#keith douglas

[thepastisalreadywritten]

Ladies and gentlemen, eighty years ago today, Field Marshal Montgomery – Commander in Chief of the Allied Ground Forces – wrote in his message to all soldiers on the eve of D-Day:

‘To us is given the honour of striking a blow for freedom, which will live in history; and, in the better days that lie ahead, men will speak with pride of our doings’.

Today, we come together to honour those nearly one hundred and sixty thousand British, Commonwealth and Allied troops who, on 5th June 1944, assembled here and along these shores to embark on the mission, which would strike that blow for freedom and be recorded as the greatest amphibious operation in history.

Those who gathered here in Portsmouth would never forget the sight. It was by far the largest military fleet the world has ever known.

Yet all knew that both victory and failure were possible, and none could know their fate.

Aircrew flying overhead, sailors manning warships; or troops in assault craft battering their way through the stormy swell to the shore; whether dropping by parachute, landing in a wooden glider, or taking that terrible leap of faith onto the beaches... all must have questioned whether they would survive and how they would respond when faced with such mortal danger.

The poet Keith Douglas, who was killed in action three days later, wrote of the embarkation:

"Actors waiting in the wings of Europe, we already watch the lights on the stage and listen to the colossal overture begin.

For us entering at the height of the din, it will be hard to hear our thoughts, hard to gauge how much our conduct owes to fear or fury."

At this remove, eight decades later, it is a near impossible task to imagine the emotion of that day:

The pride of being part of so great an enterprise, the anxiety of in some way not coming up to scratch, and the fear of that day being their last.

I recently myself spoke to veterans who, to this day, remember with such heartbreaking clarity the sight of those many soldiers lying on the beach, who drowned before they could even engage in combat.

The stories of courage, resilience and solidarity which we have heard today, and throughout our lives, cannot fail to move us, to inspire us, and to remind us of what we owe to that great wartime generation – now, tragically, dwindling to so few.

It is our privilege to hear their testimony, but our role is not purely passive:

It is our duty to ensure that we, and future generations, do not forget their service and their sacrifice in replacing tyranny with freedom.

Our rights, and the liberty won at such terrible cost, bring with them responsibilities to others in the exercise of that liberty.

The Allied actions of that day ensured the forces of freedom secured, first, a toehold in Normandy, then liberated France, and ultimately, the whole of Europe from the stranglehold of a brutal totalitarianism.

And as we remember, with humility, pride and gratitude, let us never forget that the soldiers who fought in the campaign launched from this place came from thirty nations, from across the United Kingdom, the Commonwealth and Allied countries; while elsewhere in Europe, Allied forces continued to make vital progress in their successful Italian campaign; and while halfway around the world, at that same moment, the critical battles of Imphal and Kohima raged on in what was then Burma.

The 1944 Victoria Cross roll of honour includes Sikh, Muslim and Hindu soldiers – a reminder that events that year shaped our world then, and the society we share today.

While it was the frontline troops who faced the greatest personal dangers, the privations and sacrifices of war were endured by so many more.

The Allied victory was a truly collective effort, born of the fortitude and hard work of those who remained on the Home Front, toiling in factories, under our land in the mines, out in the fields, or working in secret – men and women alike.

Their collective industry, ingenuity and commitment helped our soldiers, sailors and airmen to prevail.

So, as we give thanks for all those who gave so much to win the victory, whose fruits we still enjoy to this day, let us, once again, commit ourselves always to remember, cherish and honour those who served that day and to live up to the freedom they died for by balancing rights with civic responsibilities to our country. For we are all, eternally, in their debt.

Source: Royal UK

A speech by The King at the UK's National Commemorative Event in Portsmouth to mark #DDay80

5 June 2024

The King addresses veterans, serving forces and and members of the public at the UK's National Commemorative Event in Portsmouth to mark the 80th anniversary of the D-Day Landings.

[myvinylplaylist]

Tora Tora: Surprise Attack (1989)

Cover Illustration by Mick McGinty

A&M Records

[goneahead]

[mumblingsage]

Under the parabola of a ball, a child turning into a man, I looked into the air too long. The ball fell in my hand, it sang in the closed fist: Open Open Behold a gift designed to kill. Now in my dial of glass appears the soldier who is going to die. He smiles, and moves about in ways his mother knows, habits of his. The wires touch his face: I cry NOW. Death, like a familiar, hears and look, has made a man of dust of a man of flesh. This sorcery I do. Being damned, I am amused to see the centre of love diffused and the wave of love travel into vacancy. How easy it is to make a ghost.

-from "How to Kill," by Keith Douglas

[ineedtoreadmorepoetry]

John Anderson by Keith Douglas

John Anderson, a scholarly gentleman advancing with his company in the attack received some bullets through him as he ran.

So his creative brain whirled, and he fell back in the bloody dust, (it was a fine day there and warm). Blood turned his tunic black

while pas his desperate final stare the other simple soldiers run and leave the hero unaware.

Apt epitaph or pun he could not hit upon, to grace a scholar's death; he only eyed the sun.

But I think, the last moment of his gaze beheld the father of gods and men, Zeus, leaning from heaven as he dies,

whom in his swoon he hears again summon Apollo in the Homeric tongue: Descend Phoebe and cleanse the stain

of dark blood from the body of John Anderson. Give him to Death and Sleep, who'll bear him as they can

out of the range of darts, to the broad vale of Lycia; there lay him in a deep solemn content on some bright dale.

And the brothers, Sleep and Death lift up John Anderson at his last breath.

[perfettamentechic]

10 agosto … ricordiamo …

10 agosto … ricordiamo … #semprevivineiricordi #nomidaricordare #personaggiimportanti #perfettamentechic

2022: Vesa-Matti Loiri, cantante e attore finlandese. Come attore è conosciuto per aver interpretato il personaggio di Uuno Turhapuro in una serie di film dal 1973 al 2004. Ha debuttato recitando nel film Pojat nel 1962. La carriera di attore è durata circa 60 anni. Ha recitato sia in teatro, film e televisione. Ha avuto più di 70 ruoli cinematografici. Come musicista, ha rappresentato la…

[emmykent]

[clancarruthers]

KEITH DOUGLAS CARRUTHERS - CLAN CARRUTHERS CCIS

KEITH DOUGLAS CARRUTHERS – CLAN CARRUTHERS CCIS

KEITH DOUGLAS CARRUTHERS 21 DECEMBER 1931 -AUGUST 29 2014  SARNIA, ONTARIO CANADA Keith Douglas Carruthers Monday, 21 December 1931 – Tuesday, 29 August 2017 Death Notice It is with great sadness that we announce the peaceful passing of Keith Douglas Carruthers ,into the arms of Jesus at Bluewater Health on Tuesday, August 29, 2017, in his 86th year. Loving husband of Rosemarie (Guse) for 55…

[pretonobranco77]

Keith Haring and Grace Jones, 1986 By Kirkland Douglas

[sushiwrote]

݃　⠀🈳 𓃉⠀⠀．. ★ 𝙳𝙴𝚂𝙸𝚁𝙴 𝙼𝙰𝚃𝙰𝙸𝚂 𝙺𝙸𝙽𝙶𝚂𝙻𝙴𝚈 ,

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀      𝙻𝙰𝙶𝙾𝚂 , 𝙽𝙸𝙶𝙴𝚁𝙸𝙰  —  𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋 :

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀      ⠀ lowercase                             intended.

the putrid and thick smell of burning flesh mingled into his labored breaths as his tired, bloodshot red eyes patterned back and forth in the darkness, searching.

searching for a glimpse of light, any signs of life in the cold space of the damp room, an exit he could find, a random object left behind that he could lean down and grab to pick the lock of these chains or something useful.

his pulse thundered in his ears, drowning out the deafening silence that surrounded him. in it, he could hear the echoes of every memory, every moan, every laugh, that led him to this moment. beaten, bound and chained, on the cusp of death.

even then, akua was still on his mind.

his mind raced with void questions he knew he wasn't likely to get any answers to. things like, was she safe? where did they take her? was she still alive? what seemed to be hours ago, he heard her screams as she was ripped from his grip.

a sudden flashback hit him like a wave. they had been running through the narrow maze of alley ways downtown, as the sound of shouting and gunfire burst behind them. desire turned to see akua's terrified face, her eyes wide with fear.

they almost made it to safety when the men caught up with them, dragging akua away as desire fought desperately to hold on to her. the last thing he saw was her being thrown into a black van before he was knocked out and somewhere along the journey, ended up here.

his fruitless inquiries probed him as he struggled against the rusty uncomfortable chains that bound his arms behind his back. there may have been hope for her; something in his heart refused to believe she didn't make it out without fighting. it could've been the fact that she grew up hard or that she was always street smart and resourceful... but he, on the other hand, was far from safe.

nowhere in the cards did he foresee his flight to lagos all those months ago bringing him to something as sinister and unnerving as this. his intuition was usually right about looming danger and taking precaution of the unfamiliar, but not this time.

this time, his sixth sense failed him. his boundaries dissipated, his moral compass was snatched by her smile. her smell, the way she moved. the taste of her lips, her eyes. her accent, her culture. she held all of his reasoning in the palm of her hands.

he was alone in a room, and the evidence of fear began to settle in. where did he misstep? one minute he was immersed beneath the red strobes of the strip club, his body pressed against the warmth of her beautiful brown skin, and the next, he was tripping over his own two feet. lost, isolated, a wanderer in the world of the unknown.

silently praying for an escape. a blessing, or some relief, to a foreign god. as if answering his plea, the door creaked open, its heavy steel frame moving slowly. this was the first time it had been opened since he was thrown into this hell.

a figure stepped into the room, the blinding light of the world outside casted long, ghoul-like shadows on the graffitied concrete walls. he squinted, trying to make out who was entering. he hadn't caught more than a thirty second glimpse of who captured him before he was out cold. as the figure approached, his heart skipped a beat.

" desire, "  the voice was soft, almost tender.

he recognized it immediately. it was akua. relief washed over him, but it was quickly replaced by his confusion. how did she manage to find him and what had they done to her?

"  akua... baby, thank god you okay,"  he rasped, his voice barely a whisper that croaked from his dry and aching throat.

she stepped closer and closer to him, her face now visible from the door's light, but the look in her eyes wasn't one of concern or fear. her expression was still and she wasn't battered. not so much as a scratch was on her. a visual difference compared to how beat up he was.

she didn't speak as she knelt beside him, her dainty fingers gently tracing the lines of his bruised face. her touch was demure and affectionate as it always was, but it hurt to be touched. his brows drew together as he winced in pain.

something told him that he could hold off on the specifics of asking her what she went through or how did she get away, he was simply happy to see she was alive.

she leaned in, her lips delicately brushing along his jawline, sending a shiver of mixed emotions down his spine. for a brief moment, hope unfurled within him. maybe they would be able to get out in time.

⠀⠀⠀maybe there was still a chance for them to make it.

" do you remember when we met, you told me to use you however i want to? and how you'd do anything for me ? " she whispered, her lips brushing against his ear. her voice was a seductive whisper laced with the thick accent of her native tongue and the distinct smell of liquor on her breath.

her collected but eerie demeanor in contrast to his own was telling him more than anything she could've ever said. he was worried, but hesitant. trying to decipher the meaning of her words.

his heart dropped as he struggled to understand where this was going and why she was bringing the past up at a dire time like now. they had bigger things to worry about if they didn't move swiftly.

" of course i do, but why you bringin' this up right now? we should be tryna to get out here... , you been drinkin' ? " he managed to choke out his concerns.

" this isn't a rescue mission... i'm not here to save you from any of this. i'm here to collect on that offer, "  she continued, pulling back slightly, her eyes locking with his.

the sudden realization mercilessly sliced through the fragile hope he had clung to for hours in this hellish confinement.

her words were earthshaking, and he felt as though the ground beneath him was shifting. the weight of her betrayal pressed down on his chest, crushing him.

she wasn't here to help him? was this a setup? maybe their love got lost in translation. blurred somehow, somewhere along the lines of their time together over the last few months. he desperately hoped his sense of understanding was faulty and he was simply in a daze, dreaming, hallucinating—anything to make her words not mean what he thought they did.

" i don't know what they did to you in there kua, but please, babe... we can still make it out of here. we can still do everything we talked about. i promise we can sort all this out later, i'll protect you. just please untie me. " he pleaded, desperation seeping into his voice.

she shook her head slowly, every back and forth motion indicated her pity and evident disgust.

" oh look now, the pathetic sex-crazed american man wants to be my savior. he wants me to run away with him like this is a fairytale, so we can be together forever and live happily ever after. my hero! are you that stupid, desire? you don't get it, do you? this was never a relationship, it was a transaction. "

before he could respond, she straightened her posture, and stood to her feet once again. her curvy figure towering over him in power on all levels but her dismissive gaze never left his desolated one.

" i'm sure you remember all those nights you told me how love isn't worth the trouble, how you swore every woman was the same, how they only saw you as a status symbol because of your fame. you said they only wanted your money and how different i was but you still lied to me just the same. "

she paused, a smirk playing on her lips, her eyes darkening with a knowing look. it was as though his thoughts rushed ten thousand miles a minute, as so much became unknowingly revealed to him.

their once intimate conversations had a special place in his heart, and he had every intention of getting her away from the shallow lifestyle of her career. he knew she was never happy with being a stripper.

he understood what drugs, crime, and sex ultimately led to in the end, but it never crossed his mind that his attempt at bending the truth to protect her would have hurt her like it did.

"  you lied, but i wasn't as naïve as you thought. i knew more than i let you believe i did. if you wanna act confused, i'll let you sit with that. as of right now, understand this: i'm a businesswoman here to collect a debt. let's see how much your love is really worth... "

his eyes followed the slight glint of the silver key tied around her neck, the hope for survival reigniting briefly within him. he knew that key was his ticket to freedom from these chains, from this torment, from lagos, if only he could convince her to use it.

she noticed his gaze and a sly smile spread across her lips. she reached up, fingering the key before dangling it in front of his face, letting it swing teasingly just out of his reach.

" you think this is your way out, don't you? " she purred, leaning in close.

" you're not getting away that easy, baby. not when we've finally got you right where we've wanted you for months. "

the realization hit him harder than any physical blow. she had been playing him from the start, and now, she held all the power. defeated, he couldn't speak another word, desperately trying to find a way to turn the situation in his favor, but every avenue seemed to lead back to her.

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[theatrepup]

"Then there was Brian Jones' hair, longer and thicker than anything we'd seen on a man before. The whispered words, 'He looks like a girl!' circulated around the audience, as if that were the worst possible insults."--Marty Clear, audience member at the Mike Douglas Show, 1964

(from https://brianjonesoftherollingstones.tumblr.com/)

(Mike Douglas appearance: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W-ycN9EOi8o)

[of-fear-and-love]

Lauren Bacall in Written on the Wind (1956)

[tallochar]

Holy fuck this concept is amazing and the casting on this is incredible, I do not have the money to go every night but I so fucking wish I did.

[usafphantom2]

Ferris schemed F-15A at Luke (r. downey)

@kadonkey via X

[lobbycards]

Blackout, French lobby card, French theatrical release 1986

[marvelousmrm]

Thor #314 (Moench/Pollard, Dec 1981). Reeling with their respective lacks of purpose, the surviving members of the Douglas clan reconnect. Drax, of course, tries to destroy his daughter. I find this less appalling than Pym’s misdeeds, because Heather and her father are both fully immersed in their superpowered hijinks — but Hank, although he was wearing his Yellowjacket costume, was in a moment of mundane domesticity.