#every day i am witness to new horrors on the bird site

[jacobglaser]

911twt is so cooked. If you voted for gay eddie over chris coming home you have to hand over your eddie diaz understander card, sorry but I don't make the rules.

[m0r1bund]

Happy Indigenous Peoples’ Day!

10/12/20:

So. If you’ve been here a year or more, you might know that I have this little journal from back in 2018 that I try to update every year with works from local indigenous artists / created in collaboration with indigenous folks.

It was once hosted on another site, but that one’s since gone to hell! So, I’m shuffling it over here and giving it a little TLC : -) Enjoy!

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10/8/18:

You can probably glean from my work that I owe intensely to the people of the Sonoran Desert and surrounding communities. Since it’s Indigenous Peoples’ Day, I’m going to share a few works from (mostly southwestern) native artists that have really impressed on me. If you enjoy anything that I do, I think you’ll enjoy their work even more!

Tyler Bighorse and Suite 104

I was introduced to the work of Tyler Bighorse in downtown Flagstaff, where he runs a gallery called Suite 104.

If you're ever in the area I really recommend dropping by! He sells prints and originals of his works there, as well as other local artists' work. (snagged this sick Legend of Zelda spread for my bro while I was up there.)

  Mulaka, by Lienzo

Synopsis, from their website:

Dive into northern Mexico’s breathtaking landscapes with Mulaka, a 3D action-adventure game based on the rich indigenous culture of the Tarahumara. Renowned for their impressive running abilities, embark on the journey of a Sukurúame - a Tarahumara shaman - as you fight back the foulness corrupting the land, while drawing upon the powers of demigods.

Mulaka was developed by the Chihuahua-based game company Lienzo in conjunction with Rarámuri leaders and anthropologists. Lienzo also aims to keep their game dev local to Chihuahua, which I think is extremely badass.

And the music just. rules. ( Town of Paquimé / Nini Areware Ne Chunume )

Quantum Tangle (Grey Gritt and Tiffany Ayalik)

Quantum Tangle is really really good. Like, really really good. Blurb from their old bandcamp:

Fusing of old-world sounds and new-world flair, the Juno Award-winning group Quantum Tangle is embracing their blended background. Combining their talents of throat singing, haunting melodies and traditional legends, Grey Gritt and Tiffany Ayalik are excited to present pieces that look back through history to challenge, educate and encourage the next generation to be socially aware.

The unfortunate news is that their website went down earlier in the year : -( But the good news is their work is still floating around the internet. I believe you can find them on Spotify and other streaming services as well. Here is a favorite, a love ode of sorts called Igluvut:

My other favourites for first-time listeners are Love is Love pt. 2 and Tiny Hands : -)

Oral History of the Yavapai, by Mike Harrison and John Williams

Three tribes of Yavapai got together at Bloody Basin. Kewevkepaya, Wipukpa and Yavepe. Three of them. They get together and cook mescal, cook deer. Get together and eat, dance and have a good time. But the soldiers met them there and killed them. Then the White people called the place Bloody Basin. Called it after our blood.

- Oral History of the Yavapai I originally stumbled across this book (in reality a word-for-word chronicle of oral history told by Mike Harrison and John Williams, two Yavapai elders) through one of the sources cited in this blog post: The True Victims of “Bloody Basin” Were the Yavapai.

It really struck me, because to that point all major publications that I'd read had unquestioningly ran the old U.S. Army account of how Bloody Basin got its name (Check out the Verde Independent’s article here, and AZcentral’s take here.) It frames the massacre not only as a “punitive expedition,” but also incorrectly names the victims as Tonto-Apache-- The Dilzhe’e are a distinct people, though the Yavapai people were often conflated with them. It’s much harder to get folks into books, but if you have any interest in the history of the Salt River Valley or surrounding areas at all, this was an invaluable read to me. Be aware that it is vibrant and devastating in equal measures-- but if you can handle it, I highly recommend it.

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10/14/19 Additions

The writing of Darcie Little Badger

The Whalebone Parrot and Owl Vs. The Neighborhood Watch were my introductions to Darcie's work and they are so, so full of wit, character, and ghoulish suspense... the kind of stories you would read to family and friends as Halloween closes in, this time of year. I am only familiar with her mystery and horror-adjacent short stories at the moment, but I hope to become better acquainted with her body of work in the near future. You can find a list here, many of which you can read online for free!

Anyway. Let me leave you with the Inherent Horror of Birds (from The Whalebone Parrot,) which I don't think I've seen any other writer capture so artfully:

I wonder if all parrots have dancing eyes. The pupils are in a state of constant flux, contracting and expanding. Big, small, big, small.

“What song is that?” I asked. Her pupils danced: large, small, large. She possessed parrot eyes and parrot songs.

10/12/20 Update: Darcie Little Badger recently published her first book, Elatsoe! Check it here : -)

Imagine an America very similar to our own. It’s got homework, best friends, and pistachio ice cream. There are some differences. This America has been shaped dramatically by the magic, monsters, knowledge, and legends of its peoples, those Indigenous and those not. Some of these forces are charmingly everyday, like the ability to make an orb of light appear or travel across the world through rings of fungi. But other forces are less charming and should never see the light of day.

Seventeen-year-old Elatsoe (“Ellie” for short) lives in this slightly stranger America. She can raise the ghosts of dead animals, a skill passed down through generations of her Lipan Apache family. Her beloved cousin has just been murdered, in a town that wants no prying eyes. But she is going to do more than pry. The picture-perfect façade of Willowbee masks gruesome secrets, and she will rely on her wits, skills, and friends to tear off the mask and protect her family.

The pottery of Nathan Youngblood

I learned of Nathan Youngblood's work scarcely a week ago, during a visit to the Heard Museum, and it very nearly made me start hooting and hollering in the middle of the museum. It is, without exaggeration, unlike any kind of craft I've ever seen before. His work is something of a marriage between the Santa Clara pottery tradition with Asian ceramics and other traditions world-wide, and it's a coupling that is at once startlingly familiar and yet completely unique.

The art, writing, and games of Elizabeth LaPensée

Elizabeth is perhaps best known for creating Thunderbird Strike!

(synopsis from its website: )

In the 2D sidescroller Thunderbird Strike, fly from the Tar Sands to the Great Lakes as a thunderbird protecting Turtle Island with searing lightning against the snake that threatens to swallow the lands and waters whole.

But she has a very wide and rich body of work, and among my personal favourites are her visual art. She employs digital collage to create these sort of iconographic pieces, and to me there's a certain joy in the way her work employs silhouette and contour, tracing the shape of a body, the environment within that body, and its place in its environment. It's not something that I can really do justice by describing, so here's a favourite from her ("Thunderbird Circles") that I have on my wall:

[momaeder]

REVIEW

REVIEW

The day has come, I had gotten a reservation at the restaurant that is most mysterious to the world. It is for that mystery that we decided to make an exception in the michelin policy of reviewing the restaurant with two inspectors, as the cook Lenny Bellardo only allows one single diner per night to enter his premises We know virtually nothing about this place, a lot has been said, nothing has ever been confirmed. We base our assumptions on the Trucks with foreign license plates entering the site and the single blank faces of the guest being spilled out at the end of each dinner. What morbid curiosity! The whole world is dying of curiosity.And it is absolutely to be expected it’s normal, we all want to see that which is hidden we all want to stare the forbidden in the face. [1] I turn the corner of Kundmanngasse and it appears infront of me. A dark place, and the veil in front. [2] at the back of which a three dimensional space is projected onto a two dimensional screen. [5] As If the lights coming from the house wanted to reveal to the world its inner workings. I hear the murmur of honey bees, the varied songs of many birds; riotously [36] tremendous flurry calling of slaves and butlers, and pandemonium among the cooks. [34] shaping, all, on one great tune with bees, insects, flowers and trees. [36] A man of stained white clothes welcomes me at the gate ushering me in. I feel a jet of warm air cascading over myself. [10] the smells are simple : roasting beef, some wine, presumably some scent of baking bread [11] and above my head, the birds chattering and singing in the elm trees. [18] There are truffles, tubers, and sponges; minerals, gems, and fossil woods; flowers, animals, fruits, grasses, and vegetables of the Old World and New; an aviary, so to speak, of magnificently depicted birds.[13] Along the retaining wall, a ramp sinks down into the earth..The space widens and the concrete wall becomes an opening. [15] Above the entrance to the open hall I see an array  of slow turning axial flow fans [17] whispering the scents of the kitchen into the atmosphere of the garden The hall is large, cold, and all but empty. [19] The merchants dealing with cooks with imports and sales settled over here. [20] The ingredients are sorted into 150 specific coded categories. [23] The most bizarre thing I see? That would have to be a frozen lizard. [17] freezing in a closed container, with water clocks and with air withdrawn or evacuated from a container [26] As we walk through the large gate. I feel a special sense of power, of entitlement as I walked through this gate and into the intestines, the inner working of this building. As if I was some kind of mobster in the movies walking through the dark and twisted hallways of the establishment he owns. I can’t help but picture myself walking through the kitchen experiencing all the scents and maybe even hear an ortolan squeal as it is drowned in armagnac. Open the wall, open the hymen, open the veil: death. [9] cold. Silence. a Catalogue of 10, 000 stars. [29] White light is broken [through the ice] into the spectrum of the rainbow and absorbs it, just as the tail of the peacock folds back after it spreads.If you want to become everything, accept being nothing.Yes.The transparent void. [31] 

In this closed cell, this temporary sepulchre, the myths of resurrection arise easily enough. [15] Locked in frozen layers, a universe of ancient creatures awaits another chance at life. [16] as we move to the kitchen. I witness a transformation of substances and a dissolution of forms, a passage to the limit or flight from contours in favor of fluid forces, flows, air, light, and matter, such that a body or a word does not end at a precise point. [27] there is nothing but the immense noise of the ocean. Chaos, noise, disorder. The base of existence. [...] Behind power, behind the ultimate power, behind the universal appetite, in their vicinity, on their edge, noise spills out into space. [24] And through the blazing mist of the shining red atmosphere of noise I see him for the first time. Through the noise produced by excited molecules. [...] Lenny Bellardo the mixer of meanings or voices, the dissolution of signals in the fog of noise, is thus this very same excitation, or the one who gets it.[...] It is not uninteresting to have a single operator. he warms the room, gives a fever, increases agitation and thermal disorder. [22] his arms raised if he were making a sign to someone I could not see, or like the conductor of an orchestra [...] violent rhythms succeed a graceful andante. As we move from the kitchen to the dining room a curtain is opened for me to move into the vast white space that is behind it. Defined by purely white walls and covered by a glass roof whose grid seems to structure the nothingnness and define the place for the sole table standing in the middle of the room. As I move forth under the glass cupola , I understand that it is not the environment that is unknown but rathermy, my own body, that becomes the point of interest of the room: the cover of white rhomboidal glass on the outside, and of hundreds of polished and colored crystals on the inside, that tinges with dozens of colors and marks of light any object and person that is within its interior. [34] The white space itself is in turn circumscribed, redoubled by a veil or a net which is superimposed, and gives it a volume, or rather what one calls in oceanography a shallow depth. [35] I take a seat on the rudimentary, singular chair and wait. Reflecting on the turbulence of the frozen ingredients, the frozen histories dissolved and ready to be reassembled. I remain alone in anticipation. Ataraxy is the material background of being, the permanent murmur against which the flying words stand out, birth and death. [...] The eternal silence of these infinite spaces soothes me  The circle, beginning in the hollow of the swell and passing through two neighbouring crests, includes the same space as those which delimit the high and low waves. [35] Then a sound of the soft fabric being pulled apart. Out of the passage I had just walked through arise two waiters, carrying together on their shoulders one single Platter. I try not to turn my head as to reveal my juvenile excitemennt. I wait patiently as the plate is slowly lowered on the table and the abundance of food on it is revealed.

Arranged like a still life, I see the finest of all delicacies. The plate contains the many coloured multiplicities as its object. [...]  garnished with every type of vegetable and fruit, macedoine, jardiniere, pudding, stuffing  farce, pate, stew, pot pourri or hodgepodge, not forgetting the meats. [39] Carrying colours, gestures and scents, this route traverses the basement window of their eyes, the orifices of their sense of smell or of their heat sensitive organs, and passes through the light of these narrow skylights; a few calls, sounds, certain words also cross their hearing. [36] Our movements through time and space seem somehow trivial compared to a heap of boiled meat in broth, the smell of saffron, garlic, fishbones, and Pernod. [38] The abundance emodied. Each delicacy slightly altered from what I’ve known and would have expected, arranged in uncommon constellations. through the fusion or confusion of vicinities, erasing its swirls of colour while preserving its effectiveness. [40] And in the center of all: The holy grail. The ortolan. Appearing miniscule among all those indulgences but bearing in itself the absolution of pleasure. Its force so strong that everything else seems to be rotating just around this tiny songbird. But as it is custom the ortolan will remain on the plate until everything else is eaten, being the pinnacle of all culinary sensation. The waiters leave and I am left alone with the indulgences. I take in the first bite. liquids dissolve into fluids, or solids, as poorly cohesive as flesh, into thin or thick sauces, thereby obtaining subtle liaisons.Where does meat end and stew begin? Sometimes even our sense of taste cannot distinguish. Our body has difficulty knowing where one sense, place or part begins, and where another sense, a second place or nearby patch ends. [41] it is the whole of things, between their birth and their collapse [...] An irreversible, irrevocable time, pointing like the endless flow of atoms, flowing, rushing, crashing towards fall and death. Things are heavy: they sink down, seeking their peaceful rest. [42] I gorge through the delicacies which for what seems like an eternity. I am not sure if that is so because it is the best meal I have ever had or because of my longing for the precious ortolan. But then, the moment has come, as I take the last bite I hear the curtain being pulled open again. Out of the darkness arises the figure I had seen last through the hazy red noise of the kitchen. But now he appears crystal clear. without the word, he walks up to the table. In awe I bow my head and look down at the ortolan a tiny, roasted bird. head, beak, and feet still attached, guts intact inside its plump little belly. I lean forward as the host high pours from a bottle of Armagnac, dousing the bird then ignites it [43] Eager to indulge upon the bird I look around the table for the napkin that is traditionally used to cover the faces of and allows diners to savor the aromas and enjoy some privacy while devouring the bird or hide their indulgence from the eyes of God.  But it is missing, instead Lenny looks me straight in the eye affirmatively as to tell me to go ahead. 

Here I am in turn, the last, at the pinnacle of power, at the very instant of committing the sin. [44] An internal law rules up to a threshold, after which the law is changed. [...] The five senses stop at these thresholds which it is now a question of going beyond. the Gates of Hell or Paradise. The horror, rather, of those who detest experience, or the ecstasy of those who bathe in it. Let’s go beyond these childish [...] The mouths of bodies and things open. [45] I take the ortolan, I close my eyes, and open my mouth. I accept my dissolution in the burning plasma of matter. [46] First comes the skin and the fat. It’s hot. So hot that I’m drawing short, panicky, circular breaths in and out like a high-speed trumpet player, breathing around the ortolan, shifting it gingerly around my mouth with my tongue so I don’t burn myself. [...]  There’s a vestigial flavor of Armagnac, low-hanging fumes of airborne fat particles, an intoxicating, delicious miasma. Time goes by. Seconds? Moments? I don’t know. [...] I bring my molars slowly down and through the bird’s rib cage with a wet crunch and am rewarded with a scalding hot rush of burning fat and guts down my throat. Rarely have pain and delight combined so well. I’m giddily uncomfortable, breathing in short, controlled gasps as I continue, slowly ever so slowly to chew. With every bite, as the thin bones and layers of fat, meat, skin, and organs compact in on themselves, there are sublime dribbles of varied and wondrous ancient flavors: figs, Armagnac, dark flesh slightly infused with the salty taste of my own blood as my mouth is pricked by the sharp bones. As I swallow, I draw in the head and beak, which, until now, had been hanging from my lips, and blithely crush the skull. What is left is the fat. A coating of nearly imperceptible yet unforgettable-tasting abdominal fat. [43] I witness a transformation of substances and a dissolution of forms, a passage to the limit or flight from contours in favor of fluid forces, flows, air, light, and matter, such that a body or a word does not end at a precise point. [27] Language or sounds, breezes, scents, shadows and songs, shapes, ecstasy? [47] They touch on the obscure sources of human pain and desire and can thus unleash very powerful emotions. [48] Dreams and madness then reveal themselves to be made of the same substance. [49] I take a second to let the last aromas dissolve on my tongue As I open my eyes again, I am blinded by the light of the room and as my eyes slowly get used to the light again I see Lenny. Not looking at me anymore but at the window in the ceiling. Where just moments ago the cloth of the veil covered the glass, now stands tall and judgingly the reflection of the moon mirrored in the façade of the neighbouring building.  Bright, distorted and fragmented by the still lit windows. My face is frozen in terror. [55] All the force goes from the inside to the outside, from the black box to its lit up threshold, from the hidden to the publicly posted, from veil to unveiling, from the entangled to taking apart thread by thread.  [50] Madness surges upon me. The justice of this form of madness lies precisely in its capacity to unveil the truth.Its truthfulness lies in the fact that in the vain delirium of my hallucinations [...] Truthfulness also lies in the fact that the crime that was hidden from all becomes apparent in the night of this strange punishment. [51]

I have no option but to consider myself guilty. My torture had been my glory: my deliverance was my humiliation. [52] I sit here in disbelief as the two waiters who had brought the food, come to escort me out of the building. We leave the white room through a door, I had not noticed until now. We enter an elevator. as the elevator moves downward crushing silence reigns. The doors open and I am placed out in the city again. Lost. I stop frozen with ecstasy on the sidewalk. [53] how can the resurrection of the body occur when the dead body has disintegrated so far as to be nearly impossible to re assemble? [54] Gluttony, laziness, lust, and anger pass from the confessional to the laboratory, from spiritual and subjective intention to rational evidence and obligation, both final and causal. [65] But the madman unveiled the terminal truth of man : he showed how far he could be pushed by the passions, life in society and everything that distanced him from a primitive nature that knew no madness. [57 he has only found a new way of judging life, of universalizing the condemnation of life, by internalizing sin” [58] The bringer of sin and death necessarily also brought healing and life. [59] I see that it has not changed; and yet I see it differently. [60] Why write about an object that is disappearing, in a language that is dying? [...]The five senses, still on the verge of departure towards another adventure, a ghost of the real timidly described in a ghost of language. this is my verdict. [61]

[1] The Young Pope [2] Serres, Rome [5] Ockmann, Architecture Culture 1943 1968 [36] Serres, Hominescence [34] Seneca, Complete Works [10] Asimov, Complete Robot Anthology [11] Bradley, Smell and the Ancient Senses [18] Hugo, Les Miserables [13] Braidotti Hlavajova, Posthuman Glossary [15] Leatherbarrow Eisenschmidt, Twentieth Century Architecture [17] Banham, The Architecture of the Well Tempered Enviroment [19] Asimov, Complete Robot Anthology [20] Saunders, The Art and Architecture of London [23] Zimring, Encyclopedia of Consumption and Waste [17] Zimring, Encyclopedia of Consumption and Waste [26] Schmitt, The Cambridge History of Renaissance Philosophy [9] Serres, Rome [29] Serres, History of Scientific Thought [31] Serres, Troubadour of Knowledge [15] Foucault, Discipline and Punish [16] Braidotti Hlavajova, Posthuman Glossary [27] Deleuze Guattari, A Thousand Plateaus [24] Serres, The Parasite [22] Serres, The Parasite [34] Hays, Architecture Theory since 1968 [35] Serres, The Birth of Physics [36] Serres, Hominescence [38] Bourdain [39] Serres, Rome [40] Serres, The Five Senses [41] Serres, The Five Senses [42] Serres, The Birth of Physics [43] Bourdain, Medium Raw [44] Serres, Troubadour of Knowledge [45] Serres, Statues [46] Serres, The Birth of Physics [47] Serres, The Five Senses [48] Armstrong, Jerusalem One City Three Faiths [49] Foucault, History of Madness [50] Serres, Rome [51] Foucault, History of Madness [52] Foucault, History of Madness [53] Kerouac, On The Road [54] Powers, The Overstory [55] Negarestani Mackay, Collapse Volume VII [56] Wittgenstein, Philosophical Investigations [57] Foucault, History of Madness [58] Deleuze, Pure Immanence [59] Foucault, History of Madness [60] Wittgenstein, Philosophical Investigations [61] Buehlmann, Mathematics and Information in the Philosophy of Michel Serres [62] Saunders, The Art and Architecture of London [63] Marzano, The Roman Villa in the Mediterranean Basin [64] Burros, New York Times [65] Serres Latour, Conversations on Science Culture and Time

[bites-kms]

Silence is the most powerful scream

“How come I didn’t know about this sooner?” “Why no one told me about this atrocity?” “Why dont they teach this at school?” “What was the world doing while this shit was happening?” 

Those were the questions I remember asking to myself, without finding any appropriate nor satisfying answer. I sat down on one of the first right rows of the tour bus which was taking us to the Phnom Phen New Market. I was almost in an incredulous mode, wondering and thinking, feeling and crying, shivering and with goose bumps, looking and asking non sense questions to my friend Gabriel, who was sitting as perplex as me on the opposite seat.

We just left the S-21 memorial, ex torture chamber and ex-ex-school. It was such a moving experience. I had to spend 6 years processing - 3 of them living in Asia, meeting and caring for people who I now call family and a 2.5 hrs movie for me to understand how deep it touched me. Only now I can write something about it.

The S-21, also known as Tuol Sleng, was the Khmer Rouge's main prison and torture center. It’s unbelievable that a place that once was used as a happy, gathering and learning den for kids became such thing. I think this is the key element that makes the whole experience even more perverse. Everything is as it was: the desk that once taught stories, grammar and math, where now chained to the floor and used as torture devices where to sit people while questioning them, punishing them and killing them softly. 

The Communist Party of Kampuchea (CPK), also known as the Khmer Rouge (Red Khmer) ruled Cambodia from April 17, 1975, until January 1979. In 1976, the Khmer Rouge established the state of Democratic Kampuchea.

In the four years that the Khmer Rouge ruled Cambodia, it was responsible for one of the worst mass killings of the 20th Century. The brutal regime claimed the lives of up to two million people, more than a quarter of the total population. 

Under the Marxist leader Pol Pot, the Khmer Rouge tried to take Cambodia back to the Middle Ages, forcing millions of people from the cities to work on communal farms in the countryside.

But this dramatic attempt at social engineering had a terrible cost. Entire families died from execution, starvation, disease and overwork. My Vietnamese friends witnessed part of the horror and their stories still echo in my mind, giving me the chills every time I remember them. 

Just by wearing reading glasses you would get killed. According to them, you “looked” as an intellectual, and the revolution couldnt afford any mistakes. Pol Pot used to say “better to kill an innocent by mistake than spare an enemy by mistake”. And so they did. Blank range shoot to your forehead by wearing glasses in the middle of the street, just in case. If you were an artist, forget it. If you were a teacher, you needed to lie about your profession. If you were a dancer or a performer, your life may be spared but your limbs would be cut off. If you were a monk, you were consider a “parasite” to society and you were either slaved into force labor or killed in an instant without hesitation. 

Another terrifying aspect of this atrocity was that most of the affected people were kids: boys and girls who were left without family, who turned into their brother and sisters for support, who were considered as wet mud to shape the perfect army of soldiers and revolution devotees, children who never before were exposed to guns nor violence, but that now were building bombs, explosives and other kind of deadly machines and artillery. 

The Killing Fields is how the deadly extermination camp near Choeung Ek village is called. Today, it is the site of a Buddhist memorial to the victims, and Tuol Sleng has a museum commemorating the genocide. The memorial park at Choeung Ek has been built around the mass graves of many thousands of victims, most of whom were executed after interrogation at the S-21 Prison in Phnom Penh. The majority of those buried at Choeung Ek were Khmer Rouge victims during the purges within the regime. Many dozens of mass graves are visible above ground, many which have not been excavated yet. Commonly, bones and clothing surface after heavy rainfalls due to the large number of bodies still buried in shallow mass graves. It is not uncommon to run across the bones or teeth of the victims scattered on the surface as one tours the memorial park. If these are found, visitors are asked to notify a memorial park officer or guide.

It was hardcore. Indeed. I was perplex. I remember a daunting silence while some chipping birds interrupted, as a wake up call to your trance. Once again, I  didnt realize how deep and how much it impacted me until I realized I needed to write about what happened in Cambodia in a meaningful way. 

But Cambodia should not be defined by atrocities nor sad events; on the contrary, these issues fostered one of the most grateful, cheerful and beautiful people in SEA. This actually drives me quite angry, specially with Cambodia, but unfortunately is an common western issue: people associate South East Asian countries with poverty, prostitution or communism, instead of focusing on the good side of them: their people, their rich history, their safety, their delicious food and their breathtaking views. So hey you, Western Tourist! Stop being a tourist and start becoming a traveler! You are missing so MUCH you wont believe. Forget your Instagram account and start interacting with these wonderful people - dont read the lonely planet, read novels, watch movies, talk to locals. Travel with your mind and heart as much as you can travel with your feet. 

Due to the recent war, there are many orphanages in Phnom Penh and all around the country, and some of the people who were traveling with me had very strong feelings regarding this: they didnt want to interact whatsoever with these institutions, since they believed they were forcing kids into child-labor. Of course I had a different perspective on the matter: teaching skills such as cooking, sewing, crafts  is something worth learning, it is not very different from another technical skill they can learn at school. The money which they gain by selling those items (not at the street, but on the orphanage itself) went either to them (if they were considered old enough) creating a feeling of pride and ownership or to the institution as a whole to use for food and infrastructure for the place. I didn't buy anything (coz there’s still a portion of me that doubts about the actually destination of the money) but I was and I am still convinced that my presence there made a change: even if its was for only those 20 mins we shared, those kids were happier and laughing because of us, they were practicing English, they felt important, they loved the pictures, they hang the polaroids on their walls, they were truly and sincerely full of joy. And that, is already worthy.

Not only the kids and their happiness is something worth mentioning and remembering but also the majestic shape and feeling of Angkor Wat. At the beginning, this was the only thing I knew about Cambodia, but then it transformed into the temple which opened the door to so much more Cambodia to see and admire behind its walls. 

It is the the biggest and best kept hindi temple in the world. It is considered as the biggest religious structured ever built and one of the most important archeological treasures of the world. I am happy the the Google Cultural Center and Phibious (an agency I am proud to had called home) got together to make this amazing event happened and took Angkor to the World with Google Street View. 

It was built by the Khmer King Suryavarman II in the early 12th century in Yaśodharapura (Khmer: យសោធរបុរៈ, present-day Angkor), the capital of the Khmer Empire, as his state temple and eventual mausoleum. Breaking from the Shaiva tradition of previous kings, Angkor Wat was instead dedicated to Vishnu. As the best-preserved temple at the site, it is the only one to have remained a significant religious centre since its foundation. The temple is at the top of the high classical style of Khmer architecture. It has become a symbol of Cambodia, appearing on its national flag, and it is the country's prime attraction for visitors.

Today, Im happy to claim that Cambodia - along with the rest of South East Asia- stole a piece of my heart and this is just a little tribute I am making to this great Country, who is only as great as its people and faith. 

[joegannonfreebird]

The week I spent in Tulum was one of the major highlights on my journey through this region of Mexico. Not even getting bit by a stray dog on my first full day could ruin all that lie ahead of me. Exploring the natural wonders and participating in an inspiring plant medicine ceremony in this gorgeous coastal city with a bunch of new friends from all over the world can help you get over just about anything.

I arrived in Tulum late at night and was welcomed to the hostel by a couple of friendly Argentinian guys who showed me to my room at the Lobo Inn Hostel.

First thing after breakfast the next morning I hopped on my complimentary rental bike from the hostel and headed into town. About five minutes into my journey I heard a dog barking behind me.

  Then it got closer… and closer… until the poor hungry bastard bit my heel. Lucky for me he found the stench of my feet unbearable and walked away immediately after his first taste. I didn’t incur any major injuries or get rabies… I hope.

    After drowning the wound in antiseptic to assure that I wouldn’t transform into a werewolf during the next full moon, I headed to visit my friend Rodrigo‘s collective shop, TAI Gallery.

    Rodrigo and I met at an Ayahuasca ceremony in Tepoztlán back in February of last year. After the ceremony, we began to chat and he told me that if I were ever in town when he had a peyote ceremony I should join. Obviously I agreed and here I am in Tulum a little over a year later. That story I’ll save for the end of this post as it served as the grand finale of my week long stay in this magical city.

  In his gallery, located in downtown Tulum on the corner of Chetumal-Cancún/ Mexico 307 & Acquario Sur, all the jewelry is made by the shamans of the indigenous people of the Wixarika or Huichol community.

  When the Wixarika people are in ceremony, they have visions of what they need to do in their lives, so kauyumari (the blue deer) gives them all the tools to keep walking and leave offerings.

One of these skills in particular is the ability to make beautiful jewelry, so they have an income to make a living for themselves and their families. All the jewelry is inspired directly from visions they have during ceremonies. The colors to put in, the history and prayer that goes into each bead they use is a gift of patience, talent, and of course, love.

With the ceremony at the end of the week, I had plenty of time to explore the rest of the city and the surrounding areas!

THE BEACHES & RUINS OF TULUM Tulum is home to some of the most gorgeous soft sand beaches in all of Mexico, so I made sure to explore them immediately after meeting up with Rodrigo.

And may I just add how much I’ve missed being surrounded by palm trees. Being among them again without a doubt brings me back to my happy place.

After the beach, I popped over to the Ancient Mayan Ruins of Tulum… since I was in the neighborhood. They are located in a gorgeous setting immersed in flora and fauna. Here is the site of a pre-Columbian Mayan walled city serving as a major port for Cobá. The ruins are situated on 12-meter (39 ft) tall cliffs, along the east coast of the Yucatán Peninsula on the Caribbean Sea in the state of Quintana Roo, Mexico. Tulum was one of the last cities built and inhabited by the Maya; it was at its height between the 13th and 15th centuries and managed to survive about 70 years after the Spanish began occupying Mexico. Old World diseases brought by the Spanish settlers appear to have resulted in very high fatalities, disrupting the society and eventually causing the city to be abandoned.

Map of the Tulum Ruins

Slideshow below for your viewing pleasure.

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RUINS & CENOTES OF COBA WITH FINN

The following day I met up with my friend Finn from Germany that I met back in Cancún. Together we’d explore the ruins and cenotes of Coba, just an hour collectivo ride north of Tulum.

Coba is an ancient Mayan city on the Yucatán Peninsula, located in the Mexican state of Quintana Roo. The site is the nexus of the largest network of stone causeways of the ancient Mayan world, and it contains many engraved and sculpted stelae that document ceremonial life and important events of the Late Classic Period (AD 600–900) of Mesoamerican civilization.

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After exploring and scaling the ruins of Coba, we rented some bikes and took off for the cenotes just a few miles away.

Join us in our descent into the Earth to the cenote through the hyperlapse video below.

  I don’t recall anything I’ve done in this life more refreshing than jumping into the fresh mineral waters of a cenote deep within the Earth. In case you’re wondering, cenotes are natural pits or sinkholes resulting from the collapse of limestone bedrock that exposes groundwater underneath. Especially associated with the Yucatán Peninsula of Mexico, they were sometimes used by the ancient Maya for sacrificial offerings.

So of course I offered myself as a sacrifice to these deliciously crisp waters!

Once back in the city, we headed out for some tacos al pastor, beers and live music. I was beyond delighted to hear the sounds of Bob Dylan being played by a local guitarist at Batey Mojito & Guarapo Bar in downtown Tulum.

MORE CENOTES WITH THE GERMAN GIRLS FROM CANCUN AND NEW FRIENDS FROM SWITZERLAND AND MEXICO CITY

The next day I met up with the German girls, Mary and Nina, that I met back in Cancún. I went to their hostel before we headed to what we were told were the best cenotes in the area.

But first I had to get a photo with the biggest dream catcher I’ve ever seen. Needless to say, the term “dream big” became the recurring joke of the day.

  Once the rest of the group got their rental bikes, we headed off on our 20 mile journey north of Tulum to the Dos Ojos Cenote.

Biking a total of 40 miles round trip isn’t all that bad, but doing so on a hot day on old beach cruisers adds a couple extra layers of difficulty to the task.

  Needless to say we worked up one hell of an appetite, so before diving into the caves we made sure to fill up on a ton of fresh ceviche.

      Now we’re ready for our descent into these gorgeous caves sculpted by nature for us to enjoy.

            It’s impossible to capture the beauty these places possess or how amazing it is to swim in these natural wonders using just a camera, but at very least I tried!

      The fish in the cenotes kept nipping at the dead skin from the wound I received from my dog bite from the other day. Thanks… I guess?

    Once finished bathing in the caves of the Dos Ojos Cenote, we got a group shot with Nina’s camera before heading back to Tulum.

  From left to right: Mary, Joe, Lena, Nina, Florian, Gaby, Mauricio & Yannick

  On the 20 mile trek back to Tulum, of course someone’s bike chain had to fall off every mile or so. This was not annoying in any way shape or form.

          With everyone parting ways the next day for different cities, we capped off our time in Tulum with a little sunset beach fiesta… because why not? That would serve as my last hurrah before what I’ve been anticipating for the past few days…

PEYOTE CEREMONY

After a week of adventures, more bicycling than I’ve done in my whole life and partying with new friends, now was the time to cleanse myself and set my intentions for the grand finale of my time in Tulum. After meeting Lee at the bus station, we arrived at the ceremony with and empty stomachs along with our offerings of fruit and flowers. I have always found that whenever I go into a situation with absolutely no expectations it usually works out for the best. In this particular situation, I was absolutely right and received much guidance on my journey with Abuelo Peyote.

Once the medicine took hold and I closed my eyes in prayer to receive whatever message was coming through, I saw what appeared to by sacred geometry in a multitude of colors. The best representation of what saw can be seen in the photo below.

I learned quite a bit about myself from the ceremony and let go of a lot of negative thoughts that I’ve been carrying around that no longer served me. There was one vision I had in particular that showed me the path of our world unless drastic changes in global consciousness are made. I saw what our fate would be if we blindly continue down the same path. Down this road, the truth will become so incredibly horrible that we will applaud those who deter from it and create their own alternative realities. People will be lining up to plug themselves into virtual reality-like devices to escape the horror of the world they live in. Message well-received.

To the left is a photo of the shaman who guided us through the ceremony with hours upon hours of chanting and blessing. There were certain acts he performed that I will not write about out of respect for the Wixarika culture. What I witnessed was nothing short of magic and I don’t believe I’ll ever be able to fully explain it to anyone who wasn’t there to partake in the ceremony.

The sacred fire burned all through the night until the sun lit up the sky once more. Afterward we gathered our offerings of fruits, vegetables and flowers and headed to the beach to offer them to the ocean as we watched the sun rise over the ocean.

I’ve had my fair share of plant medicine ceremonies over the past year, but this one was very special and I wanted something to remember it.

As I mentioned earlier, there is a plethora of jewelry created by the Wixarika or Huichol people available at Rodrigo’s TAI Gallery located in downtown Tulum. After browsing through the shop and seeing the gorgeous bracelet pictured to the right with a vision of a bird weaved into into it, I immediately knew it was made for me.

The person I’ve been involving into over my past year and a half of travel values the lessons and the experiences we take with us when our bodies die and are given back to the earth and our spirit returns to source. In my new way of living, material objects serve little purpose unless they act as a reminder to the aforementioned.

  Plant medicine ceremonies have become a staple in my personal and spiritual development over the past year and have been one of the most effective methods of deprogramming the fear-based agenda fed into my cerebral cortex through various means of advertising over the years. For anyone considering taking part in a ceremony of any type allow me to offer some advice. Do not come into the ceremony thinking that it is going to be an immediate fix for whatever problem you are facing. When done properly, each ceremony will help you unlock the tools you have within yourself to transcend whatever obstacles you have to overcome. It is a never-ending journey each of us has to walk and no path is ever the same.

QUICK UPDATE

Just recently, I was delighted to hear that thanks to a little networking, my new friend Lee from Isla Mujeres was able to arrange an Ayahuasca ceremony at the same location we had the peyote ceremony the previous month. It is one of the greatest gifts in life for me to play even the smallest part in the divine timing that helps connect others through ceremony.

With a spiritually expansive week in Tulum in the books, the next stop of my journey would be Merida, the capital city of Yucatán. Here I’d meet yet another person referred to me through another good friend that I met in my travels last year. She and I would go exploring some of the most impressive ruins I’ve ever seen in the ancient city of Uxmal just south of Merida. Afterward I’d head to the coastal city of Campeche where I’d learn all about the history of its indigenous people, conquistadors and pirates!

See you there next time and thanks for following!

My Week in Tulum: Not Even a Stray Dog Attack Could Ruin My Shamanic Peyote Ceremony & Exploring the Natural Wonders with New Friends The week I spent in Tulum was one of the major highlights on my journey through this region of Mexico.

[aion-rsa]

Best New Horror Books in October 2018

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Looking for a good horror read? Here are some of the best new horror books to be released in October 2018.

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The Lists Kayti Burt

Horror Books

Oct 22, 2018

'Tis the spookiest of seasons, which means it is the absolute best time to read some horror! Here are some of the horror books coming out in October that we are most looking forward to checking out here at Den of Geek...

Have you joined the Den of Geek Book Club? You should!

Best New Horror Books in October 2018

Blood Communion by Anne Rice

Type: Part of the Vampire Chronicles series Publisher: Knopf Release date: October 2nd

The Vampire Chronicles continue with a riveting, rich saga--part adventure, part suspense--of Prince Lestat and the story of the Blood Communion as he tells the tale of his coming to rule the vampire world and the eternal struggle to find belonging, a place in the universe for the undead, and how, against his will, he must battle the menacing, seemingly unstoppable force determined to thwart his vision and destroy the entire vampire netherworld.

In this spellbinding novel, Lestat, rebel outlaw, addresses the tribe of vampires, directly, intimately, passionately, and tells the mesmerizing story of the formation of the Blood Communion and how he became Prince of the vampire world, the true ruler of this vast realm, and how his vision for all the Children of the Universe to thrive as one, came to be.

The tale spills from Lestat's heart, as he speaks first of his new existence as reigning monarch--and then of his fierce battle of wits and words with the mysterious Rhoshamandes, proud Child of the Millennia, reviled outcast for his senseless slaughter of the legendary ancient vampire Maharet, avowed enemy of Queen Akasha; Rhoshamandes, a demon spirit who refuses to live in harmony at the Court of Prince Lestat and threatens all that Lestat has dreamt of.

As the tale unfolds, Lestat takes us from the towers and battlements of his ancestral castle in the snow-covered mountains of France to the verdant wilds of lush Louisiana with its lingering fragrances of magnolias and night jasmine; from the far reaches of the Pacific's untouched islands to the 18th-century city of St. Petersburg and the court of the Empress Catherine...

Read Blood Communion by Anne Rice

Read our full review of Blood Communion by Anne Rice here.

Plight of the Living Dead: What Real-Life Zombies Reveal About Our World—And Ourselves

Type: Standalone non-fiction Publisher: Penguin Release date: October 2nd

A brain-bending exploration of real-life zombies and mind controllers, and what they reveal to us about nature—and ourselves.

Zombieism isn’t just the stuff of movies and TV shows like The Walking Dead. It’s real, and it’s happening in the world around us, from wasps and worms to dogs and moose—and even humans.

In Plight of the Living Dead, science journalist Matt Simon documents his journey through the bizarre evolutionary history of mind control. Along the way, he visits a lab where scientists infect ants with zombifying fungi, joins the search for kamikaze crickets in the hills of New Mexico, and travels to Israel to meet the wasp that stings cockroaches in the brain before leading them to their doom.

Nothing Hollywood dreams up can match the brilliant, horrific zombies that natural selection has produced time and time again. Plight of the Living Dead is a surreal dive into a world that would be totally unbelievable if very smart scientists didn’t happen to be proving it’s real, and most troublingly—or maybe intriguingly—of all: how even we humans are affected.

Read Plight of the Living Dead by Matt Simon

Dracul by Dacre Stoker and JD Barker

Type: Prequel to Dracula Publisher: G.P. Putnam's Sons Release date: October 2nd

The prequel to Dracula, inspired by notes and texts left behind by the author of the classic novel, Dracul is a supernatural thriller that reveals not only Dracula’s true origins but Bram Stoker’s—and the tale of the enigmatic woman who connects them.

It is 1868, and a twenty-one-year-old Bram Stoker waits in a desolate tower to face an indescribable evil. Armed only with crucifixes, holy water, and a rifle, he prays to survive a single night, the longest of his life. Desperate to record what he has witnessed, Bram scribbles down the events that led him here...

A sickly child, Bram spent his early days bedridden in his parents' Dublin home, tended to by his caretaker, a young woman named Ellen Crone. When a string of strange deaths occur in a nearby town, Bram and his sister Matilda detect a pattern of bizarre behavior by Ellen—a mystery that deepens chillingly until Ellen vanishes suddenly from their lives. Years later, Matilda returns from studying in Paris to tell Bram the news that she has seen Ellen—and that the nightmare they've thought long ended is only beginning.

Read Dracul by Dacre Stoker and JD Barker

The World of Lore: Dreadful Places by Aaron Mahnke

Type: Standalone non-fiction Publisher: Del Rey Release date: October 9th

Captivating stories of the places where human evil has left a nefarious mark, featuring stories from the podcast Lore—now a streaming television series—including “Echoes,” “Withering Heights,” and “Behind Closed Doors” as well as rare material.   Sometimes you walk into a room, a building, or even a town, and you feel it. Something seems off—an atmosphere that leaves you oddly unsettled, with a sense of lingering darkness. Join Aaron Mahnke, the host of the popular podcast Lore, as he explores some of these dreadful places and the history that haunts them.   Mahnke takes us to Colorado and the palatial Stanley Hotel, where wealthy guests enjoyed views of the Rocky Mountains at the turn of the twentieth century—and where, decades later, a restless author would awaken from a nightmare, inspired to write one of the most revered horror novels of all time. Mahnke also crosses land and sea to visit frightful sites—from New Orleans to Richmond, Virginia, to the brooding, ancient castles of England—each with its own echoes of dark deeds, horrible tragedies, and shocking evil still resounding.   Filled with evocative illustrations, this eerie tour of lurid landmarks and doomed destinations is just the ticket to take armchair travelers with a taste for the macabre to places they never thought they’d visit in their wildest, scariest dreams.

Read The World of Lore: Dreadful Places

I Am Behind You by John Ajvide Lindqvist

Type: Standalone novel Publisher: St. Martin's Press Release date: October 16th

A compelling, eerie new novel from the internationally bestselling author of Let the Right One In.

"At the top of his game, Lindqvist gives Stephen King and John Saul at their best a run for the money." —Library Journal (starred) 

"Dubbed the Stephen King of Sweden, Lindqvist lives up to the billing." —New York Post

Four families wake up one morning in their trailer on an ordinary campsite. However, during the night something strange has happened. Everything outside the camping grounds has disappeared, and the world has been transformed into an endless expanse of grass. The sky is blue, but there is no sign of the sun; there are no trees, no flowers, no birds. And every radio plays nothing but the songs of sixties pop icon Peter Himmelstrand.

As the holiday-makers try to come to terms with what has happened, they are forced to confront their deepest fears and secret desires. Past events that each of them has tried to bury rise to the surface and take on terrifying physical forms. Can any of them find a way back to reality?

Read I Am Behind You by John Ajvide Lindqvist

In the House in the Dark of the Woods by Laird Hunt

Type: Standalone Publisher: Little, Brown and Company Release date: October 16th

The eerie, disturbing story of one of our perennial fascinations--witchcraft in colonial America--wrapped up in a lyrical novel of psychological suspense.

"Once upon a time there was and there wasn't a woman who went to the woods."

In this horror story set in colonial New England, a law-abiding Puritan woman goes missing. Or perhaps she has fled or abandoned her family. Or perhaps she's been kidnapped, and set loose to wander in the dense woods of the north. Alone and possibly lost, she meets another woman in the forest. Then everything changes.

On a journey that will take her through dark woods full of almost-human wolves, through a deep well wet with the screams of men, and on a living ship made of human bones, our heroine may find that the evil she flees has been inside her all along. In the House in the Dark of the Woodsis a novel of psychological horror and suspense told in Laird Hunt's characteristically lyrical prose style. It is the story of a bewitching, a betrayal, a master huntress and her quarry. It is a story of anger, of evil, of hatred and of redemption. It is the story of a haunting, a story that makes up the bedrock of American mythology, but told in a vivid way you will never forget.

Read In the House in the Dark of the Woods by Laird Hunt

Slender Man by Anonymous

Type: Epistolary novel Publisher: Harper Voyager Release date: October 23rd

One man’s search for the truth about one of the most intriguing urban legends ever—the modern bogeyman, Slender Man—leads him down a dark, dangerous path in this creepy supernatural fantasy that will make you question where the line between dark myth and terrifying reality begins.

Lauren Bailey has disappeared. As friends at her exclusive school speculate on what happened and the police search for answers, Matt Barker dreams of trees and a black sky . . . and something drawing closer.

Through fragments of journals, news stories, and online conversations, a figure begins to emerge—a tall, slender figure—and all divisions between fiction and delusion, between nightmare and reality, begin to fall.

Chilling, eerie, and addictively readable, Slender Man is a unique spine-tingling story and a brilliant and frightening look at one of the most fascinating—and diabolical—mythical figures in modern times.

Read Slender Man by Anonymous

Alice Isn't Dead by Joseph Fink

Type: Standalone Publisher: Harper Perennial Release date: October 30th

From the New York Times bestselling co-author of It Devours! and Welcome to Night Vale comes a fast-paced thriller about a truck driver searching across America for the wife she had long assumed to be dead.

“This isn’t a story. It’s a road trip."

Keisha Taylor lived a quiet life with her wife, Alice, until the day that Alice disappeared. After months of searching, presuming she was dead, Keisha held a funeral, mourned, and gradually tried to get on with her life. But that was before Keisha started to see her wife, again and again, in the background of news reports from all over America. Alice isn’t dead, and she is showing up at every major tragedy and accident in the country.

Following a line of clues, Keisha takes a job with a trucking company, Bay and Creek Transportation, and begins searching for Alice. She eventually stumbles on an otherworldly conflict being waged in the quiet corners of our nation’s highway system—uncovering a conspiracy that goes way beyond one missing woman.

Read Alice Isn't Dead by Joseph Fink

What horror books are you most looking forward to checking out? Let us know in the comments below or in our Den of Geek Book Club on Goodreads...

Further reading: Best New Science Fiction Books

Further reading: Best New Fantasy Books

Further reading: Best New Young Adult Fiction

Kayti Burt is a staff editor covering books, TV, movies, and fan culture at Den of Geek. Read more of her work here or follow her on Twitter @kaytiburt.

Read and download the Den of Geek NYCC 2018 Special Edition Magazine right here!

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Evolution Review

Evolution Review

Learn more here: http://mattmartin.club/index.php/2018/02/19/evolution-review/

Welcome to, Mattmartin.club Proud to show you my Evolution Review hope you will enjoy it !

Here’s the Year’s Wildest Coming of Age Story

Overview :

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Some movies revel in mysteries so well that they don’t require solutions. French director Lucile Hadzihalilovic’s “Evolution” provides an ideal example. Ten-year-old Nicolas (Max Brebant) spends his days in an isolated seaside hospital, along with several other children, all of whom are subjected to an alarming medical process. His mother, and the other women who tend to the boys, obscure the reasons behind the confined setting. When Nicolas spies on them after dark, he gets no closer to answers — but the puzzle pieces gradually congeal into a pileup of transgressive sexuality, body horror and strange laboratory experiments. Nicolas doesn’t put it all together, but as he learns to look harder, he takes action against the ominous events around him. It’s the year’s wildest coming of age story.

SPY Guide: 9 Novelty Gifts For Stranger Things Fans

Buried in the Vanguard section of the Toronto International Film Festival last year, “Evolution” defies simple categorization. Hadzihalilovic’s long-awaited followup for her 2004 debut “Innocence,” the new movie plays like a wondrous dream constantly on the verge of a nightmare. Max lives on a rocky island with a few other puny kids who get stashed away in a barren room each night and subjected to peculiar experiments during the day. Only a sympathetic nurse (Roxane Duran) supports Max’s curiosity about the nature of his environment and helps him uncover the truth. But that doesn’t make his situation any more comfortable.

See More‘Evolution’ Trailer: IFC Midnight’s Sea-Themed Body Horror Movie Is Seriously Creepy

Initially, Max’s surroundings have a utopian quality, with Belgian cinematographer Manuel Dacosse capturing the boy swimming through reefs with neon-green glow. Then he glimpses a dead body and a tale of mounting suspicion takes flight.

The simplicity of Max’s existence is less comforting than eerie as the questions keep coming: Why does his mother and a hordes of stone-faced, uniformly dressed women attend to his every need? Where do the adults go at night and what happens to the boys when their numbers start to dwindle? Where are the men? Do men even exist in this strange carnival of the absurd? Nobody asks, so we watch with Max and wonder.

Answers never come easy in “Evolution,” which is key to its appeal. Rooting the narrative in its young protagonist’s limited point of view, Hadzihalilovic only reveals enough details to convey his developing suspicions. At times, the movie’s pastiche of Cronenbergian horrors suffer from a derivative quality, as if the lack of firm solutions to Max’s quandary excuse the filmmaker from inventing a more unique world. The eerie shots of bodies floating in tanks and needles poking young flesh are slickly produced and unnerving to behold, but nothing that genre aficionados haven’t endured countless times before. It’s zany movie crack.

But Hadzihalilovic applies this grab bag of weirdness with a shrewd ability to inhabit the insularity of Max’s world. The quiet atmosphere is dominated by an empty ocean and ever-present waves that remind Max of his limitations and constantly pique his curiosity. In the tradition of recent dystopian thrillers like “Dogtooth,” Hadzihalilovic magnifies Max’s slow process of awakening to his surroundings; he only decides to fight back against the chaos once sheer survival instincts sink in. The movie provides an ideal companion piece to “Innocence,” which took place in a young girls’ school set in the middle of a remote forest. Both movies deal with the mixture of the magical and perverse feelings that define adolescence by burrowing inside them.

Shot on the Spanish island of Lanzarote, “Evolution” combines its natural beauty with shadowy uncertainties. When Max secretly witnesses a bizarre, quasi-sexual marine activity after dark, the event defies logic. Hadzihalilovic is all too eager to up the WTF factor at every turn, to the point where it almost feels like she’s trolling for stunned reactions. But that’s ultimately what makes the movie’s journey worthwhile.

Rather than remaining complaisant in his baffled state, Max rejects the ubiquitous absurdity by plotting a daring escape. The payoff of “Evolution” comes not from any firm explanation, but the instinctive response to a bad situation. As Max recognizes he needs to get away, the movie’s title starts to make sense. This is the story of evolving consciousness that leads to the birth of skepticism — and, more specifically, a mistrusting of authorities that yields the desire to seek out a better world. In a twisted way befitting of such a gleefully fucked-up premise, it’s the first feel good movie of a dark holiday season.

Conclusion :

In a nutshell, I’m really thankful to you for keeping up with my Evolution Review to the very end, so you can make the right decision for your own business. Good luck and see you again!

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[phynxrizng]

A MEMORIAL TO THOSE HURT AND KILLED YESTERDAY IN KENTUCKY,

Skip to content Witches Of The Craft® PRIMARY MENU  We Will Be Closed Today But Back Tomorrow….. Good morning, my dear sweet brothers & sisters of the Craft! As you have probably guessed by now, we are off the internet today. Yesterday took a very heavy toll on all of us. I didn’t realize how heavy the toll would be till the names of the victims were released this morning. One I already knew had been killed at the school, her aunt called me. The other, a fifteen year old young man, my ex-husband worked with his father and knew him also. This area is a tight-knit community and it seems everyone is kin to everyone else or else we know each other. The girl’s aunt called me and I know she was looking for words of comfort. I tried to console her as the best as I could. But that school shooting had opened up old wounds for me and the words became very difficult to find. She asked if I could come and spend some time with her today and I am going. Her aunt is a good friend and you don’t desert your friends in their time of need. The story for her aunt only gets sadder. A little over a year ago, her husband passed away. I comforted her and consoled her during that. She told me that I was her rock and she couldn’t have made it through her husband’s passing without me. This rock is crumbled. I know there will be questions and I don’t know if I have the answer for those questions. The biggest question will be, why did this happen? Why was my baby girl taken from me? How do you answer those questions. These are all good people, why did it have to happen to them, that is the question that keeps going through my head. I know you have probably seen the candle light vigils on TV but the people who lost their children and those in critical condition are in a way angry at God right now. I can understand that completely. If I was in their shoes, I would be angry at the world. Most of the times the words come easily for me but not today. I dread going to the aunt’s house. I dread going to the prayer vigil. I dread the moments the aunt will turn to me for comfort. The only words I can think of is that there is pure evil in this world. The Divine creates us in Her own image and gives us freewill. Freewill is one of the greatest gifts she gives us. But there are those among us that cannot handle freewill. How some people use that freewill is different from others. I don’t know if they are born with an evil seed or something in their environment pushing them towards evil. But when that evil is released no good can come from it. When the evil is released, killing like we saw yesterday occur. We must mourn the lost of our loved ones and then we have to stand strong against that evil. For that is the truest test, standing strong when the world seems it has taken everything from you. If you don’t, the madman who took your loved one wins. You have to stand strong so that doesn’t happen, you mourn, you miss them but you must go on with life as they would have wanted you too. You have to live your life in their memory and their honor. The pain will be unbearable at times and I don’t lie, I have lost too many. But it does ease some. You have good days and you will have bad days. On those bad days, imagine your loved one, how they loved you and they wouldn’t want you to be upset and crying over their loss. I believe the answer to that question is no, they wouldn’t. Even though they were taken in such a violent way and before their time, they would want you to continue living your lives in their honor and their memory. Most of all remember, they are no longer on this plane but they are now in a much better place. A place were there is no pain, no suffering, just love. Love of the purest form. We all have the promise of one day we will be reunited with the ones we have lost. Think of that day, live for that day. When you are at your lowest, call their name. They will come and you will feel their presence. Their love for you will last an eternity and as long as you keep them in your hearts, they will always be with you. You never know what to say, sometimes words are not needed, just being there is enough. I am sincerely hoping that is the case today. I would ask that you say a prayer for the Holt family and the Cope family as they go through this very difficult time. Pray that the Divine gives them comfort and strength. Pray for those at Vanderbilt Hospital, that they will make a speedy recovery. Pray for all those who had to witness the horror of yesterday. No one should ever have to witness a thing such as those young people had too. Help them deal with every emotion they are feeling. Pray for us all in the days ahead. Pray that I can find the words to comfort a grieving family. Remember my dear, sweet family, hug your children and your loved ones tight and long every day. For in these days and times we ever know. I love you, Lady A  To The Holt Family To The Cope Family Our deepest condolences, love & prayers Do not stand at my grave and weep I am not there. I do not sleep. I am a thousand winds that blow. I am the diamond glints on snow. I am the sunlight on ripened grain. I am the gentle autumn rain. When you awaken in the morning’s hush I am the swift uplifting rush Of quiet birds in circled flight. I am the soft stars that shine at night. Do not stand at my grave and cry; I am not there. I did not die. Advertisements  Report this ad  Report this ad ADVERTISEMENT  Share With Others   Save Share on Tumblr inShare 1PrintEmail  Posted on January 24, 2018 by ladyoftheabyss Posted in Articles, Daily Posts RELATED Remember Me? In "Articles" A Very Beautiful & Blessed Sunday Morning To All Our Brothers & Sisters of the Craft! 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[momaeder]

REVIEW

REVIEW

The day has come, I had gotten a reservation at the restaurant that is most mysterious to the world. It is for that mystery that we decided to make an exception in the Michelin Guide policy of reviewing the restaurant with two inspectors, as the cook Lenny Bellardo only allows one single diner per night to enter his premises. We know virtually nothing about this place, a lot has been said, nothing has ever been confirmed. We base our assumptions on the Trucks with foreign license plates entering the site and the single blank faces of the guests being spilled out at the end of each dinner. What morbid curiosity! The whole world is dying of curiosity. And it is absolutely to be expected it’s normal. We all want to see that which is hidden. We all want to stare the forbidden in the face. [1] I turn the corner of Kundmanngasse and it appears infront of me. A dark place, and the veil in front. [2] at the back of which a three dimensional space is projected onto the two dimensional screen [3] I see silhouettes of cooks moving in the blazing red light overlain by a sort of kaleidoscopic mosaic in white. As If the lights coming from the house wanted to reveal to the world its inner workings. I hear the murmur of honey bees, the varied songs of many birds [4] a tremendous flurry calling of slaves and butlers, and pandemonium among the cooks. [5] shaping, all, on one great tune with bees, insects, flowers and trees. [4] A man of stained white clothes welcomes me at the gate ushering me in. I feel a jet of warm air cascading over myself. [6] the smells are simple: roasting beef, some wine, presumably some scent of baking bread [7] There are truffles, flowers, animals, fruits, grasses, and vegetables of the Old World and New; an aviary, so to speak [8] for here we are in the Land of Birds, whereon for the force of their flying and the flapping of their wings, we cannot hear one other speak. [9]. In the deafening noise of the angels wings I am handed a drink in which, floating on the surface of the freshly poured armagnac, I find a small feather. We move on. Along the retaining wall, a ramp sinks down into the earth. The space widens and the concrete wall becomes an opening. [10] Above the entrance I see an array of slow turning axial flow fans [11] whispering the scents of the kitchen into the atmosphere of the garden. The hall is large, cold, and all but empty. [12] The merchants dealing with cooks about imports and sales settled over here. [13] The ingredients are sorted into 150 specific coded categories. [14] The most bizarre thing I see? That would have to be a frozen lizard. [15] freezing in a closed container, with water clocks and with air withdrawn or evacuated from a container [16] I feel a special sense of power, of entitlement as I walk through this gate and into the intestines, the inner working of the building. As if I was some kind of mobster in the movies walking through the dark and twisted hallways of the establishment he owns. I can’t help but picture myself walking through the kitchen experiencing all the scents and maybe even hear an ortolan squeal as it is drowned in armanac.

Open the wall, open the hymen, open the veil: death. [17] Cold. Silence. a Catalogue of 10, 000 stars. [18] The noisy echo of a thousand voices, the white light with ten colours. [19] is broken through the ice into the spectrum of the rainbow. [20] In this closed cell, this temporary sepulchre, the myths of resurrection arise easily enough. [21] Locked in frozen layers, a universe of ancient creatures awaits another chance at life. [22] As we move to the kitchen I witness a transformation of substances and a dissolution of forms.[23] there is nothing but the immense noise of the ocean. Chaos, noise, disorder. The base of existence. ,[...] noise spills out into space. [24] In this collapse of the surface, the entire world loses its meaning. [25]  On the ceiling the pipes inhaling the fumes trying to make sense of the molecular essence of things just as I am. And here I see him for the first time Lenny Bellardo the mixer of meanings or voices, the dissolution of signals in the fog of noise, [...] He warms the room, gives a fever, increases agitation and thermal disorder. [26] His arms raised like the conductor of an orchestra [...] violent rhythms succeed a graceful andante [27] As we move from the kitchen to the dining room. a curtain is opened for me to move into the vast white space that is behind it. The white space itself is in turn circumscribed, redoubled by a veil or a net which is superimposed, and gives it a volume. [28] As I move forth under the glass cupola , I understand that it is not the environment that is unknown, but rather, my own body, that becomes the point of interest of the room [29] I take a seat on the rudimentary, singular chair and wait. Reflecting on the turbulence of the frozen ingredients, the frozen histories dissolved and ready to be reassembled I remain alone in anticipation. Ataraxy is the material background of being, the permanent murmur against which the flying words stand out, birth and death. [...] The eternal silence of these infinite spaces soothes me. [30] Then a sound of the soft fabric being pulled apart. Out of the passage I had just walked through arise two waiters, carrying together on their shoulders one single Platter. I try not to turn my head as to reveal my juvenile excitement. I wait paitently as the plate is slowly lowered onto the table and the abundance of food on it is revealed. Arranged like in a still life, I see the finest of all delicacies. Carrying colours, gestures and scents. [31] The abundance emodied through the fusion or confusion of vicinities, erasing its swirls of colour while preserving its effectiveness. [32] And in the center of all the holy grail: The ortolan appearing miniscule among all those indulgences but bearing in itself the absolution of pleasure. It’s force so strong that everything else seems to be rotating just around this tiny songbird. But as it is custom the ortolan will remain on the plate until everything else is eaten. The waiters leave and I am alone with the indulgences

I take in the first bite. Upon biting a truffle, I realize that the truffle is nothing else but an agglomeration of elementary earth. [33] the soil on which vegetation rests. I trace the nature of the soil, on which depends the growth of plants. [34] The figs. The myth of the forest primeval provides the legendary site where we started our evolution toward civilization under the hidden guidance of divine providence. [35] On my spoon I sense Aphrodite herself rise, living, erect and naked, in the ruffles of the waves, of the prebiotic soup. [36] The pig that picked the truffles invariably impaled on a stick and roasted above a fire. [37] There, I sense the ancient elemental things : the smell of the meat as it turned golden on the spit, the trees, the dry branches, the fire that brings men together. [38] The cosmic egg : the egg that designates this intensive reality, where things and organs are distinguished solely by gradients, migrations, zones of proximity. [39] it is the whole of things, between their birth and their collapse [...] An irreversible, irrevocable time, pointing like the endless flow of atoms, flowing, rushing, crashing towards fall and death. [40] I gorge for what seems like an eternity. Longing for the precious ortolan. But then, the moment has come, as I take the last bite I hear the curtain being pulled open again. Out of the darkness arises the figure I had seen last through the hazy red noise of the kitchen. But now he appears crystal clear. Without a word, he walks up to the table. In awe I bow my head and look down at the ortolan. A tiny, roasted bird. head, beak, and feet still attached, guts intact inside its plump little belly. I lean forward as the host high pours from a bottle of Armagnac, dousing the bird then ignites it [43] Eager to indulge upon the bird I look around the table for the napkin that is traditionally used to cover the faces and  allows diners to savor the aromas and enjoy some privacy while devouring the bird or hide their indulgence from the eyes of God. [41] But it is missing, instead Lenny looks me in my eyes affirmatively as to tell me to go ahead. Here I am in turn, the last, at the pinnacle of power, at the very instant of committing the sin. [42] An internal law rules up to a threshold, after which the law is changed. [...] The five senses stop at these thresholds which it is now a question of going beyond. the Gates of Hell or Paradise. The horror, rather, of those who detest experience, or the ecstasy of those who bathe in it. [43] I take the ortolan, I close my eyes, and open my mouth. I accept my dissolution in the burning plasma of matter. [44] First comes the skin and the fat. It’s hot. So hot that I’m drawing short, panicky, circular breaths in and out like a high-speed trumpet player, breathing around the ortolan, shifting it gingerly around my mouth with my tongue so I don’t burn myself. [...] There’s a vestigial flavor of Armagnac, low-hanging fumes of airborne fat particles, an intoxicating, delicious miasma. Time goes by. Seconds? Moments? I don’t know. [...] I bring my molars slowly down and through the bird’s rib cage with a wet crunch and am rewarded with a scalding hot rush of burning fat and guts down my throat. Rarely have pain and delight combined so well. I’m giddily uncomfortable, breathing in short, controlled gasps as I continue, slowly ever so slowly to chew. 

With every bite, as the thin bones and layers of fat, meat, skin, and organs compact in on themselves, there are sublime dribbles of varied and wondrous ancient flavors: figs, Armagnac, dark flesh slightly infused with the salty taste of my own blood as my mouth is pricked by the sharp bones. As I swallow, I draw in the head and beak, which, until now, had been hanging from my lips, and crush the skull. What is left is the fat. A coating of nearly imperceptible yet unforgettable-tasting abdominal fat. [45] Neither water, nor air, nor fire, nor earth, nor some element of matter; no sense allows us to apprehend it. [46] No Language or sound, breezes, scents, shadows, songs or shapes but ecstasy [47] Dreams and madness then reveal themselves to be made of the same substance. [48] I take a second to let the last aromas dissolve on my tongue. As I open my eyes again, I am blinded by the brightness of the room and as I slowly get used to the light again I see Lenny. Not looking at me anymore but at the window in the ceiling. Where just moments ago the cloth of the veil covered the glass, now stands tall and judgingly the reflection of the moon mirrored in the façade of the neighbouring building. Bright, distorted and fragmented by the still lit windows. My face is frozen in terror. [49] All the force goes from the inside to the outside, from the black box to its lit up threshold, from the hidden to the publicly posted, from veil to unveiling, from the entangled to taking apart thread by thread. [50] Madness surges upon me. The justice of this form of madness lies precisely in its capacity to unveil the truth.Its truthfulness lies in the fact of the vain delirium of my hallucinations [...] Truthfulness also lies in the fact that the crime that was hidden from all becomes apparent in the night of this strange punishment. [51] I have no option but to consider myself guilty. My torture had been my glory: my deliverance was my humiliation. [52] I sit here disbelief as the two waiters who had brought the food, come to escort me out of the building. We leave the white room through a door, I had not noticed until now. We enter an elevator. As the elevator moves downward crushing silence reigns. The doors open and I am placed out in the city again. Lost. I stop frozen with ecstasy on the sidewalk. [53] how can the resurrection of the body occur when the dead body has disintegrated so far as to be nearly impossible to re assemble? [54] Gluttony, laziness, lust, and anger pass from the confessional to the laboratory, from spiritual and subjective intention to rational evidence and obligation, both final and causal. [55] But the madman unveiled the terminal truth of man : he showed how far he could be pushed by the passions, life in society and everything that distanced him from a primitive nature that knew no madness. [56] he has only found a new way of judging life, of universalizing the condemnation of life, by internalizing sin” [57] The bringer of sin and death necessarily also brought healing and life. [58] I see that it has not changed; and yet I see it differently. [59] Why write about an object that is disappearing, in a language that is dying? [...]The five senses, still on the verge of departure towards another adventure, a ghost of the real, timidly described in a ghost of language this is my verdict. [60]

[1] The Young Pope [2] Serres, Rome [3] Ockmann, Architecture Culture 1943 1968 [4] Serres, Hominescence [5] Seneca, Complete Works [6] Asimov, Complete Robot Anthology [7] Bradley, Smell and the Ancient Senses [8] Freedberg, The Eye of the Lynx [9] The Book of the Thousand and One Nights [10] Leatherbarrow Eisenschmidt, Twentieth Century Architecture [11] Banham, The Architecture of the Well Tempered Enviroment [12] Asimov, Complete Robot Anthology [13] Saunders, The Art and Architecture of London [14] Zimring, Encyclopedia of Consumption and Waste [15] Zimring, Encyclopedia of Consumption and Waste [16] Schmitt, The Cambridge History of Renaissance Philosophy [17] Serres, Rome [18] Serres, History of Scientific Thought [19] Serres, The Incandescent [20] Serres, Troubadour of Knowledge [21] Foucault, Discipline and Punish [22] Braidotti Hlavajova, Posthuman Glossary [23] Deleuze Guattari, A Thousand Plateaus [24] Serres, The Parasite [25] Deleuze, The Logic of Sense [26] Serres, The Parasite [27] Hays, Architecture Theory since 1968 [28] Serres, The Birth of Physics [29] Hays, Architecture Theory since 1968 [30] Serres, The Birth of Physics [31] Serres, Hominescence [32] Serres, The Five Senses [33] Pliny, Natural History Volume 4 [34| Hutton, Theory of the Earth [35] Stafford, Symbol and Myth [36] Serres, The Incandescent [37] Levi Strauss, Tristes Tropiques [38] Borges, Collected Fictions [39] Deleuze Guattari, A Thousand Plateaus [40] Serres, The Birth of Physics [41] New York Times [42] Serres, Troubadour of Knowledge [45] Serres, Statues [44] Serres, The Birth of Physics [45] Bourdain, Medium Raw [46] Serres, Geometry [47] Serres, The Five Senses [48] Foucault, History of Madness [49] Negarestani Mackay, Collapse Volume VII [50] Serres, Rome [51] Foucault, History of Madness [52] Foucault, History of Madness [53] Kerouac, On The Road [54] Powers, The Overstory [55] Serres Latour, Conversations on Science Culture and Time [56] Foucault, History of Madness [57] Deleuze, Pure Immanence [58] Foucault, History of Madness [59] Wittgenstein, Philosophical Investigations [61] Buehlmann, Mathematics and Information in the Philosophy of Michel Serres