#gattis!master

[masterwhy42]

So me and my wife and I are trying to make a tarot deck with all the Masters.... Beavers fits like 98% but we can just have a deck of Beevers.

[lunamagicablu]

Il contagio dell'umore è un problema reale che si insinua nella vita quotidiana degli esseri umani. Condividere uno spazio fisico con gli altri può portare tutti all'improvviso ad avere lo stesso umore. Essere presenti con come ci si sente nel proprio corpo ed essere consapevoli dei propri sentimenti attuali è metà della soluzione. La maggior parte delle persone non mette nemmeno in discussione il proprio stato attuale e si limita a seguire ciò che il 3D mostra loro, e questo li tiene all'oscuro. Ti è concesso di essere felice, quando gli altri non lo sono. Ti è concesso di essere eccitato per il futuro quando gli altri sono depressi, infelici e in grossi guai. Ti è concesso di ballare quando senti una brutta notizia trasmessa. Queste sono cose che i gatti e i bambini padroneggiano perché non sono ancora stati programmati. Può sembrare insensibile ed egoista essere gioiosi, quando le persone nella stanza non lo sono. Quando ti elevi, loro si sentono sollevati senza nemmeno rendersene conto. Il punto non è che tu li elevi. Si tratta di aiutare te stesso, perché te lo meriti. Va bene che gli altri non si sentano bene. Va bene che ti giudichino anche come insensibile. Questo è ciò che sta servendo loro in questo momento, come orchestrato dai loro sé superiori. Non devi salvarli, perché sono già salvati. Non devi aiutarli secondo la loro folle definizione di aiuto. Credi che un bambino o un gatto debbano sentirsi male in una stanza piena di persone depresse? No. La risposta dovrebbe valere anche per te. In nessun universo sei meno amato di un bambino o di un gatto. lightcodex.com photo by Nina Nelke *************************** Mood contagion is a real problem that creeps into the daily lives of humans. Sharing a physical space with others can suddenly make everyone feel the same mood. Being present with how you feel in your body and being aware of your current feelings is half the solution. Most people don’t even question their current state and just go with what 3D shows them, and that keeps them in the dark. You are allowed to be happy when others aren’t. You are allowed to be excited about the future when others are depressed, unhappy, and in deep trouble. You are allowed to dance when you hear bad news being broadcast. These are things cats and children master because they haven’t been programmed yet. It can feel insensitive and selfish to be joyful when the people in the room aren’t. When you uplift them, they feel uplifted without even realizing it. It’s not about you uplifting them. It's about helping yourself, because you deserve it. It's okay for others to not feel good. It's okay for them to judge you as insensitive, too. That's what's serving them right now, as orchestrated by their higher selves. You don't have to save them, because they're already saved. You don't have to help them according to their crazy definition of helping. Do you think a child or a cat should feel bad in a room full of depressed people? No. The answer should also apply to you. In no universe are you less loved than a child or a cat. lightcodex.com photo by Nina Nelke 

[kannedia]

FFXIV Write 2024 - Day 30 - Two Heads Are Better Than One

In the Acorn Orchard, three conjurors meet to ponder the Starlight Celebration and what to get for their mentor E-Sumi-Yan.

Featuring Iskra, Sylphie and Gatty.

A bird, maybe. Iskra carefully turned the small piece of wood in his hand. He examined the grain and judged the size of the piece carefully. Or a bee, Gridania was well known for its honey. Particularly the East Shroud.

He considered both as conversation flowed around him. There was a small discussion on what to Master E-Sumi-Yan for the Starlight Celebration.

It was Sylphie's idea. Most of their adventures were, with himself and Gatty following after her. Alaqa spent most of her time with Raya-O when she wasn't training.

"A bluebird, mayhaps." He uttered, earning a look from both girls. Slyphie had had the knowledge to sit on the side of his good ear, while Gatty sat on the other. "I've heard they are good luck."

Sylphie let out a small sigh, "So you weren't listening."

Gatty on the other hand seemed to be thinking something over. Her gaze was on the clouds but she had briefly looked at the piece of ash wood in Iskra's hands.

"We don't really know what he would like, do we?" She said after another moment of thought, earning a nod from both Iskra and Sylphie. Their shared mentor did not speak much of himself. Or perhaps it had never occurred to them to ask.

Iskra glanced at her, "I think he would be happy with almost anything from you two." And he imagined, a little surprised.

"Hmm..." Sylphie looked at Gatty and then at Iskra. "Do you think you could teach us?"

"To whittle?" Iskra questioned, carefully avoiding the girls' gazes. He could already feel the puppy dog eyes bearing down on him. He could also picture exactly how much trouble he would be in should the two hurt themselves with knives. "No. Sorry. How about painting?"

"Painting?" Sylphie questioned, brow raised.

"Yes." He noted quietly before explaining, "I whittle. You paint."

Gatty brightened at the idea. "And we can make a card while you work."

"Hm. That may work." Sylphie agreed, "A bluebird you said."

Iskra nodded gently. They were both nice girls. He would have to make them both ginger cookies for the Starlight Celebration. Once he was done with his whittling.

[opera-ghosts]

Pasquale Amato is hardly forgotten by many opera afficionados (especially as he has many recordings)...but he certainly is more neglected these days.

Amato Pasquale, *21 March 1878 Naples, †12 August 1942 New York, Italian singer (baritone). In 1896–99, he studied at Conservatorio di S. Pietro a Maiella in Naples, and in 1900, he debuted there at Teatro Bellini in the role of Germont the father in Verdi’s Traviata. In 1904, he performed at London’s Covent Garden with the Neapolitan San Carlo Theatre and in Buenos Aires (in Verdi’s Rigoletto and Aida, Bizet’s Carmen, Puccini’s La Bohème and others). In 1907, he sang at La Scala in Milan in Wagner’s Tristan and Iseult and in 1908, he took part in the Italian premiere of Pelléas and Mélisande by Debussy (Golaud’s part) directed by A. Toscanini. In 1908–21, he was a lead singer of the New York Metropolitan Opera House, taking part in the world premieres of many operas: he performed as Jack Rance in The Girl of the West, Napoleon in Giordan’s Madame Sans-Gêne and as the main character in W. Damrosch’s Cyrano de Bergerac. He had a dramatic voice with a firm tone, combining a lively temperament and power of expression with a masterful vocal technique.  He retired from the stage due to poor health and returned to Italy; in 1933, he performed twice in New York on the occasion of the anniversary of the director of the Metropolitan Opera House, G. Gatti-Casazza (February 26) and the 25th anniversary of his debut on this stage (November 20). From 1935 until his death, he was dean of the vocal and opera department at the University of Louisiana. He has recorded several albums for Fonotipia and Victor.

[allylikethecat]

If you're not too sick of them I would love if you could do gatty with 7 or 46 ♥️

Hello!

I could never be sick of this whole prompt situation! I've been having so much fun working on them! I do want to apologize though, I'm sorry that this took so long for me to finish - real life got in my way. I hope it was worth the wait! I filled them both separately, I hope that's okay- I like to think it means you're getting more bang for your buck! I'm not totally sure I love how #46 turned out, but I decided I need to stop fiddling with it and just put it out into the world and move on. I hope it's at least adjacent to what you were looking for! I have a few more kiss prompts in the works, a few intimacy prompts and a smut prompt (which is an area I need to work on in my writing, so it shall be interesting to say the least).

Thank you so much for the request and for being so kind and supportive of my writing! It really means a lot and I am so thankful to have found such a kind and supportive subset of The 1975 fandom to be apart of.

Warnings: there is mention of drug use / mention of past abuse in #46

Let me know what you think! Constructive feedback is always welcome and appreciated!

❤️Ally

7. Kiss…to shut them up

Matty had been talking for the last twenty three minutes. George knew exactly how long his latest tangent had run so far, having glanced at and made note of the time ticking away in the corner of his laptop screen when he noticed the flush in Matty’s cheeks and the fire in his eyes. So far he had barely taken a breath and George had given up trying to follow the track of his thoughts twenty two minutes ago. He was gesturing wildly with his hands, getting louder and more animated as he spoke, clearly building up the momentum, and getting more excited as he went. George tried not to feel too bad that he had been tuning him out, nodding along and humming in approval in what he hoped were the right places, his focus on his laptop, and the seemingly endless amount of emails he had in his inbox. No one told him that producing for other artists would mean going through so many emails. 

If for some reason the musical career ended up not panning out, which after five number one albums in the UK was unlikely, Matty could have a career as an American politician, George thought, he would be unstoppable in a filibuster, and he had already mastered the art of speaking constantly while saying a whole lot of nothing. He closed his laptop, hoping that maybe Matty would catch on, see that George was closing his laptop and that maybe that was his sign to take a breath, and that it was time to meet Adam and Carly for lunch, but Matty was still going, pacing around the room that served as their home office.

“Which ties it all together!” Matty said, waving his hands in the air as George turned to look at him fondly, his curls bouncing as he drove his point home. George had absolutely no idea what his point was. “Because despite what the critics might think, it really is the perfect example of postmodernism in literature-” George couldn’t take it anymore. 

Matty let out a surprised hum of approval as George crashed their lips together, sucking the air from his lungs as he deepened the kiss, running his fingers through his hair, tugging on the locks in a way that he knew made Matty weak at the knees. Matty broke away a moment later, panting with his nose pressed to George’s cheek as he tried to regain his breath. 

“What was that f-” he started to ask before George was kissing him again, licking into his mouth, and nipping at his lower lip. His knees buckled, overwhelmed by the way George was consuming all of his senses. George walked him backwards, pressing him against the wall, and suddenly it didn’t matter that his legs didn’t work anymore. He had George to support him. 

“You’re so cute,” George said and Matty flushed his cheeks darkening into an even deeper shade of red and he squirmed bashfully at the praise. He kissed Matty again, his eyes rolling back in his head as he clung to George’s shoulders, letting out a soft whimper of enjoyment. 

“I love you,” George said softly, speaking the words against Matty’s lips, their breath intermingled as Matty’s heart raced, his fingers drifting lower, digging into the meat of George’s hips as if he would float away if he let go.

“I love you too,” Matty said softly, his cheeks still flushed. “I was rambling again wasn’t I?” he asked sheepishly, realizing George hadn’t been listening to a word he had been saying, but not able to bring himself to care. 

“A little bit,” said George with a chuckle, the sound vibrating in Matty’s chest with the way they were pressed together. “It was cute though, and you’ll have to tell me again over lunch, I got distracted finishing up some emails and I’m sure I missed a few of the points.” 

Matty’s flush deepened. “Well, next time just tell me to shut up,” he said, jutting his chin out defiantly. 

“What do you think I just did?” George said, with a laugh, this one deeper, and Matty curled his toes in desire as he kissed his neck.

“I’m sorry I talk so much,” said Matty, feeling a moment of vulnerability as George mouthed at his collarbone, nose skimming the open collar of his shirt.

“Don’t ever be sorry for that,” George said, his lips ghosting against Matty’s sensitive, burning skin. “I love it when you talk.” 

“Even when you want me to shut up?” Matty asked softly and George chuckled and nodded his breath tickling Matty’s neck.

“Even then.”

46. Kiss…out of envy or jealousy

Matty swallowed hard, standing on his tiptoes as he scanned the crowd, desperate for a glimpse of George. He reached up to tug uncomfortably at the collar of his shirt, loosening his tie ever so slightly as he did so, feeling strangled by the fabric as he floated on the fringes of the after party. These things were much more uncomfortable sober, he thought desperately, he was pretty sure he was the only person not on something at the moment. 

Even George had smoked a spliff during the car ride to the next venue. Matty had declined when George tried to pass it to him, under the delusion that he wanted to keep a clear head. He was already feeling paranoid, like he was being watched. Each breath he had taken was carefully measured at the awards show, a conscious effort to keep his expression engaged and mild lest the camera pan to their table. If he had accepted the spliff he would have been convinced everyone could tell, that everyone knew he was high, that instead of legal marjuana he had relapsed, had gone back to the substances they didn’t even know he was clean from. He swallowed hard. Where the fuck was George?   

It was a stark contrast to his previous party experiences, his previous life experiences really. He couldn’t remember the last party he had been at, industry or otherwise without some kind of A Class chemical racing through his blood stream, lubricating his social interactions, giving him a personality. He felt almost numb now, anxiety thudding in his chest, simmering in his veins as he tried to remember who he was and how to be a person. 

A server walked past with a tray of champagne flutes and Matty snagged a glass with shaking hands, downing it quickly. Where the fuck was George? He thought, starting to feel frantic. He had gone to the washroom ten minutes ago. It shouldn’t have taken him ten minutes to piss. There was never a queue for the men’s room.  Matty had given him a smile and said he would be fine on his own, not wanting to seem so needy and codependent that he had to follow his boyfriend to the bathroom. He was a strong independent man, he tried to remind himself. He felt anything but. 

He thought for sure he would be able to find someone he knew easily enough, but they were in America and he was starting to realize maybe he didn’t actually know anyone else here. If he had met them before, it was during the dark times and he clearly didn’t remember the interaction. He knew he seemed unapproachable, curls falling his face, eyes downcast, the charismatic spark that drew their fanbase to him having flickered out as he pushed himself out of his comfort zone. He knew he radiated a general air of “leave me the fuck alone,” especially when he was desperate for anything but. He hated being sober. He hated that he had gotten clean, that he felt some kind of moral obligation to stay that way, that the rest of the lads had spent their own money on his treatment after he had nearly bankrupted the group with his addiction. 

He fiddled with his now empty champagne glass and wished for something stronger, or wished that he hadn’t built up such a high alcohol tolerance over the years, because despite his size he felt absolutely nothing after quickly finishing the glass. A second server walked passed and he traded his empty flute for a full one, drinking this one more slowly, giving him something to do with his hands, allowing him to focus on the feeling of the bubbles fizzing against his tongue, grounding him, keeping him present. That was something he was working on in therapy. Staying more present.

His frustration and anxiety started to move, turning to frustration and envy. George had probably ran into some he knew on his way to or from the restroom. George had probably bumped into someone and made a friend, the words flowing easily as he introduced himself. Matty knew that he had a reputation for being an extrovert, that he was the mouthpiece of the band whether people liked it or not. Whether he liked it or not. But George was the one that could talk to anyone, a casual sort of comfortable in any social situation that Matty wasn’t ever able to recreate despite the copious drugs he had poured into his body, desperate to be liked, desperate to be cool.

He was jealous, he realized sharply, he was jealous and it burned in his belly as he swallowed the rest of his champagne and set the glass on one of the high top tables scattered around the space, pushing his way through the crowd. Being jealous wasn’t going to solve anything, being jealous wasn’t going to make people like him, it wasn’t going to quell the anxiety embedded in his rapidly beating heart. Being jealous wasn’t going to make George come back to him faster.

He caught a glimpse of what he hoped was George moving through the crowd, talking to some kind of teen drama actress that had been a presenter at the show earlier that night. The jealousy flared, moving up his throat, blistering his vocal cords, he tried to swallow it down, feeling it molten and hot in his lungs. George threw his head back and laughed, smiling happily. George had gone and made a friend, George had abandoned him, like Matty was nothing more than an anchor weighing him down. George had gone and cut the rode, untangling himself from his mooring to forge his own path. 

It wasn’t a conscious decision, his feet moving on his own accord, it was like he was watching his body move from somewhere above, something, or someone else was controlling him like a recently unlocked newly playable character. Matty slid into position next to George, hand gliding across his back under his suit jacket to wrap possessively around his hip. 

He stood up on his tiptoes and pressed a kiss to the corner of George’s mouth, interrupting whatever he had been saying to the wide eyed peroxide blonde. 

George chuckled against his lips, turning his head to deepen the kiss, showing Matty that despite his initiation, George was the one holding all of the cards. 

“Someones feeling a little green,” he murmured, soft enough that it was for Matty’s ears only as he pulled away. 

“This is my boyfriend Matty,” said George, turning back to the girl, “he’s needy little shit and gets jealous when I’m not giving him my full attention.” 

Matty flushed at his teasing words, the bit behind them stinging slightly, but at the same time making him preen. The girl laughed. 

“What can I say,” said Matty, leaning into George’s side. “I’m the jealous type.”

[semi-imaginary-place]

red mage: so basically arya should be a thaumaturge or black mage. she's really really good at the destructive magic and terrible at the restorative magics. why find equilibrium when you can min max and be a nuke.

have you heard of ... blue? or perhaps... green?

I really like x'rhun, great character

given x'rhun's history in the ala mhigo im disappointed the 60-70 storyline isn't going there, ah well time to see what idyllshire has in store.

I was just thinking at the end of the level 60 quest if X'ruhn is in his 40s then lambert probably is too and arya looks to be a teenager, wouldn't it be be messed up is she was his daughter or something. the only reason i didn't quite believe it is because lambert said he's been in a magical coma for many years.

fake memories? artificial humans? many possibilities.

i think its pretty interesting that despite its reputation it is not black magic that is the successor to void magic, it is red magic. and this is despite both black and void magic originating from mhach.

irony that the swashbuckling aesthetic class ends up being the demon summoning dark magic storyline.

wait that coffin is why witchdrop is haunted??

hey i happen to know a certain kitty cat that is a mhach specialist. too bad the questlines can't be interdependent.

hmm even the red mage writers get conjury and white magic mixed up

sorry arya but the 50=60 stuff was far more interesting than the 60-70 stuff

dragoon! ... orn khai just ate like 300 times his body mass in flesh

ninja: ok so we got a bunch of hingashi pretending to be from doma to smuggle a scroll out of garlemarld? I'm just waiting for karasu to be involved somehow. wait wasn't the house of sticks dude murdered like at level 20? there's karasu!

2nd? 3rd? time the game has said the doman rebellion was 1 year ago. the other time I remember off the top my head was right after doma castle when you talk to the blacksmith.

I feel so sorry for Akagi. we sent him on a goose chase to the literal opposite side of the planet.

Why is Karasu so focused on Oboro. he cares more about messing with him than literally anything else.

hey if zakuro is a mercenary we could buy out her contract.

oh that's interesting. yomei and all the shinobi we have met implied that ninja are from yanxia. but hanzo is saying that its from hingashi. then again all the shinobi we talked to were domans talking about their specific ancestral villages.

I totally do not remember who master sasuke is. and i don't think karasu is dead (again). oh master sasuke is the founder of oboro's village

whm: castrum oriens is an odd name given how it means east but is situated in the WESTERN part of the garlean empire

huh you can tell who is a padjal at birth. i remember reading in encyclopaedia eorzea or something that children only find out they're a padjal when the horn start growing in at like 10-15.

uh sylphie aren't you like 14. letting at 14 year old run the show and keep secrets from the conjurers guild while void sent are running around sounds like a recipe for disaster.

why not relocate both gatty and sanche to gridania. sanche would get better medical treatment, gatty would remain with her mother, there would be more conjurers on hand to deal with voidsent incidents, and there would be padjal on hand to tutor gatty.

the writers did this to keep sylphie's importance to the plot but this is a massive plot hole that e-sumi is having sylphie be gatty's teacher. first because as e-sumi himself said sylphie is still learning as an acolyte herself, she might have powerful instinctual magic but her learned knowledge isn't that good. second she wouldn't know white magic or padjal specific stuff. this is such a bad decision. also sylphie is still a kid has shown to be overwhelmed by the scale of this problem and having to take care of and be responsible for another kid. i guess the excuse is that it's technically the wol who's suppose to be doing the teaching but we all know that the player isn't going to be doing anything.

uh she jsut summoned a voidsent you sure she doing need more training its been like a couple months at most

[cynsualc829]

Join us for a soulful journey packed with great gems and Neo2Soul vibes presented by DJ Niceness from Neo2Soul Promotions. Enjoy The Listening Experience with the hottest Neo-soul and R&B female artists from around the world and it rebroadcasts today at 5PM EST | 10 PM UK time.

🇺🇸 🇬🇧 🇩🇪 🇮🇹 🇬🇷 🇸🇩 🇿🇦 🇨🇦 🇧🇶

𝐖𝐏𝐔𝐑-𝐃𝐁 𝐏𝐔𝐋𝐒𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐓'𝐋 𝐑𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐎

www.pulseintlradio.com

#tastemakers #treasures #NewDiscoveriess #neo2soul #newsoul #neosoul #soulmusic #rnbsoul #FemaleArtists

"𝐍𝐞𝐨𝟐𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐥 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐕𝐢𝐛𝐞𝐬 𝟓𝟗 (𝐅𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐓𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐏𝐭 𝟓𝟕)"

Bee-B - Title

Dee Gatti - Control

Nova Orianne & TANNER - It Goes

Hannah Ponce - Feeling

Jaszy Shavers & Tall Black Guy ft C-Red - For You

Kahndes - New Thang

Aiyana K - Play Pretend

aster black - Too Far

Mahogany Wolf - I GOT ME!

RubyGld Smoke - Closer

Shauna Shadae - Always

m.e.h. - You Got Me Like

Joleneosoul ft Wish Master - Sweet Lies

Yaahn Hunter Jr ft Ishiah - Moment

Natalie Oliveri ft JSWISS - Never Said

Honor Carr ft Leo Hollywood - Ocean

Taquirah - The Night

RUBII - Twin Flame

Jessie Reyez - GOLIATH

Summer Dennis ft Gene Noble - So Unnecessary

Amber Noel ft Khaotic - Pretty Girls Gone Wild

Arielle Haynes - Pressures

KiraLo - HEAVY

Andyah - Let Me Go

Honey Isla - The Way

Saskia - Don't Cry Mana

Goya Gumbani ft Fatima - Firefly

Naomi Vaughn - Call My Mama

Cosima Olu - Cartoon

Lily Agnes ft Gareth Donkin - been a minute

Nicole Gi, 1depth & Pyraa ft SioLa - Crashing Waves

Kaleia - rock w me

DeejaySunshine - All for Nothing

BLISSING - Man On The Moon

Vahn Black - Reckless Game

[mrjofficialyt]

The Joker Band - Nebo Je Gorilo (Official Lyric Video)

LIKE, SUBSCRIBE & SHARE! Grupa Joker Tekst/Lyrics: Bojan Pavlović Glazba/Music: Bojan Pavlović Aranžman/Arrangement: Bojan Pavlović Vokal/Vocals: Marko Duplišak (@markoduplisak – Fiverr) Glazbu napravio/Music made by: Peter Lamiel (@peterlamiel29 – Fiverr) Mix and master: Marco Gatti (@artistonline – Fiverr) © MrJOfficial #thejokerband #nebojegorilo #poprock #rock from The Joker Band…

[ufficiosinistri]

Avete perso Pizzaballa?

Era il 1994, e l’Unità aveva deciso di pubblicare settimanalmente, come inserto dell’edizione del lunedì mattina, una ristampa di un album di figurine Panini, uscito negli ultimi trentacinque anni, dal 1961 ai giorni nostri.  La pubblicità che si vedeva in giro, anche su altri quotidiani, recitava, nero su giallo fosforescente, “Avete perso Pizzaballa?”.  Lo storico portiere bergamasco non appariva infatti nella lista delle figurine stampate nel 1964, anno in cui era all’Atalanta, perché il giorno dello scatto delle foto di rito era infortunato e non si presentò nemmeno al centro sportivo dove si svolgevano gli allenamenti. Diventò una figurina mitologica, che fu stampata molto tempo dopo il lancio dell’album, che entrò subito nell’immaginario collettivo di quell’Italia da boom economico, tra sportivi e meno appassionati.

“Hai perso Pizzaballa?” Mi domandò mio padre, accorgendosi che stessi guardando quello slogan stampato sulla quarta di copertina del numero del quotidiano che stava leggendo, come sempre, seduto sul divano in salotto. Mi osservava, in attesa di una mia risposta, con lo sguardo che si alzava faticosamente al di sopra delle lunette.

Non seppi cosa rispondere, ovviamente, e lo guardai di sottecchi.

“Ogni lunedì, tu che passi davanti all’edicola di Viale Volta per andare a scuola, fermati e compra L’Unità, così facciamo la collezione degli album delle figurine. Non ti dimenticare, eh.”

Accettai, ovviamente.

L’edicola era posta su una cuspide del marciapiede, in uno spiazzo davanti ad un palazzo altissimo, uno dei più alti della città per l’epoca, in un quartiere che confinava con il mio in modo aleatorio,  senza delimitazioni precise, almeno per me e i miei amici. Chiamavamo quella zona “vicino alla scuola” oppure “tra i parchetti”, data la notevole quantità di aree verdi presenti, nemmeno avessimo vissuto a New York, dove il quartiere di Tribeca prese nome dalla temporanea abbreviazione che gli abitanti diedero alla zona di isolati, posti a triangolo, che si trovava a sud di Canal Street. “Triangle Below Canal Street”, Tri-Be-Ca.

L’intervallo del lunedì mattina divenne così un appuntamento fisso per consultare l’uscita dell’album del giorno. Ci soffermavamo sui giocatori più sconosciuti e dai nomi più insoliti. La triade Pin – Bon – Blason del Padova, gli oriundi del Napoli, gli esordi in massima serie di Marco Osio. Commentavamo i volti che cambiavano squadra e colori ogni lunedì, guardavamo le statistiche sui gol segnati. Moltissimi calciatori scomparivano o indossavano uno sponsor doverso sulla maglia, altri si tagliavano la barba o se la facevano crescere per la stagione successiva.

E poi c’era un giocatore dell’Inter che non cambiava mai. Appena giravo la pagina ( ero io il “master”, colui che, essendo il possessore dell’album, poteva dettare i tempi di consultazione ) dopo quelle dedicate alla Fiorentina o al Genoa, Fabio cambiava espressione e il volto lentigginoso gli si illuminava all’improvviso, come se non se lo aspettasse, come se ogni lunedì fosse una nuova e strabiliante scoperta.

L’Inter di Mario Corso appariva lentamente, dispiegata su due pagine, come tutte le altre squadre.  Fabio abitava in un palazzo vicino al mio, al terzo piano. Il suo balcone era l’unico, del caseggiato, a non avere appesi i cd per tener lontano i piccioni. Nel mio condominio non avevamo questo problema, perché il nostro cortile era pieno di gatti e i volatili ne erano terrorizzati: ogni giorno trovavo una carcassa di piccione sull’asfalto, oppure solamente delle piume, a testimoniare il perpetuo massacro. Erano gatti domestici e quindi non li mangiavano, li uccidevano solo.

Contavo i soldi giusti per comprare L’Unità con la figurina di Mario Corso sin dalla domenica sera, quando mi ritrovavo a finire i compiti appena prima di sedermi a cena. Le sigle dei programmi sportivi, la cappa della cucina accesa che sovrastava ciò che avremmo mangiato in settimana, il pesante zaino fosforescente per terra ai piedi del letto pronto per affrontare altri sei giorni di scuola, mezzi pubblici, automobili, intemperie, strisce pedonali presidiate da nonni vigili.

Sentivo mia madre e mia zia parlare in cucina. La luce di camera mia era sempre fioca, come se vivessi di nascosto. Mia zia si sedeva sempre al tavolo da pranzo, mentre mia madre preparava la cena. Il lavoro, le vacanze che voleva fare, i miei nonni. Nel mentre, la aiutava ad apparecchiare. Alle volte mi controllava i compiti di latino per il giorno dopo, dato che lei lo aveva studiato alle superiori. Aveva fatto le magistrali e avrebbe potuto insegnare nelle scuole. Litigavamo perché a lei lo avevano insegnato in modo diverso, soprattutto quando si trattava di tradurre le versioni. Le facevo vedere i pezzi di traduzione che avevo trascritto, esattamente come erano riportati sul vocabolario, ma non ci credeva. Dopo cena se ne tornava a casa in macchina e io, ricontrollando i soldi che mi sarebbero serviti per comprare un album di figurine ristampato.

Avevo seguito le indicazioni di mio padre, e Fabio ne sarebbe stato contento. Mario Corso sarebbe stato ancora lì, uno sfondo colorato e quasi irreale, gli occhi vispi. Alcune fotografie lo ritraevano con le mani sui fianchi. Le annate delle Coppe dei Campioni, la sua estraneità alle rivalità consacrate del calcio italiano.

Quattro anni dopo, L’Unità iniziò a pubblicare un’altra collana. Si intitolava “Gli anni della Prima Repubblica” ed era curata dal giornalista Gianni Rocca. Dalla Costituzione alla vittoria elettorale dell’Ulivo di Romano Prodi, in ordine cronologico, ogni uscita raccontava due anni della nostra storia. Anche in quell’occasione mi fu affidato il compito di comprare il quotidiano il lunedì, prima di andare a scuola. Facevo già le superiori e l’edicola non era più la stessa degli album di figurine. Era posta in una piccola vetrina lungo il corso principale che percorrevo ogni mattina, uno spazio angusto totalmente all’opposto rispetto a quella che si trovava “tra i parchetti”. C’era sempre la fila prima di arrivare al bancone, nei giorni di pioggia o di grande freddo le persone si urtavano le une con le altre. Quando chiedevo L’Unità con l’inserto, alcune di loro mi guardavano con circospezione, ma non l’edicolante. Lui, mai.

In classe, durante i cambi d’ora, io e i miei compagni guardavamo e fotografie che ritraevano gli avvenimenti principali di quegli anni. Il Vajont, Sigonella, Berlusconi. Nessuno indicava nulla e non si aspettava nulla.

È strano pensarlo, ma il tempo che passa, anche se ci sembra tantissimo, da un evento importante, è facilmente calcolabile. Dalla finale di Coppa dei Campioni del 27 maggio 1965, giocata a San Siro contro il Benfica di Eusebio e Coluna, possiamo contare gli anni, i mesi, i giorni, sino ad arrivare ai secondi che ci separano. A volte è necessario, quindi, separare i sentimenti dai nostri ricordi.

Ed è per questo che mio padre, interista, per  smettere di pensarci, lo chiama tuttora “Mariolino”. Calzettoni tirati giù come sarebbe accaduto per  lo Scudetto con Berti e Serena, numero undici.

[sareesfashionblogs]

A Deep Dive into Mysore Silk Sarees

Introduction:

Welcome to the world of timeless elegance – Mysore silk sarees. In this blog, we embark on a journey to discover the rich history, exquisite craftsmanship, and cultural significance of these luxurious sarees that have captured the hearts of saree connoisseurs worldwide.

Roots & History of Mysore Silk Saree Initially the 'silk fabrics' and 'silk sarees' were manufactured exclusively for Royal family and armed forces KSIC, was established in the year 1912 by the Maharaja of Mysore province, Naalwadi Krishnaraj Wadiar later in the year 1980 the silk weaving factory handed over to Karnataka Silk Industries Corporation Ltds(KSIC) There are presently two silk factories ✨️First one being in Mysore(Mysuru) which is the country’s oldest silk manufacturing unit ✨️Second factory which is located in T. Narasipura Region: A Silk Symphony from Karnataka:

In the vibrant tapestry of Karnataka, Mysore stands tall as a beacon of silk craftsmanship. Known as one of the largest mulberry silk producers in India, Karnataka takes pride in gifting the world the enchanting Mysore silk sarees. Crafting Elegance: The KSIC Legacy:

At the heart of Mysore's silk saga lies the Karnataka Silk Industries Corporation Ltd. (KSIC), the oldest silk factory that has mastered the art of creating timeless pieces. With a repertoire boasting 115 designs and 300 color shades, KSIC weaves dreams into reality.

Fast Fashion, Timeless Tradition:

Step into the world where tradition meets demand. Mysore silk sarees have become India's fastest-selling hand-loom products, a testament to their timeless appeal and the exquisite craftsmanship that defines each piece.

Patterns and Luxury Discover the richness of Mysore silk with patterns like crepe Mysore Silk Saree, Zari-Bordered Mysore Silk Saree, Kalamkari Mysore Silk Saree, Stripes & Buttas Mysore Silk Saree, Checks Mysore Silk Saree, Mango Pattern Mysore Silk, Mayura Pattern Mysore Silk, Gatti Border Mysore Silk, Crushed Crepe Mysore Silk, 3 D pattern Mysore Silk and Lightweight Mysore Silk Sarees Collections.

[le-journal-catalan]

OMAC Torreilles : Master Classes de Piano

Les 4, 6 et 8 juillet prochains, la ville de Torreilles aura le plaisir de recevoir, dans le cadre intimiste de la chapelle de Juhègues, les Master Classes de piano dirigés par la professeure Varduhi Yeritsyan. Le 4 juillet, Chopin, Mozart et Ravel seront à mis l’honneur par le talentueux Rudy Gatty. En 2019, Rudy […] from Le Journal Catalan https://ift.tt/RyKeC71 via IFTTT

[lunamagicablu]

Hanno qualcosa di magico e sacro, i gatti... Vivono in assoluta autonomia, perché sono spiriti liberi, maestri di libertà. I gatti hanno un rapporto magico col mondo invisibile che ci circonda, composto di energia e vibrazioni. Ci avvisano quando sentono energie negative che sono dentro di noi e nell’ambiente in cui viviamo. Talvolta le assorbono, trasformandole in energie positive, proteggendoci dalle malattie o facendoci guarire. La loro vicinanza fa bene alla nostra salute psico-fisica. Le loro fusa sono medicine senza controindicazioni, carezze per la nostra anima. Ogni persona ed ogni casa hanno bisogno di un gatto. (Agostino Degas) ************************* There is something magical and sacred about cats... They live in absolute autonomy, because they are free spirits, masters of freedom. Cats have a magical relationship with the invisible world that surrounds us, made up of energy and vibrations. They warn us when they feel negative energies that are inside us and in the environment in which we live. Sometimes they absorb them, transforming them into positive energies, protecting us from illnesses or making us heal. Their closeness is good for our psycho-physical health. Their purring is medicine without contraindications, caresses for our soul. Every person and every home needs a cat. (Agostino Degas) 

[masterwhy42]

Does anyone else forget that the Master is a vilian. Like straight up, fucked up monster?

I will randomly be thinking of them like I do and think. Oh what would happen is person x saw them again. And Remember exactly what they did to x.

And I just have to stop and think, damn, there is no way or any reason why this person should ever forgive the Master. That was just sooo wrong.

And then I'll move on because I still love the Master and they have never done anything wrong ever.

[gazrgaleyart]

Re made the Master why 042 avatar. Didn't think it was much of an improvement untill I looked at the old one

We got missy

Dhawan Lumiat

Macqueen Simm Jacobi

Beevers Gatiss Delgado Ainley

Missy

Simm, Jacobi

Macqueen, Delgado, comi young war

Dreyfus, Gatiss, beevers, Ainley

[adrigummi]

Some days ago I got an Ipad Pro, and I drew this picture, completely in digital, in order to practice with Procreate. It's a completely new programme to me, and it has been hard to domain it, so please, have in mind that is my first picture using this prgramme! I'll do more and better pictures soon! And for this first picture I've done a fanart of one of the coolest cats in the Italian cartoon "44 Cats" (44 Gatti): Master Cato, who is a master of the martial art Cat-Fu. And as long as I felt too lazy to try a decent background, I've add a Dharma Wheel in the background, a Buddhist symbol. I can imagine him as a Buddhist. Master Cato © Iginio Straffi

[jewishjanetandco]

the master’s chronic ailments:

migraines (throughout all of their lives, influenced by the drums but persist once the homing signal’s been removed)

sometimes lose vision in one of their eyes! it was terrifying when they were younger, but older selves (missy, dhawan, lumiat) are just annoyed by it

severe burns + intense pain (crispy incarnations)

back pain from missy stabbing simm (persists into dhawan’s incarnation)

very, very near-sighted; mostly wears contacts, but will wear dark sunglasses when their migraines are bad enough