#barbara walton

[basicallyanotherwitchesthing]

John D. MacDonald - Dress Her in Indigo - Robert Hale - 1971 (jacket design by Barbara Walton)

[mudwerks]

(via Pulp International - Hardback cover for The Beach Girls by John D MacDonald with Barbara Walton art)

[everythingsecondhand]

The Sin Eater, by Elizabeth Walter (Harvill Press, 1967). Cover art by Barbara Walton.

From eBay.

[mthguy]

Stephen Sondheim’s Follies  

The legendary 1985 concert performance of Stephen Sondheim's acclaimed musical Follies was presented by the New York Philharmonic at Avery Fisher Hall at Lincoln Center. 

The thrilling - and possibly historic - New York Philharmonic concert version of Follies presented at Avery Fisher Hall was a reunion of sorts, albeit one with a happier ending. To cast this all too transitory event, the producer Thomas Z. Shepard brought together veterans of Sondheim musicals stretching from the 1964 Anyone Can Whistle to Sunday in the Park With George - among them, Lee Remick, Elaine Stritch, George Hearn, Liz Callaway and Mandy Patinkin. They were joined by other stellar musical-comedy hands who exemplify the Broadway heyday whose passing Follies mourns - Barbara Cook, Carol Burnett, Betty Comden and Adolph Green. Once this company paraded before the orchestra to the glittering melody of the opening song, ''Beautiful Girls,'' it was impossible to separate the fictional show-biz reunion dramatized in Follies from the real one unfolding on stage. The audience, more than willing to let the distinction slide, simply erupted into pandemonium.

The cheering rarely subsided thereafter, and not without reason. Mr. Shepard assembled this evening to record the complete Follies score, which was mangled on its original Broadway cast album. Although there were still a few elisions (mainly of dance music) in the concert, this version was as complete, gorgeously sung and sumptuously played as Mr. Sondheim or his fans could wish. But there were other reasons for the thunderous response as well. Even in concert, Follies proved much more than merely a star-studded recording session. The performance made the case that this Broadway musical can take its place among our musical theater's very finest achievements. (Frank Rich, The New York Times)

[amorinarose]

Chilling with Books November 2023

Spotlight on obsession, passion, writing and a glutton – reflections on behaviours An Indie Author’s life is difficult no matter the passion for the art form, or should I say, obsession. The process is fraught with stumbling blocks allowing self-doubt to raise its ugly head constantly.  Thus, the question arises. Are Indie Authors gluttons for punishment? In fact, are authors in general gluttons…

[withlovewriting]

All I Ever Knew, Only You 16: Silent Night

Chapter Sixteen.

Footsteps without a sound, I'm coming home to you, Snowfall blankets the ground, It covers the ugly truth, Things that we hide from view, I get tired around this time, But I will try to make things right, Bring your arms around me fast, Warm my bones and fill my glass, God, I hope this year's better than the last

Summary: Hawkins was your typical quaint, mid-western town where nothing ever happened. People were born here, lived their entire lives within the town limits, and eventually died here, peacefully in their sleep. But one cold November evening in 1983 would change everything.

Despite a child with psychokinetic abilities and ravenous monsters that lacked faces, stranger things had definitely happened in the small town in Indiana. One of them being your reluctant and slightly imposed friendship with Hawkins High’s own King Bee, Steve Harrington.

Characters: Steve Harrington x Non-descriptive F!Reader (eventual)

Words: 6,867

Chapter Warnings: Explicit language, mentions of past childhood trauma, underage drinking, wintertime fluff. I think that's it. Also barely proofread because I really just wanna get this chapter out so apologies in advance for any mistakes, feel free to let me know.

Series Warnings: Strong language, mentions of underage drinking, mentions of drug use, canon-typical violence, mentions of alcohol abuse, mentions of possible mental health disorders, child abuse, slow burn, kinda enemies-to-friends-to-lovers, I like to call it ‘two idiots who begrudgingly befriend each other only to realize… ‘wait a damn minute…’, eventual sexual content, canon-typical time-period bullshit. 18+. Minors DNI.

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Taglist: @kezibear

Chapter Sixteen: Silent Night

Winters in the Midwest could be dire. Freezing winds rattled your bones and burrowed deep inside them, leaving you to feel their effects for days on end, and cold, wet snow that you often believed you'd sink right through, ending up in the middle of the Earth.

Yet despite the frosty weather, Hawkins in the winter was often referred to as picturesque with all the charm of the Walton's Christmas movie. But you were yet to see it. To feel it.

After the accident that viciously stole your sister from your life, followed shortly by your father's sudden exit, your mother had never really bothered with the holidays again, and maybe a bare Christmas tree in the living room would've been a more painful reminder than no tree at all. Either way, you couldn't remember much about the holidays when your sister was alive, but you were more than aware that there was a version of your family before, and a version after.

But you did come close to feeling it, just one time.

When you were around 9, you had been invited to spend the day at the Holland's home, where Barbara's mother watched you both through the window as you made slightly crooked snow angels, a poor excuse of a snowman that even had a carrot for a nose and a hat and scarf lent to you by Mr. Holland, who was warming up some hot cocoa as his wife whizzed around the kitchen, warm chocolate chip cookies cooling on the side as she hummed along to her Andy William's Christmas record.

It had been a peaceful few hours, and you knew deep in your soul that this was what Christmas was supposed to be about. In the company of loved ones; singing and dancing, and enjoying the time off work and school. Freezing your bones off during a snowball fight, only to warm back up with hot drinks, and a warm bath before bed.

But it didn't last long. Despite the promise of a warm, filling meal, your mother had turned up, tugging at your arm and half dragging you back through the snow as Mrs. Holland rushed after you both with your coat in hand. Your mother would then drive back home, half-cut and full with a mixture of annoyance and nostalgia. You knew what it was now, of course, but back then, your brain couldn't begin to understand how awful a thing grief was, and what it could make people do, make them say.

Hopper had tried once, not long after he'd called an end to the relationship with your mother. But you had been sure that the man wanted nothing to do with you, despite his turning up with a poorly wrapped gift on Christmas Eve. You'd stared at him for just a moment before shutting the door in his face and leaving him to the wrath of your mother should he insist on knocking again, silently pleading that he would. That no matter how many times you slammed the door in his face, or glared at him across the wobbly kitchen table, he would fight for you.

But he didn't, and you couldn't blame him for that, just as you couldn't be blamed for your fierce loyalty toward your mother.

Eventually, however, you would always find yourself awaiting her inevitable drunken slumber, covering her with a blanket before sneaking out into the dark winter night.

The coffee in the police station tasted like dirt, but it was hot, on tap, and most importantly, free. So you'd make your way there, too worried to drive the car in case the engine managed to wake her, and like clockwork, Flo would hand you a bitter cup of coffee in a slightly chipped white mug and send you through to Hopper, who would already be boring you with some spiel about how it wasn't safe for you to be out walking in bad weather conditions.

You'd watch the snow fall from his office window as he huffed and puffed through the night, claiming he couldn't tell you about any of the 'cases' going on in town, due to their confidentiality. That barely lasted an hour, however, and soon the man would be offloading his annoyance about how Mr. Gillespie had threatened to sue Mr. Caulfield because he'd cut down some overhanging branches from his tree, the latter claiming he would have to rake his garden twice a week because of his neighbor's overgrown tree. Hopper grumbled that they would be lucky if he didn't chop the damn thing down himself.

He had moved to New York to get away from these damn small-town problems and make a difference in the world. Yet, here he was, filing paperwork about how Mrs. Gillespie — he was beginning to think their family was the bane of all his problems — wanted to sue the park for an owl that had mistaken her hair for a nest and began to attack her, which with the amount of hairspray she used, he couldn't blame the damn animal. You wondered if now Hopper missed the quiet, tedious days before Hell opened up and spat out a couple of monsters.

But the Christmas of 1984 was different.

Your mother's meal remained plated up — but by this point, stone cold — on the side and you figured if she awoke and suddenly developed some respect for herself and her taste buds, she could help herself to your still-boxed meal that you just didn't have the stomach for.

You'd returned to your bedroom, a headache gnawing at the edges of your scalp as you considered whether or not you'd be able to get away with turning down the volume of the TV as your mother slept, spread out on the lumpy couch — you did pay the electrical bill that month, after all — when a loud knock echoed through the house, causing you to leap up from your bed and rush to the front door before the perpetrator had the chance to do it again, most likely waking your mother.

Almost ripping the door off its hinges, your glare dwindled to nothing more than a cocked brow as you came face-to-face with Eleven. A thick, heavy jacket hung from her small body and you could tell from how new it looked that she had received it that morning as a gift from Hopper.

“El? What are you doing here?”

Her smile was sweet, full of childlike excitement, and you wondered if this was her first real Christmas with gifts, visitors, and carolers. Even after escaping the lab, her first Christmas in Hawkins was in hiding with Jim. Same bird, different cage. But now… She had been officially adopted by Hopper — forged adoption papers be damned — and was able to experience a real family Christmas for the first time. You couldn’t help but wonder if Hopper's gift-wrapping skills had improved, and how burned was the turkey?

El's eyes darted toward the parked vehicle out front, “Hopper and I came to collect you.”

“For what?” You questioned, dumbfounded.

“It's Christmas,” Eleven grinned, wide and winsome, as if you were a total idiot.

Your rehearsed excuse was already sitting on the edge of your tongue, and you were fully prepared to turn the girl down no matter how shiny her puppy-dog eyes were, but the words that came out of her mouth next shut you down quickly, “We're going to have a real Christmas dinner together. Hopper said that's what real families do.”

Gnawing at the inside of your cheek, you willed your eyes to not well up as a lump crawled its way up your throat, threatening to expose you for the sad, lonely, and unloved girl you really were. The same six-year-old girl who wept for her mother to wake up as she was starving on Christmas day. The same 9-year-old girl who had felt a glimpse of being wanted before her mother cruelly dragged her backward through the snow in her friend's front yard. The same 15-year-old who wandered through a town much more dangerous than she'd ever know, heading toward the yellow, dingy lights of the police station, toward the only person in her life who had shown her that she meant something to someone. To anyone.

Peering toward the man of the hour, you found Jim watching the scene before him with his window rolled down as he leaned out into the cold, winter air, “C'mon, Kid. Turkey ain't gonna baste itself.”

You didn't mean to slam the door in the poor girl's face, a small gasp falling from her lips that could be heard through the wooden door as you stared at it for a moment. Spinning around, you grabbed your jacket and hat from the wonky coat peg, haphazardly throwing it on before rushing toward your room, knees aching as the floorboards creaked under them as you blindly searched for the wrapped box you'd hidden under your bed a few weeks ago.

Returning to the hall, you took a few cautious steps inside the living room. Your mother remained steadfast in her drunken slumber, snoring almost drowning out the TV, and you took a moment to decide if you really could leave her, but a timid knock on the front door made your decision for you.

El's hand was raised high, but her attention was focused on a concerned-looking Hopper as you pulled the door back open. Moving past her frozen body and closing the door quietly behind you, you eventually settled on her, present under one arm as you held out your other hand to her, “The driveway gets a little slippery in the snow.”

You passed by the snow-covered trees slowly, Hopper's cautious driving surprising you for a moment as he hummed along to the radio. El had seemingly not taken a breath since the moment you'd entered the car, telling you all about her day so far, and how Hopper had bought her gifts but wouldn't let her open them until after he'd drank at least two cups of coffee. You hated to interrupt her, but you couldn't help slamming your hand on top of Hopper's seat, the man jumping as you pulled him from his bubble.

“Can we stop somewhere first? There's something I need to do.”

Hopper's tires barely kicked up any snow left on the long driveway, and you assumed it had already been shoveled for the party the family no doubt held the evening before.

The boy's room faced the pool at the back of the house, so you had no option but to knock on the large red door, trying to blink away the memories of the last time you'd done this, Barb and Nancy beside you, before everything had turned to shit. Well, shittier, you supposed.

You wondered how the Hollands were fairing this year, another year without their only daughter, who was now laid to rest in the cemetery in town. You'd have to visit them, you decided. No matter how awkward and uncomfortable it was for you, Barb's family had been there for you in times when no one else had.

For a moment, you wondered if anyone was even home. It was a large enough house that maybe they couldn't hear a simple knock from a few rooms away, but eventually, the door opened wide, another familiar memory of Steve Harrington appearing in the doorway, his eyes roaming over you with the same perplexity that it had just over a year ago. Only this time they softened much sooner, despite the confusion that still clouded them.

“Uh, hey.”

“Hi,” You swallowed, face pinching in embarrassment as you stood on the boy's doorstep awkwardly.

“Is everything okay?” His brow pinched, eyes roaming over you once more and only settling back into place when he realized you were uninjured, nodding like a damn bobbing-head doll in a car.

“Yeah, no. Everything's… It's fine. I just…” taking a deep breath, you couldn't fathom why your heart was beating so loudly in your ears. Maybe it was because of your audience, the piercing stare of both Hopper and Eleven making your face feel much too warm in the cold weather, or maybe it was the fear that Steve very well could reject your offer.

You were friends, you both knew that by this point. And friends hung out, as you often did. But Christmas was a time for family, as El had told you, and here you were, about to ask him to ditch his parents to hang out. It felt silly to be so worried about something so trivial, but you couldn't stop the pounding in your chest.

“I know you're probably busy, but, uh… I was just wondering if you had any plans tonight.”

Steve watched you for a moment as if waiting for the punch line of a joke that he would inevitably be the butt of, but as the silent seconds passed and you visibly became more self-conscious, he finally realized you were not joking.

“Oh, uh… I'm not doing anything, actually. My parents are still pretty hung over from their party last night, but… Yeah, I can do, you know… Whatever.”

A loud honk of the Chevvy caused you to startle, turning quickly to send a glare toward its owner, who continued to watch the scene in front of him, unbothered by the lack of privacy he was giving you both.

“You wanna join us at Hopper's? He's threatening everyone with food poisoning if we don't, so…”

Steve had already eaten, his parents serving Christmas dinner closer to lunchtime, but he couldn't find it in himself to refuse the invitation. Last year, he had spent his Christmas Eve at the Wheeler's residence and although he was coming to terms with the fact Nancy and Jonathan were now definitely an item, he couldn't quite shift the loneliness that he felt, a year later, laying on his bed and throwing an old baseball up toward the ceiling repeatedly in silence as his mother rested in her room, his father locking himself away in his office, claiming he had unfinished work that just couldn't wait one more day.

“I could eat,” Steve nodded, a small smile creeping onto his mouth as he watched yours do the same.

You felt as stuffed as the turkey that was sat atop the small dining table. It was a squeeze to fit you all around it, you pretty much had El sat on your lap for the majority of the meal, but as you collected the plates, you felt a warm, full sensation in your chest that you hadn't felt before, and couldn't blame on your second helping of mashed potato.

“Leave it, Kid. I'll do it before bed.”

Ignoring Hopper's protests, knowing that he damn well would not do the dishes before bed, you continued toward the small kitchen, pilling the plates on the small draining board as El joined you to scrape the leftovers into the trash can.

Hopper was already sprawled back against the armchair, legs wide and pants unbuttoned as he turned his attention to the TV in front of him, despite the volume being too low to hear much.

“Uh, thanks for letting me join tonight,” Steve cleared his throat, his back a little too straight to be at ease as he sat on the small couch.

“Wasn't my idea,” Hopper took a sip from his bottle of Coca-Cola before resting it back onto his jean-clad knee, “Kid wanted to stop by.”

Steve nodded, his eyes flitting toward where you stood scrubbing the stubborn gravy stain from the pot as El blew some remaining bubbles at you from a plate. Flicking some of the water in her direction, Hopper's attention turned toward you both when he heard the younger girl gasp lightly, her eyes wide as a smile stretched across her face.

“Hey, girls, don't start-”

Hopper's words were futile as El dipped her own hand into the sink before flicking the dirty water back at you, reveling in your hearty laugh that he wasn’t sure he’d ever really heard before.

“Not with your parents tonight?” Hopper questioned, his eyes finally settling on the boy who sat to his right.

“Uh, we hung out this morning. Dad had some work to finish up though…”

Hopper watched as the boy ran his hand through his hair, his eyes on the TV, but he could tell Steve wasn't really paying attention to the movie. He hadn't had much of an opinion on the Harrington boy before, originally passing him off as another old money, trust fund kid who rebelled against his parents until he'd eventually end up with a life just like his father's.

The irony wasn't lost on Jim as his own father — the old Chief of Police — flashed in front of his eyes, brows stern before letting out a dejected sigh so loud he was sure the whole town could hear it.

“Well, she's glad you could make it.”

“Yeah, me too…” Steve nodded, an awkward, tight-lipped smile sent the Chief's way before his eyes slowly trailed back towards where you stood next to the younger girl.

“So, since someone didn't have any ingredients to make a pie,” you began, a side eye sent Hopper's way, “El came up with the brilliant idea to make our own dessert.”

“Eggos?” Hopper sighed, rubbing his stomach. Only moments ago he was certain his stomach would burst at the mention of food, but now… Well, a sweet treat didn't sound so bad.

“Eggos,” El confirmed, perching on the sofa and taking a large bite from her first waffle.

Bringing a plate over to Hopper, he took it with a grateful smile as you returned to the small kitchen. Steve mustered the energy to push himself up, joining you only a few feet away from his previous seat, “I'll, uh… I'll help.”

“You're the guest,” you began, “and I think I can toast a couple of Eggos without burning the place down.”

Steve huffed, an amused smirk pulling at his mouth as he cocked a brow and all but snatched the box from your hands, “Just accept the help, for my sake. I think if Hopper glares at me any harder I'll be the one being set on fire.”

Leaning against the small counter, you watched as he went about heating the waffles before eventually plating them up. Standing side by side, you chewed in silence, eyes darting from the small TV to Steve every so often.

“I'm sorry for dragging you out on Christmas day just to sit and eat Eggos in a cabin in the middle of the woods, but I'm glad you're here.”

Steve stopped mid-chew, quickly swallowing the bite of waffle he'd only just shoved into his mouth, “No, no, it's uh… It's been nice, you know? I was only gonna watch some lame movie on my own anyway.”

The moment of silence that passed between you was briefly interrupted as childlike giggles from El filled the room, watching as Uncle Scrooge McDuck made amends with the Cratchit family. Your eyes softened slightly as you watched the young girl who could barely peel her eyes away from the TV set.

“Are you, uh, going to Lewensky's New Year's party?” Steve asked, his head tilting toward you slightly as he lowered his voice, all too aware of Hopper's not-too-distant presence.

The scoff fell from your lips before you'd even realized, “I'm sure my invite got lost in the mail. Plus, after last Halloween… high school parties really are not my forte.”

Steve's eyes dropped to his feet at the mention of Tina's last party, the memory of Nancy's drunken, harsh words was still a wound that was slowly scabbing over, “Yeah, yeah I get that.”

Taking a deep breath, you placed your plate into the sink and focused back on the boy who had since last year, had his life completely turned around. He'd lost more than you'd originally presumed, but because Steve had money, you had felt that no matter how bad Steve's life got, he would never have to steal for food, bundle up in every warm outfit he had just because he couldn't afford to warm the house or pick up extra jobs to keep a roof over his head. He would always have a sense of security that couldn’t be taken from him.

But Steve had lost parts of himself along the way. Some good, some bad. But looking at the sinewy boy standing next to you, you knew it was for the best. From his asshole friends who kicked him down as soon as he slipped from the top rung of the school hierarchy ladder to Nancy, the girl who had somehow stopped his straying eye and made him believe in love, despite breaking his heart along the way because she fell in love with a boy who wasn't him.

But now, Steve had gained friendships that didn't depend on what he could do for them, or how popular he was. They were no longer transactional and instead relied on how much they cared about him, and how far they were willing to go to keep each other safe. And even if you assumed it would feel like a consolation prize to the boy, Steve now had you and your unwavering loyalty, even if your friendship had originally felt like a slow-building, forced-together situation. He had saved your life multiple times now, and eventually, one day, you would both come to the realization that you had both in fact, saved each other.

“You never told me what happened at that party. Why everything seemed to go to shit after it.”

Steve's plate joined yours in the sink, and he was grateful that he'd already finished his waffles, as his stomach sank and he lost any type of appetite he'd had left, “I should, uh… I should probably get going.”

Biting the inside of your cheek, you couldn't help but feel like an asshole. It had been less than two months since whatever went down with him and Nancy at Tina's party, and here you were, pick, pick, picking at his wounds because of your own curiosity. Nosiness. Inability to just let things lie. You sent the boy a strained smile which he returned before pushing himself away from the counter and toward the small living room,

“Uh, we're gonna head out. Thanks for dinner though, Chief. I had a great evening.”

Hopper's brow raised as he turned his attention toward you, then back to the boy, “It's late, I should drive you home.”

Before you left, you handed El the small gift-wrapped present, watching as her eyes lit up like the Christmas tree in downtown Hawkins. With a quick nod of reassurance from you, she began to tear off the paper, a large smile covering her face when she pulled out the cassette tapes from the old, wrapped shoe box, eyes scanning over the black and white picture of Bryan Adams. Only a handful were new, most being your old tapes, mixed tapes you'd made or been gifted by Jonathan throughout the years, hours worth of music she could discover,

“Now you don't have to listen to the old man's music.”

“Hey,” Hopper warned, despite his voice holding no real offense, “Nothing wrong with a bit of Jim Croce.”

“I'm not saying there is, unless, you know… you're a thirteen-year-old girl.”

“Right, that's enough out of you. Go get my keys.”

Once school had broken up, December always seemed to move slowly. The days blended together, and if not for work, you wouldn’t know what day it was. The arcade opened back up on the 27th and your manager was all too aware that with the children off for the holidays, at some point, the parents would get sick of them and send them out for the day, and most of them would make their way to the warm arcade. You’d managed to pick up an extra shift or two, thankful to be working with Keith and not Andy, the latter all but begging you to pick up his New Year's Eve shift. So you’d made your way to work, finishing just after 10. Keith could be an absolute pain in your ass when he wanted to be, but you couldn’t deny that he did a better job closing the arcade than Andy did, and actually did his fair share of cleaning, meaning you were able to get home quicker, especially with the boy dropping you off as the snow had started to fall once more.

Now you’d been back home for a while, you’d settled on your bed intending to read before bed, yet here you were sat staring out of your bedroom window, a book opened, but otherwise untouched as it remained perched on your lap. The snow finally settled, peaceful and undisturbed and you wished you could drown out the noise of your mother’s television show, — Happy New Year, America — the volume turned up so loud that it managed to drown out her incessant snores. You wondered if it was something she did in an attempt to drown out whatever turmoil she’d dream about, but with the amount she drank, did she even dream anymore? Or was her mind as dark and lonely at night as it was in the day?

The red lights from your alarm clock flickered, 11.32pm, and soon the town of Hawkins would ring in the New Year, the rest of America following behind shortly. People make resolutions to work harder, eat healthier, attend more aerobic classes, and only cheat on their wives with their secretaries on Tuesdays and Thursdays evenings. Promises to themselves that would be broken by the first week of February.

All you wanted was a quiet year. You didn’t need a pity party, but your life up to this point, had been difficult, to say the least. Since 1977 your resolutions have mirrored wishes. Hopes and dreams for the next year, akin to what you might’ve wished for when blowing out your birthday candles if you’d ever had a cake. A peaceful 1985, with no interdimensional monsters lurking around the corner, or curly-haired mullet-wearing Californian boys who wanted nothing but trouble. Or whatever the hell had possessed Will.

Blinking a few times, you tried to focus on the book and lifted it from your lap as if that would help, but the words were simply blurring into one big, inky mess on the page. Closing your eyes tightly, you pushed your face into the open pages of the book and let out an exasperated groan. Of course, you could’ve just gone to bed, woke up on January 1st, and continued your life as usual, but something forced you to remain awake. You needed to see this year through, right until the end, even if just to prove to yourself that you had survived it.

You couldn’t wait to see the back of 1984 and hoped the door did, in fact, hit its ass on the way out.

Releasing a long sigh, a cold shiver ran over your skin, leaving behind a trail of goosebumps, and the unnerving feeling that you were being watched caused a thick, tense air to settle around you, leaving you almost too scared to remove the book from your face, frightened to catch a glimpse of whatever was waiting out there waiting, observing you.

At best, it would be a peeping tom, but at worst? Well, wouldn’t it just be your luck to enter the new year with the same monsters you were hoping to permanently leave behind, chasing you into 1985? If there was no rest for the wicked, you’d hate to think of what you did in a previous life, something so heinous that karma had crossed over into this one, haunting you still.

A sharp knock against the glass forced your body into movement, the book flying from your hands and into the direction of said sound as if the old, worn copy of ‘A Room of One’s Own’ that you had yet to return to the library would suffice against any kind of intruder.

But before the book could clatter to the floor, dislodging some of the pages that were already clinging on for dear life, your eyes met those honey-colored familiar ones, the boy jumping at the collision of the book, only inches from his face despite being protected by the glass that separated them.

Releasing an annoyed huff of breath from your mouth, you pushed yourself from your bed and all but stomped toward the window, cringing as it scraped and squeaked against the windowsill.

Swallowing down your embarrassment and finally feeling your heart slow down, you sent a glare to the boy, one he happily returned.

“What the hell are you doing here, Harrington?”

Scoffing, the boy’s frown deepened, “You’ve got a hell of an arm, you know that?”

“Oh please, the window was closed. I probably did more damage to my book than I would’ve to your face.”

The crease between his eyebrows smoothed out as he took you in. He’d asked Nancy about the flashlight incident of 1983 after overhearing part of your conversation whilst you comforted his ex-girlfriend in the Holland’s bathroom, being told all about your ability to throw inanimate objects into the face of your enemies. Turns out, it was a habit — or rather, a reflex — you’d be taking into the new year with you.

“What are you doing here?”

Rolling his eyes, Steve placed an arm through the window frame, trying in vain to move you aside, “I was at Mark Lewensky’s party, and it totally sucked. Can I come in? It’s freezing-”

“My mom’s home,” you told him simply, as if she wasn’t out cold, sprawled across the couch. But your mother had been very clear about boys being in her home without her knowledge. It was just a shame she didn’t care as much regarding the men she brought home.

With a cocked brow, Steve watched you for a moment before bending over to grab something on the snow under your window, eventually holding up the bottle of cheap alcohol he’d swiped from the party before taking his leave, “I brought a gift."

You considered the boy for a moment, eyes glancing toward your alarm clock, still sitting pretty on your nightstand, the red numbers almost taunting you in a way you couldn’t describe.

11.46

If you really wanted to, you could easily send the boy off, tell him to go home, or even just go sit in his car and drive around town, and he’d do it. You could crawl into bed, pull the covers up over your head, and pretend that this whole year didn’t happen. Or, you could ring in the new year with some shitty vodka warming your belly, and a friend by your side. A friend who looked just as finished with 1984 as you were.

“Just… give me a second, alright?”

Furtively, you grabbed your denim jacket, hat, and blanket from your bed before shoving on a pair of sneakers and clambering out of your window, causing Steve to fumble backward to avoid getting headbutted. Recovering quickly, Steve helped you down onto the soft snow, now sullied with the prints from his shoes.

“C’mon,” you mumbled, closing your window a little more in an attempt to keep your bedroom at least mildly warm before grabbing the sleeve of his jacket and wandering toward the back of your house where the slightly splintered trellis sat against a wall, reaching up far enough that you were able to climb onto the slight slope of your roof.

Steve, however, looked much less certain, worry evident in his quizzical eyes as they moved from you, to the trellis, and back to you,

“It’s fine, Steve. I’ve been climbing this thing since I can remember.”

Grumbling under his breath, Steve not-so-nimbly started his own ascent, arm high in the air for you to grab the bottle until he eventually settled in next to you on the blanket. It wouldn’t stop the cold snow that you’d half-scraped off the roof eventually leaking through, but it was at least a little more comfortable.

After opening the bottle and taking a long sip, Steve handed it toward you, watching as you gulped down a mouthful of the drink, face screwing up just as his own did moments ago.

“So, why’d the party suck?”

Steve accepted the bottle when you held it out to him, taking another large gulp, “It’s just not my scene anymore, you know?”

“Wow,” you huffed out a fake laugh, “never thought the day would come when the Keg King of Hawkins doesn’t want to party.”

Steve rested the bottle in his lap, fingers picking at the peeling label, “Yeah, well, you’re the one spending New Year’s alone with your face in a book. Literally.”

“And somehow, I was still having a better time than you were.” You shrugged, sending the boy an impish smile.

You both remained quiet for a moment, but you could feel the awkward tension that had settled over you back at Hopper’s before you’d left. You and your big mouth had ruined a good evening, and you couldn’t help the heavy feeling of guilt that had settled on your chest since.

“I’m sorry about Christmas, you know? Bringing up the whole Nancy thing. It’s not my business and I shouldn’t pry. And I’m sorry for bringing it up now, too. I just… I felt bad.”

Steve sighed and took another sip of the drink before handing it back to you, his eyes remaining focused on you as he took a deep breath, all too aware that you were looking anywhere but at him now. He hadn’t been avoiding you since the awkward end to Hopper’s Christmas meal. You’d been busy with work and he… Well, he had been sulking in his room alone for the most part. But he’d come to the realization at the New Year’s party that he really didn’t have that many friends, even back when he was swanning around the school like he owned the place.

And maybe, being open and honest to someone would help him move past the shit he’d dealt with this year. Maybe it could help… Maybe you could help.

“Nancy was uh… She was really suffering after losing Barb. And I knew that a part of her blamed us for what happened. Whilst she was being dragged off to… whatever that place is, we were, well, you know…”

Steve ran a hand through his hair, not bothered that he was slightly messing it up, “I just didn’t realize how much she blamed us. Blamed me. She uh, she said everything was bullshit. That our relationship was bullshit. And when I asked if she loved me…”

“She was drunk, Steve. She didn’t know what she was saying-”

“No, I uh… I asked her at school the next day. She was pissed because I didn’t pick her up that morning, and I asked her. I begged her to tell me she loved me. And she couldn’t, because she didn’t. She didn’t love me, and I don’t know if she always knew that, or just realized it then. And then I… Jesus, I went around there like a total jackass, with roses and I was gonna apologize, you know? Because, she can’t help it if she doesn’t feel that way, and I shouldn’t push her into saying it, but… She’d disappeared with Jonathan. And I don’t know what happened between them, but… I mean, they started dating right after, so, I kind of guessed then that we were over, for good this time.”

“Shit, I’m sorry.”

Steve huffed a small laugh, but there was no humor to it, “You got nothing to apologize for.”

“I know, but… I was an asshole to you. And even after all that… You still made sure I was okay that night. Still protected us all at the Junkyard. I just… I didn’t know you were dealing with that.”

“Well, some things are a bit more important than my shitty love life, I guess. Being torn apart by a bunch of Demo Dogs being one of them.”

You placed the bottle back in his lap, placing a hand over his once he took it, “I can’t begrudge Nance for finding happiness with Jonathan, you know? It was kind of obvious from the outside that there was something between them. But you didn’t deserve that, Steve, and I’m sure Nancy knows that, too. She deserves to be happy, but so do you. And hell, it’s not like you’ll have any trouble finding someone else to warm your bed until then. You’ll be just fine, Harrington. I’m sure of it.”

“That night… With Billy-”

Shaking your head, you stopped him before he could finish his sentence, “We don’t need to go there, really. I’d prefer it if we put it down to being drunk and stupid, or lonely and desperate… whatever. It didn’t mean anything, and I knew the kind of guy he was, I really shouldn’t have been surprised.”

“He was an asshole, and I’m sorry about the rumors about us, well... you know.”

Finally, you met his dark, honey-colored eyes, “That’s not on you to apologize for. But I am sorry if that didn’t help shit with Nancy. And for what I said to you after… About, not wanting to hang out or be your friend. You looked out for me when I really needed it, and I threw that back in your face. I’m really sorry.”

“It’s cool,” Steve smiled, the warmth of your hand still lingering on his skin even after you pulled your hand back, “I mean, there is a way you could make it up to me.”

Your brows drew together almost comically fast, dropping slightly as you sent him a suspicious glare, but when you remained quiet, Steve took it as his chance to continue,

“You could help me study for my exams. I mean, I’m not expecting to do well, or anything, but… I still wanna graduate.”

“You know I usually charge for tutoring-”

“Yeah, that’s not how apologizing works though, is it?” Steve smirked, a playfulness in his eyes that you hadn’t seen in a while.

A silence passed between the both of you as you took turns passing the bottle around, small sighs and scrunched-up faces as the drink burned your throats on its way down.

“Do you think this year's gonna be better? I mean, as in no more monsters crawling out of the Hell’s asshole that is Hawkins?”

Steve’s eyes returned to you — despite keeping yours front and center — and you could feel their laser-like focus roam over your side profile as if he would find an answer that would pacify the both of you etched on your skin.

“I think,” Steve seemed to choose his words wisely, “we’ve all been through enough shit to last us a lifetime. We’re owed at least one good year, right?”

A small bubble of laughter erupted from your chest as you finally turned toward the boy, “I think that’d be the bare fucking minimum, Steve. And those kids, you know? They deserve to just be… kids. Instead, they’re fighting against interdimensional monsters and god knows what else El and Will have been through.”

“Maybe this town’s cursed, you know?” Steve shrugged, taking another sip from the bottle.

“Do you think you’ll ever leave?” You questioned, specifying once Steve raised his brow, “Hawkins, I mean. Do you think you’ll ever get out of here?”

“Well, I don’t think I’m gonna get into any out-of-state colleges.”

“No, I mean like… forever. Do you ever just want to pack up a bag and let this shitty town swallow itself whole?”

Steve’s eyes softened as you peeked back at him, fingers fiddling with a loose thread on the blanket, “I guess. I don’t really have anything keeping me here. But… I don’t know. It pains me to say it but... I think I’d miss the little jerks too much. God knows Dustin wouldn’t survive five minutes unsupervised- Oh, hey, look-”

A fountain of light filled the sky, quickly followed by a loud crack as the fireworks spread across the sky, followed by another explosion of color.

You watched the lights as they forced colors into the night, breaking apart the dark sky before fizzling out and falling back down to Earth.

Steve called your name softly, watching as you turned your attention toward him, “Happy New Year."

“Happy New Year, Steve.” You replied, taking the bottle from his grasp with a small smile before returning your attention back to the sky, hoping the cheap vodka would wash down the nauseating panic that crawled up your throat as the sky split open once more, bright reds against the dark navy sky, looking as though it was ripped apart at the seams, and you half expected a monster to fall out of it.

[besohappilylarry]

✨ Pattie and Ringo's friendship appreciation post ✨

On first impressions, Ringo [seemed] the most endearing.

Ringo seemed the nicest and easiest to talk to.

Ringo realized that things were bad between George and me and offered me a job, which helped take my mind off my problems. He was playing Merlin the Magician in a musical comedy he made with Harry Nilsson called Son of Dracula. He asked me to take the stills shots.

Gradually I began to pick up the pieces with old friends. [...] I caught up with Mary Bee again, and Chris and Anthony, and Ringo and Barbara, who were living in Ascot but had an office off Walton Street.

[coolbeanzeaglbones]

Fanfic: the one where they get real jobs

Eaglebones was running back home, really oddly panicked. He didn't like the fact that Ronmark had almost recognized him. He even more disliked the fact that he had to probably run the support group.

That was Barbara’s problem. She always sets stuff up and then makes excuses for why she can't do them. It really ticked Bones off, but he really needed to keep this job. If he didn't, he would…not wanna think about that in a panicked state.

He fumbled with his keys for a bit before actually taking the time to breathe and get the correct key and put it in the lock.

It was when he walked into his apartment that he had realized. He didn't go to the store…in, like, three weeks. He actually couldn't really remember the last time he ate, but maybe that was just from stress.

Actually, when the fuck did he eat last? Gotta remind myself to do that, he thought, putting his keys on the desk.

He would go to the store after work tomorrow, but right then, he just didn't have any energy.

He might have some, like, random stuff in the fridge. Worth it to look.

He opened the fridge and was surprised by something in a Tupperware container. There was a note on top. Curious, he read it, “Didn't want you starving to death, honestly, you are waaaaaaaay to busy, I made too much anyway, just another thanks for getting my cat out of the tree and being genuinely kind in general :)”

Inside of the container was some chicken fried rice. He didn't even bother heating it. He just grabbed a fork and just ate. It was good. It was really good. Probably because he was REALLY hungry.

Who makes this much chicken fried rice in one sitting? Apparently she did.

He stopped himself from eating all of it so he could save some for tomorrow. He would definitely have to thank her somehow.

He put the container back in the fridge and got his food money from the food money cup. He was a bit elevated by the fact that she cared. Hey, he kinda had a friend. Neat.

He began to walk to the store, as he didn't have a car. It was pretty far, but it was only seven thirty. The store closed at nine, so he should be able to get there by eight.

He liked to walk to the store. Especially when it was brisk. It was actually nicely brisk out. The kind of temperature that if you left a glass bottle of water outside overnight, it would taste absolutely delicious in the morning.

That almost wintery brisk.

He had finally reached the local Weis Markets and walked through the doors. The heat of the store was nice on his cold hands and face. He had twenty dollars so he bought some rice, some bullion cubes and a vegetable. He was pretty okay at rationing, so this would last a while.

He finished paying and went to sit on the bench outside. Hey, he wasn't in a rush. Not really.

“Go away.” He heard a distinctly familiar voice. He turned and looked the parking lot straight down, but there was no one. No cars except for the employees.

The cart pusher came and sat next to him on the bench. That was probably the voice that he heard. But he could almost swear he heard the commander say “go away” weirdly depressedly.

Okay, hearing things, gotta go.

He waited a few minutes, as he didn't want to seem rude to the cart guy, before getting up and walking home. 

On his way home, he saw that annoying ass guy that looked exactly like John Boy Walton. This talked FOR EVER, and Eaglebones didn't want to deal with that, so he ran.

He stopped when he was out of eyesight and then strolled. He needed sleep. He needed to sleep because he was hearing things.

Maybe he was getting burnt out. Maybe this was his brain saying, “Slow down.” But then again, who knows.

[paralleljulieverse]

The Julie Andrews Story (BBC Radio, 1976) Part 1: From Walton-on-Thames to the Great White Way

The Parallel Julieverse is proud to present "The Julie Andrews Story", a special three-part radio profile produced by BBC Radio and first broadcast in January 1976.

Julie's relationship with BBC Radio traces back to her early days as a child performer in the 1940s and 50s when she lit up the airwaves as "Britain's youngest singing star". It's a testament to her enduring popularity that the national broadcaster continued to follow Julie's journey closely, crafting this rare gem of an audio profile in the mid-seventies. Based on original transcription recordings, this special video presentation offers the first chance to hear a programme that has lain dormant since its initial broadcast, half a century ago.

But beyond the mere allure of rediscovery, this video breathes life into Julie's formative years. Titled "From Walton-on-Thames to the Great White Way", Part 1 of the "The Julie Andrews Story" traces Julie's tender years from her humble beginnings in Walton-on-Thames, through the bustle of the post-war variety and concert stages, right up to her dazzling Broadway debut in the 1950s.

Adding depth and dimension are the candid insights from those who stood shoulder to shoulder with Julie. The voices of Lilian Stiles-Allen, Barbara Andrews, Peter Brough, and many more shed light on Julie's meteoric ascent. Each interview weaves a tapestry that reveals fresh insights into the artist and the woman behind the legend.

So, sit back and journey with us, retracing the footsteps of Julie Andrews as she transitioned from a young English lass to Broadway's brightest star.

DISCLAIMER: This is a fan preservation project; it was created for criticism and research, and is completely nonprofit; it falls under the fair use provision of the United States Copyright Act of 1976, 17 U.S.C. section 107. All materials used remain the property of the original copyright holders.

[princesssarisa]

Opera on YouTube 6

Pagliacci

Franco Enriques studio film, 1954 (Franco Corelli, Mafalda Micheluzzi, Tito Gobbi; conducted by Alfredo Simonetto; no subtitles)

Tokyo Bunka Kaikan, 1961 (Mario del Monaco, Gabriella Tucci, Aldo Protti; conducted by Giuseppe Morelli; Japanese subtitles)

Herbert von Karajan studio film, 1968 (Jon Vickers, Raina Kabaivanska, Peter Glossop; conducted by Herbert von Karajan; no subtitles)

Franco Zeffirelli film, 1983 (Plácido Domingo, Teresa Stratas, Juan Pons; conducted by Georges Prêtre; English subtitles) – Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI

Metropolitan Opera, 1994 (Luciano Pavarotti, Teresa Stratas, Juan Pons; conducted by James Levine; Spanish subtitles)

Ravena Festival, 1998 (Plácido Domingo, Svetla Vassileva, Juan Pons; conducted by Riccardo Muti; Italian subtitles)

Zürich Opera House, 2009 (José Cura, Fiorenza Cedolins, Carlo Guelfi; conducted by Stefano Ranzani; no subtitles)

Chorégies d'Orange, 2009 (Roberto Alagna, Inva Mula, Seng-Hyoun Ko; conducted by Georges Prêtre; French subtitles)

Gran Teatre del Liceu, 2011 (Marcello Giordani, Angeles Blancas, Vittorio Vitelli; conducted by Daniele Callegari; English subtitles – ignore the silly references to Norse mythology and aliens that the translator threw in, they're not in the actual libretto)

Latvian National Opera, 2019 (Sergei Polyakov, Tatiana Trenogina, Vladislav Sulimsky; conducted by Jānis Liepiņš; no subtitles)

Die Entführung aus dem Serail

Dresden State Opera, 1977 (Armin Ude, Carolyn Smith-Meyer, Barbara Sternberer, Rolf Tomaszewski; conducted by Peter Gülke; no subtitles)

Bavarian State Opera, 1980 (Francisco Araiza, Edita Gruberova, Reri Grist, Martti Talvela; conducted by Karl Böhm; English subtitles)

Royal Opera House, Covent Garden, 1988 (Deon van der Walt, Inga Nielson, Lillian Watson, Kurt Moll; conducted by Georg Solti; English subtitles)

Salzburg Festival, 1989 (Deon van der Walt, Inga Nielson, Lillian Watson, Kurt Rydl; conducted by Horst Stein; no subtitles)

Théâtre du Châtelet, 1991 (Stanford Olsen, Luba Orgonasova, Cyndia Sieden, Cornelius Hauptmann; conducted by John Eliot Gardiner; French subtitles)

Vienna State Opera, 1989 (Kurt Streit, Aga Winska, Elzbieta Szmytka, Artur Korn; conducted by Nicolaus Harnoncourt; Hungarian subtitles) – Act I, Act II

Teatro della Pergola, 2002 (Rainer Trost, Eva Mei, Patrizia Ciofi, Kurt Rydl; conducted by Zubin Mehta; Spanish subtitles)

Gran Teatre del Liceu, 2012 (Christoph Strehl, Diana Damrau, Olga Peretyatko, Franz-Josef Selig; conducted by Ivor Bolton; Catalan subtitles)

Bankhead Theatre, 2018 (David Walton, Alexandra Batsios, Elena Galvan, Kevin Langan; conducted by Alex Katsman; English subtitles)

Theatro São Pedro, 2023 (Daniel Umbelino, Ludmilla Bauerfeldt, Ana Carolina Coutinho, Luiz-Ottavio Faria; conducted by Cláudio Cruz; Brazilian Portuguese subtitles)

Un Ballo in Maschera

Tokyo Bunka Kaikan, 1967 (Carlo Bergonzi, Antonietta Stella, Mario Zanassi; conducted by Oliviero di Fabritiis; Spanish subtitles)

Royal Opera House, Covent Garden, 1975 (Plácido Domingo, Katia Ricciarelli, Piero Cappuccilli; conducted by Claudio Abbado, English subtitles)

Teatro alla Scala, 1978 (Luciano Pavarotti, Mara Zampieri, Piero Cappuccilli; conducted by Claudio Abbado; Italian subtitles)

Metropolitan Opera, 1980 (Luciano Pavarotti, Katia Ricciarelli, Louis Quilico; conducted by Giuseppe Patané; no subtitles)

Royal Swedish Opera, 1986 (Nicolai Gedda, Siv Wennberg, Carl Johan Falkman; conducted by Eri Klas; sung in Swedish; Swedish subtitles)

Salzburg Festival, 1990 (Plácido Domingo, Josephine Barstow, Leo Nucci; conducted by Georg Solti; Spanish subtitles)

Leipzig Opera House, 2006 (Massimiliano Pisapia, Chiara Taigi, Franco Vassallo; conducted by Riccardo Chailly; English subtitles) – Part I, Part II

Teatro Regio di Torino, 2012 (Gregory Kunde, Oksana Dyka, Gabriele Viviani; conducted by Renato Palumbo; no subtitles) – Part I, Part II

Chorégies d'Orange, 2013 (Ramón Vargas, Kristin Lewis, Lucio Gallo; conducted by Alain Altinoglu; French subtitles)

Arena di Verona, 2014 (Francesco Meli, Hui He, Luca Salsi; conducted by Andrea Battistoni; no subtitles)

Cavalleria Rusticana

Giorgio Strehler studio film, 1968 (Gianfranco Cecchele, Fiorenza Cossotto; conducted by Herbert von Karajan; no subtitles)

Metropolitan Opera, 1974 (Franco Tagliavini, Grace Bumbry; conducted by John Nelson; no subtitles)

Franco Zeffirelli film, 1983 (Plácido Domingo, Elena Obraztsova; conducted by Georges Prêtre; no subtitles)

Ravenna Festival, 1996 (José Cura, Waltraud Meier; conducted by Riccardo Muti; Italian subtitles)

Ópera de Bellas Artes, 2008 (Alfredo Portilla, Violeta Dávalos; conducted by Marco Zambelli; Spanish subtitles)

Zürich Opera, 2009 (José Cura, Paoletta Marrocu; conducted by Stefano Ranzani; no subtitles)

Chorégies d'Orange, 2009 (Roberto Alagna, Beatrice Uria-Monzon; conducted by Georges Prêtre; French subtitles)

Gran Teatre del Liceu, 2011 (Marcello Giordani, Ildiko Komlosi; conducted by Daniele Gallegari; Spanish subtitles)

Mikhailovsky Theatre, St. Petersburg, 2012 (Fyodor Ataskevich, Iréne Theorin; conducted by Daniele Rustioni; English subtitles)

Vienna State Opera, 2019 (Younghoon Lee, Elina Garanča; conducted by Graeme Jenkins; English subtitles)

[basicallyanotherwitchesthing]

Stewart Farrar - Forcible Entry - Robert Hale - 1986 (jacket design by Barbara Walton)

[the-lightbulb-and-the-octopus]

24 in 2024

@logarithmicpanda tagged me, which is amazing because books. Thank you!

Anyway, I have a... nonsensical way of choosing what I'm going to read so this list is very much not a real goal (kidding, once the list is written, it will automatically become a goal for my brain). Let's go!

Colour coding: Ebook backlog Physical backlog Classics

The Bone Witch (#2 & #3) by Rin Chupeco

The Gods of Men (#1, #2 & #3) by Barbara Kloss

The Starless Sea by Erin Morgenstern

The Lost Apothecary by Sarah Penner

The Order of the Pure Moon Reflected in Water by Zen Cho

Babel by R. F. Kuang

The Woman in the Library by Sulari Gentill

When the Angels Left the Old Country by Sacha Lamb

Or What You Will by Jo Walton

The Salt Grows Heavy by Cassandra Khaw

The Foundling by Stacey Halls

Mrs. England by Stacey Halls

If You Could See Me Now by Cecilia Ahern

Le Chant des cavalières by Jeanne Mariem Corrèze

L'ensorceleur des choses menues by Régis Goddyn

Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell by Susanna Clarke

De la part de la princesse morte by Kenizé Mourad

Le Désert des couleurs by Aurélie Wellenstein

Something Wicked This Way Comes by Ray Bradbury

A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens

Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe

The Castle of Otranto by Horace Walpole

Vilette by Charlotte Brontë

Northanger Abbey by Jane Austen

I know, I put two series as one book, but in my defence, these are carried over from 2023's goals and I really want to finish them.

Open tag for anyone who would want to do it, as always!

[feelinghaunted]

names masterlist.

here’s a masterlist of 75+ music - based names. names will be separated by music / musician / song. names based on music will specifically be based on musical terms or musical instruments. there will be twenty-five names (not including variations) in each section. if you found this at all helpful, please reblog / like.

MUSIC - BASED NAMES.

viola.

cadence.

grace.

melody.

calliope.

celeste.

reed.

calypso.

carol.

fantasia.

lyric / lyrik / lyrica.

brio.

clarion.

dorian.

lyre / lyra.

aida.

melisma

demi.

walton.

sonatina.

rhapsody.

solo.

coda.

major.

MUSICIAN - BASED NAMES.

adele.

amadeus.

beck.

drake.

frankie.

fitzgerald.

gwen.

hendrix.

joel.

keith.

edith.

simon.

etta.

dion.

pearl.

alessia.

sia.

enya.

wolfgang.

foster.

fabian.

bruno.

marley.

luciano.

SONG - BASED NAMES.

angus.

ben / bennie.

billy / billie.

bobbie.

davey.

fernando.

floyd.

freddie.

hiro.

jessie.

leroy.

teddy.

barbara.

clementine.

angeline.

jacqueline.

joanna.

jolene.

lola.

martha.

natasha.

roxanne.

rita.

veronica.

[mydailyvintagephotos]

#InternationalWomenDay

American 🇺🇸 Actresses

Marilyn Monroe 🇺🇸 Los Angeles California 1926

Lucille Ball 🇺🇸 Jamestown New York USA 1911

Dorothy Dandridge Cleveland Ohio

🇺🇸 USA 1922

Lauren Bacall 🇺🇸 Bronx New York 1924

Lana Turner 🇺🇸 born Wallace, Idaho 1921

Ava Gardner 🇺🇸 born North Carolina 1922

Katherine Hepburn 🇺🇸 Hartford Connecticut 1907

Grace Kelly 🇺🇸 born Philadelphia Pennsylvania 1929

Bette Davis 🇺🇸 born Lowell Massachusetts USA 1908

Joan Crawford 🇺🇸 born San Antonio Texas 1904

Jean Harlow 🇺🇸 born Kansas City, Missouri 1911

Lena Horne 🇺🇸 born Brooklyn New York 1917

Barbara Stanwyck 🇺🇸 Brooklyn New York 1907

Eartha Kitt 🇺🇸 St Matthew, South Carolina 1927

Jayne Mansfield 🇺🇸 Bryn Mawr, Pennsylvania 1933

Natalie Wood 🇺🇸 San Francisco California 1938

#InternationalWomenDay

English 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁥󠁮󠁧󠁿/United Kingdom 🇬🇧 Actress

Elizabeth Taylor 🇬🇧🇺🇸 born

Hampstead United Kingdom to American 🇺🇸 Parents 1932

Vivian Leigh 🇬🇧 born British India to English/Scottish/Irish Parents 1913

Olivia dehavilland 🇬🇧 Tokyo Japan 🇯🇵 to English Parents 1916

Joan Fontaine 🇬🇧 born Tokyo City Japan 🇯🇵 to English Parents 1917

Angela Lansbury 🇬🇧🇮🇪 born London England to English / Irish Parents 1925

Diana Dors 🇬🇧 born Swansea England 1931

Julie Andrews 🇬🇧 born Walton-on-Thames England 1935

Jean Simmons 🇬🇧 Islington London England 1929

French 🇫🇷 Actress

Brigitte Bardot

Catherine Deneuve

Simone Signoret

Audrey Hepburn 🇧🇪

Actress born In Brussels Belgium 🇧🇪

1929

Ireland 🇮🇪

Irish Actress

Maureen O’Hara 1920

Canada 🇨🇦

Canadian Actresses

Mary Pickford 🇨🇦 born Toronto Canada 1892

Norma Shearer 🇨🇦 born Montreal, Quebec Canada 1902

Deanna Durbin 🇨🇦 born Winnipeg, Canada 1921

Egypt 🇪🇬

Egyptian Actresses

Samia Gamal

Cairo Egypt 🇪🇬 1924

Shadia 🇪🇬

Cairo Egypt 🇪🇬 1931

Faten Hamama

Mansoura, Egypt 🇪🇬 1931

Zubaida Tharwat 1940

Alexandria Egypt 🇪🇬

[thegenealogy]

1 Chronicles 4: 21-23. "The Emissary."

The Gematria for this section comes from Beth Ashbeah, the Linen Workers. Linen has to be growen, harvested, retted, then spun into fibers and then woven.

Linen garments are a sign of intense refinement. The Gematria says:

"Kabbalah changes the Bible. Decode the Bible. Hitler and Armageddon caused the codes to be hidden. Decode the Record and the world will become Shabbathai, the Bride of the King.

Use charisma to speak against the fake people and the pedophile, and a snake will be killed."

This obviously refers to the problem posed by the terrorists of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints and their leader, Mitt Romney, who are by far the worst enemies of a global Shabbat since Hitler.

Once we decide to fully enforce laws prohibiting domestic terrorism and those against the Mormon's predilections for pedophilia and human trafficking, significant progress towards Shabbathai will be made.

This will require the closure of the Church for good along with the Republican Party and its support mechanisms lest the world once again fall prey to its rhetorics of violence, bigotry, anti-Semitism, homophobia and terracide.

21 The sons of Shelah "The Emissary" son of Judah:

Er the father of Lekah, Laadah the father of Mareshah and the clans of the linen workers at Beth Ashbea, 

er=the wild ass vs. the donkey that conveys Mashiach.

Lekah=goes forth

Laadah=talk widly

Mareshah=the summit

Beth Ashbea=house of the oath

22 Jokim, the men of Kozeba, and Joash and Saraph, who ruled in Moab and Jashubi Lehem. (These records are from ancient times.) 

Jokim=the Lord will raise up

Kozeba=lying

Joash=Yah has grasped

Saraph=burning serpent

Moab=who is your father?

Jashubi Lehem=war is returning

23 They were the potters who lived at Netaim and Gederah; they stayed there and worked for the king.

Netaim=plantations

Gederah=wall

The Gematria for this section comes from the word Shelah:

"There is an alarm. Cancer booms the meaning. The Hidden Code has changed. Changed, changed.

Decode Me, All of Me, I am the Beach by the Black Sea, I am the Egg and the Thigh, I am the Face. I am God."

The Torah Tantra for the above is:

"The antichrist goes forth and talks wildly in the House of the Oath. The Lord has seen, war has come and He and His Prophets will rise up against the Liar, and protect the Garden Behind the Wall."

God is speaking to directly to His prophets through the Gematria, the Burning Serpent, telling them the world must do something to protect this place, the Garden Behind the Wall, from the Republicans and their imp, Donald Trump, a liar who took and oath. He had lots of help in this effort and now our world is now turning on borrowed time.

The evidence of Trump's betrayal is in the movie the Widows. Someone has extensive footage regarding Barbara and David Green's theft of Blue State Digital telemarketing lists from the Clinton campaign and the role the Family Research Council and Senator Hawley played in it. To pretend Trump et al are not guilty and to allow them to survive is to Bear False Witness against God and this cannot be tolerated.

Joe Biden must prosecute the Trump Administration, the Republican Party, the Family Research Council, the Greens, Waltons, the Kochs, the Heritage Foundation the RNC and every lawmaker and page that knew what happened at Josh Hawley's house and said nothing or our government should no longer be considered sovereign over us.

Donald Trump is a War Criminal. If the Biden Administration refuses to prosecute him for his crimes, then President Biden also needs to be arrested. Tolerance of election fraud and despotism undermines the edifice of modern civilzation. Public Servants who understand and respect the importance of this will arrest Donald Trump and Joe Biden if necessary this very instant.

To "ret" the sins of the former generation away from the present and weave the future together as if all were linen workers is how freedom from corruption and apartheid called Shabbathai will last.

[with-a-martyr-complex]

With A Martyr Complex: Reading List 2022

Adapted from the annual list from @balioc​, a list of books (primarily audiobooks) consumed this year. This list excludes several podcasts, but includes dramatizations and college lecture series from The Great Courses, which I consume like a disgusting fiend.

Introduction to the Qur'an by Martyn Oliver with Tahera Ahmad (for Quranic recitation)

Conquistadors by Michael Wood

ROAR: How to Match Your Food and Fitness to Your Unique Female Physiology for Optimum Performance, Great Health, and a Strong, Lean Body for Life by Stacy Sims and Selene Yeager

The Guns of August by Barbara W. Tuchman

War, Peace, and Power: Diplomatic History of Europe 1500-2000 by Vegas Gabriel Liulevicius

This Is How You Lose The Time War by Amal El-Mohtar and Max Gladstone

Coup de Grâce: A Novel by Marguerite Yourcenar (Translated by Grace Fick)

Sun and Steel by Yukio Mishima (Stanford Press Translation)

Classical Mythology by Elizabeth Vandiver

Metamorphoses by Ovid (Translated by Frank Justus Miller)

Existential Kink: Unmask Your Shadow and Embrace Your Power (A method for getting what you want by getting off on what you don't) by Carolyn Elliott

Fascism: A Warning by Madeline Albright

The Enlightenment Invention of the Modern Self by Leo Damrosch

Greek Tragedy by Elizabeth Vandiver

Leviathan or The Matter, Forme and Power of a Commonwealth Ecclesiaticall and Civil by Thomas Hobbes

War Is a Force That Gives Us Meaning by Chris Hedges

Natural Law and Human Nature by Father Joseph Koterski

Odysseus in America: Combat Trauma and the Trials of Homecoming by Jonathan Shay (Foreward by John McCain and Max Cleland)

We by Yevgeny Zamyatin (Translated by Clarence Brown)

Treason by Orson Scott Card (Originally published as A Planet Called Treason)

The Modern Political Tradition: Hobbes to Habermas by Lawrence Cahoon

Gideon The Ninth by Tamsyn Muir

Discipline and Punish by Michel Foucault (Translated by Alan Sheridan)

Harrow The Ninth by Tamsyn Muir

History of Sexuality: Volume I by Michel Foucault (Unidentified Translator)

Madness and Civilization by Michel Foucault (Translated by Richard Howard)

Lent: A Novel of Many Returns by Jo Walton

Living the French Revolution and the Age of Napoleon by Suzanne M. Desan

The Stranger by Albert Camus (Translated by Matthew Ward)

10 Women Who Ruled The Renaissance by Joyce Salisbury

A Brief History of the Samurai by Jonathan Clements

Because Internet: Understanding The New Rules of Language by Gretchen McCulloch

The Sailor Who Fell From Grace With The Sea by Yukio Mishima

The Republic by Plato (Translated by Benjamin Jowett)

Nona The Ninth by Tamsyn Muir

Davos Man: How The Billionaires Devoured The World by Peter S. Goodman

The Birth of The Modern Mind: The Intellectual History of the 17th and 18th Centuries by Alan Charles Kors

(Spooky) Litigation: The Practice of Supernatural Law (Volume 1) by Jeffrey A. Rapkin

Emperors of Rome by Garrett G. Fagan

The Exorcist by William Peter Blatty

Francis of Assisi by Ronald B. Herzman and William R. Cook

Impact Winter by Travis Beacham

Popes and The Papacy: A History by Thomas X. Noble

Misery by Stephen King

The Benedict Option by Rod Dreher

The Aeneid by Virgil (Translated by John Dryden)

The Aeneid of Virgil by Elizabeth Vandiver

The Industrial Revolution by Patrick N. Allitt

[Redacted] by [Redacted]

The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas (Translated by Duke Classics)

America and the World: A Diplomatic History by Mark A. Stoler

The Stars My Destination by Alfred Bester

Hagakure by Yamamoto Tsunetomo (Translated by William Scott Wilson)

A Memory Called Empire by Arkady Martine

Voltaire and The Triumph of The Enlightenment by Alan Charles Kors

Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoevsky (Translated by Constance Garnett)

Incomplete books: Jacques the Fatalist, The Just City, On Killing

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Great Courses consumed: 17

Non-Great Courses Nonfiction consumed: 16

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Works consumed by women: 17

Works consumed by men: 37

Works consumed by men and women: 2

Works that can plausibly be considered of real relevance to foreign policy (including appropriate histories): 10

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With A Martyr Complex’s Choice Award, fiction division: It’s a tie between Lent and Coup de Grace, I just couldn’t decide between the two. Feel free to mock me for my indecision.

>>>> Honorable mention: The Stars My Destination, Misery

With A Martyr Complex’s Choice Award, nonfiction division: The Guns of August

>>>> Honorable mention: Living the French Revolution and The Age of Napoleon, Greek Tragedy, Conquistadors, The Aeneid of Virgil

>>>> Great Courses Division: The Birth of the Modern Mind: The Intellectual History of the 17th and 18th Centuries

The Annual “An Essential Work of Surpassing Beauty that Isn’t Fair to Compare To Everything Else” Award: We

>>>> Honorable mention: Crime and Punishment (This may have suffered from me reading while quarantining, I could easily have swapped it with We under other circumstances)

>>>> Nonfiction Division: Leviathan

>>>>>>>>Honorable Mention: Discipline and Punish

The “Reading This Book Will Give You Great Insight Into The Way I See The World” Award: War is a Force That Gives Us Meaning

>>>> Honorable mention: The Sailor Who Fell From Grace With The Sea, Leviathan

The “This is Kooky Made Up Nonsense But Still Worth Checking Out” Award: Existential Kink

The “Reading This has Allowed Me To Stop Caring About Its Author Too Much” Award: The Benedict Option

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This marks the first year where I’ve reached my goal of at least 1 book per week for the year, and I’m reasonably proud of that. I’m especially proud that I didn’t overload the list with short works to reach that goal and was able to tackle some difficult or long works while maintaining a solid pace. I did find myself reading fewer literary works than I tend to prefer, and my nonfiction that wasn’t lectures was lower than I’d generally like (however much I do love lectures). 

Goals for next year: more foreign policy reading, more literary fiction, write something of my own.