#bear flag kilt

[johnthestitcher]

Me taking a break at Hampshire Pride, 2024, Northampton, MA. Many people forget that I am handicapped. {PS - it took five or six Bear Flags to make the design go all the way around my kilt}.

[ectonurites]

btw HUGE shout out to the person i saw wearing a kilt but the pattern was the Bear Pride flag

[scotianostra]

July 20th 1651 saw the Battle of Inverkeithing.

An army comprising Covenanters and Royalists fighting under the flag of Charles II.  For Clan MacLean the slaughter at the battle was particularly horrific - out of the original contingent of 800, some 760 clansmen were killed, including their chief, Sir Hector Ruadh MacLean.

Another battle that was basically a consequence of the English civil war, usually on opposing sides Royalists and Covenanters joined forces to try and stop English soldiers gaining a foothold north of the Fort. 

It was during the night or early morning of 16th /17th July 1651 that the troops of Oliver Cromwell’s New Model Army landed on the north shore of the Forth in the vicinity of Inverkeithing Bay. Whilst they had inflicted a heavy defeat on the Scottish army at Dunbar on 3rd September 1650, they had been thwarted by attempts to advance further into Scotland. Cromwell came to the conclusion that Fife was the key and by 20th July, 4,500 of Cromwell’s Parliamentarian force were dug in on Ferry Hills, whilst a Scottish force of a similar size had grouped at Castland Hill.

The threat of Scottish reinforcements coming from Stirling provoked Cromwell’s Parliamentarians to attack and force the Scottish infantry to retreat north towards Pitreavie Castle. On land close to the Castle, the Scottish infantry made a final stand but were soon overwhelmed by the more experienced Parliamentarians who had the additional advantage of cavalry. The Scots suffered heavy losses. This is sometimes known as The Battle of Pitreavie) and was the last major battle of the Wars of the Three Kingdoms in Scotland. From 1652, Scotland was wholly under control of Cromwell’s Protectorate.

In the heat of the battle seven brothers successively sacrificed their lives protecting The McLean clan Cheif, Hector after he sustained a mortal wound.

 As each brother fell, they called for another to continue protecting the chief with the words "Fear eile air son Eachuinn," or "Another for Hector." The call for help was answered seven times with the assurance "Bas air son Eachuinn," or "Death for Hector." 

The Seven brothers died knowing someone was ready to stand in their place. Despite their protection, Sir Hector did not survive his wounds. "Another for Hector" has become a call to duty and one of the mottos of the Mcleans. The Annals Of Dunfermline tells us 

"A rill", traversing the valley, also called the Pinkerton-burn, ran with blood for several days, and the appearance of the little mounds, or heaps of the slain, resembled a hairst field of stooks* of corpses."     

The cairn in the picture was erected on the 350th anniversary of the battle by the Clan MacLean Heritage Trust in 2001 and is on Castle Brae close to Piteavie Castle.

"Another for Eachuinn" was composed in 1894 by Duncan Maclean, Bard to the Clan Maclean Association of Glasgow, for the third annual gathering.

Another For Eachuinn.

Clans from the rugged Highlands, where the antlered stag is seen, Where the solemn hills in grandeur raise aloft their walls of green, Where the wild and dashing fountains fling their jewels in the air Where the lowly hut and shieling guard the virtue passing fair. Where the eagle from its eyrie looketh down on vales below Where the beauty of the heather bloometh with a radiant glow, Where dear mem'ries bright and golden dwell in corrie, glade and glen, Wreathing with a fadeless glory fearless clansmen of MacLean,

'Tis a story old, my clansmen, yet it thrills me to the core, And I fain would sing in numbers what our lads have done of yore. 'Tis no idle boast of valor, 'tis no empty tale—in brief— 'Tis a story of devotion of our clansmen for their chief; For our clansmen, ever loyal to the chieftain of their clan, Were prepared to rush to battle, win or perish to a man, And, should ere the slogan echo in our Highland vales again, All our clansmen, ever ready, still would follow Chief MacLean.

'Twas at Inverkeithing, Hector, some two hundred years ago, When the god of war was screaming, led his clansmen 'gainst the foe; With their pibrochs loudly playing, and their banners waving free, Sure our sturdy Highland clansmen looked the flower of chivalry; When the war was raging fiercest, and Sir Hector was sore prest, It was then that seven brothers, all in kilts and sporans drest, Dow'red the Highlands with a glory all—immortal shall they reign— Stimulating every clansman, and an honor to MacLean.

Clansmen, how these brothers perished in the thickest of the fight emblazoned, now in hist'ry, ever wonderful and bright— How they shielded brave Sir Hector from rough Cromwell's warlike men Is a proverb and a watchword prized in every Highland glen. Not a craven heart was 'mid them, as one fell another came, Proud to fight and die for Hector, while they blessed his honored name, Seven heroes! noble brothers, though they fell 'twas not in vain— Dying they but did their duty, and enriched the Clan MacLean.

Clansmen, all those sons were brothers, nurtured at one mother's breast, Prompted by devotion, gladly 'gainst the hounds of war they prest, Scorning danger, loving Hector, noble Chieftain of their Clan, Seven heroes, god-like brothers, fought and fell right in the van. Proudly did they rush to battle, and tho' grim Death laid them low, Yet their mem'ries cannot perish while the seasons come and go. We admire their dauntless valor, and we've thousands in our train Who would proudly guard our Chieftain, gallant Chieftain of MacLean.

Clansmen from the rugged Highlands, ye all bear an honored name, Shrined in song and deathless story, blazoned on the scroll of Fame, And tho' war no more is screaming and peace dwells in every hall, Emulate your worthy clansmen they but died at Duty's call. Cherish well our old traditions, guard and shield our honor bright, Fight and conquer every falsehood, spurn the wrong, cleave to the right, Keep untarnished all the glory, thrill Sir Fitzroy's heart again With a fealty all undying for the Chief of Clan MacLean.

[keystonewarrior]

Motherland Fort Salem

Just some observations, questions, fuzzy notions

1. Fantasy map has twenty nine states and the Cession, fantasy CGI flag has thirty pentacles*, all the live action flags are fifty star flags

2. Why is all the tech old? Box TVs, HMMWVs came out in the 80s, haven't seen a cell phone

3. Why is it the smallest witchdraft in years? Too many dodgers? Too many dispensations? Not enough momma witches having baby witches?

4. If Alder dies, does the Accord die with her?

5. Raelle's mom was Willa Collar, who was V. Collar? Raelle never mentions an aunt.

6. Can witches create a vacuum? Great way to defuse a popper, it busts but the sound goes nowhere in the vacuum, would render an adversary unconscious too

7. When Raelle met Scylla, I don't think she was playing hooky as much as being drawn away from an elementary exercise to a weapons range where real power was being exercised - it hints at her real power

8. I hope they never come up with a hokey stupid story about Raelle's scar, just leave it undiscussed

9. Writers could have done more with the Demerits bit, as well as employing Attagirls for good stuff

10. Raelle's momletters, when I was a new dad I wrote letters to my kid(s) up until about the time I became a single dad, they're still in a box, the kids can have them when I'm dead or when they have kiddos of their own

11. "Live a little" says the necro

12. Alder calls the Spree "agents of the end" akin to the true believers we must contend with in the likes of Pence

13. "Inability to vocalize can render a soldier powerless" was where I first imagined using a vacuum, but the writers went with a tech-response to cancel the sounds the witches make and gave the camarella (sp?) The dunelike weirding modules in Ep10

14. A draftee military is a mistake, ideologues and draft dodgers don't want to he there (re: Carlin and Hendrix) they become morale-sapping malcontents, a poison to unit cohesion and tend to get people killed.

15. Scylla says "I've been burned before" yeah, we've seen it, remember kids - do not do self harm, we love you and want you to come to us and ask for help and keep asking until you get it (don't join terrorist organizations either**)

16. Witches hollering at the witch boys reminded me of when I was at BCT and 1SG Hurley's daughter and a friend showed up in daisy dukes and bikini tops and the company got smoked for whistling and hollering (I missed all that, I had KP that day)

17. Hags at the Hague, seems appropriate, still rather disappointed there are male witches at all

18. Reveille, the Army magazine, it would make a fun fan magazine

18. Scylla's room is 243, my old battalion was 2/43

19. The Spree plan hinged on a kid who was defiant and showed initiative (like crashing a party) - that kind of person tends to make their own decisions (like not handing their love over from one master to another master) - so it should not have come as a shock to the Spree when Scylls defied them

20. "...or your future is bleak..." is not the kind of thing that inspires a great deal of faith in leadership.

21. When Adil and Khalida show up at the Army OP, why wasn't there a gate guard?

23. How will Tally's role among the Biddies affect Alder, since she knows (and disapproves) that Alder lied and puppeted President Wade "no more secrets" Tally said

24. "The Spree protect their own, we are nothing like you" says Scylla under duress, but I fear she may find she is expendable

25. Why did Scylla go back to the Spree? What happened to the defiant initiative taker? What will Quartermain do know that she knows of one of the safehouses? Did Quartermain leave a suggestion in Scylla's mind to go back to them?

26. Witch soldiers are strong because they allow themselves to feel pain and express emotions like sadness - they ought to be able to avoid a lot of the pitfalls common to male toxicity

27. Great people do not prey upon the weak, great people protect the weak and help them to grow strong

28. When one side says to you "now is the time you stop being complicit in their evil" and then immediately hand you a weapon of mass destruction so you can go and commit an act of evil is when you stop being complicit and begin to actively collude

29. Tarim fear capture of their songs by govts and armies, what about corporations (I hope nobody fears govt but then thinks corporations are okay) ostensibly, a liberal democracy is accountable to the people but a corporation is accountable to nobody

30. How tightly the Tarim must control every aspect of every individual's life to prevent one strong willed individualist from selling out their songs

31. Did the Swythe family own the Bellweathers?

32. I like some of the music, I really liked the dance scene at Beltane, I wish more guys had worn kilts, it'd be nice if MFS could afford Bear McReary to do some of the music

33. Can we shoot season two in more colors than yellow and brown? Is this done to contrast with the blue of Raelle+Scylla scenes?

34. Do Army witches get to retire? Is there a troops to teachers program? Are there Navy witches?

35. I'd like to see a little more development of the foreign witches, especially General Sharma (maybe that wasn't her name)

36. Old Box TVs, the day room, one TV and all the soldiers had to share

37. WADE 2020!

[ameryth74]

Louis **** Title Generator Tool

** **** it 

LOL.... go!

Two letter words:

There are 107 acceptable 2-letter words listed in the Official Scrabble Players Dictionary, 6th Edition and the Official Tournament and Club Word List:

AA, AB, AD, AE, AG, AH, AI, AL, AM, AN, AR, AS, AT, AW, AX, AY, BA, BE, BI, BO, BY, DA, DE, DO, ED, EF, EH, EL, EM, EN, ER, ES, ET, EW, EX, FA, FE, GI, GO, HA, HE, HI, HO, ID, IF, IN, IS, IT, JO, JU, JY, JZ, KA, KI, KO, LA, LI, LO, MA, ME, MI, MM, MO, MU, MY, NA, NE, NO, NU, OD, OE, OF, OH, OI, OK, OM, ON, OP, OR, OS, OW, OX, PA, PE, PI, PO, QI, RE, SH, SI, SO, TA, TE, TI, TO, UH, UM, UN, UP, US, UT, WE, WO, XI, XU, YA, YE, YO, ZA

Two letter contractions: I’m, I’d

Four letter verbs:

abet, abut, abye/aby, ache, alit, ally, ante, arch, aver, avow (10).

baby,  bach, back, bade, baff, bail, bait, bake, bald, bale, balk, ball, band, bang, bank, bant, barb, bard, bare, barf, bark, base, bash, bask, bate, bath, bauk, bawl, bead, beam, bean, bear,    beat, beck, bede, beef, been, beep, bell, belt, bend, bent, bere, best, bias, bide(archaic usage), biff, bike, bilk, bill, bind, bird, birl, birr, bite, bitt, blab, blat, blaw, bled, blet, blew, blip, blob, blot, blow, blub, blue, blur, boak, boat, bode, body, boff(vulgar usage), boil, boke, bomb, bond, bone, bong, bonk, boob, book, boom, boot, bore, born, boss, boun, bowl, brad, brag, bray, bred, brew, brim, buck, buff, bulk, bull, bump, bung, bunk, bunt, buoy, burl, burn, burp, burr, bury, bush, busk, buss, bust, busy, butt, buzz (117).

ca-ca, cage, cake, calk, call, calm, came, camp, cane, cant, card, care, carp, cart, case, cash, cast, cave, cede, cere, chap, char, chat, chaw, chid, chin, chip, chop, chow, chug, chum, cite, clad, clam, clap, claw, clay, clew, clip, clog, clop, clot, cloy, club, clue, coal, coat, coax, cock, code, coif, coil, coin, coke, comb, come, comp, cone, conk, conn, cook, cool, coop, cope, copy, cord, core, cork, corn, cosh, cost, coup, cove, cowl, crab, cram, crap, crew, crib, crop, crow, cube, cuff, cull, curb, curd, cure, curl, curr, cuss (90).

dado, daff, damn, damp, dang, dare, dark, darn, dart, dash, date, daub, dawn, daze, deal, deck, deed, deem, defy, deke, dele, demo, dent, deny, dial, dice, died, diet, dike, dine, ding, ding, dint, dirk, disc, dish, disk, diss, dive, dock, doff, dole, dome, done, doom, dope, dose, doss, dote, dove, down, doze, drab, drag, draw, dray, dree, drew, drip, drop, drub, drug, drum, duck, duel, duet, dull, dumb, dump, dung, dunk, dupe, dusk, dust, dyke (75).

earn, ease, echo, eddy, edge, edit, emit, envy, espy, etch, even, exit (12).

face, fade, fail, fake, fall, fame, fard, fare, farm, fart, fash, fast, fate, fawn, faze, fear, feed, feel, fell, felt, fend, fess, fete, feud, file, fill, film, find, fine, fink, fire, firm, fish, fist, fizz, flag, flap, flat, flaw, flay, fled, flee, flew, flex, flip, flit, flog, flop, flow, flub, flux, foal, foam, foil, foin, fold, fond, fool, foot, ford, fork, form, foul, fowl, frag, frap, fray, free, fret, frig, frit, fuel, full, fume, fund, funk, furl, fuse, fuss, futz, fuze, fuzz (82).

gaff, gage, gain, gait, gall, game, gang, gaol, gape, garb, gash, gasp, gast(obsolete), gate, gaum(US), gave, gawk, gawp, gaze, gear, geld, gibe, gift, gild, gill, gimp, gird, girt, give, glad(archaic), glom, glow, glue, glug, glut, gnar, gnaw, go by, go on, goad, golf, gone, gong, goof, gore, gown, grab, gray, grew, grey, grid, grin, grip, grit, grow, grub, gulf, gull, gulp, gush, gust, gybe, gyre, gyve (64).

hack, haft, hail, hale, halo, halt, hand, hang, hare, hark, harm, harp, hash, hasp, hast, hate, hath(archaic), haul, have, hawk, haze, head, heal, heap, hear, heat, heed, heel, heft, held, helm, help, hent(obsolete), herd, hewn, hide, hike, hill, hint, hire, hiss, hive, hoax, hock, hoke(slang), hold, hole, home, hone, honk, hood, hoof, hook, hoop, hoot, hope, horn, hose, host, hove, howl, huff, hulk, hull, hump, hung, hunt, hurl, hurt, hush, husk, hymn, hype, hypo (74).

idle, inch, iris, iron, isle, itch (6).

jack, jade, jail, jape, jazz, jeep, jeer, jell, jerk, jest, jibe, jilt, jink, jinx, jive, join, joke, jolt, josh, juke, jump, junk (22).

kayo, keek(Scots), keel, keen, keep, kept, kern, kick, kill, kiln, kilt, kink, kiss, kite, knap, knew, knit, knot, know (19).

lace, lack, laid, lain, lair, lake, lamb, lame, land, lard, lark, lase, lash, last, lath, laud, lave, laze, lazy, lead, leaf, leak, lean, leap, lech, leer, left, lend, lens, lent, levy, lick, lift, like, lilt, limb, lime, limn, limp, line, link, lisp, list, live, load, loaf, loan, lock, loft, loll, long, look, loom, loop, loot, lope, lord, lose, lost, loup(Scots), lour, lout, love, lube, luck, luff, luge, lull, lump, lure, lurk, lust, lute, lyse (74).

mace, made, mail, maim, make, mall, malt, mark, marl, mart, mash, mask, mass, mast, mate, maul, maze, mean, meet, meld, mell, melt, mend, meow, mesh, mess, mete, mewl, miff, milk, mill, mime, mind, mine, mint, mire, miss, mist, moan, moat, mock, moil, mold, molt, moon, moor, moot, mope, moss, move, muck, muff, mull, mump, muse, mush, muss, must, mute (59).

nail, name, near, neck, need, nest, nick, nigh, nill(obsolete), nock, nose, nosh, note, nuke, null, numb (16).

obey, ogle, oink, okay, omen, omit, ooze, open, oust, over (10).

pace, pack, page, pain, pair, pale, pall, palm, pang, pant, pare, park, part, pash(Austral), pass, pave, pawn, peak, peal, peck, peek, peel, peen, peep, peer, pelt, pend, perk, perm, pick, pike, pile, pill, pimp, pine, ping, pink, pipe, piss(vulgar), pith, pity, plan, plat, play, plod, plop, plot, plow, plug, pock, poke, pole, poll, pond, pool, pore, port, pose, post, pour, pout, pray, pree, prep, prey, prim, prod, prog, prop, puff, puke, pule, pull, pulp, pump, punt, purl, purr, push, putt (80).

quad, quip, quit, quiz (4).

race, rack, raft, rage, raid, rail, rain, rake, ramp, rang, rank, rant, rape, rase, rasp, rate, rave, raze, razz, read, ream, reap, rear, reck, redd(dialect), rede(archaic), redo, reed, reef, reek, reel, rein, rely, rend, rent, rest, re-up, rice, rick, ride, riff, rift, rile, rill, rime(archaic)/rhyme, ring, riot, rise, risk, rive, roam, roar, robe, rock, rode, roil, rolf, roll, romp, roof, rook, room, root, rope, rose, rout, rove, ruck, ruff, ruin, rule, rush, rust (73).

sack, said, sail, sale, salt, sand, sass, sate, save, sawn, scab, scam, scan, scar, scat, scud, scum, seal, seam, sear, seat, seed, seek, seel, seem, seen, seep, sell, send, sent, sewn, shag, sham, shed, shim, shin, ship, shit, shoe, shog, shoo, shop, shot, show, shun, shut, sick, side, sift, sigh, sign, silk, silt, sing, sink, sire, site, size, skew, skid, skim, skin, skip, slab, slag, slam, slap, slat, slay, sled, slew, slid, slim, slip, slit, slog, slop, slot, slow, slub, slue, slug, slum, slur, smut, snag, snap, snip, snow, snub, snug, soak, soap, soar, sock, soil, sold, sole, solo, soot, sorb, sort, soup, sour, sown, spae(scottish), spam, span, spar, spat, spay, spec, sped, spew, spin, spit, spot, spud, spur, spurn, stab, stag, star, stay, stem, step, stet, stew, stir, stop, stow, stub, stud, stun, suck, suds, suit, sulk, sung, sunk, surf, swab, swag, swam, swan(brit), swap, swat, sway, swig, swim, swob, swop(brit)/swap, swot, swum, sync (155).

tabu, tack, tail, take, talc, talk, tame, tamp, tang, tank, tape, tare, task, taut, taxi, team, tear, teem, tell, tend, tent, term, test, text, thaw, thin, thud, tick, tide, tidy, tier, tiff, tile, till, tilt, time, tine, ting, tint, tire, toil, toke, told, tole, toll, tomb, tone, tong, took, tool, toot, tope, tore, torn, toss, tote, tour, tout, tram, trap, tree, trek, trim, trip, trod, trot, trow(archaic), true, tube, tuck, tuft, tune, turf, turn, tusk, twig(Brit), twin, twit, type (79).

undo, urge (2).

vade, vail(archaic), vamp, vary, veal, veer, veil, vein, vend, vent, vest, veto, vide, view, vine, visa, vise, void, vote (19).

wade, waft, wage, wail, wait, wake, wale, walk, wall, wane, want, ward, ware(archaic), warm, warn, warp, wash, waul, wave, wawl, wean, wear, weed, ween, weep, weet, weld, well, welt, wend, went, wept, were, wert(archaic), wham, whap, whet, whid(Scottish), whip, whir, whiz, whop, wick, wile, will, wilt, wind, wine, wing, wink, wipe, wire, wise, wish, wisp, wist, wite, wive, woke, wolf, wont, wood, woof, word, wore, work, worm, worn, wove, wrap, writ(archaic) (71).

x-ray (1).

yack, yank, yard, yarn, yaup, yawn, yawp, yean, yell, yelp, yerk, yeuk, yock, yoke, yowl, yo-yo(informal), yuck (17).

zero, zest, zinc, zing, zone, zonk, zoom (7).

IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT

(yes there are 28 ITs)

[espys-art-stuff]

It has occurred to me that I should probably... publish more of the random, insane things that go through my head rather than keep them locked up in my private digital notebooks forever. So with that said, please have this thing nobody asked for,

PREPARE

FOR MY GREAT EUROSLANDER POST

(disclaimer obvious satire piece is satire)

Directory of Europe (as written by an ignorant US tourist)

BRITISH ISLES, aka the only places we care about (wait they're islands?? I thou--)

England: Harry Potter Land and so London, very Posh, quite barmy out innit, god save the queen King, I want to hop into a queue and buy some fish and chips and good english tea, *waves the union jack aggressively*

(i feel so bri’ish!!1!11 did i do the accent right [is speaking cockney])

Ireland: EIRISH ((does several bad (scottish)ireland imitations)) and so beer and drienk, my grendfather was born ‘ere so I understind everythin’ aboot this playce

N. Ireland: I understand nothing about this place

Scotland: Aye Laddie, kilts and bagpipes and castles and ACCENTS (we're so scottish)

(wait you guys sound irish--)

Wales: tbh we didn't know you existed until we looked up the funny nonsense words

what do you mean there are native languages spoken in ENGland that aren’t english

THE SOUTH (Boonies)

Spain: Mexico 2.0

wtf do you mean it's more similar to california, california speaks Only English, a spanish-speaking country could never be as advanced

Italy: PIZZA (and old people) (and fascists), florida if floridians ate proper food

Greece: boring ruins and so poor, none of this was ever significant

Portugal: tbh we thought you were a territory of Brazil

Turkey: Earthquakes and Muslims (terrorists) (barbarians) (Iran begins here)

THE EAST (Mordor)

Hungary: We know nothing about it except that it's led by that one guy all our Conservatives really like for some reason, but hey he's White and European and Will Smith did a dance video in Budapest so they’re probably fine, also LOL they must be Hungry

Russia: Very Bad And Mean, We Boycott You For 1000 Years :( (but actually we still buy all your stuff and want your tourist traps and money)

Ukraine: *waves flags* (we did not care about you before but you're White and European and frankly Russia just isn't playing to our interests anymore, so we'll back your war while we look the other way on all the ones in those Non-White Countries)

Poland and like 70 other countries: Witcher 3 and commies

THE WEST (Civilised Countries)

Germany: yeah sorry like 85% of us still think you’re nazis, you're sort of just screwed on that front

France: PARIS and EIFFEL TOWER and ROMANCE (and also rude people)

Belgium+Luxembourg+Switzerland: Alps and croissants and swiss cheese and yodelling (and also rude people)

The Netherlands: 67,342 people skipped over this country because "the netherlands" sounds like the sticks

(we later figured out you were the dutch and we apologized that you have to live out in the sticks)

Austria: The Sound of Music

THE NORDICS (Socialist Paradise/Hell, speaks Weird Shit)

Denmark: we thought it was in America (the Actual America, not the rest of it) like all other good companies are tbh, but LEGOS

(you mean nothing to us otherwise)

Sweden: The ones who will take us, but too liberal and socialist high taxes and immigrant for our tastes (ALL (nonwhite) immigrants are illegal) (enlightened Conservatives STAY OUT)

Finland: The forgotten edge of the world, everyone here lives with eskimos and polar bears

Iceland: Hawaii vacation but Cold and Exotic

Norway: So rich and socialist, but they're White and European and sell oil so we can't knock it tbh

Greenland: the USA definitely claims this. we just haven't taken it back yet because there are absolutely no colonies living on this useless rock

(however once we begin shipping all the illegal immigrants out like how our lord and saviour Ron Desanctimonious has shown us, we will require it once again)

tune in next time for my post where I do all 50 states of the USA and destroy half the world as a result

[thefun41]

Next up is Lesbian!Maya This one was definitely a challenge! I’ve drawn Maya a few times but I think this one is the best so far!

I’ll be blabing under the cut but in the meantime look forward to Gay!Klavier (hopefully) on Wednesday!

Edit: I have been informed that this is not the flag currently used. :/ I was wondering why kept seeing a pink one, just not where I was looking.

(Warning : rage and bitching below)

*deep breath* OH BOY! OH GOLLY AHH JEEZ Like DAMN was this a challenge. This took me an entire week!!! Other then Sebastian (because of that jacket) all of the pride requeswts have taken 3 days or less. During those 3 days I research an outfit, make a sketch, normally have a goofy side image to post before it because my brain is hyperactive, obsess over how to pose them and make the final image. Not this time!!! Even though this was an incredible struggle there was a lot that was learned by this… experience. 

So let’s break it down. 

Struggle #1 : Which flag are we using again? On the Ace Attorney Amino, the requester requested a Lesbian Maya. Here is the issue, in my research I have found a lot of lesbian pride flags and narrowed it down to 2. The lesbian pride flag which is  purple one with the black triangle and the battle axe (which was used) and lipstick lesbian, which is this pink one (see above). Now this bodes the question : What’s the difference? Well as far as I can tell, The purple one came first and is generally an umbrella flag for lesbians, while the pink one was made spicifically for a lesbian subculture : lipstick lesbians. There is a stereotype that lesbians are “masculine”, lipstick lesbians are very comfortable with their femininity, in fact very “girly” and seemed to be underrepresented sooooooo they have their own flag and subculture, kinda like the opposite of gay bear that we covered last time.  It seems like the Pink flag overtook the purple one in popularity OR whoever made the pink one was just better at marketing, who knows. Now the requested went with “a regular lesbian” so battle ax flag it is. Also battle axes are cool, so there’s that.  

Lesson learned : the LGBTQ+ community is waaaaaaay bigger then I thought with subcultures and whatnot. Knowlage is half the battle! 

Struggle #2 : Fashion is hard guys.  Picking the outfit took at least 2 days, and then I changed it at least a half dozen times. there are 3 issues I had (lists within lists, listception) : Maya’s limited style,  using the colour pallette with my messed up, self-restricted viewpoint, and Maya’s age. First Item, off the top of my head, I believe Maya is only seen in 5 outfits, her usual outfit, iris outfit for a moment, a waitress outfit for an hour, a red dress in that one promotional image where the case is super fancy, a white suit outfit thing for soundtrack stuff and a conductor uniform??? Out of the ones I can rememer, mostof thesse are dresses. When debating on weather or not I should put her in a dress I decided no because (as far as I can remember) she’s always ion a dress. and then my brain went nuts with questions.

Why is she always in a dress? is that sexist? It is a problem? What’s wrong with with her always being in a dress? Why do I want to really get her out of a dress? Am I sexist? why do only women were dresses? Is it the hips? Why don”t men wear dresses? Can they? They don’t really have hips so they can’t really wear skirts. Wait a minute men do kinda wear dresses, I mean kilts and kimono’s exist. would the bulge be an issue? Would men emphasize their bulge like women emphasize their breasts? Can men look good in dresses? Can any man look good in a dress? Can I put Edgeworth in a dress and make him look good? I’ve seen a ton of Phoenix in dresses but why not Edgey? … So yeah a lot of useless questions taking up my time for no reason. The point is I purposely designed an outfit with pants … this obviously did not happen. I had this idea of a cozy look in a cute sweater but this leads to the next issue. The issue with this cozy look? It’s too simple.Yes that look is cute but it’s not for me, it’s for the person who requested it. Any it’s entirely possible that this person may have seen the other works from this pride project and the outfits I made for them and then they just get Maya in a sweater? It’s a cute sweater but it didn’t seem fair. A similar issue happened with Phoenix but the solution to that was just to open his shirt and BOOM, extra layers and thus a more complex look. Now maybe the the OG requester wouldn’t mind but I just couldn’t do it, I feel like I needed to give her an outfit with more effort into it. And thuys Maya went back into skirt, now this lead to the third issue : Maya’s age. I found a lot of nice outfits, outfits that would look great on Maya! … When she was a teenager. Now maya is most definitely a full grown women and not a child. Now weather or not I pulled off the 28 year old Maya will be discussed later but nonetheless, all of those cute outfits I found? Out the window. I was so indecisive that I just asked my brother to pick one. Honestly? I really liked what he picked, and I confirmed with my dad that, yes, you can put this outfit on a almost 30 year old. The scarf ended up being omitted in favour of her magatama, otherwise we ended up with the same problem as before, it’s too simple. this time with a few days of work under our belt so there was no way I was going to start over. The solution to this was a nice floral pattern based on a cherry blossom. this makes it more visually simple. I think it looks pretty! After all that work I do like the end result. 

Lesson learned : Stop. Over. Thinking. Things. And for the love of god sketch it out. Just looking on google and imagining on the character  sometimes will not cut it. If I don’t get it relatively quickly, doodle, draw and scribble some more.  

Struggle #3 : Why can’t I draw women?? I am one?!?! Like seriously, why, it makes no sense. Well actually it does make sense because I am fairly sure I can count the amount of women I’ve drawn with one hand. It’s a simple measure of practice. I was foolish to think that simply drawing human’s would be enough. sadly that is not the case. Men and women are built differently and of course I failed to accommodate… many many times. The amount of times I have modified maya and changed her proportions is unreal. One thing I do all the time is make the abdomen too long and I have no idea why this is. Her face! I have no cluw what went wrong the first dozen times but it just didn’t work! I wish I could explain why but it just didn’t look right. you”ll notice that she doesn’t have lips even though she does in her new design, It’s because I have never been able to draw lips. Ever. Not once. Does she even look like an adult? I can’t even tell anymore. She is a little thicker then her concept art but making her look thinner just didn’t work out. Her arms, I had to hid them since the preportions were all off, the hands were held together in front of her checkl and they were too lanky and there was nothing I could do to make it look good and don’t get me started on her hands please don’t. If I didn’t cut off her legs I would have issues with that too. Her breasts, how on earth do you shade those??? Does not compute. DOES NOT COMPUTE!!!  So yeah the struggle is real. The solution? Trial and error. Just keep trying until it looks good. Play with your strengths. A friend of mine told me that she reminder her of Tina from Bob’s Burgers… ok? Sure. So after all that while I do like the end result I also see what can be improved, and sadly we have reached the limits of my skill at this time. 

Lessons learned : Practice practice practice. I don’t draw enough women, I need to draw more women. I can’t quite comprehend how cloths fall on the chest area and obviously looking the mirror is not a solution. What is the solution? Drawing naked people. … No seriously. Once I learn proper anatomy and human proportions and how muscles distribute over the body not only will I have a lot easier time drawing these characters I will also be able to figure out how clothing would fall on their bodies and i’ll have a easier time shading. Right now I’m drawing and shading clothing without knowing WHY it’s folding like that or why the light is hitting this area. Of course I’ll be doing this for both men and women because as started before, they are built differently. do you know what I also can’t draw? Children. I am NOT applying this to the kiddies. That’s weird and gross. The kids will have t deal with being freaks. I’m cool with that.

Struggle #04 :  Life How did we break 3 fuses at my house while I was at work? Why did it effect half my room upstairs, the computer setup that is downstairs and the WiFi on the main floor when the thing used to blow the fuse was in an upstairs room across the hall. why did no one fix it until the next day? Why just leave it like that? Why did I sleep in until 1 when I’ve been consistently waking up at 9? I had things to do what gives? Why did I accept a split shift the next day when I’m exhausted? Why do I get super stressed out when I set an alarm that I can’t sleep? Why am I spending 3 hours writing this when I never bothered to put this much effort in school work? How have I not punched someone yet?

Lessons learned : Don’t rely on anyone but yourself. Do what you can with the time allowed. Pat yourself on the back for not resorting to violence. How to change fuses. Writing this is very therapeutic.  Did you last this long? Who knows! All I do know is that yes this was a struggle but I plan on learning from this. Next up is Gay!Klaver and I’m REALLY looking forward to it!

[aestheticvoyage2018]

Day 278: Friday October 5, 2018 - “Boxing Bears”

We drove to ABQ down that I40 from Flag and arrived a little late but settled into our Airbnb quickly before getting AC gussied up and off to her rehearsal and dinner.   For this third wedding of our wedding run, shes actually a bridesmaid for one of her co-workers.  And so I had to entertain myself for a few hours, not invited to the festivities.   What to do, what to do?  In ABQ - its about the beer.   So I found a good couple of breweries that Id never been to before - started at Boxing Bear where I enjoyed a few pints while getting some Friday work done...Green Chili Fries for sure.   Yes, yes, in NM you gotta have Green Chili.   Then I ran my errands and landed at the Kilt Check.  Heres to he who raises our spirits...and his kilt.  AC met me back there.  Long ass day, where we spent most of boxing like a couple of bears, ourselves.  But we managed to make up and be good to end the night.   

I really liked Boxing Bear, and their logo.  I had been thinking about decorating our Yeti with stickers picked up along the way, and so I collected a sitcker and put it on.  Sticker #1.  Its on its way!

Song: Tom Waits - Picture In A Frame

Quote: “Here we are, trapped in the amber of the moment. There is no why.” ― Kurt Vonnegut

[emthetimelady]

There! Right there!

Summary: Some people is trying to figure out the hard question: Is Thomas Sanders gay Or European? (Part 2 of Legally Blonde AU!) Warnings: Gays. Other names for gay? You might scream bc they all are so gay. A/N: I had so fun writing this bc... Thomas is so gay and this is just for fun. Honestly I don’t know where this is going xD  List of the people in: Roman - Elle Logan: Warner Patton: Emmett Virgil: Brooke Thomas: Mikos  Tayln: Enid Bonus: Joan as Carlos  Tags: @mewsicalmiss @treehouseart @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch

Patton looked at himself in the mirror. He looked so smart, professional like he should be. He took a deep breath. Maybe the others would think he looked good too. He walked out to the room and tried to seem normal. 

“Woah a total hottie alert!” “Patton you look sharp.” “Wow Patton is that you?” Patton smiled. “Roman took me shopping.” Speaking of him, Roman Sanders was just getting into the room. He just knew it. He knew that whenever the bend and snap failed, the guy had to be gay. So when he had tried it had failed. If he now only could get the others to believe so too. “Thomas couldn’t have had the affair. I just did the bend and snap in front of him, and nothing. Clearly he must be gay.” He was so passonate but the other was confused? How? It was just simply real logic! “He did leave a ranbow flag in my house once” Virgil agreed. “Wait wait wait… You want to out this man on the stand?” Logan asked from the behind. “That’s crazy! You can’t build a legal strategy on a bend and snap. We need a defence, not a dance move.” “So you think he perjured himself but you can’t show it? You know, if you’re wrong we look desperate and homphobic.” “But if he’s right-” Virgil started. “And I know I am!” Roman argued just as Thomas got into the room. “There! Right there!” He pointed and everyone looked at him. “Look at that tan well-tended skin. Look at the killer shape he’s in. Look at that that bright smile. Oh please he’s gay, totally gay.” “I’m not about to celebrate, every trait could indicate. A totally straight expatriate. This guy’s not gay, I say not gay.” “That is the elephant in the room, Well is it relevant to assume, that a man who wears parfume is automatically radically fey?” The others joined in. “But look at his coffied and crispy look” Patton pointed out. “Look at his silk translucent socks.” “There's the eternal paradox. Look what we’re seeing.” “What are we seeing?” “Is he gay-” “Of course he is!” Why did they even talk about it? It was obivious. “- Or european?” It seemed like a light was over all of their heads. “Gay or european? It’s hard to garuentee, Is he gay or european?” They all turned to a confused Logan. “Well hey don’t look at me!” Logan defended himself. “You see they bring their boys up different in those charming foreign ports. They play peculiar sports.” “In shiny shirts and tiny shorts!” They all pointed out. “Gay or foreign fella? The answer could take weeks. They both say things like "ciao bella" while they kiss you on both cheeks.” “Of please!” Roman sighed. “Gay or european? So many shades of gray.” “Depending on the time of day, the french go other way.” Logan said. “Is he gay or europan?” “There! Right There!” Tayln pointed out. “Look at that condescending smirk. Seen it on every guy at work. That is a metro hetero jerk. That guy's not gay, I say no way!” They all turned to Tayln.  “That is the elephant in the room. Well is it relevant to presume that a hottie in that costume-”

“Is automatically-radically-” “Ironically chronically-” “Certainly pertin'tly-” “Genetically medically-��� “GAY! OFFICIALLY GAY! OFFICIALLY GAY GAY GAY GAY” Thomas kissed a girl’s hand. “DAMNIT! Gay or European?” “So stylish and relaxed.” “Is he gay or European?” “I think his chest is waxed.” He didn’t understand why he would look at Thomas chest but he was right. “But they bring their boys up different there. It's culturally diverse. It's not a fashion curse.” “If he wears a kilt or bears a purse! Gay or just exotic? I still can't crack the code.” “Yes his accent is hypnotic but his shoes are pointy toed.” Virgil finally pointed out. “Huh.” There was some silence. “Gay or European? So many shades of gray.” “But if he turns out straight I'm free at eight on Saturday!” “Is he gay or European? Gay or european? Gay or Euro-” “Wait a minute!” Patton suddenly broke. “Give me a chance to crack this guy. I have an idea I'd like to try.” “The floor is yours.” Callahan said. “So Mr.Sanders… This alleged affair with Mr. Virgil has been going on for...? “2 years.” “And your first name again is...?” “Thomas.” “And your boyfriend's name is...?” “Joan.” he coughed directly after that. Long and painful. “I'm sorry! I misunderstand. You say boyfriend. I thought you say best friend. Joan is my best friend.”

Well. They did try.

[johnthestitcher]

Me in my Bear Flag Kilt, Chicopee Pride 2023, Chicopee, MA. Happy PRIDE!

[magdalenagay]

“The big spectacle of Pride—the parade, the parties, and the other affiliated events—is always inspiring, because the right to public pleasure is so hard-fought for queer people. But in recent years, maybe since the nationwide legalization of gay marriage, in 2015, triumphalism has outshone much sense of political urgency. Alternative events, eschewing the support of corporations and law enforcement, have sprung up, emphasizing the movement’s unfinished work—work that largely involves protecting queer people who aren’t white and wealthy. In some cases activists have openly clashed with mainstream Pride, such as when protesters blocked the path of Washington, D.C.’s 2017 parade and forced it to be rerouted. In other cases, they’ve simply thrown their own anti-assimilationist march.

This year, the establishment festivities went digital because of the coronavirus pandemic. So the Queer Liberation March was the only major real-life outpouring for Stonewall’s anniversary in New York City, and it built explicitly off the Black Lives Matter protests of the past month. The march, in fact, began a block away from the park across from City Hall, where those activists have set up a camp. On Sunday, that camp—decked in colorful umbrellas, signs, and graffiti—felt like a replacement for typical Pride street fairs. Makeshift booths offered hot food, radical literature, and sunblock, all for free. On the fences were posted information about the accessibility of nearby bathrooms, phone numbers to lobby lawmakers regarding the death of Breonna Taylor, and a picture of RuPaul next to the words Police Brutality, Sashay Away.

At the march itself, many chants and slogans were familiar from other demonstrations after George Floyd’s killing. But visually it read as a gay fashion party at which each person’s duty was to stand out. Protesters flaunted bright-pink handbags, billowing floral blouses, black leather-ish hoods, kilts, and stilts. There were bare bodies, too—hard and soft, cis and trans. Flesh has always been a key component of the Pride experience; in 1970, at the first Pride in Los Angeles, the Reverend Troy Perry described “a mass of muscle calculated to turn everyone on.” The spectrum of bodies on display Sunday offered a reminder of the purpose of turning people on: to grab attention for one’s message, to preach sex positivity and body acceptance, and, yes, to show pride.

What did the marchers want? “Defund the cops”rhetoric abounded, as did verbal and visual tributes to black trans people failed by the American justice system. A large effigy memorialized Marsha P. Johnson, the influential veteran of the Stonewall uprising whose 1992 death, activists alleged, was insufficiently investigated by the NYPD. Signs mourned Layleen Polanco, the New York ballroom-scene fixture whose 2019 death at Rikers Island led to the disciplining of 17 correctional officers for misconduct. The focus on black trans people, especially transgender black women, points to a coherent and morally urgent way forward for the queer movement as a whole. Trans people of color experience disproportionate rates of violence, incarceration, and poverty. Defending their lives involves attacking the various structural bigotries—political, cultural, economic—that also bear down on the rest of the LGBTQ population: racism, sexism, homophobia, transphobia.

The question of how to support black trans people also demonstrates the risks of getting too cozy with corporate America. Pride sponsors such as Verizon, FedEx, and AT&T fly rainbow flags while also donating to conservative politicians who demonize anti-racist activists and work to roll back trans protections. ​​​It’s true that Pride’s business-world backers do contribute materially to the queer movement, including by helping throw spectacular parades and parties around the world every year. But on Sunday nothing felt lost in the lack of ticky-tacky souvenirs with bank logos on them, or block parties where participants pay a cover charge while also being subjected to wall-to-wall vodka ads. Instead, the joy of gathering en masse was bolstered by the energy of having clear purpose. Pride isn’t cancelled, read one sign. It’s refocused.

Such refocusing, of course, is not without peril. For some participants, the Queer Liberation March ended with being pepper-sprayed or arrested by NYPD officers, who can be seen on video running into crowds that had been milling about. Crackdowns like these, so characteristic of the past month of protests, evoke what happened in 1969 at the Stonewall Inn: a riot against police harassment. The defiance, danger, and burning need behind that historical event has been only a hazy memory at recent Prides, but maybe now that will change. Standing along the protest route, on the edge of the Occupy City Hall camp, I glanced down at one point and saw the anarchy symbol stenciled on the pavement. Next to it someone had graffitied this: I think there is hope for us in that an ‘us’ even exists.”

- Pride Can’t Go Back to What It Was Before -  Spencer Kornhaber (The Atlantic)

[bravehardts]

Day 6 - Edinburgh: History and Haggis

Lo and behold, we were awarded with another beautiful day here on what we worried would be a rainy and cold vacation. I hope this doesn't jinx our luck but today was the warmest and clearest day yet. Traveling up The Royal Mile from our hotel, we met our close friends Brendan and Esther Cooney at a breakfast place called Hula Juice Bar for avocado toast (so California) and porridge (so Scottish). It was great to catch up and see some familiar faces this faraway from home. After cajoling a couple of passerbys to take our picture together outside, we parted ways and wandered further up towards the most popular attraction here, Edinburgh Castle. As we approached the castle, the crowds kept getting more and more dense. Fortunately we had purchased our tickets beforehand so we could skip the queue and print them right away. We passed through a large stadium that is hosting the "Military Tattoo" during festival season--on display was a giant military jet suspended above the entrance and a navy helicopter. As we would soon learn in the castle, Scotland is VERY proud of their military, both past and present. Walking up towards the castle, we were transported back to medieval times (not the restaurant, but similar). This would be the third castle we visited, and by far the best! The layout was winding and asymmetrical--probably an advantage for any invading hordes, trying to conquer the castle. Perched high on a hill, it also has a huge tactical advantage. It could likely only be attacked from one side, since the other sides are steep cliffs overlooking the city. As our friends advised us, we headed straight to the top of the castle (which is a series of independent buildings, all part of the greater structure). We entered an area to view the Scottish Crown Jewels, after seeing a series of historical mannequined recreations. No pictures were allowed in the room with the Crown Jewels--but there was a sword, a scepter, and a red velvet crown, just as you would imagine from British royalty. There were some other types of jewels but Alex was already antsy so we didn't get to spend too much time in the final room. We visited various other areas of the castle, though it was already starting to get packed with throngs of international visitors and tour groups. Of note, we visited the "Great Hall", decorated with swords, muskets, and armor (YES!), the War Memorial (no pictures allowed), a quite stunning indoor memorial to Scottish soldiers, navy men, nurses, etc. It felt like a small cathedral, and was very moving to see all the different divisions of the Scottish military's honored deceased. Other attractions were Mons Meg--the largest cannon of that era, that could fire a 300 lbs. cannonball 2 miles; the Prisons of War Exhibition--recreations of prison cells from various eras of the castle (definitely in Allison's wheelhouse)--St. Margaret's Chapel, the Dog Cemetery, and at least three military museums (including the National War Museum). If we had spent the time to really read every sign, look at every artifact (swords, medals, rifles, kilts, helmets, gas masks, machine guns, flags, etc) we would have been there for HOURS. But of course we didn't, because first of all Alex can't read, and second of all after you've seen 50 swords they all start to look the same. But I was pleasantly surprised by the bagpipe soundtrack blaring the "Last of the Mohican's" theme song, which I didn't realize was either 1) an original Scottish bagpipe song ripped off for the movie, or 2) a really great song from the movie that is cool to play on the bagpipe (will look up an answer shortly--and more on that song soon). A quick side note--we grabbed lunch within the castle at a delightful cafe. As it had one of the only bathrooms in the area, I wandered down the stairs to take Alex, and noticed the longest, most miserable line of women I have even seen, waiting for the Lou. I've seen happier people in line at the DMV. Heading out of the Castle, we passed by absolutely massive lines of people waiting to buy tickets. We were lucky to have entered the castle first thing in the morning, and clearly it would only get more and more crowded during the day. Walking back down The Royal Mile, the crowds did not get thinner by any means. And top of that were throngs of street performers with terrible costumes and loads and loads of youngsters handing out flyers for various "free shows" during festival week. We powered through these masses of people--a nightmarish sea of activity for folks like us who don't love big crowds too much. Eventually we got back to the hotel, for a little rest and Lego Star Wars. For the afternoon, we planned to grab another Hop On Hop Off bus pass, and move around the city. Sitting on the open top of the bus, the sun was fully out and actually getting uncomfortably hot. This bus tour did not cover as much area as the one in Dublin, but the traffic was so thick that it took forever to get anywhere. But the sights of hilly Edinburgh are so stunning from almost any spot in the city, I would call it a good choice for us to get our bearings and see more of the city. We decided to get off the bus at Grassmarket, an active area of pubs and restaurants not too far from our hotel. The first pub we went to told us that we could only have a kid inside if he ate a "full meal" (liquor regulations I guess). The second we tried was more lenient--as long as he had a snack, that was fine. And have a snack we did! The pub was called "The Last Drop" (love it!) and we had a cozy little area in the back. Alex had mac and cheese which he annihilated. Allison had a vegetable broth soup. I went all in and tried the Haggis with Neeps and Tatties--because how could I leave Scotland without trying it? For those who only know Haggis as a joke in "So I Married an Ax Murderer", it is apparently banned in the US because it contains an ingredient not allowed to be put into our food: Sheep lungs. Oh, it also has sheep heart, liver, and is cooked in the stomach. That being said--it was pretty good! Not good enough for me to eat the whole thing, but the Neeps (mashed turnips) and Tatties (mashed potatoes) were just great when drizzled with whiskey cream sauce. The haggis itself was like a hearty thick paste with some spice to it. I could see getting used to it, but of all the exotic things I've tried, lungs is a new one on my list, and a little hard mentally to get past. I also tried a local beer--Innis and Gunn Lager. Tastes like a lager, and not much more to say about it. We hiked back to the hotel, staying on Cowgate (far enough away from the busier streets to be sane) and crossing under bridges, before ascending the hill to our hotel. There are loads of bridges around here, but no river. They just cross between hills and over streets far below. Before dinner, I took Alex to the little pool in the basement of our hotel. The small pool was a big hit, as would be expected. And finally, we took a nice long hike to our dinner restaurant, The Fisher House--the best meal we have had so far. The fresh seafood was fantastic--Alex devoured his sole (I helped him polish off the squid ink gnocchi), Allison fell in love with her lobster and scallops, and I went batty for my Panang curry with shrimp and fish. Also, a fried octopus appetizer started things off with a bang. Alex finished the meal by using Allison's lobster claw to crush any remaining food items in sight.. As we walked back to the hotel, there were still loads of people out--the setting sun was beautiful on the stone monuments and statues around the city. The festival attractions (pop up restaurants and bars, bands playing all around the city) were making us regret not having a babysitter so we could go out on the town. Oh, and we walked by a street band again playing the "Last of the Mohicans" theme song on Bagpipe, but this time with a full drum set and electric guitar. I loved the jam, and so did Alex! While I write this in our dark, quiet room in the back of the hotel (with Alex trying to fall asleep), we are so close yet so far away from the bustling city life that will surely be drinking, dancing, and doing whatever else there is to be done here, all night. No regrets though! This was a hugely busy day for us, and tomorrow we get to fill in the gaps of our Edinburgh experience. There are so many historical buildings, winding streets, mysterious closes (the walking alleyways leading from the streets), that even a week wouldn't be enough to see all that this amazing city has to offer.

[scotianostra]

July 20th 1651 saw the Battle of Inverkeithing.

An army comprising Covenanters and Royalists fighting under the flag of Charles II were defeated whilst attempting to throw back a Cromwellian invasion force. For Clan MacLean the slaughter at the battle was particularly horrific - out of the original contingent of 800, some 760 clansmen were killed, including their chief, Sir Hector Ruadh MacLean.

It was during the night or early morning of 16th /17th July 1651 that the troops of Oliver Cromwell’s New Model Army landed on the north shore of the Forth in the vicinity of Inverkeithing Bay. Whilst they had inflicted a heavy defeat on the Scottish army at Dunbar on 3rd September 1650, they had been thwarted by attempts to advance further into Scotland. Cromwell came to the conclusion that Fife was the key and by 20th July, 4,500 of Cromwell’s Parliamentarian force were dug in on Ferry Hills, whilst a Scottish force of a similar size had grouped at Castland Hill.

The threat of Scottish reinforcements coming from Stirling provoked Cromwell’s Parliamentarians to attack and force the Scottish infantry to retreat north towards Pitreavie Castle. On land close to the Castle, the Scottish infantry made a final stand but were soon overwhelmed by the more experienced Parliamentarians who had the additional advantage of cavalry. The Scots suffered heavy losses. This became known as The Battle of Inverkeithing (sometimes The Battle of Pitreavie) and was the last major battle of the Wars of the Three Kingdoms in Scotland. From 1652, Scotland was wholly under control of Cromwell’s Protectorate.

In the heat of the battle seven brothers successively sacrificed their lives protecting The McLean clan Cheif, Hector after he sustained a mortal wound. As each brother fell, they called for another to continue protecting the chief with the words "Fear eile air son Eachuinn," or "Another for Hector." The simle call for help was answered seven times with the assurance "Bas air son Eachuinn," or "Death for Hector." The Seven brothers died knowing someone was ready to stand in their place. Despite their protection, Sir Hector did not survive his wounds. "Another for Hector" has become a call to duty and one of the mottos of the Mcleans.

"A rill, traversing the valley, called the Pinkerton-burn, ran with blood for several days, and the appearance of the little mounds, or heaps of the slain, resembled a hairst field of stooks* of corpses." -- Annals Of Dunfermline.

The cairn in the picture was erected on the 350th anniversary of the battle by the Clan MacLean Heritage Trust in 2001 and is on Castle Brae close to Piteavie Castle.

"Another for Eachuinn" was composed in 1894 by Duncan Maclean, Bard to the Clan Maclean Association of Glasgow, for the third annual gathering.

Another For Eachuinn17 p15 Clans from the rugged Highlands, where the antlered stag is seen, Where the solemn hills in grandeur raise aloft their walls of green, Where the wild and dashing fountains fling their jewels in the air Where the lowly hut and shieling guard the virtue passing fair. Where the eagle from its eyrie looketh down on vales below Where the beauty of the heather bloometh with a radiant glow, Where dear mem'ries bright and golden dwell in corrie, glade and glen, Wreathing with a fadeless glory fearless clansmen of MacLean,

'Tis a story old, my clansmen, yet it thrills me to the core, And I fain would sing in numbers what our lads have done of yore. 'Tis no idle boast of valor, 'tis no empty tale—in brief— 'Tis a story of devotion of our clansmen for their chief; For our clansmen, ever loyal to the chieftain of their clan, Were prepared to rush to battle, win or perish to a man, And, should ere the slogan echo in our Highland vales again, All our clansmen, ever ready, still would follow Chief MacLean.

'Twas at Inverkeithing, Hector, some two hundred years ago, When the god of war was screaming, led his clansmen 'gainst the foe; With their pibrochs loudly playing, and their banners waving free, Sure our sturdy Highland clansmen looked the flower of chivalry; When the war was raging fiercest, and Sir Hector was sore prest, It was then that seven brothers, all in kilts and sporans drest, Dow'red the Highlands with a glory all—immortal shall they reign— Stimulating every clansman, and an honor to MacLean.

Clansmen, how these brothers perished in the thickest of the fight emblazoned, now in hist'ry, ever wonderful and bright— How they shielded brave Sir Hector from rough Cromwell's warlike men Is a proverb and a watchword prized in every Highland glen. Not a craven heart was 'mid them, as one fell another came, Proud to fight and die for Hector, while they blessed his honored name, Seven heroes! noble brothers, though they fell 'twas not in vain— Dying they but did their duty, and enriched the Clan MacLean.

Clansmen, all those sons were brothers, nurtured at one mother's breast, Prompted by devotion, gladly 'gainst the hounds of war they prest, Scorning danger, loving Hector, noble Chieftain of their Clan, Seven heroes, god-like brothers, fought and fell right in the van. Proudly did they rush to battle, and tho' grim Death laid them low, Yet their mem'ries cannot perish while the seasons come and go. We admire their dauntless valor, and we've thousands in our train Who would proudly guard our Chieftain, gallant Chieftain of MacLean.

Clansmen from the rugged Highlands, ye all bear an honored name, Shrined in song and deathless story, blazoned on the scroll of Fame, And tho' war no more is screaming and peace dwells in every hall, Emulate your worthy clansmen they but died at Duty's call. Cherish well our old traditions, guard and shield our honor bright, Fight and conquer every falsehood, spurn the wrong, cleave to the right, Keep untarnished all the glory, thrill Sir Fitzroy's heart again With a fealty all undying for the Chief of Clan MacLean.

[mooncookee]

QUIVER

You see the soul drips low down where the dirt holds and lip licks upside trees and rubs it's scent up in the leaves so every bee passin' flags its tale. In frets and waggles, tails a kites lets                                                     or a dragonfly drags, they sing out in trails of Halle-lu-jah stretches up, up to heaven' but the land; sees it. Land, it never forgets. No, see? The land never forgets.

It breathes in frequencies sometimes only wolves can bear. Now and then a cat or two might howl but hounds, they just too house broke, cozy, may a' bit too lazy for caring. Some ground just stares; some rumbles like mountain claws strummin' on drum skins. Some been rubbed too much.

 I'm told it growls like that at Shiloh and Antietam, And Vietnam's a locomotive hauling coal down where they stokin' Hell. So they tell. Well it's that kinda hum across the tracks as Quiver Lane backs up to Bayou Self.

Once it crossed there but Betsy or Audrey washed it out; maybe was a hurricane

way 'fore storms got names. No one cared to build it back or cared not to. True that.                                                                        

When Emmalite Petit came to name it Quivers for the way the silver willows shiver in the silver light of night everything changed.

Tragedy and Misery, ain't they so the loudest, overstaying cousins? And seems we never see the sunshine when they visit.   Poor Lita (her prayer given greeting) lived beneath a concrete cloud of loud and overstayin' cousins. They raved a regular hoedown, throw-down, hootenanny, fais do do with a neon rainbow and a disco ball. And I mean cousins, uncles et al. Damn Murder, Curser, Fever and Famine fired it up and washed it blue down there with Deluge.                                                                                        

First her Baby, gone. Her Daddy then her ‘nother Baby, husband, husband, baby, Mama; all lost quick as windblown sand.

 Some say Curser was first to sup. Before Choctaw pushed the Houmas through, before people were more than The People, angels and demons had drama there. In that, I'm told, can't be a winner. Seems Quiver Lane began to quiver long fore Lil’ Lita came for dinner or every time.                                                              

She came like plagues o' Moses. "Note-he-damn-us" speculated they's a Moses lain in every sack of sins.

So said, Lita lived as one or all those "Horsemen," well “Horse-folk,” that head banger gang, jammin' down till the World chokes, spokes broke in sections docking the earth in kinda pocky way clips. Cousin, you catch my crazy pills; lauded Lord seen the Devil’s daughter in a bonnet livin’ as the Mistress of the Quivers. I can't say. Maybe she's the lucky millionth shopper

straggled up, she, falling out the sack; register ding, clang and drawer slip, clap; balloons fell, politicians kissing black beauty baby hexes like bubble blowers whistling.

lucky Medusa, heaving chest, epistles of perdition Panavision in her sweat.                                                          

 Y’all know evil needs a witness, accepting victims’ just objects, directly. God knows Narcissus always came as the main idea. Ain't nobody plays that sorrow fiddle like him.

Maybe Emmalite's his sister?

 Lil' Lita came from Texas by the Sabine Pass. Her folk ran a trawl fleet, had plenty grass for cattle and passe blanc, they say. No verifiable pedigree, a Gypsy privateer, a Mescalita bruja here and here. Clearly an Andalusian heiress in that tree, more than half Moor-ish. She was Venus, trapper by trade so they say.

  (II)

 Down from Paradis a way the Old Spanish Trail snakes through the Texaco Woods. Inertia notwithstanding, curves are angular where that old road bends by the tracks and bends back a time or four. Man, DAMN, that was one alive drive. No, don't try those moves at Big Bear, no. Ask me how I know?

 So, the first knee coming from Paradis, Lita’s mausoleum gloats 'neath an oak grove.

Mère Brigit de Saint Asile, splayed in headstones, snaggle-toothed from the shiny rails, with a ditch mote, a throat bouquet of cattails and poison ivy commanded, a dead man's curve from any poet's axis. A swamp hugged close, old road to tracks that smacked blood wet, stains sustained since skirmishes of Yank incursions shucked, ghost rehearsals from Boutte to Des Allemands.

Older ground, this mound raised by the hand of man, built by bodies gone to mulch, a human humus mushed under hundreds on hundreds of autumn's silts. Floods sipped slippin' the baser stones to tilt in neglect, 'cept lichen love. Yet seldom did molesters linger. Centuries of cypress centurions, elders, priests and voodoiennes spit blasted blasphemous echoes and imminent offenders bent on infecting this umbilical age where souls are directed, selected and nakedly effected and tweaked past sec by the Conscious Constant Conscience Collective till they caress the nexus of perfection. Poor Lita‘s cache was stashed in a crypt like only city seen. Marble Venus reigning supreme over meager crosses, slaves and Cajun tenants, protestants, names scratched unless a body was a veteran.

 The black top ridge the bridge to Quiver Lane crossed tracks at are maintained by Santa Fe Railways on the civil side. The bayou banks can't be tamed. To its own travail, alone it wanes. It assimilates, ate by relentless quest of the prevailing Green to digest, jail and swallow every life, not sailing pass a snail's pace past the veil of tales.

 Some places birth a craving for belonging. I belong there. I learned to swear there,                                                                

was snared by the noose tobacco set. My first drunken crash there after Uncle read me Lovecraft there. I woke wet. We skipped for crawfishing on pretty new spring days, lunch meat and Bunny Bread, that pink mayo pickle spread, four finger bag of weed and a six o’ Dixie. What a day made; laying nets in a knee deep maze up to the first grave. Voo was a swamp "Fred Astaire." I was a true Scooby Doo.

 I felt connected. My first love was laid there.                                                        

We buried my Colinda in the Mom Brigit's breast. No other love tested more than a genuflecting peasant maid weighing fragrances passed in wake of her Queen's carriage. Stressing, up she peeked, a speck in shadows of divinity. That old road led me out on, a life of asphalt sped, gone, minstrel vagabond so long it's all I ever did since I turned back on this compost heap, love's keep, womb of every torch song.

 My class of '81 summoned, thirty-five years running but for them I come. I wonder why, true though, I never could deny our passion. When we took life in shots, chased with pitchers at Tolano’s. We had a world to make.

 Me, I just careened from ditch to ditch like it's me buried by the Quivers. No I deliver as I wither juke to honkey tonk, useless bitch of windy whispers. Till I listed, sunk and sprawled, depraved raving “kinda been” kissing the base of my true love’s grave. I bowed my gaze prostrate so to evade her name engraved by chisel. A blitz of banshees pulling train, crumbled by the strain, I crawled scratching three X's by the gate on Lita's marble vault pleading she would put me down, already nothing wasting air, better fare prepared as mushroom food or maybe that's too good.

 I should… I would but once I promised not to "should" myself. Still, shame laid lame, gasping breaths between grass roots. I wept. "Why me's" pelted till my ears burned red. I quivered in prayers to who knows who.

 "Madame Petit accept my humble suffering as sacrifice. By gluttony, greed and lust, I'm pinned by sin, an empty wraith in waiting, a soulless puppet painted live. I pray my worthless carcass lay a worthy crust to feed the inevitable Green lacing the gates of your Everlasting After.”

 Shotguns slam on Heaven's tin walls, clap of Atlas shaking this world off. Tossed by the blast wave reality whiplashed!

 Peace of the morning, peace of the dawn, peace of the dusk, trust is cruel quiet.

 I wasn't crying anymore, standing more or less, I smelled the musk of Bayou Self.

An ass drawn wagon crossed the bridge carrying six oyster sacks, a six pack of field hands

and six kindling stacks of dried fig twigs. A sickly girl’s grey pony led three chomping keen colts: a big red, an ice white and onyx black sweat gleaming fiery beast. Two tuniced, kilted dudes duked; blue steels, shields whacking, shrieks of deep dread jolts “blue screen” hacked my psyche. Pangs of fresh grief vigorously split me.

 A jug of berry sherry beckoned swig. My sweet Colinda, cherry plucker lolled, bent butt against the trestle rail. My first kiss again conjured up in home sewed halter and faded cutoffs

baring all I knew of truth. I sighed. Honey haired, hazel eyed, mine, giggling on the Quivers side. I knew I had died and raced embracing her with no step took, track jumped or cross tie straddled.

My Colinda, swarthy now calico long dress in bonnet, brunette, black eyes, pupils fire.

Love as always a puny liar.

           "Allons danser." Lil Lita grabbed me. We two stepped. A death of quiet                                                                        

only broke by creaking wood and creosote stink.

 Come to think, I never two stepped. Pickers never learn to dance. Sixties Cajun kids were forbidden, so I was not blessed to know her French addresses. Fancy me this dead man's chance.

We parleyed and danced and dance.

 Bless you; Ma'am Petit you be? Life for me was tired and old. If I’d be so bold

Please bestow me once more to hold my Colinda? Then to dust or mold or as you'd have me.

 "Chere," she said. "Colinda's me. No simple peace and death’s not free

Chere, we have scores and prophecies. A thousand first loves you and me span.

I was Lilith to your Adam.

 A hundred thousand maids you ruined. Who could ever love as I do? Spun out countless loves found tombs, dead in the womb as I sang lullabies. I brewed my fear beer. Stirred you here

Through waste and wander savoring every maid you plundered. Hate begets a viral Eden. Evil needs no truth to seed. Fear and hunger, pain and greed ripened drips in misery.

 Hero here alas you settle, finally, quite a hefty debt. Here you left, Colinda bled, red washed dress on a slave girl grave. Sweating fatherhood for fame let your name escape her blame. At last my final pica’s set my Casanova minstrel, convinced, sorry victim in your head, sped millennia and parried any collar, cross or retiarius’ net.

 But see this land, it never forgets. It pressed a bed of want in you that blooms like sumac in the rain. You came. Your only bet was plain. But here the game is mine, you swine

and markers called. You’re out of time. I'd feed a million trillion flies on your flesh and spread your soul like chewy tricks as treats on chilly demon children’s Halloween.

 But see, my pride, I got to ride. These fine three anxious steeded knights and I have deals to seal and seals to peel while you here feel the pain of every death since you've eluded me.” She chuckled, eyes blazing licked her lips. “But that too was your dream I guess. You always were my favorite pet and here see, this land don't forget."  

                                                                     (III)

Black is white to where she left me. Agony a soothing choice. Infinity times three;

tormenting claws and jaws forever stripping, split my atoms, sip and spit me. Buckets left to catch my wet screams. Seamless, moving troubadour’s tool ghoul re-jeweled to phantom’s whispering shrill banzai Mojave dry.

 Sorry now I'm such a bummer. I'm just a strummer not your savior but if you care for your creator make your peace cause Lita's coming.  

https://www.reverbnation.com/dwaynestromain/song/30163760-quiver-rvbntn

[mavwrekmarketing]

Thousands of Italians emigrated to Scotland in the 20th Century, but it seems that 400 years earlier a group of Scots may have settled in a village in the Italian Alps. So local legend has it And there are plenty of signs to suggest that maybe, just maybe, it’s true.

High up in the mountains of northern Italy, just a few kilometres from the Swiss border, the people of the tiny village of Gurro speak a strange dialect, incomprehensible even to the other villages in the same valley.

They have peculiar surnames, and the women’s traditional costume features a patterned underskirt that looks suspiciously like tartan.

One possible explanation is that their forefathers include a unit of Scottish soldiers – the Garde Ecossaise – who served the French King, Francis I, and were defeated with him at the Battle of Pavia, near Milan, in February 1525.

The story goes that while trying to make their way home the Scots stopped in Gurro, where they got snowed in for the winter. Many locals believe they never left.

“I’ve heard talk about this story since I was a child,” says Alma Dresti, who was born and bred in Gurro.

“I know it’s probably at least part legend but I like to believe in it and I do think there could be some truth in it.

“I like to imagine those strapping young soldiers trying to return home, stopping here, and liking it so much they stayed even once spring had come.”

One tale describes how the Scottish visitors stole girls from the next village, celebrating their trophy brides with big parties – before waking the village priest at dawn to legalise their unions.

Alma says this could explain a custom peculiar to Gurro, in which receptions were traditionally held before the marriage ceremony and weddings took place early in the morning.

“This tradition of having the wedding lunch one week before the actual marriage continued until the 1950s,” she says. “My parents, who got married in January 1951, did that – they had a big party with all their relatives a week before the wedding, then returned to their family homes, and then a week later got married at 6am in church.”

Now 95, Alma’s mother could once be found on a sunny bench passing the time of day with other women, all wearing traditional dress, including the tartan underskirt. Some have the surname Patritti, which they believe is derived from “Patrick”.

As we walk along the steep cobbled streets, Alma’s youngest daughter, Sabrina, points out to me an unusual architectural feature – some of the buildings have wooden supports under the windows, positioned to form what looks like the St Andrew’s cross. And she says some consider Celtic-derived words in their dialect to be a sign of Scottish origins.

“Especially the way you say ‘yes’. It’s ‘si’ in Italian and usually, in other dialects, you just change it a bit, like ‘shi’,” she says. “Here it’s ‘aye’. They actually switch the accent so it’s more ‘ayee’ than ‘aye’ but it sounds like the Scottish way.”

There are plenty more fragments of apparent evidence that locals can list. One is a typical folk song with words indicating nostalgia for the sea, although 500 years ago the people of Gurro would never have travelled far enough to see it. And there is a fisherman’s knot that must have been taught to the mountain folk by men who fished.

Image caption A traditional underskirt (centre) on display in the village museum

All this so impressed a Scottish amateur anthropologist, Lt Col Gayre of Gayre and Nigg, baron of Lochoreshyre, that he embarked on his own investigation.

His book, The Lost Clan – which bears little trace of the disturbing racial views he became notorious for – concluded that the people of Gurro most likely could claim Scottish descent, and in 1973 he symbolically adopted them into his own clan.

Silvano Dresti (no relation of Alma’s – it’s a common name in Gurro) recalls an unforgettable party that was thrown to celebrate. “There was a lot of excitement and the whole village was decorated with Scottish and Italian flags for the occasion. Being affiliated to a clan made us proud,” he says.

Silvano remembers the kilted Scottish baron and bagpipers, and VIP guests including Oscar Luigi Scalfaro, who would later become president of Italy. A BBC Scotland television crew captured it all on film.

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Media captionLt Col Gayre arrived with a piper and unveiled a plaque to commemorate the occasion

Silvano was 18 at the time. “I was a bell ringer,” he says. “I’d learned the Scottish anthem, Scotland the Brave, which I practised playing on our church bells up in the bell tower.”

Alma Dresti remembers that the preparations began long in advance, with people cleaning, tidying, weeding and planting flowers.

Image caption Some parents dress their children in tartan on special occasions

Throughout the summer, groups of men and women gathered in the mountains above the village to practise old folk songs that they performed on the day, she says. She was 21 and her first daughter, just two months old, was the youngest villager in traditional costume that day.

“It was such an emotion to watch the procession from the church square – the baron, the mayor, all the guests and the bagpipe players. It was so different. I still get goosebumps when I think back to it.”

Her husband, Adriano Dresti, who was a village councillor at the time, has equally fond – though perhaps hazier – memories.

“We had a party in the municipal offices with the baron. There was an immediate feeling of kinship. He brought three or four crates of whisky!” he laughs.

The bar in the village had always been called the Scotch Bar (it’s now the circolo degli scozzesi – the Scottish social club) but after the ceremony the bond with Scotland was consolidated.

Silvano Dresti took up the bagpipes, though he is keen to specify that he plays the easier Italian variety, the baghet bergamasco.

Image caption Sylvano Dresti learned to play an Italian version of the bagpipes

His brother, Giorgio, once dropped in on the Gayre family at their home, Minard Castle, near Inveraray. “When he said he was from Gurro, they welcomed him in,” Silvano says.

Silvano has not visited the castle but will never forget the moment he finally made it to Scotland. His eyes mist as he remembers getting off the coach before crossing over the border from England. “The guide explained to us, ‘Over there that’s where Scotland begins’. It was then and there that I felt some emotions rise up inside me that I really can’t explain… Scotland… I remember thinking, ‘This is the land they say we come from.'”

Stepping off the bus in Edinburgh, he heard the sound of bagpipes. “I followed the sound through the streets until I reached the spot in front of a big store where there was a bagpiper in his kilt and finery. I already felt moved by the sound of bagpipes, but to be in the kingdom of Scottish bagpipes under the castle… that was so powerful.”

Image caption Gurro’s “Scottish social club” (the bar) is situated opposite the church

A new Gaelic connection was made when Sabrina Dresti, Alma and Adriano’s daughter, paid a visit to northern Scotland and fell in love with Sam MacDuff.

Could the story they so fondly embrace in Gurro convince a sceptical Scot?

“Well, at first I thought it was a joke,” Sam says. “But when I read about it, I think it’s possible, it’s at least plausible that there might have been some roots.”

Sam says his uncle, an academic at Edinburgh University and a genealogy and local history enthusiast, did some research of his own. “He looked into some of the claims about the names and historical side and I think there is a reasonable amount of evidence that it might in fact be based on a certain element of truth,” he says, cautiously.

His mother-in-law remembers the reaction in Gurro when news of the engagement was announced. “There were jokes like, ‘Your daughter’s going back to her roots, so now we have a real Scot and it’s not just a legend any more!'” Alma says.

Visiting Scotland for the wedding was a moving experience for Alma and Adriano. “It felt a bit like a return to our origins,” says Alma. “I think that all humans are happy to discover their origins and know they belong to a group. I felt at home there. I’d love to have confirmation that our story is true.”

Adriano says they looked for evidence, but to no avail. “We went to the baron’s village. We even went to an old graveyard to see if we could find some names that resembled ours. We didn’t find any that were similar but the emotion of that day was nice anyway.”

Keen for her wedding to reflect what she regards as their shared Scottish heritage, Sabrina convinced Sam to wear a kilt. “Yeah, for the first time in my life!” says Sam. “He did it mainly for me,” laughs Sabrina,” but also for this tradition.”

All pictures of Gurro taken by Katia Bernardi

See also: The most Scottish town in Tuscany (2011)

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[johnthestitcher]

The kilt I made in 2005 has shrunk 4 inches!

I put this kilt on this weekend and found out that the pockets (which were sewn on) no longer line up correctly, so I removed them and added loops so that they can hang from my belt. I was never a fan of cargo pockets on kilts, but this works. If I choose, I can always leave the pockets off and wear a regular sporran with it.

Pockets are too low and behind my hip bone. Now they are up where I can get at them easier.