#Nat Herz

[henk-heijmans]

Mother and four daughters entering the water at Coney Island, 1953s - by Nat Herz (1920 - 1964), American

[newyorkthegoldenage]

Mother and daughters entering the water at Coney Island, ca. 1953-64.

Photo: Nat Herz via Fine Art America

[ausetkmt]

Black August: Origins, History, and Signifigance

click the link for the Book, which is very much an antique collectors edition.

Black August: Origins, History, and Signifigance

click the link for the Book, which is very much an antique collectors edition.

Please know that BLACK AUGUST, IS OUR CELEBRATION OF REVOLUTION AND REVOLUTIONARIES

Activists are commemorating Black August. Here’s the history behind the month-long celebration | CNN

Activists and social justice organizations are celebrating the history of Black resistance this month in what’s known as Black August.

This year’s commemoration follows months of ongoing nationwide protests over systemic racism and the killings of Black people at the hands of police.

And no, it’s not a second Black History Month.

“During Black August, we honor Black freedom fighters, many of whom were killed by the state or imprisoned for defending Black lives,” Monifa Bandele with the Movement for Black Lives said in a statement to CNN.

“This month is a time to reflect and learn about the legacies of Black revolutionaries, while we rededicate ourselves to the protracted struggles against white supremacy, colonialism, capitalism, and imperialism. We study, plan, and pledge to continue the work and fight for Black liberation.”

Black August is a tradition that originated in California’s prisons in the 1970’s after the deaths of brothers Jonathan and George Jackson as well as other incarcerated Black men who sought freedom.

Here’s what you need to know about Black August.

George Jackson, an activist, died at a California prison on August 21, 1971.

He had received one year to life in prison in 1960 for allegedly stealing $70 from a Los Angeles gas station, according to a 1970 book review from The New York Times.

During his time behind bars, Jackson began studying the ideas of Karl Marx and Vladimir Lenin, wrote Eric Cummins in “The Rise and Fall of California’s Radical Prison Movement.” He is considered one of the most outspoken voices on racism in the criminal justice system at the time.

In letters to his parents, his younger brother Jonathan, activist Angela Davis and others, Jackson articulated his frustration and rage over systemic racism and his imprisonment. The letters were ultimately published as a collection titled “Soledad Brother: The Prison Letters of George Jackson.”

Then in 1970, Jackson and two other incarcerated Black men were charged with the murder of a White prison guard. That same year, Jackson’s brother Jonathan was killed in a shootout with police outside the Marin County Courthouse after taking a judge hostage to try and secure his brother’s release, the Los Angeles Times reported in 2015.

On August 21, 1971, George Jackson, who was incarcerated at San Quentin State Prison at the time, used a gun to take a prison guard hostage and forced him to open several cells, according to the Los Angeles Times. Jackson was killed in the ensuing chaos as he and several other inmates attempted to escape from prison. Three guards and two other inmates were also killed.

A group of incarcerated people came together to commemorate the death of Jackson and other prisoners in what became known as Black August.

“So there was an idea that this could be a time that imprisoned people in the California prison system could use for reflection, study, and to think about how to strengthen their struggles,” said Rachel Herzing, an activist who advocates for the abolition of prisons, in a 2016 interview with True Leap Press.

“During the month, people wouldn’t use radios or television, would fast between sun up and sun down, and practice other measures of self-discipline. Eventually the commemorations during that month were taken up outside of prisons, too.”

Social justice organizers also point out that numerous other instances of Black resistance against systemic racism and state-sanctioned violence took place in August, including Nat Turner’s Rebellion, the March on Washington and the Watts Rebellion in Los Angeles.

August is also the birth month of Black nationalist leaders Marcus Garvey and Fred Hampton.

“Fifty years later, groups like Malcolm X Grassroots Movement and New Afrikan Independence Movement continue the Black August legacy of celebrations by amplifying our history of resistance and creating spaces for Black people to come together in community to recharge the revolution,” the Movement for Black Lives notes on its website.

Black August is separate from Black History Month in February, which is a federally recognized celebration that calls on all Americans to reflect on how African-Americans have shaped US history.

Carter G. Woodson, the son of former enslaved people, is largely credited with the February celebration. Frustrated with the absence of Black people from history textbooks, Woodson developed Negro History Week in 1926 in an attempt to write Black people into the nation’s history. He believed “the achievements of the Negro properly set forth will crown him as a factor in early human progress and a maker of modern civilization.”

In 1976, Negro History Week expanded into Black History Month.

Black August, which also came about in the 1970’s, specifically honors “political prisoners, freedom fighters, and martyrs of the Black freedom struggle,” according to the Center for Constitutional Rights, a progressive advocacy group.

“Black August is a call for reflection, study, and action to promote Black liberation,” Herzing told True Leap Press.

The singer Noname, who launched a book club last year that highlights works written by authors of color, is among those calling on people to engage with Black August.

She wrote on Twitter, “blk history month is beautiful but unfortunately like all black culture it has been co-opted by neoliberal captialist and we rarely learn about all the contributions black radicals have made in resistance against this settler colonial nation state.”

“we don’t learn about political prisoners who sacrificed their lives to fight against imperialism/colonialism. many of our revolutionaries are still incarcerated and are treated with specific repression because of their radical politics.”

click the link for the FREE BOOK DOWNLOAD , which is very much an antique collectors edition.

[lrmartinjr]

Needing a fresh arm, Nats promote Adon, demote Herz - Blog

[goldoelch]

Entdecke die Reinheit und die Vorteile von kaltgepressten Ölen

Wenn es darum geht, deinen K￶rper zu pflegen und einen gesnderen Lebensstil anzunehmen, ist die Wahl von Koch￶len von h￶chster Bedeutung. Wir von Gold ￖl sind leidenschaftlich darum bemht, dir die feinsten kaltgepressten ￖle anzubieten, die nicht nur deine kulinarischen Kreationen aufwerten, sondern auch eine Flle von gesundheitlichen Vorteilen bieten. Lass uns in die Welt der kaltgepressten ￖle eintauchen und anschauen warum sie ein fester Bestandteil deiner Kche sein sollten.

Kaltgepresste ￖle werden aus Samen und Nssen mithilfe einer sogenannten Schnecken Presse gewonnen, die ohne Hitze, da wassergekhlt, Druck ausbt. Diese sanfte Pressmethode bewahrt die natrlichen Aromen, N￤hrstoffe und Antioxidantien der Ausgangsprodukte. Das Ergebnis? ￖle, die rein, unraffiniert und voller gesunder N￤hrstoffe sind.

Warum kaltgepresste Öle wählen?

Premium-Qualit￤tﾠWir glauben daran, dir nur das Beste anzubieten. Unsere kaltgepressten ￖle stammen von vertrauenswrdigen Lieferanten und gew￤hrleisten Premium-Qualit￤t und Authentizit￤t.

Unverf￤lscht GutesﾠWir sind stolz darauf, ￖle anzubieten, die zu 100 % rein und frei von Zusatzstoffen, Konservierungsstoffen oder knstlichen Aromen sind. Wir garantieren dir ein hunderprozent Naturreines Produkt

N￤hrstoffreich Kaltgepresste ￖleﾠbewahren ihre natrlichen N￤hrstoffe, einschlie￟lich essentieller Fetts￤uren, Vitamine und Antioxidantien. Diese Elemente tragen zur allgemeinen Gesundheit bei und verringern das Risiko chronischer Krankheiten.

Kulinarische VielseitigkeitﾠUnsere Auswahl an kaltgepressten ￖlen ist in der Kche vielseitig einsetzbar. Egal, ob du br￤tst, b￤ckst oder einfach ber einen Salat tr￤ufelst, diese ￖle verbessern den Geschmack und die Ern￤hrung deiner Gerichte.

Die Vorteile von kaltgepressten Ölen

HerzgesundheitﾠKaltgepresste ￖle sind fr ihre herz Gesundheit f￶rdernden Eigenschaften bekannt. Sie enthalten einfach unges￤ttigte und mehrfach unges￤ttigte Fette, die dazu beitragen k￶nnen, den Cholesterinspiegel zu senken und das Risiko von Herzkrankheiten zu reduzieren.

Reich an AntioxidantienﾠDie natrlichen Antioxidantien in kaltgepressten ￖlen, wie Vitamin E, schtzen Zellen vor Sch￤den durch freie Radikale und tragen zur allgemeinen Gesundheit und Wohlbefinden bei.

N￤hrstoffbewahrungﾠIm Gegensatz zu ￖlen, die unter Hitze extrahiert werden, behalten kaltgepresste ￖle ihre N￤hrstoffe und Aromen, was sie zu einer gesnderen und geschmackvolleren Wahl macht.

Entdecke unsere kaltgepressten ￖleﾠWir bieten eine Vielzahl von kaltgepressten ￖlen an, die deinen kulinarischen Vorlieben und Gesundheitszielen gerecht werden:

Kaltgepresstes Kokosnuss ￖl Perfekt zum Kochen, Backen und fr die Hautpflege, ist unser Kokosnuss ￖl eine vielseitige Erg￤nzung fr deine Vorratskammer.

Kaltgepresstes Leinöl Mit Omega-3-Fettsäuren angereichert, unterstützt Lein Öl die Herzgesundheit und verleiht deinen Gerichten einen nussigen Geschmack.

Fazit Werte deine Kochkünste auf und lebe einen gesünderen Lebensstil mit der Reinheit und Güte von kaltgepressten Ölen. Unsere Verpflichtung zur Qualität, Authentizität und zum Wohlbefinden spiegelt sich in jeder Flasche wider, die wir anbieten.

[joeinct]

March on Washington, August 28, 1963, Photo by Nat Herz

[lamarsinpan]

© nat herz

[bluedishsoap]

omg i never posted this? it’s them and they’re in love

[totowlff]

extra — das herz ist eine schlecht gebaute brücke

➝ toto never wanted to depend on anyone in any way. however, he realizes the hard way that some people depend on him. and he has been failing them miserably.

➝ word count: 4,1k

➝ warnings: mentions of smut, broken bones and childhood traumas

➝ author’s note: passing quickly to thank the reception that nat's version has been receiving. this is another extra created by ally with a pinch of mine here and there. hope you like it.

APRIL, 2015

It was Tuesday morning in Oxfordshire when Toto woke up just before his alarm. The curtains in the bedroom were drawn, but somehow, just from the sliver of light shining through, Toto Wolff could tell that it was a cool and gloomy day. 

He was in no hurry to get started for the day. Like most mornings, Toto woke up with Elisabeth snuggled into his chest, his arms wrapped around her waist. He’d stay there all day if he could, but neither he nor his girlfriend were really the type to lay around all day. Even so, he lived for mornings like this — no early meetings to rush off to, no need to get up for early track sessions. The house was peaceful and quiet, he was warm and comfortable with the love of his life in his arms. It was a rare day that he or Elisabeth didn’t have somewhere to be right away — the kind of morning he used to fantasize about, and he wanted to make it last. 

Elisabeth obviously had other ideas — she woke up, stretched a bit, and moved to roll out of bed, but Toto realized he wasn’t quite ready yet. “Just a little bit longer,” he thought. He tightened his arms around her waist.

— Please, Liesl — he said, quietly. He said it in a way that he knew Elisabeth found irresistible. It was a bit underhanded on his part, but he really wanted to hang on to moments like this as long as possible. 

— Alright, I’ll stay, just for a little while — she said. Pleased with himself, Toto kissed the back of her head, splaying his fingers against her stomach. 

Elisabeth told Toto that she’d had a dream that started like this. She described the way that, in her dream, he’d started out with his hands under her shirt, caressing her breasts. Toto chuckled as he followed along, asking Elisabeth what happened next in the dream.

— And what did you want, Liesl? — he whispered. He had a feeling that he knew where this was going, but the anticipation was the exciting part.

— I wanted you to touch me.

— Here? — Toto said, brushing his fingers over her belly, just under the waistband of the shorts she was wearing. 

— No, further down.

Things progressed to the point of him using his fingers to bring her to climax, enjoying the feeling of her writhing with pleasure in his arms. He didn’t want, or even really expect, any reciprocation — seeing Elisabeth so enraptured by his touch alone was a sublime pleasure in and of itself. He was perfectly happy knowing that he could make her feel so good — it was as he said, she deserved to feel good every day. 

After she came out of the throes of her pleasure, settling back down, she rolled over to face him, and they kissed tenderly before they each got out of bed to get ready for the day.

Toto was planning on heading to the factory today, but a little later than usual. It was early in the season still, and one of those all-too-rare days where there wasn’t anything that required his urgent attention. The car was performing well. The team had just returned from a flyaway with back-to-back victories in China and Bahrain, and it was a few weeks until Spain, so he could take it easy this morning.

His plan was to get a workout in before he had a small breakfast and a shower, and then he would head into the office around 10. He and Elisabeth chatted a bit while he changed into his workout clothes. She was still in the midst of the neverending deal with her father’s pending acquisition of Amira Air, a private executive charter airline. 

Toto gave Elisabeth another kiss before they both headed downstairs — Elisabeth to the kitchen to make some coffee, Toto to the home gym that was set up on the lower floor of their house. He wasn’t going to do anything too strenuous today, just a simple pilates progression to wake everything up after a busy weekend.

He had finished one set of exercises with an exercise ball, and wanted to do the next one in his set — one that involved kneeling, balanced on the top of the ball. It engaged the core, quads, and hip flexors. Normally, it was prudent to have someone spotting him for this particular exercise, but it sounded like Elisabeth was on the phone with her secretary and Toto didn’t want to bother her.

“It should be fine”, he thought, steadying himself on top of the ball. He’d done this plenty of times before.

As he turned his head to the mirror to check his position, his balance shifted to his left side just enough to throw his equilibrium off. He tried to redirect himself to fall forward, but couldn’t catch himself in time — with a shriek, he toppled over and fell to the floor, the entirety of his weight coming down on his kneecap. The foam tiles they’d put on the floor did precious little to absorb the shock of his body weight on such a narrow point, and he felt a sickening crunch as he landed. 

He grasped his knee, groaning. The pain was immediate. Elisabeth came running down the stairs, kneeling next to him, asking what happened. Toto immediately felt guilty when he saw the frightened expression on her face. He knew he made a mistake trying to do that particular exercise by himself. His knee was already swelling and turning a bit purple when Elisabeth tried to examine it. She prodded it a bit and tried to get Toto to straighten his leg, which made him yelp in pain. 

— We’re going to have to go to the hospital, honey — she said, looking at him with anxiety plain on her face.

It wasn’t an easy task — first, there was the matter of getting Toto off of the ground, then, up the stairs and out to the garage. Elisabeth was tall for a woman, but Toto was tall in general. It took quite a bit of effort to get him up the stairs and up to the ground level of the house, and out to the garage. 

By the time he was settled into the passenger seat of Elisabeth’s C-Class, Toto’s knee was even more swollen, and his face was twisted into a pained grimace. He was covered in a thin sheen of sweat, his breath hissing through his teeth as he struggled to remain calm. On top of the pain, anxiety was rising in his chest — the anxiety of having to go to the hospital again, not even a year after his last catastrophic injury brought him to the emergency department. 

At least this time, Elisabeth was with him. 

She held Toto’s hand and kept talking to him the entire time — other than when he was taken to for x-rays — about anything but his knee. It was clear she was worried as well, even as she assured him that he probably didn’t break anything when Toto raised the possibility on the ride over. Toto thought that maybe she was trying to keep his mind off of his injury, or the possibility of being laid up during such a crucial point in the season. This time, he knew he had to be more careful than he had been after his bike accident.

He’d flown to the Hungarian Grand Prix two days after having surgery. The photos of him walking around the paddock in a sling with his arm immobilized in a splint were amusing now, but he promptly went back to the hospital in Vienna the day after the race, when he’d developed a fever. His doctor ran all sorts of tests, but hadn’t found anything significant. She’d told Toto that postoperative acute fevers weren’t necessarily uncommon. It likely developed because he wasn’t resting like he should, and the extra stress on his body so soon after surgery was likely causing an inflammatory response, so she kept him in the hospital for two days. Toto hadn’t told Elisabeth that he had been hospitalized again. She had found out anyway, through his assistant, after he had to cancel a meeting, but he refused to see her at the hospital. He didn’t think his heart could take the sight of her leaving him alone again. 

In the end, he managed to escape the need for surgery this time. His patella was indeed fractured, but it wasn’t a bad break, and the doctor suggested conservative treatment first — two weeks of immobilization and limiting weight-bearing. Toto wasn’t happy, but it was better than the alternative. He sighed in resignation. 

He was given a metal brace that limited the range of motion of his knee and a pair of crutches. As the doctor was preparing his discharge, he said one last thing.

— If I can say anything, Mr. Wolff, it’s that you were lucky. Performing that type of exercise without anyone else around is incredibly dangerous. If you had fallen some other way, you could have sustained a head injury, or could have broken your back.

Toto knew he was right, of course, but he hadn’t really considered that — he’d been able to do it before, but he supposed it only took one wrong move. Chastened, he nodded, and lightly touched Elisabeth’s arm. 

— Can we go home, Liesl?

They left the hospital and started the trip home through Oxford. Toto noticed Elisabeth was strangely quiet. Her jaw was clenched tight, her knuckles white from how hard she was gripping the steering wheel. She nearly missed a red light. She braked suddenly, and Toto’s long legs hit the underside of the Mercedes’ dashboard. He hissed in pain, grasping at his injured knee.

Elisabeth snapped at him. She was annoyed, and he didn’t want to argue, but the way she was driving had him fearing further injury. 

— Careful, Liesl — he said.

— I am being careful, Toto — she said.

— It doesn’t seem like it — Toto said quietly.

— Well, it didn’t seem like you were being careful when you tried to balance on a pilates ball with no one else around — Elisabeth spat. 

Ah. It was all clear now. 

— Are you upset about the accident? — Toto asked her, quietly. He already felt bad enough, because he knew that Elisabeth was worried. He’d seen it on her face when she came downstairs into the gym. He’d known, the second he ended up on the floor, that he really shouldn’t have been doing that particular exercise alone, but he certainly hadn’t expected Elisabeth to sound so angry about it.

— I’m mad because I’m the one who’s going to take care of you, Toto.

It surprised Toto — he hadn’t asked, and he could take care of himself. She talked about the fact that she’d have to cancel meetings and make excuses to maintain the plausible deniability that had become part and parcel of their relationship at this point, and said he was like a baby. Toto ignored it.

— It would be easier if we just told everyone we’re together — Toto said, quietly.

That just made Elisabeth angrier — she stomped harder on the accelerator, and Toto braced himself against the car’s interior as she abruptly braked at an intersection on Oxford University’s campus. 

— Honestly, Toto, you’re not a baby. Do you know what you are?

— What?

— You’re a selfish prick — Elisabeth spat.

Toto’s stomach dropped out. He swallowed hard, feeling like he’d been punched. 

It felt like some sort of long-buried worst fear of his coming true. He didn’t have anything to say to that.

Maybe it was true.

The rest of the drive home, he stared out the passenger-side window, lost in thought.

He thought about his father, Sven. His first hero. What son doesn’t want to be exactly like their dad growing up? He certainly did. 

But then… The cancer diagnosis came with the realization that there was nothing the doctors could do other than implore him to enjoy the time he had left with his family. His dad left without home without much warning. He and Lili woke up one day and he was gone, along with every one of his possessions. Toto didn’t understand why. 

Then, came the indignity of being pulled out of school mid-day because the tuition bill hadn’t been paid. His father was too sick to work any more and had to close his business, his mother didn’t speak French, so she couldn’t read the letters they’d sent home. 

There was something that he realized that day, and he walked home hand-in-hand with his sister, explaining what had happened and why they were going home from school so early — he needed to learn how to rely on himself, because he wouldn’t be able to rely on anyone else. Emotionally, personally, monetarily, it didn’t matter. There wasn’t anyone he’d be able to rely on, because everyone he was supposed to trust had failed him, and he couldn’t imagine failing himself. 

It informed how he acted, even in the smallest ways.

When Elisabeth pulled her black C-Class next to Toto’s 300 SL Gullwing, for instance, she silently offered him a hand to help him out of the car. 

— I don’t need any help — he said, grasping onto the doorframe to balance himself as he stood up, trying to avoid putting any weight on his injured leg. Elisabeth asked if she could get his crutches for him, but he could do that himself too.

Or so he thought, until he considered the logistics of hopping on one foot all the way to the back of the car and the possibility of slipping on the smooth floor of the garage.  

— Can you get them, please?

As she handed him the crutches, he smiled slightly as he took the handles, making sure his forearms were secure in the cuffs before hobbling into the house. He heard Elisabeth sigh behind him. 

Toto took up residence in his office for the remainder of the day. He tried to still get some work done, despite his doctor’s orders to rest and stay off his feet. He laid on the sofa in his office with his injured knee propped up on a pillow, a laptop balanced precariously over his thigh. If he’d expected himself to be productive, he should have known better, aside from responding to not even a handful of emails. He was too lost in thought to concentrate. 

“I guess she’s right”, he thought, staring at a fixed point on the wall behind his desk. “Maybe I am selfish”.

He took his glasses off and rubbed at his eyes. 

He focused his entire life around not having to rely on anyone else. 

But somewhere, along the way, he supposed he’d lost sight of the fact that it didn’t mean that there weren’t people that relied on him, like his kids, his employees, his partners — first Stephanie, now Elisabeth. 

When he was with Stephanie, he was trying to build his business, and it took him away from home a lot. He was traveling to meet with possible clients, working a lot of late nights. He’d missed a lot of important moments. His daughter’s first steps, his son’s first words. It always made him feel terrible, but he justified it by telling himself that it was what was best for his family. If he was successful, they’d be taken care of, and even if something happened to him, he’d know they wouldn’t have to suffer like he did as a boy, being told to go home from school in the middle of the day because your school bills hadn’t been paid. 

He wondered if he was more like his mother, or like his father. His father left, maybe to spare him, his mother, and his sister from having to see him suffering. Maybe, Toto thought, he wasn’t trying to be selfish — his emotions ended up twisted the same way Toto’s were, that he thought he was doing the right thing, but hurting the people he loved instead. 

It didn’t change the fact that Toto still loved his dad, and wanted to be there for him. He was sure his sister felt the same way. 

But what about his mother? Now that he was an adult, Toto got along with her just fine, but when he was growing up, it wasn’t always the case. Sure, she had to support two children alone after the divorce, but as he grew up, Toto got the impression that she was never all that interested in parenting. She had a busy job as an anesthesiologist, and Toto hardly ever saw her much of the time. Sometimes it felt like she was his and his sister’s older roommate, rather than their mother. His heart sank, then, during his divorce with Stephanie, he’d realized that he’d become his mother’s son.

Toto’s thoughts ran like an old film reel, as he thought back on things from his adolescent years, trying to draw lines between his parents and himself, especially in the early years of his kids’ lives. Since the divorce, he’d tried to make a more concerted effort to spend more time with his children, to call them regularly, but the reality remained that he was busy, especially after having taken on a job that brought him all over the world. He was so mired in his own thoughts that the sound of Elisabeth knocking lightly on the door to his office startled him. 

Without a single word, she eased the door open, a plate and fork in one of her hands — she’d brought him dinner. A plate of pasta with pesto. He hadn’t even realized how hungry he’d been getting until he smelled the pungent garlic and verdant basil.

He could hardly bring himself to look at her, he felt so ashamed of himself. She had been right, earlier. He could only imagine that she was still furious with him. She had every right to be. 

He was selfish.

— Thank you — he mumbled, avoiding her gaze. He let himself steal a glance as she turned back around to leave. There was an unmistakable sadness in her eyes that wrenched at Toto’s heart more. 

He needed to try to make this right, because Elisabeth… His children, his friends, his employees… They all deserved better than what he’d been given.

He sighed deeply, setting his laptop on the sofa, shimmying backwards to get into a seated position before he moved himself to his desk chair to eat. The pasta was perfectly cooked, the pesto was delicious. Neither of them were amazing in the kitchen — Toto knew how to make a few things, as he’d proudly told Elisabeth on their “first date” at his apartment, but most of it was things that kids liked and were easy to make, like frozen knödel and vegetables, pancakes, noodles, chicken nuggets, fish fingers, those sorts of things, from the weeks that Ben and Rosi stayed with Toto when they were younger than they were now. Elisabeth was a much better cook than he was, having spent time growing up in Italy in Spain.

He’d made the spaghetti bolognese for their first date that Elisabeth had deemed “edible”, but he went through a few failed batches of it before the occasion, desperate to treat her to a nice dinner he’d made himself. 

Some time later, Toto heard Elisabeth’s footsteps padding down the hallway, towards the direction of their bedroom. He glanced at his watch and realized that she must be getting ready for bed.

He had briefly considered sleeping in the guest bedroom, for fear that Elisabeth still wouldn’t want to talk to him or sleep next to him, but he decided that there was no sense in making more work by unmaking a second bed. 

Plus, if she was still awake by the time he went to bed after showering… Maybe they could talk. Maybe he could apologize.

He showered very carefully, brushed his teeth, and changed into his pajamas. It looked like Elisabeth was already asleep by the time he settled down on his side of the mattress. 

“I guess we’ll talk in the morning”, he thought as he laid down. But then, after he’d settled in, he heard the sound of quiet sniffling from Elisabeth’s side of the bed, like she was trying not to cry. Toto felt a lump forming in his throat. He rolled over with some difficulty, trying to keep his injured leg straight, onto his side and tapped her shoulder.

— Elisabeth?

— Yeah? — her voice sounded unsure, like she was afraid of what Toto would say. Toto’s chest tightened. 

— Are you awake?

— Yes.

He asked if he could ask her a question, and she said yes, so Toto took a deep, measured breath before proceeding.

— Do you really think I’m selfish?

It was a strange question, and he worried for a moment that it would just start their fight all over again, especially when she rolled over to face him. Her expression was confused at first, and then it softened when she looked into his eyes. Still, she did ask why Toto was asking her. 

It was a fair question, he supposed. 

He started talking about when his father was diagnosed with the illness that would eventually end his life. He was surprised at how emotional it was making him. He could feel tears gathering in his eyes as he described the day that he’d woken up to find that his dad was gone, along with all of his worldly possessions. He talked about how Lili cried, and how he wanted to, but couldn’t. 

He felt Elisabeth’s hand slide across the sheets, grasping at his fingers with hers. His breath hitched at the touch — it felt like she was trying to encourage him, to tell him he was safe, He continued, talking about how it felt seeing his dad suffering anyway, even though Sven attempted to spare them from that pain. What he’d actually done, though, was deprive his children of the little time they’d had left with him. 

He couldn’t even bring himself to talk about his mother, not now. Not yet.

— When you said I was selfish, it made me think. Am I really being selfish? Are my actions really hurting the people I care about? Am I hurting the people around me? Am I doing the same thing my father did to me with Benedict, with Rosa, with you? — Toto continued, looking up at her, the pain he was feeling plain on his face — I spent the rest of the drive home from the hospital thinking about it. Fuck, I spent the rest of the day reflecting, going back to all of these moments when I went from thinking about you guys to just thinking about myself.

Elisabeth’s thumb stroked the back of his hand. She hadn’t said anything, but finally — 

— Toto… I don’t think you’re a selfish prick.

She explained that she’d regretted it immediately after she said it, that it was just a loss of composure borne out of how worried she had been about him, and how much worse his injury could have been. 

As she talked about all the ways that he gave so generously of himself, even despite the demanding schedule, tears came to his eyes. He’d tried, after his divorce from Stephanie, to take more interest in the lives of the people around him. He tried to keep in touch with his children after missing so many important events during their early years, even on weekends when he was traveling or they were at their mother’s house. He called them frequently, just to talk about how things were at school, and had them over to his Vienna or Oxford homes whenever he could. He expended a lot of energy into making sure that the people that worked with him every day felt supported, and that they knew he would be there to support him, because people that feel supported are the ones that give you their best work. 

After Elisabeth had called him selfish that morning, he wasn’t sure that it was enough. A weight that was on his heart all day lifted. Tears started to fall from his eyes in earnest. He was equally sad and relieved. 

Elisabeth reached her free hand out to his face, wiping away a tear from his cheek with her thumb. Toto reflexively leaned into the touch, savoring the way her hand felt, soft and warm, on the side of his face.

— You’re not selfish, Torger Wolff. You never have been. Not even for a moment.

Toto felt Elisabeth’s fingers tighten around his, and returned the gesture.

— Can you forgive me? — she asked.

Yes. Without question.

— Always, Liesl.

They kissed tenderly, and Toto drew her into his chest, as close as she could get without disturbing his injured knee. They’d only lost a day with each other, but Toto still wanted to make up for it, as he wrapped Elisabeth in his arms and fell asleep with the scent of her shampoo in his nose.

[kvetchlandia]

Nat Herz     Couple Walking, Coney Island, Brooklyn, New York     c.1955

[ohmystarsy]

a team portrait of characters from my 2018 Nanowrimo novel, that I commissioned from amazing Nat ( @natowe​ ) ❤️

(I wanted to post it for two weeks already, what is time)

I describe this story as “a heist in 21st-century-alternative-Europe with magical elements”, but other than that I have no idea what it is (or how heists are supposed to work; it still awaits really big editing). but at least I’m sure about the team and now I even know how they look like! (thank you Nat rly) from left to right: Gabriel, a magi-theorist and conspiracy-theories-believer (but all of those that he believes in, turn out to be true); Herz, a shady “businessman” and illegal coal mine owner who knows just all the right people and speaks too many languages; Joanna, ex-soldier of Polish Crown, now a wanted person in all three nations of the Commonwealth, with personal mission and revenge (also a main character); Leo, a hacker and enormous flirt with too many surprises and secrets; and Sami, a spy of Polish Crown who failed at their mission and now is supposed to be Joanna’s handler (but they don’t manage it too well).

once again, thank you, Nat, for capturing them so well! this went beyond all my expectations, thank you!!! ❤️

[rjzimmerman]

Excerpt from this Smithsonian article:

So far this year, 70 gray whales have washed up on beaches along the west coast from California to Alaska, enough that last Friday the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration declared an “unusual mortality event” and launched an investigation into why the whales are dying.

Reuters reports that thus far 37 dead whales have been found in California, three in Oregon, 25 in Washington, five in Alaska and an additional five along the coast of British Columbia.

The Associated Press reports that many living whales are appearing in unusual places they usually don’t visit during migration, like Puget Sound and San Francisco Bay, likely searching for food, which puts them in even more danger. Four whales found in California were struck by ships near San Francisco.

Each spring, the whales migrate about 5,000 miles from their birthing grounds in Mexico to their feeding grounds in Alaska. The whales only feed while in Arctic waters, feasting on small crustaceans called amphipods. They have to fuel up enough to survive their entire 10,000-mile round trip migration route, reports Kate Williams at The Oregonian.

If they don’t pack on the blubber while in Alaska, they won’t have enough energy to complete their journey down south and back again. That seems to be the case with the majority of whales examined so far. Most of the deceased animals are emaciated with very little body fat. It’s likely that the 70 whales are are just a fraction of the whales that have died on the migratory journey so far this spring, since most whales actually sink to the ocean floor when they die.

So far, researchers have two main theories as to why the animals are starving. One is that the North Pacific gray whale population has essentially reached the carrying capacity of its environment, or the level that food resources can sustain. It’s possible there were too many whales and too few amphipods for the entire population to get its share during last summer’s feeding frenzy.

Nat Herz at Alaska Public Media reports that warming trends in the Arctic could also be at play. Reduced sea ice may be impacting the amphipod population, reducing the food resources available for the whales.

[lostglimmerofhope]

Leben.

Mein Leben ist gezeichnet von Traurigkeit und Einsamkeit. Von Hoffnungslosigkeit, die der Liebe geschuldet ist. Von Personen, die sich Freunde nannten und mich dann in den Abgrund stießen. Viele sagen immer, ich bin zu jung, um solche Gefühle wirklich fühlen zu können, doch sie wissen gar nichts. Nur, weil man noch nicht so lange auf dieser Welt wandelt, heißt das nicht, dass man nicht schon durch seine persönliche Hölle gegangen ist. Jeder Mensch hat Momente, in denen er denkt, dass das Leben ihn gebrochen hätte, doch es braucht viel mehr als solche Momente. In jedem dieser Augenblicke gibt es ein Licht. Ein kleiner Lichtblick, der einen retten kann, wenn man es nur zulässt. Doch es ist schwer, wenn die Dunkelheit einen umgibt und es so leicht wäre, sich ihr hinzugeben. Ich hatte viele solcher Momente, und war oft am Abgrund. Gefühle sind für mich Nebenwirkungen vom Leben. Gefühle machen uns verletzlich, weil unsere Gefühle unserer aller Schwäche sind. Vertrauen, Freundschaft, Liebe. Es kann wunderbar sein, wenn diese Gefühle ehrlich gemeint sind, doch sollte dies nicht der Fall sein... Wenn sie missbraucht werden, verletzt es einen nicht nur minimal, es ist die pure Hölle. Man gewöhnt sich an den Schmerz, den anderen einen zufügen und lernt mit ihm zu leben. Doch es macht einen nicht stärker, es härtet einen nicht ab. Man wird resignierter, man versucht es erst gar nicht mehr, man gibt gleich auf. All das hat mich persönlich verändert und das nicht zum Positiven. Mein Leben ist ein Trümmerhaufen, geschaffen von Personen, die es nie ernst meinten. Von Personen, die alles haben, ohne auch nur den kleinen Finger gerührt zu haben. Aber wie sagte ein berühmter Professor mal? "Das Leben ist nicht fair." Und ja verdammt er hatte Recht. Er hat verstanden wie das Leben läuft. Bei einigen verläuft das Leben geradlinig. Sie fahren mit einem makellosen Auto auf einer unbeschädigten Straße, umgeben von Baumallen und Blumenfeldern unter strahlenden Sonnenschein. Doch bei anderen läuft es anders. Sie fahren mit einem klapprigen alten Auto, welches rostet und Löcher hat über eine Straße mit vielen Schlaglöchern. Währenddessen regnet es, das Wasser tropft ins Auto und man nimmt jedes verdammte Schlagloch mit. So verschieden kann das Leben sein. Natürlich haben es einige Menschen wahrscheinlich schwerer, doch jedes Lebewesen hat seine eigene kleine Hölle. Und mein Leben ist kurz davor, es zu schaffen. Mich vollkommen zu brechen. Doch es gibt eine Person, die mir zeitgleich hilft und mich trotzdem immer mehr zerstört. Wir hätten die größte Liebesgeschichte aller Zeiten sein können, doch es wurde uns verwehrt. Du wurdest mir verwehrt. Ich war deiner nicht würdig und das brach mir das Herz. Unsere Leben waren zu verschieden, zu chaotisch und missverstanden. Ich war nichts besonderes für dich, doch du warst alles für mich. Liebe ist stark, doch unerwiderte Liebe ist stärker. Sie hat mich vollkommen im Griff, ohne Hoffnung auf Entkommen. Erwiderte Liebe wird von Vielen als selbstverständlich angesehen, doch es ist und wird immer ein Privileg bleiben. Diese Gewissheit, dass die Liebe nicht hoffnungslos verloren ist und genauso erwidert wird. Ich hatte nie ein solches Gefühl, ich musste um alles kämpfen und meistens vergeblich. Meine Liebe hat alles, was er sich je erträumt hat und ich stehe alleine im Regen. Ich wünsche mir so, dass sich alles ändert, doch vergeblich. Du bist und bleibst unerreichbar und es macht mich fertig.

[victoria-benner]

Hey, heute gibt es keinen neuen Artikel für die Blogreihe, sondern Neuigkeiten zu meinen Schreibprojekten.

Hüter

Wie jeder weiß, arbeite ich seit Jahren an Hüter. Letztes Jahr habe ich es geschafft, den dritten Entwurf zu überarbeiten und das kleine, bedeutende Wort „Ende“ darunter zu setzen. Der nächste Schritt, die Suche nach einem Lektor, wird dieses Jahr angegangen und ich hoffe, dass ich bald etwas zu erzählen habe. Hoffentlich Gutes.

Projekt M

Doch Hüter ist nicht das einzige Projekt, dass den nächsten Schritt machen wird. Auch bei Emmeline ist der Erstentwurf fertig. Und, wie eigentlich immer, bin ich überhaupt  nicht damit zufrieden. Ja, ich weiß, ein Erstentwurf ist ein Erstentwurf. Er muss nicht perfekt sein. Es ist nur der Versuch die Geschichte aus dem Kopf raus und auf das Papier zu bringen. Eine Struktur zu schaffen. Dennoch sind mir bereits während des Schreibens zahlreiche Punkte aufgefallen, wo ich mir Notizen gemacht habe, dass ich da etwas verändern muss. Der Anfang waren diverse Namen. Emmeline ist zu Gunsten von Pola verworfen worden und Sabrinas Erzählperspektive ist komplett aus der Geschichte geworfen worden, aus Angst die Geschichte könnte zu lang werden, auch wenn es mir das Herz gebrochen hat, hätte ich doch gern Sabrina die Chance gegeben ihren Teil der Geschichte erzählen zu können. Aber gut, es heißt immer : Kill your Darlings. Zumindest das habe ich getan. Trotzdem bleibt immer noch ein ganzer Berg von Dingen, die rausgeworfen, geändert, verstärkt, abgeschwächt, ach ich weiß nicht was noch, werden müssen und derzeit stehe ich in Sachen Projekt M vor einem riesigen Berg und weiß wieder nicht, wo und wie ich zuerst anfangen soll. Es ist schon lustig, ich mache das nicht zum ersten Mal und kenne viele Tipps und Tricks zum Überarbeiten und ich weiß, ich habe schon einige Bücher überarbeitet, aber jedes Mal, jedes Mal ist es das Gleiche: man steht davor und denkt sich, das schafft man nie.

Abgesehen davon habe ich auch in Projekt M wieder ein Händchen dafür gehabt eine unsympathische Hauptfigur zu erschaffen, die sich mit tollen, verrückten Nebenfiguren umgibt, was es natürlich nicht einfacher, an manchen Stellen aber lustiger macht. Was soll ich sagen? Ich mag Noel.

Neues Projekt

Nachdem nun also die beiden Projekte auf Eis gelegt sind, Emmeline muss ich eine Weile sacken lassen, bevor ich mit dem Überarbeiten beginnen kann und Hüter wird mir erst mal aus den Händen genommen, bis ich Hilfe vom Lektor bekomme, da ich nun also wieder freie Kapazitäten habe, setze ich mich demnächst an die Ausarbeitung eines neuen Projekts. Hakawati. Hakawati trage ich bereits seit was? 3, 4 Jahren mit mir herum? Genau weiß ich es nicht, aber das ist auch nicht das Entscheidende. Was interessant ist, dass es wieder eine Fantasygeschichte sein wird, kein Liebesroman, und dass das Projekt in einer unser ähnlichen Welt spielt. Thema ist die Frage, was ohne Geschichten, ohne „sprechende“ Medizin aus uns werden würde. Wie sähe die Welt aus, wenn wir niemanden mehr hätten, der Geschichten erschaffen, Fluchtwege bieten würde. Wir alle verlieren uns gern mal in einem guten Buch, gutem Film. Was wäre, wäre das alles weg?

Doch, noch ist es nicht so weit, dass ich an Hakawati schreiben kann. Es gibt erst zwei handschriftliche Kapitel und in den letzten Tagen habe ich einen roten Faden mit jetzt 8 Kapiteln entwickelt. Und genau da stecke ich gerade fest und komme nicht weiter. Was bedeutet, dass ich jetzt schreiben muss / kann, was ich habe in der Hoffnung, dass ich, bis ich zu dem toten Punkt komme, schon weiß, wie es weitergehen soll. Ansonsten, ich nehme Vorschläge an.

[bamboomusiclist]

5/18  Bobo Stenson / Underwear ecm1012st  等更新しました。

おはようございます。更新完了しました。https://bamboo-music.net

Jazz Messengers / Hard Bop cl1040 Count Basie / st bl54012 Ray Charles / Genius + Soul = Jazz a2 Nat Pierce Dick Collins Nonet / Charlie Mariano sextet 3-224 George Van Eps / Mellow Guitar cl929 Kai Winding Jj Johnson / an Afternoon at Birdland Lxa1040 Curtis Fuller / Blues ette sst16061 Miles Davis / Bags Groove Pr7109 Ray Bryant / Lonesome Traveler lps778 Ella Fitzgerald / Like Someone in Love Mgv4004 Paul Desmond / from the Hot Afternoon sp3024 Enoch Light / Movie Hits pr5063sd Bobo Stenson / Underwear ecm1012st Jeff Lorber Fusion / Soft Space ic1056 Bobby Rodriguez / Latin From Manhattan jmvs72 Bobby Hutcherson / Head On Bst84376 Isley Brothers / the Heat is On pz33536 Keni Burke / st dh3022 Popol Vuh / Herz Aus Glas 0060.079 Small Faces / st lk4790

~bamboo music~ https://bamboo-music.net  info@bamboo-music.net   530-0028 大阪市北区万歳町3-41 シロノビル104号 06-6363-2700

[joeinct]

Photo by Nat Herz, 1960s