#Key West Cemetery

[boerum-dodge]

day 3—in key west cemetery // key west 2017

first photo of the day I could post

2017-10-30

[angelwngd]

[naesarchive]

The Sixth Pantheon of the Chacarita Cemetery, located in west Buenos Aires, was built during 1950-1958 and designed by one of the first female Argentine architects, Itala Fulvia Villa, a key figure in Argentina’s modernist architectural legacy and a member of the Grupo Austral.

For years the work was solely credited to Clorindo Testa, despite his more minor collaborative role in the project designing the concrete temple and the Torii-gate-style monuments scattered above ground.

The Pantheon is the first modernist work of its kind applied to the design of a cemetery on this scale, created to house 40,000 niches. A labyrinthine network of subterranean galleries and vaults is interconnected by a series of walkways, punctuated by open courtyards and patios characterised by hanging wall planters and vegetation. The result is an oasis of calm split over two levels below ground accessible by generous stairwells, all hidden from view from the landscaped garden above. 

[allergictocolor]

Character Profile - Morticia Addams

“The real head of the house and moving force behind it. Low-voiced, incisive, and subtle; smiles are rare. This ruined beauty has a romantic side, too, and is given to low-keyed rhapsodies about her garden of deadly nightshade, henbane and dwarf’s hair. Generally indulgent [of] the often sinister activities of the children, but feels that Uncle Fester has to be held in check. Her costume is always the same - the form-fitting black gown, tattered or cut to ribbons at the elbows and feet. Occasionally, she will wear a shawl. Her voice is never raised, but has great range. Contemptuous and original and with a fierce family loyalty. She never uses a cliché except to be funny. She is a thoughtful hostess in her way and, if a guest needs anything, he is advised to scream for it. The children are instructed to observe the amenities and always kick Daddy good night.” - Chas Addams

Charles Addams claimed to have thought up her name while leafing through the yellow pages in a phone book (they used to deliver books full of local phone numbers to our houses!) when he stumbled upon the listings for Morticians. People speculated as to whether she was based on any of his three wives, but he denied that vehemently. He just happened to love thin, pale women with dark hair, and managed to marry the woman of his dreams three times. Though he did marry his third wife in an Addams family-themed wedding in a pet cemetery, so make of that what you will.

Carolyn Jones was cast in the 1964 TV series, despite not being taller than their Gomez, John Astin. He wasn’t a tall man by any account, so I’m assuming she was the best Morticia in the auditions and had the best chemistry with their leading man. Their chemistry on screen was excellent, but also the right amount of comical. While Gomez was frequently overcome with passion whenever Morticia spoke French, or any other foreign language, Morticia often brushed him off. There were other things to do. They could get carried away later.

She called him “Querido”, “Mon Cherie”, and “Bubele”, a yiddish nickname that wasn’t continued with subsequent Morticias. The show established that Morticia held Gomez in the palm of her hand (left, below). Unfortunately, both because it was a sitcom and because it was the 1960s, there had to be hilarious misunderstandings that undercut her power over him somewhat. In more than one episode, she was given reason to doubt that Gomez really loved her, and was driven into the trope of the worried housewife, fretting over what to do. It always worked out in the end, of course. Sitcoms always do.

The TV show is where Morticia started the habit of cutting the heads off of roses, making bouquets of only the stems (right, above). She spent a lot of time tending her various plants. She had an African strangler named Cleopatra, which continued in other incarnations later on. In the show, she fed it “hamburger meat”. On camera, it looked like meatballs or very small burgers. It threatened to eat a few people, but Morticia assured them that humans gave Cleopatra heartburn.

1960s Morticia indulged in painting more than later versions of her. They didn’t always show what she was painting, but often showed her behind an easel, working on something. When they did show the painting, it was something unusual. More frequently, they simply said what she was painting.

She was also seen knitting frequently. Sometimes she would be knitting a scarf that was well over 20 feet long, looping around the living room furniture. Other times, it would be a sweater with a very long neck or extra limbs, likely a reference to the comic below, which was also referenced in the 1993 movie Addams Family Values.

While her mother, Hester Frump, was played by Margaret Hamilton (the wicked witch of the West from The Wizard of Oz), and Morticia herself was described as a witch in the series, the witchcraft was mostly implied. She was shown “smoking”, producing smoke by simply crossing her arms and concentrating, but she didn’t tell fortunes or mix potions like her mother-in-law Grandmama Addams does. Once they got to 1991, Anjelica Huston’s Morticia stated that she was a witch, and that in school she majored in “spells and hexes”.

Huston’s Morticia is level-headed and fully assured of herself. When things go badly for the family, she’s the one who holds everything together. Like her co-star Raul Julia, she is my generation’s gold standard for the character.

I think Morticia takes a little step backwards in the musical, suddenly being unsure of herself because she’s showing a few wrinkles. Bebe Neuwirth was amazing on Broadway, but Gomez would never be bothered by his wife showing her age. He loves everything, and he loves his wife even more. She should know that.

The 2019 animated version of Morticia is wickedly wonderful. Here, she does show some kind of magical powers, unless producing thousands of spiders to make a walkable bridge is just gross and not actually magical. She also talks to her deceased parents on a crystal ball, a form of communication repeated in the 2022 Netflix series.

In the Netflix series, Catherine Zeta-Jones’ Morticia is a side character so far, so we only see her in a few episodes. We know she has psychic visions that are positive, the polar opposite of her pessimistic daughter, but we haven’t seen any of her visions. She’s also madly in love with Gomez and as easily carried away as he is, which is a problem for their embarrassed children. We’ve been told we’ll get a better look into Wednesday’s home life in season 2, so it’s likely there will be even more of Morticia there. Maybe we’ll even see Cleopatra!

[scotianostra]

Scottish physician Patrick Manson was born in Oldmeldrum in Aberdeenshire on October 3rd 1844, he is regarded as founder of the field of Tropical Medicine.

Patrick Manson was a son of Alexander Manson and Elizabeth Livingstone Blaikie, his dad was the manager of the local Linen Bank, and Laird of Fingask. His mother was distant relative of the famed Christian missionary-explorer David Livingstone.

He developed a childhood passion in natural history, fishing, shooting, carpentry, mechanics and cricket. Among his Presbyterian-Christian family, he showed excellent memory for memorising church sermons at the age of 5 years. In 1857 his family moved to Aberdeen, where he started his formal education at Aberdeen’s Gymnasium School and continued at West End Academy.

Aged 13 1859 he was apprenticed to Blaikie Brothers “Iron masters” however struck down by a form of tuberculosis he had to leave this job, the ironworks loss would be medicines gain, a year later he entered Aberdeen University where he completed medicine course in 1865 however aged only nineteen and was underage for graduation, so he visited hospitals, museums and medical schools in London. Finally of age he formally graduated in October 1865, and was appointed Medical Officer at Durham Lunatic Asylum.

The following year he gained his Master of Surgery and his Medical Doctorate.

Immediately after qualifying Manson travelled to Formosa (now Taiwan) to take up a post as a medical officer to the Chinese Imperial Maritime Customs. In 1871 he transferred to Amoy, on the Chinese coast, and 13 years later he moved to Hong Kong, where he practiced from 1883 to 1889. Manson developed an early interest in tropical diseases, and in particular in the role of parasites in their transmission. His initial studies were on filaria, a small parasitic worm that causes elephantiasis: and he was able to show that mosquitoes had a key role in transmitting the worms and spreading the disease.

Manson’s discovery helped inform the work of Sir Ronald Ross, who was studying the transmission of malaria in India at the time. While in Hong Kong, Manson helped found the Hong Kong College of Medicine for Chinese, which later formed the nucleus of the University of Hong Kong. He was also the first person to import dairy cattle from Scotland to Hong Kong, starting a dairy industry there supplying hygienic milk affordable by pregnant women, children and patients.

Manson moved to London in 1889 and in 1897 was appointed to the post of Chief Medical Officer to the Colonial Office. Amongst his early initiatives was the foundation of the London School of Hygiene & Tropical Medicine, which opened in 1899. He was elected to the Royal Society in 1900, knighted in 1903 and in the following year awarded an honorary Doctorate of Science by the University of Oxford. In 1907 he became the first president of the Royal Society of Tropical Medicine, and retired from the colonial office in 191

Retiring in 1912 to fish in Ireland Manson returned to London at the beginning of the First World War. Despite crippling attacks of gout he continued to take a lively interest in medical education.

He died in London in 1922 at the age of 78 and is buried at Allenvale Cemetery in Aberdeen.

[thenightfolknetwork]

So I know you don’t answer many questions from- across the pond, as it were, but I don’t need any legal advice, and I’m at my wit’s end. I’m hoping you can help.

So my genus is very small. In point of fact it’s just my family, as far as I know, and it’s only ever one creature active at a time- bunch of sapios doing sapio things, then the previous Creature dies or sees the Signs and boom! One of us Wakes and hey look at that, new Hierophant! And as the current Hierophant I Speak and Am Heard- part of the reason I’m writing to you.

A part of my genus is acting as the mouthpiece for a portent of the apocalypse. That's not a secret- hell, its why the town has the name it does and why the family name's on the radio station. Predictably, I am the foremost DJ on 226.5, the Voice of Birch.

It’s not a bad gig, per say. I go to work and between the traffic reports and the local top forty I give an update on the eventual Coming of The Burned Birch. It never lasts long and my local community really likes it. The Birch sort of became a touristy thing, you see- awesome in the autumn, all its leaves yellow and glowing with ghostfire.

Well, so they tell me. I can't actually LOOK at the Birch-if I do, I'll go by way of great uncle Milton and turn into salt. Thank goodness pictures and art don't count or we'd have to move the station and the whole family into the old mica mine.

The Birch likes being appreciated and turned into post cards and calanders, though. It’s a bit of a show off, really. I guess I’d be showing off if I were a tree that could move around at will.

The problem is that lately, the Birch has been sending me updates at the most inconvenient times. It's generally a twice a day thing, but now I’ll be brushing my teeth at five AM and the whole town hears me ominously spouting coordinates and warning of the cracking of the earth and rising of the dead. The Birch can’t even make the dead rise, there’s been wards on the local cemetery for a century!

Or I’ll be making an order at my coffee shop and suddenly I’m telling poor Taylor the barista that the trees come down the mountain to open their fiery branches to the burnished sky.  

The worst of it is at ten or eleven at night when I’m trying to settle into bed. My hometown is very small and quiet, so most folks are in bed early unless they’re nocturnal like the coven that runs the night shift at the bakery. I’ll be drowsing, mind floating off to dreamland, and all of a sudden I’m bolt upright in bed declaring that West Street’s pavement is going to shatter with the feet of elder gods, flee the Burned Birch, flee! People are losing sleep.

It's getting out of hand. I’m not in danger of losing my job or anything (not even sure I can be fired, to be honest) but when you live in a town with less than two thousand people and everyone knows you’re the Hierophant of the Burned Birch, well. That's me avoiding the next St. Mary's rummage sale.

I know you always say communication is key and I’ve tried, believe me. All the old methods- blood rituals under the full moon, a cracked labradorite under my pillow, whispering to the moths- it hasn’t worked.

There's nothing in the family archives about the Burned Birch acting like this and frankly, I’m worried. Is there something wrong? Some rot or fungus that infects only apocalyptic omen trees? Is it trying to reach out to me for help? I can't go look at it and my friends tell me it looks fine. They show me pictures and my omen looks fine! How do I tell if it’s being needy or if it’s being obnoxious? and how do I hang on to my declarations without a three hour nosebleed?

Literally anything you've got will help, at this point. Thanks in advance!

-Fat Ricki, The Voice Of Birch

First of all, may I say how lovely it is to hear from another radio professional? Liminal broadcasting is a topic close to my heart, and it's always nice to hear from others in the field.

To your question, I think your first job is to absolutely rule out the possibility of any physical or magical ailment your tree might be suffering.

You said you've had friends inspect the tree, and have looked at photos to assess the situation yourself. But tree diseases are not always easy to spot with the naked eye, especially to the untrained. This is doubly true for thaumaturgically active trees, which may be susceptible to infections, infestations and diseases on several planes of reality.

I recommend investing in the services of a trained arboreal arcanist. In the United Kingdom, customers can find specialists through the Arcane Arboricultural Society, whose members must meet the societies standards of professionalism and training. If such an organisation exists in your area, all to the good.

If not, take some time to read up on professional qualifications available to tradespeople in your state. You want someone qualified in thaumaturgic horticulture, and preferably with the ability to perceive reality on at least three additional planes, if not more.

There are several pests and diseases that might be causing your tree's distress, from spectral bacteria to ether flux. Better to invest a little time and money in ruling those out than risk leaving them untreated.

I think it's safe to say your tree is trying to get your attention for some reason. Once you've ruled out disease or discomfort as the possible reason, consider what else might have changed since this behaviour began. Has it been receiving fewer visitors than usual, or perhaps been the subject of a less-than-flattering news article?

Many apocalyptic trees, shrubs and bushes have a tendency to fussiness and egotism. It's very possible that your tree wants nothing more than to be the subject of a bit of ego-stroking fuss. You might try drumming up a few more visitors and acolytes, or performing a ritual of appeasement that recognises its great and terrible power.

The phrase “attention-seeking” carries with it a host of negative connotations. Instead, think of this as “support-seeking” behaviour. There is a need your tree feels is unmet, and as its Hierophant, it's up to you to meet it. With a bit of reassurance and attention, I think your tree should settle down into its usual ways in no time.

[For more creaturely advice, check out Monstrous Agonies on your podcast platform of choice, or visit monstrousproductions.org for more info]

[pegafin]

Ai Generated McMansions: Key West Dreams

As a wholesome treat in honor of Mother's Day, I asked my mom for a prompt for this McMansion. She said "Key West." Key West is a very special place for me and my family. It is a truly amazing place, full of rich, exciting history and culture, and art, six toed cats, and wild-living chickens everywhere you go. Only once you have experienced Key West can you truly experience the depth of today's abomination...✨🏝️🍹

Built by a couple who always dreamed of living in Key West, all attempts to build the home in Key West itself ended in suspected arson and historical protesting (as in, myriad characters from the island's long storied history rose form their above-ground-graves in the Historic Key West Cemetery to protest construction).

Now happily located in Sadslot Beach, FL, this home is a true Key West dream. Discover a charming bar around every corner. Bask in a cacophony of color and craftsmanship. Plus, all artwork is included, and load bearing!

The atrium-style foyer boasts quintuple grand staircases and a charming water feature, full of native mosquitos.

Did you think the craftsmanship stopped at just two stories? Think again! This foyer goes all the way up.

The triple-decker living room (left) and the bar & lounge (right)

Live like vacation all year round with a kitchen that's only bars!

Slide into the formal dining room...

...and crash into the game room!

No game room is complete without a functional home sports bar.

Master Suite

Two Story Atrium Suite

Two Story Atrium Guest Room

Guest Bath, with his, hers, and theirs sinks, and his and hers toilets!

Entryway to the master bath, with master bath bar.

Two-Story Atrium Master Bath:

Last but certainly not least… 🌟Indoor Pool & Tennis Complex!🌟

Call now to book your tour today! ☎️📞🤳🏝️

Behind the Scenes:

[rotworld]

27: Nobody Home

(previous)

despite its best efforts, anchor, too, has changed.

->contains gore, graphic description of corpses, mentions of child abuse

.

.

.

The road to Anchor is not the impossible maze you remember. It has been corrected, its kinks and wrinkles ironed out into perfect, smooth normalcy. You drive west out of Prismville and the rocky, steep hills turn to level streets, pockmarks and potholes to smooth, new asphalt. Is this arrogance? Are they so confident in the destruction they’ve caused, so certain that there is no one in the whole splintered wreckage of the Drift still able and willing to bring retribution? Is it an invitation? A trap?

It doesn’t matter. You’ve come a long way to get here and there’s no turning back. 

You see the iron fence, the freshly cut grass, the picturesque shopping avenues and cookie cutter suburbs, uniform rows of American Craftsman houses. You see the gate shut tight between stone pillars, Anchor’s name embossed on steel. It’s colder than you remember. A layer of frost blankets everything. There is no one at the security checkpoint to greet you. There’s not even anyone gawking from the end of their driveway, no passersby watching you with disapproval. In fact, Anchor looks strangely abandoned. You roll down your window and don’t hear anything. No talking. No footsteps. No signs of human habitation. You shiver. You can see your breath.

There’s no one, but there is a car parked right at the gates haphazardly, crumpled front end and bent iron bars suggesting a high-speed collision. 

You know that car, you realize; a bulky, silver SUV with snow tires. The fact that there’s no one inside, the driver side door left ajar, keys still in the ignition, doesn’t quell your rising dread. Your fingers tingle with dull, prickling sensations. The frostbite has reached your knuckles. Soon, you won’t have any feeling left in your hands. 

[NOW PLAYING ON THE RADIO: BLINDNESS BY METRIC]

For now, you stick to the plan. You pass the front gate for the courier entrance, a smaller, less grandiose gate on Anchor’s far side. You left in such a hurry before that you never got a good look at the place. No security outpost, no one waiting around to interrogate you, but there is an intercom system and some kind of scanner. Jamie rummages through your backpack for the chameleite Iridesce gave you. When you hold it up to the scanner, it beeps and a green light flashes. The gate rattles open. 

Iridesce was right; it’s fully automated, and it accepts the same piece of chameleite no matter how many times you scan it. Still, it seems odd that you manage to get the entire Nelton convoy and the Verlindans inside this way. Someone should have come down to investigate by now. But as you scan the chameleite a final time and drive through the gate, you find only drifting fog and empty streets. 

There’s no one here. No one driving downtown, no one strolling down the sidewalk, no one in the shops or the offices. The deeper you go into Anchor, the colder it gets and the more the sky darkens. You pass through a suburb as silent as a cemetery and catch a whiff of blood on the wind. There are subtle hints of something terrible happening here, ghosts of fear and violence. Doors left wide open in haste; a crimson handprint smeared across a patio door. The only definitive sign of carnage is a corpse with red slush for a head lying in a driveway. 

Bloody footprints splatter down the sidewalk and trek through the snow. He hunted here, but not in earnest. He was flushing out his prey, watching where they went. Following them back to the nest.

A knock on your window startles you. It’s Glenn, brushing a fine layer of snow from his shoulders. “I don’t like this,” he says. 

Jamie shakes their head. “We need to keep going. The labs can’t be far. Let’s stick to the plan for now, see what’s going on inside.” 

“I’m not saying we need to back out, I just don’t want us getting taken by surprise. This reeks of an ambush. A few of us should go ahead, do some reconnaissance.”

“I really don’t think this is the time to split up. But fine. Courier, what do you think?” Jamie asks. You don’t answer. Your attention is fixed on the suburban yard to your left. “Courier?” 

There’s a human arm lying there. There might be a body attached but you can’t tell, stiff fingers and blood-speckled wrist the only things poking out from behind a trimmed hedge. Looming there, just peeking around frost-glazed leaves, you see the very edge of a winter coat’s fur-lined hood; a glove clutching a gore-soaked tire iron. 

He doesn’t run at you. He doesn’t move at all. You watch him and he watches you, and then he retreats out of sight. You would wonder if you’d seen him at all if not for the arm still lying there, the blood sprayed across the front porch. What do you know about the Road Ripper? You’re marked. It’s you he wants but he’ll pick off anyone he comes across in pursuit of the hunt, waiting until his bloodlust reaches its peak. He can find you no matter where you go.

As long as the snow can get in, so can he.

“We keep going,” you say. “We stick to the plan for now.”

The labs are just as you remember them, the architecture drab and aggressively modern, everything unfriendly gray and harsh, clinical white. The convoy parks up and down the street, reconvening for one last discussion before you proceed. The last time you were here, you walked through the front doors. That isn’t an option today; there’s a metal shutter just past the glass, a wall of immovable steel. The windows are blocked with the same heavy shielding. You hadn’t expected everything to go smoothly but you didn’t think you’d get locked out so soon, either. 

“Have a little faith, courier,” Malachi says, offering a smile. “This doesn’t change much. We knew we’d need to talk our way inside.” Iridesce, too large to fit in anyone’s car, unfolds herself from the back of Malachi’s truck. He helps her out with a hand to steady her, the back of his car dipping momentarily beneath her shifting weight. “Jamie, you mentioned there are cameras at the door. You, Iridesce and the courier should stay out of sight until they start letting us in. Keep your heads down. Garvan, what will your people do?”

The Verlindans looks strangely unbothered by the cold. Even Garvan and the rest of the Stag’s allies, unabashedly nude, show little more than the occasional twitch of the nose in discomfort, sometimes shaking snow from their heads. Most of them have already started to walk away, ambling further down the block to another building connected to the main lab. 

“We wait here,” Garvan says. “We’ve got reinforcements coming and we’ll be taking our own way in.” He turns to you, his nostrils flaring. He smiles, baring his sharp teeth. “I can smell them, courier. They’re afraid in there, as they should be. Good hunting. We’ll see you on the other side.”

It makes you uneasy to separate but you nod. This is the smarter decision; splitting your forces, keeping Anchor on their toes. Malachi and the others approach the lab doors while you and Jamie huddle together in the cold. Something blocks the wind suddenly; Iridesce stands at your back, wrapping her arms around you both. 

You hear an intercom crackle. The voice coming from the speaker is muffled, barely audible over the howling wind. It sounds familiar, you think. A woman’s voice, brusque and standoffish. “Wh—what the fuck? Hello?” 

“Why are we locked out?” Malachi snaps. You’re startled by just how harsh he sounds. His tone is always so soft and cheerful. Iridesce squeezes you gently, mistaking your stiffness for cold or maybe worry. This is part of the plan. He has to speak with a particular sort of arrogant authority, snide and certain. He has to sound like he belongs here. He went out of his way to change before you reached Anchor, trading his cossack for a white button up, blue sweater vest and slacks. You have no idea how well he looks the part of an Anchor resident, but you can’t imagine the camera can make out much of anything through the blowing snow.

“Why are you—are you kidding me? We’re on lockdown! What are you even doing outside? You’re supposed to shelter in place until the alert’s lifted.”

“That’s ridiculous! You’re telling me we’re all just supposed to stay in our homes and die? That thing is still out here!” Malachi manages to both look and sound enraged, talking over the woman’s sheepish stammering. “You can’t do this to us. It’s inhumane. This place is supposed to be safe, it’s supposed to keep things out. You can tell Gallagher he’ll need to get himself a new goddamn research assistant, I’m finished with this.”

“Hold on, you’re staff?” the woman says quickly. “You should’ve been here hours ago. They already sealed the bunker. Look, maybe—if you scan your ID card—”

“My ID?” Malachi says, laughing sharply. “You want to see my ID? I ran here with nothing but the clothes on my back because some maniac broke my door down and not a single fucking security officer is answering my calls. You think I have my ID right now? You think I thought to myself, ‘Gee I better grab my whole briefcase in case some bitch at the lab decides now’s the time to play Rules and Regulations?” What else do you want, my birth certificate? My fucking resume? That lying son of a bitch Gallagher’s letter of recommendation? What a great fucking place Anchor turned out to be—”

“Jesus, alright!” 

There’s a shrill electronic noise, a warning chime, and then the metal shutters at the front door rattle open. Malachi doesn’t waste any time, propping a door open with his shoulder and rushing everyone inside. You and Jamie could duck into the crowd easily enough but Iridesce stops you. “You two behind me, dears,” she murmurs. You understand why immediately. The moment the three of you get within range of the camera, that brief alarm rings again and the protective shutter starts to fall. 

Iridesce catches it with one hand, steel creaking and bending from the unyielding force of her stone palm. She gives the camera a cold smile and nods sharply at the doorway for you and Jamie to scurry inside. 

Inside, the stench of blood is overpowering. The violence you saw in Anchor’s suburbs looks tasteful compared to this carnage. Bodies are strewn all across the lobby floor. The floor is slippery with gore and melted ice, blood and brain matter sprayed and splattered on every surface. You see the Ripper’s preferred blunt force manner of execution amplified to new sickening levels. Some of the corpses are barely recognizable as human anymore, so brutalized that all you see is meat in red-soaked clothing. The dead are frozen mid-crawl in search of safety; several lay behind a welcome desk. Others are clustered hopelessly by the metal coverings on the windows, hands still outstretched for corridors they never reached. 

You move cautiously at first, your group sticking close together, nervously peeking around corners before you proceed, but it soon becomes apparent that there are no survivors. Not here, at least. Anyone still alive has fled deeper into the labs. All that’s left is eerie silence, the faint echo of an alarm in another hallway. 

A creak in an open breakroom makes you flinch, stepping back in anticipation of an ambush. Before anything can move, Iridesce surges past you. You hear a scuffle; a table and chair crashing against the wall, a scream cut off. Iridesce lurches back out of the room dragging someone behind her—a woman in a labcoat, nacre fingers squeezing her throat. You recognize her, you realize, her auburn hair and sharp, watchful eyes. 

“Meryl Underhill,” Iridesce murmurs, tossing her to the floor. Meryl scurries back, trying to get to her feet, but Iridesce slams a hand on the wall beside her head and cages her in. “Where are you off to in such a rush, hm? I’ve got some questions for you.” 

“It wasn’t me,” Meryl says hurriedly, hands up in a pacifying gesture. “You—you were there, courier! You saw me, you saw, I was just passing through—”

The wall cracks under Iridesce’s fingers. Stone dust and plaster trickle to the floor. “You’re an opportunistic little snake is what you are. I know you requested access to the mines, Underhill, I keep very meticulous records. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t rip out your spine.”

“Because it wasn’t me! It wasn’t, I swear! That’s all Dr. Gallagher. He coordinates everything. He has a repair technician set off the anchorware, I don’t even know how it works!”

“A repair technician,” Iridesce echoes, scowling. “Like our John Doe, I suppose.” 

You’ve all seen him before; the man who could be anyone. Forgettable, unremarkable, a face that slips your mind the moment you stop looking at him. Even now, you struggle to remember him beyond his sharp, professional style and black gloves. In Nelton, he introduced himself as Bachman. Jamie knew him as Tiptree. Iridesce told you before you left Prismville that he was in the city’s records as Lange. 

“You lied to me,” you say. Iridesce glances back. She moves slightly, giving you space to look at Meryl, who stares up at you wordlessly. “You said you were from the University. You said you didn’t know what happened to New Ridgeway.” 

What kind of apocalypse works that way? she’d said, knowing full well it was Anchor.

Meryl’s shoulders sink. “I didn’t agree with that, you know,” she says. “I didn’t think it was right. And I know that doesn’t matter, and you don’t believe me. Of course you think I’m a monster. I don’t think you’d understand it even if I tried to explain. The Drift doesn’t bother people like you, courier, but the rest of us? Normal humans? We don’t want to live like this. I know it’s—it looks ugly from the outside, but we’re trying to make the Drift better, safer, for everyone—” 

A twinge of anger stings your heart. “I’m the one who wouldn’t get it?” you say, your voice rising. “What do you mean the Drift doesn’t bother me? How could you possibly know that? How could you know anything about me or what I’ve been through? It’s normal humans who hurt us more than anything. Not because it’s in your instincts, not because you’re hungry or even scared. You think we’re too different. That our suffering isn’t the same as yours.”

You’re thinking of Compass Hill and its factory and its cruelty, a town full of children robbed of childhood. You’re thinking of Jamie’s mother—exploitation disguised as outreach, a child lying on a cold exam table and a wet, wriggling thing slowly brought closer. You’re thinking of Nelton and all the memories shared with you in brief, surreal flashes. Two boys in a church and one who’s bleeding because his father says he’s sick and unholy. 

Jamie grabs your hand and you realize your face is wet with tears. You swallow hard and turn away from Meryl. You cling tightly to their hand, only vaguely aware of Iridesce’s calm, quiet voice asking questions and Meryl’s terse answers. The labs are completely locked down. No one is getting in or out anymore. The Ripper was here and Meryl’s only alive because she hid in a janitor’s closet and listened to everyone else die.

“I didn’t think it would be like this,” she insists, her voice cracking. “I didn’t think so many people would die. I thought Nelton was a mistake, that something went wrong—” 

“You’re detonating extremely sensitive, extremely reactive reality-anchoring equipment,” Iridesce says coolly. “Did you honestly think the damage would be negligible? Easily contained? It doesn’t matter, I don’t want to hear your excuses. You’re going to get us into the rest of the facility.” 

“I…I can’t.” 

“You can,” Iridesce insists. “And you will.”

“I don’t have access, I can’t disable the lockdown protocols!”

There’s a burst of static, the droning tone of an intercom announcement echoing down the empty halls. “Courier. I can see over the surveillance feed that you’ve arrived safely. That’s a relief. I was starting to worry, given the conditions outside. Have you given my offer any thought?” 

Your throat tightens and your chest burns with fury. He sounds so calm and polite, no different than he did when you met in Prismville, or Nelton, or at the rest stop. 

“I’m willing to unlock a few doors, but you’ll have to come alone. We need to talk and I’d prefer a private conversation.”

“Fuck you!” Jamie snarls. “They’re not going alone.”

John Doe hums in amusement. “Let me rephrase. The courier, and only the courier, is welcome. If it helps, Dr. Higgs, consider this less of an invitation and more of an exchange.” 

There’s a sinking feeling in your chest. “What do you mean exchange?” you ask.

There’s a brief pause. You can’t remember his face, but you can imagine the feeling you get from his tranquil expression, the unnerving emptiness to his smiles. It felt like he was wearing a mask, always keeping his true thoughts and feelings tucked away. “An exchange,” he says gently. “You, for the Singer of Compass Hill.”

(next)

[magicaguajiro]

The first Cemetery I ever visited and was the Historic Key West City Cemetery. I was 5, I had a fixation on it and begged my mom to take me. A pull in my stomach to the gates. In the moment we entered, it felt like I was in a ancient garden full of Spirits. Little did I know this would be a catalyst to me beginning witchcraft. This also became one of our regular stops when we tale that route.

Growing up Cuban-American in Florida, going to the Keys was a holy tradition, a pilgrimage. This chain of islands is home to many Cuban Exiles, as well as to many other communities including one of the most vibrant queer and drag scenes in Florida.* We always go to the marker that says 90 miles to Cuba, and just look out into the Ocean. Sometimes we pray, or listen to stories told by our grandparents about life on La Isla, lamenting a Land some of us never touched and the rest have trouble remembering.

This is almost always followed by Cuban Food. Our tradition is to walk to El Meson de Pepe, a beautiful restaurant near the sea with art depicting Cuban and Cuban-American culture all over the walls. In one part of this restaurant, they have a small case that exhibits some Cuban history. Its full of historic documents and the such. My Abuelo always walks us through the exhibits to teach us our Ancestors’ history. This is where I learned who El Apostol, José Martí was, and Cuba’s long history of unrest and revolution. Martí inspired revolution against the fascist Spanish monarchy through his writings. I will go more in depth on Florida/Cuban Folk Saints soon.

José Martí, The Apostle.

Florida is a much different place from when I was growing up here. It seems we are progressing in the wrong direction more often than not. The Land and People are suffering. But Paradise is NOT Lost. Florida has always been full of people who’s history the current governor and his cohorts want erased, and we have always fought. We can’t give in to the voices saying to give up and flee. A freer Florida is just around the corner.

Bendiciones 🕯️

*(In Key West specifically. Instead of the ball drop every New Year, they elect a drag queen to be dropped in a high heel!)

[artbymsl]

HOW IS CELEBRATED "DAY OF THE DEAD" AROUND THE WORLD?

Have an extraordinary experience - ML ✿

The Day of the Dead

Around the world

Day of the Dead is celebrated around the world; it is one of the most important festivities in Mexico. The festivity honors dead with a celebration that involves food, dance and colorful decorations. Variety of colors are used to bring meaning and life into houses and buildings. Each place has a different way to celebrate the Day of the Dead. When it comes to honor an important familiar, customs and traditions are the key.

Do you know that Toltecs believed that dead people return to Earth and visit their families for about two days?

Discover the extraordinary ways to celebrate the Day of the Dead around the world, maybe you can spend the next holiday with different ideas and gifts to your long-lost loved ones.

The beauty of Day of the Dead in Mexico

Mexico is the place that comes to our mind when we talk about “Day of the Dead”; it was inspired by a Gooddess Mictecacíhualt in pre-Columbian period.

Nowadays, people visit the graves of their loved ones and set up offering, such a cempaxúchilt (a flower that symbolizes the sun) and food with a deep meaning. Food is a feeling, and our favorite food is a thing that give us satisfaction and happiness. The favorite food of our loved ones is put on the grave. All of this to invoke their spirits. When one of my aunt’s love one passed away, she put coke cans around the grave, it was the favorite drink of my uncle.

Nicaragua’s Day of the Dead

Family tomb is the key event in Nicaragua’s celebration. Food and drinks are sold on November 2nd. Cemeteries are fill with candles, flowers and offerings. The National flower of Nicaragua is Sacuanjoche. 

Ireland’s Day of the Dead

They believe that the souls of the dead return to their family home on All Soul’s Night. In other places of Ireland, kids have an important appointment. They go “soul-caking”, visiting neighbors to beg for cakes in exchange for prayers to be said for the dead.

1.    Irish go to bed early, but before it, they visit the cementer and clean the grave, dedicate players and leave a candle burning.

2.  Before bed, they once again light a candle for each of those who have passed. The candle is left in a window that faced the cemetery. When the evening prayer finished, the candle is extinguished. 

Halloween in United States

Halloween is one of the most important holidays in US. Dressing up like monsters, zombies and horror movie characters has been popularized by movies and TV. Children’s believe that it is a day when you can trick-or-treat. Places like Guatemala, Mexico and United States celebrate the Day of the Dead at big.

If you want to experience Halloween, every year, New York City Village Halloween Parade, attracts thousands of people dressed in costumes who gather at 6th avenue for a parade through Greenwich Village. 

The Indian Day of the Dead

Shraddha and Mahalaya are celebrated in India. They can be referred to as the Day of the Dead. In Shraddha Hindu families perform rituals with food offerings and prayers. Meanwhile, Mahalaya have a particular place in West Bengal and among Bengali communities. On Mahalaya, people tend to wake up early to listen the “Enchanting Malahaya Mantras”; it is the beginning of the festive season.

[popculturelib]

Haunted States of America: Texas

Haunted Texas Vacations: The Complete Ghostly Guide (2000) by Lisa Farwell. Illustrations by John Scott, and foreword by Dennis William Hauck

If you ever plan to do a ghost tour of Texas, you'd be hard pressed to find a more thorough book. In addition to over 150 haunted locations across the state and over 115 photos, Farwell includes a visual key of kinds of hauntings; a "shiver scale" of how haunted somewhere is; tips to improve the chance of ghostly sightings; a suggested ghost hunter's tool kit; and a list of "Less Spooky Things to Do" in Texas. We like this indicator:

For other ghosts in Texas, consider reading:

Ghost Stories of Old Texas (1983) by Zinita Parsons Fowler

Phantoms of the Plains: Tales of West Texas Ghosts (1996) by Docia Schultz Williams

Ghosts in the Graveyard: Texas Cemetery Tales (2001) by Olyve Hallmark Abbott

The Browne Popular Culture Library (BPCL), founded in 1969, is the most comprehensive archive of its kind in the United States.  Our focus and mission is to acquire and preserve research materials on American Popular Culture (post 1876) for curricular and research use. Visit our website at https://www.bgsu.edu/library/pcl.html.

[naesarchive]

The Sixth Pantheon of the Chacarita Cemetery, located in west Buenos Aires, was built during 1950-1958 and designed by one of the first female Argentine architects, Itala Fulvia Villa, a key figure in Argentina’s modernist architectural legacy and a member of the Grupo Austral.

For years the work was solely credited to Clorindo Testa, despite his more minor collaborative role in the project designing the concrete temple and the Torii-gate-style monuments scattered above ground.

The Pantheon is the first modernist work of its kind applied to the design of a cemetery on this scale, created to house 40,000 niches. A labyrinthine network of subterranean galleries and vaults is interconnected by a series of walkways, punctuated by open courtyards and patios characterised by hanging wall planters and vegetation. The result is an oasis of calm split over two levels below ground accessible by generous stairwells, all hidden from view from the landscaped garden above. 

[playlistjunkie]

The 99 Best Halloween Songs Your Party Playlist Needs ASAP

Cosmopolitan - 8/3/23

Bloody Mary - Lady Gaga

I Want Candy - Bow Wow Wow

Superstition - Stevie Wonder

Werewolves of London - Warren Zevon

Halloween - Misfits

Highway to Hell - AC/DC

Scary Monsters (And Super Creeps) - David Bowie

The Number of the Beast - Iron Maiden

Dracula's Wedding - Outkast

Is It Scary - Michael Jackson

Cemetery Drive - My Chemical Romance

Dracula - Gorillaz

Paint It, Black - The Rolling Stones

Heads Will Roll - Yeah Yeah Yeah

Unholy - Sam Smith ft. Kim Petras

Goo Goo Muck - The Cramps

Haunted - Taylor Swift

I Love the Dead - Alice Cooper

There Will Be Blood - Kim Petras

Nightmare - Halsey

Scary Monsters and Nice Sprites - Skrillex

Monster - Lady Gaga

Take What You Want - Post Malone

Disturbia - Rihanna

Feed My Frankenstein - Alice Cooper

Everyday Is Halloween - Ministry

She Wolf - Shakira

Bury a Friend - Billie Eilish

Dracula’s Wedding - Outkast feat. Kelis

Ghostbusters - Ray Parker Jr.

Monster - Kanye West feat. Jay Z, Rick Ross, Nicki Minaj, and Bon Iver

Spellbound - Siouxsie and the Banshees

Season of the Witch - Donovan

All Around Me - Flyleaf

Tombstone, Baby - Peaches

Somebody’s Watching Me - Rockwell

Monsta’ Mack - Sir Mix-a-Lot

Witchy Woman - Eagles

Enter Sandman - Metallica

Love Potion No. 9 - The Clovers

Black Magic Woman - Santana

Suspiria - Goblin

I Was a Teenage Werewolf - The Cramps

Debaser - Pixies

Rhiannon - Fleetwood Mac

Time Warp - from The Rocky Horror Picture Show

Release the Bats - The Birthday Party

X Files - Génération TV

Dead Man’s Party - Oingo Boingo

Howlin’ for You - The Black Keys

Shadows of the Night - Pat Benatar

Cold - The Cure

Ghost Ride It - Mistah F.A.B.

I Put a Spell on You - Screamin’ Jay Hawkins

Hungry Like the Wolf - Duran Duran

Halloween Theme - John Carpenter

Monster Mash - Bobby “Boris” Pickett & The Crypt-Kickers

Bela Lugosi’s Dead - Bauhaus

Nothing's Gonna Hurt You Baby - Cigarettes After Sex

Night - Zola Jesus

The Haunted Man - Bat for Lashes

Red Right Hand - Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds

Never Land - Sisters of Mercy

Tainted Love -Soft Cell

The Devil Went Down to Georgia - Primus

Psycho Killer - Talking Heads

Werewolf Bar Mitzvah - Tracy Morgan and Donald Glover

(Don’t Fear) The Reaper - Blue Öyster Cult

Turn Off the Light - Kim Petras feat. Elvira, Mistress of the Dark

Ghost Town - The Specials

(Ghost) Riders in the Sky - Johnny Cash

Are You Ready for Freddy - The Fat Boys

Living Dead Girl - Rob Zombie

Devil in Me - Halsey

Zombie - The Pretty Reckless

Seven Devils - Florence and the Machine

Black Magic - Little Mix

Kill V. Maim - Grimes

Brujas - Princess Nokia

Mothercreep - FKA Twigs

Hang Me - Tancred

Haunted - Beyoncé

Bring Me to Life - Evanescence

Stranger Than Earth - Purity Ring

Bitch - Allie X

Roses - ABRA

Chimera - HANA

Gemini Feed - BANKS

Baby You're a Haunted House - Gerard Way

Zombie - The Cranberries

Spooky Scary Skeletons (Dma Illan Remix) - Andrew Gold

The Monster - Eminem feat. Rihanna

This Is Halloween - from The Nightmare Before Christmas

A Nightmare On My Street - DJ Jazzy Jeff and The Fresh Prince

Antichrist - The 1975

I'd Rather Be Burned As a Witch - Eartha Kitt

I Was All Over Her - Salvia Palth

Baby One More Time - The Marías

Thriller - Michael Jackson

[beardedmrbean]

1. Embrace 'bad English' as the European 'lingua franca,' says Timmermans

The European Union should embrace the fact that English is increasingly being used as a language for non-native speakers from different countries to communicate in, even if it is not grammatically perfect, said Executive Vice-President for the European Green Deal Frans Timmermans. Read more.

2. Extended social tariff ends: How to claim €250 discount for household appliances

People who are entitled to the social tariff for natural gas and electricity can also claim a €250 discount when buying energy-efficient household appliances. But as the extended social tariff expires at the end of June, so will the discount. Read more.

3. What is Ascension Day and what is open in Belgium today?

For Christians, Ascension Day (this year on 18 May) is a key celebration as part of the Easter cycle. For many others in the country, it is simply a welcomed day off. Read more.

4. Brussels liberals want to ban scooters and bikes in pedestrian areas

The French-speaking liberal party MR wants to reduce the presence of bikes and scooters in Brussels’ pedestrian areas, after tabling a proposal in the Parliament of the Brussels-Capital Region. Read more.

5. Death toll from Italian floods continues to rise

At least nine people have now been killed by severe flooding which struck the Italian region of Emilia-Romagna this week, regional president Stefano Bonaccini announced on Wednesday. Read more.

6. Tram 92, from Schaerbeek Station to Fort Jaco

From the faded grandeur of Schaerbeek in the northeast of the city, the 92 tram winds its way past eye-catching architectural landmarks like the Royal Palace and the Palais de Justice before gliding down the bourgeois Avenue Brugmann and into posh southern suburbs of Uccle. Read more.

7. Hidden Belgium: The grave of Peter Pan

G. LL. Davies, it says on the war grave in Voormezele Enclosure No. 3 Cemetery. He died on 15 March 1915. One of 1,500 soldiers buried near Voormezele village in West Flanders. Read more.

[scotianostra]

On October 22nd 1871, Sir Roderick Murchison, the Scottish geologist, died.

Roderick Impey Murchison, the “King of Siluria”, was born at Tarradale House, Muir of Ord into a wealthy family and educated at Durham School and the Royal Military College. After army service in the Peninsular War, retiring as Captain, he married and settled down in England, however his wife, Charlotte Hugonin, who was a geologist, persuaded him, as did the chemist Sir Humphry Davy, to take up science instead. So in 1824 the Murchisons moved to London where Roderick attended lectures in geology and chemistry at the Royal Institution and joined the Geological Society of London.

The following year he read his first paper to the Geological Society and by 1831 he was its President. He carried out extensive fieldwork, often with the able assistance of his wife, in England, Scotland, continental Europe and Russia, publishing the results in over 180 papers and three books. He rose to become, in 1855, the Director-General of the British Geological Survey and received many honours, including being knighted in 1846 and being made a baronet in 1866. When the Edinburgh Geological Society elected him as their first Patron in 1863, they acquired a highly influential ally at a time when the Society was recovering from a period of decline.

Murchison is remembered particularly for establishing the Silurian system of rocks in his key fieldwork area of South Wales and the Welsh Borderland. His friend, Adam Sedgwick, working in North Wales, established the Cambrian system. Unfortunately they fell into dispute over the boundary between the Cambrian and the Silurian, a disagreement that was finally settled by Charles Lapworth when he proposed a totally new intervening system, the Ordovician. Murchison was also involved in establishing the Devonian and Permian systems, the latter as a result of his explorations in Russia.

In his final years the argumentative Murchison became embroiled in the bitter controversy over the structure of the North-West Highlands of Scotland. He maintained that the rock sequence there was an undisturbed one, younging from west to east and capped by his beloved Silurian. His opponent, and fellow Scottish geologist, Professor James Nicol, instead interpreted Murchison’s “Silurian” as being much older rocks emplaced by earth movements on top of younger ones.

It was not until Murchison’s disciple, Archibald Geikie, became Director-General of the Survey in 1882 and sent his best surveyors to the area that the controversy was finally settled in favour of the complicated system of thrusts that we know today. (Geikie was also the first Regius Professor of Geology at the University of Edinburgh, a position that was endowed by his mentor, Murchison, on condition that he nominate the post-holder.)

There are at least fifteen places on Earth, and a crater on the Moon, named after Murchison. One is Murchison House at The King’s Buildings, Edinburgh: it was the headquarters of the British Geological Survey in Scotland until it relocated to The Lyell Centre in 2016.

Murchison died on this day in 1871, and is buried in Brompton Cemetery, London, near the north end of the arcade on the west side of the central path as seen in the second pic.

[seabreeze2022]

2023 Bahama Cruise, Part 28. May 12 Governors Harbor, Alabaster Beach, Eleuthera.

This is the chart blow up of Governors Harbor, to give you an idea of the area. Against advice on the chart and our friends who were here a couple of days earlier. We anchored inside the harbor. Our anchor dug in well, and we recklessly never dove it.

After a quick trip to the grocery store for a dozen eggs and another bottle of Coconut Rum. We walked around the harbor shore line. We visited the old cemetery near the water. It was well kept with some very old Grave Stones. Behind the cemetery was the St. Patrick’s Anglican Church, built in 1848.

Just around the corner from the church was this beautiful building. It is the “Haynes Library” built much later in 1897. Notice the huge concrete buttresses at the corners, facing 45 degrees from the building. The ones in the back go almost all the way up the second floor. This library was built to withstand a Hurricane. Hurricane Andrew came nearby in 1992 as a Category 3 Hurricane.

Cupid’s Cay makes the outer hook of the harbor. Not sure if it was a separate Cay originally or not as the name would suggest. But today it is connected to the mainland by a substantial causeway. Cupid’s Cay was the home of the first Bahama Parliament in 1736.

On Cupid’s Cay was the first U.S. Consulate to the Bahamas in 1789.

This is a hotel rental on the Cupid’s Cay. This reminds us of old Key West. We walked back to the dinghy and then moved to the boat for the night.

The next morning we did a quick walk through the better part of town. These were well kept up old houses that you can rent. Grounds were green with landscaping and well kept. Really reminds us of Old Key West.

This walk took us over the top of the ridge about 142 ft. high. The ends up going through a carved out are to keep it from being so steep. There was an cement cistern reservoir at the top to supply water pressure to the neighborhood.

From the top we could see both coast of the island. Once we finished this short walk it was back to the boat and move anchorages. Governors Harbor left a good impression with us. Part of it was like most of the settlements. Parts were going high class rentals. Lots of history in this town.

As always the few people we met were very nice and friendly. Apparently there are no snakes on this Island. The chickens and rosters have run amuck. The crowing starts early and is continuous for hours before daybreak.

This is Alabaster Bay. It is 6 miles north of Governors Harbor.

On Monday 13th, we hike 3.7 miles round trip. First across the island to the abandoned US Navy Base. Right turn and a 1 mile plus hike down the beach. Lunch at “The Deck” then continuing clockwise out to the Queen’s Highway and home.

In 1950 this USNavy Base was started as an experimental SOSUS (Sound Surveillance System) having 6 hydrophones deployed off shore. Then in 1958 it became a missile tracking site for US missiles launched from Cape Canaveral. Typical of USNavy bases on islands, they concrete the sides of hills to catch the rain water at the bottom. See photo above, there were several of these. The base was closed in 1982. During its tenure, usually only the Base Commander was actually in the military. The other personnel worked either for Pan American Airways (Pan Am) or Radio Corporation of America (RCA).

In 1957 the base became the Eleuthera Auxiliary Air Force Base (AAFB).

Being a sailor I can’t help but drag a large clump of net and floats up to the high tide mark. It would be a nightmare if you fouled your prop in the open ocean with something like this.

This is “The Deck”. A bar and grill on the oceanside. It is owned by Mark Robert a descendent of the original settlers at Hope Town Abaco.

Bacon Cheese Burgers in Paradise. We learned a new trick. When flies are giving you a problem, light a can of sterno. Even after you put it out they stay away for several minutes.

This is all the treasure we collected on the beach. The most prized of the different sea beans, is the “Hamburger bean” (front left).

It was a slow hike back to the boat after the huge lunch. Nancy cut my hair and beard. After a short recovery time from the lunch. We pulled anchor and sailed north to Hatchet Bay. We tried to out run some storms coming up from the south. Didn’t work out so well.

Using Standard WaterTribe rules. We reefed early. If reefing even enters your mind, then you should go ahead and reef (pull in) your sails. Since we did, the gust from the storm never materialized.

This very well could be a hairy entrance., it is 80 ft. wide and has rock cliffs. Large amount of current to get in and out of this small cut. We had 2 ft. swells and 12-15 kt. winds.

We came into the bay and put out a “Security call” on VHF announcing our entry into the bay. The mailboats and car ferries never say when they are approaching or exiting the harbor. We assume they have a VHF, but they seldom ever answer.

We entered during the top of the flood tide, so no current was evident. We put our anchor down in the north end of the harbor. Only 8 cruisers here. Three left the next morning.

S/V Sea Breeze, Alabaster Bay, Eleuthera, Bahamas.