#bletter

[revenant-coining]

[ID: 2 rectangular flags with 7 equally-sized horizontal lines. colors in this order and reflected after the last listed color: dark brown, brown, light brown, pale brown. in the center of the flags is a pale brown circle. inside the circle of the first flag is dark brown text of an uppercase and lowercase letter B. End ID]

flags for Bletteric: a gender related to the letter 'b'. coined here (link)

[ID: a blue line divider with a blue spiral in the middle. End ID]

[eretzyisrael]

By Diana Bletter

In a world first, researchers at the Hebrew University have discovered a distinct cellular pathway in the brain that indicates markers for future onset of Alzheimer’s disease, some 20 years before symptoms would be exhibited. This early detection could eventually lead to a treatment to prevent the degenerative disease.

“The study shows that Alzheimer’s disease is not just a form of accelerated aging but follows a different cellular path,” said Prof. Naomi Habib, and PhD students Anael Cain and Gilad Green of Hebrew University, who led the team of researchers at Columbia, Harvard University, and Rush Medical Center in Chicago.

Now that research has found the “molecular markers,” she said, “we can predict if an individual is on the cellular path to healthier aging, or a path to Alzheimer’s.”The video player is currently playing an ad.

This discovery will help lead toward appropriate treatments.

“We now believe we know what’s driving the disease, but we need to prove that changing the response would reverse that,” she said.

Using a data set from the prefrontal cortex of 437 aging brains, the researchers mapped 1.65 million brain cells and showed that these cellular changes — that start at least 20 years before the first signs of dementia — determine the fate of the aging brain and the progression of Alzheimer’s Disease.

The study was published last month in the peer-reviewed scientific journal Nature.

[funny-upset-clown]

dawn rave

i am the blinded mistress to my life and waiting i seek the thought that is trailing behind a spool of meaningless trash when trash is meaningless or when trash defines what is meaningless even in the absence of a definition for meaning there is a grey sky and a purple bird and spool of thread the thread is breaking and cracking like a whip the whip is whip and tic and slick and cick and prick and trick and make me cry, do it, fucking now make me cry, let the hot wet hot silt come on me let the jargon of my diaphragm pour out onto my life make me cry if you can do you think you could make me cry. bloodletting burial break but blunders boil butter bread, baked between better bells i trepane myself violently, still as a feathers prick in a black hole, i spew like a hornets nest with hard to see letters. blood i shout the word "blood!" like when i pray in the name of the Holy Spirit, looking up at nothing, and convene on the vapidity or validity of

the word God itself, the word "God" i ask god, is it not silly, i ask? now is it not silly to say? lord is certainly done with? christ is fouled. but god was good? is it still? shouldn’t we be certain? i should not feel silly when i name you.

bletter

find fouled flung in finland i trace

i trace

i trace i true i blet i blet and blue im thisss no th-isssssss (thi)ssss roll it back i lay on a stage light i glow like a tomato - i am vitruvian in front of my audience i am crucified and orange. welcome i say with perfume teeth and butter cream pies held on tray hands welcome to the sick room. fisass

tele telephone calls are in the room with us - are they not- someone named joy looks like a princess and she eats plums and her brain is perfectly whole, it is as perfect as a brown walnut from a brown tree in brown soil. her brain is organic and hard, wrinkled and rich and rich and rich and rich her brain is whole, she is quiet.

in my trepenation i get tastes of wires and am like trail baby leg tripping over asphalt or the soft hand grazing a scalding stove again oops fuck again fuck again i get the freeway of every piece of bullshit , i am a third space and there is no room for me or any word that means any thing.

[smellslikebot]

i think. i want to make an adventure game with pre-rendered graphics. which means i gotta get bletter at blender!! rendering and animating stuff are especially kind of a blind spot for me because i've pretty much only used blender for making 3D prints and making game mod/vtuber type stuff

[dzismis]

Turniej szachowy łączy Arabów, Żydów i Druzów w czasie wojny w Strefie Gazy

DIANA BLETTER Pod koniec stycznia, Otwarte Mistrzostwa Izraela w Acre zgromadziły wszystkie różnorodne sektory Izraela, aby walczyć na szachowmicy, wspierając społeczność poprzez miłość do gry. W czasie wojny z Hamasem 132 szachistów w wieku od 9 do 78 lat rywalizowało w Otwartych Mistrzostwach Izraela od 21 do 29 stycznia w Acre w północnym Izraelu, w tym około 20 międzynarodowych mistrzów i…

[dianabletter]

Camping in the Galilee. And Not for the First Time.

Camping in the Galilee. And Not for the First Time.

Our faithful tent and my faithful husband, Jonny Kuritsky, setting up our campsite in the Galilee. CREDIT: Diana Bletter Why? Why would anyone want to schlep mattresses, a grill, sleeping bags, tent and toothbrushes to camp in the wilds of Israel? I ask myself this question each time my husband, Jonny, and I load up our Fiat 500 with all our camping equipment and stuff, making our tiny auto…

[istiakgd]

Project is done.

[palausatnami1]

B letter whatsapp status video download it's express your love proposal feeling to your letter of love download video free status video

[pealmsocial-blog]

Logo Archive #7 (B) Letter Logo pealm.com #logo #logos #b #blog #blogger #b_letter #letter #design #marka #logodesign #bletter #blogo #vector https://www.instagram.com/p/B8gYvj7AlPr/?igshid=1wk48r2q2kowb

[page-2-ids]

-letteric Genders

We all know the drill by now.

Aletteric: A gender related to the letter ‘a’

Bletteric: A gender related to the letter ‘b’

Cletteric: A gender related to the letter ‘c’

Dletteric: A gender related to the letter ‘d’

Eletteric: A gender related to the letter ‘e’

Fletteric: A gender related to the letter ‘f’

Gletteric: A gender related to the letter ‘g’

Hletteric: A gender related to the letter ‘h’

Iletteric: A gender related to the letter ‘i’

Jletteric: A gender related to the letter ‘j’

Kletteric: A gender related to the letter ‘k’

Lletteric: A gender related to the letter ‘l’

Mletteric: A gender related to the letter ‘m’

Nletteric: A gender related to the letter ‘n’

Oletteric: A gender related to the letter ‘o’

Pletteric: A gender related to the letter ‘p’

Qletteric: A gender related to the letter ‘q’

Rletteric: A gender related to the letter ‘r’

Sletteric: A gender related to the letter ‘s’

Tletteric: A gender related to the letter ‘t’

Uletteric: A gender related to the letter ‘u’

Vletteric: A gender related to the letter ‘v’

Wletteric: A gender related to the letter ‘w’

Xletteric: A gender related to the letter ‘x’

Yletteric: A gender related to the letter ‘y’

Zletteric: A gender related to the letter ‘z’

[crashygames]

B alphabet letter rhyme #Bsong #Balphabetrhyme #englishrhyme

[vintagemanhattanskyline]

The 102-story Empire State Building. 350 Fifth Avenue, west block between 33rd to 34th streets. Shreve, Lamb & Harmon, 1930-1931. 

 View looking north of the Empire State Building with the new and modern Midtown Manhattan skyline on background. Early, 1973.

Photo: Cervin Robinson.

Source: Robinson, Cervin; Bletter, Rosemary Haag. "Skyscraper Style, Art Deco New York". New York. Oxford University Press, 1975.

[rabbitcruiser]

Art Deco Architecture, New York City (No. 10)

In 1932, the Museum of Modern Art exhibited a modern architecture show that would introduce the International Style to New Yorkers; museum director Alfred H. Barr Jr. was dismissive of the Art Deco style and tastes of "low", commercial interests. Where Art Deco maintained links to classicism and favored ornamentation, International Style favored undecorated facades; Bletter summed up the difference between the ethos of International Style as "less is more", and Art Deco as "more than enough." While the International Style's impact was blunted by the Depression, it became popular after World War II. International Style buildings, with their emphasis on airy glass and the horizontal were now modern and exciting, while Deco was outmoded and linked to the Depression-era privations.

In comparison to the International Style, Art Deco's role as the first international style, and its importance, were largely forgotten. Art Deco was formally named and categorized as a style in the 1960s and reappraised. Writing in 1975, Cervin Robinson noted that by the standard of direct stylistic influence, Art Deco had virtually no impact—but by its impact on the character of New York itself, Art Deco "helped crystallize our image of Gotham."

The decline in New York City's fortunes in the 1960s and 1970s caused the damage and loss of many Art Deco buildings. The Noonan Plaza Apartments on the Grand Concourse suffered from heavy vandalism, with skylights ripped from frames to sell for scrap metal. It was eventually restored thanks to the efforts of Ginsberg's son and a new owner.  

The modern historical preservation movement in New York City was sparked by the loss of Old Penn Station, leading to the establishment of the New York City Landmarks Preservation Commission. The Commission is the largest municipal preservation organization in the United States. Some of the first Art Deco buildings so protected were the Chrysler Building and Chanin Building in 1978. Radio City Music Hall's interiors were landmarked the same year after a contentious battle with the Music Hall's owners, who wished to demolish it; the Commission received more than 100,000 signatures urging the landmark status.

Some Art Deco buildings were demolished before they were eligible for protection, such as the 12-story Bonwit Teller building at Fifth Avenue and 57th Street.Donald Trump demolished the building in 1980, with the limestone reliefs Trump had promised to the Metropolitan Museum of Art instead jackhammered and destroyed. To avoid landmark status, landowners will sometimes rush to demolish the building or deface the facade.

Today, groups such as the Art Deco Society of New York (ADSNY) produce talks and tours about the city's architecture, as well as advocating for the preservation of the city's remaining Deco. New York City Landmarks Commission veteran Anthony W. Robins wrote that decades after the rise and fall of Art Deco, the style "survives and flourishes" in New York, with the once-daring buildings having become historic landmarks of the city.  

Source: Wikipedia

[arthistorydaily]

Crate Armchair, Gerrit Rietveld (1888 - 1964), ca. 1935

Brooklyn Museum

Provenance: donated by Gift of Rosemarie Haag Bletter and Martin Filler 1994

height: 23 1/4 in. width: 22 in. diameter: 28 in.

Gerrit Rietveld’s first piece of crate furniture dates back to 1934. He initially produced these pieces himself and later sold them both in finished form and as DIY packs. Rietveld made a point of producing affordable and comfortable furniture, and he achieved this by finding the right proportions and seat angle. In 1935, Metz & Co. brought a series of crate furniture piece on the market as “Weekend Furniture”. Later Cassina also produced a series of Rietveld crate furniture. 

[text source: @rietveldoriginals]   

Check out: how to make your own Rietveld crate chair here 

[glitchvault74]

Dr. Ted Said There’s Something Wrong with His Head

[Previous]

———

The caravan starts their trading nearly the moment they reach the settlement. Rig watches the others at work, staring and blinking silently until he hears a harsh “Rig!” uttered for the third time and finally looks at the woman who had been guiding him the day before. She nods for him to follow her and a second person and he wanders after the two of them. They lead him into a small building to the side, and he’s put into another room to sit and wait while the other two talk. He stares at the wall and zones out.

Meanwhile the caravan guard talks with the doctor about the “patient”, their voices low despite said man’s lack of perception.

“You found a random vault dweller wandering around lost?” the doctor asks to clarify.

“He might be a vault dweller,” she says. “Dressed like one, but whatever happened to him...” She points at her head. “His head’s real scrambled, Doc. Says it was sometime in the 2070s last he remembered before waking up. Not even a specific year. If he’s a synth he’s a pretty terrible synth.”

“How so?” the doctor asks.

“He’s dumber than a sack of nails,” she says.

“Well, you did say his head is scrambled,” the doctor replies. “I’ll do what I can, but I don’t know if I can waste supplies for some stranger and not be paid for it...”

She sighs. “Fine, I’ll cover it. But only because he’s cute. Not like he’s coming with us anyway.”

“You’re leaving him here?”

“We’re not putting up with some rando fresh out of a vault. After we leave, I don’t care what you do with him. We’re not taking him with us.”

“Fair enough... Tell me what he’s told you so far.”

In the other room, Rig blinks back to attention once the door opens and the other person walks in.

“Rig Miller, was it?” he asks as he walks up. “I’m Dr. Ted. I’ll be checking you over and getting you any help you need, okay?”

“Fffsure,” Rig answers.

“...Wow, off to a great start.” Dr. Ted leans in and checks Rig’s eyes. Rig stares and then darts his eyes away. “No, no, look at me please.” Rig’s eyes jump back to him. “Hmm, alright.” He pulls back. “When was the last time you ate or drank?”

“Not hungry,” he says.

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Rig shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“Do you know what year it is?”

“2288,” he says.

“Do you know where you were before meeting the caravan?”

“Vault 113.”

“Do you know what you were doing there?”

“No.”

“What do you remember?”

“Woke up there,” he says. “Before that...” He stops a moment. “2070s. Things were happening. Roommate was missing. Got sent somewhere. Ate something bitter. Bli—- Bleh. Bletter.”

“Bitter, hmm?” Dr. Ted taps his chin. “Was it chems?”

“...What are chems?”

“...Alright then.” Dr. Ted clasps his hands together. “Well, Mr. Miller, I think you’re dehydrated. You need some water in you.”

“Not thirsty...”

“My boy, you’re going to drink water whether you like it or not, or else dehydration will be the least of your problems.”

Rig looks at him, disturbed but slowly nodding. Dr. Ted smiles and nods in approval.

“Anyway,” he says. “Most of the clothes I can spare for you are... Not the best. But if you want to change out of that jumpsuit while I get you some water, you’re welcome to look over there...” He motions at the boxes stacked in the corner. “You stay in this room until I come back.”

“Alright...” Rig watches cautiously as Dr. Ted leaves and he then gets up and walks over to the boxes. He nearly drops the top one trying to move it off the stack, but manages to get it to the floor without spilling everything and decides not to try again with the second box. Too heavy. The third box will remain a mystery. He digs through the first box until he finds a pair of patched brown pants in his size. He drapes them over his shoulder and then stands to look in the second box and immediately sees a grease-stained gray shirt that looks like it could have been blue in the past.

He looks at his jumpsuit and tugs at it, trying to figure out how exactly to get it off.

He definitely damages the suit trying to remove it, and in the process knocks over the second box. He stares for a long moment before sighing and finishes undressing and putting on his new clothes... He then crouches down again to check that mysterious third box...

............It’s the most obnoxiously bright and loudly patterned shirts he’s ever seen, most of them stained and missing buttons, but he has to have one. He pulls out one from the bottom, dragging out something light green and covered in flamingos and leaves. He stands up, spreading out the shirt to inspect it...

“Oh. You found those terrible things.”

Rig turns around to face Dr. Ted who is pulling a face at the shirt in his hands. Rig stares for a long moment and then pulls the shirt on. No buttons, no problem, it’s just for fashion.

Dr. Ted sighs. “As long as you’re taking it off my hands. I swear, I can’t seem to get rid of these...” He hands out water for Rig to take. “Now drink this. Do you mind if I keep your vault suit?”

“Go ahead,” Rig says. He takes the water and sips it and pulls a face. Gross. He drinks more.

Dr. Ted picks up the jumpsuit and frowns. “Did you rip this?”

“...No?”

Dr. Ted sighs again. Annoyed. “Fine, I suppose it’s fair enough trade that you’re taking one of those ugly shirts off my hands.”

Rig darts his eyes down to his shirt and then back up at Dr. Ted. He finishes his water, hands Dr. Ted the container, and hurries to the door. “Okay, bye—”

“Hold on,” Dr. Ted orders. “You don’t know where you’re going.”

Rig pauses in the door. “Um... Nope.”

“I doubt you have any caps.”

“Caps???”

“And I doubt you have any means to defend yourself.”

“Uhhhhhhhhhh...”

Dr. Ted gives him a handful of caps. “This is what we use for money out here. You can exchange them for goods and services.”

“Ah,” Rig says. “Money. The civility of the moor.”

Dr. Ted stares. “What?”

“...Yeah.

Dr. Ted pinches the bridge of his nose. “I cannot in good conscience let you go around on your own. My god. You’re going to die the moment someone takes their eyes off of you.” He grabs Rig by the arm and pulls him along. “Alright, there’s someone who might be able to handle you. Have you met any ghouls yet?”

“What’s a—?”

“Well, you’re going to meet one now.”

Rig blinks but follows Dr. Ted out to where to where the caravan is still trading with those in the settlement. He blinks when he’s led up to a person in a nice dress but with a patchy, wrinkled face, no nose, and dark, dark eyes. Beautiful in a decaying sort of way...

And totally not anything he was expecting.

“Mr. Miller,” Dr. Ted says. “This is Lady. She’s a ghoul. You might meet more of them now that you’re out of that vault.”

Rig waves. “Hi...?”

Lady frowns. “Hi... Teddy, you’ve got a vault dweller...?”

“The caravan dragged him in,” Dr. Ted says, to which the caravan guard clears her throat and looks away. “Anyway,” he continues. “Lady, I thought you could help Mr. Miller out. He thinks he’s from pre-war like you are, and he’s not experienced enough to be out on his own...”

Lady looks over him. Particularly his flamingo shirt. “Miller...? You got another name, boy...?”

Rig stares for a moment. He jolts. “Oh! Right. It’s Rig. Rig Miller.”

Lady tenses up immediately. Rig blinks and looks to Dr. Ted for help, but Dr. Ted seems confused by the reaction. Lady takes a step forward. “Rig Miller...?” she asks.

“Yes...?” Rig looks around and then back at her. “Y— Yesss...?” he guesses.

“Rig Miller is the bastard that killed my sister before the war.”

Rig’s eyes widen. “What...?”

“And you come here and you...!”

Rig looks away, staring at the ground as he tries to process that entire sentence. “Rig would never...” he mutters.

“What?” Dr. Ted asks.

“I— I mean—” Rig looks up again. “I would never kill someone. I never did! I was framed—”

“Bullshit!” Lady spits at him.

“I’ll prove it!” Rig says. “Some— Somehow! I’ll prove it. Rig Miller is no murderer.”

“Well,” Lady huffs up. “If that’s the case, then you’re on your own, Miller.”

Rig winces. He points in a random direction. “I’ll— I’ll just. Go...”

The caravan and the rest of the settlement gives him wide berth as he wanders away with no idea where he’s going or what he’s going to do. Bits and pieces of the things the woman from the caravan told him the day before filter in. Things about the dangers out here that he in no way is prepared for or even knows how to recognize. To say nothing on how he’s going to prove Rig never killed anyone. He’s taking it at face value that it’s 2288, though he can believe it judging by the look of the world around him... Even if the stupid thing on his wrist still insists it’s midnight, January 1st, 1970.

He buries his face in his hands and groans in the back of his throat. What is even going on? None of this has sunk in at all, and it’s just barely making cracks in whatever shell of ignorance is keeping him sane in this entire situation. But his head hurts, he’s dizzy, he has no idea what’s—

“Wow, you are way too easy to sneak up on.”

Rig jumps and nearly stumbles, but something grabs him by his shirt collar and keeps him upright. He turns around and faces whoever is there. Some bald man in sunglasses and a plaid shirt looking a little amused about things. Rig stammers a bit and then gets out an “I pride myself for many things, but not that in particular,” he says, without thinking, as he seems to do.

The man lifts a brow. “You know, I heard them say your head’s a bit scrambled, and I’m not exactly hearing anything to disprove that.”

Rig swallows. “Uh. Hi, nice to meet you, who are you?”

“Oh, I’m just your usual ol’ mysterious stranger,” the man says. “But there are those who call me......... Tim.”

“Okay,” Rig says. “What should I call you, then?”

“...Tim.”

“A bold choice,” Rig says. “I like it.”

“So,” Tim cuts in. “Are you really the Rig Miller? The infamous Rig the Ripper?”

“What?” Rig blinks. “...What?”

“Lady’s got it out for you,” Tim says, pointing back towards the settlement. “Thinks you killed her sister...? Maybe others?”

“Ohhhh,” Rig says. “No, I never killed anyone. I can’t even lift a box.”

“Don’t have to be strong to commit a homicide,” Tim notes. “Could be the perfect cover story...”

“I never killed anyone,” he says again. “I’m going to prove it. ...Somehow. Haven’t figured out the logistics of that yet.” He reaches to rub the back of his neck but hits his head with the large, bulky metal thing on his left wrist that he forgot about again. ...Wait. He stares at it, pausing a moment to think how he got the clothes on while wearing this thing. Did he take it off at some point? And put it back on? He’s an idiot.

“You came from a vault, didn’t you?” Tim asks, snapping him from his thoughts. “You act like you don’t know what a Pip-Boy is.”

“I don’t,” Rig answers. “I woke up with this on my arm, and I already broke it.”

“What? No way, let me see.” Tim looks over the Pip-Boy when Rig lifts his arm. He fiddles with the settings and then covers his mouth, possibly shocked at the damage, possibly— Okay the squeak in his voice shows he’s trying not to laugh. “How do you mess up the date and the radio like that? I hope the geiger counter is still working but I wouldn’t be surprised if it isn’t.”

“This thing has a radio?” Rig looks closer at the Pip-Boy. “Oh, when did that label that says ‘radio’ in clear letters get there?”

“I mean, not like you’re going to get any use out of that with it busted,” Tim continues to try not to laugh. He clears his throat. “Anyway,” he says, serious again. “If you’re trying to solve a mystery and prove your innocence, then I’d head to Diamond City. There’s a detective there who could help you with this case.”

Rig blinks. “I don’t know where that is. And I’m probably going to die on the way there. Something about it being dangerous and the doctor saying I’ll be killed the moment someone takes their eyes off me?”

“Aw, what does Ted know?” Tim asks. “I bet he said your shirt was ugly too. You really think you won’t survive out here?”

He shrugs. “It’s been a weird... two? Two days? I figured if I die, I’ll wake up and this will have been a dream, or I’ll die. Win-tie, right?”

“Oh, come on, you can’t be that helpless,” Tim says, an encouraging tone in his voice. “If you can fire a gun you can defend yourself.”

“I’ve never seen a gun before in my life.”

“...How are you with swords?”

“S’wards,” Rig says. “Are they real? The jury is out.”

“Hoo boy,” Tim mumbles. “I’m starting to see how people think of me.” He clears his throat. “And I suppose you’re bad at the whole science thing if you somehow broke your own Pip-Boy. And you didn’t even notice me sneaking up on you.” He shrugs. “Well, I guess you’re dead meat, Miller. Nice knowing you.”

“Yep,” Rig agrees. “It’s been a good...” He checks his Pip-Boy. “Zero minutes knowing you. Happy New Year’s. 1970. The peak of progress. The— The pike of— Of smubl. Blugh, I. Words. Blugh.”

“Ah, you, too, speak murble,” Tim nods. “Good to blorgt.”

“...” Rig looks up at Tim, blinking. “Yeah...?” he prompts.

“Well, it looks like it’s your lucky day,” Tim says. “Happy New Year’s. My resolution is to help those lost and confused more often and you seem at least ten lost and fourteen confused. I’ve got some business in Diamond City, so you can tag along with me. I’ll get you inside the gate, but after that, you’re on your own finding that detective.”

He stares a moment, trying to find any sort of words to say that aren’t utter garbage. “Yeah... Okay, thank you...”

“And if someone asks who that handsome devil was who helped you arrive in Diamond City alive and only slightly injured, you tell them it was your good friend Tom.”

“Okay, Tim, I will.”

“Hell yeah.” He pats Rig’s shoulder and starts off. “Let’s get moving. Before a Deathclaw with morning breath finds us.”

“...Before a what?”

Tim stops and looks back at him. “Rigsby, you’ve got a lot to learn. Let’s go. Follow me.”

Rig winces and follows after. Deathclaws, huh...? With a name like that, he hopes they’re friendly...

———

[Next]

Written with help from @falloutglow​

[cushydiet-blog]

Stacie Robinson, Nathaniel Bletter - The New York Times - https://goo.gl/KLXYCZ - #Bletter, #Nathaniel, #Robinson, #Stacie, #Times, #Us, #York