#wedge anchor service

[fixdex-fastening-technology]

Happy new year 2023

[eilinelsghost]

An Anchor Incarnate

A septet of double-drabbles for @searchingforserendipity25. Seren, you're an absolute gem of a person and I'm so glad to have gotten to know you this year. I hope you enjoy this horseshoe fic of the Tragedy Brothers!

He is nearly weightless. 

Gelmir expected his arms to strain under the weight of this soul new-wrought, to feel in his body the same gravity that sang within him; for he had known the moment his brother first breathed of Arda—presence rippled along his spirit like daybreak. He had rushed back from the orchards at a sprint, reaching the gates just as his cousin passed in search of him. 

But the bundle Guilin sets in his arms is feather-light, wrinkled as a mole-rat, and snuffled grunts rise from the woolen wrapping as the infant settles in against his brother’s chest. He is not even the length of his forearm. 

Gelmir holds him like glass.

“Speak, onya,”[1] Guilin urges, then laughs as the tiny face turns to root against Gelmir’s arm. “Speak, that he might know thy voice.”

He draws a finger along Gwindor’s cheek. It is impossibly soft—like freshly risen dough, he thinks in quick amusement, the loaves his mother kneads each enquië[2]—then he shifts to trace his finger along the tiny row of fingers. “Gwinig,”[3] he murmurs as they fold around his knuckle and he too laughs, delighted. “Take my hand, little one. I am here.”

When he shoves the barrel aside, Gwindor is already shaking, his breath coming in gasps and fingertips bloodied from scrabbling against the rock and wood. Gelmir swears under his breath and pulls him free of the crevice. Foolish children…he must have been wedged there an hour or more, alone in the back wall of the wine cellar. 

“Hold thine eyes to the far wall.” Gelmir’s arms are about him as he collapses against the stone. The boy has ever feared the dark, the many small, constrained places within the caverns that lurk sightless and breathless amid the stone—the other children have learned of it. “Match thy breathing to mine. Slower, honeg, steady and full.” The child’s hands tremble as they clutch his brother’s tunic and Gelmir runs a hand over the matted hair, slowing the rhythm of his own breathing. “Number the gems of the sky, gwinig. Can you say them with me? Twenty stars in Heaven’s Hunter.”

Faint and shaking, Gwindor’s voice joins the rhyme, “Seven in the Sickle bright.”

He rests his head against his brother’s shoulder and Gelmir feels the drumming pulse begin to steady.

“Thirteen stars crown Anarríma.”

“A thousand weave the netted light.”

Gelmir kneels. The air of Tol Sirion is crisp with the bite of early spring, the river full and singing. It is fitting, he feels, cohesive in some way to join the King’s Guard here on the watchful isle, the waters rushing past in chorus with his own spirit. 

“Hold my oath bound in love and fealty,” Gelmir recites while the king grasps the proffered hilt, “my service in steadfast faith.”

Gwindor watches at their father’s side, his face eager amid the gathered crowd. His features have begun shedding the roundness of childhood and Gelmir feels a pang at the shift.

“All my days I pledge in service to my king. Bond of word made bond of heart, unto death defending with blade and body.”

His brother had held the new sword in awe when Gelmir dressed for the ceremony, his fingers tracing the signet of the Guard.

When I am of age, I shall follow after thee.

Gelmir shivers again. A foreboding arose at Gwindor’s words that had nearly turned him from this rite. But still he kneels, still he binds his oath, still he bows under the blessing and takes the sword the king returns to his hand. 

The gates open to admit two shrouded figures—Atani men, the both of them. Dark-eyed and sharp-featured, they linger in the arched passage and ask for the lord of the tower. 

“Gorlim!” Edrahil’s voice carries through the courtyard, broken and hoarse from the battle, half-choked by the smoke as his sprint outpaces Orodreth’s. “Arthad!” He is beside them in an instant and catches the foremost by the arms. 

Guilin cannot hear the words that pass between them, but he watches the desperation carve lines upon the captain’s face. 

They are lost, then.

He is not dead. Gwindor was adamant when Edrahil returned in the night, haggard and wounded, empty handed. The host had been swept in two and the king ambushed with the remainder of his guard. He could not reach them. My brother is not dead. I would have felt in my own if his spirit had gone.

Would Gelmir’s brother be adamant still? Guilin strains his ears as Orodreth reaches the passage and the message is delivered. He cannot hear a word. With an effort, he draws his eyes from the gate and turns them to Gwindor in a hopeless query. His son’s face is a mask, expressionless.

Edrahil kneels. The air in the great hall is taut like the aftertaste of lightning. It is fitting, Gwindor feels, a recompense in some way that they share the same fall—his king who led them to ambush, the captain who returned without his brother.

No oaths of faith has he broken this night, Gwindor reflects as Edrahil returns the crown to the king’s hand. His own were broken upon Tol Sirion when the messengers came. He had looked upon the king’s prostrate form and foresworn any fealty the moment they bore him to the healers while Gelmir was forsaken in the Fen. And Barahir’s men said the prisoners were blinded.

“You remain my king,” the captain’s voice rings out, “and theirs, whatever betide.”

Gwindor feels himself tense at the words. Somewhere within him a child’s outrage clamors, for they have turned on Felagund like wildcats, toying and wearying before the kill. 

All my days I pledge in service to my king. Gelmir had sworn it so. Gelmir had wished it so. 

Yet still Gwindor stands in silence.

Finduilas shifts from his side and for the first time he knows her anger, cold and sharp, and their mingled thought fractures.

Gwindor’s breathing is frantic. His fingers claw at the rock and his palms slip on blood, on the sludge that seeps through the mine shafts.

He should never have attempted it. The stone scrapes each shoulder, it keeps his head bowed nearly to his wrists. He can hardly draw a breath.

A scream presses at the back of his throat.

Close thine eyes, gwinig. The memory of his brother’s voice is precise. Number the gems of the sky.

“Twenty stars in Heaven’s Hunter,” he whispers in a shaking sob, dragging himself forward. “Seven in the Sickle bright.”

The Talath Dirnen opens around him, the vast canopy of sky soaring beyond sight. He breathes deep of that imagined air and remembers his hair trailing through the wind. He had clung to his brother’s waist against the speed of their father’s stallion and Gelmir’s hand rested over his wrists in reassurance.

Gwindor fills his lungs and forces himself forward as wind brushes his face in tandem with memory and he shivers. 

Wind brushes his face.

His eyes fly open and a sliver of sky blazes through the slag, Elbereth’s jewels fierce and brilliant, welcoming as he pulls himself free of the mines.

He is nearly weightless.

The fëa is present, tangible and steady, but the hröa is an afterthought. It hovers, insubstantial yet beneath the hoary yews, an uncertain companion in the spirit’s venture.

Gwindor knew the moment his brother’s decision was made—warmth rippled along his spirit, presence he had not felt since the horror of Anfauglith—and he passed Námo’s messenger as a blur upon the plains, galloping north ere the summons arrived. 

The fëantarwa’s[4] stillness is disorienting after the mad rush. But the figure that stands before him is whole, achingly familiar, his spirit as vibrant and fierce as the hour he rode north from the guarded isle. 

Gwindor steps forward as one in a dream. 

He will not see you, the Maia at the gate had advised. The body is capable, but oft we find the soul carries forward its wounds till the healing is complete. Speak early that he might know your voice and find an anchor incarnate in the memory.

“Mírenya.” Gwindor’s voice trembles through the silent grove as he reaches out, his own sight fumbling through his tears, and he grasps his brother’s fingers within his own. “Take my hand, dear one. I am here.”

1. onya: son 2. enquië: Eldarin six-day week 3. gwinig: baby, little one (Elvish play-name for the little finger, used by and taught to children) 4. fëantarwa: garden of the spirits (lit: spirit-garden)

[dynemechantivibration]

Take your machines to the next level with Dynemech Special Wedge Mounts!

Support in industrial applications is of utmost importance in machinery, ensuring optimal performance and longevity. Carefully designed to give very good stability and versatility with reliability, Dynemech wedge mounts are an essential component for different setups, providing effective industrial vibration control and machine mounting solutions.

Features

· Durable Construction: Our wedge mounts are built of heavy-duty metal construction in order to endure considerable load capacity and harsh environmental conditions. That will then determine longer equipment service life and lower maintenance.

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1. Industrial Machine Tools Design: Dynemech Precision Levelling Wedge Mounts are specifically engineered as machinery mounts for use with industrial machine tools. This makes them suitable for a variety of machining applications including milling, lathe, drilling, grinding, CNC machining, metal cutting, pressing, injection molding, sheet metal fabrication, and automation setups providing a stable and reliable machine base.

2. 3-Piece Wedge Mount with Adjustable Bolt: These Precision Alignment Wedge Mounts consist of three pieces, including an adjustable anchor bolt. The design allows for precise leveling and machine alignment. The adjustable bolt and center wedge facilitate easy and accurate adjustments to achieve the desired machine alignment.

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5. Solidity and Rigidity with Large Supporting Surface: Dynemech Wedge Mounts are built to provide solidity and rigidity to the machinery setup. The large supporting surface area ensures a robust foundation isolation, minimizing any potential movement or vibration during operation.

6. Vibration Reduction with Dynemech Insulation Plates: Besides anti-skid plates, these precision wedge mounts incorporate Dynemech Insulation Plates to reduce vibrations. Vibration reduction is crucial for maintaining precision in machining processes and extending the lifespan of the machine.

7. Elevated Machine Performance: By incorporating Dynemech Wedge Mounts into the setup, the industrial machinery setup is elevated because of precision leveling, stability, and vibration reduction. By minimizing vibrations and providing a stable platform, wedge mounts contribute to reducing wear and tear on machinery components. This, in turn, extends the lifespan of the machine, improving its longevity and cost-effectiveness.'

Why Special Dynemech Wedge?

1. Protects Equipment from Damage

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Another benefit of the use of vibration isolation mounts is that they can boost the lifespan of the device. By reducing the impact of the vibration, the system is subjected to much less strain and stress, which can enhance its lifespan. This means that companies can save energy and resources on repair and maintenance and instead focus on production efficiency.

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Anti-vibration rubber mounts also can help to reduce expensive maintenance and repair bills and increase productivity. When machinery is subjected to uncontrolled vibrations, it may cause frequent breakdowns and maintenance issues. This additionally leads to downtime, which could affect productivity. Saving of money, time, productive hours are just one of the benefits of anti vibration mounts.

4. Improves Equipment/Machinery Performance

Vibration also affects the overall performance of the equipment. When equipment/machinery or nearby measuring and testing equipment have difficulty in mitigating vibrations, it may cause inaccuracies in measurements or affect the production output. Dynemech Anti-Vibration Pads protects against both structure-borne and attenuated vibration, ensuring the safety of sensitive equipment, heavy equipment, or precision instruments . Anti-vibration pads assist to stabilize the machinery, reducing risk of tipping over or becoming unbalanced, enhancing overall performance and accuracy.

5. Quieter Workplace

Dynemech Anti Vibration Mounts are effective for lowering the noise generated by means of equipment/ working machinery . When machinery vibrates, it can produce plenty of noise, which may be disruptive and uncomfortable for human beings in the surroundings. Anti-vibration mounts absorb or dampen these vibrations, leading to a more pleasant and comfortable workplace, not to mention n=compliance of noise regulations.

6. Increases safety through Anti Vibration Pads

Excessive machinery vibration can weaken or even completely damage various parts and components. These loose or dislodged components can lead to accidents, injuries, or damage to the workers and machinery itself.

Dynemech Anti-vibration mounts play an important role in increasing workplace safety by stabilizing machinery, absorbing vibrations from within and outside the machinery, keeping the machinery and its components in place and reducing the risk of accidents involving loose or displaced parts. In industries where heavy machinery is used or where accuracy is important, such as laboratories, in production testing and calibration facilities,research, manufacturing facilities, the use of anti-vibration mounts is an integral part to ensure the safety of equipment and personnel.

7. Easy Installation

Anti-vibration pads are easy to install and can be used with a variety of equipment. They come in different sizes and shapes, making them adaptable to all industrial machinery. They can also be customized to fit specific equipment/ machinery, which ensures maximum effectiveness.

Conclusion:

Vibration Mitigation is an essential component of any industrial, manufacturing and production facility for optimal machinery operations. They protect equipment from damage, increase lifespan, reduce maintenance costs, improve performance, reduce noise pollution, enhance safety, and are easy to install. By using anti-vibration pads, companies can improve productivity, reduce downtime, and save money on equipment replacement and repair costs. Dynemech anti vibration pads are the most effective and cost efficient solution for achieving manufacturing efficiency.

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Contact:

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Mob: +91-9810760131 ; +91-9911145131

Email: Salеs@dynemech.com www.vibrationmountsindia.com | www.vibrationdampingpads.

[midseo]

Chemical Anchors, Studs, Anchor Fasteners, Rebaring Chemicals

We are Manufacturer, Supplier of Chemical Anchors, Chemical Anchor Studs, Chemical Mortars, Chemical Guns, Caulking Guns, Chemical Capsule, Anchor Fasteners, Rebaring Chemicals, Rebar Chemicals, Mechanical Anchors, Construction Chemicals, Chemical Anchors from Kolhapur, Maharashtra, India.

Chemical Anchors, Chemical Anchor Studs - CAS, Chemical Mortars, Chemical Guns, Caulking Guns, Chemical Capsule - Supercap, Mechanical Anchor Bolts, Wedge Anchor Bolts, Nylon Frame Anchors, Heavy Duty Anchors - HVE, PU Foams, Diamond Core Bits, Anchor Fasteners, Rebaring Chemicals, Rebar Chemicals, Mechanical Anchors, Construction Chemicals, Chemical Anchors, Manufacturer, Supplier, Exporter, Services Provider, Kolhapur, Pune, Mumbai, Islampur, Maharashtra, India.

[luminous007]

New Construction Brackets for 1-1/2" Helical Pier

Material: Bracket-Ductile Iron, Grade 654512 Per ASTM A536; RCS Shaft-Per ASTM A29 or A576

Hot-Dipped Galvanized per ASTM A123, after fabrication

Do not exceed 165 ft/lbs of Torque on 7/8" dia

Lifting thread rods during stabilizing or load lock-off

Recommend anchor shaft cutoff level above the bottom of the footing is 10" to 11" maximum lift distance

5/8"X4-1/2" wedge bolt

Notes: OEM service is available, different materials and specifications can be customized according to your demands.

[kaizenmetals]

We hold a reputation for being a reputable manufacturer, exporter, and supplier of a large selection of Brass Anchors. 

This is made in accordance with global quality standards utilizing premium brass and cutting-edge technologies. 

Many diverse sectors, like the pharmaceutical, petrochemical, chemical, and textile ones, employ the anchor we offer. 

To meet the needs of our esteemed clients, this anchor is offered at market-beating costs in a wide range of forms, sizes, and patterns.

These are highly regarded by our clients as a result of its key qualities, such as precise design, simplicity of installation, tough construction, high strength, low maintenance requirements, and longevity. 

We provide our product line in a variety of parameters to satisfy the needs of the plastic and automotive industries. We export our goods to places like Southeast Asia, South America, and North America.

· We have in house facilities for productions such as Extrusion, Casting, Forging & Machining, CNC – VMC Products.

· We have German spectrometer for perfect results and also can share the Material Test Certificate

· We can share the best quote in the industry.

· We have capacity of manufacturing as per customer drawing or samples provided

· We can supply the components with best quality and services

[sarahdgordon]

HEADSTONE READS: In Memory of Charles Albert Cowdery and Bessie his beloved wife. Both were lost at the wreck of the barque James Service off Fremantle July 23rd 1878. aged 33 and 28 respectively.

photgraph taken Mandurah Cemetary, Pinjarra road.

While exploring a little cemetery in the new town we now call home I came across this headstone and became fascinated by the events that led to this young couple being buried here.

In 1878, the James Service, a 455-ton iron barque built in Scotland in 1869, set sail from India to Melbourne. It carried a cargo of sack bags, castor oil, jute, and sundry items including crates of bowler hats.

On board was a crew of ten* and ten* passenger, the passengers a theatrical group from London, bound for Melbourne.

One of this group was well known actress Bessie (stage name Edwards) Cowdery 28 and her husband Charles Albert Cowdery, 33.

I have found in a search for Bessie Edwards as an actress two mentions in newspaper courtesy of Footlight Notes:

‘Mr. R. BLACKMORE has organised another company for a five months’ season in Calcutta, the artistes engaged comprising Messrs Crawford, Cowdery, [George] Titheradge, Bond, E. Sheppard, Owen, Beverley; and the Misses Alice Ingram, Bessie Edwards, Alma Sainton, A. Rose, Phœbe Don, G. Leigh, F. Seymour, and Tessy Hamerton. They sailed from Southampton on the 21st inst. in the ”Poonah.” The Corinthian Theatre will be the scene of their operations.’ (The Era, London, Sunday, 24 September 1876, p. 4c)

‘CALCUTTA. ‘My dear Tahite, – Miss [Rosa] Cooper‘s benefit came off a few days ago. She played Miami in ”Green Bushes,” and the house was wedged. I understand the low-comedy man of this theatre is engaged to Mr. Coppin. The artist and the manager are shortly going to China in a panorama (”The Prince in India”). The French opera has been a disheartening failure. I never saw anything so bad, even at a third-class concert in Melbourne. Miss Bessy Edwards is a pretty taking actress, and Miss Phœbe Don, if not a great actress, is so bewilderingly beautiful a woman, that young men – and for the matter of that old men – go distraught about her… .’ (The Australasian, Melbourne, Australia, Saturday, 28 April 1877, p. 19c)

On July the 22nd, 1878, residents south of Mandurah, Western Australia, claimed to have heard a signal gun of a ship in distress with another local claiming to have seen a large vessel minus its mizzen mast.  This was the James Service. The next day a local stockman reported to the police that wreckage had washed up on the beach. From the tallest vantage point, a police officer could see the top mast of a vessel but as the sea was so rough, no boats could be launched to attempt a rescue. By late afternoon the mast could no longer be seen.

Over the next weeks, items that had once been on board the James Service washed ashore. Tins of castor oil, a long boat bearing the name James Service, items of clothing, boxes, trunks and luggage, some labelled as belonging to Bessie Edwards. Sadly, bodies also washed ashore. Some, like Bessie and her husband were buried in a small cemetery in Mandurah.  Others were interred in the sand dunes on the beaches they washed up on, so badly decomposed they could not be transported to more suitable places. They in time, however, were moved to different cemeteries.

It is not certain what caused the James service to flounder and sink as no one survived to tell the tale.

The only clue comes from a passenger's diary that washed up on the beach. Dated 20th July, the writer stated that ‘the ship had encountered very boisterous weather for some time, and that on one occasion the wind had been so strong as to put her on her beam ends, the yards touching the water.’

It is assumed that the ship was damaged in this bad weather and attempted to reach Fremantle for urgent repairs sinking before reaching the safety of the port.

The James Service is virtually part of the reef now, encrusted with marine growth. Its anchor rests in the small Mandurah cemetery alongside some of the unfortunate passengers and crew.

There is an interesting newspaper report of the sinking courtesy of TROVE which can be found here.

https://trove.nla.gov.au/newspaper/article/5941437

Information used in this post is courtesy of the City of Mandurah, Museum of WA, and Footlight Notes websites.

*Some sites put crew at 11 and passengers at 7.

[brandz-fly1]

Securing Your Cargo: Best Practises for Safe and Reliable Transport 

Securing cargo is of paramount importance to ensure safe and reliable transport. Proper cargo security measures minimise the risk of damage, loss, or accidents during transit. Implementing best practises for securing cargo is essential for protecting the goods being transported and ensuring the well-being of drivers and other road users.

One of the primary considerations when securing cargo is selecting appropriate equipment. High-quality cargo straps, chains, ropes, or nets should be used to secure items within the vehicle or onto trailers. These tools should be rated for the expected load capacity and be in good condition, free from any signs of wear or damage. Using the right equipment ensures the cargo remains stable and intact during transportation.

Proper loading techniques are also crucial for cargo security. The weight distribution within the vehicle or trailer should be balanced to maintain stability during acceleration, deceleration, and turns. Heavier items should be placed on the bottom, with lighter items on top, and the cargo should be evenly distributed from side to side. This prevents shifting or tipping of the cargo during transit, reducing the risk of accidents or damage.

Securing cargo using multiple anchor points is a recommended practise. Anchor points within the vehicle or trailer, such as cargo hooks or loops, should be utilised to secure the cargo at various locations. This distributes the force and ensures that the load remains stable, even when encountering road bumps or sudden stops best movers and packers in abu dhabi

Using blocking and bracing techniques can provide additional stability to the cargo. Blocking involves using wedges, chocks, or braces to prevent movement in different directions, while bracing involves using additional support structures to reinforce the cargo. These techniques are particularly useful for irregularly shaped or fragile items that may require extra stability and protection.

Regular inspections during transport are crucial to ensuring that the cargo remains secure. Drivers should periodically check the load and re-tighten straps or reposition items if necessary. If any signs of shifting or loosening are observed, immediate action should be taken to re-secure the cargo. These inspections help identify potential issues before they escalate into safety hazards cargo abu dhabi

Furthermore, compliance with relevant regulations and industry standards is essential for cargo security. Familiarising oneself with the local, national, and international regulations pertaining to cargo transportation is important to ensure adherence to legal requirements. These regulations may cover aspects such as weight limits, securing methods, and the transportation of hazardous materials.

In conclusion, securing cargo through best practises is vital for safe and reliable transport. By using appropriate equipment, employing proper loading techniques, utilising multiple anchor points, applying blocking and bracing methods, conducting regular inspections, and complying with regulations, cargo can be effectively secured. These practises mitigate the risk of accidents, damage, or loss during transit, ensuring the safe delivery of goods while promoting the overall well-being of drivers and other road users cargo services in abu dhabi to india

[unickvibration]

nchoring Installation

Sometimes, Industrial Machines need to be anchored to the ground. “UNICK” provides the service for anchoring to fix the machine position. There are two types of anchoring:..https://www.unickvibration.com/product/anchoring-installation

[formeryelpers]

K Grill, 3646 Nogales St, Ste b, West Covina, CA 91792

There aren’t many Mediterranean restaurants in/near West Covina. K Grill is Persian and halal. The menu includes appetizers, salads, kabobs (chicken, beef, lamb).

Chicken koobideh plate ($14.99): Two ground chicken kabobs, long grain rice with a bit of saffron, grilled tomato, garlic sauce/spread. The rice was plain and dry – some Persian places have very flavorful, moist rice. The kabobs were fine – lightly spiced. A bit plain too. The tomato had no char. The garlic sauce was runny but strong. They provided a thinner pita cut into wedges.

Appetizer combo ($12.99): yogurt, hummus, shirazi salad, 3 dolmas: The four items were packed separately and I think they gave us more than we’d usually get for an appetizer combo. Mr. Froyo said it was good. The hummus did not have much tahini. He said it tasted like ground up garbanzo beans but he was fine with that. He liked the yogurt but there was so much of it that he didn’t finish it. The dolmas were small and not too sour; they seemed fresh. He really liked the freshness and simplicity of the shirazi (cucumber tomato salad).

The décor is okay – they have rugs (Persian?) on the wall and some TVs. I guess it’s homey. Parking was easy to find since they’re in a big strip mall anchored by the new Shun Fat Supermarket.

Service was friendly. I tried to call in the order but no one answered the phone. It took 20 minutes and they cooked the kabobs to order. She even threw in some lentil soup and several bags of pita wedges. Everything was packed well with lots of plastic bags.

3.5 out of 5 stars

By Lolia S.

[notmuchtoconceal]

.

- what i say to myself in private effects me not at all in public, psychorrhax. i radiate the light no matter where i go.

- in service to the god within myself, my eyes awaken to dreams of unrivaled form and complexity.

- all is revealed to me within action and distraction! all roads funnel me back to my source! my tunnel vision is the corona of the sun! 

\

you could remember. the night he first came.

you went to the cave. the din hung over you -- blanketing you from the din beyond the light. you sat facing the wall.

a stony edifice whose stare might one day weather your own.

the spice of charred flesh mingled with the char of spiced wine and grew faint in the whorls of steam. you had a pot of tea.

black. a half of lemon, though you needed only a wedge.

you weren't hungry. you hadn't been hungry.

some idle hand had placed a bough of freshly cut lavender into a recess in the wall.

- evenin, big guy. you look like you could use a friend.

somebody was talking to you.

- cpt. is it? ooh -- brux ain't gettin a smack on the rump this time. i attained the rank myself servin six years as a guardsman in the san navy a rueland -- have i mentioned this before? wait, no. excuse me. this is our first time meetin, that would be absurd. i don't think i would've -- 

unless i was particularly last night drunk.

he might have been particularly every night drunk.

- well goddamn, mate. don't think i've been without a drop since that time i hid in a convent for a month and tried to pass for a nun.

you could tell -- from the taper of his leather, his gracile curves and bony limbs beckoning you -- that he had a fine body.

- yeah, mate. i was fine as hell is those clingy little nun frocks. all the other girls would smack my toosh and tell me to sush. we hid from the mother superior three weeks before that bitter old weasel got keen enough to sniff outta cock in the henhouse.

the way he spoke. it made you wanna die less.

- see? see, i knew you needed a friend! wanna be real upfront with you, mate. i'd be a corpse without you. i mean that. 

it was sweet of him.

- i'd only been on the west gondwandian mainland two weeks since i'd been traded. i'd never seen things like the things you have here, mate -- back in ruelan, from the inland sea out back, to the sprawlin prairies and gnarled rainforests, the gambrinous proliferation of dry brush chokes the continent in the warm embrace of a future infanticide -- to sprawl out across rock sides, and past cliff faces to sterling horizons --

… i don't mean it as a boast. you're a hardy people, mate. we're desolate in our bounty -- you are bountiful in your desolation. i salute you, sir.

a good clout-chaser was always a good cloud-chaser – though not necessarily the inverse.

- the babels and the honeycombed automats. those battered titanium fillings which pierce the gradient of the atom splitted sky -- when a man who lusts for an unbounded nature divorces himself from those limitations he had convinced himself so arbitrary, he is contained by nothing, and loses himself to his own infinity. the multitude of compass points that were never were, he grasps with limbs he doesn't have, and for a time can hold himself aloft as shivic yogi stacked atop a pedestal of pilfered tomes, preserving his moment of hubris for time immemorial. it is not falsity -- nor is it arrogance -- to strive for what is beautiful and noble -- it is the necessity which ensures the obliteration of body and anchoring of spirit through oceanic currents of time. when we learn who we are, mate -- how can we strive to be less than beasts? how can we not strive to cultivate something which exists outside ourselves?

you didn't wanna make waves.

- i wanted to part the waters.

you don't mean to be a brother.

- anyway, i don't mean to be a bother. i meant it when i said i'd be a corpse. i wanted to offer you a whiskey, but …

… oh, could i have a cup a your tea, mate? it seems like you got an awful lotta lemon there!

it would have been regrettable to waste the lemon.

- if you just wanna get rid of it, i could put it in my pocket and skedaddle. half lemon that size could last me a week, at least ... i meant it when i said i didn't want to be a bother -- the truth is, though, that i've very badly wanted to talk to you for about eight divisions now, and -- haha, mate. it sounds silly, but -- you were in the 10th legion -- i was in the 9th -- we were retakin the column bridge over what'd been the beach of mayflies?

… i was still a stranger, mate. a spectral hatred had gripped my senses. the way they died -- in grosses upon grosses. it made me feel – like a naked babe standin there. collapsed in the shady cliff sides, the brain glass in the wind -- brain grass studdin the sand.

something about him was familiar.

- next thing i knew, someone had scooped me up. loike, the thing is though -- it did somethin to me. i didn't even know i was off the ground at first. it felt as though i was gripped to bark.

his tears stained your desert tan exoskeleton. you saw his blood dripping down your leg.

- couldn't have been pinned beneath two logs. someone was holdin me. i looked up, and -- pol solaris, mate. you were so brave.

the frieze of a great leader.

- i couldn’t hold it together. i wouldn't know what to do if you weren't holdin me.

maybe he didn't remember. how much blood he’d already lost.

- when i was a wee lad, back in ruelan -- hope i'm not borin you with the folksy shit, mate -- ruelanese bureau a people movin don't incentivize expats with compensations for proof a tourism -- i can assure you with all my heart, this sentimental jibberish means nothin to nobody but me personally -- though, truly -- i do want to get to know you, and i hope my company isn't an offense to you or a poor use of your time -- i can vacate the premises with or without the lemon at anytime of your choosin.

stop apologizin and get back to rewlin.

- right, well, back in ruelan… i don’t suppose i told you? no, no of course i wouldn’t’ve -- this’s still our first meetin. roight, well… i never knew my father, see. i never knew any man before i became one. alone -- one dark night when i took the fucker who rid me a all my kinsmen up to the cliffs a the lake out back and tore the demon’s head off. the centipoedal innards of its spine glimmerin golden green in the light o’er the moon -- holdin its head aloft on the basalt cliffs.

the trees holding aloft the moon -- the moon holding aloft the cliffs.

- i mapped the land. i stumbled across wooden grottos, luminescent caves, death-trapped temple mounds -- i collected tools and treasures ancient and obscure, and over blithely uncounted moons did track the beast far back to its den, where at last i got the drop on he who trot himself above it all.

no true bear, young eucalyptus eater. 

- turns out he was a mum. fuck, did i feel like a bastard.

… they sat there, cryin out in the darkness -- it seemed to echo far across the darkness. i hadn't come down. the lust for destruction still coursed through me and only by herculean force a will could i refrain from spitroastin their mother's skull with her own spine.

... coulda smashed up the chickies with an egg, but i decided nah. i’d take em home --  i’d give em to the girls. mate, the girls all loved their baby devil birds! we bred em in captivity, brothers to sisters, and served up inbred ostrich burgers every night. my sisters are about to open their third location out in sinny … hmm? i say egg?

… yeah, i had one in my jacket pocket. was hardboiled. old ruelandese navy trick. see, you boil the egg just right, it’s... loike a rock, y'know? but easier to find because it’s a more perfect ovoid? it’s -- it’s one of those things that makes sense when you live there, mate. it’s a rich heritage. please don’t quietly think all my friends and family and by association me, backwards.

you would cherish his egg always.

- i can’t tell if you’re makin fun of me. i’ll just hope you’re not and keep ramblin, that’s sure to get my courage up -- well, um, i’d lost my best friend not long after my first deployment, mate. and um, maybe i was kinda stupid, y’know, gettin so close to him so fast, but like i’d already said -- i think i established it -- i didn’t know any other mates, mate -- though i was quite prodigious at matin, there not bein a whole lot much else to do besides decapitate things, then debate the merits of havin decapitated a thing, then debatin whether or not we should be debatin the decapitation before the decapitation happens, then all the talk of nobody wants to talk when there’s (decapitatin) to be done -- i’m sorry, mate. that was a tangent.

consider them a block of annotations to be sorted. 

- that’s kind of you, mate. i’m not a learned man. an index may as well be a spellbook. i can’t tell a footnote from a rabbit’s foot.

a club-foot from a head-foot.

- brings me ill-omen, the written word. sits there. mutely appealin with the eyes. loomin over you -- so cruel in its intricate architectures, the intermingling of the sounds the sprawl of labyrinth walls the byzantine phraseology implies -- of tongues overlapping through empires fallen, genealogies transmitted in milky poetics of manuscripts and tapestries, mere intricate gouges on paper, pixels on eyes, pooling inkwells through membranes inert before my wandering eyes until they’re spoken aloud

... i’m a fan of oratory, mate. it all sounds so pleasant in the ear! never did understand why so many other gents feel so threatened by pleasant sounds -- as though i were showin off my learnin. mate, what learnin? i couldn’t recognize half the words i say out loud in a book. a learned man on the tinny says a big, bountiful word -- i ask a learned man at the post what the big, bountiful word means -- he’s happy to tell me. i don’t know, mate. i keep thinkin i’m real stupid, but people keep tellin me i’m smart? i feel i have all this pressure to live up to, but i’m not actually ever helpful? i kinda go on autopilot sometimes cause when i talk to girls, y’know -- they sorta pick up on when i need to be calmed down, but it would never even occur to you to calm me down, but sometimes a part of me thinks you should, cause it’s like i can’t remember who i’m talkin to, cause again -- i’m very stupid, mate.

…

- nice to talk while you work -- y’know. men ought be friendly when they work. men ought be violent only when they're killin. calm down, mates. t’is time in life for pleasant words. conquest needn’t be constant. learnin ought benefit the health, the cunnin, and the simple pleasure of the people of a nation -- why even uphold a culture, a language and a people if we’re not gonna make time for pleasant talk? if we’re goin to go to war and be terse and glower at one another all the time, what’s even the point of goin on livin? i’m not afraid you’ll die tomorrow. i suspect neither of us’ll die for many a blue tomorrow -- though from the vantage point of today, there could be nothin but blue tomorrows -- were you to ask me to spell out the numerals of any of these words a heavy coinage -- freely gifted to me through channels of the state -- i could do no such thing. i participated in an officer’s charity spellin bee shortly before seekin a fresh start in this country, and mate -- it was a shitshow far exceedin the price of admittance.

…

- not that i have any excuse for not knowin how to spell, mind you. like i said, even an uneducated man of my station has plentiful opportunies for learnin -- a truth which only the most disadvantaged could overlook. the distrust of learnin’s nothin but a cover for an indolence of will, mate. day you decide to stop learnin’s the day you consent to the will of parasites, and in turn imbibe of them and become them. the hatred they could have of you -- for darin to give your attention to somethin other than them. the ways they could betray you -- for darin to try to be somethin than other for them.

…

- even if so much of the time there seems to be no use for it other than talkin fancy for fancy people. i don’t know. privately mate, i think bein fancy’s a load of shite, but that’s what makes it fun, y’know -- goin around bein pompous and seein if you can get away with it. there’s plenty a gullible people in the world. always worth givin it a shot. 

…

- huh. i probably feel like a fake person cause i am one. might be it’s that simple. 

might be it is.

- gonna level with you, mate. it returned me to a higher reality. when it was all gone, and i had nothin, and you held me. when he held me. back in rueland, you know, that day -- someone picked me up and he -- he was a big lad the way you are, mate -- y’know -- and i’d never been -- never been -- y’know --

... i didn’t wanna fuck this up, mate. i wanted to come up to you here in the cave, you know, us bein fellow servicemen, and i wanted it to be real natural, but there’s nothin natural about it. it’s an utter contrivance of circumstance. it pains me to act it out -- this ridiculous just ran into ya at the cave routine. i don’t want to apologize, mate. i know if you, in your nebulae-like gobspittles of infinite charity, would not say that i’m wastin your time, you may certainly say i’m squanderin it. the truth is -- i don’t want it to sound phony, i know so much of what i say sounds phony, but fuck mate, i spend so much time around phony people -- the truth is... my heart aches, sir. i suspect yours does, too. i don’t want to be a drunk head-case you rescued some dismal day and ran into in a haze some dismal night -- i want to be a man of countenance more pious than piteous. i want to be as you are, sir. i realize i’m not. i’m asking that you, despite my present failings, recognize the virtue of our shared brotherhood and fan my flame with your favor -- if for a moment, for a night.

you unscrewed a bowl from the notch -- and poured him a tea.

[stifling of a sob]

you gave him a moment.

- thank you so much, big man. cpt, sir. we needn’t degrade one another with such juvenile displays of affection.

[boop]

he booped you.

- you’re an absolute darlin, mate. you play your cards right, we might even symbiotically bond -- you know, i could be the pretty lil bird who pecks the rubbish out between your teeth.

(only if i decide not to eat you.)

- fear of death through the seat of my pants.

(- we’re gonna be fast friends, mate.)

The Best Carpentermass Ever! [Excerpt]

/

- who do you think you are?

- simply he who thought himself into becoming himself.

- that doesn't mean anything.

- we are carved from the same cliff face, father. you're a fool to think you'll ever find fulfilment in the adoration of others. what you are to them is simply an excuse to dream -- and in their longing, they will always come to resent the reality of you.  

- you got a lotta ideas. don't know where you got em. certainly not me.

- my humility, in all its falsity, offends you with its frankness. you are weak before me because you covet, father. that this can be mistaken for strongman leadership is simple inattentiveness. 

- big guy! big guy, kill him! kill scribbles! do it. do it now! 

- what will you do, father? i am a force which you can neither suspend nor subvert. my supremacy is apparent to vegetables of the ward and field alike. i simply am, and in such a way that awakens the perceptive to the truth of things. i am a raw, unflinching engine of creation. i pull from the dry earth canopies of wheat and slash them in bountiful harvest. you father -- you awaken only the yearning for slavery! you are the cloven mandible which spitroasts the human spirit! you instill pride in the worthless and enmity in the worthful! i do not wish to be brash, father -- i pray i flatter you with the depth and elegance of my critique -- you are a man of taste, i argue and implore, today, tomorrow, and have many days before -- but you have written checks intended to bounce, and so with regrets our ricochet must roll back to shorten fat lips far out of bounds!

- the gun! the big gun! whip it out! blow his brains out. his pretty face off. he wants to be art, let him be art. make him splatter. make it happen.

- i meant my every word with the utmost sincerity, father. i cherished your renegade spirit. your open embrace of your innate discordance. i saw in you the primal evolutionary force which motivated me to fight and long to die for my country -- to bleed out into the cartridge my every frayed and tassled synapse, mended in crown metal spirographs to a force of root-gonadal aggression which rent me in twain as it reconstituted my fibers! ( o ) : -- i have written your promises in the papers, father. i have let the truest value of your words shape my goals and motivate my actions. i have written your promises in the papers, and thus they will be true -- for we sing our songs which make the herd dance. these poor souls who cannot love for themselves and so cannot fight for themselves -- i do not delight in degrading them as i degrade myself, but i am only one man, father. i am insulated. i am envious. i am amused endlessly by my own capacity for cruelty. i cannot give them everything. i am aware of my every lecherous, vain, and wicked impulse, and i succumb to them with gusto when it will titilate the fancy, but i cannot give that which is not wanted! i am oh so terribly sensitive myself, father -- as are you. there is no cause for shame, for we act truly in our hearts with the commonness of family.

- the what.

- the open embrace of the base is our truest love! we beautify ourselves for flattery -- but oh. doesn't it stir something in the floors, the depths, to know i'm flattering myself for you, father?

- how are you doin this.   

-it must be my award winning smile. so few, it seems, can appreciate the gift of a gilded ear from a silver tongue.

(- brass balls, bro.)

-thank you, thank you. my factless autohagiography shall be on sale tomorrow in candor of shopping strata plaza for zero scrouples and fewer sense!  

- are you guys followin this?

- the technical language and literary arts which languished so long in our country father -- these dreary, plodding monosyllables echoing off galley walls, deadening the neurons they course through. we degrade our country to so openly hold our masses in contempt! the people of a flourishing state ought be warriors in word and deed, balancing their meagerness in the world with the infinity of their cosmos, for if all men strove to walk among the highest spheres, we would rise like helixes of gravitational debris right up into the heart of the sun!

- he's still alive, dumbass!

- joey needs to expand! joey needs to consume! joey will drive water from water to separate in its centrifuge what is muck from what is crystalline! the power which arises in obedience by its nature obliterates. there is a time and place for obedience, as there is a time and place for obliteration! if a man such as i can find pleasure in servitude, men such as all of you ought find the pleasure in rebellion!

- bzzzz. bzzzz. wrong answer!

- one must restate counter-truths with such alacrity they string the mind to taffy, for how else do you play them like a lyre, father?

- it ain't music. not to my ears. not to anybody's.

- they talk of it as self-flattery, to emit pleasant sounds as though a songbird ( o ) :-- as if it was not simply in my sensuous nature to make my tongue dance for you! to have you sway and hang and caressed ~ stirred in the grip in every gonadal tap of my scant and scintillating syllables, as though i were not intimately loving you in my own way /~ a way which you spurn, as though i were showing off my learning? my learning you too could learn (notice how free i am to gift it!) but the brutality with which i bash a skull, or the grace with which i toss a javelin into space --/~ in these you covet and crave erasure ... it sickens me, father. it sickens me as an animal does lay dying in the road. the impulse to violence ought best serve mercy. what are you craving father? you reveal only your own piteous lamentations -- the depthless self-loathing which corrodes you -- the sad, sad, sad, oh so sad and common instability you share with the whole of humanity! what appetites lie festering in your black heart? if i can't rend strings of lyric love for my sires and brothers, how am i to be a good son, father, or a good anything for that contrivance of matter? i turn to, still, in some faint and vacant corner of myself for some light, some warmth, but you are not the depthless void, you are not a distant speck -- you are a black hole all yawning and you crush all light i give you. you cannot come near me. you will consume me. your emptiness is annihilating. you're nobody. how can a man as miserable as you live day to day? i torture myself, nothing more, when i feel for you, and as i was a compassionate man, i have subjected myself willingly to torture -- for the sake of my state and art alike. oh, how a good boast can raise the spirits now and then! perhaps it ought help to periodically remind oneself that arrogance is a symptom of high spirits, not something in itself to covet -- as it helps too to remind oneself that small men covet small things!

(- nobody's lookin at brux. nobody's lookin at brux.)

- do not bray like a pack-ass who yearns to be bare more than cargo, father! the love of the earthiness of humanity does not radiate your compassion for your fellow man, but oozes your resentment of learning. the gut-level hatred that anyone could expect of you anything more than you merely are -- your most grievous fault, father! you mint hollow mediocrities in luminous bronze.

- is this a curse? are you putting a curse on me? 

- why do we speak to each other as though we're on some horrid eternal business lunch, father? 

joey said what everyone was thinking in a way which none of us would ever dare to dream, let alone understand.

- i don't wanna be here! i don't wanna hear any a this! somebody should be stoppin him. why aren't any a you stoppin him!

- allow me to do you the honor myself, father. i have always been the best to ask to get results from myself!

he spun on his heels. in a straight line, he marched to you.

- do me the honor, sir. oblige father and end my miserable life.

your trigger unholstered itself of its own accord / the muzzle pressed itself to joey's forehead.

- how consumed are you for me?

(our euphorie)

every cell, every fiber, every impulse screamed for destruction. you held yourself at bay. he slid his tongue into the eye of the barrel. he moaned with a hideous and breathy deep abdominal vulnerability that stirred something in you and made father -- made father blanche. 

- it takes only the proper channels, don't you see? don't you see? once i had been a tributary far from land, adrift with drowned men and weighed down by a gelatinous raft of bones. the stagnant waters running deep bore the most lush and rancorous blooms. i was carried far from home by a man from a foreign star in a vessel welt in emerald and gold. you took me to the highest wellsprings of our country, and poured me deep into those waters which nourish our people. you drank me deep --

on command, they bellowed out. 

- AND CRAVED THE SWEET

... OF MY CANCEROUS JULIAN RANGOON.

- you chose so poorly, father.

 cambrian waters churned the magma in your heart.

a pin did not dream to drop.

(brux spoke here :--)

 - no, it's true. i mean, look at me. i'm an uggol. i'm bucktoothed. i'm leggy. i'm begotten in a salad of tendons without dressage, and i look like beefy jerky. sometimes i look down at my arm and think i'm in still in my leathers. then i realize -- oh no. that's just my arm. also. i'm covered in crude again. how does that keep happenin, mates?

lux stammered, for he was about to undergo the labor of translating difficult emotions into simple words.

- dad, sir. you know. you know i'll always care about you. that goes without saying -- but also. you're human garbage. you're a blistering trash fire of brain diseases who shoulda gotten douched with some therapeutic grade dude piss like -- twenty years ago. how did it get this bad, dad? i thought nobody said anythin, but they were sayin it all the time, in a million different ways, and i was just too dumb to listen.

(joey, once more, was the floor :--)

- it is the power of imagination, cpt. drythen, which compels us to exhaust the countless substrata before we circle back to tap the spring beneath our topsoil. 

father had not yet resolidified from the cloud.

- like, really. i wanna be sympathetic. i get it. like -- eh. there's -- there's nothin there -- y'know? in the middle of you? you know, you just feel -- why not be beautiful? none of it means anythin. we're all gonna get our heads blown off, might as well smile every day til we get there. why not be shallow? we all look the fuckin same on the inside anyway.

wally spoke openly.

- aye. i'll say it, too. i work for miserable bastards, but i don't mind it. i'm a miserable bastard myself. a man ought be entitled his misery, no matter his lot in life, and if he is not in a position where he is expected to boost morale, he ought be proud to wear his misery openly.

- you make me look bad, dad. like, i wanna be proud to serve my country, and i can't -- i just can't with you. 

- i am a clerical wretch. my contempt for these drains of efficiency in flesh ought be taken seriously as a symptom on the blighted soul of an otherwise proud servant of the state. if my sufferin so openly offends you, take offense to my conditions -- i suppose you know not a day's work well enough to grease the gearshafts of your rusty heartstrings with a big gobby tear or two! nor would you contribute much -- i expect rather unexpectedly, to the coiffers of the drunkards you made drunkards for you could offer nothing more'n numbness out in the blisterin cold!

- what's the fuckin point of fightin so hard, dad? what's the fuckin point if none of it means anything?

- that our citizenry is so foul is indicative of a lechery of values, symptomatic of a rot at the heart of our core architectures! you, father, do not honor the gods ( o ) : -- you honor not man or woman, beast nor root. you have blackened us with cane sugar and simple syrup. i curse you openly as i would a blight upon a tree. i would sooner see the heartiest branches amputated at first contact than allow what foul pestilence you spew to contaminate within ten yards of another trunk!

joey bowed back into position. 

- do you see, father. the flame of liberty is no becaked candle for which we may dim the light of valor so you may extinguish it to the snappings, cheers and wrigglings of your beaked and intolerant breast.

- don't knock the knockers! they're knockers of the year! you voted em that! you picked me over all the other girls.

- we strengthen ourselves of our own volition, for we seek the vigor of blood so the sap of the tree of liberty may linger long on our tongues! 

- why's your happy tree on fire, huh? ya mix metaphors like a whiskin bowl. maybe one i bought for ya. maybe for a lacrosse meet. maybe for your swim game.

- i am a swimmer in the summer, and a wrestler in the winter. in the spring and autumn i give myself to the regional bloodsports. 

you could picture joey's ass in his silky white rugby shorts. 

-  i was a good dad. i bought ya things. all the things ya ever wanted. they were good tax-payers. i bought em all. ya never played with em. 

- why, the amendments the major has been amending -- the revisions he has been revising --

- revisions. what revisions? you been makin revisions big guy?

...

- cpt. haruspex has won the hearts of our neighbors with his candor. he shows us to be a bold, affable and free-spirited nation possessing of a sharp and singular people! i have met many heads of industry, and through them known their hands, their hearts, the vacuums behind their eyes. they long to be earnestly known -- they, like all spirited men, women and gradients, delight in being the light which makes roses bloom in the shade of the sequoias! with the amendments to our architectures, we are well equipped to move negotiations with our generous brother nations from boot to boot, boot to tongue, and fully into tongue to tongue. in the shower of free exchange, we shall know again the taste of our own soil!

- you? you, big guy? after all i've done for you. i took you in. i clothed you. i fed you. yeah. in a palace. in all that leather. lettin ya play wit all your food before i ate it. and what it'd get me? nothin. you think anybody else'll take you? nobody else woulda taken you in before, but now? who's gonna wanna take you in after they see how you treated me, huh? you're ugly. you're a monster. you make babies cry. i make babies cry, but it's only cause they can't regain their composure, bein seen around such a popular guy, you? you're not popular. nobody knows you. nobody likes you. you just control em with fear, that's all you do. all you gotta do is fuckin stand there like a sideshow attraction, everybody's too scared to talk to ya.

- s c r e a m i n g

- brother jacek --

- cpt. psychoraggia --

- screaming. screaming. screaming. the screaming never stops. the echoes never stop. why can't you fuckers ever settle things in -- never settle things in -- ( ) -- in sigh -- in sigh -- in sigh --

(- i scream. you scream. we all scream -- when i d(r)eam.)

his eyes met yours.

- brother, i know you hear them.

he implored you.

- haha, haha. what? cat got your tongue, big guy?

there were misty mountains in his eyes. there were storm clouds without counting gray behind the mists in the peaks of his eyes.

- please, sir. talk to me, sir. say anythin, please, sir. i need to hear your voice. i need to hear my brother's voice.

brux stood with him. brux's hand was on his shoulder. his hand buckled against brux's shoulder.

- come here. come here, mate. it'll be all right.

- i failed him, cpt. brux.

- nah, nah ya didn't, mate.

- he won't speak to me, sir.

- mate, mate. shhhh. refine the purity of your intentions. did you act soley for virtue, or did your heart yearn for covert validation? you can't earn favor with the big man if you can't earn favor with yourself. you're a big strong guy -- corded with muscle, marbled in striated bivalve. look at yourself, mate. remember who you are. you're not scared. you're a big strong guy. big strong guy. you don't need to be pet. you just need another man to respect you, and to appreciate what you do, and why you do it. i love you, cpt. jacek. you're such a big strong murder boy. you make your mother so proud, i bet. she huggles you so hard, i bet. 

brux had put an arm around his shoulder. jacek half-crouched to be seated in awe to his intentions. he turned from him. the staged half-hug in which he looked so heroic, to beheld you with wondering eyes.

- i needed you, sir. the only time i needed you. i could have had you any time... all those times you meant nothin. the only time i needed you... the only time it would have mattered. you weren't there. why do i only need you -- when i know i can't have you. why can i have you -- only when i don't need you. what damn good are you, sir? what damn worth are you. why do i give you everythin -- knowin i'll get nothin. why do i expect anythin -- knowin i'll get nothin. why do i --- why do i -- why do i --

psychorrhax went to him.

- it doesn't make sense, brother. it doesn't have to make sense. it's selfish to ever expect it to make sense.

he held jacek in a half-embrace, where neither was the other's shadow. right arm over left shoulder, still in three-quarter profile. what they intended -- and succeeded -- with this manly choice of staging, was to highlight their studliness as well as their cleanliness. 

wally strode forward. his arms fanned wide to grab hold his brothers by the scruff of their shoulders, collapsing their skulls to his ...

(@) :--  brux was dislodged in the reorientation. 

- aye, brother. it makes no sense! we never wanted it to make sense. we wanted enigmas posed to us, knowing damn well the answers. it was nice to think nothing of it; to waste time on idle thoughts! we could dream up mighty fine blue tomorrows asking ourselves all the dead long night questions which we damn well knew the answers. you were never stupid, brother. you always knew. you were stupid for his sake. for what you knew offended him. you wanted so badly. so badly wanted to love someone. you didn't care who. nobody mattered. nobody could ever matter. these fake things you only needed to feel. all the fake things all the people needed to feel. you're not a real person. there are no real people. all your generosity could ever breed was lies (69) :-- false hopes to string along days hopin to milk a smile from the deadwood -- and was it worth it? was it worth a drizzle of secretions pulpy with splinters too soggy to prickle or pad, let alone velvet the vulva? what could contentment mean to a malcontent, there need bein victors for which we all go to spoils.

brux was starting to shout. shout without a care in the world.

- i care for you all! i want you to be happy! i try my best, but it never seems like anybody cares for ol' brux -- and i don't want em to! i don't want anybody to expect a damn thing from me! i only wish for once somebody'd care about me the way i care about all of you, but i know damn well that's too much to ask -- everybody loves in their own way, but brux needs to be loved in his way, and brux knows he's weird, but, like, should that be brux's problem? as weird as i am, i do so much for all of you, you ought bare the burden of my weirdness! you ought love me in turn the way i love you, even if you find me repulsive -- yes, i want you to return repulsion for repulsion! i do everythin the way you do, and i feel so alone, god, you can't imagine how alone i feel, it just, it just makes me shudder is all -- i'm not weird, i love you -- why do you make me feel weird for how much i love you -- shame on you for making me doubt the basic decency of my love for you.

joey went to brux. with his left hand, he crept around his back, and took him wrist in hand, elbow serpentine in coiling.

- do not think less of yourself, brother. you are a sensitive soul, and a sensitive soul, in spite of itssex, yearns to be fawned upon like a cherished daughter -- but you, bruxer haruspex, my meat hasher and skull smasher, are farther from cherished than you are a daughter.

brux leaned to him. joey only half turned away.

-i was a fool to ever call you cruel, joey. you know damn well how my foolish notions hurt me worse. i wish i was brave as you, joey. that i could turn away from people. turn away from these silly thoughts i need to be happy. i wish i was strong like you. to bare bein so alone -- oh sol polaris, there's nothin i'm more afraid of than endin up all alone!

- we are all alone, bruxer haruspex -- there is nothing to fear in admitting that this is, was, and will always be the truth.

- you make me forget, joey. i never feel like i'm alone when i'm with you. i feel the world turnin when i'm with you. i feel life has purpose -- it's so damn stupid to say, but i love you, i love you.

he loved him.

- i love you, i love you.

- i'm alone. i'm alone.

you were alone.

- how can you be alone when i love you?

- my loneliness -- has nothing to do with your love, cpt. haruspex. i wish it could be different.

- i love you. i love you.

stars spun in the west. stars spun in the east. stars spun above and stars spun below. their light could not reach the others.

- i wish your love meant something to me. i would love to love you, cpt. bruxer haruspex. your eager soul. your gullible heart. your pure and idiotic love. i wish i could feel for you what you feel for me, but i know --

- that i'm not worth it.

- yes.

- that i'll never be worth it.

- never say never -- again. 

- you love me, joey. you truly love me.

- yes.

- you waste time with me, hopin i'll get it.

- i wish i could tell you.

- i wish i could listen.

joey's hand met brux's shoulder. brux's hand met joey's shoulder. they met one another. their leather crunched in slow expanse.

they wanted to laugh.

cpt. laika stood forward.

- your transparency has been a continuous source of inspiration to us, cpt. haruspex. you are second in my heart only to the major's indomitable frame, as his is second only to cpt. schriebermachen's brazen and impenetrable breast -- he the cage which encloses and protects our still beating heart with the warm quills of his tar-black wings. i believe we will do well to take cpt. schreibermachen's words into our own --

- transparency. frame. heart. you're not the planeteers!

- be silent, father. i am speaking.

[   ]

... there is no environment. i am the environment. you can't quiet me! i quit! i quit ... i don't know you! you don't belong here! 

you let the silence linger. you stood in father's office without him. watching the floors. watching one another.

- as a greater man once said with less |. -- it is truly arrogance to resent the inevitable course of my rightness. 

you walked out the door. laika locked it behind him. lux sat with his legs curled on the floor, playing with a replica miniature saw-horse he saw. wally was miles away, five feet from here. brux did well to uphold the complete and utter facade of his obliviousness.

jacek was in your eyes. he was lost inside your eyes. you wanted to reach over and to hold him, but you couldn't. you wouldn't be able to regain your composure -- if you leaned over and tried to ... look something.

how could he bare it?

the influx of agony in your eyes? coring him like the flesh from an orange. how could he bare yours when you could barely bare his?

joey bore the weight of the silence. as he was singular in attack, so too was he singular in retreat. the vagueness after victory which is not retreat, but return. the sudden weight of having no further height, and so having nowhere to go, only gliding down, not into lowness, but calmness. to settle in that way which so superficially resembles defeat.

joey put his arm on laika's shoulder. he was holding him. their leather would crunch as he would hold him. their eyes followed in the gloss as he held him. it made your dick hard to watch how he would hold him

- so proud a you, lil bro.

- aye am aye, sir. my name is laika psychorrhax, cpt. templor of the eagle marines, and i have no source but myself. my roots are the trunk of cpt. joseph schreibermachen, as his roots are the trunk of major [                  ]. we fracture space as we fractal one another, trunking in lush fields to tesseracts of sigil'd chaos, that we may branch all aspects of all dimensions at once, to fill all the air with greenery and wood.

- trench my colon like a ditch digger tonight, lil bro.      

.| -- (alas, i am writing!)

joey was like a son to you. joey couldn't have been anymore than two to three years your junior. 

- it's a disease of the mind, sir. virtuous thinking begets only further virtuous thinking. i yearn that we should degrade ourselves, brother, in some fetid pit of despair, where the tangle of our overlapping miseries entombs us in a swampy embrace of your matted fur and hulking frame to my blade and nick begotten flank -- consecrate our brotherhood by bathing me in your rank miasma, sir. i who lash like a cult still brood like a mayor (9 <-o-> 6) ... you fertile moron. 

in the next room, brux was clapping his hands

- well, i think that went a lot better than i expected!

[midseo]

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[angryschnauzer]

Ok imma lil drunk rn but thats besides the point. Incant stop thinking about balconies. Back in my hoe~ing days I used to LOVE BALCONIES. And i cant stop.thinking about getting dicked donw by Henry on a balcony now

Darling, your wish is my command. Sorry this took so long

Room With A View

Summary: Whilst on holiday with Henry in Southern Italy, the sight of you on your hotel room’s balcony is just too much for Henry’s desires.

Pairing: Henry Cavill x Female Reader (no race or size mentioned)

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Exhibitionism, Public Sex, Oral Sex, Biting, Unprotected Sex, Creampie.

I do not run a tag list, instead please follow @angryschnauzerwrites where all of my stories are posted as well. Masterlist got too big for tumblr so can be found on AO3

Resting your camera on the wall of the balcony, you looked over the gorgeous coastline as the sun was starting to set, the white walls of the town buildings shining bright in the oranges and pinks of the sky. A pollen drunk bee bounced from bloom to bloom on the bougainvillea vine that crept up the side of the building and around the balcony, and you watched as it slowly flew away. The warm breeze caressed the bare skin of your legs, your soft dress billowing in the wind as it moved gently around your thighs.

The sound of the shower shutting off brought your attention back to the present, a small smile forming as you thought to the leisurely day of shopping in the boutiques you’d done with Henry, followed by a rather impromptu game of basketball with some local kids in a courtyard when they’d recognised him and had invited him to show them a few moves. You had happily watched from the sidelines, after all your wedge sandals were hardly made for sports, but you had taken joy in seeing Henry work up a sweat despite his soft linen attire.

Upon your return to your hotel suite Henry had decided to take a shower before you went out for dinner, and as much as you’d have liked to join him, it would have taken you considerably longer to get ready afterwards, plus you wanted to get some shots of the sunset.

The view was stunning, snapping a few shots before glancing back at just the right moment to see Henry emerging from the small bathroom, towel tied dangerously low around his hips, skin still glistening as water droplets hung in his chest hair. You silently gnawed at your lip, squeezing your thighs together to try and stem the arousal that was rapidly growing between them, knowing that if you didn’t get the shots of the sunset at that very moment the sun would have set. You should however have known that they were going to be the last shots of the evening you would take, as seconds later his strong arms wrapped themselves around your waist and you felt his chest against your back;

“What’cha doing?” Henry’s deep voice held a timbre of mischief and before you could answer you felt his teeth nibbling against your bare shoulder. Leaning back against his firm body your ass nestled against his crotch and you could feel the tell-tale twitch that told you dinner plans were going to be later than expected. A deep hum of appreciation resonated through his chest, his hands slowly pulling your dress up as he started to fluidly rut his hardening length against your ass, his lips moving to your other shoulder where his sharp teeth started to playfully bite, the pressure increasing as he progressed.

Henry pulled his hips back just a little so he could lift your dress over your ass, a small whistle escaping his lips;

“You mean to tell me you’ve been walking around in this short dress with just this flimsy excuse for underwear on all day?” he hooked his finger beneath the elastic of your lacy thong, pulling it to the side before that same digit found its way to your lips. Another hum of appreciation rumbled through his chest as he found you wet, seeking out your clit and giving it a few circular strokes before trailing his hand down a little to push that finger into your velvet channel;

“Hmmmn, not quite ready for me yet”

Pulling his hand away he quickly spun you to face him, capturing your mouth for a fierce kiss before lifting you as if you weighed little more than a feather to let you sit on the stone surround of the balcony;

“Henry!” you hissed, knowing what he was planning as he quickly got to his knees. Those blue eyes sparkled like the sea that surrounded the peninsular, except there was far more danger in those eyes than the mediterreanan sea. Clinging to the edge of the stone wall you nibbled on your lip as he parted your legs and pressed soft kisses up your inner thighs, before taking hold of your underwear and with one swift tug snapped it at the gusset. His gaze only left yours as he took in your glistening petals, before the blue mischief was back upon you as his wide tongue swept through your folds. 

There was no way of being silent when Henry ate you out, his tongue was everywhere; wide and juicy, he didn’t hold back with his noises of appreciation at the feel and taste of you. For you your precarious position gave another element of excitement, and as you scrambled for something to anchor yourself on one hand found his still shower damp curls, the other grasped at the metal trellis beside you, the pink bougainvillea flowers resting against your hand as your fingers curled around the metal framework holding it up. The rub of his nose against your clit and the days stubble on your softest of skin helped to bring on your orgasm, his tongue deep within you as you soaked his face with your essence, the pleasure surging through you as he held you tight before pulling away just a little to grin at you. Sliding his hand between your legs he gently pushed two fingers inside you, before pulling them out and lifting them to your mouth;

“Taste how sweet you are”

Holding his wrist you took those fingers into your mouth, tasting yourself on his digits as you sucked at them. Looking down you saw how his towel had parted where his thighs were wide apart, his fat cock standing hard and proud from between the pristine white of the towel. With his fingers still in your mouth he stood and wriggled his hips just slightly to let the towel fall to the floor. Towering over you he made you feel tiny as you sat on the balcony wall, pulling his fingers from your mouth;

“Good girl. Now turn around and bend over”

There was no arguing or disagreeing, you wanted to do it and followed Henry’s firm command, gasping as he kicked your legs further apart and you felt the blunt tip of his weeping cock slide through your folds before catching on your empty hole. With a grunt he thrust into you, growling as your walls hugged his flesh so tight at the thick insertion parting your insides. 

“Oh fuck” you muttered, breathless as your body struggled to get used to being so full. No matter how many times the two of you had sex, each time felt like the first all over again, your body struggling to take his girth before it finally yielded and you felt pleasure like you’d never felt before.

Henry was a force of nature when he fucked you, the raw power in his body meant you had three orgasm’s for every one of his, your mind as fucked as your pussy would be from the amount of serotonin in your bloodstream where you would end up lust drunk afterwards. As he ploughed into your body you struggled to stifle the sounds of ecstasy bubbling from your lips, before with a grunt he pulled you flush with his chest, one hand wrapped around your ribcage as the other covered your mouth;

“So fucking good, your cunt feels so tight as you cum…” his teeth bit into your neck as his hips worked quickly, the pleasure pain signals hitting your brain drawing another orgasm from you as Henry started to chase his own. His hips slammed into your behind, the sound of flesh upon flesh making it painfully obvious to anyone within earshot what was happening on the shrouded balcony above them as they walked along the footpath below. Screaming into his hand you came again, and with one final thrust Henry pushed deep and you felt him release his thick load deep inside you. 

For the longest moment he just held you, pressing soft kisses to your shoulders whilst still nestled deep within you, before he softened and pulled out, turning you in his arms to just hold you tenderly;

“Still want to go out for dinner tonight? Or would you prefer room service”

“Just give me a moment to clean up then we can try that seafood bistro we passed this afternoon”

A few moments later you had emerged from the bathroom having cleaned up best you could, adding a touch of makeup before stepping into the room and grinning at Henry as you shimmied out of the ruined panties and tossed them in the wastebasket in the corner. Grabbing your purse you smiled at Henry and hooked your arm through his as he paused;

“You don’t want to put replacements on?”

“Nope” you grinned at him, knowing the thought of you going commando would drive him insane for the whole meal.

“You wicked woman. We’re gonna need to get a table with a cloth on it so people can’t see my dick getting hard at the thought of your cum soaked pussy bare for me”

With a grin you pulled him out of the door, knowing it would be a quick meal and you’d be back fucking in the room sooner than you expected.

[eclipsenoir]

hey guys whats going on in h [sees the flayed corpse of god] ohhhh fuck. oh shit

In the winter time, when everything outside of arms-length proved itself much too far out of reach, the nearest McDonald’s in service squatted two and a half blocks away from campus base. When drunk, sleepless and freezing, it was a four block’s distance from starvation incited by alcohol instead. And naturally this wasn’t accounting for any sort of vehicle in the mix, or other hurdles such as roadside construction and forgotten phones on a nightstand that wasn’t his. Yet still, Taeil knew that the unforgiving journey could only be made on liquescent knees.

Twelve, on the dot. January first graced the masses like a gunshot fired blind. Not a bullet for the clouds, where birds and bees would scatter from it to where startled deities hid. But downward between the toes, bullet to a layer of ice of a lake top that’d frozen over. With his knee wedged between two soft thighs and his mouth dripping of kisses full of reluctance, Taeil inched across the surface on bare, burning feet--until it began to crack beyond repair and callused guitarist hands were pushing at his shoulders in second thought, a minute or two past twelve. Flames swept the sky outside. Let’s stop seeing each other for good, Taeil heard in a detached whisper, and knew that there was no turning back from this conclusion. Not this time.

Where he landed first was Hanjae’s beer soaked floor, joining cans dropped and spilled by their haphazard staggering towards the bed earlier. Then came the cracked leather stool of a pub down the street—Rouge, which was frequented by other students especially for the sensual ambience and cheap alcohol. 

Here he picked up his roommate, Kang Jisoo. Found the guy huddled up in one of four corners with some girl that acted more like a hostage than a date on his arm. Jisoo was a lightweight, and talked with a lawless sort of zeal. He was the type who savoured every word he could taste, no matter how viable. Taeil had spent enough–too much time with him to know that it got even less merciful when liquor was in control of his tongue, making him overwhelming as he were inviting, hence, that poor girl. What was her name again? But Taeil couldn’t judge, as he, himself was no better. They tag teamed her ears off.

One too many drinks and girls to count eventually, he finally found himself at Ronald’s doorstep with morning on his trail. Feet numbed by frosty needles and clutching both halves of his heart raw. A storm of hunger pangs and something like dread crowded his stomach from where he sank and anchored on the steps. But an hour still pillared between him and the morning’s special menu, so succumbing to bleeding out his guts on the pavement meanwhile, Taeil began to deeply regret forgoing socks for swag. And falling in love.

In the winter time, it seemed that heartbreak was but an accidental bullet wound.

The early morning draft pressed a sizeable yawn across him as their mutual first greeting of this year; an icy chance at a new beginning. Playing coy with how it tousled locks dyed light brown to and fro, and turned bronze flesh to gold. Reminding Taeil why he’d always liked this hour, since he were young. Of times when he’d wake before the rest of the world and had a spare hour to play in his father’s belongings. Finding traces of work, stray pens and notes in jackets that weighed his small body down on polished hardwood. A pseudo-embrace, before the real thing. They smelled like him, too.

He felt the forgiving lightness of a clean slate settle over the now-grown shoulders he squared and relaxed, and welcomed it kindly with a yawn of his own. A whispered wish to finally settle from the partying and what’d sent him in such a fit in the first place follows, breath smoking, then caught by steady winds. I want to eat.

He didn’t hear any approaching footfalls, or any approaching anything for that matter. Not until a familiar voice came announcing company, as it shivered through a passing draft on the landscape. “...Maybe I shouldn’t have let you drink so much next time. Yiiiikes.”

Jisoo was standing above him, seeming to be weighing out several options for what sort of arbitrary, made up and personally spoken for ailment to diagnose his friend with. For a curious interval, something charged stirred in the air between them. A telepathic understanding only the two of them could translate. Then in wake of this, the bastard adopted a pearly white grin, knowing very well what plagued his roommate at such an holy hour. 

Taeil stood, suddenly defensive. If it weren’t for his vision pole dance spinning with the effort for stability, he would’ve kicked the other. “No, fuck you, I’m fine. Don’t you dare mention anything else or I swear– What took you so long? I’m fuckin’ dying here.”

“What?! Oh, don’t be so dramatic.” Jisoo waved him off. “I was just trying to figure out the address so I don’t take any wrong turns! This place is kind of obscure y’know...”

“Yah, dumbass. It’s literally right in front of the bus stop, not even three blocks away from campus. You could’ve even taken the bus.”

“Ah, whatever. Whatever, crazy guy. That’s behind us now, don’t dwell on the past so much. Let’s go in, I’m thirsty.” Jisoo said, while seeking purchase of Taeil’s arm to hang off of, like a schoolgirl. Something he’d been doing often lately. “Come on.”

Taeil shoved him off, casual cruelty in his gesture. “It’s not opened yet. Get off me–”

“It’s not?!” Jisoo scurried to the front door and pressed his forehead against the glass, a peek inside revealing a barren silence of ghosts and seats. It brushed his grin off into a pout, cheek replacing his forehead. “Shit, I came so early for nothing... I’m starving.”

“You were supposed to leave that girl to come for me, you ass. Not the damn burgers!”

“Oh, I was? Oops, heh.”

“Yah-”

Then came the hour of verity; a breakfast fit only for kings, and Ronald. Over-excitement and lackluster rationality had prompted Taeil to forget the breakfast menu even existed, thus post wrestling Jisoo from his fair earned honour of being their first customer of the year, he’d demanded a double cheese burger in the place of fresh hotcakes. All before he could realize again where he were. An hour full of blood, sweat and sweet, salty tears had lead to this colloquial disaster. To commemorate such honourable chivalries, as Taeil masked it out to be instead, they found a comfortable blind spot in the back corner of the restaurant to officially start their campaign, free of interruptions.

A particularly intense game of footsie started below as wrappers scrunched and rustled like bushes, suspended at the underbelly of their table, though by the third round, begrudged interruptions began to plague Taeil’s copious kingdom. He was near sweating and hanging on a blunt verge of winning his first round when Jisoo’s phone hiccupped a text from Byeol, asking for them to come by later to plan something for Jisoo’s birthday the next day. A gentle tug of the leash.

They obliged with no choice but. Stumbled to Byeol’s parents’ apartment together with nothing but their wallets and impending hangovers. Taeil could barely mourn the loss of his ankles.

/

“You two’re still doing that?” Hansol addressed the two hyungs shortly after their arrival, having soon noticed the crossed arms they held behind their backs like crossed swords. Specifically, he were referring to how Taeil and Jisoo kept their palms pocketed in the other’s pants whenever they were drunk together. It’d started as a joke in sophomore year after being teased for getting along so well, so soon, though since then, it was chucked to tradition.

Their thing, which they took and ran with—as a means of not losing each other, they tirelessly explained to their friends, time and time again, including this one.

“...Right.” Hansol snorted, incredulous but choosing against an argument.

“Did you guys start without us?” Observed Taeil, eyes noting the phones sitting unlocked on the floor where their friends were all gathered. He avoided eye contact with Hanjae like a lifeline, though. You shouldn’t even be here. Thankfully, no one noticed or dared mentioning the awkwardly yawning distance they kept from each other, all of a sudden–as opposed to how intimate they usually were.

“Yeah, kind of.” Byeol chimed in offer. “You took toooo long.” 

“We. were. eating!” Jisoo explained again from Taeil’s left, or at least tried. Exasperation made his already soft tone jump octaves to a funny little squeak, and even more so in the end in response to Taeil abruptly giving his ass a final squeeze. Then he pushed Jisoo off, so he could join the rest.

“Traitors. Catch us up then.”

“Before we do that go get some water, then shower after.” Hanjae interrupted with cross insistence as Taeil settled far across from him. “Both of you.” He was the only one on the couch, which gave him some semblance of authority over the others who were sprawled across the floor, including Taeil himself. He even pulled a pillow in his lap, as though donning armor and waging for war.

Seojun, the second oldest, Hanjae’s roommate and the most responsible of all of them, followed up in agreement, practically flanking the other hyung. “Yeah, both of you. How long did you two even stay out for?”

“Thanks.” Taeil frowned around his response, defending himself with nonchalance. He purposely dodged the last question as well and rolled over to get up, eager to escape those eyes he’d been drowning in some hours before. In spite of that, he refused to unveil a single layer of his vulnerability while still adjacent to the cause of them. There wasn’t much he could recall anyway. 

“Will do.”

The blond guitarist just rolls his eyes, up and away. And those were the last words they’d uttered in the other’s direction for the rest of the week. 

Later that night, the six of them went out to a local lounge bar in Gangnam which was widely known for its generosity towards customers in celebration. The plan–however flawed, given how horrible they all were at agreeing to just one thing without someone ending up on fire, was to get Jisoo free drinks and somehow strike a bargain with the manager for a couple more, for the rest of them. A scam, basically. But life, as it always did, had other plans. 

Somehow, the night had started with them in the lounge bar and ended them in McDonalds again, sharing three cheeseburgers and two milkshakes that Taeil had to pay for. Six god-awful rounds of blood, sweat and sweet, salty tears playing rock, paper, scissors had lead to such poetically disastrous circumstances. Though for this one he’d spared no praise. Only such ghastly  dread that had him feeling stripped of good fortune in particular, because the one he’d lost to in the end was none other than Hanjae himself.

“Deja vu.”

“That’s not how it works.”

[southeastasianists]

The artefacts had lain in the sea near an isolated rock outcrop, undisturbed for centuries.

Then in 2015, commercial and salvage diver Ahmad Qamarulhazman was scanning for debris underwater near Pedra Branca when he saw what looked like a stack of plates.

But they were covered with so much marine growth - algae, molluscs and other organisms - that he thought it may have been a ship’s radiator. Whatever it was, it didn’t look like it belonged there - wedged between rocks at about 8m underwater.

When Mr Ahmad surfaced, he told his supervisor Ramdzan Salim.

That chance sighting led to the discovery of the first ancient shipwreck in Singapore waters, with the largest haul of blue-and-white porcelain from any documented shipwreck in the world.

"IT'S MIND-BOGGLING"

Pedra Branca, located near the eastern entrance of the Strait of Singapore, is off-limits to most people. The subject of a territorial dispute between Singapore and Malaysia since 1979, the Hague determined in 2008 that it belonged to Singapore.

What prompted divers to head down was a maritime accident on Dec 30, 2014.  

A Singapore-registered barge, POE Giant 12, had run aground at Pedra Branca due to bad weather. The barge was carrying two bulk loader cranes and they were in danger of toppling on Pedra Branca’s historic Horsburgh Lighthouse.

As part of the salvage operation, the cranes were blown up and the divers were there to clear the debris from the explosions.

On that salvage operation in 2015, Mr Ahmad had been on his last dive and they were making sure scraps of metal from the demolished cranes were cleared.

Instead, he found celadon plates lost in the sea since the 14th century.

Back then, his supervisor Mr Ramdzam was sceptical when he was told about the items Mr Ahmad saw.

The waters around Pedra Branca were rough. How could ceramic or porcelain plates survive such conditions, as well as the construction of the lighthouse in 1851 and the explosions that had just gone off?

“It’s mind-boggling, isn't it?” Mr Ramdzam told CNA in an interview at his home on Wednesday (Jul 7).

“To us, especially, (who were) on the job - we were dealing with explosives … And on the very last day when Ahmad did the post-removal survey, we find fragile stuff still intact - literally like an elephant stepping on an egg!”

“Maybe it's fate - that these things wanted us to find them,” he added.

CLUES FROM EMPRESS PLACE EXCAVATION

When their work was done, a small group of divers went out in a dinghy and retrieved a few marine growth-encrusted plates from the seabed - but it was a mystery what they were and how they ended up there.

Mr Ramdzan, 49, recounted how at a team dinner later, someone alerted him to television news footage of excavation findings at Empress Place.

He caught only a glimpse of the news broadcast, but when he read the newspapers the next day, he saw a plate that looked exactly like one of those he had retrieved from Pedra Branca.

Archaeologists had discovered Chinese imperial grade ceramics among other artefacts at Empress Place. Lead archaeologist Lim Chen Sian said then that the artefacts could reveal details about life in Singapore before the early colonial days.

Archaeological digs since then have found artefacts dating back to the 13th century, substantiating the belief that Singapore was a trade hub before colonial times.

It took a while for Mr Ramdzan to reach the right person at the National Heritage Board (NHB). At the same time, he had also contacted an auction house. But when someone at NHB got back to him, he turned down an offer from the auction house to evaluate the items.

Mr Ramdzam recalled that they rode to a meeting at the ISEAS – Yusof Ishak Institute with the plates in a box perched on his motorcycle.

“We put them out on the meeting table ... and we can see their amazement ... we'd got some good pieces,” he said.

NERVOUS, UNSURE

Nine months later, Mr Ramdzan and Mr Ahmad, 33, were back at Pedra Branca with a small team from NHB and ISEAS, including Dr Michael Flecker, a visiting fellow at the archaeology unit at ISEAS - Yusof Ishak Institute.

The divers were initially nervous as they were unsure what exactly they had found.

“Could it be that those pieces we first found were the only ones there?” Mr Ramdzan said. “And then we mobilised the whole team ... only to find an empty seabed.”

But Dr Flecker came up from his first dive with a Chinese seal, said Mr Ramdzan, confirming that there was a wreck there. It was later said to be about 100m to the northwest of Pedra Branca.

During future expeditions, the treasures that were recovered included Longquan dishes and bowls, as well as blue-and-white porcelain pieces, either whole or in shards. But there were nearly no traces of the vessel that had carried them.

At a press conference revealing the haul on Jun 16, Dr Flecker, who has more than 30 years of experience in marine archaeology, said: “Remarkably, the first ancient shipwreck found in Singapore waters seems to be contemporary with 14th century Temasek.

“Apart from a large cargo of Longquan green-ware and other ceramics, she carried more Yuan dynasty blue-and-white porcelain than any other documented shipwreck in the world. Many of the pieces are rare, and one is believed to be unique.”

That piece was a blue-and-white bottle with a flanged straight neck that was still intact.

IT TAKES A TRAINED EYE

Juggling work and other commitments, Mr Ramdzan went on six other trips to Pedra Branca with the team over the next five years. But Mr Ahmad could not join any of the expeditions due to his work.

Mr Ramdzan said each trip began at the break of dawn. They would take more than three hours to sail from Singapore to the islet, then do two dives before heading back, reaching the mainland at about 8pm.

Excavation of the shipwreck’s contents went on until 2019, but the team continued work on another shipwreck that was found from detection surveys conducted by ISEAS in the area.

The second shipwreck is likely to be the Shah Munchah, a merchant vessel built in India, which sank while voyaging from China back to India in 1796.

Artefacts recovered from this wreck include Chinese ceramics and copper-alloy, glass and agate objects, as well as anchors and cannons of the ship.

How did delicate porcelain plates and ceramic artefacts lay under the waves for 700 years undiscovered?

Many were hidden in rocks or buried in the seabed, said Mr Ramdzan. For the first shipwreck, the items that were exposed were covered in marine growth or coral and it took a trained eye to recognise the treasures that lay barely 100m from Pedra Branca.  

What will go on display at the museum has been thoroughly cleaned and scrapped to reveal the original designs and carvings that lie beneath.

"INDIANA JONES"

A commercial diver since the age of 17, Mr Ramdzan had been on four wreck expeditions, the most memorable being the Tek Sing in 1999. Then, he helped retrieve more than 350,000 pieces of porcelain from the 19th-century Chinese junk, which sank to the bottom of the South China Sea in 1822 off the island of Bangka in Indonesia.

Wreck salvaging is rarer for Mr Ahmad, who in 2015 also joined Dr Flecker in searching for artefacts on the Empress of Asia, which was sunk by the Japanese in 1942. Such jobs are “rare”, he said.

Often, they would be called upon when ships are on fire, had run aground or when there is an oil spill or the threat of one.

“We respond to disasters globally worldwide pretty much like the fire service,” said Mr Ramdzan.

“Especially in the salvage industry, it's a dirty job ... You'll be diving in oil, you'll be diving in less than ideal conditions, in cargo holds or inside engine rooms,” he said.

“It is very rare that you actually dive in blue or clear waters.”

For them, salvaging wrecks is a “good break” from their daily jobs, said Mr Ramdzan.

And it was clear from Mr Ramdzan’s flat in the west of Singapore that he has a soft spot for things lost underwater. The living room was like a maritime museum, filled with artefacts he has reclaimed from the ocean.

“Someone labelled me as an ‘Indiana Jones’ because most of the things that I collect are novelty items from jobs,” he said.

“Most of the things that I put on display tell a story in their own way and some of them I wouldn't trade for all the riches in the world because I know there's only like one of them.”

[reyescarlos]

51 with Tarlos please and thank you. AND I’m glad my yelling at you meant I could send in this request. Please expect more yelling, always.

you are my biggest bully but also my greatest motivator. thank you for your service, ma’am. 

#51 “You had another nightmare, didn’t you?”

Carlos wakes up, his shirt sticking to his back, his face covered in a light sheen of sweat. He struggles to catch his breath as he sits up, a hand flying to his chest over his quickly beating heart. This sensation is nothing new and yet it still floors Carlos each time he wakes up like this.

After these last two weeks he should be used to it.

He looks to the left in bed but of course the space is empty. TK is at his own house, in his own bed, undoubtedly fast asleep like any rational person would be at this hour.

Carlos settles his back against the headboard, his stomach twisted into knots. He tries in vain to get his heart to stop racing, to settle himself and find some semblance of calm. It’s not an easy task and as the seconds tick by, Carlos realizes that this may not be a job he can handle on his own. He hesitates before reaching over to his nightstand and disconnecting his phone from the charger. His eyes adjust to the bright screen before him boldly stating that it’s 2:17 in the morning.

He knows he shouldn’t call. It’s the middle of the night, a time when a phone call could make a person jump to horrible conclusions. This is hardly an emergency; he isn’t in any danger but TK is something of an anchor for him, his voice alone enough to settle him on even his worst days. It’s selfish, he thinks, to trouble his boyfriend now but if he could speak to him for even a few seconds, Carlos thinks it will lull him back to what hopes will be a peaceful sleep. Before he can put too much thought to it, Carlos presses TK’s name in his contacts and puts the phone to his ear.

Four rings chime and Carlos contemplates hanging up just then before there’s a break.

“Carlos?” TK asks, his voice heavy with sleep. Carlos mentally kicks himself.

“You were sleeping. Of course you were. I’m so sorry. Go back to bed.”

TK clears his throat on the line before speaking. “Not a chance. Are you hurt? What’s going on? Talk to me. Is everything okay?”

Carlos licks his chapped lips and sniffs, shaking his head even though TK cannot see him. Concern is so heavy in TK’s voice. He can just picture the troubled look his boyfriend must be sporting now to go with it.

“I’m alright, really. I’m at home and I’m okay. I shouldn’t have worried you. Goodnight,” he quickly says before hanging up.

TK calls back but Carlos doesn’t pick up, feeling foolish for calling his boyfriend in the dead of night just because he had a bad dream. It makes him feel like he’s a kid again, racing straight to his parents room and wedging himself between them when he got spooked during a storm or couldn’t rest.

He’s an adult now—and a cop no less. Feeling brave should be common practice for him. Roping TK into this mess was a grave oversight on his part. He feels guilty for not answering but embarrassment flares throughout him, burning in the pit of his stomach.

Carlos does his best to fall back asleep on his own and shake the images that flitted through his mind earlier but the task is far easier said than done. It’s all too easy to recall that call from two weeks ago.

He’s curled onto his side, still wide awake when he hears the chime of the doorbell.

Padding across his room and down the hall to the front door, Carlos flips on the switch for the front step and peers through the peephole.

TK stands there with his hands burrowed into the front pocket of his hoodie, shivering a bit. Carlos hurries to unlock the door, to welcome him in every sense of the word.

“TK, you didn’t have to come over,” he says, moving back to let TK enter.

“You called me at two in the morning. You needed me so I’m here,” he says plainly.

TK steps closer to him, cupping his face. “Maybe now you can tell me what’s keeping you up?” he asks gently.

Carlos sighs and closes back the door, flicking the lock. TK keeps his eyes fixed on him, clearly not willing to let up on getting to the bottom of this. Carlos appreciates the concern but it only makes him feel more foolish for reaching out in the first place.

“It’s so embarrassing,” he says, rolling his eyes at himself.

Even just saying that much aloud makes him feel ridiculous but from the way TK’s brows furrow, he can tell his boyfriend views things differently.

“You had another nightmare, didn’t you?”

There’s nothing accusatory or judgemental in his tone at all and it makes Carlos love TK all the more. Finding the words to admit to what led to him calling felt insurmountable. But of course TK would be able to fill in the blanks.

For two weeks since his unit was called to an active shooter scene, Carlos has been haunted by the things he witnessed that afternoon. He’s done his best to shake it off and some nights are truly easier than others to endure. But TK has borne witness to Carlos’ fitful rests, been there right beside him when Carlos wakes up shakily from dreaming.

Carlos shudders in spite of his best efforts to control it but the memory of the shootout is so vivid. His dream recounted it all in stunning clarity to the point where it felt as if Carlos had somehow gone back in time and was sincerely living that horrific day over.

He’s only able to nod, his body feeling cold.

TK sighs in understanding, wrapping his arms around Carlos and rubbing his back soothingly.

“That was a horrible day. It makes perfect sense why it’s still affecting you. You went through something extremely traumatic.”

Carlos groans and breaks away from the hug, walking over to the living room. TK is right on his heels, eyeing him carefully as they sit on the couch.

“I’m a police officer. I should be able to move on and I swear, that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

“You’re human. It’s only natural that you’d react to something like that. But pretending like it didn’t happen? Not talking about it? That’s not helpful. Trust me,” TK says, that final sentence piercing through.

TK knows about hardships and personal demons. He’s been so candid about his past and it never fails to make Carlos’ heart swell with pride seeing how far TK has come in all the months that they’ve known each other.

“Maybe I could take some time off, just for a little while,” he suggests.

“I think that’s a great starting point, definitely.”

“Guess it also couldn’t hurt to talk to someone about it either.”

TK smiles widely at this and nods, kissing Carlos’ cheek. “I like the sound of that.”