#Irvine River
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“Les Carnets de Siegfried (Benediction)” biopic de Terence Davies (2021) - sur la vie du poète Siegfried Sassoon (1886-1967) - avec Jack Lowden, Tom Blyth, Calam Lynch, Jeremy Irvine, Matthew Tennyson, Kate Phillips, Simon Russell Beale, Suzanne Bertish, Lia Williams, Ben Daniels, Peter Capaldi, Anton Lesser et Gemma Jones, mars 2024.
#films#hommage#WWI#Biopic#FilmsArtistes#Sassoon#Gatty#Tennant#Novello#Shaw#Ross#Sitwell#Morrell#Owen#Rivers#Davies#Lowden#Jones#Blyth#Lynch#Irvine#Tennyson#Phillips#RussellBeale#BErtish#Williams#Daniels#Capaldi#Lesser
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Follow are Facebook account to know the update about Wild Rivers Tickets, Water park in USA, and Irvine water park.
Wow… here’s a throwback!! 🤓 Check out Pelican Plunge during construction! Crazy to see it open along with our other AWESOME slides! Head to WildRivers.com/Tickets and we’ll see you soon!
Get more details here:- San Diego Water Parks.
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Wordless Wednesday Apr 26
This #lensball shot of the Irvine Estuary is my latest post for Wordless Wednesday Apr 26 #photography #travel
River Irvine Estuary
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Mike Irvine. “Fishing the beautiful Kispiox River in Northern B.C.”
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Pics: Inspiring HPL.
1. Irvin S. Cobb - American writer, editor, humorist & columnist hailing from Paducah, Kentucky¹.
He was the highest paid staff reporter on the NY World newspaper².
Irvin would write 60+ books & around 300 short stories.
Some of which were adapted into silent movies. And, 2 of his later tales were actually filmed, by the famed John Ford³, during the 1930s!
2. Cobb's "dark side" (horror works) of the otherwise lighthearted comedian & the story in question.
3 & 4. Comedic frontpieces(?) for books by Cobb. The 2nd even boasts an Abraham Lincoln quote!
5. Cover to Cobb's collection of other authors's short horror tales.
6. Inside art from Fishhead's ending...
1913 Addendum -
Intro: Irvin Cobb's infamous short story "Fishhead" is set in the back- wood bayous of the vast Reelfoot Lake⁴.
Plot: The tale concerns the murder of a local outcast freak by "poor whites."
With its surprise Jaws⁵-like ending, this gruesome work reminds readers of an issue of EC comics⁶!
Criticism: Lovecraft lauded Cobb for, "... Carrying on our (own) spectral tradition is the gifted... humorist, I.S. Cobb, whose works... contain some finely (made) weird (tales)."
Of the plot, Howard stated that, "Fish- head" (is) an early achievement, ... banefully effective in its portrayal of (an) unnatural... hybrid idiot & the strange fish of an isolated lake."
Lovecraft further opined, "It is (my firm) belief... that... few short stories of equal merit have been published anywhere (else)..."
Legacy: Cobb's "Fishhead" is seen as a major influence on Lovecraft's own "Shadow Over Innsmouth."
Robert M. Price⁷ noted that, "What (Howard) found revolting was the idea of interracial marriage (&) of different ethnicities mating, (thus) 'polluting' the (white? human?) gene pool."
Fishhead is supposedly "the son of a Negro father & a halfbreed Indian mother." It's never mentioned what her other half was from...
This is the same premise behind HPL's "The Shadow Over Innsmouth."
Except that Lovecraft calls them Deep Ones & has a whole city that's been 'turned'...
More when we get to this story...
Notes:
1. Paducah, as 1 out of 9 U.S. Creative Cities, is a haven for thinkers, artists & creators!
Architectural Digest recognizes this city's historic district as 1 of the most beautiful main streets in America.
There are 20 downtown blocks listed in the National Register of Historic Places!
Weird Shit: Paducah's nickname is "The Atomic City."
This was because it was once the U.S.'s only uranium plant, making atomic bombs for our Defense Department...
2. The NY World newspaper began (in 1860) as a leading voice for the US Democratic Party.
But, once under Joseph Pulitzer, it became a pioneer in "yellow journalism."
Catching readers's attention with sensational (sex, sport & scandal) news stories.
This raised their circulation past the 1 million mark!!
Best known for being among the 1st to publish daily comic strips.
They actually created "Hogan's Alley", "Everyday Movies", "Little Mary Mix- up" & "Joe Jinks!"
Merged with The NY Telegram in 1931.
Revived - online - in 2011 by Columbia U. But, hasn't had any new content since 2016...
3. John Ford was an American movie director who won Oscars for "The Informer", "The Grapes of Wrath", "How Green Was My Valley" & "The Quiet Man."
The best of his many Westerns are "The Searchers", "Stagecoach" & "My Darling Clementine."
4. Reelfoot Lake is a real lake best known for its shallowness - about 5½ feet on average.
It's located in western Tennessee &, strangely enough, no swimming is allowed there...
The lake is named after an 1800's Chickasaw warrior with a deformed leg...
Reelfoot Bayou, with its cypress trees, flows out of the lake to join the Obion River - which runs straight to the Mississippi.
5. "Jaws" is, of course, director Steven Spielberg's 1st international master- piece.
And it doesn't need any hype, from me, for you to see it again!
97% on Rotten Tomatoes!!
Enough said...
Make it so!
6. E.C. Comics was an American publisher specializing in horror, crime, dark fantasy & sci-fi comicbooks.
William Gaines printed mature tales of war, adventure, satire, etc...
Noted for its stories high quality, shock endings & progressive social awareness.
Among the themes that EC creators touched upon are: racial equality, anti- war sentiments, nuclear disarmament & even early environmentalism!
Sadly, official censorship forced EC to focus on its "Mad" magazine - which became it's greatest success!!
EC has just been revived, by Oni Press, on this past February of 2024!!
Good times guaranteed...
7. R.M. Price is an American biblical scholar, author & an authority on H.P. Lovecraft.
His works include: "Deconstructing Jesus", "The Reason Driven Life", "The New Lovecraftian Circle", "World War Cthulhu", "The Disciples of Cthulhu", "Arkham Detective Agency", "The Da Vinci Fraud", "The Apartheid State in Crisis" & more great stuff!!
Price was the editor of the greatly lamented Crypt of Cthulhu, Midnight Shambler & Eldritch Tales fanzines.
He even edited a whole series of Mythos anthologies for Chaosium.
Today, Price is editor of The Journal of Higher Criticism!
Busy little tentacle, ain't he...
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On September 11th 1297, William Wallace and Andrew de Moray led htheir troops to victory at the Battle of Stirling Bridge.
As William Wallace was leading a growing rebellion in the lowlands early in 1297, news spread of a great rising in the north led by Andrew de Moray. As events progressed, Wallace developed the use of a new tactic, later to be used with great success by Bruce, i.e. the rapid deployment of fast moving light horse to attack and harass English patrols and garrisons. These tactics pinned them back into fixed positions and made control of the countryside- the collection of taxes and provisions- difficult. With his growing success, Wallace had to manage ever greater numbers of men and hence his exploits increased in scale. As the year progressed the English commanders in Scotland grew increasingly anxious. This is shown by the worried letters to the treasury in London from Hugh Cressingham complaining about the impossibility of raising taxes in Scotland as all was in a state of unrest.
In the North, Moray had cleared out most of the English forces and linked up his forces with those of Wallace some time during the August of 1297 thereby creating a unique force, composed of both Lowlanders and Highlanders. There was a setback with the surrender at Irvine in July 1297 of an army under the command of the Earl of Carrick, Robert Bruce and Sir William Douglas. They could be seen as being the more traditional leaders, in the eyes of the country, than Wallace and Moray, but they may have had less stomach for the fight.
An English army charged with subduing Scotland left Berwick at the end of August 1297 and marched towards Stirling under the joint command of Hugh Cressingham and John de Warenne, the Earl of Surrey. The force, including many Welsh, reached Stirling on the 10th of September and was faced by a Scottish force drawn up on the foothills of the Ochils and on the Abbey Craig which overlooked the mile long causeway linking the only bridge across the River Forth to the dry ground and Stirling castle. On the morning of the 11th of September a large force of heavy cavalry and foot marched across the narrow bridge, two abreast, under the watching eyes of the Scots.
When it was deemed enough English troops had crossed, the Scots forces were given the order to charge and a group of spearmen - hidden from the eyes of the English - set off and succeeded in cutting off the bridgehead which had been formed. The English troops who had crossed the bridge were cut off from help, and were duly massacred while the greater part of the English army watched helpless on the other side of the Forth.
The tactical positioning had obviously been worked out well beforehand and the planning of the battle had, it would seem, taken up a large part of the Scots time. The timing of the rush down the causeway was crucial to the success of the Scots as, had too many English troops been allowed to cross, the final outcome could have been drastically different.
It should also be pointed out that the troops who had beaten this large semi-professional English army- a balanced force of cavalry, archers and heavy foot- were the landless peasants and not the great Scottish lords.
The Scots now had to prepare themselves for the wrath which Edward I would surely vent on his return from campaigning in France. Scotland suffered great misfortune with the death of Andrew de Moray (possibly due to wounds received at the battle) and subsequently Wallace was left in sole control of the Scottish forces and ultimately the whole country.
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#8 Cal Wins Opening Weekend
Bears Are Flawless in Dispatching Four Opponents
BERKELEY – The No. 8 ranked California beach volleyball team closed out its opening weekend at the Clark Kerr Sand Courts with straight wins, beating all four opponents by a score of 5-0. In fact, with their victories over Saint Mary's, Santa Clara, American River and San Jose State they only dropped a single set.
"It was really exciting being able to open at home this year in front of our fans and supporters," Cal head coach Meagan Owusu said. "It was fun to see a bunch of new players in the lineup. It's a new squad, so we're just growing and getting to know the strengths that this specific group has and rolling with that."
Cal 5, Saint Mary's 0
The Golden Bears (4-0) got out to a fast start to the day as their first two pairs flew through their opening sets. Sophomore Portia Sherman and junior Ella Dreibholz started with a 21-11 win. After falling behind 13-8 in set two, they quickly rallied and pulled away late to take it 21-17.
Across the way, junior Ella Sears and freshman Kendall Peters cruised to a 21-12 opening-set victory before dropping set two 24-22. They broke a 9-9 tie in the decisive third set with three straight points, closing out the Bears' first nailbiter of the season with a 15-12 win.
Kicking off the next set of matches, sophomore duo Marilu Pally and Gia Fisher rallied from five points down in set one and never looked back, claiming a 21-17, 21-9 victory. Senior Brooke Buchner and graduate student Lara Boos broke out of a pair of close sets, holding off a pair of SMU (1-1) comeback attempts in a 21-19, 21-16 sweep.
The No. 1 pair of Emma Donley and Alexandria Young-Gomez finished things off with a dominant 21-10, 21-13 win in the final match against the Gaels.
1 Emma Donley and Alexandria Young-Gomez (CAL) def. Sedona Sherman and Sadie Shipman (SMU) 21-10, 21-13
2 Marilu Pally and Gia Fisher (CAL) def. Hannah Couch and Hawley Harrer (SMU) 21-17, 21-9
3 Brooke Buchner and Lara Boos (CAL) def. Allie Cataldo and Angie Bour (SMU) 21-19, 21-16
4 Portia Sherman and Ella Dreibholz (CAL) def. Karmin Brown and AJ Slojkowski (SMU) 21-11, 21-17
5 Ella Sears and Kendall Peters (CAL) def. Paola Peralta and Nya Crump (SMU) 21-12, 22-24, 15-12
Order of finish: 4 5 2 3 1
No. 8 Cal 5, Santa Clara 0
In their afternoon matchup with the Broncos (0-2), the Bears comfortably handled every set by at least four points. Pally and Fisher went 21-8, 21-17 while Sherman and Dreibholz won 21-15, 21-17.
None of the Bears' final three pairs gave up more than 13 points in a set. Donley and Young-Gomez won set one 21-13 and finished things off on a cheeky bump winner to take set two 21-11. Sophomores Amelia Vugrincic and Jenna Colligan jumped out to 16-6 leads in both sets en route to a 21-13, 21-11 victory. Buchner and Boos ended the day with wins of 21-12 and 21-9.
1 Emma Donley and Alexandria Young-Gomez (CAL) def. Katie Kishton and Elena Radeff (SCU) 21-13, 21-11
2 Marilu Pally and Gia Fisher (CAL) def. Ella Duffner and Noelle Niederman (SCU) 21-8, 21-17
3 Brooke Buchner and Lara Boos (CAL) def. Casey Campbell and Sveva Munneke (SCU) 21-12, 21-12
4 Portia Sherman and Ella Dreibholz (CAL) def. Jordan Bennett and Hailey Benesz (SCU) 21-15, 21-17
5 Amelia Vugrincic and Jenna Colligan (CAL) def. Alexie Epstein and Alexia Gallegos (SCU) 21-12, 21-9
Order of finish: 2 4 1 5 3
Up Next
The Bears will now head south for the weekend for their road openers in the Battle For L.A. at Mapes Beach. Cal takes on UCLA and Cal Poly on Friday, March 1. The following day, the Bears face Concordia University Irvine and Loyola Marymount.
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The question of the meaning of life is, as the Buddha taught, not edifying. One must immerse oneself into the river of life and let the question drift away.
Irvin Yalom
#irvin yalom#yalom#quotes#philosophy#wisdom#life#literature#writer#books#write#psychology#art#artist#the meaning of life#the buddha#buddhism#questions
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Renegades (Part 1)
Warnings: Violence, Death, Sexist/degrading themes, smutty themes, religious themes.
Description: Leif x Reader
A Saxon reader lives at a monastery as a postulant under the unforgiving rule of cruel leaders...until the Vikings turn their world upside down.
On the outskirts of London, along the peaceful river nestled into county land, a small monastery lies hidden amongst the wheat fields and wild grass. Mostly untouched and isolated from the Saxon population, the monastery exists ruled under the strong hand of Æthelred II. The inhabitants of the monastery live a life of solitude, as silence is believed to be the space in which God may truly talk to his patrons. Those who were worthy of course. Monks spend their days in prayer, study, and education. The more quiet inhabitants, the sisters of Æthelstan live under the monks, silenced to a life of servitude to the Monks, enabling the Monks to live a life in a constant state of spiritual sabbatical…
A deep yawn escapes as I sat knelt on the ground, my aching fingers clasped tightly together. The stone brick room leaves no allowance for heat within the room, the only source of light and warmth coming from the flickering candles as they fight against the wax consuming it. ‘When the candle has melted entirely is a good indication of when prayer may be replaced by sleep’ Elder Aefentid had commanded. Easy for him to say whilst he and his monks sat in the library in front of the roaring fire on a cold eve. ‘Insolence is a sin Sister Y/N’ Mother Brynhorn always scolded me. Being the youngest in the monastery wasn’t an easy feat, especially under the watchful eyes of Elder Aefentid and Mother Brynhorn’s leadership.
Sister Edith whipped her head around forcefully, her eyes squinting in a nasty manner as her gaze locked onto mine with just as much vexation. If there was anyone as rapacious, earnest, competitive or desperate for purpose and power, it was Sister Edith. To be prideful and spiteful in spirit was an abomination, but if it were in the name of Christ, it was perfectly acceptable. It was practically demanded. Living at the Monastery was meant to be an unselfish, charitable, spiritual existence, but within its walls, malice, ambition and greed were what truly plagued the inhabitants. We weren't living true to God's word. If this place were true to God’s word, God would send his enemies to this place. There was no redemption for the people here.
We all sat in prayer, under the watchful gaze of Mother Brynhorn as she gazed over the sisters with her nose held up high. Under her habit, I could see her legs shift in an attempt to warm up her body, but it was no use. As high and mighty as the sisters treated her, and as diligent as she felt, the Monks were certain to make sure that Mother Brynhorn knew she was just as inferior as the rest of us. The room was silent, only allowing for the noise of wistful cold air as it whistled gushing between the cracks of the stone walls, the sound of fire sizzling as it inevitably lost its battle, and became swallowed up by the melted wax. We all sat still, however, waiting for the ring of the bell to tell us we could retreat into the blissful escape of sleep.
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*Ding. Ding. Ding.*
The bells vibrations carried across the small room, radiating to the depth of my eardrums. The quiet sound of dresses sweeping against the floor, followed by the gentle light footsteps as the sisters exited the room. The sounds of our footsteps carried down the dense room, ricocheting down the hall as the final ding of the bell cascaded into silence.
*DING DING DING DING DING DING DING DING DING DING…*
The bells continued to sound, getting faster and louder with each thrust. Some of the sisters dropped to their knees, others stood frozen in fear, and the voice of Brother Irvin could be heard from the bell tower ‘INVASION’ he screamed across the small courtyard. The silence was sliced in half by the piercing screams and cries of the sisters, the deep voices of the brothers from upstairs could be heard shouting at one another, Elder Aefentid yelling orders. ‘GO TO THE CELLAR’ Sister Brynhorn screamed as she rushed down the hall, ushering the sisters down the stone steps. I stood, frozen in place, for some reason, desperate to go anywhere but the cellar.
The Monks cascaded down the stone steps, running toward the large wooden gate that remained forever locked. My gaze was fixated on the gate as it opened, revealing the world outside I hadn’t seen in months. The moon shone brightly upon the field, illuminating the ground below. The wheat was now as tall as a person, a fiery orange glow shining behind the wheat, illuminating a presence from afar. ‘SISTER Y/N GET TO THE CELLAR THIS INSTANT’ that old crabby voice cried. Instead, my legs took me toward the gate, instead of the cellar. ‘Y/N’ she screamed, a deep growl in her voice. But the sound of her voice was soon replaced by the sound of my heavy breathing and footsteps as I ran across the court toward the large gate, desperate to seek more of the outside world than I had seen since I came here. I could barely register the numbness I had previously felt in my body that made my body freeze, and instead, the forceful beating of my heart warmed my body as I ran toward the group of Monks that flocked outside the gate, unforgivingly handling their swords with such pitiful stance.
God at least admires your efforts…hopefully, God had a sense of humour, I thought.
I could almost smell the wheat as I got closer to the gate, only for the scent to be stolen from my senses as the large gate suddenly slammed shut in front of me. Brothers Svein and Wystan are on either side of the door, standing guard as to shut down any source of freedom or hope. ‘DECEITFUL CHILD’ Brother Wystan growled, raising his palm, landing a quick backhand to my temple. I stumbled at the sudden impact, falling at the feeling of a leg kicking into the back of my knees. My palm stung as the small rocks and pebbles cut deep into the flesh of my skin. 'AWAY' he hissed.
I gathered my knees beneath me, running back toward the monastery walls, only to find the door to the cellar firmly shut and locked. I turned toward the east wing, running down the hall, almost crawling up the stairs as I desperately climbed the steps against the chaos, tripping on my long skirt. Upon the top of the stairs, I immediately ran across the turret, following the light streaming from the corner tower. The walls were adorned with books with shelves that reached the ceiling. Rolls of parchment and collections of quills and ink adorned the crafted tables. The Monks Library. I gawked at the realisation. The library, a sector strictly forbidden from the sisters. The room was enveloped by the warmth of a roaring fire, the sweet sickly smell of grapes wafted across the room as half-drunk glasses sat upon the central table, the roasting sizzle of hot stew boiled in a large cauldron. Bastards. I stomped to the table, spitting in the large pot out of spite.
The ladder to the bell tower sat sturdily within the library walls. I inspected the ceiling, surprised to see a trap door on the ceiling open. I eyed the ceiling carefully, looking between the gap to find the bell tower completely unoccupied as the bell itself had stopped ringing entirely. This was my only chance. I grasped the ladder, my left palm stinging at the sensation as a light trickle of dried blood cascaded down to my wrist. I kicked my feet out from under the confines of my skirt, climbed the ladder to the ceiling, and finally crawled into the moonstruck cool breeze as I slithered through the trap door, slamming it shut below me. The bell tower was surrounded by stone pillars but never had I imagined the view would be so widespread as the wheat fields surrounding the walls of the monastery seemed to go forever and ever. The only difference in scenery was the small river way, cutting through the fields of unending wheat.
Yellow and brownfields were splotched in patches of red, as unidentifiable monks lay face down on the ground, blood pooling out of their lifeless bodies. A deep growl emitted as sounds of water violently splashed, interrupting the gentle flow of the riverbed. Two peculiar-looking bodies struggled and fought against the uniformed bodies of a group of men. Bodies smashed, as men growled, yelled and grunted, the sound of skin and bodies smashing against one another. The only source of light illuminating the scene below came from a burning wooden pillar that leant to one side, threateningly burning close to the dry field below. One of the men ran into the darkness of night, while multiple bodies followed, yelling at the figure. The other unfamiliar-looking individual, dressed in strange clothes battled in hand-to-hand combat in the river with a uniformed Saxon. Someone direct from London…the invaders more threatening than anticipated if the Saxons came all the way here. The stranger grabbed the Saxon by the throat, his body shifting as he turned and thrust his opponent into the water, his head now directed toward the bell tower. I dropped to my knees, pressing my back to the stone wall, hiding away from the gaze of the stranger. I listened to the water splash as his deep voice grunted. But I couldn’t keep away for that long. I crawled back to the other side of the tower, sitting on my knees, letting my head ascend just enough to see the river below. This time, the Saxon stood triumphantly, waist-deep in water as he struggled to keep the body beneath the surface. I could make out the body of the man struggling underneath the water as he fought against the harsh grip of the Saxon.
I don’t know why, but something felt wrong about the whole scene in front of me. The bodies of monastery inhabitants lay lifeless, blood still pooling from them, staining the crop around them. A Saxon man triumphantly stood, defeating whatever entity had come to destroy us. But strange, all my energy, my being, my emotion was solely focused on the foreigner as he struggled beneath the surface of the water, drowning at the hands of my own people. The people who were here to protect us, and yet, I couldn’t let him die, and I couldn’t explain the inexplicable feeling as to why. I desperately searched around for anything that could help, his counterpart had long gone, and it was unlikely that the monastery was going to share my outlook of mercy for the man that had killed their brothers. In the corner of the tower sat a bow and a few arrows. It sat securely in the corner, covered in cobwebs, and coated in dust, indicating it had been sitting there untouched for a long time.
I brought my shaking hands, desperately prying off the old, thick webs. I had no training, and I had never touched a weapon before, but I had seen my father wield one as a child, but I was never allowed to go hunting with him. But I had seen him shoot a shot once.
I shakily loaded the arrow into the bow, my hands shaking either in fear or desperation. I gathered all my strength, pulling the string back with such forceful desperation that was probably bound to snap. I directed the tip of the arrow toward the man, letting the string go as it quickly swiped against my cheek, sending a shooting sting across it. The arrow pierced the wind, flying straight toward the river, only to shoot into the riverbed, missing the man so unskilfully. But it was enough to catch his attention. The man suddenly averted his attention, looking for the source of the arrow, directing his attention to the bell tower. I could hear him growl as his fury turned from the man beneath the water to me.
Oh God, what have I done?
A sudden loud gasp of air emitted, followed by a loud, deep yell that emitted from deep within the previously drowning man. The Saxon, clearly surprised, turned back toward the man, only to be met with a rock to the face. The loud crack hauntingly pierced my ears, as I watched blood spew from the man's nose, only for the Saxon to pin his head under the water effortlessly, until it swept away lifelessly down the river with the current, followed by a watery trail of crimson. My gaze locked onto his lifeless body aimlessly flowing down the river, the monastery now dead quiet.
The man swayed as he stood waist-deep in the river, hunching over as he coughed and spluttered liquid. I could swear there was blood. Struggling desperately against the gentle tide, he weakly grasped onto the riverbank, using everything within to pry his body from the water. I could hear his grunts as he struggled but eventually pulled himself just enough onto the bank to escape the freezing water. However, he didn’t seem all that bothered by the cold temperature. If his close encounter with death by drowning wasn’t going to kill him, the cold temperature probably would.
I turned my gaze back toward the monastery courtyard to find the grounds completely deserted. Monks were never the bravest of sorts.
I climbed down the ladder, cautiously leaving the trap door open as it once was before. The only sounds now were the whistling winds and the chirping of insects in the distance. The once roaring fire that encapsulated the Monk's restricted library was now completely consumed by ash remnants. The battle below had felt so quick, but the now cool temperature of the room proved otherwise. Amongst the luxurious items in the library, furs adorned the chairs providing further warmth while we sisters made do with old woven blankets with gaping holes in the fabric. I grabbed one of the furs, folding it into a tight ball and hiding it within the large sleeve of my habit.
The large oak wooden gate was now totally unguarded, as everyone had taken refuge in hiding. If only they knew there were only two offenders…but they didn’t need to. The gate, now inched a crack open slowly creaked as the winds blew forcefully against the wood. I slowly squeezed through the gap, being sure not to move the gate in case it drew attention. The bottom of my dress became slightly damp as the crimson stain of fallen blood pooled at my feet. Still warm, and already flies begun to swarm the bodies of the fallen monks. The scene in front looked like a hunt, similar to the ones my father and brothers used to go on, but instead of deer or pheasants, human bodies lay dead…and I didn’t feel any sympathy.
I quietly trudged through the wheat, grass now sticking to the thick crimson blood which stained the bottom of my dress. The sound of the river carried gently as if it had been undisturbed all evening. A gentle groan emitted, followed by chesty coughs. I cautiously approached, being sure not to rouse or alert the stranger. His coughs got louder the closer I approached, he didn’t seem phased about alerting anyone of his presence…a true sign of a dangerous person. I peeped through the long thin grass to see his body curled up in a ball, spluttering and spitting out liquid nestled deep within his lungs. His eyes were closed shut, the coughing clearly a source of pain, his body quivering as the cool temperature began to consume him. His body shifted, as he rolled towards the river, letting the contents of his stomach spew from his insides. He let out a loud gasp of relief, turning back over gently, only for his body to stiffen as his gaze locked onto mine. He grasped one of the rocks from the riverbank, raising it above his head, directing his aim toward me. The way our eyes were fixated, our bodies still, it was clear we were both waiting for the other to make a move first. I gently lifted my hands, showing a sign of surrender to assure the man I meant no harm. Whether that would stop him from killing me like he had the others, I didn’t know, but even a violent death would be a preferable end to a lifetime at the monastery as a sister. He lowered his arm slightly, but his fingers were still tightly clasped around the rock. As I reached inside my sleeve, he propped himself up onto his feet, squatting on the ground, raising the rock back up behind him.
‘Who are you?’ He questioned. I was taken aback, not by the gruffness of his voice, but by the dialect he spoke. My village was populated by both Saxon and Danish settlers back home, the language although foreign to most was familiar to me. However, his strong accent indicated that this man was a long way from home, likely not a Danish settler himself. ‘SPEAK’ he yelled, almost as if he wasn’t sure I understood him at all. He inspected my long dress, taking particular interest in the habit which revealed only the skin of my face. Otherwise, everything else was completely covered. I pulled the soft fur from my habit, throwing the ball of fabric at his feet before taking a step back. He leant his arm forward, his gaze and striking aim still locked on me, his fingers gently smoothed over the warm dry fabric. He glanced down, only to quickly revert his pupils to mine. He continued to stare, both of us frozen in place, but now instead of a tense feeling in the air, an aura of calmness washed over us.
*Ding. Ding. Ding.*
Instantaneously, we both directed our gaze to the bell tower as brother Svein stood atop the tower, his back turned towards us. He clearly hadn’t looked carefully enough to check if all was safe outside the grounds of the monastery. I quickly turned around, averting my attention back to the stranger in front of me. I simply nodded, before running back through the long grass, slipping back through the confines of the monastery.
•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•
Three days had gone by, and the stranger was now a complete enigma as if he had never existed. Elder Aefentid and selected brothers were permitted to leave the grounds to retrieve the bodies of their fallen brothers. They all returned alive and unharmed, either the stranger had died or had left. I hoped it was the latter.
Elder Aefentid spoke on the other side of the small divider, singing in Latin and reciting bible verses. The brothers got to sit on pillars, the sisters had to kneel. While chapel services were silent and separate, the allowance for mixed services was completely out of the ordinary. Elder Aefentid had decided to sanctify the fallen Monks, as he put ‘who so bravely fought to protect this institute of God’. An interesting narrative, considering they engaged in no battle, merely sent out for slaughter. Their weapons mearly decorations. Their bodies lay there, crafted and carefully placed to hide the marks of defeat and expert combat their fates ultimately had succumbed to.
The service persisted into what was seemingly an endless day. I could feel my knees clicking beneath me, my neck stiff in place as I obediently faced my head toward the ground. Nobody dared move, not even Sister Edith, as Mother Brynhorn sat on her pitiful stool with a watchful eye cast over the group. In particular, her gaze was directed at me. In the eyes of the Monks, sweeping fireplaces and cleaning chamberpots were enough suited punishment for disobeying Mother Brynhorn’s orders. If it were up to her, the consequences would have been severely different…
‘Now we will proceed with silent prayer’ Elder Aefentid announced. The aura of animosity that swept the room was evident by the sound of silent sighs of agony, even Sister Edith began to shuffle on her knees to relieve the ache of her legs. The sound of slurping could be heard on the other side of the divider as the Monks silently sipped on sacramental wine. I could feel my lips cracking as I desperately lapped my equally dry tongue over them in a desperate attempt to hydrate myself. Even Mother Brynhorn sat on her stool, taking deep meditative breaths in an attempt to calm her fury as the Monks silently enjoyed the luxury of the tart grape liquid. At this moment, the life of rest and recreation the fallen brothers had lived within the Monastery, I couldn’t bring myself to pray for their souls. I couldn’t relish in their sanctity, I could barely bring myself to pity the violent death they came to at the hands of the two strangers nights ago. Elder Aefentid made it clear, our prayers were to be focused upon the fallen brothers, to truly worship their sacrifice and bravery, both in life and death.
Bullshit. I thought.
Instead, as my legs ached beneath me, my stomach pained at the hunger, and my dry parched lips. All I could think about was the stranger. How his eyes squinted as if he were in a constant state of contemplation, the way his sun-bleached strands of hair shone amongst the sandy brunette locks, how his wet clothes stuck to his muscly figure…
‘Sister Y/N’ Mother Brynhorn hissed. I opened my eyes to find everyone standing to attention, Elder Aefentid now standing at the head of the room, both their eyes cast on me still knelt on the ground. I wearily shifted my stiff legs, a loud crack evident as my joints adjusted to a stand. ‘Forgive her, Elder Aefentid, she is still young’ Mother Brynhorn pleaded with slight desperation in her voice. Elder Aefentid stood, his nostrils flaring as he shifted his gaze between the pair of us. His hand came down with a striking slap, causing Mother Brynhorn to step back as she regained her balance. ‘This is what I get for trusting you to bring in some farmer's daughter’ he scolded. ‘The King is a fool for trusting in his whore of a wife, an abomination of Viking descent, women have no place at a monastery’ he shouted, spitting in her face as he got closer and closer to her person. Mother Brynhorn stood there, her eyes cast to the floor in shame. Although she was a leader by definition, there was no way Elder Aefentid was going to allow her to feel as such. ‘AND YOU’ he screamed, his chunky index finger now pointing at me, his sleeve slightly fallen back revealing his prominent veiny arms. ‘Learn to submit or else’ he threatened. The rest of the sisters stood firmly to the side, parting like Moses and the red sea, leaving me vulnerable to the wrath of Elder Aefentid. I closed my eyes, anticipating a blow like Mother Brynhorn. Instead, his footsteps carried to the other side of the room, behind the divider and out the oak door.
We all stood in silence, not sure what to do. ‘Go to your quarters for individual prayer’ Mother Brynhorn silently whispered between sniffles. The Sisters didn’t need to be told twice, as soon as Mother Brynhorn had finished her sentence, the sisters swept out of the room. I cautiously followed to leave, but Mother Brynhorn stood there, still silent with her palm cupped to her cheek. I turned around, approaching her instead. ‘Mother Brynhorn, are you oka…’
*SLAP*
My weight shifted beneath me at the sudden impact of her strike. I could feel a warm liquid dripping from my nose as a stinging pain seared the bridge of my nose. I gently brought my hand up to my nose, only for my fingers to stain from the small flow of blood. ‘You will not make a mockery of me anymore SISTER’. Her voice sarcastically seethed that last word. For them, the term sister implied equality amongst the women here, but in her eyes, I was still the young, naive postulant. ‘GO TO YOUR QUARTERS, AND YOU WILL STAY THERE TILL THE DAWN OF TOMORROWS MORN’ she screamed, her voice echoing within the small chapel. I turned quickly, speedily walking down the monastery corridor to the small isolated room that was more suited to be a broom closet rather than a bedroom. But I was grateful for the solitude it provided. Outside the door, a large clang thrust against the door. I reached to open it, only to find the door locked in place. ‘Shit’ I whispered to myself.
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The small cracks in the stone wall allowed a small beacon of light to enter the room. But the light turned from a summery yellow to orange streaks as the day slowly faded away into darkness. My stomach rumbled so loudly, I could swear it would be heard outside the locked door. The old candle wax was even beginning to look appetising. I was used to fasting, but fasting with a combination of worry and boredom brought about a different type of hunger. I sat on my thin bed, listening to the pitter-patter of feet outside the door. But just as normal, the monastery was silent. This was no place for chatter, socialisation, or community. For the sisters particularly, Monastery life was a lonely experience. In the eyes of these people, however, I was always going to be the farmer's daughter.
As I sat there studying the sounds of footsteps, the gentle pitter of feet outside the door began to turn to pacing, then speed walking, and all at once, it turned to running. I sat up at the sudden shift in pace. What was calm had turned to chaos. Silence filled with yelling. ‘THEY’RE BACK’ I heard Mother Brynhorn’s voice scream down the hall. I stood up, desperately jiggling the door frame in an attempt to see what the cause of the commotion was. Were there bandits in the field? Had the King come unannounced? Maybe war-ravaged Saxons were at the gate begging and demanding shelter and supplies. If there was something this place was not, it was charitable.
*DING DING DING DING DING DING DING DING DING DING…*
The bells rang, sending everyone outside into a scramble. A piercing deep yell screamed in agony from afar. The sound of women screaming became louder as they all banded together. I banged on the door, but they were lost to the sounds of desperate outcry and fear that sounded outside the door.
‘VIKINGS’ Elder Aefentid’s voice cried. The sound of outcry continued, their screams encapsulating the entire compound as the sounds of running feet echoed, slamming doors and desperate pleas to God. In the distance, the sound of metal beating against wood could be heard, turning to the sound of men and women talking. I couldn’t make out specifically what was being said, but their heavy thick accents carried through, making obvious the group that was headed towards our doorstep were not our allies.
I frantically kicked at the door, desperate to get out. I was beginning to feel claustrophobic in the small room, helpless and panicked at the bewilderment just on the other side of the door. The clanging sound of metal, laughter and taunting came closer and closer until the banging outside began. The sounds from outside the gate carried through the monastery as the large oak door took the brunt of a beating. The apparent Vikings held no mercy as the sounds of their forces became stronger and stronger. A loud BANG emitted, and the sounds of yelling and screaming continued as the intruders laughed and roared in celebration.
Suddenly the sound of slashing flesh, cries of agony and screams to God painted a more sinister picture of what was happening outside the door. I stepped away, backing up against the stone wall away from the door. A small trickle of crimson crept under the door. In particular the voice of a man, deep, regal, prideful, and confident cast across the corridor outside. ‘FOR SAINT BRICES DAY, AVENGE OUR PEOPLE, AVENGE YOUR KING’ he cried as his calls were met with celebratory cries. The sounds of doors opening and closing roughly could be heard, slowly making their way down the hall. Closer…and closer…and closer, until the door started to vibrate. The door almost came off its hinges, slamming against the stone wall as a powerful kick almost broke the wood in two. I slowly drew my eyes from the powerful feet that entered the room upwards. His statue was not too tall, nor too short. His thick, almost new-looking clothing indicated he was a man of money. He had long, yet clean-tamed facial hair that matched his raven locks. The hair, cut to the root on the sides, emphasised his long luscious ponytail. I stood with my back to the stone wall, my nails digging into the coarse texture of the stone. He waltzed into the room, his welded weapon clearly made of the finest materials. He looked around the room agonisingly slowly taking in every detail, a taunting chuckle as his eyes landed on me. He lifted his palm, brushing his thumb over my cupid's bow, bringing it to his lips sucking on the dried crimson blood that had stained my skin hours ago. He lifted an eyebrow inquisitively, his eyes capturing mine entirely as he playfully rejoiced in my terror. He slowly pulled out a blood-stained knife from his belt, grabbed a heap of my skirt, cleaning it slowly on my dress, dousing my dress in blood. I could hear my voice hitch in my throat, my eyes bulging out of my head as the man laughed.
‘King Canu…’ another Viking entered, taken aback by the scene in front of him. As soon as his eyes met mine, it was as if lightning had struck us both. His face was inquisitively looking as if in a state of contemplation. Those eyes struck me as they did the other night. He stood there, his chest rising and falling, the raven-haired man looking intently at the stranger. ‘What is it Greenlander?’ His voice demanded. But the Greenlander didn’t take his eyes off mine, nor I his. ‘Harald needs you’ he said, a slight cough as he spoke. Clearly the incident the other night still affected him. The King took a step back, contemplating his next move as he shifted his gaze between the pair of us. He gave a quick nod, accepting his sudden change in plan, but his knife was still directed at me. He gently turned toward the door, handing the hilt of the knife to the Greenlander. He put his hand on his shoulder, giving it a rough squeeze as a proud parent would to their child. ‘All yours Greenlander’ he said, turning around and eyeing me up and down like cattle for the slaughter. The King calmly strode out of the room amongst the chaos, undisturbed and totally in control. The Greenlander stood there, the knife loosely clutched to his chest, still staring as if unsure of what to do.
‘You speak Norse?’ He questioned in his native tongue. I simply nodded in response. ‘You are Viking?’ He questioned, his eyes evidently confused as he looked at my habit. I shook my head. He took a step forward, clutching the knife tightly as if he were about to use it. ‘How do you speak Norse?’ He demanded. ‘Vikings settled in my village…’ I whispered, my voice slightly shaking as I stared at the knife in his hand, still plastered against the wall. ‘DID YOU KILL THEM?’ He screamed, pouncing forward, pressing his forearm arms against my breasts, pushing me further into the wall as the blade of his knife rested against my throat. ‘WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?’ I screamed back, panicked as the crisp cool blade pressed further into my throat. The Greenlander took a step back, his face questioning at the response. He looked behind him to find the corridor behind him completely empty. He seemed relieved by this for some unknown reason. He lowered the knife, still clutched firmly within his grasp, but, pointed in my direction. ‘What is this place?’ He questioned, his tone still demanding. ‘It’s called a Monastery…it’s sort of like a temple’ I retorted, my gaze still fixated upon the blade pointed in my direction. He looked around, taking in all the detail of our surroundings. ‘Why are you here?’ He questioned. ‘I didn’t have much of a choice…my fate came to me just like yours did you’ I whispered, attempting to communicate in terms he would understand. The Viking settlers back home always spoke of the Seer, fates and the Gods. ‘You are a priestess?’ He questioned, more inquisitively. I shook my head. He stood there contemplating, I could feel my body shaking in anticipation, questioning his next move.
‘LEIF’ a voice shouted down the corridor, gaining the Greenlander's attention swiftly. He raised his knife once more, pointing the blade in my direction. ‘Stay’ he ordered, backing out of the room, and swiftly shutting the door behind him.
My legs buckled beneath me as I dropped to the floor, cupping my mouth to stifle my cry. The tips of my fingers stung as I clutched the stone so tightly it had indented my fingertips. I could still feel the force of his body against my breast where he had pushed up against me...the pierce of his blade on my throat.
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The room was pitch black as I sat at the very head of the bed, curled up into a ball, leaning into the stone wall. The night was cool, but the aura in the air was chilling. The Vikings walked up and down the corridor, making my heart beat like a drum each time footsteps came close to the boarding wing. There was no mistaking it, the Vikings had made themselves quite at home without much retaliation from the Monastery’s inhabitants. It had been a while since I’d heard any screams from the sisters, or cries from the Monks. The last peep I heard from any of them was their agonising screams at whatever fate had brought them. I could feel my body shake, the night was not cold, but it was frightening. Whatever the Greenlander had in store, I wasn’t looking forward to it. I had heard many tales from Viking settlers in their homeland…horror stories. beatings…releasing prisoners only to hunt them like a game…ritual sacrifice…blood eagles. I could feel the bottom of my teeth slightly chip as I fought so hard to stop my teeth from chattering. My body felt so hot, yet cold at the same time. It felt as though my heart was going to explode.
A set of footsteps quickly paced down the corridor, headed straight for the boarding wing. I reached for the wooden candle holder, gripping it firmly within my grasp as if it were any match against whatever weapons the Vikings had. The door slowly peeled open, and an orange hue emitted from the other side of the door. The Greenlander slid into the room, firmly closing the door behind him, knife still in hand. Without thinking, I flung the wooden candlestick at his chest, rising to my feet and jumping toward the door. As swiftly as the wood had hit him, his one arm wrapped around my mid-section catching me midair as if I were a feather. The knife made a clang as it dropped to the floor. He held his candle steadily in the other hand. His fingers gripped the skin of my dress, thrusting my body onto the lumpy mattress. I screamed, kicking and flailing my arms about in a pathetic effort for self-defence.
The Greenlander slammed his candle down on the small wooden table shoved up against the door, his arms attempting to grab my wrists. I flailed and kicked, screaming as he expertly clutched both my wrists in his one hand, thrusting his palm onto my mouth to muffle the screams. His leg expertly knelt upon my long skirt, pressing between my thighs so the fabric trapped my legs in place. He stayed there, his grip intensifying as I began to cry, muffled begs, pleading. Eventually, he brought his body down, his chest now pressed against mine as his hot breath breathed into my ear. ‘Stop’. He hissed, the heat penetrating my eardrum. I turned my head, the tips of our noses just brushing as I looked at him through teary eyes. He brought his hand to his face, my wrists still clutched in his grasp. He lifted his index finger, pressing it to his lips in a shushing motion. I just nodded. He raised his palm off my mouth, looking relieved to find my lips locked tightly together. He thrust his face into my neck, letting out a groan as he tentatively let go of my wrist placing his hand on the curve of my waist. His breath was just as steamy on my throat, but it was only momentarily as he lifted himself from atop of me, kneeling at the end of the mattress. His eyes still locked onto mine as I curled myself back into a ball, trying to blend into the wall.
He let out a huff, grabbing the knife he had previously dropped, tucking it safely into his belt. He seemed breathless, even though his efforts to stop my attack attempts were so inferior to his strength. We sat there, staring at one another, unsure of what to do.
‘What is your name?’ He whispered, breaking the never-ending silence. ‘Y…..Y/N’ I retorted, my breath as stuttered as it was exasperated. ‘Y/N’ he repeated quietly to himself. I glanced up and down his body at the end of my bed. ‘What’s yours?’ I whispered back. I could swear through the flickering light I could see him slightly smirk to himself. ‘My name is Leif’ he spoke. ‘Leif’ I repeated to myself. ‘Are you going to kill me, Leif?’ I questioned, trying to back into the wall more. He averted his gaze to the wall, taking a deep breath. He stood from the bed, placing his back against the opposite wall, sliding down. He seemed confused, even conflicted by the question. He looked toward the flickering candle, as it slowly melted into a pool of wax. But I didn’t take my eye off him. He averted his gaze back to mine, giving a slight nod. ‘Go to sleep Y/N’ he said. I took some deep breaths, staring back at him as he took in the tiny room around him. The silence...the waiting...it was infinite.
It was evident that Leif had no intentions of striking up more conversation or leaving. I slowly leaned forward, his gaze now locking onto mine as he clutched the hilt of his knife at his belt. I gently lifted the blanket from the bed, slowly peeling it off, before scrunching it up into a ball, reaching over the bed to place it at his feet. His gaze flickered between the blanket and me, almost confused at the gesture.
He simply nodded. With that I shifted my body, laying down, turning away from him. If he were going to kill me, at least he might show mercy to do it to me in my sleep…
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My favorite final fantasy characters" aerith tifa cid cloud sephiroth barret vincent red yuffie noctis ignis prompto gladio aranea iris luna hopes yiuu love thems hims gorgeous beautiful handsome thighs pretty rugged realistic photorealistic anime tenga toppa gurren lagen bikini boy idol girl
In the style of rembrandt caravaggio famous dutch weather painters ocean van gogh gulf bay renaissance andy warhol woodcut van dyck holbein michaelangelo raphael da vinci river creek city italian
figure skating sailor moon porcelain robot corporate office tech worker female glasses male happy friendly professional productive plastic bottles africa child cleopatra audrey hepburn caesar bible samurai warrior dnd waifu wizard
figure skating sailor moon porcelain robot corporate office tech worker female glasses male happy friendly professional productive plastic bottles africa cleopatra audrey hepburn caesar bible samurai warrior dnd waifu wizard
motorcycle pokemon long hair porcelain robot cleopatra audrey hepburn architecture brutalist renaissance midcentury gothic romanesque byzantine modern dream k-pop man makeup babe hottie
beautiful forest dryad playing card dnd skeleton warrior war battle epic mage wizard gandalf sauron frodo aragorn fairy elf tank dwarf barbarian dragon dungeon fantasy barret balthier ashe penelo red xii cait sith vincent cid yuffie mog chocobo garnet zidane vivi celes rosa cecil midgar laguna seifer squall rinoa irvine selphie zell quistis summon ifrit titan bahamut pheonix rem machina ace sice nine eight cinque bartz gladio gilgamesh secretary administrative assistant harassment picard crusher worf la forge troi riker finance smiling woman unhappy stressed sorceror mancer raptor stylized rex
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Doom & Gloom 2022: The Year In Bootlegs
So many bootlegs! If you need to get caught up, here's a handy list of these Doom & Gloom exclusives. Some of the old standbys, some new faces. Thanks to all the tapers out there, you are the real heroes.
What will 2023 bring?! I don't know, but I'll still be here. Oh and hey, have you signed up for the Doom & Gloom Substack yet? It's a good time.
#SummerOfPavement
John Fahey - Great American Music Hall, San Francisco, California, July 14, 1976
Through Hills and Valleys, Over Creeks and Rivers: Crazy Horse’s Deep Cut Epics, 1984-2013
Public Image Limited - Toad’s Place, New Haven, Connecticut, April 4, 1983
Low - Johnny Brenda’s, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, February 1, 2016
The Velvet Underground - Music Hall, Cleveland, December 1, 1968
Sonic Youth - Cat’s Cradle, Chapel Hill, North Carolina, November 14, 1982
Lou Reed - Mile End Sundown, London, United Kingdom, November 1, 1972
Richard Thompson - Toad’s Place, New Haven, Connecticut, October 16, 1994
John Cale - Lady Mitchell Hall, Cambridge, England, May 13, 1975
Elkhorn - Volume 2 at Never Ending Books, New Haven, Connecticut, September 12, 2022
Lou Reed - Shibuya Kokaido, Tokyo, Japan, October 26, 2000
Lou Reed - Palace Theater, New Haven, Connecticut, March 7, 1996
Lou Reed - The Bottom Line, New York City, February 25, 1983
Neil Young & The Transband - Westfalenhalle, Dortmund, West Germany, October 11, 1982
The Necks - Bimhuis, Amsterdam, Netherlands, September 26, 1998
R.E.M. - Toad’s Place, New Haven, Connecticut, April 14, 1982 / October 6, 1982 / July 17, 1983
jaimie branch’s FLY or DIE - Boot and Saddle, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, December 18, 2016
John Cale - Oxford Ale House, New Haven, Connecticut, June 20, 1979
Silver Jews - 40 Watt Club, Athens, Georgia, March 10, 2006
Air with Amiri Baraka - WDR Studio, Köln, Germany, March 20, 1982
King Sunny Adé - Toad’s Place, New Haven, Connecticut, February 7, 1983
Patti Smith w/ Lou Reed - Central Park, New York City, June 27, 1977
John Fahey - Unknown Venue, Santa Barbara, California, January 1968
Neil Young - Acoustic H.O.R.D.E.
The Willies - The Peanut Gallery, Haledon, New Jersey, April 24, 1983
The Slits - Dingwalls, London, United Kingdom, May 13, 1977
Neil Young with Poncho and the MG’s - Rock Am Ring Festival, Nürburgring, Germany, May 18, 2002
Neil Young with Booker T. & the MGs - Warfield Theater, San Francisco, California, June 9, 1993
Lou Reed - Glastonbury Festival, Worthy Farm, Pilton, England, June 27, 1992
The Feelies - World Cafe Live, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, March 19, 2022
Robyn Hitchcock - Robyn Sings Again
Wilco - Toad’s Place, New Haven, Connecticut, September 16, 2000
The Feelies - The Grotto, New Haven, Connecticut, August 30, 1986 / Toad’s Place, New Haven, Connecticut, May 11, 1991
Sonic Youth - This Ain’t No Picnic Festival, Oak Canyon Ranch, Irvine, California, July 4, 1999
Lou Reed - ZigZag Magazine, Conversation with John Tobler, December 1971
Television - Toad’s Place, New Haven, Connecticut, December 1, 1992
Tom Verlaine - Toad’s Place, New Haven, Connecticut, October 10, 1981 / May 26, 1982
Jerry Jeff Walker & David Bromberg - WBAI-FM, New York City, 1969
The Replacements - 7th Street Entry, Minneapolis, Minnesota, September 5, 1981
Lou Reed - The Robinson Apartment, New York City, March 1971
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Situations where the camera would rather film than assist 🎬
Preparations are underway..
As we can see, this photo is all about the filming location, although it also gives you a specific location within Doune Castle. Jeremy Irvine's photo is very good because it is supposed to be the location of the Great Hall in the Castle (turned Castle Leoch) which also suggests it is used as 'table reading'.
A table read is one of the most important steps in the production process for any TV series. It offers an opportunity for the cast, crew, and other members of the creative team to gather together to hear the script read aloud. In the case of episodic television, these table reads usually occur towards the end of pre-production, before filming.
Photo Outlander Season 1 set
Built-in the 13th century, the castle is known for its striking 100-foot-high gatehouse and one of the best-preserved great halls in the country. Its battlements afford stunning views of the River Teith and Ben Lomond. Doune Castle, suffered much damage in the Wars of Independence. It was later rebuilt in its current form in the 14th century by Robert Stewart, Duke of Albany, who is nicknamed the 'uncrowned King of Scotland'. The son of King Robert Il of Scots, and Regent of Scotland until his death.
It has a long and colourful history. Mary Queen of Scots stayed there on several occasions, and Bonnie Prince Charlie used it as a garrison during the Jacobite Rebellion. It fell into disuse after the Jacobites were defeated and by the beginning of the 19th century, was in ruins.
Doune Castle near Stirling was used as Castle Leoch's seat of Clan Mackenzie in Season One of Outlander. It is also Winterfell in Game of Thrones, and featured in Outlaw King and Mary Queen of Scots and and the 1975 comedy film Monty Python and the Holy Grail.
Photo Outlander Season 1 set
From Jeremy's photo it seems that to recreate the new look of BOMB from the 18th century, the set presented looks familiar. It's possible could be working on sets already created by Jon Gary Steele, former production designer on Outlander season 1.
He built a lot of 18th-century interiors retrofitted in Doune Castle, originally built in 1390, which served as the fictional Castle Leoch in Outlander series. Because it’s a historic Scottish landmark, there were/are prohibitions on what they could/can do there. Doune Castle, is one of Scotland’s most iconic heritage attractions.
Photo Outlander Season 1 set
In season 1 of Outlander, Castle Leoch was made very utilitarian. Many people lived there, either inside the premises or right outside it, in shacks and huts. If you watch the video below, BOMB continues along this line. The laird's part of the castle will be very comfortable, but for everyone else, it will make it like it really would have been, not too comfortable.
Doune Castle: It is built with exquisite curved wooden beams that give it a touch of elegance and architectural beauty. Raw materials are used in the series in a process that guarantees the integrity of the original structure. The curved laminated wood beams were made in season 1 of Outlander and adorn the Great Hall and continue in BOMB.
Combining craftsmanship and technique, aiming to shed light behind on the remarkable original structural element. In this case, what is missing from the photo is to show how they did it.
The Great Hall. The castle is known for having one of the best-preserved great halls in the country.
Great Hall interior looks East with arches that follow the curved structure.
Details Doune Castle interior set for filming
Upper chambers of the Gatehouse Tower
🎥 @ edinburghblackcabtours
Doune Castle will be closed until Wednesday 21 February 2024 for BOMB. filming inside and outside the castle📍
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3 Exciting things to do if you are in Irvine
Visiting Irvine for some work and want to enjoy the trip alongside work? Then here is a list of exciting things that you can enjoy in Irvine.
Irvine spectrum center
Are you a shopaholic to the core and like to buy gifts for yourself and others? Then visiting Irvine Spectrum center should be your first stop. Here you will find Nordstrom, Target, entertainment venues, comedy clubs, restaurants, and many other fun places. Which makes it a perfect stop for enjoying a day full of shopping, eating cuisines, and having fun in general.
Jack and Shanaz Langson Institute and Museum of California Art
It is a perfect place for art and artifact appreciators out there. This museum has a significant collection of California art which ranges from 19th-century California impressionism and plein to post-war and contemporary. This means there ought to be items that will blow you away and teach you more about the history of Irvine.
Waterparks
No need to search for “Best Water Parks In Irvine” as in Irvine you will find the best to most amazing water parks with amazing themes and fun rides. For instance, you can visit Wild Rivers to splash your event away in a fun and exciting way. What can be a more fun way to end your weekend than cooling yourself off with colleagues and friends?
And the list goes on and on and on! So what are you waiting for? Enjoy your next Irvine visit with museums, shopping, and lots of fun at Wild Rivers!
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Irvine Beach & Waterfront -- Fan Of... #203
#IrvineBeach & Waterfront are the subject of my latest Fan Of... #203 post #photography #travel
Hi all 😁 Feel free to join in this weekly challenge whenever you find yourself thinking, “I’m a fan of…” (see below for how-to).
This week’s Fan Of… is Irvine Beach & Waterfront. Irvine is another coastal town in Ayrshire, in the southwest of Scotland; it is a few miles North of Ayr, featured in last week’s post.
Irvine Beach
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The Eternal March of the Black Parade
Twenty years after their debut album and more than a decade after the critics dismissed them, My Chemical Romance stands as one of the greatest rock bands of the 21st century. How did we end up here?
Rob Harvilla | Jul 26, 2022 | theringer.com
Illustration by Brent Schoonover
My Chemical Romance is touring again, Paramore and Jimmy Eat World are headlining a major festival this fall, and there’s a skinny, tattooed white dude with a guitar dominating the charts. In case you haven’t heard, emo is back, baby! In honor of its return to prominence—plus the 20th anniversary of the first MCR album—The Ringer is following Emo Wendy’s lead and tapping into that nostalgia. Welcome to Emo Week, where we’ll explore the scene’s roots, its evolution to the modern-day Fifth Wave, and some of the ephemera around the genre. Grab your Telecasters and Manic Panic and join us in the Black Parade.
Our story starts in New York City on September 11, 2001. It just does. Suspend your disbelief; respect his audacity. But is it really so hard to believe, and is it really so audacious, that Gerard Way—then a 24-year-old New Jersey native, NYC art school graduate, and creatively stifled Cartoon Network intern—would choose that awful, vulnerable, crushingly human moment to reimagine himself as something immortal, someone superheroic? “That felt like the end of the world,” he told Newsweek in 2019. “It felt like the apocalypse. I was surrounded by hundreds of people on a dock on the Hudson River, and we watched the buildings go down, and there was this wave of human anguish that I’ve never felt before. Since then, I’ve continued to think about what we would do at the end of the world if we knew we only had a little time left.”
Standing on that dock, what Gerard decided he would do was channel his shock and grief and newfound sense of immediacy into the ultimate rock-star origin story. “Something just clicked in my head that morning,” he told Spin magazine in 2005. “I literally said to myself, ‘Fuck art. I’ve gotta get out of the basement. I’ve gotta see the world. I’ve gotta make a difference!’” So he hooked up with a drummer friend from high school named Matt Pelissier (the first of several drummers, alas) and wrote an anguished, furious, and yet startlingly tender pop-punk song called “Skylines and Turnstiles.” It starts like this.
You’re not in this alone
Let me break this awkward silence
Let me go, go on record
Be the first to say I’m sorry
Hear me out
Gerard sang and played guitar, though he struggled to do both at once. (It’s harder than it looks.) Slowly, he found other bandmates: Ray Toro and Frank Iero on guitars, plus his own younger brother Mikey Way on bass. Thanks to his gig working at Barnes & Noble, Mikey also contributed a band name: My Chemical Romance, an improvement on the title of an Irvine Welsh book. The band signed with a tiny label called Eyeball Records and released, on July 23, 2002, their debut album, called I Brought You My Bullets, You Brought Me Your Love, produced by New Jersey punk deity and Thursday frontman Geoff Rickly, who’d already mastered the dark art of combining the rawest possible materials into something impossibly gargantuan.
This broken city sky
Like butane on my skin
Stolen from my eyes
Hello angel, tell me
Where are you?
Tell me where we go from here
“Skylines and Turnstiles” is not, by a long shot, the highlight of MCR’s least-great album. The raw materials are there, of course: the scabrous and shimmering guitars, the breathless downhill-sprint propulsion, the throat-shredding screams to bolster the chorus and punctuate Gerard’s unguarded and brutal horror-flick lyricism. But your first song is never your best. Here, the one called “Honey, This Mirror Isn’t Big Enough for the Two of Us” is better. And the one called “Vampires Will Never Hurt You,” and the one called “Demolition Lovers,” and the one called “Drowning Lessons,” and even the one called “Cubicles.” But as an opening salvo, as the gritty first panel in a dense and ludicrously ambitious comic-book-punk saga, as an achingly sincere attempt to break the awkward silence and roll back the wave of human anguish, as a macabre but heartfelt attempt at genuine connection, Gerard Way’s first song got him where he needed to go, which was firmly on the road to leading everyone where they needed to go.
And after seeing what we saw
Can we still reclaim our innocence?
And if the world needs something better
Let’s give them one more reason, now
It’s the rousing, heartbreaking vocal harmony on the words the world needs something better that shows you what Gerard and his vampiric cohort is really about. Look beyond the eyeliner, the hair dye, the ghostly pallor, the extra-macabre marching band outfits, the wholesale mall-goth hijacking of this band’s whole look, its whole ethos. Don’t flinch at the lyrics no matter how gnarly and nihilistic they seem to get; don’t get too wrapped up in the surreal sensationalism of their flames-and-chaos music videos. Buy the album tie-in comic book or don’t. Just never forget that the closer we get to the end of the world, the tighter Gerard Way means to hold us, to make however much time we have left just that much more bearable.
I Brought You My Bullets, You Brought Me Your Love just celebrated its 20th birthday, and inspired some very excellent anniversary pieces despite being, well, MCR’s least-great album. Their next record was a gleaming and snarling major-label-debut colossus that crowned the fellas as Warped Tour royalty; the record after that was a hilariously overblown rock-opera funeral march and consensus masterpiece that now stands among the greatest emo albums ever born, any era, any wave; the record after that is my personal favorite. Then MCR broke up in 2013, to appropriately operatic dismay, going out as close to On Top as a youngish rock band possibly can.
There was no explicit tabloid-roiling catalyst, no real drama, except no drama is not exactly this band’s vibe. Gerard’s farewell letter, posted to Twitter three days after the news broke and titled A Vigil, On Birds and Glass, is my personal favorite Rock Band Breakup Explanation Letter, any subgenre, any era, precisely because it captures this band’s precise and fantastic combination of galactically overwrought and unabashedly intimate.
We were spectacular.
Every show I knew this, every show I felt it with or without external confirmation.
There were some clunkers, sometimes our secondhand gear broke, sometimes I had no voice- we were still great. It is this belief that made us who we were, but also many other things, all of them vital-
And all of the things that made us great were the very things that were going to end us-
Fiction. Friction. Creation. Destruction. Opposition. Aggression. Ambition. Heart. Hate. Courage. Spite. Beauty. Desperation. LOVE. Fear. Glamour. Weakness. Hope.
Fatalism.
And then he expands on the fatalism part as a way of explaining why, exactly, this band broke up after only 11 years and four albums.
That last one is very important. My Chemical Romance had, built within its core, a fail-safe. A doomsday device, should certain events occur or cease occurring, would detonate. I shared knowledge of this “flaw” within weeks of its inception.
Personally, I embraced it because, again, it made us perfect. A perfect machine, beautiful, yet self aware of its system. Under directive to terminate before it becomes compromised. To protect the idea- at all costs. This probably sounds like something ripped from the pages of a four-color comic book, and that’s the point.
No compromise. No surrender. No fucking shit.
To me that’s rock and roll. And I believe in rock and roll.
He goes on at great length. It’s wild, it’s lovely, it’s absurd, it’s genuinely moving. The fellas found stuff to keep them busy post-breakup, and Gerard most prominently, of course: the solo album, the ongoing and relentlessly off-kilter Netflix series based on his comic book. And then, inevitably, MCR reunited—tentatively in late 2019, and full-throatedly here in 2022, headlining giant festivals and packing arenas as what certainly feels like the first rock-band reunion that anybody’s actually given a shit about in years. Put it this way: If you are a remotely young person who, like Way himself, still believes in rock and roll, My Chemical Romance is very likely why, and it’s worth ruminating on how, exactly, this profoundly strange and desperately necessary band has inspired such belief. Anybody who listened to I Brought You My Bullets in 2002 couldn’t have predicted any of this. But the guys who made it did.
Emo is back, baby! In honor of its return to prominence—plus the 20th anniversary of the first MCR album—we’re diving deep into all things emo.
Grab your Telecasters and Manic Panic and join us for Emo Week.
The most striking song on I Brought You My Bullets—the most Gerard song, the most MCR song, The Most in general—is called “Early Sunsets Over Monroeville.” It begins as a woozy but deceptively gentle waltz but darkens by ominous degrees, and soon Gerard is wailing the line “If I had the guts / To put this to your head,” and maybe you worry for a second that this is the 200,000th uncouth and unnervingly violent post-breakup emo song. And then you find out that Monroeville is in Pennsylvania, and parts of George Romero’s 1978 zombie-flick classic Dawn of the Dead were shot there, and oh, wow, suddenly you realize this is actually a very grim, very romantic song about an inconsolable man realizing he has to kill his no-longer-human wife:
And there’s no room in this hell
There’s no room in the next
And our memories defeat us
And I’ll end this duress
Not the best song, but the most. My Chemical Romance would get truly dangerous, and truly great, when their best and their most intertwined. They signed to a major label; all the coolest kids do. Deal with it. Deal with this, while you’re at it.
“You like D&D, Audrey Hepburn, Fangoria, Harry Houdini, and croquet,” Ray Toro informs Gerard Way at the onset of “I’m Not Okay (I Promise),” one of several monster singles from their 2004 Reprise Records debut, Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge. “You can’t swim, you can’t dance, and you don’t know karate. Face it: You’re never gonna make it.” Cue the high-school-outcast histrionics, the cuddly arena-punk viciousness, Gerard’s destabilizing magnetism as he practically screams in your face, the vintage airbrushed-van metalhead radness of Ray’s guitar solo, and, before the final bone-crushing chorus, a truly bonkers Gerard buildup/breakdown for the ages:
But you really need to listen to me
Because I’m telling you the truth
I mean this
I’m okay
(Trust me)
And, boom. There are days when this is the best song ever written. And there are other days when it’s not even the best song on Three Cheers: “Helena” has a majestic Mötley Crüe meets the Misfits chorus, the power chords ascending a stairway to hell, an infinite legion of demons pumping their fists along to every word: So long and good night / So long and good night. Or maybe the power-ballad pyrotechnics of “The Ghost of You” do it for you, the classic quiet-verse-loud-chorus dynamics, Gerard’s unapologetic controlled-screaming melodrama (“At the top of my lungs in my arms / SHE DIES”), the extra-luxe video that recreates D-Day down to the puking soldiers landing on the beach. Tell me these guys aren’t spectacular, and not driven by friction, ambition, LOVE, glamour, and fatalism.
By 2005 MCR are headlining the good ol’ Warped Tour alongside Fall Out Boy, and early-2000s third-wave emo—undaunted in its embrace of pop-punk, of the mall, of teenagers both actual and perpetual—has its very own Queen, and/or Led Zeppelin, and/or Pink Floyd. Suspend your disbelief; respect their audacity. “The main thing that we’ve always wanted to do was to save people’s lives,” Gerard informed the magazine Alternative Press in 2004. “That sounds Mother Teresa–ish and outlandish, but it really does happen. It does make a huge difference. We’ve seen it in action.”
Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge, by the way, is a semi-derailed concept album involving two lovers, a man and a woman, who both seemingly die in a gunfight: The man goes to hell, is informed by the Devil that the woman is still alive, and agrees to kill 1,000 evil men in exchange for the chance to reunite with her. I say semi-derailed because during the writing process Gerard and Mikey’s beloved grandmother died—“Helena” is about her—and Gerard considered scrapping the whole thing. “When that happened, I was like, ‘Fuck. Oh, God. How am I going to deal with this story? Does it even matter anymore? Is it just fucking pretentious? Is it bullshit?’” he told Alternative Press. “And then I came to grips with it and said, ‘Fuck it. I’m going to write the songs that I want.’” Even the song called “You Know What They Do to Guys Like Us in Prison” has a certain funereal poignancy to it.
Even for a band already operating at this scale in terms of both ungodly rock-star bombast and naked emotional intimacy—Gerard has gotten increasingly forthright in interviews about his struggles with mental health and substance misuse in this era—My Chemical Romance’s third and biggest and most extravagantly beloved album, 2006’s The Black Parade, struck like a thunderbolt from a clear blue sky. There is an awful lot to absorb here; the marching-band outfits are as good a place to start as any.
The Black Parade is a classic leveling-up record, the fairly conventional tale of a young, ferocious rock band hitting its commercial peak (the album debuted at no. 2 on the Billboard album chart, behind a Hannah Montana soundtrack) with the help of some new big-shot collaborators. It was produced by Rob Cavallo, who probably also produced your favorite Green Day album; the screaming-and-fire video for “Famous Last Words” was directed by Samuel Bayer, who also directed your favorite Nirvana video. (I’m just assuming your favorite Nirvana video is “Smells Like Teen Spirit.”) Several members of the band got severely injured while shooting this, by the way, and somehow you can just tell.
The Black Parade is also an unprecedented and not-at-all-conventional narrative flex credibly described by The New York Times as “a stricken tour de force about coming of age in the post-9/11 era.” It’s a not-at-all-derailed concept album about a man (“The Patient”) dying of cancer while wracked by fear and regret; Gerard decided to add to the verisimilitude by cutting his hair short and dying it a stark silver. (“I wanted to appear white and deathlike and gaunt and sick-looking,” he cheerfully told the NYT.) Liza Minnelli (“I love those guys”) drops by to portray a grieving mother; musically, the klezmer parts somehow hit harder than the heavy metal parts. Influences range from David Bowie to KISS to the Beatles; there is also, as the marching-band uniforms might suggest, a marching band. The scale of this, in every sense, is nearly overwhelming, so if you’re new to it all maybe start out by just putting the caustically hilarious goth-blues anthem “Teenagers” on repeat for six hours.
They said, “All teenagers scare the livin’ shit out of me”
They could care less as long as someone’ll bleed
So darken your clothes, or strike a violent pose
Maybe they’ll leave you alone, but not me
Even five years ago, this record was an easy fan favorite but not necessarily an agreed-upon, era-defining masterwork. “The Black Parade, though well-reviewed at the time, hasn’t accrued the same reputation as other classic albums,” the critic Jeremy Gordon wrote in 2016 in a 10th-anniversary piece for Spin. “It was almost entirely ignored in lists of the best albums of the ’00s run by tastemakers and canon-formers like Rolling Stone, Pitchfork, Stereogum, Billboard, Paste, Complex, NME, and, yes, Spin.” By this record’s 20th anniversary, however, it might be universally hailed as the pop-punk Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band: In 2020, when Rolling Stone unveiled its updated list of the 500 Greatest Albums of All Time, there was The Black Parade at no. 361, not quite as good as Funkadelic’s One Nation Under a Groove, but just a little better than Luther Vandross’s Never Too Much.
You could argue that rock critics ruin everything. You could regard The Black Parade’s steady ascent on lists like this as proof that something essential—a life-affirming secret shared only between MCR and their Day One fans—is being lost. As a Late Pass–holder myself, out of respect/trepidation, I have decided not to argue that the band’s fourth and last album, 2010’s Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys, is actually their best album, even though I love it profoundly for both the reliable audacity of its concept (now MCR are Mad Max–esque rebels battling an evil corporation in postapocalyptic California, with the Gerard-penned comic book to prove it) and the chaotic scope of the songs themselves. Get acclimated by putting the song “Na Na Na (Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na)” on repeat this time.
Danger Days probably includes one too many songs that blatantly reach for Coldplay-style arena-rock uplifting grandeur, but what I will say is that this record’s final attempt at volcanic sentimentality, “The Kids From Yesterday,” totally works, and the album ends with an extra-caustic and extra-hilarious trashing punk tirade called “Vampire Money,” in which Gerard politely declines to contribute a song to the soundtrack of a Twilight movie.
(Come on!) When you wanna be a movie star
(Come on!) Play the game and take the band real far
(Come on!) Play it right and drive a Volvo car
Pick a fight at an airport bar
The kids don’t care if you’re alright, honey
Pills don’t help, but it sure is funny
Give me give me some of that vampire money, come on!
“Originally, what we did was take goth and put it with punk and turn it into something dangerous and sexy,” Gerard explained to the NME. “Back then nobody in the normal punk world was wearing black clothes and eyeliner. We did it because we had one mission: to polarize, to irritate, to contaminate. But then that image gets romanticized and then it gets commoditized.”
This is all delightfully but decidedly rude: There’s an excellent argument that the Twilight universe is every bit as vital and inclusive and life-affirming as any of the rock bands it attempted to romanticize and/or commoditize. But I will laugh at the line Pick a fight at an airport bar forever.
As for MCR’s breakup, and the failsafe doomsday device that triggered it, within a few years Gerard was opening up about it: In 2014 he told the NME that he’d relapsed into alcoholism after Danger Days, and worried that his daughter would grow up without a father; the choice, he concluded, was “Break the band or break me.”
The band first reunited for a single show in 2019 in Los Angeles: “That was definitely the most fun I’ve ever had playing on stage with My Chemical Romance, for sure,” Gerard told the NME, adding that “to me, the new version of My Chemical Romance and the way I want to go about it is exercising less control.” (The NME loves this guy.) The band’s festival-headliner status now is in part a reflection of pop-punk’s bizarrely ascending reputation in the past five years as both a commercial and critical proposition, from Olivia Rodrigo to Machine Gun Kelly to Juice WRLD. But however many sonic and stylistic precedents there might be, there has never been a rock band quite this courageous, spiteful, beautiful, desperate, glamorous, hopeful.
I believe Gerard when he says that this band’s original mission was “to polarize, to irritate, to contaminate,” but that was never their only mission. MCR was born in an apocalypse, and designed to help us all survive it. Us meaning actual teenagers, not critics, but we caught on eventually. We are all bandwagoners on the Black Parade now. Meanwhile, the apocalypse is closer than ever, but at least we can all huddle together in the glow.
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