#he duoling

[random-brushstrokes]

He Duoling - A woman with round hat (1989)

[luyu1]

He Duoling

[kestarren]

"Life", by He Duoling, 1988. Chinese artist born 1948.

[lesbianshirleytemple]

[takethebodymarc]

cellbit put on foolish's head and is talking like him now💀

[rambler-in-limbo]

What’s a favourite or notable thing that Peppino and Pino have noticed about each other ever since becoming close/comfortable?

Pino: mmmH

.ekauqhtrae na ekil s’ti duol os serons eH…

Peppino: Wh-do I?! And you like it? Does it keep you awake?

Pino: .lla ta em rehtob t’nseod ti ,oN

.gnimrahc s’ti kniht I ,tcaf nI

Peppino: Oh… well that’s… uh, ᵗʰᵃⁿᵏˢ.

Now something I noticed…oh! Pino sticks his-a tongue out when he’s focused. Look, he’s doing it now.

Pino: !yeH !-hW

Peppino: Heheh, what’s with that look? It’s cute!

Pino: …aim ammaM

[ickachris]

“Laugh, Pagliaccio, your love is broken! Laugh of the pain that poisons your heart!” / “Ridi Pagliaccio, sul tuo amore infranto! E ridi del duol che t’avvelena il cor!”

my cursive is horrendous. Pagliaccio is an opera about a clown whose wife cheats on him and he kills her and her lover.

[gentlelass]

Strange creatures, those of St. Louis

21st September 1927, US, Missouri, St. Louis.

Marjorie ‘Margo’ Ford sat and waited on a bench in the park, the imperceptible sound of her own and her companion’s breath sole company in the dreaded waiting that came before a hit.

Where Serafine Savoy would have found the hunt to be the best part of a hit, Marjorie Ford thought it to be the worst.

Ghost-like figure in her silence, just as ephemeral as the quickly ever-changing, ever-dancing lights and shadows of dusk. Her pale face was impassive, devoid of any emotion that might betray what was happening around her. Her eyes, daggers of gold which could pierce through steel, watching everything with dispassionate scrutiny. She wasn’t looking at the park and its sights, however. Rather, the crows reunited at her feet, almost as if the universe itself was mocking her, really - the crows, birds of ill-omen by definition… and the gunwoman feeding them. Oh, the irony! Marjorie thought bitterly. Feed them, feed the damned, and they would come back in her dreams with blood in their beaks! Or, more likely, it wasn’t the crows the problem but rather her own guilt tripping her… still, the birds had a way of irritating her.

The hit itself was… well, quick for a lack of a better term. As many killers have stated before, once you shot one bullet, you thrust a blade, you can’t exactly stop to think. It’s a daze, almost a fever dream, you don’t know when or how it starts, and neither when or how it stops. You just know that the moment before you’re clean, physically and mentally, and the moment after you’re sweaty, bloodied, panting and overall in dire need of a change of clothes, and quite possibly, soul.

But the hunt. Oh, the hunt. Prepare, check, search, ambush, wait. And when you wait, you think, and thinking always is a bad idea, for those who have a dirty conscience.

You know what they say, from where I come from? ‘Occhio non vede, cuore non duole’. Literally, ‘when the eye doesn’t see, the heart doesn’t ache’. Or, more metaphorically, ‘out of sight, out of mind’.

The morale of it? ‘Don’t think, just act’. That was the way Margo should have gone about her hits, if she wanted to come out of this half sane - if she ever did, come out of this American underworld she found herself stuck in, that is.

The only problem being, Marjorie Ford had always been an overthinker.

It was a cold night, too. Despite the fact that it had rained earlier in the day, the humidity remained heavy and damp, like a veil drawn over the city, obscuring any chance of sight, let alone breath. Marjorie could feel herself suffocating under the layers of it. And perhaps it was also the layers of her shawl draped over her shoulders, and her head as well, concealing her features almost like the veil of a nun. Except, the lady was far from it - her camouflage was more a need than a vow, and for all the wrong reasons at that. Not to avoid sin but rather to hide it, perhaps the suffocation that came with it was just karma.

Well, better smothered by a mantle than by the hands of a cop.

Margo threw yet another piece of bread at the ravens, and the vicious circle that were her thoughts began yet again.

There was another person lurking around the park tonight. His uniform, carrying the same emblem of Margo’s… and so was his mood.

In his own peculiar way, Mordecai Heller was interested in the crows too. Such… well, peculiar, creatures, indeed. Strange, creatures. Volatiles, animals, sacks of flesh, blood and instinct… and yet so intelligent, their eyes so shiny, their beaks so sharp, their claws so able. Not quite as dull as pigeons, and neither as… sickly, yet also not quite to his liking either.

And so was the veiled woman accompanying him on this subfusc crepuscle, much to his own dismay or not, he wasn’t sure about it.

Marjorie Ford, strange woman just as much as the crows were strange birds.

Strange creatures.

Mordecai sat on the edge of that same bench, in a park in St. Louis, trying to keep a certain distance between himself, that woman and those… ravenous ravens. They might not be as dull and sickly as pigeons, but you know what they say, ‘better safe than sorry’. And the same concept applied to… that strange woman, as well. Not quite as rowdy as the Savoy sibilings, Mordecai would have almost found her presence tolerable, if he could have found it at all that is. The truth is that she was tolerable because she almost wasn’t there, a refreshing change of pace from the insufferable Savoys, whose presence was as much unforgettable as it was unrequested. Refreshing, but not completely welcomed either, rather unnerving for a lack of a better term. The way she would go about their hits, wrapped in a stole like the Virgin Mary… or more like Bloody, Mary, in this case. Quite the clever choice actually, although he would never say it outright - the red colour, although it wasn’t the most surreptitious of all for a gunwoman who was meant to go unnoticed, it would also conceal traces of blood, as well as weapons and all manner of unGodly artillery in her not-so-Saintly hands, stained of blood indeed, but only metaphorically… thanks to that shawl of hers indeed. Garbed that way, she somewhat reminded him of his mother - and that only added to the unnerving vibe of it all.

The way she would clutch her purse as if it contained her soul - ‘soul’, read: Luger P08.

The way she would follow him like a shadow on a hit: she didn’t speak, barely breathed, and would practically mimic him in his movements, his methods of… hitting the hit. Was it out of inexperience? Or was it HIM, the one who was subconsciously copying HER? Mordecai didn’t know. Just like he didn’t know where Miss Ford lived. Only where she did not, live: that being the Maribel Hotel. As meticulous as he was, he had probed, checked, investigated, and turns out they had never heard of a Marjorie Ford at the reception; Mordecai had tried three different spells of the the name ‘Marjorie’, had tried going for Margo Ford, Margo-t, but nothing. Well, that was still in his favour, wasn’t it? The less he had to hang about the Maribel Hotel, the less time he had to spend around the Savoys. Or Mr Sweet and his dysfunctional jokes. Or that… invasive Miss of a certain Zulie. Mordecai shuddered, at the tought of her touch on him, and the touch of Seraphine’s blade that had came right after it. As much as stoic as he could be, as much as he could have the sensitivity of a table spoon in more ways than one, Mordecai Heller was just a man under the veneer of cold elegance, just as susceptible to Mr Sweet’s dubious sense of humor, Miss Zulie’s flirtations, just as susceptible to pain - both of the flesh and the mind, as well as the hunger of the former - as any other man.

But hey! Now there was Marjorie Ford in his life, and the more Miss Ford, the less Serafine, Nicodeme, and… Zulie.

Well, she wouldn’t be able to save him from Asa Sweet, but she wasn’t safe from his ire - more like feigned joy, in this case - either, and, well, a trouble shared is a trouble halved, isn’t it?

Strange woman, this Miss Ford… but one whose presence would play to his advantage, in the grand scheme of things. And Mordecai Heller always, thinks ahead.

… if only she could QUIT attracting this pesky, petty, PESTIFEROUS avifauna to their stalking spot though— didn’t she know how unhygienic that was?!

——————————————————

Hey there, sweet folk of Tumblr! Yes, I have already RETURNED with my feverish passion for Lackadaisy, this time burning in the form of writing! Have this little… uh… fanfic? Scenario? One-shot? Picturing lovely Margo and Mordecai on one of their first hits together. They don’t know each other quite well - and it shows. One barely notices the other, and the latter goes on a mental rant trying to figure out the former.

As you may have noticed I am very psychological in my writing, going for thoughts rather than actions, and I’ve tried to get inside the characters’ heads as much as possible. I frankly don’t know how much of a good job with Mordecai: he is a very nuanced character after all, plus an adult man, where I am just a lass - I’m not sure how realistically did I picture him, I don’t know how a grown man thinks, I can just hope it’s as close to canon as possible.

To a lighter note though! Thank you All for the support I’ve been receiving until now, the likes, the reblogs and the comments! Really, you’ve sent me into something dangerously close to a sugar-high… should I call it a love-high?❤️

I may or may not try to draw an illustration based on this later in the day and then post it.

[necarion]

One of the most difficult vocal techniques is the ability to hit the high notes cleanly and without blowing out the tone. Even harder is the ability to hit those notes delicately. Here are three fantastic opera performances that show off different ways of hitting the high notes:

First, a classic: 1966 Covent Garden performance of Luciano Pavarotti singing "Ah! Mes amis!" from Donizetti's La Fille du Regiment. Skip to 4:42 if you want the famous bit, where he sings 9 high Cs. The piece was originally written for those high notes to be sorta yodeled, but it quickly became a showpiece for tenors.

Here, Pavarotti absolutely nails the notes with clarity, and while they're a Big Sound, they don't sound overdone.

For something much lighter, we have Michael Spyres singing "A tanto duol" from Bellini's Bianca e Fernando. This piece was written for Rubini, a friend of Bellini's, who had an absurdly range and technique. (This piece is so absurd that it was clearly in the canon of "written for this one dude".)

Listen to how effortlessly Spyres moves through notes like A4, which are normally "high notes" for a lot of tenors. Then he sings a C5 at 4:17 where he just moves through the damn thing like it's nothing. Which makes sense because he hits an F5 later, a note that's high in the alto range.

And then there's the hardest thing of all, which is singing the high notes quietly. Nicolai Gedda's performance of Magische Töne, from Die Königin von Saba by Karl Goldmark, is one of the most remarkable recordings I've ever heard.

The piece isn't a "showstopper", given its slow pace and delicacy, but it's one of the hardest pieces written for tenor. Its instructions are for it to be sung "very tenderly" ("sehr zart"), and Gedda sings it like the music is floating. I've never heard a tenor hit a high C with such delicacy. It's a bit hard to articulate what makes the sound different from an alto singing those notes, but it's there. *

...

* @jadagul talks about how Jean Valjean's arias sound "better" when baritones sing them (as opposed to tenors), because the high notes sound hard, even when they're performed with perfection.

For comparison, here is Andreas Scholl, a legendary countertenor, singing "Down by the Salley Gardens" by Benjamin Britten. His range is considerably higher and easier than any of the tenors above, and his notes are even more graceful. But they sound fundamentally different and easier coming from him, because they aren't challenging and are entirely within his tessitura.

[markoferko]

barátom szép esszéje egy emberről, aki felnőtt Nebraskában, majd deportálták Dél-Szudánba, a helyre, amiről semmit sem tud és soha sem járt

benne van a közös, társadalmi munkánk is: szakértői véleményeket adni amerikai és európai bíróságoknak, hogy az eljárás a deportált kínzásához, katonaként besorozásához és valószínűleg halálához vezet. furcsa munka, de általában nincs nehéz dolgunk. Jock - a cikk főszereplője - sosem jutott ügyvédhez.

I began writing what are known as “country of origin expert reports” for South Sudanese immigration cases in America. If a South Sudanese immigrant, applying for asylum or threatened with deportation, is lucky enough to get a lawyer, itself no easy task, and that lawyer is not totally overworked, then they can reach out to a small group of subject-matter experts, such as myself, who can write reports on the likely consequences of their clients being deported.

As my caseload surged, I noticed all my clients had a similar story. They were the children of refugees who had fled the Sudanese civil war and found their way to America.

When I agree to write a report for an immigrant, I am often given their A-file, or Alien-File. It’s the life of a human being, seen from the perspective of the state—not what they did but the decisions made about them. Psychiatric evaluations vie for space with court proceedings. Errors compound. In one of my client’s files, it was sometimes stated that he was born in Khartoum—Sudan’s capital—and sometimes in Juba. Transcription errors, made by a bored clerk in Iowa, render Khartoum as Cartum, and sometimes as Cartom. These are the sorts of administrative mistakes that can determine a life. In one case I worked on, bureaucrats rendered my client’s name differently on different documents, which led the government to claim that he was trying to fraudulently take on multiple identities.

[jakesangel]

hi cutie! hru? ^^ 🌸

can i ask what apps do u use for learning korean? because rn i'm using duolingo but i think that's not enough...

lub u nd take care ~ ! 🌷

hai anon bby <3 i love ur aesthetic so munch 🌷☺️

in fact duoling isn't enough. i didn't even used it. i just went straight to hangeul thru ytb then get to the point ㅎㅎ ive made a post about it already here ᵎᵎ tho there is some stuff i didn't mention so lemme help u <3 what i do is watch one or two video of hers n write the grammar rules as she explain them. i'll try to follow along her exemple n do them orally ᵎᵎ then i go to her website or use this one to find exercice about said lesson. i understand grammar super fast tho so it doesn't take me lunch time unless the lesson has a lot of rules. i then learn around 25 words n use them in sentence using the yesterday n todays lesson >< i checked my excited w my korean friend, that u can make here. that's basically it. here's some tips :

as you learn a grammar point, also learn vocabulary so you don't get behind ᵎ or as you learn vocabulary learn a grammar point ᵎ and don't forget to practice them out loud n check the pronunciation for each words

watch some youtube videos that will teach you vocabulary in funny ways ( like w kpop ( i learn that 남자 means a men because someone said it was like namjoon n that he is a man ㅋㅋ))

write about what you did during the day' everyday, not forgetting to also try it out loud n to add times n date ᵎ

i use teuida to get more fluent vocally

read lots of korean comments,n try to translate them ᵎᵎ same w shows, i either listen to them in korean w english subs or the opposite ᵎᵎ so i get used to read fast or hear words ><

good luck <3

[random-brushstrokes]

He Duoling (Chinese, b. 1948) - Woman in a Village

[luyu1]

He Duoling

[rearte2]

by He Duoling

[oli-b3rry]

I need more details on your Barbie au. Who is who?

OOO IVE BEEN WAITING TO SPILL MORE!!!!

okay, so for most of the other Barbies/Kens, I’m still working on that, but I have got a couple of ones figured out!

Poppy- stereotypical Barbie

Creek- stereotypical (?) Ken

Branch- weird Barbie

Floyd- earring magic Ken

Viva- Gloria

Clay- the father who was using duoling at some point (idk if he canonically has a name)

JD- the Mattel executive (?) (the call me mother guy)

Bruce- Alan

Guy Diamond- one of the other Ken’s (I don’t remember his actor but he’s the one Ryan Gosling Ken has a rivalry with)

DJ Suki- video girl Barbie

(And then Sasha is a Cliva ship child I still have to finish)

[awideplace]

He Duoling