#graves farm oklahoma

[okieapache70]

Day 7: Doorway or Entrance… the entrance to the greatest job on earth! #gravesfarmoklahoma #gravesfarmok #doorwayorentrance #workflow #entrance #whenyoulovewhatyoudoyouneverworkadayinyourlife #JunePhotoChallenge #PhotoOfTheDay #photochallenge #junechallenge #summer2023 #photoadayjune #June2023 #happylife #fmspad @fatmumslim #summer #FathersDay #FathersDay2023 #JunebugsbringJulyfireworks #summerdays #summerdaze #gonnabeabrightbrightsunshinyday

[arthurmargon]

i’m taking a class on post-civil war history and every single page of this textbook brings up extreme anguish and grief for all the black people brutally tortured, raped, and murdered so that this country can be built on their graves.

there is a large picture in one chapter of laura nelson and her teenage son hanging from on a oklahoma bridge as around 50 white people stand on the bridge, cheering and drinking and laughing. this was in 1911. mrs nelson and her son were accused of killing a cop who forcibly entered their farm with no warrant under the pretence that the nelsons were suspected of theft of livestock by a white neighbor.

the white mob got into the jail where the nelsons were imprisoned and took them to the bridge. no cop did anything to stop them, in fact i’d bet my entire home they gleefully joined in or even orchestrated their lynching. mrs nelson was brutally raped in front of her son for hours before they were hung.

the picture of them was turned into a popular postcard for the town and was sold in local stores and tourist gift shops. this was a little over 100 years ago. you can look up the photo right now, it’s out there. even in death, even a century later, the nelsons are a spectacle for whoever wants to look. there were over 4000 reported lynchings between 1880 and 1950, not factoring in organized, democrat-funded lynchings by the kkk.

if seeing and finding this out doesn’t make you want to douse the entire country in gasoline and watch it burn, i don’t know what will. to this day, all across the world, we’re watching the same white supremacist forces fund and sponsor racially motivated genocides, in palestine, in congo, in sudan. it never ends.

[everythingisawayoflife]

MORE Random West Wing Headcanons bc I said so

i’ve gotten back into the show recently (esp bc i understand all the politics and crap) and i feel the need to talk about my favorite dysfunctional political administration

in the first post i made, i said ainsley and sam dated for two years before breaking up. well that breakup didn’t last very long. a month later, they started dating again. from that point, on they never left each others side. they live in georgetown with a rottweiler and four kids.

after being really involved in solving a finance crisis, josh was invited to throw the first pitch at the Mets game. when the camera zoomed in on him, he was visibly emotional.

donna was over at josh’s apartment so much during his recovery period, they’ve begun to have weekly movie nights. they continue this tradition even after marriage and kids.

josh and donna’s house has a wall in the hallway of their house when you first enter that is covered with their kids’ handprints - at first, it was just their oldest being naughty but they let it grow into the Moss-Lyman art exhibit. even sam and ainsley’s kids, and toby and andy’s kids have added their prints to the wall

there’s a weekend every summer where all of senior staff and their families come up to Manchester and stay on the Bartlet Farm at Abbey’s insistence - she wears the title of “Grandma Abbey” proudly

at the inaugural ball (aka s4 josh & donna), josh and donna spend so much time together that a lot of the people there going to congratulate josh on getting bartlet’s second term mistake josh and donna for husband and wife - as a joke, donna and josh let people believe it

^^they end up getting quite the talking to from abbey - because she’s mad they didn’t tell her first (and cj, who has to field press questions the next day and they almost caused a domestic incident)

as an april fools day prank, zoey and charlie covered bartlet’s walls in the oval office with sticky notes - sam helped and wrote a “your mama” joke in latin as payback for bartlet having fun with the staff

josh has a terrible habit of biting the skin around his nails until they bleed - he doesn’t realize how bad it is until he turns some papers into the president with large drops of blood on them - donna keeps spare bandaids at her desk

toby likes to have a little fun with donna and say things to deliberately get a reaction out of her - some are truths, some are lies. one truth is that he likes beans on toast. donna called him clinically insane.

leo really likes musicals. can he sing? hardly ever. but on days he finds he needs to relax, he puts on the original cast recording of oklahoma and everything turns out okay

donna unofficially adopts a sickly kitten that lived in the trash near her apartment - she names it Brownie and nurses it back to health

^^Josh is allergic to Brownie but doesn’t say a word to Donna until after they’ve been married and had kids when they reach the age where they start asking for pets

Donna is sort of a multiple-threat kind of girl - she was an excitable kid so she grew up knowing how to do all kinds of things - these things are tap dance for seven years, karate for two years, horseback riding has been the only constant in her life, she can knit and sew, and she even speaks a little french - josh LOVES it when Donna speaks french

josh is always cold, he’s never run warm. donna knit a blanket for him as a birthday present. he’s never said anything but it’s one his favorite things in the whole world

donna actually likes hearing some of the president’s obscure historical tidbits - she even goes so far as to learning some of her own to exchange with him

toby visits the veteran’s grave that he buried every year and even talks to him a little while he’s there

it took a solid 20 minutes after donna had their first kid to let someone else hold him besides josh. the third person to hold their kid was bartlet.

^^^donna has never seen josh more in love than when he held their kid for the first time. cj took a photo of josh gazing at the little baby swaddled in blue clothing with visible tears streaking down his face. it’s one of donna’s favorite photos.

Sam is really good at hockey. He takes his kids to hockey games whenever he can.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

AP, via The Guardian:

At least 973 Native American children died in the US government’s abusive boarding school system, according to the results of an investigation released Tuesday by officials who called on the government to apologize for the schools. The investigation commissioned by the US interior secretary, Deb Haaland, found marked and unmarked graves at 65 of the more than 400 US boarding schools that were established to forcibly assimilate Native American children into white society. The findings don’t specify how each child died, but the causes of death included sickness and abuse during a 150-year period that ended in 1969, officials said. Additional children may have died after becoming sick at school and being sent home, officials said. The findings follow a series of listening sessions held throughout the US over the past two years in which dozens of former students recounted the harsh and often degrading treatment they endured while separated from their families.

“The federal government took deliberate and strategic action through boarding school policies to isolate children from their families, deny them their identities, and steal from them the languages, cultures and connections that are foundational to Native people,” Haaland, a member of the Laguna Pueblo tribe in New Mexico and the country’s first Native American cabinet secretary, said in a Tuesday call with reporters.

“Make no mistake,” she added, “this was a concerted attempt to eradicate the, quote, ‘Indian problem,’ to either assimilate or destroy native peoples all together.” In an initial report released in 2022, officials estimated that more than 500 children died at the schools. The federal government passed laws and policies in 1819 to support the schools, the last of which were still operating in the 1960s. The schools gave Native American kids English names, put them through military drills and forced them to perform manual labor, such as farming, brick-making and working on the railroad, officials said. Former students shared tearful recollections of their experience during listening sessions in Oklahoma, South Dakota, Michigan, Arizona, Alaska and other states. They talked about being punished for speaking their native language, getting locked in basements, and having their hair cut to stamp out their identities. They were sometimes subjected to solitary confinement, beatings and withholding of food. Many left the schools with only basic vocational skills that gave them few job prospects.

At least 973 Native American children died in forced assimilation boarding schools for indigenous peoples, per an inquiry by Interior Department Secretary Deb Haaland.

[dwellordream]

“Some homesteading wives reluctantly went along with their more enthusiastic husbands, dreading the hardships and uncertainty that lay ahead. In 1853, before heading west from Kansas to Oregon, Elizabeth Goltra mournfully wrote in her diary, ‘I am leaving my home, my early friends and associates never to see them again, exchanging the disinterested solicitude of fond friends for the cold and unsympathetic friendship of strangers.’ She continued, ‘Shall we reach the ‘El Dorado’ of our hopes or shall one of our number be left and our graves be in the dreary wilderness?’

…On the trail, women spent some of their most pleasurable moments in each other’s company--around a campfire at night, knitting and talking over the day’s events, cooking, or washing together. Catherine Haun, who crossed the Plains in 1849, recalled, ‘During the day, we womenfolk visited from wagon to wagon or congenial friends spent an hour walking, ever westward, and talking over our home life back in ‘the states’... voicing our hopes for the future and even whispering a little friendly gossip of emigrant life.’

Finally, after the long days on the trail, after endless hours of wondering what their new homes would look like, travelers arrived at their destinations--only to discover more hardship ahead. Even the hardiest woman was brought down by the sight of her new home--a crude log cabin without doors or windows; a shack with tar paper walls, canvas ceiling, and a dirt floor; or a dirty brown soddie--a dwelling made out of hard-packed soil--which often housed insects and snakes in its four walls. Many settlers had no home at all until the family built one. Mary Rabb spent her first weeks in Texas ‘spinning under a tree,’ with only ‘a quilt and a sheat for a tent.’

…While men cleared the fields for farming, or panned for gold and silver, women did the work of homemaking. They cooked and cleaned, baked bread and pies, sewed their families’ clothing, preserved foodstuffs for the winter, made soap and candles, and raised chickens and vegetables. Because of the spartan conditions under which they worked, they took special pride in a well-made pair of trousers or a good meal.

Women also shared the hard, physical labor with their husbands. They helped construct homes, drove plows, sawed and hauled timber, and stood guard at night for fires or predators. As one Oklahoma woman recalled, ‘In those days the wife had to help do everything.’ Still, women were primarily responsible for the essential work of homemaking. They even turned some domestic tasks into opportunities to relax and socialize. Quilting parties, for example, were a favorite pastime in which women visited together while working on a quilt.

…Some whites--even those who opposed slavery--did not want to compete against blacks for land and work, and they supported efforts to restrict blacks from migrating or purchasing land. In Iowa, free blacks were required to show a certificate of freedom before being allowed to settle, and most western states and territories in the 1850s and 1860s prohibited black inhabitants from testifying against whites in court or from riding stagecoaches and streetcars. Black and white settlers alike shared the hardships of homesteading, but rarely did these shared difficulties blossom into mutual support or friendship.

Throughout the frontier, from the lush green valleys of Oregon to the flat, arid lands of the desert Southwest, both black and white women settlers used their talents and resources to help their families and communities. A higher percentage of free black women worked outside of their homes because of economic necessity. Most black women worked as domestics, while others became washerwomen, cooks, dressmakers, and nursemaids. Like black domestics and laundresses back home, they toiled long hours for meager wages and endured their employers’ demanding treatment.

…Most settlers did not understand or respect the Native Americans’ way of life, a life dependent upon the bounty of the earth. While Native American men hunted game, women collected seeds and roots and harvested crops. Native Americans looked to the sky and the soil for spiritual sustenance as well. The natural world embodied their deities, and their religious traditions and folkways expressed a gentle, respectful love of the earth and all things natural--a reverence that homesteaders who wanted to exploit the land for commercial gain did not share.

By the 1840s and 1850s, homesteaders crossing overland began to encounter large numbers of Native Americans. In Iowa and Kansas, homesteaders came upon Pawnees and Winnebagos. The Sioux predominated in the Great Plains and Minnesota, while the Cheyenne tribes made their homes in Wyoming, Montana, Colorado, and Kansas. Apache tribes inhabited the dry, arid desert lands of Texas, and both Apaches and Pueblo tribes lived in New Mexico. Farther west, the Nez Pierces populated the Blue Mountains of Oregon.

…Native Americans and settlers engaged in bloody conflicts, and innocent people on both sides were massacred. As white settlers advanced, claiming Indian tribal lands as their own and breaking the terms of the treaties they had signed, Native Americans tried to defend their land. In the 1850s, Pacific Northwestern tribes rose up to defend their homes, and in Minnesota the Sioux fought mightily against oncoming settlers. Cheyenne and Apache tribes in Colorado raided settlements to drive homesteaders away. In Apache tribes, some women joined their men on the battleground, while others served as messengers and emissaries between Apache warriors and U.S. military officers.

Native American women shared their brethren’s contempt for the way that white settlers plundered the land and mocked their centuries-old traditions. And just as white women feared assault by Native American men, Indian women had far greater reason to fear white men, who freely raped them or forced them into marriages. Armed conflict, disease, famine, and forced resettlement gradually destroyed the communal, agrarian way of life that Native Americans had known for centuries. The Promised Land of opportunity to which homesteaders flocked--the land that Native Americans had cultivated and venerated for so long--became a trail of tears watered by the bloodshed and anguish of native peoples drive from their homeland.

…In 1840, 84,000 immigrants entered the United States. Ten years later, in 1850, 369,000 immigrants came to America. Between 1840 and 1860, approximately 4.2 million newcomers journeyed to the United States. About 40 percent of them were Irish refugees escaping a devastating famine in Ireland. For years, potatoes had been the staple food of the Irish. But in 1845, a terrible blight wiped out Ireland's potato crop. Millions of people went hungry or lost their chief occupation--potato farming. Between 1847 and 1854, the worst years of the famine, more than 1.25 million people fled Ireland to the United States, hoping to find work. Many of the Irish immigrants were single young women forced to support themselves. Immigrants from Germany, Norway, Sweden, Scotland, Wales, and England also came to the United States.

Most immigrants came over simply to make more money. Many, such as the Irish, remained in this country, but other immigrants stayed long enough to earn a substantial amount of money and then returned to their homelands. Most immigrants settled in towns and cities, especially New York and Boston. But some journeyed to the West to start a farm or small business. Colonies of German immigrants headed for Texas in the 1840s, while Swedes and Norwegians settled in large numbers in Minnesota, Iowa, North and South Dakota, Wisconsin, and Nebraska. Except for the Irish, who for the most part avoided rural life and settled in industrial towns and cities in the North and Midwest, immigrants from other ethnic backgrounds fanned across the American landscape, as far west as California and Oregon. Wherever they settled, in cities or out on the frontier, they sought out family, friends, and other newcomers from back home. They wanted to live among their own.”

- Harriet Sigerman, “‘The ‘El Dorado’ of Our Hopes’: Journeys to New Places.” in An Unfinished Battle: American Women, 1848-1865

[wandaluvstacos]

THE ONLY SECONDS THAT MATTER

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE IS UP!

Genre: Contemporary Romance Rating: 18+

Includes: Extensive horse nerdery + cowboys, mxm romance (1 trans + 1 cis), some discussion child abuse, some instances of trans/homophobia (it is rural Oklahoma, y'all), depression, occasional sex scene (but it’s a slow burn for sure)

Victor Ortiz-Bennett had some reservations about moving to Oklahoma, but his late aunt willed him a 70-acre horse farm, and he decides to fulfill his dream of running and operating his own training facility. Victor’s been around the reining horse show circuit for a while, and he’s ready to settle down, travel less, and spend more time with the horses he loves and away from the people he can do without. That is, until he picks up a horse at an auction with a bucking problem he can’t fix, and he has to take her to the one guy who can ride anything– Johnny Stearns, a retired professional rodeo rider.

Johnny Stearns is loud, chatty, eccentric, and fears nothing, exactly Victor’s opposite. However, Victor finds himself sinking into an odd friendship with this new foul-mouthed cowboy without a filter, diving deeper into the mess that is Johnny’s life until there’s no way to extract himself from it. Johnny may talk a tough game, but there’s more to him than he’ll let most people see. Victor knows getting in too deep will mean a rough ride, but if there’s anything Johnny’s taught him, it’s how to stay in the saddle.

Excerpt:

“I still gotta live in this goddamn house.” Johnny glanced around the living room with wild eyes. “This house where my dad beat me in every room but the one I currently sleep in.” His voice broke toward the end and he took a moment to compose himself, swiping a hand under his nose. “I think he’s the devil inside me. The only way I keep him quiet is by drinkin’.”

“Your father was an abusive asshole. Sell the house and live the life he would have hated. Make him spin in his damn grave.”

“You say that like it’s easy.”

“Is this easier?” Victor snapped. “Is losing yourself in booze and trash while the people you love abandon you easy?”

“Of course it’s not! But fuck, it’s all I know. I know how to survive with barely nothin’ and that’s it. You wouldn’t get it. You grew up with money and parents who loved you.”

“I don’t have to understand this to be against it. I—I care about you, Johnny. More than I should. More you than you deserve, maybe. I don’t want anyone I care about to live like this, and I don’t want to see them the way I saw you last night.”

Johnny shrunk backward, slightly hunched. “I don’t deserve that consideration. I know that. I’m a real piece of shit sometimes.”

“I don’t want you to feel sorry for yourself. I want you to feel like you deserve better. Better than Daisy, better than being cheated on. I want you try to be someone who doesn’t just—” Victor considered his words, but pushed ahead anyway “—someone who doesn’t break my damn heart all the time.”

Johnny’s face twisted with hurt before he looked away, then down at his feet. His Adams apple bobbed as he swallowed, but for once he had nothing to say.

“You’re the most frustrating person I’ve ever met,” Victor continued, “so if I didn’t care about you, I would have been gone months ago. Even with your flaws, you’ve got a big heart that’s always in the right place, and that’s not an easy find. I mean Christ, my own mother had a worse reaction to me coming out than you did. I didn’t talk to her for months.”

“Vic, I…” Johnny began, then trailed off and rubbed the back of his neck. “I know I talk a lot but I ain’t very good at talkin’ ‘bout my feelin’s and all that… so maybe I won’t say this right, but half the reason I tried as hard as I did to get sober is cuz your reaction to the state of my house felt like a real kick in the nuts. I didn’t want Sarah or my sister knowin’, but to be honest, I’d already disappointed them both a thousand times over. But you still held me in high regard, and I hated that I fucked that up. I hated that you had to see my life for what it was. This feels like that again, ‘cept now I’m worried you’ll leave me once and for all and I’ll have no one. I want to fight, but most of my fightin’ spirit’s gone.”

“I don’t want you to fight. That’s your dad talking. Not everything has to be a damn fight. I want you to give up, actually. I want you to stop being so damn proud because it’s killing you. You’re trying to be this person you aren’t.”

[tocitynews]

Investigation Finds At Least 973 Native American Children Lost Their Native Identities and Died In US Government Boarding Schools –Michigan Live reporting/MLive

BILLINGS, Mont. (AP) — At least 973 Native American children died in the U.S. government’s abusive boarding school system, according to the results of an investigation released Tuesday by Interior Department officials who called on the government to apologize for the schools.

The investigation commissioned by Interior Secretary Deb Haaland found marked and unmarked graves at 65 of the more than 400 U.S. boarding schools where Native American children were forcibly assimilated into white society. The findings don’t specify how each child died, but officials said the causes of death included disease and abuse during a 150-year period that ended in 1969.

The findings follow a series of listening sessions held by Haaland over the past two years in which dozens of former students recounted harmful and often degrading treatment they endured at the hands of teachers and administrators while separated from their families.

“The federal government took deliberate and strategic action through boarding school policies to isolate children from their families, deny them their identities, and steal from them the languages, cultures, and connections that are foundational to Native people,”

“Make no mistake,” she added, “This was a concerted attempt to eradicate the quote, ‘Indian problem’ — to either assimilate or destroy native peoples altogether.”

In their initial findings two yeas ago, officials had estimated more than 500 American Indian, Alaska Native and Native Hawaiian children died at the schools. The federal government passed laws and policies in 1819 to support the schools, which were still operating in the 1960s.

The schools gave Native American kids English names, put them through military drills and forced them to perform manual labor, such as farming, brick-making and working on railroads, officials said.

Former students shared tearful recollections of their experience during the listening sessions in Oklahoma, South Dakota, Michigan, Arizona, Alaska and other states.

They talked about being punished for speaking their native language, getting locked in basements, and having their hair cut to stamp out their identities. They were sometimes subjected to solitary confinement, beatings and the withholding of food. Many left the schools with only basic vocational skills that gave them few job prospects.

The schools, similar institutions and related assimilation programs were funded by $23.3 billion in inflation-adjusted federal spending, officials determined. Religious and private institutions that ran many of the institutions received federal money as partners in the campaign to “civilize” Indigenous students, according to the new report.

[thxnews]

John Steinbeck Grapes of Wrath: Triumph Amidst Adversity

  The Joad Family's Journey From Oklahoma to California

John Steinbeck's Pulitzer Prize-winning novel, "The Grapes of Wrath," is a timeless American classic that transcends borders. This epic tale revolves around the Joad family, a struggling Oklahoma clan, who find themselves uprooted from their farm during the Great Depression. In their quest for a better life, they embark on a tumultuous journey westward to the golden promise of California.  

Vintage car. Photo by Pablo, Unsplash.  

The Hardships They Face Along the Way

This poignant narrative compellingly unfolds against the backdrop of the Dust Bowl era in the 1930s. During this tumultuous period, the Joads encounter a relentless litany of hardships, including the heart-wrenching loss of home, debilitating sickness, tragic death, and unrelenting discrimination. Despite these adversities, the indomitable spirit of the family fuels their resilience, driving them onward in their pursuit of hope, opportunity, and survival.  

Meet the Grapes of Wrath Characters

The novel introduces an array of captivating characters: - Tom Joad: The compassionate protagonist, freshly released from prison, driven by a desire to reunite with his family. - Ma Joad: The unyielding matriarch who binds the family together with love and strength. - Pa Joad: The proud patriarch, a skilled worker navigating the challenges of a new life. - Uncle John: Pa's brother, a kind-hearted alcoholic who joins the family. - Rose of Sharon: Tom's pregnant sister, a symbol of hope for the future. - Granny: The wise, superstitious elder with a cherished lucky charm. These characters, along with supporting figures like Al, Muley Graves, and Casey James Trimble Smith, make the novel a rich tapestry of human experience.  

Grapes of Wrath stage set. Photo by Jill Clardy. Flickr.  

The Hope They Find in Their New Home

Steinbeck skillfully employs religious imagery to vividly underscore the paramount importance of political and spiritual unity in conquering the hardships faced by farm workers. Furthermore, as the migrants band together, forging connections and casting aside insularity, the profound hope they discover in their new home stands as an undeniable testament to the remarkable power of cooperation and goodwill.   The Importance of Family and Community Set against the backdrop of the Great Depression, "The Grapes of Wrath" emphasizes the significance of family and community. As the Joads confront nature's challenges and human cruelty, their unwavering loyalty to one another and their shared goal becomes a beacon of resilience. Within their newfound community of fellow strugglers, they discover strength, support, and solidarity. This novel is a poignant reminder that in the face of adversity, we all depend on the bonds of family and community to navigate life's harshest trials.  

Californian grape vines. Photo by Robert Linder. Unsplash.  

What Does the Grapes of Wrath Teach Us?

In the shadow of economic hardship, "The Grapes of Wrath" delivers a sobering depiction of the human toll of the Great Depression. Yet, amid the darkness, it illuminates the enduring strength of the human spirit. The novel ultimately imparts a message of hope, demonstrating that even during the bleakest of times, people can unite and summon the fortitude to persevere.   Summary "The Grapes of Wrath" encapsulates the harrowing journey of the Joad family during the Dust Bowl era, marked by the loss of home, sickness, death, and discrimination. Despite the countless trials they face, the Joads stand united, a testament to the power of family, hope, and determination in the face of adversity. Steinbeck's masterpiece transcends time and geography, offering a universal message of strength and resilience.   Sources: THX News, Wikipedia & Britannica. Read the full article

[goldengatesroleplaygroup]

— ABOUT THEM ;

FULL NAME → Maxine Wilder AGE | BIRTHDAY → 25 years old | August 10 NEIGHBORHOOD → Fisherman's Wharf HOMETOWN → Chouteau, OK OCCUPATION → Freelance Journalist

— LAST TEXT RECEIVED ;

maddox: I don’t want you here

— THEIR CURRENTS ;

CURRENTLY WATCHING → Outlander CURRENTLY LISTENING TO → Goddess by Xana CURRENTLY DRINKING → Iced, Toasted White Chocolate Macchiato

— MOST CHERISHED ;

The birth of her son, her most precious thing, though the labor was intense and not without its challenges. She opted to go the route of a midwife and no epidural. Feeling like her hips were being torn apart for 8 long hours, almost made her cave and request a hospital birth. Before she could make the demand, her midwife announced the head was born. From there, it was all violently quick. Blinded by white pain. Torn in agony. All forgotten - all healed the moment she heard her little one cry and made her heart swell. The bond was permanent.

— THEIR LIFE STORY ;

Her early life -  which started in Oklahoma - overall was unremarkable; busy parents working a farm and an older brother constantly getting into trouble. Watching her brother become the legal burden and thorn in her parents’ side, Maxine became the reliable, little helper. Things only began to fall apart when her mother became ill and started to decline. In her early-twenties, she nursed both of her parents to the grave. Mother from an aggressive cancer and her father from a broken heart and heavy drinking problem he took up to cope with the pain. When it was time to settle the legality of their deaths, she was bitterly blindsided by the will leaving everything to her brother. It drives Maxine to leave home for several years only to come home a single mother and nothing else to show for it. She and her brother constantly clashed, things would get aggressively out of hand but she had nowhere to go. That was until the worst tornado of the decade came blowing through - leaving her brother passed out in the house while she took shelter with Cash in the cellar. Once the payout was given, Maxine was able to relocate anywhere she wanted with her son and she chose San Francisco on a whim and old family secret. 

[starshipsofstarlord]

Lol so this can be a whatever Ive just had this idea for a while, badass girl, metal leg, hates the avengers to the point she is out in like Oklahoma farming and what she is is shields replacation of Bucky and they want her for a mission where Bucky and Sam go to get her With zemo and she knows all of them but Bucky doesn’t remember her bc winter soldier stuff and yeah do what u want with that

𝑅𝐸𝑃𝐿𝐼𝐶𝐴

Summary: based on the request

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Warnings: swearing, mentions of death and murder, mentions of therapy, mentions of experimentation and brainwashing, memory loss, angst, mentions of violence, violence, Zemo being a little shit but pulling the storyline along,

Word Count: 3258

Masterlist Link

“Mother fucker.” With your steel heel, you threw your foot back, kicking the empty barrel that shook at the strength that obscured it, and left a large dent in its side. It was frustrating, the concept of trying to live a life of normalcy when all you could think about were the victims that SHIELD had forced you to- no, it wasn’t something you wanted to be reminded about. The sound echoed through the fields, rattling the growing crops and making them shake out of fear. Bucky could feel the impact shiver through his body, and bounce off his metal arm, it was an indicator that that little speck in the corner of his eyesight was you, he could hear your huffing and integrally muttering beneath your breath. Zemo shook his head at your inclination to be so aggressive with the most minuscule of things, it was only adjourning to his viewpoint of the opinion that superheroes had no place here on this planet, and they were deemed as nothing more than pests that should not be permitted to live at all, let alone alongside the mortals that did not fight in such an uncivilised manner. “Piece of actual shit- I swear to god!”

“Please don’t be saying that on your mama’s grave.” It was an avenger, you recognised that voice and condescending tone, you turned to glare at Sam Wilson, to be greeted by the sight of him with one of the many enemies of the state, as well as him. His hair was noticeably shorter, and his arm was different, but it was still definitely the man you recognised him to be. James Buchanan Barnes, the former Winter Soldier. Though in his foresight, you were nothing more than a stranger, weaves into this patriotic mess by Steve’s right man, his eyes darted down, noticing the sleek surface of your leg. You were like him, pardoned by the concept of experimentation, and had a part of you taken; stolen. He found himself allowing his eyes to travel over the sun beamed glint that the practical appendage gave, yet you only sneered at him, as though he were one in the same as his comrades. There had been a chance for him to escape from this life, like you had, though your whereabouts had just been uncovered, and he seemingly did not take it. What a fool. “Y/n y/l/n.” The man spoke your name, once more returning your attention towards the Falcon.

“That’s my name, don’t wear it out like you didn’t to the shield.” Crossing your arms, you slouched whilst you expectedly stared at him, awaiting furthermore “Let me guess, Walker and his side hoe with the shitty code name have became a pain in the ass? Oh, or is the Flag Smashers, I’ve seen they’ve been liable to causing quite the ruckus since the return of everyone that was enveloped in the blip, including you Wilson.” Bucky's brow raised at the attitude that you excerpted, and rightly he couldn't quite find it in himself to blame you for it, he understood why you wore it like armour moderately well. In fact, he doubted that the two of you were that different, he found you familiar, perhaps it was due to the pair of you having endured similar paths that you had been forced on. Boy, were you glad that SHIELD had fallen, as he was with the inhiliaitn of HYDRA, or at least most of those witin that industry that were held accountable for the crimes.

"So you've been keeping an eye on the news?" Sam queried, sporting a smirk when he realised that he had caught you out on that one. A gulp slid down the length of your throat, as you tightened your jaw, and squinted towards the parade of men that had decided to intrude your peace. That was all that you wanted; peace, yet it never lasted, and it wasn't considered fair in your books. There wasn't much at all that you asked for, however whatever calm that you were reprimanded by the world always became ruined.

"Out of self interest of course, I knew and dreaded that you'd eventually turn up here. But the answer is no, I will not join you on your little crusade, I'm not about that kinda life. Now if you don't mind, I'm going to return to the peace that I have been seeking for over a century. You can thank the supposed man on the moon for me not getting it, his dame chose this for me, and if I see a Carter, like I've heard you're working with, I will go all assassin on her ass. Now get out of here, before I decide to do the same to y'all." As you went to turn so that you could continue on with your day, the Sokovian cleared his throat, making you instinctively freeze, and reach down to your side, and then realise that you were barren of weapons. That was fine, you wouldn't need one anyway, you had always been used as the weapon.

Zemo braced his hands together, and Bucky’s brow quivered out of curiosity. He may have not known you, but he could perceive that you sure as hell knew the Barron that had some kind of power over you, despite being poised in a hostage like situation. He could see how your shoulders stiffened from the simple sound, he was prepared to use whatever leverage he had to get you stuck in the web, just like he had been. Without you, then the trio would subject to failure against those corresponding towards creating a new world, and whilst society crumbled, you would continue to lull in the peace of freedom, and it seemed that both Zemo and Sam wanted to drag you down with them, and sink in their despair of attuned failure. “You wouldn’t do the same to all of us, that is a fact.”

Sam side eyed him whilst Bucky continued to pay ample attention and watch how you flickered your gaze between him and Zemo. Your face went rigid as you clenched your jaw, eyes boring violently towards the baron, as you stiffened your hands into fists, thinking violent thoughts concerning the Sokovian that had survived the wrath of Ultron due to him being elsewhere for his kill squad duties. “I will fucking kill you!” You seethed, unfazed by how you could be seen as the villain in this moment. “If you say one more word I will personally cut your tongue out and stick it down your throat until you choke to death on it.” There was a wildness resenting in the reflection in your eyes, a protective nature revolving around a well rounded secret that you’d prefer to remain private. It was nobody’s business, but of course because of the vast research that Zemo had done when he had been scheming away to take down the avengers, he knew.

“I thought that you endorsed in this lifestyle to separate yourself from that instinct of yours.” Tutted the man that had been born the son of a king, but in this moment he was not royalty, he was simply a smart ass that was rattling your nerves to a degree of sever irritation. “Killing. Murdering. Drowning your hands in blood that runs like a river after you have completed your mission soldat.” His interrogative descriptions made your stature turn rigid, and your face sink inwards as the thought of all the crimes that you had committed wallowed your body in the need to be sick. “And you aren’t the only one with that history; but your histories interlock, don’t they? Why don’t you tell James here all about it, I’m sure he would love to-“ before any more venom could surpass out from the enemy of the state that had been broken out of a top tier federal facility for those that could cause great endangerment to civilisation, the knuckles on your fist collided with the side of his cheek, sputtering his words into a forced silence. "Does that mean you don't want him to know about your history together y/n?" He asked as he nonchalantly wiped the blood that had split into his cheek away with his palm, almost as though he were more invested in exposing all the things that he knew that you had tried to keep to yourself whilst you were in proximity with the man that you were once involved with.

"That was a long time ago." You reasoned, cracking your neck as you turned it to the side; you could see how the Falcon and the former Winter Soldier had their gazes locked on you. Sam was aware about the relation that had kept the two of you on the hunt for him in the middle of the street before he were even an avenger, he was simply helping others take SHIELD down so that HYDRA could finally fall. And even as a pair of assassins following orders, it was clear to his very doe eyes that the man that he had now befriended due to Steve and his late departure was very protective of you, though it were obvious through logic and just watching you that you could hold your own and more. He assumed that when the experiments had began, that he had witnessed you become the monster that you now resented, the killer of your past, and you in return to him and his imprisonment. "And that isn't why you are here, so why don't we focus on the more important details Helmut, unless you'd like me to go down your family tree and tell you all about how I slit your grandfather's throat? Because I remember that, I remember everything!" You seethed through your teeth, and Zemo simply clicked your tongue as Bucky squinted at you, trying to picture you in his memories, only to find them void. It was as though he was only aware of your existence through the vague mentioning that Steve and Sam had shared with him, especially around the time that they were simultaneously standing against the accords. He was told that he wasn't the only one, and he could see a dusky image of someone who bared weapons beside him, but no face revealed itself. It didn't all quite add up. He intended to find out why.

"He deserved that anyways; the country was going to fall to shambles if my father had not taken over, although as we all can see now that the collapse of my home was inevitable either way." The baron shrugged as though the death of his forefather granted no pain to him nor his esteem, and was more so something of luck. That was a coincidence in the picture that your commanding officers had enforced you to paint, it had nothing to do with making a small country a better place, it was about uncovering information that they were in hunger of, and you did your job and duty as told and received what was asked of you. "But isn't it good to see James after all these years? You cannot say that you haven't missed his companionship, it is crystal clear that you have not moved on, nor attempted to, your loneliness says it all soldat. You were waiting, hoping for a normal life with him, surely that was what had gotten the two of you through the process of becoming the weapons that you resemble today, or am I wrong?"

"Zemo. Stop." Sam's tone was one of warning, he didn't know what Bucky was thinking, but your own thoughts were written all over your face. You were torn, conflicted between possibly attempting to kill this son of a bitch before you or bolting as had been engrained in your nature; it was a tough choice with both laid before you, and Sam wanted to prioritise stopping both and focusing back on the reason that you were here; you could figure things out with Barnes later, he just needed to get you on board, they could use all the hands that they could get. "Y/n. Look I would not come to you under any other circumstance, I get that you've built a life for yourself, and I will let you return to it as soon as we tidy up this mess that these Flag Smashers had prevailed. You have my word that I will do anything in my power to let you come back here or anywhere else that you need to go. I have seen your file back at the compound, of course before it was destroyed with everything else; you know Madripoor, you went undercover for a whole year there, and I know you've been there since after the accords. There was something you had to go back for, and I don't know what, but I would like to trust you with this responsibility."

"If you knew what I went back for, you'd be saying otherwise Wilson. And I think your new friend knows exactly what it was, isn't that right Zemo? I never leave any one behind, much less a person that caused me so much pain, and took the very last thing I had to hold onto. And it can't be undone, none of it can, because there was no reverse protocol on the agenda when they erased me from the very mind of my partner in crime; I killed him. Do you really want another killer on your team Sam? If so it's going to appear like quite the kill squad, and I am going to take a strong guess that isn't what you're going for." Bucky gulped, his mind quickly catching up to the contextual relevance of your words; someone had taken his memories of you, he was sternly sure that it was him of whom you were speaking of, it fit into the narrative like the perfect story piece. Zemo nodded his head in recognition of your crime, before his home fell he had heard whispers from his family that you were free from the chain of HYDRA, and on the hunt for vengeance, and he just hoped that it didn't arrive upon their grand doorstep. Your actions simply showed where your priorities had laid. With Bucky, and he had never been anyone's first, everyone chose another path rather than him and he even felt his heart swell a little.

The gap in time of which he must have been forced to forget you must have been before he had stormed the SHIELD facility and found himself freedom, as well as rescuing his oldest friend from drowning in the river. It was all a jumble of processes at that moment that was reserved for preparation so that he would perform flawlessly against the avengers and their allies. You must have been released on the battlefield separately, and then afterwards searched for him only to find that he had already left on his own. Sam frowned as Bucky stepped closer to you, it was comforting for the soldier that he could feel the metal of his dog tags pinning a little weight against his chest; it was a reminder that he was not the man that had done those terrible things, he was free again. He noticed how your eyes widened, shocked that he would even dare come near you, surely it was a pinch in the side to know that he had loved someone so much that it served as a distraction, as well to note the fact that you had willingly murdered somebody out of anger. "You can stay here, I understand why you don't want to dive into a fight again."

"Then why are you James?" Nobody had called him that in a long time, other than himself and his therapist, it felt nice, and he hoped that somehow he could ask Ayo if there was anything that her people could do to help him once more and recover the memories and feelings that had been stolen from him, it wasn't fair on either of you if you were left to suffer in silence. It was a question that made him look down at his feet, it surprised him that somebody could even care that he was thoughtlessly throwing himself out into the peripheral eye of action once more. "I've done so many terrible things in this world, and I can't go back and correct my mistakes, but I can make other things right." He answered, licking his lips as he stared into your eyes, absorbing the emotion that was sent to him through them. "And now I'm asking you if you will help us, and the people that we are trying to save. I know it is a lot for me to ask after everything, and it's almost cruel for me to do so, but I want to take control of myself again and feel like I'm the one that is steering the ship."

"I am no hero James." You spoke, crossing your arms as you tucked your hands into the crooks of your elbows and tapped your metal foot on the ground. "Neither am I." He spoke softly, his eyes temporarily glancing down to the limb that was altered on your body. "But maybe we can do some good together instead of bad, we are not replicas of who we used to be, we are the people that we were before that. And if you trusted me then you can trust me now. And when this is all done, then we can figure out everything else, because I want to live my life instead of someone else's lie." Sam felt proud of Bucky, he was sure that this was a more meaningful session that he had ever shared with Dr Raynor, he was allowing himself to be vulnerable before your very eyes, perhaps due to you having seen him in a worst state than even that. "So what do you say? I won't push you if you decline, I will honestly understand, but this has to be some road of redemption, doesn't it?"

"Coney Island." Bucky frowned at the mention of that place. He remembered that, him and Steve visited on occasion and he would dance with girls and go on rides and experience viewing the grand inventions that Howard Stark himself shared with the crowds of people that were mind blown by the thought of a flying car; that seemed a little silly now after all Bucky had seen, but at that time, it was special and made him even hopeful for his future. "That's where we met, in 1938, as soon as I couldn't find you after HYDRA fell I went there, I needed to feel safe again and that was the only thing other than you that could do so. We were young and stupid, and I might be stupid for this, but if you want me on your team then I suppose I have nothing better to do." With one last kick to the metal drum that was half buried in the ground, you smiled at Bucky and he in return to you, things were changing and he could see it for the better. He had much knowledge to revive in his own mind, but he was sure that Shuri had the intellect to do so; she was smart enough to turn him back into a man from a weapon, he had faith in her as well as you.

Tags; @tylard-blog1 @philiasoul @onlyjamesbuchananbarnes @kaitieskidmore1 @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123

[okieapache70]

Day 17: H is For… #hoodie #gravesfarmoklahoma #gravesfarmok @gravesfarmoklahoma #JulyPhotoChallenge #PhotoOfTheDay #photochallenge #julychallenge #summer2023 #photoadayjuly #July2023 #happylife #fmspad @fatmumslim #summer #JulyfireworksbringAugustsun #summerdays #summerdaze #gonnabeabrightbrightsunshinyday #photoadaychallenge2023

[conradscrime]

Septic Tank Sam

April 29, 2021

On April 13, 1977 an unidentified man was found in a septic tank 13 km west of Tofield, Alberta, Canada by a local couple who was looking for a septic tank pump on their abandoned property. The unidentified man was dubbed the name “Septic Tank Sam” and was found wearing a blue Levi shirt with snap buttons, a grey t-shirt, blue jeans and imitation Wallabee shoes. He was medium build with dark hair and had recent dental work done.

His body was found wrapped in a yellow bed sheet and tied with a nylon rope. The couple first saw his leg bobbing in the septic tank and notified the police. Two officers came and spent an hour emptying the tank which was 1.8 m deep with ice cream pails. 

Authorities believe that Septic Tank Sam was not from Alberta himself, but was mostly likely a migrant worker. Some believe he was either a construction worker or a farm labourer based on his clothes. A medical examiner determined Sam to be of European Canadian descent and his bones and teeth showed that he had suffered from some sort of illness at the age of 5. 

Septic Tank Sam’s cause of death was two gunshot wounds to the head and chest, but it was possible that there could have been more due to bullets not touching his skeleton. They also discovered that before his death, this unidentified man had been tortured, beaten, tied up and burned with a small butane torch and cigarettes. He had also been sexually mutilated with farm shears and it was so severe that it took months for the medical examiner to positively identify him as male. 

Sam also had burn marks on the sleeves of his shirt which some thought determined that he may have been tied to a bed during the torture. After he had died, he had been covered in quicklime which his killer likely used to try to speed up the decomposition process.

There was a lack of evidence in the septic tank so many believe that Sam was murdered somewhere else and that his killer dumped his body in the septic tank afterwards. Since the murder had been so brutal it is likely that Sam’s killer(s) knew him personally. It was also suspected that the killer(s) were Tofield locals who were familiar with the area. 

Septic Tank Sam’s body was buried in an unmarked grave in an Edmonton cemetery and has been exhumed twice. The first time Sam was exhumed was in  1979 his remains were flown out to Clyde Snow and Betty Gatliff who were a forensic anthropologist and medical illustrator in Oklahoma. They had been creating 3D facial composites from skulls since 1967. They created a facial composite for Sam and they discovered that he was right-handed, of Indigenous origin and around 35 years old. This contradicted the RCMP’s belief that Sam was European Canadian and between 26 and 32 years old.  

The second time Sam was exhumed and reconstructed was in the year 2000 by Cyril Chan who was the Edmonton medical examiner at the time. The residents of Tofield were horrified to hear of the murder of Septic Tank Sam, with many farmers checking their own septic tanks for bodies. Many thought Sam was sexually mutilated due to committing a sex crime or being unfaithful in a relationship. Septic Tank Sam’s dental records have been sent to over 800 dental practitioners in Alberta and were even published in Canadian dental magazines, but no one has ever come forward to recognize them. A retired medical examiner who worked on the case says he does not believe we will ever find the identity of Septic Tank Sam. 

UPDATE: Septic Tank Sam was identified as 26 year old Gordon “Gordie” Edwin Sanderson after 44 years. Sanderson was born on October 22, 1950, in Manitoba, Canada. It wasn’t until June 29, 2021 that he had been publicly identified through genetic genealogy from his older sister. Sanderson was Indigenous and had been taken from his parents and placed into foster care at the age of 9, under the 60′s scoop. He eventually had a daughter, and the last time his family heard from him he said he was going to visit his brother in Calgary. The case is still considered an unsolved homicide, but it is an open investigation. No one knows why someone would want to harm Gordie Sanderson. 

[introvertguide]

The Grapes of Wrath (1940); AFI #23

The penultimate film under review for the AFI top 100 was the movie adaptation of the John Steinbeck classic, The Grapes of Wrath (1940). This movie was directed by the great John Ford and starred great acting talents Henry Fonda and John Carradine. The source material had come out just the year previous, so it was actual a pretty quick production. The way the story is laid out (half road trip and half in shanty towns) makes it a pretty easy project to film. John Steinbeck did not understand this, because he did not believe the film would ever have a faithful adaptation. The book was initially published in 1939, and it only took a year for the movie to be adapted and completed. According to movie critic George Bluestone, "If the novel is remembered for its moral anger, the film is remembered for its beauty (study.com)." The production deserves more attention, but let's go over the story first.

SPOILER ALERT!!! I AM ABOUT TO SPOIL ONE OF THE BEST LOVED AMERICAN CLASSICS IN BOTH FILM AND BOOK FORM!!! PLEASE CHECK OUT EITHER BEFORE HAVING THE STORY LINED SPOILED!!!

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The film opens with Tom Joad (Henry Fonda), recently released from prison and hitchhiking his way back to his parents' family farm in Oklahoma. Tom finds an itinerant man named Jim Casy (John Carradine) sitting under a tree by the side of the road. Tom remembers Casy as the preacher who baptized him, but now Casy has "lost the spirit" and his faith. Casy goes with Tom to the Joad property, only to find it deserted. There, they meet Muley Graves, who is hiding out. In a flashback, he describes how farmers all over the area were forced from their farms by the deedholders of the land, and had their houses knocked down by Caterpillar tractors. Tom soon reunites with his family at his uncle's house. All of the Joads (including Jane Darwell as Ma and Russel Simpson as Pa) have planned to migrate with other evicted families to the promised land of California. They pack everything the next day into a dilapidated 1926 Hudson "Super Six" adapted to serve as a truck in order to make the long journey. Casy decides to accompany them.

The trip along Highway 66 is arduous, and it soon takes a toll on the Joad family. The elderly Grandpa dies along the way. Tom writes the circumstances surrounding the death on a page from the family Bible and places it on the body before they bury it, so that if his remains were found, his death would not be investigated as a possible homicide. They park in a camp and meet a man, a migrant returning from California, who laughs at Pa's optimism about conditions in California. He speaks bitterly about his experiences in the West. Grandma dies when they reach California. The son, Noah, and son-in-law, Connie, also leave the family group.

The family arrives at the first transient migrant campground for workers and finds the camp is crowded with other starving, jobless, and desperate travelers. Their truck slowly makes its way through the dirt road between the shanty houses and around the camp's hungry-faced inhabitants. Tom says, "Sure don't look none too prosperous."

After some trouble seen between the sheriff and an agitator, the Joads leave the camp in a hurry. The Joads make their way to another migrant camp, the Keene Ranch. After doing some work in the fields, they discover the high food prices in the company store. The store is also the only one in the area by a long shot. Later they find a group of migrant workers are striking, and Tom wants to find out all about it. He goes to a secret meeting in the dark woods. When the meeting is discovered, Casy is killed by one of the camp guards. As Tom tries to defend himself from the attack, he inadvertently kills the guard.

Tom suffers a serious wound on his cheek, and the camp guards realize it will be easy to identify him. That evening, the family hides Tom under the mattresses of the truck, just as guards arrive to question them; they are searching for the man who killed the guard. Tom avoids being spotted and the family leaves the Keene Ranch without further incident. After driving for a while, they must stop at the crest of a hill when the engine overheats due to a broken fan belt; they have little gas but decide to try coasting down the hill to some lights. The lights are from a third type of camp: Farmworkers' Weedpatch camp, a clean camp run by the Department of Agriculture, complete with indoor toilets and showers, which the Joad children had never seen before.

Tom is moved to work for change by what he has witnessed in the various camps. He tells his family that he plans to carry on Casy's mission in the world by fighting for social reform. He leaves to seek a new world and to join the movement committed to social justice.

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I really appreciate the character of Tom Joad because he was one of my first experiences as a definitive anti-hero. He is pushy and a troublemaker, he seems almost proud that he was in jail because he killed a guy, and he even harasses the nice old man that gives him a ride from the very beginning. Tom Joad is not a very nice guy. But he is a good man and wants to do what is right and what is fair. He also wants to do what is right for his family and for people who are just trying to get by. Upon examination, he is the biggest hurdle for the family's survival in the end, and that is why he leaves. He is adolescent angst personified with the simple thought of "they would be better off without me." The title is so appropriate because "nothing but trouble" is harvested from this approach of anger.

Jane Darwell, who plays Ma Joad, won the Academy Award for Best Supporting Actress and this was especially deserved. She was perfect as the touching point of compassion and sanity for an angry Tom Joad. She looked the part, acted the part, and the character was so well written...this was one of the most deserving Oscars that I know of.

One thing that I had heard about but always thought was a children's rumor was that the book was banned in schools, especially California schools, and that the movie was not shown in many Hollywood theatres. I found that this was actually true due to the language and the poor depiction of many Oklahoma settlers that moved to California and their subsequent treatment. I grew up in Santa Maria in Central California (it was originally called Central City) and I was aware that there was a large farming community that identified with Texas and Oklahoma. But these were my friends and schoolmates and I thought of the story as a dramatized history and not something insulting. I have never been a fan of pre-judging somebody purely on their culture or their past.

I did a little side project with some of my summer students to follow the path that the family must have taken to get from their farm to Needles, California. I have been to Needles, and it is just awful as far as heat. It is the mast stagnating weather, especially during summer, and I can't imagine how difficult of a job picking peaches was in that heat. Not to be morbidly practical, but it might have been better that the grandparents passed because they would have been another mouth to feed, and they would not have been able to work in the fields. It takes a sad situation for me to even consider something like that, but this movie definitely did that to me.

I want to take note of the cinematography in this film. It is hard to get those fantastic panoramic shots in black and white, but the director of photography managed to do it. There were obviously a lot of sets and sound stages (that is what they had at the time), but there were definitely some shots in California and Arizona. Very well shot for the time.

I believe that there was a little "behind the scenes" politics as the 1941 Academy Awards because this film did not get best adapted screenplay. This is an American classic and a wonderful story, but it lost to the Katherine Hepburn comeback piece, Philadelphia Story, that was backed by Howard Hughes. There is nothing wrong with the play for Philadelphia Story and it was a cute romantic comedy, but it was nowhere near the level of The Grapes of Wrath. Hughes had a whole lot of money and anything that he backed at that time seemed to come up a winner. Very suspicious.

So, does this film belong on the AFI top 100 movie list? Of course. This is a movie that was part of the first round of inductees to congress for national heritage. It is based on a Pulitzer-prize winning novel by a classic American author. It was about the plight of American Midwest farmers during the Great Depression. It is a great film and about as American as you can get. Would I recommend it? Of course. Great story. I would recommend the book, the movie, and the play. It is a great telling of American history that deserves all of the praise that it has been given. I especially recommend the movie for students studying US history that want to better understand Great Depression era literature.

[ghostbustershq]

Ghostbusters: Afterlife - Trailer 2 Full Breakdown

This is it, this is definitely it!

A meaty and goosebump-evoking trailer just dropped today for Ghostbusters: Afterlife.

Much like the first trailer, the main focus of this is the family - forced to move to Oklahoma after falling on tough times. Janine, Terror Dogs, Mini Pufts, and Ghostbusting in motion as Jason Reitman has referred to it are all here. There’s a whole lot here to unpack, plus a whole lot that I’m sure we still haven’t seen. In fact, I would argue that we now have a pretty complete picture of what’s in store come November and are being shown just enough to tide us over until the fall.

This was a solid trailer. It hit all of the right notes. It invoked goosebumps on several occasions. And oh boy, does it demonstrate that Jason Reitman wasn’t kidding when he told us hardcore nerds that if we loved easter eggs, we were in for a treat.

Let’s break it down, shall we?

A GREAT MOM

The trailer begins with a very quiet and intimate bit of dialogue between Paul Rudd’s Mr. Grooberson and Carrie Coon’s Callie.

The two sit at a table, and while the trailer frames it to appear to be Spinners, a quick glimpse at the wall next to the two in a later shot shows they’re actually in a Chinese restaurant. In fact, I love that Grooberson has what looks to be one of the deluxe Benihana cocktails in a ceramic glass in front of him. Grooberson tells Callie that she’s a great mom, but she’s not so sure. Callie feels like she’s been a great mother to her oldest, Trevor (Finn Wolfhard). But feels like her introverted daughter Phoebe (McKenna Grace) keeps her at a distance. There’s a sense that Callie and Phoebe can’t find much common ground, and for this her mother is struggling.

I really love how the trailer gently brings us into the world, helps set the stage, and gives us several glimpses of some of the incredible cinematography in store from Eric Steelberg.

AN AWKWARD, NERDY KID

Grooberson’s dialogue reassures Callie that what Phoebe is going through is normal. He calls her an “awkward, nerdy kid” to imagery of her at school being teased. Ghostbusters: The Video Game fans concerned about if the story and events from the game will somehow be referenced or acknowledged in some way will probably quickly notice the Doritos product placement. Hours of gameplay has trained them well.

Anyway, not only is Phoebe failing to connect with her mother on a deeper level, but it appears that she’s an outsider at school as well. It makes the friendship we know she’s to have with Podcast (Logan Kim) that much sweeter. And you feel for her right out of the gate here, hoping that she’ll find that friend as soon as possible.

Callie and Grooberson’s conversation comes to a conclusion with Phoebe’s mother just wishing, “she’d get into some trouble.” As her mother laments about her daughter needing to be bold and a little more adventurous, we see a continuation of the scene from the first trailer in which Phoebe solves a puzzle built into the floor of the farmhouse in order to find a hidden ghost trap. Perhaps Ghostbusting is exactly the trouble the young and brainy kid needs?

As we, the audience, see the familiar ghost trap, there’s quite literally a drum roll added to the music scoring of the trailer. Perhaps Ghostbusting is exactly the trouble we need too.

JANINE, YOU HAVEN’T CHANGED

The trailer continues with the Trevor dialogue we heard in the first trailer as he explains to Lucky (Celeste O’Connor) that they’re broke and the only thing they have is a “creepy old farmhouse” left to them by their grandfather. But that is the lead in to our first major surprise of the trailer: a glimpse of Annie Potts’ return as Janine Melnitz!

Janine jokes to Callie that her father wasn’t much of a homemaker. “He could hardly keep the power on,” Janine says with a chuckle. If there was any question of the family lineage, this trailer solidifies that Callie and her family are Spengler through-and-through.

It should be noted at this point that the quiet music that accompanied the beginning of the trailer suddenly has these eerie choral notes added to it. Adding a little bit of that paranormal/otherworldly feeling but keeping the trailer light and playful. I’m not sure if this is Rob Simonsen’s score, but if I had to guess given the way the music builds and shifts, this is an original music bed for the trailer only.

It’s also interesting to see how we’ll be able to revisit the past in the film by use of footage from the original (as seen in the YouTube videos playing on various computers) but also the use of one of my favorite set photography moments framed and displayed in the farmhouse presented as a personal photograph. I know, given how some people reacted to seeing a headshot of Sean Connery used in an Indiana Jones film, these types of touches can take people out of a film. But I think the trailer gives us a great idea of how these moments will be integrated and I love it.

The trailer takes a hard turn with a great back and forth between Callie and Janine. Callie tells Janine that it sounds like her father has left her nothing. Janine playfully retorts, “Well, I wouldn’t say nothing.” This line is masterfully juxtaposed with Trevor opening the barn doors to find the Ectomobile housed under a tarp. The music comes to a crescendo as Trevor lifts the tarp and reveals the Ghostbusters Mooglie logo.

Let’s call this goosebumps moment number one.

THE ONLY ONE WITH AN ENGINE

It’s this part of the trailer where it does something that’s a rarity these days, and that I appreciate so much: the music takes a breath and completely drops off to give us a small vignette of a scene from the film. Phoebe enters the barn to find Trevor working on the Ecto. She ribs him that, of all the broken down cars on the farm, he’s chosen “the station wagon.” Trevor responds that his vehicle of choice was the only one with an engine.

The music and percussion come back in full force to score Trevor on a joy ride through the wheat fields of the farm. He seems to be having a good time.

So am I… this was definitely goosebumps moment number two.

A STORM COMING

Act Two of the trailer starts with a dark and ominous storm coming into Sumerville. There’s trouble in small town Oklahoma. Grooberson reiterates his line about a town with no faultlines shaking on a daily basis to Trevor and Phoebe. Only this time, he receives a response: “Maybe it’s the apocalypse.” Phoebe delivers the line to Grooberson with such amazing deadpan earnestness that you can tell she and grandpa might have a whole lot in common. Including their sense of humor.

The line gives us a good chuckle to break the tension but also sets the stage for what’s to come in the trailer: exactly what Phoebe has predicted.

EVERYTHING HAPPENS FOR A REASON

As Phoebe tells us that “Egon came here for a reason,” an archival piece of footage and dialogue from the first film plays on her laptop: the commercial playing on Dana Barrett’s television at 55 CPW. As the original Ghostbusters give you their sales pitch, this is where the trailer really kicks into modern trailer overdrive.

Flashes of imagery including the PKE meter, Mini Puft mayhem at Wal-Mart, and more quickly breathe in and out. In fact, if this trailer is our Christmas present in July, this is where we’re unwrapping and unpacking what’s inside the box.

But we also get glimpses of a creepy underground temple with some pretty intense architecture and even creepier statue work. Terror dog/human hybrid statues flanking what looks to be a pharaoh with wings. And gaunt peasants all reaching out to it all. Did Sumerians have pharaohs? Or is this something else? Certainly seems like if there were Gozer worshippers out there, this might be a stone tribute to them.

The kids discover the terrifying temple and Trevor gives us an “oh my god” to punctuate as they see what we see.

NICE DOGGY, CUTE LITTLE POOCH

Right about this part of the trailer is where my brain explodes and I’m not sure where to start. Imagery is rapid fire as the shit hits the fan.

Phoebe looks into a cauldron in the temple (where there’s numbers behind her that we’ll have to analyze further at some point). And the cork pops on the bottle. As she does so, there’s a terrifying growl in the background foreshadowing some familiar imagery we’re about to see.

But before we get to that, two incredible things are seen as well: familiar purple PKE trails that look a whole lot like those that explode from the firehouse and converge at Spook Central. And, as Grooberson’s line about New York City looking like “The Walking Dead” is repurposed to sound like he’s talking about Sumerville, there’s an incredible physical creature design sitting at a lunch counter. A half-decomposed cabbie maybe? Wearing a 1970’s collar and neckerchief. To my eye, I’d be willing to bet that’s the work of Arjen Tuiten and his team of creature designers. And it’d make Steve Johnson proud.

Plus it’s such a funny image of this corpse sitting at a lunch counter, and the waiter is pour him coffee like it ain’t no thing. I love it.

Back to man’s worst friend: the terror dogs make several appearances in the trailer. First as a cool half-manifested entity above Groobersen and again chasing the poor guy out of a Wal-Mart. Is Groobersen haunted by these things like Louis Tully? Or is something else going on here?

IN A SPIRITUAL SENSE, OF COURSE

If there was a moment that I expected Ray Parker Jr.’s iconic theme song to kick into full gear, this would have been it. The icing on the cake of the trailer, after we see the dead rising from the grave and all hell breaking loose, is Trevor, Phoebe and Podcast all in the Ecto chasing after what we now know is Muncher. The editorial of this is insanely cool. And we get to see the Remote Trap Vehicle (RTV) deployed from the Ecto and how it’s used in the pursuit of Muncher. We’ve seen the gunner seat, but the beats that this moment in the trailer hit, well…

Goosebumps moment number three.

VENKMAN, WE’RE NOT HOME

After all the debate among friends if there would be a “Chewie, We’re Home” moment in this trailer - where we’d see one of the original Ghostbusters live and in the flesh, we got the perfect tease. As Grooberson, Phoebe and Podcast watch the conclusion of the original 1984 ad, the trailer closes with a phone ringing inside a very familiar looking Occult Book shop.

Tattooed arms (I’ve tried with everything I can to see what the tattoo says) pick up the phone and the familiar voice of Dr. Ray Stantz (Dan Aykroyd) curtly tells whomever is on the other end of that phone that, “We’re closed.” A perfect little tease if you ask me. Let’s save seeing Peter, Ray and Winston on-screen to the main event.

[marvelzombiesrp]

When Odin closed Asgard’s borders and took Thor into custody to prevent him from aiding Midgard, there were some rumblings of discontent. The outbreak in their client realm was fearsome, yes, and there was no knowing whether Aesir were susceptible, but mere years ago, Midgard had sheltered them in their time of need. The City of Asgardia had hovered over Oklahoma, its people reborn from the bosom of their planet, and they were nurtured there until they could return to their rightful place in the cosmos. To some, this was a grave betrayal.

Odin’s many failings as a ruler fostered a movement as months became years. A plan was formulated, and under the Allfather’s nose, Asgard’s most loyal became the Rebels of Asgard. Four hundred Asgardians led by Thor and those closest to him took supplies, weapons, and personal possessions and went a-viking. On Midgard they will build, farm, raid and make war against the hordes of undead; and when they return to Asgard, they will rejoin those rebels which stayed behind, and relieve Odin of the throne which he keeps warm for the Son of Asgard.

Zachary Levi is Fandral the Dashing Idris Elba is Heimdall the All-Seeing Ragga Ragnars is Hildegarde the Valkyrie Tadanobu Asano is Hogun the Grim Morena Baccarin is Sif, Lady of War Ray Stevenson is Volstagg the Enormous

All FCs are recommendations and can be changed if players prefer.

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[kvetchlandia]

Dave Heath     New York City     c.1957

I

I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked, dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix, angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night, who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat up smoking in the supernatural darkness of cold-water flats floating across the tops of cities contemplating jazz, who bared their brains to Heaven under the El and saw Mohammedan angels staggering on tenement roofs illuminated, who passed through universities with radiant cool eyes hallucinating Arkansas and Blake-light tragedy among the scholars of war, who were expelled from the academies for crazy & publishing obscene odes on the windows of the skull, who cowered in unshaven rooms in underwear, burning their money in wastebaskets and listening to the Terror through the wall, who got busted in their pubic beards returning through Laredo with a belt of marijuana for New York, who ate fire in paint hotels or drank turpentine in Paradise Alley, death, or purgatoried their torsos night after night with dreams, with drugs, with waking nightmares, alcohol and cock and endless balls, incomparable blind streets of shuddering cloud and lightning in the mind leaping toward poles of Canada & Paterson, illuminating all the motionless world of Time between, Peyote solidities of halls, backyard green tree cemetery dawns, wine drunkenness over the rooftops, storefront boroughs of teahead joyride neon blinking traffic light, sun and moon and tree vibrations in the roaring winter dusks of Brooklyn, ashcan rantings and kind king light of mind, who chained themselves to subways for the endless ride from Battery to holy Bronx on benzedrine until the noise of wheels and children brought them down shuddering mouth-wracked and battered bleak of brain all drained of brilliance in the drear light of Zoo, who sank all night in submarine light of Bickford’s floated out and sat through the stale beer afternoon in desolate Fugazzi’s, listening to the crack of doom on the hydrogen jukebox, who talked continuously seventy hours from park to pad to bar to Bellevue to museum to the Brooklyn Bridge, a lost battalion of platonic conversationalists jumping down the stoops off fire escapes off windowsills off Empire State out of the moon, yacketayakking screaming vomiting whispering facts and memories and anecdotes and eyeball kicks and shocks of hospitals and jails and wars, whole intellects disgorged in total recall for seven days and nights with brilliant eyes, meat for the Synagogue cast on the pavement, who vanished into nowhere Zen New Jersey leaving a trail of ambiguous picture postcards of Atlantic City Hall, suffering Eastern sweats and Tangerian bone-grindings and migraines of China under junk-withdrawal in Newark’s bleak furnished room,   who wandered around and around at midnight in the railroad yard wondering where to go, and went, leaving no broken hearts, who lit cigarettes in boxcars boxcars boxcars racketing through snow toward lonesome farms in grandfather night, who studied Plotinus Poe St. John of the Cross telepathy and bop kabbalah because the cosmos instinctively vibrated at their feet in Kansas,   who loned it through the streets of Idaho seeking visionary indian angels who were visionary indian angels, who thought they were only mad when Baltimore gleamed in supernatural ecstasy, who jumped in limousines with the Chinaman of Oklahoma on the impulse of winter midnight streetlight smalltown rain, who lounged hungry and lonesome through Houston seeking jazz or sex or soup, and followed the brilliant Spaniard to converse about America and Eternity, a hopeless task, and so took ship to Africa, who disappeared into the volcanoes of Mexico leaving behind nothing but the shadow of dungarees and the lava and ash of poetry scattered in fireplace Chicago, who reappeared on the West Coast investigating the FBI in beards and shorts with big pacifist eyes sexy in their dark skin passing out incomprehensible leaflets, who burned cigarette holes in their arms protesting the narcotic tobacco haze of Capitalism, who distributed Supercommunist pamphlets in Union Square weeping and undressing while the sirens of Los Alamos wailed them down, and wailed down Wall, and the Staten Island ferry also wailed, who broke down crying in white gymnasiums naked and trembling before the machinery of other skeletons, who bit detectives in the neck and shrieked with delight in policecars for committing no crime but their own wild cooking pederasty and intoxication, who howled on their knees in the subway and were dragged off the roof waving genitals and manuscripts, who let themselves be fucked in the ass by saintly motorcyclists, and screamed with joy, who blew and were blown by those human seraphim, the sailors, caresses of Atlantic and Caribbean love, who balled in the morning in the evenings in rosegardens and the grass of public parks and cemeteries scattering their semen freely to whomever come who may, who hiccuped endlessly trying to giggle but wound up with a sob behind a partition in a Turkish Bath when the blond & naked angel came to pierce them with a sword, who lost their loveboys to the three old shrews of fate the one eyed shrew of the heterosexual dollar the one eyed shrew that winks out of the womb and the one eyed shrew that does nothing but sit on her ass and snip the intellectual golden threads of the craftsman’s loom, who copulated ecstatic and insatiate with a bottle of beer a sweetheart a package of cigarettes a candle and fell off the bed, and continued along the floor and down the hall and ended fainting on the wall with a vision of ultimate cunt and come eluding the last gyzym of consciousness, who sweetened the snatches of a million girls trembling in the sunset, and were red eyed in the morning but prepared to sweeten the snatch of the sunrise, flashing buttocks under barns and naked in the lake, who went out whoring through Colorado in myriad stolen night-cars, N.C., secret hero of these poems, cocksman and Adonis of Denver—joy to the memory of his innumerable lays of girls in empty lots & diner backyards, moviehouses’ rickety rows, on mountaintops in caves or with gaunt waitresses in familiar roadside lonely petticoat upliftings & especially secret gas-station solipsisms of johns, & hometown alleys too, who faded out in vast sordid movies, were shifted in dreams, woke on a sudden Manhattan, and picked themselves up out of basements hung-over with heartless Tokay and horrors of Third Avenue iron dreams & stumbled to unemployment offices, who walked all night with their shoes full of blood on the snowbank docks waiting for a door in the East River to open to a room full of steam-heat and opium, who created great suicidal dramas on the apartment cliff-banks of the Hudson under the wartime blue floodlight of the moon & their heads shall be crowned with laurel in oblivion, who ate the lamb stew of the imagination or digested the crab at the muddy bottom of the rivers of Bowery, who wept at the romance of the streets with their pushcarts full of onions and bad music, who sat in boxes breathing in the darkness under the bridge, and rose up to build harpsichords in their lofts, who coughed on the sixth floor of Harlem crowned with flame under the tubercular sky surrounded by orange crates of theology, who scribbled all night rocking and rolling over lofty incantations which in the yellow morning were stanzas of gibberish, who cooked rotten animals lung heart feet tail borsht & tortillas dreaming of the pure vegetable kingdom, who plunged themselves under meat trucks looking for an egg, who threw their watches off the roof to cast their ballot for Eternity outside of Time, & alarm clocks fell on their heads every day for the next decade, who cut their wrists three times successively unsuccessfully, gave up and were forced to open antique stores where they thought they were growing old and cried, who were burned alive in their innocent flannel suits on Madison Avenue amid blasts of leaden verse & the tanked-up clatter of the iron regiments of fashion & the nitroglycerine shrieks of the fairies of advertising & the mustard gas of sinister intelligent editors, or were run down by the drunken taxicabs of Absolute Reality, who jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge this actually happened and walked away unknown and forgotten into the ghostly daze of Chinatown soup alleyways & firetrucks, not even one free beer, who sang out of their windows in despair, fell out of the subway window, jumped in the filthy Passaic, leaped on negroes, cried all over the street, danced on broken wineglasses barefoot smashed phonograph records of nostalgic European 1930s German jazz finished the whiskey and threw up groaning into the bloody toilet, moans in their ears and the blast of colossal steamwhistles, who barreled down the highways of the past journeying to each other’s hotrod-Golgotha jail-solitude watch or Birmingham jazz incarnation, who drove crosscountry seventytwo hours to find out if I had a vision or you had a vision or he had a vision to find out Eternity, who journeyed to Denver, who died in Denver, who came back to Denver & waited in vain, who watched over Denver & brooded & loned in Denver and finally went away to find out the Time, & now Denver is lonesome for her heroes, who fell on their knees in hopeless cathedrals praying for each other’s salvation and light and breasts, until the soul illuminated its hair for a second, who crashed through their minds in jail waiting for impossible criminals with golden heads and the charm of reality in their hearts who sang sweet blues to Alcatraz, who retired to Mexico to cultivate a habit, or Rocky Mount to tender Buddha or Tangiers to boys or Southern Pacific to the black locomotive or Harvard to Narcissus to Woodlawn to the daisychain or grave, who demanded sanity trials accusing the radio of hypnotism & were left with their insanity & their hands & a hung jury, who threw potato salad at CCNY lecturers on Dadaism and subsequently presented themselves on the granite steps of the madhouse with shaven heads and harlequin speech of suicide, demanding instantaneous lobotomy, and who were given instead the concrete void of insulin Metrazol electricity hydrotherapy psychotherapy occupational therapy pingpong & amnesia, who in humorless protest overturned only one symbolic pingpong table, resting briefly in catatonia, returning years later truly bald except for a wig of blood, and tears and fingers, to the visible madman doom of the wards of the madtowns of the East, Pilgrim State’s Rockland’s and Greystone’s foetid halls, bickering with the echoes of the soul, rocking and rolling in the midnight solitude-bench dolmen-realms of love, dream of life a nightmare, bodies turned to stone as heavy as the moon, with mother finally ******, and the last fantastic book flung out of the tenement window, and the last door closed at 4 A.M. and the last telephone slammed at the wall in reply and the last furnished room emptied down to the last piece of mental furniture, a yellow paper rose twisted on a wire hanger in the closet, and even that imaginary, nothing but a hopeful little bit of hallucination— ah, Carl, while you are not safe I am not safe, and now you’re really in the total animal soup of time— and who therefore ran through the icy streets obsessed with a sudden flash of the alchemy of the use of the ellipsis catalogue a variable measure and the vibrating plane, who dreamt and made incarnate gaps in Time & Space through images juxtaposed, and trapped the archangel of the soul between 2 visual images and joined the elemental verbs and set the noun and dash of consciousness together jumping with sensation of Pater Omnipotens Aeterna Deus to recreate the syntax and measure of poor human prose and stand before you speechless and intelligent and shaking with shame, rejected yet confessing out the soul to conform to the rhythm of thought in his naked and endless head, the madman bum and angel beat in Time, unknown, yet putting down here what might be left to say in time come after death, and rose reincarnate in the ghostly clothes of jazz in the goldhorn shadow of the band and blew the suffering of America’s naked mind for love into an eli eli lamma lamma sabacthani saxophone cry that shivered the cities down to the last radio with the absolute heart of the poem of life butchered out of their own bodies good to eat a thousand years.

--Allen Ginsberg, “Howl, part 1″  1956