#turkish smoking master

[turkishsmoker]

[vs120shound]

New for USA Smokers (Arizona, U.S.A.) is 18 y.o. Kylie who comes from the "country" somewhere near Tucson, Arizona. This is her debut post on the site and, of course, her introductory post here. Strong smoker. Beautiful Girl. Hope she is not a one-and-done'r!

NICE STYLE FOR KYLIE! A NEWCOMER FOR USA SMOKERS!

She is advertised as a "country girl!" Not sure what that exactly means. Is she from a rural community in Pima County? Is she from a bordering, sparsely populated area that emits a "country" vibe. Well, they smoke cigarettes there and some of their Smoking Angels might be on the young side. She shows a lot of promise. Let's see how her SF model/actress career unfolds for Clif, the web-master/web producer for USA Smokers. There's a plan. We just do not know what it is! And maybe it is already being modified!

We simply hope, stating here, that Kylie does not end up as a one-and-done'r! But that happens . . . and for a variety of reasons! We just have to trust the process and wish for the best! Kylie is between 17 and 19 y.o., the age of majority . . . and consent! Here is Clif's description of the video featuring Kylie (light editing throughout):

"Introducing new smoking model Kylie. Kylie is a cute 18 year old country girl with an innocent look and strong smoking style. She loves working with horses, being outdoors and smoking cigarettes. Kylie has that nice girl-next-door look, and she doesn’t look like a smoker, but she has been smoking approximately a pack a day for more than 3 years; "[In the video] Kylie smokes three Marlboro Reds and one Camel Turkish, always taking big drags and inhaling the smoke deep into her strong lungs. Serenity smokes with Kylie in two scenes showing off two heavy-smoking girlfriends who are enjoying their habit. Great smoking from this cutie, country girl Kylie!"

Our Centerpiece video was uploaded by Instagram@smokingwonderland7 on March 3, 2024! And here's praise from multi-platform author Micgio2 (Michele Giordano) who has an account on IG as well as on Smoking Fetish Kingdom. On the day of the @smokingwonderland7 upload a month ago, Micgio2 wrote: "Thanks! Kylie is a stunning model from @usasmokers who gets way too little attention! She's great!"

Photographs and GIF of Kylie!

From www.usasmokers.com . . .

Videoframes (Screen Captures) of Kylie!

Compiled by vs120shound staff!

Kylie is a Marlboro Gal, maybe even a Marlboro 100s Babe!

[mariana-oconnor]

The Illustrious Client pt 1

“It can't hurt now,” was Mr. Sherlock Holmes's comment when, for the tenth time in as many years, I asked his leave to reveal the following narrative.

Both Holmes and I had a weakness for the Turkish bath. It was over a smoke in the pleasant lassitude of the drying-room that I have found him less reticent and more human than anywhere else.

Right, yep. That tracks.

I had asked him whether anything was stirring, and for answer he had shot his long, thin, nervous arm out of the sheets which enveloped him...

Is this an actual Sherlock Holmes story, or is it porn? I'm finding it very difficult to tell at this point.

Sir James Damery was announced. It is hardly necessary to describe him, for many will remember that large, bluff, honest personality, that broad, clean-shaven face, and, above all, that pleasant, mellow voice. Frankness shone from his gray Irish eyes, and good humour played round his mobile, smiling lips. His lucent top-hat, his dark frock-coat, indeed, every detail, from the pearl pin in the black satin cravat to the lavender spats over the varnished shoes, spoke of the meticulous care in dress for which he was famous. The big, masterful aristocrat dominated the little room.

"It is hardly necessary to describe him." - proceeds to wax lyrican for 4 lengthy sentences.

Also, Watson is getting horny on main for this masterful aristocratic dom. This story is already so horny.

My mind is a bit stuck on the lavender spats, though. That is a definite choice.

“Of course, I was prepared to find Dr. Watson,” he remarked with a courteous bow. “His collaboration may be very necessary, for we are dealing on this occasion, Mr. Holmes, with a man to whom violence is familiar and who will, literally, stick at nothing. I should say that there is no more dangerous man in Europe."

Nice that he already knows about Watson, though. Strange how many people turn up and don't know who Watson is in spite of Watson writing all these stories.

“I have had several opponents to whom that flattering term has been applied,” said Holmes with a smile.

Haven't you, though?

“Mr. Holmes, I must beg you not to press that question. It is important that I should be able to assure him that his honoured name has been in no way dragged into the matter."

People in the early 20th century need to sort out their priorities. How often have we had a rich client that doesn't want to tell anyone anything because of SCANDAL, but they still want their problem solved, don't they?

“He has a daughter, Violet de Merville, young, rich, beautiful, accomplished, a wonder-woman in every way. It is this daughter, this lovely, innocent girl, whom we are endeavouring to save from the clutches of a fiend.”

What is it with girls called Violet? The others, iirc, were at least pretty smart and on the ball. Hopefully this one will be too. It's an ill-fated name in these stories, though.

Colonel Damery needs to chill out about her, though. He's getting a little excessive.

Can't believe I only just noticed he's a colonel. And he doesn't appear to be the bad guy. Will wonders never cease? Maybe ACD overcame his prejudices.

"She dotes upon him; she is obsessed by him. Outside of him there is nothing on earth. She will not hear one word against him. Everything has been done to cure her of her madness, but in vain. To sum up, she proposes to marry him next month. As she is of age and has a will of iron, it is hard to know how to prevent her.”

Guys... I think maybe you've got to let her marry him. I know he murdered his last wife and all, but there comes a point where you've just got to accept that people don't want your help.

Clearly I'm not in a very generous mood today. Lol.

"My client, however, is an old friend, one who has known the General intimately for many years and taken a paternal interest in this young girl since she wore short frocks."

Oh, it's her gay dad. OK. That makes sense.

"I rather fancy that Shinwell Johnson might be a help.” I have not had occasion to mention Shinwell Johnson in these memoirs because I have seldom drawn my cases from the latter phases of my friend's career.

New character alert.

...but as he dealt with cases which never came directly into the courts, his activities were never realized by his companions.

I really hope he's already dead, because if he's not I bet his companions are about to realise his activities pretty damn quick.

“Who knows, Watson? Woman's heart and mind are insoluble puzzles to the male. Murder might be condoned or explained, and yet some smaller offence might rankle."

"He has breeding in him—a real aristocrat of crime, with a superficial suggestion of afternoon tea and all the cruelty of the grave behind it."

Love this line.

“‘Excuse my amusement, Mr. Holmes,’ said he, ‘but it is really funny to see you trying to play a hand with no cards in it. I don't think anyone could do it better, but it is rather pathetic, all the same. Not a colour card there, Mr. Holmes, nothing but the smallest of the small.’"

Why do these villains always insist on acting like villains? Surely it's always better to pretend not to be a villain until the last possible moment.

"'You have heard of post-hypnotic suggestion, Mr. Holmes? Well, you will see how it works, for a man of personality can use hypnotism without any vulgar passes or tomfoolery.'"

He's literally just coming out with 'she's hypnotised btw'??

Holmes came in with no cards and you're just telling him everything, huh?

And then a direct threat? Twirl your moustaches, my man. Why not laugh maniacally while you're at it.

IMPORTANT ADDITION FROM THE SECRETARIAL CAT: aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaggggggyhhfd

hhhhhhegwuyikkkkkkkkkkl;;pppppppp

[pwlanier]

Nikolai Gerene (1810 - not before 1871)

INTERIOR

1830

The watercolour by the Moscow artist Nikolai Gerene depicts the exotic “Oriental” interior of a room in a classical mansion. It is a clear manifestation of the passion for the East that arose in Russia at the end of the 18th century. In the 1820s and 1830s (during the Caucasian and Russo-Turkish wars) it reached a climax: there was a fashion for “Oriental” boudoirs, and Turkish smoking rooms or divan rooms.

Mediaeval suits of armour – helmets, a metal breastplate, chain armour and gloves – hang on the walls of the room decorated with the paisley motif. There are both European and Oriental weapons: round Asian shields, daggers, scimitars in scabbards, bows and quivers with arrows, war horns, saddles, stirrups and much more. In the room there is a wide sofa covered with lion and tiger skins; in front of it is a carpet decorated with arabesques. The master of the house is depicted on the sofa wearing a beshmet, a Circassian coat and a headdress typical of the North Caucasus. He is smoking a hookah, next to him is a tobacco-holder with an open lid. On both sides of the sofa, near the walls, there are pieces of furniture new to the Russian way of life: racks with long smoking pipes, Chibouks. At the sofa there is a pouffe with a pet monkey that peacefully coexists with a lap dog. A sea shell, a skull, and glass and porcelain vessels are placed on the shelf; Chinese vases stand on pedestals in the corners of the room.

The combination of the armoury room in the spirit of European chivalry with Oriental exotics testifies to the desire of the young and undoubtedly educated master of the house to follow the dictates of the latest fashion. It is no coincidence that the statuette of Napoleon in the next room noticed by the artist proves it. According to Pyotr Vyazemsky, “you inevitably come across it in the den of every curious and reflective contemporary”.

Tretyakov Gallery

[mywifeleftme]

211: Erkin Koray // Arap Saçı

Arap Saçı Erkin Koray 2021, Pharaway Sounds

Pharaway Sounds’ Arap Saçı (Arab Hair) collects 24 Erkin Koray tracks originally issued as singles between 1968 and 1976. Koray is best known in the West for his groundbreaking fusion of Anatolian/Arabic folk and classical with crunching psychedelic rock on his 1974 debut LP Elektronik Türküler. However, as Angela Sawyer’s tart liner notes observe, Turkey was predominantly a singles market at the time, and back home Koray did most of his damage on 7”. The limitations of the format, and the preferences of Koray’s record company, preclude the kind of long-form acid voyages he undertook on Elektronik Türküler, but he's able to generate plenty of smoke on these “pop” singles.

Highlights abound. Arap Saçı kicks off with 1973’s “Mesafaler” (“Distances”), a scorching psych banger complete with cowbell that only stops rocking to periodically gawp and stare fixedly into space for 20 or 30 seconds at a time before shaking itself awake to get back to business. (Is there footage of a Turkish TV performance featuring liquid light art? You bet your hairy ass there is.)

The waltzing, organ and hand drum-led “Komşu Kızı” (“Girl Nextdoor”) is a classic melancholy Middle Eastern ballad that hides a wild, surprising drop two-thirds of the way through; Koray freaks “Aşka İnanmıyorum” (“I Do Not Believe in Love”) with his insinuating croon and serpentine guitar licks; “Istemem” (“I Do Not Want”) mixes a light-stepping folk beat with some stinging solos that aren’t too far off what Uli Jon Roth would get up to in Germany with Scorpions a few years later. There really isn’t a bum track to be found.

This new compilation covers much of the same ground as the ‘70s Erkin Koray (AKA Mesafaler) and Erkin Koray 2 (AKA Şaşkın) singles compilations, and Pharaway Sounds opts to follow their track sequencing as closely as possible—a good choice, as they had a great flow, though a bit frustrating for those hoping to track Koray’s musical development chronologically. Regardless, we know that Koray was exposed to Western music as a young age, learning Occidental classical music on the piano as a child and discovering rock ‘n’ roll as a teen. According to the liners, Koray was performing songs by Elvis, Fats Domino, and Jerry Lee Lewis in the late ‘50s, and by the late ‘60s, when he began to emerge as a recording artist, he’d clearly imbibed industrial quantities of Hendrix, Cream, and the other usual psychonauts.

In a previous review, I briefly contrasted Koray with Egypt’s Omar Khorshid, a fellow guitar god and contemporary pioneer in electrified Arabic music. Khorshid had some familiarity with Western pop music, but he was working with the top stars in Arab folk and classical, using electric instruments to push traditional Eastern music forward rather than to fuse it with rock. Koray on the other hand was a long-haired freak who claims to have fought in the streets with a knife and joined Anglo-American-inspired combos with names like Mustard (Hardal) and Sweat (Ter). By the late ‘60s rock had become popular in Turkey, as had Arabesk music, which Sawyer describes as “a purposely uncouth… appropriation of Arabic pop and folk, popular with rural or marginalized folks who were suddenly encountering pockets of urbanized Europe in their backyard.” Koray intuitively crossbred the invasive genre (rock) with the reactionary one (Arabesk) and found himself one of the fathers of a powerful new mongrel breed of psych music.

By reissuing both Elektronik Türküler and these essential singles, Pharaway Sounds has done a real service to psych and non-Western rock aficionados. Koray makes a great gateway to the other masters of ‘70s Anatolian folk-rock, including Selda, Moğollar, and Barış Manço, a loose affiliation of artists that has been one of my most prized discoveries of recent years.

211/365

[werexcat]

A VERY DESCRIPTIVE PROFILE OF YOUR MUSE. Repost with the information of your muse, including headcanons, etc. if you fail to achieve some of the facts, add some other of your own!

NAME: "Howl" / Real Name Unknown.

NICKNAME: Howl, Dog, Mutt.

TITLE(S):  None.

AGE: appears to be 30s ( is 45).

SPECIES: Genetically Altered Humanoid. (Dog/German Shepherd, mainly. Also: Grizzly Bear, Wolf.)

SEX: Cis-male.

NATIONALITY: Howl is of Turkish and Japanese (IIRC) descent.

INTERESTS: Hunting, exploring, the sun, the sky, animals, grass, forests, and smells / scents.

PROFESSION: Enforcer / Soldier ( "retired". )

BODY TYPE: Howl's body is rather muscular with long-ish legs, powerful thighs, and equally powerful biceps/triceps packed with powerful. Despite being more compact than the average man--roughly 6 feet in the city--his build is one of power that's easy to notice.

As a dog--a void pupper if you will (coined by @airxn), his face appears long as a side profile with long, upright pointing ears with an obvious canine body and tail. The first thing that comes to mind when seen is that he's a rather soft and fluffy dog with his trademark scar!

EYES: Dark eyes with slitted pupils that are not human like at all.

HAIR: A full head of thick black hair that is usually tied into a ponytail or braided ponytail.

SKIN: Deeply tanned skin that doesn't burn easily, but is rather scarred.

POSTURE: Howl's posture can be described as relaxed.

HEIGHT: 5'9"

VOICE: Unavailable.

SIGNATURE OUTFIT: His black collar, black leather jacket, black crop-top, black leather pants, black leather belt, and leather ankle boots with a pointed toe and a steel heel. He doesn't own anything else actually.

SIGNIFICANT OTHER: He's never had one. [ I'd like one for him though tbh. ]

COMPANIONS: There's no one.

ANTAGONISTS: The Major, The Master, and the rest of the Dogs.

STRENGTHS: Incredible physical strength, stamina, acrobatics, and swordplay.

The Japanese sword that Howl owns has a heated edge (when unsheathed) which is a weapon that he prefers. HOWEVER, he's a brawler as well--excelling at hand-to-hand combat as a [ former ] star within the Master's ranks, and would brawl before he had to use his sword.

WEAKNESSES: He's very protective and that can be used against him.

FRUITS: All sorts of fruit is good!

DRINKS: Water.

ALCOHOLIC BEVERAGES: Beer is yucky, but deceptive drinks will get him into trouble...

SMOKES: no!!!

DRUGS: no???

DRIVER'S LICENSE: This guy doesn't know how to drive and doesn't like cars...

Tagged By: @airxn, thanks luri /o/ !!

Tagging: @icharibaxchode's Ed, @gunslinginnhogtyin, and @splinter-sister!

[vs120shound-2]

Hoping she becomes a mainstay with the handful of YouTube webpages based in Turkey and that feature BHYSWs (Beautiful Hot, Young Smoking Women). She has potential to become "Queen Bee!"

RADIANT BEAUTY!

From YouTube's "Smoke girl 🚬 " webpage in mid-October 2023

Unnamed, unknown and unidentified ultra-gorgeous brunette teenager from Turkey whose debut in the Greater SF World Community was on October 9, 2023. Believe the web-master/web producer for this webpage is run by @sebstianko1051 whose handiwork has been on or still is with a handful of these YT webpages whose content is driven by Bigo Live! feeds.

[kingmabry]

_*Experiences with Maha Periyava: Paul Brunton’s search for his Master*_

*Very Long but worth reading till the end.*

About the time of tiffin, that is, tea and biscuits, the servant announces a visitor. The latter proves to be a fellow member of the ink-stained fraternity, to wit, the writer Venkataramani. Several letters of introduction lie where I have thrown them, at the bottom of my trunk. I have no desire to use them. This is in response to a curious whim that it might be better to tempt whatever gods there be to do their best – or worst. However, I used one in Bombay, preparatory to beginning my quest, and I used another in Madras because I have been charged to deliver a personal message with it. And thus, this second note has brought Venkataramani to my door. He is a member of the Senate of Madras University, but he is better known as the author of talented essays and novels of village life. He is the first Hindu writer in Madras Presidency, who uses the medium of English, to be publicly presented with an inscribed ivory shield because of his services to literature.

He writes in a delicate style of such merit as to win high commendation from Rabindranath Tagore in India and from the late Lord Haldane in England. His prose is piled with beautiful metaphors, but his stories tell of the melancholy life of neglected villages.

As he enters the room I look at his tall, lean person, his small head with its tiny tuft of hair, his small chin and bespectacled eyes. They are the eyes of a thinker, an idealist and a poet combined. Yet the sorrows of suffering peasants are reflected in their sad irises. We soon find ourselves on several paths of common interest. After we have compared notes about most things, after we have contemptuously pulled politics to pieces and swung the censers of adoration before our favourite authors, I am suddenly impressed to reveal to him the real reason of my Indian visit. I tell him with perfect frankness what my object is; I ask him about the whereabouts of any real Yogis who possess demonstrable attainments; and I warn him that I am not especially interested in meeting dirt-besmeared ascetics or juggling faqueers.

He bows his head and then shakes it negatively. “India is no longer the land of such men. With the increasing materialism of our country, its wide degeneration on one hand and the impact of unspiritual Western culture on the other, the men you are seeking, the great masters, have all but disappeared. Yet I firmly believe that some exist in retirement, in lonely forests perhaps, but unless you devote a whole lifetime to the search, you will find them with the greatest difficulty. When my fellow Indians undertake such a quest as yours, they have to roam far and wide nowadays.

Then how much harder will it be for a European?”

“Then you hold out little hope?” I ask.

“Well, one cannot say. You may be fortunate.”

Something moves me to put a sudden question:

“Have you heard of a master who lives in the mountains of North Arcot?”

He shakes his head. Our talk wanders back to literary topics. I offer him a cigarette, but he excuses himself from smoking. I light one for myself and while I inhale the fragrant smoke of the Turkish weed, Venkataramani pours out his heart in passionate praise of the fast disappearing ideals of old Hindu culture. He makes reference to such ideas as simplicity of living, service of the community, leisurely existence and spiritual aims. He wants to lop off parasitic stupidities which grow on the body of Indian society. The biggest thing in his mind, however, is his vision of saving the half-million villages of India from becoming mere recruiting centres for the slums of large industrialized towns. Though this menace is more remote than real, his prophetic insight and memory of Western industrial history sees this as a certain result of present day

Trends. Venkataramani tells me that he was born in a family with a property near one of the oldest villages of South India, and he greatly lamented the cultural decay and material poverty into which village life had fallen. He loves to hatch out schemes for the betterment of the simple village folk, and he refuses to be happy whilst they are unhappy. I listen quietly in the attempt to understand his viewpoint. Finally, he rises to go and I watch his tall thin form disappear down the road.

Early next morning I am surprised to receive an unexpected visit from him. His carriage rushes hastily to the gate, for he fears that I might be out. “I received a message late last night that my greatest patron is staying for one day at Chingleput,” he bursts out. After he has recovered his breath, he continues: “His Holiness Shri Shankara Acharya of Kumbakonam is the Spiritual Head of South India. Millions of people revere him as one of God’s teachers. It happens that he has taken a great interest in me and has encouraged my literary career, and of course he is the one to whom I look for spiritual advice. I may now tell you what I refrained from mentioning yesterday. We regard him as a master of the highest spiritual attainment. But he is not a Yogi. He is the Primate of the Southern Hindu world, a true saint and great religious philosopher. Because he is fully aware of most of the spiritual currents of our time, and because of his own attainment, he has probably an exceptional knowledge of the real Yogis. He travels a good deal from village to village and from city to city, so that he is particularly well informed on such matters. Wherever he goes, the holy men come to him to pay their respects. He could probably give you some useful advice. Would you like to visit him?”

“That is extremely kind of you. I shall gladly go. How far is Chingleput?”

“Only thirty-five miles from here. But stay?”

”Yes?”

“I begin to doubt whether His Holiness would grant you an audience. Of course I shall do my utmost to persuade him.

But “”I am a European!” I finish the sentence for him. “I understand.”

” You will take the risk of a rebuff?” he asks, a little anxiously.

“Certainly. Let us go.”

After a light meal we set out for Chingleput. I ply my literary companion with questions about the man I hope to see this day. I learn that Shri Shankara lives a life of almost ascetic plainness as regards food and clothing, but the dignity of his high office requires him to move in regal panoply when travelling. He is followed then by a retinue of mounted elephants and camels, pundits and their pupils, heralds and camp followers generally. Wherever he goes he becomes the magnet for crowds of visitors from the surrounding localities. They come for spiritual, mental, physical and financial assistance. Thousands of rupees are daily laid at his feet by the rich, but because he has taken the vow of poverty, this income is applied to worthy purposes. He relieves the poor, assists education, repairs decaying temples and improves the condition of those artificial rain-fed pools which are so useful in the riverless tracts of South India. His mission, however, is primarily spiritual. At every stopping-place he endeavours to inspire the people to a deeper understanding of their heritage of Hinduism, as well as to elevate their hearts and minds. He usually gives a discourse at the local temple and then privately answers the multitude of querents who flock to him. I learn that Shri Shankara is the sixty-sixth bearer of the title in direct line of succession from the original Shankara. To get his office and power into the right perspective within my mind, I am forced to ask Venkataramani several questions about the founder of the line.

It appears that the first Shankara flourished over one thousand years ago, and that he was one of the greatest of the historical Brahmin sages. He might be described as a rational mystic, and as a philosopher of first rank. He found the Hinduism of his time in a disordered and decrepit state, with its spiritual vitality fast fading. It seems that he was born for a mission. From the age of eighteen he wandered throughout India on foot, arguing with the intelligentsia and the priests of every district through which he passed, teaching the doctrines of his own creation, and acquiring a considerable following. His intellect was so acute that, usually, he was more than a match for those he met. He was fortunate enough to be accepted and honoured as a prophet during his lifetime, and not after the life had flickered out of his throat. He was a man with many purposes. Although he championed the chief religion of his country, he strongly condemned the pernicious practices which had grown up under its cloak. He tried to bring people into the way of virtue and exposed the futility of mere reliance on ornate rituals, unaccompanied by personal effort. He broke the rules of caste by performing the obsequies at the death of his own mother, for which the priests excommunicated him. This fearless young man was a worthy successor to Buddha, the first famous caste breaker. In opposition to the priests he taught that every human being, irrespective of caste or colour, could attain to the grace of God and to knowledge of the highest Truth. He founded no special creed but held that every religion was a path to God, if sincerely held and followed into its mystic inwardness. He elaborated a complete and subtle system of philosophy in order to prove his points. He has left a large literary legacy, which is honoured in every city of sacred learning throughout the country. The pundits greatly treasure his philosophical and religious bequest, although they naturally quibble and quarrel over its meaning.

Shankara travelled throughout India wearing an ochre robe and carrying a pilgrim’s staff. As a clever piece of strategy, he established four great institutions at the four points of the compass. There was one at Badrinath in the North, at Puri in the East, and so on. The central headquarters, together with a temple and monastery, were established in the South, where he began his work. To this day the South has remained the holy of holies of Hinduism. From these institutions there would emerge, when the rainy seasons were over, trained bands of monks who travelled the country to carry Shankara’s message.

This remarkable man died at the early age of thirty-two, though one legend has it that he simply disappeared. The value of this information becomes apparent when I learn that his successor, whom I am to see this day, carries on the same work and the same teaching. In this connection, there exists a strange tradition. The first Shankara promised his disciples that he would still abide with them in spirit, and that he would accomplish this by the mysterious process of “overshadowing” his successors. A somewhat similar theory is attached to the office of the Grand Lama of Tibet. The predecessor in office, during his last dying moments, names the one worthy to follow him. The selected person is usually a lad of tender years, who is then taken in hand by the best teachers available and given a thorough training to fit him for his exalted post. His training is not only religious and intellectual, but also along the lines of higher Yoga and meditation practices. This training is then followed by a life of great activity in the service of his people. It is a singular fact that through all the many centuries this line has been established, not a single holder of the title has ever been known to have other than the highest and the most selfless character.

Venkataramani embellishes his narrative with stories of the remarkable gifts which Shri Shankara the Sixty-sixth possesses. There is an account of the miraculous healing of his own cousin. The latter has been crippled by rheumatism and confined to his bed for many years. Shri Shankara visits him, touches his body, and within three hours the invalid is so far better that he gets out of bed; soon, he is completely cured. There is the further assertion that His Holiness is credited with the power of reading the thoughts of other persons; at any rate, Venkataramani fully believes this to be true.

We enter Chingleput through a palm-fringed highway and find it a tangle of whitewashed houses, huddled red roofs and narrow lanes. We get down and walk into the centre of the city, where large crowds are gathered together. I am taken into a house where a group of secretaries are busily engaged handling the huge correspondence which follows His Holiness from his headquarters at Kumbakonam. I wait in a chairless anteroom while Venkataramani sends one of the secretaries with a message to Shri Shankara. More than half an hour passes before the man returns with the reply that the audience I seek cannot be granted. His Holiness does not see his way to receiving a European; moreover, there are two hundred people waiting for interviews already. Many persons have been staying in the town overnight in order to secure their interviews. The secretary is profuse in his apologies.

I philosophically accept the situation, but Venkataramani says that he will try to get into the presence of His Holiness as a privileged friend, and then plead my cause. Several members of the crowd murmur unpleasantly when they become aware of his intention to pass into the coveted house out of his turn. After much talk and babbling explanations, hewins through. He returns eventually, smiling and victorious.

“His Holiness will make a special exception in your case. He will see you in about one hour’s time.”

I fill the time with some idle wandering in the picturesque lanes which run down to the chief temple. I meet some servants who are leading a train of grey elephants and big buffbrown camels to a drinking-place. Someone points out to me the magnificent animal which carries the Spiritual Head of South India on his travels. He rides in regal fashion, borne aloft in an opulent howdah on the back of a tall elephant. It is finely covered with ornate trappings, rich cloths and gold embroideries. I watch the dignified old creature step forward along the street. Its trunk coils up and comes down again as it passes.

Remembering the time-worn custom which requires one to bring a little offering of fruits, flowers or sweetmeats whenvisiting a spiritual personage, I procure a gift to place before my august host. Oranges and flowers are the only things in sight and I collect as much as I can conveniently carry. In the crowd which presses outside His Holiness’s temporary residence, I forget another important custom. “Remove your shoes,” Venkataramani reminds me promptly. I take them off and leave them out in the street, hoping that they will still be there when I return!

We pass through a tiny doorway and enter a bare anteroom. At the far end there is a dimly lit enclosure, where I behold a short figure standing in the shadows. I approach closer to him, put down my little offering and bow low in salutation. There is an artistic value in this ceremony which greatly appeals to me, apart from its necessity as an expression of respect and as a harmless courtesy. I know well that Shri Shankara is no Pope, for there is no such thing in Hinduism, but he is teacher and inspirer of a religious flock of vast dimensions. The whole of South India bows to his tutelage.

I look at him in silence. This short man is clad in the ochrecoloured robe of a monk and leans his weight on a friar’s staff. I have been told that he is on the right side of forty, hence I am surprised to find his hair quite grey. His noble face, pictured in grey and brown, takes an honoured place in the long portrait gallery of my memory. That elusive element which the French aptly term spirituel is present in this face. His expression is modest and mild, the large dark eyes being extraordinarily tranquil and beautiful. The nose is short, straight and classically regular. There is a rugged little beard on his chin, and the gravity of his mouth is most noticeable. Such a face might have belonged to one of the saints who graced the Christian Church during the Middle Ages, except that this one possesses the added quality of intellectuality.

I suppose we of the practical West would say that he has the eyes of a dreamer. Somehow, I feel in an inexplicable way that there is something more than mere dreams behind those heavy lids.

“Your Holiness has been very kind to receive me,” I remark, by way of introduction. He turns to my companion, the writer, and says something in the vernacular. I guess its meaning correctly.

“His Holiness understands your English, but he is too afraid that you will not understand his own. So he prefers to have me translate his answers,” says Venkataramani.

I shall sweep through the earlier phases of this interview, because they are more concerned with myself than with this Hindu Primate. He asks about my personal experiences in the country; he is very interested in ascertaining the exact impressions which Indian people and institutions make upon a foreigner. I give him my candid impressions, mixing praise and criticism freely and frankly. The conversation then flows into wider channels and I am much surprised to find that he regularly reads English newspapers, and that he is well informed upon current affairs in the outside world. Indeed, he is not unaware of what the latest noise at Westminster is about, and he knows also through what painful travail the troublous infant of democracy is passing in Europe.

I remember Venkataramani’s firm belief that Shri Shankara possesses prophetic insight. It touches my fancy to press for some opinion about the world’s future.

“When do you think that the political and economic conditions everywhere will begin to improve?”

“A change for the better is not easy to come by quickly,” he replies. ” It is a process which must needs take some time. How can things improve when the nations spend more each year on the weapons of death?”

“There is nevertheless much talk of disarmament to-day. Does that count?”

“If you scrap your battleships and let your cannons rust that will not stop war. People will continue to fight, even if they have to use sticks!”

“But what can be done to help matters?”

“Nothing but spiritual understanding between one nation and another, and between rich and poor, will produce goodwill and thus bring real peace and prosperity.”

“That seems far off. Our outlook is hardly cheerful, then?”

His Holiness rests his arm a little more heavily upon his staff.

“There is still God,” he remarks gently.

” If there is, He seems very far away,” I boldly protest.

“God has nothing but love towards mankind,” comes the soft answer.

“Judging by the unhappiness and wretchedness which afflict the world to-day, He has nothing but indifference,”

I break out impulsively, unable to keep the bitter force of irony out of my voice. His Holiness looks at me strangely. Immediately I regret my hasty words.

“The eyes of a patient man see deeper. God will use human instruments to adjust matters at the appointed hour. The turmoil among nations, the moral wickedness among people and the suffering of miserable millions will provoke, as a reaction, some great divinely inspired man to come to the rescue. In this sense, every century has its own saviour. The process works like a law of physics. The greater the wretchedness caused by spiritual ignorance, materialism, the greater will be the man who will arise to help the world.”

“Then do you expect someone to arise in our time, too?”

” In our century,” he corrects. “Assuredly. The need of the world is so great and its spiritual darkness is so thick, that an inspired man of God will surely arise.”

“Is it your opinion, then, that men are becoming more degraded?” I query.

“No, I do not think so,” he replied tolerantly. “There is an indwelling divine soul in man which, in the end, must bring him back to God.”

“But there are ruffians in our Western cities who behave as though there were indwelling demons in them,” I counter, thinking of the modern gangster.

“Do not blame people so much as the environments into which they are born. Their surroundings and circumstances force them to become worse than they really are. That is true of both the East and West. Society must be brought into tune with a higher note. Materialism must be balanced by idealism; there is no other real cure for the world’s difficulties. The troubles into which countries are everywhere being plunged are really the agonies which will force this change, just as failure is frequently a sign-post pointing to another road.”

“You would like people to introduce spiritual principles into their worldly dealings, then?”

“Quite so. It is not impracticable, because it is the only way to bring about results which will satisfy everyone in the end, and which will not speedily disappear. And if there were more men who had found spiritual light in the world, it would spread more quickly. India, to its honour, supports and respects its spiritual men, though less so than in former times. If all the world were to do the same, and to take its guidance from men of spiritual vision, then all the world would soon find peace and grow prosperous.”

Our conversation trails on. I am quick to notice that Shri Shankara does not decry the West in order to exalt the East, as so many in his land do. He admits that each half of the globe possesses its own set of virtues and vices, and that in this way they are roughly equal! He hopes that a wiser generation will fuse the best points of Asiatic and European civilizations into a higher and balanced social scheme.

I drop the subject and ask permission for some personal questions. It is granted without difficulty.

“How long has Your Holiness held this title?”

“Since 1907. At that time I was only twelve years old. Four years after my appointment I retired to a village on the banks of the Cauvery, where I gave myself up to meditation and study for three years. Then only did my public work begin.”

“You rarely remain at your headquarters in Kumbakonam I take it?”

“The reason for that is that I was invited by the Maharajah of Nepal in 1918 to be his guest for a while. I accepted and since then have been travelling slowly towards his state in the far north. But see! – during all those years I have not been able to advance more than a few hundred miles, because the tradition of my office requires that I stay in every village and town which I pass on the route or which invites me, if it is not too far off. I must give a spiritual discourse in the local temple and some teaching to the inhabitants.”

I broach the matter of my quest and His Holiness questions me about the different Yogis or holy men I have so far met. After that, I frankly tell him: “I would like to meet someone who has high attainments in Yoga and can give some sort of proof or demonstration of them. There are many of your holy men who can only give one more talk when they are asked for this proof. Am I asking too much?”

The tranquil eyes meet mine. There is a pause for a whole minute. His Holiness fingers his beard.

” If you are seeking initiation into real Yoga of the higher kind, then you are not seeking too much. Your earnestness will help you, while I can perceive the strength of your determination; but a light is beginning to awaken within you which will guide you to what you want, without doubt.”

I am not sure whether I correctly understand him. “So far I have depended on myself for guidance. Even some of your ancient sages say that there is no other god than that which is within ourselves,” I hazard.

And the answer swiftly comes: “God is everywhere. How can one limit Him to one’s own self? He supports the entire universe.”

I feel that I am getting out of my depth and immediately turn the talk away from this semi-theological strain.

“What is the most practical course for me to take?”

“Go on with your travels. When you have finished them, think of the various Yogis and holy men you have met; then pick out the one who makes most appeal to you. Return to him, and he will surely bestow his initiation upon you.”

I look at his calm profile and admire its singular serenity.

“But suppose, Your Holiness, that none of them makes sufficient appeal to me. What then? ”

“In that case you will have to go on alone until God Himself initiates you. Practise meditation regularly; contemplate the higher things with love in your heart; think often of the soul and that will help to bring you to it. The best time to practise is the hour of waking; the next best time is the hour of twilight. The world is calmer at those times and will disturb your meditations less.”

He gazes benevolently at me. I begin to envy the saintly peace which dwells on his bearded face. Surely, his heart has never known the devastating upheavals which have scarred mine? I am stirred to ask him impulsively:

”If I fail, may I then turn to you for assistance?”

Shri Shankara gently shakes his head. “I am at the head of a public institution, a man whose time no longer belongs to himself. My activities demand almost all my time. For years I have spent only three hours in sleep each night. How can I take personal pupils? You must find a master who devotes his time to them.”

“But I am told that real masters are rare, and that a European is unlikely to find them.”

He nods his assent to my statement, but adds:

“Truth exists. It can be found.”

“Can you not direct me to such a master, one who you know is competent to give me proofs of the reality of higher Yoga?”

His Holiness does not reply till after an interval of protracted silence.

“Yes. I know of only two masters in India who could give you what you wish. One of them lives in Benares, hidden away in a large house, which is itself hidden among spacious grounds. Few people are permitted to obtain access to him; certainly, no European has yet been able to intrude upon his seclusion. I could send you to him, but I fear that he may refuse to admit a European.”

“And the other?” My interest is strangely stirred.

“The other man lives in the interior, farther south. I visited him once and know him to be a high master. I recommend that you go to him.”

“Who is he?”

“He is called the Maharishee. I have not met him, but know him to be a high master. Shall I provide you with full instructions, so that you may discover him?”

A picture flashes suddenly before my mind’s eye. I see the yellow-robed friar, who has vainly persuaded me to accompany him to his teacher. I hear him murmuring the name of a hill. It is: “The Hill of the Holy Beacon.”

“Many thanks, Your Holiness,” I rejoin, “but I have a guide who comes from the place.”

“Then you will go there?”

I hesitate.

“All arrangements have been made for my departure from the South to-morrow,” I mutter uncertainly.

” I n that case I have a request to make.”

“With pleasure.”

“Promise me that you will not leave South India before you have met the Maharishee.”

I read in his eyes a sincere desire to help me. The promise is given.

A benignant smile crosses his face.

“Do not be anxious. You shall discover that which you seek.”

A murmur from the crowd which is in the street penetrates the house.

“I have taken up too much of your valuable time,” I apologize. ” I am indeed sorry.”

Shri Shankara’s grave mouth relaxes. He follows me into the ante-room and whispers something into the ear of my companion. I catch my name in the sentence. At the door I turn to bow in farewell salutation. His Holiness calls me back to receive a parting message: “You shall always remember me, and I shall always remember you!”

And so, hearing these cryptic and puzzling words, I reluctantly withdraw from this interesting man, whose entire life has been dedicated to God from childhood. He is a pontiff who cares not for worldly power, because he has renounced all and resigned all. Whatever material things are given to him, he at once gives again to those who need them. His beautiful and gentle personality will surely linger in my memory.

I wander about Chingleput till evening, exploring its artistic, old-world beauty, and then seek a final glimpse of His Holiness before returning home. I find him in the largest temple of the city. The slim, modest, yellow-robed figure is addressing a huge concourse of men, women and children. Utter silence prevails among the large audience. I cannot understand his vernacular words, but I can understand that he is holding the deep attention of all present, from the intellectual Brahmin to the illiterate peasant. I do not know, but I hazard the guess that he speaks on the profoundest topics in the simplest manner, for such is the character I read in him.

And yet, though I appreciate his beautiful soul, I envy the simple faith of his vast audience. Life, apparently, never brings them deep moods of doubt. God is; and there the matter ends. They do not appear to know what it means to go through dark nights of the soul, when the world seems like the grim scene of a jungle-like struggle; when God recedes into shadowy nothingness; and when man’s own existence seems nothing more than a fitful passage across this small, transient fragment of the universe which we call Earth. We drive out of Chingleput under an indigo sky gemmed with stars. I listen to palms majestically waving their branches over the water’s edge in an unexpected breeze.

My companion suddenly breaks the silence between us.

“You are indeed lucky!”

“Why?”

“Because this is the first interview which His Holiness has granted to a European writer.”

“Well?”

“That brings his blessing upon you!”

It is nearly midnight when I return home. I take a last glimpse overhead. The stars stud the vast dome of the sky in countless myriads. Nowhere in Europe can one see them in such overwhelming numbers. I run up the steps leading to the veranda, flashing my pocket torch. Out of the darkness, a crouching figure rises and greets me.

“Subramanya!” I exclaim, startled. “What are you doing here?” The ochre-robed Yogi indulges in one of his tremendous grins.

“Did I not promise to visit you, Sir?” He reminds me reproachfully.

“Of course!”

In the large room, I fire a question at him. “Your master – is he called the Maharishee?”

It is now his turn to draw back, astonished.

“How do you know, sir? Where could you have learnt this?”

“Never mind. To-morrow we both start for his place.

“This is joyful news, sir.”

“But I shall not stay there long, though. A few days, maybe.”

I fling a few more questions at him during the next half-hour, and then, thoroughly tired, go to bed. Subramanya is quite content to sleep on a piece of palm matting which lies on the floor. He wraps himself up in a thin cotton cloth, which serves at once as a mattress, sheet and blanket, and disdains my offer of more comfortable bedding.

The next thing of which I am aware is suddenly awakening. The room is totally dark. I feel my nerves strangely tense.The atmosphere around me seems like electrified air. I pull my watch from under the pillow and, by the glow of its radium-lit dial, discover the time to be a quarter to three. It is then that I become conscious of some bright object at the foot of the bed. I immediately sit up and look straight at it. My astounded gaze meets the face and form of His Holiness Shri Shankara. It is clearly and unmistakably visible. He does not appear to be some ethereal ghost, but rather a solid human being. There is a mysterious luminosity around the figure which separates it from the surrounding darkness. Surely the vision is an impossible one? Have I not left him at Chingleput? I close my eyes tightly in an effort to test the matter. There is no difference and I still see him quite plainly! Let it suffice that I receive the sense of a benign and friendly presence. I open my eyes and regard the kindly figure in the loose yellow robe.

The face alters, for the lips smile and seem to say: “Be humble and then you shall find what you seek!”

Why do I feel that a living human being is thus addressing me? Why do I not regard it as a ghost, at least?

The vision disappears as mysteriously as it has come. It leaves me feeling exalted, happy and unperturbed by its supernormal nature. Shall I dismiss it as a dream? What matters it?

There is no more sleep for me this night. I lie awake pondering over the day’s meeting, over the memorable interview with His Holiness Shri Shankara of Kumbakonam, the Hierarch of God to the simple people of South India.

[dustedmagazine]

Listed: Immaterial Possession

Photo by Jessica Gratigny

Immaterial Possession puts the viscerality of bass-driven rock, the hypnotic drone of East European folk and the dippy energy of art punk into a blender lets it whirr.  The Athens, Georgia band—comprised of Cooper Holmes, Madeline Polites, John Spiegel and Elephant 6 scion Kiran Fernandes—met at an arts commune.  Their self-titled debut came out in 2020, and the follow-up, Mercy of the Crane Folk, this year. Reviewing it, Jennifer Kelly noted that, “If you’ve ever wondered what the B-52s might sound like on a serious Incredible String Band bender, well, possibly a lot like Mercy of the Crane Folk.”

Selda “Gitme”

Selda is the queen, a 1970s Turkish songwriter, political activist and cultural icon. This song has such great energy. You immediately blast off on the Turkish spaceship to the cosmic love song.. the desperation in Selda's powerful voice steers you.  (Madeline)

The Stranglers, “Hanging Around”

Love this track and whole record Rattus Norvegicus for its up-front, guttural driving bass lines and menacing vocals. The keyboard runs ascending into the air counter the low earthiness. The record cover is also a perfect fit for the music, classy yet dingy, calm but aggressive, mysterious but mundane. (Cooper)

Isaan style street music from Bangkok 

Isaan music from Northeastern Thailand is some of the coolest music ever.. it's got the perfect blend of psychedelia, folk, improvisation, and party rhythm. And it's for all occasions. (Madeline)

The players are effortlessly cool too. Almost anything we find in this genre gets us going. (Cooper)

Bizunesh Bekele, “Debdabe Lakibign”

This video is one of my favorite tracks lately. I love the shuffle beat with the overdriven krar, a six-stringed harp, and the sweet synth licks mixed with the vocal. (Kiran Fernandes)

Hany Mehannah, “Shahr Al Assal”

Super groovy 1970s Egyptian music, scored for film. This is one of my faves from Hany Mehanna, a wonderful composer and keyboardist. His flourishing expressiveness of the Farfisa organ is a great influence on my organ playing in Immaterial. (Kiran)

The B52s, “Give Me Back My Man”

A big favorite from the B-52s catalogue. Cindy Wilson's vocals are so raw and glorious.. her swing from chill to scream is a cathartic explosion. And the beat and bass line is everlasting in electric spirit.  I listen to this one when I need a jump. It’s also a favorite karaoke number. (Madeline)

Buffy Sainte-Marie, “God Is Alive Magick Is Afoot”

A friend shared this with us after one of our shows. Buffy Sainte-Marie is a radical badass woman. It's “experimental” (as implied by a traditional pop sense) in the way that you are partaking in her hypnotic spell work. Just found out Leonard Cohen wrote the lyrics. That explains my gravitation to this one; Cohen is a favorite lyricist. (Madeline)

Barış Manço, “Dere Boyu Kavaklar”

Another groovy 1970s Turkish funk master. That mustache is its own instrument. I sit patiently, although in starving anticipation, for that delicious lead riff.. for that, we'll go to wherever he's luring us..(Madeline)

Aphrodites Child, “End of the World”

A 1968 Grecian epic banger. Appropriately, in the Greek mythological tradition, it's both deeply romantic and ominous in nature. Very incredible, shapeshifting vocals. Sometimes the visions of the werewolf come into my head with this one. Other times, it just feels like an apocalyptic fury of love. You could probably use this song as an easy Rorschach-ian test to see what's going on in your brain today. (Madeline)

The Bats, “Smoking Her Wings”

A friend put this on a mix tape. I love this sweet song! A driving tune with a perfectly soft and floating nostalgic melody. When I listen, I feel like I am falling in love in the summer of 1987 and want to cry over something yet I know not exactly what. (Madeline)

Velly Joonas, “Stopp, Seisku Aeg!”

A 1970s Estonian songwriter and artist. This funkadelic, melancholic, song has got a viola(?) line that cuts through like you're swimming up to the shimmering surface of the Baltic sea to take a breath. I love the rhythm in the vocal lines. I've listened to this song on repeat many times. Thank you Velly! (Madeline)

[zl0mudry]

Matthew Maule. A gentleman, scholar, a man of science and logic...

Well, that's who he is today or maybe he's Verden Fell, Mr. Thorn or Comte Robert de Montesquiou-Fezensac? Or Dr. Emil Corday? Hell, he might even be Dr. Alexander Sweet or Crispian Grimes! As long as he isn't D. D. Denham all should be fine.

Who he is exactly is a matter of no small amount of conjecture, but a few things are certain; he is never seen without one of his faithful feline companions, someone who claims to be him's current location is in Leavenworth, Washington, and his sense of fashion, though sharp, is a bit out of date.

Please don't use OOC information as IC information. Half the fun is the other characters not knowing. He'll tell you what he tells you.

FULL NAME: Wladislaus III Dragwlya of Wallachia

NICKNAME: The Impaler, Kaziklu Bey, Vlad Tepes

GENDER: ?

HEIGHT: 5'4

AGE: 590

ZODIAC: Capricorn

SPOKEN LANGUAGES: Romanian, German (With a spot of Bavarian), French, Italian, Latin, Hungarian, Arabic, Turkish, English.

HAIR COLOR: Iron Black

EYE COLOR: Black, no pupil

BODY TYPE: Think powerlifter

ACCENT: Transatlantic accent when speaking to strangers or acquaintances. Heavy Romanian accent when speaking to close friends or family.

VOICE: Extremely deep, hitting G1

DOMINANT HAND: Left

POSTURE: Straight, head held high, chin up, shoulders back. Noble and balanced

TATTOOS: (Unsure yet)

BIRTHMARKS: None

MOST NOTICEABLE FEATURE(S): Signature facial hair, curled mustache. Facial scars, X on his forehead and round bullet wound from a small caliber handgun under his left eye. Hairy. Claws. Unusual teeth. THICK eyebrows.

PLACE OF BIRTH: Sighișoara, Mureș County, Romania

HOMETOWN: ?

BIRTH WEIGHT: 4 pounds

BIRTH HEIGHT. 9 inches

FIRST WORDS: Scared

SIBLINGS: Mircea II of Wallachia, Radu III the Fair, Vlad IV the Monk, Alexandria of Wallachia

PARENTS: Vlad II Dracul, Doamna Eupraxia of Moldavia

PARENTAL INVOLVEMENT: Unfortunate

OCCUPATION: International Man of One Person Activities

CURRENT RESIDENCE: His remote cabin in the mountains of Washington

CLOSE FRIENDS: Bach, Dori, Wing

RELATIONSHIP STATUS: I don't think he knows even

FINANCIAL STATUS: More than $1

DRIVER’S LICENSE: Afraid of cars

CRIMINAL RECORD: War Criminal

VICES: He is a broody chicken of a man and will adopt anything packbondable, smoking clove cigarettes, good liquor/spirits, luxury food, collecting new hobbies.

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Bisexual

ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: Biromantic

PREFERRED EMOTIONAL ROLE: Switch, Dom leaning

PREFERRED SEXUAL ROLE: Switch, Dom leaning

LIBIDO: Insatiable once close

TURN ONS: Sense of humor, being wanted, submissiveness, trying to turn him on

TURN OFFS: Lying, disloyalty, cheating, abuse

LOVE LANGUAGE: All of them? Mostly acts of service

RELATIONSHIP TENDENCIES: Screaming goat of a man, but a doting one

Mr. Bad Guy - Freddie Mercury

I love you, Honey Bear - Father John Misty

HOBBIES TO PASS TIME: Master of The One Person Activity

MENTAL ILLNESSES: I think they are apparent and I'm not comfortable listing them all flat out. I'll name Misophonia, PTSD, and Depression

PHYSICAL ILLNESSES: Extreme far-sightedness, prone to dizziness and fainting, severe anemia, wheezing and coughing fits

LEFT OR RIGHT BRAINED: A little of both

FEARS: Cars, umbrellas, sudden loud noises, mirrors, being stared at, elevators, escalators

SELF CONFIDENCE LEVEL: Sometimes you feel like a nut sometimes you don't. (It comes and goes, situation dependent)

VULNERABILITIES: His temper, unable to let go, doesn't know himself, bright lights, loud noises, paranoid, can't use cars, too polite

[turkishsmoker]

[vs120shound]

Stunning Leila from Turkey is done hiding out from y'all. This is her debut on our network and you're going to be demanding more of her!

NEW SERIES!

THE VIDEO OF THE WEEK (HONORABLE MENTION) | POST NUMBER 4 (No. 4)

For the Week of 091723-092323

★ ★ ★ ★ ★ | Five "Stars"

From vs120shound staff | ★★★★★ (L)

Single-Media 7-Pack (Megapost)!

TURKISH GIRLS SMOKING THE NINTH POST IN OUR SERIES (No. 9) | LEILA!

Two-for-one. This post whose video centerpiece of teenager/early-20s stunner Leila from Turkey is actually two different posts serving different masters wrapped up neatly into one tidy post package. Foremost, the inspiration for this post whose narrative you are reading was to fill the new weekly demand for our "The Video of The Week | SF Hall of Fame Division," which Leila does splendidly. And, of course, since Leila (pronounced like the Eric Clapton song Layla . . . more later!) "Lay-lah" is from Turkey this is also "Turkish Girls Smoking" and our ninth installment of that series, but the first update to "TGS" since the August 31, 2023 post showcasing Diloy/Dilay.

Leila is special among the impressively deep stable of YouTube girls -- they are NOT SF models -- available for any of the several webpages dedicated to young Turkish women (BHYSWs) who have shot a videos in which they are smoking cigarettes at least once or several times. Leila has appeared on multiple webpages -- "Hot310 Official" and "Smoker Girl." Few have been shown on more than one SF-oriented YT webpage. "The Queen" of that group without question and obviously is Mira Celik, who has appeared in dozens of YouTube videos, mainly with "Mr MoHsin YoUtUbE" and "Hot310 Official." Leila could be headed in that direction.

From YouTube!

From YT "Hot310 Official" (August 2023) . . .

From YT "Hot310 Official" (August 2023) . . .

From YT "Smoker Girls" (August 2023) . . .

From YT "Smoker Girls" (August 2023) . . .

Our post's video in its original state on YouTube (September 2023)

"Layla" is a love song. It's about Pattie Boyd, married to The Beatles guitarist George Harrison and when that relationship began to fail she walked into the open arms of Eric Clapton, all-time elite guitarist. The relationship among the three of them got entangled in a mess. Harrison and Clapton were friendly in their own right during the mid- to late-1960s when the "Big Three" in the U.K. were The Beatles, Rolling Stones and Moody Blues. Clapton was in The Yardbirds (as were Jimmy Page and Jeff Beck at different times), Cream and Blind Faith before going solo.

And one day perhaps, someone will write a love song about our Leila!

The Lyrics to "Layla" by Derek and the Dominos (1970), written by Eric Clapton and Jim Gordon, all-time classic slide guitar solo by Duane Allman

"What will you do when you get lonely No one waiting by your side? You've been running, hiding much too long You know it's just your foolish pride "Leila, got me on my knees Leila, begging, darling, please Leila Darling, won't you ease my worried mind? "Tried to give you consolation Your old man had let you down Like a fool, I fell in love with you You turned my whole world upside down "Leila, got me on my knees Leila, I'm begging, darling, please Leila Darling, won't you ease my worried mind? "Make the best of the situation Before I finally go insane Please don’t say we'll never find a way Tell me all my love's in vain "Leila, got me on my knees Leila, I'm begging, darling, please Leila Darling, won't you ease my worried mind? "Yeah, yeeeeah "Leila, got me on my knees Leila, begging, darling, please Leila Darling, won't you ease my worried mind?"

From the album "Layla and Other Assorted Love Songs" released on November 9, 1970

NOTE: We are changing the week for our The Video of The Week | SF Hall of Fame and Honorable Mention divisions in which to be posted from Sunday to Monday, as it is now, to the Work Week-extended: Monday through Sunday, starting on Monday, September 25, 2023. Thank you.

[jeremymcdo]

Oriental Rug Specialists Dana

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w8sojAGN2cE

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[thetoxicgamer]

Boostio proves the difference with ace as EG storms ahead at VCT Masters Tokyo

All eyes were on Evil Geniuses' star initiator Max "Demon1" Mazanov before VALORANT Masters Tokyo to see if he could translate his domestic form into a potent stage performance. We should have been looking at Kelden "Boostio" Pupello, it turns out. Boostio was the key component for EG in the squad’s opening Tokyo Masters match on June 11 against FUT Esports in a match of the third seeds, with the American outfit sweeping their Turkish opponents 2-0. Not only was Boostio crucial in defeating FUT Esports on one of their strongest maps in Lotus, but he also managed to land the first ace of the tournament. Giddy, laughing, and yelling on stage, Boostio was the positive and confident light that led EG to a great start in Japan. Starting on Split, EG quickly built a lead and ran away with it, with only two players on FUT Esports managing double-digit kills. C0M led the way with his Viper, collecting 17 kills with only seven deaths with smart smokes and good game sense to capitalize from. Boostio was at the bottom of the scoreboard on his team, but little did everyone know he was just saving it for Lotus. Going from Astra on Split to Killyjoy on Lotus, not even FUT Esports expected Boostio to push aggressively as the Sentinel agent and stomp all over their plans. While EG did it tougher on Lotus, needing overtime to defeat FUT, Boostio finished with a whopping 35 kills and an average of 245 damage per round, and—most eyebrow-raising of all—five entry kills. To put the cherry on top, the first game of Masters Tokyo also had the first ace, thanks to Boostio swinging out of the door on B to collect four kills at A long, ending it off with a Killjoy Nanoswarm kill on the bombsite. Even with the speed and aggression from agents like Neon and Jett in the lobby, Boostio’s out-dueled the likes of Ata “AtaKaptan” Tan and Konuralp “qw1” Şahin on the way to the win. Demon1 was the focus heading into the match, especially given his journey to EG, helping the squad secure a spot at Tokyo, and not even thinking he could get there due to travel issues. In the end, he got there, albeit a bit close to his international debut. “We figured out about three days ago that was coming, so we only had about three days of practice with him,” Boostio said on stage following EG’s win. “Him being here is amazing, as it did change a lot of our plans the last week or two, but it worked out perfectly.” Even though Demon1 didn’t have an outstanding series we’re used to from VCT Americas, he was crucial to their series win and played a hand in EG’s comeback from 9-12 down in the second map. This win puts EG in a prime position to qualify for the playoffs of Masters Tokyo, facing the winner of DRX and Attacking Soul Esports to see who makes it to the later stage. As for FUT, they’ll have to win two games in a row to progress in the tournament. Read the full article

[persianrugpros]

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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w8sojAGN2cE

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