#Eliot White-Hill

[persephonethewanderer]

give us gothic literature recs!!!!

here you go anon!

FICTION:

wuthering heights, emily brontë

jane eyre, charlotte brontë

the bloody chamber, angela carter

mathilda, mary shelley

we have always lived in the castle, shirley jackson

the yellow wallpaper, charlotte perkins gilman

rebecca, daphne du maurier

carmilla, sheridan le fanu

dracula, bram stoker

frankenstein, mary shelley

the mill on the floss, george eliot

the orphan's tale, catherynne m. valente

the haunting of hill house, shirley jackson

my cousin rachel, daphne du maurier

the double, fyodor dostoyevsky

the grey woman, elizabeth gaskell

beloved, toni morrison

the fall of the house of usher, edgar allan poe

wise blood, flannery o'connor

white is for witching, helen oyeyemi

wide sargasso sea, jean rhys

our wives under the sea, julia armfield

valerie and her week of wonders, vítězslav nezval

salome, oscar wilde

deathless, catherynne m. valente

piranesi, susanne clarke

picnic at hanging rock, joan lindsay

NON FICTION:

decadent daughters and monstrous mothers: angela carter and european gothic, rebecca munford

the contested castle: gothic novels and the subversion of domestic ideology, kate ferguson ellis

gothic incest: gender, sexuality and transgression, jenny diplacidi

our vampires, ourselves, nina auerbach

the madwoman in the attic, sandra gilbert and susan gubar

a new companion to the gothic, david punter

daughters of the house: modes of the gothic in victorian fiction, alison milbank

women and the gothic, avril horner and sue zlosnik

fairy tale & gothic horror, laura hubner

female gothic histories, diana wallace

women and domestic space in contemporary gothic narratives, andrew hock soon ng

gothic and gender, donna heiland

perils of the night: a feminist study of 19th century gothic, eugenia c. delamotte

the female gothic: new directions, diana wallace and andrew smith

[philipkindreddickhead]

100 Fiction Books to Read Before You Die

The Namesake by Jhumpa Lahiri

The Book of Margery Kempe by Margery Kempe

The Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison

A Small Place by Jamaica Kincaid

The God of Small Things by Arundhati Roy

Frankenstein by Mary Shelley

We Need to Talk About Kevin by Lionel Shriver

The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie by Muriel Sparks

The Girl by Meridel Le Sueur

The Kitchen God's Wife by Amy Tan

The Secret History by Donna Tartt

The Color Purple by Alice Walker

The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver

Veronica by Mary Gaitskill

Americanah by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

Alias Grace by Margaret Atwood

Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte

The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath

Mrs. Dalloway by Virginia Woolf

Kindred by Octavia Butler

Middlemarch by George Eliot

Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen

To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee

Uncle Tom's Cabin by Harriet Beecher Stowe

Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston

Passing by Nella Larson

The Left Hand of Darkness by Ursula K. Le Guin

Brideshead Revisited by Evelyn Waugh

Death Comes for the Archbishop by Willa Cather

Play it as it Lays by Joan Didion

The House of Spirits by Isabel Allende

Wuthering Heights Emily Bronte

Little Women by Louisa May Alcott

White Teeth by Zadie Smith

The Power by Naomi Alderman

The Street by Ann Petry

The Age of Innocence by Edith Wharton

Mary Barton by Elizabeth Gaskill

An American Marriage by Tayari Jones

Small Island by Andrea Levy

The Idiot by Elif Batuman

The Outsiders by S. E. Hinton

The Price of Salt/Carol by Patricia Highsmith

Room by Emma Donoghue

The Sea, The Sea by Iris Murdoch

Garden of Earthly Delights by Joyce Carol Oates

Wide Sargasso Sea by Jean Rhys

Wise Blood by Flannery O Conner

Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn

Picnic at Hanging Rock by Joan Lindsey

Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier

Salt to the Sea by Ruta Sepetys

Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand

The Awakening by Kate Chopin

Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe by Fannie Flagg

The House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros

The Well of Loneliness by Radclyffe Hall

House of Incest by Anaïs Nin

The Mandarins by Simone de Beauvoir

The Lottery by Shirley Jackson

A Little Life by Hanya Yanagihara

Corregidora by Gayl Jones

Whose Names are Unknown by Sanora Babb

Half of a Yellow Sun by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood

See Now Then by Jamaica Kincaid

The Lowland by Jhumpa Lahiri

Beloved by Toni Morrison

The Joy Luck Club by Amy Tan

The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt

Demon Copperhead by Barbara Kingsolver

The Ministry of Utmost Happiness by Arundhati Roy

To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf

My Antonia by Willa Cather

Democracy by Joan Didion

Black Water by Joyce Carol Oates

The Violent Bear it Away by Flannery O Connor

Sharp Objects by Gillian Flynn

My Cousin Rachel by Daphne du Maurier

The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand

I Must Betray You be Ruta Sepetys

The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson

The Mare by Mary Gaitskill

City of Beasts by Isabel Allende

Fledgling by Octavia Butler

A Wizard of Earthsea by Ursula Le Guin

The First Bad Man by Miranda July

Sense and Sensibility by Jane Austen

Moses, Man of the Mountain by Zora Neale Hurston

Disobedience by Naomi Alderman

Quicksand by Nella Larsen

The Narrows by Ann Petry

The Blood of Others by Simone de Beauvoir

Under the Sea by Rachel Carson

Go Set a Watchman by Harper Lee

Under the Net by Iris Murdoch

The Birdcatcher by Gayl Jones

Desert of the Heart by Jane Rule

In the Time of the Butterflies by Julia Alvarez

The Memory Police by Yōko Ogawa

@gaydalf @kishipurrun @unsentimentaltranslator @algolagniaa @stariduks @hippodamoi

[battyaboutbooksreviews]

🌈 Queer Books Coming Out in February 2024

🌈 Good afternoon, my bookish bats! Struggling to keep up with all the amazing queer books coming out this month? Here are a FEW of the stunning, diverse queer books you can add to your TBR before the year is over. Remember to #readqueerallyear! Happy reading!

❤️ We Ate the Dark by Mallory Pearson 🧡 The Paper Boys by D.P. Clarence 💛 Skater Boy by Anthony Nerada 💚 Your Shadow Half Remains by Sunny Moraine 💙 A Vicious Game by Melissa Blair 💜 Clarion Call by Cayla Fay ❤️ Relit: 16 Latinx Remixes of Classic Stories edited by Sandra Proudman 🧡 The Absinthe Underground by Jamie Pacton 💛 Truthfully, Yours by Caden Armstrong 💙 Outsider by Jade du Preez 💜 Cross My Candy Heart by A.C. Thomas 🌈 The Tainted Cup by Robert Jackson Bennett

❤️ An Education in Malice by S. T. Gibson 🧡 The Imposition of Unnecessary Obstacles by Malka Ann Older 💛 Never a Bridesmaid by Spencer Greene 💚 The Rewind by Nicole Stiling 💙 Good Christian Girls by Elizabeth Bradshaw 💜 The Fox Maidens by Robin Ha ❤️ The Terrible by Tessa Crowley 🧡 Blood Rage by Ileandra Young 💛 Call of the Sea by Emily B. Rose 💙 Sign Me Up by C.H. Williams 💜 Ways and Means by Daniel Lefferts 🌈 Peaceful in the Dark by A.A. Fairview

❤️ We Are Only Ghosts by Jeffrey L. Richards 🧡 Dead Ringer by Robyn Nyx 💛 Somacultural Liberation by Dr. Roger Kuhn 💚 Stormbringer by Erinn Harper 💙 A Saga of Shields & Shadows by A.J. Shirley 💜 Ghost Town by R.E. Ward ❤️ I Heard Her Call My Name by Lucy Sante 🧡 The Night Alphabet by Joelle Taylor 💛 Remedial Magic by Melissa Marr 💙 Bloom by N.R. Walker 💜 Entwined by Alex Alberto 🌈 Queer Newark edited by Whitney Strub

❤️ Tristan by Jesse Roman 🧡 How to Live Free in a Dangerous World by Shayla Lawson 💛 Daniel, Deconstructed by James Ramos 💚 Of Socialites & Prizefights by Arden Powell 💙 Lost Harbor by Kimberly Cooper Griffin 💜 Hannah Tate, Beyond Repair by Laura Piper Lee ❤️ Bunt! Striking Out on Financial Aid by Ngozi Ukazu & Mad Rupert 🧡 How You Get the Girl by Anita Kelly 💛 Blackmailer’s Delight by David Lawrence 💙 Tile M for Murder by Felicia Carparelli 💜 Impulse Buy by Jae 🌈 Live for You, Die With You by Kalob Dàniel

❤️ Fairest of All by A.D. Ellis 🧡 Goddess of the Sea by Britney Jackson 💛 A Taste of Earth by Nico Silver 💚 The Moorings of Mackerel Sky by M.Z. Emily Zack 💙 How the Boogeyman Became a Poet by Tony Keith 💜 V is for Valentine by Thomas Grant Bruso ❤️ Crushed Ice by Ashlyn Kane & Morgan James 🧡 When Tomorrow Comes by D. Jackson Leigh 💛 Bugsy & Other Stories by Rafael Frumkin 💙 The White and Blue Between Us by Kiyuhiko 💜 Guide Us Home by CF Frizzell & Jesse J. Thoma 🌈 The Friendship Study by Ruby Barrett

❤️ Infinity Alchemist by Kacen Callender 🧡 Heart2Heart edited by Annabeth Albert 💛 No Time Like Now by Naz Kutub 💚 Bless the Blood by Walela Nehanda 💙 Vengeance Planning for Amateurs by Lee Winter 💜 Who We Are in Real Life by Victoria Koops ❤️ Prove It by Stephanie Hoyt 🧡 Mewing by Chloe Spencer 💛 Awakenings by Claudie Arseneault 💙 Born of Scourge by S. Jean 💜 Disciples of Chaos by M.K. Lobb 🌈 To Cage a God by Elizabeth May

❤️ Greta & Valdin by Rebecca K Reilly 🧡 What Feasts At Night by T. Kingfisher 💛 You Had Me at Merlot by Melissa Brayden 💚 Turning Point by Cathy Dunnell 💙 For the Stolen Fates by Gwendolyn Clare 💜 Season of Eclipse by Terry Wolverton ❤️ These Haunted Hills by Jana Denardo 🧡 Samson & Domingo by Gume Laurel III 💛 Lies that Bind by Rae Knowles & April Yates 💙 We Got the Beat by Jenna Miller 💜 The Diablo's Curse by Gabe Cole Novoa 🌈 Blessings by Chukwuebuka Ibeh

❤️ Out There by Iris Eliot 🧡 At Her Service by Amy Spalding 💛 Green Dot by Madeleine Gray

[toavoidtherush]

the inevitability of the narrative, a tragedy

matthew stover, revenge of the sith / david lynch, twin peaks / anne carson, h of h playbook / steven espada dawson, elegy for brian; my brother who has been missing for ten years / taylor swift, exile / mike flannigan, the haunting of hill house / joan tierney, how to draw a circle / aeschylus, the oresteia / richard siken, planet of love / giovanni gasparro, the right hand knows what the left / homer tr. emily wilson, the illiad / hadestown, road to hell (reprise) / charlie kaufman, i'm thinking of ending things / tory adkisson, anecdote of the pig / yellowjackets, flight of the bumblebee / t. s. eliot, burnt norton / florence + the machine, cassandra / david leviathan, revisiting mockingjay ahead of the hunger games prequal / craig howell & chris nielsen, the last magician / jean anouilh, antigone / richard siken, war of the foxes / a series of unfortunate events cast, that's not how the story goes / leigh janiak, fear street 1978 / john darnielle, wolf in white van / libba bray, the king of crows / passenger, all the little lights / markus zusak, the book thief / dave filoni, twilight of the apprentice concept art / terry pratchett, reaper man.

[bitterkarella]

Midnight Pals: The Conservative

Lovecraft: h-hey guys do you want to see my newsletter Barker: you uh Barker: you wrote a newsletter? Barker: whats it called? Lovecraft: t-the conservative Barker: Barker: ah ha ha ha August Derleth: STOP IT, HOWARD IS ONLY AS RACIST AS THE AVERAGE MAN OF HIS DAY!!

Derleth: look before you start making assumptions Derleth: you gotta understand that howard's 'conservatism' bears little resemblance to how we understand the term today Derleth: see, for howard, it's about cultural revival Barker: oh my god haha Barker: he's a fuckin retvrn guy

Derleth: no! howard's using the term 'conservative' differently than how we use it today! Lovecraft: i-i just think we need to protect our precious anglo saxon values against the onslaught of saracens, tinkers, and other mud races Barker: seems pretty similar to me

Barker: do you have anything in your newsletter that's not racist Derleth: clive Barker: oh no no no Barker: you're not edgar Barker: you don't get to say that

Barker: so Barker: anything not racist in your newsletter Lovecraft: i Lovecraft: i-i have a review of TS Eliot's the wasteland Barker: oh yeah? what'd you think? Lovecraft: it sucks

Lovecraft: i-in fact i penned this little spoof of the wasteland Lovecraft: called waste paper Lovecraft: i-it's droll Barker: is it racist Lovecraft: i mean, a little Lovecraft: just as a treat

TS Eliot: March is the cruelest month Eliot: always wet, always rainy Eliot: i have three chairs in my kitchen Eliot: and one more in the attic Eliot: for there is silver in your smile Eliot: and gold in them thar hills Eliot: Fahrvergnügen! Kartoffelsalat! Lovecraft: ughhhhh

Tom Monteleone: well howard you gonna publish any straight white men in your newsletter? Monteleone: i bet you won't Monteleone: it's just not [air quotes] fashionable [air quotes] anymore innit Lovecraft: i-i will! Lovecraft: i will put straight white men it, see if i don't!

Monteleone: look at you lot, giving non white male writers a chance... like a bunch of PC cowards! Moneteone: you know what's real bravery? publishing white writers Moneteone: now THAT'S punk rock

[apocalypsewolfmusic]

Tape 109: Heather. October 2023.

Celebrating 20 years of Silent Hill 3.

Mixed by AMBY.

Poppy - Sick of the Sun Florence + The Machine - Just A Girl Android Lust - Burn (Acoustic) Angelspit - Nurse Grenade Ben Frost & Eliot Sumner - White Rabbit Gazelle Twin - The Well CHVRCHES - Killer HEALTH - HURT YOURSELF Demi Lovato - Still Alive Thom Yorke - Suspirium Finale

[teabooksandsweets]

Just a little reminder that I once made this little quiz ♥

If you're interested in reading Goudge, and don't know where to start, you really should try this. And if you hadn't yet thought of reading her, you ought to. And all that aside, it's a really fun quiz, because it's a little story, a walk in the English countryside.

(Please keep in mind, that I always especially recommend The Dean's Watch and The Eliot Trilogy, which are not possible results in this quiz.)

[lcstinfantasy]

below the cut is a list of all the muses on this blog. some will have more information than others. this is a mixture of oc and canon characters.

CANON CHARACTERS

hayley james - 18-30 - fc: bethany joy lenz - one tree hill

lydia martin - 23-33 - fc: holland roden - teen wolf

lucas scott- 18- 30-: fc: chad michael murray - one tree hill

brooke davis - 18-30 -  fc: sophia bush - one tree hill

stu matcher - 18-30 - fc: matthew lillard - scream (1996)

tatum riley - 18- 30 - fc: rose mcgowan - scream (1996)

Eli Hale - 18 - fc: Vince Mattis (son of derek hale and stiles stilinski) - teen wolf

john b routledge - 18-21- fc: chase stokes - outer banks

sarah cameron - 18-21 - fc: madelyn cline - outer banks

rafe cameron - 20-23 - fc: drew starkey - outer banks

steve harrington - 19/20 - fc: joe keery - stranger things

eddie munson - 20 - fc: joseph quinn - stranger things

nancy wheeler - 18 - fc: natalia dyer - stranger things

chrissy cunningham - 18 - fc: grace van dien  - stranger things

robin buckley - 18 - fc: maya hawke - stranger things

joyce byers - 44 - fc: winona ryder - stranger things

max mayfield - 15/16 - sadie sink - stranger things

Carol Perkins - 18/19 - fc: talia ryder - stranger things

jonathan byers - 18 - fc: charlie heaton - stranger things

tara carpenter - 19 - fc: jenna ortega - scream

sara carpenter - 25/26 - fc: melissa barrera - scream

ethan landry - 19 - fc: jack champion - scream

quinn bailey -19 - fc: liana liberato - scream

dom torretto -verse dependent - fc: vin diesel - fast and furious

jokob torretto - verse dependent -fc: john cena, young fc: finn cole - fast and furious

taylor jewel - 18 - fc: rain spencer - the summer i turned pretty

billy loomis - verse dependent - fc: skeet ulrich - scream (1996)

campbell eliot - 18-20 - fc: toby wallace - the society

sam eliot - 18-20 - fc: sean berdy - the society

allie pressman - 18-20 - fc: kathryn newton - the society

abel teller - 26 - fc: austin butler -soa

thomas teller - 22 - fc: finn cole -soa

isaac lahey - 19-33 - fc: daniel sharman - teen wolf

erica reyes - 19-33 - werewolf- sabrina carpenter

micheal jeffery lane • 28-40 (verse dependent) • fc: channing tatum - magic mike

OC CHARACTERS

sage thomspon -25- fc: madelyn cline - fandomless

juniper thomspon - 23 - fc: katie douglas - fandomless

hope whittemore - 18-23 - fc: zoe colletti - teen wolf

noah armstrong - 26 -fc: theo james -fandomless

eric armstrong - 22 - fc: chase stokes - not open to other rudy pankow fcs -fandomless

bree armstrong - 24 - fc: ella purnell -fandomless

katherine bell - 26 (300+ vampire) - fc: madelaine petsch -fandomless

elijah moran - 22 - fc: gavin casalegno - fandomless

ethan moran - 23 - fc: christopher briney -fandomless

naya gomez - 28 -fc:  priscilla quintana - teen wolf

matthew evans - 25 - fc: cody christian - teen wolf

daniel james - 24 - fc: daniel sharman- teen wolf

kendall floyd - 22-25 - fc: madison bailey - teen wolf

joseph taylor - 25-28- fc: daniel ezra- teen wolf

kira huges - 21-24 - fc: josephine langford- teen wolf

kai coleman  - 27-30 - fc:oliver stark - teen wolf

hanna pittman  - 20-23 - fc: samantha logan - teen wolf

miko young - 21-25 - fc: evan mock - fandomless

jasper wooley - 21-26 - fc: thomas doherty - fandomless

eden wolfe - 21-26 - fc: emily alyn lind - fandomless

sterling herrman - 21-27 - fc: jeremy allen white - fandomless

pete warner - 22-26 - fc: cameron monaghan - fandomless

dixie adams - 27-30 - fc: emmy rossum - fandomless

lily danberry - 21 (80 vampire) - fc: nina dobrev - tvd/teen wolf

julia danberry - 21 (80 werewolf) - fc: nina dobrev - tvd/teen wolf

nick danberry - 21 (80 witch) - fc: dylan o’brien - tvd/teen wolf

davina davidson - 24 - fc: danielle campbell - fandomless

hayley davidson - 28 - fc: phoebe tonkin - fandomless

madison lewis - 21-25 - fc: maddie phillips - ahs/teen wolf

russel lewis - 20-24 - fc: nolan gerard funk - ahs/teen wolf

talon lewis  - 19-23 - fc: melissa benoist- ahs/teen wolf

tatum lewis - 19-23 - fc: cody fern- ahs/teen wolf

dani sanchez - 24-26 - fc: alexa demie - fandomless

maya sanchez - 21-24 - fc: camila mendes - fandomless

celeste lovegood - 24-26 - fc: ana de armas- fandomless

samuel johnson - 23-25 - fc: jacob elordi - fandomless

paisley johnson - 25-29 - fc: victoria pedretti - fandomless

nate felix - 21-25 - fc: drew starkey - fandomless

andy darnell - 19-22 - fc: michael provost - fandomless

astrid sullivan - 20-25 - fc: sydney sweeney - fandomless

carter ramsey - 36 - fc: jensen ackles - fandomless

willow anderson - 19 - fc: alycia debnam-carey

ivy greene - 22 - fc: halston sage - outer banks

Nate Felix  stranger things verse

Dakota Roth - 28 - fc: bill skarsgård - stranger things 

wesley henson -  - fc: jonathan daviss - fandomless

roxanne roca - 28 - fc: camila morrone - fandomless

jolene devin cooper - 24 - fc: madison iseman - fandomless

colby ireland roberts - 24 - maia mitchell - fandomless

myles james boyce - 26 - alex roe - fandomless

kyro javier gomez - 23-26 - taylor zakhar perez - fandomless

Dalton Winter Richmann - 29 - josh hutcherson

Shepard Knight Richmann - 40 - hugh dancy

vincenza "vince" lucciano - 30 - Michele Morrone

wren nicole caruso - 42 - morena baccarin

james oliver alexander - 25 - william moseley

elinor brooke henderson - 19 - olivia welch

rowan grey - 20-30 -avan jogia

alfie reynolds - 24 - 𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐬𝐜𝐡𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐳𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫

reign grey - 18-20 - lola  tung

dillon combs -19-25 - nicole wallace

gunner kyle hudson • 21-25 • college football • fc: brian altemus

ayla aslan • 23 • college student/royalty • fc: afra saracoglu

ariana "arie" berry • 22-24 • retail worker • fc: maia reficco

oliver 'ollie' greyson - pogue/bartender -18-24 - fc: julio pena

henley madison dinozzo - kook/honorary party girl - 19-25 - fc: adelaide kane

kaleb owens - 26 - ranch handler fc: noah lalonde

noah owens - 23 - ranch handler - fc: ashby gentry

luke owens - 40 - ranch handler - fc: nathan parsons

dallas marie archer - 23 - store clerk - fc: grace van patten

test muses/by request:

faye rainee munson -tba - alice pagani

asher poe munson - tba - belmont cameli

milo michael larson - tba - damian hardung

fallon marie larson - tba - angourie rice

declan felix larson - tba - corey fogelmanis

adeline blair cameron - tba - amalia williamson

davina claire - verse dependent - danielle campbell

tate langdon - verse dependent - evan peters

christopher mckay - 19-22- Algee Smith

dean winchester - verse dependent - jensen ackles

[internalintestines]

what i read in march 2023

poetry

to march - emily dickinson

willow - anna akmatova (trans. jennifer reeser)

i grant you ample leave - george eliot

worm moon - mary oliver

deer on the side of an american highway - devin kelly

reading - a.r ammons

the lady’s yes - elizabeth barret browning

“south of the north, yet north of south, lies the city of a hundred hills” - aaron coleman

the honest tongue - laura da!

why did it - william j harris

thursday - james longenbach

hello - naomi shihab nye

[like a white stone] - anna akhmatova (trans. babette deutsch, avrahm yarmolinsky)

the horse fell off the poem - mahmoud darwish (trans. fady joudah)

a lesson from my father about electricity - monica rico

abell 2218 - eric gamalinda

molly brodak - molly brodak

ancestors wildest dreams - kinsale drake

books

closer baby closer - savannah brown (poetry collection)

i must be living twice - eileen myself (poetry collection, p1-51)

detransition baby - torrey peters

university readings

‘chapter 3: michel foucault: society must be defended’ in portraits of violence, evans and wilson, 2016 (modernism and after)

‘pregnancy: reproductive futures in trans of colour feminism’, micha cárdenas, 2016 (intro to queer studies)

‘the transfeminist manifesto’, in catching a wave: reclaiming feminism for the 21st century, 2003 (intro to queer studies)

‘academy as potentiality’, in A.C.A.D.E.M.Y revolver, irit rogoff, 2006 (intro to queer studies)

chapters 1-2 of ‘borderlands/la frontera’, gloria anzaldúa, 1987 (intro to queer studies)

‘queer intersections: sexuality and gender in migration studies’ in the international migration review vol 40, martin f. manalansan, 2006 (intro to queer studies)

‘deconstructing the filmmakers gaze: an interview with celine sciamma’, cineaste vol 45, garcia, m (intro to queer studies)

‘visual pleasurea and narrative cinema’, laura mulvey (intro to queer studies)

substack

paging dr. lesbian: does the female gaze exist

patti smith: reading a poets poem

perfectly imperfect newsletter: #290 morgan maher

tv dinner: queer advice #55 really serious really quickly

the sushi shop: an ode to bad television and its brightest stars

maybe baby: #138 do you pass the turing test

maybe baby: #140 the art of pandering

cup of stars (carmen maria machado): dear kitty

articles

‘loneliness and me’, claire bushey, financial times, 2020

‘the reading summer: fragments on loneliness’, eve lio, medium, 2021

‘the state of UK prisons and the urgent need for reform’, callum clark, 2022

‘our prisons are a manifest failure. would that be tolerated in any other public system?’, kathleen maltzahn, the guardian, 2019

‘prison art, a dark place where the muse never leaves’, jillian steinhauer, the new york times, 2019

‘why pop art was the first queer art movement’, andy stewart mackay anothermag, 2020

[woolfean]

The Atheist

”I no longer believe in God”, a release from his voice, administered with trepidation. Only this very moment dallying courage triumphed over his hesitation and fear of declaring his belief. The room was quiet, saints erected with divine power; he there felt confined, airless. He felt his sanity stretched, thinking of God; thinking of Hell: that the Forces of Heaven shall purge this city, the world: he thinks of London and Big Ben; the streets and their beauty compared to Italy and its blue and green hills; he thinks of Rome and its rusty Earth and now life in Bacolod, here in its very moment: life continues; the motors flows and think we are all smoke evaporated after our fragile life. He always felt the intensity of his life; he felt all the strokes, the pound like he came to listen to Beethoven and Brahms. The life he shepherded felt spoilt; Bacolod is no compensation for the life of writers, artists and intellectuals living in Paris and London; then never did he feel it was enough compensation for the beauty of Rome, Italy, and London, too. Life gets thickens all the time. Spoilt. Greasy. All moments that seem perpetually moving are exacerbated. He felt the dull weight of his atheism. He simply cannot believe in God anymore. “There’s hell”, he said, yet stupefied by his inability to believe God. The room was no English; he could not sit in the fire, reading Milton. Exhausted dropped in the bed like a mummy wrapped by the thick veil of darkness. The mahogany burgundy table, the windows open, dead was the air, insipid. The book was dropped weightless on the table. Schubert is playing on his laptop. “He is divine”, he said lacking of technicality to describe Schubert. He had his hand the book of Flannery O’Connor and Diary of Virginia Woolf. He had loved reading; it was a dear occupation to him. A regret occupied him: memory slipped through. He still lay there, obnoxiously controlling his sanity. How many years did he think of not reading a book because he knew for he will analyse his belief and knew that he'll abandon God? The failed transition to atheism was the greatest madness he’d ever known. A rotten respite coming back like a worm to dig up his mind that he cannot never rid. “Stoic apple” he said mockingly, “so receptive and enduring”  He carried his religious burden like a cross. “I must read Irish. I must not alone read James Joyce - there’s Mary Lavin and there is Elizabeth Bowen - but I think Bowen wrote of London, of life in the war, of marriage. London survive as an organism, a civilization she observed it. How about Frank O’Connor? Seán Ó Faoláin. But they want to liberate, I think, Ireland from Christianity. I must still read Irish.”

A complication that he had to refresh his mind He had a satisfactory of writers that reflect his biases. More than that: the feeling of having the same life and struggle for the restoration of his faith. Then, who shall we run into Greene, Updike, and Eliot? It is the insistence of his comfort to read them. The renewable literature for his decayed, rotten religious belief. Annie Ernaux's books look modest on the table covered in white, tantalizing as cream. He looked at it; then his eyes jumped from one another and saw the multitudinous of his books. There, is the book of many writers that have cast their voices into us. His breathing is continuous yet short and he knows his anxiety corrupting him again. The chest look pumping and waiting for a rescue. He can feel the dashing of air on his throat - then stopped; continuous swirling on his neck down to his chest. “Oh God. Don’t! I have not lived yet.” But one thing we know is he cannot die because he is afraid of hell. He was afraid that he could not afford to sacrifice for that. He loved his life, and if he denounced his atheism, he’d lose himself: his whole life. Thinking is what makes him. He is his own thinking. Bacolod is nothing but the remains of Sodom, a city of Sin, of false light: an impious city full of celebrations. Will he condemn the life he lived he had said? Then he was a Sodom of himself, deprived of love, lavishes the life of the flesh. “Should I read books?” he uttered. Thinking made him insane. All thinking men are mad, he said. He fled away from God for his incessant desire to anchor himself to his whole belief and found himself in the immensity of his boat in the rainstorm. “Crane, yes, Stephen Crane,” How envied the freedom of bird; never feared of immensity: yet we are in this small ship. How long we can tolerate these: these changing scenes of life: increase the volume of madness: never ceasing?” The mind seems to settle in like a pear drop on the soft air. He rose; then, he strode and strode like a pendulum in the room. “What should I read? Then he thinks of Philosophers. Then, who he thought to read? The books of Jose Saramago, Par Lagerkvist, and Nikos Kazantzakis lay flat there. He opened the book of Par Lagerkvist, “Barabbas” the man who cannot believe in God but he cannot pray nor affirm his faith. He can only say, “I want to believe.” The windows opened, and seems moths rushes to him to infect the reflection, "Am I still him?Now, he felt distance to his past belief. Doggedly, he flings on his belief. “I shall read yet what I ought to read? Theology. Not this time.” But what seems to matter with him about the man relationship of God and Man when finished Woolf’s diary: he can only think of its beauty. Now, there is no going back. Yet what a faint feeling of religious crisis still attached to him. The tightening grip of the dominant church on his ideology made him apolitical. No one can change his belief now. “I can finally read Milton, now!”. He can now read English Literature without holding back. In the cabinet he stacked the multitudinous and voluminous works of English Literature: the voluptuousness of poetry: its meditation. “To lay ground, the soft bluish sky and white clouds flew like a white dove and will read Keats or Shelley.” The struggle is over. He felt no longer shackled by religious dogma. Hell was no longer his concern. He felt it over. “To crouch in the ground like a bird. To immensity of the world.” Now he felt his courage. For he thought that everything was over: the moment was revealed to him: God had left him, the air was dead, and the world lay flat and motionless. He thought of hell. The vivid fire struck him. God is unreachable, and he cannot restore his faith. He whispers to stricken air with disquietude “Oh God!”

[daimonclub]

Halloween death poems

Halloween poems on death and souls Halloween death poems, dead spirits and departed souls with the passed away essence of our ancestors existing around the living by the World of English that is English-culture.com Halloween for the year 2022 is celebrated/observed on Monday, October 31st. What the dead had no speech for, when living, They can tell you, being dead: the communication Of the dead is tongued with fire beyond the language of the living. T.S. Eliot, Four Quartets No poet, no artist of any art, has his complete meaning alone. His significance, his appreciation is the appreciation of his relation to the dead poets and artists. You cannot value him alone; you must set him, for contrast and comparison, among the dead. T. S. Eliot Be silent in that solitude, Which is not loneliness - for then The spirits of the dead, who stood In life before thee, are again In death around thee, and their will Shall overshadow thee; be still. Edgar Allan Poe From “Spirits of the Dead All Souls’ Night You heap the logs and try to fill The little room with words and cheer, But silent feet are on the hill, Across the window veiled eyes peer. The hosts of lovers, young in death, Go seeking down the world to-night, Remembering faces, warmth and breath - And they shall seek till it is light. Then let the white-flaked logs burn low, Lest those who drift before the storm See gladness on our hearth and know There is no flame can make them warm. Hortense King Flexner Petit mort pour rire - Poem by Tristan Corbiere Va vite, léger peigneur de comètes ! Les herbes au vent seront tes cheveux ; De ton œil béant jailliront les feux Follets, prisonniers dans les pauvres têtes… Les fleurs de tombeau qu’on nomme Amourettes Foisonneront plein ton rire terreux… Et les myosotis, ces fleurs d’oubliettes… Ne fais pas le lourd : cercueils de poètes Pour les croque-morts sont de simples jeux, Boîtes à violon qui sonnent le creux… Ils te croiront mort - Les bourgeois sont bêtes Va vite, léger peigneur de comètes ! Tristan Corbiere For Annie Thank Heaven! the crisis, The danger, is past, And the lingering illness Is over at last - And the fever called "Living" Is conquered at last. Sadly, I know I am shorn of my strength, And no muscle I move As I lie at full length - But no matter! - I feel I am better at length. And I rest so composedly, Now, in my bed, That any beholder Might fancy me dead - Might start at beholding me, Thinking me dead. The moaning and groaning, The sighing and sobbing, Are quieted now, With that horrible throbbing At heart: - ah, that horrible, Horrible throbbing! The sickness - the nausea - The pitiless pain - Have ceased, with the fever That maddened my brain - With the fever called "Living" That burned in my brain. And oh! of all tortures That torture the worst Has abated - the terrible Torture of thirst For the naphthaline river Of Passion accurst: - I have drank of a water That quenches all thirst: - Of a water that flows, With a lullaby sound, From a spring but a very few Feet under ground - From a cavern not very far Down under ground. And ah! let it never Be foolishly said That my room it is gloomy And narrow my bed; For man never slept In a different bed - And, to sleep, you must slumber In just such a bed. My tantalized spirit Here blandly reposes, Forgetting, or never Regretting, its roses - Its old agitations Of myrtles and roses: For now, while so quietly Lying, it fancies A holier odor About it, of pansies - A rosemary odor, Commingled with pansies - With rue and the beautiful Puritan pansies. And so it lies happily, Bathing in many A dream of the truth And the beauty of Annie - Drowned in a bath Of the tresses of Annie. She tenderly kissed me, She fondly caressed, And then I fell gently To sleep on her breast - Deeply to sleep From the heaven of her breast. When the light was extinguished, She covered me warm, And she prayed to the angels To keep me from harm - To the queen of the angels To shield me from harm. And I lie so composedly, Now, in my bed, (Knowing her love) That you fancy me dead - And I rest so contentedly, Now in my bed (With her love at my breast). That you fancy me dead - That you shudder to look at me, Thinking me dead:- But my heart it is brighter Than all of the many Stars in the sky, For it sparkles with Annie - It glows with the light Of the love of my Annie - With the thought of the light Of the eyes of my Annie. By Edgar Allan Poe Annabel Lee It was many and many a year ago, In a kingdom by the sea, That a maiden there lived whom you may know By the name of Annabel Lee; And this maiden she lived with no other thought Than to love and be loved by me. I was a child and she was a child, In this kingdom by the sea, But we loved with a love that was more than love - I and my Annabel Lee - With a love that the wingèd seraphs of Heaven Coveted her and me. And this was the reason that, long ago, In this kingdom by the sea, A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling My beautiful Annabel Lee; So that her highborn kinsmen came And bore her away from me, To shut her up in a sepulchre In this kingdom by the sea. The angels, not half so happy in Heaven, Went envying her and me - Yes! - that was the reason (as all men know, In this kingdom by the sea) That the wind came out of the cloud by night, Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee. But our love it was stronger by far than the love Of those who were older than we - Of many far wiser than we - And neither the angels in Heaven above Nor the demons down under the sea Can ever dissever my soul from the soul Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side Of my darling - my darling - my life and my bride, In her sepulchre there by the sea - In her tomb by the sounding sea. By Edgar Allan Poe

Halloween poems on death, spirits and souls Halloween Upon that night, when fairies light On Cassilis Downans dance, Or owre the lays, in splendid blaze, On sprightly coursers prance; Or for Colean the route is ta’en, Beneath the moon’s pale beams; There, up the cove, to stray and rove, Among the rocks and streams To sport that night. Among the bonny winding banks, Where Doon rins, wimplin’ clear, Where Bruce ance ruled the martial ranks, And shook his Carrick spear, Some merry, friendly, country-folks, Together did convene, To burn their nits, and pou their stocks, And haud their Halloween Fu’ blithe that night. The lasses feat, and cleanly neat, Mair braw than when they’re fine; Their faces blithe, fu’ sweetly kythe, Hearts leal, and warm, and kin’; The lads sae trig, wi’ wooer-babs, Weel knotted on their garten, Some unco blate, and some wi’ gabs, Gar lasses’ hearts gang startin’ Whiles fast at night. Then, first and foremost, through the kail, Their stocks maun a’ be sought ance; They steek their een, and graip and wale, For muckle anes and straught anes. Poor hav’rel Will fell aff the drift, And wander’d through the bow-kail, And pou’t, for want o’ better shift, A runt was like a sow-tail, Sae bow’t that night. Then, staught or crooked, yird or nane, They roar and cry a’ throu’ther; The very wee things, todlin’, rin, Wi’ stocks out owre their shouther; And gif the custoc’s sweet or sour. Wi’ joctelegs they taste them; Syne cozily, aboon the door, Wi cannie care, they’ve placed them To lie that night. The lasses staw frae ‘mang them a’ To pou their stalks of corn: But Rab slips out, and jinks about, Behint the muckle thorn: He grippet Nelly hard and fast; Loud skirl’d a’ the lasses; But her tap-pickle maist was lost, When kitlin’ in the fause-house Wi’ him that night. The auld guidwife’s well-hoordit nits, Are round and round divided, And monie lads’ and lasses’ fates Are there that night decided: Some kindle coothie, side by side, And burn thegither trimly; Some start awa, wi’ saucy pride, And jump out-owre the chimlie Fu’ high that night. Jean slips in twa wi’ tentie ee; Wha ‘twas she wadna tell; But this is Jock, and this is me, She says in to hersel: He bleezed owre her, and she owre him, As they wad never mair part; Till, fuff! he started up the lum, And Jean had e’en a sair heart To see’t that night. Poor Willie, wi’ his bow-kail runt, Was brunt wi’ primsie Mallie; And Mallie, nae doubt, took the drunt, To be compared to Willie; Mall’s nit lap out wi’ pridefu’ fling, And her ain fit it brunt it; While Willie lap, and swore by jing, ‘Twas just the way he wanted To be that night. Nell had the fause-house in her min’, She pits hersel and Rob in; In loving bleeze they sweetly join, Till white in ase they’re sobbin’; Nell’s heart was dancin’ at the view, She whisper’d Rob to leuk for’t: Rob, stowlins, prie’d her bonny mou’, Fu’ cozie in the neuk for’t, Unseen that night. But Merran sat behint their backs, Her thoughts on Andrew Bell; She lea’es them gashin’ at their cracks, And slips out by hersel: She through the yard the nearest taks, And to the kiln goes then, And darklins graipit for the bauks, And in the blue-clue throws then, Right fear’t that night. And aye she win’t, and aye she swat, I wat she made nae jaukin’, Till something held within the pat, Guid Lord! but she was quakin’! But whether ‘was the deil himsel, Or whether ‘twas a bauk-en’, Or whether it was Andrew Bell, She didna wait on talkin’ To spier that night. Wee Jennie to her grannie says, “Will ye go wi’ me, grannie? I’ll eat the apple at the glass I gat frae Uncle Johnnie:" She fuff’t her pipe wi’ sic a lunt, In wrath she was sae vap’rin’, She notice’t na, an aizle brunt Her braw new worset apron Out through that night. “Ye little skelpie-limmer’s face! I daur you try sic sportin’, As seek the foul thief ony place, For him to spae your fortune. Nae doubt but ye may get a sight! Great cause ye hae to fear it; For mony a ane has gotten a fright, And lived and died deleeret On sic a night. “Ae hairst afore the Sherramoor, — I mind’t as weel’s yestreen, I was a gilpey then, I’m sure I wasna past fifteen; The simmer had been cauld and wat, And stuff was unco green; And aye a rantin’ kirn we gat, And just on Halloween It fell that night. “Our stibble-rig was Rab M’Graen, A clever sturdy fallow: His son gat Eppie Sim wi’ wean, That lived in Achmacalla: He gat hemp-seed, I mind it weel, And he made unco light o’t; But mony a day was by himsel, He was sae sairly frighted That very night.” Then up gat fechtin’ Jamie Fleck, And he swore by his conscience, That he could saw hemp-seed a peck; For it was a’ but nonsense. The auld guidman raught down the pock, And out a hanfu’ gied him; Syne bade him slip frae ‘mang the folk, Some time when nae ane see’d him, And try’t that night. He marches through amang the stacks, Though he was something sturtin; The graip he for a harrow taks. And haurls it at his curpin; And every now and then he says, “Hemp-seed, I saw thee, And her that is to be my lass, Come after me, and draw thee As fast this night.” He whistled up Lord Lennox’ march To keep his courage cheery; Although his hair began to arch, He was say fley’d and eerie: Till presently he hears a squeak, And then a grane and gruntle; He by his shouther gae a keek, And tumbled wi’ a wintle Out-owre that night. He roar’d a horrid murder-shout, In dreadfu’ desperation! And young and auld came runnin’ out To hear the sad narration; He swore ‘twas hilchin Jean M’Craw, Or crouchie Merran Humphie, Till, stop! she trotted through them And wha was it but grumphie Asteer that night! Meg fain wad to the barn hae gaen, To win three wechts o’ naething; But for to meet the deil her lane, She pat but little faith in: She gies the herd a pickle nits, And two red-cheekit apples, To watch, while for the barn she sets, In hopes to see Tam Kipples That very nicht. She turns the key wi cannie thraw, And owre the threshold ventures; But first on Sawnie gies a ca’ Syne bauldly in she enters: A ratton rattled up the wa’, And she cried, Lord, preserve her! And ran through midden-hole and a’, And pray’d wi’ zeal and fervour, Fu’ fast that night; They hoy’t out Will wi’ sair advice; They hecht him some fine braw ane; It chanced the stack he faddom’d thrice Was timmer-propt for thrawin’; He taks a swirlie, auld moss-oak, For some black grousome carlin; And loot a winze, and drew a stroke, Till skin in blypes cam haurlin’ Aff’s nieves that night. A wanton widow Leezie was, As canty as a kittlin; But, och! that night amang the shaws, She got a fearfu’ settlin’! She through the whins, and by the cairn, And owre the hill gaed scrievin, Whare three lairds’ lands met at a burn To dip her left sark-sleeve in, Was bent that night. Whyles owre a linn the burnie plays, As through the glen it wimpl’t; Whyles round a rocky scaur it strays; Whyles in a wiel it dimpl’t; Whyles glitter’d to the nightly rays, Wi’ bickering, dancing dazzle; Whyles cookit underneath the braes, Below the spreading hazel, Unseen that night. Among the brackens, on the brae, Between her and the moon, The deil, or else an outler quey, Gat up and gae a croon: Poor Leezie’s heart maist lap the hool! Near lav’rock-height she jumpit; but mist a fit, and in the pool Out-owre the lugs she plumpit, Wi’ a plunge that night. In order, on the clean hearth-stane, The luggies three are ranged, And every time great care is ta’en’, To see them duly changed: Auld Uncle John, wha wedlock joys Sin’ Mar’s year did desire, Because he gat the toom dish thrice, He heaved them on the fire In wrath that night. Wi’ merry sangs, and friendly cracks, I wat they didna weary; And unco tales, and funny jokes, Their sports were cheap and cheery; Till butter’d so’ns, wi’ fragrant lunt, Set a’ their gabs a-steerin’; Syne, wi’ a social glass o’ strunt, They parted aff careerin’ Fu’ blythe that night. Robert Burns, 1759 - 1796 Download the pdf file about Halloween History Other poems on Halloween Here   www.poets.org/poetsorg/halloween-poems If you like Halloween you can also read the following articles: Halloween great and famous quotes Halloween or All Hallows’ Eve Halloween quotes and aphorisms Halloween death poems Read the full article

[auswalk]

THE GREAT OCEAN WALK & A GREAT AUSTRALIAN STORY

The story of a place is often lost in time, leaving us to drift through unaware of the past. Or we’re left with names and dates, that don’t really tell us very much.

Which is a shame, as there are lessons to be learned from the past, and behind every dry historical fact there’s often a genuine human story begging to be told. If only we knew who to talk to, and what questions to ask.

On the Great Ocean Walk, for example, when you finally reach the remote, and beautiful, Milanesia Beach, you may notice a little house nestled comfortably into the landscape. Just beyond the grasses at the edge of the beach, it’s white stone walls in stark contrast to the dark green forest rising steeply behind it.

And you may, with a little imagination, be able to see a family spending time there.

“…digging up worms in the sand, using them to catch trout, or eels that dad used to catch sharks while mum was off looking for crayfish. Everything cooked over a bonfire at night, and a game of cricket the next day before heading back to the homestead up the hill, where normal life resumed…”

Yes on looking at that picturesque little cottage, you can easily picture those idyllic family moments playing out in front of those cheery white walls. And you’d be right. That is what happened there, and still does.

What you’d never guess, however, is why that little house was built in the first place. You’d never guess that it was built by a father, to honour his son, who died on the battlefield at Gallipoli when he was only 22 years of age…

A young man goes to war

Eliot Gratton Wilson was working on a cattle station when the first world war began. He was 21, and, you can imagine, full of adventure, as only seven weeks later he signed up, enlisted in the Army and joined the 8th Australian Light Horse Regiment.

On the 25 February 1915 he boarded the Star Of Victoria and sailed to Egypt, and soon after his Regiment was sent to Gallipoli, where he led one of the first waves of attack in the infamous, and deadly, Battle of the Nek.

War correspondent and official Australian historian, Charles Bean, described the fact that anyone reached the enemy trenches in that initial assault, was a miracle. Yet two soldiers did exactly that, and one of them was Eliot.

‘On the other flank, near the seaward cliff, Lieutenant Wilson of the 8th [Light Horse Regiment] also reached the enemy’s trench and was seen sitting with his back to the parapet, beckoning to others to come to him. Shortly afterwards he was killed by a bomb from the Turkish line.’

Lieutenant Wilson died on the 7th August 1915, twelve days short of his 23rd birthday, in a battle that came to be known as ‘one of the bravest actions in the history of the war’. He died along with nine other officers in that charge, and by the time it was over, 154 of the 300 men in his Regiment were dead too. Gone too soon, every single one of them.

A father follows him

John Gratton Wilson was a doctor, politician, farmer, husband and a father, and he was 50 years old when he heard of his son’s death. And, while you never know what goes through a person’s mind when tragedy strikes, perhaps, the fact that he enlisted himself a couple of years later, even at that age, provides some indication of his mindset.

Doctor Wilson served, and survived two years of active duty in the war, and then returned home to build a humble beach house to honour his son. He went on to live a long and full life, passing on at the age of 85, and he’s buried in the Moonlight Heads Cemetery that you’ll also pass, on the Great Ocean Walk.

Now there’s no way you could know any of that, of course, and neither would we if it wasn’t for Georgie Beale, who spent her childhood running around Milanesia Beach, whose great grandfather built that little house, and who we’re very thankful to, for sharing her stories with us.

Growing up on the beach

Her family has lived there for six generations now. They’ve witnessed the changes through time, and often been active participants in the events that have shaped the landscape.

Growing up in a place like that, it seems, sends you in a certain direction in life. Georgie has spent most of her time in conservation and coastal management. She created education programs, bringing school groups down to the coast, showing them what there is to protect in this wild and rugged place.

And now she’s a guide for Auswalk. Taking people along the Great Ocean Walk, sharing the knowledge gained over a lifetime on the coast, and little bits of family history too.

“I feel like this is an accumulation of everything I’ve done, it’s just perfect and I love it.”

“The natural beauty of the place, and the ocean has a strong draw for me. Growing up we quickly learned to both read, and respect the ocean, as it could be very calm and soothing one minute, then wild and dangerous the next.”

The shipwreck coast

Of course, it’s been a wild and dangerous ocean since long before Georgie came along. When sailing to Australia from the ‘old world’, you’d head south along the coast of Africa to begin with, perhaps re-provision in Cape Town, and then prepare yourself for a wild ride as you drop into the roaring 40s, and fly east towards Australia.

When you finally popped out of this highway of the sea, if you were heading toward the east coast you’d be faced with a choice. Go north of King Island, or keep it to your port side and approach the continent further along.

Heading north became known as threading the needle, and it’s a decision that sent 638 ships to the bottom of the sea, that we know of anyway. Indeed Matthew Flinders, who’d seen a fair few things in his day, said he had ‘seldom seen a more fearful section of coastline.’

The Great Ocean Walk takes you along this particularly brutal stretch of water, and there are reminders of the shipwrecks all along, from place names and cemeteries, to actual anchors sticking out of the rock.

Once again there are stories behind it all, and you’ll discover many of them on your way as you walk the 104kms from Apollo Bay on the East, to Port Campbell on the West. And, surprise surprise, Georgie’s family were involved too…

The wreck of the Fiji

The Fiji left Hamburg on the 22nd of May 1891, bound for Melbourne with a cargo of dynamite, whisky and 400 pianos – amongst other less interesting items. Almost four months later Captain Julius Gebauer was the first to swim ashore after she sank, just off Wreck Beach, ironically enough.

Georgie’s great, great grandparents, Christopher Hodgson and Emily Bowker, had obviously witnessed the event and were there to help rescue the survivors.

The good Captain took a shine to their daughter, Ada, and later on referred to her as ‘the girl who first set his heart aflutter’. Unfortunately his advances were not welcomed by the family, but he was infatuated with Ada, and it must have been reciprocated to some extent as they corresponded over the years, sending letters back and forth until the end.

Letters that Georgie still has to this day, a reminder that history is made by ordinary people, doing extraordinary things, driven by love, honour, duty, family and sacrifice. The same emotions that move us today, and, I think, help us connect to history, and truly bring it to life.

As Rudyard Kipling said, “If history were taught in the form of stories, it would never be forgotten.”. I couldn’t agree more.

Cape Otway Lighthouse

Eventually, and not before time, someone decided it would be a good idea to build a lighthouse at Cape Otway, to try and prevent all of these disastrous shipwrecks that were happening on a frequent basis.

You’ll reach it only a few days after starting the walk, and to get there you’ll make your way through the Great Otway National Park, surrounded by some of the most magnificent trees on the planet, the enormous Eucalypts known as Mountain Ash.

Standing tall, and straight, the highest Mountain Ash reaches almost 100 metres into the sky, and only the Coastal Redwoods in Northern California can put them in the shade.

That might not always have been the case though. It’s possible a Mountain Ash was once the tallest tree in the world, but unfortunately, many of the true giants were cut down in the 1800s. They were so big, in fact, that many of their stumps were simply too big to remove. Keep an eye open, you might be able to spot one slowly disappearing into the undergrowth as you head to the Lighthouse…

Built in 1848, the Cape Otway Lightstation was the second lighthouse built on the Australian mainland, and although it was decommissioned in 1994, it’s still the oldest working lighthouse on the mainland too.

There’s an interesting museum that’s worth a visit when you get there, however if you’re completing your trip anytime between June and September, nature puts on a much better show out to sea.

Cast your gaze to the horizon, and chances are you’ll see Southern Right Whales on their way to the warm waters of South Australia, and, if you’re lucky, Humpback whales breaching in the distance.

Now we couldn’t possibly leave the lighthouse, without more of Georgie’s family getting a look in. This time her grandparents, Bill and Ada Gratton Wilson, who were the first to take a car out there, following the Old Coach road that the bullock team used to take supplies out to the Cape.

They drove their Model T Ford on the rocky road, carrying a picnic, car chains and an axe, and when they made it there they were given a nights accommodation in the lighthouse for their troubles.

A natural wonderland

Of course, when you take a week or so to complete the Great Ocean Walk, most of the time you’ll be surrounded by a wild, enduring landscape that simply doesn’t care about history, or the people who once lived there.

A wide variety of native species continue to go about their business, and you’ll see koalas, kangaroos, echidnas, cockatoos, snakes, lizards, eagles, seals and penguins. The natural environment is the overriding wonder in this Great story of the Southern Ocean, but you’ll get to know that story when you walk here anyway.

Some other stories, well, you’d never find out otherwise, and then you’d never learn from the past. And the lesson for me, at least, rests in the walls of that little beach house. All I can think of, is, what a lovely way to honour the fallen. Not with a memorial that you visit sombrely once a year, lay a wreath and pause for a minute’s silence.

Instead, build a house by a beach. Fill it with your family whenever you can, and spend a lifetime creating memories. A house that’s handed down over the generations – creating a space, in a beautiful place, for years to come. Surely that’s a legacy we’d all like to create.

Eliot Gratton Wilson. Born on the 12th August 1892. Died on the 7th August 1915. Lives on forever in the walls of a beach house, and in the hearts of his family. So the next time you walk past that idyllic setting, spare a thought for Eliot, and all the soldiers who gave their todays, for our tomorrow.

[edgecastlema]

ACCEPTED ! seen walking around edgecastle; SAM ELIOT, KIRA YUKIMARA, ALINA STARKOV, NATHAN SCOTT, ALEX CLAREMONT-DIAZ, HENRY FOX-MOUNTCHRISTEN-WINDSOR, NICO DI ANGELO, LOGAN HOWLETT, BRUCE BANNER, CHARLIE SPRING, LAURA KINNEY. please message the main within 48 hrs to receive the discord invite

{ cis man, 25, he/him, the society, dupes not allowed } it isn’t every day you see someone that looks like SEAN BERDY wandering around these woods. lucky i picked you up, you give off sort of a CONSTANTLY LOOKING OVER YOUR SHOULDER, DRESSING TO BLEND IN, & PROTECTING YOUR LOVED ONES NO MATTER WHAT vibe, this town will eat you alive. you some kind of tax collector? ❝ FARMHAND, actually. in edgecastle ❞. oh, i stand corrected. hey, crank the radio up. do you like WHAT THE WATER GAVE ME? ❝ yeah… FLORENCE + THE MACHINE is my favorite ❞. you’ve got good taste, pal. say, what’s your name, stranger? ❝ SAM ELIOT ❞ ( elle )

{ cis woman, 25, she/her, teen wolf, dupes allowed } it isn’t every day you see someone that looks like MIZUSAWA ERENA wandering around these woods. lucky i picked you up, you give off sort of a SMILE THAT LIGHTS UP A ROOM, SMALL FOX TATTOO ON THE BACK OF HER NECK, ACCIDENT-PRONE BUT SHE MEANS WELL vibe, this town will eat you alive. you some kind of tax collector? ❝ SATURN IN PISCES SALES CLERK, actually. in edgecastle ❞. oh, i stand corrected. hey, crank the radio up. do you like DREAM BIG? ❝ yeah… RYAN SHUPE & THE RUBBERBAND is my favorite ❞. you’ve got good taste, pal. say, what’s your name, stranger? ❝ KIRA YUKIMURA ❞ ( elle )

{ demi boy, 21, he/they, heartstopper, dupes not allowed } it isn’t every day you see someone that looks like ELI BROWN wandering around these woods. lucky i picked you up, you give off sort of a BIG COMFY JUMPERS AND CUDDLY BLANKETS TO HIDE IN FROM THE ENTIRE WORLD ( IF YOU CAN’T SEE IT, IT CAN’T SEE YOU ); BEING LOUD, PROUD, AND OUT IN SPITE OF EVERYTHING THROWN AT YOU — WHO SAID GAYS WERE BAD AT MATHS ?! and PLAYING YOUR SILENT DRUM SET SO LOUDLY TO WORK THROUGH YOUR BIG FEELINGS THAT IT’S NO LONGER ACTUALLY SILENT vibe, this town will eat you alive. you some kind of tax collector? ❝ UNIVERSITY STUDENT & WAFFLE CONE HOUSE SERVER, actually. in edgecastle ❞. oh, i stand corrected. hey, crank the radio up. do you like 1 STEP FORWARD, 3 STEPS BACK ? ❝ yeah… OLIVIA RODRIGO is my favorite ❞. you’ve got good taste, pal. say, what’s your name, stranger? ❝ CHARLES FRANCIS ‘CHARLIE’ SPRING. ❞

{ gender non conforming, 26, she/they, grishaverse, dupes not allowed } it isn’t every day you see someone that looks like JESSIE MEI LI wandering around these woods. lucky i picked you up, you give off sort of a PURE SUNSHINE IN HUMAN FORM, NEVER HAVING A REAL HOME, THE FEELING OF BEING IN LOVE WITH YOUR BEST FRIEND vibe, this town will eat you alive. you some kind of tax collector? ❝ LIBRARIAN , actually. in edgecastle ❞. oh, i stand corrected. hey, crank the radio up. do you like WAR OF HEARTS? ❝ yeah… RUELLE is my favorite ❞. you’ve got good taste, pal. say, what’s your name, stranger? ❝ ALINA STARKOV ❞ ( renee )

{ cis man, 26, he/him, one tree hill, dupes not allowed } it isn’t every day you see someone that looks like XAVIER SERANNO wandering around these woods. lucky i picked you up, you give off sort of a DIRTY BASKETBALL SHORTS, A NEED TO WIN, DADDY ISSUES vibe, this town will eat you alive. you some kind of tax collector? ❝ BASKETBALL COACH, actually. in edgecastle ❞. oh, i stand corrected. hey, crank the radio up. do you like GLITTER AND GOLD? ❝ yeah… BARNS COURTNEY is my favorite ❞. you’ve got good taste, pal. say, what’s your name, stranger? ❝ NATHAN SCOTT ❞ ( renee )

{ cis man, 21, he/him, red white & royal blue, dupes not allowed } it isn’t every day you see someone that looks like TAYLOR ZAKHAR PEREZ wandering around these woods. lucky i picked you up, you give off sort of a TOO MANY CUPS OF COFFEE ON TOO LITTLE SLEEP, A HEART THAT'S ALWAYS IN THE RIGHT PLACE, CUTTING SARCASM vibe, this town will eat you alive. you some kind of tax collector? ❝ LAWYER, actually. in edgecastle ❞. oh, i stand corrected. hey, crank the radio up. do you like LONDON BOY? ❝ yeah… TAYLOR SWIFT is my favorite ❞. you’ve got good taste, pal. say, what’s your name, stranger? ❝ ALEX CLAREMONT-DIAZ ❞ ( renee )

{ cis man, 22, he/him, red white and royal blue, dupes not allowed } it isn’t every day you see someone that looks like HUGH LAUGHTON SCOTT wandering around these woods. lucky i picked you up, you give off sort of a A STEAMING CUP OF HOT COFFEE, THE SOUND OF HORSE HOOVES GALLOPING ON THE GROUND AND FINGERS MOVING OVER PIANO KEYS vibe, this town will eat you alive. you some kind of tax collector? ❝ MODEL, actually. in edgecastle ❞. oh, i stand corrected. hey, crank the radio up. do you like YOU ARE ENOUGH? ❝ yeah… SLEEPING AT LAST is my favorite ❞. you’ve got good taste, pal. say, what’s your name, stranger? ❝ HENRY FOX-MOUNTCHRISTEN-WINDSOR ❞ ( amber, 25, cet, she/her )

{ cis man, 45, he/him, marvel, dupes not allowed } it isn’t every day you see someone that looks like OSCAR ISAAC wandering around these woods. lucky i picked you up, you give off sort of a DOG-EARED BOOK PAGES, FOGGY WINDOWS, COFFEE TASTE LINGERING IN YOUR MOUTH WELL INTO THE DAY vibe, this town will eat you alive. you some kind of tax collector? ❝ DOCTOR, actually. in edgecastle ❞. oh, i stand corrected. hey, crank the radio up. do you like FROZEN PINES? ❝ yeah…LORD HURON is my favorite ❞.  you’ve got good taste, pal. say, what’s your name, stranger? ❝ BRUCE BANNER ❞ ( reid, 25, est, he/him only )

{ trans man, 40, he/him, marvel, dupes not allowed } it isn’t every day you see someone that looks like HUGH JACKMAN wandering around these woods. lucky i picked you up, you give off sort of a WEARY STARES, MOONLIT ROOMS, TAPPING FINGERS AGAINST A GLASS vibe, this town will eat you alive. you some kind of tax collector? ❝ BARTENDER, actually. in edgecastle ❞. oh, i stand corrected. hey, crank the radio up. do you like I’LL BE GOOD? ❝ yeah…JAYMES YOUNG is my favorite ❞.  you’ve got good taste, pal. say, what’s your name, stranger? ❝ JAMES “LOGAN” HOWLETT ❞ ( reid, 25, est, he/him only )

{ agender, 21, he/they, riordanverse, dupes not allowed } it isn’t every day you see someone that looks like TAMINO AMIR wandering around these woods. lucky i picked you up, you give off sort of a KEEP FRIENDS CLOSE AND ENEMIES CLOSER + GHOSTS AND SHADOWS, vibe, this town will eat you alive. you some kind of tax collector? ❝ GRAVEKEEPER, actually. in edgecastle ❞. oh, i stand corrected. hey, crank the radio up. do you like BATTLE SCARS? ❝ yeah… PARADISE FEARS is my favorite ❞.  you’ve got good taste, pal. say, what’s your name, stranger? ❝ NICO DI ANGELO ❞ ( nico, 29, est, any/all )

{ non-binary, 23, they/them, marvel comics, dupes not allowed } it isn’t every day you see someone that looks like NO FC wandering around these woods. lucky i picked you up, you give off sort of a LONG BROWN HAIR FALLING OVER GREEN EYES, BLOOD DRIPPING FROM BLOODY CLAWS AND KNUCKLES & DARK CIRCLES UNDER YOUR EYES FROM MANY SLEEPLESS NIGHTS vibe, this town will eat you alive. you some kind of tax collector? ❝ BARTENDER, actually. in edgecastle ❞. oh, i stand corrected. hey, crank the radio up. do you like FIXED AT ZERO? ❝ yeah… VERSAEMERGE is my favorite ❞. you’ve got good taste, pal. say, what’s your name, stranger? ❝ LAURA KINNEY ❞ ( salina )

[cacpartmobile]

sparc! van go: Through the Years

sparc! the ArtMobile has traveled many, many miles  in the city of Boston over the past 11 years. To Mission Hill for the Annual Little League Parade, to East Boston for our on the street questionnaires about the Family Van, to Mattapan for our collaboration with the Mattapan Health Fair, to Dorchester for the Greater Sickle Cell Parade, to Jamaica Plain for Jazz and Art Day events, to Roxbury to launch the Roxbury Sunflower Project and to Grove Hall for Paint Nights and Mural projects. We have completed over 300 events in our van with our amazing students teams.

Since the day we picked up the white Ford Transit connect that would become sparc! it has exceeded our expectations of what can be done in a little van with a big heart.

The wrap design and name of the van was a communal event involving the Industrial Design department at MassArt, our CACP team and the community at large. In addition to “one on one” research, we created a contest with the title “What is an Artmobile? Launched from public libraries and schools we received over 150 entries. Here are some cool ones we remember.

Inspired by community input, the final eleven designs created by MassArt’s industrial and communication design students were taken around the Mission Hill neighborhood and voted on by everyone from toddlers to seniors. We hosted surveys at the Grammar School, the Farmers Market, the Tobin Community Center, MassArt and more.

The final design came from an entry by sparc! team member Mariah Siegman. Its bright primary colors had immense appeal as well as the silhouette of the Mission Hill skyline.

We added some figures to complete the design. The van was ready to be named. 

ArtMobile is a generic term used in lots of different cities and programs for art programs with vehicles. We wanted something personal and relevant to our city and our mission to “ignite art and design in the neighborhood.” 

We used the same process for naming that we had for the imagery. We developed up a list of names and then allowed the community to vote on which one resonated with them most.

In the end “sparc! the ArtMobile” was the name and reference we collectively chose. 

Our slogan “igniting art and design in the neighborhood” spoke of our intention to use art and design as a catalyst for those concerns that were most important to the communities we are a part of.

sparc!’s first birthday party and big unveiling was held on November 17th, 2011,  with lots of neighborhood friends, partners and family attending to help launch the van. 

There was live music from Sociedad Latina, poetry performance by Lewis Morris, faceprinting with Mariah Siegmann, tap dancing with Boston Tap, tasty food from local restaurants and lots of games and activities. We had a ball. 

Poetry by Lewis Morris - Community Driven.

sparc! under wraps...

The big reveal!!! At last we are on the move...

For 10 years we moved through the neighborhoods of Boston bringing art, design and community together. Here are just a few early collaborations.

The Kite and Bike Festival, Franklin Park

Latin History Celebration Month with Sociedad Latina, Brigham Circle

Martha Eliot Health and Wellness Fair, Jamaica Plain

After 11 years, sparc! began to show signs that it needed renewal.

After observing the great artistry of the Up Against the Wall community at their graffiti event in Grove Hall, we invited artist Jeremy Harrison “Sobek” and Apeks to put their hands to sparc! with live graffiti painting featured at the Grove Hall in Color event. While hundreds of people watched, sparc! was transformed into a colorful, contemporary mural on wheels.

Just recently, our original sparc! beautifully wrapped in original art by Sobek and Apeks, let us know that it was ready for a rest. On our way to an event, the radiator and engine just gave out.

We are sad to let our van go but we have so many good memories of all the miles we traveled together. As Covid begins to decline, we plan to be back on the road. We have assembled a new sparc! team and we are growing. Along with those changes, we need a new sparc! and to reimagine “What is an ArtMobile?”

While in the process of exploring new ideas, let’s remember all the great events, programs and workshops we were able to share because of our beloved sparc! 

Small on the outside but holding a big, bold, heart inside while igniting art and design in the neighborhood. Thank you to all the hands that contributed to this initiative.

Stay tuned for the next van and wrap design. We may need your help.

Submitted by Ekua Holmes, Director, sparc! the ArtMobile

[broadscastpod]

We've got TWO episodes for you this week. This is one of our most educational and interesting episodes. Coast Salish artist Eliot White-Hill talks to us about Coast Salish art, the importance of representation, his own journey as an artist, and recent Canucks headlines.