#to get them returned to their 'rightful home' in a Russian museum; with the original owner dead and with no descendants wouldn't it make

[mariacallous]

Since Russia launched its full-scale invasion in February 2022, the damage done by the aggressor state to Ukraine’s cultural heritage amounts to $3.5 billion, according to UNESCO estimates. Russia is appropriating cultural assets en masse from the occupied territories and taking steps to keep them for good. Laws have been passed on the inclusion of exhibits from Ukrainian museums into Russia’s State Museum Fund and on the indivisibility of museum collections. Individual representatives of Russia’s museum community interpret the plundering of masterpieces as an effort at salvaging them. Meanwhile, their Ukrainian counterparts remind us that Russia has been exporting art objects from their country for centuries, driven by a false sense of entitlement. However, international law unambiguously treats the unauthorized export of cultural property and artwork as a violation.

After the Scythian gold incident, in which Russia failed to get its hands on ancient artifacts from Crimean museums, legislators in Moscow decided to cement their ownership rights to stolen collections, at least in the eyes of domestic law. “The law we are about to pass is of paramount importance,” said State Hermitage Museum director Mikhail Piotrovsky at a press conference in St. Petersburg on Dec. 7, 2023. Piotrovsky, who has called Russia’s war of aggression a “special cultural operation,” was referring to an initiative aimed at making museum collections indivisible. At its essence, the proposed law prohibits the return of exhibits to their country of origin.

Piotrovsky emphasized that France and the UK have similar laws “prohibiting the removal of any exhibits from their museums.” Of course, the practice of transferring cultural property from colonies to major metropolitan museums was business as usual for empires of the past. The Louvre quickly expanded its collections by incorporating artwork from French colonies and protectorates in Africa and the Middle East, and the museum is still home to masterpieces such as Venetian artist Paolo Veronese’s “The Wedding Feast at Cana,” which joined its collection after Napoleon’s army sacked Venice in 1798. But cultural imperialism does not always imply the existence of faraway colonies; neighbors can be plundered too.

In 2013, four museums in Crimea sent a number of exhibits to be displayed in the Netherlands. After the peninsula was annexed in March 2014, the Dutch partners were not sure to whom they should return the roughly 2,000 items: to the museums that provided them, or to Ukrainian art collections. In 2021, following a lengthy litigation process, an Amsterdam court ruled that the “Scythian Gold” collection should be returned to Ukraine. “I am deeply resentful of the Amsterdam court's decision,” Russian art critic Kirill Alekseev wrote, expressing his support for Crimean museum workers. “Museums are extraterritorial. All objects withdrawn from a particular location must be returned there. No one cares about the curators who spent years caring for these items and preserving them, only to become ‘specialists in that which is no more.’” As will be demonstrated later, Russian museums and authorities rarely followed the principle of returning borrowed artwork to its rightful owners, and now the practice of appropriation has been legitimized.

An earlier law on the inclusion of Ukrainian works of art and cultural property into Russia's State Catalog formally transferred exhibits from Ukrainian museums in the occupied territories to Russian institutions under the status of “operative management.” The most recent law goes further, incorporating stolen objects into “indivisible” collections and thus rendering them the property of any Russian museum that stores them or uses them for research, regardless of the object’s origin. The only exception is made for religious organizations, which are permitted to claim exhibits that were once their property. One such example involved Moscow’s Tretyakov Gallery, which provided Andrey Rublev’s “Trinity” icon to the Russian Orthodox Church for use as a religious artifact – an act that was condemned by restoration experts and scholars of art.

The new legislation has already born fruit: in 2024, the Russian Museum in Saint Petersburg plans to display “Christ in the Tomb,” a previously unseen painting by Karl Bryullov that was seized by the FSB from German collectors Alexander and Irina Pevzner in 2003, when the couple brought the painting to the Russian Museum for expert examination. Even though both the Constitutional and the Supreme courts of Russia deemed the seizure unlawful, the painting was never returned to its owners. In 2021, it became part of Russia’s State Museum Fund, and the new director of the Russian Museum, Alla Manilova, took pride in announcing the upcoming demonstration of the seized masterpiece.

The heirs of Byzantium keen to prove their ancestry: how the Russian Empire appropriated Ukraine's art

The fight over Ukrainian cultural assets has been ongoing for over a century. Back in the 19th century, museum administrators in Kerch and Odesa tried to keep at least some of the objects uncovered by archaeological expeditions on the Crimean peninsula and Black Sea coast for their collections. However, the Czar had ordered that all “archaeological treasures” be delivered “almost exclusively” to the Hermitage in St. Petersburg.

This colonialist practice persisted into the 20th century, as the last of Russia’s Romanov rulers, Nicholas II, remained keen on keeping his family’s traditions alive right to the end of his reign. The Imperial Archaeological Commission, which was in place from 1859 to 1919, has earned the nickname “The Looting Commission” in modern-day Ukrainian media. It was thanks to this body that the Hermitage obtained many of its Kievan Rus artifacts, several ancient Scythian rarities, and even paleolithic objects that had been discovered in Ukraine.

In 2021, a century after the infamous commission was disbanded, Russia was still working to appropriate Ukrainian cultural heritage. That year, an archaeological dig on the southern outskirts of the ancient Chersonesus in Russian-occupied Crimea unearthed over 500,000 artifacts. As in the early 20th century, the relics were appropriated by the Hermitage — this despite the fact that Russia is a signatory to the Hague Convention of 1954, which prohibits the appropriation and requisition of cultural assets from occupied territories.

Why are Russian museums so keen on obtaining such items? Hermitage director Piotrovsky answered this question in a 2022 interview:

“I keep saying that we can rightfully call ourselves Europe because we have Ancient Greek heritage in the south: Chersonesus, Kerch, Taman. Everyone who inherits from Antiquity is European. Meanwhile, Norway has no antique legacy because it had neither Greek colonies nor Roman legions.”

Another sensitive aspect of Russia's mythical history is its relations with Byzantium and Kievan Rus. Russia claims to have inherited cultural patrimony from both. However, the territory of modern Russia is the source of fewer Byzantine and Ancient Rus objects than certain scholars and museum workers would like. Even though proving the existence of this cultural legacy does not require vast amounts of material objects, Russia nevertheless seems to be trying to make up for the perceived shortage by borrowing from Ukrainian vaults and excavation sites.

Another symbolic element of cultural policy concerns objects of fine arts from the turn of the 20th century. When it conquers new territories, the Russian state attempts to justify its claims to the land by demonstrating the history of an ethnic Russian presence there. This often takes the form of posthumous support for well-known artists from a particular area of interest. For this reason, in recent years the Mariupol-born Arkhip Kuindzhi and the Crimean artist Ivan Aivazovsky have been claimed by Moscow without any regard to the artists’ actual ideas, nationality, or ethnicity.

According to The Insider's sources, after the annexation of Crimea in 2014, experts from the Hermitage repeatedly attempted to reach out to their Ukrainian colleagues when attributing the origins of Ukrainian cultural monuments, fully convinced that the Ukrainian scholars’ cooperation would continue “in the name of science” despite the political complications of a 21st-century land grab on the continent of Europe. Then again, considering Russia’s appropriation of Ukrainian cultural property for centuries, the present reality does not differ from the past as significantly as it may seem. In this sense, Russia's new legislative framework is simply an exacerbation of a long-standing problem.

Illegal seizures of the 20th century: “After an exhibition in Leningrad, it was decided that the paintings look better there”

Many paintings from Ukrainian collections have been on display in Russian museums for decades, and their visitors often have no idea about the actual origins of these masterpieces. That is why Ukrainian researchers are developing resources dedicated to returning lost cultural property and artworks.

The history of Valentin Serov’s “The Rape of Europa,” on display in the Russian Museum of St. Petersburg, offers a perfect case study in the measures Russia is willing to take to promote its right to rule whatever territory Russian troops have occupied. Although Serov was born in St. Petersburg and died in Moscow, in practice the Russian state views any perceived outsiders with skepticism and any potential insiders as being “ours.” Seventeenth-century Dutch painter Pieter Lastman's “David Sees Bathsheba's Toilet from his Palace,” currently on display at the Hermitage, provides yet another. From 1912 to 1924, the work was part of Vasyl Shchavynsky's collection, and his will would have placed it in the National Art Museum in Kyiv had its owner been alive to see the plan through.

These horror stories are far from anomalous. Olena Zhivkova, deputy director general on research at Kyiv’s Bohdan and Varvara Khanenko National Museum of Arts, detailed for The Insider how the illegal seizure of exhibits from a museum's collection benefits those engaged in the looting:

“The Illegal export of works from our collection began as early as 1915, even before the museum became a public institution in 1919. In 1915, during World War I, collectors Bohdan and Varvara Khanenko wanted to evacuate a part of their collection to a safe location. They transported 87 boxes with the most valuable items to Moscow's State Historical Museum. Then the October Revolution struck, and the family collection was transformed into a national museum, with Varvara Khanenko among the curators. However, that did not prevent the boxes in Moscow from being pried open and the exhibits inside from being redistributed. According to one supporter, ‘Our specialists began looking for items that ended up in other museums’ collections illegally and succeeded in retrieving some of them. Even now, we still find objects stolen from those boxes in museums and galleries all over the world, including in Prague and Lisbon.”

At times, Russia has failed to return Ukrainian art borrowed for temporary exhibitions. According to Zhivkova, some items “were transferred for an exhibition but ended up in the Hermitage for good because the curators in Saint Petersburg thought they would make a nice addition to their collection.Our museum archives hold unanswered letters with demands for the return of our exhibits, while Hermitage catalogs label these exhibits as ‘gifts’ from the Kyiv museum.”

A similar story occurred in connection with the mosaics and frescoes of St. Michael's Golden-Domed Monastery in Kyiv. The masterpieces were removed from the cathedral walls before its demolition in the 1930s. As early as 1934, Volodymyr Zatonskyi, the minister of education of Soviet Ukraine, received a request from Moscow arguing that the frescoes and mosaics of the Golden-Domed Monastery “are of colossal importance for the Tretyakov Gallery exposition, which features a highly limited presentation of the art of Kievan Rus.”

Zatonskyi refused to gift Ukrainian cultural property to Moscow. Nevertheless, the mosaics and frescoes were packaged up anyway and transported to a Moscow exhibition celebrating the 750th anniversary of the ancient epic poem “The Tale of Igor's Campaign.” As you may have already guessed, the works were never returned to Ukraine. Today, a 12th-century mosaic depicting St. Demetrius of Thessaloníki remains a gem of the Tretyakov Gallery’s collection.

Moreover, the Tretyakov Gallery has actually given away some of the items snatched from St. Michael's Monastery, including a fresco depicting prophet Samuel, which was sent to the Russian Museum in 1946. In the present day, the Russian capital is compensating for a lack of ancient Russian artifacts by plundering Ukrainian collections. Without these artifacts, backing up any claims of historical succession is problematic; therefore, in the Kremlin’s eyes, the lofty end justifies any means used to achieve it.

Explaining the fate of Ukrainian cultural objects seized by Nazi forces during World War II would require a full-length detective story. As Nazi troops began their retreat from occupied Ukraine, they grabbed works of art en masse, packing up one large box after another. Suffice it to say that, while much of the collection did make it back to the Soviet Union, none of it ever reached Ukraine.

It was not for a lack of trying from the Soviet side. After the war, commissions were set up under the auspices of the Allied nations to categorize the artifacts seized by Nazi Germany. Their job was to determine the origin of items and, if feasible, to return them to their lawful owners. Included in the group's purview were Nazi trophies seized from the USSR.

The Soviet Union was able to retrieve the items stolen by Erich Koch, the Reichskommissar of occupied Ukraine in 1941-1944. “We did not find out where the items from Koch’s collection ended up until I visited the Hermitage as part of my work in the Russian-Ukrainian Restitution Commission and got a tour of the special vault,” Kyiv-based museum curator Zhivkova told The Insider. “I easily recognized the paintings stolen by Nazis, having seen their black-and-white images in the catalog of losses issued by the Khanenko Museum in 1998. Ukraine’s Ministry of Culture submitted a request for the paintings to be returned to Ukraine. All over the world, the issues of the restitution of items seized by Nazis are resolved within two weeks, but the Russian Federation never responded to our request and unilaterally withdrew from the restitution commission.”

Modern-day practices

Russia’s current appropriation of Ukrainian cultural assets is no less shameless than its imperial or Soviet practices were. The works of art from Crimean museums have been included in the State Catalog and put on display in the Russian capital. In addition, items from the collection of the Tauric Chersonesus Museum are about to be put on display in Veliky Novgorod. The national tour of Ivan Aivazovsky's works from Crimean museums is being presented as an integration effort. Russian media have been offering guides on cultural assets taken from illegally annexed Ukrainian territories. Before long, they too will become an “inalienable” part of Russia’s Museum Fund. According to the new Russian law, this development must occur before Dec. 31, 2027.

And that is not the only instance of the Russian state attempting to justify theft through acts of law. Late in July 2023, the Kherson Museum of Arts marked Ivan Aivazovsky's anniversary with a post about three of the artist’s paintings that had been stolen from the museum's collection. The museum website also notifies visitors that, in the period from Oct. 31 to Nov. 4, 2022, Russian forces seized three-quarters of the museum’s collection — approximately 11,000 items. Ukrainian museum workers have condemned these acts as “looting under the pretext of evacuation, accompanied with slogans about the preservation of cultural heritage and done by people armed with assault rifles.” According to experts from Kherson, the city’s cultural assets were moved to the Central Museum of Taurica in Simferopol, Crimea. Rather than being protected, however, from there they could easily end up in Russian private collections.

In Mariupol, the destruction of the city did not spare its museums. During the siege of the city in the spring of 2022, the collection of its Local History Museum was turned to dust. The shelling also damaged the building of the Arkhip Kuindzhi Mariupol Museum of Arts. Kuindzhi was a native of the area, and the museum held three of his paintings, as well as works by other Mariupol artists. By now, 95% of its exhibits have been destroyed, but museum director Natalia Kapustnikova says that Kiundzhi’s works have been moved to the museums of the so-called “Donetsk People's Republic.” Kuindzhi's art has yet to enter the State Catalog, but its storage is most likely categorized as being “under operative management,” placing it in the inalienable category under the current law.

In Zaporizhzhya, Russian forces have seized Stone Age artifacts from Kamyana Mohyla, an archaeological site and open-air museum. In the fall of 2023, they were displayed in the Tauric Chersonesus Museum Preserve in Crimea.

According to Zhivkova, the restitution of exhibits will only be possible after the current full-scale war ends, as the process must be guided by international cultural property protection law, and Russia under its present leadership is acting in violation of nearly all known international laws.

[thethoughtsfromthreeam]

Monument Woman

Pairing: Marcus Pike x OC (Rosemary Carter)

Warnings: None

A/N:  Enter Marcus Pike, stage right

Reminder: I ain’t ever seen Pedro Pascal in FUCK ALL, I’m just coming up with this as I go along, using imdb.com, wiki, and 84,000 tabs I got open to plan out this shit.  I also write soft versions of his characters so if you’re craving asshole vibes, I ain’t got any but my own to offer.

Tag List:

@zeldasayer​ , @beskars​ , @coolmaybelateruniverse​ , @the-feckless-wonder​ , @pascalisthepunkest​ , @mandoandyodito​ , @randomness501​ , @fioccodineveautunnale​  , @ahopelessromanticwritersworld​ , @lilkermit14​ , @tortles   [please message me to be added or subtracted]

[PART 1]  [PART 2]  [PART 3]  [PART 4]  [PART 5]

Part 6 – Step Forward, Step Back, Find Your Partner Quick

Helen tried her best to console a distraught Rosemary as Officer Garcia spoke to several of his colleagues in the hallway.  Her screams had startled the director, who was already on edge due to the break-in and if the circumstances had been different, the look of surprise and horror on the officer’s face would have reduced Helen to peals of laughter.  But all the situation did was add worry to her shoulders.

For nearly two hours, the officers questioned Rosemary about the break-in, about the missing piece, and they kept asking if the museum had any enemies. As much as she wanted to say Fred Breyers out of pure spite, Rosemary kept her mouth shut – sure some people weren’t always pleased with some of their program or exhibit topics, but nothing that would result in the theft of an artifact or the physical beating of a staff member.  The two women were exhausted by the time the three cops left the building.  Rosemary laid on the couch in her office, a wet cloth over her eyes as the lingering headache from the attack ramped up under this new stress.

“Rose, are you going to be okay?”  Helen’s voice was soft, but unable to keep the worried tone at bay.

“I honestly don’t know.  That statue was the only thing missing.  I don’t know if I’m upset because I promised Robert we’d care for it or mad as hell that accepting that ugly ass hunk of bronze led to all of this and possibly hurt the museum’s reputation.”  She sighed heavily, the now cool cloth doing little to help her.  She slowly sat up, swinging her legs over the sofa’s edge.

“I wouldn’t worry about our reputation.  I’m already working with Marquetta on a press release to get ahead of the game.  Louis over at the Caller always does right by us, I’ll give him the scoop first and he’ll spin it in our favor.”  Helen leaned back.  “I’ll also call major donors today to inform them of the situation.”

“I’m sorry, Helen.  I never thought this would have happened!”  The younger woman groaned heavily as she tried to stand, but the director held out her hand to keep her from getting up.  The body stilled.

“Did Francois’ report show anything differently than what Robert had given you?”  Before Robert’s health worsened, Rosemary contacted an old friend of hers to appraise the piece as Helen wanted a second opinion for the insurance company.  The in-depth discussion about the findings with Helen was moved back first by Robert’s death and then the attack.  “Are we still looking at the same value?”

“I reread it the day before the attack to prep for the meeting that never obviously happened, and he seems to agree with the assessment Robert gave us. The statue was processed into the collections several months ago and I put in Robert’s information, but never got around to putting in Francois’ report.”

“Well, so long as the original value was imputed into the report, it’ll give us something for the insurance company.”

“Are we going to report it lost?  What if they recover it?”

“Rose, I don’t mean to sound mean, but I doubt these officers are going to find the piece.  Whoever has it is probably long gone by now.”  Helen glanced over at her.  “Unless a miracle happens.”

“Well good thing I believe in manifestation and miracles.”  For the first time in what seemed like a long while, Rosemary smiled as her old humor began to shine through.  The director smiled back, unable to let the infectious comment not affect her.

“We’ll see.”

---***---

Two Weeks Later

“Pike!  Get in here!” Carmichael’s voice carried through the small cluster of offices their department occupied.  “Pike!”

“I’m coming!  Damn, give me a second!”  Pike grumbled as he scurried from his office and across to hers.  She wasn’t a loud person, so the excited shout she gave had everyone around her curious.  As Pike entered the room, he could see his partner standing behind her desk, doing a little hop-dance.  He raised an eyebrow.

“You need to look at this!”  She pointed at the computer, her smile so big it nearly took over her face. He stopped because she was giggling, Carmichael never giggled.  Whatever this was, it had to been good.  Pike came around the desk and bent down to see what she was looking at and when his eyes landed on the screen, his eyes bugged out and his jaw dropped.

“This is one of them, isn’t it?”  Carmichael asked, her voice quivering in excitement.  He ran out of the office to the command center for the cold cases, his presence startling his crew.  He looked over at the evidence board and ripped off a picture hanging in the middle before rifling through one of the boxes to find the corresponding file. He ran back to the office.

The picture in his hand was faded with time, that grainy look of age that pictures older pictures were taking on, but despite those flaws, the sculpture in the photo matched the one in the new alert in the NSAF database.  The Cornucopia had always been breathtaking.

And it’s been missing since 1993.

The agents glanced over the dossier, reviewing the piece to try and discover how this priceless Russian artifact made its way to what looks like a small museum in Western Michigan.  Neither had reviewed the original case file closely and both felt their jaws dropping as they read further and further into its history:

A rare example of the early Ukrainian Avant Garde art movement, The Cornucopia was created by Artem Chumak, a well-known artist from Odessa. Commissioned by the then-governor of the country as a gift to Czar Nicolas II in 1907, the piece was designed to showcase the entirety of the Ukraine in a single moment.  Because the country was known for its agriculture, Chumak chose to use the image of the cornucopia as his inspiration.

The piece is made of bronze and inlaid with the following precious gemstones:

               Siberian diamond

               Ural sapphire

               Ural ruby

               Ural jade

               Russian emerald

               Russian opal

               Ukrainian pearl

Upon the fall of the Russian empire in 1917, Dowager Empress Maria Feodorovna Romanov took the piece along with several others from the royal art collection when she fled Russia.  She remained owner of the piece until 1920, when she sold it to the Grand Duke of Luxembourg.

In turn, the Grand Duke loaned the piece to the National Museum of History and Art and it remained with the museum until the outbreak of World War II. The ducal family took the piece back, along with several others to protect the collection from the advancement of the Nazis.

Unfortunately, the move did little good and much of the museum’s collection, including the pieces stored in the ducal family home, were taken by the Nazis, with intention of destroying them as part of the Germanization of the annexed country.

The pieces remained missing until 1949, when a team from the Monuments, Fine Arts, and Archives program (a.k.a. the Monument Men), recovered the stolen collections in a cellar in Hamburg and returned them to their respective homes.  The Cornucopia was returned to the museum and was on display until the ducal family attempted to sell the piece in 1965.  The sale failed and the family remained owners until the piece was loaned to the Luxembourg-American Cultural Museum in the U.S. in 1992.

In 1993, the piece was stolen from the museum and reported to the FBI’s Art Theft Squad days later.  The piece has yet to be recovered despite the best attempts of the team.

Pike looked at Carmichael and they grinned at each other.  While it being reported as missing didn’t mean that they had found it, it did mean that this cold case was heating up.

“Do you think we found our key?”  He didn’t want to sound hopeful, but he had to admit he was optimistic that they were much closer to solving this case.  The evidence they had been sifting through meticulously was painting a picture, but like a jigsaw puzzle, they were still missing pieces that brought it all together.

“I think we have.”  Carmichael replied.  They grinned at each other.

“Whose turn is it to go and do the interview?”  

“Mine, but could you do it?  Marty is out of town on business this week and I can’t leave Dinah alone.”  She rarely asked to trade like this, but Pike held up his hands in understanding.  They smiled, grateful they were partnered up, their work relationship had always been a smooth one.

“Sure, what could possibly happen in Michigan?”

They laughed as they started to walk to the command center.

---***---

Rosemary and Banana walked into the house, both exhausted from the day, the museum’s annual fall field trip event a cacophony of noise and excitement. The program had been exactly what Rosemary needed – something that distracted her from everything that had happened over the last month.  Her stomach hurt all day from her laughter as young kids swarmed the museum in their Halloween costumes.

As she hung up her coat, she caught something out of the corner of her eye on the kitchen table.  Walking over, Rosemary immediately recognized Fern’s loopy handwriting.

Hey sweetie, probate hasn’t cleared yet, but I heard word it should within the month.  Not to jinx it, but welcome to Saugatuck – its’ about time!  I’m also including some keys to Robert’s safety deposit boxes for safekeeping.  You can’t open them until the probate has cleared, so don’t get ahead of yourself! Love you, ae-in.  Always.  -F

“Oh, thank god.”  She huffed as she opened the bulky envelope, dumping out various keys and paperwork, including the deed to the house and the store.  She had an underlying fear that something would happen, and Robert’s wishes would have been overturned and she would get nothing.  “Looks like we’re here for the time being, Baba!”

Rosemary read through the papers and picked up her phone to call Fern. For the next hour, the two women chatted about the changes, what she needed to do to register ownership with the state, and more.  After they said their good-byes, Rosemary pulled her jacket on and patted Banana on the head as she left the house.  It was dark now, but she knew the path through the cemetery and trudged up the hill towards Robert’s grave with no problem.

“You know, I’m certain you chose this spot for some reason or another, but I think it’s to punish me for not getting enough exercise.”  She groused at the polished granite, wondering how she made this walk as often as she did, and it still robbed her of her breath. She was out of shape.  

Robert’s cheeky grin beamed from the porcelain cameo embedded into the stone.  She had never seen anything like it, but he had told her it was common among Eastern European communities.  He described how they used this horribly unflattering photo for his aunt Ionna’s cameo and that he vowed he’d choose his own rather than leave it to his relatives to decide.

She sat down on the damp ground and settle in.  She was still visiting the cemetery daily and while she didn’t cry as much as she had in the beginning, her throat always felt painful after she left.  Wrapping the coat around her tightly she sighed.

“You missed our field trip day.  I know you loved volunteering for it and the kids who remembered you from last year asked where you were.”  She smiled. “I told them you were attending as a ghost and that they couldn’t see you.  I think they believed me.

“I don’t know what strings you pulled up on that cloud of yours, but Fern thinks the probate will clear next month.  I’m glad, this whole process has been a pain and thank you for not making me go through it.  I’d give up and just die if Fern weren’t in charge.  My landlord was mad I’m breaking my lease, but I know you’re excited, you always hated that place.”  She sighed as a wave of sadness washed over her.

“I miss you.”  Her voice crackled with tears.  “I miss you so much, Robert!  I hate that you’re gone.  I hate that! I hate this!  And I failed you!  They still haven’t found the statue and I contacted the FBI and I haven’t heard anything, and I don’t know what to do!”

She cried harder, her ribs hurting as if the pain she experienced weeks ago was still fresh.  She gripped her sides as she continued to sob.   She was tired and everything that had happen in the month and a half since Robert died was catching up with her.  Rosemary sat in the cold evening for hours and let her sadness out.  When she finally left, the exhaustion she felt forced her straight to bed when she arrived at the house.  In a bit of mercy, she slept a dreamless sleep for once.

---***---

“Good morning.”  The deep voice caused Marquetta to turn from the display case she was working on.  A tall man with brown hair and a kind smile stood at the front desk.  She watched as Bob ambled over to welcome him.  She couldn’t hear their conversation after that, but she kept a subtle watch on the interaction as the two men talked.  The stranger smiled again and walked past her towards the stairs and she watched up trudge up each step until he was out of sight.

“You aren’t being very subtle.”  Bob’s voice sounded behind her and Marquetta jumped at the noise.  She felt herself grow hot, grateful her dark skin hid the blush rushing across her cheeks.  She turned to look at Bob, who was grinning at her.

“Who was that?”  She tried to keep her voice steady.

“Some FBI agent wanting to talk to Rosemary.”

“FBI?”  Marquette frowned before her eyebrows shot up.  “FBI!  Oh my god! They’re here!”

“Don’t shout.  It’s rude.”

“No, Bob!  Rosemary reported that statue that got stolen to the FBI!  That means they know about it!  They’re here for that!”

“Does that mean they’ll find the men who hurt her?”  He sounded hopeful at the idea.  Even if he thought her manners were lacking, Bob was deeply upset that Rosemary had been hurt the way she had been.  If this young agent can help find her attackers, he was all for it.

“I bet they do if they find the statue.”  The two stopped talking when Rosemary and Banana entered the building. She looked up and felt awkward when she realized they were staring at her.

“Um, is something wrong?”  She sounded unsure of herself and Bob got angry, realizing that these men didn’t just rob the museum of this ugly statue, it robbed Rosemary of her self-assurance.

“Never, Rose.  There is an agent from the FBI in your office.  Marquetta says you contacted them.”  She startled, not believing that her reporting the stolen item would bring them to her front door.  They were just a small history museum in Michigan, not the Detroit Institute of Art or the Smithsonian.  She figured she’d get an email or a call, but never a real agent.

“They’re here?  Really?” Her eyes lit up when Bob nodded. She started to laugh because she didn’t know what else to do.  Marquetta walked over to hug her and the physical contact help to ground her.

“He’s good looking, too.”  Marquetta whispered in her ear.  Rosemary pulled back at the comment. “Like really good looking.  His butt is cute.”

The two women giggled at the comment and hugged again.  Picking up the leash she dropped, the curator and her furry companion went towards the stairs, hope beginning to bubble in her chest. Maybe she hadn’t failed Robert after all, she thought.  When she reached the third floor, she stopped to catch her breath before walking down to her office.

When she stepped into the doorway, she saw him standing there, looking at her walls.  She couldn’t see his face, but everything about his presence radiated kindness – something she hadn’t expected from an FBI agent.  When he turned to look at her as she cleared her throat, his face lit up in a smile and she couldn’t help but smile back.  For the first time in weeks, she felt safe.

“I’m Special Agent Marcus Pike.”  He held out his hand to her.  She took it with her customary firm grip.

“I’m Rosemary Carter.  Welcome to Fort Jamison.”

[queercreati]

Marvel Headcanons; Winterwidow

Russian Dirty talk in public- nobody understands them, so they always get away with it. 

No PDA at work (Well, none that non-Russian speakers understand ^), but they have a surprisingly intimate relationship at home.

Playing with hair all the time. All the time. Braids, ironing, dye, hair cuts, it goes on.

Dance parties in the living room to all kinds of music- classical, pop, rock, and Nat even once played some 40′s music and Bucky taught her the dance styles popular back then. 

Late night conversations about the nightmares that will never stop, for both of them. 

After the first time they slept together, Bucky saw the saw all the scars he left, both in the red room and outside, and apologized for all of them. 

 They adopt two kids, a girl they name Kate Sarah Romanova-Barnes and a boy they name Clint Ivan Romanova-Barnes. (Steve and Clint cried when they found out)

 One time Natasha walked in on Kate trying to dye her hair red like hers. They had a blast doing it together. 

 The family speaks mostly in Russian at home. After summer break the kids show up at school with slight Russian accents and while they get some shit for it, most of their peers think it’s pretty cool that their parents speak another language. 

 Once Steve walked in on Bucky shouting in Russian about something, and he thought he was yelling at Natasha and lectured him on it until Natasha said, “Um... You do realize he was yelling at the table, right? He stubbed his toe.” Steve apologized. 

 Part two of the previous one, Steve once babysat the kids and when they got into an argument in Russian he didn’t realize Mini Clint was cussing his sister out until Kate tattled. He told Bucky, who told Nat, who grounded Clint for a week. 

They live in Brooklyn, about seven blocks from where Bucky lived in the forties. Once he took the kids to the apartment he once shared with Steve that had been turned into a museum and pointed out everything they got wrong. 

Bucky spoke Yiddish as a kid with his parents, and he taught some words to his kids. However, they sometimes speak Romanian- mainly so they can talk without Nat understanding them *Cough, Cookie Jar Raids, Cough*

Steve gives Mini Clint art lessons, mostly sketching. He’s made portraits of his entire family. 

The kids see the entirety of the avengers and their families as extended family- Clint’s kids, Morgan, Peter, Harvey, and even Talos’s daughter are like the siblings and cousins they never had. 

They went to Russia once, when Kate was ten and Mini Clint was twelve, and explained their histories and all the horrible things they both did. The conversation ended with the kids holding their parents in the hotel room, all of them crying and promising they still loved them, they where their parents no matter what they did, no matter what was done to them. When they returned to the states, they began training them to be spies- without the horrific methods of the Red Room.

The kids’ first major league baseball game was also Natasha’s first. All three of them quickly became addicted to cracker jack, and Bucky explained how, way back when, the prizes were much better. 

Kate grows up to lead S.H.I.E.L.D alongside Steve and Peggy’s granddaughter Eliza Rogers-Carter (Who she starts dating) and her brother. 

Kate is called Sarah by Steve. He tells her that she reminds him of Sarah, and when she starts dating Eliza, Eliza calls her Sarah as well.

Eliza and Steve try to teach Gaelic to Kate, and she prenteds to be really bad at it when she’s known it since she was seven thanks to her mom.

Bucky writes poetry, as rhyming facts helps with his memory issues. Sometimes he and Mini Clint stay up late writing poetry together, spouting off rhymes at random moments. 

Natasha and Bucky call each other Soldat.  

Clint Romanova-Barnes is called Mini Clint by just about everyone, including his sister. 

Natasha was once woken up by her seven-year-old son and five-year-old daughter telling her they had nightmares. She smiled tiredly at them and said, “Yeah, me too.” 

When they where younger, the kids got out of embarrassing nicknames by having their parents talk to them in Russian in public. Then it got embarrassing to speak Russian, and that stopped. 

Mini Clint is adopted from Korea. When he was nineteen, the whole family went to Korea to meet his birth family. When they met for the first time, Bucky was shocked to have Mini Clint’s father tell him he couldn’t be happier that his son had a man like Bucky as his dad.  

Everyone has dyed their hair red at some point to match Natasha’s, not just Kate.  

Part 3 of Steve Rogers Doesn’t Understand Russian: When Eliza started learning Russian from her girlfriend Kate, she invited her grandfather to join in. Only then did he realize all the conversations Bucky and Natasha had at work in Russian years before were so... explicit.  

Natasha and Bucky once received an Email from Mini Clint’s teacher when he was 14 that their son was disturbing the class with all his ‘Inappropriate and gory knowledge” of WW2 and the Cold War. Bucky walked into his history class one day, without his prosthetic I may add, and stopped the teacher mid-sentence and said, “I’m going to really teach you about World War Two.” He proceeded to tell the class about his experience in the war, and as soon as he finished Natasha walked in and explained the truth of Soviet Russia to them. The teacher was speechless. 

Natasha once said she adopted two kids because, if she and Bucky ever died, she didn’t want her kids to be alone the way she was when her parents were killed.  

When Kate came out to her parents as a Lesbian, Bucky handed Natasha forty dollars. 

When Mini Clint needed to fulfill his service hours, he decided to volunteer at the local hospital. Natasha joined him whenever she could.

 They’re all morning people, except for Natasha, who suffers from serious insomnia. Saturday mornings before the kids move out are basically one long quiet game because no one wants to face the wrath of a woken-up Black Widow. 

Part 4 of Steve Rogers sort of understands Russian now: When Kate and Eliza have conversations similar to what Natasha and Bucky used to, he would yell at them to stop. They didn’t.

One time Kate came home with two broken ribs and her wrist dislocated. When her parents asked her what happened, who should they beat up, she grinned wickedly at them and said, “You don’t have too. He looks worse then I do.” Turns out he beat her up because she kissed his ex. His ex was the one who beat him up, not Kate.

Stranger Things is the family’s collective favorite show, but for different reasons. Natasha is impressed at the accuracy of the Russian, Bucky’s a sucker for Romance, Kate’s in it for the violence, and Mini Clint loves two things about this show: The effects, and his family’s screaming. 

-BASED ENTIRELY ON THE COMICS, THE ORIGINAL CHARACTERS ARE OPEN TO USE- 

[hiphopscriptures]

The Second Slavery: How the Democratic North Kept Their Foot on Your Neck

Our nation has erupted in days-long protest, sparked by the murder of George Floyd by four Minneapolis police officers. Cities across the U.S., and even across the world have taken to the streets to make their voices heard. Some of the most violent clashes between protestors and police have happened in Brooklyn, Los Angeles and Atlanta where we saw two college students being pulled from their vehicle and attacked by police. What also can’t be ignored is the systematic lockdowns of cities where mayors along with local law enforcement have declared citywide curfews, oftentimes making these announcements within minutes of said curfews expiring. Chicago has even taken to shutting off their CTA public transportation, which left many essential workers and protestors stranded on the evening of May 31, 2020. Speaking of, May 31st is the anniversary of the bombing of Black Wall Street in Tulsa, Oklahoma which took place in 1921. As we commemorate the 99 year anniversary of the bombing of Black Wall Street where a town of successful Black families and businesses were not only terrorized but ultimately destroyed, Black people in America must dissect and investigate the other foot on their collective necks - the collusion of our government, politicians, and police organizations with immigrant populations enabling them establish wealth in the same way as our country’s forefathers - on the backs of Black people.

The south has an overt and often open racist history that has been on display for centuries, along with the legacy of slavery. The North, however, in places like Boston, New York City, Chicago, Philadelphia and many other cities is where the mob and mafia organized crime ran rampant and were also integral in institutionalizing racism against Black Americans. These same machines created unions that were politically connected to the Democratic party who aided and abetted in the financial rape of the African American community by denying them union jobs, adequate housing and worked with the police unions to keep Blacks ‘in line’. Jimmy Hoffa’s Teamsters routinely provided interest free loans to the Mafia. The movie Harlem Nights depicts many of how this was orchestrated, including purposely inundating Black neighborhoods with illegal activities such a prostitution and gambling, typically for about a period of 5 years or so before having massive raids to take down Black crime bosses, only then to evict the residents so that White immigrant populations could come in and buy cheap real estate that would almost always skyrocket in value. These same immigrants came to despise and discriminate against the very African Americans who made it possible for them to come to this country. 

It’s kind of disheartening to see the lengths that Ray, Quick, and their circle have to go because a White criminal, who has a dirty detective on his side, wants a piece of their pie.

(nerdist)

The Immigration Act of 1965 was a direct result of the Civil Rights movement organized and executed by Black / African Americans - “Over the next four decades, the policies put into effect in 1965 would greatly change the demographic makeup of the American population, as immigrants entering the United States under the new legislation came increasingly from countries in Asia, Africa and Latin America, as opposed to Europe.” This facilitated the acceptance of many immigrants of color to the United States. Once on these shores, parents of immigrant children often discouraged their children fraternizing, emulating or dating African Americans. 

https://twitter.com/keilahhhjd/status/1267199334296109056?s=21

 In addition, almost all of these immigrant groups profited from the same types of organized crime that had benefited their white immigrant predecessors such as the Irish, Italians, Russians and many more of European origin. Money laundering, bootlegging, prostitution and many other illegal activities directly funded many of what are now established businesses, suburban enclaves full of homes and lifestyles that their descendants enjoy. The origins of the Mob in America can be traced to the urban ghettos of the late 19th century where Irish, Italian and Eastern European Jewish immigrants struggled to survive amid poverty, overcrowding and discrimination. These immigrants could get only the most dangerous and low-paying jobs (source: themobmuseum.org). The movie, Gangs of New York depicts much of this history, “The Irish Bowery Boys soon formed in a nearby area known as the Bowery. Battles between the Bowery Boys and Dead Rabbits (claiming more than 1,000 members each) were legendary, each of which was supported by smaller gangs they had spawned...Shrewd politicians immediately recognized the potential asset that the street gangs might represent. In the early 1830’s, several politicians (ward and district leaders) bought grocery stores in Five Points and the saloons and dance halls in the Bowery, the gathering places for the gangs. In return for their assured protection of the gangs’ meeting places, and financial rewards offered to the gangs for their loyalty, gang leaders returned the favor by taking care of jobs like blackjacking political opponents and scaring unsupporting voters away from the polls” (source: sagepub.com).

Philadelphia and Boston could also lay claim to having substantial street gangs before the Civil War; [sic] Philadelphia’s Public Ledger identified nearly 50 Philadelphia gangs between 1840 and 1870. These gangs persisted; a New York Tribune reporter described the northern suburbs of Philly in 1948 and 1949 as swarming with gangs.

“If any nationality has been linked to organized crime in the UnitedStates over the years, it would have to be Italian-Americans, at least in popular perception...countless books, movies and TV shows, from The Godfather right up to the Sopranos, the image of the Mafioso has become synonymous with the face of gangsters in America.” However, the Irish Mob began as penniless immigrants in the mid-19th century battled their way to power and established the first crime syndicate in America, which lasted for at least 150 years (source: toledoblade.com). The first gang leader from the streets to achieve prominence was John Old Smoke Morrisey, who ran gambling joints, saloons, and brothels in New York City, ultimately aligning himself with Tammany Hall, the city’s corrupt Democratic political machine. Of course the best known Irish (democratic) family is the Kennedy clan. Boston native Joseph P. Kennedy, father of JFK and Robert Kennedy was a bootlegger during Prohibition who supplied liquor to a rogue gallery of crime bosses, including Al Capone. During his son’s presidential campaign, Joe reached out to mobsters for help and Sam Giancana, then the Mafia boss of Chicago, delivered the state of Illinois for JFK, helping provide his winning margin in the 1960 election. Decades later, the Russian mob, Colombians and Latin Americans became the face of organized crime in America.

While the Italian mafia was the largest and most powerful, other ethnic groups also had organized crime rings. On the west coast, especially there are Asian American gangs as well. In Koreatown in L.A. for example, the original gangs first came from Korea, and flourished by being involved in illegal activities such as drug dealing, organized crime, money laundering and prostitution. Since the liberalization of the immigration laws of 1965, Chinatowns in the U.S. have experienced a consistent increase in their crime rates. 

You will often hear the children and grandchildren and great grandchildren angrily tweet or disclaim aloud that their parents came to America AFTER slavery and that they “worked hard” to achieve financial and business success, therefore the idea of reparations is absurd and Black folks in America should follow suit and “work hard” as well. What’s so interesting is that all of this history of the corruption among immigrant organized crime and their collusion with politicians, government and law enforcement is not only documented but glorified in history, film and ironically rap music. Most recently one only has to look to last year’s The Irishman starring Robert DeNiro and Joe Pesce. The mob museum is literally an entire museum celebrating how these groups came to America, created a crime syndicate and created generational wealth, all while local politicians and police chiefs winked, shook hands, quietly collected their cut on their way to vacation in Miami with their families. These are the same cops with their foot on the necks of George Floyd, the same system that gave Jacob the Jeweler 2.5 years and a $50,000 fine while the BMF crime family serves 30+ years in prison. Who is really being protected and served? 

We encourage all of you, especially those that live in major cities across the U.S. to do your own research of the history of organized crime and cross reference wealth and ownership of land and businesses in those same cities. It is only then that you will truly connect the dots, especially as you fully realize how those actions contribute to denial of home loans, redlining, poorly performing school districts etc. It was just prior to the murder of George Floyd gripping the nation that we were largely discussing the upcoming presidential election, an ornery white woman in Central Park. The south’s history of slavery, terrorism at the hands of the KKK and segregation are well documented, but the largely Democratic stronghold of the North has produced structural racism that is just as sinister if not worse. In the words of Joe Biden, “You Ain’t Black” if you don’t comprehend the second slavery created by the North which has largely contributed the conditions we now find ourselves in.

  Other sources: csun.edu, repository.upenn.edu, pbs.org, wikipedia

[haveclotheswilltravel]

The Museum of Cosmonautics

When it comes to must-visit places in Moscow, Russia, the Museum of Cosmonautics generally doesn’t make the same lists as The Kremlin, St. Basil’s Cathedral or the Bolshoi Theatre…however, does that mean it’s not worth adding to your Moscow itinerary? This post will explain!

What is the Museum of Cosmonautics?

The Museum of Cosmonautics is a museum dedicated to space exploration. It charts the history of the Russian space race and famous Russian astronauts and has an impressive variety of space equipment, suits…and even some famous taxidermied dogs (more on that in a second). The museum itself is actually located at the base of the monument “To the Conquerors of Space,” which is a 100-meter titanium obelisk erected in 1964 to celebrate the achievements of the Soviet people in space exploration. (Pictured below.)

Note: The Museum of Cosmonautics is not the same as “Star City,” which is the Russian space training facility. Star City is where cosmonauts still train today, and it’s home to the world’s largest centrifuge! You can tour it, click here for more info, but you have to apply for a visitor permit at least 45 days before you intend to go. (We did this before my brother-in-law visited and were denied because the cosmonauts didn’t want to work over their holiday break. Can’t blame them!)

Monument to the Conquerors of Space

Take a Look Inside The Museum of Cosmonautics!

There are a lot of interesting things to see in the Museum of Cosmonautics – even if you aren’t that big of space exploration buff. Likely the first exhibits you’ll notice when walking in will feature two taxidermied dogs. These are “Strelka” & “Belka’ and they are the first dogs to ever go to space and return. Strelka went on to have 6 puppies, one of which was given to President John F. Kennedy. This dog ended up having puppies with the Kennedy’s dog, Charlie. JFK jokingly called the pups “pupniks.” (I thought that was funny, personally!)

Strelka & Belka

There are a lot of space suits in the museum! I personally found this interesting. Some are replicas and some are originals. The two I found most interesting (that were original) were the first space suit used to exit a spacecraft into outer space and the suit worn by Michael Collins during the Apollo 11 mission (the moon landing)! I couldn’t really find any info on how Collins’ suit ended up in Moscow, but hey, it’s here! Also, the space suit of Russian Cosmonaut Yuri Gagarin (the first person to go into outer space!)…I believe is in Washington, D.C. at the Smithsonian? Not at this museum in Moscow (although, there appears to be a replica). I do apologize if this is incorrect…however, I couldn’t find any information on this and there were no signs indicating the suit was actually Yuri Gagarin’s.

Space suits!

Michael Collins’ space suit from the Apollo 11 mission.

The first space suit used to exit a spacecraft into outer space!

Yuri Gagarin’s suit? I don’t believe so…

I also like seeing the various equipment that the cosmonauts used to train before launching as well as the bicycle they would get to use to stay fit once they were in space!

Space training equipment

You can also see the original descent module that the Soyuz 37 crew used to get back to earth with! Soyuz 37 was a 1980 Soviet manned space flight to the Salyut 6 space station.

Soyuz 37 Descent Module

Soyuz 37 Descent Module

You Can Buy Space Food

You can buy the same stuff the cosmonauts eat at a vending machine near the entrance of the museum, haha. It costs 400 rubles. I couldn’t resist buying a tube of “space food.” I have yet to taste it as I’m waiting to do this when we’re home with family – so, everyone will get a taste!

So, Is It Worth Visiting The Museum of Cosmonautics?

Honestly, I really enjoyed my time at the Museum of Cosmonautics. I’m grateful I was able to see it! However, if I was on an incredible time constraint visiting Moscow, such as, maybe only 1 or 2 days…I wouldn’t say you have to kill yourself trying to visit it. (You can’t leave Moscow without seeing the Armoury, though!)

However, you only need about 2 hours to see the highlights of the museum. It is also quite easy to get to using the metro (and it’s right next to the VDNKH metro station). Or, it’s about a 600 ruble cab ride from the Red Square area. So, if you have a couple extra hours to spare while in Moscow, you won’t regret visiting even if you’re not into space exploration! (I mean – you can buy space food!)

Also, if you don’t do a tour, I suggest paying for an audio guide (only 150 rubles). This is because not all of the signs throughout the museum are translated to the English. If you plan to take photographs as well, there is a 250 ruble fee for this too!

Click here for more information from the official website. And click here to book a tour of the Museum of Cosmonautics.

*Click here to see all my travel posts from Russia. *Click here to see my outfit post from the Museum of Cosmonautics – it’s the awesome galaxy dress pictured below!

Would you be interested in visiting the Museum of Cosmonautics if you were in Moscow? Let me know in the comments!

*Feel free to click on the photos below to make them full-sized and to read any captions.

“Zhulka” This pup went into space and survived a crash landing coming back. She went on to live for another 14 years

Real size replica of one module of the Mir Space Station

Real size replica of one module of the Mir Space Station

Real size replica of one module of the Mir Space Station

My husband & Strelka – he has aunts & uncles whose last names are “Strelka.” 😉

The capsule Strelka & Belka came back in! It had an automated feeding machine, toilet & ventilation system.

Used for space trainings

Photo of Belka and Strelka

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The Museum of Cosmonautics - Is it Worth Adding to Your Moscow Itinerary? When it comes to must-visit places in Moscow, Russia, the Museum of Cosmonautics generally doesn't make the same lists as The Kremlin, St.

[imjustthemechanic]

The French Mistake

Part 1/? - A Visitor Part 2/? - The Kulturhistorisk Museum Heist Part 3/? - Cutscene Part 4/? - The Marvel Cinematic Universe Part 5/? - Breathless Part 6/? - Escape at Last

Natasha finds an opportunity.  Possibly not the one Steve thinks she’s found.

At the word husband Steve’s eyes flew over to Natasha, unsure how she would react. She had a husband in this universe?  As he understood it, she’d always avoided getting into long-term relationships, partly because of her work and partly because she couldn’t have children – the reason she’d thought things might work with Banner was because neither of those would be an issue.  Would she be as shocked by this announcement as he was?

Of course she wasn’t.  Natasha didn’t do shock.  She just sat up and stretched.  “Be right there,” she promised, as she got to her feet.

Steve followed her to the door so he could watch. He had to see this.

The man waiting outside was in his mid-to-late thirties, with very short dark hair and brown eyes in a rugged, if not exactly handsome, face.  He was wearing a collarless white shirt and a black blazer draped over his arm. Natasha hurried up to greet him, and he smiled at her.

“Hi, honey,” she said.

“Hello, Scar,” he replied.  He put out his free arm, and Nat stood on her toes to give him a quick kiss.  Other people who were nearby turned their heads to give the couple some privacy – public displays of affection did make people uncomfortable, after all – but Steve just watched, unable to look away even as he knew it was rude.  Surely this woman’s own husband would be able to tell something was up.

“How’s filming,” the man asked.

“Chris is having an off day,” Nat told him, shaking her head as if fondly exasperated with a long-running problem.  The man looked up sharply, and his eyes narrowed when he saw Steve.  Steve offered a raised hand and what he hoped was a friendly smile, but the man looked away again immediately.

“I have bad news,” he told Natasha.  “It looks like I have to leave for Philadelphia tonight instead of tomorrow.  Don’t worry, I found somebody to watch Rosie.  I didn’t want you to come home for the evening and find her with a stranger.”

A lot of people wouldn’t have noticed the beat Natasha missed, but Steve did.  There was a tiny pause, then she nodded.  “Thanks for letting me know.  Who’d you get?”

“The laundry lady’s daughter, Danielle,” he replied. “She’s sixteen, and Alice promised me she’s responsible looking after her own siblings.”

“All right.  Have a good trip.”  Nat kissed the man on the cheek again.

“I’ll call you when my flight gets in,” he replied. “Love you.”  He straightened up, and fixed Steve with a glare that seemed to say I’m watching you before turning to go back to his car.

“Love you, too!” Nat called after him.

Steve moved out of the way to let her climb the stairs to the makeup trailer again.  She fished one of the water bottles out of the cooler and sat back down in her chair.  Her hands were ever-so-slightly shaking as she unscrewed the top.  The performance must’ve been stressful for her.

There were several things Steve could have said at that moment.  The most obvious would be to make some kind of comment on the fact that the husband seemed jealous of, or at the very least concerned about, Steve.  If he said anything about it, though, Natasha would probably bring up the fact that apparently half the people in their own universe thought the two of them were sleeping together.  Dr. Foster’s friend Darcy had told them all about it, with an enthusiasm that had been slightly terrifying.

So instead, he said the second thing that came to mind, which was to ask, “who’s Rosie?”

“Her daughter, I guess,” Nat replied, as if she didn’t really care.

“I thought you’d met Rosie, Chris,” said Tabitha, passing them on her way to the door.

“Oh, I probably have,” Steve said, then considered those words and the way he’d spoke them, and wondered if he were a worse actor with a script or when he was extemporizing.

“I told you he was having an off day,” said Nat.

A few minutes later, as Henry worked on getting the makeup off Steve’s face, Ridley Scott himself entered the trailer with a resigned expression on his face.

“All right, Scarlett,” he said.  “I found a professor of Balto-Slavic languages at UCLA who went through the script for me, and she says we have to re-write all the Russian and has volunteered to do so on her own time to reflect the various characters’ regional origins as suggested by their names.  It seems to be something she’s passionate about.”

“I’ll have to buy her a gift basket,” said Natasha.

“Also,” he went on, “we’re now having electrical problems on soundstages two and four and nobody can figure out where the wiring actually connects.”  He held up his hands.  “I know when I’m beaten, so let’s all just have a good night’s sleep and we’ll start again tomorrow morning, when hopefully we’ve all worked some things out of our systems.”

“You’re giving us the evening off?” asked Henry eagerly.

“Yes,” said Scott.  “All of you, get out of here.”  He turned and left again.  “Maddy! Where are you?”

“Right here, Mr. Scott!” her voice replied somewhere outside.

“Good,” he said.  “I need a massage and a Kahlua.”

Henry began hurrying as he scrubbed at Steve’s face. “If I’m fast, I’ll have time to pick my boyfriend up from work!” he explained.  “I can surprise him!”

“Really?”  Steve saw an opportunity.  “In that case, just go – I want a shower anyway.”

Henry was delighted.  “Thanks, Chris!  I really appreciate it!”  He put down the cloth he’d been using and started grabbing his stuff.  “You’re an amazing guy.  Don’t let today get to you, you can’t do your best all the time.  See you tomorrow.  See you, Scarlett!”

“Bye, Henry,” said Nat, and smirked at Steve as the makeup artist ran out.  “You are such a sucker for romance.”

“Excuse me, I did that so I won’t find him standing outside my door again tonight.”  Steve stood up.

“You’re still a sucker,” Nat told him.  “I want a shower, too.  Meet you in twenty?”

“Twenty,” said Steve.

After standing under the blazing studio lights all afternoon, a cold shower was exactly what Steve needed.  Once again, Dodger greeted him at the trailer door, and Steve gave the dog a moment of affection before heading inside and almost literally peeling his t-shirt off.  He walked into the bathroom with it still in his hand, and stopped short when he saw his reflection.  Steve had changed his shirt once before that day, or at least had it changed for him by Tabitha the costume maven… and he must have been too distracted and nervous to notice that he had tattoos.

There were three lines of text on the upper left of his chest, and on the right side of his abdomen the words in loving memory of Bardsley with me always.  On his right shoulder was the word loyalty above a Chinese or Japanese pictogram, and on the left a bull’s head.  Steve grabbed the shaving mirror and turned his back to the sink so he could check if there were any more on his back.  There didn’t appear to be.  When he got dressed again he would have to make sure he kept those covered, or Natasha would never stop teasing him about it.

He took his shower and it felt good, but not quite as good as he’d hoped, as if his tactile sense, too, wasn’t functioning at full capacity.  After he’d taken the serum, all of his senses had been suddenly overclocked, to the point where Erskine’s and Howard’s fingers on his bare chest and abdomen had been almost painful. Returning to what he supposed must be normal after getting used to that felt like he was wearing an extra layer he could not shed.

After his shower, he made sure the sleeves on the t-shirt he picked were long enough to cover all the tattoos, and headed outside. Dodger trotted behind him, hoping for some playtime.  Steve was on his way back to the makeup trailer to meet up with Natasha, when he encountered the other man who’d done the stunt with them that morning, Glover. He was now wearing a white polo shirt and a beige jacket, and he smiled at Steve.

“Hey, Chris,” he said, “you headed into town?”

Steve looked down at the dog following him.  “Just taking Dodger for a walk,” he said.

“Me and some of the crew were going to the Spare Room,” Glover said.  “You wanna come?”

Steve was trying to think of an excuse when a bright pink sports car rolled up behind him.  The tinted window came down.

“Get in, loser,” Nat ordered.  “We’re going to Malibu.”

Steve looked back at Glover.  “Apparently I have other plans,” he said.

Glover laughed.  “See you later, Chris.”

“See you later, uh…” Steve gulped.  He had no idea what this man’s first name was.

“Donny,” the other supplied, with a raised eyebrow.

“See you later, Donny,” said Steve.

Nat reached over to open the passenger-side door for Steve.  Dodger bounced in, excited for a car ride.  Steve climbed in after him.

“Why are we going to Malibu?” he asked, as Nat pulled away.

“Because according to her driver’s license, Scarlett Johansson lives there,” said Nat.  “We need to get in touch with Thor, and if we do it in your trailer we’re more likely to be interrupted and might we questioned if we try to sneak away. At my place, the only person we need to worry about is Danielle the babysitter.  As an added plus,” she went on, “we won’t have to awkwardly lie to any Apple Store employees.”

“You’re never going to let me forget that, are you?” asked Steve.

“Never,” she agreed, and handed him a pair of sunglasses.  “These are yours.  I got them from your trailer.”

Steve put them on.  “You know,” he observed, “us going back to your place together isn’t going to help your husband’s opinion of me.”

“What he thinks of you, or of his wife, is not our problem,” said Nat.  “Our problem is finding Loki and Thor and getting back to our own reality.”

That was true… but it wasn’t the first time Steve had been glared at by a jealous husband, and he’d never liked it.  Steve was not the type who messed around with married women, even unhappily married women, and it was insulting that people thought he might.

He’d once asked Howard why men didn’t trust their wives around him.  The elder Stark’s response had been, “have you seen yourself?”

Of course, the person Nat’s husband – Steve had never caught his name, and didn’t remember anybody using it – was suspicious of was not actually Steve.  It was this actor, Chris Evans.  Steve wondered if he were that type.  He hoped not.  An actor who played Captain America ought to have a little more integrity, enough to try to live up to the ideals Steve knew that role represented to people, including himself.

It was an odd thought in another way, too. The tattoos and his dulled senses told Steve that he hadn’t been switched with this actor in flesh, only in mind.  The idea that he might be occupying a body that had slept with Natasha was deeply weird.

The train of thought also reminded him of something.  “I’m just curious,” he said, “did you look for your scar?”

“Yes, I did,” she replied.  “I also googled Chris Evans, so I know what he looks like with no shirt on.  The bull is my favourite.”

Steve groaned.

It was a nice evening, and in the hot sun the breeze on their faces through the open car windows was nice.  Dodger leaned out the back passenger side with his tongue lolling out, and Steve could have sworn the dog had a smile on his face. Under more normal circumstances, Steve could have enjoyed this drive.

As it was, however, his mind just wouldn’t stop churning over awful possibilities.  What if the tesseract in this universe was locked up on Asgard where they couldn’t get to it?  What if the runestone were still lying out in a field somewhere instead of in the museum? What if something happened to Loki or Thor before they could all get together?  If they, too, had swapped places with their actors, then they would no longer have their Asgardian invulnerability.  They could get

Not to mention the question of what was going on back in the universe they’d left. What if something happened there?  Stark was obsessed with the idea that the Chi’Tauri would come back for the Infinity Stones, and Thor had seemed to agree with him.  What if that came true while three Avengers were in no position to deal with it?  What if some other disaster or supervillain or conspiracy came up, and people expected Captain America to be there?  What if Princess Shuri, who had taken a personal interest in the project, managed to cure Bucky, and Steve was not there?

Nat might not know what he was thinking about, but she could read his face like a book, and she reached over to pat his arm. “Don’t worry, Rogers.  We’re good at getting ourselves out of things.”

“We’re also good at getting deeper into them,” said Steve.

“Well, nobody wants to kill us here, at least,” said Nat.  “As long as we don’t give them a reason to, we ought to be fine.”

[juniorformulamotorsport]

Friday, 13th/Saturday, 14th September 2019 – Home to Boppard and Oberwesel, Germany

Early in the afternoon, after handing off some outstanding work to a colleague, we set off across country to Hull to catch the overnight P&O ferry to Rotterdam, stopping on the outskirts of Hull to buy a flat (please don’t ask; the short version is it got complicated and our vendors suddenly insisted on the Wednesday that we really had to exchange contracts that week – and no bank will let you transfer that amount of money over the phone or online, you have to go in)!

Despite hanging around the bank for some time, we made it onto the boat good and early and promptly found that P&O’s website had once again sold me two cabins instead of just the one I wanted, which didn’t become obvious until we went to what was supposed to be a premier cabin and found it wasn’t. A trip to the reception desk and it turned out we had two keys, for two cabins, and it was the other one that was the one I thought I’d booked. The charming man who sorted it all out gave me the HQ contact details and a short phone call later they agreed to refund the standard cabins. The ease with which this was agreed suggests it’s a regular thing… maybe someone needs to reprogramme the UI sometime soon so that when you opt for an upgraded cabin it removed the one you started out with, rather than requiring you to backtrack and actually physically clear the field yourself!

As we usually do, we had dinner booked in the Brasserie rather than dealing with the scrum that is the “all you can eat” buffet on the grounds that we don’t need that much food. It’s fair to say that the menu in the Brasserie seems to have been dumbed down yet again, so we struggled to find anything that appealed apart from the fish options. I really don’t want a 16oz steak thank you! Even between us we’d struggle to get through that amount of meat, and burgers hold little appeal at the best of times, so we opted to share a charcuterie plate, and then ordered the sea bream and the salmon. By the time we’d worked through that, we couldn’t manage dessert so we ordered the cheese and packed it up to take away with us. It would be useful on the nights we were self catering, and we weren’t going to get a refund if we didn’t eat all three courses, so we figured we might as well!

The following morning’s breakfast was very limited in terms of options, so we went for the continental basket of rolls and pastries and made sandwiches for later in the day out of the rolls we didn’t want to eat straight away. And then we went to the car when called only to find it wouldn’t start. Dead as a dodo. This is obviously something else P&O are used to, because a young deckhand was sent off to fetch a heavy-duty jump starter, and withing seconds had fired the thing up. We weren’t sure of the cause, though I had a suspicion that I’d left the portable fridge plugged in and over the course of 14 hours on the boat it had drained the car battery, but just in case we decided not to stop until we reached the hotel. That way, if it was anything more sinister we’d be better placed to get it dealt with. So four and a half hours flat out through the Netherlands and down into Germany, not stopping for anything at all. I really wouldn’t want to do that again, is all I’m saying.

When we parked up, I switched the engine off, waited ten seconds, and tried to switch it on again. It promptly started, so it looked like it had been an own goal, though not a serious one. We happily unloaded the appropriate bags at the lovely, quiet, modern and very comfortable Landgasthof Eiserner Ritter, just on the outskirts of the town of Boppard, within sight of the Rhine, though not on it. The restaurant was highly rated, and looked delightful, but we had a booking to participate in the annual “Rhein in Flammen” event starting from Oberwesel that night. In effect this is a light and fireworks extravaganza, held in several locations on the Rhine throughout the year. A number of tourist boats proceed in convoy up and down the river, all their lights turned on, and the scenery on the side of the river is also lit up, and then they all moor up and a massive firework display entertains everyone, accompanied by music. It’s something I’d wanted to do for some time, and realising we were going to be in the right place at the right time, had managed to get tickets for a seated dinner onboard the “Rheingold”.

As all of this coincided with the annual wine festival in Oberwesel as well, so we got ourselves cleaned up, organised, and headed out to look around the town and have a glass or two of local wine (this is the Mittelrhein wine region by the way). It helps that the Upper Rhine Valley is a UNESCO World Heritage site (the 65km stretch between Bingen, Rüdesheim und Koblenz) packed with gorgeous towns full of medieval half timbered buildings, old city walls, and dramatic castles. Oberwesel didn’t disappoint in that respect, with towers, walls and a massive hospital that dates from some time around the 1300s originally but is now apparently a specialist musculo-skeletal clinic that stretches over several blocks and still has its original chapel attached.

Having snagged what appeared to be the last car parking space in Oberwesel, we set off on foot to find the Tourist Information office to collect our boat tickets and our free wine glasses (needed for the wine festival). It was a glorious day, the weather warm and the skies a brilliant blue, so stopping for a glass of chilled white wine seemed like a brilliant idea. The main street was packed with stalls, and we soon found one we liked the look of, round the corner from the market square where a traditional brass band was playing less-than-traditional music with great enthusiasm. we didn’t see any sign of the 2019 Weinhex (wine witch) which Oberwesel has instead of the more usual Wine Princess or Wine Queen, though I’m sure she was around somewhere.

After that we decided that rather than be saddled with carrying the glasses around all afternoon and evening we’d drop them off at the car and then take a wander through the streets to see what there was to see. The town itself has a long history. Many towns along the Rhine started out as celtic settlements, and Oberwesel is no exception, and of course it was then taken over by the Romans, who set up a horse-changing station and a hostel. It later became a Frankish royal holding with a royal estate, passing from Emperor Otto I to the Archbishopric of Magdeburg in 966. In 1220, Emperor Frederick II made Oberwesel a free imperial city, and it eventually joined the Rhenish League of Towns (Rheinischer Städtebund), before being handed over to the lordship of the Electorate of Trier in 1309, a situation that continued until secularization after the French Revolutionary Wars in 1802. As has so much of the region, it’s had a lively history. In 1689, in the Nine Years’ War, it was destroyed by soldiers of the First French Empire. In 1794 it was occupied by French Revolutionary troops and in 1802 was annexed by France. After the Congress of Vienna, Oberwesel became, along with the rest of the Rhine’s left bank, Prussian.

The walls were started in 1220, work that was concluded in the mid 14th century, and included 16 towers, of which several are still in existence. A clamber on the walls, despite wearing wildly unsuitable shoes for such behaviour, was pretty satisfying, but we skipped the museum as there was only 20 minutes left till closing time, and that would have just been unsatisfying. And then it was time to go and find the landing stage for our boat. On the way we stopped for a second glass of wine, only to find we had to buy two more wine glasses as well! So now we had 4 and we were still carrying 2 of them around. Luckily, I had a large bag with me, so we slipped them in there and I hoped I wouldn’t break them during the evening.

There was a massive scrum on the landing stage, so we hung back but somehow still ended up getting on board well ahead of most people, just by not pushing but sidling… it didn’t matter because our tables were pre-designated anyway, and so Lynne and I got the window seats. We ended up sitting with a lovely Indian family who had come up from Frankfurt, and a less than lovely trio of grumpy Russians, who didn’t seem to be enjoying anything about the event. The boat left pretty promptly at 6pm, and glided up river and then down a couple of times, while we had the dinner that was included in the price (a place of pork fillet, in a mushroom sauce, with some potatoes and “seasonal vegetables” which was actually just romesco cauliflower – it was less than inspiring but the food really wasn’t what we were there for so I guess it was alright – the vegetarian option the Indian family had looked a lot better though).

If you wanted dessert you had to pay extra for it, so we settled for a local rose wine, and drank that while the scenery drifted past, castle after castle, vineyard after vineyard.

As dusk fell, the ships all lit up although sadly due to a technical issue the lights along the riverside didn’t work, so there was no spectacular illumination there. There was a very dramatic moonrise though, the beginnings of which can be seen here just behind the ridge in the middle of the photo. It took scant minutes to rise, but was really special as it did.

There followed a mad rush onto the top deck as the boat moored up, the music started, and the fireworks kicked off in fine style. It was a bit of a scrum up there, and one or two people refused to let anyone past them, even if there was space beyond, which was mildly annoying for a few seconds. However, the real interest was in the sky and it was a really fine display, accompanied by 1990s soft rock music for some reason!

Afterwards we finished our wine as the boat (one of 35 taking part) returned to the landing stage, and then walked back to the car to find we’d got really lucky, because the road was blocked off by the fire brigade for some reason, but our car was the right side of the barriers. It was back to the hotel for a good night’s sleep, happy and entertained. Would I play €65 a head again? Maybe, maybe not. I think you could probably see the fireworks just as well from the river bank, but it was an experience and it was fun.

Travel 2019 – Alsace and Baden, Days 1 and 2, Home – Hull – Rotterdam – Boppard – Oberwesel Friday, 13th/Saturday, 14th September 2019 - Home to Boppard and Oberwesel, Germany Early in the afternoon, after handing off some outstanding work to a colleague, we set off across country to Hull to catch the overnight P&O ferry to Rotterdam, stopping on the outskirts of Hull to buy a flat (please don't ask; the short version is it got complicated and our vendors suddenly insisted on the Wednesday that we really had to exchange contracts that week - and no bank will let you transfer that amount of money over the phone or online, you have to go in)!

[racingtoaredlight]

Opening Bell: February 3, 2017

Senate Democrats have borrowed from Senate Republicans’ playbook and started to boycott the final committee votes of some cabinet officials. While this tactic has only delayed committee votes by about one business day, it shows the extent to which Senate Democrats intend to return the favor to Senate Republicans who promised to do everything to block appointments and legislation submitted or favored by the Obama administration over the previous eight years. Though some observers have called this intransigence the rise of the “Tea Party of the Left,” I think it too early to call it anything other than a reaction to the manner in which Donald Trump has governed to this point. That said, the only cabinet nominee in danger of not being approved, Education Secretary nominee Betsy DeVos, seems liked to slide past the Senate with the help of Vice President Mike Pence.

Meanwhile Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell, whose wife Elaine Chao was confirmed this week as Secretary of Transportation, penned an op-ed in the Washington Post decrying initial Democratic opposition to the Supreme Court nomination of Judge Neil Gorsuch. Gorsuch is almost certainly to be confirmed, though certainly not without a contentious Judiciary Committee hearing. 

Amidst the reports on the closeness of Treasury-nominee Steven Mnuchin and his failure to disclose approximately $100 million in assets prior to his confirmation hearing, something which I mentioned in this space last week, Mnuchin’s position that funding for the IRS must be increased has been lost. The Brookings Institution analyzes, with excellent data, how Mnuchin’s proposal would benefit both the IRS itself and the federal government as a whole.

 The CEO of ride-sharing app Uber has quit the economic advisory council to which he was named by President Trump. His resignation is apparently due to the negative public reaction to his connection the Trump administration’s executive order on administration which was issued last week.

Kyle Kondik of the University of Virginia’s Center for Politics has an early analysis on those congressional districts whose vote shifted measurably to Hillary Clinton in 2016 and those Democrats which sit in districts which suddenly seem less friendly to their constituents. This is a fascinating analysis and provides an excellent first step towards the 2018 midterm elections. Midterm elections have traditionally gone against the party in the White House.

On the campaign trail, Donald Trump was a vociferous supporter of Israel and of Israeli settlement expansion in the West Bank. This position stood in stark contrast to that of the Obama administration, which sought to restrain Israeli expansionism as a first step to returning to comprehensive peace talks, a policy which Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu was openly contemptuous of. This week, in a surprise, the Trump White House said that the expansion of Israeli settlements—construction of 2,500 new homes was recently announced by the government—was not helpful in getting parties to return to the peace table.

During the daily White House press briefing yesterday, National Security Advisor Michael Flynn made an appearance and declared that a recent Iranian test of a cruise missile was unacceptable and that therefore Iran was “on notice.” What this constitutes exactly is unclear as cruise missile tests were not covered in the Iran nuclear agreement with the United States and several European nations. Newly sworn in Secretary of State Rex Tillerson will likely be forced to address this in a more formal manner in the near future.

More details have emerged from the U.S. special forces raid in Yemen, the first of the Trump administration, which resulted in the death of one special forces operator. While criticism has been railed against the Trump administration for perhaps acting too hastily, some reports indicate that the Navy SEALS who carried out the mission came into contact with Al-Qaeda fighters who used civilian women and children as human shields. While in office President Obama relied heavily upon raids and missions by special forces detachments to take care of emerging threats or targets of opportunity. It will be interesting to see to what degree President Trump uses the same commandos.

Recently, Kurdish resistance fighters in Syria began showcasing new armored vehicles allegedly received from the United States. The shipment was, apparently, one of the last acts of the Obama administration, but it also creates a question of the type of support which the Trump administration can be expected to provide. Recall that Turkey, a key U.S. ally in the region, regards the main Kurdish political organization in the region, the PKK, as a terrorist organization, responsible for bombings throughout the nation.

Yesterday, the Treasury Department announced an adjustment to a sanction against the Russian state security agency FSB—the successor the KGB in the post-Cold War period—which made a technical change to a sanction which the Obama administration had enacted in December. The original sanction prevented any U.S. business from doing business with the FSB. The adjustment now allows technology licenses to be purchased by the FSB from American companies so long as the transaction does not exceed $5,000 per calendar year. Many viewed this as an initial step to lifting other sanctions against Russia which the Obama administration implemented, but Foreign Policy explains why everyone is viewing this small change incorrectly.

This week, the USS Antietam, a guided missile cruiser based in Japan, grounded in Tokyo Bay. 1,100 gallons of fuel were leaked, which the Navy has already promised to cleanup. The cruiser is headed to dry-dock for what will likely become extensive repairs.

Austin, Texas is the capital of the Lone Star State and also one of its most liberal cities. During the deportation of the Barack Obama’s first administration, Austin became a magnet for undocumented immigrants; a sanctuary city. Now it is being targeted both by the federal government but also by Texas Governor Greg Abbott who this week withheld a $1.5 million grant to Travis County, in which Austin is located, which was unrelated to immigration policy. Austin, which has a Democratic mayor and a Sheriff who was elected with 60% of the vote in November, is shaping up to be the first battleground with the Trump administration over the viability of sanctuary cities.

Last week, or perhaps it was the week before—with the whirlwind of activity in Trump’s first two weeks in office, keeping track of time has become difficult—I linked to a story about President Donald Trump floating the creation of a vaccine safety commission which would be headed by vaccine-skeptic Robert Kennedy, Jr. Though no movement on the creation of such a commission has occurred in the interim, the Washington Post notes the enormous amount of public support for vaccination programs.

Stuart Rothenberg on Donald Trump's first two weeks in office. Rothenberg examines the actions by Trump as compared to his actions during the campaign, with the result that there is not much dissimilarity between the two. The question then, Rothenberg explicates, is whether Trump’s actions will have unintended consequences which many of his followers do not like and did not anticipate.

Unbeknownst to many Americans, the First Lady of the United States, i.e. FLOTUS, hires her own staff as a means to pursue her own policy objectives. The First Lady’s office is located in the East Wing of the White House—as opposed to the West Wing where the Oval Office and most of the president’s senior advisors sit—and typically focuses on relatively non-partisan issues which are meant to better certain parts of the American public. Though First Lady Melania Trump has returned to New York City, she continues to follow the pattern set out by previous First Ladies by filling out her own personal staff, which includes an Obama administration appointee as social secretary.

Five juveniles who were arrested for defacing a historic black school in Virginia with racist propaganda have been given an unusual sentence by the district judge. Three of the juveniles were themselves minorities and spray-painted “Brown Power” to go along with the “White Power” graffiti of their co-assailants. The judge presiding over the case, upon the prosecution’s recommendation, ordered that the assailants read a list of books by Jewish, Afghan, and black authors and that reports of each book be prepared. The judge further ordered that the juveniles prepare a research paper on the subject of hate speech and that they each visit the U.S. Holocaust Memorial Museum. If the juveniles fulfill all of these requirements, then the case against them will be dismissed and their records expunged.

The woman at the center of the incident which lead to the detention and lynching of Emmett Till in Mississippi in 1955, has apparently recanted the story which lead to Till’s brutal death. Till who was 14 years old at the time, was assaulted and ultimately hanged by a group of white men after he allegedly made an advance on a white woman in public. Till’s mother insisted on an open casket funeral so that his mutilated corpse would be seen by the nation. His death, along with those of the choir girls at the 16th Street Baptist Church in Birmingham, a subject I’ve written about here before, is considered one of the catalysts of the Civil Rights Movement of the 1960s.

Welcome to the weekend.

[shirlleycoyle]

The Proto-Communist Plan to Resurrect Everyone Who Ever Lived

Is there anything that can be done to escape the death cult we seem trapped in?

One of the more radical visions for how to organize human society begins with a simple goal: let’s resurrect everyone who has ever lived. Nikolai Fedorov, a nineteenth-century librarian and Russian Orthodoxy philosopher, went so far as to call this project “the common task” of humanity, calling for the living to be rejuvenated, the dead to be resurrected, and space to be colonized specifically to house them. From the 1860s to the 1930s, Fedorov’s influence was present throughout the culture—he influenced a generation of Marxists ahead of the Russian Revolution, as well as literary writers like Leo Tolstoy and Fyodor Dostoevsky, whose novel, The Brothers Karamazov, directly engaged with Federov's ideas about resurrection.

After his death, Federov’s acolytes consolidated his ideas into a single text, A Philosophy of the Common Task, and created Cosmism, the movement based on his anti-death eschatology. Federov left the technical details to those who would someday create the prerequisite technology, but this did not stop his disciples: Alexander Bogdanov, who founded the Bolsheviks with Lenin, was an early pioneer of blood transfusions in hopes of rejuvenating humanity; Konstantin Tsiolkvosky, an astrophysicist who was the progenitor of Russia's space program, sought to colonize space to house the resurrected dead; and Alexander Chizhevsky, a biophysicist who sought to map out the effects of solar activity on Earth life and behavior, thought his research might help design the ideal society for the dead to return to.

The vast majority of cosmists were, by the 1930s, either murdered or purged by Stalin, muting the influence of their ambitious project but also leaving us with an incomplete body of work about what type of society resurrection requires or will result in, and whether that would—as some cosmists believe now—bring us closer to the liberation of the species. Now, I think it is obvious that—despite what today’s transhumanists might tell you—we are in no position, now or anytime soon, to resurrect anyone let alone bring back to life the untold billions that have existed across human history and past it into the eons before civilization’s dawn.

To be clear, I think cosmism is absolute madness, but I also find it fascinating. With an introduction to Cosmism and its implications, maybe we can further explore the arbitrary and calculated parts of our social and political order that prioritize capital instead of humanity, often for sinister ends.

**

What? Who gets resurrected? And how?

At its core, the Common Task calls for the subordination of all social relations, productive forces, and civilization itself to the single-minded goal of achieving immortality for the living and resurrection for the dead. Cosmists see this as a necessarily universal project for either everyone or no one at all. That constraint means that their fundamental overhaul of society must go a step further in securing a place where evil or ill-intentioned people can’t hurt anyone, but also where immortality is freely accessible for everyone.

It’s hard to imagine how that world—where resources are pooled together for this project, where humans cannot hurt one another, and where immortality is free—is compatible with the accumulation and exploitation that sit at the heart of capitalism. The crisis heightened by coronavirus should make painfully clear to us all that, as J.W. Mason—an economist at CUNY—recently put it, we have “a system organized around the threat of withholding people's subsistence,” and it "will deeply resist measures to guarantee it, even when the particular circumstances make that necessary for the survival of the system itself." Universal immortality, already an optimistic vision, simply cannot happen in a system that relies on perpetual commodification.

Take one small front of the original cosmist project: blood transfusions. In the 1920s, after being pushed out of the Bolshevik party, Bogdanov focused on experimenting with blood transfusions to create a rejuvenation process for humans (there’s little evidence they do this). He tried and failed to set up blood banks across the Soviet Union for the universal rejuvenation of the public, dying from complications of a transfusion himself. Today, young blood is offered for transfusion by industrious start-ups, largely to wealthy and eccentric clients—most notably (and allegedly) Peter Thiel.

In a book of conversations on cosmism published in 2017 titled Art Without Death, the first dialogue between Anton Vidokle and Hito Steyerl, living artists and writers in Berlin, drives home this same point. Vidokle tells Steyerl that he believes “Death is capital quite literally, because everything we accumulate—food, energy, raw material, etc.—these are all products of death.” For him, it is no surprise we’re in a capitalist death cult given that he sees value as created through perpetual acts of extraction or exhaustion.

Steyerl echoes these concerns in the conversation, comparing the resurrected dead to artificial general intelligences (AGIs), which oligarch billionaires warn pose an existential threat to humanity. Both groups anticipate fundamental reorganizations of human society, but capitalists diverge sharply from cosmists in that their reorganization necessitates more extraction, more exhaustion, and more death. In their conversation, Steyerl tells Vidokle:

Within the AGI Debate, several ‘solutions’ have been suggested: first to program the AGI so it will not harm humans, or, on the alt-right/fascist end of the spectrum, to just accelerate extreme capitalism’s tendency to exterminate humans and resurrect rich people as some sort of high-net-worth robot race.

These eugenicist ideas are already being implemented: cryogenics and blood transfusions for the rich get the headlines, but the breakdown of healthcare in particular—and sustenance in general—for poor people is literally shortening the lives of millions … In the present reactionary backlash, oligarchic and neoreactionary eugenics are in full swing, with few attempts being made to contain or limit the impact on the living. The consequences of this are clear: the focus needs to be on the living first and foremost. Because if we don’t sort out society—create noncapitalist abundance and so forth—the dead cannot be resurrected safely (or, by extension, AGI cannot be implemented without exterminating humankind or only preserving its most privileged parts).

One of the major problems of today’s transhumanist movement is that we are currently unable to equally distribute even basic life-extension technology such as nutrition, medicine, and medical care. At least initially, transhumanists’ vision of a world in which people live forever is one in which the rich live forever, using the wealth they’ve built by extracting value from the poor. Today’s transhumanism exists largely within a capitalist framework, and the country’s foremost transhumanist, Zoltan Istvan, a Libertarian candidate for president, is currently campaigning on a platform that shutdown orders intended to preserve human life during the coronavirus pandemic are overblown and are causing irrevocable damage to the capitalist economy (Istvan has in the past written extensively for Motherboard, and has also in the past advocated for the abolition of money).

Cosmists were clear in explaining what resurrection would look like in their idealized version of society, even though they were thin on what the technological details would be. Some argue we must not only restructure our civilization, but our bodies so that we can acquire regenerative abilities, alter our metabolic activity so food or shelter are optional, and thus “overcome the natural, social, sexual, and other limitations of the species” as Arseny Zhilyaev puts it in a later conversation within the book.

Zhilyaev also invokes Federov’s conception of a universal museum, a “radicalized, expanded, and more inclusive version of the museums we have now” as the site of resurrection. In our world, the closest example of this universal museum is the digital world “which also doubles as an enormous data collector used for anything from commerce to government surveillance.” The prospect of being resurrected because of government/corporate surveillance records or Mormon genealogy databases is “sinister” at best, but Zhilyaev’s argument—and the larger one advanced by other cosmists—is that our world is already full of and defined by absurd and oppressive institutions that are hostile to our collective interests, yet still manage to thrive. The options for our digital world’s development have been defined by advertisers, state authorities, telecom companies, deep-pocketed investors, and the like—what might it look like if we decided to focus instead on literally any other task?

All this brings us to the question of where the immortal and resurrected would go. The answer, for cosmists, is space. In the cosmist vision, space colonization must happen so that we can properly honor our ethical responsibility to take care of the resurrected by housing them on museum planets. If the universal museum looks like a digital world emancipated from the demands of capital returns, then the museum planet is a space saved from the whims of our knock-off Willy Wonkas—the Elon Musks and Jeff Bezos of the world. I am not saying it is a good or fair idea to segregate resurrected dead people to museum planets in space, but this is what cosmists suggested, and it’s a quainter, more peaceful vision for space than what today’s capitalists believe we should do.

For Musk, Mars and other future worlds will become colonies that require space mortgages, are used for resource extraction, or, in some cases, be used as landing spots for the rich once we have completely destroyed the Earth. Bezos, the world’s richest man, says we will have "gigantic chip factories in space” where heavy industry is kept off-planet. Beyond Earth, Bezos anticipates humanity will be contained to O'Neill cylinder space colonies. One might stop and consider the fact that while the cosmist vision calls for improving human civilization on Earth before resurrecting the dead and colonizing space, the capitalist vision sees space as the next frontier to colonize and extract stupendous returns from—trillions of dollars of resource extraction is the goal. Even in space, they cannot imagine humanity without the same growth that demands the sort of material extraction and environmental degradation already despoiling the world. Better to export it to another place (another country, planet, etc.) than fix the underlying system.

Why?

Ostensibly, the “why” behind cosmism is a belief that we have an ethical responsibility to resurrect the dead, much like we have one to care for the sick or infirm. At a deeper level, however, cosmists not only see noncapitalist abundance as a virtue in of itself, but believe the process of realizing it would offer chances to challenge deep-seated assumptions about humanity that might aid political and cultural forms hostile to the better future cosmists seek.

Vidokle tells Steyerl in their conversation that he sees the path towards resurrection involving expanding the rights of the dead in ways that undermine certain political and cultural forms,

“The dead … don’t have any rights in our society: they don’t communicate, consume, or vote and so they are not political subjects. Their remains are removed further and further from the cities, where most of the living reside. Culturally, the dead are now largely pathetical comical figures: zombies in movies,” he said. “Financial capitalism does not care about the dead because they do not produce or consume. Fascism only uses them as a mythical proof of sacrifice. Communism is also indifferent to the dead because only the generation that achieves communism will benefit from it; everyone who died on the way gets nothing.”

In another part of their conversation, Steyerl suggests that failing to pursue the cosmist project might cede ground to the right-wing accelerationism already killing millions:

There is another aspect to this: the maintenance and reproduction of life is of course a very gendered technology—and control of this is on a social battleground. Reactionaries try to grab control over life’s production and reproduction by any means: religious, economic, legal, and scientific. This affects women’s rights on the one hand, and, on the other, it spawns fantasies of reproduction wrested from female control: in labs, via genetic engineering, etc.

In other words, the failure to imagine and pursue some alternative to this oligarchic project has real-world consequences that not only kill human beings, but undermine the collective agency of the majority of humanity. In order for this narrow minority to rejuvenate and resurrect themselves in a way that preserves their own privilege and power, they will have to sharply curtail the rights and agency of almost every other human being in every other sphere of society.

Elena Shaposhnikova, another artist who appears later in the book, wonders whether the end of death—or the arrival of a project promising to abolish it—might help us better imagine and pursue lives beyond capitalism:

“It seems to me that most of us tend to sublimate our current life conditions and all its problems, tragedies, and inequalities, and project this into future scenarios,” she said. “So while it’s easy to imagine and represent life in a society without money and with intergalactic travel, the plot invariably defaults to essentialist conflicts of power, heroism, betrayal, revenge, or something along these lines.”

In a conversation with Shaposhnikova, Zhilyaev offers that cosmism might help fight the general fear of socialism as he understands it:

According to Marx, or even Lenin, socialism as a goal is associated with something else—with opportunities of unlimited plurality and playful creativity, wider than those offered by capitalism. … the universal museum producing eternal life and resurrection for all as the last necessary step for establishing social justice.

In the conversations that this book, cosmism emerges not simply as an ambition to resurrect the dead but to create, for the first time in human history, a civilization committed to egalitarianism and justice. So committed, in fact, that no part of the human experience—including death—would escape the frenzied wake of our restructuring.

It’s a nice thought, and something worth thinking about. Ours is not that world but in fact, one that is committed, above all else, to capital accumulation. There will be no resurrection for the dead—there isn’t even healthcare for most of the living, after all. Even in the Citadel of Capital, the heart of the World Empire, the belly of the beast, the richest country in human history, most are expected to fend for themselves as massive wealth transfers drain the public treasuries that might’ve funded some measure of protection from the pandemic, the economic meltdown, and every disaster lurking just out of sight. And yet, for all our plumage, our death cult still holds true to Adam Smith's observation in The Wealth of Nations: "All for ourselves, and nothing for other people, seems, in every age of the world, to have been the vile maxim of the masters of mankind."

The Proto-Communist Plan to Resurrect Everyone Who Ever Lived syndicated from https://triviaqaweb.wordpress.com/feed/

[sciencespies]

Apollo 11 Turns 50: How Did NASA Put Men on the Moon? One Harrowing Step at a Time

https://sciencespies.com/news/apollo-11-turns-50-how-did-nasa-put-men-on-the-moon-one-harrowing-step-at-a-time/

Apollo 11 Turns 50: How Did NASA Put Men on the Moon? One Harrowing Step at a Time

“Fate has ordained that the men who went to the moon to explore in peace will stay on the moon to rest in peace. These brave men, Neil Armstrong and Edwin Aldrin, know that there is no hope for their recovery. But they also know that there is hope for mankind in their sacrifice.”

– Remarks prepared for President Richard Nixon, in a memo from White House speechwriter William Safire, July 18, 1969, under the heading “IN EVENT OF MOON DISASTER.”

Spoiler alert: They lived!

They walked on the moon, gathered rocks, planted a flag, rocketed home to Earth and splashed down safely in the Pacific Ocean. After three weeks in quarantine (to prevent a purely hypothetical moon-germ contagion), the three Apollo 11 astronauts got their ticker-tape parade and eternal glory.

Why it worked – and why the US beat the Soviet Union to the moon after having been humiliated, repeatedly, during the early years of the space race – remains a compelling story of managerial vision, technological genius and astronautical dash. But it was never as breezy as NASA made it look. The first landing on the moon could easily have been the first crashing.

NASA’s strategy during the 1960s was built around incremental achievements, with each mission wringing out some of the risk. Still, potential disaster lurked everywhere. Just two years before Apollo 11, three astronauts died in a freakish fire during a capsule test at Cape Canaveral, Florida.

To put astronauts on the surface of the moon and bring them home safely, NASA had to do many things right, in succession, with margins of error ranging from small to nonexistent.

“I consider a trip to the moon and back to be a long and very fragile daisy chain of events,” Michael Collins, the third member of the Apollo 11 crew, told The Washington Post recently.

“There were 23 critical things that had to occur perfectly,” recalls engineer JoAnn Morgan, who handled communications in Launch Control at the Kennedy Space Center.

One of those things was the landing on the moon, which obviously couldn’t be practiced under realistic conditions. No one knew the nature of the moon’s surface. Hard? Soft? Powdery? Gooey? The mission planners feared that the lunar module could become instantly mired, or just sink out of sight, gobbled up like candy.

Equally nerve-racking was the planned departure from the moon. The top half of the lunar lander, the ascent module, relied on a single engine to blast the astronauts back to lunar orbit. It had to work. If it didn’t, Nixon would have to pull out that memo.

Collins, who orbited the moon in the mother ship while his crewmates were on the surface, was keenly aware that failure was an option. In his memoir “Carrying the Fire,” he wrote: “My secret terror for the last six months has been leaving them on the moon and returning to Earth alone. . . . If they fail to rise from the surface, or crash back into it, I am not going to commit suicide; I am coming home, forthwith, but I will be a marked man for life and I know it.”

NASA has an institutional instinct to project supernatural competence; it downplays, or hides beneath jargon, the uh-oh moments in human spaceflight. If on July 20, 1969, a giant man-eating moon lizard had emerged from a lava tube and chased Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin back into the lunar lander, NASA would have described this as an off-nominal event requiring a contingency procedure.

– – –

There’s a full-scale lunar lander on display at the National Air and Space Museum on the Mall. It is officially known as LM-2 – Lunar Module 2. Originally called a Lunar Excursion Module, the spidery spacecraft was generally called “the Lem” and nicknamed “the bug.”

The display vehicle at the museum never went to space but was used in ground tests, including drop tests to see how it could handle a hard landing. The exterior has been modified to make it look like the Apollo 11 lander – the Eagle.

It doesn’t look like a flying machine. Or maybe it looks like one that has been taken apart and then, after a few cocktails, put back together incorrectly. It has no curves and minimal symmetry. It features oddly protruding elements that seem to be tacked on randomly, including a fuel tank that the writer Oliver Morton has described as protruding like a goiter.

Directly overhead, suspended by wires from the ceiling, is the Spirit of St. Louis, Charles Lindbergh’s primitive plane, not much more than a metal box with propellers. But at least it’s immediately recognizable as a plane. The lunar module is bewildering. Where, exactly, do the astronauts sit? (Nowhere: There are no seats. They stand.)

“This is the first true spaceship,” says Paul Fjeld, an amateur historian who seems to know everything about LM-2. Fjeld explains that it didn’t have to fly in an atmosphere and thus didn’t have to be aerodynamic. Or even look good.

The designers at Grumman Aircraft had to figure out the most basic concepts, like how to get astronauts out of the crew cabin and down to the moon’s surface, roughly 10 feet below, notes Charles Fishman in his book “One Giant Leap.” The designers initially decided that the astronauts, who would be in bulky moon suits, should go down to the surface by climbing hand over hand on a knotted rope. They’d return the same way, lugging moon rocks and getting an amazing workout.

Wisely, the designers decided to go with a ladder.

Though everything about the moonshot was fraught with uncertainty, it benefited from a clearly defined goal. In May 1961, President John F. Kennedy asked NASA to put a man on the moon and bring him safely back to Earth before the decade was out. The next year, in September 1962, Kennedy gave his famous “We choose to go to the moon” speech at Rice University in Houston. He said the United States chooses to do these things in space “not because they are easy, but because they are hard . . . “

He noted that the moon is 240,000 miles away and that the mission would require “a giant rocket more than 300 feet tall,” and that this rocket would be “made of new metal alloys, some of which have not yet been invented.”

He would not live to see this happen. But his murder made the moon program untouchable, something that simply had to be achieved, not only for geopolitical reasons but also to honour the martyred president. The United States poured $20 billion and 400,000 workers into the moonshot.

Contrary to popular belief, NASA did not invent Teflon, Velcro or Tang. But it did invent flying to the moon. Navigating to and around the moon was a computing challenge – one that required the most advanced computers at MIT as well as human computers such as Katherine Johnson, the NASA mathematician celebrated in the book and movie “Hidden Figures.” NASA chose a mission architecture for Apollo that saved payload weight and reduced the size of the main rocket but required astronauts to take a separate craft, the lunar lander, to the moon’s surface and then rendezvous with the mother ship in lunar orbit. That was a splendid idea on paper but added risk and complexity.

Meanwhile, the Soviet Union had its own moon program, but struggled to build a giant rocket that could launch without blowing up. The Russians had internal disputes among their engineers. A huge setback came when the chief rocket designer, Sergei Korolev – a survivor of the Gulag during the Stalin era – died during surgery in 1966.

The United States, meanwhile, had Wernher von Braun, the ex-Nazi who led the program that devised the V-2 rockets that terrorized Britain during World War II. Von Braun and other German scientists and engineers had been brought to the United States after the war. Von Braun envisioned human spaceflight that included space stations, space shuttles and interplanetary arks carrying humans to Mars. The moon landing, for von Braun, was just one milestone in a much more ambitious invasion of space.

“In a simplistic way, we had von Braun, and he built a rocket capable of a lunar landing mission. The Soviet Union could not build an equally capable rocket,” said John Logsdon, author of multiple books on the space race.

The Soviets did build a moon rocket, the N1. It had 30 engines. Four times the Soviets tried to launch it, and every time something went wrong.

The second failure was particularly spectacular. It happened on July 3, 1969 – just 13 days before the scheduled launch of Apollo 11. The N1 rose above the launch tower, fell back to the pad and blew up in one of the biggest nonmilitary explosions in history.

– – –

In December 1968 came the first giant leap, when the three Apollo 8 astronauts flew all the way to the moon, orbited it and flew home, a journey that most human beings appropriately found amazing.

Apollo 9 was a shakedown cruise in Earth orbit, with the command module and the lunar lander practicing the orbital rendezvous that would be necessary for the moon mission.

Apollo 10 was like a combination of the two previous missions: a flight to the moon and separation of the lunar module and the command module. The Lem descended to within 50,000 feet of the moon’s surface before igniting the ascent engine to blast back to lunar orbit.

So that left one more giant leap.

Not long before his death in 2012, Neil Armstrong said in one of his rare interviews that he had wished, back in July 1969, that they’d had another month to get ready for the moon-landing mission. He calculated only a 50% chance of a successful landing. He figured that there was a 90% chance the crew would make it back to Earth alive.

On July 16, 1969, the Saturn V rocket with three Apollo 11 astronauts riding on top blasted off from Pad 39A at the Kennedy Space Center.

“I could feel the shock wave vibrate through my bones,” says engineer Morgan, who was at a console in Launch Control.

The trip to the moon took three days. Most of that time, the astronauts couldn’t see the Earth or the moon. The spacecraft rolled like a chicken on a spit so that the sun would not heat only one side of the vehicle. Finally the spacecraft pivoted, and the moon came into view. It filled the window. It was not a flat, silver disk, Collins recalled, but a three-dimensional object, bulging, and a rough-looking place.

“It was just a totally different moon than I had grown up with,” Collins said. “It was awesome. It was certainly not inviting.”

On July 20, Armstrong and Aldrin slipped into the Eagle and began their descent to the lunar surface.

They hadn’t gone far before the lander’s computer flashed an alarm.

“Program alarm. It’s a twelve-oh-two,” Armstrong told Mission Control.

In Houston, astronaut Charlie Duke served as the CapCom, the person in direct communication with the Apollo crew. Duke had no idea what a 1202 alarm meant.

After 16 seconds of silence, Armstrong spoke again, this time with the kind of urgency you’d expect from someone who doesn’t know if he’s going to land on the moon or be forced to abort the mission: “Give us a reading on the 1202 program alarm.”

In Mission Control, engineer Steve Bales had a direct line to a 24-year-old colleague named Jack Garman who sat in a backroom. Garman kept the computer codes (such as “1202”) on a cheat sheet on his console.

“It’s executive overflow. If it does not occur again, we’re fine,” Garman told Bales.

The Apollo Guidance Computer was a triumph of engineering – compact, hard-wired to do lots of things at once – but it was overloaded with radar data. As a result, it was doing exactly what it was supposed to do, which is dump lower-priority programs. But it was continuing to guide the Eagle toward the surface.

Bales relayed that message: We’re still go for landing.

The Eagle, however, had overshot the intended landing area by several miles. The computer was guiding it toward a crater with steep sides and flanked by car-size boulders.

Armstrong took manual control, slowed the descent, and began flying the Eagle like a helicopter, almost parallel to the surface.

He had trained tirelessly on the Lunar Landing Training Vehicle, an ungainly contraption designed to simulate how the Eagle would fly in the moon’s gentle gravity. Armstrong was an extraordinary pilot. He’d gotten a student pilot’s license on his 16th birthday before he knew how to drive a car, according to James Donovan’s book “Shoot For the Moon.”

Not only could he fly anything, he could crash anything and emerge unscathed. Armstrong had flown combat missions in Korea, and once had to eject from his plane just before it crashed into the sea. He’d piloted the experimental, rocket-powered X-15 aircraft, at one point bouncing off the atmosphere accidentally (as dramatized in the opening scene of the movie “First Man”). During the Gemini 8 mission in 1966, a malfunctioning thruster put the spacecraft into a terrifying spin, but Armstrong, on the verge of passing out, managed to get it under control before making an emergency splashdown in the Pacific. And in 1968, he’d lost control of the Lunar Landing Training Vehicle and had to eject just seconds before it crashed.

As Armstrong searched for a level spot to land, fuel became an issue. The Eagle was supposed to be on the surface already, and the fuel supply had been carefully calculated. If they ran out of fuel, they’d have to abort the landing by firing the ascent engine. The only other option was falling the rest of the way to the surface in what they could only hope would be a kind of soft crashing.

“Sixty seconds,” Charlie Duke said.

Aldrin called out the rate of descent and the lateral motion.

Armstrong searched for a flat spot.

“Kicking up some dust,” Aldrin said.

“Thirty seconds,” Duke said.

For nine seconds, no one said anything.

Armstrong’s heart rate hit 156.

“Contact light,” Aldrin said. A rod extending from the bottom of one of the Eagle’s legs touched the surface. Armstrong killed the engine.

“Houston, uh . . . “

He paused.

“Tranquility Base here. The Eagle has landed.”

“Roger, Tranquility. We copy you on the ground. You got a bunch of guys about to turn blue. We’re breathing again.”

– – –

That’s the famous moon landing. It’s in all the books. It’s in the “First Man” movie. You can hear the radio transmissions with an easy search online. But even with all this documentation, and even after half a century, it’s a strangely thrilling, terrifying moment in human history.

One quirky fact of the landing is that no one knew where the Eagle was, exactly, according to author Fishman. Collins, orbiting the moon on its far side, missed the landing drama. When he came back around to the near side of the moon he used a telescope to search for his comrades on the surface, but couldn’t spot them. Nor could anyone else at NASA figure out precisely where this “Tranquility Base” was.

Collins told Armstrong that, from orbit, the landing area “looked rough as a cob.”

Armstrong: “It really was rough, Mike. Over the targeted landing area, it was extremely rough, cratered, and large numbers of rocks that were probably some, many larger than five or 10 feet in size.”

Collins: “When in doubt, land long.”

Armstrong: “So we did.”

Test pilot talk. When in doubt, land long (as if you’re in a jet aircraft in the Mojave Desert and not flying an experimental spaceship and trying to avoid craters and boulders on the moon).

Armstrong and Aldrin were supposed to get some sleep but instead decided to get on with the moonwalk, which turned out to be in prime time for the U.S. television audience. Armstrong stepped onto the “porch” and pulled a handle that deployed a television camera. His backward journey on the ladder was as incremental as the entire Apollo program. When he hit the footpad he jumped back up to the bottom rung of the ladder, just to make sure he could do it. Then he stepped onto the moon proper.

“That’s one small step for man . . . “

He paused. Armstrong would later claim that he said “a man,” and not just “man.” He said the missing article must have gotten dropped from the radio transmission.

” . . . one giant leap for mankind.”

No one perceived it as a flubbed line. Everyone got the point.

Aldrin followed just 20 minutes later, and as he looked around, he offered a perfect description:

“Magnificent desolation.”

– – –

Why did it all work so splendidly? The stars aligned.

In his new book “American Moonshot: John F. Kennedy and the Great Space Race,” historian Douglas Brinkley writes, “[It] takes a rare combination of leadership, luck, timing, and public will to pull off something as sensational as Kennedy’s Apollo moonshot.”

Leadership. Luck. Timing. Public will. Those are not line items in a federal budget. They can’t be commanded to materialize.

The backers of Apollo may have made a fundamental strategic error: They framed the enterprise as a race. They won it – and then didn’t know what to do next.

They never had a plan for an extended moon presence, such as a moon base. Most of the Apollo technology proved of limited use in future space projects. Everything was moon-specific, goal-specific. As a result, much of the Apollo infrastructure was disassembled.

It was like breaking down the set at the end of a film shoot.

“It was a Faustian bargain. The space cadets got the moon, but the price they paid for it was there wouldn’t be anything after the moon,” says space historian Howard McCurdy of American University. “It’s not advantageous to tie your future to a moonshot program.”

Spaceflight is now in a profound transition, no longer the exclusive enterprise of huge government bureaucracies. The commercial space industry is booming. The economies of advanced nations depend on satellites. Military officials fear that their satellites are vulnerable, and they say we must prepare for a new era of space warfighting. President Donald Trump wants to create a Space Force as a sixth branch of the military.

Meanwhile, the moon is prominent again. China recently landed a probe on its far side. India has a lander and rover planned for the near future. In March, the Trump administration ordered NASA to land astronauts at the moon’s south pole no later than 2024.

Reality check: Going to the moon isn’t as easy as plugging an address into Google Maps. But with enough pluck and gumption, plus money and genius, it can be done.

That was the point of Apollo 11.

© The Washington Post 2019

#News

[travelguy4444]

Finding Love and Home in Tbilisi, Georgia

Post: 9/12/18 | September 12th, 2018

“When did you first hear of Georgia?” Mako asked after a long drag from her cigarette. She was a Georgian tour guide helping my friend Dave, who was also in the country. We were drinking wine outside Fabrika, an old Soviet fabric factory now converted into a multi-use center with bars, restaurants, co-working spaces, shops, artist studios, and a hostel.

“Hmm…” I replied. “That’s a good question. On one level, I’ve known about Georgia for a long time, because, well, I know my geography. But as a place that was more than just a name on a map, I would have to say it’s only been in the last few years — when I started thinking of more unique and off-the-beaten-path places to visit — that I really thought ‘Hmm, Georgia? That could be interesting!’”

When I left London for a trip to Azerbaijan in June, I added nearby Georgia to the itinerary too. Friends spoke highly of the country, and I wanted to see its mountain towns, beaches, and historic cities, and to taste the food and wine I had heard so much about.

My original plan was to spend about a little over a week there, hitting some of the highlights and whetting my appetite for another trip (to me, a week in a country is just never enough time).

But, after a change in plans that required me to head home earlier than expected, I only had time to see the capital of Tbilisi.

From the moment I got off the bus from Azerbaijan, I was in love. Yes, that’s a cliché. To fall for a place right away. But sometimes a destination just hits you to your core right way. The energy — the essence — of where you are just flows through your body and you feel like you’re coming home to a place you didn’t even realize was home.

It’s as if a part of you had always been there, and you were simply returning to make yourself whole again.

Over the next few days, that feeling only increased as I actually began exploring the city.

Before arriving, I had pictured a grimy old city with crumbling, ugly Soviet-era buildings and graffiti. In my mind, it was still frozen in the immediate fall of the Soviet empire.

Instead, I found a beautifully preserved Old Town with cobblestone streets and stunning buildings with ornate balconies; lots of spacious parks, wide streets, eclectic artist spaces, and funky cafés; and modern and sometimes futuristic architecture. It was a lot more like Europe than I had anticipated.

I spent my first day wandering the old town. I gazed at the Metekhi Church with its giant equestrian statue of King Vakhtang Gorgasali overlooking the Mtkvari River. This is where the king built his palace when he made Tbilisi his capital in the fifth century. (Legend has it that he founded Tbilisi while hunting and discovered the sulfur baths, but a city existed here long before he came along! He just revived it.) The simple, domed-shaped brick building is popular with locals, as legend says the fifth-century martyr St. Shushanik was buried here.

From there I walked across the bridge, toward the famous sulfur baths, a collection of brick-domed buildings containing subterranean bathhouses. These baths helped make Tbilisi famous, as the waters are claimed to help soothe symptoms in chronically ill patients, like arthritic pain or poor blood circulation. There used to be 63 of these baths in Tbilisi, but there are only a handful left now. They are still wildly popular, though I don’t see the charm in smelling like rotten eggs. (But I’m a weirdo, so what do I know?)

These bathhouses straddle a small river that feeds them and then meanders through a canyon that you can follow to the amazing Dzveli Tbilisi sulfur waterfall. There, the sound of the city melts away, and you feel more like you’re in a national park than a national capital.

I wandered some more and located the entrance to Tbilisi’s gigantic National Botanical Garden, where I found a zip line, tons more waterfalls and rivers to swim in (which, given the high temps during my visit, were well utilized by locals), hiking paths, and flowers and shrubbery. Amidst this peace, I often had to remind myself that I was in a chaotic major city and not some little quiet mountain town.

From there it was up to the Narikala Fortress, which dominates the skyline. Dating back to the fourth century, it was once a Persian citadel. Most of the walls were built in the eighth century, but in 1827 an explosion of Russian ammunition stored there wrecked the whole thing. The cliffs the ruins are on offer the best views of the entire city. You can see for miles, which is probably why the site was chosen for the citadel. A cable car connects it with Rike Park on the other side of the Mtkvari River.

The next day, I explored the city’s history museums (which, to my surprise, had a good amount of English translations). I highly recommend the Georgian National Museum, which has a detailed exhibit on the country’s history; the Nikoloz Baratashvili Memorial House-Museum, which houses materials related to the life and work of the romantic poet, period furniture, folk musical instruments, paintings, and lots of history about 19th-century Georgia; and the David Baazov Museum, which talks about Jewish history in Georgia (Israel and Georgia have a close relationship).

However, after having hiked a lot in Azerbaijan, walking in the stifling summer heat of Tbilisi wasn’t that exciting to me. So, after a day and half of sightseeing, I found myself indoors drinking tea, writing, consuming a (un)healthy amount of wine, gorging on food at Fabrika, talking to other travelers, getting to the know the staff at a local coffee shop, and hanging out with Dave.

I can’t say I really know Tbilisi. Sure, I can get around the subway now. I have an idea of what things cost. I know a little about the city and country. I met some cool people. I have a vague sense of place

But I don’t know it the way I know New York or Paris or Bangkok or a thousand other place I’ve lived or spent years traveling to.

But I feel like I know it.

Tbilisi is a city bursting with activity. A city of art and history. Of enjoyment. Of an energy that seemed to say, “Come enjoy the good life over wine. Don’t fret over things — just be.”

Tbilisi’s energy is my energy.

We are a match made in heaven.

And, though it’s terrible to end a travel article with the cliché “I can’t wait to go back,” I honestly can’t wait to go back.

I felt at home in that city.

And everyone loves the feeling of returning home.

Book Your Trip to Tbilisi: Logistical Tips and Tricks

Book Your Flight Find a cheap flight to Tbilisi by using Skyscanner or Momondo. They are my two favorite search engines. Start with Momondo.

Book Your Accommodation I highly recommend the hostel and co-working space Fabrika. To book another hostel in Tbilisi, use Hostelworld. If you want to stay elsewhere, use Booking.com as they consistently return the cheapest rates. (Here’s the proof.)

Don’t Forget Travel Insurance Travel insurance will protect you against illness, injury, theft, and cancellations. I never ever go on a trip without it. I’ve been using World Nomads for ten years. You should too.

Need Some Gear? Check out our resource page for the best companies to use!

Want More Information? Be sure to visit our robust destination guides for even more planning tips!

The post Finding Love and Home in Tbilisi, Georgia appeared first on Nomadic Matt's Travel Site.

source https://www.nomadicmatt.com/travel-blogs/tbilisi-georgia-72-hours/

[melissagarcia8]

Finding Love and Home in Tbilisi, Georgia

Post: 9/12/18 | September 12th, 2018

“When did you first hear of Georgia?” Mako asked after a long drag from her cigarette. She was a Georgian tour guide helping my friend Dave, who was also in the country. We were drinking wine outside Fabrika, an old Soviet fabric factory now converted into a multi-use center with bars, restaurants, co-working spaces, shops, artist studios, and a hostel.

“Hmm…” I replied. “That’s a good question. On one level, I’ve known about Georgia for a long time, because, well, I know my geography. But as a place that was more than just a name on a map, I would have to say it’s only been in the last few years — when I started thinking of more unique and off-the-beaten-path places to visit — that I really thought ‘Hmm, Georgia? That could be interesting!’”

When I left London for a trip to Azerbaijan in June, I added nearby Georgia to the itinerary too. Friends spoke highly of the country, and I wanted to see its mountain towns, beaches, and historic cities, and to taste the food and wine I had heard so much about.

My original plan was to spend about a little over a week there, hitting some of the highlights and whetting my appetite for another trip (to me, a week in a country is just never enough time).

But, after a change in plans that required me to head home earlier than expected, I only had time to see the capital of Tbilisi.

From the moment I got off the bus from Azerbaijan, I was in love. Yes, that’s a cliché. To fall for a place right away. But sometimes a destination just hits you to your core right way. The energy — the essence — of where you are just flows through your body, and you feel like you’ve come home to a place you didn’t even realize was your home.

It’s as if a part of you had always been there, and you were simply returning to make yourself whole again.

Over the next few days, that feeling only increased as I actually began exploring the city.

Before arriving, I had pictured a grimy old city with crumbling, ugly Soviet-era buildings and graffiti. In my mind, it was still frozen in the immediate fall of the Soviet empire.

Instead, I found a beautifully preserved Old Town with cobblestone streets and stunning buildings with ornate balconies; lots of spacious parks, wide streets, eclectic artist spaces, and funky cafés; and modern and sometimes futuristic architecture. It was a lot more like Europe than I had anticipated.

I spent my first day wandering the old town. I gazed at the Metekhi Church with its giant equestrian statue of King Vakhtang Gorgasali overlooking the Mtkvari River. This is where the king built his palace when he made Tbilisi his capital in the fifth century. (Legend has it that he founded Tbilisi while hunting and discovered the sulfur baths, but a city existed here long before he came along! He just revived it.) The simple, domed-shaped brick building is popular with locals, as legend says the fifth-century martyr St. Shushanik was buried here.

From there I walked across the bridge, toward the famous sulfur baths, a collection of brick-domed buildings containing subterranean bathhouses. These baths helped make Tbilisi famous, as the waters are claimed to help soothe symptoms in chronically ill patients, like arthritic pain or poor blood circulation. There used to be 63 of these baths in Tbilisi, but there are only a handful left now. They are still wildly popular, though I don’t see the charm in smelling like rotten eggs. (But I’m a weirdo, so what do I know?)

These bathhouses straddle a small river that feeds them and then meanders through a canyon that you can follow to the amazing Dzveli Tbilisi sulfur waterfall. There, the sound of the city melts away, and you feel more like you’re in a national park than a national capital.

I wandered some more and located the entrance to Tbilisi’s gigantic National Botanical Garden, where I found a zip line, tons more waterfalls and rivers to swim in (which, given the high temps during my visit, were well utilized by locals), hiking paths, and flowers and shrubbery. Amidst this peace, I often had to remind myself that I was in a chaotic major city and not some little quiet mountain town.

From there it was up to the Narikala Fortress, which dominates the skyline. Dating back to the fourth century, it was once a Persian citadel. Most of the walls were built in the eighth century, but in 1827 an explosion of Russian ammunition stored there wrecked the whole thing. The cliffs the ruins are on offer the best views of the entire city. You can see for miles, which is probably why the site was chosen for the citadel. A cable car connects it with Rike Park on the other side of the Mtkvari River.

The next day, I explored the city’s history museums (which, to my surprise, had a good amount of English translations). I highly recommend the Georgian National Museum, which has a detailed exhibit on the country’s history; the Nikoloz Baratashvili Memorial House-Museum, which houses materials related to the life and work of the romantic poet, period furniture, folk musical instruments, paintings, and lots of history about 19th-century Georgia; and the David Baazov Museum, which talks about Jewish history in Georgia (Israel and Georgia have a close relationship).

However, after having hiked a lot in Azerbaijan, walking in the stifling summer heat of Tbilisi wasn’t that exciting to me. So, after a day and half of sightseeing, I found myself indoors drinking tea, writing, consuming a (un)healthy amount of wine, gorging on food at Fabrika, talking to other travelers, getting to the know the staff at a local coffee shop, and hanging out with Dave.

I can’t say I really know Tbilisi. Sure, I can get around the subway now. I have an idea of what things cost. I know a little about the city and country. I met some cool people. I have a vague sense of place

But I don’t know it the way I know New York or Paris or Bangkok or a thousand other place I’ve lived or spent years traveling to.

But I feel like I know it.

Tbilisi is a city bursting with activity. A city of art and history. Of enjoyment. Of an energy that seemed to say, “Come enjoy the good life over wine. Don’t fret over things — just be.”

Tbilisi’s energy is my energy.

We are a match made in heaven.

And, though it’s terrible to end a travel article with the cliché “I can’t wait to go back,” I honestly can’t wait to go back.

I felt at home in that city.

And everyone loves the feeling of returning home.

Book Your Trip to Tbilisi: Logistical Tips and Tricks

Book Your Flight Find a cheap flight to Tbilisi by using Skyscanner or Momondo. They are my two favorite search engines. Start with Momondo.

Book Your Accommodation I highly recommend the hostel and co-working space Fabrika. To book another hostel in Tbilisi, use Hostelworld. If you want to stay elsewhere, use Booking.com as they consistently return the cheapest rates. (Here’s the proof.)

Don’t Forget Travel Insurance Travel insurance will protect you against illness, injury, theft, and cancellations. I never ever go on a trip without it. I’ve been using World Nomads for ten years. You should too.

Need Some Gear? Check out our resource page for the best companies to use!

Want More Information? Be sure to visit our robust destination guides for even more planning tips!

The post Finding Love and Home in Tbilisi, Georgia appeared first on Nomadic Matt's Travel Site.

from Traveling News https://www.nomadicmatt.com/travel-blogs/tbilisi-georgia-72-hours/

[joshuamshea84]

Finding Love and Home in Tbilisi, Georgia

Post: 9/12/18 | September 12th, 2018

“When did you first hear of Georgia?” Mako asked after a long drag from her cigarette. She was a Georgian tour guide helping my friend Dave, who was also in the country. We were drinking wine outside Fabrika, an old Soviet fabric factory now converted into a multi-use center with bars, restaurants, co-working spaces, shops, artist studios, and a hostel.

“Hmm…” I replied. “That’s a good question. On one level, I’ve known about Georgia for a long time, because, well, I know my geography. But as a place that was more than just a name on a map, I would have to say it’s only been in the last few years — when I started thinking of more unique and off-the-beaten-path places to visit — that I really thought ‘Hmm, Georgia? That could be interesting!’”

When I left London for a trip to Azerbaijan in June, I added nearby Georgia to the itinerary too. Friends spoke highly of the country, and I wanted to see its mountain towns, beaches, and historic cities, and to taste the food and wine I had heard so much about.

My original plan was to spend about a little over a week there, hitting some of the highlights and whetting my appetite for another trip (to me, a week in a country is just never enough time).

But, after a change in plans that required me to head home earlier than expected, I only had time to see the capital of Tbilisi.

From the moment I got off the bus from Azerbaijan, I was in love. Yes, that’s a cliché. To fall for a place right away. But sometimes a destination just hits you to your core right way. The energy — the essence — of where you are just flows through your body, and you feel like you’ve come home to a place you didn’t even realize was your home.

It’s as if a part of you had always been there, and you were simply returning to make yourself whole again.

Over the next few days, that feeling only increased as I actually began exploring the city.

Before arriving, I had pictured a grimy old city with crumbling, ugly Soviet-era buildings and graffiti. In my mind, it was still frozen in the immediate fall of the Soviet empire.

Instead, I found a beautifully preserved Old Town with cobblestone streets and stunning buildings with ornate balconies; lots of spacious parks, wide streets, eclectic artist spaces, and funky cafés; and modern and sometimes futuristic architecture. It was a lot more like Europe than I had anticipated.

I spent my first day wandering the old town. I gazed at the Metekhi Church with its giant equestrian statue of King Vakhtang Gorgasali overlooking the Mtkvari River. This is where the king built his palace when he made Tbilisi his capital in the fifth century. (Legend has it that he founded Tbilisi while hunting and discovered the sulfur baths, but a city existed here long before he came along! He just revived it.) The simple, domed-shaped brick building is popular with locals, as legend says the fifth-century martyr St. Shushanik was buried here.

From there I walked across the bridge, toward the famous sulfur baths, a collection of brick-domed buildings containing subterranean bathhouses. These baths helped make Tbilisi famous, as the waters are claimed to help soothe symptoms in chronically ill patients, like arthritic pain or poor blood circulation. There used to be 63 of these baths in Tbilisi, but there are only a handful left now. They are still wildly popular, though I don’t see the charm in smelling like rotten eggs. (But I’m a weirdo, so what do I know?)

These bathhouses straddle a small river that feeds them and then meanders through a canyon that you can follow to the amazing Dzveli Tbilisi sulfur waterfall. There, the sound of the city melts away, and you feel more like you’re in a national park than a national capital.

I wandered some more and located the entrance to Tbilisi’s gigantic National Botanical Garden, where I found a zip line, tons more waterfalls and rivers to swim in (which, given the high temps during my visit, were well utilized by locals), hiking paths, and flowers and shrubbery. Amidst this peace, I often had to remind myself that I was in a chaotic major city and not some little quiet mountain town.

From there it was up to the Narikala Fortress, which dominates the skyline. Dating back to the fourth century, it was once a Persian citadel. Most of the walls were built in the eighth century, but in 1827 an explosion of Russian ammunition stored there wrecked the whole thing. The cliffs the ruins are on offer the best views of the entire city. You can see for miles, which is probably why the site was chosen for the citadel. A cable car connects it with Rike Park on the other side of the Mtkvari River.

The next day, I explored the city’s history museums (which, to my surprise, had a good amount of English translations). I highly recommend the Georgian National Museum, which has a detailed exhibit on the country’s history; the Nikoloz Baratashvili Memorial House-Museum, which houses materials related to the life and work of the romantic poet, period furniture, folk musical instruments, paintings, and lots of history about 19th-century Georgia; and the David Baazov Museum, which talks about Jewish history in Georgia (Israel and Georgia have a close relationship).

However, after having hiked a lot in Azerbaijan, walking in the stifling summer heat of Tbilisi wasn’t that exciting to me. So, after a day and half of sightseeing, I found myself indoors drinking tea, writing, consuming a (un)healthy amount of wine, gorging on food at Fabrika, talking to other travelers, getting to the know the staff at a local coffee shop, and hanging out with Dave.

I can’t say I really know Tbilisi. Sure, I can get around the subway now. I have an idea of what things cost. I know a little about the city and country. I met some cool people. I have a vague sense of place

But I don’t know it the way I know New York or Paris or Bangkok or a thousand other place I’ve lived or spent years traveling to.

But I feel like I know it.

Tbilisi is a city bursting with activity. A city of art and history. Of enjoyment. Of an energy that seemed to say, “Come enjoy the good life over wine. Don’t fret over things — just be.”

Tbilisi’s energy is my energy.

We are a match made in heaven.

And, though it’s terrible to end a travel article with the cliché “I can’t wait to go back,” I honestly can’t wait to go back.

I felt at home in that city.

And everyone loves the feeling of returning home.

Book Your Trip to Tbilisi: Logistical Tips and Tricks

Book Your Flight Find a cheap flight to Tbilisi by using Skyscanner or Momondo. They are my two favorite search engines. Start with Momondo.

Book Your Accommodation I highly recommend the hostel and co-working space Fabrika. To book another hostel in Tbilisi, use Hostelworld. If you want to stay elsewhere, use Booking.com as they consistently return the cheapest rates. (Here’s the proof.)

Don’t Forget Travel Insurance Travel insurance will protect you against illness, injury, theft, and cancellations. I never ever go on a trip without it. I’ve been using World Nomads for ten years. You should too.

Need Some Gear? Check out our resource page for the best companies to use!

Want More Information? Be sure to visit our robust destination guides for even more planning tips!

The post Finding Love and Home in Tbilisi, Georgia appeared first on Nomadic Matt's Travel Site.

from Traveling News https://www.nomadicmatt.com/travel-blogs/tbilisi-georgia-72-hours/

[vidovicart]

Finding Love in Tbilisi in 72 Hours

Post: 9/12/18 | September 12th, 2018

“When did you first hear of Georgia?” Mako asked after a long drag from her cigarette. She was a Georgian tour guide helping my friend Dave, who was also in the country. We were drinking wine outside Fabrika, an old Soviet fabric factory now converted into a multi-use center with bars, restaurants, co-working spaces, shops, artist studios, and a hostel.

“Hmm…” I replied. “That’s a good question. On some level, I’ve known about Georgia for a long time, because I know my geography. But as a place that was more than just a name on a map, I would have to say it’s only been in the last few years — when I started thinking of more unique and off-the-beaten-path places to visit — that I really thought ‘Hmm, Georgia? That could be interesting!’”

When I escaped London for a trip to Azerbaijan, I added nearby Georgia to the itinerary too. Friends had spoken highly of the country, and I wanted to see its mountain towns, beaches, and historic cities, and to taste the food and wine I had heard so much about. I wanted to learn its history, peek behind the veil, and see what this place was really about.

My original plan was to spend about a little over a week there, hitting some of the highlights and whetting my appetite for another trip (to me, a week in a country is just never enough time).

But, after a change in plans that required me to head home earlier than expected, I only had enough time to see the capital of Tbilisi.

From the moment I got off the bus from Azerbaijan, I was in love. Yes, that’s a cliché. But sometimes a destination just hits you in the face the right way, and everything just clicks. The energy — the essence — of where you are just flows through your body, and you feel like you’ve come home to a place you didn’t even realize was your home.

As if a part of you had always been there, and you were simply returning to make yourself whole again.

Over the next few days, that feeling only increased as I actually began exploring the city.

Before arriving, I had pictured a grimy old city with crumbling, ugly Soviet-era buildings and graffiti. In my mind, it was still frozen in the immediate fall of the Soviet empire.

Instead, I found a beautifully preserved Old Town with cobblestone streets and stunning buildings with ornate balconies; lots of spacious parks, wide streets, eclectic artist spaces, and funky cafés; and modern and sometimes futuristic architecture. It was a lot more like Europe than I had anticipated.

I spent my first day wandering the old town. I gazed at the Metekhi Church with its giant equestrian statue of King Vakhtang Gorgasali overlooking the Mtkvari River. This is where the king built his palace when he made Tbilisi his capital in the fifth century. (Legend has it that he founded Tbilisi while hunting and discovered the sulfur baths, but a city existed here long before he came along! He just revived it.) The simple, domed-shaped brick building is popular with locals, as legend says the fifth-century martyr St. Shushanik was buried here.

From there I walked across the bridge, toward the famous sulfur baths, a collection of brick-domed buildings containing subterranean bathhouses. These baths helped make Tbilisi famous, as the waters are claimed to help soothe symptoms in chronically ill patients, like arthritic pain or poor blood circulation. There used to be 63 of these baths in Tbilisi, but there are only a handful left now. They are still wildly popular, though I don’t see the charm in smelling like rotten eggs. But hey, I’m a weirdo, so what do I know?

These bathhouses straddle a small river that feeds them and then meanders through a canyon that you can follow to the amazing Dzveli Tbilisi sulfur waterfall. There, the sound of the city melts away, and you feel more like you’re in a national park than a national capital.

I wandered some more and located the entrance to Tbilisi’s gigantic National Botanical Garden, where I found a zip line, tons more waterfalls and rivers to swim in (which, given the high heat during my visit, were being well utilized by locals), hiking paths, and flowers and shrubbery. Amidst this peace, I often had to remind myself that I was in a chaotic major city and not some little quiet mountain town.

From there it was up to the Narikala Fortress, which dominates the skyline. Dating back to the fourth century, it was once a Persian citadel. Most of the walls were built in the eighth century, but in 1827 an explosion of Russian ammunition stored there wrecked the whole thing. The cliffs the ruins are on offer the best views of the entire city. You can see for miles, which is probably why the site was chosen for the citadel. A cable car connects it with Rike Park on the other side of the Mtkvari River.

The next day, I explored the city’s history museums (which, to my surprise, had a good amount of English translations). I highly recommend the Georgian National Museum, which has a detailed exhibit on the country’s history. There’s also the Nikoloz Baratashvili Memorial House-Museum, which houses materials related to the life and work of the romantic poet, period furniture, folk musical instruments, paintings, and lots of history about 19th-century Georgia. Then, in a former synagogue, there’s the David Baazov Museum of the History of the Jews, which spotlights the history of Jews in Georgia (which has a very close relationship with Israel).

However, after having just hiked a lot in Azerbaijan, walking in the stifling summer heat of Tbilisi wasn’t exciting me that much. I was tired. So, after a day and half of sightseeing, I found myself indoors drinking tea, writing, consuming a (un)healthy amount of wine, gorging on food at Fabrika, talking to other travelers, getting to the know the staff at a local coffee shop, and hanging out with Dave.

I can’t say I really know Tbilisi. Sure, I can get around the subway now. I have an idea of what things cost. I learned about the city and country. I met some cool people.

But do I know it? No, not in the way I know New York or Paris or Bangkok or a thousand other places.

But I feel like I know it.

Tbilisi is a city bursting with activity. A city of art and history. Of enjoyment. Of an energy that seemed to say, “Come enjoy the good life over wine. Don’t fret over things — just be.”

That’s an energy that I love and felt when I got off the bus.

And though it’s terrible to end a travel article with the cliché “I can’t wait to go back,” I honestly can’t wait to go back.

I felt at home there.

And everyone loves the feeling of returning home.

Book Your Trip to Tbilisi: Logistical Tips and Tricks

Book Your Flight Find a cheap flight to Tbilisi by using Skyscanner or Momondo. They are my two favorite search engines. Start with Momondo.

Book Your Accommodation You can book your hostel in Tbilisi with Hostelworld. If you want to stay elsewhere, use Booking.com as they consistently return the cheapest rates. (Here’s the proof.)

Don’t Forget Travel Insurance Travel insurance will protect you against illness, injury, theft, and cancellations. I never ever go on a trip without it. I’ve been using World Nomads for ten years. You should too.

Need Some Gear? Check out our resource page for the best companies to use!

Want More Information? Be sure to visit our robust destination guides for even more planning tips!

The post Finding Love in Tbilisi in 72 Hours appeared first on Nomadic Matt's Travel Site.

[caveartfair]

Artforum Publisher Knight Landesman Resigns Following Sexual Harassment Allegations—and the 9 Other Biggest News Stories This Week

01  Knight Landesman, art-world gatekeeper and longtime co-publisher of Artforum, resigned on Wednesday following allegations of sexual harassment made by several women against him.

(via artnet News and Artsy)

The resignation came one day after artnet News writer Rachel Corbett first reported the allegations of sexual harassment from both men and women, and the same day former Artforum employee Amanda Schmitt filed a lawsuit in the Supreme Court of the State of New York against Landesman and her former employer. The suit alleges that Landesman sexually harassed her for years while the magazine’s executives did little to intervene, despite being aware of his behavior, according to the complaint. Its 27 pages include allegations from eight other women, who, though not plaintiffs in the case, said that Landesman harassed them as well. The allegations against Landesman include public groping, lewd emails, and requests for kisses and backrubs, as well as professional retaliation when his advances were rebuffed. “In the past days, we have met with our staff and they have told us that Knight Landesman engaged in unacceptable behavior and caused a hostile work environment,” Artforum said in a statement posted on its website on Wednesday. “We will do everything in our ability to bring our workplace in line with our editorial mission, and we will use this opportunity to transform Artforum into a place of transparency, equity, and with zero tolerance for sexual harassment of any kind.” Michelle Kuo, the publication’s editor-in-chief for over seven years, resigned last week before news of the allegations went public. “I resigned because I felt that, in light of the troubling allegations surrounding one of our publishers, I could no longer serve as a public representative of Artforum,” she wrote in a statement provided to ARTnews. And late on Thursday, Artforum and Bookforum staffers signed an open letter, posted on the Artforum website, condemning the handling of the allegations against Knight Landesman by their own magazine’s management. “[We] repudiate the statements that have been issued to represent us so far,” reads the statement, signed by over 40 staffers.

02  Current and former members of the Berkshire Museum filed a lawsuit to halt the institution’s planned sale of 40 artworks.

(via Sullivan & Worcester LLP, the New York Times, and artnet News)

The auction of the works planned for next month—which will see pieces by Norman Rockwell, Francis Picabia, and Alexander Calder for sale—is expected to bring in $50 million, which the museum will use for renovations and to boost its endowment, a violation of industry guidelines on deaccessioning. The museum’s sale attracted controversy immediately after it was announced in August. Critics argue it is financially unnecessary and a violation of the statute that set up the museum, which mandates that gifts be kept for “the people of Berkshire County and the general public.” The museum maintains, in a statement to artnet News, that it is legally able to sell the works, and that its trustees have not violated their fiduciary responsibility to the institution. The suit filed by members and Berkshire residents on Wednesday, along with a separate suit filed by a group that includes three Rockwell children last Friday, will bring the ongoing debate around the auction into courtrooms. Both suits also urge Massachusetts attorney general Maura Healey to halt the sale. “The sale would harm the museum and its members irreparably and we have asked the Court to put the sale on hold,” said Nicholas O’Donnell, an attorney for the members, in a statement, arguing that the sale violates the institution’s obligations to them. A judge will rule on the members’ request for an immediate injunction this coming Wednesday.

03  Provenance researchers have confirmed that an artwork from the Gurlitt art trove was Nazi-looted, due to a small hole in the painting’s canvas.

(via German Lost Art Foundation)

The painting by Thomas Couture is the sixth artwork confirmed as Nazi-looted since the discovery, first made in 2012, of thousands of pieces in the Munich apartment and Salzburg home of Cornelius Gurlitt. He had inherited them from his father Hildebrand, an art dealer who traded works labeled “degenerate” by the Nazis. Authorities have only been able to confirm the origins of a small number of the 1,280 items, seized when police first raided Gurlitt’s home five years ago, due to the difficult process of tracing the provenance of art lost during World War II. The Couture painting was only identified because of a small, repaired hole in the canvas, which allowed researchers to match it with a note written immediately after the war. That correspondence, likely by a French conservator handling restitutions claims at the time, mentioned a small restored hole in an otherwise vaguely described Couture. Further research confirmed that the painting in the note was indeed the one found in the Gurlitt collection. Authorities believe it belongs to the family of Georges Mandel, a French-Jewish politician detained by the Nazis and later murdered by a militia of French collaborators during the war, and a claim has already been made for the work’s return.

04  “Freeport king” Yves Bouvier sold his Swiss shipping and storage firm to a family-run French company.

(via The Art Newspaper)

The French company André Chenue bought Natural Le Coultre, the Geneva Freeport’s largest tenant, for an undisclosed sum, The Art Newspaper reported Thursday. Yves Bouvier’s father had purchased Natural Le Coultre, then a generalized shipping firm, in 1982; the younger Bouvier took over the firm in 1997 and pivoted the company towards handling fine art. Bouvier has been in a protracted legal dispute with the Russian mining billionaire and art collector Dimitry Rybolovlev, which The Art Newspaper said was “likely to have made a considerable dent in Bouvier’s business and prompted the sale” of his company. Bouvier is accused by Rybolovlev of “swindling him out of $1 billion in the purchase of around 38 works of art over a decade,” according to The Art Newspaper, including the last Leonardo da Vinci painting in private hands. The Leonardo painting, Salvator Mundi (c. 1500), will be auctioned in mid-November at Christie’s. It carries an estimate of $100 million.

05  Germany’s far-right party has sued Documenta over the quinquennial’s alleged financial mismanagement.

(via artnet News)

Kassel city council members belonging to the far-right Alternative for Germany (AfD) party brought the suit on October 18th amid an ongoing independent audit into Documenta’s cost overruns, which reportedly reached around €5 million. The suit names Documenta’s artistic director, Adam Szymczyk, and CEO, Annette Kulenkampff, as well as its board and Kassel’s current and former mayors, asserting that they are all responsible for the event’s financial irregularities, artnet News reported. Szymczyk has previously defended his tenure and curatorial team, but early indications are that Documenta’s split venues of Kassel and Athens drove costs up and created unanticipated logistical difficulties (for example, Documenta staffers reportedly brought bags full of euros into cash-strapped Greece to get the exhibition running). The suit illustrates the increasing politicization of Documenta and the ability of Germany’s far-right—emboldened after winning almost 13 percent of the vote in the country’s national elections last month—to flex its political muscles. The suit follows an open letter signed by prominent figures in Germany’s art world protesting the appointment of an AfD member as chairman of the Bundestag’s Committee on Cultural and Media Affairs.

06  An agreement was reached between art dealer David Mugrabi and the storage company allegedly holding $100 million worth of his works “hostage” over unpaid fees.

(via Bloomberg and The Art Newspaper)

David Mugrabi, son of New York mega-dealer Jose Mugrabi, accused Mana Contemporary of “destroying the business” by refusing him access to his 1,389 works stored in the company’s New Jersey location, effectively preventing his company from doing business, according to a court complaint filed Monday. On Tuesday, a judge ruled that by Wednesday, Mana must release five works—three of which have been sold and two of which are slated to appear in forthcoming exhibitions—which the company agreed to do in exchange for $1 million promised by the Mugrabis. In 2014, Mana and Mugrabi reportedly struck a deal, whereby the dealer could store the work free of charge if the Mugrabi family recommended Mana to its clients. But a lawyer for the storage company said in a statement that the Mugrabi family’s company owed over $500,000 in storage fees “for an extended period of time,” and that Mana had “no choice” but to hold the works.

07  A Turkish right-wing group protested an exhibition in Istanbul over a hyperrealistic nude sculpture by artist Ron Mueck.

(via ArtAsiaPacific and DW)

The work is on view as part of an exhibition of businessman Ömer Koç’s collection in the Üsküdar district of Istanbul. Mueck’s Man Under Cardigan (1998) was placed in a fireplace in the gallery, but protesters mistook the İznik tile surrounding the hearth for “either a mihrab, the semicircular niche in a mosque that faces Mecca, or a minbar, the pulpit in a mosque where the imam delivers a sermon,” according to ArtAsiaPacific. Led by Mahmut Alan, former head of the right-wing Great Unionist Party (BBP), a group stormed the exhibition last weekend before being forced out by security guards to the cheers of onlookers. A second protest the next day was “quickly suppressed,” reported ArtAsiaPacific. “Trying to create a perception that sacred values are being targeted with this exhibition has no basis,” Koç Holdings told ArtAsiaPacific. The protest came just three days after authorities in the country arrested businessman and cultural patron Osman Kavala, ostensibly because of his ties to last year’s failed coup in the country. Critics charge that Turkish president Recep Tayyip Erdoğan is using the coup to crack down on political opponents and free speech in the country. In a statement, PEN America called Kavala’s arrest “further evidence of the severe erosion of democratic principles in Turkey.”

08  Hundreds of cultural figures and arts professionals called for artistic freedom in Brazil last week in an open letter.

(via Artforum)

The letter protested the “wave of hate, intolerance, and violence against free expression” washing over Brazil, Artforum reported, citing a spate of incidents in which the country’s conservative political and religious forces have mobilized against cultural institutions, in some cases forcing closures or censorship. The letter, which has over a thousand signatures, referred specifically to a decision by the Santander Cultural Center to close an exhibition on queer art ahead of schedule after conservatives accused it of promoting pedophilia; the controversy over a performance at the Museum of Modern Art in São Paulo featuring a nude artist; and a protest against works by artist Pedro Moraleida at the Palace of Arts in Belo Horizonte, whose show was also alleged by conservatives to be an apology for pedophilia. The letter encouraged Brazilians to “defend and deepen the rights to an environment of free circulation of ideas, and denounce those who work to destroy democracy in Brazil,” Artforum reported. It was read aloud in the National Congress by Workers’ Party member Paulo Teixeira, and at the exhibition “Histories of Sexuality” at the Museu du Arte de São Paulo, which had set an 18-and-over age requirement for the show under pressure from conservatives.

09  Two Greek antiquities suspected of being looted surfaced for sale at Frieze Masters in London.

(via The Guardian)

Two vases, known as lekythoi and created in the 4th century B.C., went on sale at Frieze Masters earlier this month for upwards of £100,000 apiece. Archaeologist Christos Tsirogiannis first connected the two objects to Swiss dealer Gianfranco Becchina, who has been convicted of trafficking illicit cultural property. In 2015, the art squad of the Italian carabinieri held a conference in Rome showcasing over 5,000 illicit antiquities seized from Becchina, who was part of a widespread looting network. Many objects from Becchina’s cache are thought to remain on the market, and their identification typically ends in surrender and repatriation of the works. But according to The Guardian, the Swiss canton of Basel-Stadt, which consigned the two works to be sold at Frieze, claimed to have permission to sell the items from the carabinieri. The Italian police were reportedly unable to legally hold over 1,000 pieces from the original seizure and ultimately returned them to the Swiss state. Since the region’s public prosecutor could neither prove conclusively where the pieces originated, nor that Becchina had legally held the pieces, their fate remains unclear. The London-based Art Loss Register database had previously cleared their sale, but it may now reconsider, according to The Guardian.

10  Architect David Adjaye has won a competition to design London’s new Holocaust memorial.

(via the New York Times)

The competition’s jury unanimously selected Adjaye’s design, beating out 91 other submissions from across the globe. Adjaye and his team, which included Israeli architect Ron Arad and landscape architecture company Gustafson Porter & Bowman, proposed a bronze sculptural installation symbolizing the destruction of Jewish communities in 22 countries. The plans also feature an underground educational space that will include recorded testimonies of Holocaust survivors and “examine hatred and prejudice in other forms, including racism and Islamophobia,” according to the New York Times. However, the planned location at the Victoria Tower Gardens, near the Houses of Parliament, has received criticism from neighboring institutions, government officials, and residents. In an April letter sent to the House of Lords, critics argued that the gardens will “cease to be an amenity for ordinary people” because of the memorial, which will receive £50 million in public funds. While scheduled to open in 2021, the memorial has yet to be approved by building regulators.

—Artsy Editors

from Artsy News

[spookybooscarystorytime]

The Carpathian Carver by LJ

New Post has been published on http://www.scarystorytime.com/2017/08/13/the-carpathian-carver-by-lj/

The Carpathian Carver by LJ

    The Carpathian mountains cast a long shadow as the Sun set.

I was in this God-forsaken place for my brother. He had left three months ago, leaving a voicemail before vanishing. He said he was on to something, that it might take some time, but that when he returned, we would have no more worries. I’ve been worried every day since. You never really know how much you miss someone until they’re gone.

I had grown familiar with his journal the past week as I made my way here, traveling from my home in America to Uzhhorod in Ukraine. I boarded a train from there, destined for a small village off the maps. I opened the journal to the entry I had bookmarked:

‘June 13th –

Looks like I wasn’t lost: turns out there’s a town out of the way, East of Uzhhorod. Geez, I had to read over the train routes like thirteen times before I even saw it. It took me all day to get here, unfortunately. It’s super small, pretty old, but the worst thing is that it smells. Real bad. Like they’ve been cooking asparagus casserole in an oven and forgot to check it for two years.

I’m staying at a run-down inn, but at least they’ve got Internet. The people here are real weird, though. They’re- I don’t know, stiff? Not unfriendly on purpose, but just- it’s like I’m in a town full of autistic children. The innkeep barely said a word to me, just brushed his beard up on me and took my money and grunted and gave me a key. His eyes were super sunken in, and cataracted, so bad I don’t know how he could see, and his skin looked real weird, floppy, but I left too quick to get a good look, ’cause I didn’t want to spend any more time next to him, ’cause he smelled like asparagus, too.

Tomorrow I begin my trek into the woods. I’ve already packed my bag, checked and double-checked for food, water, survival gear, cigarretes(essential), a knife and holy water. I have no plan to engage the demon in the least, but best to be prepared. Anyhow, that’s it for today, so goodnight Journy (ha, get it? ’cause it’s like a pet nickname for ‘journal’ and I’m on a journey? that’s funny. I’m funny. god, I’m lonely. but this will all be worth it when I come home.)’

Ah, yes, the demon, referenced to as ‘The Carpathian Carver’ on the Internet. I collected an assortment of tales of folklore and anecdotal evidence on the creature. The earliest accounts attributed to the Carver date back to the mid sixteenth century, during a period called ‘The Ruin’, a period of war for control of Ukraine. One origin story describes a chance encounter between a tribe of druids and a brigade of Russian soldiers. Fearful of their blue-painted bodies and wild faces, and mistaking their sacred runes for black magic, the druids were slaughtered. The last one they killed died clutching an ugly book to his bleeding chest, a tome of esoteric incantations impossible to find anywhere else.

There are a multitude of other theories on the Internet: deviant mutants, supernatural two-bit lores, and then government-sanctioned genetic mutation gone wrong. And aliens. Someone always thinks it’s aliens. Regardless the cause, something IS happening in this forest.

I turned the page of the journal.

‘June 14th –

Today was a waste. I searched for hours, losing the trail and finding it and losing it again. I gave up a couple hours before sunset, insanely disappointed. I was wondering if this Mimic guy was just some Ukrainian asshole jokester.

There was an- interesting- development, however: the townsfolk fished a body out the river just before I got back, a woman. It was messed up real bad, I only caught a glimpse, but the throat was slashed so bad, it was just a gaping hole, nothing in it. Looked like a bear or something had taken the chick down, she had some claw marks along her face and her shirt was torn up. My Ukrainian hasn’t improved much, but I think I heard the villagers whisper ‘voice’ or something like that to each other, but what does that even mean? I don’t know. And they all have weird numbers.

The innkeep saw me looking, and I guess I looked real interested, ’cause he came up to me and started saying ‘don’t go’ (I think) and pointing upstream. He seemed pretty calm for having seen a dead person. He kept scratching himself. I think he had once had frostbite or something, ‘ cause a splotch of his neck looked real bad, I mean, like dead.

I’m somewhat hesitant to continue on, this Carver dude drinks blood like water. But if he exists, that means the Transmutation exists. I can’t stop now. I’ve got some weapons, I’ve seen a few Jackie Chan movies with all the cool kung fu moves, I’m good. One more day. Tomorrow I’ll go upstream, and the day after I’ll be on a plane home, turning all sorts of stuff into gold. A gold bed. A gold toilet. Yeah, a gold toilet will really help me pick up some chicks.’

Mimic. This was all his fault.

Mimic is a user on an Internet forum for paranormal discussion. He is, by far, the leading expert on the Carver, and he says he’s a historian. He’s got loads of evidence on the Carver. He describes the Carver vaguely, though he seems certain holy water is its weakness. Mimic focuses mostly on the Explanation of Transmutation, the book he says the druid died holding. He attributes all sorts of qualities to it, such as the ability to raise the dead, to grant immortality, to convert substances to gold, and myriad other fantastical things. He wrote so in-depth that I’m sure he’s convinced a lot of people to search for it.

Surely he’s making some of it up. He’s crafting a story, a prank to convince stupid foreigners to travel all the way out to Ukraine so he can have a laugh. That’s what I would’ve thought if I hadn’t received my brother’s journal in the mail. Shipped in a box that smelled of necrosis. The box that contained his severed head, his head missing the eyes. The number six thousand sixty-one carved on his forehead.

I turned to the last journal entry.

“I’m dead. So dead, how’d I even end up here? I’m locked in a closet, I’ve only got a lighter and I’m writing my last words. I walked up the stream. There was this old stone house. It’s the Carver’s. It’s also a mausoleum. Smells putrid. It’s full of the dead. I saw it and waited. I wasn’t just going to enter it, not right away. Night came. I wasn’t worried, I’d be able to find my way back, just follow the stream. And I saw him. The Carver. His flesh clings to his body, he’s so skinny, almost a skeleton if not for the pale blue skin wrapped tightly to his bones. He walked slowly. Surely. With a strange confidence.

I waited a while after I lost sight of him. Just to make sure. I would be in and out in a flash, I thought. Part of the wall had collapsed on one side. I jumped it. And I got hit by that smell, the smell that follows me, it’s sunk into my hair and my skin, I smell like a corpse and- Moonlight lit a bit of the room. Centuries old, this building. And it smelled. There were fragments of bones and trinkets, a stained rug, but no book. I went into a door. The smell got stronger, it was in my nostrils now, and I vomited, I wiped my mouth and pulled out my lighter, my hand shaking so bad I almost couldn’t get it lit, and the dead people were there.

They were PROPPED. Propped up like figures in a wax museum, dressed in fashions from eons ago, all different kinds, all skeletal or ripe green or dirt brown, and some were hanging from the ceiling like marionettes dancing, and others were sitting at a table, silverware in hand, and another was staring out the window, and another had a laptop in its hands, and another applying makeup while staring in a mirror, can you imagine that? A dead person staring at themselves in a mirror, staring with no eyes, just black sockets, and there was another propped up in a chair, reading a book.

The Explanation of Transmutation. I pulled the book out of its hands, knocking the corpse over, a thousand baby spiders exploding from the skull. I ran into the forest, waiting to see the Carver, but he wasn’t there.

I was elated, the world was mine! I stopped to catch a breath, and the book began calling my name. I took a quick look. The pages were blank. They were all blank. Page after page after page, I kept turning. Except the last one.

One sentence scrawled: ‘need new eyes’. And I heard footsteps behind me.

Then I woke up here. And I’m waiting to die. And I’m so alone. I hope someone reads this. Stay away. My brother’s address is 13 XYXYX XYXYXYXY, XYXYXY XYXYXYX, North Carolina, U.S.A. Send this to him. Tell him I miss him.’

Tears came no longer. I had read it too many times, imagined his death too many times. I put the journal away as the train began to slow.

I disembarked, the only passenger to do so. The air had a fetid odor, and grew stronger the closer to town I walked. It reminded me to prepare myself, so I stopped and unzipped my travel bag. I didn’t bring just a knife, like my brother. No, I came to slaughter: a MP5 and a fragmentation grenade, which I purchased through a friend of a friend of a contact in my brother’s journal; six nine millimeter clips and a gallon of holy water blessed by a reluctant priest; a machete, and a liter of gasoline and matches. I was going to torture the Carver to death.

With my weapons readied, I continued into town. Oil street lamps lit the cobble-stoned streets, and I began to see people, slow, milling about aimlessly. I continued down into the middle of the street, studying the town. It was aged, storied with a history I would never know. Was it built during The Ruin? The throngs of townsfolk began to thicken. They all looked sick, and had numbers written on their shirts, what did it mean? They were all in the six thousands, but not one higher than-

These were the Carver’s victims. And they had me surrounded. Dozens of them, all staring at me, the faint glow of the street lamps illuminating the sickly pallor of their dead flesh. I saw the innkeep amongst them, in the back. He was a stranger, to be sure, but there was something I recognized in his gaze. Contrarily, the villagers’ eyes were glazed, void of consciousness. They stepped toward me.

Gun in hand, I dropped the bag and began spraying bullets into the crowd. Black, bloodless holes filled their bodies, and they just kept coming, ignoring the rounds aside from a flinch from impact. Clip after clip was spent, I could smell the decay on their breath, could see the yellowed whites of their eyes, and then there was the click of the last magazine running dry. Only a few lay still. I began to worry.

I strapped the bag of munitions to my back and sprinted toward the closest building, kicking down the door and barricading it. As soon as I stepped away, the door rattled on its hinges, the villagers’ bloodlust made audible in clarion screams. It wasn’t going to hold very long. Shadows flit by the windows, I heard glass shatter somewhere. Got to go, gotta get out, where do I go?

I ran through the house, searching desperately, but only one thing came to mind: burn, baby, burn. I wouldn’t be able to escape, but I wouldn’t be the only one to die tonight. I began another lap through the house, unzipping the bag and pouring the gasoline in a trail, evading villagers that had breached the building. I struck a match and the trail lit, consuming the house in an instant. A few villagers in the way of the trail became walking torches, though they did not scream as the flames roasted their skin. In fact, they made no reaction, other than to continue to lumber toward me. It was useless.

I tried to run. They were around every corner, I couldn’t get out. I ascended a staircase, trying to dodge the flames quickly climbing it, and then I stopped as I heard a loud groan. The stairwell broke, and I fell.

I awoke with a start, my temple pulsing in agony. The smoke was caustic as I inhaled, and the light of flames flickered through cracks above, illuminating the tunnel I was in with eerie light. After my eyes adjusted, I crept down the dank passage, my heart thundering. I saw torchlight near the end, set beside an ancient, rotted door. It was heavy, and creaked loudly despite my caution. It opened up into a mammoth room, cobbled and mildewed, lit by lanterns in intervals. A foul odor crept into my lungs, and there was not a breath shallow enough to save me from it. Stone tables were staggered throughout, at least a hundred, each with something on them-

Embalming tables. They were all embalming tables, still occupied by bodies of mangled, pale flesh that hadn’t seen sunlight in decades. I walked silently toward one, careful not to wake them, lest they be animated like the villagers. The one I looked had a carving in its chest, the number one-thousand and twelve. He kept them, the Carver kept them as trophies.

This was disgusting, I was disgusted and I needed out, I needed out right now. The confines of the room began to close in, claustrophobia squeezed my lungs as I ran through the room, aimlessly searching for an exit, any way out, but it was filled with tables, tables and corpses and that terrible smell.

And in my carelessness, I knocked over a trap of tools rusted brown, and they clattered to the ground, the echo lasting several moments. And before I even looked up, I could feel eyes on me. And when I did, every corpse in the room was sitting up, staring at me. And then cold, fetid hands clasped my face from behind me, and the world faded to black.

I awoke to darkness, hanging by my arms. I stood up, the reek of death all around me. When my eyes adjusted, I realized I was in the room my brother had described, the one with all the corpses propped, except they were all staring into my eyes with green, withered faces. I remained motionless, for I could not tell if they were alive or not. They were perfectly still, but their eyes, their eyes were alive and glistening. I looked around, but there was no escape. I saw the bag with my supplies in it, five feet away, but impossible to reach, for my wrists were bound by chains.

My head dropped. This was it. I had failed. I would die in the same cursed place as my brother had. Oh, my poor brother, I was not strong enough to avenge you. I looked back up. Like a hallucination, two corpses lay on the floor, one freshly killed, one headless, and a ghastly figure kneeling beside them with a book in hand. It had a mask of human flesh on, the innkeep’s, he was wearing the innkeep.

The creature was frail, emaciated, his bones more prominent than his musculature. Varicose veins pulsated, splintering off from his heart like lightening. There was a patchwork of his victim’s flesh wrapped around him, interspersed by dried blood and pale blue. He began incanting an ancient language with the voice of a woman. And he looked at me, my brother’s eyes inside his darkened sockets. The demon put his finger inside the newly deceased’s head, rubbed the browned blood on a page inside the book, and then placed his hand on the headless body. It began twitching.

The Carver dropped the book, standing to look at me. He ripped the flesh mask off, the Moon lighting a sickening smile on his lipless face. The headless corpse stood up, wobbling, ‘six thousand sixty-one’ carved in its chest. A boast, a trophy. The Carver reached toward me, his fingers misshapen claws. The corpse flinched, bristled behind it, as if agitated.

“New- heartttt?” he hissed. He poked my chest and began pushing, slowly, maintaining eye contact the whole time, his head tilted, relishing my reaction. His finger squirmed, sliced tissue, prodded my lung. And suddenly, he fell to the floor. My brother’s body had attacked it. But as soon as the Carver lost sight of me, it flailed blindly, searching without eyes for the chains that bound me. It made contact, and with supernatural strength, tore it from the ceiling. I would’ve offered thanks, but it didn’t have ears with which to hear me.

The Carver was back up, and grabbed my brother’s body, throwing it outside, through the wall. As soon as he turned back to me, I whipped the broken chain at it, denting its skull. It fell back to the ground, stunned, and I went for my bag, rifling through it. I desperately threw the vials of holy water at demon, but they did not impede his recovery. No, no, I grasped, as the Carver pulled apart my chest, and through the pain I swung the machete down, tearing his torso wide open. He recoiled, falling to his knees at my feet, clutching his spilled innards. I reached back into the bag, grabbed the grenade, pulled the pin with my teeth and shoved it inside his wound.

This was it.

The explosion was deafening. I sailed through the air. Dead flesh rained from the sky. Everything was destroyed. Through the haze of my fading consciousness, I realized that I was missing most of my body. I lay still. This was the end. I gave it my best, and had won, even though it cost my life to succeed. It was worth it. I closed my eyes. Time passed, but I could not tell how much, nor did I care. And then something shook me awake, a cold breeze or a soft howl from far away. I blinked. The air was charged with some sort of energy. I looked over my shoulder and saw a blue glow as the Carver’s body began piecing itself back together, only tiny pieces, but it was forming quickly. Already a finger was reformed.

No! I won! I had won! I had beaten him, I would not allow my victory to be snatched away, I would NOT allow this. I began crawling with the last limb I had attached, at first to the Carver, but then to the book lying next to him. It was already open, turned to a page which I could not read. But something called to me from it, whispering in my mind, and I knew not what I did, I only acted. I picked a bit of the Carver’s gray matter off my face and placed it on the page, which set strange runes aglow in blue light. The book spoke to my mind, told me to trace the last rune, but I hesitated.

I knew what this meant. I would become the new Carver. I would become a monster, unredeemable, atrocious, forsaken and alone. But was I not already alone? The Carver’s head was mushy still, but his face was forming. And if I did this, how many brothers would I steal from the world? How many families would I destroy without regret or conscience? Was it worth vengeance? The Carver’s torso was fusing together, bone popping out of a hand that reached toward me. If I chose this, I would be immortal, undead, leading a hollow life of stealing from the living. Could I live with myself knowing what I was? The Carver pulled himself on top of me, his saliva dripping on my face.

Was this worth absolute victory? What would you think, my brother?

I think so. I traced the rune.

My body disintegrated.

The transformation was extraordinary. My mind was filled with knowledge, foreign memories made, consciousness transcended, senses redefined, beliefs and morals distorted and remade. Existence was understood from a whole different perspective. Life was an essence, something tangible, transferrable, if one used the right tools. My body was reformed, stronger, more powerful, restructured with a foreign genetic code. But it was malnourished. I reached out for one of the myriad limbs laying around me and used it, absorbed it. Ate it. The feeling, the taste was intoxicating. My greatest desire now was to use it, to experiment, to see how much flesh I could transmute.

The old Carver stared up at me in horror, broken and writhing. Yes, I knew what he was thinking. He had not known fear in centuries, and to stand here above him, to revel as he cowered, it was bliss.

“I’m going to torture you to death,” I whispered. And then I consumed him, in thin ribbons of flesh and rivulets of blood, dissecting him, peeling his flesh, taking inventory of his organs, collecting his nails, strangling the screams from his throat, for hours on end. And when I finished, when he was naught but a slimy paste, I sought the long-dead, and consumed them, too. I left the old building to find one more corpse, and found him.

Ah, but this one I would not eat. I hungered, yes, and I would sate that urge with a million souls, for I was the new Carver. I generated flesh on the body before me to erase the number placed on it, except I left the ‘one’. The first. You are the first, my brother. Let us share this victory together.