#Imprinted Concrete Restoration

[firstimpressionsus]

Imprinted concrete driveways score over others in a big way

Concrete driveway contractors use this new concept with great effect to produce outstanding looking driveway. At first sight the pattern imprinted driveway may look as it has been constructed using bricks or blocks. The imprint leaves grooves which actually look like grouts but they are not. The imprinted concrete driveway is absolutely a single piece of pavement that is durable and easy to maintain.

[fistqwqw]

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[kodared]

Welcome Home Neighbor~ ✨ You and your friends enjoy passing the time exploring old and abandoned places and selling the leftovers for spare cash, but what would happen if things don't go according to plan?

Chapter 1/?

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You did not like this adventure one bit.

“Oh come on Y/N! What’re ya? Chicken?!”

Your friends Badgered you relentlessly as you all approached the tattered and run-down building. The once brightly coloured sign is now barely legible reading “Playfellow Workshops” In bold letters.

“I don't know guys... This building looks old anyways, I doubt there's anything in there worth taking”

Your eyes scan the shattered windows and brightly coloured “No Trespassing” sign, You don't know how you always get into these situations with your friends. It seemed whenever you were around it was always,

“Hey, I know a good spot to go to!”... or... “C'mon! We can use the money for a new Game!”

Nevertheless, your friends would never try to put you in danger... Right?

…

Yeah, nope they definitely would if it meant you guys could afford the new Nintendo game.

“C'mon, what if there's some vintage film in there? Think of all the possibilities Y/N!”

One of your friends shouted as he pushed you toward the entrance of the building. Your shoes made an imprint into the gravel driveway as you tried to stop yourself from going any closer.

You did not like the look of this place, the energy was off and bad vibes were lingering all around the already busted open wired gate.

However as you looked behind your shoulder, you knew from the looks on all of your friend's faces you weren't getting yourself out of this one.

So, with a heavy sigh, you marched forward past the tattered gates and steeled yourself for what you might find.

As you approached the giant red doors of the Studio, you remembered most places when they are shut down have the door bolted shut from the inside for this exact reason!

A small grin sneaked its way onto your face as you put one hand out and turned your head, ready to tell your friends there was no way to enter the building.

…

Of course, the door had to open flawlessly with a small push. Your small grin disappeared as fast as your friends had, with them nowhere to be found in your sight. They did that a lot though so you pushed forward into the studio.

First and foremost this place was big. It must have had many productions and props for it to be filled to the extent it was.

Boxes and cobwebs littered the concrete floor, a thick layer of dust coated the walls and plaques hung on the walls, the only light source being the dim light provided through the shattered windows.

You wouldn't get far without a flashlight though, as you searched your pockets for your phone your eyes found themselves scanning the walls for a light switch. Your efforts for a light switch proving to be for naught as you finally found your phone and clicked on the light.

Papers littered the floor, some covered with sketches of what you could only assume to be characters, and some with writing and... Was that a contract??

This place seemed to be in a devastating mess, even the concrete flooring felt unstable as you took steps farther into the Studio.

One thing caught your eye regardless, making you trek deeper and deeper to get a better glimpse. It was hard to tell by the dim light coming from your phone, but it seemed to be a Set used for the Characters to interact with.

A bright red house sat in the center of the room, its mechanical eyes shut with rust covering the surface. If the required items were remaining to get it to work, you knew by now there was no hope of restoring it.

You moved on to a farther corner of the warehouse, your curiosity seeming to reach its peak as you saw a door leading to an office. You rolled up your sleeve to wipe the dust from the door, it read

“Directors Office.”

Well… If there were any profitable things to be found you guess they would be in there, reaching for the door handle, it jiggled in your grip. Locked. Of course it was.

Dropping down onto one knee, you began to search your pockets to see if you had anything that would help with breaking into the office. Not very keen on returning to your friends empty-handed.

All you could find though was a wadded-up Five, a broken pin from your school backpack, and a soda tab…

…You considered yourself a very organized person.

Rising to your feet once more, holding the broken pin in your hand you began to try to finagle it into the lock, and by some miracle it... Worked?

You weren't one to doubt your talents but this just felt wrong, the lock should not have opened the door as quickly as it did.

The thought left your mind as you pushed forward, you didn’t want to be in here longer than necessary.

To your dismay, all that you could find were more animation and puppeteering sketches, they looked very intricate and old, with detailing on how to hold the strings for a puppet named Wally Darling and such.

From what you could gather from the scattered documents, this studio used to run a show titled Welcome Home, where the main Puppet named Wally would go and have adventures with his friends.

You ‘wished your adventures didn't always lead to trespassing’ you thought as your eyes landed on a rather cute piece of art containing Wally and his friends.

The designs were cute and simple, it was no wonder the show had its successes, one thought still lingered, why did this place shut down?

You understood the concept of bankruptcy, it was a common theme in your economics class, but this didn't make any sense.

The papers on the desk nonetheless clearly stated a bankruptcy claim, and a lawsuit file, with highlighted words stating there were OSHA violations, and rumours of puppeteers being harmed on the job.

It felt as if your mind was being run in circles the more you examined the papers on the desk,

Until you heard footsteps.

Your breath is caught in your throat. The footsteps sounded like they were coming from the front of the building, recognized by the sounds of glass being stepped on. Of course they had to be coming from the only known entrance to this place.

Your brain quickly jumpstarted back into functioning as adrenaline coursed through your veins. Clicking off your flashlight you picked up what papers you could recognize, At least you wouldn't be empty-handed. Making quick work of them and folding them into your jacket pocket.

Your hair stood up on its neck as the steps rapidly approached. You had that cold feeling running up and down your spine as you scanned the room for any sign of escape.

Other than the main office door of course there was no other way to flee. Your muddied shoes provided you with quieter footsteps as you crept towards the door.

The broken windows allow for minimal light to produce shadows of boxes and various rusted equipment.

One thing remained prominent in your mind, however,

Where were the footsteps coming from?

There was no shadow in the front of the building, yet those menacing footsteps kept crescendoing in your direction.

You had no time to worry about this, you needed to escape, and from the looks of it, this may be your only chance to do so. With a final deep breath, you shot from your previous place of hiding and took off in the direction of the doors.

The dim sunlight from the windows allowed you to avoid various boxes and obstacles in your path, You were not expecting however to feel the eyes of a predator on your back.

You tried your best to ignore it, but your breath proceed to become more laboured and panicked. Feeling as if you were a mouse caught in a glue trap. Your feet feel as heavy as concrete bricks as they hit the floor, where are you even running?

You couldn't tell. You tripped on what seemed to be your own feet, the world spinning around you, and you felt sick. What was going on? You felt panic proceed to grip your very soul as you felt the weak structure crack under your body.

This was not how this was supposed to go.

You wished you just stayed home. You could have minded your business and scrolled on the internet, but no. You had to be nosy and go exploring.

Your breaths became crazed and your eyes glued themselves onto the gray concrete. Not daring to look behind or beside you, in fear of making eye contact with what had frozen you with fear.

…

None of that seemed to matter anymore as the spinning feeling took hold of your brain. You could feel a migraine begin to pierce your eyes making your head throb.

Before you passed out,

you could have sworn the concrete was not this soft.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

~Taking Welcome Home Requests! The full story can be found on my Ao3 ʕ •ᴥ•ʔゝ☆ -

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[project-v175]

Out on a Limb

Brutal fighting. That's what the wizarding world had succumbed to. Violence. All her life, she had only known the peace of magic. That changed when she became an apprentice at the ministry. She wanted to be an auror. She wanted to restore peace. He who shall not be named had ruined everything for her, and it needed to be set right. Nothing felt normal for her.. not until him.

__

Chapter 6: Spells and Charms Aplenty

Alastor led Venus away from the lobby. In fact, the pair left the ministry entirely. Alastor took her on a broom ride that ended deep into the European countryside. Tall buildings dwindled into town houses and suburbs. There was a fine line between the city and country. From above, the neighborhood homes spaced further out until the concrete turned to dirt roads.

It was beautiful. The air felt thick with the scent of cars and pollution in the city. It became clearer the further out Venus flew. She looked out over the edge of her broom, lifting her arms out to feel the misty air beneath the clouds. A laugh filled the air around her, catching Alastor's attention. He eyed the girl. Her each movement waa full of life an enjoyment. Alastor hadn't seen such a genuine smile since he was young. A smile of his own began to form.

Venus caught Alastor's gaze. She blinked a few times before shrinking in in herself. She tucked in on her broom to hide her face. Her cheeks flushed red with embarrassment at the fact. Alastor chuckled to himself. His broom tilted away and Venus followed him to the ground. They landed in the middle of a feild, surrounded by rolling, rocky hills and a light overcast.

"Here. We'll start with somethin simple." Alastor put some distance between himself and Venus.

"Simple? What? Like protego?" Venus dismounted her broom. She set the broom down, letting it rest against a damp rock.

"A form of it. Yes. The Protection Charms. A set of spells used to protect set spaces for long periods of time. Use them myself." Alastor pulled his wand from its leather holster. He held his wand out, speaking the spells. "Protego Maxima. Fianto Duri. Repello Inimicum. Salvio Hexia. Protego Totalum." A small stream of blue magic poured from Alastor's wand. The magic formed a dome around his body. "Now you try."

"Oh, that one? Alright. Simple enough." A look of disappointment crossed over Venus' face at the simplicity of the spell, or spells. It wasn't that hard.

She lifted her wand and muttered the words. As Alastor's dome fell, Venus watched her own rise. It surrounded her in a thin, light blue film. She watched Alastor through her own magic. His flickering figure approached and his hand placed on the edge of the dome. Venus placed her hand over his. A wide smile stretched over her cheeks; one that Alastor briefly copied on a smaller scale. Venus let her wand fall into place at her side. The two concentrated on each other until Venus let the spell slip loose. Her hand pressed firmly against Alastor's.

She lost her balance with the fall of the dome, catching herself before she fell into Alastor. The two of them looked away from one another and cleared their throats simultaneously. Venus let out a soft giggle while Alastor's face hardened. The pair seperated again, with Alastor preparing a new spell.

"Well. Youre a fast learner." Alastor turned sideways. He pulls rocks from the earth. Each rock soon became a floating obstacle. "Normally, you'd use this on a training dummy. However, we clearly don't have one. What's the worst spell you've ever used?"

"Sectumsempra.. Sir.." Venus gave Alastor a concerned side eye. Her words were soft, almost hesitant.

"Which curse is that?" Alastor rest against his staff. The hoof on the bottom settled into the dirt, leaving an imprint in the muddy earth.

"A.. personal spell. I saw a student write it down in school.. its- its deadly.."

"Ah.. Go on then. Lets see it." Alastor motioned to the rock formations. He took a few more steps back, supporting himself on his staff once more.

Venus stared down the field. The floating obstacles began moving in different directions. She held her wand up and began striking. The obsticales reminded her of the death eaters in battle. They moved swiftly, avoiding some of her attacks. Smaller bits of the rocks flew at her, simulating counter spells. She sent a blast towards several rocks, sending them flying across the field and taking down another formation with it. Only a few obstacles stood. They surrounded Venus, cornering her.

Venus crouched down. The grip on her wand tightened. She grabbed a formation with her magic, throwing it into several others. The space was open just long enough for her to slip through and send another spell toward her foes. The unknown curse slipped from her lips. In an instant, the rocks broke apart and fell to the ground in a heap.

She turned to Alastor, panting and muddy. "Well?"

"Well.."

__

Author Note

OKAY SO LIKE I PROMISE I DIDNT FORGET I JUST DID A LIL TOO MUCH RESEARCH I MAY DOUBLE POST TODAY SO IDK KEEP AN EYE OUTT

[healthandfitness789]

Concrete Facades: The Ultimate Guide to Modern Architectural Elegance

Concrete facades are quickly becoming a hallmark of contemporary architecture. Known for their durability and aesthetic versatility, concrete facades offer a unique blend of strength and style that enhances both residential and commercial buildings. This blog will explore the benefits, design options, and maintenance tips for concrete facades, demonstrating why they are a top choice for modern architecture.

What Are Concrete Facades?

Concrete facades refer to the exterior surface of a building that is made from or finished with concrete. This can include both the structural concrete elements and decorative concrete finishes. The use of concrete for facades provides a sleek, robust appearance that can be customized to fit various design preferences, from industrial chic to sophisticated modernity.

Why Choose Concrete Facades?

Durability and Strength: Concrete facades are highly durable and resistant to weather conditions, making them ideal for a variety of climates. They can withstand harsh environments and maintain their structural integrity over time.

Aesthetic Flexibility: Concrete can be molded into virtually any shape and finished with a variety of textures and colors. This flexibility allows architects and designers to create distinctive looks that can range from smooth, polished surfaces to rugged, textured finishes.

Low Maintenance: Compared to other facade materials, concrete requires less maintenance. It is resistant to fading, cracking, and peeling, which reduces the need for frequent repairs and upkeep.

Energy Efficiency: Concrete facades can contribute to a building's energy efficiency. They provide excellent thermal mass, which helps regulate indoor temperatures by absorbing and releasing heat slowly.

Design Options for Concrete Facades

Exposed Concrete: For a raw, industrial look, exposed concrete facades showcase the natural beauty of the material. This style highlights the texture and character of the concrete, often complemented by minimalist architectural features.

Decorative Finishes: Concrete facades can be finished with various textures, such as stucco, polished surfaces, or patterned imprints. These finishes can mimic the appearance of other materials like stone or wood, offering a wide range of aesthetic possibilities.

Colored Concrete: Adding pigments to concrete allows for a spectrum of colors. This can be used to match the building's design with its surroundings or to create a bold statement.

Concrete Panels: Prefabricated concrete panels can be used to cover large surface areas efficiently. These panels can be customized with different textures, colors, and patterns to fit the design vision.

Architectural Features: Incorporating features like shading elements, perforations, or integrated lighting can enhance the visual appeal of concrete facades while providing practical benefits like reduced glare and improved energy efficiency.

Maintenance Tips for Concrete Facades

Regular Cleaning: Although concrete facades are low maintenance, regular cleaning helps maintain their appearance. Use mild detergents and avoid abrasive materials that could damage the surface.

Inspect for Damage: Periodically inspect the facade for any signs of damage, such as cracks or discoloration. Early detection allows for prompt repairs, which can prevent more extensive issues.

Sealant Application: Applying a sealant can protect the concrete from moisture and staining. Reapply the sealant as needed based on the manufacturer's recommendations.

Avoid Harsh Chemicals: Use gentle cleaning solutions to avoid damaging the concrete. Harsh chemicals can degrade the surface and lead to long-term damage.

Professional Assessment: For significant repairs or restoration, consult with a professional who specializes in concrete facades. They can provide expert advice and ensure that repairs are done correctly.

Conclusion

Concrete facades offer a combination of durability, aesthetic flexibility, and low maintenance that makes them an excellent choice for modern architecture. Whether you're aiming for a minimalist design or a more elaborate finish, concrete facades can be customized to suit your needs while providing lasting performance. By understanding the various design options and maintenance practices, you can fully leverage the benefits of concrete facades and enhance the beauty and functionality of your building.

[drnottspressurewashing]

Driveways are one of the most prominent features of your property, creating the first impression for visitors. Over time, these high-traffic areas can accumulate stains, dirt, moss, and algae. Similarly, patios, while attractive when first installed, can become overgrown with algae and moss.

At Dr Notts Pressure Washing, we specialize in domestic pressure washing to restore the appearance of your driveways and patios, giving you peace of mind and impressing your visitors. We meticulously clean and maintain these key features, eliminating any slip and fall hazards.

▪︎Block Paving

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▪︎Brick

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Whether your driveways are made of block paving, tarmac, or concrete, our experienced team will restore them to enhance your property’s first impression and value. If your driveway or patio needs cleaning,

contact Dr Notts Pressure Washing on 07745777050 for a free quotation

[safethaw]

5 Effective Techniques To Remove Tire Marks From Concrete

The sight of unsightly tire marks on your pristine concrete driveway or garage can be a cause for concern. Over time, rubber tires can leave black streaks and imprints, detracting from the overall look of your property. You may find yourself wondering how to get tire marks off concrete or how to remove tire marks from concrete without causing any damage. Luckily, there are several effective methods available that can help you restore the appearance of your concrete surfaces. Here are five techniques that you can use: How To Get Tire Marks Off Concrete 1. Simple Soap And Water Before diving into more complex methods, starting with the basics is always a good idea. Steps: - Fill a bucket with warm water and add a few drops of dish soap. - Using a scrub brush, scrub the tire marks vigorously. - Rinse the area with clean water and let it dry. 2. Baking Soda Solution Baking soda is a gentle abrasive and natural cleaner which can be effective in removing tire marks without damaging the concrete surface. Steps: - Make a paste by combining baking soda with water. - Apply the paste to the tire marks and scrub using a brush. The slight abrasive nature of baking soda can help lift the marks. - Rinse thoroughly with water. 3. Commercial Cleaners And Degreasers There are many commercial cleaners designed specifically for concrete surfaces that can help in removing stubborn tire marks. Steps: - Select a cleaner that's designed for concrete surfaces. - Follow the instructions on the label. Typically, you'll need to apply the cleaner, let it sit for a specific time, then scrub and rinse. - Ensure the area is well-ventilated if using a strong cleaner or degreaser. 4. Power Washing For those tire marks that just won't budge, using a power washer can be a solution. This method uses a high-pressure stream of water to remove dirt and stains from surfaces. Steps: - Start by setting your power washer to a low setting to avoid any potential damage. - Aim the washer at the tire marks and gradually increase pressure until the marks start to fade. - Make sure to keep the nozzle moving to prevent etching or damage to the concrete. 5. Safe Thaw: An Unexpected Solution While Safe Thaw is primarily designed as a chemical and toxin-free ice melt, its granular nature can provide a gentle abrasive effect, making it effective for scrubbing away tire marks. Steps: - Sprinkle a small amount of Safe Thaw over the tire marks. - Use a scrub brush to scrub the area. - The granules will provide additional scrubbing power, helping to lift the tire marks. - Rinse the area thoroughly with clean water once done. Important Tips To Remember - Always test any cleaning method on a small, inconspicuous area first to ensure it doesn't cause any damage or discoloration. - When using chemicals or commercial cleaners, ensure proper ventilation and wear protective gloves. - Regularly cleaning and sealing your concrete can prevent tire marks from setting in deeply, making them easier to remove in the future. Conclusion Finding the right method on how to get tire marks off concrete or how to remove tire marks from concrete depends on the severity of the marks and the tools or cleaning agents you have on hand. It's essential to approach the task with patience and to try multiple methods if needed. Whether it's the gentle abrasion from baking soda, the power of commercial cleaners, or the unexpected scrubbing help from Safe Thaw, there's a solution for every situation. Remember, with a bit of effort and the right technique, you can restore the appearance of your concrete surfaces and keep them looking as good as new. Read the full article

[powercleaningstokeontrent]

PJC Driveways will help create the perfect driveway for all budgets. Every single home is different, and we design driveways with that in mind. We can provide block paving in choice of colours and styles with a high variety of borders, to ensure the customer is getting exactly what they have always wanted.

[watusichris]

A Mile or Two in Joe South’s Shoes

My 2016 Joe South career retrospective, restored from Internet Purgatory.

**********

If you know anything about the true breadth of Joe South’s talents, it’s remarkable to consider that if he is known for anything at all today, it’s for just two songs.

For a hot minute in 1969-70, South looked like he was on the way to a major career. “Games People Play,” the tune that introduced him to the public at large, rose to No. 12 on the national singles chart; a radio ubiquity, it captured two Grammy Awards in 1970, as song of the year and best contemporary song. A year after that breakout hit, he rose to the same chart slot with the stomping, soulful “Walk a Mile in My Shoes,” a number that would be covered in short order by Elvis Presley.

After those two signature songs, Joe South pretty much disappeared off the American pop landscape. It was an astonishing vanishing act, for, in terms of sheer reach and ability, he came as close to genius as a musician can get. He was one of those cats who could do it all.

He wrote almost all of his own material; before his late-‘60s emergence, he had already made his mark writing for others – most notably fellow Georgian Billy Joe Royal – and one of his songs, “Rose Garden,” became one of the biggest country hits of 1970-71 in Lynn Anderson’s hands.

South had all the chops to put across his material. He was a terrific, expressive baritone vocalist. Perhaps more importantly, he was a dynamite guitar player who had honed his craft as an A-list session man in New York and Nashville. And he knew his way around the studio booth, too. He produced nearly all of his own records, and they were big, opulent sides, dressed with strings, horns, and chorales (in the manner of Chet Atkins’ countrypolitan sessions, Atlantic Records’ castanet-snapping R&B outings, and Phil Spector’s Wall of Sound). Yet at the core of South’s early records was the gutbucket sound produced by his family band, the Believers.

Though you could broadly categorize South’s music as “pop,” there was nothing weak or watered-down about his stuff. Like any musician who grew up in the South, he was reared on country music, and all his singing and picking reflected those roots. His style also had a strong R&B backbone and backbeat – not surprising, since one of his early hits as a songwriter, “Untie Me,” was for the Atlanta beach music act the Tams. And he could rock hard, and was unafraid to use the studio tools at his disposal for up-to-the-minute effects: Many of South’s most interesting tracks are overtly psychedelic.

Joe South was primed to go places – almost anywhere he wanted to go, really – but a predisposed dislike for the necessities of the music business, the usual rock ‘n’ roll pitfalls of drugs and alcohol, and, most critically, a devastating family tragedy knocked him out of the game when a brilliant career appeared his for the taking.

He was born Joseph Souter in Atlanta in 1940. His family was attuned to music and the arts: His father played guitar and mandolin, and his mother wrote poetry. He began playing guitar at an early age, while his younger brother Tommy took up the drums. Like many Southern households, the Souters tuned in to the Grand Ole Opry on Nashville’s WSM, as well as the popular local DJ Uncle Eb Brown on WGST.

“Brown” was the air name of Bill Lowery, who had been a mover and shaker in Atlanta’s music community since the early ‘50s as a broadcaster, station executive, and music publisher. It’s said that in an attempt to advance his musical aspirations, young Joe Souter boldly went to visit Lowery during his radio shift. No doubt impressed by his spunk, Lowery took the wannabe performer under his wing. One of his first pieces of advice was that Souter should change his name to the regionally reflective Joe South.

Beginning a professional and personal relationship that would survive for nearly five decades, Lowery brought 18-year-old college dropout South on board at his new independent record label, National Recording Corporation. The young picker was at first employed as a member of NRC’s house band, which also included the future recording stars Jerry Reed and Ray Stevens.

South began cutting singles in his own right for NRC, in varying pop, rock ‘n’ roll, and rockabilly settings. His lone chart record for the company came in 1958: “The Purple People Eater Meets the Witch Doctor,” a sort-of-sequel to two recent novelty smashes, Sheb Wooley’s “Purple People Eater” and David Seville’s “Witch Doctor.” Bouncing onto the chart briefly at No. 47, it was the only bright spot during his time on the label, which went bankrupt in 1961.

He continued to work as a performer, cutting singles unprofitably for the indies Fairlane and AllWood and for MGM, the former home of Hank Williams. But he began to hone his chops as a behind-the scenes player with his writing, playing, and production. He made his first mark with “Untie Me,” which became a No. 12 entry on the U.S. R&B charts in 1962.

He made his biggest impact in 1965-67 as writer and producer of Marietta, Georgia-born Billy Joe Royal’s hits on Columbia Records. Their partnership was announced with the propulsive poor-boy-loves-rich-girl saga “Down in the Boondocks,” which climbed to No. 9 in 1965. Royal road-tested such other South compositions as “Leanin’ On You,” “Rose Garden,” “Yo-Yo,” and “Hush.” The latter track reached No. 52 on the Hot 100 in 1967, but became better known in a 1968 cover by British hard rockers Deep Purple.

South also left his imprint via several noteworthy sessions. He played guitar on Simon & Garfunkel’s first bona fide electric sessions, which became the bestselling 1966 folk-rock album Sounds of Silence. He contributed guitar and bass during the Nashville recording dates for Bob Dylan’s groundbreaking two-LP 1966 set Blonde On Blonde. And in 1967, in the company of FAME Studio’s crack Alabama rhythm section, he laid down the signature guitar licks on Aretha Franklin’s hit “Chain of Fools.”

By 1968, Joe South had little left to prove, and Bill Lowery helped midwife a deal for his protégé at Capitol Records, already the home of such progressive pop-country talent as Glen Campbell and Bobbie Gentry. South was given extraordinary latitude for his first album: He produced the collection, wrote all of the material, and played lead guitar, backed by the Believers, a group that included his brother Tommy on drums and his wife, Barbara, on keyboards.

The resultant LP, Introspect, is an impressive piece of work that didn’t sound quite like anything else on the market. It was a widescreen sound, immense and layered, but at bottom down-home and funky. It drew from several stylistic tributaries. Its lead-off track “All My Hard Times” was an updated rewrite of the old spiritual “All My Trials.” The mocking “Redneck” was a loping countrified lampoon that can be seen as an early anthem of the New South; “These Are Not My People” was an alienated piece of similarly styled, Dylanesque social commentary. The strikingly trippy “Mirror of Your Mind” bore a startling out-of-time passage in its middle, while the equally expansive “Gabriel” was a psychedelic parable cut straight out of the Old Testament.

As great and unique as it was, Introspect was a marketplace failure, and Capitol’s accountants yanked it off the market just as a single drawn from it was beginning to make some noise.

Sporting a unique lead guitar line -- fabricated by South on either, depending on which source you believe, a Coral electric sitar or a Gibson Bell guitar fed through an outboard Echorette echo unit -- and a lyrical hook derived from the title of Eric Berne’s 1964 pop-psychology bestseller, “Games People Play” became a slow-rolling hit. Realizing they may have deleted Introspect prematurely, Capitol decided to capitalize on the song with a hybrid new album.

The Games People Play album – essentially a second debut album for South – resuscitated the title track, “These Are Not My People,” and, in an expanded psyched-up version, the song “Birds of a Feather” (which would appear on three of South’s six Capitol collections). To these were added a couple of new originals (including “Hole in Your Soul,” a frenzied vocal version of the Believers’ two-sided psychedelic instrumental single “Soul Raga”), remakes of several early-‘60s compositions for the Tams and Royal, and a potent rendition of South’s Brill Building-styled 1963 single for MGM, “Concrete Jungle.”

This bizarrely reconfigured opus failed to make any waves, but South gained some name recognition with his “Games People Play” Grammys. Moreover, he made some longer commercial strides with 1969’s Don’t It Make You Want to Go Home? The LP, which ultimately reached No. 60, sported not one but two hit singles: the title cut, a poignant look at the toll wreaked by modern life upon the Southern landscape, and the visceral, gospel-styled “Walk a Mile in My Shoes.” It also contained the most hallucinogenic entry in the South catalog: “A Million Miles Away,” a dense instrumental overlaid with a recitation of the album’s personnel and an extract from a telephone call between South and some staffers at the Nixon White House.

These ambitious records might have suggested to some that South’s potential was unlimited. But there was a problem: He didn’t like to tour, and was at heart a studio animal. He also didn’t respond well to the intense pressure of coming up with material that wouldn’t just equal the sales of his chart records, but would better them.

Perhaps in a hope of shaking things up, the 1971 album Joe South was recorded on home turf at Atlanta’s Studio One, where the Atlanta Rhythm Section was the hot session band of the hour. But -- save for “Rose Garden” (included to cash in on Anderson’s enormous hit with the song) and the “Brown Eyed Girl”-like “Birds of a Feather” (it was the third time around for this belated single release) -- the material, a mix of tepid new tunes and recut warhorses, was scarcely South’s best. The disinterest seemed to carry over on the second LP South issued that year, So the Seeds Are Growing; only seven of the album’s 10 tracks were original compositions.

The disenchanted South’s drug use had begun to escalate, and his brother Tommy, who suffered from depression, was also self-medicating. A turning point came on Oct. 11, 1971, when the younger South took his own life.

The immediate result of this tragedy was South’s final Capitol album, A Look Inside, released in 1972. The LP jacket bore a cover photo of South with an open window in his skull, and the most confessional songs on this dark, unsettling record mirror the graphic perfectly. Its first two songs, “Coming Down All Alone” and “Imitation of Living,” are candid and frightening reflections on drug addiction, and they have lost none of their power. But the record’s true killer, which kicks off with a tart quote of the “Game People Play” melody, is the ironically titled “I’m a Star,” possibly the most blunt, world-weary, and self-reflective deflation of the music industry ever released.

It was a record made by an artist at the end of his tether. As South said frankly in the notes to what proved to be his final album, “I flipped out. I just went completely into the ether in the wake of my brother’s death. I just had to get away, so I went out to the islands, caught Polynesian paralysis and just lived in the jungles of Maui for a couple of years.”

He returned, briefly, in 1975, for his lone release for Island Records, Midnight Rainbows. Though it began promisingly with the fittingly introspective original medley of “Midnight Rainbows” and “It Got Away,” the album – again employing members of the Atlanta Rhythm Section – is disappointingly short on new original material; its strongest tracks are wrenching covers of Jerry Butler’s “For Your Precious Love” and Johnny Adams’ “You Can Make It If You Try.”

The last track on Midnight Rainbows is an instrumental titled “Cosmos,” and that’s exactly where Joe South headed. He was virtually invisible on the public stage from the release of that last LP until his death on Sept. 5, 2012, in Flowery Branch, Georgia. Before Bill Lowery’s death in 2004, he issued a couple of singles on his old sponsor’s independent labels: “Jack Daniels On the Line” for 1-2-3 Records in 1981, “Royal Blue” for Southern Tracks in 1986.

The last work he released during his lifetime arrived as a bonus track on the Australian label Raven’s 2010 repackaging of So the Seeds Are Growing and A Look Inside. Sung by South in a charred latter-day voice, “Oprah Cried” is an apparently faithful account of his appearance on Oprah Winfrey’s talk show, where his story of life’s hard knocks moves the hostess to tears. “Son, I thought I’d heard it all,” she tells him.

Considered in light of what might have been for Joe South, it’s one of the saddest damn songs ever written.

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Writing Bound - a photo essay?

Hewwo, I wrote a little nieyao/sangyao story a while back called Bound, this is me discussing how I used research to create the world, the characterization and themes of the story with the intention to further develop them at a later time. 

You’ve read “write and don’t analyze”, well this is the opposite and it’s super important in the creation of complex and culturally sophisticated stories.

Dedicated to @annulareye​ and their silver tongue. But also many thanks to the other people interested in this. 

The setting

I placed the action in Hong Kong. Probably inspired by the fact Wang Yizhou is from there? Or visits there a lot? And also its rich and deeply romantc cinematic tradition (Wong Kar Wai). 

Also the sprawling metropolis setting amplifies emotions of isolation and vulnerability. The room for passion and romance is very narrow, and conditional, which explains the good reception of their erotic content. A space for flesh in the heart of a concrete city. 

I also liked the idea the brothers as two artists that haven’t quite made it yet. That Mingjue might be the one who is holding them back, hiding them in a gritty industrial space with just the bare necessities instead of a fashionable studio, but that may also be the foundation of their success combined with his dependability.

Another inpiration for placing the action in Hong Kong are its sprawling cemetaries, and highly organized funerary culture. I found out about these cemetaries from a brilliant film - The Pillow Book, by Peter Greenaway. More so than a place of death, the cemetary is in a way a burrow of the metropolis. Making the afterlife a real possibility. The dead inhabit a place and they want things, a connection with them is still possible in such a setting.  

I chose photography, and not some other type of event, or visual art as a discipline for the brothers, not only because of the beautiful aesthetics of the photography studio, because of the experience of photography itself, which is spontaneous and performative, but also highly organized and introspective.

The developing process where  a picture appears slowly in its bath is also another allusion for manifesting feelings, their fleetingness and uncertainty, and how they could change according to who is viewing them and at what time. 

Moments of spirit. 

I had decided early on that a great deal of the romantic tension would rely on the contrast between Meng Yao’s physical and emotional availability. He might be bound, and bent, documented and processed, but he cannot be possessed. Aside from his time in the studio he is invisible socially and even unwelcome - which are core traits of the character in their original context. 

He is a bit like a ghost, and the brothers’ romantic attraction to him, haunts them. He is intagible and incorporeal in a way that makes them uneasy and uncertain of if he is even there. 

The physical torture of binding him, the documentation through photography they are all ways to assure themselves of his human dimension. The imprint of his sweating body drying on the concrete, and the personal portrait Huaisang took while they were making love are both confirmations of his corporeality, his existence in space, and a reinforcement that the two brothers can affect him, can capture and ground him to reality if you will.  

A huge inspiration for those two moments was Francesca Woodman’s self portraits.

And Carol’s portrait, Therese takes, in Todd Haynes’ Carol (Huge lesbian film watch it.)

A huge inspiration for Meng Yao’s behavior is another film, Under the skin by Christine Adler - where a grieving woman whose mother is dying, engages in masochistic sex with strangers. I liked the idea that Meng Yao is also not sure if he exists himself, and having reckless sex with both brothers, and enduring pain affirms to him his existence and capacity to endure. In the background of Bound’s plot is that all three of the characters have lost their parents slowly and painfully to disease, and neither of them is really sure about the meaning of their continued survival - which are also the big themes of this film.

Burning funerary offerings, and self-immolation as an act of desperate self-sacrifice.

Again I was exposed to the custom of burning effigies as offerings to the dead for things they might need in the afterlife from the film The Pillow Book. I liked this idea of the dead wanting things in the afterlife, real things that they might have use for like cars and houses and servants. I also liked the idea of the two brothers strolling in these traditional markets of Hong Kong being so familiarized with death and suffering that it is a game to them to see these novelty items and think on what they would like if they died.

(Photography from this article)

Back to Pillow Book, Nagiko, a model turned writer, who writes her memoir on the skin of her lovers, loses her lover and fellow writer Jerome to suicide. She burns his books, and effigies of his car and typewriter. So there came the idea that not only effigies, but also actual possessions of the dead person might be burned. She later also burns her possessions and returns to Japan - in a way offering to Jerome’s afterlife, the part of herself that he met and fell in love with.

That is why Mingjue clears the apartment, and that is why he also burns himself. It’s a gesture to restore to Huaisang his previous life in death, and to offer him what he needs, which was Mingjue’s love and support. 

At that moment he views himself as an extension of Huaisang’s life.

That is also why he buries Meng Yao with Huaisang, Meng Yao too becomes an offering, in an effort to shift the blame for the accident entirely on his self. 

He is still lying of course to himself, because he only responded to Meng Yao’s advances when it became evident to him, Huaisang had him. So he becomes an adversary to the two lovers, and for this he must be punished by the system of the work. Punishing a character, however, is meaningless as an action directed to them by the author. 

It renders their destruction void. 

Which takes me to the act of self-immolation in the real world, which has a rich history as a protest against oppression.

In the story the real culprit is the city, the oppressive reality of modern life that does not permit the slowing or stopping of activity. It causes the trauma, it creates the perfect conditions for accidents, it buries and forgets and continues. And that is the peak of suffering.

Self-immolation says I am suffering now more than if I were on fire or fire is to be endured, and so is death, but not existing invisible and uncared for among people. 

These are thoughts, or messages generated by a very well-known photo of the buddhist monk  Thích Quảng Đức burning in protest in a street in Saigon. It’s very well known not only for the powerful visual of a human being burning, but because of the monk’s peaceful and meditive countenance. 

(Picture under the cut.)

I read recently an article titled the tragedy of self-immolation is that no one cares - or something like that- and it startled me. Because actions like these might not bring abrupt visible changes, but they do matter, and they are added to the collective human soul for better or worse. Anyone who comes into contact with them cannot but be moved and changed. 

I wanted an end to this story that is both a reasonable demise fot the character, and a point to address to the reader about the futility of control and authority, and the trauma it generates in the human soul. Messages like that are highly abstract but incredibly succinct.

Which brings me to the narrative mechanism used to develop most of the themes of the story.

Bondage.

The pictures that follow, are not highly graphic there’s nudity, and bondage for the most part. They belong to a photographer called Nobuyoshi Araki, who has had a long career both as a photographer and a bondage artist. Recently a very young model that he also had a relationship with of his has come forward accusing him of physical and psychological abuse. So I’ve kept them at the bottom of this post if you do not want to be exposed to his material.

I found his work very early when I studied as an art student, and I was very drawn to the beauty and sentimentality of his models. For anyone who doesn’t want to see these pictures, but wants to know what they look like, they are not strictly pornographic.

He has said about his bondage work, that you can bind a woman’s body, but you can’t bind her soul. And after all these years and my relationship to his work, I see that his photography is just another effort to capture and bind that female soul. To pin it in a cushion for others to admire and use.

And this is the theme I worked on for the brothers’ bondage art. For them its a gateway to fame and recognition, a way to manipulate and effect change, to make their places more solid to the world. 

For the people who offer themselves to be bound and photographed, it’s a medium to expose and subject others to the romantic sensitivity locked deep in their souls. A romance developed from rejection and dismissal to be offered back in defiance, or sorrow, as a continuous effort to be accepted back.

There’s also the notion of the tempering quality of cruelty in the creation of something precious and unique, worthy of an audience’s attention, which mirrors the why this story is created in the first place.

[gatheringfiki]

The following ficlet was written by @z-aliada​ based on this photoset.

Britchell, Gen.

You can also read this story on AO3.

If you’ve enjoyed this story, please leave a comment either in replies or on AO3. :)

—

Of Kittens and Ridiculous Coffee-Drinking Habits

Anders’ POV

Kittens. Not really his thing. He used to love those bastards as a child, but they were too much like him to evoke any other feeling rather than relatability. He had never actually chased them down the street or brought them home, but there was always a subtle hint of fascination imprinted at the back of his mind when he saw one. Fat or thin, furry or ridiculously naked, they all possessed an undeniable measure of grace leaking, almost rhythmically, through their movements. Like he, they never succumbed to the desires of others. Like his, their desires were their god whom they loyally served. They shouldn’t have been surprised to be called disloyal. And they were not surprised, because they never cared about that sort of thing. It was foreign to them, just like mortals’ definition of love was foreign to Bragi. They both hunted. They both came out victorious. When they didn’t, no well-meaning consolation was needed, Instead, they drank that power from within themselves, and, having drunk enough, restored themselves once again. As a child, Anders admired that quality and wished that he, too, could have it someday. Having acquired it, he understood one simple truth: there was but one step from admiration to the battle of wills.

*** Mitchell’s POV

Mitchell used to be unnerved by the cats. It sounded quite ridiculous in retrospect, but these animals never failed to create a sparkle of suspicion in him. They could just be lying down, quietly and unassumingly, and it’d still make his instincts go off with the anticipation of the upcoming disaster. Coupled with the fact that he was born into a superstitious family, that initial predisposition only continued to grow, making its way into his adulthood. Afterwards, when his world ended and then began anew, little had changed in that regard. Almost ironically little, considering that he was now the one who fueled superstitions, leading one from the land of indulgent imagination into the land of shocking reality. There was a bridge between the two, and that was where the cats belonged. Or at least, Mitchell had always thought so. Now, squeezing a living, breathing creature in his arms, he wasn’t so sure. Now, that thing seemed more genuine and alive than the majority of humans he had the misfortune of meeting. The kitten fidgeted a bit and produced a lot of meowing noises, which should have been annoying but somehow wasn’t. The thing was clearly cold and hungry. Mitchell couldn’t help with the second part yet, but he could at the very least share the warmth of his body. Maybe, that would be enough. Maybe, he would be enough. Suddenly, the creature snuggled closer to him, and the meowing turned into rich, almost musical purring. Mitchell tried to ignore the feeling of satisfaction that followed, but it grew relentlessly within him, warming its way to his heart. Finally, the fidgeting quieted down, but the purring never stopped completely. Mitchell turned to look at the cafe’s blue lights. That coffee was a strange drink. He was feeling light-headed, and there was a lingering aftertaste in his mouth. Still, he couldn’t miss the chance to brag to Anders about it. Anders didn’t get to be the only one trying human stuff. In fact, the cat discovery will have to be high up on the list of his achievements this week. Satisfied, Mitchell turned around and continued quickly down the road, into the cacophony of yellow lights that were leaving subtle shadows on the snow. The warmth of the kitten pressed to his chest contrasted with the biting touch of the wind. Feeling positively overstimulated, Mitchell closed his eyes and exhaled deeply. For once, feeling human wasn’t an obligation eating away at his mind, but a concrete reality. Mitchell smiled.

***

Anders’ POV

Dawn had a kitten. Or a cat. Or didn’t she? He wasn’t entirely sure, and that was a clear sign of his complete, utter disinterest in these creatures. So why was Mitchell holding one now as if it was his child? Anders cringed at the involuntarioy evoked imagery and stepped back, farther away from The Thing. Now that he thought of it, a murderous Mitchell wasn’t all that bad. At least, he was much preferable to this unexpected mushy version Anders had been getting lately. At first, it had been random touching (and definitely not in the way Anders prefered), then it was followed by the even more obnoxious oversharing, and finally this? The kitten. Did Mitchell think he’d adopt him? He could barely look after himself. Dawn could, though. So, why don’t they just–? 

“No, we are not giving him to anyone else,” Mitchell whispered, fervently, and something in his gaze made Anders pause.

Apparently, Dawn was off limits. And so was any help capable of freeing him from that little havoc-wreaking monster.

Anders looked at Mitchell again and realized that the kitten seemed to have gained a similarity to his owner. Or was Mitchell the one doing a trick on him?

Anders sighed and gestured for him, for them, to come in.

“Want some coffee?”

Mitchell’s eyes widened and he nearly dropped the cat.

Anders had to admit that it was unusual of him to offer people coffee, but since Mitchell never drank it anyway it seemed like a nice payback for thrusting a cat on him.

Mitchell narrowed his eyes, and suddenly his face lit up with a smile.

“Yes, please.”

Anders just stared at him, momentarily confused.

“You never drink coffee.”

Mitchell shrugged, and his smile turned smug.

“Well, today I do. Following your worthy example.”

Anders supressed a groan. In fact, neither of them was supposed to drink it. He was a god, and gods were supposed to drink… actually, he was not sure what exactly, but it certainly wasn’t coffee. And Mitchell could never be satisfied by any human-made substance anyway. Unless it was blood, that is. Mitchell didn’t seem to appreciate his joke, though. The first time, he frowned, and the second time he threatened to make Anders sorry if he mentioned that again. Anders had no idea what that involved, but it sounded promising. Maybe he would mention that again, after all. Now, Mitchell was sipping his coffee and petting the cat who was currently… sniffing his counter.

“No,” Anders said, keeping his voice authoritative.

Mitchell chuckled, his expression almost gleeful. For someone who had never drunk coffee he seemed to enjoy it a hell of a lot.

“The cat can’t understand you. Well, unless your god powers extend to influencing animals, but somehow, I doubt that.”

Anders snorted at him and removed the offensive creature from the (rather expensive) surface. No furniture of his would be spoiled by cat scratches. Not when there were much more creative and memorable ways.

“Watch your mouth, Anders, he’s just a kid!”

Apparently, he’d said the last one out loud. Somehow, his control never lingered long enough around Mitchell - something Mitchell no doubt enjoyed.

Anders faked indignation.

“You said it can’t understand me.”

Something flickered in Mitchell’s gaze. Something deep, compelling, and hungry.

“But I can, Anders. And he is not an ‘it’. Show a little respect.”

Anders took a drink of his coffee and stared wordlessly in the increasingly darkening eyes. Mitchell took a sip of his own, never breaking the eye contact.

“Why should I show respect to someone who was forced on me?”

It was mostly a pointless question, but Anders had to ask it. The truth was far more simple: Mitchell could bring a dead body to his apartment, and he still wouldn’t find it in himself to kick him out. They both knew that, but Anders was relieved that Mitchell never actually tried to prove that hypothesis.

Clearly bored of the floor inspection, the kitten made his way to the bed.

Anders groaned,  decided to ignore Mitchell’s satisfied smirk, and took one more drink of his coffee. Which was surprisingly… bitter? He cursed and nearly sent the cup flying down.

“It tastes like medicine, and not a good kind,” he complained.

Before he could protest, Mitchell took his cup away and made a ridiculously pleased face when the liquid touched his tastebuds.

“What happened, Anders? Can’t hold your liquor? It’s just a little human drink.”

Anders might have felt annoyed at that, but the teasing was somewhat spoiled by the fact that Mitchell’s breath was coming out in shallow hitches and his eyes were slightly unfocused.

Anders chuckled, his hand instantly finding Mitchell’s pulse. Him, unable to hold his liquor? He was definitely not losing that bet. Mitchell tried to escape, and Anders pressed down harder, calmly enduring the sullen scowl directed his way. Just as he thought, Mitchell’s heart was racing as if he’ d been running for two hours straight, and it was a peculiar thing to have happened to a vampire, if Anders had anything to say about that.

“No, shut up,” Mitchell said. Anders just smiled at him, figuring his expression was eloquent enough.

The pleasure of winning still held him captive, he decided. And he had no intention of regretting that.

“It’s a strange drink,” Mitchell complained tiredly, suddenly losing all the bravado.

“How many did you take?”

Now, he was definitely curious. How many cups did it take for a vampire to become intoxicated enough to take a kitten? That was a question worthy of a thorough research.

“I don’t know. I kind of lost count after the tenth.”

Anders whistled, reluctantly impressed.

“All of them bitter?”

Mitchell groaned, and Anders felt himself relent. It was no fun tormenting Mitchell when he was already down, both physically and emotionally.

“Okay, just go sit here for a bit. Your hellish creature is in a need of attention.”

“How do you know that?”

“Well, if he’s anything like you…”

Having caught the hand, undeniably ready to slap hom, Anders led a weakly protesting Mitchell to the bed and alerted the kitten to his presence. The kitten opened one sleepily looking eye and moved graciously to his owner, somehow managing to look independent while doing that. Anders snorted and tried to leave them to their business. Alas, it was one of his rare unsuccessful attempts, which somehow ended up with him snuggled to Mitchell and, even worse, with the cat lying on top of him. “They look so deceptively innocent when they sleep” was Anders’ last thought before it was his turn to fall into a blissful unconsciousness in which there were no adorably-looking cats and tempting Mitchells who threatened to take away his self control. Somehow, it turned out to be one of the most boring dreams he’d ever had. He supposed, there was no great victory without a great challenge. And Anders was fully prepared, even if Mitchell and the cat didn’t think so.

[beek1d-blog]

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