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The VCF-SED (Voltage Controlled Filter) module is a lowpass-filter as a single ended discrete (transistors) filter that can be driven into clippng zone.
The filter module has two audio inputs with input 1 offering variable attenuation. When not patched the filter output is fed back into this input. By this, it is easy to recreate the legendary feedback-trick that leads to additional pushing bass. Input 2 has a fixed input sensitivity that matches the Mix output of MFB's oscillator module OSC-03.
Filter cutoff can be controlled manually as well as from CV-sources. CV-1 is adjustable in intensity and intended to be used with an envelope generator. CV 2 has two functions: It accesses the internal Key-CV-voltage provided by the system-bus (when fed by a MIDI/CV-interface). This allows for easy key-tracking for the cutoff-frequency. Tracking-intensity can be adjusted by a trim-potentiometer. An additional front-panel-input allows adding a further CV-source (e.g. LFO) that uses the same potentiometer. To use this input independently, the system-bus-access can be disabled by setting a jumper on the circuit board.
Filter resonance, called emphasis, can also be adjusted manually and by an adjustable CV-input.
The module has a width of 40 mm (8 TE).
- 24 dB-Lowpass-Filter with Feedback
- Adjustable Key-CV via system-bus
- Two CV-inputs for filter cutoff
- CV-input for filter emphasis/resonance
Questions on VC Single Ended Discrete Filter - 8HP
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- Eurorack Module
- Width: 8HP
- Depth: 21mm
- Current Draw: 100mA @ +/-12V


text:
Chapter 1 to work in progressMature
Chapter 1:
"Gypsy rover, come over the hill,
down through the valley so shady
He whistled and he sang, till the green woods rang
and he won the heart of a lady"
Kerns was an idealist, whom lived in a small shack beside the pond where The Boy spent most of his time. He would often leave his home, when he wasn't busy on his father's farm, to watch The Boy skip rocks across the water. Kerns family owned The King's favorite farm, and The King took a fancy to Kerns father, as well as Kerns himself, who would often bring his lute to the throne and play The Kings favorite melody, that The King absolutely adored.
Kerns noticed the solemn glaze in The Boy's eye as he threw rocks at the water, that now seemed to just hit the water and sink, instead of skimming across.
I've been hanging around this boy for quite a while now, I still know little about him. Why? Doesn't make sense. If I've known him for practically years now. Maybe I should say something
"Your shot's off." Kerns murmured. The Boy swiftly turned around at the sound of the familiar voice behind him.
"Say something?", he questioned as his eyes locked with Kerns.
I guess I spoke too softly. Doesn't seem too happy...then again. Maybe I should ask him later.
"Is something bothering you?"
"Does it have to be?"
"What?" Kerns stepped back, confused.
"You seem confused", The Boy smiled. "Is something bothering you?". The Boy began to chuckle obnoxiously to himself. Kerns starred at The Boy with quizzical amusement as The Boy began to walk along the bank of the pond.
"Wait!" Kerns shouted, to catch his attention.
"Why?" The Boy nonchalantly responded, as he continued to walk away from the uncanny lad who sat behind him so often. Kerns continued to walk along with the boy, but only slightly behind his trail. The Boy stopped in his tracks, and turned around to meet Kerns eyes, starring directly into his own.
"You know, you've been sitting behind me for about a month now," The Boy said, with no returning expression from Kerns, who just stood there with a stupid grimace plastered onto his face. Kerns nodded his head, a motion for The Boy to continue speaking. "Well, what do you want?"
Kerns cleared his throat, "You whistle, don't you?" The Boy's eyes quickly lightened at the sound of that word whistle.
"From time to time", The Boy murmured, "Yes". A grin erupted upon Kerns face.
Big Bear was still laying motionless, stretched out upon his bed that seemed to spread across the floor of the room in an endless infinity of fabricated comfort that he hardly needed.. He starred at the ceiling for hours on end, with nothing to keep him distracted except the momental visits from his friends both rich and poor. The poor made him happier than the rich did, and whenever the door was knocked upon he hoped that it were some loud and obnoxious slob, rather than a pompous ass. Sometimes, Big Bear was too into his own little world that he wouldn't even answer the door, regardless on how important the meeting was, or how pompous the ass was.
Not much anymore. The world seems small. The purpose is lost. Hmm. Fine wine could get me drunk, but in the end I lay hungover and empty. Maybe more wine is needed. No. No more wine. Not today at least. The best wine could be obtained with the simple signature and drop of a name. Why should I ignore that? No... No more.
The only thing that was important to Big Bear was happiness. He truly believed that life was nothing except the pursuit of happiness, and it was quite explicit that Big Bear had found his chunk of happiness and he was perfectly happy with wasting his life away. He had the money he needed, as did he have the friends he needed. To him, he needed nothing else and he truly did not need anything else. His ability to survive on minimum resources was phenomenal.
He wasn't materialistic, he did not believe in religion, and he was not very fond of the crown, although he did tolerate it. All sorts of authority in general seemed to rub Big Bears fur the wrong way. Due to previous run-ins that ended in both mass blood-shed, and incredible agony, The Kings army never came to his house, which was good for Big Bear with all of his skeletons just waiting to pop out of his closet.
The Price sat upon his bed, his legs dangling over the edge swinging back and forth like two separate pendulums swinging simultaneously. His mind was wondering to and fro throughout the corridors of his head, jumping from topic to topic every minute but always returning to her.
She remained as the prominent figure, always returning in his mind to torment him constantly, because her presence was never attained for. He had the pleasure of calling her his own, but that was only in a literal sense. As far as he was concerned, she showed no interest in him anymore, and it was certainly taking it's toll on his mental health.
"Why can't I go home!", She screamed at her father as her face turned crimson in hue and the tears streamed down her face, leaving behind a trail of wetness that she vigorously wiped away after each burst of indignation.
"You've only just gotten here! I go through so much trouble to have you sent over here every Autumn, and you can't even be grateful!" The King returned with a powerful voice that could penetrate the heavens from the depths of hell.
The King was a powerful man, with dark brown hair that stuck straight up whenever his crown wasn't on. He had a beer-belly, that showed he was well past his prime, and he was only thirty-three. The work that came with regality proved to be strenuous and The King sometimes cracked under pressure. Irrationality would often get the best of him, and he came down upon those who defied him with truculent force that left his opposers begging for mercy, or sometimes not begging at all. However, he was quite mercurial, as he often changed his mood among various types or rage and hostility. Anywhere from mellow agitation, to downright roaring trepidation. Due to this, his daughter was often overstrung.
"I can't be grateful when you're ruining my life!". The ungrateful princess responded and ran away, her eyes to her palms to wane the tear flow.
"So let me get this straight," The Boy cleared his throat. "You play the lute?" Kerns nodded at the pause in The Boy's voice, and smiled. Things were finally going his way it seemed. "And you want me to whistle for you?"
"Exactly!" Kerns ecstatically squealed. Despite his jubilation regarding the situation, all he got was a blank stare from The Boy. "Well, what do you think?". The Boy gathered his thoughts and opened his mouth to speak.
"Whistling seems a bit...odd don't you think?"
"Have you ever heard someone whistle over a lute?" Kerns asked.
"Exactly, what?" The Boy said, trying to prove his point. "I've probably never heard of it for a reason."
"Yeah, obviously." Kerns laughed. "No one's thought of it yet!".
The Boy sighed, "So we'd be the first you think?".
"Maybe, I can't guarantee that though.".
"Show me how well you can play. and we'll see from there.". Kerns eyes lit up with fantastic exuberance as he lifted his finger in front of the boys face, a sign for him to wait, and then took off running for his shack. The Boy stood and waited as he pondered the idea of being the vocals to Kerns lute, and actually kind of liked the idea. He could use this to his advantage in so many ways. Now, he had a new form of entertainment, and could even bring Kerns along with him whenever Big Bear took him to dine with the rich. Besides that, he could finally woo the lady of his dreams, and perhaps even write a song just for her.
Kerns re-appeared with lute in hand, and stopped in front of The Boy, breathing heavily.
"Okay ready?" he said, hoping to impress the whistling boy. The Boy nodded his head, but maintained his stolid expression and didn't let Kerns see the actual giddiness inside of him. "Alright, cool", and at that, Kerns continued to play one of the most beautiful and melodic tunes the whistling boy had ever heard. Every string that Kerns plucked triggered the pleasure receptors in his ear, and The Boy couldn't help but whistle.
He pushed his lips together, and pushed out air that became beautiful notes that complimented Kerns lute playing with the upmost facility. A smile soon came to both their faces as the music they were creating fused together and created something amazing. It was more than just a cute tune that they were making. With this "jam-session", the bond between the two lads grew into something special.
Nik slapped Nate up the back side of his head for the third time that day.
"You fucking idiot!" Nik shouted, proceeding the slap that Nate had recently suffered from. Some sort of insult generally came with the physical abuse that Nate seemed to be semi-oblivious to. He usually freaked out, but seemed to forget about it within the minute.
"Dude, what the fuck!", Nate said as his voice suddenly augmented, and his hands went flailing around like light branches in a gail.
"We were supposed to meet him at the pond fifteen minutes ago!", Nik shouted even louder, as he began to walk in the direction of the pond.
"Whatever, dude", Nate replied nonchalantly, "He can wait". With that, he started to grouch his way to the pond, where he was pre-destined to be.
"You're a real prick", Nik laughed. "You know that?". Nate silently nodded.
NiknNate were an unbreakable pair, much like Samneric from Lord of the Flies. If one was somewhere, the other was there 99 percent of the time. At a young age, both sets of their parents were brutally murdered at the hands of malevolent bandits, during a raid on their village. Since then, NicknNate have depended upon each other as a means to survive in the dangerous world they lived in.
The two of them were crude, mischievous, and usually up to no good. They specialized in ill-humored pranks, which usually left the receiver of such prank in some sort of physical agony, in which NiknNate simply laughed at. No one was safe from these hi-jinx, no-one except The Boy by the pond, whom NiknNate respected with incredible sincerity. NiknNate could easily relate to this boy, because all three of them lacked parents to call their own. The Boy had lost his parents at an age far too young, and was still unaware to this day of their fates.
At the age of nine, The Boy's parents took him to the pond where their nomadic groups had converged, and by a locking of eyes across the water, had fallen madly in love with one another. The place where his parents left their gypsy lives in the past, in hopes for a future without any bigotry and hatred. For anywhere they roamed, any place they may have set foot, they were greeted with gleams of hate.
When they brought him there, he had glowed a golden hue and fell in love with the place, just as his mother had with his father, and vice-verse. He jumped into the pond at first encounter, and swam, climbed trees, did cartwheels in the grass, sang, and danced, all the while singing loudly, not noticing his parents, who were no where to be seen when he peered in their direction.
He panicked. He lost all sense of control, and broke down to his knees crying out for his mother. When that didn't work, he called out for his father. When he didn't answer either he just cried. He remained at that pond for weeks on end, calling for his parents, hoping that they'd one day return and take him home. He usually sat, starring out across the pond with his back to the world, unable to be aware of what was approaching, so on that one day when the large furry looking fellow came by, he was not aware.
At first, The Boy took no notice to the uncanny man next to him. It wasn't his father, and it certainly wasn't his mother, so he was of no use to him. He wished for him to leave. When he was around the company of other's the sorrow in him only grew. He saw into their hearts and saw true joy, which he was searching so desperately for. If only it was as easy as stealing their heart. Sadly though, that would merely leave a bloody mess.
"Where are you're parents, boy?", the fellow said, after a few moments of silence. The Boy looked straight ahead, and still paid no mind to fuzzy thing next to him. A single tear fell from his eye, that the thing next to him immediately took notice to.
"Come with me." he said, as he began to walk away. The Boy reluctantly followed him into the unknown world that lay in front of him.
Big Bear left his home for the first time in days, with hopes of finding other ways to waste his time. Spending time in his easy chair, shooting away his life with every will to do so has seemed to lose it's luster. The outside world was cruel, but he could be crueler.
He walked along the road upon which he lived, and stopped to watch the traffic whiz by him. As they passed by him he tried to analyze those were driving. When he realized he couldn't, he walked onward. He always walked, and never ran unless he was playing some sort of sport or game. Big Bear had once been an all star athlete, and more often than not. put his competitors to shame.
As he grew older though, his will to have physical fun waned and his need for that extra kick rose with great force. He would waste his money, and then waste four to six hours drifting away into some sort of euphoric oblivion that ended up counting for nothing. His health was also rapidly decreasing and he often found himself laying sick in bed, with a normal temperature but a fever that stuck for hours.
He was beginning to lose all will to live, but could still call himself happy. Whether it was denial, truth, or just plain ignorance, he still smiled to others and wished them a good day. He seemed to feed off of the smiles of other's, which at this point was the only thing keeping him from completely losing it. As long as there were people willing to return a smile to him, Big Bear could live on. It was a simplistic life style, but Big Bear was a simplistic being. He knew no lust for complexity.
As the day grew into night, Big Bear continued to walk aimlessly. Soon it became completely dark, and he began to lose his way. He turned and turned and then turned frantic. Into his view came three ominous figures, whom were difficult to make out due to their dark clothing.
"Hey!", Big Bear shouted without even re-thinking the error in this action. With that, the three men began to chatter amongst themselves, and then walked at a fast/steady pace right at him. cracking their knuckles and laughing intimidatingly amongst themselves but aimed at the man in front of them.
A light penetrated Big Bear's eyes that seemed to be coming from the middle-mans hand. As he came closer, a blade came into sight, clenched between the middle-mans fingers.
Kerns and The Boy were still out by the pond. Kerns was luting away whilst the boy whistled, danced, and sang his improvised words about love and heart-break along with the melody. The Boy began to smile uncontrollably, as his mind raced faster than ever before. As the session went on the two slowly gained confidence in each other, and began to learn the others musical tendencies and therefore, could anticipate what was coming next.
"What the fuck is this shit?", Nate obnoxiously interrupted as him and Nik came walking.
"Hey guys!" Kerns ecstatically greeted them. "We're jamming". Nate did not look impressed, or even the slighted bit interested in what the jumpy lute player had to say.
"Shut up, faggot." Nate coldly replied, without even a hint of sarcasm or joking about. Nate was about as cold as they came, and rarely showed sympathy for anyone other than himself. Even as everyone else stood stolid, he was still loud and rowdy, with no-body except Nik to shut him up.
"Wow, dick" the boy laughed as he ceased to dance. "Way to show up on time".
"Yeah sorry dude." Nik replied. "Fucking Nate couldn't seem to leave when told to and I had to force him over here".
"That's not true!", Nate screamed as he tried to defend himself.
"Yes it is.", the boy said, and then turned to Nik. "Alright, what are we doing tonight?"
"We don't know yet, we kind of figured that you'd have something planned out."
"Do I ever?" the boy inquired. NiknNate glared at each other as they shrugged their shoulders.
"Nah" They said simultaneously.
The Price was in a moment of great doubt. He sat there speculating his options and what had led him there, and in the end decided it was all a waste. Anything that had to do with an opulent lifestyle now turned him off. His parents, his siblings, and his friends alike, they were all foreign to him. They merely acted as catalysts for him to leave this eccentric lifestyle behind.
His life-long dream of running away and starting new was imminent, and soon would become inevitable. At night, he would sit upon the sill of his window, debating whether o not to jump and run far away to never return. Tonight was no different. He watched the town below his castle, speculating the effects of his departure. Whether they be prosperous or lead him to despair, he wanted to jump and run.
Where would he go? What would he do? And who would he go to? Besides all of that on his shoulders, the idea of leading his lover left a pain in his stomach that lingered for hours. To him, it was apparent that the love between them wouldn't last, but he wasn't keen on cutting the little time he had short. He finally go what he wanted, and he didn't want to let that go, and who would anyway? He had the most beautiful girl in the entire kingdom, and was about to give it up.
The door behind him creaked open, as a guest entered his room.
"Hello?", the man whispered, expecting a reply, but all he had to greet him was a cold breeze coming from an open window, with no one upon the sill.
"Let's go to the other side of town!" Kerns said as he leapt with undeniable enthusiasm.
"Why?" Nik replied. Kerns enthusiasm quickly disintegrated, and he sat back down.
"I dunno, it just seems like fun".
"Yeah", Nate murmured. "If you like getting harassed by those aristocratic assholes who lives there." The boy began to clap his hands at the close of Nate's cynical statement.
"Woohoo Nate!", he laughed sarcastically. "Aristocratic is a damned big word for you". Nik immediately began to laugh as well. Then noticing that everyone else was chuckling, Kerns let out a slight giggle, which was immediately stopped by Nate who quickly slapped Kerns across the face.
"You're not allowed to laugh at me" Nate grumbled as he folded his arms. The boy returned that statement with a slap back at Nate.
"As long as I am, he can too." Nate slowly nodded as he understood what the boy was getting at. "That was a good idea Kerns" The boy claimed. "Let's go check out the castle!" NiknNate both stopped dead at the word castle. and stood frozen in awe.
"Why the fuck would we go there!", they both screamed simultaneously. Not much scared the duo, but the idea of getting anywhere close to the King sent shivers down their spines. The King would be elated to make the acquaintance of the two most notorious hoodlums, so he could immediately make an example out of the in the public square. "Count us out.". The boy began to clear his throat.
"Suit yourselves." He began to walk down the hilly road, away from the pond. NiknNate stood dumbstruck, and both glared at the boy. They then both set their eyes upon Kerns who was also watching the boy as he strolled away. His eyes locked with Nik's and he shrugged his shoulders and began to to run off to follow the boy, with the lute still in his hands.
"Wait up!" Kerns yelled as he quick;y caught up with the boy. The boy slowed his pace and jerked his head around to watch the squirrelly-like lad come towards him. "What do you have planned?". The boy looked straight ahead, as he opened his mouth to reply.
"We're going to the castle"
"I have realized that....to do what?" Kerns asked.
"You'll see."
"Will I?"
They walked for hours. They walked in the sun and when the sun ceased to shine they walked under the moon. They practiced along the way as they crept through the valley, in a moment of unintentional shadiness, that sent anyone who saw them running home in a fit of fear.
"Why do you suppose all these people are going home?" Kerns inquired, at the sight of the third man who sprinted away from them.
"I couldn't begin to guess why" the boy responded, as he continued to walk towards the castle which was now half a mile away. "You ready?"
Kerns nodded his head, and strode towards the castle along side the boy.
She sat upon her sill, just as the Prince had and glared at the town below her, watching for anything that may catch her eyes. In the room next door, she overheard her father and his most trusted advisor discussing a matter of the morbid persuasion.
"I want order in my kingdom!" She heard the muffled roar of her father through the wall. "Increase our patrol numbers and I want this murderer brought to justice!". A fist slammed upon the table, that shook the floor throughout the castle.
"Of course, sir." the timid voice of the advisor responded. "Criminal outbursts like this must be kept under-control. Especially one's with such a...grim nature.". She heard her father quickly pace around the room.
"Do you think I don't know that?" The King whispered as he crescendoed to a dull roar, so that the 'That' could be heard down the hall.
"Well, of course you do sir."
"Then don't tell me things I already know!". The King was growing impatient, which is odd because he was already impatient to begin with.
"Sorry sir." The advisor murmured.
"How many were killed?". the King sighed.
"Three, stabbed to death with a now blood-stained switch-blade."
"Did I ask you how they were killed?" The King grew even more impatient.
"Well sir....no, I don't believe so"
"Then don't waste my time with such mundane details!"
The Princess began to divert her attention to matters of much less importance. The three dead men peaked no interest to her, and she was not willing to focus her attention on eavesdropping on her fathers affairs.
She stared out the window, bored with the world outside. People passed far away, but none of them were anything special. She wanted someone who caught her attention at first encounter, and never ceased to interest her.
Then suddenly, she heard a soft melody from below her window. It was a lute playing a tender melody that rested well in her eardrum. Just as she got used to the sound of the lute, it was accompanied by a beautiful whistle, that melted with the sound of the lute and created a creamy musical fusion that eased and relaxed her mind.
The Princess then looked down, and noticed two figures at the foot of the castle. One had curly black hair, and was strumming along on the lute. The other was a hooded figure whom was dancing around in tempo to the music. As she watched the uncanny figure, he continued to whistle and sing, to win the heart of the lady. He sang:
"See the lady in her beauty,
She sits alone in her tower,
Her face does so appeal to me,
I watch it daily, by the hour"
Her heart ached with burning desire at the turn of every new verse. His voice brought solace to her mind and every new word that escaped from his vocal chords touched her ears with the most sensual sensitivity, that left her begging for more.
Suddenly, she remembered her pride. and screamed:
"GUARDS!", at the top of her lungs.

subset: commoncrawl


text:
Disclaimer: All information on this site is general info and does not constitute advice on any medical or psychological condition. Please see our full disclaimer here:
In this Medicardium review, a customer of mine describes her first experience with this uniquely formulated Magnesium Di-Potassium EDTA suppository product.
Severe mercury toxicity symptoms on top of being brought back from nearly dying of Toxic Shock Syndrome left this young woman with a litany of serious health challenges.
Knowing that her liver was compromised by her health problems, she was hesitant to try EDTA chelation suppositories. She feared the possibility of Herxheimer reaction (where the body's elimination cannot get the toxins out fast enough).
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I wanted to tell you what my experiences were with the Medicardium. You know that I am intuitive and sensitive to many things.
After the first treatment with a Medicardium suppository, I felt it pulling out from my sacral area. I have had chronic piriformis spasms and tightness and chronic SI problems.
Since doing this first treatment, my muscles do not seem so tight or pulling my SI out of place. Also, I read somewhere that the heavy metals settle in cavities like the pelvic and mouth cavity. Also glands like the thyroid and kidneys.
I also was so tired and somewhat irritable the next day. The coffee enema helped that."
(My comment: Coffee Enema is great the morning after Medicardium. It is also nice to consider taking the very BEST Chlorella 30 - 40 minutes before coffee enema to mop up any mercury and other heavy metal toxins that are released in the bile during coffee enema. This can help prevent Herxheimer detox symptoms).
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Experience the medieval world firsthand in this indispensable hands-on resource, and examine life as it was actually lived. The first book on medieval England to arise out of the living history movement, this volume allows readers to understand-and, if possible, recreate-what life was like for ordinary people in the days of Geoffrey Chaucer. Readers... more...


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Beckham Now Nike's Top-Paid NFL Player Cavs-Warriors Could Redeem Lackluster Playoffs Celtics-Wizards Draws Well For TNT San Diego State Extends Nike Apparel Deal Spurs-Warriors Game 1 Earns 5.6 Overnight NBA Playoffs Marked By Blowouts T'Wolves' Towns Talks Growing Marekting Deals NBA Creates New License For Bow/Neckties Raptors' Ujiri Could Be Ready For Rebuild Nike's Breaking2 Attempt Comes Up Just Short
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T-Wolves G Stephon Marbury "bet that he could double or triple the estimated" $1.5M a year he was to receive for wearing AND 1 shoes, but found "no takers" after agent Eric Fleisher "peddled him all spring and summer to just about every large athletic footwear manufacturer in the business," according to Jeff Manning of the Portland OREGONIAN. Nike spokesperson Vizhier Mooney: "We do think [Marbury] is a great athlete. But in this environment we just have to exercise more discipline in signing new players." Manning called Marbury's situation "the most stunning sign to date of just how drastically the endorsement business has changed for athletes." Fleisher, who Marbury dropped early this month for David Falk, said that Marbury rejected "more than one firm offer." Reebok offered him "between $750,000 and $900,000 a year, [but] no signature shoe," and asked him to wear their Allen Iverson model. Reebok VP/Sports Marketing John Frascotti said that NBA "starters who drew $300,000 to $700,000 just last year can now expect annual" shoe deals of $50,000 to $150,000 (Portland OREGONIAN, 10/31). LOCKOUT FALLOUT: Sporting Goods Intelligence Editor Bob McGee, on the effects of the lockout on the athletic shoe industry: "It hasn't reached the proportion where people are signalling the death knell for basketball, but it won't help its revival." Venator Group spokesperson Juris Pagrabs: "If the lockout is prolonged, we'd expect it to be negative to our business" (ST. PAUL PIONEER PRESS, 10/26).


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Sanctions alert: limited easing of certain Iran sanctions - .PDF file.
On 20 January 2014, as part of the Joint Plan of Action, the US and the EU implemented 'limited, targeted, temporary and reversible' relief from certain sanctions measures in return for Iran's agreement to commence the winding down of certain aspects of its nuclear programme. This limited easing is valid for a six-month period only, until 20 July 2014, and if there is no comprehensive agreement with Iran by that time, those EU and US sanctions that have been temporarily suspended will come back into force. Outlined below are the key aspects of this development and its impact on US companies (and their non-US subsidiaries) as well as on foreign companies that are not ultimately owned or controlled by US persons/entities…
If you are registered and logged in to the site, click on the link below to read the rest of the Hogan Lovells briefing. If not, please register or sign in with your details below.


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It's in the Blood // Claire & MohinderMature
With a relieved sigh, Mohinder nodded at her statement. "Yes, my apologies. They were like forbidden fruit, I suppose. I couldn't resist taking a closer look. I've never seen anything like them. You have excellent taste." The wink told him that she was genuinely fine about this whole almost disaster, which caused him to relax for the moment and give one last glance over his shoulder at the exotic collection as he made his way toward the doorway to keep any further temptation at bay.
Speaking of temptation, once she returned to the doorway, Mohinder's eyes widened as realization hit him - she was holding up her lacy lingerie right in front of him. Like a deer caught in headlights, he wasn't sure the correct way to respond to this situation, having never been in it before. Oh, he'd seen lingerie before but that was usually right before… Yeah. Swallowing hard, he squeaked out something that resembled a compliment. "Yes, as said, you have excellent taste." That wasn't so bad except for how warm his cheeks were now.
As she walked away, he forced a casual smile and eventually leaned on the wall once she was out of sight. Although he knew of many American customs, that one he'd just witnessed had him puzzled. There wasn't any time to theorize about all this, so instead he pulled out his phone to text Peter Petrelli.
After a few back and forth messages, the empath was of no help. Was she really sending a signal to him? That was a very straight forward clue, if so. It was true that he thought her interesting as well, and now he found himself thinking of her as more. Yes, he would return her signal, he decided before straightening up, clearing his throat, and dashing to follow her to the… bedroom.
After cautiously peeking around the corner, he sighed again in relief and walked over to the biggest suitcase to pick it up. "I'm ready if you are." Normally he would have complimented her bedroom, but he wasn't sure now under the circumstances. It was beautiful like the rest of the place, that was for sure.
Once down at the car, he situated her luggage in the back and opened her door for her, allowing his fingertips to graze along her arm and waist as he helped her into her seat. Then an idea hit him and he grabbed the passenger side seat belt. "Sometimes this one jams. Please allow me to help you." And then he proceeded to act as though it had stuck on him before gently wrapping it around her, accidentally brushing against her side as he clicked it into place. "There - all secure." His smile was sincere and only a few inches from her face as he regretfully remembered Peter's advice through text. So there went the puppy Bambi eyes for her and a very subtle flip of his curls as he hesitantly pulled away to move over into the driver's seat. His heart was beating a mile a minute, but at least he had kept his nerve. The signal had been returned (or at least as much of a signal as he was willing to give at the moment, still unsure about Peter's advice).
Once back at his place, he attempted to carry all the luggage in for her and unlock the door at the same time. That didn't quite work out and he finally handed over the keys to her with a sheepish grin.


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SHAUN KNIGHT came off the bench to nick it for the West Country side and lift them into fifth spot.
The 22-year-old prop bulldozed over Welsh's line from close-range. Fly-half Freddie Burns, pushing for an England call-up this autumn, kicked the conversion to take his tally to 13 points.
Welsh's only try came from Franck Montanella while fly-half Gordon Ross kicked 20 points.
Gloucester chief Nigel Davies said: "We knew it would be a real battle. Welsh have got up a head of steam recently and were always going to be tough to beat. But our forwards were outstanding again, laying down the foundations for the win."
Welsh boss Lyn Jones said: "We have got to stop allowing the opposition an easy lead. But the guys fought back and could have won it.
"We proved again that we are a match for any of the Premiership teams."


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04 May 2010 8:11:15pm
They look so sad because Regina and her music is so beautiful! :)
04 May 2010 3:33:41pm
Tom and Alex are shaken by the sudden realization there are No Surprises
03 May 2010 3:55:26pm
They're quietly praying that Edward Cullen doesn't turn up at that piano.
03 May 2010 2:51:06pm
They're trying to look Russian to blend in.
03 May 2010 2:43:45pm
Tom just realised he left the iron on


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Imagine a woman you know: your wife or mother. Your next-door neighbor. A teacher. A doctor. The bus driver who gets your kids to school each day. Imagine her sitting in front of a video screen at an abortion clinic "teleconferencing" with a doctor. A few minutes later, a drawer opens in front of her, and she removes a cocktail of drugs — not medicines to treat an illness, but lethal substances that will allow her to go home and kill her baby in the comfort of her own home.
If that isn't Orwellian and terrifying enough for you, imagine it's your daughter in front of that video screen. Your daughter who is now upstairs in her room, bleeding and scared and in pain, wondering if the abortion is over and her baby is dead.
This is neither science fiction nor a prediction of dark days to come. This is happening now. It started nearly two years ago, the brainchild of those business-savvy folks at Planned Parenthood of Iowa. In an effort to make sure that women all over the mostly rural state can find ways to abort their children, Planned Parenthood offers the "telemed abortion." Women can go to most Planned Parenthood facilities in Iowa to be connected with a doctor, via video, in Des Moines.
This is how far we have fallen. Drugs strong enough to kill and expel a baby are dispensed like aspirin. Taking their cue from a state law that says only physicians may perform abortions, Operation Rescue has filed a complaint with the Iowa Board of Medicine. An inquiry is promised, according to The Des Moines Register. Yet the paper also notes that "the system is drawing interest from other abortion providers around the country."
And why wouldn't it? Think of the profit Planned Parenthood would reap if it could reach all the women who now have to carry to term simply because they live too far from an abortion mill. Chemical abortions are cheaper than surgical procedures, but think of the repeat traffic. These are abortions you can have while doing your homework. You can even tweet about it, or make a YouTube video as it's happening, as a young woman named Angie Jackson did with horrifying detachment just a few months ago. "It's not that bad," she assured those following her on Twitter and YouTube.
"It's all about access, and the reality is that for many of our patients, they'd have to travel for hours to Des Moines" if the system wasn't available, Dr. Tom Ross, one of the Planned Parenthood talking heads who dispenses the lethal drugs via remote control, told the Des Moines newspaper.
Do you see what's happening here? The pro-abortionists' false mantra of making abortion "safe, legal and rare" has been replaced with "get 'em while they're young." And please, make it convenient.
This whole teleconferencing method is just another piece of evidence that the abortion industry is frantically trying to make up for the lack of staff willing to perform abortions.
Fortunately, their efforts aren't working very well. The very existence of chemical abortions was, they had hoped, going to be the solution to dwindling ranks of abortionists. But doctors who have too much of a conscience to kill children with forceps are proving to have too much of a conscience to kill them with pills.
We just have to keep sounding the alarm.
Father Pavone is national director of Priests for Life.
This post didn't mention that a nurse practitioner is physically in the room and is there when the woman takes the pills.
Pro-choice folks don't want to abort every fetus they can. They want women to be able to make a choice. So, I'm 100% positive if someone caused an abortion on a woman who didn't want it, the pro-choice community would be very upset, because it wasn't the woman's choice. We're not like you; dispelling myths about pro-life then killing doctors or letting a woman die from pregnancy or child birth. When we say "pro-choice," we really do mean it.
One thing I'm sure they didn't take into mind was that this horrible excuse for "healthcare" can be used on women who don't want an abortion. The female perpetrator goes to this place, obtains the pills and then slips them into the food or drink of a woman they want to lose their child. There was a criminal show on TV that used this. The evil act of abortion forced on an unsuspecting woman who doesn't want it. Gee where would her rights be? Would those that are for killing the innocent defend her right to carry that child to term or would they defend the perpetrator from being processecuted for the murder they committed?
Brave new world…I don't know how many times over the last 40 years I have had occasion to say this. I DO know that Huxley wrote this book as a commentary on birth control, the pill specifically. Catholic popes since have prophesied that birth control would lead to all the sexual horrors we have today: abortion, invitro fertilization, surrogate mothers, cloning; plus all the horrors that belong to the culture of death: homosexuality, euthanasia, incest, child molestation, child abuse, pornography and promiscuity. Once sex is degraded in marriage, we get shaky marriages and divorce.
I'm sure there are a few horrors I have forgotten. It is hard for one human being like myself to assimilate how far we have fallen. We did our best as a family to protect our children from the culture of death. We allowed no immodest dressing, indecent films, bad language, teenage rebellion. We hung out with other large families, who were open to life and considered children to be the greatest blessing on the face of the earth. And all our children have become great forces for good in the world. Wives and mothers open to life, priest and seminarians, consecrated lay women, college missionaries, members of lay movements. And I know many such families.
I am reminding myself that while evil goes on all around us, with God and the sacraments we can not only survive but transcend and redeem this culture of death and destruction. The late Pope's Theology of the Body is helping to transform a society who have turned intimacy to sex and have seemingly permanently estranged man and woman at their very core of personhood.
Yay for God! The Holy Spirit gives grace where sin abounds…Let's keep our own hearts pure…guard our children's purity…and go out there ready to convert a broken world…Father Frank Pavone is a sterling example of what one man can do…Can we imagine what the world would look like if we all did the same?
I still maintain that, at least in theory, instead of the abortion pill, this teleconferencing system should be used to ensure the elderly and the disabled get their proper medications at the proper time.
You know, sometimes you forget to take those vitamins and blood pressure pills…if you know what I mean.
I am horrified beyond words.
Very, very creepy.
Sin thrives on dehumanization. Take out the in-person, unmediated, face to face contact, and you're left with almost nothing to suggest that what's about to happen is personal. Let's not forget that this will probably lead the doctors, too, into further hardness of heart.


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High energy savings thanks to maximum utilisation of free cooling and a total heat recovery rate of > 95 %.
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Whee Care II is a senior care home that is situated in the stunning city of District Heights, MD in the beautiful county of Prince George's. Our community borders the magnificent Shenandoah River Outfitters that is incredible for rubbing, kayaking or rafting. We are also surrounded by Harpers Ferry Adventure Center, National Arboretum, and Washington Walks. Living and/or visiting District Heights is definitely a must for anyone into nature and adventure.
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I am 5´5inches, weigh 120lbs. Augmentation 7 months ago. Under muscle, silicone 295cc. projection 5. I have noticed stretching and or dimpling on the inner lower parts of my breasts. I also have pain under the breasts it is a pulling sensation constantly. I am due to see my PS this Thursday 1/12/12. I am unhappy with the appearance of my breasts. Would it be helpful to adjust the position of the pockets or some such other procedure? I do not want larger implants. Any recommendations? Thank you.
The Asymery of my Breasts and the Tissue Pulling Looks Awful and is Very Uncomfortable, How To Fix? (photo)
Doctor Answers 11
The Asymery of my Breasts and the Tissue Pulling Looks Awful and is Very Uncomfortable, How To Fix? (photo)
Good posted photos. Best to understand that over the internet we can only guess. Your issues are many that need in person evaluation. There is no doubt you need revision, internal adjustments and possible lift.
Asymmetry after breast augmentation
Asymmetry after breast augmentation is often related to differences in the breast size and breast envelope beforehand. A careful look back at your before photos may give insights into how the pocket worked out the way is has. Revision of the pocket on the smaller side, and a different implant may improve the symmetry, though some differences are likely to persist.
Best of luck, peterejohnsonmd.com
Web reference: http://www.peterejohnsonmd.com
Revision Breast Surgery
Thank you for the question and photos. I think that you may end up benefiting from some type of revisionary surgery to increase the support of the breast implants. This procedure may involve capsulorrhaphy (internal suture support of the lower breast implant pocket) and/or breast lifting.
I would suggest that you ask your plastic surgeon to demonstrate experience with similar situations.
Best Wishes!
Web reference: http://www.poustiplasticsurgery.com/Procedures/procedure_breastrevision.htm
You might also like...
Time to review your preop photos
As has been said, you will probably see most of your issues, asymmetry and sagging back from before the augmentation in your preop photos. The augmentation just magnifies who you are and makes these issues more apparent. You will probably need a larger wider implant on the smaller side or else just lift them both and reduce the biger one leaving the implants alone. Don't handcuff your doctor out of being able to do what you need just because of cc's in the implant or scars from a lift.
Correcting Sagging Breasts AFTER Breast Augmentation
Everyone has some facial and breast asymmetry. The asymmetry you are unhappy is merely preoperative asymmetry which was made more evident by the 295 cc beast implant placed 7 months ago. Your ? Right breast appears smaller than the left AND it appears from this frontal view the implant may have undermined the breast fold. If this is the case, a repair may be needed. Otherwise, I would place a slightly larger implant on this side and perform a Breast Lift to get you much perkier breasts.
Good Luck.
Peter A Aldea, MD
Unhappy with breast aug
You have some asymmetry of your breasts which I would guess you had before your surgery. It also looks like you have ptosis, sagging, of the breasts. I would recommend getting a formal lift procedure, or mastopexy. Especially if you do not want to go any larger, which I would not recommend doing or you're going to have larger saggier breasts. Discuss with your surgeon and go over your pre-op photos.
Correcting Assymetry After a Breast Augmentation
However, a #BreastAugmentation without a #BreastLift is often said to be a mistake looked back on by many patients. Most breasts will look larger and more droopy.They will sag more and sooner because of the excess weight altering the longevity of the results. The shape will usually not be satisfactory and sometimes results with "Snoopy" breast or double bubble. A #mastopexy or breast lift operation is designed to improve the shape and position of the breasts without reducing their size. It is the most suitable for #breasts which sag or droop (ptosis) as a result of development, aging, pregnancy, breast-feeding and weight loss . Some patients will experience better results to restore superior fullness if an #implant is used at the time of mastopexy; better known as #AugmentationMastopexy. A Breast Lift can also be done while having existing Breast Implants and can be used to correct #assymetry.
Web reference: http://www.pacificcenterplasticsurgery.com/breast-procedures-newport-beach/breast-revision/
Breast patient not happy.
I understand how you feel. It seems to me that you need some type\ of breast lift like a short vertical lift to re-position the breast higher. The size inplant and over all size is your choice.
Web reference: http://www.breastrevisionsanfrancisco.com
LIft and capsule work
What you will want surgically really depends upon the look you want. This is something to discuss with your surgeon before more surgery is undertaken. It looks like a lift plus or minus capsular work to me, but you need an examination to determine the best treatment.
Best Regards,
John Di Saia MD
These answers are for educational purposes and should not be relied upon as a substitute for medical advice you may receive from your physician. If you have a medical emergency, please call 911. These answers do not constitute or initiate a patient/doctor relationship.


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New from Laurence & Chico is this short sleeve jacket featuring an all-over abstract print.The front and the back of the garment are sewn together using no shoulder seam, giving the arms their interesting shape. The sleeve cuffs feature a rolled hem. Abstract print throughout, features faux-pearl embellishment for added texture. Button front closure under the hidden placket. Short Sleeve Printed Jacket. 100% Polyester. Imported.
Model is 175 cm tall and wearing a size S


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Stickless home run.ljm
384pages onAdd New Page
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this wiki
Stickless_home_run.ljm (file size: 359 KB, MIME type: unknown/unknown)
Warning: This file type may contain malicious code. By executing it, your system may be compromised.
Demo recorded with Lockjaw 0.38 by Lardarse
Q: How do you get a home run in a mode that doesn't have I4 or recursive gravity?
A: In Lockjaw versions 0.17 and later, the debrief reports twist line clear counts separately from non-twist line clear counts. But in 0.28 through 0.38, the space for a twist that clears 0 lines overlaps the space for home runs. In 0.39 and later, a 0-line twist isn't counted.
File history
Click on a date/time to view the file as it appeared at that time.
|01:28, October 18, 2007
|Akl (Talk | contribs)
|Demo recorded with Lockjaw 0.38 by Lardarse


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Welcome to aliisaacstoryteller, guardian of Irish mythology.
Come on a journey of ancient Ireland with me.
Join my mailing list and receive your free book.
It's that time of year again… the Irish are preparing to party, big time, 'cos there's nothing we like more than celebrating the death of a saint. And all around the world, everyone wants in on the act.
Despite controversy, Enda Kenny is already in the US preparing to hand over the customary crystal bowl of shamrocks to President Trump on Thursday. This is a tradition which was started back in 1963, and symbolizes the 'special' relationship Ireland has always had, and hopes to maintain, with the US.
The design of this year's crystal bowl was inspired by the incredible scrolling knotwork illuminations of the Book of Kells, and features a series of intersecting trinity knots, and engraved shamrocks. It has a scalloped rim which reveals the full brilliance of the crystal. It's the best bowl, Mr President, and now it's yours. We know you like all the best things.
Over the past few months, politicians have called for the Taoiseach to cancel his visit to the US. However, even though Ireland does not share the President's values, Kenny will go ahead with his visit, in order to maintain Ireland's strong links with the American people.
It's not just politicians, though; just under forty thousand Irish people (at the time of writing this post) signed the petition "Shamrock for Trump: Not in my Name", and are still continuing to do so, minute by minute. Bit late now, folks.
Before anyone rolls their eyes and says something along the lines of 'Let's not sully a saint's day with politics,' let's be totally honest here; religion has always been about politics and power. Don't be naive. And don't have a go at me… it wasn't me who decided Ireland need to cosy up to the American President with a bowl of shamrocks every Paddy's Day.
And by the way, Mr President… a shamrock is NOT a four leaf clover. I've seen you sporting that vibe on your green cap. Somebody must have given you some fake news and alternative facts. No surprise there.
If you want to read some posts about the original Paddy, instead of modern politics, you can take your pick from these…
Happy Paddy's Day!
The Shamrock, the Shillelagh and the Leprachaun; Symbols of Irishness for St Patricks Day, or Sad Stereotypes?St Patrick and the Cult of Crom Cruach
50+ Landscape Images of Ireland: Happy St Patrick's Day!
St Patrick was a Slave Trader and Tax Collector
Patrick, Saint or Sinner?
The Power of the Harp in Irish Mythology
Join my mailing list and get your FREE book, as well as your Monthly Myth Fix!
Without a doubt, one of the most interesting and mysterious figures from Irish mythology is the One known as Mogh Ruith. He's right up there with Manannán, as far as I'm concerned. His name is said to mean 'slave of the wheel', curious in itself, and he was a blind Munster Druid who lived on Valentia Island in Co Kerry, which is now part of the celebrated Wild Atlantic Way.
Mogh Ruith was the father of tragic Goddess, Tlachtga, who left her name in the landscape of Ireland at a place anglicised as the Hill of Ward, sacred to the festival of Samhain.
He is perhaps most famous for his flying machine, roth rámach, meaning 'the oared wheel', or 'rowing wheel' (could be a helicopter, don't you think?), in which night appeared as bright as day. For this reason, it is believed that he must have been a sun god. I don't know about you, but that sounds too easy to me. Perhaps it was a space ship… remember, the Tuatha de Danann were said to have descended from great storm clouds in the sky.
However, blaming aliens for something we don't understand is also too easy. It's just as likely that in the long history of the existence of our planet, there must have been advanced civilizations elsewhere on Earth. Unless, of course, you believe that life only came into being 6000 years ago, as some poor children are now being
brainwashed taught. But that's a discussion for another time.
If ancient civilizations could build pyramids, and incredible temples that we still can't explain, never mind replicate, today, why not flying machines?
Interestingly, there is much talk of flying machines in Sanscrit and Hindu texts; here, they are known as Vimana, in which the Gods are transported by flying wheeled chariots, sometimes pulled by animals. There are descriptions of wheels, spokes, and the colour gold.
It is intriguing that in the name of Mogh Ruith's flying vehicle, roth rámach, we can see a reference to the Hindu deity, Rama. This could be coincidence, of course, but many people seem to see a connection between the Irish myths and Sanskrit. Personally, I am open to this.
After all, despite the recent preference for separatism, and white elitism, we all share a common Proto-Indo-European heritage… and yes, that includes you, White America, who are descended from a right cocked-up cocktail of us Europeans and native Americans, in spite of what you might think.
But back to the man in question. Mogh Ruith pops up at various intervals in Ireland's pre-history, according to Medieval sources. The ancient text, Lebor Gabála Érenn, claims he died some time during the 10th century BC; the Annals of the Four Masters date him to around 1651–1621 BC. According to Christian lore, he is the man who executed John the Baptist.
According to legend, he became blind when he lost an eye in the Alps, how, I don't know. The other was destroyed when he tried to stop the course of the sun for two days. Again, I don't know why he tried to do this, but it seems feasible… we know today that looking directly at the sun can cause damage to the eyes.
Was he a historical figure? No evidence survives, but for an abundance of fascinating stories. In my view, stories are a way of keeping someone, or something alive. If not the personage himself, then certainly something he stood for, whether fictional or real.
Mogh Ruith and his daughter, Tlachtga, were said to have been students of Simon Magus, also known as Simon the Sorcerer. He was supposed to have helped them build their flying machine. Simon was a Samaritan and religious figure mentioned in the Bible, who lived c. 1st century AD, and who converted to Christianity.
He received a lot of attention, not particularly positive, from ancient writers, such as Irenaeus, Justin Martyr, Hippolytus, and Epiphanius, who regarded him as 'the source of all heresies', and in fact, the sin of simony (paying for position and influence in the church) is said to be named after him.
In addition to this less than glowing reputation, his three sons were said to have raped and impregnated Mogh Ruith's daughter, Tlachtga. She fled from them to the Hill of Ward, where she gave birth to her three sons, Doirb, Cuma, and Muach, before dying from her injuries and a very hard labour.
So far, it's not looking good for Mogh Ruith. Perhaps it's time to have a quick gander at some of the stories about him.
Cormac mac Airt is one of Irish mythology's most well known and best loved High Kings. He lived during the 3rd century AD. So loved was he, that the Christians tried to claim him as a convert, even though he lived well before the accepted age of Christianity in Ireland.
Cormac was contemporary with the legends of Fionn mac Cumhall. Fionn and his Fianna carried out much of the defence of the realm on Cormac's behalf, and thus the High King rewarded him with the gift of marriage to two of his daughters, Aoife, and when she died only a year later, the young Grainne. Well, we all know how that went!
Anyhoo. In The Siege of Knocklong, recorded in the Book of Lismore, dated 1480 AD, which was discovered hidden in the walls of Lismore Castle, Co. Waterford in 1814 (ooooh… isn't that a fab story?), the King of Munster and Cormac go to war because Cormac has demanded too high a price of tribute.
Over the period of a year, Cormac lays siege to Fiacha Moilleathan, King of Munster, and they engage in five battles. Finally, Cormac resorts to magical means; he calls in his Druids, who dry up all the rivers and wells in the region. The Munster men are almost defeated, until King Fiacha employs Mogh Ruith. But the services of Mogh Ruith do not come cheap. This is what he demands…
A hundred bright white cows in milk, a hundred well-fattened pigs; a hundred strong working oxen; a hundred racehorses; fifty soft white cloaks; after the project is over, the daughter of the first lord of the East or the most prominent after him, to bear me children the first place in the files of Munster's army for my successor who shall have in perpetuity the rank of a provincial king…; that the King of Munster should choose his counsellor from among my descendants;… that I am given the territory of my choice in Munster.
He then restores all the water in the province so that man and beast may drink. With his breath, he blows up storms, and turns Cormac's Druids to stone. He raises fire, and stone and sand storms, and eventually wins the day for the Munster men. He then chooses the territory Fir Maige Féne, which comes from the Irish for 'men of the monastery of the plain', later known as Fermoy, for his own.
There is an Iron Age hill fort at Fermoy, one of only three in northern Co Cork, called Carntierna, which means 'Tigernac's cairn'. It is named after legendary Munster King, Tigernac Tetbannach, who was said to have reigned during the time of Conchobar mac Nessa. A great cairn crowns the hill's summit, supposedly the king's burial-place. Perhaps this king and his people could have been Mogh Ruith's descendants.
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I read a post on Facebook yesterday which claimed that animal behaviorists now believe that hugging your pet is harmful for them, as it causes their stress levels to rise. Apparently, they prefer tummy rubs, stroking and treats. Well, it's hardly surprising; they haven't evolved to hug each other, but instead show affection by licking and grooming each other, by sharing food and curling up together to sleep. I reckon not hugging your pet is going to upset you far more than your pet.
Which got me thinking… did our ancient ancestors form the same kind of relationships with their animals as we do, or did they see them merely as a source of food and income, or beasts of burden?
Well, take a look at this…
I and Pangur Ban my cat,
'Tis a like task we are at:
Hunting mice is his delight,
Hunting words I sit all night.
Better far than praise of men
'Tis to sit with book and pen;
Pangur bears me no ill-will,
He too plies his simple skill.
'Tis a merry task to see
At our tasks how glad are we,
When at home we sit and find
Entertainment to our mind.
Oftentimes a mouse will stray
In the hero Pangur's way;
Oftentimes my keen thought set
Takes a meaning in its net.
'Gainst the wall he sets his eye
Full and fierce and sharp and sly;
'Gainst the wall of knowledge I
All my little wisdom try.
When a mouse darts from its den,
O how glad is Pangur then!
O what gladness do I prove
When I solve the doubts I love!
So in peace our task we ply,
Pangur Ban, my cat, and I;
In our arts we find our bliss,
I have mine and he has his.
Practice every day has made
Pangur perfect in his trade;
I get wisdom day and night
Turning darkness into light.
This poem was written by a Christian scribe in the ninth century in Irish in the margins of his practice book. They learned their trade by copying religious texts, usually Latin, into their practice books, and these have been the source of many amusing anecdotes and fascinating insights into Irish life in the distant past.
This poem is preserved in the Reichenau Primer, which is kept in St. Paul's Abbey in the Lavanttal, a Benedictine monastery in Austria. It is thought the scribe may have fled there to avoid Viking raids on Ireland, who were particularly fond of attacking religious institutions and carrying off their wealth.
In this poem, the author is talking about his pet cat, Pangur Bán, bán meaning 'white' in Irish. Pangur means 'fuller', a tradesman involved in the production of woolen cloth, in which it is cleansed of oils, dirt and impurities, making it thicker. Perhaps this was a reference to the cat's thick, white, clean fur. The author is comparing Pangur's skill at hunting mice with his own industriousness as a wordsmith. It is quite clear from the poem that Pangur is his pet, and that there is fondness and companionship between them.
Saint Colman was the son of an Irish chieftain, Duagh, in the late 5th/ early 6th centuries AD. He became a priest, and according to legend, he kept three rather unusual pets: a rooster to wake him for prayers in the morning, a mouse to wake him for prayers during the night, and a fly to act as a sort of book mark and keep his place when he was called away from reading his prayer book.
Unfortunately, a fly's life is short, and Saint Colman was devastated when his faithful little friend passed. He wrote to Saint Columba expressing his grief, to which Columba replied, "You were too rich when you had them. That is why you are sad now. Trouble like that only comes where there are riches. Be rich no more." That was how Colman learned that one can be rich even without wealth.
A century earlier, the King of Leinster had a little pet fox that he was extremely fond of one. One day, a servant out cutting wood in the forest killed the fox, thinking it was a wild animal. The King was so furious, he had the servant imprisoned, intending to execute him.
The poor man's wife appealed to Saint Brigid, who charmed a fox cub from the woods as a gift to the King in exchange for the servant's life. The King was so entranced by the little fox and its clever tricks, that he immediately agreed. The fox, however, ran off into the forest at the first opportunity, and although the King sent all his hounds and best huntsmen after it, it was never found.
In Irish mythology, many characters had particular animals they were associated with.
Ulster's hero, Cuchulainn, had two special horses which pulled his chariot. Their names were Liath Macha, meaning the 'grey of Macha', and Dub Sainglend, the 'black of Saingliu'. They were said to have emerged from the pool of Linn Liaith in the mountains of Sliabh Fuaid as a gift from the Goddess, Macha. This association with water clearly indicates their Otherworldly origin. Cuchulainn leaped onto their backs and rode them around the whole of Ireland in just one day, after which they were tamed.
Fionn mac Cumhail had two magical hounds that he loved above all others, and it is said that he kept up to 200 of them. Bran and Sceolán were the unborn children of his aunt, Tuirean. She was abducted by a woman of the Sidhe and transformed into a hound whilst pregnant. She gave birth to two pups, which were then sent to Fionn as gifts.
Fionn, Bran and Sceolán were inseparable; they hunted and fought beside him, and appear in many stories together. They were certainly more companions to him than beasts, although the stories never mention if Fionn knew their true identity, or if they could communicate in any way other than any man does with his dog.
My favourite story, though, is a sad one…
Boann strides up the path, her face composed with fierce determination, her little dog Dabilla trotting faithfully at her heels. The way is winding and covert, meant not for the feet of the uninitiated, but Boann has learned its secrets; thus she feels she has earned the right to visit this most sacred of places, the Tobar Segais, also known as the Well of Wisdom.
The pool is silent and dark, reflecting neither sky nor earth, an upwelling of water from the deepest reaches of the Otherworld, bringing with it all the arcane knowledge and mysteries contained therein. Around it stand the Nine Ancient Hazels of Knowledge. Boann catches her breath in awe as she gazes at them, for their branches are laden with blossom, fruit and leaf all at once.
As she watches, nuts fall into the shaded water with a hushed splash, and the five spotted salmon which reside there rise up gently to eat them. Dabilla rushes to the water's edge and snaps at the benign creatures excitedly, but they just flip their tails at her and sink back down to safety.
Boann's heart is pounding; should she catch a salmon, and eat of its flesh to gain the knowledge she seeks? It feels like sacrilege, and besides would take time she might not have, for every moment she delays, she risks capture. Perhaps she should just eat the nuts, but how many would she need in order to gain enlightenment?
The fear of discovery, her long search for knowledge, and the proximity to her heart's desire stir up a heady concoction of exhilaration and turmoil in her blood, which causes her to throw caution to the wind. She begins her circuit of the lake, chanting as she goes, but her perambulations take her widdershins rather than deasal-wise.
Perhaps this is her undoing, or perhaps her presence uninvited violates this holy place. Perhaps she is simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. In any case, the waters begin to rise and stir. Wavelets grow into watery mountains which slop at the banks which contain them, chafing at their restraints like caged beasts.
Boann falters in her enchantment, gripped with sudden fear. Even as she turns to run, she knows in her heart escape is futile; she risked the wrath of the Gods, now she must pay. The roaring water towers above her, streaked with white foam and fury. It runs much faster than she; it sweeps her up as if she were no more than a feather, devouring everything in its path as it cascades down the hillside toward the call of the stormy grey ocean. Little Dabilla is tossed from wave to wave, like a sliotar between hurlers.
They say retribution was cruel; Boann lost an eye, an arm and a leg, her faithful pet, some even say her life in the lakeburst which carried her out to sea. And thus the River Boyne was formed and named after her, so that the tragic Goddess lives on forever in the landscape, and in the hearts and minds of the people of Ireland, gone but never forgotten.
Poor Boan, and poor little faithful Dabilla. Nevertheless, we can see from all these stories that in ancient Ireland, people formed attachments to animals, and loved their pets just like we do. 😍
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Now you've abandoned me;
Love lost forever.
Life's web of pathways,
don't care where they lead.
They all look the same:
bleakness, blackness.
It's over now,
and all is nothing.
Have you entered the big #BloggersBash Blog Writing Competition yet? If not, why not? It's just a bit of fun, with a great theme – CONNECTIONS – and could win you some nice prizes! You have until March 1st… GO!
GOOOOOOOODMORNING bloggisphere… It's the start of another year, and what a year it's going to be. I have a little tickle in my tummy about 2017, and it's screaming sparkle a…
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Last week, I listened to one of my lecturers read aloud a poem in Old Irish, and I learned a few things:
The Encounter of Líadain and Cuirithir is a romantic tragedy, and a story I had not yet come across. It is told, as many old Irish stories are told, in both poetry and prose, with the poetry normally being reserved for speech, or to emphasize a particularly important point, or exchange. And because February is the month of love (just look at all the people born in November and tell me it isn't!), I thought I'd share it with you.
Linguistically, the story dates to the ninth century, but is set back in the seventh century. It concerns two poets, and the love which grew between them, and how it ended in tragedy.
Líadain of Corco Duibne was a lady poet (see… women could be poets in ancient Ireland!) who was touring the province of Connacht, where she met Cuirithir mac Doborchu, a local poet. Well, it was love at first sight, and being lusty Irish, they spent the night together.
Cuirithir wanted more than a one night stand; "Why do we not make a union, o Líadain? Brilliant would be our son whom you would beget," he entreated her, no doubt alluding to their combined skills as poets.
Líadain had fallen even more deeply in love, but something held her back… her love for God (you might know he'd poke his nose in at some point, if St. Patrick wasn't available).
She told him to come for her at her home when she has completed her tour as a poetess. This he does, and the couple then approached Bishop Cummine for guidance.
He was not kind. He instructed Cuirithir to renounce his love and banished him to a monastery far away over the sea. Líadain takes the veil, but never forgets her passion for her lost love.
As he crossed the sea in his coracle, she mourned the cruel loss of her lover from a vantage point on a boulder overlooking the bay, and died of a broken heart.
The Bishop then placed the stone over her grave. What became of Cuirithir, if he ever learned of his lover's death, we don't know.
This is part of the poem Líadian composes about Cuirithrir:
I am Líadain,
I loved Cuirithir.
It is as true as they tell it.
It was a short time that I was
in the company of Cuirithir.
Towards him, my companionship was good.
The music of the wood
used to sing around me when I was with Cuirithir
with the sound of the blood-red ocean.
I would have thought
that nothing of whatever things I might do
would bring Cuirithir against me.
One shouldn't hide it:
he was my heart's desire,
even if I loved everyone besides him.
A roar of fire
has broke my heart.
It is known that it will not live without him.
I think these words are so poignant, so sad and heartfelt. The passing of centuries has not diminished them. She clearly regrets having turned him down, having let her fear of God come between them. It is a lament that she hurt the man she loves so dearly… look how often she repeats his name: she is obsessed. I really feel for her.
There does seem to be some confusion in the story; the delay to their getting together is attributed to both her desire to become a nun, and her desire to continue her tour as a travelling poetess. Clearly, it can't be both, so which is it?
If she becomes a nun first and then sleeps with Cuirithir, then clearly they have both sinned, which explains the Bishop's harsh decision. But if she becomes a nun after Cuirithir leaves her, then clearly her decision to put her career as a travelling poetess first offended him deeply, in which case she should forget about the selfish arse!
If the former is true, then the story is one of chastity, punishment, love of God, and that most heinous of crimes, female lust. But if the latter is true, more than likely the story has an older source, and is a tale of love and tragic misunderstanding which has been tampered with by Christians to suit their moral code.
Was Líadian a historical figure? It's hard to say. Her name means the 'Grey One', or the 'Grey Lady', perhaps in reference to the nun's habit she wore. Her name does crop up elsewhere in the company of three other female poets, but there is no actual evidence that she really existed.
However, medieval writers were wont to put their stories in the mouths of historical personae as speakers of history. It may even be that her story is true, but she did not write it, at least, not in the version which currently exists. Linguistically, some of the rhyme in the text has been found to date specifically to the ninth century.
So, till next time, Myth Lovers…
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Last spring, I was interviewed by film maker, Peter McGee, for a new project he was working on, entitled 'The Search for the Seanachaí'. Here is the trailer for the film, see if you can spot me! 😁
by Ken Williams
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Life is make believe, fantasy given form
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Value Place Oklahoma City West
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text:
Alec Moore
This music video was made for a competition on Genero.tv for Alt-J (∆)
It made it as far as "Finalist" but unfortunately didn't win.
Here it is for you all to enjoy!
Starring, Tristan Heanue
Art Dep, Mark Wright
Directed & Filmed, Alec Moore
Shot on a Canon 60D at 50fps using legacy lenses.
Copyright belongs to the musicians Alt-J (∆)
This is not an official video.


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