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Illinois Fire Departments are required by State Law to report all fire incidents to the National Fire Incident Reporting System (NFIRS). NFIRS is administered by the United States Fire Administration. Illinois Fire Departments are required to submit their data directly to USFA system. Data submission can be done through directly entering their incidents using the NFIRS 5.70 Data Entry client or by exporting data from third party vendor software. NFIRS 5.70 is a modified and improved National Fire Incident Reporting System that has been designed as a tool for FDs to report and maintain computerized records of fires and other FD incidents in a uniformed manner. NFIRS 5.0 was developed by the United States Fire Administration (USFA) in partnership with National Fire Information Council (NFIC). Additional information on NFIRS 5.70 can be found by visiting www.nfirs.fema.gov. Third party software must be certified by the USFA. For a list vendor certification, information please visit www.nfirs.fema.gov/vendors/.
The Illinois Office of the State Fire Marshal will be hosting NFIRS Trainings across the State
in September, 2014. The trainings will cover basic coding and functions of the DET
(NFIRSv592), Web Based Tools and DEBI (Online Reporting).
Departments are encouraged to bring a laptop with the DET download. Each department is
limited to two (2) attendees due to limited seating. The training is FREE, and is on a first
come, first serve basis.
Training will be offered at the following locatrons on the folllowing dates.
September 2nd, 6:00-10:00 p.m., Carbondale FD, 401 N. Glenview, Carbondale, IL
September 3rd, 6:00-10:00 p.m., Effingham FD, 505 W. Fayette Ave., Effingham, IL
September 11th, 6:00-10:00 p.m., OSFM, 1035 Stevenson Dr., Springfield, IL
September 18th, 8:00 a.m.-12:00 p.m.. Chicago Ridge FD, 10063 Virginia Ave., Chicago Ridge, IL
September 18th, 6:00-10:00 p.m., Colona FD, 401 1st, Route #84, Colona, IL
Registrations are due by August 15th, 2014
Please see the link below for instructions and registration form
NFIRS Training Registration Form [PDF 40 Kb]
Third Party Vendor Users:
It has come to my attention that departments using third party vendors may not be checking their conformation email zip files after import. Please be aware that the email received after an import does not guarantee that your incidents were imported. Departments must always open their zip files to check for amount of incidents successfully uploaded, correct dates, errors and exceptions. Please see the attached document with directions on how to check your zip files from the import email.
DET (NFIRSv) and Third Party Vendor Users:
It is imperative that fire departments check the data in the NFIRS database from time to time. Below are instructions on how to use SORT reports to not only check your monthly incident counts, but to look at your data from many different angles:
To check reports by month, follow the instructions below:
Thank you for helping make NFIRS better and stronger. We not only use and look at statistics on a State level, but trends are evaluated constantly nationally. Please know your contribution of data is making a difference to strengthen the fire service and save lives.
Error Correction Procedure for Firehouse ThirdParty Users [PDF, 155Kb]
If you have any questions, Please please contact our office.
The USFA is having a lot of issues with the NFIRS system. We made a convenient page with the latest and other relevant notices. Please visit the USFA Notices page to see these notices.
The Illinois Office of the State Fire Marshal requires fire departments to be compliant with their NFIRS reporting to be eligible for state grants and loans programs. We strongly suggest that Illinois Fire Departments report all of their activities in the NFIRS system. In order to be NFIRS compliant, departments only need to complete fire incident reports or applicable "No Activity" Reports (if the department had no fire incidents that month). Departments are required to submit their monthly incidents by the 15th of following month.
Once you complete your reports, please (upload the incidents if you are using a 3rd party vendor) follow the new procedures below: You are no longer required to send a monthly email to the NFIRS Staff. Make sure you click on the links below & verify/correct your data.
Data quality verification will be implemented on all incidents that contain a response time of over 30 minutes, any invalid incidents, incidents with a dollar loss of over one million dollars and all civilian and fire service casualties.
The agency has built a database server, which has a copy of Federal NFIRS data. We import data from the USFA twice a month, on the 5th and 20th of each month. A report is then generated which shows each department's NFIRS reporting status. There are two reports posted to the web. The first report shows NFIRS Compliance by Fire Department. The second report shows NFIRS incidents by Illinois Fire Departments categorized by Incident Type. This file can be accessed directly at the following link.
NFIRS Compliance Report by Fire Department [PDF, 1.5MB]
NFIRS Statistical Report by Fire Department [PDF, 2.8MB]
Illinois Fire Departments may request NFIRS retraining. You can come to our office for retraining any Monday through Thursday, 9am - 4pm. if four or more departments participate, we are available to do sessions at your fire department. Please contact our office for all retrain requests.
We import all federal NFIRS data into a local database. This import is done on the 5th and 20th (or next working day) of each month. We use this database to generate statistical reports. A State Overview Report is generated for the current year and two previous years' data. Click on the following link for this report [PDF, 1.11MB].
Please contact our office if you have any questions or issues about your NFIRS reporting. Please include your FDID number when you fill out the contact form.
Yes. Fire Departments are required by legislation to report monthly. Electronic reports are due the 15th of each month following the occurrence of the incident. Example: Incidents that occur in January are due by February 15.
Yes. If your department had no activity of any type for the month, you must complete an electronic No Activity report. The report date should be the last date of the month you are reporting for and the incident number should be seven zeros (0000000).
Yes. Multiple months may be exported to one file depending on the size. However, to be NFIRS compliant, you are required to report your incidents monthly. Please reference http://www.nfirs.fema.gov/webtools/biu/biuinfo.shtm for more information.
You must log into USFA at least once every 30 days to keep your account active. Passwords are required to be changed every 89 days. If you need help resetting your password, please contact us.
Any software approved by USFA may be used to generate and/or upload reports. Free software provided by the USFA may be downloaded at http://www.nfirs.fema.gov/NFIRSWebTools/UserServices/home/userHome.do. You may also see a list of Active and Registered vendors at http://www.nfirs.fema.gov/vendors/
Yes. Any civilian fire-related deaths must be reported to the OSFM within 24 hours of the death. Please call, fax or email the office with the name, sex, date of death and FDID number. Follow up by completing the civilian casualty module.
Yes. At the state level, property & content loss for fires must be included on your report. This section of the report is not admissible in court and is an estimate only. You may visit www.saylor.com to obtain a more accurate estimate. Use www.kbb.com for vehicle fire estimates. Three types of incidents that do not need the property/content loss are: 1) If your department is giving mutual aid, 2) Outside trash/rubbish fires (contained) or 3) Non-fire coded incidents.
At the state level, Illinois requires departments receiving aid to add the FDID# to the report. Incident numbers are not required to be added at this time. A list of FDID numbers is available on the OSFM website at http://www.sfm.illinois.gov/fireservice/fdlist.aspx.
Any changes, announcements or updates will be posted on the OSFM website at http://www.sfm.illinois.gov/fireservice/nfirs.aspx or sent by email to your OSFM email account at: http://fdmail.sfm.illinois.gov/. If you need help with your OSFM FD Mail Account, please send us a request using our contact us section on the main NFIRS page.


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Company:Foshan Shi Shunde Qu Mei Dian Chu Gui You Xian Gong Si
Common Name:Foshan Shunde Melodic Kitchen Products Co., Ltd.
SGS Serial NO.:QIP-ASR1311303
Audit Date:Nov 14, 2013
Report Price:US $39.50 (Payment Method)
The payment is for the Audit Report of this company.

subset: commoncrawl


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Baseball: Slammers rally past Normal CornBelters 8-4
By Tim Tierney For Sun-Times Media June 18, 2014 7:14PM
The Slammers' Adam Giaclone waits for a pitch Wednesday vs. normal. | Tim Tierney/For Sun-Times Media
Article Extras
Updated: July 21, 2014 3:32PM
Down 4-1 when rain arrived in the fourth inning, the Joliet Slammers had nearly 90 minutes to regroup and start over Wednesday against the Normal CornBelters.
"Any time you have a rain delay you kind of relax, you get out of game mode,'' Marquis Riley said. "But we did a good job of staying in it. We had guys stay in the dugout, guys went and hit on the tee. I think that contributed later in the game.''
Riley contributed a three-run homer in a six-run seventh inning that gave Joliet an 8-4 victory and ended Normal's six-game win streak in front of a crowd of 2,648 on Day Camp Day at Silver Cross Field.
"I tried to put the first part of the game behind me,'' Joliet manager Jeff Isom said. "I liked the end when we scored all those runs.''
"That was big time,'' Riley said of the comeback. "We had guys get on at the top of the order. We put 'em in scoring position and we got big hits when we needed to.''
The Slammers (13-16) began the seventh-inning rally with one-out singles by Adam Lewis (2-for-4, 2 runs) and Max Casper (2-for-4, run).
Lewis scored when Jose Garcia reached on an error, and Russell Moldenhauer singled to drive in Casper and make it a 4-all game.
Normal first baseman Aaron Dudley dropped a popup at the Slammers' dugout to keep Grant DeBruin in the batter's box.
"I thought he caught it and the ump said, 'Nope, dropped it,' '' DeBruin said. "Very thankful for having a second chance.''
Two pitches later, DeBruin's third hit of the game scored Garcia to put Joliet ahead 5-4. Riley followed by launching the first pitch over the right-field wall for an 8-4 cushion.
"Hanging slider,'' he said. "I was sitting fastball and just kind of reacted to it.''
Joliet starting pitcher Kody McFarland allowed all four runs on six hits and two walks before yielding to Sam Moore after 31/3 innings.
"Pitching, we struggled to command our fastball and worked a lot of deep counts. It wasn't good,'' Isom said. "I think that rain helped us out a little bit, kind of cleared our heads a little, got back to work.''
Santo Manzanillo (1-2, 2.57 ERA) worked the sixth and seventh to get the win while Brett Zawacki and Jordan Wellander pitched the eighth and ninth, respectively.
Adam Giacalone had an RBI single in the sixth to cut Normal's lead to 4-2. Jose Garcia's sacrifice fly had made it 4-1 in the third.
Ozney Guillen, son of former White Sox manager Ozzie Guillen, hit his second homer of the season for the CornBelters (13-15).
Joliet's Andrew Busby (1-2, 4.00) is scheduled to pitch the series finale at 7:05 p.m. Thursday.


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Prized cornerback could be on the move as team won't give him contract extension. Terry McCormick
The New York Jets are poised to deal star cornerback Darrelle Revis rather than offer him a contract extension, says the New York Daily News.
Revis has generally been regarded as the best cover corner in the NFL, but the Jets appear in full-blown rebuild mode with new general manager John Idzik at the controls. Jets owner Woody Johnson, per the report, has no intentions of signing Revis to a new deal, so the Jets will try and move him to another team as free agency opens.
Complicating matters is the fact that Revis tore his ACL in September and is still rehabbing the injury, meaning that any team that trades for him can't be exactly sure what they are getting until Revis recovers, which could still take a few more months.
Follow me on Twitter @TerryMc13
Terry McCormick covers the Titans for TitanInsider.com
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He Hasn't Proposed: How Long before Ditching him?
by Marcus Scott Is the alarm of your biological clock ringing on orange alert? Has your ring finger felt light or uncomfortably bare? Is he really the one you want to spend your life with? Oh, the questions of settling down! If you're lucky to have found the right guy to share more than your nights with, and have been dating... CONTINUE READING 10


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A Reminder About Reminders (Jim Karrh On Marketing)
by Jim Karrh
Posted 11/11/2013 12:00 am
Updated 1 year ago
I didn't expect a knock on our door, and I certainly didn't expect the replacement washing machine to show up without warning.
The Karrh household had reason to believe the washer would be delivered soon, mind you, but the retailer had said the unit would first come to it from the manufacturer. Once the washer made it to the retailer, it would be scheduled for delivery to our house. Of course, we would get a call in advance.
But there was our spiffy replacement washer, among a group of eight or nine major appliances (what the researchers call "consumer durables") right there on the back of the retailer's delivery truck. We hadn't heard boo from the retailer.
It worked out. Still, it was just luck that someone was at our house to accept delivery. Because one can't just leave a washing machine at the front door, I couldn't help but wonder about the costs (obvious and hidden) of missed deliveries. Wouldn't reminder calls or emails be much more efficient?
Reminders can serve as a manageable bridge between good intentions and follow-through behavior. These days it is so easy to get distracted — hey, shiny object! — or get hit with business fires that need to be extinguished. I need reminders myself.
Many effective marketers have been able to automate reminder activities with their customers. But even a more manual process can be a high-return activity. During my corporate marketing days several years ago, our business included a home and office delivery operation. Most deliveries happened according to the calendar, based on fixed routes and delivery dates. The head of that unit decided to test a "pre-call" program using our call center, through which customers would get a reminder call about their scheduled delivery one or two working days in advance. The result was a positive double whammy on costs (we were more efficient with deliveries when customers expected us) as well as revenue (we had an opportunity to let customers know about seasonal promotions and new products).
The economic benefits to the business of a reminder program hold true across many contexts. For example, according to Oracle, webinar attendance rates bump up by about 15 percentage points when there is a concerted effort to remind registrants (typically one week and then two days in advance of the webinar).
Reminders affect important consumer behaviors aside from purchases. An analysis of 11 different studies, led by Dr. Sarah Fenerty and published in the journal Patient Preference and Adherence, found that on average clinical patients given explicit reminders to take their prescription medication did so at a rate 12 percentage points higher than patients not given reminders (66 percent vs. 54 percent).
A reminder can even work through the rear-view mirror in addition to the windshield. Following a purchase, some marketers create a touch point that not only thanks the buyer but also reminds her why the purchase was a good idea. This tactic helps avoid any potential cognitive dissonance on the buyer's part (where people misattribute their own behavior). This is particularly relevant for fundraising or volunteer efforts.
There is a final set of ancillary benefits you might tap through a reminder program. With the right reminder cadence and message, your customers will feel a greater sense of control over the purchase or service experience (avoiding my "Hey, what's going on?" type of experience with the washing machine). Customers who have a greater sense of control tend to report higher levels of satisfaction and willingness to refer others.
Consider this a friendly reminder.
Jim Karrh of Little Rock is a marketing consultant, researcher, speaker and author. See JimKarrh.com or email him at email@example.com.


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5:30pm to 9:00pm
5:30pm to 10:00pm
5:00PM to 9:00PM
*Open 2 hours before the show
Happy Hour:
click to enlarge
The Queens of Boogie Woogie
April 02, 2013
13th Annual Queens of Boogie Woogie hold onto your seat piano concert.
Tuesday, April 2
8pm $17
Lady Bianca
Sue Palmer
Doña Oxford
Wendy DeWitt
The legendary Queens of Boogie Woogie are back for a 13th year of unpredictable, rollicking and soulful piano. Lady Bianca, Sue Palmer, Doña Oxford and Wendy DeWitt are this year's award winning lineup of highly entertaining piano/vocal stylists. Yoshi's in Oakland welcomes the Queens on Tuesday, April 2 at 8:00pm. The Queens of Boogie Woogie have a reputation for winning loyal audiences who return year after year to enjoy each artist's unique mix of boogie woogie, soul, blues and r&b. With credits that range from Frank Zappa to Otis Rush to Les Nuits des Boogie Woogie, these internationally acclaimed Queens are back to celebrate the 13th season of the West Coast's most entertaining piano celebration.
Lady Bianca is a member of the Blues Hall of Fame and has been crowned the New Queen of the Blues. She's released seven CDs and three of them have been nominated for Grammies. Lady Bianca started her career as a background singer with Frank Zappa, Sly Stone, and Van Morrison. Taj Mahal is one of the many artists Lady Bianca has recorded with.
Lady Bianca is a great talent whose hearty, refreshing approach tugs at the heart while moving the feet. She stakes out a soul/blues/gospel territory uniquely her own. ~ David Freeland, Blues Review Magazine
Wearing a couple of pounds of big cocktail rings on each hand, Sue Palmer wails through a very complete blues keyboard vocabulary. Known widely as San Diego's Queen of Boogie Woogie, Sue has been honored for her cultural contributions by having a day named after her, won the International Blues Challenge Best Self Produced CD award, numerous San Diego Music Awards, and the Jim Croce Award for Excellence and Dedication to Music. Her lifetime favorite performance was a Boogie Woogie Extravaganza honoring the original Queen of the Boogie, 85 year old singer-songwriter-pianist Hadda Brooks who joined Sue, along with Bay area favorite Wendy Dewitt at San Diego's Dizzy's.
Her legs bowed intently, the laughter dancing above her fingertips, like a pool shark she is right on the money. Madame Palmer sets free the walking bass and the eight to the bar so inherent in this style of music. This musician possesses all the secrets of Boogie Woogie. ~ Le Monde, Paris
In a dramatic scene reminiscent of the life story of many a blues legend, Doña Oxford was born in a parking lot in the back seat of an old Chevrolet. Following this ominous introduction Doña has toured all over the world, performed on major motion picture soundtracks, and performed with such legendary performers as Keith Richards, Buddy Guy, Levon Helm, Hubert Sumlin, and her idol, former Chuck Berry sideman and Father of Rock & Roll Piano, Johnnie Johnson. It's all attitude, sultry good looks and a down and dirty beat.
Wendy DeWitt's take on boogie woogie is equal parts Chicago blues and Texas boogie. Her mix of Otis Spann, Sunnyland Slim and Albert Ammons has garnered fans around the globe, top reviews, and live shows that leave the audience on it's feet. "Tour de force performance" – Thomas J. Cullen III/Blues Revue
Wendy DeWitt initiated the first Queens concert in Berkeley 13 years ago and shows have spread to Arizona, Washington and down the coast to LA and San Diego, bringing together a vibrant group of women committed to continuing the tradition of high-energy piano as exemplified by Hadda Brooks and Hazel Scott. This Yoshi's concert will give jazz, boogie woogie, and blues piano fans a night of romping soul satisfaction in California's premier jazz club - a venue fitting The Queens.


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Punishing and atoning: a new critique of penal substitution
- Brent G. Kyle
- … show all 1 hide
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The doctrine of penal substitution claims that it was good (or required) for God to punish in response to human sin, and that Christ received this punishment in our stead. I argue that this doctrine's central factual claim—that Christ was punished by God—is mistaken. In order to punish someone, one must at least believe the recipient is responsible for an offense. But God surely did not believe the innocent Christ was responsible for an offense, let alone the offense of human sin. So, the central factual claim is mistaken. In the final section, I show that this critique of penal substitution does not apply to the closely-related Anselmian satisfaction theory.
- Anselm (1962). Cur Deus Homo. In St. Anselm: Monologium; an appendix on behalf of the fool by Gaunilo; and Cur Deus Homo (2nd ed., Sidney Norton Deane, Trans.). LaSalle, IL: Open Court Publishing.
- Barnett R. (1977) Restitution: A new paradigm of criminal justice. Ethics 87: 279–301 CrossRef
- Boonin D. (2008) The problem of punishment. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge CrossRef
- Calvin, J. (1977). Institutes of the Christian religion (Vol. 1, F. W. Battles, Trans.). Philadelphia: Westminster Press.
- Crisp O. (2008) The logic of penal substitution revisited. In: Tidball D., Hilborn D., Thacker J. (eds) The atonement debate: Papers from the London symposium on the atonement. Zondervan, Grand Rapids, MI, pp 208–227
- Crisp O. (2009) Original sin and atonement. In: Flint T., Rea M. (eds) The Oxford handbook of philosophical theology. Oxford University Press, Oxford, pp 430–451 CrossRef
- De Brès G. (1689) The confession of faith, of the Reformed Churches in the Netherlands. Printed by the Widow of Steven Swart, Amsterdam
- Dickens C. (1992) A tale of two cities. Random House, New York
- Emigrant online: News for the global Irish community (2002). Wexford: Unusual Sanction for Lateness. Retrieved February 13, 2011, from http://www.emigrant.ie/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=11504&Itemid=25.
- Gendin S. (1967) The meaning of 'Punishment'. Philosophy and Phenomenological Research 28: 235–240 CrossRef
- Grensted L. W. (1920) A short history of the doctrine of atonement. The University Press, Manchester
- Horowitz, D. (2001/2010). Ten reasons why reparations for Blacks is a bad idea for Blacks—and racist, too! (pp. 364–366). Oxford: Oxford University Press. Originally posted on frontpagemag.com, January 3, 2001, (Reprinted from Boonin and Oddie, what's wrong? Applied ethicists and their critics).
- Lewis D. (1997) Do we believe in penal substitution?. Philosophical Papers 36: 203–209 CrossRef
- Packer J. I. (1974) What did the cross achieve? The logic of penal substitution. Tyndale Bulletin 25: 3–45
- Péry, A. (1963). Heidelberg catechism with commentary. Philadelphia: United Church Press.
- Porter S. (2002) Rethinking the logic of penal substitution. In: Craig W. L. (eds) Philosophy of religion: A reader and guide. Rutgers University Press, New Brunswick, NJ, pp 596–608
- Porter S. (2004) Swinburnian atonement and the doctrine of penal substitution. Faith and Philosophy 21: 228–241 CrossRef
- Quinton A. M. (1954) On punishment. Analysis 14: 133–142 CrossRef
- Swinburne R. (1989) Responsibility and atonement. Oxford University Press, Oxford CrossRef
- The Holy Bible: New Revised Standard Version (1998). Oxford: Oxford University Press.
- Torrance T. (1992) The mediation of Christ. T&T Clark, Edinburgh
- Title
- Punishing and atoning: a new critique of penal substitution
- Journal
International Journal for Philosophy of Religion
Volume 74, Issue 2 , pp 201-218
- Cover Date
- 2013-10-01
- 10.1007/s11153-012-9382-1
- Print ISSN
- 0020-7047
- Online ISSN
- 1572-8684
- Publisher
- Springer Netherlands
- Additional Links
- Topics
- Keywords
- Punishment
- Atonement
- Penal substitution
- Satisfaction theory
- Authors
- Brent G. Kyle (1)
- Author Affiliations
- 1. Department of Philosophy, United States Air Force Academy, HQ USAFA/DFPY, 2354 Fairchild Drive, USAF Academy, CO, 80840, USA


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Book your room at Atlantis Copacabana Hotel
Please enter your travel dates.
Hotel in Rio de Janeiro (Copacabana) near Arpoador Beach
Located in Rio de Janeiro (Copacabana), Atlantis Copacabana Hotel is minutes from Arpoador Beach and Copacabana Fort.
This hotel is within close proximity of Dorival Caymmi Statue and Devil's Beach.
Make yourself at home in one of the 86 air-conditioned rooms featuring minibars. Complimentary wireless Internet access keeps you connected, and cable programming is available for your entertainment. Bathrooms have rainfall showerheads and complimentary toiletries. Conveniences include safes and blackout drapes/curtains, and housekeeping is provided daily.
Take advantage of recreation opportunities including an outdoor pool and a steam room.
Take advantage of the hotel's room service (during limited hours).
Featured amenities include a computer station, complimentary newspapers in the lobby, and multilingual staff.Information missing or incorrect? Tell us!
At your hotel
At your hotel
Atlantis Copacabana Hotel features an outdoor pool and a steam room. A computer station is located on site and high-speed wireless Internet access is complimentary. A complimentary breakfast is offered each morning. This Rio de Janeiro hotel also offers a rooftop terrace, multilingual staff, and complimentary newspapers in the lobby.
- Total number of rooms - 86
- Number of floors - 11
- Complimentary newspapers in lobby
- Free breakfast
- Computer station
- Free Wi-Fi
- Multilingual staff
- Rooftop terrace
- Porter/bellhop
- Luggage storage
- Beach umbrellas
- Beach towels
- Steam room
- Outdoor pool
Stay connected
Available in all rooms: Free Wi-Fi
Available in some public areas: Free Wi-Fi
In your room
- Air conditioning
- Climate control
- Minibar
- Daily housekeeping
- Complimentary toiletries
- Hair dryer
- Rainfall showerhead
- In-room safe
- Television
- Blackout drapes/curtains
- Cable TV service
- Free Wi-Fi
- Room service (limited hours)
Eat and drink
A complimentary buffet breakfast is served each morning between 6:30 AM and 10 AM.
Room service (during limited hours) is available.
Recreational amenities at the hotel include an outdoor pool and a steam room.
The fine print for Atlantis Copacabana Hotel
When you arrive
Check-in time starts at 2 PM
Minimum check-in age is 18
When you leave
Check-out time is noon
How you can pay
You need to know
Extra-person charges may apply and vary depending on hotel policy.
Government-issued photo identification and a credit card or cash deposit are required at check-in for incidental charges.
Special requests are subject to availability upon check-in and may incur additional charges. Special requests cannot be guaranteed.
- No onsite parking is available.
Only service dogs are allowed
Service animals exempt from fees/restrictions
We should mention
Parents traveling with a child under 18 must present the child's birth certificate and photo ID (passport for foreign visitors) upon check-in. If only one parent or legal guardian is traveling with the child, that parent or legal guardian must also present a notarized consent of travel signed by both parents. Visitors who plan to travel with children should consult with a Brazilian consulate office prior to travel for further guidance. One child 5 years old or younger stays free when occupying the parent or guardian's room, using existing bedding.


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The mining season is nearly half over and paranormal activity has been consistently increasing but, unfortunately for the miners, their profits have not. Still pressing forward deeper into the mountain, the crew is determined to get to that rich face of gold they discovered last season. After the security guard fled the wooded area on the mountain chasing their phantom trespasser shouting about a forest fire, the investigators check out the area.
They realize that Cary, the guard, had fled the area around the burn house and try to determine if there might be the remains of an old Chinese miner cemetery. In their investigation, a full-body shadow figure appears on Kristen's IR camera. They are able to recreate the photo, possibly proving that someone unseen was standing next to a tree, watching them. They conduct an EVP session and call it a night.
When they review the EVP evidence the next morning, Kristen finds a strange response to one of their questions: A distant train whistle they hadn't heard the night before on the mountain. They head to the Sumpter Valley historic railroad to learn more.
Once the lifeline of the valley during the gold rush, the old rail lines were built on such narrow gauges that deadly derailments were a regular occurrence. Carrying everything from supplies and mined gold, the train also carried the bodies of deceased miners. Now, it's a historic site. The depot manager informs them that the train was not running at the time of their EVP session. Kristen and Patrick suspect the train might host residual hauntings, so they ride the train and examine the train yard in the nearby town of McEwan.
As the sun sets, they chase a set of mysterious sounds, including footsteps and strange banging noises from the old railcars. Patrick even picks up a full-figured entity on the IR camera. When they run over to the railcar to investigate, they find no one, but as they conduct an EVP session, more strange noises happen around them. As the train whistle sounds, it's time for them to head back to Sumpter. As the only passengers on the train, Kristen and Patrick have a unique opportunity to conduct a paranormal investigation on the moving train. With EMF spikes and a door that mysteriously opens on its own numerous times, the investigators have a truly spooky experience on the ride back to town.
The next day, the investigators get a call from miner Jay's family, which is staying in town. Jay's son Ashton has something very surprising to share with the Kristen and Patrick: He appears to have captured ghostly evidence of his own in the town the night prior. While having dinner with his family and some of the other miners at the Elkhorn Saloon, Ashton was filming some family footage and captured what he thinks is a shadow figure. Patrick and Kristen are surprised by his compelling footage, and decide to make a visit to the saloon to learn more for themselves.
While the saloon has only been in existence since the 1950s, the site where it stands now was once the old Belvedere Hotel. There, the investigators and Ashton team up to try and debunk his video first. After a few unsuccessful debunking attempts, Kristen and Patrick speak with the owners to learn more about the saloon's checkered history. They learn the saloon has a history of paranormal activity, including many people feeling as though someone is walking by them when there's no one there. They also learn of a widowed woman whose miner husband was killed in the mines; she would come to the saloon every night and eventually drink herself to death. Armed with a little more information about this saloon, Kristen and Patrick set themselves up for an overnight investigation.
With high EMF readings throughout the space because of a large amount of electrical equipment, the investigators can't rely entirely on their EMF readings. They conduct an EVP session, attempting to contact the spirits who may be residually haunting this space. As they ask questions, a pair of pool cues mysteriously fall over in the next room. They continue to hear all noises without a source and Patrick even finds a heat signature with his thermal cam left on one of the chairs along the bar. As the activity dies down, they call it a night.
The next night, the investigators meet with the miners and their families at the bed-and-breakfast in town. They want to be fully transparent with them about their investigations, including what they've been doing and what they found so far, in order to keep the families in the loop. From the train yard to the saloon, the families now understand just how widespread the paranormal activity is through the town. They're appreciative that Kristen and Patrick have been so forthcoming with their evidence.
The next day, the miners are back on the mountain ready to work and get ever closer to that promise of gold. However, an alarming and potentially life-threatening danger waits for them in the distance: A massive forest fire that's headed right for them.
Sometimes what seems easy is actually hardness in disguise as Ty renounces his God spirit and becomes mortal.
Its Loki to the rescue as Mike narrowly escapes being killed by a crossbow-wielding, scripture-quoting God hunter.
Starting January 15, Smackdown moves to Thursdays at 8/7c.


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Rounding out the top 10 are Julia Roberts and Kristen Stewart ($20 million), Katherine Heigl ($19 million), Cameron Diaz ($18 million), Sandra Bullock ($15 million) and Meryl Streep ($10 million).
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tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26471038462293936972014-12-08T00:00:53.246ZFor Every Yearsome kind of thing for every yearCrispin Besthttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-2647103846229393697.post-80762514340749264182014-10-02T21:32:00.000+01:002014-10-02T21:39:01.882+01:001762 c/o David Smith

Neolin's Prayer

The prophet Neolin unfurled the deerskin and, as he completed the circle of kneeling tribesmen by kneeling down himself, he flattened it out on the ground in front of him, placing a small clay pot on each corner to pin it down. He coughed to marshal to attention some whispering members of the assembly, and narrowed his eyes at one particular tribesman, the chief known as Pontiac, whom he was concerned about. Pontiac noticed this, and presumed that he hadn't shown enough deference to the prophet, so he bowed his head, keeping his hands flat on his thighs. Neolin made a less severe facial expression and breathed through his nose.

Neolin felt concern for Pontiac because of some troubling news he had to bestow him. Troubling, because it related to Pontiac's death, which he knew could happen within 7 years – no later than that but possibly sooner – depending on the signs. Stowing away this information in his mind like an evil spirit in a bottle, Neolin began his sermon. Pontiac remained very still.

'This deerskin which you can see here is the Great Book of Writing, which shows the map. The map in the Great Book of Writing shows the path of the soul from this life to the afterlife. The Master of Life wishes you, my followers, to see and to study and to know this path. Hail the Master of Life.'

The assembly all together said, 'Hail the Master of Life. Make us wise.'

Neolin continued. 'The Master of Life wishes for us to say this prayer every morning and night. This is the prayer. It is carved on this stick.'

Neolin retrieved a large wooden stick from his side on which was carved the prayer from the Master of Life. 'And I have more. I have plenty more of these which you can buy afterwards. Come and see me afterwards about these sticks.'

He rammed and twisted it into the ground so that it stood up straight like a small totem pole.

'We say: My Grandfather is the Water. My Grandmother is the Fire. The Earth is my Mother. The Great Spirit is my Father. The World fell at my birth and laid itself at my feet, and I shall swallow the World whole when I die. Hail the Great Spirit; remain close to him.'

The assembly all together said, 'Hail the Great Spirit. We shall remain close to him.'

'The Master of Life also has a message for us, which he told me in a dream. Here is the message which the Master of Life told me in a dream. He told me: The land on which you are, I have made for you, not for others. Why do you suffer the British to dwell upon your lands? Drive them away; wage war against them. I love them not; they know me not. They are my enemies; they are your brothers' enemies. Send them back to the land I have made for them.

'He told me: Unite with your brothers from other tribes. Do not remain divided as you are, for it gives strength to the British. Give up the use of their weaponry too. Hunt not with guns, but with the bow and arrow only. What's more: You should eschew the temptations of the flesh. Eschew as well the European cloths; dress in animal skin only. Eschew alcohol too. Eat dried meat and drink this drink, which will purge you of their poison.'

Here, Neolin paused to pull from behind him a large bowl of frothy grey liquid, and brought forth a wooden vessel from inside his cloak. He indicated that it should be passed round the circle to the right, and that each tribesman should quaff. When the bowl and vessel reached Pontiac, Neolin observed the chief closely for signs.

A sign came. As Pontiac raised the vessel to his lips and drank, a fly flew into his mouth and hit the back of his throat, causing him to sputter and cough and drop the vessel into the bowl of liquid. Some of it splashed onto the mud, and the rest of the tribesmen gasped and looked to Neolin to tell them how to feel about this. Neolin only waited to see what Pontiac would do. One tribesman let out a brief burst of cachinnation, but managed to stifle it like a strangled raccoon before Pontiac noticed who it was. Pontiac bristled as he retrieved the vessel. He passed it to the next tribesman, daring him to laugh by glowering at him. The tribesman managed to remain expressionless for a few seconds, but then his mouth began to quiver with mirth until he capitulated to full laughter, showing his wide eyes and his tongue to Pontiac and falling backwards, clutching his stomach and kicking his legs in the air. One by one the other tribesmen succumbed to laughter too, until everyone except Pontiac and Neolin was rolling on the floor, laughing their asses off. Pontiac was livid and shouted at them to be quiet, but none listened.

Neolin sighed and signalled for Pontiac to withdraw with him to a private space away from these howling coyotes. He pulled the stick out of the ground and when they got to the tent he asked him to smoke a calumet with him. Slightly unorthodox to smoke it now before the final prayer with the group, but given the circumstances Neolin justified it on the grounds that Pontiac was angry and needed to calm down, plus he was about to receive some pretty bad news. He thought that it would probably be okay in the eyes of the Great Spirit, so they sat down and smoked together.

'Pontiac, can you read what it says here, at the bottom of the stick?'

Pontiac leaned towards it, trying to make out the symbols. He shook his head.

Neolin said, 'It puzzles me, because it's separate to the prayer. It's about you.'

Pontiac sat back and thought about this. He assumed that it was because he was special. He always had been special.

'Is it about the uprising? I should lead the uprising to drive out the British?' Pontiac was certain it was this. Of course it was this.

'Not exactly, although I'm sure you'll be influential in the uprising. I'm sure you'll do well. You're brave and strong, though your temper is quick. But it's not really about that. Just... be careful, won't you. Try not to do anything that might... Oh look, forget it. It's okay.'

Pontiac furrowed his brow and passed the pipe to Neolin.

'Please. Forget it. Just be careful. I'll help you. We'll work together.'

And with that, Neolin repeated the Master of Life's prayer, and the two men smoked and smoked until they were enveloped by a yellow cloud, and later Neolin sold Pontiac his prayer stick for a good price.Crispin Besthttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-2647103846229393697.post-61319137021996409022014-09-28T16:47:00.000+01:002014-09-29T08:57:42.620+01:001761 c/o Alex MacDonald

Double Bind

As the glass is singing, I have forgotten how to talk. White light is falling through the window, colouring a room. Beyond it is something like life, where a cow's hide unravels at its hooves, where my ghosts rest in the bare branches, spectral wallabies. In the crease of the day, I'm not ready to tease them down. Why not see the world like this? There are only so many ways to photograph a hand to show, what, age like a worn soap? You can only write for two hours a day, and then? As the grey colours swim in, my voice grows birdlike, it hardly mists the glass. I stopped on the way to meet you, thinking how my words are stuck, extra rows of teeth I am neglecting to clean. Walking back through all those gardens with animals buried under trees, their autumn music, their throats melted. Strange to see myself in this black window, as I think of the first thing I will hear tomorrow, the gulls and the white noise. Everything I can see now is drowning itself out, giving the room back to itself. Your voice is reflecting in the air, held in the developing picture, these words.

 Crispin Besthttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-2647103846229393697.post-67446836502381102742014-08-28T14:12:00.002+01:002014-08-28T14:12:52.919+01:001760 c/o Derek Piotr
the measurement of light

to calculate illumination
we must understand
the uncertainties involved

we assume the sky
as a luminous dome
quantify the change in our pupils:

a light reflex

photometria, the depths
and times of twilight
(when crossing rays

there can be no intersection)
there are approximate limits,
just noticible differences

signed johann heinrich lambertCrispin Besthttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-2647103846229393697.post-48574097233394681572014-08-22T16:29:00.001+01:002014-08-22T16:30:03.587+01:001759 c/o Francine Elena

for all studious and curious persons

we're the first visitors
January people
a little sick and curious
entering this cold house
for things that were hot
this Empire is new
this museum is new

the founder sailed from Jamaica
with a crocodile, an iguana,
a snake and botany and
pieces of dead people and
a recipe for hot chocolate

the crocodile died aboard
the iguana jumped over the side
the snake found a new owner
the botany is here
the pieces of dead people are here
the recipe will become Cadbury's

here also are
fossils/ores/minerals
a young elephant skeleton
a corner of somebody's house
an anchovy pear tree (a drawing)
a glove made from shellfish

let us talk quietly
let us observe a fragment
read the classification
'humana' can mean 'pieces of dead people'
'curious' can mean 'killing things'
'natural sciences', 'power display'

here are
medals/coins/jewellery
a glass-eyed giraffe
a bronze Roman goose
a dead man called Irtyru
Irtyru's coffin
showing Irtyru meeting Osiris

now this particular instrument
no longer hurts people
can you see what it is?
let us observe and think something
how was it made?
it was made from the skin of a manatee

here are
masks/shields/spears
a piece of a child
wooden Indian shoes
something that took a long time to make
a piece of a god
things that were torn up

let's cough and
learn and
feel cold
'in the name of science' and
walk through the long corridors
our marble echoes fragmenting
Crispin Besthttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-2647103846229393697.post-60308868457125823482014-08-21T22:57:00.001+01:002014-08-21T23:15:04.740+01:001758 c/o Sully Sanchez

systema naturae

on the mountain i sing
songs about the
mountain to the mountain

i shush the mountain

from the mountain i can see a
tree near a tree

i am holding lakes i think
looking at a lake from a mountain

trees

falcon is the word for
a female falcon

i feel so tough on a mountain
on a mountain

more time now doesn't mean
less eternity later i think and

trees

a baby dragonfly is a nymph
a baby dragonfly on a mountain is a
nymph

in the rain i feel so tough in
the rain

enough trees will
just become a forest

everywhere i go there
i amCrispin Besthttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-2647103846229393697.post-13793691674929586522014-07-08T11:54:00.000+01:002014-07-08T11:54:27.453+01:001757 c/o Rebecca Pizzey
82

days left
I shall tear your legs apart
and you will feel my sinews working
against your

rag
 doll
 body

rags to riches
or slipping down the slope of servitude –
 my cell or yours?

at the close of this long parenthesis
the ravens will sink their beaks into your gaping sockets
and
I shall feast on you-r
 dank
 cavity

15 Louis and now we're
here
wrenching you open and pouring tar in places
you used to exist

you doll
taking this so well
but then

you
 deserve
 it

it hurts you hurt
me

so
on the 82nd day you will tell me
 -la journée sera rude

waiting
I've been waiting
I'm so hungry let me sink my teeth

and chew on the gristle in your subcutaneous fat
you fat pig
who wanted it all until you wanted nothing

I will savour you all
and relish

until there's nothing left of you
but a live torso
burning at the stake

82 days.
I can hardly wait.
Crispin Besthttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-2647103846229393697.post-53775871688486604282014-06-30T16:24:00.001+01:002014-07-02T10:51:48.786+01:001756 c/o Bianca Shipton

English Transcript Of Versuch einer gründlichen Violinschule (A Treatise on the Fundamental Principles of Violin Playing) by Leopold Mozart. Audio Cassette Edition I.

 hello i am mozart
 hello hello here we go!
 first u
 (your muscle is beating fast!)
 first u spread yr fingers out wide, very wide, see your fingers are a cage !
 THEN oh
 haha
 ok wait let me think for a sec
 oh yes, then you trap it!
 (ahaah! the muscle of course)
 ok lets see lets see
 ummmmmmmmmmmm
 did you pay full price for this or buy it bootleg on the street?
 please consider my family
 my son will go after u. he's a one man wolf gang. haha! idk lol! gosh!
 ok um
 things to think about when you are making the music:
 step heavy on the ground and something is thrown up from it,
 wvvv v vibrations s
 consider dust and how it is constantly mov. ed by you .
 apply calm and tired focus to the fumes and oversaturation of light and the noise
 when you are about to miss the morning
 bus. in the evening you drink a cup of tea and how you lean into the slow
 spread of it, apply that focus again when you are
 about to miss the bus. apply that focus again when you are about to miss
 the eye that glimpse you on the left.
 drink tea like u are about to miss a bus!
 [tape hiss] haha
 [unintelligible]
 a full fist of fur
 how i am [tape hiss] even now!
 fear of the ultimate loss of all sensation, it would be rational to
 embrace the fear then
 to shout 'i am living/feeling!' through it ?
 i will become the antennae and the touch
 i was days spent synthesised in the soupy heat
 if i stab yr eardrum now with a sharp word please don't
 forget the way yr mother holds u that time
 see, they will call him a genius but genius is just
 reactions, chemical bonds
 [tape hiss] and what he will react to
 that i will hug him.
 that the wavelength of soft felt words fed transform into music.
 eventually sound will transform into light (yes)
 and just hold on very tightly
 w/ yr fingers [tape hiss]
 hold on v tight !!
 [tape end]
Crispin Besthttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-2647103846229393697.post-2958726545629956952014-06-23T18:12:00.000+01:002014-06-23T18:12:19.059+01:001755 c/o Patrick Trotti

Waves Across The Empire

The Kingdom of Spain was ruined
on All Saint's Day,
the irony of it all,
retribution for their
insatiable need to colonize.

9.0 magnitude,
but at least they know that the Earth
is round and not flat,
the instruments to measure the quake
must've been fit for a jester.

40 minutes later
an earthquake forced,
them to re-zone the downtown
city centre,
like Bloomberg and Times Square.

Waves,
 Big enough to surf.

Trembles,
 Strong enough to swallow you whole.

King don't care about
The people

It's the buildings
 the treasures
 his comfy mattress

ALL GONE in the year of our lord 1755.

But who to blame?

Science? Peasants?

The waves reached North Africa, Martinique.

The king's water now mixed with
those he looks down upon,
contaminated feeling in his
royal bloodstream, God forbid,
and all this on All Saint's Day?
 Crispin Besthttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-2647103846229393697.post-5788429902059994852014-06-16T10:43:00.000+01:002014-06-16T10:50:51.351+01:001754 c/o Rebecca Perry

On serendipity

Fortuitous happenstance indeed the way the fresh water stream
bent in the ground at each perfect angle not necessarily required of it
to greet your toes when the sun was stripped back and hot hot enemy
yes burning and you felt so desperate lost your brain without instruction
began recalling the body and face of the first person
you thought you loved smell hair teeth hip bone
meeting stomach sweet spit at the same time as hard crying
 and preparing to die

Then serendipitous too the way the apples pushed out their shoulders
to fill one hundred shining green coats hanging from branches waiting
for your aching teeth your sandy tongue honey too
there was honey in the trunk shade have you ever been more thankful?

And look also the way the blue of the sky mixes with the yellow
of its sun now also your sun once again to make
a green so truly transfixing as this

Crispin Besthttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-2647103846229393697.post-64749671962373248472014-06-11T12:35:00.003+01:002014-06-11T12:36:11.675+01:001753 c/o Scott Riley Irvine
Wind

It resides in the white on white on white. A caress across the Westerlies. A scowling portent before the squall. Its muscles contract around us, somewhat over your shoulders and hemmed to the contour of my murmuring freckles. We may have known it as a foe to have appeared in the sky. One with curls that grow through whiplashed men in robes. An atmosphere that hides itself within swollen jowls. We could have been dismembered among the doldrums.

Ward

Off a beaten road; a place hidden but with a beautiful view. Scrap metal beneath the sun dilute. I feel I've been wrung like syrup from some pink or purple fruit. Remote and soaking glare, our mouths quietly move for one another. An abandoned prison, concealed with the century. The damp cardboard and empty cells. You make a face behind a wall of thick glass. Bedpans and leather straps litter the floor of an infirmary. These walls would use unkind words. I think you're right about that. If you pare the concrete from a concrete wall, what's left except jagged steel rods? The skeleton of it all, rusting.

Wolf

We could feel the nearer enchantment of another body cleaving the wrinkled swaths of the forest. Exhaling into the noxious night. Our confluence twined closer by the hour. The sun settled; the dark grew. Somewhere in the distance, a bristled haunch caught light. Our new friend had fur. The moon proved past to move. Ugly is upon closer inspection, we realized. The diphthongs in its throat have yet to coarsen its coat but the effluvium tasted the same. The melancholy of a walk through a forest alone, the same. We can bare our teeth too. The same, the same, the same.

Crispin Besthttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-2647103846229393697.post-7827828656207739662014-06-03T22:39:00.001+01:002014-06-03T22:41:15.113+01:001752 c/o Mark Edwards

the universe forgot my dog's birthday

yo pope gregory XIII
stop pontificating
about space-time,
give my dog his birthday back

it was/is today, the third
of september, which mysteriously now also
seems to be the fourteenth.
you fucked up the calendar

and caused the longest night
in the history of sleep,
backspacing the work of julius caesar;
a man named after a salad.

why not let everything drift
out of sync with the seasons
instead, equinoxes traversing the year
like endless bank holidays

anyway what should i do
with this dog-shaped
birthday cake/meatloaf?
i could freeze it until next september

but that is not the point

no birthday song
no birthday card
no birthday monogrammed dog bowl
richard has been unbirthdayed

and now he has a long face
by which i mean he is sad, yes
i realise his face is actually long
but that is because he is a dachsund

also not the point

vatican? how about vatican't
your year is twenty-six seconds
too short for the sun
so you are wrong on a cosmic scale also.

julius and gregory, two assholes
beefing across the centuries
thanks to you and your incompatible
systems of chronology

this is one
bummed
out
dogCrispin Besthttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-2647103846229393697.post-69311098687597480202014-05-31T00:51:00.001+01:002014-05-31T00:52:03.985+01:001751 c/o Dan Hogan

naked people wearing clothes made by other naked people wearing clothes

vanessa is a horse in the year of the horse. vanessa will remain a horse in the year of the dragon, too, because vanessa is a horse in a horse's body. the years haven't always been the best parts of hairy for vanessa. nor have they been so sweetly equine by name. the years have been hairy, yes. bad hairy. laughter won't pass now. vanessa is very important to what happens next for a lot of us.

naked people wearing clothes made by other naked people wearing clothes roam the streets. they are armed with cricket bats. some on rollerblades, several huffing e-cigs, others mounted on segways, all chanting "piss off penguins." the naked people wearing clothes made by other naked people wearing clothes (NPWCMBONPWC) are en route to lynching an empire penguin colony developing the upper north side. it is a mild tuesday.

pensioners and wild youth litter the park. traditionally, the empire penguins feed on the peanut butter of human tears. having syphoned the peanut butter from a victim's tear ducts, the penguins will discard their prey's tired body on the park grounds, ignoring the allocated bin. these people, waiting for their tear ducts to self-replenish a reservoir of peanut butter, spend the day tattooing each other with guns they won on ebay.

somewhere in the park, a tired but no less wild youth rolls a dead moth up in its wings and smokes it. crematory spliff style. it's what the moth wanted. the wild youth celebrates Moth Life by deliberately standing on an unexploded salad bar. the air is heavy with a confetti of lettuce leaves and balsamic rain. leaves collect on the wild youth's body. a skin-coloured bystander, feeling the buzz of celebration, quickly lays down beside the wild youth. their heads tap together as shreds of cold lettuce leaf come to rest on their eyelids.

vanessa is galloping on a treadmill at the gym when she gets The Call. she immediately returns to her car and drives to the beach where she launches The Canoe. history will know her by the GoPro camera attached to her helmet. the surf slows down. she rows into the centre of the sea and begins the evacuation by convincing a family of whales to beach themselves. the whales half breach and nod, resignation darkening in their eyes, saltwater welling in their blowholes. the whales knew this day would come. they take out their headphones and torpedo themselves toward the beach. each family member listens to a personal beaching jam. the plan is for a slow evacuation. a pulse-away-from-pause kind of slow. vanessa rows back, anxiety wheezing in her big lungs. her role in the evacuation is complete. muscles cramp in her neck. she slows her rowing and focuses on a slit of light occupying an uneven length of the horizon. she neighs.

vanessa places her oars in the sea as her non-biological heart sours. one oar floats and the other sinks because it was carved from an ironwood with a specific gravity of 1.3. she naps. the sun is not unpleasant. it is a mild tuesday.

with a neighful shriek, vanessa and The Canoe tumble into the shorebreak. the thick waves punch her into the sand. she rests on the shore, shifts of seawater washing over her cramps and pinched nerves. hundreds of NPWCMBONPWC come running over the sandhills like a sheet of ants, some still wearing their rollerblades and stomping hard. they descend on the whales. vanessa leaps back into the water. hiding behind the shorebreak, she keeps only her eyes and nose above water-level.

eight NPWCMBONPWC run off carrying a giant pectoral fin above their heads. one person collapses as their ankle breaks inside their rollerblade. the group's balance diminishes and they topple over, the giant pectoral fin lidding them to the hot sand. the trapped NPWCMBONPWC caterwaul as the sand blisters their faces. vanessa sinks a little lower in the water.

mother whale is beached further down the shore. not by choice. Sometimes that's the way the sea tumbles, says vanessa to her camera which she holds in the selfie position.

NPWCMBONPWC spread out around mother whale's body. the wild youth pops up in the shorebreak beside vanessa with a wet lettuce leaf stuck to their cheek. two NPWCMBONPWC stand on mother whale's back. the wild youth looks into the lens of vanessa's camera and explains, It's basically normal cricket rules. Mother whale's back is the cricket pitch. One NPWCMBONPWC bowls a lime to another NPWCMBONPWC who tries hitting the lime with a bat. The aim of the game is to score runs. Score the most runs, win the whale. You can be caught out but not if the lime explodes. An exploded lime is automatically worth six runs. Also, you're out if the lime hits the wickets neatly stabbed into the rim of the whale's blowhole. vanessa watches the lettuce leaf slide off the wild youth's face into the water and thinks about eating it. down the beach, NPWCMBONPWC assume fielding positions around father whale as well. the wild youth swims away. vanessa neighs. two NPWCMBONPWC hammer the wickets in and lettuce leaves churn in the shorebreak.Crispin Besthttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-2647103846229393697.post-24920896843550736372014-05-19T17:56:00.001+01:002014-05-19T18:13:33.485+01:001750 c/o Cean Gamalinda
September 24, 2013 9:42 am
crispin! if u need contributing for every year iwould love to give u a contribution c:

 September 24, 2013 2:52 pm
If 1750 is still open I'll take it

 May 8th, 2:32pm
ay bruh. fucking yonks ago you said you wanted to do 1750 for my for every year project

how long ago
was yonks ago?
it was 2014
minus 1750 years ago
today

to fire

did u for real
like
 srsly?

i build myself up 4 u
& u go and burn me?

[Chorus:]
That girl is POISOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOON...

10
000 homes !!
they were me
i was a thousand
homes u made me
ten times that then burned me
then didnt even let me keep the ashes!?
what is this, poetry!??;)
 [obituary]

"if we set the beloved aflame it is proof
of the flame of our love" "don't you wish
your girlfriend was hot like me" "when
doves cry" "i would die 4 u" good thing
i dont wear my heart on my sleeve cos
i dont wear sleeves ;) i think u just wish
yr gf was hot like me ;) even if i already
said it even if i have to say it 1750 more
times or else construct myself or
call me a house or daddy[?] no I
would rather you call me a house
or 10,000 burned down in 1750

to crispin

my yonks are coming home to roost
10,000 homes totally roasted in the year
you gave me as the other you gives me

May 18th, 3:15pm
my friend i finally finished this shit
it's kind of a failed love poemy thing towards the middle but still all 1750ish
how should i send it??

O by the light of 1750 the chickens
have come home to roost (of a bird or bat) settle or congregate for rest or sleep
[4,20] i was blazed, the houses
each one of which was home
were me, the fire that razed
them me, and you, and you
were me too, 10,000 times
renamed, left hanging
for you to see ;)Crispin Besthttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-2647103846229393697.post-18278963018356711162014-05-12T11:09:00.000+01:002014-05-12T11:13:39.609+01:001749 c/o Sahara Shrestha

Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure

*

Go ahead; drink the cool ice from my cup,
Lick the rice off my lilac plate clean.
When I'm done washing my hands with milk
I'll wipe them dry with your man mouth

But let's not kiss on the tongue today,
It's not how the day would have been sung
First we'll flower the waterbed
Then we'll shower and towel the cub.

**

What do you want to do next?
Okay, you can mumble on my neck.
I don't remember what you're saying
But I like how your word feels

Okay, hold me tight and closer,
Promise, I am not per verse.
Wake with me here and always
In the basin

of my unsullied hills.
 Crispin Besthttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-2647103846229393697.post-5815300927534909122014-05-08T20:21:00.003+01:002014-05-08T20:23:55.304+01:001748 c/o Cayla Lockwood
introduction to the analysis of your infinite smile

saturday, 3:32 pm
we're all foreigners here
dog days, berlin
they're buying that infinite smile and
you sell it well
"a salesperson for a generation"
they'll say
you're hiding the deep in you and
you hide it well

monday, 7:43 am
you're still sleeping while
i'm still dreaming
you smile in your sleep, you know
a cross-examination reveals
that you are indeed
smiling
eyes wide open
dead asleep

monday, 7:14 pm
appearing like a mathematical constant
your energy makes the whole room feel lighter
it is an illusion
based on that
honest state of expression,
your infinite authenticity
however
the unsaid in you runs deep
the transcripts will later show
buried under lines of
permanent marker
you too are a human

thursday, 3:30 am
seeping of booze
the red rims of your eyes
are smiling
even wider than your mouth now
i'm drunk on the movement of
those infinite eyes
unsurprising as,
it doesn't take much
i recently tested positive for
"being a lightweight"

thursday, 5:04 am
hide under the infinite galaxy
of sheets
with me
i can feel your complexity
you wouldn't believe me if i tried but
i could understand more if
you'd breathe a little further

i'm touching your fingertips

i'm at the tips of you

i've been deeply disappointed before

 Crispin Besthttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-2647103846229393697.post-53370238209420136782014-05-05T16:25:00.000+01:002014-05-05T16:27:20.284+01:001747 c/o Sully Sanchez
lmho

you are very welcome to watch me die
i have fingers on which i count
my wife has an impressive array of legs
i miss them

i am on the coasts of my country
the best traitor is so even to himself
i am just one of a very tough family
my brother stabbed a bagpiper

there is a scaffold for you
willow trees bend and i bend
i am shocked when i wear armour
look at me

now quiet
quiet wisdom is not wisdom
night and day the gates of dark death stand wide
it is easy to go down into hell

so it is sweet and fitting to die for your country
in latin
so twenty people will die watching me die
in latin

Crispin Besthttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-2647103846229393697.post-893972478270953902014-04-11T13:50:00.003+01:002014-04-11T13:51:17.640+01:001746 c/o Emily Cotterill
Uncle Jacob

Tradition and rebellion he told me,
In my white dress, marrying a woman.
Then he showed the world his knees
As if it cared about them. And it did.
It cared because it didn't want them,
Not here, not anymore, not those ones.

There was something hideous about him,
This man I wrongly called Uncle.
He still claimed to be Scottish
In that way that English people do
When it suits them. If it suits them,
Not to wear a suit at a wedding.Crispin Besthttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-2647103846229393697.post-60669178661961857282014-04-04T10:54:00.000+01:002014-04-04T10:54:57.025+01:001745 c/o Penny Goring

pompadour plastilina

mudder tells me men are for the melding, she is worth less than me, she showed me how to do the body-begging, i wear her knackered bod-suit with glued-on protrusions, i prep my louche in the umber awnings under the pipes, i work the deluxe bits of me, flogging it, laconic, to nippers and odds, this is all there is, and you live here too, i know you, you pay up reluctant, and you stink same as i do, bitter petromix to suffer and mould.

each birthday mudder gives me to the p-sci, they take a part of me away, replace it with a nuvo-porn p-part, last year i got the standard 12th p-part - my vinyl shrink-to-fit vag, year before i got my exceptional polyanus, next week i'll get the 13th p-part - my very own self-healing hymen - i'll be ready to go into full service, p-gits will always pay plastic for my perpetual deflowerings, i'll be an unpolished basic-immaculate, and mudder's eyes will be every day glazed sparklers, she'll never do thirsty again, never suck from the vomitous puddles outside the juice dens for her crucial dosage, never lie down under the tables, mouth wide, catching stray slops and spillage, else she sees clearly, she tells me, the indigo insects with fluorescent wings, erupting from her pores to twitch on her skin, flying out her nostrils and ears, flooding her vision with their dark poison hosts, long leggers, busy and vital.

i believe they actually really are alive in her head, weaving webs, laying eggs, they must be, because when mudder is shaking and clucking, i see them yucky buzzers, too - we must buy her cluck juice, it fizzes cobalt blue, same as the sky does in this Paris-2, i lug it in buckets from the p-freaks, mudder necks every plastic i make, and she doesn't feel hunger or cold, she feels only the null of the juice force, i do all the feeling round here, feely-touchy, that's me.

i never show i care - if you catch the starey-sadness you can float in the haze above these pipes in an upright position for days, just staring, sad-eyed, unable to speak, motionless, except for your hands, down by your sides, flapping like fins - after 4 or 5 days you descend into the sleepy-sadness, curled in on yourself in the greyest of pipes, where you get funnelled to melt for the p-plant.

ghosty dadder got the starey-sads when i was only a babber, but somehow, he got trapped in that phase, he's been floating and flapping for years - mudder put the sheet over his head, she couldn't cope with those eyes, seeing but not seeing, the stuff we have to do to get by - he's our mute brute, the hover-sack, a breathing shadow, follows us where we squat or squabble, never leaves us, my ghosty dadder, he is a comfort, and a warning, to me.

i work it beside him, he drifts lower each day, held by the hazardous crosswinds.

last night i was on my tum in the multi-pipes for one hour, had a reasonably long queue of scummers, was a success in my laminated froth-nots - afters, running to the p-freaks for the 2-gallon buckets of blue, i thought: ''cluck it!'' and kept on running 'til my toes fed red to the rats.

i ended up in the luminous souks, i'd never been there before.

lanterns swung all showy from the looming q-towers, flexi-pretty people on their balconies, slurping ices and smiling, sun-streamers and cloud-hoppers revving on the ledges of their swimming pools, polyethylene bubbles galore, plenty pink lover inflatables stacked for buying on the stalls - this year's must-have souvenir, balloons bobbing high taking q-kids for pleasures, p-butterflies smouldering incense of fresh-gladness, small explosions in my head got louder with the crowds - everywhere, sheeted men, walking not floating, with cut-outs for eyes, and on their arms, the beauty-polished super-immaculates, always willing, in every description of gorgeous, and in the centre of this hectic crew, a girl on a raft of peonies held aloft by ten fat naked men, all sweating, lashed by one fat naked man to move faster through the hundreds of gawpers - jostled and trod on and tugged in her ebb, i stood in awe, she was perfect - pearlised, and plastinated full-fleshy with ripe protoplastic body-blips, she had a gash girdle grown of pure plastos, and sailing proud behind her, the banner bearing her legend: I WILL ENHANCE YOUR LIFE. I AM BETTER THAN YOUR WIFE.

i was undoubtedly glimpsing the undisputed true queen of the p-plastic scene: the adored pompadour plastilina, smooth in her chic tan-plastique, loving whoever she chooses.

i don't know how to do big money, i don't know how to talk gentle guile, i'll never get a permit to flog it in the souks, i don't even know if my face fits, there aren't any mirrors in the pipes - if I ever do catch my reflection, i'm scared i'll see the starey-sadness squashed deep in me.

i sing the body p-plastic
i sing the nuvo-porn p-part
i sing the dream plastination
i sing the self-healing heart.Crispin Besthttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-2647103846229393697.post-3877390829883926442014-03-18T13:20:00.000Z2014-03-18T13:20:28.527Z1744 c/o Rory Fleming

Things Heard and Seen

There are no spirits or angels that I cannot put my finger forth and touch—these things want to be seen. And they are us. I am them. I was once you. Before my eyes were pried apart. Forced to see a brightness intensified beyond that of any earth candle. It was godly floating ooze on a blue flame string that compelled me to take the journey straight home from the market. I was nervous at first about what my other man might think. I was careful to walk in a straight line, using peripheral vision, to follow. What inconvenience a labeled madness is! At home, I put my hands together, as I was then too a man of the Lord, and let what was to come, come. The angel rolled up the string in its palms and it vanished. The angel tapped me on the shoulder when I was about to weep, and I saw. I saw the compassioned smile, I saw the more ethereal but still very much human figure of the angel. Just as spoken about in Scripture. I damned myself for every time I interpreted one's appearance as symbology! He was right here before me.

And I asked—why? And I asked—how come?

The angel held out its hand and placed it on my trembling shoulder. The angel looked at the pen pad on my desk. The angel knew everything. That I was ripe for telling. That I wished I could make my fellow earth-man understand. I had been touched and would not let go. That it would not drive me mad to see one of them up close. It would drive me to be like them and bring as many up as I possibly could.

Angel, I said, can I write the things you will tell me? Can I tell them of such a world?

The angel nodded and said:

"Emanuel, I will tell you of heaven and hell, of the things we do to pass the time, and the objects we use to light our fireplaces at night. I will tell you of the soil, that is actually made of clouds, and the origin of ourselves in man. And I will show you what I see when I am home, through paintings of great ease on the scale of great masters. I will show you the rising high of the tides of flame from hell, and how they came to be, and how they came to be there. I will show you the food that we eat—as we very well do eat food—and our sleep schedules. I will tell you of the flora and fauna, our shining rags that we wear to cloth ourselves, and the towns that we live in, and you will call these correspondences. Some will understand, some will strive; others will be critical, and one such person will write a critique of similar or greater beauty. But for now, take the pen and write! Write as I say it, and title it Heaven and Hell."

Maybe that would get me to Heaven, I thought, if the angels indeed were once people. Crispin Besthttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-2647103846229393697.post-40247765539158414172014-03-07T08:38:00.000Z2014-03-07T17:04:58.897Z1743 c/o Stephen Michael McDowell
best poet since jesus and before zuckerberg

i'm thomas fucking jefferson
don't forget it
thomas fucking jefferson
i fuck
your bitch
every goddamn day
i fuck your religion
your nation
your livestock
your sellable herbs and cereals
all crops are my sex toys
all cities are my harem
thomas fucking jefferson's
your bitch
my dick
america

 Crispin Besthttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-2647103846229393697.post-16885415136065027792014-02-25T00:37:00.000Z2014-02-25T00:37:31.360Z1742 c/o Fantini Blake

Him & Her

Beady and glass-like eyes perused the hirsute corpse in front of them. They observed their self wince at the sight, a terse ripple along the spin. He was ugly all right. So languid and pale. Straggly chest hairs congressed and indicated a trail of female displeasure down to his member. He observed his buttocks a while: firm and pink with stray hairs, coarse and blonde - all the signs and ornaments of a pregnant sow, he fancied.

He turned to gaze at his crown, unceremoniously sat on his father's old chair behind him, and wondered if the Klout pay-off on live-blogging his coronation would be enough compensation for the tackiness and innovation of it all. Hm.

He shuffled over and stooped down over his laptop, exposing himself to the NSA. He scrolled as he hunched and decided against posting "I'm sad and my life is empty" for fear of unsettling or disturbing acquaintances who actually don't give a tiny rat's bollocks. 1742 and people still didn't seem to comprehend the notion of exaggeration for effect. Asshats, gormless idiots, shardborn ninnyhammers the whole lot of them.

A continent away she stood in front of her mirror. No, wait, let's say she's sitting on her bed instead. Looking at herself in the mirror. Naked, or partially dressed...sort of draped, Grecian goddess style. Pale skin and cracked lips - thin, wispy hair - dark hairs and darker soul. Faint armpit odor and general mustiness thicken the air a tad. She musters every molecule, every ounce, every shred of fortitude within and removes her headphones. What is it with this, this sickening obsession with listening to sad music that only made her sadder?

She peered at the screen a second and, squinting, took four tries to get her password right. The past week had been difficult - she now understood why there was such a coolness pay-off in being absent from social media. It was hard. It was hard when Nicki Minaj dropped her "Boss Ass Bitch" remix, harder still when Vin Diesel became a dance vlogger. She had lucid dreams of a gun-wielding Onika as her cover pic: fiery discussions about whether poor Japanese people were victims of Katy Perry's rampant racism even though they liked her hybrid Asiatic get-up; perhaps even a comment section spar to the death re: Cleopatra's ethnicity (News just in: Greek woman conclusively determined to be Greek). But this was bigger than that. This was her, this was him, and this was now.

She looks out the window and bathes herself in the incoming apricity. Deeming it insufficient she beckoned to absent attendants; perceiving her error she called forth one of her rose-cheeked trollops to come open the curtains wider. The warmth on her skin is matched by warmth in her bosom: the group People Who Cry And Are Also Caesars Sometimes is still there and perfectly salvageable, barring an incriminating post or two. An invitation is sent. She decides against inboxing - the request was more than enough - but the idea allowed her a most enjoyable internal dialogue in which she mimicked Keira Knightley's off-putting whimsy in "Love Actually" to great effect upon a chance encounter with him in the streets of Moscow. She held firm and did not flinch when the notification arrived: very well, she thought: - oh God, did the notifications never end! - she invited him to the most secret and privileged of secret groups. While they were certain never to meet, she was here to be his rock (and he had better be ready for some late-night phone calls and occasional ranting).

Still uncertain what to do about those pesky Jews, with their excessively wiry hair and erroneous ass ideas, she put her headphones back in and flipped on shuffle. A knock on the door lets us know her alone time is up: emboldened by a surge of inspiration, she turns on the printer. "Natasha, come here!" The little strumpet came in running but, startled, almost crashed to the ground as the sight of her mistress' nudity hit her full force, sending her swiveling on her heels and with a side dish of complimentary blushing and stuttering. Throwing the iPod at the girl's feet, she issued her order: "Natasha, transcribe these lyrics, affix my signature and send it out to every city, town and village where there are Hebrews left to deny the glorious munificence of our beloved Orthodox Church...Go, go! Hurry child!"

Downstairs he stood, swaddled in ill-fitting Prussian uniform, all eyebrows, flimsy moustache and obnoxiously cumbersome boots. "In the first flower of adolescence" was the preferred deceit proclaimed by optimistic and visually impaired ambassadors at home and abroad. The ungrateful curmudgeon had been unwillingly plucked by his spinster aunt from his recently acquired throne in Finland: he urinated in her vodka when he learnt the cantankerous spinster had quashed his prospects of a far more amenable future as King in Stockholm.

Rearranging his parts (surely life in the cold was supposed to mean less itchiness?), he licks his upper lips and savours the taste of blood. As it continued to pour from his eyes and converge on his bristle like a Dalí, he read the paper pinned to the wall by the servants and mouthed the lyrics to iconic crossover hit "Leave (Get Out)", brutally repurposed now by that tedious eccentric. Turning to face Natasha and the other stunned servants, he sees them all stark naked, sordid blue eyes piercing through all their fine dresses and court attire.

Crispin Besthttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-2647103846229393697.post-89397230590368164162014-02-04T17:23:00.000Z2014-02-04T17:33:27.305Z1741 c/o Diane Marie
untitled

 Crispin Besthttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-2647103846229393697.post-41774699790246783232014-01-24T10:42:00.002Z2014-01-24T10:43:39.346Z1740 c/o J.D.A. Winslow

17,000 Tons of Iron

Seaton Delaval
sitting on
Paul O'Grady

.xxx

oh baby

seventeen thousand tonnes of iron
on Paul O'Grady

.xxx

oh baby

take a seat
on my meat

anal
asian
cumshot
and more!

It should be
two point seven
not
two point seventy

with regards to
point forty nine
in your
one hundred shocking facts
about
diet and exercise

a sure fire
postlyre
first past the post
winner.

Did he just say:
"anal oil seepage"?

The same shot over and over again.

I don't know what to do
when I first see your ribcage.

Spank you
or
play you like a xylophone
until
you dissolve
and I am the winner.

Paul O'Grady at Christmas Time.
Amazon Vouchers.
Smug gay shit.

Smug gay shit

.xxx

If this poem is making you want porn then I would recommend:

PornHub.com

How could I compete?

Bukkake
bondage
feet
and more!

"Whores of Ho Chi Minh"

is the tentative title
of the experimental novel
I will write
once sent to Vietnam.

"I like big butts and I can not lie"

is a line
from this generation's
protest song.
The drugs have got better
and the music's got worse.

I like big butts and I can not lie

is the closest I have
to a political manifesto.

Bye bye Little Russia!

Lest we forget
seventeen thousand tonnes of iron
the death of Mandela
and the deathdealer.

Yeh that's right.

I will refer to the man who invented the AK47 as the "deathdealer".

As a treat,
to make yourselves feel better
you may make
your own crude analysis
of who made a greater impact overall.

With regards Mandela:

The serious television is funnier than the funny television.

Trust me on this,
my ankle is giving me gyp.

You may call me "Old Gammy Leg"
(if you wish).

Just to clarify:

The Vietnam thing is not a metaphor

Just on a side note:

Fuck you America!

(The United States of America)

I hope I can still get a visa.

Dear Security Forces,

Please give Barack my best wishes, these amazon vouchers, a signed copy of Paul O'Grady's 2010 masterpiece "The Devil Rides Out: The Second Coming" and seventeen thousand tonnes of iron.

274 years of nonstop fucking.

Fuck you Canada!

Fuck you Latvia!

Fuck you Cambodia!

Fuck you South Africa!

Fuck you China!

How many more of these do I have to do?

Before I am assassinated

Died young then got famous

.xxxCrispin Besthttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-2647103846229393697.post-48300415360117052372014-01-03T15:01:00.001Z2014-01-06T14:58:28.500Z1739 c/o Stephen O'Toole

The Ass of You and Me

I will assume that steam is the ghost of water, and that therefore boiling a kettle is straight up murder, so that when you say I can come home with you for a coffee, it's okay for me to feel scared and cry.

I will assume that you'll believe me when I say, as cover for crying, that I'm really just glad that Sandra Bullock made it back to Earth okay, even though she couldn't speak Chinese and had a dead daughter.

I will assume you'll never ask me to juggle, because I'm about to tell you I can juggle; in fact I'll even examine three of your eggs and say, I'd show you with these right now, but they're just not ripe enough yet.

I will assume that you weren't saving those eggs for anything, because you've more or less let me just smash them on the floor.

I will assume the same goes for these towels I've just ruined.

I will assume that you won't scream at me, and will, in fact, be all be-still-my-beating-heart about me, when I say, with my knees in egg yolk, and my hands massaging the floor through your flatmate's Princess Jasmine beach towel, that, Actually, I've just remembered: it's yo-yos that I'm good at.

I will assume that it's okay I've kept my socks on, because socks are just condoms for the feet, and our legs have already started doing some beautiful DNA impersonations—they're linked up under the covers like double helix, double ankle-ix, double toe-ix, double sole-ix.

I will assume that when you picked your phone up there, you were checking the GPS to see if the earth had moved.

I will assume that it's not raining today; in fact, I will assume that, from this second, I will never be rained on again; that when I leave your bed and turn your shower on, instead of making me wet, it'll actually give me the perfect suntan; and that if I was a stripper, and I was having pound notes flicked in my face by men who loved nothing, they would all origami themselves into swans, these pound notes, and fly off out of a window rather than touch me—though where they'd land had better be my bank account, because, you know, I earned that money, I earned it with my hot golden bod and superlative twerking, and just because I'm untouchably in love with you now, doesn't mean that I'm dizzy enough to be cheated out of my own cash by a bunch of sentient pound note swans.

I will assume that 'bunch' is the wrong word though.

I will assume that the correct collective noun for sentient pound note swans is splash-register: a splash-register of sentient pound note swans; though when they're in flight let's call them a windfall.

I will assume that when you roll over and say, These are the sort of puns my dad would do, that you're finally voicing some deep, long-buried Freudian feelings, and that you secretly always wanted to marry your dad and do French kisses with him forever.

I will assume that the phrase is actually 'biting my time', and as I wait patiently for the chance to ask you to marry me, I will crack open wristwatch after wristwatch and feast on their delicious innards.

I will assume that 'seen by' means you've skimmed my message, but that you haven't had a chance to go through it line by line, because admittedly that itinerary was quite detailed, and maybe, just maybe, five months of frolicking in long grass is a month too many—but I was trying to factor in, what, fifty, sixty years together, going forward?

I will assume that you've got hayfever; that the grass should never have been 'long', and I'm sorry. I promise you I'll mow it. I'll put it in a room where we can watch it, safely, from a distance, on twenty four hour surveillance cameras. A special room that keeps the grass green. I'll arrange to have it guarded by an army of Israeli and Palestinian soldiers, whose nations will have agreed to work together just this once because of you and you only—until, after a year, or however long it takes for your next birthday to arrive, I'll dismiss the guards and have the room flooded with thousands of bees, hungry bees, hives and hives of them, and they'll eat up every piece of pollen in there and then fly out through the bee-chute again, all of them, straight up, like sentient pound note swans, up towards the ozone layer, where they'll stuff the hole full of five months worth of long grass pollen, fixing it for good and saving everyone, the whole world, from catastrophic climate change, because I saw you went on that protest march once in Edinburgh. And then I'll have the grass dried and turned into hay, and I'll take you to it. Sniff, I'll say. Go on! Breathe in! And your nose will never get red, there'll be no itch in your eyes or narrowing in your throat, and I'll put my arms around you and say, Hey, how about a quick roll in this, baby?

I will assume you're just not interested; fine; I'm not an idiot.Crispin Besthttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-2647103846229393697.post-58846058122081753712013-12-23T22:18:00.001Z2013-12-23T22:18:13.603Z1738 c/o Oliver Mol
Cuckoo, Cuckoo

walking home from the park, my friend told me how his mum had called him up and said that all she wanted for christmas was one of them old cuckoo clocks.

he said his mum said, "get me one of them clocks with the bird in the box that comes out and goes squawk sometimes."

we kept walking.

my friend told me how someone's throat had been slit under this bridge across from the fish and chip shop near his house the other night.

i said, "shit" but i wasn't really paying attention.

recently i finished writing this book that i'd worked on for two years and three weeks ago i moved from melbourne to sydney and i haven't written a thing since.

i'm waiting to hear what happens.

i mean, i'm waiting for something to happen, i guess.

we walked under the bridge across from the fish and chip shop and my friend said, "yep, it happened here. wrong time, wrong place, probably."

and i nodded, then said, "fuck" because an eyelash got in my eye.

i rubbed my eye trying to get the eye lash out but it wouldn't come out and my friend said, "do you want spaghetti? i made spaghetti."

my eyelash kept poking my eyeball as cars made fast car sounds over the bridge above us.

and i felt shitty because all i was thinking about was my stupid eye and my book and whether it was good and whether i'd ever be able to hold it and that made me think about the guy who's throat was slit and how his family would never be able to hold him again.

i guess if i'm honest one of my biggest fears is failure which means i often ignore people/things around me.

and i turned to my friend and said, "okay, " thinking: one of the things you've ignored today is food.

we walked onto the footpath near my friend's house narrowly missing a six year old sprinting out from the pub next door holding a plastic pint glass of maybe red cordial.

he was yelling, "iyiyiyiyiyiyiyi!".

and i saw myself as a little boy excited about clutching something special and escaping to somewhere.

and i watched him run across the road, sort of running in diagonals like he was trying to dodge something being shot at him.

and i wanted him to make it, to maybe run all the way up the street towards kings cross train station, to slip through the legs of people in high heels and to slide down the slide part of the escalator like in "home alone" or some other kids' movie where the kid escapes and people leave the cinema grinning because the kid did the thing where they win and people remembered being kids and remembered wanting to win.

the kid's dad chased after him and picked him up and when they walked back in the pub i heard the dad say, "i don't have time for this shit."

i went into my friend's house.

we ate spaghetti.

i spilled some on my white t-shirt.

my friend kept showing me cuckoo clocks on the internet and saying, "what about this one?"

i kept refreshing my email seeing if i had a response for my book even though i couldn't have a response for my book because there was no mobile phone reception in his kitchen.

we listened to "cuckoo bird noises" for a while and then i left.

outside his house i looked in the pub window for the little kid but he was gone.

i ran up the street towards kings cross train station breathing very hard and crossing the road i slipped between two fat guys waiting for the walking man to go green and it felt good to go through them but i kept hearing "cuckoo, cuckoo" and in the train station i slid under the turnstile and did a run/jump thing down the escalators almost falling at the bottom and turning right i saw the train doors close and i watched faces go away on the train and when the train left i just stared at some billboard for a university that said, "invest in your future" and i thought: i want to "invest in right now".

i thought: is that okay?

and i told myself it would be okay.

i sat down and didn't look when the next train was coming because i decided i didn't care.

at some point it would come and when it came i would be ready.Crispin Besthttp://firstname.lastname@example.com


text:
I USUALLY DON'T WRITE ABOUT experimental aircraft
because my 45 years of aviation experience have been
almost exclusively with certificated, normal-category
airplanes. However, I'm making an exception this
month. This column was prompted by the June 16,
2001, crash of an experimental Lancair IV-P (NTSB
reference LAX01FA212) that claimed the life of veteran pilot Tony Durizzi.
I didn't know Tony personally, but I did researchhis accident carefully, and I believe there are someterribly important lessons to be learned from it—les-sons that might just cause you to question some ofthe most basic things your CFI taught you, and per-haps to change some of your most basic flying habits.
Anthony J. "Tony" Durizzi's flying career started
well before my time. Back in the mid-1960s, when
I was just earning my private ticket, Tony was flying
big radial-engine transports in Southeast Asia for
Air America, the big airline operated covertly by
the CIA. Colleagues who shared a cockpit with Tony
agreed that he was an outstanding pilot with superb
stick-and-rudder skills. You had to be to survive in
Air America.
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A "Frans Lanting Award" for photography has been established in the Netherlands by National Geographic and World Wildlife Fund — winners to be announced Nov. 26! See the press release in "News & Events!"
Frans's new online "CreativeLive" photography course, which features presentations, field sessions, and critiques of images submitted by viewers. "Frans isn't just a photographer, but an inspiration." — CreativeLive viewer
for a photo workshop with Frans to photograph California's Central Coast with a special emphasis on capturing the wonders of the intertidal zone.
All photos © Frans Lanting
500 Chestnut Street, Suite 200 | Santa Cruz, CA 95060 USA | 831-429-1331 |
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Brooks Women's Track Singlet
Price: $26.95
The Brooks Track Singlet is semi-fitted through the chest with a relaxed fit in the torso. Knit fabric wicks moisture and color contrast splices give this piece an athletic look.
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text:
Object ID: WV0426.6.022
Description: Carol Morrison (right) and Marie Lanou (left) pose for a photograph before leaving Bethel, Connecticut, for basic training at Fort Sam Houston, Texas, in 1945. Morrison and Lanou are both wearing Army Medical Specialist Corps service uniforms and caps. Both women have ANC utility bags slung over their left shoulders and a pair of dress gloves in their left hands.
Collection: Caroline Morrison Garrett Papers
Rights: It is responsibility of the user to follow the copyright law of the United States (Title 17, U.S. Code). Materials are not to be reproduced in published works without written consent, and any use should credit Jackson Library, The University of North Carolina at Greensboro.


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|The Gifts of Stories & Art - Paper box sculpture
Event Type: Family Events
Age Group(s): Family, Elementary School, Tweens
Date: 12/19/2012
Start Time: 5:30 PM
End Time: 7:30 PM
The Three Wise Men/Los Tres Reyes Magos -Library: South Omaha Library (402.444.4850)
Join local artist, Linda Garcia, as she shares some stories and learn about why January 6th is a special day in Mexico.
Children under the age of 6 must be accompanied by an adult.
Location: Meeting Room
Registration Ends: 12/19/2012 at 4:30 PM
Contact: Adrian Gomez
Contact Number: 402-444-4850
Presenter: Linda Garcia
Status: Closed