Archive for January, 2014

“The boy and the dog are very photogenic.
Both boy and dog were eager to don boxing gloves, climb into makeshift boxing-ring, and have a go at it. At first, it was fun. All just play.

As word spread that the two were sparring in Johnson’s field for a traveling photographer, schemers and ne’er-do-wells came around.

More and more people came to watch.
Money began to exchange hands.
Everyone wanted more, more, more! More action. Blood.

They tormented both boy and dog, trying to turn one against the other, to make matches ‘More Real’. More exciting. Adults who think they are so good and kind, have a deeply rooted penchant for violence as entertainment.

That this simple bout of diversion for both boy and dog was turned into a twisted, despicable, bloodsport-sideshow, was beyond sad. Stupid “Adults” always had to ruin things. Adult Humans were the most insane, inhumane, self-serving creatures on the planet.

The boy and dog would have no more of it. They ran away together. Hopped a train just outside of Jersey, and went out west. And yes: they truly did live happily ever after.

“It saved their marriage, the masks. They could no longer look at each other. Turns out, their faces were never what attracted them, in the first place. It was all just sex. Pure, unadulterated, sex. Hey. Whatever works!”

“Charles, a moderately successful vaudeville ventriloquist, was fortunate, yet miserable.
Fortunate, because he was handsome, witty, clever, and moderately successful.
Miserable, because, well, his dummy was with him, 24/7. Had been, since birth, too.

His dummy, Waldo (“Wally”)– the grotesque thing upon his lap in the photograph, was not at all, an ordinary prop-side-kick. Wally was Charles’ twin. Partially absorbed twin.

Charles was born a “freak”…the term now is frowned upon, but back in his day, it wasn’t always used to injure or put-down another. Charles and Wally came into the world as one, not unlike Eng and Chang Bunker, perhaps the most famous of all Siamese Twins. But Charles and Wally were not like the Bunker brothers. Wally was a hideous protrusion with a head, one full arm and hand, and a single, deformed right-leg, jutting out from the otherwise perfectly formed Charles. Wally, unlike Eng or Chang Bunker, did not have mostly independent body parts. Charles and Wally shared everything. Way-too much of everything.

Charles’ parents, aristocrats not given to shrinking from challenges, educated Charles with creative ideas to ‘deal with’ Wally, his kinda-sorta-there brother. Everything was about Charles. Wally was merely something that had to be dealt with. From an early age, it was determined that Wally would make Charles as normal as possible.

A stroke of genius turned Wally into a stage-prop, as if Wally were only that.
Since Wally didn’t have much say in the matter, he went along with it.

But a man can only take so much.
If Charles thought he was miserable and unfortunate because of Wally, it would have done him well to consider Wally’s position in all of this.

Imagine the shock, the headlines, when Charles was found dead–and Wally, too!

Wally swallowed a bottle of pills Charles’ lady ‘acquaintance’ left on the nightstand. He did not want to exist any longer.

Of course, since Wally died, so too, did Charles.

Fate can be cruel.

–Arthur Fellig, aka, “Weegee”, crime-photographer extraordinaire, took this photograph. Not his typical subjects, however. These are just two Carnies, playing around.

If you know what a Ouija Board is, or have an inkling, you will appreciate Arthur’s nickname, “Weegee.”

Weegee got his nickname, because he liked Ouija Boards, and because he was a crime photographer without parallel. Weegee was ALWAYS at the right place, at the right time.

Same could be said for his subjects, who were mostly murder victims. Get Murdered? Weegee would be along, straight-away, clicking his camera, immortalizing gouges, gaping wounds, disfigured, mangled bodies, faces of death.

While some were jealous of Weegee, most did not possess the stomach for his specialty, anyway. Which added to resentment.

Weegee’s uncanny knack for always being on-scene,  fed suspicions: did he have something to do with the deaths?

Most unsettling rumor, was that Weegee was in cahoots with Beelzebub himself, via the damned Ouija Board.

The Weejster simply gave those around him the Heebie-Jeebies.

This photo is not the usual Weegee shot. Taken at a carnival, the subjects are two performers, billed as “Amazing Spacetronauts”.  Here, they are, goofing around for the camera. Cute!

It is not this photograph that is terribly  interesting.

What’s interesting,  is, as Weegee’s camera flashed,  capturing this image, another bright light..consumed the couple, right in front of him. Presto! Gone-zo!

Nobody’s seen or heard from these two, since.

Police reports record that the incident gave Weegee the heebie-jeebies!

seehttp://museum.icp.org/museum/collections/special/weegee/

[thanks to Google Translate:]

L’HISTOIRE:… “Robes et draperies seraient d’aucune utilité Il y avait assez de vinaigrette temps, au Cercle Pour l’instant, pour passer à travers la cheminée, et sur ​​la cheminée – à la hâte, était assez chasseurs ont été porte-vont à-porte, une sorcière-recherche. les cris de terreur d’innocents étant arrachées à leur sommeil causé des frissons à voyager de la colonne vertébrale. “Nous devons nous dépêcher!” exhorté safran, “les chasseurs approchent!”

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THE STORY: “Robes and draperies would be of no use. There was time enough for dressing, at the Circle. For now, to get through the fireplace, and out the chimney–with haste, was enough. Hunters were going door-to-door, a-witch-seeking. The shrieks of terror of innocents–being dragged from their slumber, caused chills to travel the spine. “We must hurry!” urged Saffron, “The Hunters approach!”

Long before she died, the once-upon-a-time princess, Andrea Von Munslow, slipped into self-imposed obscurity, giving up family, her wealth, the world into which she’d been thrust.

Rumored to have drown (ironic, isn’t it?) off the coast of Monticello in 1963, by jumping overboard a yacht, after words exchanged with her philandering Prince Charming of a husband.

She understood that if she wanted peace, only death would set her free.

Andrea planned her exit. Care and diligence preceded her exit strategy. She took jewelry, cash, art works–valuables not likely to be missed at all. Things rightfully hers, to provide security, once she was “dead”.

The Prince and Princess did exchange angry words. And Andrea did, indeed, go overboard into icy waters. “Do, or Die”. And she wasn’t ready to die, just yet.

Fate favored the Princess, for she had a kind heart.

Successfully, she liquidated her cache, and bought a home which lay comfortably far enough away from people.
Andrea lived out her life in solitude, reborn.

Months went by before her body was discovered. (By humans, that is.)
Specifically, the grocery man, Albert, from the village. The old woman hadn’t called for delivery in some time. Albert finally decided to see after her, when she failed to return his calls.

The animals who lived on her property–knew that something was wrong with their friend. She always sat beside–not in–the pond! When they came around, the lady would fuss over them, and give them tasty treats.

A heart attack, drowning: That was the coroner’s report.
Clutched in her hands, handfuls of grass and wildflowers remained of her fruitless struggle to escape the pond into which she fell.

She died sadly, yet she managed to live a charmed life, better than any fairytale. (No “Prince Charming” needed!)

THE END.

RICHSTINE'S THE STORY--

The Honorable Carlos Hardy finally came to his senses.
It was useless to try to conduct business with such precipitous distraction. Umbrellas were gathered and distributed, but the effort was in vain.
Somewhere, clogged pipes were to blame.

Uncontrollable chatter, people shifting uncomfortably, superstitious unease with umbrellas fully engaged indoors–no amount of gavel-pounding made a difference.
Papers became soggy, smells of sewage assaulted the senses, and umbrellas twirled and danced in the air. A real circus!

Judge Hardy called it a day, and set a date to resume later, at such a time when order could be realized.

With all the hoopla, nobody…not the court reporter, the judge, nor the LA Times photographer, knew what Hannah knew:

The plumbing was sabotaged, quite deliberately.

“Reports of people disappearing from atop slopes in the Swiss Alps, were dismissed as practical jokes. Certainly, many people have disappeared from snowy mountaintops–due to inexperience, lack of diligence, or plain, bad luck. But latest reports came with tales of sightings of the Lindorm…that fearsome creature of lore.
With Carnival taking place, this sort of news became a nuisance.

A few newspapers published concerns which police dismissed as mere malarkey. Authorities had plenty to do, and resented those wasting their time with false reports. Stern warnings were sent out to the public, that only genuine missing persons reports would be processed and investigated. Mention Lindorm to them, and one could find themselves in jail!

Well. Robert Capa, famed photographer, whose renowned bravery in pursuit of capturing history with his camera, managed to get a few snaps off, before this gent “went missing”. The only thing remained was his fancy hat. Imagine that!

Luckily for Capa, Lindorm was a bit camera-shy. The closest thing to actual proof that Lindorm categorically defies myth, is this magnificent shadow cast onto the snow.

If one is not familiar with Lindorm, I suggest clicking on over to Wikipedia and finding out.

BTW: Capa never actually admitted to seeing the Lindorm. (He never denied it, either.)

The Sisters were very stern–quick to scold, punish, and admonish students who would test them by sneaking cigarettes.

Privately though, the nuns quite looked forward to these infractions.
Especially when the culprit was that Miller boy.
Lawrence Miller routinely stole his mother’s Black Cat brand cigarettes.

He always found them, although she took great care to hide her habit. Her husband would not approve. When she couldn’t find them, she fretted her secret was discovered.  When neither her husband nor son mentioned them, Mrs. Miller would buy another pack.  She suspected her son, but fear suspended confrontation. Lawrence, good boy that he was, counted on it.

 

The Nuns would tiptoe outside, form a neat little circle,  and light-up.   Black Cat-Brand smokes were the Sisters’ favorite.   Sister Mary Margaret was particularly fond of the whimsical, cartoon-cat on the cigarette package.

Needless to say,  although Lawrence received due punishment for bringing cigarettes to school, also a rather poor student, he always seemed to get good marks.

His mother was so proud!

SEE:  http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lyur18aZ6d1ro0vmko1_500.jpg

 

 

 

“One so tall, he sees the crowns—of those below, so near the ground,
And cleavages of women’s breasts—sometimes more! Ah, that’s the best!

Some so small, they look like dolls—see boots and knickers. Even flaws–
Like moles or freckles, between the thighs–of those who tower, way-up high…
These must tread about with care–those above, don’t see them there!

Curiosities, amusements, marvels, scorns,
Causing gapes and gasping breath:
Still, like us, these freaks are born–and bide too, ’til we meet Death!