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whimsical-musingss · 4 years ago

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Dance With Me?

I got inspired by The Last of Us 2 lol.

Summary: you somehow convince Daryl to dance with you during a town dance. Pre-Negan. It’s a short lil thing, hope you enjoy!

Warnings: just fluff...hold onto your hats, y’all! Age gap-ish?? Gif isn’t mine.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon X F Reader, Platonic Abraham and Rick.

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist! Requests are open❤️

Of course he has a black eye.

It’s fading, but you could still notice it across the room. His hair barely covers the bruise, but you can still notice it, especially if he’s facing a certain way. Which he’s doing right now, leaning against the bar on his back, facing Aaron while he talks to him. The faded yellow Christmas lights strung above the bar make him glow.

You’re surprised he’s here. Rick has told you that Daryl disliked gatherings like these. Especially since it’s a dance, you would think he wouldn’t bother to show up at all. But here he is, a few steps away, glass of something in his hand, and he looks fucking ethereal right now.

“Need a partner?”

You look over to Abraham, who’s in his uniform except for the blingy jacket. “Where’s Sasha You ask jokingly, nudging his arm, and he smiles at the question. “She said she’d be here soon,” he replies, so you shrug. “Probably getting glammed up for her-“ he cuts you off by grabbing your elbow and dragging you to the floor. You’re both laughing by the time you reach the middle of the floor.

“You know how to dance, Sergeant?” You quip, and he replies by putting his hand politely on your waist and grabbing your hand. “Yes,” he replies snarkily, and just as he answers, a quick folk song starts up in the barely working speakers. The best is fast, and suddenly you are being whisked across the room, skipping and jumping as you both dance.

“What is going on with you and Sasha, anyway?” You ask, panting slightly. You feel Abraham shrug, suddenly frowning in concentration. “You like her, don’t you?” You ask again, and he sighs.

“Yeah,” he soon answers. “Just...I don’t really know what to do.”

The doors to the building open, and there’s Sasha, looking around nervously. You stand back from Abraham, nodding over to her. “When you go to her, you’ll know what to do,” you say. “You both like each other, make it official already.” He sends a smile your way before heading to Sasha. You wave to Sasha, who grins back at you.

You sigh, quickly moving off the dance floor yourself, not wanting to get in anyone’s way. If only it can be that easy, knowing what to say to someone you admire. Abraham is a confidant man, he’s a quick thinker. Every time you think about making conversation with Daryl, you cringe. You would surely mess up. Every conversation you already had was awkward, mostly it was uncomfortable silence.

The quick song ends, and everyone disperses to take a small break. You sip on a cup of water as you watch someone get set up at the front of the room with a violin. You can’t help but glance over to your right, where Daryl is still leaning, his drink gone, talking with Aaron. You look away, back to the front of the room where the man with the violin strikes up a quick Celtic tune. You watch as Sasha and Abraham dance, once and awhile Abraham twirling Sasha.

“You should ask him to dance,” Rick says, standing next to you, a cup of water also in his hand. “Who?” You ask, dumbly, and Rick rolls his eyes playfully at you.

“You know who,” he says, nodding in the direction where Daryl is standing. You laugh, shaking your head. “We barely talk,” you mumble, and Rick almost doesn’t hear you. He shakes his head at you. “You only live once. I’m gonna go dance with Carl. You and Daryl should join us,” with that, he leaves you alone again, grabbing Carl’s hand.

When you glance over at Daryl again, he’s putting on his jacket. He’s leaving already, which is unsurprising. But still, you can’t help but feel your stomach clench in disappointment. You had once chance tonight to maybe make a move, and you failed.

Rick’s voice tugs at the back of your mind. You only live once.

Without thinking, your walking over, fists clenched at the skirt of your dress. Don’t be a wuss, Y/N, you chide yourself, slowing as you approach the two men.

“Hey, Y/N,” Aaron says, nodding in greeting. “I like your dress.” It’s a green little thing that loops around your neck, barely above your knees. “Hi, Aaron. And thanks,” you nod back to him. You look up at Daryl, who’s zipping up his jacket. He glances at you, but then back to his hands.

“Leaving so soon?” You ask, words tumbling out of your mouth without thinking. It must be the adrenaline of the dancing before. He’s nodding, and you can tell he’s itching to leave.

“Mhm,” he grunts, and you bite your lip. “Do you want to dance with me before you go?” Aaron is smirking to himself, but you ignore him. Daryl looks to the door, then back to you.

“I dunno how,” he says gruffly. A new song starts up, and you tilt your head. “I can show you. Come on,” you hold out your hand, and before you could brace yourself for the rejection, he’s taking it.

You can’t help but smile as you lead him to the middle of the floor. “Have you ever danced?” You ask as the bodies of people swarm you both as they leap and jump and twirl around. “A coupla times,” he replies.

You take his hand which was holding yours and put it on your waist. He’s startled, you could tell by the look in his eyes, but when you grab his other hand in your own, he seems a bit more comfortable. His shoulder where you put your hand is rigid like stone. “Relax, Dixon,” you smirk at him, but he doesn’t move an inch.

“I’ll lead,” you say, and when you step forward, he follows, surprisingly better than you thought he would be. As you both dance, he’s relaxing slightly, sometimes leading you both through the sea of people. The lights above make his eyes sparkle, and a smile graces his lips.

He’s twirling you, and you gasp when he pulls you back in to his chest. “Yer terrified of me, aren’t ya?” He asks, concern lacing his voice. His eyes are like Abraham’s: thoughtful.

“Why would you say that?” You ask, resuming to lead you both through the crowd.

“Ya don’t talk to me,” he says so quietly you almost have to ask him to repeat himself.

“Yes I do,” you retort. “You don’t talk to me, Daryl.” You’re playful, giggling, and he watches you curiously.

“Twirl me again,” you pant, and he does, watching you laugh, a small smile on his lips. He twirls you back, watching the skirt of your dress spin with you. Your back is against his chest, his arms enveloping you. The side of his face almost touches yours, his breath hot against your neck.

You’re blushing, and he notices, so he quickly moves you back around to face him. “Sorry,” he says, avoiding your gaze. “Don’t be, I liked it,” you say, grabbing both of his hands. The song is over, and applause fills the room.

You look at him curiously, his eyes trained on your entwined hands. “Daryl...,” you whisper, and it’s so quick, how he grabs your waist and you’re grabbing his face in your hands, kissing him. He’s kissing you back, his lips hot and he tastes like liquor. His other hand moves to your cheek, rough against your soft skin.

You both pull away, breathless by the kissing and dancing. “Daryl,” you whisper again, his forehead against your own. “Kiss me again.” And he does. Roughly, hungrily, as if he’s been starved from being unable to kiss you.

“Let’s get outta here,” he’s saying against your lips, and you nod quickly and follow him out the door.

Taglist

@crossbowking @imaginecrushes @jodiereedus22 @br-azy @pansexualgrapes @alispaceme @ravenwings73 @hudsonbird @sophia-gwendolyn

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orleans-jester · 3 years ago

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After Bastien leaves.

Longstory short: No one home; Agnes goes to the old caravan camp; gets her fortune told; drinks weird tea; has a very odd dream; goes home; Pierre is grumpy that she didn’t turn up second day of school; but she comes back on the third.

There would be no one home. Agnes had figured that much, once she remembered what day that it was. First day of school usually meant going out for dinner. That felt like something Pierre would remind their mother of, get a nice meal after what was probably a long day. Felt even longer for Agnes. She went up to her room, and sat down on the bed. It was so unfamiliar. The patterns that lined the walls were nice though. It looked nicer than all of the different things she had on her old wall. Probably for the best those got destroyed. There was no more Summer. No more River. No more dad. Barely a mother. Fig was probably on the fence. No idea if she even talked to Wulf anymore.

She’d drop her dirty bag onto the floor and would trace some of the painted lines with her fingers. The pattern of her favorite dress over this one wall. The flowers and all. It looked really really good. Until her fingers stopped when something interrupted the pattern. An acorn. Didn’t take a genius to know what that meant. She tapped against it with her index finger twice - three times. She couldn’t handle it. It was bringing on that feeling of anxiety again. She started to go through her desk, through the different drawers. The closet. Pulled down a couple of shoeboxes to keep them empty. Nothing. There was no photos, no postcards, nothing of the sort that she could use to cover it up. She didn’t even have a poster. But she did have sticky notes, so she’d cover the space with the bright yellow. It was an eyesore but it would have to do until she thought of something better.

She’d sit on her bed for a couple of minutes, eyes closed, deep breath in and then deep breath out. Trying to gain control of herself. Control of her situation. What even was her situation. What the hell was she. Where was she. How was she? And most importantly, who was she? There was still one person who might be able to tell her. Someone else she had heard stories about growing up, and had even met a couple of times.

She thought about showering first, but decided against it. She’d have one to wash off the grime, and then a long bathtub after to re-center herself. No, she’d just pick a different sweater out of her closet, this one also in a darker color, would close her bedroom door behind her like she had never been there, and would step out again, locking the door behind her, keeping a light or two on to warm off burglars, the house silent, alarm back on. The password was the same as it was at the old house to get through the gate. That made things easy for her forgetful mind.

Bastien might have denied her the long walk home, but there was another one that she could take. And it was somewhere that she felt moderately safe. Through the city, through to a small are by a graveyard where caravans had been sitting for so long, the wheels had broken from the weight and disuse, making the bulk sink down towards the ground. There was one that still had purple peeling paint. Her papa’s. But there was also one with an old woman and a little girl sitting on the front stoop, looking up at the stars.

“Madame Antoinette?” She would venture, pulling down the hood of her sweater. The old woman looked up and smiled, showing multiple missing teeth in her mouth. The little girl was looking up at her too, big blue eyes like jewels sparkling against the fire in the middle of the camp.

“Agnes,” The old woman said, pulling the little girl onto her lap and patted the empty seat. “I knew you would be coming back one of these days.”

“Of course you did,” Agnes would smile at the old fortune teller. The little girl looked nothing like the old woman. Most likely a street child that she had taken in. Was teaching the trade. “I’m feeling lost, Madame. I need guidance. I need... to know what I have to do, what I’m here to do.”

“What will you pay me?”

“I forgot to bring anything, I umm-”

“You will bring me a necklace at Abraham’s wedding. Real stone. None of that cheap shit.”

“Of course, yes, I can do that,” Agnes would nod enthusiastically.

“Or else I curse the marriage and your mother will turn into an old hag, like me.”

“That sounds only fair,” Agnes said, trying to take that seriously but it was difficult. The woman gave her the eye and then held her hand out, requesting Agnes’s. The girl who usually had soft hands due to many different expensive handcreams, gave hers over. They were rougher than usual. Her nails were full of hangnails and split skin. They hadn’t been painted in days. Her palms themselves were feeling a little rough, a little calloused from working more with them to make where they had been a home. Nevertheless, the woman didn’t give any reaction to it, just started to run her fingers through the lines in Agnes’s palms. Went over them a couple of times as if making sure of something. The only sounds were from the other caravans and the crackling fire which never went out. It was like the flame of hope for the people in this camp. It went out, they left. It’s the same fire that was burning when Kuzco and Clopin had passed through here, getting Clopin’s things before returning to the inn. They fed it and kept it safe.

She’d finally speak, her voice just enough for Agnes to hear.

“You don’t walk the line between different worlds, you weave through them. Many of them. You are a sparrow in a swallow’s nest. The moment you believe you are safe the swallows will peck you to death. You mourn for lives lost to you, but they were never your life to begin with. Restore your natural path, Miss Agnes, or it will be impossible to find it again.”

That was heavy. It gave Agnes a lot to think about. She’d sit there silently, her hand still outstretched. The old woman set it back down on Agnes’s own knee. “Sa fait réfléchir .. how about a cup of tea before you go home?”

“That would be lovely, thank you,” Agnes said, her mind somewhere else. Thinking about those words. Thinking about the consequences of her actions in a way that she had never thought of before.

“Jeanne, fetch the tea.” The old woman would say. The little girl climbed off of her lap and went inside, leaving just the two to feel the breeze coming through the night. “It will be a cold winter for New Orleans,” She’d add. “Harsh winds are coming our way. Don’t believe that because we are in the south, we will be safe from them.”

“I’ll buy a new coat,” Agnes said, still stuck inside of her head, those words going in one ear and out the other. She was a sparrow. The swallow’s nest had been the Laveaus. It had also been Bastien. Perhaps he had saved her by forcing her to go home tonight. Before she knew it, a chipped mug was placed into her hand. It smelled of nettles. Of late Spring rather than Summer. It was a murky brown. Leaves floated on the top.

“Drink, it will help,” The old woman urged. So Agnes did. She’d drink, and the taste would bring her back to reality. It was ... earthy. Like they literally just added water to some dirt that they found on the ground. “All of it,” The woman would say, and Agnes could not say no to that. So she’d drink it.

It tasted horrible. But she had been taught to be a proper guest. Always accept all of what you are being given. Waste not, want not. Even if it was something as horrible as this tea. She had the feeling it really was just some sort of leave picked up around the area.

The three of them would sit there and enjoy the night. That was until Agnes noticed that the fire seemed to be dancing rather than just flickering. She could hear something, some kind of music in her head. It was like a drumming sound. It matched her heart beat perfectly. She even tapped her fingers against her knee to the rhythm. The old woman was smiling again and then she seemed to disappear. Muffled noises of shouting. She stood up, feeling energetic despite the fact that she had been feeling weak the last couple of days. Her body wasn’t used to running on so little fuel. But she felt good. Sprightly.

She’d walk towards the fire, but it started to get further and further away. The cold winds that she had been warned about were reaching her now, and she’d feel that chill on her arm. She’d walk faster, swinging her arms, lifting her legs to try to get her body heat higher with exercise. It started to feel wet. It started to feel COLD. Not cool. Not even New Orleans cold. But the cold that she remembered on the balcony of the hotel in New York many Christmas’s ago. Snow even started to fall. The area around her started to white-out entirely. Mounds grew beneath her feet. Her sneakers weren’t equipped to deal with that. She was sliding around. Her energy was still up somehow, getting her going forward and forward.

Eventually she started to see something. A smudge of black. She attempted to run rather than walk, but kept slipping on the snowhills that were quickly gathering. A little house. Maybe a cabin. The door handle was right there within reach. She grabbed it. Turned it. Pushed herself inside and then closed the door against the growing blizzard that was out there. But - the inside did not look like a cabin at all. It looked like a hospital waiting room.

Patients were looking up at her. She was no doctor. She was not hurt. But something about being here felt right. She’d walk through it, up to the desk where a pretty dark girl was sitting. “Afternoon Dr. Renault, are you ready for your patients?”

“I- I’m a Doctor?” Agnes asked. She didn’t feel like one. “I’m not qualified to be called that, I-”

“Oh, don’t be silly,” The dark haired nurse would stand up. Would take Agnes’s arm and lead her down the hallway. She looked behind her to the patients who had continued on with their waiting activities. Playing on phones. Crosswords. Books. Even eating McDonalds. “Your first patient is right behind that curtain there. Better hurry, you know how long waiting times are.”

And left her side. It took until she was leaving that Agnes realized that it was the singer Ciara who had brought her here. Now that was weird. But she’d approach the curtain and would pull it to the side to see her father sitting there, looking as healthy as his old horse Achilles had in his prime. His hair was longer, his smile was brighter, his eyes were keen and glowing. “Dad!” She’d say, rushing up to him and wrapped her arms around him. “Oh my god, you’re here, you’re my first patient. Oh my god, I missed you.” She almost believed she could smell his old cologne. She hugged him enough as a little girl to know what it had smelt like.

“My little girl,” Phoebus would smile, hugging her back in return. He held her in place, it was - it was hard to back away from it. “You always used to play Doctor. Remember when I bought you that pretend kit? You’d wear that stethoscope for hours, until your ears hurt and you still wouldn’t take them off.”

Agnes laughed against her father, giving him another squeeze since he was in a huggy mood. “I remember.”

“If only you had stayed that little girl,” He sighed. “I’ll remember those times forever. But here you are instead. So special. Like ... like treasure.”

That last word had put chills up her spine. She tried to let go. She tried to back up but her father’s hold was so strong... she had to use her powers, bring up the barrier to make him back away from her, and then she realized that it hadn’t been her father at all. The smell was gone. Instead, what she faced was what looked like Chip, sounded like Chip, but that face - a massive part of it was missing, jaw exposed. Maggots. He looked of death. “Do you know what happens to treasure? It gets buried. Buried, buried, buried...”

Agnes stumbled back and closed the curtain as quickly as she could, and fell back against the ground. She could feel the pain against her ass as she did so. She backed up in a sort of crab walk, tried to get back to her feet and would try to go back the way that she came -

Only to find that the hallway had brought her to her brother’s room. The one at the old house that she could remember, since she hadn’t stepped foot into the one at the new house. So many colors. Pierre was standing there in her bathrobe, silk, short, just barely covering his bits. He had a hairbrush in his hand and was singing, dancing around. “Cause you’re hot then you’re cold, you’re yes then you’re no,” He’d turn around, wink at Agnes over his shoulder and then would approach, taking hold of her hand while continuing to sing into the brush. He gave her a twirl. “You’re in then you’re out, you’re up then you’re down, you’re wrong when it’s right, it’s black and it’s white-”

“Pierre,” Agnes said, trying to let go of his hand but he’d throw the brush over his shoulder. It landed on the bed. He’d take her hand and put an arm around her waist like it was some sort of waltz. She was confused but - she was laughing.

“You don’t really want to stay, no! But you really don’t want to go, no, you’re hot then you’re cold, you’re yes then you’re no,” He’d go back into the chorus, jumping around and dancing until she gave in. But then he’d give her another spin, but let go of her this time. Someone else caught her this time around.

Bastien. The longer, stringier hair was a dead giveaway. She gasped as she looked up into his face. It wasn’t dead, not like Chip. But there was a gauntness to it that there wasn’t the last time that she had seen it. He looked like illness itself. Pestilence as a person. Leper-like. “Bastien, are you okay?” She’d say, holding onto him, looking at his face, looking at those pale lips, a flash of black gums. “Please, please come with me. I’ll take care of you. I’ll-”

“You think you need me. But I don’t need anybody. Even you.” Bastien said. A tongue came out of his mouth. Long. Slimy. Grey. Riddled with diseases. It licked at her face. She was forced to let go. Forced to back up again. She fell. But she didn’t hit any ground this time.

Instead, her eyes opened and she found herself in a strange bed, between the old woman that she had gone to the night before, and the little girl whose eyes were still wide open. She was facing the little girl. They looked at each other and the dream started to fade quickly from Agnes’s mind, leaving just some odd impressions that something had happened. She felt drowsy. Sunshine was coming through one of the windows. The little girl reached up and pressed her thumb almost painfully into Agnes’s forehead, causing her to groan. That didn’t feel so good.

She’d lay there for another couple of minutes, trying to get her bearings, trying to feel more awake, blinking against the light. She knew where she was. She was in Madame Antoinette’s caravan, with the little girl. She must have dozed off after the tea. Then she remembered when it was. Shit. She was definitely late for school! She’d sit up so fast, her head would hurt and she would only see black for a couple of seconds. She scooched out, looking around and found her shoes on the floor among the old woman’s and the little girls. She pulled them on, hopping around, trying to find some sort of clock but she couldn’t find anything. She thought about waking up the old woman, seeing the little girl sitting up on the bed too, but she was snoring. Out of it. “Tell her thank you, and sorry for staying?”

The little girl nodded and held up her hand and gave her a wave goodbye.

Agnes didn’t know much about sun positioning and such. But it felt like it was rather late into the day. It seemed more or less centered up in the sky, which made it - maybe noon? Something like that? Too late for school, and she was wearing her old clothes anyway. She needed that shower. That bath. If she skipped just one day, and it was just the second day, she should be alright, shouldn’t she? She hoped so. She headed in the opposite direction of Nola high, heading home instead.

Esmeralda was there. She was the only one. She didn’t say a word, just walked up to Agnes and wrapped her arms around her in a big hug, holding her close, giving her a big squeeze. Agnes hugged back, though there was some sort of deja vu feeling. There had been a lot of hugging lately with Bastien, and with Pierre, so maybe it was something like that.

“I’m home,” Agnes would say into her mother’s chest, the woman being bustier and taller than her.

“Good, my baby is right where she should be,” Esmeralda said, kissing the top of her head repeatedly.

Pierre was pissed. He rode his longboard to school early. He didn’t pick up flowers for Zero this time, just picked him up some cake from the restaurant that they were at before. But he wasn’t in a very celebratory mood this time around. Agnes wasn’t here. She had said that she would be there. Said she would come early to talk to him about what she and Bastien talked about. But she didn’t show up. He even waited outside of her classroom until the final bell rang for the first class. No show. He trudged back to his own classroom, feeling like he had smoke coming out of his ears. He was hurt again. He was disappointed. He could probably deal with her choosing Bastien over him if she had the goddamn balls to tell him. The bad mood would last through most of the day. Even at lunch, when he’d present the treat to Zero, his smiles were fake. He’d explain it to Zero. “Guess she made her choice,” He said, trying to play it off with a shrug. But goddamnit, he cared. He cared so much.

Until the period after lunch, in which he’d get a text from his mother. ‘She’s back home. Dallas loves her already.’

That just brightened him all the way up. If his last period class wasn’t the best one, Drama with Zero, then he would have run on home, skipping those classes. He had definitely brightened up though and would ride his longboard home, whistling happy. He got his sister back, he got his sister back. Course he thought it was all because of him. Cause he got through to her. No other reason than that.

The third day of school, Agnes would indeed be there, walking alongside her brother. Freshly showered. Touch of makeup. Purple turtleneck, green pleather shirt, black tights. Colorful. The way that she used to be. Every time she looked at her brother she felt some weird sense of having spoken to him in another world but that just sounded weird. Though she looked much more put together now than she did on the first day, healthier too since she had a real meal the night before and a real breakfast, not just protein bars, she still was feeling broken and hurt deep inside. She missed Bastien. She had slept in his bed the night before. She wasn’t quite ready to be alone in her own yet. But she was focused on what she hoped was the proper path that Antoinette was talking about. She might be feeling a lot of overwhelming things, but it was better to feel than to be pecked to death from entering the wrong nest.

#Agnes HC #Pierre HC

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ihknkm · 3 years ago

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oadara · 5 years ago

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I sometimes hear people complain that classic literature is the realm of dead white men. And it’s certainly true that men have tended to dominate the canon of literature taught in schools. But women have been writing great books for centuries. In fact, you could probably spend a lifetime just reading great classics by women and never run out of reading material.

This list is just a sampling of great books written by women of the past. For the purposes of this list, I’ve defined classics as books that are more than 50 years old. The list of classics by women focuses on novels, but there are some plays, poems, and works of nonfiction as well. And I’ve tried to include some well-known favorites, as well as more obscure books. Whatever your reading preferences, you’re bound to find something to enjoy here. So step back in time and listen to the voices of women who came before us.

The Pillow Book by Sei Shōnagon (990s-1000s). “Moving elegantly across a wide range of themes including nature, society, and her own flirtations, Sei Shōnagon provides a witty and intimate window on a woman’s life at court in classical Japan.”

The Tale of Genji by Murasaki Shikibu (Before 1021). “Genji, the Shining Prince, is the son of an emperor. He is a passionate character whose tempestuous nature, family circumstances, love affairs, alliances, and shifting political fortunes form the core of this magnificent epic.”

Oroonoko by Aphra Behn (1688). “When Prince Oroonoko’s passion for the virtuous Imoinda arouses the jealousy of his grandfather, the lovers are cast into slavery and transported from Africa to the colony of Surinam.”

Phillis Wheatley, Complete Writings by Phillis Wheatley (1760s-1770s). “This volume collects both Wheatley’s letters and her poetry: hymns, elegies, translations, philosophical poems, tales, and epyllions.”

A Vindication of the Rights of Woman by Mary Wollstonecraft (1790). “Arguably the earliest written work of feminist philosophy, Wollstonecraft produced a female manifesto in the time of the American and French Revolutions.”

The Romance of the Forest by Ann Radcliffe (1791). “A beautiful, orphaned heiress, a dashing hero, a dissolute, aristocratic villain, and a ruined abbey deep in a great forest are combined by the author in a tale of suspense where danger lurks behind every secret trap-door.”

Camilla by Fanny Burney (1796). “Camilla deals with the matrimonial concerns of a group of young people … The path of true love, however, is strewn with intrigue, contretemps and misunderstanding.”

Belinda by Maria Edgeworth (1801). “Contending with the perils and the varied cast of characters of the marriage market, Belinda strides resolutely toward independence. … Edgeworth tackles issues of gender and race in a manner at once comic and thought-provoking. ”

Frankenstein by Mary Shelley (1818). “Driven by ambition and an insatiable thirst for scientific knowledge, Victor Frankenstein … fashions what he believes to be the ideal man from a grotesque collection of spare parts, breathing life into it through a series of ghastly experiments.”

Persuasion by Jane Austen (1818). “Eight years ago, Anne Elliot fell in love with poor but ambitious naval officer Captain Frederick Wentworth … now, on the verge of spinsterhood, Anne re-encounters Frederick Wentworth as he courts her spirited young neighbour, Louisa Musgrove.”

Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë (1847). “Having grown up an orphan in the home of her cruel aunt and at a harsh charity school, Jane Eyre becomes an independent and spirited survivor …. But when she finds love with her sardonic employer, Rochester, the discovery of his terrible secret forces her to make a choice. “

Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë (1847). “One of the great novels of the nineteenth century, Emily Brontë’s haunting tale of passion and greed remains unsurpassed in its depiction of destructive love.”

The Tenant of Wildfell Hall by Anne Brontë (1848). “A powerful and sometimes violent novel of expectation, love, oppression, sin, religion and betrayal. It portrays the disintegration of the marriage of Helen Huntingdon … and her dissolute, alcoholic husband.”

The Bondwoman’s Narrative by Hannah Crafts (mid-19th century). “Tells the story of Hannah Crafts, a young slave working on a wealthy North Carolina plantation, who runs away in a bid for freedom up North.”

Sonnets from the Portuguese by Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1850). “Recognized for their Victorian tradition and discipline, these are some of the most passionate and memorable love poems in the English language.”

Uncle Tom’s Cabin by Harriet Beecher Stowe (1852). “Selling more than 300,000 copies the first year it was published, Stowe’s powerful abolitionist novel fueled the fire of the human rights debate.”

North and South by Elizabeth Gaskell (1854). “As relevant now as when it was first published, Elizabeth Gaskell’s North and South skillfully weaves a compelling love story into a clash between the pursuit of profit and humanitarian ideals.”

Our Nig by Harriet E. Wilson (1859). “In the story of Frado, a spirited black girl who is abused and overworked as the indentured servant to a New England family, Harriet E. Wilson tells a heartbreaking story about the resilience of the human spirit.”

The Mill on the Floss by George Eliot (1860). “Strong-willed, compassionate, and intensely loyal, Maggie seeks personal happiness and inner peace but risks rejection and ostracism in her close-knit community.”

Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl by Harriet Jacobs (1861). “The remarkable odyssey of Harriet Jacobs (1813–1897) whose dauntless spirit and faith carried her from a life of servitude and degradation in North Carolina to liberty and reunion with her children in the North.”

The Curse of Caste, or The Slave Bride by Julia C. Collins (1865). “Focuses on the lives of a beautiful mixed-race mother and daughter whose opportunities for fulfillment through love and marriage are threatened by slavery and caste prejudice.”

Behind the Scenes: Or, Thirty Years a Slave and Four Years in the White House by Elizabeth Keckley (1868). “Traces Elizabeth Keckley’s life from her enslavement in Virginia and North Carolina to her time as seamstress to Mary Todd Lincoln in the White House during Abraham Lincoln’s administration.”

Little Women by Louisa May Alcott (1868). “The four March sisters couldn’t be more different. But with their father away at war, and their mother working to support the family, they have to rely on one another.”

A Lady’s Life in the Rocky Mountains by Isabella Lucy Bird (1879). “In 1873, wearing Hawaiian riding dress, [Bird] rode her horse through the American Wild West, a terrain only newly opened to pioneer settlement.”

The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson by Emily Dickinson (1890). “Though generally overlooked during her lifetime, Emily Dickinson’s poetry has achieved acclaim due to her experiments in prosody, her tragic vision and the range of her emotional and intellectual explorations.”

The Yellow Wallpaper by Charlotte Perkins Gilman (1892). “The story depicts the effect of under-stimulation on the narrator’s mental health and her descent into psychosis. With nothing to stimulate her, she becomes obsessed by the pattern and color of the wallpaper.”

Iola Leroy by Frances E.W. Harper (1892). “The daughter of a wealthy Mississippi planter, Iola Leroy led a life of comfort and privilege, never guessing at her mixed-race ancestry — until her father died and a treacherous relative sold her into slavery.”

The Grasmere and Alfoxden Journals by Dorothy Wordsworth (1897). “Dorothy Wordsworth’s journals are a unique record of her life with her brother William, at the time when he was at the height of his poetic powers.”

The Awakening by Kate Chopin (1899). “Chopin’s daring portrayal of a woman trapped in a stifling marriage, who seeks and finds passionate physical love outside the straitened confines of her domestic situation.”

The Light of Truth: Writings of an Anti-Lynching Crusader by Ida B. Wells (late 19th century). “This volume covers the entire scope of Wells’s remarkable career, collecting her early writings, articles exposing the horrors of lynching, essays from her travels abroad, and her later journalism.”

A Little Princess by Frances Hodgson Burnett (1902). “Transformed from princess to pauper, [Sarah Crewe] must swap dancing lessons and luxury for hard work and a room in the attic.”

The Scarlet Pimpernel by Baroness Orczy (1905). “The French Revolution, driven to excess by its own triumph, has turned into a reign of terror. … Thus the stage is set for one of the most enthralling novels of historical adventure ever written.”

A Girl of the Limberlost by Gene Stratton-Porter (1909). “The story is one of Elnora’s struggles to overcome her poverty; to win the love of her mother, who blames Elnora for her husband’s death; and to find a romantic love of her own.”

Mrs Spring Fragrance: A Collection of Chinese-American Short Stories by Sui Sin Far (1910s). “In these deceptively simple fables of family life, Sui Sin Far offers revealing views of life in Seattle and San Francisco at the turn of the twentieth century.”

American Indian Stories, Legends, and Other Writings by Zitkala-Sa (1910). “Tapping her troubled personal history, Zitkala-Sa created stories that illuminate the tragedy and complexity of the American Indian experience.”

The Custom of the Country by Edith Wharton (1913). Undine Spragg’s “rise to the top of New York’s high society from the nouveau riche provides a provocative commentary on the upwardly mobile and the aspirations that eventually cause their ruin.”

Oh Pioneers by Willa Cather (1913). “Evoking the harsh grandeur of the prairie, this landmark of American fiction unfurls a saga of love, greed, murder, failed dreams, and hard-won triumph.”

Suffragette: My Own Story by Emmeline Pankhurst (1914). “With insight and great wit, Emmeline’s autobiography chronicles the beginnings of her interest in feminism through to her militant and controversial fight for women’s right to vote.”

The Enchanted April by Elizabeth von Arnim (1922). Four women who “are alike only in their dissatisfaction with their everyday lives … find each other—and the castle of their dreams—through a classified ad in a London newspaper one rainy February afternoon.”

The Home-Maker by Dorothy Canfield Fisher (1924). “Evangeline Knapp is the perfect, compulsive housekeeper, while her husband, Lester, is a poet and a dreamer. Suddenly, through a nearly fata accident, their roles are reversed.”

Mrs Dalloway by Virginia Woolf (1925). “Direct and vivid in her account of Clarissa Dalloway’s preparations for a party, Virginia Woolf explores the hidden springs of thought and action in one day of a woman’s life.”

The Well of Loneliness by Radclyffe Hall (1928). “First published in 1928, this timeless portrayal of lesbian love is now a classic. The thinly disguised story of Hall’s own life, it was banned outright upon publication and almost ruined her literary career.”

Plum Bun by Jessie Redmon Fauset (1928). “Written in 1929 at the height of the Harlem Renaissance by one of the movement’s most important and prolific authors, Plum Bun is the story of Angela Murray, a young black girl who discovers she can pass for white.”

Passing by Nella Larsen (1929). “Clare Kendry leads a dangerous life. Fair, elegant, and ambitious, she is married to a white man unaware of her African American heritage, and has severed all ties to her past.”

Grand Hotel by Vicki Baum (1929). “A grand hotel in the center of 1920s Berlin serves as a microcosm of the modern world in Vicki Baum’s celebrated novel, a Weimar-era best seller that retains all its verve and luster today.”

Thus Were Their Faces: Selected Stories by Silvina Ocampo (1930s-1970s). “Tales of doubles and impostors, angels and demons, a marble statue of a winged horse that speaks, a beautiful seer who writes the autobiography of her own death, a lapdog who records the dreams of an old woman, a suicidal romance, and much else that is incredible, mad, sublime, and delicious.”

Strong Poison by Dorothy L. Sayers (1930). “Sayers introduces Harriet Vane, a mystery writer who is accused of poisoning her fiancé and must now join forces with Lord Peter Wimsey to escape a murder conviction and the hangman’s noose.”

All Passion Spent by Vita Sackville-West (1931). “When Lady Slane was young, she nurtured a secret, burning ambition: to become an artist. She became, instead, the dutiful wife of a great statesman, and mother to six children. In her widowhood she finally defies her family.”

Invitation to the Waltz by Rosamond Lehmann (1932). Olivia Curtis “anticipates her first dance, the greatest yet most terrifying event of her restricted social life, with tremulous uncertainty and excitement.”

Frost in May by Antonia White (1933). “Nanda Gray, the daughter of a Catholic convert, is nine when she is sent to the Convent of Five Wounds. Quick-witted, resilient, and eager to please, she adapts to this cloistered world, learning rigid conformity and subjection to authority.”

Miss Buncle’s Book by D.E. Stevenson (1934). “Times are harsh, and Barbara’s bank account has seen better days. Maybe she could sell a novel … if she knew any stories. Stumped for ideas, Barbara draws inspiration from her fellow residents of Silverstream.”

The Wine of Solitude by Irene Nemirovsky (1935). “Beginning in a fictionalized Kiev, The Wine of Solitude follows the Karol family through the Great War and the Russian Revolution, as the young Hélène grows from a dreamy, unhappy child into a strongwilled young woman.”

Gone with the Wind by Margaret Mitchell (1936). “Gone With the Wind explores the depth of human passions with an intensity as bold as its setting in the red hills of Georgia. A superb piece of storytelling, it vividly depicts the drama of the Civil War and Reconstruction.”

After Midnight by Irmgard Keun (1937). “German author Irmgard Keun had only recently fled Nazi Germany with her lover Joseph Roth when she wrote this slim, exquisite, and devastating book. It captures the unbearable tension, contradictions, and hysteria of pre-war Germany like no other novel.”

Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston (1937). “One of the most important and enduring books of the twentieth century, Their Eyes Were Watching God brings to life a Southern love story with the wit and pathos found only in the writing of Zora Neale Hurston.”

Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day by Winifred Watson (1938). “Miss Pettigrew is a governess sent by an employment agency to the wrong address, where she encounters a glamorous night-club singer, Miss LaFosse.”

The Death of the Heart by Elizabeth Bowen (1938). “The orphaned Portia is stranded in the sophisticated and politely treacherous world of her wealthy half-brother’s home in London. There she encounters the attractive, carefree cad Eddie.

And Then There Were None by Agatha Christie (1939). “Ten strangers are lured to an isolated island mansion off the Devon coast by a mysterious U. N. Owen … By the end of the night one of the guests is dead.”

Mariana by Monica Dickens (1940). “We see Mary at school in Kensington and on holiday in Somerset; her attempt at drama school; her year in Paris learning dressmaking and getting engaged to the wrong man; her time as a secretary and companion; and her romance with Sam.”

The Heart Is a Lonely Hunter by Carson McCullers (1940). “Wonderfully attuned to the spiritual isolation that underlies the human condition, and with a deft sense for racial tensions in the South, McCullers spins a haunting, unforgettable story that gives voice to the rejected, the forgotten, and the mistreated.”

The Man Who Loved Children by Christina Stead (1940). “Sam and Henny Pollit have too many children, too little money, and too much loathing for each other. As Sam uses the children’s adoration to feed his own voracious ego, Henny watches in bleak despair.”

The Bird in the Tree by Elizabeth Goudge (1940). “The Bird in the Tree takes place in England in 1938, and follows a close-knit family whose tranquil existence is suddenly threatened by a forbidden love.”

Anne Frank: A Diary of a Young Girl by Anne Frank (1942-1944). “Discovered in the attic in which she spent the last years of her life, Anne Frank’s remarkable diary has since become a world classic—a powerful reminder of the horrors of war and an eloquent testament to the human spirit.”

The Robber Bridegroom by Eudora Welty (1942). “Legendary figures of Mississippi’s past—flatboatman Mike Fink and the dreaded Harp brothers—mingle with characters from Eudora Welty’s own imagination in an exuberant fantasy set along the Natchez Trace.”

A Tree Grows in Brooklyn by Betty Smith (1943). “The story of young, sensitive, and idealistic Francie Nolan and her bittersweet formative years in the slums of Williamsburg has enchanted and inspired millions of readers for more than sixty years.”

Nada by Carmen LeFloret (1944). “One of the most important literary works of post-Civil War Spain, Nada is the semi-autobiographical story of an orphaned young woman who leaves her small town to attend university in war-ravaged Barcelona.

The Pursuit of Love by Nancy Mitford (1945). “The Pursuit of Love follows the travails of Linda, the most beautiful and wayward Radlett daughter, who falls first for a stuffy Tory politician, then an ardent Communist, and finally a French duke named Fabrice.”

One Fine Day by Mollie Panter-Downes (1947). “This subtle, finely wrought novel presents a memorable portrait of the aftermath of war, its effect upon a marriage, and the gradual but significant change in the nature of English middle-class life.”

Family Roundabout by Richmal Crompton (1948). “We see that families can both entrap and sustain; that parents and children must respect each other; and that happiness necessitates jumping or being pushed off the family roundabout.”

The Living Is Easy by Dorothy West (1948). “Cleo Judson—daughter of southern sharecroppers and wife of ‘Black Banana King’ Bart Judson … seeks to recreate her original family by urging her sisters and their children to live with her, while rearing her daughter to be a member of Boston’s black elite.”

Half a Lifelong Romance by Eileen Chang (1948). “Shen Shijun, a young engineer, has fallen in love with his colleague, the beautiful Gu Manzhen. … But dark circumstances—a lustful brother-in-law, a treacherous sister, a family secret—force the two young lovers apart. “

I Capture the Castle by Dodie Smith (1948). “Tells the story of seventeen-year-old Cassandra and her family, who live in not-so-genteel poverty in a ramshackle old English castle. Here she strives, over six turbulent months, to hone her writing skills.”

Pinjar: The Skeleton and Other Stories by Amrita Pritam (1950). “Two of the most moving novels by one of India’s greatest women writers. The Skeleton …is memorable for its lyrical style and depth in her writing. … The Man is a compelling account of a young man born under strange circumstances and abandoned at the altar of God.”

My Cousin Rachel by Daphne du Maurier (1951). “While in Italy, Ambrose fell in love with Rachel, a beautiful English and Italian woman. But the final, brief letters Ambrose wrote hint that his love had turned to paranoia and fear. Now Rachel has arrived at Philip’s newly inherited estate.”

The Daughter of Time by Josephine Tey (1951). “Inspector Alan Grant of Scotland Yard, recuperating from a broken leg, becomes fascinated with a contemporary portrait of Richard III that bears no resemblance to the Wicked Uncle of history.”

Excellent Women by Barbara Pym (1952). “As Mildred gets embroiled in the lives of her new neighbors … the novel presents a series of snapshots of human life as actually, and pluckily, lived in a vanishing world of manners and repressed desires.”

Maud Martha by Gwendolyn Brooks (1953). “In a novel that captures the essence of Black life, Brooks recognizes the beauty and strength that lies within each of us.”

Someone at a Distance by Dorothy Whipple (1953). “Ellen was that unfashionable creature, a happy housewife struck by disaster when the husband, in a moment of weak, mid-life vanity, runs off with a French girl.”

Nisei Daughter by Monica Sone (1953). “With charm, humor, and deep understanding, Monica Sone tells what it was like to grow up Japanese American on Seattle’s waterfront in the 1930s and to be subjected to ‘relocation’ during World War II.”

Cotillion by Georgette Heyer (1953). “Country-bred, spirited Kitty Charings is on the brink of inheriting a fortune from her eccentric guardian – provided that she marries one of his grand nephews.”

Nectar in a Sieve by Kamala Markandaya (1954). “This beautiful and eloquent story tells of a simple peasant woman in a primitive village in India whose whole life is a gallant and persistent battle to care for those she loves.”

The Talented Mr Ripley by Patricia Highsmith (1955). “Since his debut in 1955, Tom Ripley has evolved into the ultimate bad boy sociopath. Here, in this first Ripley novel, we are introduced to suave Tom Ripley, a young striver, newly arrived in the heady world of Manhattan.”

A Good Man is Hard to Find and Other Stories by Flannery O’Connor (1955). “These stories show O’Connor’s unique, grotesque view of life— infused with religious symbolism, haunted by apocalyptic possibility, sustained by the tragic comedy of human behavior, confronted by the necessity of salvation.”

Collected Poems by Edna St. Vincent Millay (1956). “Millay remains among the most celebrated poets of the early twentieth century for her uniquely lyrical explorations of love, individuality, and artistic expression.”

The Fountain Overflows by Rebecca West (1957). “An unvarnished but affectionate picture of an extraordinary family, in which a remarkable stylist and powerful intelligence surveys the elusive boundaries of childhood and adulthood, freedom and dependency, the ordinary and the occult.”

Angel by Elizabeth Taylor (1957). “In Angel’s imagination, she is the mistress of the house, a realm of lavish opulence, of evening gowns and peacocks. Then she begins to write popular novels, and this fantasy becomes her life.”

The King Must Die by Mary Renault (1958). “In this ambitious, ingenious narrative, celebrated historical novelist Mary Renault takes legendary hero Theseus and spins his myth into a fast-paced and exciting story.”

A Raisin the the Sun by Lorraine Hansberry (1959). “Set on Chicago’s South Side, the plot [of this play] revolves around the divergent dreams and conflicts within three generations of the Younger family.”

The Vet’s Daughter by Barbara Comyns (1959). “Harrowing and haunting, like an unexpected cross between Flannery O’Connor and Stephen King, The Vet’s Daughter is a story of outraged innocence that culminates in a scene of appalling triumph.”

The Colossus and Other Poems by Sylvia Plath (1960). “Graceful in their craftsmanship, wonderfully original in their imagery, and presenting layer after layer of meaning, the forty poems in The Colossus are early artifacts of genius that still possess the power to move, delight, and shock.”

To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee (1960). “The unforgettable novel of a childhood in a sleepy Southern town and the crisis of conscience that rocked it, To Kill A Mockingbird became both an instant bestseller and a critical success when it was first published.”

The Householder by Ruth Prawer Jhabvala (1960). “This witty and perceptive novel is about Prem, a young teacher in New Delhi who has just become a householder and is finding his responsibilities perplexing.”

The Ivy Tree by Mary Stewart (1961). “This remarkably atmospheric novel is one of bestselling-author Mary Stewart’s richest, most tantalizing, and most surprising efforts, proving her a rare master of the genre.”

The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie by Muriel Spark (1961). Miss Jean Brodie “is passionate in the application of her unorthodox teaching methods, in her attraction to the married art master, Teddy Lloyd, in her affair with the bachelor music master, Gordon Lowther, and—most important—in her dedication to ‘her girls,’ the students she selects to be her crème de la crème.”

We Have Always Lived in the Castle by Shirley Jackson (1962). “Merricat Blackwood lives on the family estate with her sister Constance and her uncle Julian. Not long ago there were seven Blackwoods—until a fatal dose of arsenic found its way into the sugar bowl one terrible night.”

A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L’Engle (1962). “Meg, Charles Wallace, and Calvin O’Keefe (athlete, student, and one of the most popular boys in high school)… are in search of Meg’s father, a scientist who disappeared while engaged in secret work for the government on the tesseract problem.”

The Golden Notebook by Doris Lessing (1962). “Doris Lessing’s best-known and most influential novel, The Golden Notebook retains its extraordinary power and relevance decades after its initial publication.”

The Group by Mary McCarthy (1963). “Written with a trenchant, sardonic edge, The Group is a dazzlingly outspoken novel and a captivating look at the social history of America between two world wars.”

Efuru by Flora Nwapa (1966). “The work, a rich exploration of Nigerian village life and values, offers a realistic picture of gender issues in a patriarchal society as well as the struggles of a nation exploited by colonialism.”

Wide Sargasso Sea by Jean Rhys (1966). “Antoinette Cosway, a sensual and protected young woman … is sold into marriage to the prideful Mr. Rochester. Rhys portrays Cosway amidst a society so driven by hatred, so skewed in its sexual relations, that it can literally drive a woman out of her mind.”

#must-read #female authors #classic literature #literature written by women #literary classic #literary classics written by women

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gussolomonsjrtest · 6 years ago

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MERCE CUNNINGHAM CENTENNIAL CELEBRATION

The Merce Cunningham centennial celebration reached a peak during this week of his birthday, April 16th, with two of the major events of the celebration – “Night of 100 Solos,” happening live at London’s Barbican Theatre, New York’s BAM Opera House, and UCLA’s Royce Hall; In addition, a program of Cunningham dances done by three different companies at the Joyce Theater, April 17-21 – a feast of Cunningham dancing, done entirely by dancers who never danced in his company.

NIGHT OF 100 SOLOS. (l-r): Reid Bartelme, David Norsworthy, Sara Mearns

On Tuesday night the Howard Gilman Opera House at BAM came alive with a 90-minute “event” comprising solos extracted from Cunningham’s six-decade-long dance repertory. Twenty-five dancers ranging in age from a college student to nearly seventy-years old, present and former members of companies like Martha Graham, Mark Morris, Trisha Brown, Bill T Jones/Arnie Zane Dance Companies, Kyle Abraham’s A.I.M., New York City Ballet, and Charlotte Ballet, among others, took part. Each dancer was taught a number of solos – four it seems – by nearly two-dozen former Cunningham dancers, many of whom are now official stagers of his work.

NIGHT OF 100 SOLOS. Kyle Abraham

What emerged from this panoply of movement was recognition of the astonishing inventiveness of Cunningham’s movement and the clarity of performance it mandates. The dancers, one and all, evinced their respect and admiration for the work and its creator with near flawless embrace of his uniquely exposed style, technical execution, and kinetic spirit. Here in New York, the passages were arranged in space and time by Trish Lent, director of licensing for the Cunningham Trust, and assistant stager Jean Freebury, with simultaneous and overlapping soloists, weaving their individual pathways around each other on the large BAM stage. Sometimes spatial proximity suggested contact between them – a hand on a shoulder, a mutual focus, a conjunction of leaps or turns or balances that became accidental duets, trios, and quartets.

NIGHT OF 100 SOLOS. (l-r): Lindsey Jones, Christian Allen

Another refreshing aspect of the presentation was the diversity of bodies, training backgrounds, and, especially, races of the dancers onstage, many of whom are audience favorites in their home companies. It has been a concern that Cunningham had only four African-American men and no women in the six-decade history of his company. In my opinion (as the first of those four men) it was because Merce loved jumping for himself and his men, and his vision of the ideal female dancer was Carolyn Brown, whose perfect lines and articulation were ballet-worthy. Certainly, had he lived further into his nineties African-American women would have been invited into the troupe.

NIGHT OF 100 SOLOS. (l-r): Jaquelin Harris, Claude “CJ” Johnson.

Tuesday night, Shayla-Vie Jenkins, Tamisha Guy, Jaquelin Harris, sterling dancers and women of color proved their mastery of the style, and Kyle Abraham, Claude “CJ” Johnson, Christian Allen, and Chalvar Monteiro, evinced all the balance, articulation, and power of any of Cunningham’s alumni. Vicky Shick, one of Trisha Brown’s original company, and Keith Sabado, long-time Mark Morris dancer – both in their sixties – extended the age range we’ve come to associate with Merce’s dancers, except for himself.

NIGHT OF 100 SOLOS. The company in John Cage’s 4′33″

There was a full-company teaser ending, in which the dancers filled the stage for Cage’s “4’33”,” a silent work for piano in three movements. Light changes indicated the ends of sections, when the dancers shifted poses. There was humor – Jason Collins jumping with tin cans strapped to his loins and Sabado’s circling the stage on a bicycle, which Merce did in “Variations V.” For Cunningham aficionados it was fun to try to recall the sources of the excerpts and remember the dancers who had done them originally and succeeded them in various generations.

NIGHT OF 100 SOLOS. (l-r): Cecily Campbell, Jason Collins

The décor was a digital art work created by Pat Steir, which kept the cyclorama morphing slowly in white and gray images that looked like ghostly stone columns or precipitation – rain, snow, sleet – or cascading waterfalls. Lighting designer Christine Shallenberg provided an appropriately celebratory atmosphere. Reid Bartelme, who also performed, and his costume design partner dressed the dancers in wonderful pastels and richly-hued leotards, unitards, bike-tards, and jumpsuits with various necklines and sleeve lengths. Bartelme and Sarah Mearns, both in pale lavender, shared the stage at one point, doing solos at the same time.

NIGHT OF 100 SOLOS. Keith Sabado

A thunderous standing ovation greeted the dancers at the end, from an audience who felt reassured that Cunningham’s works are in good hands. Although the technical skill and precision Cunningham’s work required were ahead of their time in the last century, they are by now within the grasp of most present-day elite dancers, hence the Cunningham legacy of dance excellence seems assured for generations to come.

photos by Stephanie Berger

***************************

The following evening, April 17, the centennial celebration continues with a program at the Joyce of three Cunningham dances done by three companies – Centre National de Danse Contemporaine in Angers, directed by Cunningham’s associate director Robert Swinston; Ballet West from Salt Lake City, directed by Joffrey Ballet alumnus Adam Sklute; and Washington Ballet from D.C., directed by long-time ABT principal Julie Kent – doing, respectively “Suite for Five” (1956), “Summerspace” (1958), and “Duets” (1980).

CENTRE DE DANSE CONTEMPORAINE ANGERS.(l-r): Claire Seigle-Goujon, Anna Chirescu, and Carlo Schiavo in SUITE FOR FIVE. photo by Arnaud Hie

“Suite for Five” doles itself out sparingly to a minimal piano score by John Cage, “Music for Piano,” played live by Adam Tendler. It starts with a solo, danced by Carlo Schiavo in blue tights and matching polo-neck shirt has unmistakable Cunningham signature moves like backwards walks in parallel, big jumps with open, bent legs, and low-slung crouches. Next, Catarina Pernão in bright yellow epitomizes Cunningham’s ideal female, linear and erect with balletic articulation of legs and feet, and calm balances on a foot while the other leg sweeps in long extensions that arc slowly around the body.

CENTRE DE DANSE CONTEMPORAINE ANGERS.(l-r): Gianni Joseph, Carlo Schiavo, Claire Siegle-Goujin, Catarina Pernão, and Anna Chirescu in SUITE FOR FIVE. photo Arnaud Hie

Then follows a trio by the other two women, Anna Chirescu, and Claire Seigle-Goujon, in orange and purple and Gianni Joseph in lime green. Brief blackouts separate the sections, so each is a kinetic haiku. The dance contains Cunningham signatures – long, slow balances, bursts of leaping that switch direction midair, deep lunges, male-female duets, straight from the ballet lexicon but designed with unusual shapes and leverages. This was the company’s premiere performance of the dance, and because Cunningham movement is so exposed with nowhere to hide, the dancers’ nervousness showed.

CENTRE DE DANSE CONTEMPORAINE ANGERS. (l-r): Gianni Joseph, Claire Seigle-Goujon, and Anna Chirescu in SUITE FOR FIVE. photo by Arnaud Hie

BALLET WEST. Joshua Whitehead in SUMMERSPACE. photo by Beau Pearson

“Summerspace” (1958) lends itself to performance by ballet dancers. In it, Cunningham was exploring ways of conquering various kinds of turning modern dancers weren’t used to. In 1966, it may have been the first of his dances set on the New York City Ballet. Salt Lake City’s Ballet West definitely has the technical skill to pull it off, and it’s nice to see dancers of color in some of the roles. Katlyn Addison does fine with the brutally difficult crossing, originally done by Viola Farber, in which she slides one foot forward while bending the other until she is balanced sitting on the heel of the supporting leg with the leading leg stretched ahead of her, while unfolding her arms to the sides.

BALLET WEST. Gabrielle Salvatto in SUMMERSPACE. photo by Beau Pearson

Kyle Davis another African-American dancer hangs suspended in midair in his high-flying leaps. And Joshua Shutkind has piercing focus and dynamic sharpness in the role Cunningham created for himself. The stager, Banu Ogan, managed to communicate the evanescence of the piece, which is accompanied by Morton Feldman’s sparse “IXION” and dressed in white unitards, stippled with pastel dots by Robert Rauschenberg, that match his beautiful, pastel pointillist backdrop that camouflages the dancers, when they pose motionless in front it.

Artists of BALLET WEST in SUMMERSPACE. photo by Beau Pearson

WASHINGTON BALLET in DUETS. (l-r): Tamako Miyazaki and Alexandros Pappajohn. photo by Dean Alexander

The Washington Ballet takes on “Duets” (1980), staged sensitively by Melissa Toogood, another of the Cunningham’s dances that is well suited for the skills of a classical company. Made for six couples in Mark Lancaster’s costumes and lighting, the clothes are an amazing mixture of colors – pastel and bright – and shapes – tights, leotards, skirts, and dresses – that seem random but blend wonderfully.

The piece has moments of dry humor, when a man keeps switching the hand that holds up his partner’s raised arm in a balance, while she holds a tilted passé. And another woman alternates hands on her partner’s outstretched support arm. The dancers can also exit the stage by suddenly disappearing behind a curtain upstage that cuts off the right third of the upstage.

WASHINGTON BALLET in DUETS. (l-r): Javier Morera, Nicole Graniero, Alexandros Pappajohn, and Tamako Miyazaki. photo by Dean Alexander

The dancers overlap each other’s duets, entering or crossing the stage, as if they are continuing their duet offstage. Cunningham is showing us the portion of action that appears in the space we can see, and encourages us to imagine the parts that might be happening out of our view. Here, Cunningham’s movement does not depart radically from ballet vocabulary; it just expands it, working in parallel as well as turned out and adding some un-balletic torso action that the dancers have seemingly embraced under Toogood’s expert coaching,

(Note: some photos of companies at The Joyce may be of alternate cast members)

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doc-dearborn · 7 years ago

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Basics:

Character’s Name → Caradoc Dearborn

Character’s Nickname(s) → Doc

Age → 17

Birthdate → 11th of May

Zodiac Sign → Taurus

Ethnicity → British

Gender → Male

Sexual Orientation → Bisexual

Blood Type → A+

Species → Pureblood

Appearance:

Hair color → Brown

Eye color → Dark brown

Height → 6′ 2″

Weight → 63.5 kg

Scars → A small scar on his hand from a Quidditch injury he got in his first ever game.

Tattoos → None

Birthmarks → Nothing that stands out, a few moles on his back but they’re not that noticeable.

Piercings → None

Dress/clothing preferences → Comfort above fashion. He prefers muggle clothes outside of school time but he has a series of wizarding robes that he feels comfortable in. He usually goes for dark colours and greys, although his Hufflepuff scarf is a signature piece of clothing.

Right/left handed/ambidextrous → Right-handed

Glasses/contacts → Has glasses but only wears them on occasion, he usually wears contacts although he’s been practising a charm that works in about the same way as contact lenses do.

Wizarding World:

Blood Status → Pureblood (by birth, his mother remarried a half blood when he was around 7)

School Attended → Hogwarts

School House → Hufflepuff

War Alliance → Order of the Pheonix

Wand → English Oak, Unicorn Hair, 12"

Patronus → Snow Leopard

Boggart → Someone he cares about telling him they’re disappointed in him

Amortentia → The Hufflepuff Dorm Room, apple pie cooking and fresh earth

Mirror Of Erised → He sees himself as a successful herbologist, a wedding ring on his finger and surrounded by his family and friends.

Family and Relationships:

Parents → Eira and Martin Dearborn are his parents, although his biological father is Abraham Goyle. His mother left him when he was around three years old and remarried when he was seven.

Siblings → None

Grandparents → Martin’s grandfather is the only grandparent still in contact with the family, he is a muggleborn wizard and Caradoc loves spending time with him.

Marital Status → Single

Significant Other → None

Children → He wants to have them some day. Also do his plants count?

Pets → Freckles, his tabby cat

Other family members → Cressida is his ‘sister’, technically they’re actually step siblings now. Their mothers were close friends in school, however when Cressida’s mother remarried (to Caradoc’s biological father) and kicked her out of her home Eira took her in instantly and stopped contact with Cressida’s mother.

Friends → So many. Frank is his best friend without a doubt. Also Ted, Alice, Lily, Dorcas, Mary, Remus and Marlene are people he considers himself close to in his year. As well as that he has the younger students he is incredibly protective of.

Enemies → Rodolphus Lestrange. Pretty much all Death Eaters. He also has the usual rivalry with opposing Quidditch Teams.

Religion:

The religion they follow (if any) → Doesn’t really follow any religion although he believes in an after life.

Superstitions → To an extent. He believes strongly that bad things happen in threes, as well as a few other superstitions his mother has drilled into him. (Don’t put new shoes upon the table)

Location:

Country of Birth → England

Place of Birth (Town, city, etc) → London

First Language → English

Accents → He has lived in Wales since his mother left his father when he was three, so he has a bit of a Welsh accent.

Schooling:

House → Hufflepuff

Best Subject in School → Herbology

Worst Subject in School → Arithmancy

Additional Classes Taken → His additional subjects in third year were Care of Magical Creatures, Arithmancy and Divination

Quidditch → Beater

Are they a Prefect? → Nope

Extra curricular activities → Nope

Home:

Live with parents/grandparents/alone/other → Live with his mum, dad and Cressida

House, apartment, etc → Small ish home in the countryside of Wales

How Many Bedrooms? → Three

Mode of transportation → Floo Network

Picture of bedroom at home → A little bit like this

Address → Rose Cottage, Pembroke, Wales

Inner Workings Of Your Character:

Secrets → His huge crush on Frank, the fact that he feels super unprepared and lost about his future, he’s scared of what’s lurking at the bottom of he ocean, he’s not really that bothered about winning the Quidditch cup he just hates the idea of Gwenog loosing. That despite all his ego and flare he had a huge crush on James Potter when he was in fourth year.

Fears → That he’s going to die young, without accomplishing anything.

Worries → That he’s actually just a huge disappointment and that his friends will one day inevitably leave him.

Eating Habits → He eats a little more than the normal seventeen year old boy, but eats regular meals at regular times, only snacking occasionally.

Food preferences → He likes desserts (especially when pastry is involved)

Sleep preferences → Late to bed, late to rise.

Book preferences → Sci-Fi, incredibly cheap pulpy science fiction to be exact.

Music preferences → Popular/rock music to be honest, he just likes to dance.

Introverted/extroverted → He does well with people but he has to spend a bit of time alone to recharge, so a bit of both.

Optimist/pessimist → He’d say he’s a realist, even though he tries to look on the bright side when he’s with other people.

Hobbies → Quidditch, herbology, general gardening.

Pet peeves → People gossiping about him, reading over his shoulder, using him for homework help and them blanking him in the corridors.

Prejudices → He tends to assume anyone younger than him will need his help and he is wiser than they are.

Proud of → His family, his friends, his achievements and talent in Herbology.

Biggest vulnerability → He’s deadly terrified of being left alone, or loosing someone due to his own weakness. His friends can be a weakness if they’re being threatened because Caradoc will do anything to protect them. He also tends to look for the best in people.

Embarrassed by → People giving him undeserved praise.

Worst memory → His biological father screaming at his mother, and cursing her when she tried to leave, it’s one of his first memories. It’s joint with the first time he found a younger muggleborn crying after she had been harmed by an older student.

Best memory → One summer he and Frank went flying around the country side all afternoon and finished the evening by having a bbq with Frank’s family and staying up talking well into the evening.

Skilled at → Herbology, judging what people need, quidditch (to an extent)

Unskilled at → General essays, making quick decisions, cooking anything except sweet stuff.

Attitude → He’s got a positive attitude although he will get pissy with people if it’s deserved.

Obsessions → Herbology, he really wants to be the best of the best.

Stresses → The impending war

Addictions → None

Allergies → None

Medical history → The usual scrapes and bruises one gets from being an adventurous kid and learning Quidditch at a young age.

Favourite Object Kept In - And Why:

Their closet → His Hufflepuff Scarf

Their bedroom → Does Freckles count? Because he loves his cat so much

Their purse/bag → His wand.

Their fridge → If it’s present his mums Apple Pie.

Their desk → The photo of him, his parents and Cressida took a few years ago.

Their pockets → He tends to keep a few sunflower seeds and such in his pocket, which is really stupid and makes him smell a little bit like dirt all the time, but sometimes when he’s stressed out he’ll randomly plant some around the gardens in Hogwarts.

Favourites:

Favorite Animal: → Cat

Favorite Band: → Pink Floyd

Favorite Book: → The Time Machine by H.G. Wells

Favorite Color: → Yellow

Favorite Country: → France (his grandpa took him on holiday there)

Favorite Drink: → Orange Juice

Favorite Food: → Apple Pie

Favorite Flavor: → Sugar sweet biscuits

Favorite Movie: → Star Wars: A New Hope

Favorite Musical Genre: → Prog Rock or anything he can dance to

Favorite Mythical Creature: → Nifflers

Favorite Number: → 4 (his number on the Quidditch team)

Favorite Pastime: → Gardening / Herbology

Favorite Person: → Joint between Cressida Zabini and Frank Longbottom

Favorite Place: → His garden at home.

Favorite Season: → Spring

Favorite Song: → Wish you were here - Pink Floyd

Favorite Spell: → Lumos (makes bedtime reading way easier)

Least Favorite Animal: → Spiders

Least Favorite Band: → Likes most music so doesn’t really have a least favourite

Least Favorite Book: → Great Expectations (his mum made him read it and it was too boring for him)

Least Favorite Color: → Grey

Least Favorite Country: → Hasn’t travelled enough to have one.

Least Favorite Drink: → Coffee (hates the taste)

Least Favorite Food: → Sprouts

Least Favorite Flavor: → Anything too bitter

Least Favorite Movie: → The Good, The Bad and The Ugly.

Least Favorite Musical Genre: → He’s not hugely into punk music.

Least Favorite Mythical Creature: → Any that will blow up on him.

Least Favorite Number: → He’s never thought about it.

Least Favorite Pastime: → Jogging

Least Favorite Person: → His biological father.

Least Favorite Place: → The potions room, he always feels claustrophobic.

Least Favorite Season: → Winter (all the plants die)

Least Favorite Song: → You're Sixteen You're Beautiful (And You're Mine) - Ringo Starr

Least Favorite Spell: → Crucio

Sexual Life:

Gender You Last Had Sex With: → Male (in summer, a childhood friend he had lost touch with)

Dominant or Submissive: → He’s pretty flexible but more submissive.

Fetishes: → Praise, lingerie,

Turnons: → Knowing the other person is having a good time, people biting his neck, heavy make out sessions.

Turn-offs: → People who don’t wash, smelly breath

Favourite Position: → He likes to be facing his partner but he’s not that experienced so he’s an awkward fool.

How Active is Your Sex Life: → Not very active at all.

How Did You Loose Your Virginity: → Again, an old friend in the summer holiday before seventh year.

Ever Impregnated Someone or Been Pregnant → Nope

First Love: → He’s never been properly in love, but his first real crush was on Mary in his third year followed by James Potter and the awkward coincidence of anyone in Gryffindor who was friends with either of them.

Who Do You Find Attractive → People who are kind to him, who he can tease and joke around with. He likes genuine people and people who show interest in him. He’s not above finding someone attractive just because they’re cocky and attractive though.

Marital Status: → Single

Do You Have A Significant Other (if yes, how do you feel about them): → No

Personality Classification:

Jung → ENFJ: "Persuader". Outstanding leader of groups. Can be aggressive at helping others to be the best that they can be.

Enneagram → Type 2: I must be helpful and caring to survive. Twos are empathetic, sincere, and warm-hearted. They are friendly, generous, and self-sacrificing, but can also be sentimental, flattering, and people-pleasing. They are well-meaning and driven to be close to others, but can slip into doing things for others in order to be needed. They typically have problems with possessiveness and with acknowledging their own needs. At their Best: unselfish and altruistic, they have unconditional love for others.

Moral Alignment → Neutral Good

Four Temperaments → Melancholic

Vices → Doubt, Envy, Fearfulness, Impatience, Jealousy, Wrath

Virtues → Altruism, Caring, Creativity, Empathy, Gentleness, Understanding

Tropes → The Boy Next Door, Adokable, Chronic Hero Syndrome, The Confidant, Hyper-Competent Sidekick, Platonic Life Partners, Undying Loyalty, Beware the Nice Ones

Statistics:

Compassion → 9/10

Empathy → 9/10

Creativity → 8/10

Mental Flexibility → 5/10

Passion/Motivation → 8/10

Intelligence → 7/10

Stamina → 6/10

Physical Strength → 6/10

Battle Skill → 6/10

Initiative → 7/10

Restraint → 6/10

Agility → 6/10

Strategy → 8/10

Teamwork → 9/10

#bellumvecharacterdev1 #caradoc dearborn

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thekillerblogofkillers · 7 years ago

Text

David Berkowitz (1953-?) PART ONE

David Berkowitz, also known as the Son of Sam and the .44 Caliber Killer, is an American serial killer who committed eight separate shooting attacks in New York City in 1976-77, killing six people and wounding eight more. As the body count grew, Berkowitz became the focus of the biggest police manhunt in New York’s history.

Broder, who was from a poor Jewish family, married an Italian-American, Tony Falco, in 1936. Falco left for another woman after less than four years and in 1950, when Broder began a relationship with a married man, Joseph Klineman and fell pregnant, she gave her child the surname Falco. Richard David Falco was born on June 1, 1953 in Brooklyn. Within a few days of his birth, however, Betty gave the child away in order to keep her boyfriend. The baby was adopted by Pearl and Nathan Berkowitz, who lived in the Bronx. They were a Jewish-American couple who owned a hardware store, and were still childless by middle age. They reversed the order of the boy’s first and middle names and gave him their own name, raising him as David Richard Berkowitz, their only child.

Berkowitz had a troubled childhood, despite being of above-average intelligence. He wasn’t really interested in learning and instead developed a linking for petty larceny and pyromania. Neighbours and relatives described Berkowitz as difficult, spoiled, and a bully (leading his parents to take him to at least 1 therapist) but there was never any large intervention or much mention of this in school records. Berkowitz’s adopted mother died of cancer when he was 14, leading to David’s home life becoming strained, especially when his adopted father remarried a woman David disliked.

At the age of 18 Berkowitz joined the U.S. Army and served in the United States and South Korea. Following an honourable discharge 3 years later, he managed to track down his birth mother, Betty. After they got to know each other a little, she told him that he was illegitimate – news which greatly upset Berkowitz – and about his myriad of reluctant father figures. Psychiatrists say that this revelation “shattered” his sense of identity. Following this, he stopped talking to his birth mother, but did keep in contact with his half-sister, Roslyn.

Berkowitz’s criminal activity started in the mid-1970s. His first attempt at murder, using a knife, failed, so he switched to using a gun and began a crime spree throughout the Bronx, Brooklyn and Queens. He went after young female victims, preferably with long, dark hair. All but one crime scene involved 2 victims (he was known for committing his attacks while women sat with their boyfriends in parked cars). He was also known to enjoy these crimes, often returning to the scenes later.

Berkowitz’s first attack occurred on Christmas Eve 1975. He used a hunting knife to stab teenager Michelle Forman, causing her to be hospitalised, and another unidentified victim. Berkowitz was not a suspect in these crimes and shortly after moved to Yonkers.

The first known shooting perpetrated by the Son of Sam happened on July 26, 1976 at 10am in the Bronx. Donna Laura, 18, and her friend 19-year-old Jody Valenti were sitting in Valenti’s car talking about their night out. Lauria opened the car door to leave and noticed a man running at the car. She turned, and angrily said: “Now that is this...” The man took a gun out of a paper bag he was carrying and crouched down, bracing one elbow on his knee. He aimed the gun with both hands and fired. Lauria was hit and killed instantly. Valenti was shot in the thigh and a third shot was fired which missed. The shooter turned and quickly walked away. He did not say a word during the entire exchange. Valenti survived and said that she didn’t recognise the shooter. She described him as a white male in his 30s with fair skin, about 5 foot 9 and approximately 160lb. He had short, dark, curly hair and Lauria’s father confirmed this description as belonging to a man he had seen sitting in a yellow compact car parked near their home. Neighbours gave corroborating reports to police about the car, saying it had been cruising the area for hours.

3 months later, a similar shooting happened in Queens. Carl Denaro, 20, and Rosemary Keenan, 18, were sitting in Keenan’s car when the windows suddenly shattered. Denaro later said: “I felt the car exploded.” Keenan started the car and the couple sped away for help. They did not realise they had been shot at, even though Denaro was bleeding from a bullet wound in his head. Keenan had injuries from the broken glass, but Denaro ended up with a metal plate to replace a portion of skull. Neither victim even saw the attacker. Police discovered that the bullets embedded in the car were .44 caliber, but were so damaged that they could not link them to any particular weapon later on. Denaro had shoulder-length dark hair, and it was suggested that the shooter had mistaken him for a girl. Keenan’s father was a police detective with the NYPD, so this was an intensive investigation. Just like the Lauria-Valenti shooting there was no apparent motive, and the police made little progress with the case. Although there were a lot of similar details between the shootings, the police did not initially associate the two incidents because the shootings were committed in different boroughs and were investigated by different police precincts.

18-year-old Joanne Lomino and 16-year-old Donna DeMasi were walking home from seeing a movie just after midnight on November 27, 1976. They were talking on Lomino’s porch in Queens when a man dressed in military fatigues who appeared to be in his early 20s came up to them and asked for directions. In a high pitched voice, the stranger said “Can you tell me how to get...” but then he pulled a gun. He shot each girl once, and after they fell to the ground, fired several more times, hitting the apartment building before running. A neighbour heard the shots and ran out of the building to see a blond man run past holding a gun. DeMasi was shot in the neck but the wound wasn’t fatal. Lomino was hit in the back and hospitalised in serious condition – she ended up a paraplegic.

4 months later, on January 30 1977, 26-year-old Christine Freund and her fiancé, 30-year-old John Diel, were sitting in Diel’s car in Queens about to drive to a dance hall after having been to see Rocky. Three gunshots were fired at the car around 12:40am. Diel drove away in a panic to get help. He only suffered minor injuries, but Freund was shot twice and died at the hospital several hours later. Neither victim saw their attacker. As a result of the Fruend-Diel shooting, police made the first public acknowledgement that the crimes may be linked to the other shootings. All victims had been shot with .44 caliber bullets and the shootings seemed to target females with long, dark hair. NYPD Sergeant Richard Conlon said that police were “leaning towards a connection in all these case.” Sketches were released of the black-haired Lauria-Valenti shooter and the blond Lomino-DeMasi shooter, and Conlon said that police were looking for multiple suspects.

At about 7:30pm on March 8, 1977, Virginia Voskerichian, 19, was walking home from Columbia University, where she was studying, and was confronted with an armed stranger. She lived less than a block from where Christine Fruend was shot. In an attempt to defend herself, Voskerichian held her textbooks between her and her killer, but the bullet went straight through, hitting her in the head and killing her. Moments later, a neighbourhood resident who had heard the shots was coming around the corner onto Voskerichian’s street, nearly colliding with a person that he described as a short, husky boy, 16 to 18 years old and clean-shaven, wearing a sweater and watch cap, who was running away from the crime scene. The neighbour stated that the boy pulled his cap over his face and said, “Oh, Jesus!” Other neighbours saw the “teenager”, as well as another person that matched Berkowitz’s description loitering in the area for about an hour prior to the shooting. In the following days, the media repeated claims made by the police that the “chubby teenager” was the suspect. There were no direct eyewitnesses to the murder.

In a press conference held on March 10, 1977, NYPD officials and Abraham Beame, Mayor of New York City, announced that the same .44 Bulldog revolver had fired the shots that killed both Lauria and Voskerichian. However, official documents that were uncovered later stated that that although the police strongly suspected that the same .44 Bulldog had been used, the evidence was actually inconclusive. The crimes were talked about in the media almost every day, with papers liked the New York Post and Daily News featuring graphic crime reporting and commentary. The killings even made international news with reports in the Vatican’s L’Osservatore Romano, the Hebrew newspaper Maariv, and the Soviet Izvestia.

At around 3am on April 17, 1977, Alexander Esau, 20, and Valentina Suriani, 18, were sat in Suriani’s car near her home in the Bronx, not far from the Lauria-Valenti crime scene, when each was shot twice. Suriani died instantly and Esau died in the hospital a few hours later without being able to describe their attacker. Police again said that the weapon used was the same as the one used in the other shootings. During the following days, the police said that they believed only one man was responsible for the .44 murders. The chubby teenager in the Voskerichian case was now considered a witness, not a suspect, and the dark-haired man who shot Lauria and Valenti was now the only suspect.

Police found a handwritten letter near the bodies of Esau and Suriani, written in block capitals with some lower-case letters. The letter was addressed to NYPD Captain Joseph Borrelli. It was in this letter that the killer used the name “Son of Sam” for the first time – he had previously been dubbed the “.44 Caliber Killer” by the media, but the new name soon replaced the old moniker. The letter talked about the killer’s intent to continue his work and taunted police about the fact that he was still at large. The letter read:

I am deeply hurt by your calling me a woman hater. I am not. But I am a monster. I am the “Son of Sam.” I am a little “brat”. When father Sam gets drunk he gets mean. He beats his family. Sometimes he ties me up to the back of the house. Other times he locks me in the garage. Sam loves to drink blood. “Go out and kill” commands father Sam. Behind our house some rest. Mostly young – raped and slaughtered – their blood drained – just bones now. Papa Sam keeps me locked in the attic, too. I can’t get out but I look out the attic window and watch the world go by. I feel like an outsider. I am on a different wavelength than everybody else – programmed to kill. However, to stop me you must kill me. Attention all police: Shoot me first – shoot to kill or else. Keep out of my way or you will die! Papa Sam is old now. He needs some blood to preserve his youth. He has had too many heart attacks. Too many heart attacks. “Ugh, me hoot it hurts sonny boy.” I miss my pretty princess most of all. She’s resting in our ladies house but I’ll see her soon. I am the “Monster” – “Beelzebub” – the “Chubby Behemoth.” I love to hunt. Prowling the streets looking for fair game – tasty meat. The women of Queens are the prettiest of all. I must be the water they drink. I live for the hunt – my life. Blood for papa. Mr. Borrelli, sir, I don’t want to kill anymore no sir, no more but I must, “honour thy father.” I want to make love to the world. I love people. I don’t belong on Earth. Return me to yahoos. To the people of Queens, I love you. And I want to wish all of you a happy Easter. May God bless you in this life and in the next and for now I say goodbye and goodnight. Police – Let me haunt you with these words; I’ll be back! I’ll be back! To be interpreted as – bang, bang, bang, bang – ugh!!! Yours in murder, Mr. Monster.

Police thought that the author of the letter might be familiar with Scottish-English because the phrase “me hoot, it hurts sonny boy” sounded like a Scottish-accented version of “my heart, it hurts, sonny boy” and the police theorised that the shooter was blaming a dark-haired nurse for his father’s death. This was because of the “too many heart attacks” phrase, and the facts that Lauria was a medical technician and Valenti was studying to be a nurse. The killer’s strange attitude to the police and the media was widely scrutinised. Psychologists noted that many serial killers gratification by eluding capture. They gain a sense of power from watching the actions of media, law enforcement and even the public. On May 26, 1977 the killer was described as neurotic and potentially suffering from paranoid schizophrenia and may consider himself a victim of demonic possession.

On May 30, 1977, Daily News columnist Jimmy Breslin received a handwritten letter from someone claiming to be the .44 Caliber Killer. The letter was postmarked the same day from Englewood, New Jersey. On the back of the envelope were the words: Blood and Family – Darkness and Death – Absolute Depravity - .44. The letter read:

Hello from the gutters of N.Y.C. which are filled with dog manure, vomit, stale wine, urine and blood. Hello from the sewers of N.Y.C. which swallow up these delicacies when they are washed away by the sweeper trucks. Hello from the cracks in the sidewalks of N.Y.C. and from the ants that dwell in these cracks and feed in the dried blood of the dead that has settled into the cracks. J.B., I’m just dropping you a line to let you know that I appreciate your interest in those recent and horrendous .44 killings. I also want to tell you that I read your column daily and I find it quite informative. Tell me Jim, what will you have for July twenty-ninth? You can forget about me if you like because I don’t care for publicity. However you must not forget Donna Lauria and you cannot let the people forget her either. She was a very, very sweet girl but Sam’s a thirsty lad and he won’t let me stop killing until he gets his fill of blood. Mr. Breslin, sir, don’t think that because you haven’t heard from me for a while that I went to sleep. No, rather, I am still here. Like a spirit roaming the night. Thirsty, hungry, seldom stopping to rest; anxious to please Sam. I love my work. Now, the void has been filled. Perhaps we shall meet face to face someday or perhaps I will be blown away by cops with smoking .38’s. Whatever, if I shall be fortunate enough to meet you I will tell you all about Sam if you like and I will introduce you to him. His name is “Sam the terrible.” Now knowing what the future holds I shall say farewell and I will see you at the next job. Or should I say you will see my handiwork at the next job? Remember Ms. Lauria. Thank you. In their blood and from the gutter “Sam’s creation” .44 Here are some names to help you along. Forward them to the inspector for use by N.C.I.C: “The Duke of Death” “The Wicked King Wicker” “The Twenty Two Disciples of Hell” “John Wheaties” – Rapist and Suffocator of Young Girls. PS: Please inform all the detectives working the case that I wish them the best of luck. “Keep ‘em digging, drive on, think positive, get off your butts, knock on coffins, etc.” Upon my capture I promise to buy all the guys working the case a new pair of shoes if I can get up the money. Son of Sam.

Under the “Son of Sam” was a logo/sketch that combined several symbols. The writer’s question “What will you have for July 29?” was considered an ominous threat, as July 29 would be the anniversary of the first .44 caliber shooting. Breslin told police about the letter, who thought the letter was probably written by someone who had knowledge of the killings. The Breslin letter seemed more sophisticated in comparison to the original letter and police thought it may have been made in an art studio or other professional location by someone with experience of printing, calligraphy or graphic design. A week after the letter arrived, the New York Daily News published it (with portions withheld at the request of police) and Breslin asked the killer to surrender. That article made that day’s paper the highest-selling edition to date. Police received thousands of tips, all of which led nowhere. Because of the revelation that all of the shooting victims had long dark hair thousands of New York women got their hair cut short or dyed bright colours – beauty stores even had trouble meeting the demand for wigs.

On June 26, 1977, there was yet another shooting. Sal Lupo, 20, and Judy Placido, 17, had left a disco in Queens and were sitting in Lupo’s car at around 3am when three shots were fired through the vehicle. Lupo was wounded in the arm and Placido was shot in the right temple, shoulder and back of the neck, but both victims survived. Lupo told police that they had been discussing the Son of Sam case only moments before they were shot. Neither victim had seen their attacker, but two witnesses reported seeing a tall, dark-haired man in a leisure suit fleeing the scene – one claimed to see him drive away in a car and even supplied a partial licence plate number. Another report described a blond man with a moustache driving from the scene in a Chevy Nova with the headlights off. Police theorised that the dark-haired man was the shooter and that the blond man had been a witness.

As the first anniversary of the initial shootings was approaching, police established a large dragnet that focused on previous hunting grounds in Queens and the Bronx. However, the next and final .44 shooting happened in Brooklyn, which was where the killer was from. In the early hours of July 31, 1977, Stacy Moskowitz and Robert Violante, both 20, were in Violante’s parked car under a streetlight near a park. They were kissing when a man approached the passenger side of the car and fired four shots into the car, hitting both victims in the head before escaping into the park. Moskowitz died several hours later in hospital. Violante survived, but lost vision in one eye and retained severely limited vision in the other eye. This shooting produced more witnesses than any of the other Son of Sam murders. There was one eyewitness who was not an intended victim. 19-year-old Tommy Zaino was parked with his date 3 cars in front of Violante’s car during the shooting. Moments before, Zaino caught a glimpse of the shooter’s approach and glanced in his rearview mirror just in time to witness the shooting. Zaino saw the killer clearly under the bright streetlight and later described him as being around 25-30, average height (5ft7-5ft9), with shaggy hair that was dark blond/light brown. Zaino said that the shooter’s hair resembled a wig.

About 60 seconds after the shooting, a woman sat next to her boyfriend in his car on the other side of the park saw a white male wearing a light-coloured, cheap nylon wig spring out of the park and enter a small light-coloured car which drove away quickly. “He looks like he just robbed a bank”, said the woman, who wrote down the part of the licence plate she could see for the police. She couldn’t see the first two characters, but was sure that the others were either 4-GUR or 4-GVR. Other witnesses included a woman who saw a car speed away from the park about 20 seconds after the shots were fired, and at least 2 witnesses who saw a yellow Volkswagen driving quickly through the neighbourhood without lights. A neighbourhood resident, under the pseudonym Mary Lyons, heard the shots and Violante’s calls for help and looked out of her window to see man she later positively identified as Berkowitz walking away from the crime scene as many others were rushing towards it.

Witness Thomas Scally said that he was sitting in Alley Pond Park on Winchester Boulevard in Queens with a friend when a yellow Volkswagen Beetle drove less than 3 inches away from his vehicle, which did not have its engine running. Scally, who kept an air gun under his seat, pointed it at the VW as it approached. Scally initially thought the driver of the VW was a light-skinned black male, but later realised he was wearing a stocking over his face. The driver of the VW started his car and quickly reversed out of the parking lot. Scally chased the car to Glen Oaks, Queens, when the driver jumped out and ran. Scally didn’t want to leave his friend alone so instead of following he called the Son of Sam tip line. Detective Richard Carroll from the Son of Sam Task Force later told Scally that he had indeed just seen the Son of Sam. Glen Oaks later turned out to be the home of Roslyn, Berkowitz’s sister, and was also close to the site of the Donna DeMasi and Joanne Lomino shootings.

Police didn’t learn about the Moskowitz-Violante shooting until around 2:50am and it wasn’t thought that it was another Son of Sam killing until an officer at the scene reported that large-caliber shells were used. Police put up a series of roadblocks about half an hour after the shooting, stopping hundreds of cars to question the drivers and inspect the vehicles. During these interviews, several people described a Volkswagen speeding away from the scene, and police now believed that the killer owned such a vehicle. In the following days, police discovered that there were more than 900 Volkswagens in New York or New Jersey and they made plans to trace each and every one of them and their owners. Detective John Falotico was woken at home and told to report to the 10th Homicide Division at the 60th Precinct station house in Coney Island. He was informed of the Moskowitz-Violante shooting. Falotico was given 2 weeks to work on the case as a normal investigation before it was given to a special Son of Sam task force.

#david #berkowitz #son of sam #new york #queens #bronx #brooklyn #murder #serial killer #44 caliber #shooting

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2700fstreet · 8 years ago

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DANCE / 2017-2018

Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater

MINI PERFORMANCE

Robert Battle, Artistic Director Masazumi Chaya, Associate Artistic Director

So, What’s Going On?

You may have heard of Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater (AADT). No surprise—they’ve been on the main dance stage since 1958. Based in New York City, the company has toured all over the world, but who exactly was Alvin Ailey?

Portrait of Alvin Ailey by Jack Mitchell

Born in a small Texas town in 1931, Alvin Ailey began his dance training at age 11 by being exposed to classical, social, and folk dances, as well as the emerging style of modern dance. But at the start of his career, he encountered few opportunities for African American dancers like himself.

Ailey wanted to create a company that allowed African American dancers to display their talents and to express their experiences and heritage. When he formed AAADT, it was one of the first professional companies where dancers of all races and backgrounds were welcome. According to the New York Times, “You didn’t need to have known Alvin personally to be touched by his humanity, enthusiasm, and exuberance and his courageous stand for multicultural brotherhood.”

Watch (and learn) what makes Ailey “Ailey.”

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Ailey died in 1989, but his legacy lives on with his company and school. Today, AAADT is under the artistic direction of Robert Battle who not only choreographs new works, but who also invites others to create dances for the company.

What is the Big Deal about Revelations?

Revelations is Alvin Ailey’s signature work and has been performed by the company since its creation in 1960. This masterwork has been seen by more people than any other modern dance. More than 25 million audience members in 71 countries have been to a performance. Now it’s your turn.

First, watch this short film that celebrates the work by telling the history and significance of this modern dance classic.

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It’s hard to watch Revelations and not be caught up in the emotions and atmosphere of the work. The dance is based on Ailey’s early years worshipping at his southern Baptist church. Drawing on his childhood recollections of people and places, and using traditional African American blues, work songs, and spirituals as his musical inspiration, Ailey tells the story of African American faith and persistence in the face of adversity.

Revelations is divided into three sections; each includes several dances representing different aspects or experiences in Baptist worship. The main sections include:

“Pilgrim of Sorrow” speaks of people yearning for salvation but burdened by the troubles of this life. Look for arms reaching out in all directions, and bodies pulled back to earth. PHOTO by Pierre Wachholder | Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater’s Ghari DeVore and Yannick Lebrun in Alvin Ailey’s Revelations

“Take Me to the Water” is an enactment of Ailey’s own baptism that took place in a pond behind his church. Watch for the devotional leader in white holding a large white umbrella. She leads a young couple to the baptismal river of billowing blue silk. Look for the way the dancers undulate through their arms and torsos and stretch long pieces of fabric to emulate rippling water. PHOTO by Paul Kolnik | AAADT’s C. Heyward, V. Gilmore, R. McLaren, F. Tesfagiorgis in Alvin Ailey’s Revelations

“Move, Members, Move” begins with a trio for three men to the song “Sinner Man.” The next section shows a congregation, decked out in yellow, participating in a joyous church service. Watch how Ailey brings humor to the work by showing churchgoers who gossip and others who fan themselves in the heat. PHOTO by Pierre Wachholder | Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater in Alvin Ailey’s Revelations

Ailey described the memories that inspired Revelations as “blood memories” because they were so strong he felt they were part of him as much as the blood that ran through his veins.

Another dance the company will perform is Stack-Up. Read on to learn more.

Step Back in Time for Stack-Up

Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater in Talley Beatty's Stack-Up. Photo by Paul Kolnik.

Stack-Up Original Choreography by Talley Beatty (1982) Restaging by Masazumi Chaya Music by Earth, Wind & Fire; David Gates; Grover Washington, Jr.; Fearless Four; and Alphonse Mouzon

Look and listen as the music and costumes for Stack-Up transport us back to another time…the ‘80s to be exact, when Talley Beatty first choreographed this dance. And yet here we are, more than 35 years later, with so many of its themes still relevant today.

Stack-Up was inspired by the jammed freeways and gridlocked traffic of Los Angeles, where Beatty’s tense, chaotic dance dramas play out against a gritty cityscape. But this is about a different kind of traffic—about the pileups and backups between people living “stacked on top each other” in a tight, urban space.

In this three-part dance suite, we meet all kinds of city dwellers—from a young couple in love, to some community gang members, to others just out to have a good time. Each group is interested in “going about their business,” but are threatened by the menacing presence of the drug dealer as he looks for ways to take advantage of those around him.

AAADT's Sean Carmon, Jaquelin Harris, and Michael McBride in Talley Beatty's Stack-Up. Photo by Paul Kolnik.

Watch for:

the lightning symbol worn by one group symbolizing their membership in a gang.

the moment when a young man, despite attempts by his girlfriend to stop him, decides to take some drugs from the dealer.

the way the movement and behavior of the young man changes under the influence of drugs.

break dancing, cartwheels, and back flips.

See Alvin Ailey’s dancers in Stack-Up:

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Who was Talley Beatty?

Talley Beatty was an African American choreographer who lived from 1918-1995. Like Alvin Ailey, Beatty encountered challenges as a black man who wanted to study dance. In fact, he was forced to take ballet classes either very early in the morning or very late at night, and in dressing rooms instead of studios where white dancers studied.

Despite these difficulties, Beatty made a name for himself as a performer and choreographer. He danced with African American choreographer Katherine Dunham who was interested in movement from the Caribbean and Africa. Beatty also danced with Martha Graham, a choreographer who advanced modern dance in the United States.

Beatty’s style is a mixture of ballet and jazz; his work has been described as “fast and explosive,” and focused on the everyday life and struggles of African Americans.

Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater presents Stack-Up to celebrate 100 years since Beatty’s birth.

AAADT's Daniel Harder and Rachael McLaren in Talley Beatty's Stack-Up. Photo by Paul Kolnik.

To sample some of Talley Beatty’s other work, check out:

Mourner’s Bench (1947, Beatty’s signature solo work)

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Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater’s Hope Boykin and choreographer and dancer Duane Cyrus discuss working with Talley Beatty at:

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Check this out: Ailey’s Signature Style

Ailey accepted dancers into his company who were trained in different styles including ballet, modern, jazz, and hip hop. He encouraged their individual strengths and differences in style, bringing them together in performance like a conductor of jazz music. Despite these differences, there are common elements in his choreography. Watch for:

straight lines in the lower body, with quick and sharp leg and foot movements, like in ballet

an expressive upper body with fluid arms and torso movements, like in modern dance

energetic dancing that emphasizes strength

expressive hands

a fusion of African-influenced movements with ballet and modern dance

There is also good reason why Alvin Ailey called his company “a dance theater.” Ailey was interested in how elements of theater—costumes, props, lighting, and music—could be combined with dance to communicate with an audience. Watch…

how colors have meanings in costumes. Notice how the color scheme for the costumes is different in each section, first earth-toned, then white, and finally yellow. Why do you think he chose these colors?

PHOTO by Pierre Wachholder | Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater in Alvin Ailey’s Revelations

how props tell a story. In Revelations, the dancers use props to help bring Ailey’s childhood memories to life. For example, long sheets of blue and white fabric stretched across the stage to suggest water; white parasols, wide-brimmed hats, and fans to imply the heat of Texas summers; and stools used by the dancers to represent a seated church congregation.

how lighting creates mood. Revelations begins with a group of dancers standing under a single spotlight on a darkened stage. Later, the dancers move across a fully illuminated stage. Why do you think the lighting changes?

Think About This: Different Ways of Working

Ever wonder how long it takes to choreograph a dance? Kyle Abraham, who created the work Untitled America for the Ailey company, spent two years on his three-part dance. But his process was in and out of the studio over months. Abraham held focused sessions with the dancers of two or three weeks at a time with long breaks in between. During those breaks, he thought about how he wanted to put the piece together before trying the movement with the dancers.

Choreographer Mauro Bigonzetti created Deep in a different way. Bigonzetti never plans out the movements before entering the studio. Instead, he studies how each individual dancer moves, and what their personality is like. His choreography depends on the strengths and style of the individual dancers.

Two different choreographers. Two different styles. If you were a dancer, would you want the choreographer to include you in the creative process, or tell you exactly what steps you needed to do?

Take Action: Art for All…

Alvin Ailey made Revelations based on his own personal experience, yet it speaks to people of all ages, all over the world, regardless of their racial and religious backgrounds. After you see the work, brainstorm why you think it inspires so many people every time it is performed.

Share your thoughts on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, Tumblr, Snapchat, or any platform of your choice. Use #artforall as your hashtag.

Explore More

Go even deeper with the Ailey Performance Extras.

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PHOTO (top) AAADT's Jamar Roberts in Talley Beatty's Stack-Up. Photo by Paul Kolnik.

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Additional support for Events for Students is provided by A. James & Alice B. Clark Foundation; the Kimsey Endowment; The Morris and Gwendolyn Cafritz Foundation; Paul M. Angell Family Foundation; and the U.S. Department of Education.

Major support for educational programs at the Kennedy Center is provided by David M. Rubenstein through the Rubenstein Arts Access Program.

Kennedy Center education and related artistic programming is made possible through the generosity of the National Committee for the Performing Arts and the President’s Advisory Committee on the Arts.

#dance #aileyat2700F

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telanganareporter · 4 years ago

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Nora Fatehi turns heads as she steps out in a pretty yellow dress

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Nora Fatehi has made a special place for herself in Bollywood in a short span of time. She has wowed everyone with her scintillating moves and gorgeous looks. The actress has worked with Salman Khan, John Abraham, Varun Dhawan, Rajkummar Rao and others over a couple of years and that’s a big achievement in itself. Her dancing skills are deemed as the best in Bollywood currently and…

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fibertuganda · 7 years ago

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Our first Ugandan wedding

We attended our first Ugandan wedding, with the marriage of Prima, one of the nurses from Kisiizi Hospital. When engagements are announced here, a wedding committee is formed, who are those responsible for planning the big day, which usually takes place only a few months after the engagement. They are very liberal with their invites; generally all those at the bride, & groom’s place of work are invited, which for Prima meant that the almost 500-strong workforce of Kisiizi Hospital were invited, including us. Before the wedding all of those invited are issued with a price list of all the components of the wedding, & asked to pledge what they are going to contribute, & if you pledge a large enough amount it seems that is a ticket to the wedding ceremony, which we think is the only reason we were invited to the ceremony. Usually there is a “give away ceremony”, the night before the wedding, when the bride’s family “give her away”, which is often as big as the wedding itself. But due to family circumstances, Prima did not have a “give away ceremony”.

We got some interesting insights into Ugandan wedding preparation from Prima. Generally the bride-to-be’s family will pay a dowry to the groom-to-be, for the service of taking their daughter off their hands. She also explained that it is desirable for brides to be “chubby”, & so Prima, who is naturally slim, had been on a weight gain diet in the months leading up the wedding, & was chuffed with the little potbelly she had developed. She told us that in some rural communities, brides will be encouraged to drink five litres of milk per day in preparation for their wedding, & that the grooms-to-be will lurk outside her home in the hope they can catch a whiff of her farts, in order to assess how to fattening up process if going. This all seems alien compared to our skinny-obsessed culture.

The Ugandans like to get all dressed up, & the wedding guests were all adorned in brightly coloured, shiny fabrics, with a liberal smattering of diamantes. Robert wore his kilt, which received a big, mixed reaction, with some guests informing him in no uncertain terms that, “men in Uganda don’t wear skirts”. The wedding ceremony was held in a catherdral in one of the local towns, & conducted by the local Bishop; we are getting to know the Bishop & his purple robes quite well now as he is a regular visitor to Kisiizi. December is wedding season here, so Prima, had to share the catherdral with two other weddings on the same day. In true Ugandan style the wedding ceremony kicked off two hours late. Prima wore a beautiful princess style wedding dress, while the groom & his groomsmen wore very large, shiny red & green bow ties, & the bridesmaids were equally bright in their green & yellow outfits, & matching accessories. The bridal party made their way down the aisle very slowly, in a rhythmical two steps forwards, & one step back. Most of the wedding ceremony was in Rukiga, so we were oblivious to what was going on. Some highlights included the row of priests in reclining chairs at the front. Abraham initially put the wedding band on Prima’s wrong hand under the instruction of the Bishop, which meant they had to start that bit all over again. And a pre-recorded fan fare, that was played at certain points throughout the ceremony, such as when the best man had remembered the wedding bands, & when no one gave any objections to the marriage. There was also a full choir dressed in ornate robes, who lip synced to pre-recorded tracks.

After the ceremony we travelled to the reception which was held outside at a venue in the same town. The venue was decorated in bold red, green, yellow, orange & zebra print. The reception started with a buffet, where we were each served a mountain of traditional Ugandan food to eat. After the buffet we took our seats in rows. The reception was led by an MC, & consisted almost entirely of speeches, from pretty much anyone who had any connection to the bride or groom, however tedious. There was one worrying moment when we thought we were going to have to get up & make a speech, & started frantically trying to put one together in our heads. As with the wedding ceremony most of the reception was in Rukiga. Throughout much of the reception the wedding party, including the little flower girls & paige boy, stood as a group rhythmically sidestepping to the music. There was one brief moment of dancing, when we all got to have a go at traditional Chiga dancing, which involves a lot of jumping, & the Ugandans had a good laugh at our attempts. The finale of the reception was speeches from the wedding party themselves at around 7pm, but unfortunately by this point many of the guests had already left, & the tidying up had commenced; the whole thing was over by a very prompt 7.30pm.

#Abraham&Primas wedding #Ugandanwedding #Rukingiri #Uganda

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mindofamaka · 7 years ago

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So, it’s basically independence day. This day probably solicits a wide range of responses from people, from absolute joy (because, public holiday and whatnot) to numbness. Some may have probably lost all motivation and hope for this country, due to the hardships they have faced in it.

I’m still quite young, and have been blessed, with God providing me with avenues for my most basic needs and comforts to be met. However, I know that my country Nigeria is flawed. We’re far from perfect, and have a lot of things to get right, starting from our electricity supply.

Imagine Nigeria with 24/7 electricity and all the possibilities! Imagine a Nigeria with every road and path clean, with designated paths for pedestrians and cars/motorcycles in every place. A Nigeria where efficiency and effectiveness is the order of the day. A Nigeria where key issues are brought to life instead of festering, taking life from those who wither away in silence. Hopefully, Nigeria will become better one day. I just hope that one day is sooner than later, especially with the 24/7 light concept.

I like Nigeria. I’m not just saying this because It’s Independence Day. I don’t know where this strong like came from, but it has influenced many things. My Wattpad username is even ProudlyNigerian – I created the account on October 3, 2011. I can guess why I chose that username.

I could’ve been born an East African girl (and be raved about on a Kendrick Lamar track, while having hips for days), or I could’ve been Sudanese, Zimbabwean or even Ghanian. However, God made me Nigerian. This is all part of his greater plan for me, which I am yet to figure out. I love our food, especially jollof rice, more specifically, party jollof rice. Other favourites of mine are soups – Peppersoup, Egusi, Vegetable, Okro, Banga etc. I love our tribes and languages, especially the attire associated with said tribes! Don’t even get me started on Nigerian weddings!

It fills my heart with a great pride when I see cultural dances going on. I love our slangs, and most especially the influence we have. I’d say that Nigerians have a magic touch. Some of us have such a strong ability to influence, and wherever we go, we inspire and make our mark!

So, in the theme of Nigerian pride, I’d love to share some of my admired Nigerian creatives! I didn’t want to do a typical post, as it’s already cliche enough I’m making a Nigerian pride post on Independence Day.

So, Why Creatives?

I chose to flaunt our creatives because well, we all know the prevalent mentality a lot of African parents have. A joke was once said that as an African, you can either be a doctor, lawyer, engineer or disgrace to the family. It’s funny, but a sad reality for some.

Some creatives can’t bloom, as there is no room for expression! And so they go, forcing themselves into moulds created for them by the people around them, living unfulfilled lives, with talents wasted. Creatives can also be affected especially when people around them don’t believe in their vision and goals, when people don’t take them seriously for the unconventional path they have chosen to take. Some, like Asiyami Gold, even get disowned by their family members. Granted, some pursue their creative endeavours while also keeping the conventional stuff in place, and that is also okay!

These people are honestly so amazing, with wonderful minds and ideas. They’ve also influenced me one way or the other, and I am rooting for them constantly! You may know most of them, but also this is a chance to find some new faces!

Ifeoma Amadi (@thesvnflower) – Draped in Basics

I can’t even deny it. There’s just something about Ifeoma. I don’t know why, but I can’t stop bringing her up! She inspires me so much, from her blog posts, gorgeous photos, thrift finds, to her Instagram and everything associated with it. She had such a unique style of doing things, she knows what she is doing, and she is definitely going somewhere.

I just hope I don’t get too obsessed, because sometimes this might result in copying, but honestly, she’s a babe! I’ll never regret finding her blog, never! I think she even inspired me to give blogging another shot!

Maryam Salam – Fashion By Daisy

I only discovered Maryam recently. Prior to the discovery, I’d simply been participating in her project. Maryam is the founder of The Blogger Point, a Nigerian blogger agency – the first one in Nigeria, If I may add. She is seriously quite innovative and business minded. Her blog is one you can go to in search of knowledge on blogging or business. She also has really nice outfit posts, and an absolutely gorgeous skin tone.

I’m quite excited, because I won a free 1 week blog consultation from her which she offered here! I hope to make the most of the opportunity, and that a lot of good will come out from this consultation. I’m ready to get my A-game on when it comes to my blog!

Asiyami Gold

Asiyami is honestly so awesome! She has established herself, and is only going higher! I am so proud to be Nigerian when I see creatives like her. I love her dressing, her face, her photography, and especially her Instagram feed. She takes us all around the world with her, getting such good shots of spots. She’s really had a rough time getting to where she is now, and so she deserves all the very best!

Yagazie Emezi

Yagazie is an amazing photographer with a quirky personality. Talent and creativity clearly run in her family, because her sister Akwaeke is also an awesome writer.

Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

I can’t call Chimamanda my favourite author. This is because I have read just 3 of her works – Purple Hibiscus, Half of a Yellow Sun, and Americanah. However, I will say she is amazing.

She has made a name for herself, and that is something I want when it comes to writing. Her writing is so deep, and she tells complex stories of complex lives and complex people. That is writing goals!

Lola Shoneyin

I don’t know much about her, but what I know is that she writes really well! She authored the book ‘The Secret Lives of Baba Segi’s Wives’, which is honestly a must read. The storyline and the characters are such a mess, it makes for a great read!

The way she brings her characters to life, is something I really admire. She was also quite detailed and hilarious in the book. Just check it out, thank me later.

Emma OhMaGod

This guy is just way too creative! I love how he remixes songs and puts his special touches on them! You should seriously check him out!

Now, we’re getting to an interesting part of this post. The following people have seriously influenced me when it comes to cracking jokes. I’ve always had a strange sense of humour, and it’s always been shaped by social media. Did you know, I run a meme account called African Memes? Anyway, I have such a strong love for them, and will always be rooting for them!

Samuel Ndubuisi Okafor

Sam Okafor, who used to be known as @samtakesoff, one of the most popular Vine users, will always have a special place in my heart. He is hands down the face of ‘african parent’ jokes, most especially ‘african dad’. He made such a great impression on us, and left me dying from laughter so many times. His posts were hilarious, and I will always have his facial reaction photos stashed away for the right moments.

I loved his videos so much. He’s a great dancer, and also makes good songs. If I could, I would honestly marry him lol (he’s engaged o, to a beautiful black queen known as Sao @withlovesao)! I remember when he had a meet up in the UK or so, and hundreds of people showed up! Honestly though, I would love to meet him at least once in real life! Unfortunately, he ‘retired’ from the comedy life, choosing to focus on his music. He also lost his mum, a very sad event. I will always root for you Sam!

Tolulope Ogunmefun

Which Nigerian doesn’t know of Don’t Jealous Me AKA Tolulope Ogunmefun? I discovered him from his ‘magdonna’ video, and he has seriously blown since then! What don’t I love about him? He is funny, and his short clips on IG are hilarious. We have watched him grow so much, including becoming a married man and soon to be a father! More life!

Of course, there are many other Nigerian comedians such as the all too famous Dr Craze (Craze Clown), Wofai Fada, Comedian Ebiye, Maraji, African Ape, Klinton Cod, how can I forget The Real Femi? There’s just so much talent! Take all my MB!

Speaking of take all my MB, I am not an avid Youtube patroniser, but when I do, these are people I can turn to for interesting content. And look at God! They’re Nigerian!

Jackie Aina

Finding out she was Nigerian was honestly one of the most amazing things. Jackie has really built a brand out of her name and Youtube channel, and I love her for that.

Her videos (the few I’ve watched) are fascinating, and she’s just hilarious!

Dimma Umeh

Yes, we all love Dimma, who used to be known as That Igbo Chick. I’m not really a makeup tutorial person except for where I’m feeling like learning something new, or researching on something. I love her ‘Dimma Living‘ Vlogs. I also like how she’s in Nigeria, and she’s just so authentic. Go girl!

Uche Natori

Uche is a makeup Youtuber based in the UK! Found her by accident, really, but she’s awesome. I just love her face, she’s quite beautiful. I also like her makeup looks, and she’s definitely one you should watch out for!

Toni Olaoye

I like Toni’s makeup videos, and her intros are bomb tbh. She’s based in Canada, and I like watching her flourish as a Youtuber.

There’s many more Nigerians who are poppin’ on Youtube such as Grace Ajilore, Omabelle, Patricia Bright, Adanna of AdannaDavid, Ronke Raji, Jennie Jenkins, Shirley B. Eniang… need I go on? Nigerians are honestly everywhere, and we definitely make our mark wherever we go.

I think a shoutout needs to go to Yemisi Abraham, most popularly known as Serra Bellum.

Her feed is bomb, okay? I don’t even know what she does for a living or whatever, but her feed is bomb! It takes work to maintain such a feed.

Of course, I can’t just conclude this post without throwing some light on some gems! This section is dedicated to up and coming Nigerian blogs who are amazing. and totally need more people to see their amazing-ness! I may not know them personally, but there’s nothing wrong with giving other people shoutouts

Bunie – She Fancys That

Bunie will always have a special place in my heart, because she is the first blogger I’ve met in real life! The other ones, I simply interact with from my computer. My first impression of her was that she was this energetic, bubbly person. She’s one to definitely look out for.

Bukola Jayeoba – The Naija Brides Outlet (TNBO)

TNBO, authored by Bukola Jayeoba, is a blog I honestly found by accident. The way I found this blog also shows just how beneficial the WordPress reader is. I can search a tag, and then boom some blog posts pop up! It was through one of such searches, that I found this blog. At the time I found it, she was writing posts expressing all the challenges faced during the planning of a Nigerian wedding.

I read all the way until now, where she has transitioned from planning a wedding, to actually living married life. I love the way she writes, and can honestly see her concept becoming as big as Bella Naija. She should even be featured there! I’m not married or even planning a wedding, and I won’t be for a long while, but I love her posts so much!

Want to get on a faster track to that ‘thaty billion for the account’? Check out Saving with OJ. Want to know how one can slay while being saved and secured? Check out Saved, Secured & Slaying. Want to know how stressful Nigerian weddings are to plan/relive your memories planning or participating in one? Check out The Naija Brides Outlet.

There’s also other awesome people who are not so new, but also up and coming. These include The Blackk Beauty, Joyce Daniels, Uzzymami, Girl Eccentric, Diary of a 20 Something & Spoken Voicelessness.

Lastly, I know an awesome chick you totally need to check out! Her name is Amaka, and she is the author at Mind of Amaka! She’s a bit of a mess though, and is still trying to figure out her style, as documented here and here.

That’s right, I’m shamelessly advertising myself on my own blog, in my own blog post. What are you going to do about it? That’s right, nothing! *Hiss* Now, why don’t you check out my other pieces eh? Don’t just #BuyNigerian, #ReadNigerian too! Lol!

Recap: Nigeria So Far

Suleja Prison Visit: Lessons Learned

#BuyNigerian or Nah?

How Fake Foundation Taught me to Speak Up

God bless Nigeria, Happy Independence Day!

What is your favourite part of being Nigerian? For non-Nigerians, what do you love most about Nigeria/Nigerians?

Nigerian Pride: An Ode to Nigerian Creatives So, it’s basically independence day. This day probably solicits a wide range of responses from people, from absolute joy (because, public holiday and whatnot) to numbness.

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crr-ave-blog · 8 years ago

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Elephant Tales

“The kind of knowledge you not only see but feel when you look into the eyes of an elephant or stop for a moment to marvel at the deep wrinkles on its skin, both of which I believe contain the truths learned from each intentional step their feet and those of their ancestors have placed upon the earth."- Molly Fridenfeld

Alice’s eagerness woke her at dawn she couldn’t with-hold her excitement. Alice loved her birthday but the poor girl doesn’t know how to handle the huge influx of enthusiasm. When she was five she threw up all over herself when she laid her eyes on her brand new gifts waiting for her when she woke. Creeping down the hallway of her multi-colored home. Meticulously shifting her body weight to avoid the memorized creeks of the paint splattered floorboards. Alice rubs her eyes, ready to see the world as an eleven-year-old.

When Alice’s parents bought their inner city Sydney cottage, the previously owners, a kooky family of Macedonian immigrants littered the house with yellow rose wallpaper and pink carpet. Alice’s parents, her father an ex punk from East London and her mother, an extroverted feminist, stripped the walls and floors bare of their new home and painted erratically through the night. Each room held a different color, “I want to innovate mood in each room bubba” Alice’s mother always said, emphasizing her disagreement with contemporary style.

The morning light trickles down the lime green and ocean blue hallway, flowing into the desert pink living room that spluttered into the deep orange kitchen where Alice’s brand new bicycle was perched against the kitchen table. Staring at the camo green BMX bicycle through a shop window for a year and half the bike seemed much bigger than she imagined, Alice had to rub her eyes once more and reach out to see if there was still a glass barrier between the two. Alice tediously admired the bike, running her hand along the little rubber hairs laying on the tires, she had to take it out for a spin in the cool spring air. Although Alice was NOT a meticulous nor mellow child she carefully took hold the handle bars and guided the steel contraptions out of the kitchen and through the glass sliding door that led out to the backyard. “BLINNNGGG”, Alice’s wild blonde bed hair caught onto the elephant bell door hanger making her wince at the noise, she doesn’t want her parents to know that she has already seen her gift, her small scrawny body has that much excitement within her that she has the ability recreate the dawn meeting with the bicycle once more. Alice’s home is spoilt with elephants, from elephant pillows to sculptures. When Alice’s mother and father were travelling Africa her mother had an incredibly livid dream, she was within a parade of elephants, she looked into the eye of the creature and woke up revived preaching to Alice’s father next to her that “elephants have the answer”. On a safari trip the next day Alice’s mother and father’s jeep was put to a holt, mating elephants were blocking the road, the powerful display of the natural world solidified her mother’s fascination. A few weeks after the encounter with the elephants it foreshadowed the announcement pregnancy of Clara, Alice’s older sister

The two girls are referred to as Irish twins, Alice followed Clara’s introduction to the world seventeen months later. Both girls looking almost identical to each other, with wild blonde hair, fair skin and chubby cheeks the main distinction between the two was that Alice had bright sky blue eyes and Clara with deep chocolate brown. Clara was a lovely baby their mother always bragged how she was a great sleeper. Alice was the complete opposite, “You always wanted to witness everything, you never wanted to miss out, it took you’ll six to realise that you were tired and you finally asked us to put you to sleep” Alice’s mother lovingly reminds to her youngest daughter. As on cue Clara came stumbling down the hallway with the morning light catching onto her golden hair.

“Happy birfdayyy” grumbled Clara, who’s sleepiness as an infant carried onto her twelve-year-old body, she was definitely not a morning person.

“Hey sissy, why ya up so early?” Alice replied with a wide goofy grin, proud of herself now being only a year apart to her older sister. She always thought that she could catch up to her sisters age if she kept competing with her physically and mentally, igniting her competitive trait.

“Ya not as quiet as ya think boofhead” Clara whispered with a witty smile.

“Oh, sorry sis… Wanna come out for a ride with me? Please it’s my birthday..” It’s been a while since Alice’s older sister has come out with her, they used to go out and cruise the Inner West suburbs of Sydney for hours on end. Now that her sister has started high school, Clara spends her time with her friends.

“Nah, I just got up to pee, if you want you can ride with me to the bus stop”.

“Yea, alright then” Alice replied, flattered that her sister wanted to share the fifteen-minute walk with her. She rolled the bike back to perch against the wooden kitchen table and leaped into the lounge room, with a spinning and falling motion picking up the remote and diving into the couch.

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“Look how the same possibilities unfold in their opposite demeanors, as though one saw different ages passing through two identical rooms.”

-Rainer Marie Rilke, ‘The Sisters’.

Hunting for her suitcase on the carousal of luggage Alice fumbles through her backpack trying to find her phone to text Clara that she’s survived the seventeen-hour flight. Flying home spontaneously to surprise her parents on her twenty first birthday Alice relied on Clara to be at the airport on time to pick her up. Clara is almost never on time; she has her own concept of it. Alice spent the last five months studying in San Francisco. Clara has been renting a room in a trendy inner city suburb of Sydney and working in a craft beer brewery/bar and sprouting as an artist. Clara found herself a good clan of friends and enjoyed living a young optimistic lifestyle.

“Getting my luggage now, probs be out in 15 hope ur here sis xx” Alice messaged her sister, feeling grimy from the flight, and ready for a long shower and home cooked meal. Nervous to see her sister, only speaking to her a handful of times, both of the girls were immersed in their own independent lives. Fundamentally forgetting to regard each other’s perspectives.

Waiting in the public pick up zone for forty-five minutes, Alice’s pale skin was melting in the sun, the heat from the car ignitions added to the temperature making her body feel grubbier. Finally, she hears Erykah Badu playing in the distance, Alice steps out to the curb and Clara pulls up unconventionally, with bed hair in messy braids and loose curls dancing in the warm breeze. “Happy birthday Zaadiieee” Emphasizing her vowels.Alice replied with a glare.

“Where the fuck were you?” Zadie tiredly voiced.

“Woaah, no need to swear Zadie gosh”.

“Clara, you knew when my flight got in, I haven’t brushed my teeth in seventeen hours and I slept though breakfast, I just thought I could rely on you”.

“I’m sorry I had to give Lucy a ride to work and I got a coffee, oh and here ya go”. Clara reaches over the dashboard picking up the envelope lying against the front of the windshield.

Frustrated yet intrigued Alice peeled open the warm envelope and pulls out a birthday card, painted onto the parchment paper was parade of three elephants with their tails linked against a desert pink background.

“A piece of home, hbd- C x” Written inside with a black felt tip pen.

The car journey was silent, with muffled questions asking about their time apart, neither of girls new how to address each other. The different seas that the two girls have been living in has created its own boarder to their relationship. Tension sunk into the car along with the dust settling onto the air conditioning vents that sparkled in the afternoon sunlight.

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“When you have got an elephant by the hind legs and he is trying to run away, it's best to let him run”-Abraham Lincoln

Hand on stomach, Alice’s index finger traces in a figure eight, an infinite path to her soon to be motherhood. Sitting in the window corner of the bustling Inner West Café, Alice’s body soaks in the sunlight , two frothy cappuccinos’ teasingly lay before her. The smell of roasting coffee sunk into her nostrils, her deep blue eyes closed embracing the beautiful spring day. “Thirty-one and a soon to be mother” Alice chuckled to herself. One thing she didn’t beat her sister to was motherhood. Alice needed to nestle back into her native Aussie lifestyle before settling down. Clara has two daughters, Valarie and Delilah born eighteen months apart.

“BLINNGG” The café door swung open and Clara comes bustling in, with a large tote bag in hand and dressed in a deep orange dress dancing as the breeze from outside falls in. With a toothy grin Clara strides over to Alice.

“Happy birthday mamma!” Clara sung with a giggle, embracing her younger sister.

“How are ya sissy” Alice replied.

“Great, great how bout you?”

“Awesome, I can’t wait to meet the bub” Alice lovingly doted.

“I can’t wait either Al! The sweetest thing happened yesterday, there was a balloon giveaway at the shops and Valerie was too shy to go and ask for one so Delilah went and said ‘Can I have one for my big sisstaaa too please’ just like you used to with me! It was the sweetest thing”. Clara exhaled and then took sip into the foamy coffee, licking the foam off her top lip.

“Ah! I remember that, you used to be so scared of Santa, meanwhile the poor bugger was scared of me!” Alice jokingly replied, scooping the chocolatey foam off the top of her mug and dolloping into her mouth.

“Hahah, you did harass the poor man! Here I got ya something!” Clara flings open her tote bag and pulls out a wooden baby mobile with eleven elephants spinning in the sunlight.

Alice runs her hands through the knitted mammals and lays the gift over her belly. “Thank you sissy! It’s stunning”.

Linking hands, the girls gazed into each other eyes, Alice’s matching the spring blue sky and Clara’s mirroring the the chocolate sprinkled across their drinks.

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