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pxmun · 2 years

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The Duke and Duchess of Boxford had to leave for the Mainland on some business, but their destination could only be reached by Harold the helicopter, thus they had to leave poor Spencer back at the summer house. They put Darius in charge and the older brother was elated to have some peace and quiet before his siblings and him had to return to the normal realm. Darius was currently relaxing on an innertube in the pool, a cold glass of tropical juice in hand. The water was refreshing, wiping away the worries and stress of the older brother. Darius was about to fall asleep right then and there but was suddenly startled awake by the loud whistles of Flying Scotsman and Spencer. Darius could hear the two arguing with one another from a mile away. Apparently, Scotsman wanted a rematch race with Spencer, complaining that the only reason he beat him during the last “Great Race” was due to an incident with Gordon. Spencer huffed, annoyed with Scotsman. The silver engine counter argued that Scotsman didn’t have to slow down during that event, nevertheless he agrees to a rematch. The two bickered and shouted at one another, soon Darius was dragged into it as Scotsman asked the young man if they could race later that evening. Darius agrees, but only on the condition that the two stay well behaved for the rest of the day and not disturb the young man until dinner time. The two Mainland engines agree, thinking that it would be easy as long as they avoid the other. Unfortunately, the jobs for today required the strength and speed of both engines. Scotsman and Spencer puffed away, leaving Darius to resume relaxing. Scotsman and Spencer didn’t speak to each other as they made their way to a steel factory to pick up a goods train. The train was really heavy, the cars were loaded with steel beams. They were needed for a big construction project on the Mainland. Spencer let out an audible groan, he thought pulling a goods train was beneath him. Scotsman didn’t like pulling goods trains either, but they had promised Darius that they wouldn’t cause any problems. When a worker arrived to couple the m to the train, they asked the engines who was going to pull the train and who was going to shunt. Spencer spoke up first, announcing that he would pull the train. Scotsman didn’t like this, not because it was seen as shameful for a tender engine to shunt, but strategically Scotsman would be better suited to pull do to his two tenders, allowing him to puff on for longer without needing to constantly stop to refuel. Scotsman brought up this point, but Spencer insisted that he would be able to pull the train without any issue. Scotsman felt his boiler bubble in anger at Spencer, but Scotsman managed to hold it back. Instead, Scotsman suggested that the workman flip a coin to determine who would pull and who would shunt. Spencer agrees and the two choose a side of the coin. The workman tossed the coin into the air, and it lands on Spencer’s side. Spencer gives a smug grin as he passes Scotsman to be coupled up to the front. Scotsman let out a defeated wheesh before backing up to be coupled to the end of the train. Spencer blew his whistle and the two were off. The journey wasn’t gentle, the two engines had to make sudden stops and every time they did one or the other would end up getting biffed or bashed. The further they travelled; the more tense things got between the two engines. Spencer would make a sudden stop, causing Scotsman to be hardly bopped on the nose. Scotsman felt like he was going to explode, his face was turning a deep red and he was ready to unleash his anger onto Spencer. “Sorry.” Spencer said. Scotsman wasn’t expecting to hear an apology from Spencer. The green engine let out some steam, trying to recreate the breathing exercise he’d seen Darius perform when he felt over stressed. “I’m sorry too.” Scotsman apologized. “This delivery has not been the most pleasant, nor has our attitude toward each other.” Spencer admitted. “Agreed, shall we form a truce”? Scotsman asked. “Yes, we shall.” Spencer responded. The two puffed on together, this time being more considerate of their fellow engine. They were able to complete the journey and were very warn out, the two were glad that they didn’t have to transport anything back to Sodor. When they finally returned to the Duke and Duchess’s summer home later that evening, Darius was waiting for them. He was very proud that the two were able to get along for the entire day and as promised he would let the two race. However, the two Mainland engines were so worn out from their journey that they fell asleep right then and there.

#ttte #thomas the tank engine #thomas and friends #ttte spencer #ttte flying scotsman #flying scotsman

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bills-bible-basics · 1 year

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SKEWED VIEWS -- a poem by Bill Kochman A poem by Bill Kochman. Visit my poetry page at https://www.billkochman.com/Poetry/ to see all my poetry, along with related Bible study resources, all in one place, and organized by poem category. Thanks! To see other poems related to this one, please go here: https://www.billkochman.com/Poetry/index.html#Deception-False-Doctrine To really understand this poem, please consider visiting the following links in your web browser: • https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Margaret_MacDonald_(visionary) • https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Margaret_MacDonald_(visionary)#MacDonald's_utterance • https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Nelson_Darby • https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Millerism • https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Great_Disappointment • https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Seventh-day_Adventist_Church • https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Futurism_(Christianity) "Study to shew thyself approved unto God, a workman that needeth not to be ashamed, rightly dividing the word of truth." 2 Timothy 2:15, KJV ". . . we know that we all have knowledge. Knowledge puffeth up, but charity edifieth. And if any man think that he knoweth any thing, he knoweth nothing yet as he ought to know." 1 Corinthians 8:1-2, KJV "As also in all his [Paul's] epistles, speaking in them of these things; in which are some things hard to be understood, which they that are unlearned and unstable wrest, as they do also the other scriptures, unto their own destruction." 2 Peter 3:16, KJV "But evil men and seducers shall wax worse and worse, deceiving, and being deceived." 2 Timothy 3:13, KJV "Anointed and Unanointed Teachers" KJV Bible Verse List: https://www.billkochman.com/VerseLists/verse352.html "Puffed Up With Knowledge" KJV Bible Verse List: https://www.billkochman.com/VerseLists/verse265.html "Test Doctrines for Scriptural Validity" KJV Bible Verse List: https://www.billkochman.com/VerseLists/verse329.html "False Doctrine" KJV Bible Verse List: https://www.billkochman.com/VerseLists/verse016.html Article: "Humility in Our Understanding of God's Word": https://www.billkochman.com/Articles/Humility-in-Our-Understanding-01.html "Led by the Spirit in Our Understanding" KJV Bible Verse List: https://www.billkochman.com/VerseLists/verse479.html "Taught by Revelation of the Holy Spirit" KJV Bible Verse List: https://www.billkochman.com/VerseLists/verse319.html "Taught by No Man" KJV Bible Verse List: https://www.billkochman.com/VerseLists/verse465.html Article: "Rightly Dividing the Word of Truth": https://www.billkochman.com/Articles/ritediv1.html Article: "Speak the Pure Language of Truth: https://www.billkochman.com/Articles/purelng1.html "Spirit of Truth" KJV Bible Verse List: https://www.billkochman.com/VerseLists/verse294.html "False Prophets" KJV Bible Verse List: https://www.billkochman.com/VerseLists/verse017.html "False Brethren" KJV Bible Verse List: https://www.billkochman.com/VerseLists/verse015.html "Willful Ignorance" KJV Bible Verse List: https://www.billkochman.com/VerseLists/verse440.html Article: "Modern False Prophets and Worldly Ecumenism": https://www.billkochman.com/Articles/ecumen-1.html Article: "Elijah: Where Are the True Prophets of God?": https://www.billkochman.com/Articles/elijah-1.html Article: "The Misguided End of the World Predictions of Harold Camping": https://www.billkochman.com/Articles/Prediction-Harold-Camping1.html "Wolves in Sheeps' Clothing" KJV Bible Verse List: https://www.billkochman.com/VerseLists/verse086.html "Mass Deception" KJV Bible Verse List: https://www.billkochman.com/VerseLists/verse186.html Article: "2012: New Age Deception And Psychobabble": https://www.billkochman.com/Articles/2012bab1.html Article: "Age of Deception, Age of Delusion": https://www.billkochman.com/Articles/deceptn1.html https://www.billkochman.com/Blog/index.php/skewed-views-a-poem-by-bill-kochman/?feed_id=38555&_unique_id=64245262b3b83&SKEWED%20VIEWS%20--%20a%20poem%20by%20Bill%20Kochman

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harvest-moonie · 11 months

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cheese part 8

Layton, Thomas Arthur (1973). The Cheese Handbook: Over 250 Varieties Described, with Recipes. Courier Dover Publications. p. 130. ISBN9780486229553. Archived from the original on February 17, 2023. Retrieved February 1, 2023. the caseus helveticus mentioned by Columella was probably a Sbrinz"The History Of Cheese: From An Ancient Nomad's Horseback To Today's Luxury Cheese Cart". The Nibble. Lifestyle Direct, Inc. Archived from the original on May 8, 2019. Retrieved October 8, 2009. "British Cheese homepage". British Cheese Board. 2007. Archived from the original on May 12, 2019. Retrieved July 13, 2007. Quoted in Newsweek, October 1, 1962, according to The Columbia Dictionary of Quotations (Columbia University Press, 1993 ISBN0-231-07194-9, p. 345). Numbers besides 246 are often cited in very similar quotes; whether these are misquotes or whether de Gaulle repeated the same quote with different numbers is unclear. Smith, John H. (1995). Cheesemaking in Scotland – A History. The Scottish Dairy Association. ISBN978-0-9525323-0-9.. Full text (Archived link), Chapter with cheese timetable (Archived link). Cecil Adams (1999). "Straight Dope: How did the moon=green cheese myth start?".Archived May 13, 2008, at the Wayback Machine. Retrieved October 15, 2005. Nemiroff, R.; Bonnell, J., eds. (April 1, 2006). "Hubble Resolves Expiration Date For Green Cheese Moon". Astronomy Picture of the Day. NASA. Retrieved October 8, 2009. "A Brief History of America's Appetite for Macaroni and Cheese". Smithsonian Magazine. Archived from the original on December 17, 2022. Retrieved December 17, 2022. Thom, Charles (1918). The Book of Cheese. New York: The Macmillan company. "History of Cheese". traditionalfrenchfood.com. Archived from the original on January 12, 2012. Retrieved October 21, 2011. McGee, Harold (2004). On Food and Cooking (Revised ed.). Scribner. p. 54. ISBN0-684-80001-2. In the United States, the market for process cheese [...] is now larger than the market for 'natural' cheese, which itself is almost exclusively factory-made. Barkham, Patrick (January 10, 2012). "Why is cheese the most shoplifted food item in the world?". The Guardian. Archived from the original on April 10, 2022. Retrieved April 10, 2022. "World production of cheese (from whole cow milk) in 2014; Browse Data/Livestock Processed/World Regions/Production Quantity from pick lists". United Nations Food and Agriculture Organization, Statistics Division (FAOSTAT). 2017. Archived from the original on November 12, 2016. Retrieved June 2, 2017. Workman, Daniel (April 12, 2016). "Cheese Exports by Country in 2015". World's Top Exports. Archived from the original on April 13, 2019. Retrieved June 2, 2016. "Carbon footprint of meat, egg, cheese and plant-based protein sources" (PDF). p. 24. Archived (PDF) from the original on July 18, 2022. Retrieved July 18, 2022. "Cheese Consumption – Kilograms per Capita". Canadian Dairy Information Centre. March 13, 2014. Archived from the original on January 14, 2016. Retrieved June 2, 2016.

#cheese #justcheese

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coltonwbrown · 3 years

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Chaos on London Bridge Harold Workman

#harold workman #city life #london

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tilbageidanmark · 3 years

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Movies I watched this week - 30

Joseph Losey’s brilliant 1963 ‘The Servant’, with dashing Dirk Bogarde and Bowie-lookalike Edward Fox in his first major role.

Chilly, ambiguous sexuality, stylish power dynamics and a creepy attack on Britain's class system. Written by Harold Pinter, with a cool jazz score, and crisp black and white cinematography. A game where the master becomes a slave - A true masterpiece.

✴️

After seeing ‘Pig’ last week, I knew I had to find the documentary The Truffle Hunters. It’s about a group of old mushroom foragers, all in their seventies and eighties, and their dogs, living in the mountains of Piedmont, Italy, and I’m glad I did.

Simple, delicate and rich - a rare find, like the truffles themselves - Best film of the week.

The trailer sums it up.

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A straightforward Finnish biopic of ‘Tom of Finland’, the influential creator of homoerotic art and fashion. Fascinating subject told in a by-the-number style.

✴️

Thomas Vinterberg’s 2016 The Commune - a timid drama about a couple trying communal living in 1970s Copenhagen. It would be better if it was just about Trine Dyrholm's and her asshole husband’s (The always unpleasant Ulrich Thomsen) disintegrating marriage. 4/10

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Borgman, a strange Dutch thriller about a charismatic hobo and his manipulative Manson Family posse who take control of a wealthy family and convert them too into his possessed followers. Some biblical and existentialist undertones, maybe diabolical, Christian horror, surrealistic symbolism and disturbing visuals. A mixed fair.

✴️

Harold and Maude, a love story between two people who like to attend funerals, a young man and 80 year old free spirit Ruth Gordon. With (unrelated to the plot) score by Cat Stevens.

Edgy? Eclectic? “With it”? Not so much after 50 years.

✴️

Benoît Delaunay’s very sad short animation Three Small Cats, about a cute cat family that dies one by one.

✴️

3 more with Willem Dafoe:

✳️✳️✳️ At eternity’s Gate, painter Julian Schnabel‘s hagiographic biopic of Vincent Van Gogh's last two years in Arles.

Beautiful! 9/10.

I remember having a precious edition of ‘Letters to Theo’, which decades later I just gave away with the rest of all my books... Sad!

✳️✳️✳️ Paris, je t'aime, a 2006 anthology of 18 vignettes, each set in different arrondissement (2 are missing). Most are romantic, enjoyable and sentimental “City-Porn”.

The last Alexander Payne short, where lonely letter carrier tourist Margo Martindale has an epiphany on why she loves the city, was perhaps the loveliest.

Also, Maggie Gyllenhaal as a hashish smoking actress was absolutely cute.

✳️✳️✳️ I didn’t know that Paul Schrader directed Adam, Resurrected, a 2008 Israeli film based on Yoram Kanyuk’s book ( אדם בן כלב‎ ). A horrible and cringy holocaust drama taking place at mental institute in the Negev in 1961.

Unfortunately it is headed by Human Ham Sandwich Jeff Goldblum in a three piece suit and with a fake German accent trying to hamm-out Jerry Lewis in his Auschwitz comedy ‘The Day the Clown Cried’.

One of the worst film I’ve seen during this project!

✴️

Le Samouraï, Jean-Pierre Melville’s tribute to American gangster genre of the 30′s and 40′s. With taciturn Gun-for-hire Alain Delon at his peak handsomeness. Solitary, coolly detached, deadly stylish.

✴️ Discovering Max Tohline:

✳️✳️✳️ Media scholar Max Tohline’s fascinating investigative video essay A Supercut of Supercuts. The 2 hour long academic discussion extends to before the beginning of the cinema to postulates that Supercuts are not a form of aesthetic, but a new mode of knowledge - the database episteme.

Compelling! I’m going to watch the rest of his output!

✳️✳️✳️ ‘The Conversation’ is the Confessional - ‘We’ve heard it all before’.

✳️✳️✳️ Editing as Punctuation in Film - "The whole eloquence of cinema is achieved in the editing room"

✳️✳️✳️ From ^ there ^: György Pálfi’s Final Cut, Ladies and Gentlemen, a romantic experimental mash-up, made up of 450 clips from the most famous films in history. It seems that I’ve seen 90% of all of them here in recent years.

10/10

✳️✳️✳️ More from ^ there ^ : Chuck Workman’s 1986 Precious Images. 470 half-second-long splices of movie moments through the history of American film. Commissioned by the Directors Guild for its 50th anniversary.

✴️

I dislike most “action” movies, but I love Tony Gilroy’s Bourne trilogy, and watch them regularly. I just binged again on The Bourne Identity, ‘Supremacy and 'Ultimatum, the films he wrote just before directing ‘Michael Clayton’.

All three of them follow the same story patterns. I don’t want to see the last two.

Here is Tony Gilroy Delivers a 2013 BAFTA Screenwriters' Lecture.

Link: About The Bourne trilogy’s shaky-cam action.

✴️

I finally finished Your honor, Bryan Cranston’s 10 episode series, which was unfairly compared to Breaking Bad. Yes, both are dealing with a respectable member of society going ‘Bad’, in this case a New Orleans judge whose son accidentally kills a motorcyclist, and who decides to cover it up.

But this is no ‘Breaking Bad’, because the ridiculous drama here is lazy, full of holes and clichéd throughout.

Based on an Israeli series ‘Kvodo’.

✴️

The princess Bride - First watch: Yes, it’s very quotable. If I was 12 seeing it for the first time, I might find it enchanting, but since I’ve waited 56 years, nah...

✴️

The Hater, another despicable Polish film about a young social media sociopath, online stalker and manipulator who works at troll farm and foments hatred, violence and destruction.

(I’m glad I quit Netflix).

- - - - -

(My complete movie list is here)

#movies

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thephantomofthe-internet · 4 years

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Chapter 6: A Room with a View

Steve Harrington x Reader

CATCH UP ON THE SERIES HERE

Words: 3,359

Warnings: Swearing, slut shaming, death mention, crying

Author’s Note: So, I already answered this, but just in case anyone missed it: I update this series weekly and I am still editing the vast majority of chapters! Sorry if it’s coming out slower than expected!

Tags: @divinity-deos @wolfish-willow @scoopsohboi @thecaptainsgingersnap @herre-gud-nej @clockworkballerina @maddie1504 @i-am-trash-so-much-its-scary @buckysarge @wildcvltre @stanleyyelnatsiii @n3wtscaseofniffler5 @peterparxour @linkispink1995 @a-big-ball-of-idk @used-avocado @mochminnie @sledgy14 @the-creative-lie @yall-wildin-like-siriusly @ggclarissa @voidnarnia @anonymousonion23

Steve had no idea what he’d done wrong. Not a clue. But you were ignoring him. You sat farther away from him in English the past two days, and you’d been blowing off plans with him. You’d say that you had other plans, but he’d see you sat on the bleachers after school, watching the girls soccer practise or drawing in that book again. He still didn’t know what you were doing in that book and he was irritated by the fact that he could see you sat in your room some days, caught in a lie without knowing it, your nose caught in the pages in front of you, pencil in between your teeth, focused but unaware of an audience. Steve could see right into your room from his when your curtains were open and you often sat at your desk, working in your pads.

On the day that Mr. Lawrence announced the start for the final essay, Steve had had enough. It had been a week of this behaviour and he felt as though he deserved an answer. And he was sick of watching through the window. Tommy and Carol were busy every damn day chasing Billy Hargrove, Vicki had gone back after him too after their awful date, and Tina wasn’t his friend. Sure, he could bug Dustin, but that made him feel like such a loser. His only friends were a rag tag group of preteens and a weird girl who wouldn’t even talk to him! This was getting pathetic.

The bell rang before Steve could make his move and you were out the door before he could even open his mouth. Tina rolled her eyes as she passed him by, grabbing Tina’s arm to whisper loudly “God, how tragic.” making Vicki cackle loudly.

Steve booked it out the door, scanning the halls for you, but you’d already disappeared from sight. He spotted Samantha, but she was on the retreat. He chose not to chase her down, they’d never even had a conversation before and using her to try to get her to spill on her friend felt a bit shitty. So he decided to just take a walk, no harm in a walk, it was a nice day anyway, out by the field. He wandered out the gym doors by the car park. He shoved his hands into his blue workman’s jacket. The weather was still a bit too chilly to go without a coat, but the sunshine made it easier.

He spotted you and Samantha at the top of the bleachers. You had your hair up that day and your lavender bomber jacket draped around your shoulders. Carol had something similar, or maybe it was Tina, he couldn’t remember which one the pair blurred into one being in his mind.

Samantha caught Steve’s eye before you did. She leaned over to you with a smirk “Lover boy’s watching.” She whispered cheekily, pointing slyly at him.

You turned immediately. Steve was standing in the car park, a few smattering of folks on car hoods, eating packed lunches and watching the scene go down. He waved, taking a step towards you. You turned your attention away.

Samantha was baffled. A week ago, you were telling her all about the weird fun you were having with him, all smiles and laughter, and now you wouldn’t even look at him for more than a second. You wouldn’t admit it, but Samantha knew that he was something more than a friend to you. Nobody was this upset when someone cancelled plans.

Steve turned away without a word. He wanted to scream at you, his mind demanding to know what he had done wrong. He made a plan that afternoon, one he was certain might ruin everything for him.

As soon as the three o’clock bell rang, Steve made a mad dash for his car. He didn’t leave immediately; instead he waited to see an expected sight. Once he saw you huddled and headed for the bleachers, he was sure that the girl’s team was practising. Then he drove off towards home, parking in his own driveway. His mother was home, a shock to him, but he still headed upstairs. The next part was tricky. He’d time out that practise ended at four thirty, but that you usually left at four since the walk was so long. At four twenty, he headed across the street. As always, the yellow Volkswagen sat in the driveway. He’d rarely ever seen it leave the driveway, but it gave him hope that someone was inside the house. You couldn’t be living alone as a senior. He bounded up the front steps, knocking on the door twice. He was nervous, switching his weight from his toes to his heels in a rocking motion forward and back, forward and back.

An older man opened the door. He had to be in his eighties, with age spots speckling him around his eyes like a second pair of wide frames behind his tortoise shell glasses. He seemed suspicious of Steve, although that was probably because he was staring.

“Hello,” he stuck out his hand for the man to shake “I’m Steve Harrington, I’m a friend of Y/N.” the man didn’t take his hand, staying silent as he looked him over.

Steve pressed on “I was wondering if she was home, we were supposed to study together today and she said that she’d call when she got home but I haven’t heard from her.” He chuckled awkwardly.

From behind the old man, a woman’s voice called “Harold, who’s there?”

“One of Y/N’s friends, she home yet?” he called back, opening the door wider. Steve could see the pale yellow walls, sun stained from the large three panel window at the front of their house.

Steve watched as an older woman hobbled into the scene, back hunched and skin thin. She looked frail, her hair dyed to what Steve assumed was its original shade, her grey roots visible from the top of her head. She greeted Steve with a warm smile. Steve was quick to offer his hand to shake, which she took carefully. “Hi, Steve Harrington, it’s nice to meet you both.” He said quickly, smiling brightly at the pair.

“Well hello there, I’m Maude and this is Y/N’s grandfather Harold, it’s lovely to meet you.” She said sweetly. “Why don’t you come inside, Y/N should be home any minute.”

Maude hit Harold’s arm roughly and he let go of the door, letting Steve into the house. He quickly kicked off his shoes, noting the pair’s socked feet. He looked around the house. Every house on the street was one of three standard box deals, with specified details. His parents hadn’t paid for the window seat like your family had, but you didn’t have the open kitchen that his did; an extra yellow wall separated the space. He looked to the fireplace, an exact copy of his family’s before their renovation last august. He missed the grey brick they used to have. You had a large family portrait on the mantle. You were sat in the centre in your Sunday best, your grandparents flanking the outside, two other adults stood closest to you. Steve assumed they were your parents. You looked like your father.

“You have a lovely home,” he said, turning his attention to the pair who were watching him intently.

“Thank you.” Maude smiled “Would you like a cup of tea?”

“Sure.” Steve wasn’t much for tea, but he was taught not to refuse something offered by his host. Maude hurried off, leaving him and grumpy old Harold alone.

“Y/N doesn’t bring boys around.” Harold announced when his wife was out of the room. Steve didn’t really know what to say to that, luckily he continued “So what’re you trying to do with my girl?”

“Study,” Steve said with a shrug. The man scoffed, but Steve pressed on. “She’s my partner for our English final, we’re supposed to be working on it today, it’s due soon.”

Harold nodded gruffly “Alright…” he took a seat on the couch, turning the volume back on. The Love Boat was on, a rerun of the episode with guest stars the Captain and Tennille, and Steve was certain that they’d both seen it before.

Maude came in with a tray, handing her husband a mug. It was hand painted, thick script reading ‘Happy Father’s Day’ on the front, the year 1974 written in smaller script underneath in blue paint. She handed him a plain white mug.

“Well, Steve, you’re free to go and wait for Y/N upstairs, her room is two doors to the right of the stairs, you can’t miss it.” She said, gesturing to the stairwell. Steve bid his thanks and headed up the wide carpeted stairwell.

Harold mumbled something to his wife that Steve couldn’t hear, only catching her response. “He’s young, he doesn’t want to sit with us old folks.” She laughed at her own joke and Steve smiled at their friendly banter. They reminded him of his aunt and uncle, they always joked in that sort of way, laughing at themselves before anyone else. It made him feel as if he were at home in the house; he was comforted by the casualness of existence.

Maude was right that the room was impossible to miss. The door was covered in childlike butterflies painted in purple puffy paint. When he opened the bedroom door, he was transported into a small, private art gallery. The room was covered wall to wall in fabric canvases, canvas boards, and paper sketches. Your desk was covered in paint splotches and doodles carved into the wood, there were glow in the dark stars and moons on the blades of your ceiling fan. You’d painted your ceiling into a buttery sunset. It was as if for the first time, Steve was seeing all of you. And you were absolutely incandescent.

His hands went to roam your shelves, filled with sketchbooks and art books and worn copies of the classics. Greedily, he grabbed the first black sketchbook he found its pages heavy and curled. A piece of masking tape on the cover read ‘Still Life, 1980’ in black Sharpie. He flipped over the cover. Every page was the same bowl of fruit, some plain sketches, some painted in acrylics or water colours, but the fruit changed in shape and structure with every flip, rotting more with each sketch until the image switched to a vase of sunflowers, a prim and proper version of the Van Gogh he’d seen a print of in his freshman year art class. He wondered if you’d been there, silently making your own master pieces. He wondered how many masterpieces you had hidden away in your big black book.

The door opened behind him before he could put the sketch book away. “What the fuck are you doing in my house?” you snapped, bounding towards him. When your grandmother told you that your friend from school was upstairs waiting for you, you had a sinking feeling that you knew who it was. And seeing him rifling through your things made your blood boil.

Steve turned slowly, unsure what to say. You snatched the pad out of his hands “And who the fuck gave you permission to look at my stuff, you pervert!” You knew that he hadn’t done anything actually perverted, but you still felt violated.

“I can’t get you to talk to me, I figured coming here would at least make you see me.” Steve laughed a bit, unable to even process what was happening. In the back of his mind, he thought that this would be an effortlessly cool way to go about a solution. Like you’d see him in your room and think ‘wow…what an effort that was…’ Instead, you were furious.

“So, you thought that coming into my house without telling me, lying to my grandparents, and touching my stuff would make it better.” You raised an eyebrow, shoving your sketchbook onto the shelf.

“What was I supposed to do? You won’t answer my calls, you won’t talk to me, I can’t get you to look at me for more than a second and all I want to know is what I did wrong so I can fix it!” Steve cried, words tumbling out of his mouth. You both stared at each other for a moment, surprised by each other, your mouth hanging silently ajar.

You closed it fast, swallowing before speaking “You…you hurt my feelings.” You said softly, pushing past him to put distance between you, standing next to your desk and the window.

“How did I hurt your feelings?” Steve asked quietly, watching you carefully even as you stared defiantly out the window.

You crossed your arms tightly over your chest “You cancelled our plans. For Vicki.”

“So?” Steve asked.

“So, I don’t cancel on you. I never cancel on you, especially not the day of. It hurt my feelings.” You explained, picking at a bit of lint on your sweater.

“Yeah, but I…” he tried to catch himself before he said something terrible, but you already knew what filled in the blank.

“What? You have more friends than me? Is that it?” you snapped. It was Steve’s turn to look away, but you pressed on. “You’re right, you do have more friends than me. But don’t act like I don’t have a social life without you. I do. Do you know how many games of Samantha’s I’ve skipped out on to help you study? How many practises she’s asked me to come and watch that I’ve said no to because I already had plans with you?”

“I don’t know…” Steve muttered. Embarrassment crept up his face. He felt like such a dick. In truth he had forgotten about your plans that day in the excitement of a date with Vicki. With hindsight in full effect he could see that he would’ve had twice as much fun with you eating greasy burgers then he did with Vicki driving around Hawkins.

“Well, it’s been a lot. And it’s not the fact that you went out with Vicki that upset me, you are free to date whoever you want. But can you please at least tell me if you’re cancelling a little sooner than mere minutes before?” you asked, your voice cracking on the end.

“Sure, yeah of course. I should’ve been doing that before.” Steve stumbled over his words to apologize.

“Okay.” You nodded “Now, why are you going through my shit?”

“I wanted to see more. This whole room is incredible.” Steve breathed, plopping down on your mattress.

“You think?” you asked quietly. In truth, you didn’t think that you were that good of an artist. You loved art, but you didn’t think you were exactly talented.

“It’s so cool!” you couldn’t help but laugh, or else you’d cry. Nobody ever talked about your art with such enthusiasm. Teachers only criticized mistakes and your mother and grandparents saw it as clutter. Samantha liked some stuff but she didn’t talk about it much. Even a simple compliment from Steve made you want to cry. You covered your mouth to avoid the tears.

Steve didn’t seem to notice, wandering the room to point out pieces he thought were interesting. He pointed to a canvas depicting the quarry. You’d camped out there one night in the summer; drawing until the sun fades out of the sky and then painting it out once you had it exactly right. “This one is just insane I mean it looks like it’s going to eat you whole, like it has teeth or something.” He exclaimed.

“You can have it.” You replied quickly.

Steve shook his head “No, I couldn’t I mean don’t you want it? For college apps or something?” he couldn’t take it, he’d feel too guilty.

You shrugged “I have enough stuff for at least three portfolios, you should have that one if you like it so much. It’ll make your room cooler.”

“Hey, my room is cool.” Steve pouted, making you laugh harder. He liked your laugh, it split your whole face open into a smile. And your smile looked as if it sat on a bed of clouds. He wanted to float along with it forever.

“Oh yeah, your pee wee t-ball participation trophy is real slick, it gets you all the chicks.” You drawling, bouncing on your mattress.

“Hey, you didn’t run when you saw it.” Steve shrugged, sitting down next to you.

“Eh, your baby sports escapades don’t frighten me. It adds character to know that you suck at something.” You replied. Steve thought briefly of the bat in his trunk and the weight of it mid-swing, connecting with a heavy skull. Better with a bat now then he was as an elementary schooler.

You both lay back on the mattress, staring up at the slowly turning fan. Steve turned to you “What’d you think of Vicki anyway?” he asked.

“Honestly?” Steve nodded “I think she’s a bitch.” Steve laughed loudly but you pressed on “She is! She’s so mean for no reason!”

“Yeah, she’s not cool. She spent our whole date bitching about people, saying a lot of shit about you.” Steve murmured.

“What’d you…” you didn’t know if you could ask how he responded. You bit your tongue before finishing the sentence.

Steve understood anyway “I told her the truth. That you’re a really cool chick and that she shouldn’t be such a bitch about people she doesn’t know.” He said simply, turning his attention back to the slowly moving stars.

You didn’t necessarily believe that he actually defended you. Still, you didn’t feel like arguing. Steve continued on in your silence. “So, do you live with your grandparents’ full time? Or do your parents just work?” he asked.

“Both,” you sighed softly “My mom’s not home very much so they take care of me. She’s a fashion photographer, travels all over the world for different magazines.”

“What about your dad?” Steve asked. He’d seen a younger man in the photo; he assumed that it was some kind of father figure.

“He died.” You muttered.

“Oh…” Steve didn’t know how to react to that. He wasn’t sure if he should apologize.

“She killed him.” You couldn’t help yourself from saying that. Anger still stewed into your bones whenever you thought about your parents.

“What?” Steve to fully look at you, flabbergasted.

“She worked him to death. She always wanted more and farther away from us. Trips to Europe, designer things, this stupid house. She killed him.” You wiped hard at your face, trying to keep the hot tears from streaming down your face. Steve didn’t say anything, he simply pulled you into his chest, holding you tightly into him and letting you cry. He patted your hair gently, trying to soothe you as best he could. He didn’t think he was very good at helping people in their pain. But you grabbed onto his middle and clung to him like a life raft.

“My parents aren’t that great either.” He muttered, unsure if he was helping at all. “They ignore me.”

“I-I’m sorry they do that…” you muttered, looking up at him with wide, wet eyes. Steve melted. He absolutely melted. He was filled with the sudden urge to kiss you, which surprised him. He didn’t follow through with the urge; he didn’t know how you’d take it.

“I’m sorry he’s not here for you…” he replied, petting your hair softly. He stayed with you like that for what felt like hours, letting you cling to him and ruin his shirt with tears. He didn’t care. He needed to be there for you. He promised himself that he wouldn’t hurt you again. That he’d be more careful and pay more attention. He couldn’t bear to see you in this much pain again. He knew that you weren’t crying because of him, but if he could keep you from feeling even an ounce of this sort of pain again, he would.

He cared about you too much to ever let you suffer alone again.

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twolfewriting · 3 years

Text

The Rise of the Dastardly Villain Chaos

By T. L. Wolfe

Prologue Draft

The building was in ruin. Rubble fell in a cataclysmic landslide of manmade stone, daylight stealing in through what were once walls and a ceiling like a robber through unlocked doors. A massive beam broke free from the calamity of it all, swinging down in a trajectory of terror toward the mere moral bellow.

The man froze in abject horror, a scream trapped in his throat, creating sound no stronger then a small whimper as he came face to face with the moment of his death. He looked away, bracing himself for it's impact.

But the beam never struck.

The man opens his eyes into slits, wondering if perhaps the beam has missed him. His eyes widen; mouth drops open.

Above him stood an unmovable force disguised as a man. It held the beam, a heartbeat away, this mighty, righteous being, preventing the raw force of mortality from claiming the workman.

The hero known as the Bullet Racer tossed the beam aside, the reverberations rocking the ground beneath the workman, bringing him to his knees. He stared up at the hero, tears streaming down his face absently. The Bullet Racer's hard gaze beats down on the man.

"Can you walk?"

The worker blinks, snapping or if his daze. He nods.

"Then go - quickly!" the Bullet Racer snaps, turning his attention elsewhere. "I'll take care of him."

The man sees him then, panic growing tangled roots into his chest. The person responsible for all this pandemonium.

He stood triumphant, smile half-cocked as he relaxed against the wall, more metaphor than wall by then. He looked like a splotch of ink you might achieve leaving a pen to bleed on a crisp sheet of paper, but the ink collected into masses at the end of his limbs, coming to form monstrous robotic tools of mayhem. He was the terrible creature of destruction, the patron saint of panic; the only man alive who could come close to matching the Bullet Racer:

The Dastardly,

Villainous,

Chaos.

Chaos laughed, sending an icy chill through the room. People froze from their attempted escape to gawk at him, forgetting for a moment the peril of the collapsing building when the person before them posed so much more meaningful a threat.

"Sweetheart, you can hardly take care of yourself," he purred.

The Bullet Racer charged at him, and Chaos just barely evaded him, casting a glaring smile.

The worker knew what came next; an epic fight that would tear this building down. He had to go, now, if he wanted to survive.

Scrambling to his feet, the man fled, along with the countless other people in the building who weren't willing to die to say they witnessed this showdown.

As they raced through the debre into what remained of the main hall, the Bullet Racer managed to catch one of Chaos's arms, and pinned him to the wall forcefully. His face hovered inches above Chaos, and his breath came out jagged and thick.

Chaos's smile had dropped then, and he turned his head away from the Bullet Racer, trembling.

In a low growl, the Bullet Racer taunted him.

"Got ya."

It was then that The Dastardly Villain Chaos; messenger of turmoil - twitching beneath The Bullet Racer's grasp - let out a very sudden, very low, very involuntary, moan.

Chaos slapped his free hand over lips, frantically searching the room with his eyes. He lowered his hand slowly as he watched the last of the civilians pass into the hall. If they had heard what just transpired, they made no move to confirm this.

The Bullet Racer leaned his head down slightly, lip twitching.

"Jesus Christ, Harold, we're working," the Bullet Racer breathes in exasperation, just barely concealing the arousal in his own voice.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry -" Harold begins, panicked, but the moment the last bystander is out of view, The Bullet Racer, also known as Zeke, Harold's boyfriend, shoved Harold up against the wall, smothering him in a deep, long kiss, and, well.

You know what they say about work and pleasure.

It's can certainly make something as innocuous as a dislodged camera on the wall, red light holding steady, an easy thing to miss.

If only the same could be said about the person who would get their hands on that tape...

#Prologue #Draft #Writing #my writing #original writing #Wip #the rise of the dastardly villain chaos #Harold #Zeke #Romance #hero x villain #Enemies to lovers #Angst #Novel #T Wolfe writing #T. L. Wolfe writing

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ebonetnoir · 4 years

Photo

Toaster's Handbook Jokes, Stories, and Quotations By Peggy Edmund and Harold Workman Williams THIRD EDITION Publisher: The H. W. Wilson Co., New York Copyright: 1932

BUY ON ETSY

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serpent-fangs · 6 years

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You are not weak just because your heart feels so heavy - CLOSED

Fangs Fogarty Self Para

tw: blood, knives, I think that’s about it? Tell me if I’m wrong.

Fangs just wanted to visit his mother, with the mayhem going on in town and just generally being busy trying to balance school, the serpents, time for his friends and his job, it was easy for the young serpent to get busy and distracted. He called his uncles’ workplace the day before, asking what his shift was for the next day. The older man worked 9-6 which meant his lunch would be at one, so Fangs could be by the house between 9-1 and 2-6 since every one of his uncle’s lunches were spent coming home to check in on his mother.

He left Sweet Pea’s house in the morning, and morning to Fangs meant around 10:30-11. He made it back to his uncle’s home about fifteen minutes later. Fangs naturally did a once over through the parking garage, not seeing the classic old De Ville in any of the front handicapped spots, so it was clear to go up and visit his mother.

“Oh, honey! How was school? Is Ms. Brogar still giving you and your friends trouble?” His mother asked as he walked in and he grinned. She remembered him today, despite asking about his teacher from three years ago. “No, today was a good day.”

He had learned to play along with whatever time-frame her mind was in, it was always better to have her remember him from years ago than not at all. The two chatted for a while and he did the basics of helping her with anything she needed before looking at the clock, it was about time for him to leave and started saying his goodbyes.

“Tell your friends I said hi and don’t be out too late, it’s a school night.” She replied with a smile that made him wish they could go back a few years, back to a time when it was just the two of them and things were normal - or as normal as they could get for the two. He was opening his mouth to reply when the door to her room opened up and he was being stared down at by the one person he was trying to avoid all day.

“The hell are you doing here, boy?” Before he could reply, his mother chimed in with her own confusion, which her brother shut down in an instant. “Hey, leave her alone, I’m already leaving anyway.” Fangs immediately wanted to de-escalate the situation before she was left upset, but being the protective mama-bear she was at the time her memory sat for now, she wasn’t leaving it be and proceeded to yell at her brother to leave her son alone.

There was yelling back and forth from both Fangs’ mother and uncle and he joined in, yelling at them both to stop it before trying to push his way out the door. “I’ll be back soon, ma.” He gave her a smile over his shoulder, missing the look on the older man’s face as he tried to block the doorway.

In a swift movement, his uncle grabbed his jacket and slammed him against the wall alongside the door, causing Fangs to stare at him in surprise, frustration growing in the pit of his stomach. “Get off me!” He growled out and shoved him off before walking out. There was no chance in hell he was fighting in front of his mother, but his uncle followed him right out, closing the door to her room as he basically charged Fangs.

“You will not be back. How many times to I gotta tell ya you’re not welcome here?”

“She’s my mother, you can’t just tell me to stay away!”

“She clearly did a piss poor job raising you, I’ve told her time and time again. All that trouble you get into, you think that it’s best for her to be around you? You’re going to damage her worse than you already have!”

Fangs rolled his eyes back and shook his head before moving to grab his jacket, not wanting to show that he was worried that he, in fact, had damaged his mother. “You’re going to have to get over it, I’m not-”

Before he could even finish his thought, the serpent was once again being slammed against the nearest wall. Fangs instinctively shoved against the forearm that was pressing against his collarbone and slowly sliding up into his throat the more he tried to push out of the hold. There was an all too familiar sound of a pocket knife opening and Fangs swore to himself as he realized his own knife was in the inside pocket of his jacket, which was now lying on the ground after falling out of his hand from the unexpected shove.

A lovely accumulation of slurs and general hate rolled off his uncles tongue as he tried to remind Fangs that his mother was better off not having him around to confuse her mental state, and finally the little kid who always sat there and took it from his family finally snapped. Without another thought, Fangs swung and soon the two were fighting each other off, but for the most part Fangs was just trying to keep the older man away.

It was a blur, but of course, in surefire Fangs fashion, he stumbled over a stool in the kitchen and dining area and his attempt to keep his uncle at arms distance failed. He felt a sharp pain in his cheek and as he fell back on the ground, but Fangs was more relieved that it was only due to a fist. He hunched into himself as blow after blow was delivered into his sides as a steel toed workman’s boot repeatedly connected with his body.

No matter how much he hated his uncle, he never remembered having to fight off his own family. He wouldn’t. Family meant too much to him.

There wasn’t fear there this time when he saw the blade and hate in his own uncle’s eyes as the man hunched over him, blade pressing into the side of his throat as he used his wrist and body weight to hold Fangs down. “You show your face here again and I will take care of your myself, you hear me?” The harsh whisper was being drowned out by the sound of his own heart beat pounding in his ears, but Fangs found himself nodding along to whatever was being said, the sharp steel of the blade biting into the flesh of his neck as he did so.

“Harold?” A soft and fearful voice called from his mother’s doorway and both men looked over to see her weakly standing there. “What’s- who is he? What’s going on? Do I need to call the cops?” And just like that, she had forgotten and Fangs took in a large gasp of air as his uncle moved to stand back up, grabbing the serpent jacket and throwing it at him, telling him to get out before walking up to comfort his now confused sister.

“Just some punk kid thinking he could break in. It’s fine, he won’t be coming back” Were the last words Fangs head as he bolted from the house, tugging on his leather jacket and roughly wiping at his face, wanting to rid the tears he didn’t know were there before he went home, but let out a small hiss as his hands pulled back from his face with streaks of blood.

He rode back to Sweet Pea’s and felt an odd combination of relief and loneliness when he noticed the other bike missing, but he chose to focus on the relief as he could shower and clean up the gash on his cheek and shallow slices into the side of his neck without any concern or questioning. There wouldn’t be anything that could be done for his seemingly broken ribs or the bruising, so Fangs just grabbed a bag of frozen mixed vegetables from the freezer and collapsed on the couch with them resting on his side.

This was his humble abode. This was all the family he had left. And as the lonelienes crept in again, Fangs wondered why he couldn’t just be normal. Basic. Less than average even. Anything but broken.

#your heart's too big for your body || muse #I don't want to die || Fangs

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100yearoldcomics · 2 years

Text

February 5, 1922 Harold Teen by Carl Ed

Damn, Harold, you need to calm down. Every time Lillums cancels a plan, he's immediately like "Welp, time to kill myself."

[ID: Harold crouches down on the sidewalk to speak with Lillums' kid brothers, Tuffy and Cyclone. He's weeping profusely. The kids seem happy. Tuffy hands over an envelope. /end] Tuffy: Here's your note back. Lillums wouldn't even look at it. Where's my dime! Harold: Just how did she say it, Tuffy? Cyclone: She's goin' skating with Tubby this aftahnoon!

[ID: Harold walks moodily down the street when he spies a safe being hoisted up the side of a building on a pulley. /end] Harold: Beloved, how barren is life without thee! HUH?? Arrow [pointing to Harold's speech bubble]: Harold copped this line out of a novel. Workman: Heave! Yoh!!

[ID: Harold stands underneath the safe, plugging his ears and shutting his eyes. The workman hoisting the safe watches in angry surprise. /end] Harold: I hope it falls! I hope it falls!

[ID: The workman literally kicks him out of the way. /end] Workman: OUTSIDE! You dizzy dumbbell!

[ID: He walks along, glumly, on the tracks of a streetcar. /end] Harold: Little girl! If you only knew. If you only knew... little girl! SFX: CLANG, DANG

[ID: Harold closes his eyes and plugs his ears with his fingers again. Behind him, the streetcar operator leans out his window and curses Harold out. /end] Harold: I won't move! I hope it hits me! I hope it hits me! Streetcar Driver: ๑??!#D-✴POW!☆

[ID: The driver gets out of his streetcar and punches Harold's lights out. /end] Driver: Who do yah think y'are, a traffic cop???

[ID: Harold walks into his house depressedly. His mother awaits him eagerly and his kid sister Josie stands next to her, hand on her stomach hungrily. /end] Mother: Harold! I'm going to have your favorite dish tonight. Chocolate pie with whipped cream! Josie: 'Um! Y'oughta see ut. Umm!! Harold: Mam??

[ID: Harold sits up in bed, frantically thinking. /end] Harold: I'VE GOT IT!! I'll leave town. I'll go to California and become a movie star or sump'in', and clean up a couple of millions!

[ID: Harold takes clothes from his dresser drawers. /end] Harold: Why should I stay? Nobody will miss me! I'll just take a few things so Ma won't get suspicious!

[ID: Harold, carrying a hobo bundle in his left hand, walks towards his front door. /end] Harold: Little girl!!! I am about to pass out of your life... F-O-R-E-V-E-R!!

[ID: Walking past the dining room doorway, Harold catches a whiff of "the delicious aroma of food," as an arrow helpfully labels. He takes a couple sniffs of it. /end]

[ID: Harold takes his hat and jacket off and places them on the coat rack. His hobo bundle sits on the ground beside it. /end] Harold: Hm! I might as well stay for dinner!

#newspaper comics #vintage #history #1922 #harold teen #transcript available #1920s #tw: suicide #haha dysfunctional relationship

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adamdow95 · 2 years

Text

Recycle planning & research

Shooting Plan: “Painting with Light”

For my recycled still life object shoot, I plan to capture several still life shoots in the same frame sight, with the lighting displayed on the objects in different angles and height. The reason is to shoot the same shoot over and over again with different lighting techniques and then place all the shots together in separate layers via Photoshop software.

The shoot will take place in the college studio in the dark. It is very imperative that the tripod that the camera is displayed on does not move, re-adjusted (or accidently nudged) to keep in the same frame for each shot with different lighting techniques. I will include an old tarp material in the shot with a piece of wood, to show a carpentry feel to the shoot.

When all shots are layered together as on shot, the lighting in each shot will layer together, making the multi-layered final shot into a paint-like still life shot.

The objects I plan to use for my shoot are old carpentry tools from my Papa’s old tool shed. The objects consist with wood, iron and rust metal.

Light Plan:

The main lighting techniques I plan to experiment with contain a mixture of:

Side Light (left & right)

Top Light

Rembrandt Light

Frontal Light

The lighting I plan to use for my shoot contain a mixture of experimentation of lights;

LED miniature panel light (with stand)

LED workman’s light

LED torch light (with DIY snoot attached)

Mobile phone light

Examples of “Painting with Light” images:

YouTube video of Harold Ross’ tutorial: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vmKh-HWvQPw&t=35s

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=js_X5u3AGaY

Harold Ross

Carol Ward

Carol’s work is amazing using the paint-with-light tool because it really looks like a digital painting piece that was thoroughly painted gently rather than a Photoshop multi-layered image. I love how focused the camera is whether how many times it was shot with separate lighting techniques involved.

The lighting is well placed upon the bulb thing beside the camera, and the camera’s lens.

As an art lover, the colours look well adapted for a painting.

Mike Kukulski

This images is amazing because of the depictions of dimly lit light techniques used on the objects, creating greater amounts of shadow and darkness. Really admire the shape of light and shadow displayed upon the wrench.

#recycle #hndphotography #preproduction #illusion

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ourdallasvideofestthings · 6 years

Video

youtube

BART CHAT 9/17/18 Greetings all, DOCUFEST is coming soon to The Texas Theater. Weds October 10th at 7:30 PM. We will be showing a short called Moment of Truth, made by the great Chuck Workman, that puts together key moments of documentary history that set the tone for this year’s DOCUFEST. We will also roll out the VideoFest promo for this year, shot on film (thanks to Kodak) and made by Josh Gallas. The main attraction on that Thursday night will be a screening of The Great Buster, a new documentary about Buster Keaton made and narrated by Peter Bogdanovich. I have loved the silent comic film from the first time I saw Chaplin. There has been a longstanding debate, kind of like a “who was the best hitter in baseball debate” that people have at bars, but about who was better at the silent comic— Keaton, Chaplin or Harold Lloyd. If you see me at a bar, I’ll happily have that discussion with you, but I honestly think they are ALL great. There is so much about Buster’s life and story that I didn’t know before, and now you will know, too, when you see the film. It’s always great to hear one great talk about another great on film. In this case, Bogdanovich’s writing and voiceover work are both entertaining and scholarly, and we get to hear from many others who were influenced by Buster such as Hertzog, Richard Lewis, Carl Reiner, Mel Brooks and many more—but of course, it is the films that steal the show. If you’ve never seen them or haven’t seen them in a while, this will definitely put a smile on your face. We are so happy to be able to start of DOCUFEST with this film! I will post more on the rest of the schedule next week. Thursday night at 10:00 PM on KERA, Frame of Mind shows work from two very different film and video programs in the Dallas/Fort Worth area. Two of the films, The Broken Man and Sophia, are from TCU, and the two shorts, Bat and Basil, are from KD Conservatory, which is a great program headed by Dennis Bishop. What is showing this week? At The Texas, they are showing Deliverance. I really think about this film differently after seeing the documentary Hillbilly this year at the Women's Texas Film Festival. This film, while good and powerful, created a false impression of the people of Appalachia. For a balanced look, try Harlan County, or Matewan. Also at The Texas they are showing Bad Reputation—the Joan Jett film that played the Oak Cliff Film Festival and Shaft in 35mm. On Sunday night, you can catch Lawrence of Arabia, which should always be seen on the big screen, not an IPhone. I also saw the trailer for Kusama: Infinity and that looks good. The Magnolia Theater is showing Love Gilda, which I thought I was going to love but instead, just kind of liked. Pick of the Litter is playing there, so if you were inspired by PawFest, this is a chance to reconnect with your inner dog. The Angelika is showing Lizzie and Assassination Nation. The Alamo is showing Dazed and Confused, Full Metal Jacket and Spaceballs. (Why are they always showing Spaceballs?) Also, before you check out Fahrenheit 11/9 playing around town, watch Despotism, as Moore uses clips from this film in his documentary about the current political state of affairs. On Thursday night, Women in Film Dallas is having their member showcase from 6:30-9:30PM at Media Tech and if you’re a filmmaker needing more information on how to market yourself, you can check out this workshop on marketing and publicity for actors and filmmakers. I hope you have a great week and don't forget to put Opening Night of DOCUFEST on your calendar! Bart Weiss, Artistic Director Dallas VideoFest

#Buster Keaton #TCU #DVF30DocuFest

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bills-bible-basics · 1 year

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SKEWED VIEWS -- a poem by Bill Kochman A poem by Bill Kochman. Visit my poetry page at https://www.billkochman.com/Poetry/ to see all my poetry, along with related Bible study resources, all in one place, and organized by poem category. Thanks! To see other poems related to this one, please go here: https://www.billkochman.com/Poetry/index.html#Deception-False-Doctrine To really understand this poem, please consider visiting the following links in your web browser: • https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Margaret_MacDonald_(visionary) • https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Margaret_MacDonald_(visionary)#MacDonald's_utterance • https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Nelson_Darby • https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Millerism • https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Great_Disappointment • https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Seventh-day_Adventist_Church • https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Futurism_(Christianity) "Study to shew thyself approved unto God, a workman that needeth not to be ashamed, rightly dividing the word of truth." 2 Timothy 2:15, KJV ". . . we know that we all have knowledge. Knowledge puffeth up, but charity edifieth. And if any man think that he knoweth any thing, he knoweth nothing yet as he ought to know." 1 Corinthians 8:1-2, KJV "As also in all his [Paul's] epistles, speaking in them of these things; in which are some things hard to be understood, which they that are unlearned and unstable wrest, as they do also the other scriptures, unto their own destruction." 2 Peter 3:16, KJV "But evil men and seducers shall wax worse and worse, deceiving, and being deceived." 2 Timothy 3:13, KJV "Anointed and Unanointed Teachers" KJV Bible Verse List: https://www.billkochman.com/VerseLists/verse352.html "Puffed Up With Knowledge" KJV Bible Verse List: https://www.billkochman.com/VerseLists/verse265.html "Test Doctrines for Scriptural Validity" KJV Bible Verse List: https://www.billkochman.com/VerseLists/verse329.html "False Doctrine" KJV Bible Verse List: https://www.billkochman.com/VerseLists/verse016.html Article: "Humility in Our Understanding of God's Word": https://www.billkochman.com/Articles/Humility-in-Our-Understanding-01.html "Led by the Spirit in Our Understanding" KJV Bible Verse List: https://www.billkochman.com/VerseLists/verse479.html "Taught by Revelation of the Holy Spirit" KJV Bible Verse List: https://www.billkochman.com/VerseLists/verse319.html "Taught by No Man" KJV Bible Verse List: https://www.billkochman.com/VerseLists/verse465.html Article: "Rightly Dividing the Word of Truth": https://www.billkochman.com/Articles/ritediv1.html Article: "Speak the Pure Language of Truth: https://www.billkochman.com/Articles/purelng1.html "Spirit of Truth" KJV Bible Verse List: https://www.billkochman.com/VerseLists/verse294.html "False Prophets" KJV Bible Verse List: https://www.billkochman.com/VerseLists/verse017.html "False Brethren" KJV Bible Verse List: https://www.billkochman.com/VerseLists/verse015.html "Willful Ignorance" KJV Bible Verse List: https://www.billkochman.com/VerseLists/verse440.html Article: "Modern False Prophets and Worldly Ecumenism": https://www.billkochman.com/Articles/ecumen-1.html Article: "Elijah: Where Are the True Prophets of God?": https://www.billkochman.com/Articles/elijah-1.html Article: "The Misguided End of the World Predictions of Harold Camping": https://www.billkochman.com/Articles/Prediction-Harold-Camping1.html "Wolves in Sheeps' Clothing" KJV Bible Verse List: https://www.billkochman.com/VerseLists/verse086.html "Mass Deception" KJV Bible Verse List: https://www.billkochman.com/VerseLists/verse186.html Article: "2012: New Age Deception And Psychobabble": https://www.billkochman.com/Articles/2012bab1.html Article: "Age of Deception, Age of Delusion": https://www.billkochman.com/Articles/deceptn1.html https://www.billkochman.com/Blog/index.php/skewed-views-a-poem-by-bill-kochman/?feed_id=35805&_unique_id=641724cef1059&SKEWED%20VIEWS%20--%20a%20poem%20by%20Bill%20Kochman

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anastpaul · 6 years

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Saint of the Day – 19 February – Blessed John Sullivan S.J. (1861-1933) – Priest, Religious, Lawyer, Teacher, Writer, Miracle Worker, Apostle of Charity. Patronages – Ecumenism, teachers. Blessed John (8 May 1861 – 19 February 1933) was an Irish Roman Catholic priest and a professed member of the Jesuits. Sullivan was known for his life of deep spiritual reflection and personal sacrifice; he is recognised for his dedicated work with the poor and afflicted and spent much of his time walking and riding his bike to visit those who were troubled or ill in the villages around Clongowes Wood College school where he taught from 1907 until his death.

From the 1920s onwards there were people who testified to his healing power despite the fact that he never claimed credit or causation for himself from these reported cases. Father Sullivan was known for his friendliness, his amiable nature was coupled with a somewhat shy temperament but one willing to aid those who needed it most. He was noted for his strong faith and for leading multiple penances on himself such as eating little.

Sullivan had long been admired during his life and was known as a man of inspirational holiness which prompted for calls for his beatification; the cause later opened and would culminate on 7 November 2014 after Pope Francis confirmed his heroic virtue and named him as Venerable. The same pope approved a miraculous healing credited to his intercession on 26 April 2016. His beatification, the first ever to take place Ireland, took place in Dublin on 13 May 2017 and was celebrated by Cardinal Angelo Amato.

Childhood and education

John Sullivan was born in mid-1861 at 41 Eccles Street in the old Dublin. He was born as the last of five children to Sir Edward Sullivan (10.07.1822–13.04.1885) – member of the Church of Ireland and a successful barrister who would later become the Lord Chancellor of Ireland – and Elizabeth Josephine Bailey (1823–27.01.1898) – a Roman Catholic from a prominent land-owning household in Passage West. Sullivan was raised as a Protestant and was baptised in the local Church of Ireland parish of Saint George on Temple Street on 15 July 1861. One sister was Annie Sullivan (1852-25.01.1918) and a brother was William (23.02.1860–07.07.1937). The girls were raised as Catholics while the sons were raised as Protestants. The first child was Annie and then came Edward, Robert and William.

In late 1861 the household relocated to 32 Fitzwilliam Place in Dublin. In 1873 he was sent to the Portora Royal School in Enniskillen with his brother William. In 1877 his brother Robert (1853–77) drowned after a boating accident in Killiney Bay along with Constance Exham who was the daughter of a family friend.

After his time at the Portora Royal School he followed in his father’s footsteps and went to Trinity College from 1879 where he studied classics. He was awarded the Gold Medal in Classics in 1885 and he studied for the English Bar at Lincoln’s Inn in London. During this period he travelled across Europe and spent time taking walking tours in Macedonia and Greece as well as Asia Minor. He spent several months in one of the Orthodox monasteries on Mount Athos and even contemplated entering it as a monk. He travelled through Southern Italy en route home but was forced to prolong his stay there due to contracting smallpox.

Upon his father’s death in 1885 he came into a comfortable inheritance. He was a frequent visitor to the Hospice of the Dying at Harold’s Cross where he brought comfort and companionship in addition to small tokens of food and drink as well as clothing to those ill people. Even after he became a teacher at Clongowes Wood College he continued these small luxuries to the poor including a bit of tobacco while also providing them with tea and sugar as well as oranges and apples. His brother novices remember him for his small kindnesses extended to his classmates.

Conversion and priesthood Sullivan was received into the Roman Catholic Church on 21 December 1896 in a celebration that the Jesuit priest Michael Gavin presided over at Farm Street Church Mayfair in central London. His family had expressed their great surprise upon his decision to convert to the Catholic faith. He commenced his Jesuit novitiate on 7 September 1900 at Saint Stanislaus College at Tullabeg. On completion of his novitiate around 1901 he was sent for his philosophical studies – until 1904 – to Saint Mary’s Hall in Stonyhurst. In 1904 – once he concluded his studies – he went to Milltown Park in Dublin for his theological studies and the Archbishop of Dublin William Walsh later ordained Sullivan as a Jesuit priest in the chapel at Milltown Park on 28 July 1907. He said his first Mass at the convent of the Irish Sisters of Charity at Mount Saint Anne’s in Milltown.

Sullivan soon after took up a teaching position at Clongowes Wood College which was an all-male boarding school the Jesuits managed near Clane. From 25 July 1919 until 20 May 1924 he served as the rector of the Juniorate and Retreat House at Rathfarnham Castle on the outskirts of Dublin. Sullivan then returned to teaching at Clongowes Wood College after this. Sullivan was untiring in his attention to the sick and he would travel miles to make a sick call which was often on foot but also riding a battered bike. On one occasion a workman by chance passed the chapel at the school at 2:00 am to see Sullivan in deep prayer on his knees. Each Holy Thursday, he spent five or six hours kneeling before the altar.

Illness and death In February 1933 he began suffering severe abdominal pains and so was transferred on 17 February from the college to Saint Vincent’s Nursing Home in Lower Leeson Street in Dublin while asking for his breviary to be brought to him. Sullivan died at 11:00 pm on 19 February 1933 with his brother Sir William Sullivan at his side; an old friend who was present at his death said: “He died well”. He was buried in Clongowes Wood Cemetery. In 1960 his remains were exhumed and transferred to Saint Francis Xavier Church on Upper Gardiner Street.

Beatification In 1944 his name was placed on the list that the Jesuit postulator Carlo Micinelli had set up in relation to prospective sainthood causes that could be opened; opening the process saw him titled as a Servant of God. The informative process that opened in 1953 saw the accumulation of witness testimonies and documentation being gathered and this process was completed in September 1960. The Congregation for the Causes of Saints were given the evidence and validated the informative process in acceptance in 1969 prior to theologians approving his spiritual writings in 1972. On 22 February 2000 the C.C.S. issued the official “nihil obstat” to the cause which acted as a formal introduction to the cause and approval of its continuation.

In June 2002 another process was held in Dublin to collate further evidence and the findings of this particular tribunal were forwarded to the C.C.S. who validated it on 18 October 2002. In 2004 the postulation submitted the Positio dossier to the C.C.S. for inspection with their consulting theologians approving its contents on 19 November 2013; the C.C.S. later approved this on 16 October 2014.

On 7 November 2014 he was named as Venerable after Pope Francis – himself a Jesuit – approved a decree acknowledging the heroic virtue of the late priest’s life based on the cardinal and theological virtues. Sullivan’s beatification depended on the approval of a miracle that was an unexplainable healing after his death; one such case was investigated in Ireland and it received C.C.S. validation on 10 February 2006. The C.C.S. approved this miracle on 19 April 2016 after the medical experts and theologians approved it. The pontiff – on 26 April 2016 – approved a miracle attributed to the late priest’s intercession and thus approved his beatification to take place. The miracle approved was the 1954 healing of a cancerous tumor on the neck of the Dublin woman Delia Farnham.

The beatification was celebrated in Dublin at the Saint Francis Xavier Church on 13 May 2017. He was also the first person to ever be beatified in Ireland.

The current postulator for this cause is the Jesuit priest Anton Witwer. The current vice-postulator is the Jesuit priest Conor Harper.

Devotions and legacies There is a constant demand for blessings with his vow crucifix which is kept in the Saint Francis Xavier Church where his remains are located in the Sacred Heart Chapel. There is a special Mass celebrated in that church once each month dedicated to him and there is also an annual Mass to celebrate his life at the same church celebrated close to the commemoration of his 1933 death. The people of Kildare created their own monument to the late priest in Clane close to Clongowes Wood College.

Sullivan had been a Protestant until he reached middle age though that church was an important aspect to his life. On 8 May 1983 the retired Church of Ireland Archbishop George Simms gave the address at a memorial service to honour Sullivan’s life and work which was held in Saint Georges Church on Temple Street. The Catholic Auxiliary Bishop James Kavanagh attended and bought with him a text from Pope John Paul II reading: “His Holiness asks you to convey his cordial greetings to all present. In communion of prayer he gives thanks to Almighty God for the extraordinary gifts bestowed on Father Sullivan during his life and for the spirit of mutual understanding, reconciliation and goodwill which his memory enkindles between various christian communities in Ireland today”.

Miracles during his lifetime There have been miracles reported during Sullivan’s life such as the two mentioned below:

The cure of Michael Collins (b. 1925) – nephew of the famed Michael Collins – from infantile paralysis. The child awoke one night in October 1928 in extreme distress and the summoned doctor diagnosed him with infantile paralysis. Mrs Collins drove to the school seeking out Sullivan’s assistance; Sullivan promised to say a Mass but also rode his bike to their home where he touched the child’s leg and prayed over him for two hours. The cure of Miss Kitty Garry (aged ten at the time) from TB; he blessed her and the ailment left her after a month.

(via AnaStpaul – Breathing Catholic)

#bljohnsullivan #february19bljohnsullivanSJ #catholic #jesuit #catholicism

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creativinn · 3 years

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This content was originally published here.

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