#Severed Survival 1989

[savage-kult-of-gorthaur]

"THE COVER WAS JUST KEV DOING HIS INTERPRETION OF A ZOMBIE AUTOPSY."

PIC(S) INFO: Spotlight on alternate/"zombie surgeons" sleeve art to "Severed Survival" (1989), debut album by American death metal band AUTOPSY. Artwork by Kev Walker.

ERIC CUTLER (guitarist): "Kev Walker had an idea for an autopsy painting. We didn’t give him a lot of detail like we did for the original cover. Once we saw it, we liked it. But we never talked with him. Both Kent and Kev came up with such different ideas. (The cover) was just Kev doing his interpretation of a zombie autopsy. We were in Belgium in a pub the first time we saw it in about 1991."

CHRIS REIFERT (drummer/vocalist): "Peaceville was thinking about making an alternate to get more distribution, and we just thought it was cool to have more art. We liked the first cover but it was two for the price of one. I don’t know how (label founder) Hammy knew Kev. I think it’s the only album cover he’s ever done. Now he’s doing "Spider-Man" and "James Bond" comics. I think I talked to him on the phone once or twice. I did relay that there was someone named Spike who had done a drawing with zombie doctors. He was this 13-year-old cool kid and we jammed in his garage."

-- DECIBEL MAGAZINE, "Autopsy: The Illustrated History (Hall of Fame Bonus), August 12, 2015 

Sources: www.decibelmagazine.com/2015/08/12/autopsy-the-illustrated-history-hof-bonus & Picuki.

[gotankgo]

Autopsy “Embalmed”

• Severed Survival (1989)

[onlyhurtforaminute]

AUTOPSY-IMPENDING DREAD

[morbidology]

Juliane Koepcke was born in Lima, Peru, on October 10, 1954, to German parents who were both biologists. Raised in the lush environment of the Amazon rainforest, Juliane was familiar with the challenges and dangers posed by the wild, an experience that would later prove crucial to her survival.

On December 24, 1971, 17-year-old Juliane and her mother, Maria Koepcke, boarded LANSA Flight 508 in Lima, heading for Pucallpa, a city in the Peruvian Amazon. They were traveling to join Juliane's father for Christmas at the family’s research station. The flight, however, was doomed.

Midway through the journey, the plane encountered a severe thunderstorm. Lightning struck the aircraft, causing it to break apart in mid-air. Juliane, still strapped into her seat, plummeted approximately 10,000 feet into the dense Amazon jungle.

Amazingly, Juliane survived the fall, likely aided by the thick foliage that cushioned her descent. She awoke the next morning, disoriented and injured, but alive. Her right collarbone was broken, she had a deep cut on her leg, and her right eye was swollen shut. Alone in the vast and unforgiving Amazon, Juliane had to rely on her wits and the survival skills she had learned from her parents to stay alive.

Despite her injuries and the traumatic experience, Juliane remained calm and determined to survive. She had no food and only a small bag of candy that had fallen with her. Drawing on her knowledge of the rainforest, she sought out water, knowing that following a stream would eventually lead her to civilization. For the next 11 days, she trudged through the jungle, battling extreme heat, exhaustion, hunger, and the constant threat of predators.

Juliane’s knowledge of the rainforest played a crucial role in her survival. She knew not to drink stagnant water and avoided poisonous plants. Her injuries became infected, and maggots began to infest the wound on her arm, but she pressed on. Along the way, she encountered evidence of the crash, including other passengers who had not been as fortunate as her.

On the 11th day of her ordeal, Juliane stumbled upon a small boat moored near a makeshift shelter used by loggers. She used gasoline from the boat's fuel tank to clean her wounds, a painful but necessary measure to rid herself of the maggots. Exhausted and on the brink of collapse, she waited by the boat, hoping that its owners would return.

The next day, loggers arrived and found Juliane, amazed that she had survived such an ordeal. They took her to a nearby village and then to a local hospital, where she was treated for her injuries and dehydration. After her recovery, Juliane was reunited with her father, who had feared the worst after hearing about the crash.

Out of the 92 passengers and crew aboard LANSA Flight 508, Juliane was the sole survivor. The discovery of her survival was a miracle, and her story quickly became international news.

Her life after the crash was marked by a combination of fame and trauma. The media attention surrounding her survival was intense, but Juliane preferred to maintain a low profile, focusing on her studies and rebuilding her life. She went on to study biology, following in her parents' footsteps, and eventually earned a Ph.D. She dedicated her career to the study of mammals, particularly bats, and continued to work in the field of conservation in Peru.

In 1989, Juliane married and took the surname Diller. Despite the passage of time, she remained haunted by the memories of the crash and her mother’s death. It wasn't until many years later that she felt ready to speak publicly about her experience. In 2011, she published her memoir, When I Fell From the Sky in which she detailed her ordeal and reflected on the profound impact it had on her life.

[brucewaynehater101]

Ghost Batfam AU:

Basically, I wanted to explain the weird age/timeline shit of DC. I got these years online, so let me know if they are inaccurate

Bruce Wanye dies at the age of ten with his parents. He never found out why, but Bruce never vanished. Despite a few peculiar new biology symptoms (such as not having a heartbeat), Bruce was practical alive. Others can see him, and he interacts with the real world. He wasn't declared dead or even injured that day. It takes a few months for Alfred to realize Bruce doesn't have a heartbeat. They keep this a secret.

Dick Grayson dies in 1940 with his parents. Unlike Bruce, however, Dick Grayson's aging seems to have slowed down. He finally becomes an adult and Nightwing in 1984. Bruce and several other characters seem to age at a similar rate to Dick. No one notices this is strange due to universe magic bullshit.

Jason dies in 1983 due to him not surviving the streets. When he steals Batman's tires, Bruce realizes Jason is like them. This is what prompts him to immediately kidnap Jason. In 1988, the Joker banishes Jason's soul effectively "killing" him.

Tim dies in 1989. We can either fo fanon reasons for his death (died trying to stalk the Bats or from parental neligence) or a more canon one (his boarding school sucked and let him die). Here's where we can also diverge. Either Bruce immediately knows Tim's one of them, or he only finds out when he realizes Tim isn't aging (Bruce forgot how normal humans are supposed to age).

Steph dies in 1992 when she is Spoiler. This doesn't stop her from continuing her actions, though. This is why Bruce chooses her as Robin as well. In 2004, Black Mask uses a special device said to banish people's souls. It temporarily caused her to disappear, but Leslie is able to quickly bring her back (due to the device being shitty). It still caused immense damage to Steph's soul, so Leslie took her away for recovery.

Damian is a mix of Bruce's weirdness ghost shit, so he is born in 1987. He reaches Wanye Manor in 2006 at ten years old.

Cass dies in 1999 right before meeting Bruce.

Barbara dies in 1966 before she becomes Batgirl. In 1988, Joker uses the same device he uses on Jason on Babs. Instead of killing her, it permanently damages her spirit and ability to walk.

Duke dies in 2013 but, due to magic time travel shit, also saved Bruce before Robin was on the scene. No clue how.

Alfred is immortal. He breathes, but everyone is too scared to ask what exactly he is. They just leave it be.

Basically, other characters are affected by the Bats' status, but not necessarily each other. This causes the age gaps between Bat members to widen or shorten at times.

[mydaddywiki]

Pat Conroy

Physique: Husky Build Height: 6' 1"

Donald Patrick Conroy (October 26, 1945 – March 4, 2016; aged 70) was an American author who wrote several acclaimed novels and memoirs; his books The Water is Wide, The Lords of Discipline, The Prince of Tides and The Great Santini were made into films, the last two being nominated for Oscars.

Recognized as a leading figure of late-20th century Southern literature (and as a hot chub daddy), who has written several acclaimed novels and memoirs. A former military brat with daddy issues, if he was born a woman, he would have turned into a stripper or whore. Instead he became an author that I'd still take to a back alley for a blow-job. Sure the comb over might be a problem, but I’m positive I won’t be focused on that whilst said dick was in him.

Born in Atlanta, GA, Conroy moved often in his youth, attending 11 schools by the time he was 15. He did not have a hometown until his family settled in Beaufort, SC, where he finished high school. During his senior year in high school, he was a protégé of Ann Head who was an influence on his future writing. His alma mater is The Citadel, The Military College of South Carolina in Charleston, where he graduated from the Corps of Cadets as an English major. He briefly became a schoolteacher (which he chronicled in his memoir The Water Is Wide) before publishing his first novel, The Boo.

Conroy lived on Fripp Island in Beaufort County, South Carolina until his death in 2016 at his home from Pancreatic Cancer. Living in South Carolina, I use to imagine running into him and offering him THE DICK. Then write his own biography about how we were secret lovers for years. Fucking like dogs in heat every time we get together. Yes… that would be a top seller.

Conroy’s first two marriages ended in divorce. He is survived by his wife, the writer Cassandra King; four daughters: Jessica Conroy, Melissa Conroy, Megan Conroy and Susannah Ansley Conroy; five stepchildren: Emily Conroy; Jake, James and Jason Ray; and Gregory Fleischer; and seven grandchildren.

Works: 1970: The Boo 1972: The Water Is Wide 1976: The Great Santini 1980: The Lords of Discipline 1986: The Prince of Tides 1989: Unconquered (teleplay) 1992: Essay on the Hidden Subculture of Military Brats at the Wayback Machine 1995: Beach Music 2002: My Losing Season 2003: Unrooted Childhoods: Memoirs of Growing Up Global 2004: The Pat Conroy Cookbook: Recipes of My Life 2009: South of Broad 2010: My Reading Life 2013: The Death of Santini 2016: A Lowcountry Heart: Reflections on a Writing Life

[just-j-really]

While I'm on the subject of Dreamling-does-tropes-wrong:

Hanahaki au where Hob's the one with hanahaki. Because I think however you set it up Hob refuses to play by the rules of the genre and the potential there is like catnip to me.

"The cure is confessing your love" variant? Hob's just like "Well fuck this actually" and tells Dream he loves him the moment he starts coughing up flowers. And there's so much potential there!

-Poor Hob tries to confess to Dream every time they interact and something keeps getting in his way- he falls in love in 1689, in 1789 they get interrupted, in 1889 he gets halfway through a confession and Dream YOU DAREs him, in 1989 he gets stood up. In 2022 Dream shows up at his table in the New Inn and Hob just blurts out "I'M IN LOVE WITH YOU" before Dream has the chance to actually say anything.

-Modern day, post-reunion, Dream doesn't want to intrude on Hob's life but he does want to see him more so he decides to go for the totally rational move of using his Dream-powers to spy on Hob- which means he gets a front-row seat to Hob slowly succumbing to hanahaki the second their meeting ends. All of Hob's friends/coworkers/acquaintances are REAL worried for him, but he's just like "it's seriously nbd I'll just tell him next time I see him." Dream is also REAL worried while spying from afar, but eventually goes to Hob in person to beg him to confess to whoever he's in love with. (Could be very serious and emotional, could play like that one "just tell them you love them" "alright. hey, I love you." "yes, like that!" meme.)

-Hob blurts out a love confession at... literally any of their canonical meetings, and the rest of the fic is dealing with the fallout. I think the simplest way to do this is 1889, with the confession standing in for "I think you're lonely." I think the most interesting way to do this is 1489, because so much would change. I think the FUNNIEST way to do this is 1589, yes Hob is still married.

But then you can also do the "the cure is having your love requited" variant, where Hob suffers through several centuries with an incurable lung disease. One of his most treasured dreams is that someone will come up with a cure (but for Plot reasons it keeps just not happening, like someone does come up with a cure but the side effects just aren't worth it if you can technically survive having flowers in your lungs. And/or he's never found a doctor he trusted not to freak out if he died and came back on the operating table).

And then you've got options such as:

-Dream falls in love in 1689, and either they start up a relationship right then, or they spend several centuries where Hob thinks they're in a relationship (his feelings were returned, of course they are!) and Dream thinks he's pining hopelessly for Hob, who could never love him

-Dream Does Not realize that Hob is in love with him (and in fact thinks Hob just keeps getting hanahaki, over and over, for different people, and wonders why Death saddled him with the world's Messiest human). And then he falls in love with Hob.

-Dream DOES realize Hob is in love with him. Unfortunately, he falls in love with Hob (or more realizes that what he was feeling WAS love) while fishbowled. Fortunately, Hob notices the lack of flowers, gets worried about what that means (because if his Stranger returns his feelings then why isn't he here? the flowers can't be gone because he's dead, Hob refuses to believe it). Cue a fishbowl rescue!

-Dream falls in love with Hob post-fishbowl, but is in denial about his ow feelings and assumes Hob found a workable cure sometime while he was fishbowled, or got over him. He's VERY SAD about this and can't figure out why. Hob is busy googling 'how to ask out a guy who i empirically know likes me back but only looks at me mournfully when i try to flirt'

Like I want to write this fic so bad but there are so many directions i want to go with it...

[nothorses]

I saw your tags on the post about trick or treaters not speaking and I am v interested in hearing more of your thoughts on the concept of “developmental delays”! I‘ve seen the idea that disability is a construct, but I’m not as familiar with the idea that development is also a construct. You have really great takes as an educator and someone who like, actually GETS how kids work, so I am interested in your thoughts!

I also know that posting on this subject might be poking the bear, so it is 1000% cool if you would rather not comment 💜 Tysm!

Oh I'm happy to talk about it! I love talking about this stuff, thank you for asking me to 💙

This isn't exactly new ground; there's been plenty of research into and writing on the subject, and deconstructing "development" as a static concept was, ironically, a huge part of my most recent development class.

The idea is that our understanding of "benchmarks" of development, which informs the larger concept of development as a whole, is heavily rooted in the assumption that Western culture is The Standard. We prioritize walking, talking, reading, and writing, which means we cultivate these skills in our children from a young age, which means they develop those skills more quickly than they do others.

To use one of my favorite examples from Rogoff, 2003, Orienting Concepts and Ways of Understanding the Cultural Nature of Human Development:

Although U.S. middle-class adults often do not trust children below about age 5 with knives, among the Efe of the Democratic Republic of Congo, infants routinely use machetes safely (Wilkie, personal communication, 1989). Likewise, Fore (New Guinea) infants handle knives and fire safely by the time they are able to walk (Sorenson, 1979). Aka parents of Central Africa teach 8- to 10-month-old infants how to throw small spears and use small pointed digging sticks and miniature axes with sharp metal blades: "Training for autonomy begins in infancy. Infants are allowed to crawl or walk to whatever they want in camp and allowed to use knives, machetes, digging sticks, and clay pots around camp. Only if an infant begins to crawl into a fire or hits another child do parents or others interfere with the infant’s activity. It was not unusual, for instance, to see an eight month old with a six-inch knife chopping the branch frame of its family’s house. By three or four years of age children can cook themselves a meal on the fire, and by ten years of age Aka children know enough subsistence skills to live in the forest alone if need be. (Hewlett, 1991, p. 34)" (pg. 5)

In the US we would view "letting an 8-month-old handle a knife" as a sign of severe neglect, but the emphasis here is placed on the fact that these children are taught to do these things safely. They don't learn out of necessity, or stumble into knives when nobody is watching; they learn with care, support, and safety in mind, just like children here learn. It makes me wonder if Aka parents would view our children's lack of basic survival skills with the same concern and disdain as USAmerican parents would view their children's inability to read.

Do we disallow our children from handling knives because it is objectively, fundamentally unsafe for a child of that age to do so- because even teaching them is developmentally impossible- or is that just a cultural assumption?

What other cultural assumptions do we have about child development?

Which ties in neatly with various social-based models of disability, particularly learning and, of course, developmental disabilities. If your culture doesn't value the things you are good at, and you happen to struggle with the things it does value, what kinds of assumptions is it likely to make about you? How will it pathologize you? What happens to that culture if it understands those values to be arbitrary, in order to accommodate your unique existence?

[kdafuckbrigade]

maya amano could solve the kira murders in pretty much every timeline of this i'm sure, but it would cost a kooky group of tag-alongs along the way (they grow fonder by their shared adventures), some buildings (not her fault) one bus and several thousand dollars lost in security deposits. whether or not she SURVIVES depends entirely on what note the writers are trying to hit.

OR she incidentally clips light yagami on the street with a 1989 mitsubishi pajero

[thenuclearmallard]

"Native smile from a Khanty girl,

Khanty Mansia, Northwest Siberia

The Khants are indigenous to north-west Siberia in the Khanty-Mansi and Yamal-Nenets Autonomous Districts that are located in the Tyumen region of the Russian Federation.

They are calling themselves Khanti, Khande, Kantek (Khanty) which is derived from the combination "Khondy-Kho" (in the Khant language "man from the river Konda") and it has also been explained as meaning "Khan (King) people" and connected with the name of the ancient Huns.

(Milittary expeditions by the Russians took place in the 16th century, so they also started to strengthen their power over the Khants' lands.

The Khant elders managed to retain their position and began to collect tribute from their subordinates. Gradual Christianization continued. The Khants have officially been regarded as 'Christians' since the year 1715 after the extensive baptisms of monk Fyodor. Nevertheless, the ancient spiritual belief of their forfathers ('shamanism') have persisted, even to this day.

The Khants were also economically subjugated. With the help of liquor the Khants were commercially exploited by Russian traders eager for cheap furs. The predatory policy of Russian merchants and officials was so efficient that by the end of the 19th century the Khants, harassed by economic difficulties, were broken and close to ruin. The colonizers had seized their best lands as well as their incomes, and had brought along dangerous diseases and destructive habits (liquor being the biggest curse). It was commonly thought that the Khants would survive for no more than a couple of decades...

The arrival of Soviet power was accompanied by great promises and expectations for the Khants and other northern peoples. In 1925 a Northern Committee was founded with the intention of leading the Khants, Mansis and Nenets along the road of progress. In 1930 the Ostyak-Vogul National District (renamed in 1940 the Khanty-Mansi National District) was formed. This new life was no less disturbing to the Khants, causing only fear and bewilderment. The establishment of collective farms followed accompanied by severe repressions. By attacking the traditions of the people the new ideology of communism incited the persecution of shamans and the destruction of sacred groves and burial grounds. Khant children were forcibly removed to boarding schools. The largest outburst of resistance, led by the elders, became known as the Kazym rebellion. The opposition was ferociously suppressed by the Soviet-Russian army;

Khant villages were burnt and much of that connected with the culture of the Khants was destroyed altogether. Cultural centres and 'red tents' were built to propagate the Soviet way of life and its accompanying customs. From then on, anyone who took part in the customary bear funeral rites could be subject to ten years' imprisonment. Bear hunting was also forbidden. (The Bear Celebration is being celebrated occasionally after a successful hunting of a bear. The bear celebration continues 5 or 6 days. Over 300 songs and performances occur during a Bear Celebration)

In the 1950s and 60s the Soviet-Russians discovered vast gas and oil reserves in western Siberia. The Khants, hardly recovered from the blows of communism, now found themselves at the mercy of technocrats. The piratic economy has been ruthless and greedy. Oil has polluted pastures and waters once filled with fish, the gas and oil lines have blocked the paths of the reindeer, wildfires have destroyed forests.

Still, every year 20,000--25,000 tons of oil pollutes the soil, spilled in technical failures (at least one accident every three days). 50 % of the natural gas is simply consumed in senseless burning brands. Industrial pollution reduces the fishing grounds by about 10,000 hectares every year. In the district of Nizhnevartovsk alone a fire destroyed 260,000 hectares of forest in 1989. At the same time there has been an explosive increase in population (mainly due to urban migration). In 1969, 289,000 inhabitants lived in the Khanty-Mansi Autonomous District, by 1979 the number of inhabitants was already 596,000 and in 1989, 1,268,000 (a growth of one million in 20 years). The frailty of the northern biosphere and its resources has been totally ignored.

The overwhelming pressures of industry and alien ways of life have cast doubt on the further existence of the Khants as a nation. As early as the 19th century, M. A. Castrén and K. F. Karjalainen were recommending that the Khants should be educated in a native spirit and in native surroundings, teaching them to respect their people and customs. In fact, the authorities have "developed and raised" the level of the Khant's economic and cultural life but taking into consideration only the authorities' own needs. This has deprived the Khants of any self-confidence of determination and furthered their decline.

Economic, cultural and linguistic discrimination of the Khants has taken the form of public harassment. They are referred to as dogs, and derisive remarks are made about their dark skin. They are not allowed to work in the mines in case "they break something" or "earn too much". The rapid regression in the living conditions of the Khants is reflected in the decline of industry and in heavy drinking which has an all too common tendency to lead to suicide...)"

[gotankgo]

Autopsy “Severed Survival” (1989)

[onlyhurtforaminute]

AUTOPSY-CRITICAL MADNESS

[morbidology]

28-year-old Ramon Salcido worked at Grand Cru Winery in Sonoma County, California. His wife, Angela, worked as a seamstress and the couple had three daughters: 4-year-old Sofia, 3-year-old Carmina, and 22-month-old Teresa.

In April of 1989, things for Ramon started to deteriorate. He was close to being fired as he was deemed unreliable and life at home wasn’t much better. Ramon bullied and controlled Angela and she was just about gaining the strength and independence to leave him.

Moreover, Angela had just recently found out that Ramon had a second wife with whom he had a baby with. While Ramon and his first wife had separated, they never actually got a divorce and now, she had tracked him down and obtained a court order forcing him to pay her $511 a month in addition to $5,807 to the Social Service Department of Fresno County to repay sums turned over by that agency to her.

Ramon was also angry by the fact that Angela had recently been approached by two modelling agencies who felt as though she could have a lucrative career in television commercials. Ramon was furious of the thought of his wife straying from home and having her own successful career. He became so jealous that Angela was forbidden from even going grocery shopping alone and he came home from work several times throughout the day to check on her.

Unable to come to terms with the seeds that he’d sown, Ramon did the unthinkable.

On the 14th of April, 1989, after spending the night snorting cocaine and drinking, Ramon drove his three daughters to a dump on Stage Gulch Road. Once here, he placed his daughters over his knee and slit their throats one by one. He then tossed them into the brush.

He was unaware of it at the time, but one of his daughter's would survive, but Ramon wasn't finished just yet....

𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐞:

[mybeingthere]

Ceramic buttons by Lucie Rie

Celebrated as one of the most important studio potters of the 20th century, Dame Lucie Rie is famous for her distinctive modernist tableware and vessels. However, it is through Rie’s lesser-known, early work making buttons in the 1940s that we discover the fascinating story of her arrival in London as an Austrian Jewish émigré, the establishment of her career, and how she came to develop her innovative array of glaze textures and colours. These small, wearable objects reveal a story of survival and collaboration at a poignant moment of international conflict.

Born in Vienna, Rie studied pottery at the Vienna Kunstgewerbeschule under decorative artist and sculptor Michael Powolny. In 1925 Rie set up her first studio in Vienna, and, over the next twelve years, established her place in the artistic community, winning a silver medal at the Paris International Exhibition of 1937. In 1938 she, like other artists such as Frank Auerbach, Naum Gabo and fellow ceramicist Hans Coper, fled Nazi-occupied Austria to begin a new life in London.

Upon arrival in London, Rie continued to work and volunteered for Home Defence duties. However, whilst establishing her studio in London and a new market for her work, Rie needed to make a living. Fellow Venician, Fritz Lampl, was re-establishing his glass manufacturers in London, successfully producing a range of modern decorative glass tableware and figurines for the luxury market. Lampl also began producing press-moulded and blown glass buttons and offered Rie and others work at his company, Bimini, to supplying glass buttons to fashion houses and department stores such as Harrods and Liberty’s.

Rie began to produce her own stoneware buttons in her studio at her house near Hyde Park. She made buttons on the wheel and by hand, producing up to two hundred buttons a week. In 1942 Rie hired Rudolf Neufeld, a fellow refugee, as an assistant. Together they developed a series of plaster moulds, which rapidly sped up the production of the simpler button shapes. The moulds remained on the shelves in her studio until her death. Rie developed a wide range of button designs and employed six people, including Hans Coper, in her studio to support production. Rie also developed a range of innovative glazes that contributed to the development of her distinctive later glaze textures and colours, that she’s so well known by.

The more elaborate and expensive buttons were aimed at the couture market and were laid out on presentation panels so that visitors to the studio could pick out designs. Leading fashion designers of the period also sent fabric samples to the studio, and within a few days she would have to produce buttons to match. In 1980 Rie met the Japanese fashion designer Issey Miyake, and their friendship resulted in the 1989 exhibition ‘Issey Miyake meets Lucie Rie’ at Tokyo’s Sogetsu Gallery. In the same year, Miyake also used several of her wartime buttons in his collection.

Rie later extended the range to include a variety of jewellery, umbrella handles, and frames for mirrors. For her, the business represented a pragmatic approach to generating an income during the war. However, today the buttons represent a fascinating insight into this lesser-known aspect of Rie’s highly documented career.

Katharine Malcolm, April 2023

https://www.vam.ac.uk/.../lucie-rie-a-secret-life-of-buttons

https://www.apollo-magazine.com/lucie-rie-ceramics.../

[gotham-ruaidh]

Little Bit Better Than I Used To Be

Catch up: Chapter 1 (Starry Eyes) || Chapter 2 (Save Our Souls) || Chapter 3 (Dancing On Glass)|| Chapter 4 (Merry-Go-Round)|| Backstage (1) || Backstage (2) || Chapter 5 (Danger)|| Backstage (3) || Chapter 6A (Love Walked In) || Chapter 6B (Without You) || Backstage (4) || Chapter 7 (Stick To Your Guns) || Chapter 8 (Time For Change) || Backstage (5) || Chapter 9 (Take Me To The Top) || Backstage (6) || Chapter 10 (Home Sweet Home) || Backstage (7) || Chapter 11a (Nightrain) || Chapter 11b (Nothing Else Matters) || Chapter 12a (Handle With Care) || Chapter 12b (I’m So Tired of Being Lonely) || Chapter 13a (Angel) || Chapter 13b (She’s My Addiction) || Chapter 13c (Patience) || Chapter 14a (Where Do We Go Now?) || Chapter 14b (Where Do We Go Now?) || Chapter 14c (Where Do We Go Now?) || Chapter 15a (Dreams) || Chapter 15b (I Sing A Song of Love) || Chapter 15c (You Can Do This If You Try) || Chapter 16 (Let That Feeling Grab You Deep Inside || Chapter 17A: Never Tear Us Apart || Chapter 17B: It’s Tough To Be Somebody, And It’s Hard Not To Fall Apart  || Chapter 17C: I’m Wishing, Lord, That I Was Stoned || Chapter 18: Turn The Page || Chapter 19A: When You’re Alone, Do You Let Go? || Chapter 19B: Heading For A Spin || Chapter 20A: I Don't Need Nothing When I'm By Your Side ||| Also posted at AO3

Chapter 20B: I'm Walkin' Down This Rocky Road

But now I'm on my feet again Better things are bound to happen All my dues surely must be paid Many miles and many tears Times were hard, but now they're changing You should know that I'm not afraid…

 -- “Ready For Love,” Bad Company (1974) [click here to listen]

North Carolina || February 1989

“Please excuse all the boxes. Turns out it’s taken us a bit longer to figure out where everything goes.”

Raymond shook his head. “Please don’t apologize on my account, Jamie. You’re finally merging your lives in a physical way – no doubt it will take some time.”

Claire smiled briefly at her husband as she hung up Raymond’s thick winter coat in the closet by the cabin’s front door. “I know it’s crazy that we’re spending so much time unpacking when we’ll be on the road for the rest of the year.”

“It’s not crazy, Claire. You’re building your home. You want a home to come back to. Isn’t that why both of you sacrifice so much?”

Jamie snorted. “And here I thought we did it all for the art.”

Claire closed the coat closet. “Can I get you anything, Raymond? We’ve got everything you can imagine that’s non-alcoholic.”

Jamie sank onto the new couch in the living room, and Raymond quietly sat beside him. “Coffee or tea, please, whatever is easier. Thank you, Claire.”

“Of course.” She padded away to the kitchen, and Raymond took stock of his surroundings. The exposed beams. The roaring fire. The furniture – rustic, tasteful, well made. Jamie’s guitar leaning against one wall, next to a stack of Claire’s medical journals.

“We really appreciate you being here, and spending this time with us.” Jamie absently fiddled with a loose string at the bottom of his sweater. “As much as we can shut out the world when we’re here, obviously we’re thinking about the tour. A lot.”

“I’m grateful for the invitation. It’s nice to see you in person, after several months of our weekly phone calls. And it’s wonderful to see this place that you and Claire have spoken so much about. It’s a beautiful home.”

Jamie smiled. “It was a house. Claire and I…we’ve made it a home. One we hope to raise a family in.”

“You’re still planning to try to conceive this year?”

Jamie nodded. “Absolutely. Once we get to Europe. We don’t want to wait any longer.”

“You’ll be in Europe for what, four months? That’s a long time for her to go without a doctor, in the event she gets pregnant. Have you spoken with Colum about additional medical support on the tour?”

“No. Not yet. But I should.” Jamie swallowed. “Last tour, we survived with a mix of Claire and her medical bag, and my guitar tech Arch, who was a Marine corpsman in Vietnam. Just the usual stuff – cuts and bruises. Claire popped a roadie’s dislocated shoulder back into place, in Omaha or Topeka, I forget where.” He sighed. “I’m a little bit better than I used to be at being open about what’s on my mind, and asking for what I want. But…I don’t know. This feels so…private. Sharing our dream with more people than we already have.”

Raymond nodded. “It is. And don’t think that I don’t know what it takes for you to be so open with me about this, Jamie. I’ll be your advocate for whatever you need, when we’re on the road. But if you decide you’re serious about a baby, these are the kinds of things you’ll need to get more comfortable talking about with many more people.”

“We’re very serious.” Claire reappeared from the kitchen, holding a tray with three steaming mugs of coffee. “Though I’ve told him that we need to let Colum know what we’re thinking. Because depending on when and if it happens, and if Jamie really does want to pause the tour to be with me…that’s a logistical nightmare for Colum and the label and the crew and just about everyone else.”

Jamie and Raymond took their mugs, and Claire took hers, perching on the easy chair next to the sofa.

Jamie bit his lip. “I hate we need to be so…clinical about it. This is a beautiful thing – it shouldn’t be this way.”

“Jamie.” Claire turned to face her husband. “I love you. I want to have your children. I want to be with you. But I know there is a part of you that will never belong to me – it belongs to your music, and your fans, and your record label, and all the people who depend on you. You can’t just walk away from all of that. You can’t just screw them over and hope they’ll wait on you.” She paused, thinking. “You did that once before, when you came to The Ridge. And you were so, so lucky that the stars aligned for you to come back the way you did. But Jamie, nobody knows if you’ll get a chance like that again.”

“So, what, Claire? Do we need to plan it down to the minute, when we’ll make the baby? Put a schedule around it?”

Hurt, Claire closed her eyes.

“All Claire is saying, is that you need to be open-minded, Jamie.” Raymond’s voice was low, soothing. “What you’re trying to do is so incredibly beautiful, I agree. And nothing should take away from that beauty. But you need to balance that, with all the demands of your profession.”

Jamie’s knuckles whitened as he gripped the coffee cup. Chest starting to heave.

“So fucking many demands,” he seethed. “To write new songs, even when I’m singing the old ones. To smile through interview after interview after stupid interview and the same fucking questions about rehab. I love the fans, I really do, but some of them are fucking weird and even a little scary. And then…” he swallowed. “And then there’s all the hotel rooms, and all the sleepless nights, and all the tasteless food, and…”

Claire’s eyes flashed open – and met Raymond’s concerned gaze.

“…and all I want is to be in bed with my wife and shut the whole damn world out and play my guitar on my back porch and leave all that bullshit behind and…”

“Jamie?” Raymond interrupted.

“It’s happening,” Claire whispered.

Jamie continued almost robotically, eyes wide.

“…and I don’t want to even be near any fucking whiskey or coke or marijuana or whatever the fuck the roadies are doing behind the amplifiers, with whoever the fuck girls they picked up at some strip club, and…”

“Jamie.” Raymond gently took away his coffee cup, and rested his hands on Jamie’s arm. “Breathe deep with me. Right now. Let’s control this.”

Startled, Jamie looked up at Raymond. Blinked. Took a deep breath.

“Good, Jamie. Again, please. In through your nose.”

He took another deep breath. Exhaled.

“Fuck,” he groaned.

“Another breath. Focus on me. Be still.” Raymond lifted his hands from Jamie’s arms and edged back a bit, giving him space.

They repeated the cycle of deep breaths for about five minutes – Raymond kneeling before Jamie, Claire standing behind him. Watching Jamie visibly calm.

He took a deep breath, and sighed. “Fuck. I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for.” Claire’s voice was tight over Raymond’s shoulder. “You caught yourself.”

Jamie took another deep breath. Smiled sadly. “At just the right moment. Thank you, Raymond. That…that hasn’t happened once in the time we’ve been here. Since the tour ended.”

Raymond sat back on the couch, still warily eyeing Jamie. “That’s to be expected. You’ve completely removed all the triggers from your life.”

Jamie scrubbed his face with his hands, still breathing deep, calming, centering breaths. “Life here is so good. And I like being on the road, I really do. But the environment…”

“But that’s why Raymond will be with us.” Claire stepped by Raymond and settled onto the couch next to Jamie, pressing her legs against his. “He’s helped us so much already. Look how you were able to calm down. So much better than all the times that happened during the last tour.”

Jamie lifted his head and just looked at his wife. Reached for her hand, brought it to his lips, and kissed it. “I want to protect you from everything, Claire.”

“I can protect myself, you know.”

“That’s an admirable feeling, Jamie, but you’ll burn yourself out emotionally.” Raymond lifted his cooled mug of coffee. “And then you won’t be a help to anyone.”

Jamie kissed Claire’s knuckles. Eyes locked on hers.

Raymond watched curiously as something flashed between Jamie and Claire.

Claire turned to face Raymond. Face a bit flushed.

“Will you excuse us for…”

Raymond immediately set down his mug. “Of course. I can go back to town – ”

“No need. You just got here! Stay, please – you can explore the land and the barn. We…we just need some time.” She stood, and Jamie gripped her hand.

“I’ll keep myself busy,” Raymond smiled.

Claire flushed. “I’m a terrible hostess.”

“You never need to apologize. Nurture your connection, both of you. I’ll be here when you’re ready.”

Already he was walking toward the coat closet. Heard their footsteps echo down the hallway, then the bedroom door slam. Then, very faintly, Jamie’s laugh.

[stephensmithuk]

The Hound of the Baskervilles: A Retrospection

It was common to refer to foreigners by the foreign versions of their titles; much less common today.

Costa Rica declared its independence from the defunct Federal Republic of Central America in 1838. Bar three small exceptions, most of Latin America was independent by 1889.

It was much easier for people to establish new identities back then - documents were much easier to forge.

The British Museum opened in June 1753; its two most controversial exhibits, the Elgin Marbles and Rosetta Stone had long been present by this time.

Dr Mortimer would be facing a professional conduct hearing today - he's blabbed about a man's heart condition to a stranger with no good reason!

Fulham Road, aka the A304, runs from the bottom end of Chelsea to Fulham Palace, then the home of the Bishop of London and now a museum. It passes Stamford Bridge, home ground of Chelsea FC.

Ross and Mangles sounds a rather on-the-nose name for somewhere that sells big, vicious dogs.

The "West Country" is an area covering SW England; precise definitions vary, but it would include Cornwall, Devon, Dorset and Somerset, along with the city of Bristol. There is an ITV region called ITV West Country that covers this area, with its own local news programme.

One assumes that the page survived despite Stapleton/Baskerville shooting him like that.

"It is suggestive that Anthony is not a common name in England" - although there have been quite a few well-known people with that name since, such as Anthony "Tony" Blair or Anthony Ainley, the latter being the Master in Doctor Who from 1980 to 1989.

I can't find a white jessamine, but there are several plants called "white jasmine".

Les Huguenots is an opera by Giacomo Meyerbeer that premiered in Paris in 1836. It's about the events leading up to the 1572 St Bartholomew's Day Massacre, which was the mass murder of Protestants by Catholics in that country. A 2018 production can be viewed here:

The de Reszkes were three opera singers from this period who came from what was then the Russian-ruled "Congress Poland" - Josephine had retired at this point (and would die in 1891 aged 35), but Édouard and Jean were hugely acclaimed, making popular performances in London and later being honoured by Queen Victoria with the Royal Victorian Order.

That award, created in 1896, was and is at the sole discretion of the monarch; it is typically given for personal service to the monarch. Justin Welby, the current Archbishop of Canterbury, was made a Knight Grand Cross in that order in 2023 by Charles III, basically for doing the Coronation. Needing to adjust the Crown on his head clearly didn't count againat him.

That wraps The Hound of the Baskervilles. Onto The Valley of Fear!