#Acton University

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Incidencia - 10

– El Instituto Patmos agradece a la Oficina de Libertad Religiosa Internacional del Departamento de Estado de USA por incluir a Cuba en su Reporte sobre Libertad Religiosa Internacional.   – Celebrada reunión de líderes religiosos en la sede del Ministerio Viento Recio, en las Tunas.   – Participa Rosa María Payá , líder de la plataforma ciudadana Cuba Decide, entre los representantes de la…

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THIS WEEK AT KOLAJ MAGAZINE

Remnants, Fabrications, & Getting Good

KOLAJ 31 Lost & Found: Collages Stolen from UNCTAD III during the 1973 Military Coup in Chile by Marco Antonio Núñez 

COLLAGE COMMUNITIES New York Collage Ensemble

FROM KOLAJ 31 Getting Good: Potential of Collage as a Tool for Wellbeing by Hazel Pitt 

COLLAGE ON VIEW Fabrications at Drill Hall Gallery at the Australian National University in Acton, ACT 

FROM THE ARTIST DIRECTORY Uneasy Projections: Alex Kuhse; San Diego, California, USA. 

COLLAGE ON VIEW Remnants at the Wisconsin Museum of Quilts and Fiber Arts in Cedarburg, Wisconsin 

FROM THE ARTIST DIRECTORY More Wistfulness: Jennie Mejan; Winston Salem, North Carolina, USA.

Read the full update

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Kolaj Magazine, a full color, print magazine, exists to show how the world of collage is rich, layered, and thick with complexity. By remixing history and culture, collage artists forge new thinking. To understand collage is to reshape one’s thinking of art history and redefine the canon of visual culture that informs the present.

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Chapter 1: A Night in Vienna - Hans Landa x OC (1st Person)

Premise 

Set in the Inglourious Basterds universe, Elizabeth Acton, the daughter of an Oxford diplomat, is studying history at the University of Vienna in the 1920s. After an unexpected encounter with the enigmatic detective Hans Landa, their lives intertwine in a passionate romance. Despite a loving marriage and idyllic life together, Elizabeth's world is shattered when Hans mysteriously disappears, leaving only a note. Heartbroken and alone, she embarks on a journey to Paris to rebuild her life and confront the haunting question: why did Hans leave? And will she ever see him again?

Story: 

Chapter 1

Vienna, in the late 1920’s, had a certain magic to it. It was a city of art, music, and intellect, where the streets echoed with the footsteps of philosophers and dreamers. I had arrived here from Oxford, together with my family. My father’s career as a diplomat meant he was stationed in the city, and though Vienna was a world away from the rolling green hills of England, I found myself captivated by its allure. The university of Vienna was renowned for its history program, and studying here seemed the perfect way to carve out my future. 

But if I’m honest, I was just drawn to the idea of escape. Oxford, for all its charm, had always felt like a cage. My father’s expectations, the stifling formality of our lives ��� it all felt so scripted. Vienna, on the other hand, promised something different. It was a city alive with possibilities, and I was determined to take advantage of every one. 

In the evenings, after long days of lectures, I’d attend French lessons with my friends, Elise and Margot. The lessons were my ticket to the next dream: Paris. I’d always imagined myself walking the boulevards, teaching history at a lycée, living among the poets and artist. It was a romantic vision, perhaps, but at eighteen, I had no reasons not to dream big. 

One night, after our French class, we decided to stop at a bar near the city center. It was a cozy little place, dimly lit with a warm glow from the gas lamps and the gentle hum of conversation in the air. The scent of tobacco smoke mingled with the sharp aroma of schnapps and beer, and the clinking of glasses felt like the pulse of the room. We took a seat in a corner, practicing our French while laughing at Elise’s attempts to order wine In the language. 

It was then that I saw him for the first time. 

He stood near the bar, dressed in a dark, tailored coat, his posture straight and confident. There was something striking about him – sharp cheekbones, piercing eyes that seemed to take in everything around him without giving anything away. His gaze moved across the room and paused on us, or more specifically, on me. 

I tried not to look back, but curiosity got the better of me. our eyes met, and a flicker of smile played at the corner of his mouth. Something about it unsettled me, though I couldn’t quite put a finger on why. Still, I felt drawn to him. 

Elise noticed my starring. “He’s a handsome one. Though I must say perhaps a little too old for you.” She teased. Margot noticed what we were talking about and chuckled. “Good for you, Liz. He’s handsome and older. Every woman’s dream” she teased. I chuckled at both of them. Margot was the flirt of the group. Every man wanted her, and every woman wanted to be her. 

“Not interested,” I lied as I took a sip of my glass of wine, trying to escape the conversation. Elise sent me a small smile while Margot just chuckled, “If you say so,” she teased back. Our conversation flowed until suddenly I noticed a presence standing by our table. I looked up and spotted the man from before. Up close he didn’t seem tall, but he had a commanding presence. 

“Good evening, ladies,” he said in flawless German, tipping his hat politely. My German was rudimentary, but I caught enough to understand his greeting. His voice was smooth, carrying an air of authority. “May I join you?”

Elise glanced at me a bit unsure. But Margot, always the bold one, nodded. “Of course,” she replied. 

He pulled out a chair, sitting down with ease, his attention now fully on me. “Hans Landa,” he introduced himself, extending his hand. 

I shook it, trying to suppress the shutter of nerves. “Elizabeth Acton,” I replied in English, my German too weak for conversation. 

“You’re not from here,” he said, switching effortlessly to English. It was more of a statement than a question. 

“No,” I smiled, a little surprised at his fluency. “Oxford, originally. My father is a diplomat, stationed here for now. I’m studying at the university.” 

“Ah, a student of history in the city of history and culture.” His smile widened, though there was sometime about it that remained enigmatic, unreadable. 

“How did you know I studied history?” I asked baffled, not having told him that. He sent me a wolf-like smile. “Intuition,” he replied, making all of his chuckle. 

“What brings you to Vienna? Aside from your father’s work?” he asked. 

“I wanted to study here. It seemed… different. And I’m learning French. We all are, actually.” I paused, feeling self-conscious under his intense gaze. “I’d like to go to Paris someday.”

“Paris is beautiful,” he said, leaning back slightly. “But Vienna has its own charm. You may find it hard to leave once you lived here long enough.” 

Our conversation drifted into safer topics – Vienna, my studies, the little things about the city that charmed me. Hans listened attentively, nodding at all the right moments, his dark eyes never leaving mine. There was something magnetic about him. He was older, more worldly, but that only made him more intriguing. 

As the evening wore on, I found myself relaxing in his presence. He had a way making you feel like you were the only person in the room, as if your words mattered more than anyone else’s. And yet, there was something guarded about him, something he held back. 

I was drawn to that mystery. ______________________________________________________________

It had only been a few days since that night at the bar, but Hans Landa had already lodged himself in my thoughts. There was something about his presence that lingered, like a faint scent you couldn’t quite place but couldn’t forget. His attention was exhilarating.

After another evening of French lessons, my friends and I decided to take a different route home. The bustling square near St. Stephen’s Cathedral was vibrant with life – street vendors packing up for the night, the smell of roasted chestnuts in the air, and couples hurrying off to their favourite cafés. And then, as we turned the corner, I saw him. 

Hans stood leaning casually against a lamppost, his hat tipped slightly forward, watching the world pass by. His eyes flicked toward me, and I felt my heart skip. 

“Good evening, Miss Acton,” he greeted me with a slow smile, ignoring my friend, focusing solely on me. 

I was momentarily stunned that he remembered my name. “Mr. Landa,” I replied, hoping my voice sounded steadier than I felt. 

“Vienna is small, after all,” he said, his English accented but fluent. “We seem to be crossing paths again.” 

He gestured toward the street. “May I walk with you? Unless, of course, I’m interrupting.” He glanced briefly at Elise and Margot, but it was clear he was only asking out for politeness. 

I hesitated, glancing at my friends. Margot just smirked, while Elise gave me a knowing look and whispered. “Go ahead. We’ll see you tomorrow.” 

And just like that, I found myself walking with Hans through the twilight streets of Vienna, the atmosphere between us buzzing with curiosity. We talked – well, mostly he asked questions, and I answered. I found myself telling him more about my studies, about Oxford, my father’s work, my childhood. He listened with an intensity that made me feel seen. 

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” he said as we neared my street. “How are the French lessons going?”

I smiled sheepishly. “I understand much more than I can speak. My accent is… rather terrible.” 

He chuckled, and the sound warmed me. “Perhaps I could help.” 

I looked up at him and smiled. “I would like that very much.” 

The next week, Hans appeared outside the university as I was leaving my class. His presence was becoming less of a surprise and more of an expectation – one I wasn’t sure how to feel about, yet undeniably looked forward to. 

“Miss Acton,” he greeted, falling into step beside me. “I’ve been thinking about your French. If you’d like, I could assist with your lessons.” 

I raised an eyebrow. “You speak French?”

“Fluently,” he said, with a touch of pride. “After all, I’ve spent some time in France during my travels for work.” 

I was hesitant at first. Hans was a detective, a man with a mysterious aura, and this offer felt oddly personal. But I agreed. 

And so, our meetings took on a new routine. We would meet after my French lessons, and Hans would quiz me, correcting my pronunciation with gentle patience. It was strange – he was often so sharp and perceptive, but with me, he was careful, as though he didn’t want to rush anything. 

One evening, after correcting my imperfect “R” sound for what felt like the hundredth time, he looked at me with a teasing smile. “If you wish to speak with Parisians, you must soften your tongue. Let the language move through you like music.” 

His voice was so close, his breath warm against the evening air. I tried to phrase again, and he nodded approvingly, his smile lingering just a bit longer than usual. 

A few weeks later, after one of our informal lessons, we stood on the street corner, neither of us quite ready to say goodbye. 

Hans shifted, his eyes narrowing in thought before he spoke. “Elizabeth,” he began, using my first name for the first time, the sound of it unexpected and somehow intimate. “I’d like to take you out. Properly.”

I blinked, caught off guard. “You mean… as in a date?” 

His lips quirked into a half-smile. “Yes, a date. Tomorrow evening? There’s a small café near the Danube. Quiet, warm…I think you’d like it.” 

I hesitated for only a moment before nodding, with a smile. “I’d like that.” He smiled charmingly back which made my heart flutter. ______________________________________________________________

The café Hans had chosen was quaint, tucked away from the busy streets of Vienna. It had wooden tables, candlelight flickering in the soft breeze, and a view of the river that was simply enchanting. We sat by the window, the city reflecting off the water in soft hues of gold and blue. 

Hans seemed more relaxed than usual, the guarded air he often wore like amor fading in the candlelight. We talked about everything and nothing. I told him about my life in Oxford, about my younger brother, James, who was still in school. In return, he shared snippets of his life – he’d grown up here in Austria, in the Alps to be precise. He had travelled widely for his work, but seemed to evade anything too personal. 

As the evening drew on, there was a brief silence. Hans reached across the table, gently placing his hand over mine. 

“Elizabeth,” he said, his voice lower, more serious. “I enjoy this. Being with you. I… don’t often feel this way.” 

I felt my heart quicken. “Neither do I.” 

We walked along the Danube afterward, the stars reflecting off the water. When we stopped by the river’s edge, Hans turned to face me fully, his eyes dark and unreadable. For a moment, he simply looked at me, his gaze intense, as if weighing some unspoken decision. 

Then, without a word, he leaned down and kissed me, his lips warm and soft against mine. 

The kiss was gentle, tentative, as though he was testing the waters. His hand came up to cradle my cheek, his thumb brushing lightly across my skin. I responded instinctively, letting my eyes closed as I melted into the warmth of his touch. The city seemed to blur around us, and for that brief moment, it felt like we were the only two people in the world. 

When we finally pulled away, the air between us was thick with unspoken emotions. I looked up at him, trying to gauge what he was thinking, but Hans, ever the enigma, simply smiled softly and took my hand, guiding me away from the river. ______________________________________________________________

The weeks that followed were filled with long walks, secret glances, and quiet conversations. Hans was unlike any man I had ever known – intelligent, mysterious, and yet gentle with me in ways I never expected. He was thoughtful, bringing me books from his personal collection, surprising me with small gifts like pressed flowers or an ink bottle from Paris, knowing I dreamt of going there. 

Our time together felt stolen, as if we were living in a world apart from everything else. We would meet in the afternoons after my classes, sit in a café or stroll through the gardens. There was always a tension beneath the surface, something deepening between us that neither of us could ignore. 

It was late one evening after dinner, and we were sitting in a quiet park beneath the glow of the streetlamps. Hans had been quieter than usual, his mood more intense, his eyes following me with a kind of hunger. I felt it too – the pull between us, the unspoken desire. 

We talked, but it was the only surface-level, both of us skirting around what we were really feeling. Finally, as the conversation died down, Hans turned to me, his expression unreadable. 

“I’ve been holding back, Fräulein,” he admitted, his voice low and raw. “But I don’t think I can anymore.” 

Before I could respond, he kissed me again, but this time there was nothing tentative about it. His lips pressed harder, his hands pulling me close, and I felt the full force of what had been simmering between us. I returned the kiss with equal intensity, my arms wrapping around his neck as the world spun around us. 

When we finally broke apart breathless, the air between us had changed. We didn’t speak, but there was no need. We both knew that things had shifted. I smiled up at him, and he smiled back. And in that moment, he seemed to me to be the most beautiful and charming man, I had ever met. ______________________________________________________________

It didn’t take long after that before Hans suggested to meet my family. My parents were cautious, particularly my father. He was sceptical of Hans, though polite. 

Dinner with my parents was a formal affair, and Hans, to his credit, handled it well. He charmed my mother with his knowledge of art, and even managed to get a laugh out of my younger brother, James, who was typical shy around strangers. My father, however, remained distant, his questions sharp, probing Hans’ background and intentions. 

After the meal, when Hans and my father retreated to the study for a private conversation, I was left with a knot of anxiety. My father was protective, and though he rarely interfered with my life, I could sense his concerns. 

When they finally emerged, Hans looked calm, though my father’s expression remained unreadable. Still, when he shook Hans’ hand, there was a sense of grudging respect. 

I followed him to the door, and while I really wanted to kiss him, I couldn’t with my parents lingering close by. He smiled at me and winked as he left, making me chuckle. 

That night as I went to bed, I had a smile on my face and dreamed of Hans. 

We continued like this for months. He would help my study, take me on walks, to see museums and art galleries. He had come over a couple of more times to dine with my family, and in time my father seemed to like him more and more. 

Even after all of this it still took me by complete surprise. I came home one evening after class, expecting the house to be quiet. Instead, I found Hans sitting in the Parlor, his hat resting on the table beside him, his coat neatly folded over the chair. My heart raced in surprise. 

“Hans? What are you doing here?” I asked, stepping into the room, confusion clear on my face. 

He stood, walking over to me with a serious expression. “I’ve just spoken with your father.” 

My stomach flipped. “About what?” I asked in concern. 

Hans took my hands in his, his grip firm but gentle. His eyes locked onto mine, and for the first time since we’d met, I saw something like uncertainty in his gaze. 

“My liebe, Elizabeth,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ve asked your father for his blessing to marry you.” 

The air seemed to leave the room, and I stared at him, trying to process what he had just said. 

“I love you,” he continued, his hands tightening slightly around mine. “And I want to spend the rest of my life with you. If you’ll have me.”

For a moment, I couldn’t speak. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, and all I could do was nod. 

Hans smiled then, a rare, genuine smile that made my heart soar. He pulled me into his arms, and as he held me close, I whispered, “Yes. Yes, I’ll marry you.”

We kissed again, and this time, there was no hesitation, no uncertainty - just the promise of a future together. 

Just a few short months later, I graduated from the University of Vienna. Hans was there, sitting in the audience with that same proud smile that made my heart flutter. The diploma in my hands felt like a culmination of years of hard work, a symbol of the life I had dreamed of building. But the moment I walked across the stage, my eyes found Hans, and I realised in that moment that the future was no longer just mine – it was ours. 

Our wedding followed soon after. It was a small, intimate ceremony in a charming Viennese church, attended by my family and friends, and some of Hans’ friends. My mother fussed over every detail, while my father walked me down the aisle, his expression soft with emotion. Hans waited at the altar, looking more handsome than I’d ever seen him, his dark eyes flowing with affection and promise.

The ceremony was simple but perfect. The moment we kissed as husband and wife, I felt a swell of love so strong that it left me breathless. I knew my life had changed forever. ______________________________________________________________

After the wedding, I moved into Hans’ apartment – a beautiful, sunlit space in the heart of Vienna. The rooms were filled with the warm, earthy scent of wood and leather, and large windows overlooked the bustling streets below. It was smaller than my family’s home, but it felt infinitely cozier. We spent our first days as newlyweds either in bed or arranging the apartment to make it our own, combining our lives piece by piece. 

Life settled into a peaceful rhythm. I found work as a teacher at a local girls’ school, a position that fulfilled me more than I could have imagined. The students were eager to learn, and I found myself pouring my heart into every lesson. 

Hans’ work as a detective kept him busy, but when he was home, we filled our time with quiet dinners, long walks through Vienna’s parks, and cozy nights reading together by the fire. He would often surprise me with flowers or a new book, and I loved the small ways we cared for each other. We were happy – truly, blissfully happy. 

A year or so into the marriage, my father received word that his posting in Vienna was coming to an end. My parents were being re-stationed back to England, and though I knew this day would come, it still felt like shock. 

The evening before their departure, my family gathered for a final dinner at our favourite restaurant. The air was thick with emotion – my mother trying to hold back tears, my father quieter than usual, and James, now taller and more mature, struggling to say goodbye. 

“I’m proud of you,” my father said, hugging me tightly. “And I know you’ve made the right choice.”

I watched them leave the next morning, waving until their car disappeared from view, tears streaming down my face. Vienna felt emptier without them, but I still had Hans. And that was enough.  ______________________________________________________________

Hans I had tried to start a family, but as the years went by, our hopes began to fade. Each month brought fresh disappointment, and I started to fear that the fault lay with me. Doctors confirmed my worst fears – something about my body, something I couldn’t fix, made it difficult, perhaps impossible, for me to conceive. 

I wept often during that time, feeling a deep sense of failure. Hans, ever gentle and patient, would hold me, his hands stroking my hair as I sobbed into his chest. 

“We’ll be fine,” he whispered, though I could hear the sadness in his voice. “We heave each other, my darling Elizabeth. That’s all I need.” 

He never blamed me, not once. But I couldn’t help but feel like I had let him down. 

To lift our spirits, Hans surprised me with a trip to Paris – the city I had always dreamed of visiting. We arrived in spring, the city blooming with life and colour. The air was warm, the streets lively with music and laughter. Paris was everything I had imagined it would be – romantic, vibrant, and a full of history. 

We spent our days strolling along the Seine, visiting art galleries and historical landmarks. Hans took me to a charming little café, the same one we had spoken about on one of our first dates, and we sat for hours drinking wine and watching the world go by. 

One evening, as we stood on a bridge overlooking the river, the lights of the Eiffel Tower sparkling in the distance, Hans pulled me close. “I promised you Paris,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “And here we are.” 

It was a perfect moment. I felt as though all my dreams had come true, even if the path was different that I’d imagined. 

Years passed in a contended blur. We had settled into a comfortable life in Vienna, one filled with love, even if it wasn’t the life I had originally planned. I was happy teaching, and Hans was content in his work, though he often spoke of darker times looming in the political sphere. 

One day, I came home from work, expecting to find Hans waiting for me, as usual. Instead, the house was eerily quiet. On the dining table, there was a single note, written in his familiar, neat script. 

I’ve been called away on urgent business. Fear not, I will return soon. Trust me. I love you, mein liebe, Elizabeth. 

I stared at the note, my heart pounding in my chest. Hans had never left like this before. His work as a detective sometimes required long hours, but he had always kept me informed. Now, he had disappeared with only a cryptic message. 

As I ate my supper I could not shake of the feeling of loneliness. I spent the rest of the evening reading but found myself often looking at Hans’ chair and felt sad. As I went to bed that night, I wore one of Hans’ shirts in hope that it would quench my longing for him, but it did the exact opposite. I only found myself missing him more. ______________________________________________________________

The days without Hans turned into weeks, and those weeks into months. At first, I tried to carry on as if nothing had changed. I went to the school, taught my students, and returned home to an empty apartment. I pretended I wasn’t watching the clock, that I wasn’t waiting for the sound of his footsteps on the stairwell or the creak of the front door.

But the silence grew unbearable. 

His note lay where I had left it, on the mantle above the fireplace, the ink faded but still legible. I must have read it a thousand times, hoping that somehow, if I stared hard enough, the words would change, or that they would reveal some hidden meaning. But there was nothing. Just the same cryptic message, and the same growing fear gnawing at my insides. 

Where had he gone? Why had he not told me? And – worst of all – was he ever coming back?

I had tried to remain strong, but Vienna no longer felt like the vibrant city I had fallen in love with. Every corner of the apartment whispered of our life together – the quiet breakfasts by the window, the evening spent reading by the fire, and the late nights when Hans would pull me close and hold me as if I was the most precious thing in the world. Without him, those memories were like shadows, haunting me with their absence. 

It wasn’t just his disappearance that hurt. It was the not knowing. Hans had always been so careful with his words, so precise, and yet this time, he had left me with nothing but uncertainty. His work as a detective had always involved secrets, but this felt different. This felt personal. 

One evening, I visited his office, my hope dwindling with every passing day. His colleagues gave me nothing but blank stares, polite refusals, and vague promises that they’d look into it. But they didn’t seem to care. Hans was just another name on a list of officers, one who had apparently gone off on some undisclosed mission. I was his wife, yet it seemed as though I knew the least of all. 

Trust me. 

How was I supposed to trust him when he had left me like this? ______________________________________________________________

I began to write to him. At first, it was just a few words on paper, trying to make sense of the chaos in my mind. But as the weeks went by, the letters grew longer, filled with everything I couldn’t say aloud. I told him about the school, about my students, and how they were thriving in their history lessons. I wrote about Vienna, the city we had both loved so much, and hot it now seemed to reflect the emptiness inside me. 

I even wrote about my dreams – the ones we had shared, the life we had planned. I told him how much I wanted to see him, to hold him, to hear his voice again. How I missed the warmth of his touch, the way his eyes would soften when he looked at me. 

But there was no address to send the letters to. no place where I could reach him. So they remained in a drawer, growing in number, waiting for the say when I might have the chance to give them to him. 

After months of waiting in vain, something inside me snapped. It wasn’t an act of anger or frustration, but rather a quiet, aching realisation that I could no longer stay here, trapped in a life that had once been filled with love and now felt like a prison. 

I began to pack my things, carefully folding away the clothes and trinkets that had once made up our home. The books we had collected together, the small souvenirs from our trips around the city – everything seemed to carry the weight of what had been lost. I left the ring Hans had given me on the bedside table, the one reminder of the love we had shared, but I couldn’t bear to wear it anymore. 

My final goodbyes were said to the few friends I had made, those who had watched me as I slowly crumbled under the weight of Hans’ absence. They offered me sympathy, but no one had any real answers. Vienna had become too painful for me to stay. 

Paris had always been my dream, and now, in the absence of everything, it seemed like the only place I could go. 

I booked my passage on the next train to France, leaving behind the life I had built, the one I had hoped to share with Hans. The city I had once loved felt foreign to me now, its streets empty without him by my side. As the train pulled out of the station, I looked back one last time at the skyline of Vienna, the domes and spires that had been the backdrop to my happiest moments. 

But I knew there was nothing left for me here. Not anymore. ______________________________________________________________

Paris was everything I had imagined it to be – the cut of lights, of romance, and art. But it was also a city of ghosts, filled with reminders of the life I had once dreamed of having with Hans. Every corner café, every bridge across the Seine, every street vendor selling flowrrs – all of it reminded me of the promises we had made to each other, the life we were supposed to build together. 

But Paris was also where I began to heal. 

I found a small apartment near Montmartre, not far from the artists and musicians who brought the street to life with their creativity. It was nothing like the apartment Hans and I had shared in Vienna, but it was mine. A space where I could start over. 

Teaching had always been my passion, and I found work at a local school. The children here were different – more worldly, more curious. They asked questions about the world beyond France, and I found myself telling them stories of Vienna, of the history I had studied so passionately. In a way, it felt like I was teaching them about the life I had lost. 

Days turned into weeks, and slowly, I began to find some measure of peace. The ache of Hans’ absence never truly left, but it become more bearable with time. I still thought of him often – wondering where he was, whether he was safe, and if he ever thought of me. But I no longer let those thoughts consume me. 

Paris became my sanctuary. It wasn’t the life I had planned, but it was a life, nonetheless. And for the first time in months, I felt like I could breathe again. 

I still had the letters, tucked away in a small box at the back of my closet. I hadn’t written to him in a long time, but I couldn’t bring myself to throw them away. They were a record of my grief, my longing, my hope. 

Sometimes, late at night, I would open the box and read through them, imagining what it would be like to see Hans again. I wondered if he would still recognise the woman I had become – the one who had been broken by his absence but had somehow found strength to go on. 

Perhaps one day I would find the courage to let him go entirely. But for now, I held on to the memories, the love we had shared, and the hope that somewhere, Hans was thinking of me too. 

I wasn’t sure if I would ever hear from him again. But I had learned to live with the uncertainty. After all, life in Paris had given me something precious – myself. 

Everything was getting better – until the war began. 

[willothewispwisteriadawn]

Hello

Its abt tsh

Uk somewhere in the book julian character is explained thorugh the eyes of his peers

With one liking him and another finding him cold

Yeah i am not able to find that chapter

I am revisiting the book and i really wanna read that part.

Is it the part near the end where Richard explains that George Orwell didn’t like Julian?

That section was so interesting to me due to the fact Orwell is real and has lots of his own work, so there’s much to unpack. Orwell’s writing is so thoughtful about seeing through lies and appeals to pathos. For example, Animal Farm critiques the Soviet leaders who say things that sound inspiring, but then proceed to be just like the capitalists they hate then way worse. Orwell also has an interesting review of Mein Kampf that analyses Hitler and fascism and discusses why people began to follow him and other demagogues despite their obvious evil. This, I think, kind of ties into TSH which is about people not recognizing immorality when they see it because there are bells and whistles and appeals to base human emotions attached. It makes sense that Orwell, who is known for brushing off how people present and getting at the truth would take issue with Julian.

I do not know much about Harold Acton. He was another writer. I’m not sure why he would like Julian, because I haven’t read his work. I suspect he can be romantic about things. A brief google search tells me he was a huge advocate for universities and had a classical art collection at his villa, La Pietra, that he let New York University use. My guess is he was fond of Julian due to their shared love of culture and education, and he failed to notice Julian’s coldness.

[lboogie1906]

Janice Bryant Howroyd (September 1, 1952) is an entrepreneur, businesswoman, and author. She is the founder and chief executive officer of The ActOne Group, the largest privately held, minority-woman-owned personnel company founded in the US. She is the first African American woman to build and own a billion-dollar company.

She was born in Tarboro, North Carolina, the fourth of 11 children in her family. She was one of the first African American students to participate in the desegregation of her town’s high school.

She moved to Los Angeles and worked as a temporary secretary for her brother-in-law, Tom Noonan, at Billboard magazine. Noonan introduced her to business executives, celebrities, travel, and workplace diversity.

With an approximate budget of $1,000, she continued to focus on employment services and launched her company, The ACT 1 Group, in 1978, with Tom Noonan as her first client. ActOne Group companies include AppleOne, All’s Well, AT-Tech, ACT-1 Personnel Services, Agile-1, ACT-1Govt, A-Check Global, which provides personnel and recruiting services to different industries, and DSSI, which provides document management services.

She is an ambassador of the Department of Energy’s Minorities in Energy Initiative, and a board member of numerous organizations including the United States Department of Labor’s Workforce Initiative Board, Women’s Business Enterprise National Council, WeConnect, National Utilities Diversity Council, Harvard Women’s Leadership Board, California Science Center, Los Angeles Urban League and a member of the Industry Trade Advisory Committee on Services and Finance Industries of the U.S. Trade Representative and the United States Department of Commerce. She serves on the Board of Trustees for North Carolina Agricultural and Technical State University.

She received a key presidential appointment by President Barack Obama as a member of the President’s Board of Advisors on HBCUs. She joined the Diversity Committee of the FCC.

She has served on the Congressional Black Caucus Foundation Board of Directors as an officer and Treasurer. #africanhistory365 #africanexcellence

[fettesans]

Top, photograph by Mariko Mori, Love Hotel, 1994. Via. Bottom, photograph by Aapo Huhta, from the series and publication Block, shot in New York between 2014 and 2015. Via.

--

To understand why erotic novels engendered such outrage, we need to get our heads around Victorian sexuality. Male readers: imagine thinking of your body as a physiological economy with a finite amount of resources to “spend” (the most commonly used word for ejaculation in this era). Imagine being taught that every youthful sexual indulgence is an unmitigated evil which wastes your vital force and stunts your physical growth and mental development. Any kind of incontinence is dangerous, you believe, but none more so than masturbation, which will lead to jaundiced skin, eruptions of acne, a slouching gait, clammy palm, leaden eye, and the inability to look anyone in the eye. The fate of a compulsive masturbator is to become a drivelling idiot or insufferable hypochondriac. Even within the presumed safety of marriage, you will have to walk a tightrope between abstemiousness and gratification — have no sex and you’ll be ruined, but have too much and you’ll melt into a goo of despondency as the symptoms of “spermatorrhoea” (an umbrella term for diseases caused by a loss of semen) take hold, leading to heart disease and death.

It’s even worse for women. Female readers, imagine thinking of yourself as a sexless baby-producing machine, almost entirely devoid of any erotic desire and actually incapable of it during pregnancy when your baby will suck away your vital force from within. You will surrender to your husband’s desires only occasionally. Like men, you believe that sex serves a practical purpose — the population of the earth — but beyond that it is profoundly dangerous. Continence is the key. Your sex life is likely to be a sore and bitter trial.

These ideas, so farcical and objectionable to twenty-first-century eyes, are lifted — sometimes word for word — from Dr William Acton’s Functions and Disorders of the Reproductive Organs (1857), no radical polemic but mainstream medical opinion. Anyone deviating one iota from his worthy advice (memorably described by historian Steven Marcus in The Other Victorians [1966] as “part fantasy, part nightmare, part hallucination”) is either indifferent to their health or just plain low. It is only after we get our head around Dr Acton’s alien sexual precepts that we can begin to understand the hysterical tone that united police, press, and politicians in lambasting pornography. For Victorian pornography was not just a foil to Dr Acton’s belief system but its antithesis, presenting as it does a world of sexual riches where women are game for anything and men are “limitlessly endowed with that universal fluid currency which can be spent without loss”, as Marcus puts it. Even Ashbee calls pornographic works “poisons” in the preface to his bibliography, warning that they must be distinctly labelled and “confined to those who understand their potency”. They are also, of course, an incentive to dreaded masturbation. That is why men like William Dugdale had to be destroyed in hard-labour camps.

Matthew Green, from The Secret History of Holywell Street Home to Victorian London’s Dirty Book Trade, for The Public Domain Review, June 29, 2016. (This is such a great read)

[aestheticvoyage2024]

Day 100: Tuesday April 9, 2024 - "Western Actons"

Before my Grandpa even told me that he'd named his cowboy statue Jake, I'd hoped he'd gift it to me someday, when his time in Arizona was done. The fact that it was named Jake basically sealed the deal. My name has been literally on it. And so I had lots of time to think about where he'd sit, on our back patio, knowing that someday might come someday soon. And then someday was today. We brought the ole cowboy to the Finca and sat it down keeping an eye out on the back gate - looking out at the Universe in the same direction as me from my seat. Before we left the house in Apache Junction, I was sure to grab the painting on the wall too, knowing that Grandma had written my name on the back so many years ago when she was in that phase. Leaving the note right where its at, in her handwriting saying that "Jake would like this" I hung it in my office, right there on the same walls as her clock she gave me, and next to her great grandson. A special beautiful painting that hung in their Arizona house for years, now hangs in my Arizona house. A touch of the Arizona Actons handed down. Special artifacts. I hugged Grandpa and thanked him several times for the gifts and promised to take very good care of them. They are a part of our house now.

Song: Dustin Kensrue - Western Skies

Quote: “I want a blaze of light to flame in me forever in a timeless, dear love of everything. And why should I pretend to want anything else?” ~Jack Kerouac

[dogandcatcomics]

#repost @bevactonillustration Bev Acton (Manchester, United Kingdom). I am a fan of the representation of felines in the creative universe of this collage artist. Thanks to @februllage for the tip.

[aestheticvoyage2023]

Day 360: Tuesday December 26, 2023 - "Huckleberry Appreciation"

This post contributed by Audrie:

Our Huckle-Buckle-Berry-Good-Boy

It was a few years ago (maybe 2019) when I really started to think about and maifest the concept of actualizing a new four legged friend into our lives.  Afterall, it had been a really spectacular run as a duo and then a trio; from 2009 it was just me and the cheese-dog, then in 2014 Jake joined our duo to make our family.  And so went our tro status quo for more than 6 years.  And with the 2019 practice house in the old pueblo, and the 2020 pandemic pressure that caused us to leap into home ownership and baby making mode almost simultaneously, my maternal instincts were on high alert looking forward to and calling out the universe gods to send us our next four legged family member.  And lowe and behold, in September of 2020 our huckle-boy fell into our lap.  We would have to wait a couple months to pick him up and bring him home with a close early life shave with puppy parvo, but thankfully to a loving and lovely foster family we had our berry boy on his way home to us around halloween.  Havarti, we think, was thrilled at first, but then concerned when he learned that this sweet red hound we brought home and tagged was not a visitor but a permanent sibling brought here with loving intention to stay.  The two of them got along as one would expect an old steady seasoned grandpa and a young energetic whipper-snap to.  One had all the patience and one had all the play.  Thinking back on these two, it's not all that different than thinking about the way the puzzle pieces between William and his Great Grandpa Acton fit together instantly.  They just go. In a flow that nobody could have ever predicted and somehow made perfect sense.  

We lost our best good Cheese-Boy this past summer, and in so, Huckleberry lost his brother, his mentor, his papa-dog, and his every day play, snuggle, meal, lounge, cuddle mate.  The loss for us with Havarti was immense, and to think about the loss from Huckleberry's perspective feels immeasurable.  Havarti was his world.  His mentor. His model. 

We saw major changes with Huck as soon as Havarti passed.  Our trazodone doped anxious animal mellowed too with the loss of Havarti's heartbeat.  So we stopped drugging him on the daily.  Huckleberry seemed to process Havarti's passing so much like any human would grieve the loss of a sibling, friend, mentor, family member.  And as the months and life have begrudgingly moved on without our best cheesy boy, we have also been witness to the best good boy Huckleberry has been that we never fully expected him to become.  

We already knew he was good and patient and trustworthy with William, but once Havarti passed, we saw extra caution come into his play and movement around our toddling boy -- And extra patience and calm presence held down by his more relaxed body and energy through the days and the weeks and the months that passed after Havart's passing.  

And as we have moved through the fall and into the holiday winter months here at the finca, inching the days closer and closer to the stocking stuffers and the package unwraps around our strange human seasonal traditions, we have been able to just sit back in awe of our Huckle-nuckle-good-berry-boy, and see him truly come into himself.  At about age 3.5 now, shedding his puppyness and stepping powerfully into his Humancompanionness, he has caused pause many a moment through our bustling Christmas season to honor, acknowledge and praise this new best-good-boy of the house.  And as hard as it is to say we have another best good dog in our life, with the utmost respect to the most wonderful predecessor before him, we see more and more of Havarti's slow patient wise being and compassion come out of our wild Huckleberry as the months move on; we see more stretchy legs and lazy dog couch days that make us think about the good life Huckleberry has had, has learned, and has ahead of him as William's best bud and furry compadre.  

We have caught ourselves in awe of this sweet rescue pup, that happened into our lives, made a home in our hearts, and laps, with giggles, and kisses, and head hugs, and good boy snuggles.  And I have to pinch myself sometimes at the beauty of the best good boys that surround me in my home.  Huckleberry following in those very big puppy shoes, filling them up, far better than any expectation we could have set.      

Song: Elton John - Step Into Christmas

Quote: "We were together, I forget the rest." ~ Walt Whitman

[omniversecomicsguide]

ACTON JOURNALISM vol.1: GREAT NEWS!

Kate Kelly faces impossible scenarios from invading aliens to other-dimensional kidnappers in this Oni series from Skillman, Felvidéki & Gusmao. Very much in the vein of old school Jimmy Olsen stories, Action Journalism features a series of stand-alone but interconnected tales, as well as as some bonus features from Ramón Pérez, Erica Henderson & more! An entertaining ride that’ll leave you smiling!

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ out of 5

———

“From sci-fi to fantasy, superheros to spys, no genre is safe from Action Journalism’s ace reporter Kate Kelly as she traverses the universe in search of the ultimate scoop.

Action Journalism’s favorite intrepid reporter, Kate Kelly, is New Arcadia’s most trusted source for hard-hitting news. Always on the hunt for the next exclusive scoop, Kate and her trusty team infiltrate alien fleets, mad-scientist conventions, and fantasy kingdoms, all in search of the biggest stories the universe has to offer. But excitement seems to follow Kate everywhere as she keeps winding up in the middle of the story, risking it all to save the day!

Action Journalism collects the fast-paced, genre-hopping series by Eric Skillman, Miklós Felvidéki, and Marianne Gusmão, as well as short stories with art by Ramón Pérez, Max Sarin, Erica Henderson, Jorge Coelho and Dave Baker!”

Collects Action Journalism 1-5

120 pages, paperback

Oni Press, 2023

[abyssalzones]

🍕🍀🎹 FOR ANYONE (everyone) IN EV YOU WANNA TALK ABOUT!!!!! id love to hear abt them all but do so only if youre in an infodumping mood don't force yerself <:)

Yasha you of all people should know that I am Always in an info-dumping mood. VERY LONG POST UNDER THE READ MORE

🍕 - What is their favorite food?

ROSE CUBBAGE: I'm fairly certain I've answered this before (feel free to dig through my OC tag to find a series of other asks that I went into depth with a little while ago) but I think Rose would love any type of food that is a sweet/savory combination. Foliaverds don't have strong "sweet" flavor receptors, being hyper-carnivorous, but the sugars you'd see in fruit do get across to their palette more or less. See this dialogue from the outline of a chapter:

DOMINO: Domino is extremely picky about her food, something unusual for her species- who are usually content as filter-feeders, snacking on whatever bacteria and small animals (or even bits of dead animals- they aren't picky) make themselves at home in the caverns of Yxin, either colonizing the rocks or floating aimlessly through the densely-chemically-populated air- but she has an odd taste for salts. Odd, because that stuff is considered pretty acidic and foul to most moeboids. Keep an eye on her or else you'll lose track of your table salt.

VENUS: As with most Ikarians, Venus's diet consists mainly of insects. However, he normally has a very subdued appetite due to... multiple things. Their samefoods mostly consist of cold (or just not hot) things that don't have a very strong smell: frozen crickets, protein chips, dried fruit, and (expensively) tenjarian-tempered yogurt that's supposed to be digestible for every species, but most think it tastes... awful. Venus loves it, for some reason.

GILLS KVN: Herbal tea and pain pills. Well- that'd be the answer early on, anyway. He starts eating more regularly with time and feeling a little more comfortable actually getting out of his lab to visit the kitchen, and as per usual for his species, mostly favors raw seafood. He prefers animals with shells, though, since overly-mushy textures bother him immensely. As for his favorite favorite, I think he'd enjoy a bowl of south Kaaleran noodles (thin, dried parasitic eels native to Kaalera's coasts, cleaned and fermented with starch. Add steamed veggies, whatever eggs you have on hand, and plenty of spices), which is notoriously too hot for most species to handle.

SPARKPLUG: I elaborated on this a little before, similar to Rose, but I think Sparks is partial to sweets! Sweet for his species, anyway. He loves the kinds of tangy, metallic preserved pastries native to his home planet, recipes carried down and altered by his family for generations, across planets. I'm lazy so I'm just going to steal what I already wrote:

Pie is a universal concept.

NORA ACTON: Peanut butter + banana + bacon sandwich. Simple, very filling. I like to think she only realized this after moving out and trying to figure out how to feed herself in her academy days.

🍀 - What originally inspired the OC?

Going to give you a catch-all answer for this to start with: the conceit of the comic, and subsequently most of the crew, was that it was originally a cast of Starbound OCs! That obviously has changed, but it's still in their roots. As for specifics...

-Rose was sort of her own thing, a position of leader and captain that needed to be filled- and she only really came into her own later in terms of development, inspired by characters like Alyx Vance or Ellen Ripley in particular- and my own personal experiences, actually. I think in a lot of ways Rose is closest to me.

-Venus's inspiration is weirdly difficult to pin. Taako from TAZ, maybe? A little bit of the Rito from when I played BOTW? He's kind of his own character, really.

-Gills, however, was definitely strongly inspired by Ford Pines. I feel like it's a little obvious sometimes. Then, a little later, characters like Spock, or Kim Kitsuragi.

-Sparkplug... draw your own conclusions based on the information above, particularly his dynamic with Gills. His arc, however, was also strongly influenced by my own ongoing struggles with chronic fatigue.

-Domino is inspired by a whole host of fictional characters, ranging from Lupin to Max from sam & max to Shiraishi from golden kamuy, but the most important part is that she was originally an OC created by my friend Addy, who I've known since the comic was in its baby stages. That part of who she is is extremely important to her core as a character.

-Nora is kind of like... a fusion of Sam Raimi era Peter Parker and inspector Zenigata from Lupin III. But british. and butch.

🎹 - Do they have any hobbies?

ROSE CUBBAGE: Worrying. Creating collages, actually, but those mostly consist of future plans and secret obsessive corkboards. She used to enjoy biking, and still has her bike from when she was an older teenager sitting around on the station, despite not using it much.

DOMINO: Stealing things to create "art" in her room. I think she'd love to branch out and create more multi-media type stuff, but she's mostly motivated by boredom.

VENUS: Between you and me, I think they write fanfic. Something he would no doubt label as extremely cringe and keep very close to his chest, but fun to kick back and knock out a couple hundred words on every once in a while. They mostly tinker with robotics, though that's less of a hobby and more the main thing he does around the station, so it can get a little boring. I think they could put effort into making video games if they really felt up to it, but they struggle with seeing the point in it. Creative passion projects are embarrassing, after all- from his perspective.

GILLS KVN: Aside from reading, I'm not so sure Gills has any hobbies to begin with. He spends most of his time working on projects in the lab, which while he might consider it fun, it's still ultimately work. I think he would really benefit from taking up something like terrariums or aquariums, maybe some casual gardening. That, and cooking- which is really another form of chemistry, if you think about it.

SPARKPLUG: Another damn workaholic. However, Sparks enjoys music as a hobby immensely, and is rarely far from a stringed instrument, such as his retractable banjo. When the joints in his hands get tired or locked up, I think he'd enjoy getting outside and doing a little nature-watching. Does that count as a hobby? It does now.

NORA ACTON: Nora is definitely the most visually artistic of the crew, something that she's never considered for a career but definitely enjoys as a hobby. She mostly does environmental art, studying things from nature and her surroundings- a fun practice for someone with such a photographic memory. Similarly, I think she loves using her camera, even if it's mostly something she picked up for work.

[michaeljfoy]

“Absolute Power Corrupts Absolutely!”

The phrase absolute power corrupts absolutely is a popular proverb that has been around for centuries. Its powerful message speaks to the dangers of giving one person too much power and control. The origin of this phrase is not clear, but it has been attributed to several historical figures, including Sir John Dalberg-Acton and Lord Acton.

The proverb highlights the idea that when people are given too much power and control, they can become corrupt and abuse their position for personal gain. This can lead to negative consequences for the people they are supposed to serve, as well as for society as a whole.

The dangers of absolute power are not just limited to corrupt leaders, but can also be seen in corporations, institutions, and other organizations. When these entities have too much control, they can become abusive, leading to negative consequences for society.

Historical Context The idea of absolute power corrupting absolutely has been around for centuries and has been observed in various historical contexts.

The Roman Empire was marked by the concentration of power in the hands of a few people, who often abused their positions for personal gain. The French Revolution was driven by the desire to overthrow a corrupt and abusive ruling class.

The proverb has also been applied to more-recent events, such as the Watergate scandal, which exposed corruption at the highest levels of the US government, and the Enron scandal, which revealed widespread corruption and abuse of power within a major corporation.

The Importance of Limits on Power The idea that absolute power corrupts absolutely highlights the importance of placing limits on the power of individuals and organizations — particularly within governments. This can be achieved through checks and balances, such as an independent judiciary, a free press, and a robust political opposition.

It is also important to ensure that those in power are held accountable for their actions. This can be achieved through transparency, open and accessible information, and robust systems of oversight and regulation.

Fictional Characters with Superhuman Powers Can Serve as a Powerful Allegory Fiction often provides a powerful lens through which to explore complex themes, including the dangers of absolute power. This is particularly true in stories featuring characters with supernatural abilities, who — when given too much power — can wreak havoc on those around them.

In J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter series, Lord Voldemort represents the dangers of absolute power. Through his quest for ultimate power, he becomes a cruel and tyrannical leader who will stop at nothing to achieve his goals.

In the X-Men universe, Magneto is a powerful mutant who seeks to take control of the world in order to protect mutants from persecution. Although his intentions may be noble, his methods are often brutal and indiscriminate, leading to conflict and tragedy.

These fictional characters serve as cautionary tales, highlighting the dangers of absolute power. They remind us of the importance of challenging the control of those who hold absolute power of any kind.

Conclusion The recurrent warning absolute power corrupts absolutely has been illustrated in many contexts, real and fictional. From historical examples of corrupt leaders and institutions to fictional characters with supernatural abilities, the dangers of absolute power have been made abundantly clear.

When power is concentrated in the hands of a few, it can lead to corruption and abuse. By promoting accountability, limiting power, and ensuring transparency, we can be on guard against granting anyone absolute power.

The End

Live the amazement of astonishing plot twists with a sneak peek at https://michaeljfoy.com/books/

And unlock the world of FREE fiction at https://michaeljfoy.com/ – Get your FREE novel now!

[586ondisability]

Language and accessibility on tumblr

Before we talk about language, it is important to recognize that accessibility is not universal, and competing needs are part of disabled life. Competing needs is when the thing that makes something accessible for one person, also makes it inaccessible for another. With language, we can try to manage this by having multiple formats. This may include plain language translations, large typeset versions, images and/or image descriptions, or audio recordings of the text. These are just a few examples. However, including multiple formats takes time and effort. This can also be a barrier for disabled people. Sometimes other people can help, but sometimes we can’t avoid these competing needs. All we can do is try our best, and give each other understanding when we have to compromise.

I will try to write this post in as plain language as I can. In Kelsie Acton’s chapter ‘Plain Language for Disability Culture’1, she writes in what she calls ‘semi-plain language style’. She defines this as:

Use an active voice

Mostly use the 6000 most common words in the English language

Use short sentences

Use 14 point font

Use “I” and “you”

Plain language is important, because it makes ideas easy and clear to understand for the most people.

I do not have a lot of experience writing in plain language. I have ADHD. Part of having ADHD for me (and others like me 2) means my writing uses a lot of long sentences, brackets, and dashes, because that is how I think. Writing in plain language requires me to slow down and be intentional about what I say and how I say it. Many disabled authors have written about how we can use language to challenge ideas about time, speed, and efficiency(1). Writing in the way that is natural to me challenges the idea that narratives should be linear and efficient. For me, writing in plain language challenges the idea that adding more information will make an idea clearer. Both these ways of communicating are valid and important for accessibility. Both are necessary for understanding the world as disabled people do.

It is not always necessary to use complicated language to discuss complicated ideas. We can all try to accommodate each other.

On tumblr, writing in plain language is not common. Some people write with ‘correct’ grammar and punctuation. Many people write using punctuation rarely, or only for effect. This is sometimes referred to as ‘tumblr vernacular’. This can be difficult for some people to follow, especially if they are not familiar with it. However, it also removes barriers for some people who struggle with strict punctuation and grammar rules. It can also give people more flexibility in how they express their thoughts (like me), and makes it easier to include tone indicators (Examples: 3, 4).

Writing conventions on tumblr are flexible. People can use the way works best for them, or for the content they are posting. We can't always be accessible to everyone at the same time, but having flexibility helps.

1: Plain Language for Disability Culture (Kelsie Acton in Crip Authorship, 2023) https://library.oapen.org/handle/20.500.12657/89491

2: Learning Disability Justice through Critical Participatory Action Research (Laura J. Wernickin in Crip Authorship, 2023) https://library.oapen.org/handle/20.500.12657/89491

3: https://www.tumblr.com/hunterofhestia/770103242897096704/the-amount-of-times-people-have-gotten-mad-at-me?source=share

4: https://www.tumblr.com/chronicpaingirlie/732639202587574272/shaking-myself-very-gently-being-in-pain-takes?source=share

[ijustwantedtobeoneofthestrokesuk]

B.I.T.I. (Before Is This It)

London

While Pete and Carl were throwing poetry nights there was a bunch of bands bubbling in the London underground with a punk attitude and banging tunes. A scene was forming, it just needed a break, which came once The Libertines had theirs.  

There was loads of bands, some lasted a few gigs, a handful lasted a few albums. This is how it went for a few of them.

Special Needs

Special Needs was a band ahead of their time (forming in 1998) and they never got the opportunity to fully live out their potential, their name often drew controversy (they briefly changed it to The Needs) and they fell victim of being on a major label. 

Zac Stephenson “I worked at a London Irish newspaper in 1997 and Daniel (Shack) came along to do work experience. We had enough overlap of musical interest to become friends and he was learning guitar, I wanted to sing so first we started just kind of jamming in his bedroom. Then Phil started coming along and bringing his bass.  

At this point our main influence was probably the Manic Street Preachers, mainly the Richey period when they were a lot cooler. We all dyed our hair, wore eyeliner, shirts with spray-painted slogans, feather boas, the whole kit and caboodle. Slightly cringe now to look back on that.  

We did some sessions in a rehearsal room with a drummer I roped in, auditioned a few more but it looked like it was doomed to fail when Daniel and Phil decided to go to University in Sheffield.  

A few months in though, they rang me and told me they had met Andrew, who had an interesting vision about what a band could be like, and asked me if I’d still be interested in trying to get something going. I was, so I’d get the train up to Sheffield every few weekends and we’d do some stuff in a practice room.  

We went through drummers faster than you go through underwear but we persevered for the whole time they were at university. Summers in London gave us a bit of progress and then when they returned back to London we focussed on finding the perfect drummer and we did in Neil. He was better than any drummer we’d ever worked with before but he’d still go into a rehearsal room on his own and practice for hours. And he had a brilliant droll Scottish sense of humour. Just fitted in so perfectly. He was the missing piece of the jigsaw so to speak. He was like a sweeper in football. Sort of tidied up everything that was wrong with us musically. 

Still, we were finding it hard to get gigs, mainly due to our name, so we started our own weekly club night in a pub in Acton. It was quite a dive but we loved it. And we’d fly around London going to other gigs and nights. The next turning point for us then was when we met Sara and Nadia from the Pyrrha fanzine. They knew everyone. They introduced us to John Kennedy at Xfm, to Razorlight, and possibly most crucially Alan McGee. John Kennedy started championing us and we saw more people coming to our gigs. Then Alan offered us a single deal (on his label, {Poptones), which graduated to an album deal with Mercury and the rest is history I suppose. 

We recorded the album in March 2005 with Ian Grimble at 2khz in Willesden Junction. Alan McGee had spoken to a bunch of other producers, including Mick Jones, Bernard Butler and Andrew Loog Oldham. In fact Loog Oldham had apparently wanted to do it but he couldn’t make it work. It’s my favourite anecdote of the time that Alan McGee said that “the singer…” (me) was “…flying on the wings of greatness”. I mean that’s the guy that managed Oasis at the height of their powers, so it’s hard to imagine better. 

Anyway, Ian had worked with the Manics, Travis, Texas, so he had a good CV. He was a bit of a taskmaster. We did a week in preproduction where he helped us sculpt or prune some of the songs. I remember near the end of that process Alan came into the studio to hear how the songs were sounding. After we finished each song he said the same thing: “It’s a hit”. 

Ian made us do countless takes. Real perfectionist. Massively underrated producer. For one of the songs he set up the drum kit in the bathroom because he thought the tiles in there would give the acoustics he thought would work better for that song. He was right.  

I think the funniest incident in those recording sessions from my perspective was walking in to the kitchen and seeing the American artist Grace Jones looking in a state of distress. I asked her if she was OK and she walked up to me about six inches from my face and said, “I’m looking for honey.” So I helped Grace Jones scour the studios kitchen for a jar of honey. Unsuccessfully, I might add.” 

In the autumn of 2005 Mercury cancelled the bands' record contract as new management at the label cleared a lot of Poptones roster. The band negotiated a deal to keep the rights for the album but they didn’t have a label to put it out, the situation was frustrating for the band, audiences at gigs were getting smaller, they were skint, Zac moved back to Ireland and they broke up. 

The band were approached by ReAction Records who wanted to put out the album which was finally released in August 2006, receiving positive reviews but the band had moved on, there wasn’t the temptation to reform. 

After a 5-year break, the band had stayed in touch via Facebook and they decided to get back together, initially just for one gig at Proud in Camden, however, it sold out and they loved it so much that they said yes to every other gig they got offered, including gigs in New York and Norway. 

Zac Stephenson “Well, Glastonbury was one highlight. From that day onwards you’re always able to say you played Glastonbury which I think is a major ambition for pretty much every band starting out. Playing Hyde Park was great. New Year’s Eve we packed out the Kentish Town Forum. Touring was often fun. Could be tiring and tedious at times but when we got on stage it was (usually) brilliant.  

I used to love the radio sessions, Xfm, BBC, Virgin. And seeing your CD on the shelves in HMV was a kind of bucket list thing too. 

But I guess overall it was just seeing people packed together in venues singing the songs back to you. Our reunion gig at Proud Camden was beyond belief. 600+ people crammed in on a Tuesday night in February. We hadn’t played live for 5 years so the anticipation was palpable. Electric atmosphere.”  

The Crimea

The Crimea became one of John Peel’s favourite bands but their story begins a few years earlier, with the heavier and intense band, The Crocketts, a story that shows the destruction the music industry can have on people.  

Despite the negatives, The Crimea became trailblazers as they released their second album, Secrets of the Witching Hour for free online in 2007 which saw them featured in the news around the world while supporting huge bands such as Kings of Leon and Coldplay. Sadly, the years of mental health and addiction took its toll on frontman Davey, just as the band were reaching the goal they had been striving for. 

Davey Macmanus “The Crocketts started in 1995, we were so young, 18, when we got signed to V2. When we did our first photoshoot, it was with Mario Testino and it cost a lot of money, our manager said I looked a bit tubby so I developed an eating disorder which I had for the next 20 years, I thought food was poison. Our first tour was with The Pogues, I worshipped Shane Magowan, we were introduced to hard drugs, we were doomed from the start, somehow we were grouped into the whole indie scene, maybe because we formed in Aberystwyth and were part of the Welsh scene, touring with Stereophonics a lot, Space, Catatonia, Super Furries, 60ft Dolls. I became an alcoholic and drug addict. Every concert I was on ecstasy. I started hurting myself onstage, This became a thing, as our songs were about being bullied, self-harm and eating disorders, we attracted a crazy fanbase who came to all our concerts and showed me their scars. 

Although the band was doing very well in terms of selling out bigger and bigger shows and getting 5 out of 5 in the music papers, commercially we didn't sell enough records and V2 brought us into their office one day, there was a new head of A&R, Malcolm Dunbar, he played us three songs, Stereophonics’ Have a Nice day, Feeder’s Buck Rogers and Blink 182’s famous song, Then he told us he wanted our third album to sound like that. It didn’t, our music was getting heavier and heavier and our actions more destructive, we were dropped. 

Suddenly we had to get jobs, me and Dan, the guitarist were working the nightshift in Sainsburys in Romford. Instead of taking cocaine we were taking speed, instead of drinking Jack we were drinking yellow pack, we were all living in the same house, and eventually, I woke up one morning and Rich the bass player was gone, then Dan the guitar player locked himself in his bedroom and didn't come out for several weeks, then suddenly he was gone. There was only me and Owen the drummer left, we decided to completely reinvent ourselves, change our style and sound and play beautiful music. Instead of our audience smashing the venues they would sit down like at the cinema. 

We were so lucky, we rapidly built up a following, suddenly instead of being in Kerrang we were in The Guardian, we were being lauded as cool which was amazing that we had turned that tide around and people were respecting our change of direction. We weren’t part of any scene until later on by accident because we played with lots of big bands that liked our music. 

I met John Peel outside the American Embassy in Grosvenor Square. I was working for the council, sweeping the streets, it was autumn and the leaves kept falling from the trees, it was a fucking nightmare, I was dressed in the street cleaner uniform and I had one of those dustcarts you push, I recognised John Peel going into the Embassy and I went up to him and gave him a demo CD, that night he played all 7 songs from the CD on his show. He said on air that he went back and listened to The Crocketts but he didn't like them, but he loved The Crimea. Before he died he said about Lottery Winners on Acid ‘I could listen to that forever and ever”. He helped us so much and played us so much but after that first meeting I never met him again. 

We were just incredibly lucky again, while at South by South West we were seen by Perry Watts Russell a famous A&R guy for Warner Bros. We were actually offered a few different deals and we went with him because he had signed Radiohead, Damian Rice and Arcade Fire and all these other people. Plus we wanted to go and live in America. 

For our debut album we went to Mississippi to record with this famous producer, He had just produced Modest Mouse (who we toured with later) Cop Car single so he was the hot guy at the time. We were there for months and months but we were just getting high and not getting much done, while the producer was changing all our songs in ways we didn't like. He wore a white coat because he was meant to be a scientific genius. I didn't get on with him, I liked him a lot and we were friends but we had different musical ideas, we wasted hundreds and thousands of dollars with this dude, so we went to New York for another long period of time and re-recorded the album with another producer in James Iha’s studio. 

I kinda knew we were going to be dropped as our singles from the album had been on the decline, no.20 something, then no.47, then no.60 in the charts, Radio 1 had yet again (for the second band in a row) refused to playlist us, we had the A list on Xfm but that didn’t matter, we had amazing press but that didn’t matter. 

So when we were dropped by Warner Bros. we still had a really good publishing deal with WEA so that kept us going and we recorded an album ourselves, we had an old house near Norwich in the country and we rehearsed there for weeks on end and recorded, the band were amazing, Joe, Andy and Owen and the guitar player we had at the time Andy,  and we all stuck together and worked hard. We went to Latvia to mix the record with Greg Haver, we loved the album, because we made it ourselves and it was dear to us.  

It wasn’t our idea to release it for free, it was our manager Tav. It was an incredible idea. We played on top of Primrose Hill at midnight on the day of release and the album was released at the same time, there were hundreds of people there, the next day we went to China on tour and we were on the front cover of newspapers all over the world, it was truly mindblowing, all the news channels were interviewing us and all these papers and we’re in China so it looked really cool. 

Q Magazine said it was one of the top 5 moments that changed music, we did get some credit for it, maybe not enough, but we got some adverts out of it and could still sell out our shows everywhere so we got to continue 

At first we had to pay to tour with other bands like The Pogues, The Levellers and Stereophonics, then we became friends with the Stereophonics and we never had to pay them to tour again, I enjoyed touring with Billy Corgan, Kings of Leon, Travis, Modest Mouse, Snow Patrol, Gary Lightbody from Snow Patrol actually financed our third album, Square Moon, he also financed my volunteering in Africa as a nurse. 

I had a lot of problems with my mental health, with the eating disorder, with self-harm, with drug addiction, then with a heroin addiction, When it came time to release Square Moon I was so frazzled I couldn’t tour or do interviews so I just had to stop the band and leave when we had just made our greatest record and finally achieved what we had been trying to achieve for 20 years. 

I didn’t get any support from any labels, in fact they encouraged me to be wild, I had a lot of support from my bandmates and my family but they couldn’t help me. I just felt this pressure all the time as the songwriter to come up with hit songs, so I was obsessed with writing and trying to write hits the whole time, that's why we only really developed our sound when we were dropped and it gave me the freedom to not have to worry about writing hits and inadvertently wrote our best music  

Releasing Square Moon on double vinyl and the reviews it got are things I look back on fondly, then becoming a nurse and going to Africa, the highlight of my career was playing round a campfire in the middle of a desert to a bunch of orphans with HIV, you have to really sing from your heart when you don’t have a microphone.” 

Neils Children

Neils Children are one of the bands who were overlooked during the 2000’s but their DIY ideals and approach to consistently evolve is the reason that they have continued to make music, well, the 2 founding members, frontman John and drummer Brandon, they’ve got through a handful of bassists over their years.  

Scenes aren’t built to last but Neils Children have never been part of the scene which has allowed them to be different to the trends or a short-lived fad.  

Firstly, they formed in 1999, before The Strokes arrived, by the time the 2000’s bands were starting out Neils Children had already been together a couple of years. They came from Harlow, on the outskirts of London, they were inspired by the ‘60’s and they sounded different varying between post-punk, freakbeat pop and psychedelia. They looked different too, decked out in black with makeup, big hair, fur coats, skinny jeans and pointy shoes, they had to time their journeys into London to avoid trouble with football fans. They were doing this years before their mates, The Horrors, who they influenced.  

Everything about the band was intense and their live shows were always exciting. The band was fearless and did everything themselves. 

The pair were studying music together and immediately bonded over bands, within a couple of months, they were in the rehearsal rooms in college. John already knew how to play guitar, Brandon had to learn the drums and their classmate Tom was on bass.  

Aged 16 and looking for music that excited them was hard in 1999, until they discovered ‘60’s pop which then led them to the underground psychedelic scene.  

It wasn’t just the music but the clothes, the style and the community which was lively in Mousetrap, a ‘60’s psychedelic club night in Finsbury Park. They were the young outsiders but they quickly fitted in.  

They rehearsed a lot and started playing regularly, word got around that they were an exciting young band, described as freak-beat ‘60’s and even though that was what they were listening to, ‘80’s influences organically crept in too giving them a punk edge with The Jam and Buzzcocks. In the summer of 2000 they met Rhys, who would go on to form The Horrors years later and they struck up a great friendship and became the house band at his club, Junk, in Southend.

Their influences would grow even further when they discovered the likes of Yeah Yeah Yeahs and The Rapture who were starting to make their way over to the UK. This then took them on to listening to Public Image Ltd and Gang Of Four, their sound evolved into something more raw with a nod to post-punk and a contemporary twist. 

John’s grandad managed the band, he helped them out financially and drove them around. He had no interest in music but loved being part of the gang. He joined them on a tour of Spain before the band had released anything, organised by friends from the psychedelic scene. They drove for three days to Barcelona and made their way around the country for 10 gigs with a settee in the back of a van and a map to get around. It was DIY at its best and they loved it.  

Soft City Recordings signed them up in 2003 to release their ‘first album’, the band don’t really like it to be looked on as their first album as it was a few singles and a bunch of songs they quickly recorded. These days it would probably be called a ‘mixtape’ today, the label was keen to get it out as a stepping stone for the band to get signed to a major label. They practiced a lot, they were super tight and ended up recording 4 or 5 songs a day, all live. 

Once the band started seeing others investing in them they upped their game, stripped everything back to give fans the best possible show, developing their songs and ‘think’ about what they were doing instead of just doing it. Although they toured a lot in the UK, it was Europe where they found more success. 

John’s grandad took a backseat from management as the band signed to a new label and got a management team in place. In 6 weeks they recorded what was meant to be their debut album in a studio on Old Street, London, they supported The Horrors on a UK 2-week tour then went on a headline tour for 2 weeks.  

The relationship with both the label and management team quickly went sour. They had been used to their DIY approach and got things done themselves, they found that things got slowed down when working with others. A single should have been ready to sell on The Horrors support tour but it was delayed and they weren’t happy with how the mix of the recordings for the album sounded so they got out of the contract, lost the songs and started again. 

After going on hiatus the band returned with a new psychedelic sound and went to France to record an album. 

John and Brandon were super close, John’s grandad was part of it too and each bassist they had played a key role in the journey, making the band feel more like a family. 

NEXT CHAPTER

[timesofinnovation]

In recent advancements at the University of Virginia’s School of Engineering and Applied Science, researchers have developed an innovative AI-driven intelligent video analyser capable of sophisticated action detection. This groundbreaking system, known as the Semantic and Motion-Aware Spatiotemporal Transformer Network (SMAST), is set to revolutionize various industries by enhancing public safety, improving healthcare diagnostics, and developing more efficient autonomous vehicles. The SMAST technology provides several critical societal benefits. At a time when security and safety are paramount concerns, the ability of this system to enhance surveillance capabilities directly impacts how effectively institutions respond to potential threats. Additionally, in healthcare settings, SMAST's advanced motion tracking could lead to more precise diagnostic tools, ensuring better patient outcomes. A key feature of SMAST is its dual-approach mechanism to analyze complex human behaviours. The first element is a multi-feature action detection model. This model enables the AI to identify the most relevant aspects of a scene—highlighting critical actions such as throwing a ball, rather than just detecting arm movements. Such specificity is crucial for high-stakes scenarios, including public safety and healthcare applications. Furthermore, the second feature is a motion-aware 2D positional encoding algorithm that tracks movement over time. This capability allows SMAST to maintain an accurate representation of how objects and individuals interact dynamically within a video feed. The integration of these components enables real-time recognition of complex actions, which is vital for scenarios demanding immediate responses, like security and medical emergencies. Historically, action detection systems have struggled with analyzing continuous, unedited video streams. Traditional methods often lack context, failing to interpret the dynamic relationships between individuals and their surroundings accurately. However, SMAST stands out due to its innovative design, which captures these intricate interactions with impressive accuracy. By leveraging AI components that learn and adapt from data, it not only understands actions in context but also adapts to new scenarios and environments. The potential applications of SMAST are vast and impactful. For instance, in urban settings, the system can effectively identify actions such as a runner nearing a crosswalk or a medical professional performing a critical procedure. In crowded public spaces, it can detect security threats rapidly, enhancing the ability for timely interventions. These capabilities align well with current security mandates, highlighting hefty societal implications. Furthermore, SMAST has already surpassed traditional benchmarks within the academic community, demonstrating enhanced accuracy and efficiency on numerous critical evaluations such as AVA, UCF101-24, and EPIC-Kitchens. This performance not only establishes new standards in the realm of action detection technology but also builds a foundation for its waider adoption and integration into various sectors. Prof. Scott T. Acton, a leading figure in this research initiative, emphasized the broader implications of SMAST by stating, “These advancements open doors for real-time action detection in some of the most demanding environments.” In tandem, postdoctoral research associate Matthew Korban pointed out the potential for transformative effects across industries dependent on video-based systems. The societal impact extending from SMAST may not only reshape industries but also redefine standards for intelligent systems worldwide. By fostering advancements in AI, the technology paves the way for enhanced video analysis capabilities and applications that reflect modern human interactions in real-time. With every innovation, organizations will gain better tools to react and adapt to the multifaceted challenges posed by rapid environmental changes.

In conclusion, the introduction of SMAST is a monumental leap forward in action detection technology. As AI continues to permeate various sectors, advancements such as these reinforce the importance of developing systems that align with contemporary needs, ensuring safety and efficiency in everyday environments. The continued enhancement of AI technology could ultimately lead to a safer and more informed society.

[une-sanz-pluis]

The legal records of Oldcastle's trial drew on the chivalric model of treason but to a large extent this was subsumed by judicial constructions of treason as a crime against the people and nation of England. As with the Percys, the understanding of treason as a personal betrayal was represented by fears that corrupt homosocial affinities had subverted natural masculine bonds between political subjects and the king. In the indictment arising from a commission of oyer and terminer of 10 January 1414, Oldcastle, the lollard chaplain Walter Blake and Sir John Acton were charged with planning a Privatim insurgerent to advance their nephando propositio. The term 'private insurgency' distinguished this as unsanctioned aggression and pre-empted any defence that Oldcastle's actions were a legitimate performance of dififidatio. The term privatim, when linked to the term nephando, suggested that Oldcastle and his followers had formed a secret confederacy against the king. As discussed earlier, nephando invoked the most extreme form of perverse male attachment, the sin of sodomy, which was characteristically referred to in late medieval theological tracts and legal texts as nephandum peccatum or 'unspeakable sin'. Canon and civil law connected sodomy to lèse-majesté and heresy in a triumvirate of hidden crimes that were rooted in unnatural deviance. Invoking a universally understood legal and intellectual framework in which gender inversion signalled wilful rebellion against divinely-ordained natural order, the traitor, the heretic and the sodomite all stood as existential threats to the integrity of the masculine body politic. Echoing the gendered rhetoric of nephandum in the Oldcastle indictment, the idea of unnatural bonds also surfaced in the April 1414 statute, which targeted 'those belonging to the heretical sect called lollardy as well as others of their confederacy'. The discursive link between lollardy as a sect and the forming of dangerous confederacies deliberately seeded the idea that the problem was not lone malcontents but a well-organised cabal. For the Lancastrian regime, it must have seemed that in Oldcastles betrayal and rebellion, their deepest forebodings about perverse homosocial affinities had been fully realised.

E. Amanda McVitty, Treason and Masculinity in Medieval England: Gender, Law and Political Culture (The Boydell Press 2020)