#stone slab spillway

[cclust]

Fountain Pool in Austin

Huge trendy backyard concrete and rectangular lap pool fountain photo

[zinaarts]

Pool Lap Austin An illustration of a large, modern, rectangular lap pool fountain in a backyard

[haomeiconcretebatchingplant]

Interlocking Paver Block Machine

Interlocking paver block machine, also known as interlocking paving block machine or interlocking block machine, produces blocks with interlocking structure by using raw materials such as stone powder, river sand, stone, water, fly ash, cement and other raw materials, which are pressed and molded by machinery. These interlocking blocks, due to their unique interlocking design, can effectively enhance the overall stability of the masonry and resistance to scouring, which is especially suitable for slope protection, bank protection and other projects. The working principle of the interlocking paver block machine is as follows: after mixing the raw materials according to the proportion, it is fed into the mold through the conveying device; the mold presses the raw materials under pressure; the formed interilocking paver blocks are taken out through the demoulding device, and can be processed or transported subsequently. During the whole process, the equipment adopts advanced control system to ensure the stability and efficiency of the production process.

Main features of interlocking paver block machine: - Multifunctionality: The interlocking paver block machine can produce a variety of specifications of blocks, including ordinary bricks, hollow bricks, pavement bricks, cement pipes, etc., to meet the needs of different projects. - Efficient and flexible: the interlocking block machine is able to change the molds according to the production demand, realizing diversified production and improving the production efficiency. - Energy saving and environmental protection: Interlocking paving block machine can make full use of industrial wastes such as fly ash, slag, etc. during the production process, which reduces the waste of resources, and at the same time, reduces the production energy consumption. - High product quality: the blocks produced are high density, strong and durable, with flat surface and precise size, which is conducive to improving the construction quality. Easy maintenance: the equipment has a compact structure and is easy to maintain, which reduces the maintenance cost. Application fields of interlocking paver block machine: - Water conservancy project: used in river, canal, lake and other bank protection, slope protection project, as well as drainage canal, spillway bottom lining, slope protection. - Road engineering: in the construction of highway and bridge, the materials such as pavement bricks and reinforced concrete produced by interlocking block machine can improve the construction efficiency and quality. - Construction project: it can be used for the production of blocks for the outer wall, inner wall and floor slab of the building, as well as the production of paving materials in the garden landscape. - Dock project: producing cement pipes, cement wells and other building materials to meet the material demand in dock construction. The price of interlocking paver block machine varies according to brand, model, configuration and other factors. Generally speaking, the equipment of high-end brand has higher price, but stable performance and reliable quality; while the equipment of middle and low-end brand has relatively lower price, but there may be some performance difference. Therefore, when purchasing interlocking paving block machines, it is recommended that users make comprehensive considerations according to their own needs and budgets, and choose cost-effective products. At the same time, you can also consult professional machinery and equipment manufacturers to get more detailed product information and purchase advice.

This resource is from http://www.haomeibatchplant.com/news/interlocking-paver-block-machine.html Should you be interested in, please contact us at: Haomei Machinery Equipment Co.,ltd Whatsapp/Wechat: 0086 181 3788 9531 Email: nydia@concretebatchplant24.com

[vandaliatraveler]

Valley Falls State Park is best known for the dramatic cascades and rapids formed by the Tygart Valley River as it “squeezes” through a narrow gorge on the way to its eventual confluence with the Monongahela River in Fairmont. The park was once the site of a grist mill in the mid-1800s, but the only evidence remaining today is a spillway, a grinding stone, and an abandoned quarry, now overtaken by forest. Falls notwithstanding, I’m ever in awe of the massive slabs of Upper Connoquenessing sandstone piled up on either side of the river - they provide both a testament to earth’s prehistoric past and an amazing riparian zone of rocky pools and sandy embankments where seeds from farther upstream can deposit and take root, providing homes to many uniquely-adapted species. 

From top: American water willow (Justicia americana), a showy aquatic perennial that forms large colonies in the shallow riffles of streams; an eastern American toad (Anaxyrus americanus americanus), which was busy croaking and making babies in a rocky pool near the falls; sweet azalea (Rhododendron arborescens), also known as smooth azalea, a rangy, stream-loving shrub whose strongly-scented, white flowers have distinctive red stamens; yellow star grass (Hypoxis hirsuta), an exquisite riparian member of the lily family that clumps on the moist, sandy banks of fast-moving streams; royal fern (Osmunda regalis), a spectacularly beautiful fern that loves the nooks between the boulders at the river’s edge; and ebony spleenwort (Asplenium platyneuron), also known as brownstem spleenwort, an elegant, upright fern with a special fondness for the same rocky nooks.

[clownfuckery]

A Monster for a Mate - Prologue

PENNYWISE X OC

A/N: This multi-chapter fic is inspired by the post Thoughts on Deadlights by @hello-helianthus.  There will be many references to The Dark Tower and Stephen King’s multiverse.  Rated M for strong sexual content (yes, there will be smut), violence, language, gore and horror.  

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“You can love a monster, it can even love you back, but that doesn’t change its nature” – Eliza Crewe

“Something new had happened. For the first time in forever, something new… and there had been pain, pain, great roaring pain… and for one moment there had also been fear, because…all living things must abide by the laws of the shape they inhabit.  For the first time, It realized that perhaps Its ability to change Its shape might work against It as well as for It.  There had never been pain before, there had never been fear before, and for a moment It had thought It might die - oh Its head had been filled with a great white silver pain, and it had roared and mewled and bellowed… Suppose there was Another?  Suppose… suppose… Now they were coming again, and while everything had gone much as It had foreseen, something It had not foreseen had returned: that maddening, galling fear… So, another new thing, if you please: for the first time in Its never-ending history, It needed to make a plan; for the first time It found Itself afraid simply to take what It wanted from Derry, Its private game-preserve…” -Stephen King, It

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1.

A Walk Among the Ruins

Penobscot
 County D E R R Y
 Maine

I can feel the butterflies fluttering in my stomach as I look up at the sign marking the city limits.  For a moment I wonder how long the somewhat faded and dusty plaque has stood at the edge of the town, like a faithful watchman who has become frozen at his post with the passing of time, becoming rooted to the ground into which he is placed.  I see it as a symbol of what I became since losing that part of me that was human, for I too stand frozen in time, and today will be the day when I finally enter into my first slumber.

Today, I reunite with him.

It.

The clown lies waiting for me deep underground, two years into his hibernation.  I remained behind, promising to join him on the other side of sleep when my time came to go Todash.  For two years I have waited for the bells to chime, wandering the streets of the place made after his image.  I miss him, terribly, hearing his childish high-pitched laughter in the wind and catching glimpses of him peeking from behind trees and hiding in the underbrush.  At night, as I lay curled in the darkened and decaying rooms of the Neibolt house I can almost feel him, the rustle of white silver silk shattering the stillness as I imagine a large, gloved, ghostly hand reaching out to caress my cheek.  

It finally happened in the wee hours when I came to sit on the grassy patch beneath the town sign as was my daily ritual.  Every morning at exactly 3 a.m. I leave the relative safety of Neibolt and walk the deserted streets to the same spot, watching the black and straight line of Route 7 until the sun rises and the first trucks carrying the fruits of local farms come rolling into town.  I had just settled on the grass, resting my head against the steel beams, when I felt my ears become inflamed and I registered the distant ringing.  It grew and grew, and as I sat in the darkness looking into the trees for the source of the sound, I finally realized that the jingling came from within my chest.  My call had finally come, and as I felt a yawn form in my throat, I shouted with joy.  

Now here I stand, dusting off my jeans and reaching for the handle of my old and torn suitcase, my sole companion and the only link I have left to a past I can no longer remember.  The LV pattern is faded and the once rich brown leather is now a sickly yellow, but inside are the items I carried when I set foot on this town two years ago.  There are also a wrinkled receipt from the Derry Townhouse and a driver’s license from Vermont which reads:

Name: Luseres Dietrich Born: November 6, 1989 Blood Type: AB

I begin to make my way back into town, and as Route 7 becomes Witcham Street with its rows of quaint houses surrounded by white picket fences, dawn is just breaking.  In the distance I can hear the revving of machinery as early working crews continue the prolonged work of restoring the center of town.  Soon, Derry will not only be rebuilt, but revamped into an urban complex, rivaling the likes of Bangor.  I make my way down West Brodway, turn left on Kansas Street, and finally enter Neibolt Street just as the sun rises in the East.  It is sure to be a beautiful summer day in New England, I realize as I am bathed in golden light, but none of it matters.  My legs are becoming heavier with each step, my shoulders weigh me down, and I find myself blinking just a tad longer.  

I stop in front of the old abandoned house, Pennywise’s home, and remember the few days I spent trapped inside its walls.  My flesh went stiff with fear at the exotic horrors found in its shifting halls and chambers of unimaginable terrors, I screamed until my throat felt raw, but it was also there where I left my humanity behind and rose unafraid, finally embracing that part of myself which until then I refused to accept.  It was deep beneath that old, charred and blackened house where my fate was joined with his.

I let out a sigh of relief and continue on, disappearing into the trees at the end of the lane.  Here the earth slopes downward, and I carefully pull my suitcase behind me as I skillfully climb down into the Barrens below.  As I enter the clearing, the first trains of the day whistle as they chug on the bridge above en route to the sea.  I now carry the suitcase over my head as I maneuver through the wetlands, stepping over stones and splashing in the shallow waters of the Kenduskeag.  As I finally reach the edge of the Barrens, I look back one last time at the cliffs that mark the western edge of town.  It will be twenty-five years before I set eyes, hungry eyes, upon that rock face once more.  

The entrance to the spillway tunnel opens up before me, like the gaping mouth of a creature from the Prim, gasping for breath on the shores of some parallel world.  The water that once spilled from the Canal now trickles into the improved underground tunnels built by Derry Public Works.  These old drainpipes are dry now, dark sepulchral mazes that are abandoned to the elements.  My boots make a clickety-sound that thumps along to the humming of the suitcase wheels dragging across the cement.  I bid farewell to the world as the light streaming from outside fades when I make a turn into a narrower tunnel.  I’m soon enveloped in darkness, every now and then broken by thin streams of sunlight that push their way through the cracks above.  Further and further in I go, and soon the tunnels open into the center of the old sewer system.  Pipes begin to emerge from the thick walls, broken and caved in.  

It is into one of these that I climb, squeezing through an opening large enough in the debris.  I haul my suitcase in and continue hunched over, once again winding left and right, guided by instinct.  Something buried deep in these manmade catacombs is calling to me, and I feel warmth rising in my chest as the deadlight I carry within begins to gleam.  Finally, I reach the collapsed entryway of what I’ve come to call home.  I slide through the cracks of a huge slab of concrete that blocks it off from the rest of the world, and I spill inside.

Pennywise’s Tower.

I fight back tears as I look upon its destruction.  Both the enormous collection of mementos from his past hunts and the circus wagon in which I spent many a moment lost in rapture now lie crushed beneath a small mountain of debris.  The tower collapsed into itself on that horrible day in May when I made the ultimate sacrifice to ensure the survival of the monster to whom I am bound.  Instinctively I look down at my hands and for a moment I can see the small bundle of pale white skin and vibrant eyes look up at me in complete trust as I hand her over to be devoured by her dying father. The tears finally flow for I can no longer contain them.  

“There will be more, I promise” I had pleaded with urgency, literally pushing the humanoid infant who was now crying loudly into his deteriorating hands.  He had mewled, bellowed and roared against it, recoiled from the idea, but as my own skin began to crumble he lunged for her, unhinging his jaws and swallowing her whole.  

I didn’t even look away.

I place my suitcase down and make my way to the edge of the only well that has remained intact. I throw my legs over the ladder and begin my descent into total darkness.  I can feel my vision adjusting the lower I go, my green irises morphing into amber.  My chest now glows brighter as my deadlight senses the nearness of its mate:  Pennywise is in the nest.  When I reach the bottom I eagerly climb into the claustrophic tunnel dug by him centuries ago.  Exhaustion threatens to crush my bones as I crawl the last few hundred yards, and then at last, I am home.

The nest becomes dimly light by the glow emanating from my chest, and I rush over to him.

“Penny, I’m here” I call out, but he remains unmoving.  Of course, he can’t hear me, he is no longer in this world.  His deadlight does not glow.  The avatar remains, but It is in the Todash darkness.  Through now heavy eyelids I look upon Its most favored form, and I feel a surge of warmth and love wash over me.  The clown is curled into a ball, almost cat-like, with an arm hiding his face.  I lovingly run my fingers through his fine tufts of hair, reveling in their silky quality.

“January embers” I whisper, and for some reason the words feel as though they carry a significant weight.

Feeling the last threads of consciousness become severed, I lay down next to him and press my body to his.  As my eyes slowly close I hope that I dream of my past.  Please let me remember, just let me remember, are the last words that go through my mind as I slip into slumber and go Todash.

2.

Together Again

My eyes open and I see that I stand at the edge of a dense coniferous forest.  Powdery snow blankets the ground like ash.  It drifts gently in the breeze, and I place my hand out to catch the flakes.  They immediately disintegrate when they come in contact with my skin, but instead of melting, they evaporate back into the air, floating upwards to a starless sky.  A sense of dread grips me as I look up at the black expanse that envelopes me completely.  There is only darkness above me as well as behind me.  What if I’m lost?  What if I drifted into the Prim?  What if Pe…

Just then, the faint sounds of calliope music drift towards me in the breeze and I turn back to the forest.  The snow clears and I begin to make out the pointed tops of large tents somewhere behind the trees.  Lights flicker, and after sparks explode right above me, a large sign I hadn’t noticed comes to life and the name PENNYWISE lights up the darkness.  The ground shifts beneath me and a path lined with flickering lights opens up before me. 

“Of course.  What else would it be?” I chuckle and enter the fairground that becomes alive the moment I set foot inside.  Rides gear on, the carousel lights up and begins to go round and round.  Tents open up on either side of me, their shelves lined with antique toys to be won.  The carnival music blasts from all sides, like a hymn of joy that announces my arrival.  Jack-in-the-boxes spin on their own and pop open, with tiny versions of Pennywise bursting up and laughing that deliciously devious cackle of his.  As I finally reach the merry-go-round, my eyes go wide with amazement.

There are shadows inside.  Small black masses with somewhat human shapes ride the carousel horses, some sit in the chariots, and some just stand and take hold of the bars.  As I look around me I notice more of them, walking slowly through the fair, some stopping at the attractions, others standing at the contest stalls.  The more I notice them, the more there seem to be.  They come in all shapes and sizes, some barely reaching my knee while others tower above me, but they all float happily through the carnival.  

Suddenly, the unmistakable voice of Pennywise comes booming out from above.

“Step right up, children, step right up!  Come near, come close!  You’ll laugh, you’ll cry! You’ll cheer, you’ll die!  Introducing Pennywise, the Dancing Clown!  Woo ah ha ha ha ha ha ha!” 

A traveling stage opens and inside is a life size marionette of Pennywise himself.  The wooden puppet breaks into a jig, kicking its legs outward to the tempo of the music.  The shadows roaming the fair begin to slink toward the stage, and as I now stand alone, I take notice of the largest tent in the grounds, pitched away from all the attractions.  As I look, one of its curtains lifts on its own, beckoning me to enter.  A different kind of music drifts from inside, soft, somber notes that are wrung from a wind instrument, and in a trance, I make my way towards it.

My breath catches in my throat when I step over the threshold.  There, with his back turned towards me, is Pennywise.  His head hangs low and his body sways as he plays the concertina.  Though I cannot see it, I know his eyes are closed, reveling in every note, every sigh of sorrow that spills form the bellows of the instrument.  

I watch him in silence and awe as he fills the tent with the most melancholic and serene of songs.  It is a song that speaks of the sorrow of two lovers separated by distance and time.  When it ends, I swallow the lump in my throat, understanding that in his own way, Pennywise is voicing the emptiness he has felt without me near.

“So… this is how they really float” I manage to choke out.

His arms drop by his sides and the concertina falls to the floor.  He turns, and my chest swells when his two sulfurous eyes lock into mine.  I can see relief and worry combined inside their yellow depths, but their sparkle returns the moment his lips part into an ear-splitting smile.  In a breath I close the distance, my arms wrapping around his neck as his hands cup my face.  

“My little songbird, I thought you’d never get here”

End of Prologue

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CLICK HERE FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER

[bimoutsourcing]

Depending on the design, the dams can be categorized as follow :-

Gravity Dams: The size of the gravity dams is immense. It is formed with concrete or stone masonry. It’d objective is to retain huge volumes of water. With the help of concrete, the load of the dam remains in a position to resist the horizontal force of water moving towards it. Due to this fact, it called as a gravity dam. Gravity mainly retains the dam right down to the bottom, resisting water from toppling it over.

Instances of Gravity dam: Grand Coulee Dam (USA), ( Nagarjuna Sagar Dam (India) and Itaipu Dam ( Between Brazil and Paraguay).

Earth Dams: An earth dam is produced with earth (or soil) by condensing subsequent layers of earth, applying basically the most watertight materials to build up a core and adding extra absorbent materials on the upstream and downstream sides. A facing of crushed stone can resist corrosion occurred due to wind or rain, and an abundant spillway, usually of concrete, withstand catastrophic washout of water outstripping the dam.

Earth dam withstands the forces functioned upon it mainly due to shear strength of the soil. Though the load of the earth dam also allows in withstanding the forces, the structural behavior of an earth dam vary as compared to that of a gravity dam. The earth dams are usually constructed in large valleys which contain flat slopes at flanks (abutments).The foundation requirements are not so rigid as compared to those of gravity dams.

Instances of earthfill dam: Rongunsky dam (Russia) and New Cornelia Dam (USA).

Rockfill Dams: A rockfill dam is built up with rock fragments and boulders of enormous size. An impermeable membrane is placed on the rockfill on the upward side to lessen the leakage through the dam. The membrane is usually built up with cement concrete or asphaltic concrete. In former rockfill dams, steel and timber membrane were also frequently utilized, but now they are obsolete.

A dry rubble cushion is placed among the rockfill and the membrane for dispersing the water load and for providing support to the membrane. Normally, the rockfill dams contain a watertight earth core inside the center to examine the leakage in place of an impermeable upstream membrane. The earth core is placed against a dumped rockfill. It’s important to provide sufficient filters among the earth core and the rockfill on the upward and downward sides of the core so that the soil particles will not be conveyed by water and piping doesn’t happen.

Instances of rockfill dam: Mica Dam (Canada) and Chicoasen Dam (Mexico)

Arch Dams: An arch dam is twisted in plan, having its convexity in the order of the upward side. An arch dam disperses the water stress and other forces mainly to the abutments through arch action. An arch dam is ideal for narrow canyons containing sturdy flanks which have the capability to withstand the force formed with the arch action.

The portion of an arch dam is about triangular similar to a gravity dam though the portion is comparatively thinner. The arch dam may contain a single curvature or double curvature inside the vertical plane. Normally, the arch dams of double curvature are inexpensive and are utilized in practice.

Examples of Arch dam: Hoover Dam (USA) and Idukki Dam (India)

Buttress Dams: Buttresses belong to triangular concrete partitions which are used to transfer the water pressure from the deck slab to the foundation. Buttresses refer to compression members which are normally arranged all through the dam site each 6 to 30 meter, depending on the size and design of the dam.

Buttress dams are usually belonged to hollow dams as the buttresses can’t develop a solid wall extending during a river valley. The deck is commonly a reinforced concrete slab that is supported among the buttresses, which are frequently place uniformly.

To get more information, go through the following article civilengineeringdaily.com

[finishinglinepress]

FINISHING LINE PRESS BOOK OF THE DAY: The Tree Surgeon Dreams of Bowling by Jayne Marek $19.99, Full-length, paper https://www.finishinglinepress.com/product/the-tree-surgeon-dreams-of-bowling-by-jayne-marek/ Jayne Marek’s poems and art photos appear or are forthcoming in publications such as Spillway, 3Elements, Silk Road, Sliver of Stone, Camas, Gravel, Cold Mountain Review, New Mexico Review, Pontoon Poetry, and elsewhere. She has provided color cover art for Bombay Gin and The Bend. Her prior collections are Company of Women: New and Selected Poems (co-authored with Lylanne Musselman and Mary Sexson, 2013), Imposition of Form on the Natural World (2013), and In and Out of Rough Water (2016). She was a finalist for the Ex Ophidia Press Poetry Prize, the David Martinson–Meadowhawk Prize, and the Ryan R. Gibbs Photography Contest; she has received two fellowships from the National Endowment for the Humanities for literary scholarship and two Pushcart Prize nominations for poetry. Her one-act play “Katherine and Virginia,” which characterizes the friendship between authors Katherine Mansfield and Virginia Woolf, has been performed in New York City and Indiana. A professor emerita of English (Ph.D. University of Wisconsin) who also holds an M.F.A. (the University of Notre Dame), she now makes her home in the Pacific Northwest, near the wild and beautiful coast, where she writes, photographs, and learns about natural history. Lucid and accessible, The Tree Surgeon Dreams of Bowling invites readers to enjoy the author’s deft use of slant rhymes and expressive poetic forms. In three sections that move between inner and outer worlds, across the American landscape and the Pacific Ocean, this book ponders how mistakes and losses, insights gained from travel, and good-humored gratefulness frame the rich textures of life. Poet Jayne Marek makes her home in the moment, whether the environment is bleak, like a hospital, or uplifting, as when drinking Japanese tea. Our poet is never still, moving from phase to phase of her life, and traveling around the world, transplanting her home from Indiana to the west coast. The stillness is found inside the poems, tracing the spiritual action of growing lighter, of connecting with the natural world wherever the poet lands. Two maple leaves, for example, cling to a slab with Japanese text, “trifold shapes rhyming // as if the poet herself /stroked those leaves with afternoon rain / and placed them there.” The poet did place them there, in words, in triadic lines that fall quietly against the space of the page, like the “tails of gods’ robes,” or “purifying smoke.” The poems of “The Tree Surgeon Dreams of Bowling” invite the reader: “. . . come this way / visitor // toward the edge / following my beauty / you know you want to.” And like a blue butterfly seeking the inside of a flower bell, the reader is delighted to dip in. –Marilyn Kallet, author of 17 books, including The Love That Moves Me, poetry from Black Widow Press. Here is perception let loose and used by the intelligence of language, surprising and fat as a lost sock (that’s actually a drowned mole) or as crow gangsters caught in the act. One reads this work with a combination of the dread of grief that lurks behind the next fence and the delight of each luminous detail reported with the deep feeling at the core of the kind of poetry we come back to again and again because we sense there is something more, something we might have missed. –Paul E. Nelson, poet/interviewer, author of A Time Before Slaughter andAmerican Sentences PREORDER SHIPS NOVEMBER 17, 2017 RESERVE YOUR COPY TODAY https://www.finishinglinepress.com/product/the-tree-surgeon-dreams-of-bowling-by-jayne-marek/ #poetry