly so as not to engage with her intense stare.
“Oh well,” Mrs, Trevithick elucidates in an oily fashion. “I believe Mrs. Channon is wanting more up-to-date décor, something more suited to a fashionable London lady, and has advised Mrs. Trevethan to prepare to remove several offending furnishings from the house. If you are looking to sell those pieces, please look no further. I will give you the best prices for them in Penance.”
Lettice smiles, the triumph in what she is about to say teasing the edges of her finely painted lips upwards. “Oh I’m so sorry Mrs. Trevithick, but you have been misinformed.”
“I… I have?” she stutters.
“Or rather your informant is not in full possession of the facts,”
“She… she isn’t?”
“No.” Lettice carries on, a superior lilt sharpening her already well pronounced words. “You see, it is true that Mrs. Channon has commissioned me to update several of her principal rooms. However, like me, she respects the history of ‘Chi an Treth’ and wishes me to repurpose some of the, as you put it, offending pieces of furniture, rather than fling them all out. In fact, “ Lettice turns her head away, hiding behind the lilac velvet brim of her hat decorated with white lace and imitation violets. “They left for London on the back of a lorry just a few hours ago.”
As she speaks, Lettice’s eyes fall upon several rather pretty silhouettes hanging above a table covered in Staffordshire pottery and domed Victorian seashell specimens, to either side of a barley twist shadow cabinet full of pretty china trios. Housed in round ivory frames, three are of gentlemen and one of a woman, and as Lettice stares at them, she notices how finely they have been executed.
“However, you are correct about one thing, Mrs. Trevithick.”
“Yes?” the other woman asks, hope adding an upwards lilt to her question of Lettice.
Lettice turns back. “We can do a little business. You see, I rather like these four silhouettes in the oval frames.” She smiles politely at Mrs. Trevithick. “They appear to be fifteen shillings each, so that’s three pounds in total. If you’d kindly wrap them up for me, I’ll take them with me now, as I am to catch the afternoon train back to London shortly.”
“Of course, dearie.” Mrs. Trevithick replies, unable to keep the disappointment from her voice.
Mrs. Trevithick moves forward and carefully unfastens the wires suspending the pictures from the hooks on the wall before waddling back to her desk, where she carefully wraps each one in tissue paper. As she does, Lettice stands by the desk and watches as the pretty silhouettes up.
“I have one more question, madam.” the shopkeeper asks coolly, using the more formal title rather than her initial friendly endearment.
“Yes, Mrs. Trevithick?” Lettice replies.
“I take it you were the lady who found the missing painting of Miss Elowen Rosevear?” She folds tissue neatly around a black frame, her thick fingers remarkably adept at wrapping neatly. When Lettice nods affirmatively, she continues. “Is she really as beautiful as Mrs Trevethan says?”
Lettice looks at the crestfallen woman, her shoulders slumped, and feels sorry for her. “I’m not sure how Mrs, Trevethan described her, Mrs, Trevithick. I will say that she is very beautiful indeed with dark hair and an enigmatic smile.”
“Mrs. Trevethan says that Mr. and Mrs. Channon took her up to London with them when they left.”
“You surely don’t propose to buy her, do you Mrs. Trevithick?” Lettice bursts out laughing. “She may be a Winterhalter*****, which will probably put her out of the acquisition of a provincial high street curiosity shop.”
“Oh no,” the shopkeeper assures her, raising her hands from her work in defence of her words. “I was just wondering if she was coming home.”
“If?” Lettice queries.
“Well,” Mrs. Trevithick looks around her, as if suspecting the walls of her cluttered shop to have ears. “I shouldn’t say this, but I imagine that if you are friends with Mr. Channon, that this will be of no surprise.”
“Are you about to be indiscreet?”
“Probably. But I want to ask anyway.”
“Very well, Mrs, Trevithick. I’ll keep your confidences,” Lettice looks at her, cocking her eyebrows questioningly.
“Well, it is common knowledge that the Marquess has squandered quite a lot of money, and Mrs. Trevethan is concerned that if the painting really is a valuable one, it may not be returned to ‘Chi an Treth’, as the Marquess might sell it.”
“Why didn’t Mrs. Trevethan ask me this question herself, Mrs. Trevithick?”
The shopkeeper chuckles bitterly to herself. “Because, as you’ve noted already, madam, I am perhaps less discreet than she is. She would never ask such a question of her master and mistress, or any of their friends. That’s why she can work successfully in service, and I can’t. I lost more than one position in service before the war because I like gossip too much. I don’t wish the war we had on anyone, but it enabled me to take up factory work, and that was where I met my husband, and with our wages from factory work during the war, we were able to set up this shop. Mrs. Trevethan feels terrible that such a beautiful piece of the house’s history, a house that she loves and that has been her home for more than forty years, might now be lost.”
“Does she wish I hadn’t found Miss Rosevear’s portrait, Mrs. Trevithick?” Lettice asks.
“She hasn’t said that to me, madam, but I suspect it does grieve her a little. After all, Mrs. Trevethan is the caretaker of ‘Chi an Treth’. To lose such a treasure, for it to be sold up in London and to never see it again, would be most upsetting. I’m sure you can understand that.”
“I can, Mrs. Trevithick.”
“Then?” The shopkeeper recommences her wrapping, a final wrap of tissue paper hissing as it gets folded about the frames before being tied with string. “Then is Miss Rosevear’s painting coming home.”
“Well Mrs. Trevithick,” Lettice sighs. “Mrs. Channon wants Miss Rosevear’s portrait hanging in pride of place in the drawing room at ‘Chi an Treth’. I’ve been friends with Margot for quite a few years now, and I can say that she is used to getting her way. Therefore, no matter what the Marquess, or even Mr, Channon might wish,” Lettice winks conspiratorially. “I think Miss Rosevear will most certainly be coming home after being authenticated in London.”
As Mrs. Trevithick ties the last of the string in place to secure the four silhouettes and passes the neatly wrapped parcel across the counter, she smiles gratefully at Lettice. Lettice wonders if she has done the right thing by saying what she has to the shopkeeper. She knows that as soon as she leaves the shop, or not much after that, Mrs. Trevithick will put a closed sign across the door and scuttle away, possibly to ‘Chi an Treth’ to tell Mrs. Trevethan the good news. Although she believes her pronouncement for the most part, Gerald’s voice echoes at the back of her mind, worrying her, for he predicts that the Marquess will sell Miss Rosevear at auction if she is found to be a genuine Winterhalter. Reasonably, who could blame him if his own family coffers are empty and he wishes to maintain a certain level of gracious living to which he and his wife have always been accustomed. The Marquess and Marchioness of Taunton are not the only aristocrats in straitened circumstances with the demise of the Gilded Age thanks in part to the war, and many noble families are faced with the idea of marrying in a young American heiress to the family, or sell an old master. Lettice is only grateful that her family is not one of them, perhaps more owing to luck and he eldest brother Leslie’s influence rather than outright planning.
“Thank you, Mrs. Trevithick.” Lettice says politely as she opens the door, the clanging bell ringing loudly overhead.
“Goodbye, dearie.” the shopkeeper waves, having reverted back to her warmer term of endearment.
Lettice, her parcel settled neatly under her left arm, walks back out onto the street and starts her journey along Chapel Street, before turning right into Market Jew Street and heading towards the Penance railway station where her London bound train awaits her.
*Lanyon Quoit is believed to be a burial chamber or a mausoleum from prehistoric times, this well-known Cornish quoit collapsed during a storm in 1815, breaking some stones, and was re-erected several years later.
**It was not uncommon in lower-class households for luncheon to be the main meal of the day, and thus, even though it was had in the middle of the day, it was often referred to as dinner. A lighter meal taken in the evening was often referred to as tea, rather than dinner, often because it was had with a cup of tea, and in some very poor households might only have consisted of a slice of thin bread and dripping.
***Marcelling is a hair styling technique in which hot curling tongs are used to induce a curl into the hair. Its appearance was similar to that of a finger wave but it is created using a different method. Marcelled hair was a popular style for women's hair in the 1920s, often in conjunction with a bob cut. For those women who had longer hair, it was common to tie the hair at the nape of the neck and pin it above the ear with a stylish hair pin or flower. One famous wearer was American entertainer, Josephine Baker.
****Glynes is the grand Georgian family seat of the Chetwynds in Wiltshire, and the home of Lettice’s parents, the presiding Viscount and Countess of Wrexham and the heir, their eldest son Leslie. The village of Glynes, named after the house, sprung up on one edge of the Chetwynd’s estate.
*****Franz Xaver Winterhalter (1805 – 1873) was a German painter and lithographer, known for his flattering portraits of royalty and upper-class society in the mid-19th century. His name has become associated with fashionable court portraiture. Among his best known works are Empress Eugénie Surrounded by her Ladies in Waiting (1855) and the portraits he made of Empress Elisabeth of Austria (1865).
This busy shop floor is a little different to what you might think, for it is made up entirely of 1:12 size dollhouse miniatures from my miniatures collection.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
The four silhouettes in round ebonised frames are taken from real Victorian and Regency silhouettes and were made by hand by Lady Mile Miniatures in the United Kingdom. The two miniatures of a nightwatchman and a sweep came from Kathleen Knight’s Dollhouse Shop in the United Kingdom.
The furnishings in Mrs. Trevithick’s shop include a floral armchair, Art Nouveau fretwork cabinet and leather topped Chippendale desk made by the high-end miniature furniture manufacturers, Bespaq, a Victorian dining chair made by Town Hall Miniatures a wooden screen made by Shackleton Miniatures and a Queen Anne lamp table that I have had since I was about seven years old.
The Chippendale carver chair is a very special piece. It is part of a Chippendale dining setting and came from the Petite Elite Miniature Museum, later rededicated as the Carol and Barry Kaye Museum of Miniatures, which ran between 1992 and 2012 on Los Angeles’ bustling Wiltshire Boulevard. One of the chairs still has a sticker under its cushion identifying which room of which dollhouse it came. The Petite Elite Miniature Museum specialised in exquisite and high end 1:12 miniatures. The furnishings are taken from a real Chippendale design.
On the Chippendale desk stand a selection of Staffordshire pieces including two Staffordshire dogs, a fox family, a pastille burner in the shape of a cottage (also called a “cottage orné”) and a cabbage bowl, all of which have been hand made, painted and gilded by Welsh miniature ceramist Rachel Williams who has her own studio, V&R Miniatures, in Powys. Also on the desk to either end stand shell and seaweed displays beneath a glass cloches. Vintage miniature pieces, the shells and seaweed are real. Their bases are stained wood and the cloche is real glass. These I acquired from Kathleen Knight’s Dollhouse Shop in the United Kingdom.
The cabinet to the left of the photograph is full of teapots and jugs made by French ceramicist and miniature artisan Valerie Casson. Valerie Casson is renown for her meticulously crafted and painted miniature ceramics.
The tea set on the centre of the image and the cups and saucers in the shadow box on the wall (also acquired from Kathleen Knight’s Dollhouse Shop in the United Kingdom) all come from various online miniature stockists on E-Bay.
The clock on the wall and the painting of horses also came from Kathleen Knight’s Dollhouse Shop in the United Kingdom.
The cranberry glass vase in the foreground has been hand blown from real cranberry glass and gilded. It comes from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering. The Queen Victoria teapot in the extreme foreground is a hand painted miniature by an unknown artist which I acquired from Mick and Marie’s Miniatures in the United Kingdom.
The beautiful 1:12 size chess set is an artisan piece. To give you an idea of size, the pawns are only two millimetres in height! There are two wooden drawers beneath the board to house the pieces when not in use, and what is really wonderful is that the chess board surface is magnetic, which holds each metal piece nicely in place until moved!
The Persian carpet beneath the furniture is hand made by Mackay and Gerrish in Sydney, Australia.
The wallpaper on the cluttered walls is William Morris’ “Sweet Briar” paper that I have printed.
After Tara in Gone With The Wind, but with a speech impediment and an odd stutter from the glob of sweet orange packing into my right cheek.
Cara Cara Oranges. The world's most perfect fruit.® (Patent Pending)
"All of this is happening for you - not to you - and accepting that is the first step of gratefulness. Make peace with what is. You were brought here because you were meant to learn these lessons, no matter how difficult or earth stuttering , or painful. With acceptance comes gratitude. With gratitude comes letting go. And it's through letting go that we'll stop fighting upstream and finally start working with the flow of life.
Make peace with what is... and everything will start falling into place" Rachel Brathen.
Love. N.
Written by Robert Arthur. Cover art by Ed Vebell. Interior art by Harry Kane. Note the bust of Alfred Hitchcock on top of the filing cabinet.
I am colorblind
Coffee black and egg white
Pull me out from inside
I am ready
I am taffy stuck and tongue tied
Stutter shook and uptight
Pull me out from inside
I am ready
I am fine
I am covered in skin
No one gets to come in
Pull me out from inside
I am folded and unfolded and unfolding
I am colorblind
I am ready
I am fine
-Counting Crows
close your eyes,
With you right here, I'm a rocketeer,
Let's fly,
Nah I never been in space before,
But I never seen a face like yours,
You make me feel like I could touch the planets,
You want the moon, girl watch me grab it,
See I never seen the stars this close,
You got me stuck off the way you glow,
Here we go, Come with me,
There's a world out there that we should see,
Take my hand, close your eyes .
" ela não melhorou, continua sentada nas suas próprias fantasias, se continuar desse jeito, sozinha o dia inteiro ficará. oh darling! pare de finjir, os outros não percebem mais eu percebo.a sua sombra já te ameaça e você nem disso sabia, você sabe que ele sempre estará lá, mas será que você o alcançará ? aqui vamos nós de novo, será que ela não cansa de voltar sempre no mesmo lugar ? o coração já está polido e frio, lágrimas já não derramam mais em seus duros olhos castanhos. sua respiração já não fica ofegante, ela pensa demais, ele fala nada, ela derruba as torres da cidade, ele a observa, ela se sente perdida e confusa, ele sabe que sempre vai protege -la, ela dorme, ele pensa, venha até mim, ela precisa disso. talvez seja só momentâneo a dor perdida e inacabada passe, e essas rosas mortas irão se esconder junto com seus olhares.
ela está carente ? - ela nunca irá admitir, e sempre jurará que nunca vai precisar de alguém, era para ela se fortalecer com a dor e não enfraquecer, a vida deveria ensinar o que sempre ensinou . desde que eu a conheço ela nunca torce o braço, grita na raiva e gagueja nos choros de fraqueza, oh darling ! passe logo disso, pegue minha mão, feche seus olhos ....
ela sempre se pergunta se um dia os contos de fada irá visitá -la em seu mundo insensato real, ela sempre se pergunta ... ela sente raiva de não ter mais ninguém para qual ela possa colocar suas pernas encostadas ....
oh darling ! o frio passará e você verá de novo o que nunca mais vai querer sentir ... "
" she has not improved, continue to sit in their own fantasies, if it continues this way, will be alone all day. oh darling! stop pretending, others do not realize the more I percebo.a his shadow now threatens you and you do not know it, you know he'll always be there, but will you reach? here we go again, does not it tiring to go back in the same place? the heart is polished and cold, tears no longer spill over into his hard brown eyes. your breathing is no longer panting, she thinks too much, he says nothing, she drops the towers of the city, he notes, she feels lost and confused, he knows he will always protect her, she sleeps, he thinks, come me, she needs it. maybe it's only momentary pain lost and unfinished pass, and these roses will hide dead along with his looks.
he is missing? - She will never admit it, and swear you'll never ever need someone, it was for the pain and strengthen rather than weaken, life should teach what has always taught. since I know she never twist your arm, screaming in anger and stutters in the cries of weakness, oh darling! it passes soon, take my hand, close your eyes .... "
Photographed June 2022 / Praktina FX 35mm SLR Film Camera with a Carl Zeiss Jena Biotar red T 58mm/2 lens. The film was KENTMERE 400 metered ASA 250 developed in CJT-63 (a catechol + phenidone formula which uses trisodium phosphate as alkali and which also contains triethanolamine). The negative was illuminated on a light table and scanned with a Pentax k3 DSLR and Schneider COMPONON-S 80mm/4 enlarging lens on a helicoid extension tube system. The image was edited on an iPad mini using the Snap Seed application: full frame scan of entire negative area without trimming. By the way here are my thoughts of the Praktina SLR system 1). The viewfinder image is very dark and focussing and composing the image is difficult even with the lens wide open 2) The aperture closing mechanism on the preset lenses like the Biotar used here cause a LOT of camera vibration (the aperture blades bang shut with a wallop and a clunk) 3). All of the cameras i’ve come across (FX or iia) have shutter blinds which are FULL of pinholes and scars in the rubber coating ; these will have to be attended to before use (I sealed them with a couple of coats of PEBEO opaque fabric paint). 4). The film wind mechanism is extremely powerful and you will need to keep a very close eye on the film counter towards the end of the film otherwise it is easy to snap the film off out of the cassette. 5). The slow speeds mechanism will almost certainly need to be cleaned in order that the slow speeds run without ‘stuttering’ : access to this mechanism is via removal of the top plate which is not easy to do and even more difficult and fiddly to put back on. In short unless you really, really, really want to use a Praktina SLR or are getting one for free I would avoid this camera: unlike Ivor Matanle in his book Classic SLR’s I did not find the Praktina System to be a pleasure to use. This camera does not work with the photographer it fights you!
--------------------------------
SFO Hospital, San Francisco - 4:59 PM
---------------------------------
“I’m going back to Atlantis.”
His face turned from worried to worried and nervous.
“What? W-Why? I mean, you’re still injured. I-I get it’s your home, but you can’t just leave like tha-”
I cut him off. He was stuttering.
“John, You have to understand. It is my home, my life I left behind for my brother to rule over. I have to go back and take back the throne. God knows what he has done to Atlantis, and i cannot stand here for one more second, doing nothing, knowing that Atlantis is in terror. I promised my Father I would protect Atlantis no matter what, and that’s what I will do. And I cannot..I cannot sit here in a hospital, pretending that everything's alright, when everything is not. I have got to endure it.”
He looks at me, with his eyes widened.
“Wow, that’s deep.” He comments. We both chuckle.
“So, are you going to let me go?”
He sighs. Then looks straight up at me.
“Yeah, Uh, Yeah... I’m gonna let you go. I'm gonna miss you, a lot, but I’m gonna let you go.” He replies.
I smile. Looking at him with great gratitude.
“Thank you, John. You have no idea how much this means to me.”
He smiles back. Saddened, but he realizes he did the right thing.
“Alright, I’m uh, gonna go back home now. See you there?” He asks
“Yes. I will stop by and say goodbye to the team before i leave.” I respond.
“Alright. Wait, how are you gonna get there?” He asks
I smirk.
“I’m a fast runner.”
“Hah. Well, I’ll see you there then.” He replies.
I nod. He waves goodbye and leaves the room. After he leaves the room, I pull the life support off and sit up. I sigh, wondering what I’m going to do when the time comes for me to battle Garth. I remember so little of him, but what i do remember is him being so kind, so loving. But i mustn't think of that now. I need to get back. I get up from the bed, walk over to the table that has my clothing on it. Normal clothing. Black long sleeve, jeans, a baseball cap, and a jacket. A golden item slips out of my jeans, my trident. The add-on John gave me a long time ago is useful, it allows it to be disguised as a button-like item. Small enough to fit in my pocket. I bend down and pick it up. Suddenly, I hear lightning streak from outside. I look out the window. A thunderstorm. It looks so beautiful, the city. The rain, The beach. Everything. It reminds me of Atlantis. I finish getting dressed. I put on my baseball cap, hopefully covering my face enough that the doctors won’t notice me.
I exit the room. The hospital is empty, completely empty. Not a single soul has been in here, for at least an hour. Something's not right. I quickly click the button which forms my Trident. I start to walk towards the elevator. Fog starts to form inside the building. I went from Jogging to running. I arrive at the elevator. Nervously, i click the button several times. It doesn’t work. Next option; Stairs. I run towards the sign which reads ‘Stairs’. I reach a door and try to open it. Locked. Someone doesn’t want me out of here. I then hear steps. I look behind me. The steps move, it’s all over me. I start to run towards the window and break the glass. I jump out, to see a crowd around the building. As i fall, I look at the crowd confused. I had not a single clue as to what was going on. I landed on my two feet and right arm. I look over to the crowd, they gazed at me in awe. I could hear some whispering ‘That’s Aquaman.’ or ‘It’s the fish dude.’ . I ignored it.
“What is going on?” I asked in confusion. Everyone was staring at me.
Someone approached me, a doctor by the name of “Esther Maris”, judging by her name tag.
“We evacuated everyone from the building. How did you survive?” She asked.
“Evacuated? What happened?”
“We don’t know. I mean, by now half of the building should be on fire.” She addressed.
“Wha- I was just in there, there’s no fire. And I am very certain someone else was in there.”
She looks at me concerned, then she looks at the building.
“Well i mean, i don’t know then. We thought we evacuated everyone due to a gas leak. The building should be on fire by now.” She added.
Someone was in there, and someone wanted me to be alone in there.
“I have to go.” I announced. I started to walk away.
“Wait! We still have to ask you questions. And if you were in that hospital, wouldn’t you be hurt?”
“I am in a rush to be somewhere, I am sorry.”
This was odd. This all happened right after i told John i was going back to Atlanti- That’s it. Someone doesn’t want me going back to Atlantis. This isn’t going to stop me, though. my kingdom needs it king.
-------------------------------
John’s house, San Francisco - 6:01 PM.
-------------------------------
As i approach the front door to John’s apartment, i wipe the sweat off my forehead. I bend down onto my knees and grab the key under the plant. I get back up and unlock the door only to see the whole team in addition to a woman sitting around a table watching TV. I didn’t recognize her. I sigh, then speak.
“Hello.” I mutter. I ran about 6 miles, so, i was pretty drained.
They all turn around at once. John had a look on his face. He didn’t tell them.
“Arthur! We thought you were still in the hospital. What happened?” Tula says while getting up. She walks over to me and tries giving me a hug. I push her back before she hugs me.
“Trust me, I just ran 6 miles and I am really sweaty. And it was also raining. You do not want to do that.” I comment. She looks at me with a rather weird face.
“I can tell. Come and sit with us, we were just about to order some food.” She says, gesturing to the team.
John suddenly gets up.
“Yeah Arth, come sit with us. I want you to meet my Girlfriend.” He says, gesturing to the woman.
“I uh, I cannot. You know i have to go, John.” I respond.
“Well, yeah. But could you at least come sit with us for a bit? You haven’t even met my Girlfriend yet.” He says
I sigh
“Sure. I mean, it would be great to spend some time with the team before I go.”
“Wait, go where?.” Tula asks.
“He’s going back to Atlantis.” John responds.
“What? Why didn’t i know of this?” She says, a bit frustrated.
“I just decided this at the hospital. I thought John would have told you all, but apparently, he didn’t.”
She sighs.
“I’ll go with you.” She comments.
“No. Do not try to fight it. Stay here. I need to know if it’s safe, then you could come.”
She nods and has an ‘OK’ Look on her face.
“Anyways, let’s not all get mad about it and spend time with Arthur before he leaves. Arthur, I’d like you to meet Ellie.” John says.
“Pleased to meet you, Sir.” She says with a strong British accent. She holds her hand out.
“The pleasure is all mine. My name is Arthur.”
“Ah yes. John has told me quite a lot about you.”
I smile.
“Alright well i uh, should go pack up my things. I will certainly come back and sit with you guys after, Okay?” I say.
They all nod and smile.
I start to walk away from the team, going into the room i was occupying. I walk into the room, grab my bag, and pack up my stuff. I’m going to miss this place, but i miss Atlantis more. I walk into the restroom and pack up all of my stuff from there. I look in the mirror and notice some stubble. I leave it. It’s time for a change.
After i finished packing up, i went to sit with the team. We ate some food, watched another movie, which i was still not used to, and had a good time. Then it was time for me to leave.
“Alright well, I have to go.” I say, getting up.
They all get up at once.
“We’re gonna miss you, Arthur,” Tula says, getting up.
She gives me a tight, passionate, hug. I hug her back. John gets up along with Ellie.
“It was an absolute pleasure meeting you, Mr. Curry,” Ellie says, shaking my hand with a big grin on her face.
“Likewise, Madam.”
“C’mon Arthur, let's go,” John says, grabbing his car keys. I Look at him and nod.
We had said our goodbyes and went outside. John and I talked for a bit.
“I’m gonna miss you, Arth. You were the closest thing to a brother to me.” He states.
I smile and put my hand on his shoulder.
“And you are, and will always, be a brother to me, John.”
He hugs me, and i hug him back.
“Are you crying?”
“What? No, It’s uh, no. No, I’m not. It’s just uh, Allergies.” He says.
“You’re definitely crying.” I say, letting a little chuckle out.
He chuckles too, and we walk to the car. We got to the beach a little late, 8:00, maybe? When we got there, it was the same exact beach as the one we met on. At the same exact spot.
“Well, i guess this is it.” He says, looking around.
“Yes, This is it. I will miss you, John.”
“Me too, man. Me too.” He says.
“I have to go now. Goodbye, John.” I say, starting to walk away.
“Goodbye, Arthur.” He mutters.
“I’ll be back.”
“Hah, i caught that one. Nevermind, you probably have no idea what I’m even saying. Aaand, he’s gone. I’ll miss you, bud, I’ll miss you.” John says, pointing towards me as I walk away.
I walked over to the beach. The water touching my boots. I was finally going back. I take two or three deep breaths, look back, and start walking into the water. This was my home. It felt good to be back in the water. I started to swim down. It would take me an hour to get there with my swimming since Atlanteans can swim at astonishing speeds.
After about 30 or so minutes of swimming, i stop and observe the beautiful sea. I looked around and noticed sea creatures surrounding me. Almost as if they knew that their king is back. I smiled and finished swimming with the sea creatures following me.
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Part 1 of the 3 part finale! This took forever to write, and If you’ve gotten this far, I’d like to thank you for reading this far, I had to get through quite a lot, so it is necessary. Again, if you’ve gotten this far, thank you so much. Also, the finale is now going to be 3 parts. I didn’t want to make this issue very long, so i split it into 2 parts. Anyways, hope you enjoyed.
See Ya!
Part 2: Back to Atlantis.
Part 3: Battle for the Throne.
---------------------------------------------------------
Blog - skitzobassblog.wordpress.com/
♪♫•*¨*•.¸¸♫♪Music ◎ TUNE ◎ Music♪♫•*¨*•.¸¸♫♪
First verse, uh, I'm on 'til I'm on a island
My life's ridin' on the Autobahn on autopilot
Before I touch dirt, I'll kill you all wit' kindness
I kill ya, my natural persona's much worse
You've been warned if you've been born or if you can form
Slap up a cop and then snatch 'im out of his uniform
Leave him wit' his socks, hard bottoms and bloomers on
And hang him by his balls from the horn of a unicorn
Y'all niggas' intellect mad slow, y'all fags know
Claimin' you bangin', you flamin'
Bet you could light your own cigarette witcha asshole
Me and Shady deaded the past, so that basically resurrected my cash flow
I might rap tight as the snatch of a fat dyke
Though I ain't wrapped tight
My blood type's the '80s!
My '90s was like the Navy, you was like the Bradys
You still fly kites daily!
Catch me in my Mercedes
Bumpin' "Ice, Ice Baby, " screamin' Shady 'til I die
Like a half a pair of dice, life's crazy
So I live it to the fullest 'til I'm Swayze
And you only live it once, so I'm thinkin' 'bout this nice, nice lady
Wait, no, stop me now 'fore I get on a roll (Damn)
Let me tell you what this pretty little dame's name is, 'cause she's kinda famous
And I hope that I don't sound too heinous when I say this
Nicki Minaj, but I wanna stick (My penis in your anus!)
You morons think that I'm a genius
Really I belong inside a dang insane asylum, cleanin', try them trailer parks
Crazy, I am back, and I am razor-sharp, baby
And that's back wit' a capital B wit' an exclamation mark
Maybe you should listen when I flip the linguistics
'Cause I'm'onna rip this mystical slick shit
You don't wanna become another victim or statistic of this shit
'Cause after I spit the bullets, I'ma treat these shell casings like a soccer ball
I'ma kick the ballistics! So get this dick, I'ma live this
I'm livin' life in the fast lane
Movin' at the speed of life and I can't slow down
Only got a gallon in the gas tank
But I'm almost at the finish line, so I can't stop now
I don't really know where I'm headed, just enjoyin' the ride
Just gon' roll 'til I drop and ride 'til I die
I'm livin' life in the fast lane (Pedal to the metal)
I'm livin' life in the fast lane (Pedal to the metal)
Yeah
My whole goal as a poet's to be relaxed in orbit
At war wit' a bottle, this Captain Morgan attacks my organs (C'mon)
My slow flow is euphoric, it's like I rap endorphins (Woo!)
I made a pact with the Devil that says "I'll let you take me
You let me take this shovel, dig up the corspes, Jack Kevorkian" (C'mon)
Go 'back and forth in more beef that you can pack a fork in
I'm livin' the life of the infinite enemy down
My tenement, too many now, to send my serenity powers
Spin 'em around, enterin' in the vicinity
Now
Was called Eminem, but he threw away the candy and ate the rapper
Chewed him up (Pt!) and spitted him out
Girl, giddy-up, now get, get down
He's lookin' around this club and it looks like people are havin' a shit fit now
Here, little t-t-trailer trash, take a look who's back in t-t-town
Did I s-st-stutter, motherfucker? Fuck them all
He's shuts the whole motherfuckin' Walmart d-d-down every time he comes a-r-r-round
And he came to the club tonight wit' 5'9? to hold this bitch down
Like a motherfuckin' chick underwater, he's tryna d-dr-drown
Shawty, when you dance, you got me captivated
Just by the way that you keep lickin' 'em dicks like her lips I'm agitated, aggravated
To the point you don't suck my dick, then you're gonna get decapitated
Other words, you don't fuckin' give me head, then I'm have to take it
And then after takin' that, I'ma catch a case, it's gon' be fascinatin'
It's gon' say "The whole rap game passed away" on top of the affadavit
Graduated from master debater slash massive masturbator
To Michael Jackson' activator (Woo!)
Meanin' I'm on fire off the top, might wanna back up the data
Runnin' over hip-hop in a verbal tractor-trailer
Homie, this sick, you can normally ask a hater
Don't it make sense, these shell casings is just like a bag of paper
Drop in the lap of a tax evader (Homie, they spent)
Now make that ass drop like a sack of potatoes
What, girl, I'm the crack-a-lator
Percolator to this party, be my penis ejaculator later
Tell ya boyfriend that you just struck paydirt
You rollin' wit' a player, you won't be exaggeratin' when you sayin'
I'm livin' life in the fast lane
Movin' at the speed of life and I can't slow down
Only got a gallon in the gas tank
But I'm almost at the finish line, so I can't stop now
I don't really know where I'm headed, just enjoyin' the ride
Just gon' roll 'til I drop and ride 'til I die
I'm livin' life in the fast lane (Pedal to the metal)
I'm livin' life in the fast lane (Pedal to the metal)
I'm livin' life in the fast lane (Pedal to the metal)
I'm livin' life in the fast lane (Pedal to the metal)