#wire haired weiners

[dachshundaday]

Scruffalopagus

[cassyapper]

some images so you can make an educated decision….

[clarestrand]

Deutsche Börse Photography Foundation prize Catalogue with text by Orit Gat.

The award will now be announced (virtually) on Sept 14th. For further info on how to join the webcast please consult The Photographers Gallery Website.

Image = Information

Orit Gat

1 A beginning

In Paris, an artist painting in a studio that used to be part of a monastery. She goes out and gets the largest drawing papers she can find. Surrounded by paint pots and brushes, it’s an image that belongs in a tradition of artists painting away in Parisian garrets, only this is not that story. What Clare Strand was painting in her Paris studio during a three-month residency at the Centre Photographique d'Ile-de-France in 2017 was a translation of pre-existing photographs that were ‘read’ to her over the phone by her husband in the UK. From across the English Channel, he would give her directions that would encode an image of his choosing, and she would paint it.

2 Transmission

Strand and her husband were following an existing model. The method they were using to transmit information was described in George H. Eckhardt’s ‘Electronic Television’, from 1936, in which he outlined how a photograph can be transmitted via code over telegraph. In this system, the original image is divided into a grid, with every square being given a value from 1 to 10. 1 is white, 2 has a tinge of grey, 3 is greyer, 4 darker and so on until 10, which is black. The initial source images from which Strand’s husband chose the images he would transmit to her were 10-by-8 inches, which they divided into a grid of forty-nine squares across and sixty down, each about 5 square millimetres. If it’s boring to read, imagine the couple’s phone conversations: he would call and say 24-2; 25-4; 26-5; and so on. Through conversation, with Strand following her husband’s direction, the language would form a representation of the original image. Like a human fax machine.

3 The result

Is a series of ten black-and-white paintings in acrylic on paper. The history of art brings forth associations and relations, from the development of the grid as a foundation for perspective in the Renaissance, to the nineteenth-century illusionism achieved through Pointillism. There are Gerhard Richter’s black-and-white paintings, László Moholy-Nagy’s telephone paintings, Agnes Martin’s feather-light grids. But the connection to the history of art crumbles in front of the actual framed paintings. They’re human, Strand says, as she reasserts that she is not a painter. They’re messy, imperfect. There are hairs that stuck to the paper, dust congealed into the paint. However, in installation shots of the whole series, they look like another kind of work. Photographed, the paintings seem faultless: the black, white and grey hues reminiscent of aestheticized black-and-white photography; the paintings look clean, their edges not frayed, the small mistakes blend into the frame. It’s like they have two lives, as object and as image. When I ask Strand which one matters more, she answers, ‘I don’t know. What I find ironic is that, as much I try to push “photography” into different mediums, I can never escape the camera and how it operates as a tool of representation. With each press or catalogue reproduction, the paintings are represented as photographs, which is somewhat at odds with the concept of the work – photography transposing into painting only then to be represented by photography!’

4 Utility

To talk about the history of art and about installation shots is to ignore how the objecthood of the paintings depends on their creation. This series, titled The Discrete Channel with Noise, is at once the result of and the documentation of communication and its possible failures. Looking at the paintings, I want to say they look pixelated, but that would make them more photo than painting, more final product than process.

5 The first man who saw the first photograph

The relationship between painting and photography always makes me think of Roland Barthes writing in his essay on photography, Camera Lucida, that ‘The first man who saw the first photograph (if we except Niépce, who made it) must have thought it was a painting: same framing, same perspective. Photography has been, and is still, tormented by the ghost of Painting.’  Later in the book, he writes about photography’s relationship to reality, or to the document: ‘No writing can give me this certainty. It is the misfortune (but also perhaps the voluptuous pleasure) of language not to be able to authenticate itself.’ The photo as confirmation of fact. That fact, that reality, is communicated over phone lines in The Discrete Channel with Noise. When we look at a photograph, what we’re looking for, according to Barthes, is knowledge that a thing, an event, happened. He writes about Polish soldiers in a 1915 photo by André Kertész: ‘that they were there; what I see is not a memory, an imagination, a reconstitution, a piece of Maya, such as art lavishes upon us, but reality in a past state: at once the past and the real.’ What we see, in The Discrete Channel with Noise, is a story about reality rather than proof thereof.

6 Whizzing through the air

When I meet Strand, she hands me an assortment of notes. She’s hesitant about it for a minute, as if giving me homework rather than help. Or as if she expects communication can fail, and thinks a list of references may offer a way out of an impasse. The history of Morse code; pigeon post between Paris and England c. 1870–71; Eckhardt; Cybernetics founder Norbert Weiner and American mathematician Claude Shannon’s information theory, which gave The Discrete Channel with Noise its title: Strand’s research does not explain as much as expand the work. And then in the notes is a quote from the 1973 movie Charlie and the Chocolate Factory based on Roald Dahl’s writing, recreating Eckhardt’s transmission of images over radio. Here the character Mike Teavee, the winner of the fourth golden ticket, who loves this technology, explains: “You photograph something then the photograph is split up in to millions of tiny pieces and they go whizzing through the air, then down to your TV set when they are all put together in the right order” 

Mike Teavee, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, Roald Dahl (1971).

That it is possible to share an image, and the labyrinthine process of it whizzing through the air is in line with Dahl’s 1971 book, in which the candy factory includes an impenetrable room-sized machine that, when operated, makes a lot of noise, takes a lot of time, and then produces a single bit of chewing gum. Unimpressive until someone chews it and realizes it is as nourishing as a three-course dinner: tomato soup, roast beef with baked potatoes, blueberry pie and ice cream for dessert.

Proof: the overcomplicated can sometimes be amazing. 

A lesson: also worth exploring.

7 Thirty-six images on a journey

The ten images in The Discrete Channel with Noise were chosen from a collection of thirty-six images Strand has compiled for a previous work, The Entropy Pendulum (2015), in which each of these photographs, which were taken from a tabloid newspaper’s archive, was eroded by the weight of a pendulum over the course of one day in an exhibition, then framed. Strand rephotographed the physical photos from the archive, creating a digital output that becomes a dataset ready for reuse. The subject of those images related to what Strand refers to as the subject of her work in general – magic, illusion, the paranormal, communication, transmission, the way people thought communication technologies were magical when they were first introduced, the way Alexander Graham Bell called the telephone a way to ‘talk with electricity’. How to read the transformation of these images through the process in The Discrete Channel with Noise These images are on a journey of losing and gaining information. The project is a metaphor, if not a realization, for what images do anyway: in flux, they move and shift in meaning.

8 Shifting in meaning

Why pay attention to shifts? Because shifts in context can mean that information is lost, or misused. An art historian friend of mine regularly points out that Alexander Nix, the founder and CEO of Cambridge Analytica, studied art history in university. Art matters, images matter, she wants to say. All channels of misinformation need to be decoded. Is there a present and a real, like Barthes thought there was in an only slightly less technological time than the one we occupy, today? Or is the subject of study now how realities are fractured across channels of communication?

9 An entire history of communication

The diagram used to explain Eckhardt’s ‘Electronic Television’ has a man sitting at a table in front of a large black-and-white image divided into a grid of a woman with short, curly hair who looks a bit like an early Hollywood film star. His sleeves are rolled up, his back a bit hunched, he is clearly concentrating. He holds a long pointer stick and taps information onto a device resting on the desk he is sitting at. The cable running from that device spirals into a growing network of telephone poles that reach a window, and from that window to a box on the wall, and straight from the box to a set of headphones that another man wearing a blazer (or is it a lab coat?) standing in front of a large grid, only partially completed with the recognisable top of the short-haired woman’s head. He holds a paint brush at the same spot the other man’s pointer is. Behind him on a table are 10 boxes of paint numbered from 1 (white) to 10 (black) and some paint brushes. The caption reads, ‘Fig. 26. A Simple Method for Sending Pictures by Wire or Radio.’

Visually, it matters that the example is always a woman and the transmitters and receivers are always men. The message is that even in new technologies, even in a new world, some old signals remain. That is what Eckhardt’s diagram exemplifies. An entire history of communication reinforces the idea of who gets to speak across these lines. It is therefore fitting that The Discrete Channel of Noise is structured and executed by a female artist.

10 A piece of Maya

When Barthes writes that ‘no writing can give me this certainty’, he is asserting photography’s relationship to what he calls ‘the real’. But as a writer, he must have known that it is the rest of the above-cited list – ‘a memory, an imagination, a reconstitution, a piece of Maya’ – that is one of the potentials of art: to reconstitute is a way of reimagining the world. After Cambridge Analytica, or in line with Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, I want to argue that the redefinition or the exploration of that real is the contemporary condition. We come to things with suspicion, some of which is about recognising the failures of the systems around us. But we also come to them with a sense of possibility, a remnant of the Maya or the three-course meal chewing gum: the idea that the world is a story, and it can be shared.

[useyernamesteven]

Fake names: Amanda Hugginkiss, Oliver Klozoff, Jacques Strappe, Mike Rotch, Mike Hatt, Hugh Jass, Ollie Tabooger, Ima Butole, Drew P. Weiner, Olaf Maifrend-Sergei, Pierre Pantz, Haywood Jaspankmee, and more.

And if you wanna spam something the word limit is 84 words. Heres some copypastas if ud like

Explode your dick and small your ass. Get bent losers! PENIS BLAST!!

The FitnessGram Pacer Test is a multistage aerobic capacity test that progressively gets more difficult as it continues. The 20 meter pacer test will begin in 30 seconds. Line up at the start. The running speed starts slowly, but gets faster each minute after you hear this signal. [beep] A single lap should be completed each time you hear this sound. [ding] Remember to run in a straight line, and run as long as possible. The second time you fail to complete a lap before the sound, your test is over. The test will begin on the word start. On your mark, get ready, start.

Cant afford a car. And i cant afford a house. And i cant afford the food that im puttin in my mouth. I cant afford to move where they pay a better wage. Cant live off the wages in the places that i stay. Cant get outta debt. And i cant afford a loan. Cant afford to rent. And i cant afford to own. Cant afford to go to school. And i cant afford to not. Cant afford to complain so i should probably stop.

Why does she think thats okay to wear? Going to the strip club? You have a nice house. Do u have a husband? Yes. Whats his name? Harold. Okay. Where're you going?! OH HAAAROLD! YOU WANT A WIFE THATS NOT A RAAAAGING CUNT?!

What. In the. Fuckknuckles is this? She's my girlfriend you intolerant shit. Whoa! Pump the hate breaks fox and friends. Im just surprised anyone would date you! Specially pinkiepie from my little pony.

Wait are you wearing a bra? No i took that thing off. It was getting in the way of my girls. Maddox i command you to put a bra on this instant. I REFUUUSE! My MELONS were meant to be FREE! Maddox cease this foolishness! I can jiggle if i want too, i can leave my bra behind. Cuz if my boobs dont bounce, and if they dont bounce, well theyre no boobs of mine!!

You son of a biscuit eating bulldog! What the french toast? You think i wouldnt find out about your little doo-doo head, cooty queen? WHO are You calling a COOTY Queen you Lint LICKER?!

Shut up fatboy! Aye! Dont call me fat you fucking jew! Eric, did you just say the f-word? Jew? No, he's talking about fuck. You cant say fuck in school you fucking fatass. KYLE! Well why the fuck not? ERIC! Dude you just said fuck again! STANLEY! Mm. KENNY! Why it doesnt hurt anybody? Fuck fuckity fuckfuckfuck. How would you like to see the school counselor? How would you like to suck ma ballz? what did you say?! Im sorry im sorry what i said was HOW WOULD YOU LIKE TO SUCK MA BALLZ, MR GARRISON?

I have an army. We have a hulk. I got a jar of diiirt! I have OsTeOpoROsiS. I have crippling depression. I have magic hair that glows when i sing! You have something i want. You have a big mouth, you know that? I HAVE THE HIGH GROUND!

Im going to have to put on my fucking double seeing glasses, because i cant even Begin to see the amount of BULLSHIT coming from you!

But since we're all gonna die, theres one more secret i feel i have to share with you. I did not care for The Godfather. What? Did not care for The Godfather. How can you even say that dad? Didnt like- didnt like it. Peter its so good! Its like the perfect movie! This is what everyone always says, whenever its a Aaah! Robert DiNero, Al Pacchino, i mean you never see ROBERT DUVAL! Fine, fine actor. Didnt like the movie. Why not? Didnt like- couldnt get into it.

Well aint you just the textbook fucking definition of classy! But guess what Jeeves. That garage wire wont do shit for dick against armour this thick! Whats that Alfred? How thick is it?? Well half as thick as my dick! So thick enough you need a fuckin anti-tank rifle to pierce it! And i dont even see a piece on your wrinkly old ass! Police girl, if you may. Bitches love canons! Oh fuck thats an anti-tank rifle. OH FUCK THATS AN ANTI-TANK RIFLE!

Let me tell you how this is gonna work! Your gonna be. You aint gonna tell me shit. Listen! Suck my dick! Shut up! Listen to me! Suck my dick, you fuck man! Listen! Suck my dick! You will be here in the court on monday! You'll be here suckin my dick! You will listen to me now! Go fuck yourself!

So I go into the Dairy Queen, i figure im all set theres only one guy in line... but its a very skinny guy. And he's askin Questions. At Dairy Queen! WHATDYA HAFTA KNOW?! Chocolate, Vanilla, you want stuff on it. Get outta the lineeee. Hes askin how bigs the small, is it big? ...NO ITS SMALL! SMALLS ARE SMALL! THATS WHY THEY CALL EM SMALLS!! Its 89cents heres ten dollars buy elevn of em, get out the line. Its 100 degrees and i gotta here how bigs the small is it big. And thats when I KILLED him your honor. Case dismissed!

Some people like green tea. Some people like black tea. And some people prefer oolong tea. Me? I like Tit-ty.

Well you can tell by the way i awkward walk, im gone shit my pants theres no time to talk. A fart came out, yeah it was farty and im standin here but my butt feels muddy. And its alright! Its okay! Please step out my fuckin way. You can try. To understand. That i prolly shit my pants...

I've No More Fucks to Give! My Fucks have run up Dry! I've tried to go Fuck Shopping but theres No More Fucks to Buy! I've No More Fucks to Give, No More Fucks I've tried to Get. I'm Over my Fuck Budget and I'm now in Fucking Debt!

For I am a Sinner in the hands of an angry God! Bloody Mary, full of vodka, blessed are you among cocktails. Lray for my now, at the hour of my death, which i hope is soon. Amen.

Now were here to teach you how to GO DOWN ON BITCHES RIGHT! Now bitches aint bein satisfied so check it! Quit -ing on that clitorus so damn hard! Bitches dont like that NONSENSE. Thats like puttin the tip of yo penis in a vacuum! Yall need to CHILL ON THE CLITORUS! Go Around that business! Thats like a button made of a million penis tops! Now every bitch like her cunnilingus just a lil bit different. Vaginas are like Snowflakes. Snowflakes is different. Learn yo bitches Snowflake! Ask yo bitch what she wants THEN DO WHAT SHE SAYS!

r/vexillology The Flag of Japan but its actually just this hand towel with a perfectly-placed water stain. Oh shit i just peed on my towel accidentally better turn this into clout. It was a WATER STAIN i had an ICE PACK and it LEAKED onto the towel I DIDNT FUCKIN PEE ON IT! you peed on it. you peed on it didnt you lil piss boy. I DIDNT PISS I DIDNT!!! IM NOT A LITTLE PEEPEE BOY!!! IM NOT!!!!

Once. Upon. A. Time. There. Was. A. BIG. Spaceship. And. Aliens. And. Mercenaries. And? War. And?? Betrayal. And?! ...Romance? ...and? Karate! AND?! Credits! The. End. We should write a screenplay together! Cool. Cool cool cool.

The peasant! At the dinner! He didn't pay his check. ...Its the peasant who I saw leaving the city who disappeared into the crowd with Kuzko in the back of his cart! Huuuuh! He must've taken him back to his village, so if we find the village we find him, and if we find him we find Kuzko. Oh yeah. Its all coming together.

It started with the wine. The wine. The wine. We were shopping for a bottle to bring to her cousins soiree. My cousin the Sous-Chef, she's very gourmet. I grabbed my favorite cabernet! He's got no clue and so I say, darling the wine. The wine? The wine! They're serving monkfish so darling the wine cant be red. How bout this Austrian riseling instead? Honey you know i dont like the riseling. When have you EVER seen me drink riseling?! Never but cant you listen this once? Red wine and fish? You'll look like a dunce! Fine, ill bring the red. You bring the white. That way ill still get drunk and youll still be right. Fine. Fine! FINE!

Whats your name? WHAT. What is. Your name?! Tony. Fuck you Tony! Whats your name? Ezekiel. Fuck you Ezekiel! Fuck you! Fuck you! Ay you know what i did last night? You better not bring my mother into this... You know what I did?! You better not! I built that fire over there. Oh. Then i fucked your mother next to it. Fuck you Ezekiel! Fuck you! Fuck you!

Yall remember how Texas had that "report an abortion" form that they had to take down after a week?

Well, Missouri has one, only it's for reporting transgender concerns.

Comrades. Friends. Romans. Countrymen. You know what to do.

[reveal-the-news]

Why Jann Wenner Let WIRED Start the 'Rolling Stone' of Tech

Why Jann Wenner Let WIRED Start the ‘Rolling Stone’ of Tech

Rock idols, movie stars and presidential candidates who quote Bob Dylan—not tech giants—were The Rolling StonesStock in business. Weiner knew Steve Jobs and noticed some similarities—when they met in the early 1980s they were both long-haired Dylan lovers who disrupted their fields—but the two never really hit it off. “We had a traditional professional disagreement about the future of print,”…

[reallygottaremebermypasswords]

I literally stopped and petted a fuckin Weiner dog inghe middle of that conversation I was chill. Like to be fair I shouldn't of but like....do you know how rare it is to see a wire hair Weiner dog? I was good I was chill like I said I'm assuming wee not together but I'm sick of it. Yeah I left thinking like place of care? Place of care? But I'm like at least y'all finally told me what the situation was so I wouldn't be like sleeping on the bus the whole time. Then I walked because even now I'm assumi wre not together but y'all act as if Mtray Daycare wasn't too lol for black kids. And isot here like.....it's whatever like I said I'm on a sorry ass phone 40 minutes

[fleur-de-violette]

Until I fall asleep

Supernatural fanfiction

A3O

This is set after the season 8 and AU from there, but the angels didn’t fell (reason is explained). 

Enjoy

“You want me to call Amelia?”

Sam looked up dubiously. Of all the things Dean might have said, he wasn’t expecting that one. Reading his brother face, the oldest hunter made an apologetic gesture.

“I don’t know man, her, or whoever you want.”

Sam broke eye contact, looking down. Whoever he wanted, hum? He knew his brother was desperate. He overheard the doctor telling him all they could was helping him go away without pain. That is was a matter of days and that they should call his friends and relatives to say goodbye. He also knew the only reason Dean wasn’t destroying everything in the hospital out of frustration was because he was too busy trying to hide his distress from his little brother.

He was dying. There were no alternatives. Cas hadn’t shown any sign of being alive since he left for heaven to ask Metatron the truth, and the state of heaven was unknow. If Dean had prayed, no angel had answered. He was dying, he was leaving his brother alone, and it was so stupid, because if he was dying anyway, he might as well have closed hell for good.

God, he was so tired.

As much as he wanted to sleep, he feared doing so. Ever since he was a kid, he was afraid nightmares would hunt him, he was afraid a monster would attack him. Now, he was afraid he wouldn’t wake up.

He wanted to say goodbye. He didn’t want to die like Jess, like his dad, like Bobby. He wanted to die having said everything he wanted to tell his brother. He wanted to die having said his goodbyes. But not to Amelia. Amelia didn’t need to know the man she lived with had barely made it to 30. He preferred her to think he had made his life somewhere else. He preferred her to remember the broken but trying to heal man he had been, instead of the dying mess he was. He didn’t want her to see him. He didn’t want anyone to see him. He just wanted to rest.

But he couldn’t leave Dean alone. Not now. Not after all this time. Because he knew for a fact that being left alone with no one in the world was unbearable. Dean had to have someone with him when he would disappear. And since Castiel wasn’t there…

“Charlie…”

Was that even his voice? Instead of the strong request he wanted to make, the name had come out as a whimper, without a full sentence.

Dean’s hand lost itself in his hairs, gently pushing it of his face.

“Ok kiddo, ok…” his voice was calm, but shivering, and somehow gratefulness that there was something he could do. “Ok, I’m gonna call her…”

But the older hunter made no move. Because taking his phone would have required him to get his hands out of where they were: comforting his brother. Sam’s eyes closed, his body relaxing into the touch.

Before reopening quickly. He took a deep, strangled breath. He couldn’t sleep. Not now. Not yet.

Dean sighed, as his hand continued its smoothing move.

“You can rest. I’ll still be here when you wake up.”

Sam felt his eyes watering. He knew his brother wouldn’t leave him. He was the one how abandoned his family on a daily basis.

His last thought before he gave up to slumber was that he had failed Dean again.

Opening his eyes was hard. It was hard since the second trial, if he was honest with himself, but it seemed like it was harder and harder every time he woke up. One more reasons he didn’t want to sleep.

He probably hadn’t been unconscious for long, maybe for twenty or thirty minutes, which meant his next painkiller dose wasn’t due until a few hours, and yet every part of his body started to hurt again, breathing becoming difficult despite the nasal canula.

But he could hear Dean’s voice, so Dean was here, and there was no way he would abandon his brother again, so he opened his eyes. He gathered all his willpower and opened his eyes.

Dean was apparently on the phone with someone, one of his hands still on Sam’s, and the light that appeared in his eyes as he saw his brother awake was worth all the pain Sam went in to wake up.

“Hey, look who is there…” Dean was speaking too fast, too low. His eyes were red. In less than half an hour, he had considered the option that his brother would stay asleep forever. If he hadn’t wanted to scare Sam, he had failed. He tried to act cool but even drugged and tiered, his brother knew otherwise. Hell, even a stranger wouldn’t buy his show right now. He showed the phone “That’s Charlie. You want to talk to her?”

Sam slowly nodded and within seconds, the phone was near his ear.

“Hi Sam,” Charlie’s voice was hesitant, like she didn’t know exactly what to said. Sam couldn’t blame her, because who would? “I heard you weren’t doing so well”

If his friend hadn’t sounded so close to cry, Sam would have sneered at that.

“I’m…” She took a deep breath “I’m pretty far from you right now, but I can be there in a day, two tops. Just… hang in there until I arrive ok.”

“I…” Sam’s voice was hoarse and talking hurt “I’m counting on you.”

He heard what sounded like a muffled sob on the other side of the line, and somehow it warmed his heart. Someone would cry him. He knew Dean would probably cry, but Dean would cry his little brother. The kid he raised. Charlie would cry him as an adult, as he was with his broken soul and the weight of his mistakes on his shoulders. He knew it was selfish, and the reason he needed her was to prevent Dean for doing anything stupid, but the idea of having someone crying for him was comforting.

“I’ll be there. Don’t worry, I’ll be…” she answered, before letting an uncomfortable silence settle in.

Sam didn’t really know what to said. He just settled for a weak “Thank you” hopping she would understand without telling her that she would have to take care of Dean.

After another silence, she spoke again. “I’ll definitely see you tomorrow, okay?” And then repeated, when she obtained no answer “okay Sam?”

The man sighed an “okay”, already exhausted, before letting the phone fall back in Dean’s hand. If his brother kept talking with their friend afterwards, he hadn’t the energy to understand it.

When he focused again, the phone was on the nightstand and Dean was gently rubbing his left palm, where was left the scar of a wound that helped him staying put in reality two years prior. He was talking in a soothing voice, remembering or inventing stories from their childhood.

“Dad was hunting a Ghoul, and we were alone for a week, and the motel office lady kept treating us almond paste angels, saying that it will make us good boys. At some point we had so much that we started sealing them at school.”    

Angels… he didn’t remember that, but he could only think of one thing when it came to angels.

“Any news on Cas?”

He really should stop talking if his brother made that face every time he heard his voice. But Dean seemed somehow relived that he was coherent.

“Don’t worry about Cas okay? Worry about getting better.”            

Sam knew he wouldn’t get better. He also knew his brother was as worried as he was about Castiel. But he couldn’t say any of that. So instead he just let his head fall back with a pained sigh.

“Why don’t you try and get some more sleep?”

Sam closed his eyes against the light. He didn’t want to sleep. He had never liked sleep. Sleep was scary, and it was a moment where he couldn’t react to anything. It was like being dead. And he didn’t want to be dead. Not now, not yet, not ever.

He was dying, and he was scared.

“I don’t want to…”

Like when he was a kid, when his brother and father left him behind and he spent all night reading with a flashlight, because he didn’t want to sleep alone. Because what if something happened to his family and he was needed? Because who would patch them up if they came home wounded? Who would patch Dean up after a hard hunt if he died today? How would back up his brother in case of need, and who would protect him from other and himself?

He vaguely heard the sound of the heart monitor speeding, and Dean whispering calming worlds to him. But all he could think about was the fact that he was letting him down, abandoning him, again. All he could think about was that he was going to die and leave his brother alone, that he was going to die and be alone.  

“I’m sorry…”

A hand was on his hairs again.

“Hey, no… what are you sorry for?”

Sam laughed at that. A strangled, sobbing laugh that put him in a world of pain, but he laughed. Because wasn’t Dean the one who told him exactly what he should be sorry for not one day before?

Ruby, killing Lilith, letting Lucifer out, losing your soul, not looking for me when I went to purgatory…

His greatest sin. Abandoning his brother. And he was going to do it again. After everything he was going to do it again. There were no number of apologies that could ever wash it down.

Where do I start, to even look for forgiveness?

He had given Crowley an answer, but if he was honest with himself, he didn’t know.

How about starting with not dying useless, scared and pitiful?

There were thousands of things he still needed to tell his brother. There were thousand of things he needed to fix, or at least try to fix.

But what came out of his mouth was a weak “I don’t wanna die…” and that was not what he wanted to say.

Not what he should have said.

Because the hand in his went away, and he heard the sound of the door closing, someone yelling and something crashing in the distance.

And then something crashing really really close.

Like, in his bed close.  

And when he opened his eyes, he saw Dean by the door, who had entered the room in a hurry, and Castiel, as well as another, smaller guy in a Weiner Hut outfit Sam could swear he had seen before, half tangled in the wires that were supposed to keep him alive and free of pain, half on him.

“Cas? Alfie?”

Alfie? Wasn’t him the angel they met when trying to get back the demon tablet, and they failed to save from Crowley? Sam felt like he was supposed to be dead, but before he could assess the situation, Castiel, having untangled himself and now standing in the room, started talking very quickly.

“We don’t have much time, Naomi is dead, Metatron is after us, he lied about the angels’ trials, now he needs my grace in order to cast angels out of heaven. I don’t know why he wants to do such a thing, but I know I need to prevent that at all cost. Dean, Sam, you two are the only one I can trust with that. Do you know a safe place?”

Sam waited until he heard Dean’s voice articulate “Wait, what?” to realize his mouth was opening and closing frenetically, like a fish out of water. His older brother continued:

“First of all, what is Alfie doing here? Weren’t you supposed to be dead?”

The younger angel looked at him.

“I don’t know how I’m alive, I don’t know why me. All I know is that I woke up with the knowledge that I couldn’t let Metatron get his hands on Castiel. I think… I think dad has something to do with this. And my name is Samandriel by the way.”

The oldest angel put himself in front of his brother.

“Samandriel saved me, and I trust him. Dean please, I can explain everything, but we need to go to somewhere warded. We don’t have much time.”

Dean sighed “Ok, no, we can’t. We won’t. Sammy can barely move, I’m not risking transporting him to the bunker.”    

Sam looked at him. He knew his brother was right. He couldn’t go to the bunker, and they couldn’t let the two angels go hopping Kevin would know how to let them enter and ward the place back. But Dean could go. Dean could make the way to the bunker and back. He didn’t want to be left alone, but he couldn’t be demanding, considering the situation. Besides, they owed Cas that much.  He was about to say something, but before he could open his mouth, Dean cut him:

“I know what you’re thinking and no. I’m not leaving you, I won’t make the same mistake twice in a day.”

The younger brother sighed.

“Dean, I won’t move or do anything stupid. You know I won’t. The doctor said I’ll be alright for a couple of day, we have time. And Charlie is on her way.”

The doctor hadn’t exactly said that, but he hoped his brother got the general idea.

“Couple of days? Your human doctor said that?”

Two pair of eyes turned to Samandriel, who just talked. Castiel kept his gaze on Sam, like he was examining him. The smaller angel explained himself.

“I mean, I’m surprised that you’re even awake in the state you are in. Your internals organs are a mess, it would be a miracle if you’re still alive in two hours, let alone coherent. It’s practically a miracle that you are now.”

Seeing Dean’s killer’s eyes on him, he added “I’m sorry, I really am. You seemed like a good human being, Sam Winchester, and I’m saddened to see you that way. But there is nothing we can do.”

The lump in Sam’s throat had nothing to do with the after effects of the trials. When he talked, his voice was barely a whisper.

“So? That doesn’t change anything. If anything, Dean should go with you quicker to avoid being suspicious to the hospital staff.”

If looks could kill, his brother’s would have shortened his two hours. Dean turned toward him, and was ready to explode any moment when Castiel, who had stayed silent the entire time, shortened the distance between them and put two fingers on his forehead. Sam immediately sensed his friend’s grace flowing trough him. The warm, healing and familiar feeling covered his body and momentarily covered his pain. Then, like water on a flat surface, it went away, leaving him the exact same. The angel looked at him curiously.

“Does it help?”

“A little I guess.” Sam lied.  

The look in his friend eyes told him the angel didn’t believe him. Castiel seemed to be thinking for a while, before talking again.

“There might be a way. There is nothing we can do from the outside, but I might be able to heal him from the inside.”

Before Sam could proceed, Samandriel and Dean talked at the same time.

“That could work.”

“What do you mean?”

Castiel got up, looking at both Winchester brother.

“It means I might be able to heal Sam if I possess him. He’s a powerful vessel, my grace won’t hurt him, but I will be able to access to the part of his body that are damaged.”

Something that was gone from Dean’s eyes started shining again.

“That’s wonderful, Cas, can you do that? I mean, save him?”

The angel didn’t answer, focusing again on the younger hunter.

“Sam? Be sure that I will regain Jimmy Novak as soon as you are out of danger.”        

Sam closed his eyes. Every part of him wanted to say no. He didn’t want to be possessed by any entity. Not again. Never again. He didn’t want to live the horror he remembered from the time he was controlled by Meg, then Lucifer.

But Castiel wasn’t Meg, nor Lucifer. Castiel was their friend. Castiel would never hurt him.

Except it was the same Castiel who broke his wall. It was the same Castiel who lied to them and betrayed them.

And Sam knew the angel had redeemed himself since. He knew Cas had done everything he could to be forgiven, sacrificing his own mental health. He whished with all his heart that he could trust Castiel. And he could. He could trust his angel friend with his life. He just didn’t know if he could trust him with the complete control of his body.

But then he opened his eyes and looked at his brother. He looked at the man he had abandoned the trials for. He looked at him, and he saw hope in his eyes. And he didn’t want to break that. He looked at his brother, and understood that he needed to live, whatever the cost was. If anything, for Dean.

The first “ok” that got out of his mouth was barely above a murmur, but, after a shiver, the second “Yes. Yes, Cas, you can… You can possess me.” Was much stronger. He was still scared. He was still afraid. He was still disgusted by the shear thought of someone possessing him. But the look on Dean’s face told him he was doing the right thing. He could do it. For Dean.

Castiel took his hand, and his voice was soft when he told him:

“Thank you for trusting me, Sam.”

And everything was lost in brightness.

Jimmy Novak once told them that being possessed by an angel was like being pinned on a comet. Sam couldn’t help but agree. Being possessed by Lucifer was like fighting inside a waterspout, except the water was burning cold, and he was naked. Castiel was different, especially because he knew he didn’t have to fight, but no less overwhelming. Everything was too loud, and he felt like taken in a crown movement. Hands were touching him, invading his privacy, going inside his mouth and restricting his airway. He couldn’t moan or cry.

He didn’t want this.

This was too much.

He couldn’t.

It was too much like him, like the cage and he just couldn’t. Dean would have to understand, to forgive him, because he just couldn’t.

He wanted Cas to go away. He needed Cas to go away.  

And just as he formulated the through, he found himself kneeling on the hospital floor.

He couldn’t breath any easier.

He was disconnected from the machines, he realized, but he had underestimated how bad he was hurt. He was burning, like he had been thrown in a liquid nitrogen bath, and he knew what it felt like. When he opened his mouth, something wet and thick leaked down his chin. Dean was on his side in a second, and he couldn’t tell his brother not to touch him, that he will only make things worse. He vaguely heard voices above him.

“What happened?”

“He rejected me. He forced me out.”

“Sam? Why would you do that? Why would he do that?”

“Perhaps the procedure was too hard to handle. It’s usually not, especially on strong vessels but with Lucifer, the cage, and the fact his body was used without a soul for more than a year, not to mention the effect of the trials…”

“I don’t care. Is there a way you can help him!? Sam? Hey, stay with me, you hear?”

The comforting answer he wanted to give to his brother died in a strangled breath, before he heard Samandriel closing by.

“Maybe I can put him asleep. That would make the grace insertion easier.”

Sam didn’t want to sleep. He knew it was irrational but something inside him told him that sleep was bad. Sleep was the end and he couldn’t sleep.    

“Then do it!” Dean yelled, frightening his brother even if Sam knew the anger wasn’t dedicated at him. “Hell, why didn’t you do it in the first place?”

Castiel was suddenly close to him again, his blue eyes scanning him.

“Sam, can you say yes again? We’ll make sure to make it easier on you.”

The hunter shacked his head weakly. He didn’t want to. He didn’t want to be possessed. He didn’t want to sleep. He didn’t know what he wanted. He turned toward his brother.

In case of doubt, refer to Dean. That was what a childhood as a hunter and half a year of Lucifer hallucinations had taught him. So he turned toward Dean. And he saw pleading eyes and desperate tears.

The “Sammy please” that got out of his brother’s mouth destroyed what was left of his fear.

He was too weak to say “yes” but apparently Castiel didn’t need a verbal invitation, as long as he got an invitation at all.

The angel put a hand and his face and smiled. In a second, the bright light was there again, and Sam braced himself for the atrocity he knew was coming.

But two of Samandriel’s finger touched his forehead, and, despite every part of his body telling him that sleep was wrong, he mercifully blacked out.  

Sam woke up on the backseat of the Impala. Or on what looked like the backseat of the Impala. Castiel was sitting next to him, in his Jimmy Novak vessel, and he still had room for lying, which should have been impossible. When he looked at the front seat he saw it empty, even though the car was moving along a nameless road. He quickly seated and looked around him, confused. The constant pain he had grown familiar with in the past mouths was gone, leaving a feeling of emptiness. The first thought that came to his mind was that he had failed. He had fell asleep and abandoned his brother. He turned toward Cas.

“Am I dead?”

He knew that if he was, he would probably see a reaper, and not his angel friend, but a reaper could take a lot of forms and he wasn’t sure of anything. Castiel smiled.

“No. Your body is on the front seat of the Impala, under Dean’s care. We are going to the man of letters ‘bunker. I made sure all your organs are functioning enough to keep you alive, but you’re not ready to wake up yet.”

Sam absorbed the information and sighed. He wasn’t dead, and he would eventually be able to go back to Dean. He could do with that. He seated more comfortably on the leather.

“Where are we?”

His logic told him they were in some kind of imaginary world, but he couldn’t help but ask.

“We’re in the depts of your mind. I wanted you to wake up somewhere where you would be comfortable, so I asked your soul were “home” was. You took me here.”

The hunter tilted his head. That sounded about right. The car has always been his home and he knew deep down that he cherished her as much as, if not somehow more than Dean. He closed his eyes for a moment, there was no music, but he could hear the familiar hum of the motor and the Legos hitting each other in the vents. He could also hear another noise, abnormal, who screamed to him to stop there and call Dean.

“There is something wrong with the engine.”

The angel nodded.

“Yes. It seems that this is the way your mind has symbolized the effect of the trials on your body. I need to fix it, to fix you before you’ll be able to drive on your own.”

“So, I’m the Impala?” The analogy made Sam smile. He remembered the time the trickster-Gabriel had changed him into the car. It hadn’t been a pleasant experience back then but sometimes Dean and he laughed about it. His brother had once told him in one of his soft moment that it was like fusing the two things he would protect at all cost and trust blindly. Sam didn’t know at witch extent this was true, but he was pretty sure the analogy stopped there. He wasn’t as obedient as the Impala, nor as reliable.

Castiel just smiled at him.

“Yes, in some way, you are.”

They sat in silence for a while after that, the car still rolling on a road that would never lead them anywhere. At some point, Cas talked again, his voice hesitant.

“Sam.”

The younger Winchester turned toward him.

“I’m going to have to take control, now. Perhaps you should try and sleep for a while.”

Sam shook his head.

“No I’m not… I’m good. I don’t need to sleep.”

The angel sighed in a slightly exasperate way.

“Considering what happened when I first tried to possess you, I think it would be better for you to be asleep, or at least relaxed when I’ll start working on your body.”

When the only reply he got was another shook of Sam’s head, Castiel tried again.

“Sam. I can assure you that you’ll see everything I do with your body, and that if you want the control back, you’ll just have to ask. I just need to start working. I don’t know how much longer I can keep you breathing.”

The hunter shook his head one more time, so the angel tried another approach.

“Is it because of Lucifer?”

Sam shook his head instinctively before thinking better.

“I don’t know.”

Nothing was really not about Lucifer since he got back from the cage. Even before that, he had the feeling that anything in his life has always been, and would always about Lucifer, like the devil had once told him.

All those times you ran away you weren’t running from them, you were running toward me.

“Is there anything I can do to help you?”

Castiel’s voice distracted him from his dark thought, and he shook his head, repeating “I don’t know”, like a mantra.                      

The angel tilted his head.

“Can I hug you? Would it help?”

The hunter let out a dry laugh. Castiel was more human than when they first met him, but he still had a lot to work on before he could pass as a perfect specimen of humankind. Sam opened his arms.

“Come here.”

Before he knew it, Sam had his head buried in his friend’s neck. They must look stupid, two grown up men hugging in the backseat of the Impala, but he didn’t care. He felt arms patting his back, and something went around him, protecting him, like a large coat in winter.

Two huge black wings.

The wings weren’t like anything he ever saw before, and that was saying a lot.

They were also damaged. Feather were missing at some parts, large pale scars tainting the uniformly black purity.

“It’s okay. You’re not the only one who’ve been used until you broke. You’re not alone.”

Sam put his head up, suddenly remembering something important.

“You’re not alone either, Cas, you got us. You know that, right?”

The angel gently put his head back in his neck.

“I know. Thank you, Sam Winchester.”

Sam mumbled something even he didn’t know what was supposed to mean. Castiel’s voice were soothing. He felt good. The angel didn’t have any body odor, and he just smelled the clean fabric of his clothes.

He felt clean.

Pure.

And for the first time since what seemed like forever, Sam peacefully let his eyes close.  

Thank you for reading. I don’t know if there will be another part of this story or not (I got a few ideas).  

[cabrinimc]

James Parks Morton, Dean Who Brought a Cathedral to Life, Dies at 89

Leading the Cathedral Church of St. John the Divine for 25 years, he sought to make it central to urban life.

By Ari L. Goldman   Jan. 7, 2020

The Very Rev. James Parks Morton, who in 25 years as dean of the Cathedral Church of St. John the Divine in Upper Manhattan transformed it from a religious backwater into a vibrant center for the arts, the homeless, circus performers, household pets, endangered animals and interfaith engagement, died on Saturday at his home in Manhattan. He was 89.

His death was confirmed by his daughter Polly Morton Barton. She said he had been treated for Alzheimer’s disease.

St. John the Divine, the seat of the Episcopal diocese of New York, sits on a 13-acre campus in Morningside Heights. It is said to be the largest Gothic cathedral in the world and one of the biggest church buildings anywhere.

Mr. Morton was appointed dean in 1972 by the new bishop of the diocese, the Rev. Paul Moore Jr. Together they re-envisioned the church as “a medieval cathedral for New York City” that would engage the city in all its promise and problems.

At the time, there were probably more problems than promise. New York City was in the midst of a financial crisis that almost drove it to bankruptcy. The cathedral itself, sitting between Columbia University and Morningside Park, with Harlem beyond, was a symbol of the city’s stagnancy. Even a century after its cornerstone had been laid, the building was unfinished. What had been built was largely unused, and it sat on a neglected piece of property. 

“His cathedral was on the urban margin,” Matthew Weiner, an associate dean at Princeton University, wrote about Dean Morton in his doctoral dissertation about religious life in New York City, “but, through his own jagged sense of curiosity and showmanship, he transformed this crippling fact into an asset by inventing projects that involved those from the surrounding communities in inventive ways.”

Dean Morton opened a homeless shelter on the cathedral grounds, but he also wanted to empower the poor by creating the Urban Homesteading Assistance Board, an organization devoted to helping people rebuild, occupy and own their own apartments in abandoned buildings.

On the cultural side, he founded music and dance programs, turning the cathedral into a cultural destination. The genre-crossing Paul Winter Consort began offering its annual winter Solstice Celebration during the Morton era; it just celebrated its 40th annual concert in December.

In 1979, Dean Morton began a program for unemployed young residents of Harlem and Newark to train with master stonemasons to continue construction of the cathedral towers.

“We will resume building this great house of God,” he said at the time, “and revive the dying art of stone craft by teaching it to the young people of our neighborhood.” The program, which involved scores of apprentices, lasted several years before it ran out of money.

Dean Morton once said that the cathedral’s vastness places matters in proportion.

“Humility is kind of an asinine word in a way, but a cathedral does make one humble in a sense,” he said. “It’s terribly important to realize you can’t complete it.”

Dean Morton gave over the cathedral’s great stone pulpit to a variety of speakers, among them the homeless, women and gay people (even before they were officially accepted as clergy in the Episcopal Church). He invited in Roman Catholic priests, rabbis, imams and leaders of other faiths. Among the guest preachers were the Nobel laureates Archbishop Desmond Tutu, Elie Wiesel and the Dalai Lama.

The Blessing of the Animals on St. Francis Day was another innovation introduced by Dean Morton. Elephants, llamas as well as neighborhood dogs, cats and goldfish (in bowls) were brought in for the annual event. The elephants came from the Big Apple Circus, which, for a time, found its off-season home at the cathedral.

Philippe Petit, the French aerialist, was among the cathedral’s artists-in-residence. He performed on a wire high above the cathedral stone floor at its centennial and on other occasions.

Kusumita Pedersen, a scholar of religion who worked on interfaith programs with Dean Morton, said that social justice had remained at the core of everything he did. “He told me, ‘My conservative wealthy donors forgive me all the social justice programs if I give them the arts.’” For several years running he brought Leonard Bernstein and the New York Philharmonic to the cathedral on New Year’s Eve.

For some he sometimes pushed the envelope too far. In one incident, in 1984, his installation of a bronze figure of a crucified woman with bare breasts in the cathedral led to accusations of sacrilege from some quarters of the church.

But Bishop Moore backed up his dean, if cautiously. “I won’t say I agree with everything he has done, but I support him,” he said in a 1987 interview. “If I fettered him, this wouldn’t be the dynamic place that it is, although sometimes this dynamism gives us gray hairs.”

And while many in the church embraced Dean Morton’s introduction of the Blessing of the Animals, some rolled their eyes when he followed that up with a blessing for algae in 1988. A flask, labeled “anabaena flosaqua,” holding some 10 billion algae was carried into the cathedral along with a 14-foot-tall ginkgo tree, its roots wrapped in burlap.

Bishop Moore blessed them both.

James Parks Morton was born on Jan. 7, 1930, in Houston to Virginia May (Parks) Morton, a homemaker, and Vance M. Morton, who at one point served as director of theater arts at Brooklyn College. James attended Philips Exeter Academy in New Hampshire and Harvard College.

In 1950, when he was a college senior majoring in architecture, he heard a speech that changed his life. It was by Mr. Moore.

“He heard Paul tell the story about St. Martin giving his cloak to the poor,” his daughter Ms. Barton said. “For a time, my father turned the squash court in the basement of Eliot House into a chapel,” she added, referring to the Harvard student residence.

Along with Ms. Barton, Mr. Morton is survived by his wife of 65 years, Pamela Taylor Morton; two other daughters, Sophia and Maria Morton; eight grandchildren; and two great-grandchildren. A fourth daughter, Hilary Morton Shontz, died in 2010.

Dean Morton received a  theology degree from Cambridge University and studied later at General Theological Seminary in New York. He was ordained in 1954. Before moving to the cathedral in 1972, he served as a priest in Jersey City and, for eight years, as the director of the Urban Training Center for Christian Mission in Chicago.

He stepped down as dean of the cathedral at the end of 1996 and immediately founded the Interfaith Center of New York, which promotes mutual understanding among religions. He was succeeded at the center by the Rev. Chloe Breyer.

The center presents the James Parks Morton Award annually; its recipients have included musicians like Mr. Winter, Philip Glass and Wynton Marsalis; religious leaders like the Dalai Lama and Imam Feisal Abdul Rauf; and writers like Bill Moyers and Nick Kristof. The award honors people who are “bold and courageous,” Ms. Breyer said in an interview.

“Jim thought big,” she said. “He did not do too many things on a small scale.”

https://www.nytimes.com/2020/01/07/nyregion/james-morton-dead.html

[dachshundaday]

Stretches & sausage rolls at the park

[theclumsyxeno]

Cossacks and Mavericks: Lost and Found

-Recap: After a mysterious series of events, Elizabelle has gone missing, with a dark hint as to why.-

Sunset Shimmer gulped harshly and turned to Fluttershy, who turned to Sunset Shimmer and nodded. She turned to the Cossacks and Mavericks, and relayed the information.

...

[ “Haunted” Starts playing] Macy-Mae nervously approached Elizabelle, who was in a fetal position, with her eyes closed, and murmuring to herself. Half of her silver hair was White, The Weiner dog approached, and nuzzled her owner. Leading to Elizabelle opening her eyes, her pupils’ large red slits, and her sclera black. Macy-Mae whimpered as she nuzzled Elizabelle. Elizabelle soon freed her arms from her knees and sat up, she scooped up Macy-Mae and carried her to her bedroom, and set her on the bed. Once she let go of Macy-Mae, Elizabelle hunched over in pain, worrying Macy-Mae. Before Macy-Mae could follow the anthro fox, Elizabelle closed the door. Causing Macy-Mae to whine and scratch the door.

Soon Elizabelle screamed, “No! Stop!!” Soon a growl followed, with sounds of furniture toppling, and glass shattering. Elizabelle quickly cried, “Please, please not now, please don’t!!” Soon a roar came out, along with thumping. The sound of the front door opening surprised Macy-Mae. Not long later, the thumping grew quieter, and quieter, until silence. With Macy-Mae crying and scratching once more... [“Haunted” stops playing, replaced with Sad instrumental]

Bright Man felt lightheaded and nearly fainted, only to be caught by Wire Sponge.

Magma Dragoon felt anger rise in him, he quickly stood up, grabbing everyone’s attention.

The dragon maverick soon declared, “We’ll go after whoever harmed Elizabelle and make them suffer!” [Sad Instrumental fades, and is replaced by hopeful instrumental] Pharaoh Man stood up as well.

He soon stated, “We will save Elizabelle from whatever is hurting her, there is little doubt in my mind that Hollow Heart is responsible.” Crescent Grizzly shook his head as he crossed his arms.

He chimed in, “Going after a defenseless young girl, that’s low.”

Drill Man spoke up, “Well, Hollow Heart’s a soulless bitch.” The other Mavericks and Cossacks stood in agreement, with Wire Sponge helping Bright Man back to his feet. Yammark and Spiral Pegasus helped Spike Rosered back to his feet as well. Soon Pharaoh Man turned to Sunset Shimmer and Fluttershy.

He asked, “Now, where do we begin to find this kidnapping beast?”

Fluttershy soon gasped and stated, “How about we give Macy-Mae something of Belle’s to smell? She might be able to find her!”

…

In the Forest, The Cossacks, Mavericks, The EQG Mane seven, and Macy-Mae journeyed. An uneasy feeling hung heavy in the air, as Macy-Mae followed Elizabelle’s scent. Yammark clung to Spike Rosered, with the Rose Maverick comforting his lover. Boomer Kuwanger sighed heavily as they went; grabbing Sting Chameleon’s attention.

The chameleon Maverick soon asked, “Something wrong Kuwanger?” Boomer Kuwanger turned to Sting Chameleon, his key beginning to glow.

He replied, “ I don’t know why, but I feel something isn’t… Right.” His words grabbed Snipe Anteator, who turned to Stag Beetle Maverick.

Snipe Anteator chimed in, “How so?” Boomer Kuwanger sighed once more. Before he could respond, Macy-Mae began to bark, grabbing everyone’s attention.

Fluttershy cried, “Macy-Mae found something!” Soon Macy-Mae ran, with the group trailing the small dog.

…

[“Ashes” Begins playing] The young grimm girl looked down, with black tears rolling down her little cheeks.

She whimpered, “I’m sorry miss Zera…” The Huntress, Zera, scowled at the child.

She stated coldly, “Lisanna, do you know, how much your grimm form disgusts me?” Lisanna winced at Zera’s harsh and cold words.

Lisanna asked, “Why am I bad?” Zera made an inquisitive face, after a moment, her scowl returned.

Zera replied, “Because Grimm are monsters that cannot be loved, no matter their form. Not even the children deserve an ounce of love. But, there is a way to earn my love…” Lisanna looked up quickly, her black and red innocent eyes widening.

She quickly wondered, “How? I want to be loved!” Zera smirked, her brows furrowing with ill intent…. [“Ashes” abruptly ends, replaced by instrumental]

…

Soon, Macy-Mae stopped and came upon a torn-up part of the forest, Fluttershy grew fearful upon seeing the destruction that laid before her and the group. Bright man grew horrified.

He spoke up, “W-we ha-have t-to go in there?!” He shakily pointed at the wrecked area. Split Mushroom and Vanishing Gungaroo hid behind Shield Sheldon, and trembled. Burn Rooster mustered up some courage, and came in front of everyone, his key glowing.

He declared, “We can’t just sit here and quake in our boots! Belle needs us!” Pharaoh Man soon stood next to the Rooster Maverick.

He added,” Burn Rooster is right, We cannot abandon a friend in their time of need!” [Instramental fades, with “Evidence” taking its place] Soon the other Maverick leaders nodded in agreement, and with morale boosted once more, the group soon entered the torn up forest, and headed on their way. A distance away from the group was Lunar Crescent. She quivered slightly, and clenched her hand, and held it upon her chest.

She whispered, “I just hope the magic of friendship is enough….”

...

[“Evidence” fades as new instrumental takes over] As the group went deeper, the destruction began less and less, in fact, they were nearing a clearing.

Yammark grew surprised, “It doesn’t seem natural for there to be a random clearing here, The canopy order doesn’t match up.” Vanishing Gungaroo grew confused and scrunched his face in confusion.

He stated, “The Canopy order? Huh?” Soldier Stonekong facepalmed with a deep, heavy, sigh. With Splash Warfly Snickering, only for Wind Crowrang to smack the back of his head with a head shake. Before any further arguments, a rustling occurred, causing all the Cossacks and Mavericks to bring out their weapons and magic. Only for a small rabbit to hop out, causing everyone to grimace in embarrassment. However, Macy-Mae began to bark again. Grabbing the group’s attention.

Dark Mantis turned to Fluttershy and asked, “Did she find her?” Fluttershy nodded as Macy-Mae trotted happily through the bushes. Soon the group followed, however, they grew shocked by what they found.

To be continued...

@nitathebearybrawler

[tuseriesdetv]

Noticias de series de la semana: Renovaciones que nos hacen felices

Renovaciones

Netflix ha renovado The Crown por una sexta y última temporada

Netflix ha renovado Dead to Me por una tercera y última temporada

Hulu ha renovado Ramy por una tercera temporada

FX ha renovado Better Things por una quinta temporada

The CW ha renovado Stargirl por una segunda temporada

Netflix ha renovado The Last Kingdom por una quinta temporada

FOX ha renovado The Moodys por una segunda temporada

BBC Two ha renovado Vienna Blood por una segunda temporada

Gold ha renovado Sandylands por una segunda temporada

BBC Two ha renovado Guilt por una segunda temporada

Quibi ha renovado Most Dangerous Game por una segunda temporada

Cancelaciones

Netflix ha cancelado Chilling Adventures of Sabrina tras su cuarta temporada

HBO ha cancelado Run tras su primera temporada

Noticias cortas

Peter Lenkov, productor y showrunner de MacGyver y Magnum P.I., ha sido despedido tras una investigación por las quejas de que creaba un ambiente tóxico de trabajo.

Fichajes

Javicia Leslie (God Friended Me) sustituye a Ruby Rose como protagonista de Batwoman. Será Ryan Wilder, una joven lesbiana sin referentes que traficó con drogas esquivando a la policía y ahora vive en una furgoneta.

Quvenzhané Wallis (Beasts of the Southern Wild, Annie) protagonizará Swagger junto a O'Shea Jackson Jr. Será Crystal, una joven jugadora de baloncesto.

Pósters

Nuevas series

Elisabeth Moss (The Handmaid's Tale, Mad Men) será Candy Montgomery, el ama de casa asesina de Texas, en la limited series Candy, que se venderá a cadenas de cable y plataformas. Escrita y producida por Robien Veith (Mad Men, The Act).

Michelle Williams (Fosse/Verdon, Blue Valentine) y Oscar Isaac (Show Me a Hero, Star Wars) protagonizarán y producirán Scenes From a Marriage, limited series de HBO adaptación de la serie dirigida por Ingmar Bergman (1973) que reexaminará su representación del amor, el odio, el deseo, la monogamia o el divorcio. Escrita, dirigida y producida por Hagai Levi (The Affair, In Treatment).

Damian Lewis (Homeland, Billions) y Dominic West (The Wire, The Affair) están en conversaciones para protagonizar y producir la adaptación de la novela A Spy Among Friends: Kim Philby and the Great Betrayal, de Ben Macintyre (2014), para Spectrum y BritBox. Es un thriller de espionaje centrado en la amistad entre Kim Philby (West), oficial de inteligencia británica y agente doble de la KGB; y Nicholas Elliott (Lewis), colega del MI6. Escrita por Alexander Cary (Homeland, Taken). Seis episodios.

HBO Max desarrolla Rip Crew, drama criminal sobre un antiguo agente del FBI y actual profesor de criminología que descubre que sus alumnos planean un atraco y decide robarles el plan. Escrito por Mike Weiss (Chicago PD, Stumptown) y producido por Michael Seitzman (Code Black, Quantico).

Christopher Cantwell (Iron Man) desarrolla la adaptación del cómic Paper Girls, sobre cuatro chicas de un pequeño pueblo de Ohio que viajan a distintas líneas temporales y conocen a sus versiones alternativas, para Amazon.

Preparan una serie sobre la turbulenta vida de Sylvia Kristel, sex symbol de los 70 y actriz protagonista de Emmanuelle, basada en su autobiografía. Creada y escrita por Bénédicte Charles y Olivier Pouponneau, se grabará en francés. Seis episodios.

FX desarrolla una nueva serie escrita, dirigida y producida por Matthew Weiner (Mad Men). Se desconocen detalles.

HBO Max encarga doce episodios de Young Love, spin-off del cortometraje Hair Love (2019). Esta primera temporada se centrará en los padres millennials Stephen y Angela, su hija Zuri y su mascota Rocky mientras manejan sus carreras, el matrimonio, la paternidad, temas sociales y dinámicas multiculturales y se esfuerzan en mejorar sus vidas. Escrito por Matthew A. Cherry (Hair Love) y Carl Jones (The Boondocks).

Showtime desarrolla Blackbird: Lena Horne and America, una limited series sobre la actriz, cantante y activista en favor de los derechos civiles Lena Horne. Escrita y producida por Jenny Lumet, nieta de Horne; y Alex Kurtzman, que ya trabajaron juntos en Star Trek: Picard o Star Trek: Discovery y han creado juntos Clarice para CBS.

Amazon desarrolla Tether, drama sobrenatural que sigue el terrorífico viaje del fantasma de Madelyn Woods, que quiere escapar de la casa donde murió y vengarse de quienes secuestraron a su marido y a su hijo y la asesinaron a ella. Escrito y producido por Kevin Hamedani (Junk) y Travis Betz (Lo). Producido por Daniel Dae Kim (The Good Doctor).

Showtime prepara La Bravura, dramedia y thriller psicológico en el que un marido graba un documental sobre el robo de su mujer en el Getty Museum y su matrimonio se ve afectado. Escrito y producido por Tad Quill (Scrubs, The Moodys).

HBO Max y Matt Reeves (Felicity, The Passage) desarrollarán un drama policial ambientado en Gotham City y en el mismo universo que la nueva película The Batman. Escrita por Terence Winter (Boardwalk Empire, The Sopranos). Aún no tiene título, pero algunos la llaman Gotham Central.

Amazon desarolla The Jungle Prince of Delhi, drama adaptación de un artículo de The New York Times escrita por Ellen Barry que nos contó la historia de la familia real de Oudh, aristócratas destituidos que viven en un palacio ruinoso en la capital de la India y dicen ser los herederos de un reino caído. Dirigida y producida por Mira Nair (A Suitable Boy).

Fechas

La tercera temporada de The Young Offenders se estrena en BBC Three el 19 de julio

A Suitable Boy se estrena en BBC One el 26 de julio

Little Birds se estrena en Sky Atlantic el 4 de agosto

Away llega a Netflix el 4 de septiembre

Woke se estrena en Hulu el 9 de septiembre

La segunda temporada de PEN15 se estrena en Hulu el 18 de septiembre

Tráilers y promos

The Boys - Temporada 2

We Are Who We Are

Away

A Suitable Boy

Woke

Little Birds

30 Rock

[lynnsmasterpieces]

I wrote a previous blog about both of my long-haired dachshunds.  Today I am just going to talk about my Toby boy!  As you can see in his picture, he is such a cute and handsome boy.  His personality is just as cute!  I call him my teddy bear.

He loves attention, he loves to be loved.  If I start talking to Scarlett, he will come over and push her out-of-the-way so he can get my full attention.  He loves his blankets. He loves to cuddle on top of the blanket but also loves being under the covers.  He will dig and dig to find his most comfortable resting place.

He also loves to give kisses.  I will show him kiss motion with my lips and he will come over to give me kisses.  When he wants attention he will sit straight up on his butt and just look at me.  He gets so excited when I come home. He will bark, bark, bark non-stop until I tell him “enough”.  I know he is excited to see me but he doesn’t stop even when I pet him!  I think he is yelling at me because I left him.

He loves to go for his walks.  When we go for our walks and a person comes close to us he will just stop and not move because he wants that person to pet him.  He just loves to be petted.  He does have a bad habit when we go on our walks.  When he sees another dog he will lunge towards him and start barking.  The dog can be on the other side of the pond and he will still lunge in that dog’s direction and bark at him.  I do not understand his reaction to other dogs walking because he goes to doggie day camp and loves being with the other dogs.  He walks with both small and big dogs.  He is my little “goof”.

He does have a weight problem but he has had a weight problem since he was a puppy.  I think it is in his genes.  I have him on weight management food.  When I first got him from my girlfriend he was at 19 lbs.  I have him down to 17 lbs.  My vet would like to see him at 12 lbs.  My goal is to get him to 14 lbs.  He had a problem getting adopted when he was a puppy because he was overweight long-haired dachshund.  People has vision of long, thin dog.  He has such a cute face my girlfriend just had to adopt him.

I love my Toby boy and I know he loves me!

There are such cute gifts for the dachshund lover on Zazzle. Here are just a few items. Just click on your favorite and order your item today.

Miniature Dachshund Sitting Square Sticker

dachshund leggings

Wire Hair Dachshund Tote Bag

wirehaired dachshund.png pacifier

Wirehaired Dachshund Silhouette Custom Doormat

Dachshund Siblings T-Shirt

Flying Dachshund bathroom set

Dachshund Love Ceramic Knob

Dachshund Silhouette Self-inking Stamp

DOG LOVER | I LOVE DACHSHUND’S RUSTIC THROW PILLOW

Cute Doxies Dachshund Pattern Blanket

Dachshund with Summer Hat & Glasses Magnet

I Love My Four Dachshund Dogs Watch

Dachshund Ladies Top

Fun Dachshund Dog Pattern Bathroom Set

Love My Two Dachshunds Wrist Watch

Crazy Dachshund Lady Magnet

Cartoon Dachshund Car Mat

Cute Doxy Dog Scarf

Dachshunds on Pink Wrapping Paper

Dachshund Coffee Mug Polka Dot Wiener Dog Cup

Cute Long Dachshund Illustration Post-it Notes

Dachshund Pillow, Weiner Dog Throw Pillow

I Love Dachshunds Large Coffee Mug

Love a Dachshund Hoodie

Life is better with a Dachshund shirt

Dachshund With Blue Trilby Canvas Print

Dachshund Towel Custom Rufus

Peace, Love, & Wiener Dogs Dark T-Shirt

Black Dachshund on Dark Gray Car Floor Mats

Dachshund [Smooth] Business Card

Dachshund Silhouettes with Heart and Text Melamine Plate

Hilarious Weiner Dog “Dachshund” Quote Bumper Sticker

Home is Where my Dachshund is Pillow

Dachshund Sketch Postcard

I Love My THREE Dachshunds Throw Pillow

Doxie – Dachshund Patriotic American Flag T-Shirt

Dachshund shirt

Patriotic Dachshund Throw Pillow

Dachshund Silhouette Mug

I Love my Wirehaired Dachshund Luggage Tag

Plaid Dachshund on Blue Wireless Keyboard

Dachshund Lovers Dishwasher Magnet

Quirky Dachshund Passport Holder

Quirky Dachshund Placemat

View of Dapple colored Dachshund Jigsaw Puzzle

Female Dachshund Hoodie

Black Tan Dachshund Its All About Me Classic Round Sticker

Dachshund Siblings Mouse Pad

Red Smooth Dachshund 2 Dirty / Clean Magnet

ODD – Obsessive Dachshund Disorder Trucker Hat

Dachshund Silhouette Pillow

A black and white Miniature Dachshund Ceramic Tile

Dachshunds looking in mirror Vintage Art Gifts Postcard

Polka Dot Dachshund Wrapping Paper

Powered by Zazzle Affiliate Helper

  My Toby Boy! I wrote a previous blog about both of my long-haired dachshunds.  Today I am just going to talk about my Toby boy! 

[larryland]

Mounting “Steps”

by Barbara Waldinger

Barrington Stage Company’s Artistic Director Julianne Boyd wanted something light to be sandwiched between the serious musicals Ragtime and Company, and settled on Taking Steps, a comedy by Sir Alan Ayckbourn, master of farce.  There was one problem:  the play is meant to be performed in the round, impossible on the Boyd-Quinson Mainstage.  Ayckbourn himself directed the premiere in 1979 at the Stephen Joseph theatre in Scarborough, England, where he served as Artistic Director for thirty-seven years.  The following year, when Michael Rudman mounted the piece at a West End theatre using a proscenium arch, Ayckbourn complained that it was not a fair representation of his work.

Having written seventy-seven plays and winning numerous awards, Ayckbourn is very specific about the way Taking Steps should be handled.  Why is it so important? As in many of his works, the set determines much of the action.  In House & Garden, for instance, two plays take place simultaneously on two different stages and can be seen separately. Taking Steps is likewise innovative, being set in a large, decaying Victorian mansion, formerly a brothel said to be haunted by a murdered sex worker.  The house has three floors but the conceit of the play is that they are all on the same level.  Ayckbourn’s stage directions dictate that although the stairs are flat, they give the impression of leading upwards.  The furniture for each room occupies the same area of the stage so that the three levels “should and must overlap.”  In the round, the steps would be visible to the audience looking down from tiered seats.

How do director Sam Buntrock and scenic designer Jason Sherwood overcome the proscenium arch problem? After collaborating for some four months, they arrived at an ingenious solution:  they created an upper level stairway hanging from the flies, with two staircases and two doors that mirror the front and second floor bedroom doors below. This is the key or visual reference that helps the actors and the audience to understand the geography of the piece, since they are the only steps on the stage.  Thanks to Buntrock’s insistence that the actors hit the ground running, rising to their feet on the first day of rehearsal rather than spending time on table work, they were able, through repeated physical movement, to figure out on which level they were playing.  Even as the characters narrowly miss colliding with each other, they still have to maintain the illusion that they are on different floors.  Quite a challenge for everyone involved!

One serendipitous result of rehearsing at Barrington Stage’s new Wolfson Center arises out of a pillar that impeded the actors’ rehearsal movements when entering the attic level.  Buntrock cleverly decided to make its presence felt on the performance stage in the form of an imaginary beam threatening to smash into any character unaware of its position in the darkened room.  Needless to say every encounter in the attic is fraught with comic danger.

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As the levels coalesce, so do the various plots. The women, Elizabeth (Claire Brownell) and Kitty (Helen Cespedes), “take steps” to free themselves from their male partners:  Roland (Richard Hollis), Elizabeth’s wealthy, pompous, alcoholic, doting husband and Mark (Luke Smith), Kitty’s hapless fiancé, who literally induces sleep in anyone listening to him.  Meanwhile, Roland is negotiating the purchase of the haunted mansion for Elizabeth (who hates it) from its owner, Leslie Bainbridge (Matthew Greer), a motorcyclist and builder, desperate for the income, with the help of Roland’s solicitor, Tristram (Carson Elrod), who seems to have no legal sense whatsoever.

Each of the actors handle the play’s considerable physical demands with aplomb.  As Elizabeth, who claims to have spent her life training to be a dancer, Brownell leaps and pirouettes across the stage becoming entangled with the motorcyclist who attempts to rouse her from sleep, as well as with the clueless solicitor in a hilarious bedroom scene.  As her husband, Hollis is a master of many moods, exhibiting supreme confidence and a stiff upper lip, along with an inability to distinguish similar-sounding words from one another.  At times he is dead asleep or drunk, at others he is sobbing uncontrollably.  As Elizabeth’s brother, Smith faces the unenviable task of boring the characters onstage while maintaining the interest of the audience—not always successfully.  As the owner of the house, Greer, in contrast to his tall stature and dark motorcycle garb, plays eager to please, often laughing and surprisingly vulnerable.  And as Mark’s fiancée, Cespedes, who appears sullen and quiet when we first meet her, bursts into life when she struggles to get out—literally from a cabinet where she is stuck, and figuratively as she finds a way, despite many obstacles, to escape from the house and the bleak future that beckons.

But it is Elrod who gives the most successful comic performance of the evening.  The actor’s unintelligible explanations, his facial expressions, his fear of the sounds in this supposedly haunted house, and especially the elasticity of his body place him in the class of the greatest stage clowns of the Commedia dell’ Arte (reminiscent of Bill Irwin and David Shiner).  Local audiences may recall his brilliant representation of a droid last year in The Chinese Room on the Nikos Stage in Williamstown, the highlight of that production.

The costumes, designed by Jennifer Caprio, serve the performers well, and in the most surprising onstage change, enable Elrod to switch from pajamas to a suit while running down two flights of imaginary steps holding a briefcase.  Lighting designer David Weiner meets the challenge of this set by employing many onstage instruments, including standing lamps, table lamps, and even a wire with a missing bulb in the attic.  Sound designer Joel Abbott not only provides us with appropriate songs of the period but also the noises caused by the plumbing problems of the creaky mansion.

English farce is not always easy for an American audience, who must grasp foreign accents, dry humor, and crazy antics.  It takes a bit of time for this production to find its legs but once the physical elements of Ayckbourn’s expertly crafted situations dominate the action, lovers of this genre of comedy will find it delightful.

Taking Steps runs from July 20—August 5, 2017 at Barrington Stage Company’s Boyd-Quinson Mainstage.  For tickets call 413-236-8888 or online at barringtonstageco.org.

Barrington Stage Company presents Taking Steps by Alan Ayckbourn.  Cast:  Claire Brownell (Elizabeth), Luke Smith (Mark), Carson Elrod (Tristram), Richard Hollis (Roland), Matthew Greet (Leslie Bainbridge), Helen Cespedes (Kitty).  Director:  Sam Buntrock; Scenic Designer:  Jason Sherwood; Costume Designer:  Jennifer Caprio; Lighting Designer:  David Weiner; Sound Designer:  Joel Abbott; Hair and Wig Designer:  J. Jared Janas; Fight Choreographer:  Ryan Winkles; Production Stage Manager:  Leslie Sears.  Running Time:  2 hours 25 minutes including intermission; at the Boyd-Quinson Mainstage of the Barrington Stage Company, 30 Union St., Pittsfield, MA, from July 20; closing August 5.

      REVIEW: “Taking Steps” at Barrington Stage Mounting “Steps” by Barbara Waldinger Barrington Stage Company’s Artistic Director Julianne Boyd wanted something light to be sandwiched between the serious musicals…

[creativedogtrainingonline]

Dachshunds – Low-Slung Sportsters of the Canine World

Dachshunds were bred specifically for searching badgers. Selective breeding focused on the perseverance had to pursue its victim till it was caught, and the physical features that would permit the canine to follow the badger into a hole and pull it out. In German – the country of origin for the Dachshund – “dachs” indicates badger. These pets were, quite actually, badger hounds. These little dogs have also been trained to hunt other small animals, including bunnies and foxes.

The years of selective breeding have actually developed a dog with short legs, suitable for digging and permitting the pet dog to stand upright in tight holes. That the pet dog hasn’t lost its length offers it a rather unique appearance, however likewise creates some health issue. Many of these little pets have problems with their hips and backs, mainly because of the lengthened body. These pets aren’t typically able to jump extremely well and leaping can cause additional harm to backs and hips. These canines likewise tend to end up being overweight quickly, which can worsen the back problems. That body has actually earned them the nickname, “Weenie Dog” or “Weiner Dog.”

Dachshunds can be found in 3 distinct types – long haired, wire haired and brief haired. The short haired Dachshunds are easy to groom while the long haired and wire haired types require more extensive grooming. Both shed some, however not substantially. The dogs also come in three sizes – standard, mini and toy. Standards weigh up to 20 pounds, however the miniature and toy varieties generally weigh in at 9 and eight pounds, respectively.

Dachshunds are exceptionally quick to capture on to new things. They do learn tricks easily. Combined with their clown-like look, this makes these pets ideal for performing. They likewise make devoted family animals, though they can be somewhat irritable and territorial. They may not be perfect for homes with little kids, though Dachshunds and kids who are raised together can end up being quite inseparable. With this breed, socializing is extremely essential.

Dachshunds require plenty of exercise. Though they’ll play and romp inside to achieve at least part of that, they tend to love being outdoors. They’ll bet hours at favorite games or merely running along chasing nothing. Plenty of workout is an excellent way to assist keep down the weight that Dachshunds tend to gain so quickly. Bear in mind that these pets were reproduced for searching and they have kept the endurance of their forefathers. As a rule, these dogs have large chests and strong legs that can opt for hours of searching or playing.

Dachshunds come in numerous colors. The bulk of Dachshunds are brown, black or a mix of the two colors. Often, these canines are brown with a black stripe that runs the length of the body. Other color variations are acceptable. Some might be mottled or have actually a pattered called “piebald.”

The perseverance of the Dachshunds makes them less than suitable for some owners. These pets will attempt to be masters of their universe, restricted though it might be. But if you’re up for a difficulty, consider the low-slung Dachshund.

For additional information on Dachshunds and other Popular, and not-so-popular types of pets, go to The Hound Dog Directory site

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