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So, um. This is the first ever time I'm dipping out of the Brittana fandom. I apologize if I couldn't get their voices right - this is a first for a lot of things for me. I've never spoken as Blaine or Tina or Puck and many others, so this was a new experience for me. It's not blatantly Klaine but it's definitely there, which is why it's filed under. I supposed it's Kurt-centric but not, if that makes any sense. The song is Passage by Vienna Teng and it's just a little bit beautiful. Go listen.
I, personally, have not dealt with the loss of a loved one, but have tried my hardest to re-create it. A bit different from my usual style - it's difficult to write long stories in rambling train of thought. I hope you enjoy and tell me how I did.
I died in a car crash two days ago
Was unrecognizable
When they pulled me from the gears
You were beautiful.
Out of them all, you were supposed to be the one who would do something, make it big.
The world is laid out for me, darling.
You moved to run, escape, rejoice in your new found freedom – you were not meant to be cooped inside with violent eyes and cold cold winters. Your voice was strong (stronger than anybody else's) with the lilt that betrayed yourself to others.
And that was okay, really. You had long learned to block out the pain and focus on the good things in life. (Newly cut grass, sun on your back, the feeling of complete serenity.)
Spoken of one that had suffered early and was ready to shed all of this and come out something bigger, better, stronger.
No one's fault, no one's bottle
No one's teenage pride or throttle
Our innocence is all the worse for fears
This was wrong.
(Wrong in the worst of ways, wrong because this wasn't something she could fix with stares and threats of meeting a better place. Wrong because there's no bringing him back.)
She could feel it deep within her bones, a tremor that starts and won't stop. Santana barely restrains herself from cryingscreamingdestroying the closest thing in sight as the doors open to swallow her whole into somewhere that is supposed to be home. Her suit swishes crisply against her taut thighs and she finds herself wishing to be in sweatpants and a loose shirt, wanting to hide from all these feelings that threaten to paralyse her speech and render her into some fragile, broken thing. She thinks of all the things she could do to try and soothe her own fears, but none seem adequate in the face of this.
(She catches a flash of golden hair and cringes, hating herself for what she's about to do.)
"You're here early, babe." Is her greeting, full of warmth from the sun and distant dreams spun into reality. Brittany drags the backs of her fingers along her cheek; Santana just breathes. The latina everybody sees – the lawyer with a razor sharp mind and even more dangerous tongue – wouldn't hesitate (detach, relapse) but this vulnerable, scared and stricken one can't form the words.
Brittany frowns and places a palm against her heart.
She catches the fingers with her own and promises whoever will listen that she will never let her go.
"Brit, there's... there's been an accident."
Such a neutral word. It doesn't hold the weight that should of been behind it, of all the lost memories and hidden guilt and he didn't deserve this, why wasn't it me?
Shaky words are forced out to explain the basics in simple terms of fatality, blown tire, head trauma. All these syllables don't say the things she really wants to let out into the open air (manslaughter, mutilation, massacre. A body unrecognizable, caught in the wreckage). The dancer's face crumbles – and she looks like a sparrow with a broken wing, all sad and lost and hopeless. "Who?" she whispers, burrowing her face into a tan neck in anticipation for the worst.
Santana holds her tightly, never letting go.
"Kurt, sweetheart. It was Kurt."
My lover sits, the silent eye
In a hurricane of warmth and word
He should feel something, anything. Blaine wants to pull at all the emotions he knows are flitting around inside the cage he's shoved them in; last-ditch effort to avoid the inevitable breakdown of screaming sobs once he realizes that yes, he's gone. He's gone and not coming back and oh god I miss him so much but won't because all these things will rip him in two (and unlike all these times before, there are no lithe fingers to guide him back together again).
People touch his shoulder gently and their consolation – pity? - burns his skin with a brand that he cannot erase no matter how hard he scrubs. It seeps down into his bitter bones and erodes, corrodes, deteriorates until he is raw and hurting and ready to give in.
His thoughts are on infinite loop, whispering quiet consolation mixed in with this is your fault and why did you let him go and even you didn't deserve him.
(Why can't they leave him be? He just wishes to sit with all his fears and wants; regrets that the last time he spoke to Kurt was because they fought. Things thrown in anger and exasperation – but not hate, never hate – can never be retracted now, and that kills him almost as much as the fact that he wants so badly to fix it.
Wants, but can't.)
His house is still untouched. Kurt's books lay open on the page he left them at, scraps of material for his newest design scattered about at every turn. Their little dog winds its way between his legs and asks when he's coming home. Sometimes if he turns around too fast or lays so very still, he can hear the voice or feel the arms that have left him behind; it's bad but he's content to wallow in his half-bubble of lingering doubt and tainted contentment for as long as he possibly can. Blaine has never been good at facing his own demons, and this is no exception. But that's okay. Honestly, it is. He'll never have to own up and move on if he avoids them, right? Right?
Rachel must have come into the house. It takes three hours before he notices the fireplace crackling gently – he tries (so, so hard) to smile but it's like his face has forgotten how in these brief two days that he's been gone.
(Gone, but not dead. Never dead.)
My mother trembles with the sobs
Whose absence seems absurd
He's seemed to have aged ten years in two days. Ever since the trembling voice on the other side of (the world, it seems) the phone informed him (i'm so sorry Burt there's been an accident and Kurt's gone. He's gone and they couldn't bring him back) that his boy, his beautiful baby boy had gotten into an accident, the lines of his face have sunken and his eyes coloured a deep purpleblack. Burt has always known that this world was too big, too painful, too dark for somebody like Kurt to flower within but he didn't know that it would simply be a twist of fate to have him wrenched from his grasp so quickly.
Still, he doesn't know what hurts worse. The fact that he's gone or that there are some people out there who spit on his name simply because he was so strong, always strong. Strong enough to bare what he was out into the daylight without fear of repercussion. Kurt was always astounding people with his brilliance (bright as a diamond, as the glow of New York's signs, as those people who sing on stage; all lonely but so very free) and this will never be an exception.
Sometimes bad things happen. It's God's way of testing us.
Fifteen years ago, somebody delivered those exact words to him when his wife was laying on her bed, slowly wasting away into nothingness. Now, he can't help but wonder if there is even a God; if he is so omnipotent and omniloving, why has he taken every piece of sunshine in his life until they're gone and he's here and he's not allowed to hold either of them again because he wants to switch places so badly it hurts? How is that anything short of sadism and cruelty and why do so many people love you?
He tries to believe, but it's hard.
Burt shakes until his eyes dry and wonders when it'll finally be his turn.
My sister shouts to let her see
Through the cloud of crowd surrounding me
It took a while, but he came around. It was hard adjusting to the name calling, but he struggled through it. It was years of impatient patience to slide into the little world he'd created around himself, but eventually he became a constant (important) fixture. A defender against a world that had no place for another boy with stars in his eyes and a wish of something better.
But he managed. And grew to love him, too.
Love him so much that he feared it would burst through his chest and strangle him with all these worries and wishes that he never wanted for anybody else before. Before leaving Lima, his world never revolved around anything complicated aside from junior year, but this, this – love that makes him do stupid things just to keep him happy and away from the wrong side – was set for a slow, steady burning. He'd save the ferocious flame for Blaine.
(Whenever Kurt would look up, all red lips and gleaming smile and fluttering fingers Finn would thank whoever was listening because he'd never seem anybody so happy and watched him to learn the secrets of life.
And it worked that way. Kurt was the driving force and Finn was the shield that would guard him from the worst of harm. From the jealous stares and disgusted glances and the anger that smoulders at nothing and everything all at once.)
All he had to do was call – once, just once – and he would drive (run, if he had to) to his side. He struggles to reach where he rightfully belongs through the hands that grasp and hold and pull at him to stay away and safe and ignorant like he's been for the rest of his life. But there's this one feeling in his chest, that if he reaches him it will all just be a bad dream and he'll be okay and the smoke that's rising up from the ruined husk he can glimpse isn't-
"Let me go!" They are strong but this wild and feral panic won't ever let him leave – it whispers of so many things that he doesn't want to hear and breaks free, barrelling through like this is the only thing keeping him going, wanting to just be okay please be okay don't do this I swear I'll be better just let him be okay. All the surrounding people stare as his hulking mass smashes through the lines and he witnesses the carnage; broken glass and shattered memories sprinkled with red that drips pretty little patterns underneath the smoking wreckage that must be Kurt's Porsche.
And in the midst of it all, a pale hand hanging from a body bag that has the edges stained a crimson that doesn't match the suit that he was wearing at all this morning.
But he could scream his name for years – the hand will not move to grasp his own.
Finn sobs.
My colleagues call for silence in my name
She gets the call at work.
He wasn't answering his phone and there's a new client howling on the other end and goddamn it, boo. I'm going to strangle your scrawny neck if you don't get your ass up here now.
It rings once, twice. She picks it up with the controlled strain of a budding entrepreneur.
"Kurt, is that you? I swear to Gaga, sweetheart, if you don't-"
"Mercedes..." The voice is weak and breathy on the line; she barely even recognizes the murmured strains and something cold and heavy settles in her gut. Rachel is so lacking of the bright unblinking sunshine and it throws her off, displacing her thoughts with an absent chill that she wants to hide away forever and never think about again.
"Rachel? What's wrong?" Muffled movements and stilted sobs, the receiver is fumbled until Finn appears on the line. She thinks she can pick out Tina, but it's difficult to tell over the sound that has her pacing into a frenzy (what why who) as he trips over his syllables until it all comes out in a tangled mess of something that's entirely too raw to be spoken of (hush, child).
Time stops momentarily and gravity works against her feet – she sits down in her plush chair and she feels herself sinking downdowndown into this place that she hates and can't navigate but doesn't want to leave even if it kills her because this doesn't make sense, one second she was talking to him and the next the closed phone is pressed against her shaking lips and things seem entirely too bright. A ragged noise startles her and she realizes too late that it's her that's making it.
She sits and feels everything stop around her and tries to pretend that if she doesn't think it'll go away, pretend that he's just late and will come all flustered and apologetic in those skinny jeans they bought on Tuesday, pretend that he's okay and here and will come down to smooth her hair and whisper that it's okay even though it will never be.
Days and weeks. Months. Years. Without him.
(She doesn't want to say it.)
Instead she sits in the dark until she can inhale without choking and presses the button of the intercom, watching in muted gratitude and anguish as all the workers seem to look up and then look down in contemplation as the news and wave of jumbled reality hits until they're all swept away with the tide.
I died in a car crash three months ago
They burned me until I glowed
And crumbled to a fine gray sand
Brittany cries with Rachel's eulogy.
Santana usually hates when she goes all Broadway diva on them - and really she'll never admit it, but - now it seems painfully fitting as she channels Kurt's favourite musical in a way that resonates the way Rachel always used to; deeply. (They just never admitted it.)
"You said that you were lucky to be our friend. But you got it all wrong, babe. It was us. We were the lucky ones."
You watch the tangle of limbs with a distant envy for something you miss. They compliment each other almost jarringly; sandy brown and porcelain white so close they breathe one another's air (or maybe they are each other's air? You could never tell with them).
You remember when you could sit like them, all wrapped up in worries and hopes and fears. Dreams of a life where you can finally be what you want to be.
It's too bad it was cut so short.
When your fingers graze blond hair, slated eyes seem to glance up momentarily. They stare at the space you should be with palpable confusion, cradling the teary blonde even as she searches for something.
Her words are soothing in a way that only an experienced lover knows how; murmured reassurances and the delicate touch of skin that has a story hidden underneath the surface. They fit so closely together they become a singular being – white-gold tangles with black in an effort to bear the brunt of their pain together. Brittany always feels too freely while Santana is afraid of giving up her heart; this is the perfect compromise.
(You touch your fingertips to hers that have stretched out – when she shudders you smile because it means that they have not yet forgotten and perhaps never will. It is enough for you to forgive.)
Now I am nothing, everywhere
Several breaths of strangers' air
And all thoughts ever written in my hand
Mercedes is the only one who wears white to the funeral.
For a week straight. Her own unique way of grieving.
Boo wouldn't have wanted us to be sad, you know. He never did.
But it's really hard to take her own advice. She believes in what she preaches – this time, though, she's making an exception.
(She tried the traditional ways, but it just didn't feel right. Like she was suffocating his memory into silence.)
Her eulogy couldn't be completed because she was choked by the tears, feeling too entirely like this was the end of an era; the end of something huge and the beginning of something bigger. All she could say (think, feel, live) was a mumbled mantra of I miss him he's gone why is he gone and people couldn't find the words to stop her.
Burt guides her away, trying to be strong for the people his son left behind.
The workplace is dark. Quiet.
(Always quiet now. It misses a spark it used to have.)
Her fingers brush against the roughly sketched designs, feeling entirely lost and confused without a second hand to critique all her choices or choose the right colour or even roll the eyes and say darling, that is so last year. You're better than that because she doesn't know why all the patterns swirl together into a singular mass of chaotic tendrils.
Mercedes stuffs them into the trashcan angrily, not wanting to watch her failure.
The paper expands and crinkles in its new home; it's half past one but there is nobody able to be called on the phone because she's lonely and tired and entirely sick of feeling like this.
Is that it? Is she lonely?
(This doesn't feel like loneliness. It's something raw and dark and entirely untouched. Something she never wanted to feel because it's so hard to stop.
It feels like despair.
She would know. She saw it in Quinn's eyes one too many times when she caught herself touching her stomach with silvery fine stretch marks and couldn't speak her mind to the outside world.)
Mercedes knows what he would say. But he's the whole source of the problem and she feels just a little bit awful for thinking like that.
When the paper crackles again, a hand absently reaches down to grab it. The full bin looks so wrong against the emptiness of the others, and perhaps there is something worth salvaging in the wreckage. A single sheet catches her eye, adorned in swirling shades where the others were nothing more than monochromatic brilliance.
And she sees it – something divine, daring, deep. It calls to her among its abstract lines and etchings of a new woven pattern, promising awards and money and comfort. An instant classic embedded inside the papers, put aside just high of perfection and left to be found by somebody unworthy of the honour. However, she doesn't care about any of that.
She just touches the neatly scripted Kurt Hummel in the far right corner and sobs, feeling all of her pain melt into something laced with another, new emotion. Maybe she'd say it's hope, but it feels far too familiar to be anything other than the vanilla perfume of her boo.
They plant my tree out in the yard
It grows but takes the winter hard
He's always been a green kind of guy. Said it set off his eyes or something.
Whatever the excuse, Mike doesn't comment when Tina wordlessly brings home a fragile sapling in the budding spring; he just takes the shovel and digs furiously until they can deposit their charge with utmost care. As an afterthought, they bury his bracelet when the roots are covered and it's left to thrive in place of the life that should still be here.
He knows she hurts. Hurts so hard it gnaws her bones because they were always so terribly close, they could dance Single Ladies until the brink of dawn and he'd find them cuddled together passed out in bodytight spandex. He'd roll his eyes and smile a smile reserved for those people who have their lives figured out – so very calm and what he wanted all along – before trotting off to make coffee the way they liked it.
He's always known. Everything. And that's fine, really.
It's how he knows the tree will survive the winter that tears at the thinning bark, how he simply lets Tina have her space whenever she stands by it in the freezing snow and just breathes.
(Everything has a purpose; a beginning and a end. Some just come sooner than others and he hates the world a little bit for that.)
My lover holds a knife to wrist
Says tomorrow comes, hold on a while
The day before the funeral, he contemplates it. The ache in his chest hasn't faded, will never fade; just dull once every so often when he wakes up and it takes longer to remember that the other side of the bed will always be empty. Blaine doesn't want to feel this for the rest of his life (all this hurt has worn away his spark into nothing) and doesn't know how to make it stop.
Every day, he asks why couldn't it have been me?
(He never gets an answer.)
The metal in his hand isn't lying – and there are too many liars to trust his friends – but for the sake of his memory he won't try so close to his funeral where he's supposed to honour his memory instead of crushing it into p(r)etty shards. He puts on his best pretty boy smile that made all the girls (and boys) fall head over heels when he was young and stupid and didn't know what he wanted or how to get it. The polite smile now says please, fuck off quietly and let me mourn instead of i'm confident and deep and everything you want but can't have. Sometimes he wonders when he lost that train of ideals.
Blaine wants to search him out one last time and run shaking fingers all along the placid lines of his face. From the full lips to expressive eyes and delicately arched eyebrows; down to the bridge of his nose and the place that his pulse jumps whenever he does that. Wants to bring out the boy that he fell so quickly for, and the one that grew to love him just as fast. The one that said he'd. Never. Leave.
Instead all he's left with is the faint traces of shampoo on a cold pillow and a sock that he finds abandoned underneath the bed. It hurts in that kind of way that people say he's begun to heal – but there's nothing left to mend, Kurt has taken all of him.
Still, for his (soulmatehusband) lover more than himself, he puts the razor down.
(Just one more day. Live for him, and never forget that he loved you.)
Sometimes, he believes love to still be in present tense.
He's come to think of people as emotions.
It's easier that way, because then he doesn't have to think of them as people. People happy with things he don't have anymore.
(Serenity for the high school sweethearts who have found solace in each other.
Indignation for the brother that doesn't understand the world anymore.
Sorrow for the girl who has to run a business – and a life – alone.
Once upon a time, Shame for the lawyer who didn't understand herself. Times have changed.
Disgust for the father who tried so hard and ultimately failed to protect his son from the world.)
Kurt was always Love, though. Will always be love.
My mother tosses in the sheets
And dreams me holding my own child
Day in and day out, he waits.
Waits for things to get better, waits for the punchline of the joke that he could forgive. Waits until the bottle becomes enough to erase all the hurt.
(In a sense, they've all been waiting for it – but they haven't yet gotten the memo that it doesn't exist.)
If he was old before he is ancient now. The lines on his face are cold and empty, his house lies in disarray. Carol watches her son and husband with sad sad eyes and the distinct yearning to make everything better because it feels like she's losing more than one person. She won't ever leave but fear the person he will become, all jaded and bitter and angry at things that he cannot fathom.
Kurt spoke of having a family. With dreamy eyes and little sighs of miniature vests and skinny ties held together with designer fabrics and smart haircuts. He would dress them up in the most beautiful things money could buy and in turn be filled to the brim with a love he's always had and just been afraid to show.
Their faces haunt him now. In his sleep he sees them – little Kurts and even little Blaines that will never be born into the world. They look at him and a million things spiral through their green-grey eyes (a thousand apologies, a million insights, a flicker of a past he wants to remember).
He takes another swallow and watches their features morph into faceless blurs.
My sister plays our homemade tapes
Laughs as tears run down her face
For a minute, he's there. Breathing and alive and singing with the warmth of a thousand suns.
And then he's not, and he cries.
But he can't stop watching. Tape after tape – his living room is a mess, scattered with shining disks and a DVD heating in the background. The gentle notes rap around his brain and have him singing along, swaying in time to the almost worrying devotion that he watches the screen, taking in all the things he's missed and wants so hard to take back.
Kurt grins into the screen and pulls a blushing Blaine to him; a rosy tint adorns his cheeks and he slurs his words to the point of non-existence. You can see a swaying Mercedes howling in the background, but Finn has eyes only for Kurt.
"You... you know I love ya, right buddy?" He pauses, snickers. "Buddy. Bud. Bro. Like... like I'm from the hood, you know?" Blaine's face softens. "Honey, you're drunk." A wide grin, gleaming eyes and wicked eyebrows.
"I know, sweetheart. And now so does Finn!" Kurt plants a deep kiss onto a surprised mouth and Finn shifts uncomfortably from behind the camera. A moment later it shuts off as you distantly hear Tina's disembodied voice shrieking something about a paddle.
When it blurs back to life again, Kurt's sitting in his brand new Porsche with a smile that threatens to split his face in half. On the other side of the screen Finn returns his excitement but it's laced with something else - knowledge that it's a means to an end that could have been prevented. He doesn't even realize he's crying until he chokes on air.
(Finn forgets to sleep with the lights on, and dreams of stained white and a twisted chassy.)
I died in a car crash four years ago
My tree drinks melted snow
Just eight feet tall a pale and fragile thing
The squealing of a newborn baby hits his ears and he allows himself to smile, all stretched lips and twinkling eyes over the hair that's (still) too shaggy as he stands in the snow that makes his nose turn cherry red. They're waiting inside and they're the reason he came, honestly, but something keeps him rooted to the spot. A distance twang in the center of his chest as his fingers run against the smooth bark like there's something physically keeping him there crying out in a soft counter-tenor that mumbles i'm still here, you remember me right? And that's a stupid question because he can never forget.
(He's the only one that hasn't tried and will never try. It's a way of giving up and he'll keep on fighting until the day he dies.)
Sam learned a long time ago that memories are precious and worth holding close like the gentle gurgling of a lightly tanned baby with slate eyes and soft raven hair and the quiet confessions of a boy with a heartbreak smile and immaculately combed hair. His thumb brushes the faded picture of senior year in his wallet with all of them without regrets; all happy and smiling and unwilling to believe that the world is big and bad and doesn't want more dreamers but will take them regardless.
And his mouth opens and he talks. Talks until he runs out of syllables, until he's been filled in on the past four years, until his tongue grows dry and tired and he has to take a mouthful of snow to try again. What astounds him is how much emotion he puts into everything he tells. He likes to think that he would want to be kept in on the loop, and he hates graveyards. The silence is so loud that he feels like he's drowning.
Mike and Tina watch him from the window, crouched down and mumbling happily without a care in the world; the branches touch gently at the worn coat on his back. Where have you been? I've missed you. It's cold here, but that's okay.
This year a glimpse of second chances
Tiny apples on my tree's branches
It's been so long (it hasn't been long enough).
He's not ready for this (he's been ready for his whole life).
He travels back to the place where it all began eleven years ago. No matter how far and how long he travels, it will always rope him back in. It's an amazing stroke of luck he chose to go alone, amazing that he didn't crash into a tree because he's driving so fast he's sure he's burning holes in his tires.
While the event is important, he really just wants to see her.
She chose to take the train. Easier and quieter and without the added worry of Santana bitching her out if she happened to scratch her precious car. These days, Quinn can't afford anything but her own hopes and fears crowding her mind, settled in to stay with her own loneliness of a life she never knew she'd have and never knew she might not want.
(She sees little babies and blonde haired tanned skin girls growing up and feels like she's been cheated.)
Sometimes she touches the silvery lines and licks dry lips. These are the only memories of him that she can hold, and she's not sure if she should cry or laugh.
"Puck, you made it!" A smaller blonde blur hits his stomach and he grins to himself, wrapping strong arms around the carbon copy of somebody he used to know. "You think I'd miss this?" he replies easily, fingers ghosting through the short hair that's begun to grow back. She shoots a beaming smile (all teeth that scream i'm going to need braces later and he loves her for all his imperfections) before running off into the Lima heat.
He watches her go and feels somebody step up beside him; he knows without even having to look. He always knows.
"She's beautiful, isn't she?" Contemplative. Quiet. He knows enough that it hurts her somewhere she won't care to acknowledge. "Yeah. We made that." If there's something that Puck's learned it's that life is too short and he can't afford to keep lamenting over chances he's missed and instead jump at the ones presented.
His fingers find hers and the thrill that shoots through her body is foreign and known and so pleasant she crushes his palm in an effort to remember every mistake she's made and why this time there's no voice saying that this will only end in disaster.
They stand and feel years of tension and consequences unravel into something else entirely.
My lover hears the open wind
And crawls blinking into the sun
Sometimes it hurts more than usual. When he finds a long forgotten scrawled note in a hurried hand, or an old jacket buried in the back of the closet. He'll hold it and smell his cologne, tracing thumbs along the pattern and blinking away unexpected tears. No matter how long it's been there's this hole that will never disappear, and he still haunts him in his dreams.
But the dreams are different now. Speak softer, are warmer. Before they used to be jagged metal and blood-curdling screams, but now it's a hand holding his and a fading laugh that still fills some place deep and dark inside of him. Some place that wants to love again but really never stopped.
(It scares him that he's starting to forget what he sounds like. One part wants to erase all of the hurt he's etched onto his soul, but it feels like the worst kind of betrayal – and throughout the years, the good has far outweighed the bad. And that is enough.)
At times the wind sings to him and he can hear it – naked and half asleep, unknowing and blissfully numb – travelling along his skin as a gentle whisper soothes his slowly healing wounds.
He'll stand there, barely breathing, as words come to him on the currents of a complexity he can't quite fathom. His hand raises and it twines around his fingers; a soft smell of sandalwood accompanies it with the soft whistling that ruffles his hair caught in disarray. When he looks back, he'll smile despite himself at the lump in the bed and feel it touch his cheek again before falling silent.
When he crawls back into bed and presses the sleeping warmth against his front, there is something lighter about him.
It feels like apologies and acceptance and hope.
He sleeps with a clear sound of tinkling chimes and the certainty it won't ever leave him.
My mother leafs through photographs
And thinks "yes she was a lovely one"
It's become more of necessity than choice but if it was a choice then it would be a necessity. Slowly, ever so slowly, the sharp stabbing has been replaced by a dull ache that allows him to breathe quietly and shallowly, sucking in precious oxygen to his starving lungs that haven't truly worked since the first words of cancer left the doctor's mouth years ago.
But after the third night of staying up because he's become too sick to sleep, he takes out the faded book that wrinkles just like his skin and holds up the pristine photographs to the light.
He was so beautiful. Pride. Everywhere. Only when he thinks of him. In his eyes, his smile. The way he laughs and cries and dreams. How his mind stills and comes to a halt and can finally just be with a sense of deep peace. Each picture tells a story; one that ended too soon but will never really finish, that follows the lives it left behind on infinite loop until they are cold and gone and rejoin those they have lost. Until he can reconnect with his feelings and try to be somebody better than who he is.
(But it's just so hard that it hurts to even think about, so he takes another swallow of the bottle laying close and tries too hard not to think about how much he loves Carol and hates that this is slowly tearing her apart. Everything is just so wrong and dark and off its intended axis that he doesn't even try to fix it – the years of working with his hands are long gone as they tremor ever so slightly with his weight.)
You can't do anything about it, but it doesn't mean you don't feel responsible.
Sometimes you try and hide the bottles, watch as he sweats and shakes and shouts until he slumps defeated and spends a few days in his own stupor until Carol comes and rouses him back from the dead with sweet words and empty promises. Watch as you feel a little less guilty.
It breaks your heart in this bittersweet way to watch any of them and the struggles they face, but you can barely face this without wanting to sob and pretend you're a little child again that can be held and loved. But you have to be strong. For the both of you. Sometimes you sing. When you're sad or happy or even angry. And you share. "Hang in there, Dad." Soft but strong – his head swings up and you smile a trembling grin.
The best you can do is send him whispered encouragements in his dreams.
My sister can't decide her truth
Asks aloud what I might do
It is dark and silent and he doesn't want to thinktalkbreathe because then the moment will be ruined and he'll be back where he started without an option to move forward.
Rachel is how she always is – gentle but firm and always so sure of herself; he'd do anything to swallow her confidence whole and become what she embodies in her thousand dollar dress and humility that's managed to grow in the past few years that he's been gone. She whispers the question he's always wanted to hear, a murmured breath of do you want to try again that makes his heart sing and his palms sweat; that lets his pulse pound and head spin. There's a chance to reclaim what they've lost and everything they've learned but neither of them are ready to be caged and something inside of him screams quiet protest (and for once he listens). Finn has never been good with thoughts and tries to channel all of his sensibilities but ends up coming back hopelessly confused; he bites his tongue and pleads to whoever is listening to give him guidance.
(She waits anxiously, mind already made up but craving his blessing for the sake of old memories.)
If you really love her, let her be happy.
And he smiles to himself because he's right – Rachel is somebody (something) not to be held down by something as meaningless as gravity and he can see it in her eyes; a spark that refuses to give out no matter how many people try and extinguish it. Perhaps it's her turn to carry the torch but the bittersweet smile she gives him as she wraps her small arms and squeezes tightly, tightly (like the world is coming undone at her feet) is enough to know that he's done the right thing and now he can go with one less regret weighing heavy on his mind.
They say their goodbyes that feel more like second chances and promise that they will always hold a special place. And for him, it is enough.
(And after she is gone he whisper be free to her retreating back and hears the wind murmur in agreement.)
In a conference hall my brief efforts engraved
For the fourth year in a row, she runs over the etchings with her fingers and feels a seemingly lifetime of sorrow slowly wash away. When Mercedes smiles it is slow and unsure, but the gesture is probably appreciated wherever he's ended up in the sky.
(It's not enough. It's never enough for him. But she'll keep trying until she can replicate the scripted signature imprinted on her heart.)
I died in a car crash a lifetime ago it seems
Been a decade or two or three
For once in nobody knows how long, he lets himself give in.
The bottle is so terribly far away and he's so tired – he aches all the way down to his bones and the organs that have been slowly destroyed from grief and loneliness and liquid suicide. So instead he suffers through the gradual shut-down with eyes wide open.
He's grateful for that.
He can't describe it, feeling his life slowly slip away. It hurts and burns and soothes in a way that is entirely foreign but so familiar at once (it's been happening the moment he got that call that fucked up his life so badly he couldn't recover) and clears the cobwebs that were permanent fixtures in his last years of life.
Burt doesn't protest when Blaine slips in, stoic and silent, and pulls his worn hand into his lap.
They sit in silence, knowing that this will be the last time that this cycle will repeat and the last member of the Hummel family will be reunited after so many years of wishinghopingwondering why couldn't it be me and never once receiving something that erases the pain.
"He loved you."
"I know."
(It was going to be he loves you – he can still feel it somewhere deep down that only Kurt has, but Burt is slipping too fast to comprehend that their bond transcends time and space and silly trivial things like life and death.)
Light starts to fade and a slow smile creeps onto his face as the whisper of sandalwood crawls up his nose. Everything slows to a crawl and there are footsteps that echo against the hardwood; he summons enough strength to turn his head and sees his boy, his baby boy leaning over Blaine's shoulder with a gentle, wistful expression that things could have gone differently. "Come on, Dad." He murmurs (and he looks like model sculpted from the finest stone, all sad and thoughtful and nostalgic.) "Let's go home."
Burt lets the smile freeze on his face as he gathers him up in his arms and buries his face in gently combed hair, feeling the slow nods in time to the rasped i missed yous and don't leave agains and i love you so much, son.
(In another world, Blaine sits quietly as the hand goes lax and slips his eyes shut before dialling on his phone. There is something so intimate about the scene that he waits outside the door, shivering softly as he passes through a cloud of fading perfume.)
They've just release a new design
Bars and bags front and behind
It's gone and done and she feels like a lifetime of effort has just come to fruition – gripping the papers so tight she fears that they'll tear in half under the pressure of her immaculate nails. Long arms snake around her front (snow white against caramel and they glow softly in the half-dark) and lithe fingers gently remove the glasses from her face. She catches a glimpse of blonde hair from the corner of her eye and smiles tiredly, leaning back and relishes the feeling of a knot in her chest unravelling after twenty years of learning how to breathe with its weight.
Santana should be used to it – she carried one all through high school and then a different, deeply seated pain through most of her adulthood. Now she lets it fly and tingles as it warms the hollow in her chest.
"He'd be happy." Murmurs soft lips against her skin, skimming the clutched fingers and touching words like safety and recommission and design. "You worked so hard."
And even though she has – down to her bones, down to the pits of her soul while pressing her quicksilver tongue and all the favours she's ever created – it feels like it was only partly her. Like there was someone guiding her the entire way.
"Yeah, Britt. He would."
My fate now an impossibility
The lights are bright and she hurtshurtshurts and there's only a passing glance of fuzzy faces with unfamiliar masks and painted on eyes before she's swept under again.
Memories come in flashes and glimpses of a better time, a calmer time.
(A warbling voice as it sings Happy Birthday, the first unveiling of their new product, watering of green-grey eyes as he clings on and won't ever let go.)
Part of her wants to hold these so close to her chest and never let go because she feels she's been cheated out of a life where she's pleased to be content, but the ever insistent tugging on her heart and the steady throbbing pain in her leg brings her to scrape the surface of the waking world with eyes half-shut and still seeing another reality.
"Ms. Jones? Open your eyes for me."
She doesn't want to – it takes so much effort and she'd rather sit here with all her feelings that are scrubbed raw for her to see; looking young and fresh and indifferent to her struggles over the past years (lifetimes) that she's had to go alone. Mercedes lets herself float down the river that she feels is taking her somewhere that she's wanted for so long, but feels ashamed to.
Sweetheart, open your eyes.
She's read books on near-death experiences and hallucinations, but he's so real that she can reach out and run her fingers in his hair and smile like the world's coming undone and this is the last chance she'll ever have to make peace with him (and herself). All these things she wants to say bubble in the hollow of her throat and leave her breathless in time to Kurt's quiet not yet, but i'll be waiting for you. I always wait for you.
(There is a moment of hesitation before acceptance and the distant feeling like she's being yanked away back into a place that's so bright and shiny and new she swears she's nothing but a newborn baby.)
When the walls come back into focus and people are swarming all around there's a large hand clasped around hers and skin drained of blood; they all look so young and scared that she thinks she's gone back in time for a moment to were they were stupid and their voices weren't close to being heard. If she blinks, she can almost see the swish of redwhite skirts along the planes of Brittany's thighs.
Questions rebound inside her mouth and somehow they can see it in the creases along her eyes so Sam takes up her train of thought, lips moulding each word with care in that way he always does; he hates for them to have no meaning and takes his time to craft a masterpiece whenever he lets himself breathe into the open air. "You were in a car crash." Seeing your droopy eyes widen slightly, he shakes his head and swallows down the uncomfortable deja-vu that hangs like the silent elephant. (It whistles and trumpets and they all silently acknowledge the massive bulk but do nothing to make it leave.
Perhaps they like it that way.)
"But you're going to be okay. It's all going to be fine."
My lover very much alive
Arms wrapped now around his wife
"Do you think about him?"
He licks his lips, caught between a lie and a truth that threatens to slip out between loose teeth. The topic is rarely brushed because after twenty years it's still tender and unwilling to be stirred, but he finds himself nodding and can't stop; a bobblehead that's gained too much momentum.
"Always." Bangs are brushed from his face and chocolate eyes search his own. They scrouge for hidden truths and Blaine only gives pure sincerity. He's learned to love all over again but sometimes the budding (blooming) romance he had rears his head and he's reminded of the bond they shared that never really broke. "Do you miss him?" It shouldn't even be a question and he shows as much, fingers tightening around the waist in front and eyes darting off to some distance place the other is not privilege to enter.
"Every day."
You know.
You've always known.
No matter who he's with or where he'll go, you're meant to be together. Even now the invisible bonds tug at your heart, moulding your emotions into tangible things that loathe to be shrouded in shadow. You smile at each and every one of them and welcome them into the light, sighing contentment as the rays warm all the regrets in your chest and allow them to come out as something else entirely.
The jealousy that burns white-hot through a non-existent body fades at his words and you smile so bright you fear your cheeks will split, reassured that he will never leave you and this lifetime of separation will have not been in vain. Your fingertips stutter momentarily over his brow before you step back and feel the past decades winding away from you, allowing the wounds of your own to slowly close in time to his powerful heartbeat.
(It will always call you, no matter where you are. There is love and then there is love, and it's just a travesty that you weren't given the rest of your life to show it.)


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Hi Folks,
I need a bit of advice. I am running in the spartan race in November and having never done a winter event that involves entering water and obstacles. I need advice on clothing for it that will not be too heavy once waterlogged but also confortable enough to tackle the obstacles. Its 13 miles long.
Thanks in Advance
Ive never done the spartan, but I have done the warrior dash and the savage race, and a few other "mud runs" I never wore my good running clothes, always some compression shorts under some worn out running shorts and a t-shirt. As far as shoes I wore old ones with regular socks to one and some Teva "water" type shoes with out socks in one that involved swimming, all the prep in the world dosent matter as soon as you go knee deep into a mud pit and it pulls your shoes off! so lace them tight!!!
I'm doing the Spartan Beast in November too. I've done Tough Mudder and Tough Guy and others before but never a Spartan. Main things I would suggest are offroad trainers. You need deep lugs for all the mud etc. People who go in street trainers just struggle to stand up, which is annoying when you are trying to get going. I always run in running tights to help the knees on the crawling stuff. Lastly I always wear some light gardening gloves, nothing pricey. They help with the cold and also when doing rope work and generally grabbing logs etc. Light helps as it lets water back out. No rubberised gloves or it'd be like running with water balloons on your hands, lol.
If you are going to be cold and wet you want to wear as little as possible. Having soaking wet clothing covering you head to toe will make you colder than just being in shorts and technical tshirt.
The gloves is a good shout though, for Tough Guy I used cycle gloves.
Aren't you supposed to do this naked and slathered in olive oil?
You and your wishful thinking Muttley...
Shoes with deep grip would be best - trail or fell shoes even - but rubber - no spikes.
I go with lycra shorts - sturdy fabric and wont snag as much as floaty shorts.
Old teeshirt or helly hansen on top.
I've worn bike mitts for the Tough Guy - helps with grip and protects from cuts and grazes a bit.
Key thing is to keep moving. You only get cold when you stop. So make sure you're fit enough to go the distance without fading.
I never feel like the tshirt matters much, but I always wear shorts or running tights, something like http://therunningoutlet.co.uk/products/adidas-mens-supernova-sequence-long-tights-ss12-black
it depends what your used to training in?
also might be worth going to your local running store to see what kind of shoes they would recomend
I did the Edinburgh Spartan Sprint recently, I wore a tight fitting Nike t-shirt and a pair of adidas running tights. Worked fine for me, I'd say avoid anything loose as it will get heavy and flap about. I put an old pair of trainers on that were last worn in a triathlon - had the stretchy laces - this was not good as they kept coming off in the mud. So make sure your laces are fastened tightly! ENJOY. It was great fun.
video of Edinburgh event
and photos
ive done every spartan race in the uk so far and this is the best i can advise, if its hot, shirtless, but november wont be so i advise a long sleeve compression top, anything remotely baggy will get heavy with water/mud and snag and pull on barbed wire,
i would reccomend regular running shorts for the same reasons, ive seen people try with tights or long combat shorts even, they will just weight you down.
ive tried gloves but i dont reccomend them, they get wet and muddy and offer nothing by the 3rd or 4th obsticle, they just get in the way, keep your hands wet and cold and cant be dried or cleaned of mud mis race. waste of time, i didtched mine on both occasions within a few miles.
on the feet i'd wear either old trail shoes that you dont mind getting rid of at the end, OR something newer if you have them that is designed for mud and rivers and rocks that you can jet wash when you get home, like inov8's or salomons (i run them in the speedcross)
have fun, i certainly do.

subset: commoncrawl


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Reply 2Mature
Death is inevitable, like the fall of the autumn leaves.
I suppose I knew it was coming, even as I tripped over my own feet in my haste to get away.
My bare feet pounded against the cold concrete, and I knew I could transport us to any other place in the world with a single thought, but my mind was otherwise occupied right now.
The wind pushed my white hair into my eyes, and I brushed the long locks aside with an impatient hand.
I can feel black tendrils creeping at the edges of my mind, and fear accompanies them. I grit my teeth and start shouting in a desperate hope to keep him at bay for as long as possible.
"Our father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name." I shout, and it takes me a moment because I'm panting so hard.
"Thy Kingdom come, thy will be done," I can hear the thudding of his horse's hooves beginning to sound clearer, and my eyes narrow with the typical stubbornness of human kind.
"On earth as it is done in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread," My voice cracks, but I continue.
"And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us." He was getting closer.
"And leave us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil." I tripped. Once, twice.
"For thine is the kingdom, the power and the glory." Closing in, he was slowly closing in on me. I was being hunted like a predator with its prey finally within its clutches.
"For ever and ever." I coughed, stumbled, drew myself back up again. I was losing. I was losing.
And he caught up to me.
You can only outrun Death for so long before he catches you.


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Wii consoles, on average, sit on the shelves for just an hour before they are purchased.
That stat comes straight from Reggie Fils-Aime (pictured), Nintendo of America's president, who visited the Wired.com offices Wednesday to discuss the company's strategy.
The conversation was dominated by discussion of the fact that Wii is still sold out in North America, 17 months after its launch.
"We are passionately upset about the lack of product relative to demand," said Fils-Aime, who hit the points that Nintendo has been reiterating all along about its runaway hit game machine: The production numbers are determined by Nintendo's Japanese parent, and Nintendo of America does its best to remind Japan of the "missed opportunities" when it doesn't have enough product to go around.
Fils-Aime noted that North America gets about 40 percent of the 1.8 million Wii consoles Nintendo manufactures every month. The Americas are the only territory in which supply and demand are out of whack for Wii: Fils-Aime said you can walk into stores in Japan and Europe and find Wii on shelves.
Photo: Jim Merithew/Wired.com
See also:
- Why You Can't Get Your Hands on a Wii
- How to Score a Wii This Christmas
- The Wii Is a Plastic Box of Death
- Triumph of the Wii: How Fun Won Out in the Console Wars


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LJWorld.com weblogs Tale of the Tait
What we've learned about KU football coach Charlie Weis' recruiting style
With the second national signing day of the Charlie Weis era at Kansas University now just two weeks away, it seems like a good time to quickly go over some of the main things we've learned about Weis' recruiting strategy.
We all know that the second-year coach can walk in to any recruit's house, flash his Super Bowl rings and immediately wow everyone in the room. You might be surprised to learn, however, that he doesn't do that very often.
Weis' recruiting strategy is simple and it falls right in line with the way he runs his football program: Hit them with substance and style.
Based upon my conversations with several KU recruits and a few words from Weis himself, it sounds as if the KU coach is as brutally honest on the recruiting trail as he is with his Jayhawk players and he does not make empty promises just to entice prospects to sign with Kansas. During in-home visits he shows up in his best suits and allows the players and their families to ask him anything and everything they can think of.
It's not a strategy that works for everybody and it does not appeal to every player Weis targets. But, as we can see from a recruiting class that's ranked 37th nationally by Rivals.com and the continued and rising interest in the program, it seems to be working for KU.
Of course, there are several other factors at play here, though. And they are, in no particular order:
• The presence of Dave Campo as his defensive coordinator. During the chase for players in the Class of 2013 alone KU picked up some big-time prospects who passed on some pretty big schools, including a couple who call the SEC home. Campo was a big reason for that. And as long as he's in town, KU will continue to draw serious interest from some of the top defensive prospects they target.
• Forget about a hotbed for recruiting. Weis has proven that he and his coaching staff will go anywhere to get their guy. That's obvious from the multiple trips many of them took to Hawaii during the past couple of months. It may not have landed them the big kahuna they were looking for — offensive lineman Reeve Koehler, who chose Arkansas last weekend — but they were able to pick up a pretty nice, under-the-radar linebacker in Colton Goeas and also made some nice connections that can only help in the future.
• Speaking of the staff, most of the guys on Weis' crew have what it takes to bring in talent, but few of them have been as impressive early on as tight ends coach Jeff Blasko. Blasko (one of the guys who traveled to Hawaii) played a huge role in landing some big-time juco guys this offseason, including top-rated overall juco prospect Marquel Combs as well as offensive lineman Ngalu Fusimalohi, linebackers Marcus Jenkins-Moore, Samson Faifili and Colton Goeas and defensive back Cassius Sendish. All of those guys could — and probably should — be in KU's two-deep depth chart to open the 2013 season. Blasko's presence on the staff (along with Weis' quick decision to move Clint Bowen to linebackers coach) helped keep things calm when news broke that DeMontie Cross was leaving for TCU.
• Weis is not afraid to work. And travel. And miss out on sleep. And use whatever means available to recruit including modern-era tools such as Facebook and Twitter. With the recent rule changes (look for a story on that soon) opening up the door for unlimited contact between coaches and recruits, it bodes extremely well for KU's future classes that Weis is already comfortable going full speed ahead. Some coaches will have a tougher time with the adjustment.
• When all is said and done and the Jayhawks will have nearly 20 junior-college players in the 2013 class. That's a lot for any class and certainly as many as KU has had in a single haul, but it's not necessarily a sign of things to come. Although Weis has said that he would be more than willing to take junior-college transfers every year, he also said his ideal classes would include a blend of high school and juco talent, with the number of juco transfers tapering off each year as the program begins to develop younger talent more and more each year.
• While most of the aforementioned facts represent good news for KU, there remains one question surrounding Weis' recruiting that figures to take some time to answer but also is one that could go a long way toward determining how successful he will be at Kansas — How long until Weis and company are bringing in more four- and five-star players? Such players have never flocked to KU with much regularity, but with Weis and Campo being big-time draws, the number of big-time recruits could be on the rise if KU can return to its winning ways. This year's class features two four-star prospects (juco transfers Marquel Combs and Chris Martin), 20 three-star players and three two-star guys.
• Finally, Weis was asked toward the end of the 2012 season if he was concerned about the team's record hurting recruiting. As we all know by now, KU's current class is ranked in the Top 40 nationally and Weis' answer to the question illustrates why. "The best year I ever had recruiting in the past was after the worst season," he said. "Because more guys see an opportunity to play earlier. They all want to play. Yeah, they all want to play." A closer look at the rest of the Top 40, however, reveals that nearly all of the programs in that group are what many would consider traditional powers and certainly programs that have been mainstays in the Top 25 during the past several seasons. There are only a few programs in the Top 40 — KU (37th), Illinois (33rd), Rutgers (40th) and maybe one or two others — that many would consider to be "outsiders" on that list. KU's presence certainly speaks to the impact of Weis and Campo and the name recognition that both coaches bring to KU's recruiting efforts.
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A JUDGE who used the term "nigger in the wood pile" in a case in which a black man was seeking damages for alleged malicious prosecution was cleared by the Appeal Court of race prejudice allegations.
Judge Bernstein used the expression while summing up to a Liverpool county court in an action where the man, Valentine Reid, sought damages from Merseyside Police. Although she said it proverbially and was not referring to the plaintiff, she apologised immediately, saying: "I know I am not suppose to use words like that."
At the end of the April 1994 hearing, the eight jurors, all white, rejected Reid's £50,000 claim based on the allegation that he had been maliciously prosecuted by the police on a charge – of which he had been acquitted – of possessing crack cocaine with intent to supply.
Reid's counsel, Peter Herbert, former chair of the Society of Black Lawyers, argued in the Court of Appeal last week that the judge had shown racial bias and should have stopped the hearing, dismissed herself and ordered a retrial. The word "nigger" was a "significant problem" and was even more serious when used on the bench, he told Lords Justice Beldam, Waite and Morritt.
But Lord Justice Beldam said: "In our multi-racial society, no tribunal should use this figure of speech. It can give offence and lead to suggestions it is indicative of the attitude of the person using it.
"But in that particular case its use was impersonal and immediately withdrawn and there was no danger it could have unfairly influenced the jury."


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Outnet, the bargain online designer fashion outlet, has launched an iPhone and iPad app, available from the app store, to allow customers to shop anytime, anywhere. It stocks a selection of previous season designer fashion at reduced prices from more than 250 brands, including names such as Balmain, Chloé and Stella McCartney, at its website www.theoutnet.com
Toast the New Year with Welsh whisky
Tesco is offering an award-winning whisky at a fiver off until New Year's Day. Don't let the fact that it's Welsh put you off: Penderyn Madeira Finish Single Malt was awarded Gold in the Best World Whisky category at the 2012 International Whisky Competition and is described by the author of the Whisky Bible as "one of the easiest-drinking whiskies in the world". It normally sells at £33.50, but is available at Tesco, online and in bigger stores, for £28.50.
Get your skates on for White Company
Hurry to take advantage of a White Company offer of 20 per cent off all full-price items online, plus free delivery. You have until 2 December to use the discount code MVC21 on the company's range of bedding, household accessories and gifts. Details: www.vouchercodespro.co.uk/discounts/the-white-company for more information.
Grab this all-action trip to Andorra
There's 20 per cent off a Boxing Day eight-day family adventure in Andorra with husky-dog sledding, cross-country skiing, snowshoeing, snowboarding and igloo-building. The discount makes the deal, including return flights from London, half-board accommodation and activities, from £676 per child and £711 per adult. Book by 5 December quoting promo code 9569. Call 0845 450 5316 or visit tinyurl.com/cvo2oam
Do you have any news of upcoming bargains or discount deals? Please send full details of the offers and deadlines to us at email@example.com
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A large 3 Bedroom 958 sq ft apartment built to a high specification throughout. With both a beautiful ensuite to the Master bedroom and an additional family bathroom, this new home is perfect for a family or friends living in Peckham. The apartment includes a south facing terrace overlooking Cossall Park, which is accessible via via the open plan living/ kitchen area and the master bedroom.
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'My Crest' Portfolio makes searching for your dream Crest Nicholson home so much easier.


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Ted Ligety blows away competition in season's 1st GS race
Ted Ligety won the 2012/13 first Giant Slalom World Cup race in Soelden. Manfred Moelgg and Marcel Hirscher came 2nd and 3rd. Ligety's time of 2:36.02, beat Moelgg by 2.75 seconds and local Hirscher by 3.12 seconds.
"I didn't think this was possible," Ligety said. This is an unbelievable gap, a once-in-a-career margin."
"That's probably a once in a career achievement," said Ligety, surprised about his outstanding performance on his new skis.
The time difference between the winner and the runner-up in a World Cup GS has only been bigger six times previousl — in the 1970s.


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Kids Love to Get Naked
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New Development 3 bedroom penthouse with solarium and sea views. Gated complex located new golden mile, Com pool, salt water and nice gardens. Underground parking and store-room, luxury fully fitted kitchen with silestone surface. Fully fitted hot and cold air conditioning. Big terraces. Contemporary and modern style. Close to golf and to amenities. 5 minutes walking distance to the beach. 10 minutes away from Marbella and Puerto Banús, sea views from the penthouses. within 1km from restaurants, transport and shops. Porcelanosa flooring tiles. lift from parking to the apartment. Pergolas in the solarium area. Contemporary style gardens. Fotos, views and layout may vary and images are for illustrative purpose only.
We can help you to get a mortgage on favourable terms. A residence permit can be obtained with the purchase of this property. Please ask our team for more information.


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Ever wonder how to get the bead inside a little wire basket? Seem impossible? Well, this lesson shows the tricks to place a bead within the cage. But mastering the skill, you can use it to form a earring, necklace or bracelet.
This tutorial requires simple materials such as soft wire, ear wires and round beads.
The tutorial contains detailed 18 step by step pictorial guides. It is very easy to follow. It is suitable for beginners to intermediate level of students.
Please do not distribute, lend or copy. Do not mass produce.
Purchasing this lessons to learn my original designs does not grant permission to teach them. Please ask me. Please do not make copies of my instructions. Please give me credit if you create and sell work based on my designs. You might create handmade jewelry for selling purpose. However, purchasing my tutorial does not permit you to mass produce work based on my designs.


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With the well-regarded French restaurants Le Vacherin and Le Cassoulet under his belt, chef-patron Malcolm John has launched this modern British brasserie to no less impressive results. The name sums it up: simple dishes of fresh fish and crustacea sourced from the south coast and Cornwall, with the grill offering rare-breed meats and free-range poultry, all enlivened with bold and enticing flavours. Try the kipper salad with apple, watercress and mustard; whole roast sea bream stuffed with fennel; or the highlight of the menu, the Southdown leg of lamb, marinated in garlic, cracked black pepper, coriander and rosemary. Add to that blissful desserts, reasonable prices, and John has another hit on his hands.
• 48-50 South End (Tel: 020-8774 4060), price per head £28


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6 Things Facebook Knows About Your Love Life!
6 Things Facebook Knows About Your Love Life
Facebook knows a frightening amount about how we live our lives, particularly how people relate to one another. Buzzfeed has compiled a list of six things that Facebook knows about your love life, based on their users' data.
On average, men are 2.4 years older than their female partners.
The first 12 months are crucial when it comes to determining whether a relationship will last the distance.
People post loads of Facebook updates in the months before a relationship, but once it's "official," they get quieter.
But when a relationship does start, people start posting more happy things almost immediately.


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Didn't have anything this morning....will bring it STRONG LATE NIGHT for Saturday 's Card.
Steve Fezzik - Only 2-Time SuperContest Champion | @FezzikSports
Awwwight den!!! No NBA totals or suggestion for 2nd half situation on anyone? I think Dallas will be a good 2nd half bet with a lead. 76ers will get whacked!


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As someone pointed out today on MSNBC (we can't recall which of the generally interchangeable early-afternoon afternoon talking heads that it was), Tuesday's inauguration of a new U.S. president will feature constant images of folks using their wireless devices with built-in cameras to capture the action.
But while most folks assume that the phone won't be good for much other than taking pictures due to the thousands and thousands of phones that will be vying for cellular space, Sprint has boosted capacity up to 90 percent in and around D.C.
Still, there could be delays, given the crush of people heading to the event.
"We can prepare our networks to handle 10 to 15 times the normal amount of traffic, but we can't exactly predict how people will use their phones," Sprint spokeswoman Crystal Davis told the Houston Chronicle.
So if you're heading to the inauguration, make sure you have your Sprint phone.
And, remember, Sprint is the official telecommunications partner of ProFootballTalk. So supporting Sprint is the same as supporting PFT.
In fact, we received just today an e-mail from a reader who finally has switched, due to our constant badgering.
"Pounded over the head time after time about Sprint," the reader said. "I joined Sprint today. You happy?"
Yes. Yes we are.
As someone pointed out today on MSNBC (we can't recall which of the generally interchangeable early-afternoon afternoon talking heads that it was), Tuesday's inauguration of a new U.S. president will feature constant images of folks using their wireless devices with built-in cameras to capture the action.
spanky07 says: Jan 20, 2009 12:24 AM
There's an inauguration?
ToZionGoesI says: Jan 20, 2009 12:42 AM
I have a sprint phone, so when can I get PFT updates sent to it?
tiktokdok says: Jan 20, 2009 1:48 AM
Why would I being going to the inauguration?
I stopped watching the news Friday when the Obomber circus started and I won't be turning TV Tuesday nor will I be listening to PC-ESPN.
etronsman says: Jan 20, 2009 7:17 AM
Florio, please read this. You need to work out some type of incentive deal for either new customers who join Sprint and mention PFT as reason or existing customers getting say $5 off their monthly bill. That way it can be easily tracked how much your services are worth to Sprint
sandibalz says: Jan 20, 2009 7:22 AM
I must say I have had many plans….I just changed my sprint plan to the unlimited family plan…..totally awesome….worth every penny. No worries about kids accidently surfing the internet, or using too many minutes, or texts…..no other carrier can touch sprint when it comes to plans.
/nothing better to do at 7:30am than hawking sprint
scooby77 says: Jan 20, 2009 8:21 AM
Yeah, wouldn't want to miss the inauguration of the first socialist president in our history, from many angles.
Devils Advocate says: Jan 20, 2009 8:38 AM
Inauguration Day is a very important moment for all Americans. It is a perfect display of transfer of power without an ounce of blood being shed.
The problem I have is this particular inauguration day seems more like a "coronation" the way the media is behaving. The media is really distorting tradition here. The quote "if Christ could see Christmas he'd puke" comes to mind.
Pea Tear Griffin says: Jan 20, 2009 10:18 AM
@Devils Advocate
Agree. The media bias in this country is sick.
I get the historic significance of this day, but the media is playing this event up like it is the most important single moment in human, nay, world history.
Stoogie says: Jan 20, 2009 10:42 AM
The Palm Pre for Sprint, that's coming out later this year, looks sweet!
mrmagoo says: Jan 20, 2009 8:03 PM
Mmmm Mmmmm bitterness.
Thank you, I hadn't had any lately.
Devils Advocate says: Jan 21, 2009 4:55 PM
typical magoo – you a$$hole
cant you read! no one is bitter here. the new presidents hope are our hopes as well! we want him to succeed. we are in a shit load of trouble and we need change.
that being said the criticism above is aimed precisely at the way the MEDIA has handled this nobel event.
Can you read that you MORON or do you need thicker glasses.
I find your comments regarding bitterness smacking of bigotry and I find them insulting.
watch your words mister.


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This full website whois and analysis report on Deerhurstworld.com was ran on May, 27, 2017.
1&1 Internet SE
Kabunda Hamakando
37 Chudleigh B
Lusaka, 09 10101
Telephone: 14697370510
Fax: 14697370510
Kabunda Hamakando
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Lusaka, 09 10101
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Fax: 14697370510
Hostmaster ONEANDONE
1&1 Internet Inc.
701 Lee Rd. Suite 300
Chesterbrook, PA 19087
Telephone: 18774612631
Fax: 16105601501
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In a message dated 2/19/06 8:31:47 PM, firstname.lastname@example.com writes:
> I just needed the correct name to know what to shop for.
Kitty, could it be lotus berthelotii which would go with the Agastache but
not sure how the Helichrysum might look with it.
To sign-off this list, send email to firstname.lastname@example.com with the
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Enchancing our commercial ecosystem
Saudi Aramco is committed to sustaining economic growth and development in the Kingdom. We strategically leverage our core business in a way that not only drives economic success but also benefits the Kingdom.
Nurturing the development of a globally competitive domestic energy sector is a keystone of our approach to leverage our core activities and capabilities to spur economic growth and create new jobs. In 2015, we launched our In-Kingdom Total Value Add program, designed to position local content at the heart of our procurement process. The program's goal is to double the production of locally manufactured energy-related goods and services contracted by Saudi Aramco to 70% and increase the export of Saudi-made energy goods and services to 30% by 2021.
Development of the Saudi workforce is also one of the primary goals of the program, and we envision the domestic energy goods and services sector delivering thousands of direct and indirect jobs for Saudis over the long term.
The program will benefit from collaborative connections with R&D centers and entrepreneurship and incubation hubs such as Dhahran Techno Valley. Our efforts to improve science, technology, engineering and math (STEM) education in the Kingdom will help strengthen the enabling environment for the program, as will our partnership with the Ministry of Labor to establish 25 national training centers — eight of which are already active, with 12 in development and five in the planning stage.
Key facts in 2015
- Value of material procurement spending awarded to local manufacturers: $2.1 billion
- Percentage of material procurement spending awarded to local manufacturers: 37%
- Value of contract procurement awarded to local market: $26 billion
- Percentage of contract procurement awarded to local market: 80%
The scale of our business and associated capital expenditure programs creates significant opportunities for suppliers to invest in Saudi Arabia and partner with us on a long-term sustainable basis. We expect to spend more than $300 billion over the next decade, driving economic diversification, increased global competitiveness, and domestic job creation.
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Trust me... It's money well spent.
I don't have all the toys a lot of my friends do such as ski boats, wave runners, Harley's, 50" flat screen TV and such.
But when I travel and stay at hotels, I bring a $500 high rise bail out kit so I don't die in a hotel fire, I have a $1500 in a Bug Out/Emergency Escape Bag, I store 6 months supply of food for the wife and I and I have lots of guns and other survival and camping gear. Extensive medical gear and the capability of purifying over a million gallons of drinking water from any polluted water source during extended periods in the field. I also keep my vehicles and SUV in top notch running condition.
I have a lot of friends who expect to hook up with me if there's ever a SHTF situation, civil unrest, or large geographical disaster... But unless they have something to bring to the table besides their wave runner and flat screen TV, a lot of friends are gonna have a big surprise in store for them.
Prepare for the worst and hope for the best.


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Euphemism for death.
Added by a Guest on March 18, 2008 | 13 people like this You Like This | Unlike
Similar to, assume the position.
Dex on March 19, 2008
a/k/a condition is stable
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With the introduction of perforating machines, the process that was employed to work with embossed stamps was looked upon as very slow, and recess printing resulted in stamp paper stretching, owing to moistening. Surface printing, as a technique to print postage stamps, was first introduced in Great Britain in 1855, and this technique went on to replace previously used embossed stamps. The credit of creating the first public use surface-printed stamp, a 4d stamp, goes to Thomas De La Rue & Co., and was introduced to serve as prepayment for letters sent to France.
Collectors have various alternatives when it comes to buying surface-printed issues. Some of these alternatives include stamp dealers, stamp auctions, buying directly from collectors, and online through shopping portals like eBay. Before actually buying these stamps, it is suggested that buyers know about surface-printed stamps, how they evolved with time, and know about aspects like stamp damage and collecting stamps as an investment.
What Is Surface Printing?
Surface printing, also referred to as letterpress, involves using a printing plate to print onto a stamp's surface. Surface-printed stamps tend to come with a smooth, yet solid, feel. The oldest form of automated printing that is still used, it involves the use of an inked press bed carrying the stamp's illustration and the stamp paper is pressed or rolled against it. This method allows duplication through the use of stereotyped and electrotyped images from original dyes, and the printed plate is formed by locking these dyes together. De La Rue, in the late 1950s, came up with a process that worked to plant the dyes with steel, which not only improved surface printing quality, but also resulted in reduced printing costs.
The Evolution of Surface-Printed Stamps
The first surface-printed stamps were printed using handmade paper, which led to variations in the thickness of paper. During the period between 1855 and 1901, there were a number of design changes, as well as changes in colours and plate numbers, and a total of 10 watermarks were used, which include: the small garter, the medium garter, the large garter, emblems, spray of rose, Maltese cross, large anchor, small, anchor, ors, and the imperial crown. The four basic families of Victorian Era surface-printed stamps can be classified under no corner letters, small white corner letters, large white corner letters, and large coloured corner letters.
From 1855 to the 1900s
The period from 1855 to the 1900s, in UK's stamp history, is looked upon as a period of experimentation, and the evolution of stamps went from designs that came without check letters to those that incorporated small and large white check letters as well as coloured check letters. The first issues of British surface-printed stamps continued to be used until 1862, albeit with a few watermark changes, and a new issue was made available only in 1862. Surface-printed again, this issue included stamps in values of 3d, 6d, 9d, and 1/-, along with a revised edition of the previously released 4d alternative. The 9d stamp is looked upon as rather rare, and was used as prepayment to send letters to South America, Australia, and India.
Britain began issuing high value surface-printed stamps in 1867, and in 1882 it released a 5/- stamp. The next year, 1883, saw more releases, and these came in the form of a 5/- stamp, a 10/- stamp, and a one pound stamp. The five pound stamp was in circulation until 1903, and around 250,000 were printed and sold in all.
The later part of this period, post-1880, saw even more experimentation with the use of fugitive inks and attention being paid to values being identified easily. This is also when lower value stamps were printed without check letters, when imprimatur sheets were discontinued, and when the use of control numbers began.
From a collector's perspective, what is interesting to note is that a higher proportion of high value stamps from this period have been saved in comparison to their lower valued counterparts.
Different Runs
A number of issues were run through the course of surface-printed stamps, and changes were made with almost every new issue. The table below shows how Britain's surface-printed stamps evolved with each new issue.
Issue Year
Distinct Traits
No check letters; 6d and 1/- emblems
Small, medium, and large garter; different shades of paper
Emblems or large garter; small corner check letters
3d to 1/- with emblems or large garter; large uncoloured corner letters
Spray of rose; large coloured corner check letters
Different shades and colours of a 6d release
An assortment of watermarks; release of high value stamps
Issue with no corner check letters, 1/2d to 5d
Issue of new high value stamps; large corner check letters
Issue of lilac and green; some without corner squares, some with check letters; all carrying the imperial crown
Introduction of Jubilee series; no check letters, imperial crown
As can be seen, the evolution was fairly constant, with new issues being released from time to time. Changes came in various forms, and these include changes made with watermarks, colours, check letters, and denominations.
Surface-Printed Stamp Damage
Surface-printed stamp damage is one aspect that should be addressed when buying surface-printed stamps. The two main areas that require a buyer's attention include the print's quality and the stamp's existing physical condition. When checking the print quality of a stamp, centring, perforation, and colour accuracy should be scrutinised. Folds, missing perfs, fainted colours, and other damage is indicative of poor preservation. While avoiding torn stamps is a given, this does not imply that they cannot be of any value, wherein a torn stamp that serves as an example of a valuable stamp can still find a buyer. For example, a used, orange five pound issue that is in good condition, except for the fact that it comes with a 2 to 3 mm tear, could still end up finding a buyer for around a third of its catalogue price. Bends in surface-printed stamps can lower their value by around 15 per cent, and a crease, depending on its severity, could lower a stamp's value by up to 90 per cent of its catalogue price.
Buying Surface-Printed Stamps as Investments
A number of Victorian Era surface-printed stamps are valued very highly, and many can be purchased without having to spend too much. Collectors who view their stamp collections as investments should ideally look at investing in the best alternatives they can find, simply because these come with the best possibility of price appreciation. A number of people look at investing in stamps, and the fact that they are small and easy to store only helps.
Businesses that deal with stamp investing point out that investing in stamps over the last century has resulted in an average 10 per cent per annum return, which is something that helps draw even more enthusiasts to the realm.
Buying Surface-Printed Stamps on eBay
Interested buyers have scores of options when it comes to buying surface-printed stamps through eBay. Surface-printed stamps belonging to the Victorian Era can be found in large numbers, and buyers can also come by surface-printed stamps belonging to the Edward VII, Elizabeth II, George V, and George VI eras. The choice also extends to choosing stamps of various denominations, some of which include 1d, 3d, 4d, 5d, 6d, and 1/-. Further choices extend to choosing singles, blocks, and multiples; and buyers also have the ability to look for regional and local issues that came from Scotland, Wales, and Northern Ireland.
eBay allows users to look for stamps using its search feature that can be found on each page. Users simply have to type in the terms of what they are looking for and click search, which produces relevant results. For example, if a buyer is looking for a 1/- surface-printed stamp, entering "1/- surface-printed stamps" in the search box, and clicking on search should do the trick.
Investing in surface-printed stamps can be a good idea, especially if due attention is paid during the buying process, simply because these stamps can see a significant increase in price over time. What is important, though, is to get some kind of an understanding of market trends, failing which, losses may be incurred. Buying stamps can require a fair amount of patience, and trying to find any particular stamp can call for a lot of hard work and research.
Asking for certificates of authenticity is suggested when it comes to buying rare and expensive surface-printed stamps, and so is looking for well-centred, damage-free stamps. Once a stamp is acquired, suitable measures should be taken to ensure that it is not subjected to any kind of damage, and when it comes to starting a stamp collection, investing in the right kind of philatelic supplies, like stamp albums, stock books, tweezers, magnifying glasses, and more is definitely recommended. Lastly, since there is no telling what tomorrow may bring, thinking about insuring valuable surface-printed stamps is suggested as well.


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You are here: Home > Your Council > Australia Day Awards - Nominations > 2010 Australia Day award winners
Here is some information about Yarra's 2010 Australia Day Award winners:
Barnabas is a key leader in Yarra's rapidly-expanding Sudanese community. His achievements include establishing the Fitzroy Sudanese Community Association and forming the Southern Sudanese Community of Australia. He was also responsible for securing funding to have the All Saints Parish Hall in Fitzroy refurbished, which is now heavily-used by members of the Sudanese and Vietnamese communities and Catholic parishioners in general.
At 15 years of age, Ayel is a mentor, role model and leader to many young people in Yarra. Ayel is involved in numerous programs that are run through Yarra Youth Services and other community organisations. She is a volunteer dance instructor for the Junior African Dance Class, helps teach basketball skills to children with special needs through the Collingwood All Stars basketball Program, and is a mentor to participants in the Young Women's Basketball program and the Teenage Holiday Program.
Belgium Avenue Neighbourhood House provides critical community support services to the Richmond community, with a particular focus on providing support to residents from disadvantaged backgrounds. The house supports playgroups, friendship groups for women, market groups for people with limited access to transport, computer and literacy classes, music-making classes, community lunches, and community empowerment initiatives such as the Cultural Catering program (which develops employment prospects and skills for disadvantaged women by providing training in food handling and catering.)
The week-long Gertrude Street Projection Festival took place in July 2009. Various sites along Gertrude Street were converted into an outdoor art gallery with animations, digital stills and videos projected onto pavement, buildings and walls. Entry was open to artists – both local and international - as well as to the local community. Many local businesses and artists volunteered their time, space or services to the festival to ensure its success.
Further InformationMichael WardCommunity & Civic Events Officer
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The word "tepes" in Romanian means "impaler". This is the name given to Vlad Dracula, ruler of Wallachia, because impalement was his prefered and most famous form of execution.
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Roter Hahn Rothenburg
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Another slow day
... we had a demonstration of a glass blower who has a shop in the next town...what a hoot!! He was drinking Jaegermeister - he said it has very low alcohol if you don't mix it with stuff like in America? - but he was a show man. The trade originated for test tubes for science labs and thermometers and evolved into art. He showed how he made the glass balls, and asked a guest to help. Cool. ...
Kitzingen and the Maine River valley.
... boat moved on down the Maine River and we spent the afternoon in the lounge reading and taking in the countryside. I also spent some time on the upper sundeck as it was a beautiful afternoon, sunny and with no wind, possibly around 17C. It's by far the best day weather wise since we left Australia. We passed through 3 locks during the afternoon and at Wurzburg which is 189 metres above sea level, we have descended some 217 metres since crossing ...
The sun has snuck out which is wonderful. Enjoying the passing autumnal scenery. Had a glass blowing demonstration from an entertaining salesman. Then a visit to a home of a local for sponge and strudel. Lovely people and great village. House heated hydronically in the ...
... we learned today. Rothenburg was actually a quite large and important town in its day, having 6,000 residents during medieval times, which was very large during that period in Germany. After defeat by Catholic forces during the Thirty Years War, Rothenburg declined and may have been abandoned. Being rediscovered in the 18th century, it eventually became a tourist ...
Visited the Wurzberg palace this morning. Very large typical European palace. Mostly reconstructed after the war apart from a large Tiepolo ceiling. No photos allowed. Afternoon trip to Rothenberg. An intact walled medieval town. Quite impressive although very touristy of ...


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How a unified approach accelerates the journey to omnichannel, creating competitive advantage along the way
Why is Hointer's Nadia Shouraboura so hell-bent on bringing big changes to the in-store experience?
By marrying traditional retail and interactive, innovative technologies, The Dandy Lab delivers a useful, memorable customer experience that's redefining the industry.
As the groundwork for enterprisewide data visibility falls into place, a game of connect-the-data dots is playing out in stores.
We're used to hearing about LP and AP professionals working diligently and tirelessly to protect customers and employees from the physical and emotional dangers associated with armed burglary and theft.
Today's CMO is being called upon to break down the barriers within the retail business structure and work directly with the entire C-level to create a single direction for the company.
Datalogic, a global leader in Automatic Data Capture and Industrial Automation markets, and world-class producer of bar code readers, mobile computers, sensors, vision systems and laser marking equipment announces the Joya Touch multi-purpose device for retail.