#barberpole

[abuddyforeveryseason]

Gif! This is the Buddy for August 24th, and it's a gif! Continuing the chain of monstrous Buddies, this Buddy has monstrously short hair.

There are two interesting things about today's drawing - first, it's animated, and the way I animated that barbershop pole was by having a pole twice as long on a layer under the main drawing, with the pole itself being the only transparend segment. Then I lowered the pole until the upmost segment on the first frame was at the lowest point on the pole. It's funny because barber's poles spin in a way that makes it look like the stripes are moving in one direction and disappearing, but for the gif, I actually had the stripes move down, to make it look like the pole is spinning in that familiar way.

The other thing about this drawing is the trees in the background. I'm usually pretty lazy about drawing backgrounds, and the worst part is, I find it hard to draw realistic backgrounds. I've been going to barbershops my entire life, and there are even several shops in my neighborhood, but when it was time to draw something that was identifiable as one, I just gave up and put the trees there. Is the barbershop in the middle of the woods? Is it like a magical thing, where people need to brave a forest to get a nice haircut?

I should just have used a picture reference.

[tenthousandtangles]

Tangle A Day Calendar 2024 - January 14

Pattern - “Barberpole” by Suzanne McNeill

[andredias95]

838. CigarKings Dos Colores Limited Edition 2023

Gifted by Philipp Kugler, owner of CigarKings. Location: This review was made indoors in a cigar lounge.Information:Wrapper: Ecuadorian Connecticut Shade & Ecuadorian Sumatra Colorado Binder: 2x Nicaraguan Jalapa CorojoFiller: Nicaraguan Jalapa Corojo Seco & Estelí Habano 2000 VisoOrigin: Nicaragua Factory: Undisclosed (Nicaragua)Box: Sold in 12 count boxes. Release: 2023Availability: Limited…

[milkweedman]

My brain is incapable of not overthinking all projects right now, with the sole exception of bags.

I'm making myself a new pair of mittens since I lent my red ww2 pattern mittens to my sister, and they fit her much better so I ended up just giving them to her.

Now I'm just trying to make Some Mittens but my brain will not quit with the idea that they need to be the Perfect Mittens. The Warmest Mittens. Normally I would get around that by just spinning some very warm yarn. But I've packed all my fiber at this point and I'm not up to spinning anyway. So I'm trying to make The Best Mittens out of scrap that isn't really suited cause that's what I've got left at this point. And I'm driving myself crazy with my own indecision and picky-ness.

And I still need Mittens.

[viciousvales]

riddle spoilers under the cut

has anyone figured out the answer to "who defeated silas birchtree--?"

silas has a pamphlet on the CULTS page. The most logical "answer" i can get it to accept is "ciphertology" which results in either "keep an open mind" or "curiosity"

i also entered the cipher on the page - "say baaaa" - which brought up a creepy poem, and Another cipher that read "black sheep". but typing in black sheep just brings up "a test of patience" which is... staring at a barberpole waiting for bill to "come back"

[startenthousand]

Y'ALL.

A little more barberpole than I was hoping for in some places but LOOK AT THIS OMBRE IT IS GORGEOUS and it's a proper fingering-weight too I am in LOVE 🥰

Fingers crossed that the second sock's worth comes out as nicely but I am very encouraged and very pleased.

(Ignore the lighting change, I don't control the rate at which the sun sets)

[disgruntled-lifeform]

So my current wheel spin is this Merino/Silk blend and it looks lovely right?

Well, I need some help from my fellow spinsters(affectionate).

I have noticed that the lovely blue silk has a tendency to get hidden and muddled in the spin.

I try to hold the fibre with the silk more top-facing and it sometimes barberpolls when I do but mostly it ends up somehow as the core of the spin.

When I draft too thin, the silk just gets muddled but I don't want it too thick as I'm aiming for a 2 ply worsted for my final product.

I have been pulling sections from the braid and then splitting that section in half and spinning with it that way so that I don't thin the silk out too much.

Does anyone have tips for coercing your fibre to present in a certain way?

Am I even making sense?

[raychelsnr]

A stunning "barberpole" low-precipitation (LP) supercell thunderstorm in central Nebraska near Oconto. June 2020 While it may appear innocuous it dropped three-inch hail in the area.

[gold-from-straw]

Dyed some scoured wool with blackberries (grey) and elderberries (a surprisingly bright pink), then prepared and spun them in stripes. I’m hoping to get a mix of barberpole and stripes when I make a 2 ply!

[guardevoir]

Alrighty! Decision hour, part 1!

Bonus info: I don't have a project in mind yet, and these 100g are all I have and all I'm ever gonna get; the dangers of getting the last braid for cheap alas. I do love barberpole striping and colors coming together, but I'm admittedly more fond of long gradients in finished projects.

Bonus info for the uninitiated: Fractal spinning.

[kelseyjunemartin]

The Fringe Thief

The arrival of the great prophet had been unexpected, but as soon as the horned lord and his disciples were spotted entering the territory of our valley, word spread across the entire county, and the masses flocked their way to the village square in hopes of catching the magnificent one.

I had been busy with my chores, shoveling out the pig pens, when Jenny and Kasper came shouting about the coming of the mighty oracle.  “Hurry! Maybe he’ll perform a miracle. We can’t miss that!” Jenny said.

Then the two of them were rushing off to town before I could even scramble out the pen. I hacked and wheezed the whole run into the village, falling farther and farther behind the other kids. It was already hard enough for me to chase after them, but so many people were coming into town that the roads were all kicked up with dirt and plopped with horse piles, slowing me down even more. I wouldn’t stop though. I wouldn’t have this moment stolen from me. By the time I had gotten anywhere close to the square, a huge crowd already formed around the mainstreet.

I heaved loud and heavy, bent over with my hands on my knees. PAIN. THROBBING. STINGING. All oxygen had been ripped from my lungs. The mountain air out in this countryland was supposed to help with my breathing ails, but there was nothing that could help me after a rush like that. Mother would slap me if she saw me pushing myself so hard.

‘That’s too close for comfort, Bernice,’ she would say. ‘You know you have your limits.’

By the time I had recuperated, the crowd was hollering and cheering in a frenzy. From my far distance in the crowd, I could see the shimmering tips of the great one’s horns drifting over the heads of his swarming devotees. The prophet had grown so wise and powerful that now his heavenly horns curved upward over a foot in length, and glowed brilliant warm light.

“Stormnu! Blessings under Stormnu!” the crowd roared.

Marching alongside his magnificence were his disciples, stone-faced men and women swatting away anyone that got too close to the lord. They carried rattle paddles, red oar-shaped poles used for herding cattle. The oar heads were filled with little beads to create a rattling sound when you smacked the cow’s hide. And the disciples were quite active in their herding, beating away any hand bold enough to extend out to touch the almighty one.  Even over the crowd’s hollering you could hear the rattling.

I could feel the prophet’s magical strength radiating outward, all the way back here in the fringes. True magic, like we had always been told about. It was like sunshine blazing through the water as you floated just beneath the surface of a pool. Focusing intently on the dazzling bright horn tips, I inhaled deep.

STABS. ACHES. STRAIN.

I doubled over again, hurt and confused. I could feel his power. It was abundant. The tales said his glory would flow into all believers. Why not me?

Holding my hands to my chest, I watched the prophet’s horns fade into the sea of followers skipping after him. Closing my eyes and calming my breaths as much as possible, a stream of air slowly reentered into my body. I hobbled after his holiness with the rest of the rabble, keeping an eye out for Jenny and Kasper.

“Wisdom, Stormnu! Share your wisdom, Great One!” the flock chanted, desperate for the slightest utterance from the master of light.

The crowd seemed to be bottlenecking at the end of the block, in front of the village barber shop, run by old Mr. Lankfield. Underneath the spinning red-and-white barberpole, the Great Stormnu stepped onto a bench. The crowd erupted in delight. Disciples went wild with the paddles.

I could make out the top of his head clearly now, from his snout upward. A brilliant gold nose ring glimmered like torchlight. His eyes were glassy black like obsidian.

“Blessings under Stormnu!” the throng wailed.

I tried to push closer, but no one would give up an inch, and I was too weak to force my way through. Eventually, the masses quieted down and the prophet’s voice rang out, but not words. Instead, it was an angelic tone, musical and still at the same time, the melody of fair waters and raging storms sharing the same sea. The voice of the day, and the night, and every shade of twilight. Enchanting and commanding and awful. The sound of power.

The crowd gasped in wonder, swooned for joy, cried openly. I trembled in the wake of the  mighty vibrations. But I couldn’t breathe any better. I ailed as bad as ever. All those around me were ecstatic, consumed with the light and love of the horned lord. I loved the prophet too, but his glory was beyond me somehow.

I must not be close enough, I thought.

Stormnu continued to share his wisdom with the impromptu congregation. They were packed like a phalanx around the oracle, an impenetrable wall of worship. I looked around the street, considering what I should do next, when I heard from above, “Hey, Bernice! Up here!”

I looked up and saw Kasper and Jenny standing on the roof of the leatherman’s workshop. They told me there was a tree around back where I could climb to join them. The myrtle tree was a casual thing for other children to climb, but for me; GASP. HEAVE. WEEZE. Kasper helped me onto the rooftop, and from our view up here we could see the almighty prophet in full majesty.

The horned prophet glowed in a silvery-gold toga, like a lightning flash, or a sunburst, lingering on earth. Beneath the lord’s toga he bore a warrior’s physique and a short coat of reddish-brown fur. He spoke in that angelic tone, raising his cloven hands in emphasis periodically.

“Praise Stormnu!” the crowd whooped.

His glory was undeniable. His magic rich with his love. His power potent and raw and filling the atmosphere. The sweetness of his sermon song swept through the ether. Now with an unobstructed view of my holy master, I opened myself to him completely, ready for his healing word, absolute and malleable to his will. I breathed deep, and . . . CHOKING. TORTURE.

My friends steadied me as I buckled over, lungs searing. Jenny and Kasper were asking if I was going to die, and if they were going to get in trouble. It’s not fair! I thought, while I winced and cramped. His power was so true and real, and so was my belief, my faith, but his blessing wouldn’t touch me. They said his glory would pour into us. That’s what they always told us, we just had to believe.

Struggling, I lifted myself and looked back out towards the eternal master of men. All others appeared to melt under his glory, they wept and wailed for him. They were nourished in his light. Were my ails so terrible that not even the great prophet could reach me? Was my faith too weak? I had waited so long. Was I simply unworthy?

Every breath HURT.

The striped barberpole swirled overhead the prophet, endlessly traveling upward, going nowhere. I was ready to give way, collapse onto the rooftop, and forget all about the prophet’s glory. His light was not meant for me.

Yet the same thought from earlier wriggled its way to the forefront of my mind, past my pain and pity. I can’t do this at the fringes, I thought. I need to get closer.

Peering outward over the scene of the sermon once more, I searched for a way to break through the sea of believers. They had formed a compact semi-circle all around the front of the barber shop, blocking all passage. A strong person could have shoved their way, a nimble person could have crawled under legs, and perhaps the most daring type could have leapt down to the lord. But a frail thing like me was barred out.

‘You know you have your limits,’ Mother always tells me.

I turned to my friends and said, “I need to get back down, quick.”

Painfully, burning from the inside, I clambered down the myrtle tree and shambled through the alleyway to the back of the barber shop, each breath a new wave of hell, Jenny and Kasper following me uncertainly. As the sermon song started to fade out, I tried the barber’s back door, it wouldn’t open. With no strength in my lungs left for words, I flailed my arms at the door to my friends. Jenny said, “Alright, but if we get in trouble, you did it,” and she jimmied the door lock open.

I lurched my way inside, plunging forward desperately. Through the shop window glass I could see the horned lord had concluded his song and was stepping down from the bench. I was close now, closer than I ever thought possible, just separated by a wall of glass. But I knew I needed to get closer. Too close for comfort.

Mr. Lankfield, the barber, and a customer wearing a clippings apron stood several paces back from the glowing golden god, both in fear and wonder. They did not notice me or the other kids as we crept forward.

The prophet was resuming his journey back down the main street, outbound from our small village. The disciples with the rattle paddles waved the bright red oars at the crowd, making way for the holy one. But they were at Stormnu’s front and side, the opening of the semi-circle had yet to be closed in. For this brief instant, the sea was parted and I had my opening.

“Wuh?” Mr. Lanker mumbled as I bolted past him, out the shop door.

A furnace blazed within me, raging like sunfire, telling me every microsecond that I have surpassed the limits of my lungs, my muscles. A heat so painful, it almost made the word meaningless. I had exceeded the boundaries known to me before; of my body, and my faith. I pushed. With every last bit of will and energy I had left to me, I dashed through all the other townspeople, past the lord’s disciples, until I was at arm’s length of the great one’s backside.

Then, my boot stepped into fresh horse dung, and I tumbled, crashing downward towards the road. With a last fiery breath, I extended out my arm as I plummeted, and the tips of my fingers grazed the fringes of the great one’s silvery-gold toga.

OW. OOF. OW.

I ate dirt, maybe horse plop, I’m not sure, I was trampled by the swarm immediately after. The herd marched right over me in pursuit of Stormnu. I scraped my way out from underneath the feet of the crowd, not without taking several more kicks and stomps.

I stood, coughed, and breathed. A rich and full breath. Even, steady air, painless. Delicious. I laughed. I could smell the fresh air, the scent of the townspeople, with their sweat and perfume. I tasted the kicked up dirt and the crap and the breeze from the mountains. I gulped down some more air hungrily.

Then Kasper and Jenny were grabbing my wrists and pulling me away. “We have to go,” they said. I looked backward as they were tugging me along. The Great Stormnu had stopped and the crowd’s enthusiasm was dwindling quickly, turning silent, into dread. The disciples no longer needed to rattle the followers, they were backing away on their own.

The magical wordless speech of the godly one bellowed once more, but now the tune was corrupted, offensive, violating. The light from the prophet’s horns flickered darkly as we fled.

“What happened?” Kasper asked.

I just kept running. LAUGHING.

[joackanimalclinic]

ALBENDAZOLE BOLUS | DAWA YA MINYOO KWA NG'OMBE | VIDONGE VYA ALBENDAZOLE KWAJILI YA KUTIBU MINYOI.

Bei: 1,500Tsh

Call/Text/WhatsApp: 0714 63 63 75

@joackcompany @kilimo_tz @mifugo_tz @joackagrovet @afyakiganjani

Hivi vidonge vina Albendazole ambayo ni dawa maalumu kwajili ya kutibu/kuuwa minyoo ya aina mbali mbali mfano:

roundworms (adult and 4th – stage larvae), lungworms (adult and larval stages), hookworms, tapeworms (heads and segments) and adult liver flukes, Hookworms (Bunostomumphlebotomum), Bankrupt Worm (Trichostrongyluscolubriformis), Nodular worm (Oesophagostomumradiatum),Thread necked Intestinal worm( Nematodirusspathiger, N. helvetianus) ,Small Intestinal worms (Cooperiapunctada and C.oncophora), Barberpole worm (Trichostrongylusaxei), Lungworms (Dictyocaulusviviparus),Tapeworms (Monieziabenedeni, M.expansa) and Adult Liver Flukes (Fasciola hepatica).

#biospark #biospark-v #daktariwamifugo #ufugajiwambwa #chanjozamifugo #vitaminzakuku #kilimobiashara

Office zetu zipo @TegetaWazohill -Barabara ya kwenda kiwanda cha @twigacement, opposite na kota za kiwanda - Dar es salaam, Kwa wanaohitaji bidhaa zetu au huduma yoyote fika ofisini au wasilina nasi kwa

Simu:

+255 714 63 63 75(WhatsApp)

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Email:

Info@joack.co.tz

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[andredias95]

731. Leonel Barber Pole Limited Edition 2022

Bought at YXTobak in Borås, Sweden.Location: This review was made indoors in a cigar lounge.Information:Wrapper: Honduras & USA Connecticut Binder: Honduras Filler: Honduras & Nicaragua Origin: Honduras Factory: Undisclosed (Honduras)Box: Sold in 10 count boxes. Release: 2022Availability: Limited Production Size: 6×54, ToroWrapper: Milk chocolate brown and with streaks of lighter brown. Oily and…

[milkweedman]

I'm packing and found a piece of longwool fleece that I remember dyeing with foraged blackberries and homemade copper mordant. Just a small piece, probably less than an ounce/20ish grams. And like yeah look I in fact have over a dozen fleeces I've naturally dyed sitting around BUT each piece is a little bit precious. By the time it's spun up it will have been worked on with hands for like well over 24 hours, all told. That's a lot of effort.

Anyway, was worried I would forget what it was and just blend it into random stuff. I really try not to do that and to keep my naturally dyed fleece separate from the acid and rit dyed fleeces. So I carded it into 5 rolags and carded 5 more from an older jacob fleece that I love to death. Not sure how I'll do it yet but I'm thinking 2 ply barberpole to make another bag. We'll see !

Don't know if I'll do it for TDF or when I'll spin it. It looks fun, but carding 10 rolags was a very bad idea lol.

[mega-bluespower]

RoMa Craft Tobac Releasing Mon Chéri Next Week

Mon Chéri is a corona gorda version of the Aquitaine EMH Frenchy. The barberpole will ship to select stores next week.RoMa Craft Tobac Releasing Mon Chéri Next Week

[ztremx]

Philco Predicta Barberpole Television Restored to Working Order Vintage TV