#and south east europe or maybe the alps or maybe trying to go to the us and hiking there

[patchesjam]

I never really posted many photos but poland was a gorgeous country and I miss walking in the south there a lot :)

[roamingpoffin]

Mr. Genova: Instructions for Use

Hello there! I recently got to re-read Hetalia’s story about Napoleon in occasion of a trip in Corsica, and suddently remembered this adorable little guy. While there are a lot of wonderful people that took the mantle and tried to give character and story to what are actually just 2 sketches from 3y ago, I also noticed some disappointment (understandable) and…. misinformation from lack of context and historical knowledge about the topic. I know that seeing the 4th italian brother when maybe your country isn’t in yet can be frustrating, but trust me when I say that Genova is a very important character for many of the events that occurred between the middle-ages and WWII (does Colombo ring a bell?).

With that said let’s try to discover together who actually was is Mr.Genova!

Why Genova and not Genoa? Genova is the correct italian name of the republic/city while Genoa is it's english version and, incidentally, the name of Genova's most renowed football team. So just like for Venezia and Roma we'll keep the original pronunciation.

In this first part we’ll talk about Genova design

[Original sketch by Hima, I just polished and colored it to better convey my ideas about his design.]

I’ve heard people complaining that “he just seems like a fusion of Romano and France”, funnily enough not only the comparison is quite on point, but it’s coherent with Genova’s history and probably intentional on Hima’s side.

To understand what I mean let’s look at a little map of modern Italy

We can immediatly notice some things ->

1) Liguria (the name given to Genova’s historical territories after the city became “capoluogo di regione” in 1948) borders with France and Monaco. For all it’s life Genova had to fend against France and would often end under it’s dominion for brief periods; at the same time their vicinity favored a similar culture and language (with one BIG exeption we'll see another time): Monaco and Corsica, previously territories of Genova, retain a great resemblance with Ligurian when speaking their actual language, aka Corso and Monegasco. At the same time Ligurian presents some elements common in french that are actually absent in standard italian.

2) Genova is situated in front of the Ligurian sea and has open access to all of west-Mediterraneum, becoming the most important harbor in north-west Italy since it gained his autonomy from the HRE around 1096 A.D. Due to Liguria peculiar geografical conformation (no plains and the Alps-Appenines isolating Genova from the rest of north Italy, favoring a climatic bubble that makes the region a greener version of the south) our republic decided to limit it's expansion towards northen countries and instead focus on the Mediterraneum sea, becoming Spain and by proxy South Italy best commercial/political buddy till (almost) the end of it’s indipendent life.

3bonus) Yes guys Seborga is a little town in the Ligurian hinterland and was part of the Genovese republic. While Seborga's story is really interesting (might do a focus in the future) the general history and culture of the 2 is the same.

NOTE: every time I use the term “Italy” during any period pre 1861 consider it only as the geographical meaning of the peninsula (Italy as a country wasn't a thing till then).

PALETTE AND DESIGN

With this introduction in mind it makes sense for little Genova to have his hair styled similar to France and a darker shade compared to Veneziano. While the dark gray used by Hima could hint at both black and dark brown, the latter is by far the most common color in Liguria so I decided to go with that.

His eyes are anybody’s game to be fair, but I decided to be as faithful as possible to the average ligurian so, just like Feli and Lovi when Hima decides that his eyes aren’t olive anymore, brown/light brown is the most common color in Italy (+ we already have Seborga as the random flashy neighbouring brother).

To end our palette the skin tone could be an in between: probably darker that a Northener but lighter than a Southener (no mayor arabic nor germanic influences here)

CLOTHES AND ACCESSORIES

clothes -> nothing too important to say, the clothes are fit for the XVIII sec., they shows Genova’s status as a wealthy commercial republic and unofficial bank of Europe (yup, before Switzerland Genova had that role and it’s banks are considered the oldest in Europe). As long as the colors used aren’t too flashy everything is fine.

crown thingy(?) -> now this is where things become interesting. There are 3 possible options I could think as of why Genova, of all the possible accessories, has a crown when it wasn’t even a monarchy. Pick what you prefer or feel free to add your personal interpretation if you want.

1) money and superbia: as written before, during it's prime Genova was a wealthy republic, lending money to half of Europe and being the indiscussed queen of west-Mediterraneum (ofc Venezia was the queen of east-Mediterraneum, but that’s another story for another post). The city even got the nickname “Superba” to enanche the grandiosity and way too much pride of it’s people. A crown would be a fitting choice for someone who is probably a bit narcisist.

2) city status: in ancient paintings the personifications of countries and cities were made recognizable by the presence of a little crown on their head. Adding to that, in Italy to be a full fledged town or city you must receive a crown symbol to put on your emblem, maybe Hima is hinting at Genova actual predicament.

3) the Lanterna: I’ll admit the first thing I tought while looking at Genova was “that looks like a little tower”. A bit strange, but actually not farfetched; if you have ever visited Genova you’ll know what I mean when I say this city has a lot, and I say A LOT of towers positioned trough the historical center. The reason? To protect themselves from the French/Ottomans/eventual pirates, in the XVI sec. Genova decided to build a massive system of walls and towers that surrounded the city. There is also a specific tower that is considered the symbol of Genova itself “la Lanterna”. The Lanterna is the oldest Lighthouse still in function trough Europe; maybe if you glance at its modern look it doesn’t scream “tower”, but before it was semi-destroyed by the French army in 1513 A.D. Lanterna beared a striking resemblance to what Mr.Genova is wearing.

“MUGUGNO LIBERO”

Last but not least, the infamous pout that gave Genova the label of “Romano 2.0”. It’s not random, it’s not wrong, it’s such a toughtful and unexpected touch that Hima would be declared honored guest by any Genovese (and made me personally laugh like an idiot for an hour).

What Genova is doing here has a specific term in the local language, mugugnare!

What is “mugugnare”? Mugugnare is a peculiar way of complaining and rambling specific of the Ligurians. This act is soo ingraned into the culture of the region that it’s considered an art and will take a good part of any conversation you’ll have with a local.

I’ll be more specific when we’ll touch Genova possible characterization, just you know that where Romano is loud, pretty offensive and direct the mugugno is more subtle and passive-aggressive. It can and WILL BE directed at anything, from the weather to jobs to Venezia and the rest of the north.

This finally brings us in what defines most of the characters of Hetalia, the wonderful land of stereotypes.

See you in the next part where we’ll talk about the temperament and culture of what is often considered the “black sheep” of north Italy!

[sol-futura-est]

When I finally step into my room, I unlace my shoes, undo my jumpsuit, and strip almost naked, save for my boxers. On my desk, besides the dim lamp, is at least four or five stacks of journals, most unread, organized from the formation of the first republic, to the modern era, but I only read about the recent wars more closely. I had returned all but a few of the ones of the beginning. What was open and waiting was Lawrence di Firenze’s account of his movement from Mesopotamia to Saint Petersburg, after fighting numerous skirmishes and enlisting the help of men on the path, he defied the orders of the senate and abandoned a quiet sector in favor of facing the fire, predicting the enemy’s advances as if he knew them more than anyone else. When he arrived to relieve his brother, and routing the siege, he was widely considered by people from east and west to be more than a mere tribune, but a hero worth talking about.

"Today marks the first of February, 2236. I’ve personally, let alone commanded the death of, killed so many of these machines and zealots that I’m beginning to view this war as something eternal, something worth finishing sooner than later. Araasi, the elected chief of the armies and political mastermind of the Svarogovist war machine, has laid siege to the great city of Petrograd, Saint Petersburg, Leningrad, whichever you prefer. As I already made clear to the senate, and the consul, he intends to take the city for the rail lines and airstrips that tie it to the rest of Eastern Europe and north into Finland and Scandinavia. I was ridiculed. I was told he would be stupid to challenge my brothers forces to open combat while entrenched in the city, and that I should take my horsemen and my commandos to greater effect in waiting for another attack from the Caspian Sea, or a new set of tunnels in northern Persia to burst. Despite my track record, despite my national appeal, from Mongols, Sikhs, Latins, Intermarians, even among my auxiliaries from even farther parts of the world, the senate, a handful of men, refuse.

It’s too bad I’m already here, on the banks of the sea to the west, encamped, ready to give the order to advance across the south and give my brother some relief. My chief lieutenant, my divisional legate, is still young. His aptitude is unquestionable, but he’s deeply afraid, almost embarrassingly so. He insists that I’m insane for using my horsemen like I do. I always ask him who won at Sinjar, in Central Asia, or even further back, in Kunduz, or Khalistan. Every time he just shudders, calls me old fashioned. I always tell him that it isn’t the implement, it’s the organization, it’s the application, the details. He insists that my ways will get me killed. In my eyes, this is why I’ve been so successful. Twenty years ago, my adoption and adaptation of coursers was laughed at, until we pushed Araasi’s predecessor into battle and killed him. For the first time in three hundred years, horsemen marched on city streets as heroes. My brother was amazed. He even told me before we deployed that his power armor would be the new knights of old, that I could not be in the spotlight as he hoped. After, it was as if he was seeing horses for the first time. Part of me wishes it was him, that the future, the grand spectacle of old books, where man fought different enemies, with suits of steel powered by space age technology. Little did I know we still used rifles and bows and lances, swords, knives, we even fought in hand to hand ambushes. Those were grand times.

Araasi still has us outnumbered two to one. Most of his other forces are south of us, dealing with Roland in the Caucasus, and the Sikhs further still.  All I have to stop is this one individual, and when this front collapses, I can end the war completely. If I end it, that’s just gonna exacerbate what certain voices are already shouting in the west.

It isn’t just youths who want me to take the mantle of dictator for some time, but even a lot of the men and women my age. Rumors that the senate gamed things after the first war, and allowed this one to happen, and my zeal against the enemy, it all makes these folks wish I was the one making decisions, not men who once upon a time were my peers. 

These dreams of mine are always alight with the same scene. I’m charging headlong through a valley of fire, against frightened machines, mutilated and disformed men, lowering my rifle and gunning them down. But I can see my horse and myself alight, in golden flame, as if the sunlight was pouring out of me. I can feel the horse galloping fast, the thrusting push of my rifle, even the fear through the air from the demons in front me. 

But it goes black suddenly, and I can’t wake up for a few moments. When I wake up, I feel as if the fire had only just gone out, as if Sol was trying to tell me something, but I cannot be sure. I want to believe that his is truly with me, that he was there when my father crossed the alps to take Bern, I want to believe not only that the republic is chosen, but many men themselves, but should I be afraid?"

Almost abruptly, the entry closes. Two weeks later he enclosed Araasi on a field and both of them died in the ensuing battle. Lawrence was found and carried out, Araasi was apparently either mutilated or simply drug back to the underground cities, entombed in whatever strange way they did things.

Specifically, it was this tale that caught my thoughts in moments like this. Two weeks after he penned this, he died. More than that, I know nothing of the man’s ripples in the lake of what remained. My body shivered trying to imagine what that battle was like, how it ensued beyond the tide of time, how the memory that existed on paper was so that the memories of those that adored him could feel his heartbeat through the letters. When I folded the tome and set it down again, next to one of Tarquin’s journals from the first war, I remembered reading it for the first time seven years ago, slowly, each night when one page became ten, ten became twenty or thirty. Mortimer told me once when there was a book or a movie the owners of this place didn’t want a fighter to see in his possession, that he got sent to a mining colony in the Urals. One of the few mandated by the senate, but operated by what used to be Svarogovist refugees. Those were my bedtime horror stories. Mortimer let his hate sew into me from youth on. When I’m stuck here, I can’t know if that’s true.

If the night was going to last forever, I might stay up, read more, but there’s not much reason to. Tomorrow always comes. When I slip under the thin blanket on my bed, I drift closer and closer to sleep as the dim lamp lights my desk, but not revealing the far off corner I was in. Each ride of the waves as they came onto me dragged me into the current, until suddenly…

Stop.

I know it’s a dream, but when I open my eyes again, I’m no longer in the arena, and somehow, I know I’m no longer in Karelia. When I stand, My feet are buried in flowing grass, and my ears can hear the faint whistle of the draft wrapping around me, and in front of me is emptiness, as far as I can see. All there are is rolling hills, the same I have seen every so often in my dreams. If I do dream, it’s lucid, just like this, just as if I can see and feel every little thing in some far off place I’ve never been to. The sun is always at dawn, gleaming rays striking firm into an endless horizon beyond the human imagination, a light that always inflicts on you the fury of comfort, of confidence. Nothing here can hurt you, nothing here is imperfect. Sparse trees and shrubs, hills that come in waves, glimmering dew, glistening blue sky, it all comes together to paint one picture, serene, perfect. Mountains afar stand taller than the ones here in Karelia, and faintly, from the north, is the smell of the ocean, riding the wind. Urban stench, sound, and surefound idiocy are gone. This isolation, the temporal, spiritual, physical isolation is not uncommon to me, but my own life, and I thrive within the quiet moments, where all that is left is to either think or lie down and breathe.

The first time I heard of a dream, I didn’t know what it was. When I found out that Mortimer knew I had dreams, he regrettably mentioned he knew nothing of the dreams I had. When I pried as a young kid, all he could do was shrug, and I came to think there was a local rarity within myself. When I found myself dreaming more than twice a week, I heard comments from the legionnaires, within their own conversations, and I’ve figured out that my dreams weren’t common, but still rare. I got lucky that day hearing that conversation; it helped me not be so afraid of being alone here. At first, all I could do was hope the shadows around trees were the light dancing. Eventually all I learned was that fear is a beast that starves without your hand to feed it, and this world was nobody’s but mine. In domineering it, I domineered the one part I could control.

When all you hear is the wind whipping, every little noise becomes another sound against the background, water running, grass flowing, trees groaning and twisting, and eventually, your own heart becomes an addition to the symphony. I didn’t want anything here. I never wanted more than this, but in my heart, I was curious for more. Every nagging thought, asking if this is all life is, was at times too much. Those nights I would wake up, pace my room, maybe even exhaust myself with two or three hundred push ups until the pain distracted me, and when I finally slept, my eyes simply stared at the absence. Every time I woke, rested or not, I went about my day.

But the questions would stay for night after night until the quiet of my mind returned, and when I finally went back to the dream, to the rolling hills I now sit in, encapsulated by walls of granite on one end, and the endless ocean on another. Each air into my lungs was rhythmic, patterned, as if I was breathing with the earth, with the wind, and no longer was I so detached for a few moments. Even as the hours drew on, the dawn never rose to the day, and the dew never rose up. 

Soon enough, my visage faded more and more, as if there was a great weight on me, and just as it began, my eyes shut.

Stop.

[harrychiu1]

My Monaco story. Well, here we go:

It started with a missed opportunity…. You see I went to Monaco as part of my 2013 Euro Trip. It was my first time in Europe and we had planned this grand road trip that spanned from Milan to the Swiss alps to Paris to Monaco then back to Italy. It was a grand plan for a bunch of young Americans, driving across multiple countries we were completely unfamiliar with. But alas we survived.

But I digress, back to the missed opportunity. You see… driving from Paris to Monaco requires driving on the French A6 and A7 which takes you straight down to the south of France. From there you take the A8 east along the French Riviera, known for its scenic beauty as well as being one of the most beautiful drives on earth… But I missed all of it. You see this drive was after our Paris leg of the trip, which was exhausting… filled with loads of walking during the day and the occasional drink at night. And as I was the one that drove us into Paris, my friend was on duty driving us out of it. As is my usual M.O. when someone else was driving, I was snoozing, sound asleep. And despite some serious attempts from my dutiful friend to wake me up to enjoy the scenery, I was well… preoccupied.

But on we went, despite my complete ignorance of it all– we finally arrived in Monaco late at night. And really, Monaco is not a great place to drive into late at night. Not for any nefarious reason, but for that their streets are immensely difficult to navigate- filled with tight spaces and frequent turns. You see Monaco is essentially built on a hillside along the Mediterranean Sea, and in order to build a town on a hill your roads naturally have to curve in and out, up and down. So in short- not the easiest to navigate in the middle of the night, while trying to read French street signs, looking for our building number, swerving to and fro. But once again we endured, we survived. And more adventure awaited us the next day.

Now the better part of the next day was spent with the usual fare. Wandering (and swerving) about town, admiring the buildings, snapping pictures, climbing castles, dreaming of the yacht life, etc. Fun stuff, great adventure, etc, etc. But that wasn’t the main event. As with most days in my youth nighttime were the hours that mattered, where the excitement truly began.

Now this night was something extra special, as it was the celebration of my 24th birthday. So of course we had to do it up a bit. We dressed up as best young men and women could in their mid-twenties. Donning our freshest threads- suits and ties for the men, dresses and heels for the ladies, we headed to our first event. A two star Michelin restaurant in the heart of town. And an amazing meal it was, a fantastic Duck Confit with ample amounts of champagne filling my occasional idle mouth. A splendid meal, with great company. And maybe it was the suit talking (or I guess thinking) but that dinner was one of the few times up until that point in my life where I felt like a true adult. An adult spending a full paycheck on a night out in town but an adult nonetheless.  

And then dinner concluded, now with our bellies filled with stars and champagne, we headed to the crown of Monaco- the Monte Carlo casino. Now this would usually and naturally be exciting, but it was especially so then, because you see at the time my friend (and occasionally myself) had quite a penchant for gambling. I mean that’s why we were in Monaco in the first place. We were there to play, or more specifically to win. So to say the least, excitement was in the air, and boy walking in was an experience in itself. Never had I seen so many exotic cars all in one place, parked right outside of the entrance. Normally that would be intimidating to a bunch of young kids without much money to their names, but hey we were wearing suits weren’t we? We just had a meal (and multiple bottles of champagne) at one of the best restaurants in town didn’t we? We belonged! Even though we walked into the casino, sans six figure car and all. But hey who’s watching right?

Once inside though, I do have to admit that I did get a bit intimidated. The place was one of the grandest places I’ve ever been in. Massive ceilings, adorned from top to bottom, with just a half dozen or so tables. The economist in my head told me that every seat counted and the gambler in me knew that the minimums must be extravagant. But on we went… And then to our surprise after further inspection, that despite its grandeur the space was sparsely occupied. I had then immediately assumed that there was some grand tournament with all the big wigs in town in a separate ballroom- Casino Royale style. But that didn’t matter to us, there were seats open and we were ready to play.

Now the minimums were certainly a tad high, or to be exact around double of what I’ve ever played before, but hey we were adults that night. So what if a few adults lost a bit of money, no big deal right? Well… we didn’t lose. In fact, we did quite well for ourselves. Hand after hand we were winning and soon our confidence was sky high. We start chatting up the other folks at the table, we were ordering champagne left and right, asking the dealer for trade secrets. Then the next thing we know, our table was the only active table in the whole casino. Our laughter and chants of “bust, bust, bust!” was soon booming and echoing across the vast space. If I felt like a true adult at dinner, at this casino table I felt like royalty. I felt on top of the world, like I was invincible, that I couldn’t lose, that nothing can go wrong that night. And nothing did.

After a few more wins at the casino, we bid the dealer adieu, as it was time for a nightcap. All that champagne had gotten to my head, or more accurately my feet. It was time to dance. And dance we did. Looked up the closest night club, anything within walking distance and we popped right in. Again to our surprise, this place too was almost completely empty, but that didn’t matter to us. As long as it wasn’t devoid of music and a DJ, we were just fine. And so that was the last part of this story, dancing the night away, in a completely empty dance floor. We probably looked like fools, but it didn’t matter. We could do no wrong that night, we couldn’t lose. We were adults, we were royalty, we were winners.

So that’s my lasting memory of Monaco, and one of the fondest nights of my life.

[q-u-o]

सन्तनिवास Santanivāsa

This is a living project, centered around collaboration. I am collecting samples of the elements from all over the world for use in a mandala project in May. I have applied for a small art grant from the event I will be debuting the project at.

The working title is:

Vivens Unita Concordia Intellexi per Societatem et Amor et Reverentia

The project itself was inspired by my 9 year old son’s nervousness about applying for an art grant. He had an idea, but wasn't confident about his ability to make it happen. I immediately noticed how I had spent much of my life in the same way; lacking confidence in my follow through.

So here I am, proving it for him as much as I am proving it for myself.

My desire with this project is to show him that people from all over the World are capable of working together.

Maybe this is for a young boy I knew a long time ago.

Maybe I see that boy in my boy's eyes.

Maybe this project is as pointless as my family thinks it is.

Maybe it's bigger than they can comprehend.

What is certain is:

I must try, or how can I tell my son to try anything?

It must be done together, or not at all.

This is for all of us.

Thank you for your presence on the matter. Will you be a part of making it happen?

WATER:

I need 2-8 oz, each, of the following: Saltwater from the Pacific Ocean. Rainwater from a Desert (preferably barren) Snow from the top of a mountain. I need a small amount of naturally occurring water from EVERY STATE IN THE USA. Preferably a river or stream, and bonus if it is well known, and obscure, equally.

If you want to include the territories, etc, all the better. This can be as little as a single oz, but no less. Bonus: Water from Standing Rock, with Elders' blessing of course. Water from one, or each, of the Great Lakes Water from the Mississippi (any location) Water from the French Broad River, or tributary. (NC) Water from the New River, or a tributary. (VA) Water from the Ganges River (India) Water from the Nile River (Egypt) Water from the Amazon River Glacier Water, surprise me on this one. Saltwater from the Indian Ocean, Arctic Ocean, and/or Antarctic Ocean. Saltwater from the Dead Sea, Red Sea, Mediterranean Sea, China Sea and/or Caspian Sea Water from a specific well in Avalon, England. Water from a source that is sacred to you in particular, and why. If you are willing to help collect one, or several, of these, then please contact me, and let's work out the specifics. If it pleases, can the collector please include the location (the more specific, the better. Like even GPS coordinates, but the local name as well.), your feelings, the time, date, and the visual, and other sense stimuli present during collection?

AIR: I am looking for bottled Air from the following locations, please: City-states: Vatican City London Washington DC Singapore Monaco Hong Kong Dubai Abu Dhabi Gibraltar Holy Cities: Varanasi, India Bethlehem Jerusalem Mecca, Saudi Arabia Lhasa, Tibet Sacred sites world-wide Locations of Great Tragedy throughout History: Especially battlefields and genocidal massacres. Death Valley (lowest elevation) Highest elevation from each landmass.

Lowest elevation from each landmass.

Bonus: Have the Air be collected by a lifelong local. The 24 largest cities in the World: Tokyo NYC Sao Paolo Seoul Osaka Manila (Philippines) Mumbai Delhi Jakarta (Indonesia) Lagos (Nigeria) Kolkata (Calcutta, India) Cairo Nagoya (Japan) LA Paris Rio De Janeiro Moscow Mexico City Buenos Aires (Argentina) Istanbul (Turkey) Karachi (Pakistan) Chicago Shanghai (China) Beijing

When collecting please spin clockwise 3 times with your most hurtful memory in mind, followed by 3 times counter-clockwise with your happiest memory in mind. Then seal the bottle with your chosen thought in mind. Eventually, I would like Air from each of the following: Americas: https://www.countries-ofthe-world.com/capitals-of-north-america.html https://www.countries-ofthe-world.com/capitals-of-south-america.html Europe: https://www.countries-ofthe-world.com/capitals-of-europe.html Africa: https://www.countries-ofthe-world.com/capitals-of-africa.html Asia: https://www.countries-ofthe-world.com/capitals-of-asia.html Antarctica Australia: https://www.countries-ofthe-world.com/capitals-of-australia-and-oceania.html https://www.countries-ofthe-world.com/capitals-of-the-world.html

EARTH: I am in need of Earth from the following locations: Your Favorite place on Earth The mountainsides of Everest, Inyan Kara, Olympus, Fuji, Sinai, Kailash, Kilimanjaro, and Ararat. The Mountain Ranges of Andes, Rockies, Alps (Swiss & Japanese), Himalayas, Sumatran, Teton, Atlas, Sierra Nevada, Cascade, Ghats, Tien Shan, Appalachian, Urals, and the Great Dividing Range. Sand from the Great Sandy, Iranian, Sahara, Simpson, Namib, Sonoran, Great Victoria, Gibson, Gobi, Syrian, Kalahari, Thar, Mojave, and Chihuahuan Deserts Sand from famous, and unheard of, Islands. Sand from beaches on each Continent. Holy Sites worldwide. Parisian Catacombs

Greenwich, England

Archeological dig sites Where your inspiration comes from. Bonus: For the following locations I ask for a sample from each of the two cities (even if they are now one, as in the case of Berlin) placed into one container. Jerusalem (East/West) Berlin (East/West) Bristol (TN/VA) Rafah, Egypt Rome/ Vatican City Lloydminster, Canada Laredo, Texas/Nuevo Laredo, Mexico Texarkana (TX/Arkansas) El Paso, TX/ Cuidad Juarez, Mexico Frankfurt, Germany/ Slubice, Poland Ghajar (Israel/Lebanon) Gmünd, Austria/ Ceske Velenice, Czech Republic Gorlitz, Germany/ Zgorzelec, Poland (Above seems the easiest to get, or are important. Below are certainly more difficult to obtain.) Gorizia, Italy/ Nova Gorica, Slovenia Hili, India/ Hili, Bangladesh Lo Wu/Luohu, China Sha Tau Kok/Shatonjiao, China Moyale, Kenya/Ethiopia Padang Besar, Malaysia/Thailand Tornio, Finland / Haparanda, Sweden Modlaureth, Germany Beirut Gubin, Poland / Guben, Germany Mostar, Bosnia & Herzegovina Narva, Estonia / Ivangorod, Russia Rheinfelden, Switzerland/Germany Rijeka, Croatia Forst, Germany /Zasieki, Poland Herzogenrath, Germany / Kerkrade, Netherlands Tell Abyad, Syria / Akçakale, Turkey Kobani, Syria / Mursitpinar, Turkey Nassau, Netherlands / Hertog, Belgium Bad Muskau, Germany / Leknica, Poland Bad Radkersburg, Austria / Gornja Radgona, Slovenia Bratislava, Slovakia / Petrzalka, Germany Komarom, Hungary / Komarno, Slovakia Galkayo, Somalia (North/South) Deryneia, Cyprus / Kato Deryneia, N. Cyprus Nicosia, Cyprus / N. Cyprus Al-Fujairah, Fujairah / Al-Hisn, Sharjah / Al-Baya, Musandam Oman Kosovska Mitrovica, Kosovo  (Albanian North / Serb South) Kustrin-Kietz, Germany / Kostrzyn nad Odra, Poland Laufenburg, Switzerland / Germany Valga, Estonia / Valka, Latvia Vel'ke Slemence, Slovakia / Ukraine Cieszyn, Poland / Cesky Tesin, Czech Republic Zvornik, Bosnia & Herzegovina / Mali Zvornik, Serbia

FIRE:

Since Fire is rather difficult to transport from one area to another I am requesting an assortment of the other 3 elements to represent the Fire.

This can include:

Bottled smoke collected in a similar fashion to Air.

Volcanic rocks, or soil, from the volcano they belong to.

Hot springs, or geyser, Water collected on site.

Of course, Ashes from a Fire held in specific locations.

There are cases, such as Hawaii, where the locals have placed negative energy on pieces of the land taken from their home. In such a case, I will only receive an item with written consent and blessing from an Elder of Native blood. All else will be returned post-haste to the sender, and they can deal with the energy they incurred.

I am looking to receive these forms of Fire from these locations:

Pompeii

Iceland

Mt. St. Helen’s

Yosemite National Park

Yellowstone National Park

Christchurch, New Zealand

Santiago, Chile

Mt. Pinatubo, Philippines

Mt. Fuji, Japan

Paricutin, Mexico

Sendai, Japan

Quito, Ecuador

Macapa, Brazil

Siriba, Kenya

Pontianak, Indonesia

Nanyuki, Kenya

Greenwich, England

Paris, France

Sacred Sites

Any of the areas listed in the other elements

Suggestions welcome on all element collection.

In all cases, please attempt to receive consent to retrieve what you are collecting. Even if you are asking your friend. Try to find a local, or if you are alone ask the environment. Out of Respect, I must implore this be done.

If it pleases, can the collector please include the location (the more specific, the better. Like even GPS coordinates, but the local name as well.), their feelings, the time, the date, and the visual, as well as other sense stimuli present during collection?

I ask that you please bear in mind the number of specimens that are possible to be received. As such, please collect in as small, and unique, a bottle as possible.

Except for the sand. I can use a bit more of the sand.

Please email me at: finerkeepers@gmail.com

For where to send the collections. Sadly, I am unable to reimburse for postage currently. All collections sent in will be recorded, to include, return address, collector’s name, and any notable qualities of package. I may even send thanks and assorted gestures along. If response is good, a crowdfunding campaign is certainly going to be necessary for my ability to transport the amount the project may become. This may also include postage reimbursement to encourage more submissions. Thank you for your time, and please continue with your time in blessed existence.

May our actions become precedent for the ability of the World to find reason to work together. May your blessings outnumber your breaths on a bad day.

May they outnumber your heartbeats on a good day.

May you find Joy with every inhale.

May you release doubt with every exhale.