#civil engineer in irving

[sumerinnovations01]

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[lenbryant]

John Irving, who warned you about Roe vs. Wade, hopes to die at his desk By Amos Barshad, Oct. 17, 2022 “I want to die with my head on my desk in the middle of a sentence,” says author John Irving. “I can’t think of a better way to exit.” (Photo: Derek O’Donnell) ---On the Shelf---- "The Last Chairlift" By John Irving Simon & Schuster: 912 pages, $38 When I was 20, I went to Amsterdam and got entirely too high. Bumbling around a hostel lobby I picked up, almost at random, a paperback copy of John Irving’s 1998 novel “A Widow for One Year.” Later, I’d learn it was classic Irving, which can encompass any or all of the following: characters who wrestle or write or grow up in Exeter, N.H., or sleep with an older woman; Central Europe; complicated relationships among nontraditional families; sentiment; heartbreak; bears. Within a hundred pages, I was weeping, snapped out of my fog. All of which is to say: Maybe there are more incisively modern books, but if you want a genuinely mood-altering cry, try John Irving. At 80, Irving is publishing his 15th novel, “The Last Chairlift,” a multigenerational family epic full of his old tricks. On a video call from his home in Toronto, he sits in front of a wall of framed photos, along with his Oscar. Irving won it for his 1999 adaptation of his novel “The Cider House Rules,” a book newly relevant for its painstakingly realistic depictions of abortions conducted in pre-Roe Maine. In a 2019 New York Times op-ed, Irving wrote that, when it was published in 1985, he’d had to tell complacent readers it wasn’t historical fiction: “‘If you think Roe v. Wade is safe, you’re one of the reasons it isn’t.’” Irving wears a flannel shirt, its sleeves rolled up, and glasses. His white hair is brushed back. He speaks with his hands and with a slight cough — a product, he explains, of just having gotten over COVID. “Everyone was very afraid of my getting it because I’m 80 and I have asthma,” he says happily, in his matter-of-fact way, “and it turned out to be not much of a big deal.” Our interview has been edited for clarity and length. LAT: The publisher’s note on “The Last Chairlift” galley says this will be your last “long” novel. Does that mean you have your next few novels already planned? JI: For some time now, I’ve thought of my unwritten novels as boxcars in a train station not yet coupled to an engine. And for the last three or four novels I’ve been trying to take the longest or most difficult looking train first, so that eventually the easier looking trains are the ones that are left. LAT: Are you confident you’ll stick to the plan? JI: That’s a very civilized way to ask, “Are you kidding?” Yeah, I know. Why should anyone believe me? I’m not promising that I’m going to mutate before your eyes and become a novella man. But I can count the boxcars and I can count the number of major characters. I’m six chapters into the new novel. LAT: Did you take any time off after finishing “The Last Chairlift”? JI: I don’t take time off. I used to. But from the moment I started writing screenplays I really had no in-between time. [By the way] I decided that in the time remaining, I’m going to write novels. I like writing screenplays. I’m glad somebody taught me how to do it. It has, I think, taught me a lot about writing novels. I don’t have an ax to grind with the way the movie business works. But in the time I’ve got left, I’d rather be writing novels. LAT: Is there any way getting older has made you a stronger writer? JI: I’m familiar with what I do best as a writer, more familiar than I used to be. I hope there’s a lot of evident playfulness or mischief or fun in “The Last Chairlift.” It’s another novel that isn’t a happy ending, granted, but I had a lot of fun with it. The family circumstance is surely recognizable to many of my readers. There’s an elusive, evasive, mysterious mother. There’s the missing biological father. But from that premise I like to write a very different story each time. And I’m more — at least I feel I’m more — relaxed telling a story. So somehow, even within the long form, even at my age — something about it is getting easier. I feel very lucky. I’m not feeling, at what I do, my age. I feel it in other ways. I feel it in how much more sleep I need. I’m aware of cutting back on what I used to do as a daily workout. I feel it physically. LAT: What does your workout look like these days? JI: After the third knee surgery, I can’t run anymore, but I can crank up a treadmill and go uphill for a long time. I can walk three or four miles a day. I can ride a stationary bike and I’m lifting lighter weights than I used to — lighter weights, more reps. LAT: Has your relationship to your critics changed over the years? JI: I don’t know that I necessarily believe my fellow writers who say they don’t read their reviews, or they don’t read their bad ones. I reread the bad ones. For more reason than imaginary vengeance. Because you ought to know — you ought to listen to what it is you do that irritates some people. But in many cases I know that what irritates some people is what pleases others. When I lived in New York, every once in a while I had the good fortune to run into one of my bad reviewers at a party. And I’ve always found it interesting that whenever that happens, they’re the ones who run out of the room. LAT: You’ve written your longest novel at 80. JI: This novel is longer than “Bleak House.” This novel is long. It probably would have been more fashionable if I’d written my longest novel several novels ago. I’m sure the sheer size of this thing is going to turn some people away. They’re just going to look at it and say, “Oh, God, I can’t do that.” [Shrug] I understand. LAT: I’ve been thinking about “The Cider House Rules.” In light of Roe being overturned, it feels like a very different book. JI: [Long sigh] I didn’t write “The Cider House Rules” to be quaint or historical. I wrote it as a warning. I said, “This is what that period of time was like. When abortion was unsafe and illegal. This is what people were doing. Do you really want to go back to that time?” Everything in the novel happens only because the choice to have a child or an abortion is denied the woman. Few Americans know their own abortion history. For more than two centuries of American history, abortion was allowed. Going back to the separatist Pilgrims landing in Plymouth, Massachusetts, in 1620 and 1621 — abortion was legal. It’s been banned for less than a century. We’ve come a long way to go backward. You can’t look at what the Supreme Court did and not recognize that their overturning Roe is more in step with the Vatican than it is with the 1st Amendment. That part that says “make no law respecting an establishment of religion” — they endorsed a papal definition of right to life. From the moment of conception. It’s staggering, really. To declare that an undeveloped fetus has more rights than a fully grown and fully developed woman. Really? It’s an unthinkable backwardness. LAT: You didn’t have a big commercial success until your fourth novel, 1978’s “The World According to Garp.” Do you ever wonder what your life would have been like if “Garp” hadn’t broken out? JI: Well, I had the writing of four books to know perfectly well how I would be living. I didn’t dislike teaching English and writing. The good teachers and the good coaches in my life were the most important people in it. I took the role of being a teacher and a coach to heart. I wasn’t unhappy in that life. I just was frustrated that I could only find the time to write for two hours a day and not every day. So what would my life have been like? I would have written only half as many books. LAT: You haven’t lost any of your appetite for doing the work. JI: I want to die with my head on my desk in the middle of a sentence. I can’t think of a better way to exit. Barshad is a writer in New York and the author of “No One Man Should Have All That Power: How Rasputins Manipulate The World.”

#john irving #novelist #writer #writers #authors #the last chairlift #book tumblr #booktumblr #readers #2022 #the world according to garp #the cider house rules #a widow for one year

[earthmatesmagazine]

My Youth Memories

By Folu Agoi

Ages 15-24

Pre-Youth (Pre-15)

I was born at Ipe-Akoko, a town in Ondo State, Nigeria’s South West geopolitical zone, on Tuesday, June 8, 1965, 5 years after Nigeria’s Independence (on October 1, 1960). It was during the country’s First Republic (1963 – 1966), when Dr Nnamdi Azikiwe was the country’s ceremonial president.

My parents, Joseph Taiwo Agoi and Marian Ibukun Agoi, were Christians from the Yoruba ethnic group. Nigeria was in a post-Independence socio-political turmoil around the time of my birth, a situation that resulted in a 30-month fratricidal war, the Biafran War, which broke out in July, 1967. I was two years old then. The war (July 6, 1967 – January 15, 1970), was between Nigeria and the Biafra Republic, a secessionist state that pronounced its independence from Nigeria in 1967. Wartime in the country was like wartime everywhere else. The memories are better forgotten. Thank God some of us survived the civil war.

Schooling for me was fun in post-war Western Nigeria. I attended about six (6) primary schools in various parts of Western Nigeria for my 6-year elementary education – from age 5 to age 10, between 1970 and 1975, because of my father’s frequent transfer. He was a teacher, one of the first graduates in my hometown. I was raised literally in the midst of books. My father was a bibliophile, besides being an educator and stern disciplinarian. Books constituted a considerable percentage of his earthly possessions; several rooms in our house were filled with books, all kinds of books arranged on shelves, some in boxes. He used to tell us stories, to our secret amusement, about how, as a little boy in elementary school, he used to wash his books with soap and water whenever any of the books got soiled. I’m the eldest child of our parents, the first of six (6) children. We, my siblings and I, naturally fell in love with books. My literary production – indeed, my activities as a creative writer and literary activist – could be credited to those formative years.

I’m a bibliophile like my father, and like many of my old schoolmates. I was in high school, around 14 years of age, when I read virtually all works of James Hadley Chase. I also read the works of Mario Puzo, Ian Fleming, Jeffrey Archer, Sidney Sheldon, Agatha Christie, Irving Wallace, Marie Corelli, Lewis Carroll and other great writers. I read The Famous Five series, M and B (Mills and Boon) novels and so many exciting books, besides international magazines, such as Right On, Ebony Magazine, and, of course, local publications.

The seed of my literary production began to germinate in my third year in high school, in 1979, when I was a 14-year-old boy filled with sweet dreams of a bright future in a utopian society. However, looking back, I wish I could go back to those sweet days of my childhood.

Youth (15-24) years (1980 – 1989)

I had my 5-year secondary education in 3 schools: Independence Grammar School, Ondo (1976 – 1977); St Charles’Grammar School, Osogbo (1977 – 1978); and Lagos African Church Grammar School, Ifako-Agege, Lagos (1978 – 1982). I was hyperactive in my youth, which, for instance, earned me some popularity, and ranked me among rascals, in school. It might have been triggered by my father’s attempt to impose a career on me. My artistic talent manifested when I was around 14 years old, in high school, but my father wanted me to concentrate on science subjects (particularly physics, chemistry and biology), so I could pursue a career in a prestigious profession. Like most Nigerian parents at the time, he wanted me to become a medical doctor or an engineer, or even a lawyer – anything but a virtual artist. So, he always scolded me anytime he found me “wasting” my time drawing things instead of reading my books. That experience had a psychological effect on me throughout my adolescent period, until my late twenties when I reconnected with art and started writing poetry, though my poetic talent started manifesting in the last 3 years of my high school life – from 1979 to 1982, when I was between 14 and 17 years.

After high school, I proceeded to Lagos State College of Education (later renamed Adeniran Ogunsanya College of Education) for my Nigeria Certificate in education (NCE). My father was a senior lecturer at the institution at the time. I studied English and Christian Religious Studies from 1983 to 1986.

Post-youth (Post-24)

A year after I completed my NCE programme, I was employed by the Lagos State Teaching Commission to teach English in public secondary schools. Three years later, I enrolled at Ondo State University (now Ekiti State University) Ado-Ekiti, where I studied English from 1990 to 1994 and obtained a Bachelor’s degree in education (Bachelor of Education, B.Ed). I obtained an M.Ed (Master of Education) in Educational Management from the same institution in 1997.

I got married at 28, on June 5, 1993, took up an appointment as a teacher of English at Corona Secondary School, an international school headquartered in Lagos, where I worked for 3 years. That was where I wrote my first serious poem, “The Master Potter” in 1998. The editor of the school magazine had asked me to contribute an article to an edition of the magazine, giving me two weeks to turn in my article. On the eve of the deadline, I was unable to write an article on any topic, so I asked if I could send a poem, and he said, “Yes, anything from you will be fine.” I thus forced myself to write the poem later that night. The poem dramatises the plight of teachers in Nigeria; it depicts the situation of an old poverty-stricken teacher who, despite his wretched state, keeps boasting of the great men and women he has produced, looking forward to when he will reap the fruit of his earthly labour in heaven. Every one of my colleagues that saw the poem fell in love with it, some asking for copies of the poem. The poem really spoke to them. That was how I started writing poetry, writing poem after poem almost every day, hoping to, one day, be in a position to reform my society, using art. Then, in February, 2001, two of my poems, ‘He Died’ and ‘I Seek a Woman’ won the BBC Poetry Competition (Network Africa). Several awards were to follow; including Prof Wole Soyinka Award for Literature (2007), Mother Drum Golden Award for Excellence (2012), The Tutuola Palm for Poetry award (2019), and SWANA 2020 Poetry Competition (2020; SWANA: Southwest Association of Nigerian Authors).

My first book, Towards Effective Use of English – A Grammar of Modern English, was published in 1999, followed by Candid Lyrics – An Anthology of Lyrical Poetry (2000), More Candid Lyrics – Another Anthology of Lyrical Poetry (2001), An Offering of Olive – An Anthology of Peace Literature (2004), Service to Fatherland (poetry, 2013), I Know the Smell of My Lover's Skin - A Spring of Lyrics Powered by Love (poetry, 2017), and Dear Child, Look Closely – A Life Manual (poetry; school edition, 2022), and a couple of other books which I co-edited.

I attended University of Lagos, Akoka, Lagos, from where I obtained another Master’s degree – an M.A. (Master of Arts) in English Language – in 2000. I moved to another private school in Lagos, Greensprings Schools, in 2001, where I taught for one year, after which I was offered a lecturing job at a public (Lagos State-owned) college of education, which later transmuted into a university.

My mother died – around 56 – on March 28, 2004, and about 10 months later, on January 25, 2005, my father – 72 – followed. Several times a father, I enrolled at Babcock University, Ilisan-Remo, Ogun State, in 2020, for an M.Phil. (Master of Philosophy) degree course in English (Stylistics). Between 1999 and now, I’ve authored about 10 books, mostly poetry collections, and won several awards.

Looking back

Nigeria has, since Independence, had a chequered socio-political history. The country gained its Independence from Britain in 1960 and became a republic in 1963. It was ruled by military dictators from 1966 to 1999, with a brief return to civilian democracy from 1979 to 1983 – the Second Republic. The resultant political upheavals had adverse effects on the socio-economic life of the country, as reflected in the situation of the citizens. Many of our country’s political leaders – such as commissioners, ministers, governors and even heads of state – who referred to us some forty (40) years ago as “future leaders” are still – even now in their late 70s and 80s – clinging to power. For instance, General Muhammadu Buhari was Nigeria’s head of state between 1983 and 1985, having shot his way to power through a coup détat. I was 18 years old in 1983. Today, thirty-nine (39) years later, the same man is the country’s president, coming back to power seven years ago (in 2015) – after his retirement from the army – as a born-again democrat (serving as the country’s 7th and 15th head of state), following the example of General Olusegun Obasanjo who was the country’s 5th and 12th head of state.

In my youth, I had been filled with dreams and visions of myself as a future leader who would make a difference in the life of my society, offering services needed to alleviate people’s pain. However, looking back, I wish our society could move back to the days of my youth, those days when living standards were high and the cost of living very low, when we lived in peace with our neighbours, enjoying tranquility in every part of our dear country; when, for instance, we used to travel by road and rail across the country without any fear of being killed or kidnapped; when we used to enjoy uninterrupted power supply, a function of solid social and economic infrastructure established – or revamped after Independence – by some of our First-Republic leaders, particularly Chief Obafemi Awolowo, Premier of Western Nigeria, for which many of us now look back with a deep sense of nostalgia.

Suggestions for and about youngsters

I’d advise the youth to read extensively and travel wide and far, as much as they can, to acquire more knowledge and enrich their minds. They should emancipate their minds from primordial stereotypes and sentiments, and work hard along the path of peace, appreciating the beauty of nature dramatised by the rainbow whose charm is a function of diversity. They should deploy their creative energy towards the reformation of the universe. They should avoid the temptation of harbouring a monochromatic approach to life, seeing every instance of otherness as an evil tendency, which is a common cause of conflict. Rather, they should espouse the spirit of Ubuntu, which, translated literally, means, “I am, because we are!”

Adversity has a way of moving people to a realm of higher consciousness. I’d advise those in war and crisis zones to hang on to faith and hope; to, as much as possible, participate actively in cerebral and creative activities, striving to function as a leading light in the search for conflict resolution and peace. I’d advise them to eschew bitterness – for their own peace of mind, and preach forgiveness and reconciliation.

Bio

Folu Agoi, President of the Nigerian Centre of PEN International (aka PEN Nigeria), erstwhile Chairman of Association of Nigerian Authors, ANA, Lagos Branch (March 13, 2004 – October 13, 2007), winner of BBC Poetry Competition (2001) and SWANA 2020 Poetry Competition (Nov 7, 2020; SWANA: Southwest Association of Nigerian Authors), recipient of several awards – including Prof Wole Soyinka Award for Literature (2007), Mother Drum Golden Award for Excellence (2012), The Tutuola Palm for Poetry award (by The Delta Book Club; July 23, 2019), is a creative (and academic) writer, poet, scholar, literary activist, book editor and publisher. A lecturer in the Department of English, Lagos State University of Education (LASUED), Lagos, Nigeria, he has attended conferences and performed his poetry in several towns and cities in Africa, Europe, America and Asia.

Email: [email protected]

[jobkash]

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[revelation19]

So I don’t think I mentioned it on here, but last year I undertook the challenge to read 100 books in a year. I figured I’d drop the list of books that I read here. Almost all of them were good books that I’d encourage you to read. It’s a pretty wide range of topics. Some Sci-Fi, some Fantasy, some History, some Politics, some Economics, some Philosophy, some Theology, etc. 

-Starship Troopers — Robert Heinlein

-Foundation — Isaac Asimov

-Herman Bavinck on Preaching and Preachers— James Eglinton

-Foundation and Empire — Isaac Asimov

-Second Foundation — Isaac Asimov

-Left, Right, & the Prospects for Liberty — Murray N. Rothbard

-Democracy: The God That Failed — Hans Herman Hoppe

-The Forever War — Joe Halderman

-Forever Free — Joe Halderman

-Wolverine, Volume 3: Wolverine’s Revenge — Jason Aaron

-Slaughterhouse-Five — Kurt Vonnegut

-A Separate War — Joe Halderman

-Foundation’s Edge — Isaac Asimov

-The Prince — Niccolò Machiavelli

-Nemesis — Isaac Asimov

-Citizen of the Galaxy — Robert Heinlein

-Hatching Twitter: A True Sotry of Money, Power, Friendship, and Betrayal — Nick Bilton

-Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep — Phillip K. Dick

-The Religious Life of Theological Students — B.B. Warfield

-Out of the Silent Planet — C.S. Lewis

-The Great Divorce — C.S. Lewis

-Behold a Pale Horse — William Milton Cooper

-Confessions of an Economic Hitman — John Perkins

-The Abolition of Man — C.S. Lewis

-Geerhardus Vos: Reformed Biblical Theologian , Confessional Presbyterian — Danny Olinger

-Foundation and Earth — Isaac Asimov

-Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God — Jonathan Edwards

-A River in Darkness: One Man’s Escape from North Korea — Masaji Ishikawa

-Annihilation — Jeff Vandermeer

-Authority — Jeff Vandermeer

-Acceptance — Jeff Vandermeer

-Commentary on 1 Corinthians — John Calvin

-Education, Christianity, and the State — J. Gresham Machen

-Machinery of Freedom: Guide to Radical Capitalism — David Friedman

-The Federal Reserve Conspiracy — Anthony Sutton

-A Book of Five Rings: The Classic Guide to Strategy — Miyamoto Musashi

-Apology — Plato

-Odd and the Frost Giants — Neil Gaiman

-The Universe in a Nutshell — Stephen Hawking

-Prelude to Foundation — Isaac Asimov

-Dear Reader: The Unauthorized Autobiography of Kim Jong Il — Michael Malice

-America before: The Key to Earth’s Lost Civilization — Graham Hancock

-The New Right: A Journey to the Fringe of American Politics — Michael Malice

-The Enchiridion — Epictetus

-The Punisher MAX, Vol 1: In the Beginning — Garth Ennis

-The Machieavellians: Defenders of Freedom — James Burnham

-End the Fed — Ron Paul

-Serenity: Those Left Behind — Joss Whedon

-Ego and Hubris: The Michael Malice Story — Harvey Pekar

-The Art of War — Sun Tzu

-A Renegade History of the United States — Thaddeus Russell

-The Prose Edda — Snorri Sturluson

-My Hero Academia, #1 — Kohei Horikoshi

-My Hero Academia, #2 — Kohei Horikoshi

-Tokyo Ghoul, Tome 1 — Sui Ishida

-Selections from the Table Talk of Martin Luther — Martin Luther

-Animal Farm — George Orwell

-Pointiac: The Life and Legacy of the Famous Native American Chief — Charles River Editors

-Operation Paperclip: The Secret Intelligence Project that Brought Nazi Scientists to America — Annie Jacobsen

-Neuromancer — William Gibson

-The Last Wish — Andrzej Sapkowski

-Sword of Destiny — Andrzej Sapkowski

-Better Days and Other Stories — Joss Whedon

-The Stranger — Albert Camus

-Christianity and Liberalism — J. Gresham Machen

-Count Zero — William Gibson

-Blood of Elves — Andrzej Sapkowski

-Tokyo Ghoul 2 — Sui Ishida

-The World That Couldn’t Be — Clifford Simak

-The Austrian Theory of the Trade Cycle and Other Essays — Richard Ebeling

-Anarchy — Errico Malatesta

-Anarchism and Other Essays — Emma Goldman

-No Treason: The Constitution of No Authority — Lysander Spooner

-Propaganda and Control of the Public Mind — Noam Chomsky

-The Time of Contempt — Andrzej Sapkowski

-The Communist Manifesto — Karl Marx

-Mona Lisa Overdrive — William Gibson

-The Metamorphosis — Franz Kafka

-The Enchiridion on Faith, Hope, and Love — Augustine

-The Structure of Scientific Revolutions — Thomas Kuhn

-The Dunwich Horror — H.P. Lovecraft

-The Machine Stops — E.M. Forster

-Rip Van Winkle — Washington Irving

-The Screwtape Letters — C.S. Lewis

-Self-Reliance — Ralph Waldo Emmerson

-Perspectives on Pentecost — Richard B. Gaffin Jr.

-Wanted: 7 Fearless Engineers! — Orlin Tremaine

-Norse Mythology — Neil Gaiman

-The Whole Armor of God: How Christ’s Victory Strengthens Us for Spiritual Warfare — Iain Duguid

-Bushcraft 101: A Field Guide to the Art of Wilderness Survival — Dave Canterbury

-God With Us: Divine Condescension and the Attributes of God — K. Scott Oliphint

-Blood Meridian, or the Evening Redness in the West — Cormac McCarthy

-Why I Believe in God — Cornelius Van Til

-Paul at Athens — Cornelius Van Til

-Astrphysics for People in a Hurry — Neil DeGrasse Tyson

-Real Dissent: A Libertarian Sets Fire to the Index Card of Allowable Opinion — Thomas E. Woods Jr.

-City of Glass — Paul Auster

-The Articles of Confederation — Continental Congress

-The Temptation of Our Lord — John Bale

-Fool’s Errand: Time to End the War in Afghanistan — Scott Horton

[architectuul]

Going Vertical

The evolution of twisting building form and height contest witness a changing paradigm in skyscrapers globally. The design is based on reducing wind load calculation and efficiency in terms of cost and energy. 

Home Insurance Building in Chicago. | Photo via Wikipedia

Henry Louis Sullivan considered the local reforms in America, marked by the rapid social and economic growth of the 19th century, in his design philosophy. He was considered the father of Modernism and modern skyscrapers. The mass production of steel during the mid 1880s was the complimentary driving force behind the ability to build skyscrapers.

Architect Andrew Nicholas Rebori and colleagues examine the structure of the Home Insurance Building on its demolition in 1931. | Photo via by Chicagology

The Home Insurance Building in Chicago was the first Skyscraper in the world according to the authority on the official heights of tall buildings Council on Tall Buildings and Urban Habitat (CTBUH) in Chicago.Today, the Burj Khalifa is the tallest building in the World, in India the Imperial Towers II have a global ranking of the position 370.

The Imperial Towers II in Mumbai. | Photo via Skyscrapercenter

In Sullivan’s book The Tall Office Building Artistically Considered (1896) writes that the chief characteristic of the tall office building means that the building “is lofty. It must be tall. The force and power of altitude must be in it, the glory and pride of exaltation must be in it. It must be every inch a proud and soaring thing, rising in sheer exaltation that from bottom to top it is a unit without a single dissenting line.”

Burj Khalifa | Photo by Iwan Baan

The term Skyscrapers first referred in 1880 to buildings of 10-20 floors. The tallest buildings were foresighted to glorify the intangible culture as regard, religion, power, victory, amusement, innovation, while the old cities defined their landmark with army cantonments, judiciaries, forts or religious buildings. 

The height categories according to the CTBUH are the level, significant, open-air, pedestrian entrance. | Photo via CTBUH 

First tall buildings have had a virtuous effect on the civilization. It can be traced as wars on defense terrain, deployment of religions and the feelings, on social terrain. Comparison to those of historical monuments and religious buildings of old civilizations may not be appropriate to categorize the skyscrapers of this century, as the new skyscrapers are manifesting the need, which is governed and accepted by corporate culture in democratic aspect. 

Woolworth Building in New York. | Photo via City Reality

In the 19th century, an identical shift to habitable and increasing height prediction in skyscrapers was identifiable, which was equally resistant against wind, earthquake and fire. Controversies are being continued along with the acceptance of growing trends of skyscrapers globally. An identified transition in architectural style was traced by the Woolworth Building, constructed by Cass Gilbert in 1913, reflected Gothic Revival but also considered as Cathedral of Commerce.

The Woolworth Building under construction in April 1912. | Photo via Wikipedia

Originally Woolworth had intended to build a modest bank and office building for his company and his co-sponsors the Irving National Bank, but as the project went on, and the building was finished, it had grown in scope, and become the tallest occupied building in the world. This fusion with cathedral architectural elements in commercial building evoked much public controversy, as architectural historian believed. 

Single-function vs. Mixed-use Buildings. | Source CTBUH

According to Ada Louise Huxtable (2010) “the early skyscraper was an economic phenomenon in which business was the engine that drove innovation. The patron was the investment banker and the inspiration was cost-efficiency. The design was tied to the business equation, and style was secondary to the primary factors of investment and use. The priorities of the men who put up these buildings were economy, efficiency, size.” (On Architecture: Collected Reflections on a Century of Change)

Belongs to the 21st century, engineering innovations have opened the doors towards the sky. Business and tourism are promoting the construction of mix-use skyscraper buildings. The location, density and available resources are the key factors to select the site for skyscrapers. Use of innovative features in new skyscrapers is not only for decoration; these are substantial structural elements which brings cost efficiency and possibility to add more height so on. Curtain wall panels in Trump International Hotel and Tower are made of thermal pane glass encased in aluminum with dual low emissivity coatings that help to retain interior heat in the winter and cool air in the summer.  

The skyscraper shall be the tallest building in the world, after the 9/11 attacks the plans has undergone several revisions. | Photo © Kevin Dickert

Looking up at One World Trade Center. | Photo via The Tower Info

Much of the building's structure and interior of One World Trade Center is built from recycled materials; around 80 percent of the tower's waste products are recycled. The building's PureCell phosphoric acid fuel cells generate 4.8 megawatts (MW) of power, and its waste steam generates electricity.

Jeddah tower (render) and during the construction 2019. | Photo via Vikas

Comprehensive and integrated design and construction process with consideration of life cycle assessment in the making of skyscrapers lead to sustainability, where as cultural context seems to be ignored and influenced with globalization. From design to the maintenance period, count of heat dissipation for two plots of the same area having heights of 10 and 150 meters respectively will be different in a particular region. Other hands it enabled to add vast amounts of floor space using the same amount of ground area. Concentrated density witnessed unhealthily conditions due to Heat urban I -land affect. 

Burj Khalifa in Dubai. | Photo via Dubaiomg

The skyscrapers considered an art form and its construction is a business or the design curve is proportionate to the prices. Witnessing the Burj Khalifa and Jeddah Tower, undoubtedly the crown of height is with Asia. Even they marked a significant impression in research, and tend to increase office and mixed-use floor areas in skyscrapers, which are helpful in business and tourism promotion; it aids efficiency for land consumption and shared use of facilities.

Growing population density enables the thought to go vertical. India is working on infrastructure development and projected to spend some US$1trillion by 2020 on a spectrum of infrastructure projects. Indian policies focus on the horizontal spread and introduced the FSI accordingly. FSI protects the surrounded low-rise urban areas from adverse ecological effects. Except for Mumbai because of the geographical location and most densely populated city of the world, cost of construction, seismic vulnerability, and lack of density required for skyscrapers are major factors, which contest with the adaptability of these structures in India.

Mumbai Skyline India. | Photo via Wikipedia

City’s Skyline protection is one amongst the concerns raised by architects. It includes vista and living supplementary aspect as of adverse neighborhood effect and heritage protection. The evaluation of skyscrapers would be different depending on the specific conditions. However; the greatest architectural contribution in capitalistic society may be termed as skyscrapers.

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by Vikas Sharma

#skyscraper

[quem-tem-boca-vaia-roma]

Porquê o Nazismo vence a Segunda Guerra Mundial como Memória?

“Se há dez pessoas numa mesa, um nazista chega e se senta, e nenhuma pessoa se levanta, então existem onze nazistas numa mesa.” - Ditado alemão

Certamente o dia 30 de abril de 1945 não foi o último dia de 1933. A morte escandalosa, vigarista e covarde de Hitler é encarada como o fim de um regime escatológico, nefasto e incivilizador. Mas na verdade, o que acorre na Alemanha é um duro processo de desnazilização nas esferas da sociedade civil, como a população, militares e setores públicos. O intenso processo de desnazilização começou pelos juízes e promotores que colaboraram com herr Hitler. Assim, os alemães elegeriam a máxima, sic semper tyrannis, “assim sempre aos tiranos” é a maneira como os romanos lutavam para extirpar as tiranias. Mas na mesma medida em que se instaura esse tipo de política, surgem os reacionários que fazem resistência a esse processo, logo, não é raro sabermos de dirigentes do partido, simpatizantes que fugiram dos julgamentos e também desse novo establishment, o refúgio notório foi a América do Sul.

Hitler viver! O Estado nazista abraçava as diretrizes totalitárias e persecutórias, tem como pilar a própria eliminação do indivíduo em detrimento à sociedade, exigindo da própria população a eliminação de preceitos judaico-cristãos, a autoridade é exercida por der Führer, assim, a lealdade e o subjugar-se estava sobre a égide do líder, aqueles que negam delatar, judeus, comunistas, homossexuais, ciganos para Gestapo, esses eram duplamente culpados, primeiro por negar suas raízes arianas e por colaborar com “inimigos à pátria” ou seja, eram criminosos em lesa-pátria. Uma esquizofrenia total, mas que se definiu como uma terceira via as realidades políticas do século XX. Para Hannah Arendt, a famigerada autora judia e alemã. “O sujeito ideal do governo totalitário não é o nazista convicto ou o comunista convicto, mas pessoas para quem a distinção entre fato e ficção (isto é, a realidade da experiência) e a distinção entre verdadeiro e falso (isto é, os padrões de pensamento) não existe”. E novamente a história do mundo se encontra diante da história do nazismo, só que não mais como algo teórico, passou a ser institucional. O nazismo volta de forma sintomática num governo travestido de liberal, cujos nomes ainda prevalecem nos corredores da Gestapo.

Hitler vive! Entre 1932 e 1939 o ocidente ignorou o que acontecia na margem esquerda do rio Reno, obliteramos esse passado para afirmar uma imprevisibilidade, é uma farsa histórica e mais uma vez estamos repetindo esse erro, os paralelos sociais que se constituíram em 1919-1920 na República de Weimar é muito parecido com o processo que observamos em 2019-2020, era o momento de entendermos esse processo e repudia-lo com veemência, a luta contra o nazismo não pode se esgotar, a Alemanha de Merkel nunca se esquece de reafirmar os erros do passado e mesmo assim, existem células simpatizantes e saudosistas ao nazismo, isso já ultrapassou qualquer limite de um espírito de tempo (zeitgeist) se tornou a verdadeira tônica temporal, o repúdio violento deve acontecer em amplas frentes, como o governo, a sociedade civil, organismos internacionais. Parece que assistimos de um mezanino toda a luta contra o nazismo morrer, como víboras nas areias do deserto, ressurgem os fanáticos, os ultradireitistas e os reacionários, estes que ainda não entenderam o seu lugar na história, o lugar da vergonha e do fracasso. É um dever moral lutarmos com violência contra aqueles que imperam sobre as hastes do tempo se orientando para um passado de destruição da civilização.

Hitler vive! Em dezembro de 2019 em um bar em Unaí Minas Gerais José Eugênio Adjuto, de 57 anos usa uma suástica no braço, se autodeclarando um nazista, seria ele mais um dito herdeiro da águia prussiana? O mais engraçado é perceber a postura de um latino, de um sul-americano frente a uma figura que nos desprezava. É um escândalo ninguém se levantar, e pior ainda a polícia não fazer nada, já que alegavam que o homem também não estava fazendo. Será que não? O artigo 20 da Lei nº 7.716, de 1989, diz que é proibido “fabricar, comercializar, distribuir ou veicular símbolos, emblemas, ornamentos, distintivos ou propaganda que utilizem a cruz suástica ou gamada, para fins de divulgação do nazismo”. A pena é de dois a cinco anos de prisão e multa. As instituições brasileiras precisam de fortalecimento e imparcialidade contra aqueles que ferem o estado de direito. O discurso negacionista deve ser enfrentado pela verdade, o fantasma de Hitler se diverte ao notar o quanto o seu imperativo ainda prevalece, e essa resistência não se dá de forma tacanha, mas é algo declarado, o nazismo já provocou repúdio, vergonha, condenação, hoje, parece envaidecer aqueles que acreditam que a solução final é uma ótima alternativa, para política, arte e sociedade. Quando os deuses modernos entrarem no salão de Valhalla, temos que estar prontos com porretes e assegura-lhes uma surra civilizadora. A coisa mais importante do nosso tempo é desconstruir o mito do bom nazista.

Hitler vive! O nazismo vence quanto memória, enquanto aqueles que ousam brandir suas espadas contra a civilização, pela derrota e o silêncio daqueles que não podem mais falar, os que lutam para garantir a sobrevivência da cultura e da tradição, e tradição aqui não é algo imutável e dantesco, mas as permanência e reinvenções da cultura e de convicções. Somos dotados de sabedoria para entender que quando o ovo da serpente eclode o ideal é matar os filhotes e a mãe. Hitler vence enquanto reafirmarmos que o nazismo não era tão ruim, que são equívocos históricos e histéricos dos Aliados. Segue alguns fatos em cronologia daqueles que negam o holocausto. 1942-1944: Para ocultar as evidências da aniquilação dos judeus na Europa, os alemães e seus colaboradores destruíram provas de covas coletivas dos centros de extermínio, bem como de milhares de locais de operações de fuzilamento em massa em territórios ocupados da Polônia e da União Soviética, e também na Sérvia.

1959: A publicação antissemita Cross and the Flag (A Cruz e a Bandeira), pelo pastor americano Gerald L. K. Smith alega que seis milhões de judeus não foram mortos no Holocausto, mas sim que emigraram para os Estados Unidos durante a Segunda Guerra Mundial. 1966-67: Harry Elmer, historiador americano, publica artigos no periódico libertário Rampart Journal afirmando que os países Aliados exageraram a extensão das atrocidades nazistas para justificar uma guerra de agressão contra as forças do Eixo. 1977: David Irving publicou o livro Hitler's War (A Guerra de Hitler), argumentando que Hitler não havia ordenado, e que sequer toleraria uma política nazista de genocídio contra os judeus europeus. Para tal, Irving distorceu evidências históricas, além de tentar utilizar métodos acadêmicos para conferir legitimidade à sua tese. 1987: Bradley Smith, na Califórnia, funda o Comitê para o Debate Aberto sobre o Holocausto. No início da década de 1990, a organização de Smith publica anúncios de página inteira ou editoriais em mais de uma dúzia de jornais estudantis dos EUA, com a manchete “A história do Holocausto: o Quanto é Falso? Justificativa para um Debate Aberto”. A campanha de Smith ajuda a embaçar a linha que divide a promoção do ódio da liberdade de expressão. 1987: Jean Marie Le Pen, líder do partido francês de extrema direita Frente Nacional, sugere que as câmaras de gás foram apenas um “detalhe” da Segunda Guerra Mundial. Le Pen se candidata a presidente da França em 1988 e fica em quarto lugar. 1988: A pedido de Ernst Zündel, Fred Leuchter (um auto-declarado especialista em métodos de execução) viaja ao local do centro de extermínio de Auschwitz. Mais tarde, ele lança Leuchter Report: An Engineering Report on the Alleged Execution Gas Chambers at Auschwitz, Birkenau and Majdanek, Poland (Relatório Leuchter: um Relatório de Engenharia sobre as Supostas Câmaras de Gás em Auschwitz, Birkenau e Majdanek, Polônia), que, segundo os negadores do Holocausto, lança dúvida sobre o uso de câmaras de gás para assassinatos em massa. 1990: O governo francês aprova a Lei Gayssot, segundo a qual questionar a escala de existência de crimes contra a humanidade (conforme definido na Carta de Londres de 1945) é um delito criminal. Esta lei foi o primeiro estatuto europeu a declarar ilegal a negação do Holocausto. 1991: A Associação Histórica Americana, a mais antiga organização profissional de historiadores, emite uma declaração: “Nenhum historiador sério questiona a ocorrência do Holocausto”. 2000: Um tribunal britânico condena David Irving como um “negador ativo do Holocausto”. Irving havia processado Deborah Lipstadt, historiadora da Universidade de Emory, por calúnia e difamação após a publicação de seu livro de 1993, Denying the Holocaust The Growing Assault on Truth and Memory (Negação do Holocausto: a Crescente Agressão Contra a Verdade e a Memória). 2005: Em discurso transmitido ao vivo pela televisão em 14 de dezembro, o então presidente iraniano Mahmoud Ahmadinejad chama o Holocausto de “mito”. 2006: O governo do Irã patrocina um encontro de negadores do Holocausto em Teerã, sob o pretexto de uma conferência acadêmica chamada “Revisão do Holocausto: Visão Global”. 2007: Em 26 de janeiro, as Nações Unidas adotam uma resolução condenando a negação do Holocausto. A Assembleia Geral da ONU declara que a negação é “equivalente à aprovação do genocídio em todas as suas formas”. 2007: A União Europeia aprova a legislação que torna a negação do Holocausto um crime punível com prisão. 2009: O bispo católico Richard Williamson, nascido na Inglaterra, nega a existência das câmaras de gás e minimiza a extensão do extermínio durante o Holocausto. Após algum tempo, o Vaticano solicita que Williamson se retrate das declarações. 2010: em fevereiro, Bradley Smith publica o primeiro anúncio online sobre a negação do Holocausto, que aparece no site Badger Herald, da Universidade de Wisconsin. A Internet – devido à facilidade de acesso e disseminação, anonimato e pretensa autoridade – torna-se o principal canal da negação do Holocausto até o presente.

Hitler vive! Em 2020 o Secretário da Cultura Roberto Alvim (nom d'artiste) do governo Jair Bolsonaro copia o discurso do Reichminister da propaganda de Hitler, Joeseph Goebbles, qualquer semelhança é mera coincidência? O presidente diz que é insustentável permanecer um homem em seu governo que compactua com o nazismo. Será? Quantos mais darão a César o que é de César? Richard Wagner o compositor favorito do Führer não está ao acaso fazendo parte da composição cenônica, é a sonoplastia ideal para um regime de opressão, são esqueçamos os gritos das Cavalgadas das Valquírias, a Ópera Lohengrin e a Das Rheingold são utilizadas como odes ao Nacional Socialismo Alemão. O ouro do Reno foi roubado e para retomá-lo é preciso eliminar aqueles que fogem da autoridade. Arte heroica? Imperativa? Nacional? Vinculante, ou então não será nada? A frase como o secretário diz é perfeita. A cineasta, fraülein Leni Riefenstahl com o cinema nazista O Triunfo da Vontade, Olympia são as obras perfeitas que compactua profundamente com esse discurso, o secretário não é heroico, mas uma vergonha nacional. Ambos acreditavam num declínio moral e intelectual na Alemanha e por isso apoiavam dirimir as práticas culturais que consideravam degeneradas.

Hitler vive! O secretário da Cultura foi demitido pela presidência do dia seguinte, uma mera demissão. Notas de repúdio, mas e o concurso que a secretaria está promovendo? Os crimes contra o povo judeu? Mas as máculas permanecem, e sempre permaneceram. O Governo diz não se pronunciar a respeito do conteúdo dos vídeos, mais um erro, o silenciamento não é uma dádiva, é a conivência, fazendo isso Governo descortina ainda mais e dar voz aqueles que não tem mais vergonha de estar nas sombras. Ao que tudo indica estamos nos banhando nas águas do equívoco. Devemos eliminar as ervas daninhas, fazer a danação da memória (Damnatio memoriae) de Hitler, não à maneira romana, ao ponto de salgar Berlim ou sua casa, mas uma condenação moderna, onde a figura se torna um exemplo dissuasivo, não a figura romantizada de self-made man. Não é a o apagamento ou a obliteração da figura, mas dar a ele e ao seu regime o túmulo escriturário necessário, agir de forma com que a política se torne mais agressiva contra os sujeitos de um regime totalitário e aqueles que insistem em ter simpatia, isso não é liberdade de expressão ou de pensamento, é a condenação de milhares de pessoas que ainda tem seus corpos insepultos e tudo o que restou foi o gosto amargo, farisaico de cinzas em nossas bocas, cinzas do povo apenado, que sofreu o holókautos (corpo todo queimado - cremação em grego) cujas cinzas ainda permanecem em sofrimento infinito. É inaceitável que em 2020 ainda precisamos ensinar o que aconteceu na Alemanha e o que não devemos fazer. Tão pouco ensinar a história da Alemanha para os alemães e continuamos tentando e falhando nisso, aumentando ainda mais a nossa vergonha, quero dizer, nossa falta de vergonha. Se há um nazista num governo e ninguém se retira do governo, então temos um governo nazista. Enquanto deixarmos isso acontecer, o nazismo vence quanto memória e cada vez que evitarmos esse debate, Hitler permanecerá em júbilos eternos, melhor dizer de maneira bastante alemã, shandenfreude, isto é, alegria ou contentamento pela destruição, a Teoria do valor da ruína faz ainda mais sentindo e portanto, se Berlim ainda se desespera, o que será de nós? Será que o diabo não é tão feio quanto se pinta? Ele é pior.

Gabriel Costa Pereira - Professor e Historiador da Arte da rede particular de ensino, pesquisador de estética, arquitetura e política nazista. Ensaio escrito no dia 17 de janeiro de 2020.

[batbedbugstreatment-blog]

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[harvest-honeymoon]

Raining Pitchforks

So,,, this is that Court Verse intro I talked about in the twitter poll I linked earlier. This is a long fuckin’ boy but I had a lot of fun writing it, since I really enjoy these characters.

Just as a note, this fic contains swearing, mentions of the Devil and urban legends, and 2 instances of misgendering, as Orianna/Pirouletta is a transwoman still coming to terms with her identity and hasn’t disclosed it to Sixer/King Dice. I know that subject matter can be triggering for some folks, so I’m putting a warning and ‘#misgendering tw’ for blacklisting purposes.

“Son of a bitch, whose idea was this?”

The question posed was rhetorical and often reiterated. It made Irving smile faintly and shake his head, even as he felt rainwater patter against the inside. Thunder rolled in the background, making his cup-headed brother Rudyard flinch.

Although the two toons lingered under an outcropping of trees, the torrent the sky bore seemed unyielding. The branches that loomed above them did little to shield them from the weather, let alone the handmade box of moonshine that sat at their feet. The rocky outcroppings behind them were slick from the rain. Even the mountains seemed soaked.

“You were th’ one who wanted out th’ house,” Irving replied.

“Well, yeah,” Rudy answered. “I was goin’ stir crazy! I can’t jus’ sit an’ sleep all day.”

The red toon wrung out his shirt, frowning. The bent, striped straw in his head swooped along his rim as he looked down at himself.

Although Irving didn’t pace about or bubble over, he too frowned, brow furrowed. He leaned against the damp trunk of a tree, arms folded over his chest. One hand’s set of fingers drummed on his upper arm.

“Y’think we rushed him?” Irving asked. “Made him nervous?”

“There’s nervous, then there’s leavin’ us an’ our hooch in th’ pourin’ fuckin’ rain,” Rudy said.

“I doubt he was gonna buy any of Ma’s stuff, Irv, even with th’ discount.”

Irving sighed quietly, bowing his head. Rudy picked up the box.

“C’mon, let’s go. We’ll catch our death out here.”

“We’re still fifteen bucks short.”

Rudy had started to take a step out from under the canopy, only to pause. Irv didn’t move a muscle.

“Irv, things’re tough all over,” Rudyard replied after a moment.

“It won’t be th’ end of th’ world if we tell ‘em we need a couple days. Even then, we’ve lived without electricity b’fore.”

The cup toon took the step he’d been planning, then another, starting to walk away.

“We can make candles like we used t’ when we were sippy cups. Bathe in th’ river.”

Rudy flicked his straw, so it sat comfortably at the back of his head.

“Who needs gas power anyway?”

Thunder roared just above them, causing Rudy to jump again and stop in his tracks. Unmoving, Irving glanced to the box Rudy held, his eyes lingering on its smudging XXX label.

“We promised Ma.”

Rudy swallowed, then returned to the tree. The brothers turned to look out over a field of grass beside them, each in thought.

With the heavy clouds that clung to the sky, the night was darker than most. The distant lights of Nib City hardly penetrated the gloom, only catching a set of defunct railroad tracks cutting through the prairie grass. Urban legend told of a ghostly train that had taken residence in place of the old engine, after the railway company dissolved under mysterious circumstances decades back. Nights like this guaranteed its arrival and departure for the unlucky found alone and destitute, or so folks said.

While no train occupied this space, the mere idea made Irving apprehensive. The mug-headed toon pulled out a cracked pocket watch and wiped at the glass face, to give himself something else to look at. The time read 11:59 PM, then 12 AM only a few seconds later.

At the stroke of midnight, the field was bathed in a soft, orange glow. Rudy stared, then nudged Irv to get his attention. Both pairs of eyes followed the light, which seemed to dance across the grass and shadows, to its origin, a cave in the mountainside.

This cave had its own fair share of stories, around Inkwell Isle. Some had claimed it was a bottomless pit, from which none who fell could ever escape. Some had said it was some primordial womb, where all had been born and were to die, should they try to reenter the sacred space. The most commonly held belief, however, was that the cave housed unfettered evi, so vile and conniving, the locals had blocked the entrance with stones for generations. The Devil himself was said to dwell within the cave, and should he find some hapless soul within his domain, they were most certainly damned.

Due to these superstitions and its peculiar resemblance to a yawning mouth, the cave had been dubbed The Devil’s Maw. As times changed, beliefs shifted, and explorers ventured into its depths, the aforementioned stones were removed from its entrance, but hushed whispers still spoke ill of the place and the youth were discouraged from entering its bounds.

By day, it appeared a sleepy chasm, untouched by color or sunlight… But now, it spoke with a tongue of molten silver to the young men, beckoning them inwards.

“...you’re seein’ that, right?” Irving asked.

“Sure am,” Rudy replied, awed.

“...last one there’s chipped porcelain!”

The cup toon took off like a shot across the field. Irving stalled a moment then pursued, shouting his way.

“Rudyard, what the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

“What’s it look like?” Rudy called back. “I’m goin’ lookin’!”

“Like hell you are!”

Clutching the moonshine to his chest, Rudy’s head sloshed liquid onto his shoulders and the ground behind him, but that didn’t stop either of them any.

“We need to sell that booze!” Irving spat.

“We’ve got 4 hours at most before the best bars in Nib close!”

“I know!”

“So why are you runnin’ the complete opposite direction, jackass?!”

Rudy grinned, looking to his brother.

“First off, my head’s gonna roll off my shoulders, with all this rain in it! I need it out, an’ I bet you do too! Second off, I figure if there’s light, there’s somebody livin’ here! If there’s somebody livin’ here, then there’s somebody who can buy our shit!”

Lightning struck just behind the two brothers, causing them both to yelp in surprise. Rudy let out an adrenaline-fueled laugh.

“You can’t tell me you wanna walk home while it’s rainin’ pitchforks out here!”

With these words, the brothers entered the cave and slowed to a halt to clean themselves up.

“I don’t, y’got me there,” Irv admitted. “But I doubt there’s anyone worthwhile here. The only folks you’ll find is at best, squatters, or at worst, a cult.”

“Since when do squatters put up neon signs? ‘R cults, fer that matter?”

Irving stopped and stared, following Rudy’s hand as he pointed. A large grouping of stalactites ahead and above them was emblazoned with a quartet of neon playing cards, each with a unique suit.

“...can’t say for certain,” Irv replied, unperturbed. “But I wouldn’t discount the latter.”

Rudy’s expression flattened, his hands busy straightening his head. He then picked up his box and started walking into the depths of the cave, with Irving in tow. The air had a strong sweet-sour smell to it, but it didn’t take long for them to get used to it.

“Y’were supposed t’ let me be right about people livin’ here,” Rudy snarked.

“Y’know, fer more than half a second.”

“That was a lucky guess,” Irving observed dryly.

“A lucky guess that’ll keep us from, I dunno, gettin’ pneumonia.”

“We probably have double pneumonia already at this rate.”

Despite his annoyance, Rudy chuckled as they walked along. Double pneumonia was another staple of banter between them.

“Triple fuckin’ pneumonia with a side ‘f exposure. It was like Noah’s Ark out there.”

The brothers continued into the cave, looking about as more signs of civilization came their way. Neon arrows pointing deeper into the Maw decorated the walls, as did moving signs depicting showgirls, drinks, chess pieces, dice, and more card suits. 2 more signs reading ‘WELCOME’ and ‘CASINO ENTRANCE’ were embedded into the hanging rock of the ceiling, with a 12 ft gap between each. The air around them warmed, the further they went into the cave.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Irv deadpanned.

“No way,” Rudy beamed. “Noooo fuckin’ way--”

“Who on Earth builds a casino in a cave?”

“Someone who’s real hep an’ happenin’ I bet,” Rudy said excitedly.

“They must have some real big operation, t’ have t’ hide it in here.”

“All the more reason to head back out,” Irving snarked, eyeing the advertising.

The brothers then happened upon a series of tall, rounded steps, carpeted with lush, red cotton and accented with gold trim. Two rows of white topped stanchions marked a path with velvet rope. At their feet read the words ‘TRY★YOUR★LUCK’. Beyond these steps laid a ritzy casino built on the edge of a cliff, unlike anything either of them had ever seen. Volcanoes erupted below and beyond their line of sight, painting the domed walls and ceiling of the cavern with the orange light they’d seen outside.

Dancing on the edge of theme park and luxury hotel, buildings in the shape of archaic chess pieces surrounded the back end of the establishment, giving the resort an imposing silhouette against the newly understood berth of the cave. The main building itself was tall and sleek in design, as it was cream in color with plum windows all down its front. Topped with a reddish dome roof, past a fountain of lava circled by prancing demon statues, and betwixt a pair of oversized game dice, the hotel lacked lighted signage, save for some neon pink cursive above its red front doors.

“The Devil’s Casino?” Irving mumbled to himself.  “That’s awful kitschy,”

Irving stood, contemplating the architecture, while Rudy mounted the stairs, smiling wide.

“I was right! I was right, there’s people here, they’ve got money, I was right--”

In that moment, Rudy reached the top of the stairwell, only to bump into someone who towered over him. The cup toon took a step back and shook his head, only to realize what had just happened. The stranger seemed to have come out of nowhere.

“Aw hell, sorry about that! Didn’t see you there.”

“Y’needn’t worry, my good man.”

The toon Rudyard had bumped into had a game die for a head, a pencil-thin mustache, and a winning smile. Dressed to the nines in a cream zoot suit, shined and spatted shoes, and a pink bow tie, the stranger readjusted his suit jacket after the brush-by, but did so without making a fuss. His voice was sure to smooth over any remaining matters, as it was slick and low, but friendly.

“I was hopin’ I’d bump into you two. I heard y’halfway down th’ cavern.”

“Our apologies, sir,” Irving said, stepping forward. “The echo in here carried further than we thought.”

Rudy rolled his eyes and folded his arms. The die toon let out a short laugh.

“I didn’t say you were causin’ a racket,” the stranger replied. “There’s no need to apologize.”

“Are you here t’ play, gentlemen?”

“Yeah,” Rudy replied with confidence. “We’re here t’ pl--”

Irving put a hand over his brother’s mouth, causing Rudy to grit his teeth against his hand.

“Actually, we’re here on business.”

“That a fact now? Well, I s’ppose I should introduce myself then,” the suited toon replied.

He put forward a gloved hand for Irving to shake.

“Name’s Heath Cesarano. My friends call me Sixer, an’ I own Th’ Devil’s Casino.”

“Irving Biccheiri,” the blue toon introduced himself. “This is my brother, Rudyard. We run a bootlegging business out in the Scapes.”

Irving and Heath shook hands, freeing Rudy in the process. Although he seemed miffed by his brother’s invasion of personal space, the red toon shook Sixer’s hand as well, when it was offered to him. On mention of bootlegging, the die toon’s eyebrow quirked in interest.

“Is that what you’ve got in your hands there?” Heath asked, gesturing to the box in Rudy’s arms.

“Finest stuff on the east end of the Isle,” Rudy boasted.

“We’re looking to sell it,” Irving explained.

“I see,” Heath said, rubbing his chin in thought. “Do y’mind if I sample your wares?”

“Be our guest,” Rudy replied. Irving swallowed beside him.

On choosing a bottle, Sixer uncorked it and took a sip,  hen pulled it away from his mouth. He smacked his lips as he tasted the spirits, then smiled at the young men.

“Say, that’s not half bad,” he remarked. “You boys’ve got somethin’ in the making, definitely.”

“In the making?” Irving asked. “Or worth selling?”

“Hah, you’ve keen ears,” Heath observed. His tone shifted as he spoke, sounding authoritative.

“I’m afraid that while I like what you’ve got, I can’t sell it at my establishment, nor can I let you sell it too close by. Th’ folks in there are lookin’ for high-quality hooch from names they know an’ can trust.”

Irving’s expression saddened with these words. Rudy took note and moved in front of Irving, looking Heath dead in the eye.

“No offense, Mr. Cesarano,” Rudy said. “But we’ve been selling our stuff all up an’ down th’ Isle.”

“We’re in some of th’ bars you’ll find in Nib City, an’ real popular in th’ Scapes.”

“That might be so,” Sixer replied. “But I only just met you boys t’night.”

“I’ve got a certain standard to meet at th’ behest of my landlord. It’s nothin’ personal.”

Rudy looked ready to argue but held off. Irving didn’t speak further, though it was clear he was trying to put on a brave face.

“We appreciate yer business, regardless,” Rudy told their new acquaintance. “That’ll be $3.”

Sixer pulled out four dollar bills and handed them to Irving. Irving paused, looking over the money in his hands, then looked to Sixer questioningly. Sixer winked, then spoke up again.

“If it ain’t too much t’ ask… Why are you boys lookin’ to sell, anyhow?”

Irving’s hands curled, as he folded his arms over his chest again.

“Simple,” Rudy answered, mirroring his brother’s gesture.

“We got bills t’ pay an’ mouths t’ feed, same as anybody. Rent’s comin’ up t’morrow an’ we’re eleven bucks short.”

“Ah,” Sixer replied. “My apologies for proddin’.”

“It is what it is. No need to be sorry.”

“I’m guessin’ you can’t sell much back in th’ Scapes, then?” Sixer prodded. “With yer presence?”

“Well, not right now, yeah,” Rudy agreed.

“We were s’pposed t’ meet somebody from Nib City for a deal,” Irving added. “But he didn’t show.”

“The storm caught up with us not long after.”

Sixer’s expression softened a little as the boys explained their situation. After a moment of thought, this softness faded away, instead replaced with a wily glint to the older toon’s eye.

“That’s a real shame that fella skipped out on ya, but I don’t think you’re out of luck for th’ night.”

Rudy looked on with interest. He had a feeling he knew where Heath was going.

“You could always take a shot at the games here,” Sixer continued. “If nothin’ else, you could dry off an’ get somethin’ to tide yourselves over.”

“I hear that storm ain’t s’pposed to let up until noon t’morrow. You won’t wanna be crossin’ those tracks out front if you can help it.”

Rudy considered the die-head’s words. Irving exhaled breath through his nose.

“You boys ever gambled b’fore?”

“I might be half yer size but I ain't-a kid,” Rudy scoffed. “Course I have.”

“Rudy, we should get going,” Irving muttered. “We couldn’t make a sale an’ we’re dry enough.”

“We couldn’t make a sale, sure,” Rudy replied. “But I could make a wager.”

Irving glowered at the prospect. Rudy frowned in response.

“Irving, if I play here, I could win us the cash we need t’ pay off rent t’morrow! We don’t gotta trudge out there, we don’t gotta get stood up-- It’ll be a cinch!”

The mug-head still didn’t look convinced, so Rudy put both of his hands on his shoulders, turning him away from Sixer so their discussion could be more private.

“Irving… C’mon, Irv. You’ve been workin’ yerself to th’ bone all month.”

Irving’s gaze went half-lidded. In the firelight and neon, the bags under his eyes could easily be seen. All the while, Sixer watched the young men talk to each other, grinning to himself knowingly.

“Let me handle th’ moneymakin’, you take a load off, an’ we can wait this out t’gether. You don’t gotta lift a finger.”

After a moment of consideration, the blue toon sighed.

“...Alright. If you think you can.”

“I know I can,” Rudy beamed. “They don’t call me Big Red fer nothin’.”

Irving cringed, making Rudy snicker. Sixer took a step forward, smiling.

“With a nickname like that, I can’t help but ask; you a craps player, by chance?”

“S’my favorite way t’ gamble!” Rudy answered, slinging an arm over Irv’s shoulders. Irving’s eyes narrowed.

“In that case, you should head on in an’ take a left, then a right,” Sixer advised.

“You’ll find our craps tables real easy.”

Rudy clinked his head against his brother’s as a gesture of affection, then took off into the casino, still holding the box of moonshine. Irving chose not to match his pace this time, as fatigue was starting to weigh on him. Sixer noticed as he looked down at his other pint-sized patron.

“And you?” Sixer asked. “Any preference?”

“I’m a cards guy,” Irving admitted. “But I don’t gamble, let alone in a place plastered with devils.”

Sixer’s grin got tight around the edges as he moved to Irving’s side.

“Aw, wheat, you superstitious ‘r somethin’? Don’t get yer suspenders in a twist, it’s just a motif.”

As the two walked into the casino, the various eyes of the devils in the decorating watched Irving as he passed. Irving didn’t notice at that moment, though he did feel oddly watched.

“I was about to ask you the same thing,” Irving replied. “What with that train track comment.”

“Hah, I wouldn’t call myself superstitious,” Sixer started.

“More just… Aware. I’ve had my fair share of experiences that’ve made me privy to the goings on around these parts.”

“Uh huh,” Irving replied, a bit distracted.

It was hard to blame him, with the hullabaloo going on around them, but Sixer still had to resist the urge to give him a dirty look. A uniformed toon with a heart for a head moved up beside Sixer to whisper something to him, before departing from the conversation.

The die toon looked down at the mug toon again, giving him an apologetic smile.

“As much as I’d love to continue our talk, I’m afraid I’ve got business t’ attend to. You’ll find our bars well stocked and lounges abound. If y’need anything, keep your eyes out for folks dressed like her--”

The die-head gestured to the heart toon, as she weaved in and out of the crowd.

“Or come find me. Oh, an’ I want you to have this.”

Heath extended a business card between two fingers to Irving. The card was matte and emblazoned with a devil, a pair of purple pipped dice, and multiple red roses. It even had gold trim.

“Like I was sayin’ earlier, you boys’ve got good stuff. I might take you up on the offer we discussed, should you improve yer product.”

“Thank you, sir,” Irving replied without enthusiasm.

“Please, call me Sixer. And if we don’t meet again, Irving, I hope you have a good night.”

“Likewise.”

With that, Sixer blended into the crowd, leaving each cup brother to their own devices.

— — —

By the time Irving supposed he ought to find his brother, an hour had passed. How, he had little idea.

One moment, he was being served water by an orange cocktail toon in a blue dress; the next, swing music roared through the halls, signaling the start of some sort of nightly shindig. Checking his pocket watch, the blue toon got up with a start and nearly fell off his barstool, but managed to tip his bartender and head out of the lounge without further trouble.

The joint reeked of booze, cigar smoke, and metal, with a tinge of marijuana and sweat, no matter what room he walked through. Noise constantly rang in his ears, ranging from vapid conversations and bad pick up lines to the obnoxious rattling, slamming, and pinging of an arcade. Top it off with the crowds of people trying to shout over the noise, and subsequently, each other, and Irving swore his porcelain head was going to crack from the decibel count.

It didn’t help that the damned place was so dark. For whatever reason, the architect had opted for interiors that caught shadows like a hungry spider, coupled with luminaires akin to candlelight. This only made the sounds louder, the smells stronger, and Irving’s mood worsen.

The mug toon’s discontent was so clear, it made Rudy pause just before throwing down his dice in another round of craps.

“Where were you?”  Irving demanded.

“Busy,” Rudy said as he rolled. “What’s it look like?”

The dice hit the wall of the table, revealing a 12. Rudy winced.

The dealer came over and took half a stack of chips, handing them over to a skeleton in a bow tie and a bowler hat. The patron leered at him, making Rudy grouse and pull what little stacks he had close to him.

“I hit a good streak while you were takin’ a break, so I’m ridin’ it.”

”How good?” Irving prodded

“Those chips are worth $1,” Rudy said, pointing to his hoard and across the table.

“Those’re worth $5, an’ these are worth $10. I even managed to squeeze a 25 out of an Aussie on th’ far end.”

Irving glanced up, seeing a skeletal, bipedal horse where Rudy gestured. The equine toon looked mean, even for a dead man.

“This is more than enough, then,” Irving figured, averting his eyes to Rudyard’s chips.

“It was,” Rudy said. “Until you threw me off.”

He shot his brother a glare, as the crowd cheered for another patron.

“Now I gotta win it back.”

“Do you still have what we made outside?” Irving pressed.

“‘Course I do! I ain’t as dumb as I look,” Rudy exclaimed.

“Then... What are you gamblin’ with?”

Rudy rolled the dice again, earning himself a $5 chip.

“My soul. I cashed it out for $75 in chips.”

Irving stared at his brother in disbelief.

“What?” Rudy asked. “I didn’t wanna spend th’ money you got.”

“Rudy, we’re in a casino named after the Devil.”

“Yeah? And?”

“What do you think the cashier meant when they said you could bet your soul?”

“Th’ cashier didn’t tell me nothin’. Some dominohead he was talkin’ to told me it’s a secret transaction unique to this joint. Th’ guy looked like a high roller, so I gave it a try. I didn’t have to hand any money over or anythin’.”

“They just… Gave you the chips?”

“No, I had to sign somethin’ beforehand,” Rudy shrugged. “But that was about it.”

“Did you even read it?”

“I skimmed it,” Rudy admitted. “It was just some casino contract. No big deal.”

Irving looked like he was going to ascend, the longer Rudy went on. Before Irving could chew his brother out, both toons felt powerful hands on their outermost shoulders.

“Hi-de-ho, gentlemen,” Sixer greeted them. “How goes your game?”

“Oh, I’m the only one playin’,” Rudy explained. “But it’s been goin’ alright.”

“I took up that soul deal ‘f yours for these chips. We’ll be eatin’ like kings t’night!”

“Did you now? An’ how’d you find out ‘bout it?”

The look in Heath’s eyes was too pleased for Irving’s liking. The die-head, as if reading his thoughts, moved his hands off them and stood beside Rudy, as the two talked.

“I was talkin’ to some domino guy in a boater hat, at th’ cashier’s booth. He’s the one who clued me in.”

“That’d be my buddy Pippin,” Sixer remarked warmly. “He helps me run th’ joint.”

“Does your ‘buddy’ happen to swoop in on every country boy who walks through your door?”

Sixer was about to say something, only to pause with Irving’s comment.

“Awful convenient he was there to give Rudy the news. Especially since you were the only person we told about our situation.”

The suited toon chuckled lightly. Irving could feel the air chill.

“Pippin doesn’t swoop, Irving. He loves people as much as anybody.”

Rudy, half listening to their conversation, rolled another turn and scored an 11. The table roared in approval, the dealer slipping him a couple stacks for winning the bet. Ironically, the dealer had a head of stacked chips himself, his face lined with horizontal stripes of orange, blue, and indigo.

Irving immediately set to work counting the chips. Sixer eyed him with a sharpening gaze.

“So with that ‘soul swap’ you did and our remaining debt, you’d need... 86 bucks to break even.”

“How much more do I need?” Rudy glanced his brother’s way, catching his worn expression.

“10 bucks.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” Rudy swore. “This table’s been colder than a meat locker most of th’ night.”

“Why don’t we raise the stakes, then?”

Sixer said this while motioning to the dealer, shooting Rudy a playful smirk.

“Sharps, get me a stack of fives, wouldja? I’m bettin’ th’ pass line.”

Sharps did as he was told, passing Sixer 20 $5 chips in exchange for a crisp $100 bill. The rest of the table’s players backed away, including the horse toon. Despite the change in atmosphere, Rudy grinned right back, a fire in his eyes.

Irving folded his arms tightly as the two men started to compete, forcing himself to watch the table instead of risking catching Sixer’s eye. There was something about the die-head that bothered him more than most, but he couldn’t place why, and that fact put him on edge.

A litany of rounds passed, but Irving wouldn’t have been able to tell anyone all of what happened. Some rolls got yells in glee, others had people throwing their hats to the floor. Chips went all around the rim of the table every which way, at dizzying speed. People chattered ceaselessly. The room seemed filled with eyes, all boring down on him and his brother.

Eventually, Rudy called out through the clamor, hopping up on the edge of the craps table to stand above the crowd. He breathed hard, face aglow from the adrenaline of gambling.

“Alright, you lot! This’ll be my last play!!”

Irving started to sigh in relief, only for Sixer to speak up. The die toon’s tone dripped with confidence and charisma, as he loomed over the craps’ table.

“If that’s th’ case, then I wager my soul an’ Sharps’! Right here, right now!”

Sixer pushed forward his remaining chips, which totaled to $150. The crowd whooped and laughed, eating up Heath’s enthusiasm like it was an inside joke. Sharps smirked faintly, shaking his head.

“Come an’ get me, small fry!”

The cup toon’s eyes rolled in his porcelain head like slots, turning to a pair of dollar signs.

“You’re on, Cesarano!”

Irving held his breath and lifted his head from watching the table, only to stare at something beyond the mass of people around them.

Across the room, there stood a great tapestry of imps and hellish creatures, galavanting through what appeared to be a monochrome jungle. Stretching high above the heads of the patrons gathered around, Irving would’ve figured it some priceless artifact… If the eyes of its inhabitants didn’t roll as well and fix on him. A chill spread throughout the mug toon’s chest.

“Rudyard,” Irving tried to say. “Rudy, we shouldn’t be here--”

“Irv, step off, I’ve got this.”

“No, you don’t. We need to go, now.”

The people around Irving booed, causing a ripple throughout the rest of the crowd. Rudy grimaced and threw his fists to his sides, midway through blowing into his rolling hand for good luck. His eyes had returned to their normal pie cut irises.

“I mean it, Irv, I don’t need your shit right now,” Rudy said sharply. “Let me do my thing.”

“My shit?” Irving demanded. “My shit?!”

“I’ve been dealing with your shit ever since we got here, Rudyard, and I’ve had it! If I weren’t exhausted from doing all the damn work back home, I would’ve dragged you out of here by your handle!”

The mug toon took a step forward, getting up in his brother’s face and earning more protest from the crowd. Rudy’s expression got dark, the liquid in his head bubbling.

“Well, now whose fault is that?” Rudy seethed.

“You never let me do fuck anythin’! I’m trying to do you a goddamn favor, so if you could sit the hell back and pull yer straw out of yer ass, I’d appreciate it!”

“Gambling isn’t a favor!” Irving spat. “Gambling is you, slacking off, getting into trouble, giving Ma a fuckin’ heart attack--!”

“You leave her the fuck outta this—” Rudy threatened.

“Then fold the damn game!” Irving ordered.

The cup toon clenched his teeth and looked his brother square in the eye.

“Fuck. You.”

Rudy threw down the dice forcefully, making them bounce hard against the back wall. Irving grabbed his wrist hard enough to bruise, but the damage was already done.

Snake eyes.

The crowd let out a low moan of sympathy and dissipated behind them. Now Rudy felt the same cold as his brother, looking down at the craps table. Irving stared down as well, then threw the cup toon’s wrist away, storming through the crowd and towards a doorway leading out of the craps room.

The moment he got a foot through the door, the mug toon collided with something hard enough to make him stumble backward. Irving sat up to protest, only to stop. In the meanwhile, Sixer made his way over to Rudy, putting a hand on his shoulder again, but without the camaraderie of before.

“Well, ain’t that a shame?”

A black sigil blocked the doorway. Looking around the room, similar occult drawings blocked the other doors, effectively trapping them in the room. Irving’s head moved Sixer and Rudy’s direction, hearing the snap of Heath’s fingers. With this motion, the contract Rudy signed appeared in Heath’s hand, which he proceeded to unroll and read over.

“Mhhm. As I suspected. You, my friend, are in debt.”

“Y’don’t gotta rub it in,” Rudy said quietly.

“Oh, I ain’t rubbin’,” Heath hummed. “But I’m gonna need both of your souls, as per our agreement.”

“What?”

Irving got up and stumbled back their way. Rudy couldn’t look him in the eye.

“I said,” Heath repeated. “As per our agreement, I’m gonna need both of yer souls, since that’s what I won in our wager.”

“Our souls?” Rudy asked. “As in… Immortal souls?”

“Mhhm,” Heath agreed. The die toon seemed detached, as if he’d gone through this spiel before.

“Why do you need his?” Rudy asked, pointing to Irving. “I’m th’ only one who signed.”

Heath smiled and shook his head, offering the contract for Rudy to read and reciting the terms off his head for Irving.

“Paragraph four, section one, addendum one. ‘Should the client be unable to pay a debt or a wager, due to a lack of necessary, spiritual capital, souls within the client’s company including, but not limited to, friends, family, pets, et cetera, shall be collected as seen fit, in order to ensure a fair transaction between the associated parties.’”

Rudy’s shoulders sank. Irving stepped forward to stand next to Rudy, though he kept distance between them. He stared hard at Sixer, trying to comprehend what had just happened.

“...so we’re damned, then,” the mug toon said eventually

“Essentially,” Sixer replied. “I wagered my soul an’ my dealer’s in th’ form of those chips. Ergo, two souls. Rudyard here only had th’ chips to cover one.”

“I didn’t think you could wager a soul,” Rudy said, with a little laugh.

“I-I thought it was a steal… I… I...”

“Aw, don’t beat yerself up, wheat,” Sixer said, waving his hand dismissively. “Hell ain’t so bad.”

“I visit from time t’ time. It’s a little on th’ warm side, as you could imagine, but it ain’t all fire an’ brimstone.”

“...may I see that?” Irving asked, gesturing to Heath’s hand.

“Sure thing, kid.”

Heath handed over the contract, which Irving proceeded to scour. Rudy looked to Sixer with wide, sad eyes, mouth faintly open as if he was trying to protest. Sixer averted his gaze from the cup toon, opting for Irving instead.

“Here.”

Irving pressed his finger next to another paragraph and turned the paper Sixer’s way, then back to himself, to read.

“...paragraph six, section six. ‘Should a client wish for the return of their immortal soul, they are allowed to perform a designated task for the interested party, according to said party’s jurisdiction. This can include the retrieval of items and other souls, the harm or killing of another person, with or without a body, assistance in correspondence between the party and others, et cetera. Should the task be agreed upon by both entities and completed by the client, the client’s soul, and any souls hitherto collected, shall be restored.’”

As Irving read, Heath’s eyebrows furrowed, then perked, as he thought on these words. He got a wicked smile, seeing Irving’s angle.

“So you wanna work for me to get ‘em back, huh?”

“Yes, sir,” Irving said, with a stony tone. The word ‘sir’ dripped venom.

“Well then you boys are lucky,” Heath remarked. “Cuz you ain’t the only ones who got rent t’ pay.”

The pair of siblings stared, apprehensive.

“I need souls like yours t’ keep the lights on here. My landlord ain’t interested in, ah, standard currency. There’s been a trend ‘round these parts of people comin’ to my place, sellin’ their souls to get chips… Then duckin’ out, whether they win or lose.”

Heath’s expression darkened. As he was 6’6”, he towered over the brothers, who each were around 4’0”, making him appear quite imposing.

“Now boys,” Heath went on. “Think of me what y’will, but I ain't-a cruel man.”

“I have it that my contract necessitates collection, but not immediately so. I let folks say their goodbyes, I let ‘em tie up loose ends… Hell, sometimes I let folks keep their souls ‘til their natural end if it strikes my fancy. I also know these folks are strugglin’, same as you. Everyone’s tryin’ t’ get by, however they can.”

Sixer paced around the cup toons as he spoke, fixing the rose in his lapel. He reminded Rudy of a jaguar, and Irving a cobra.

“But,” Heath concluded. “I believe that when terms like this are broken, they require punishment.”

“These folks agreed, like you, to hand over their souls and they know it. The lot of ‘em raided my casino a month ago an’ made off with their contracts, no doubt to try an’ forge up new terms, conditions, ‘r signatures. Those puppies are enchanted, so they can’t be altered by anybody but me, but I still need the physical copy I signed with my clients. They grant me proof of ownership.”

“So you want us t’ be yer repo men,” Rudy clarified. “Is what yer sayin’?”

“When it comes down t’ brass tacks, yes,” Heath agreed. “But you won’t be killin’ nobody unless you have to.”

“Those contracts have an agreed death date, as does yours. When I cash in, the clients will die as agreed, an’ their souls will be collected.”

“How efficient,” Irving said sarcastically. “How long do we have?”

“I’m sure you can guess,” Sixer hummed.

Irving screwed up his face, then let out a low, pained breath.

“Six days, six hours, and six minutes.”

Sixer smirked in surprise.

“I was right about you,” he said. “You really got a good head on those shoulders.”

“Sixer, all and no disrespect at once,” Irving deadpanned. “But I don’t give a shit.”

“You really should,” Heath purred in amusement. “It can get you places.”

Sixer slipped his hand into his pocket, then extended it to Rudy. Enclosed in his grip was $11.

“Consider this a deposit.”

Rudy took the money reluctantly, looking at Sixer with daggers. Sixer only smiled, like a cat who’d swallowed a canary. Once the money was exchanged, the sigils in the doorways disappeared.

Irving took initiative and walked out of the casino with long, punchy strides. Rudy followed not long after, leaving Sixer alone in the room. Once he was sure the brothers had gone, he called out to the rest of his patrons.

“Y’all can come out now, they’ve up and left!”

Like magic, the room was filled with people again, all getting up to raucous gambling and other forms of sinning. Sixer left the room with an accomplished laugh, dusting his gloved hands off each other. A moment later, he was seized by his bow tie and dragged down to someone else’s eye level.

“Where the hell have you been?!”

His captor was none other than his underboss Orianna ‘The Wheel’ Romano, a golden, geometric automaton in a dealer’s suit. Her nasally New Yorker accent bore into Sixer’s ears, but he didn’t mind at that moment.

“Giraudo, pal, you’re just the man I wanted to see!”

Sixer beamed on seeing her, but Orianna didn’t return the gesture. The name he called her made her uncomfortable, and while normally she could stomach its use, their current situation cut into her patience. She chose to press onwards in conversation and let go of him though, as she knew he meant no harm by it.

“You say dat every time I come sniffin’ you out, boss,” she huffed. “Now answer da question. I’ve been two steppin’ through dis helter skelter all night lookin’ for youse.”

“Sorry about that,” Sixer apologized. “I was outside earlier doin’ some carnival barkin’.”

“Carnival barkin’?” Orianna scoffed with a grin. “What year is it, 1925? Don’t we have people fer dat?”

“Sure, but I’m a professional.,” Sixer said with a sly wink. “Went t’ trade school and everything. I can’t let that degree get rusty.”

Orianna rolled her eyes and shook her head, smiling a little.

“Don’t suppose ya roped in somethin’ to fix us bein’ 19 souls short?”

“Actually,” Heath replied, smug. “The funniest thing jus’ happened.”

Orianna looked his way, tilting her tapered head like some great bird.

“I bagged two souls jus’ now. Pair of cup headed folks from th’ Scapes. One of ‘em signed a contract but got in two souls deep.”

“Oh, y’pulled the old ‘one two’ on ‘em?” the robot prodded, interested.

“Yeah,” Heath agreed. “The one who didn’t sign was onto me, but the other guy? Pff, it was like takin’ candy from a baby. No impulse control t’ speak of.”

“Gee, don’t dat sound like somebody I know,” Orianna snarked knowingly.

Now it was Heath’s turn to roll his eyes, but his smirk didn’t die away. He was used to this line of talk between them.

“So we’re only down 17 now?” Orianna clarified. “Dat’s good, but I don’t get how dat’s a rip-snorter.”

“A what now?” Heath asked with a little laugh.

“A rip-snorter,” she reiterated. “Y’know, somethin’ real good an’ goin’ our way?”

“You sure Kahl didn’t fit ya with a faulty lexicon there, Romano?” Heath prodded playfully.

“It’s a real fuckin’ word, y’goon,” she insisted, gesturing with her thumb over her shoulder. “Ask around town.”

“Alright, fine, later,” Heath conceded. “Still, though, that one who didn’t sign asked t’ see the contract.”

“No shit. An’ den what?”

“He volunteered the two of em t’ get back our receipts,” Heath explained. “Under paragraph 6.”

A beat passed. Orianna’s eyebrows rose and settled, intrigued.

“An’... How old are dese guys ‘xactly?” she asked.

“21 ‘r so,” Heath said.

“Twenty one—“ Orianna rested her forehead in her hand.

“Please tell me dey got magic.”

“...I… Didn’t see,” Heath admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.

“...we’re outsourcin’ collect fer our boondogglin’ t’ a couple twenty somethin’s,” Orianna summarized flatly. “An’ you didn’t even check if dey got magic?”

“It’s not every day y’get free labor,” Sixer tried to reason with a shy shrug.

Orianna closed her eyes tightly.

“...Heath,” she said. “Why da hell didja agree t’ dat?”

Heath started to speak, only for his underboss to interrupt him.

“We got people fer dat, y’know. Lotsa people, actually, who’d be willin’ to chase down dose contracts for ya at da drop of a hat. Why on Earth didja cut a deal like dat wid a couple a bumpkins too far from home?”

“I know we got people,” Heath said. “But those folks who ran off with our shit don’t fuck around. I don’t want t’ lose anybody unnecessarily.”

“Unneces— Caesar, dis ain’t da minor leagues any more!” Orianna barked.

She grabbed his bow tie again, so that they wouldn’t be so easily heard. Her voice was a sharp whisper.

“Who gives a shit if a coupla card heads die chasin’ down Cagney Carnation or whoever da fuck? We got people all over da place who’d kill t’ be runnin’ wid us!”

“I got that,” Cesarano growled. “But we gotta play this smart, Gira. That last raid got our boys Chimes an’ Pocus killed, on top of a stack of card heads. We don’t know if those debtors are tag teamin’ still or flyin’ solo.”

“Don’t talk t’ me about playin’ shit smart,” Orianna seethed. “It’s my job t’ play shit smart. Or didja forget that while you were tryin’ to be 25 all over again?”

Heath pulled himself from Orianna’s grip, baring his teeth. Orianna gave him a hard stare.

“You watch your tongue,” Heath warned.

“An’ you keep dat bleedin’ heart ‘f yers on a damn leash,” Orianna said frankly.

“Just what the hell is that supposed t’ mean?”

“It means yer not thinkin’ straight.”

Orianna rested her arms on her hips, gesticulating in fluid, mechanical motions.

“It’s a shame we lost Chimes an’ Pocus but dat’s how it is sometimes, Heath. You of all people should know. An’ cuttin’ a deal wit’ dose kids? Dey’re adults, even if dey’re dumber dan a sack a bricks. Dey came here of deir own free will, an’ dey lost da draw. Why negotiate?”

Heath’s expression dipped, as Orianna continued.

“You dink dey can do all dat in six days? Or did one of ‘em give you puppy eyes ‘til ya bent fer ‘em?”

“I think they can,” Heath replied sharply.

“On what merit?”

“...they just…” Heath started. “I felt it, in ‘em. They had strong spirits, I guess. Reminded me of myself, back in those days.”

“If some scrappy kid from th’ Bleed could rise up, why couldn’t they?”

“Cuz—“ Orianna started, but caught herself. She hated being the bad cop in these kind of situations, so she exhaled some steam from her back vents, mirroring a sigh.

“...you really dink these kids got dis in da bag?” Orianna tried again.

“They might need a little help,” Heath admitted. “But I have… 80% confidence they got this.”

Orianna raised an eyebrow. Heath faltered.

“...ok, make that more of a 65%.”

“Dat’s what I figured,” the automaton remarked dryly.

“How do you think we should do this, then?” he asked.

“If I were you,” she said. “I would’ve sent a buncha card guys out dree weeks ago an’ kept ‘em pumpin’ ‘til we got dose contracts. If we needed reinforcements, I’d send dat lughead Iggy, August, ‘r Sharps out t’ finish da job. If we didn’t get any dice by dat point, den I woulda sent da kids as da clean up crew.”

Heath winced. Orianna noticed.

“Ah, sorry, analytic brain got goin’ dere,” she said with a modest expression.

“It’s alright,” Sixer said. “What should we do now?”

“If I were you, Mr. Sentimental,” she restarted. “Den I’d keep an eye on dose kids, either drough other people or checkin’ on deir progress myself, cuz I just can’t stand sittin’ behind a desk all day, drownin’ in paperwoik, an’ hearin’ my underboss tear me a new asshole wid ‘er brass teeth.

Heath let out a laugh, making Orianna smile.

“I’d use dose dorky die houses I got back in 1919 as a temporary base ‘f operations,” Orianna continued, still digging into her boss. “I’d hire somebody t’ trail those cup toons, an’ I’d default control of da casino to Pip.”

“To Pip?” Heath said between snickers.

“Yeah, cuz I’m comin’ with you, jackass!” Orianna said, earning another laugh from him. “Dis is a batshit crazy scheme you’ve cooked up an’ it’s my job t’ see it drough!”

“Alright, alright,” Heath giggled. “If that’s th’ case, you tell Pip he’s head honcho, I’ll handle the dick.”

“‘Course you will,” Orianna muttered playfully.

“What was that?”

“What? I can’t hear you over da sound of all these assholes partyin’! I’ll catch ya later, boss!”

Both of them laughed as they parted ways, with Orianna heading back the way she came and Heath to his office.

Once inside and away from the bustle of the game rooms, Heath sank into a purple leather chair and pulled out an address book. He thumbed through a couple pages, then let out an ‘ah-hah’ when he found the name he was looking for.

He picked up a white rotary phone and dialed the number under the name, the fingers of one hand tangling in the cord connecting the receiver and base. The dial up tone ceased after a couple moments.

“Hello hello! This is Alice, your operator. How may I help you?”

“Alice, doll, it’s great t’ hear from ya,” Sixer said warmly. “I hope you lot are enjoyin’ yer new gear down at th’ station.”

“We’ve never had smoother calls, sir,” Alice cooed. “Thank you. Is there something I could help you with?”

“Yeah, could you be a dear an’ get me Mike Phone?” he requested. “He runs that detective agency by th’ Bleed?”

“Of course, sir. Have a good night.”

“Likewise, sweetheart,” Heath purred. “Don’t stay up too late now.”

The call then transferred over a couple moments later. A masculine voice with a built in crackle spoke up.

“You’ve reached Transducer Detective Agency, Michael R. Phone speaking.”

“Hi-de-ho, Mike,” Heath greeted him through the phone, grinning wide.

“I’ve got a job for ya.”

#cuphead #harvest hand #court verse #mugman #king dice #pirouletta #rudy #irv #sixer #orie #misgendering tw

[motherwasapapafucker]

Doctor Who All-Consuming Fire Annotations; Prologue & Chapter One

Prologue 

The Old Man, his granddaughter and the British Army officer are the First Doctor, Susan, Siger Holmes respectively. The Doctor and Susan originate from, whodda thunk it, Doctor Who while Siger Holmes is a direct lift from Baring-Gould’s Sherlock Holmes of Baker Street: A Life of the World's First Consulting Detective. 

Lane takes a number of elements of Baring-Gould’s attempt at a biography for Holmes, including both Siger and the third older, older Holmes brother, Sherringford, who will appear later in the novel. Gould identifies Siger as the Holmes family patriarch and seemingly derived the name from the detective’s use of Sigerson as an alias in The Adventure of the Empty House.

The other figures present during the prologue are of course the Seventh Doctor, Ace and Bernice Summerfield following the events of the book. They primarily serve to add a few tantalising hints at what’s to come and help introduce Lane’s notion within the book that Holmes and Watson are false-names attributed to the duo by Doyle during the publication of Watson’s memoirs. An idea largely abandoned by the time they appear in Happy Endings.

With Barbara and Ian notably absent during this sequence, it could be taken that the events are pre-Unearthly Child. However, you could always assume that they are just around the corner and aren’t terribly interested in Siger’s tale. There’s a slightly indulgent vibe to the entire set-up, however, Siger’s knowledge of the temple ultimately plays a larger role within the novel and beyond that, there’s a nice atmospheric element to these figures existing on the periphery of the tale.

Chapter One

“thirty-five volumes of my diary” - Doyle wrote 60 Holmes stories between 1887 and 1927, however chronologically his adventures begin in 1881, All-Consuming Fire takes place in 1887, with The Final Problem occurring four years later in 1891. The later is foreshadowed throughout the book, and one of the short’s more notable figures will appear in a minor role later in the novel.

“I see the repulsive story of the red leech, the terrible death of Crosby the banker.”- Lane continues Doyle’s trend of hinting at untold Holmes stories within Watson’s diary. The line paraphrases a similar moment inThe Adventure of the Golden Prince-Nez. Numerous pastiches have attempted to document these cases to one degree or another, and Lane himself would subsequently use the red leech for his second Young Sherlock Holmes novel.

“The singular affair of the aluminium crutch and its connection with an attempt upon the life of our dear sovereign…” - Another untold tale, this time lifted from The Musgrave Ritual.  Its role in an attempt on the life of Good Queen Vic is seemingly an addition by Lane, and I can’t help but see this as a reference to the Jackal’s use of an aluminium crutch during his attempted assassination of Charles de Gaulle during the final act of Frederick Forsyth’s The Day of the Jackal. “Following the tragic curtailment of my marriage to Constance Adams of California I was again living under the same roof as Holmes.” - The exact number and nature of Watson’s wives are a running joke/source of hilariously serious debate within Holmes Fandom. Born of a few off-hand mentions and Doyle clearly not giving a fuck, Watson seemingly goes through between two to seven marriages. Gould alleges Constance Adams was set to be Watson’s bride to be in Doyle’s unpublished play The Angels of Darkness, so this is a bit of a twofer reference. The failure of the marrage is a bit of a joke on this front. 

“The cost, he claimed, was of no concern, for he had recently been generously remunerated by Lord Rotherfield for proving to the satisfaction of various Coury circulars and scandal sheets that Lady Rotherfield was not a female impersonator.” - Another Untold Tale, seemingly a Lane original this time and an unnecessarily unpleasant “joke.”

“Finally, completely restored to health and happiness, we returned to England on the Orient Express.” - While the Orient Express was a real long-distance passenger train, it’s hard to image Lane didn’t leap at the chance to have the two return to England via the service for obvious reasons. “...Colonel Warburton and his charming wife Gloria.”  - Presumably, the same Colonel Warburton whose supposed madness would come to the attention of Holmes via Watson. One of two such instances mentioned in The Engineers Thumb.  

“..but only the Reverend Hawkins was present in the dining car. Baden-Powell, a self-proclaimed expert on butterflies whose tan and manner indicated military service, was absent.” - Hawkins is seemingly a Lane original, however his alias shares a surname with Doyle’s first wife. Baden-Powell is presumably Robert Baden-Powell, founder of the Boy Scout Movement and at the time of the novel Intelligence Officer within the British Army. Powell often travelled disguised as a butterfly collector and would use detailed drawings of butterfly wings as a means of hiding maps and other sensitive information. His presence during the sequence adds a touch of humour to Holmes’ complete failure to pick up on this while noting Hawkins own subterfuge.

“The man in the chair, swamped by his white robes, was the least impressive thing in the carriage.” - As we’ll soon learn, this apparently unimpressive figure is, in fact, Pope Leo XIII, who served as head of the Catholic Church between 1878 and 1903.

“I am Cardinal Ruffo-Scilla, and this,’ he gestured to his mirror image on the other side of the chair, ‘is Cardinal Tosca.” - Cardinal Tosca’s sudden death will latter be investigated by Holmes in yet another untold adventure mentioned in Black Peter. Notably, as with the events of All-Consuming Fire, this is at the behest of the Pope. Ruffo-Scilla is an odder figure, sharing the name with a real Cardinal. However, the Ruffo-Scilla died around three decades prior to the events of the novel. I’m tempted, primarily for fun anagram reasons, to view him as yet another Scaroth splinter particularly as it adds a few of extra layers of mirroring to the scene. Who and Holmes characters on either side of the Pope and all that shit.

“‘I remember Sherringford writing to tell me,’ he murmured, ‘ that one of our distant ancestors had been Commander in Chief of the Naval Forces of his Holiness the Pople. I had never credited the story until now.” - The first overt mention of Sherringford within the novel, this also takes another element from Gould in that the Holmes family are seemingly lapsed Catholics. Watson’s surprise at Holmes’ sudden, casual, revelations regarding his family recalls his shock upon first meeting Mycroft in The Adventure of the Greek Interpreter. “Have you heard of the Library of Saint John the Beheaded?” - Recurrent minor Who fixture that first appears here, the Library holds a number of rare, banned texts. Lane would subsequently detail elements of it’s founding in Empire of Glass. Where rather fittingly, the Doctor’s alleged older sibling Irving Braxatiel played a role in its creation.

“One of the three unexpurgated versions of the Malleus Maleficarum is in the Library,” - The Hammer of Witches, Well known treatise on Witchcraft that encouraged the extermination of its practitioners. Written by discredited clergyman Henrich Kramer, lots of blatant insights into the mind of a murderous wanker. 

“...along side shelves  of books on the Chinese Si Fan society and its leader, Doctor Fu Manchu - a man whom we in the Vatican believe to be as huge a menace to civilization as you believe anarchism to be.” - Fu Manchu is the creation of Sax Rhomer, appearing in 12 novels between 1913 and 1948. Manchu is the archetypical yellow peril, inspiring countless equally racist figures including Who’s own Li H'sen Chang. An Anti-British figure, Manchu would battle cheap Holmes knock-off Dennis Nyland-Smith in an attempt to end British Imperialism. Rhomer was a joyless fuck, so this was treated as the Doctor’s greatest crime. Lane portrays the Si Fan as a largely unknown force during the late 18th century, and this fits quite well with the early 20th century setting of the Manchu novels.

“The Affair of the Politician, the Lighthouse, and the Trained Cormorant” -  Title of an episode of The New Adventures of Sherlock Holmes radio show, context would suggest Lane’s version is slightly more salacious.

#Doctor Who #Sherlock Holmes #vna #all-consuming fire #annotations #crossovers and such

[centralphilippine-university]

The Ruth Scholarship Foundation launches its program

The launching of The Ruth Scholarship Foundation was held last March 21, 2022 at the CPU Henry Luce Library. The Mission of the Foundation is to support students by providing need-based scholarships to enable them to succeed and give back to their communities.

The event was attended by the members of the Board of Trustees of the Foundation. Also present in the event are CPU Vice President for Students Affairs, Dr. Esther Rose R. Romarate; CPU Vice President for Academic Affairs, Dr. Irving Domingo L. Rio; CPU Vice President for Finance and Administration, Dr. Florence B. Bogacia and also the University Church Senior Pastor, Rev. Cris Amorsolo V. Sian. The parents and deans of the different colleges were also present to show their support to the 10 new scholars of the foundation.

Rev. Francis Neil G. Jalando-on led the attendees to an invocation followed by the virtual opening remarks of the University President, Dr. Teodoro C. Robles.

Atty. Peter Irving C. Corvera, Chairman of the Board of Trustees of the Foundation, explained the foundation’s overview. It aims to give support and resources to students who are financially challenged to achieve their goals.

Atty. Corvera continued that in choosing the recipients of the scholarship, the students doesn’t need to be at the top of their classes. There are no biases especially when it comes to cultural or religious background. Instead, the foundation partnered with the deans of the colleges to select, interview and evaluate students who exhibits the potential to give back to their communities in the future.

“It is not a religious scholarship. It is a scholarship with Christian values,” the Chairman emphasized. The goal is that its scholars, after graduation, may find proper employment and succeed in their respective careers, whereby they may give back to their families and be of service to their communities.

Besides the full scholarship and fees, assistance in board and lodging, connectivity and academic materials, the Foundation also wants to impart their core values to the students which are integrity, equity, leadership, community service and compassion, and relationships.

Dr. Rumalie A. Corvera, founding President of The Ruth Foundation, introduced the Board of Trustees. The following are the members of the Board: Chairman, Atty. Peter Irving C. Corvera, Dr. Rumalie A. Corvera, Engr. Job P. Gimay, Mrs. Ester Lagardilla-Jara, Mrs. Josita Alpha G. Jalando-on, Mr. Adrian Lee, and Prof. Rea Angelica F. Villeza. The members of the Board were chosen because of their competency and their relationship to the Corvera Family.

Prof. Rea Angelica F. Villeza presented the first 10 scholars of the foundation. They are the following: Julienne Anne D. Bajon, Bachelor of Science in Accountancy; Florinda E. Caldito, Bachelor of Science in Environmental Management; Alrey N. Canicula and Karen Kate P. Liza, Bachelor of Science in Civil Engineering; Gad B. Castro, Bachelor of Science in Advertising; Deneilyn P. Gabo, Bachelor of Science in Agricultural and Biosystems Engineering; Reden V. Gadot and Micah Gail M. Sorioso, Bachelor of Science in Medical Laboratory Science; Althea E. Labestre, Bachelor of Science in Respiratory Therapy; Jessa Mae B. Malificiar, Bachelor of Science in Social Work.

Gad B. Castro, one of the scholars, entertained the attendees by sharing his talent in singing. Florinda E. Caldito shared her journey in becoming one of the scholars. She unveiled how she thought at first that the whole ordeal was a scam since she had past experiences with such situations. But her fear turned into praises when she became part of the first 10.

Julienne Anne D. Bajon also presented a grateful response in behalf of her fellow scholars.

The event came to an end with a message of commitment and support given by Dr. Esther Rose R. Romarate and a prayer of dedication by Rev. Cris Amorsolo Sian.

The launching was also filled with joy and nostalgia as old friends and comrades shared stories to commemorate and give honor to the late Rev. Ruth Corvera, to whom the foundation was named after.

cpu.edu.ph

#cpuscholarship #cpuschool #cputour #centralian #westervisayas #iloiloschool #cpuisthebest #cpuscholarfoundation #BSEM #cpufoundation

[central-philippine-university]

CPU receives the most number of awards among HEIs in WV from CHED.

CPU officials led by President Dr. Teodoro C. Robles received the 10 awards from the CHED Chairman Prospero “Popoy” de Vera.

Central Philippine University (CPU) has been recognized by and received various awards and distinctions from the Commission on Higher Education (CHED) Region VI in the recent Gawad Parangal 2021 for the Higher Education Institutions (HEIs) in Western Visayas. The event was held on November 25, 2021 at the Zuri Hotel in Iloilo City.

Among all the recipients of this year’s Gawad Parangal, CPU got the most number of awards given by CHED for private HEIs. CHED Chairman Prospero “Popoy” de Vera presented the awards to CPU officials led by President Dr. Teodoro C. Robles. A total of ten (10) awards were bagged by the university and these include:

1. Autonomous HEI in Western Visayas; 2. Center of Excellence (COE) – Agriculture; 3. Center of Excellence (COE) – Business Administration; 4. Center of Development (COD) – Chemical Engineering; 5. Center of Development (COD) – Electrical Engineering; 6. Center of Development (COD) – Electronics Engineering; 7. Center of Development (COD) – Teacher Education; 8. QS World University Rankings (for 2 years); 9. Outstanding Board Performance (OBP) – Civil Engineering; and 10. Outstanding Board Performance (OBP) – Agriculturist.

West Visayas State University had 10 awards and is the most awarded among state universities.

In receiving such honor and pride, CPU was well-represented by Dr. Teodoro C. Robles, University President; Dr. Florence P. Bogacia, Vice President for Finance and Administration; Dr. Irving Domingo L. Rio, Vice President for Academic Affairs; and Dr. Jaime Cabarles, Dean of the College of Agriculture, Resources and Environmental Sciences.

Having been commended by CHED Region VI for “doing extraordinary things in extraordinary settings during extraordinary times,” Dr. Robles expressed that “CPU is grateful that we received recognition of the scholarly work and other important activities of our faculty and staff which were manifested by the different awards from Center of Excellence (COE); Center of Development (COD); and of course the Autonomous status of the university.” Moreover, Dr. Robles shared that, “we are happy that this year, we are still included in the top 15 [best] universities in the Philippines.”#panayschool

CHED’s Gawad Parangal 2021 aims to inspire, nurture and bring out the best in HEIs in Western Visayas. This event recognizes HEIs [which] have done exemplary performance and contributions in education by offering quality-assured programs.

Committed to its vision, Exemplary Christian Education for Life (EXCEL), the university is indeed soaring high on wings of eagle not only for the sake of receiving such recognitions but most importantly in molding its students into becoming Centralians imbued with Central Spirit, and in continuing God’s mission through this institution.

God be praised today and always!

cpu.edu.ph

#centralphilippineuniversity #centralian #iloiloschool #bestschooliloilo #panayschool #westernvisayasschool

[civilmanage]

Commercial construction

What is commercial construction?

Those buildings which are used for buying & selling, offices, rental residences, retail shops and warehouses are Commercial construction projects.

Owners hire local contractors to construct commercial projects. In these construction project there should be a highest quality assurance because that are built for decades and centuries.

Which needs a high class project management, supritendent, assistant manager, assistant supritendent, contractors and poffesional engineers to work on.

Which needs a high class project management, supritendent, assistant manager, assistant supritendent, contractors and poffesional engineers to work on.

What is Commercial construction superintendent salary? He can make 80,000$ to 110,000$ yearly base on his experience (5 to 15 years).

What is Commercial construction project manager salary? His salary is between 78,000$ to 95,000$ yearly or more with the experience of (3 to 10 years). Without experience he can make up to 56,000$ yearly.

What is Commercial construction assistant project manager salary? It lies between 63,000$ to 83,000$ yearly.

What is Commercial construction superintendent salary? He can earn up to 58,000$ Yearly.

In civil engineering world Commercial field has different classes and each class has its own quality.

Class A:

Class A buildings have the highest quality because it constructed in supervision of experts. It has HVACs (Heat ventilation & air condition control system), amenities.

It has wonderful and more unique interior & exterior with more up to date technologies. These buildings should be constructed in most desirable location in the center of city.

Class B:

Class B buildings are little older but in good quality. Some of that buildings have HVACs & amenities. Investor target these types of building and make a renovation to return into class A.

Class C:

The older buildings & offices lies in class C. That are situated in less desirable. It has least infrastructure and outdated technology.

Types of commercial projects:

Its really big industry and it includes restaurants, retail and grocery shops, shopping mall, accommodations (hotels, flats, appartment) warehouses, sports facilities.

Types of Commercial buildings:

High-Rise (Skyscrapers)

High rise is a type of commercial building which includes resturants, offices, cinemas, clubs and shopping malls in it. High rise commercial buildings are well designed and has highest quality.

It lies in Class A. It cost much more than average commercial buildings because of HVACs, amenities and their wonderful interior/exterior.These buildings situated in desirable area within the city which also effect their cost.

Multi Residencies

A commercial building project that can be hotel, flat, appartments, plaza etc. It has also high cost because of well design and a high quality and installed technologies.

Office Building

Offices wether private or public sectors are commercial buildings projects. Office buildings are use for official work such as bank branch, real estate office, construction companies offices etc.

Warehouses

Warehouses are also included in commercial projects which is use to store material in huge amount. It can be private or governmental like Amazon fulfillment warehouse etc.

Shopping Malls

Shopping malls and shopping centers are one of commercial project. which is use for retail and sales. It also used for restaurants and for cinemas.

Hotels

Hotel buildings are use for temporary stay. It is also a commercial construction with high class amenities and technologies.

Commercial construction cost per foot?

How to calculate commercial building cost for construction? Not all commercial projects are same. They are divided into classes. But the lump sump rate is given below.

The cost of commercial construction is 18$ – 22$ and can rise upto 35$ – 45$ or more accordingly.

The cost may vary or decrease because of building quality, size, labour, material of construction, HVAC, Electrical system and plumbing work, Architectural and design of project.

How to calculate the cement, sand and water cement ratio for buildings

Location of project also effect the cost factors because some commercial buildings lies in the city center where the cost of land is more expensive and transportation of material cost more because warehouses of construction material are aside from city center.

Commercial construction companies near me:

What is commercial construction Loan?

The loan associated with construction and renovation. It is use to pay labour and for construction material.

SBA/CDC Loan Program:

It funds up to 5M $ and its for 10-20 years. It has fix interest and it can be borrowed on personal guarantee. Its down payment is 10% to 30%.

Bank Loan:

Bank loan is standard loan which can be borrowed by owners. It has interest rate. Its another option for building owners.

Mezzanie Loan:

Mezzanie loan is another option for commercial building owners.

Commercial construction companies in USA:

Ridgemont Construction. (Irving, texas, USA)

TBC Commercial LLC. (Portland, Texas, USA)

American Construction And Development. (Tampa, Florida, USA)

Alaska Commercial Contractors, Inc. (Juneau, Alaska)

Direct Steel and Construction – Company, General Contractor, Steel Builder. (Crystal lake, IL, USA)

GE Johnson Construction Company. (Avon, CO, USA)

Commercial construction companies in India:

A One Commercial Private Limited. (Pune, Maharastra, India)

Pamposh Constructions India Pvt. Ltd. (Delhi, India)

RVM Constructions India Pvt Ltd. (Hyderabad, India)

JMC Projects (India) Limited. (Thane, Maharashtra, India)

The Binani Commercial Construction.Pvt.Ltd. (Mumbai, Maharastra, India)

If you are looking for commercial construction jobs you can also apply to above mentioned companies.

Source: civilmanage.com

[lastset99]

Lashun Massey Age Husband: Where Is She Now?

Lashun Massey Age Husband: Where Is She Now?

You may be concerned about Lashun Massey’s age after learning that his dead body was found last Thursday in Irving. Lashun is a civil engineer and a businesswoman. She had been missing since April 27 after her morning walk. Lashun Massey Age: How old was she? Lashun Massey’s age was 38. Massey was born in 1983. Her parents are her mother, Mary Ross, and her father Frank King. She was born and…

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[sumerinnovations01]

MEP Engineering Services San Antonio - Sumer Innovations

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