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However, with production Anyway, fun things are afoot! Lance Weiler, of the Workbook Project , just posted a podcast interview with science fiction writer, and boingboing editor, Cory Doctorow. Cory discusses releasing free downloads of his books through Creative Commons while charging for printed versions, and how free actually makes money. This is an incredibly interesting interview. Yes, it goes against the old business model of "pay me, pay me now!

Posted by Osteen at AM No comments:. Wednesday, February 28, Viva la Monolingual!!! Is all I can say about this program. Any of you Mac guys out there, incase you didn't know, OS X has a shit load of foreign languages pre-installed on your computer.

Problem is, they waste an enormous amount of space, especially when you consider that all you're using is one language. So, this little app will zap it. Eric says his girlfriend shows up wherever he goes; Mac says his girlfriend's cousin is stalking him; Josh says his night of partying went too far.

Raven is trying to avoid contact with her one night stand, a male dancer named Da General. She regrets the incident, but he can't seem to move on. Raven is hoping that her little secret regarding her identity will give him just cause to leave the past in the past. Demond feels trapped by his baby's mother and has a secret to tell; Julio wants to end his relationship with his controlling girlfriend; Jorddann's confession could thwart any chance of things escalating with Ricky.

Ashley challenges her crush to a baby-oil wrestling match; Leheze has a confession for his fiancee; Tamara wants to know what happened when her man left her while she was pregnant to stay with her best friend.

Pregnant Tiffany wants to marry her boyfriend, if he will be faithful, but he says they are not a couple and he can do whatever he wants; a contrite man confesses through song; Sha Sha tells of discovering that her father slept with her roommate.

Puca will fight anyone to get her baby's father back in her life; Levi wants to rid himself of his stripper-pole addiction and do right by his girlfriend. Kari wants to ruin the relationship between her boyfriend and his daughter; a stripper gets revenge on a co-worker by sleeping with her girlfriend. Meghan wants to get back together with her boyfriend, but has trouble trusting him; Mikeyah is ready to kick her roommate to the curb; Morgan wants to put the kibosh on her wedding plans to James.

Loreal confronts two dancers who have been taking up too much of her man's time; James gets revenge on his girlfriend; AJ tells of hooking up with his friend's wife. Lonnie has a big secret to reveal, and he does so through song; Jeff cheats with his wife's co-worker; a lesbian triangle.

Dusty's latest conquest may be the straw that broke the camel's back; Adrienna fights women who have slept with her man; Zack's girlfriend cheated on him twice.

Natasha threatened to do bodily harm to her boyfriend if she caught him checking out another woman; cousins feud over a man; Rosa slept with her friend's ex as part of a dare. Jahari must choose between his girlfriend and his Instagram interest; Justin wants to dump his girlfriend for his online crush; Don tells a woman he met online that he was only using her and he wants to get back with his ex.

Clara says she is in love with her twin's fiance; Melloh has second thoughts about marrying his fiancee after being seduced by her friend; Kasie confesses to her fiance about a one-night stand with their roommate.

Que no longer wants to keep his girlfriends in the dark; Misti says a threesome wrecked her marriage; Jake's friend broke the man code and snitched on him cheating.

A woman is torn between staying with her boyfriend for leaving him for another man, who says he can make her happy; a woman suspects her boyfriend is sleeping with other women. Tashe wants the truth about her boyfriend and another woman; Frank has a revelation that will turn his girlfriend's world upside down; Passion wonders if she should give her boyfriend a threesome.

A woman says her boyfriend's controlling ways drove her into the arms of his cousin; a woman suspects that her boyfriend is cheating on her; a man admits he's cheated on his girlfriend numerous times, during their year relationship. A woman worries that her boyfriend can't be trusted to remain faithful; a woman falls for a man who already has a girlfriend; a man tells his wife he's sorry for sleeping with her friend.

A woman suspects her child's father is cheating on her with her friend; a man's plan to be faithful to his child's mother goes awry; a woman declares her love for her ex, but he doesn't want anything to do with her.

A man shares a devastating secret with his girlfriend; a woman is torn between two others, who settled the matter by wrestling in applesauce; a man, who's excited to be a father to his girlfriend's child, is stunned by her confession.

A woman want to know if her ex-boyfriend hooked up with her friend; a man says marital stress drove him to be unfaithful to his wife; a man tries to prove his commitment to his ex-girlfriend by proposing to her, but she's already married. Leon has nothing but contempt for his sister's girlfriend, but found himself doing an unthinkable act with her; Brenda fears that a romance with Erika could ruin their friendship; Jenny wants to confess a mistake to her sister.

A woman confronts rumors of her boyfriend's infidelity; a woman learns that her boyfriend fooled around with her best friend; a woman wants her ex-boyfriend back, even though he's about to have a child with a new girlfriend.

A woman wants the truth from her sister and boyfriend; a woman must decide between two men; a woman hooks up with her friend's boyfriend.

A woman sleeps with her twin sister's boyfriend; a man is caught between two women; a man asks a friend to lie for him. A woman finds out her co-worker went out with her boyfriend; a woman finds a video of another woman on her boyfriend's phone. A woman finds romance with her fiancee's twin sister; a man turns to another woman for attention; a man tells the mother of his child that he wants to be with someone else. A man wants to get back with his ex-girlfriend; a woman seeks to end two relationships; a man tries to save his marriage.

Nick's girlfriend finds out why he spends so much time with their neighbor; Osha's boyfriend scored with his female friend; Brandi resents her boyfriend's reckless behavior after all of the sacrifices she has made to keep their relationship.

The massive pile of kindling and wood goes up with a rasping roar, and everyone draws back in collective delight. The flames seem ordinary red and orange at first, but soon mottle and change colors, turning blue, then green, then purple, as plumes of oddly sweet smelling smoke fill the darkening sky above them. Someone is playing a fiddle, and a few girls link arms and dance around the fire, shrieking happily.

On my way back I met a witch cat! Everything just seems… stronger. There is a faint crackling sound from the distance, and suddenly they all split off to run up to the ramparts. There everyone stands on tiptoes and clambers practically atop one another to see the fireworks go off from the village, and all the fires burning in the hills. A dragon made of sparks soars through the sky overhead with a frighteningly realistic growl, and in the distance Amy can just make out figures in the village.

The last of the sunlight has vanished and the moon hangs low and heavy overhead. There is a sea of darkness laid out before them, with the only bright the points the winking fires, first red, then violet. There is more singing from the village, which has gone completely dark, even the lampposts extinguished, until one by one the houses brighten with torches from the fires, like constellations on the ground.

It could be like this everywhere. Amy furrows her brow as she finishes her sketch of the stacks; they are sitting in a drafty corner of the library, the sky grey and grim outside the stained glass window, which makes the mahogany table turn a peculiar, sickly shade of green.

They were glad to be rid of us. Truth be told, he has a point. She feels no fierce bond of family or even affection for Mrs. Cole or Miss Patrick or any of the workers at the orphanage.

She has people she cares about there, like Helen and Doris and even little Bobby Faber. Why should she be ashamed? As if he decides what she does anymore! Amy huffs at him in disbelief. Do what you like. So she passes him a note during Potions, and afterwards they find a deserted corridor to hash it out. So we can celebrate it then, right? Promise you will!

And true to that, Tom does see her off, as snowflakes spiral down around them and she hops up onto the step of the compartment.

But Tom just steps back as the whistle blows, and Amy sighs a little, then forces a bright smile. Much as she did on the way to Hogwarts, Amy sleeps most of the way back. Miss Patrick is there to meet her at the station, and only asks where Tom is after they are in the cab. When Amy tells her that he wanted to stay at school for the holidays, she can barely disguise her relief.

Then she looks a bit embarrassed. Well, this is December of , and the Kindertransport has begun. Kristallnacht had only the briefest of mentions in magical newspapers, and Amy does not have the money for a Daily Prophet subscription anyways. She knows very little of what is happening in Germany.

There are eight of them, six from Germany and two from Austria, all Jewish. Only one or two can speak coherent English. She is sharing a room with one of them, now. The youngest of the Jewish children is Leo Kaufman, who is two or three. He wakes up at night sobbing and screaming for his mother, and the only one who can ever console him is his sister Sara, who he came over with. So she says nothing, and listens to the floorboards creak for the rest of the night.

I also don't necessarily want to write a WW2 historical fiction, so I'm going to try to balance between the reality of Amy's magical world and the muggle one. Kindertransport, in case anyone was not aware, refers to the evacuation of Jewish children to England and other countries before the outbreak of the war. This is the very last exam of their first year, and Amy is just as relieved as everyone else to be done with the Defence written.

His work is always exemplary, his marks are always top of the class, and he asks interesting questions. In fact, most everyone likes Tom in general, something that still surprises Amy. Other students gravitate to him, asking him for advice on assignments in the library, sitting near him at lunch.

When she walks around the castle with him after classes, at least two or three people, usually other Slytherins, come over to say hello. Maybe he is right. He really does belong here, much more than anywhere else. And she knows she should be happy for him. She is. She can be possessive, she knows, but she still wants him to do well, wants him to be happy. He is the only person she has ever really considered her family, regardless of blood. She knows him like the back of her hand, can read him better than anyone else in her life.

So if he is happy here, and people like him, and teachers constantly praise him, she is glad. She should be glad. But not of the pleasant kind. As if he is seeing someone he knows, and does not like, or does not want to like. Tom does playact a bit, at the perfect student, the concerned friend. He even playacts with her at times, and she him, they both know it, to reassure one another, to make each other more comfortable.

In a back corner of the room Ruby is already fidgeting with her broken quill, which she accidentally snapped in half upon triumphantly finishing the essay portion with a flourish. Ruby has the most absurd cursive, big and loopy and elaborate, and is constantly being admonished over how difficult it is to read, but Amy quite likes it. It suits her; Ruby never does anything halfway. Avery, quiet, please! As I was saying, this marks the end of your examination period.

You should receive your results by owl along with your supply list for the new school year in late July or early August. I wish you all a productive and pleasant summer holiday, and I shall see you all on September first.

No sooner has she stopped talking then everyone has jumped up out of their sheets, pushing back chairs and making a beeline for the door.

Amy joins the jostling crowd as they spill out into the hallway, and someone whoops, causing a surge of laughter and exclamations as everyone walks out into the afternoon sunshine. You have to have gotten some points. Tom sits on the edge of it with Alexander Nott and Lyle Rosier, lounging like cats in the sun. Rosier is watching a few older girls sitting in the shade, longingly. Vera laughs at that. If you can call them that. He frightens her a little, truth be told, although not as much as Reynard Lestrange, who most everyone agrees is truly sadistic.

He got into a fistfight with a Gryffindor back in April and nearly split his head open on the stairs, laughing the whole while. She hates how he is, sometimes, around his housemates. Not quite cold, but almost… patronizing?

Tom does smile at that, the corners of his mouth quirking up into a thin curve. Amy smiles a little herself; Henry Rowle has never been noted for his intelligence or his manners. Thick, is probably the word for it. Thick as an encyclopedia. Like when Dumbledore marked you off one that one essay? Have a nice summer, Alexander, Lyle. She tries to put it out of her head. She rejoins Vera and Ruby and the other Hufflepuffs, and goes down to lake to go wading for a while before they have to come back to the common room and pack.

Tom asked if they could stay over the holidays, because he had her wait outside for him while he asked Dippet himself, but the headmaster refused, of course. That kind of solitude might not bother Tom, but it would her. What is Hogwarts without any students, anyways?

Just an empty shell of an old castle, really. Amy wonders where the rest of them will go. To other orphanages and foster homes, she imagines, or out to farms in the countryside. In their room, Vera plays music on the gramophone, waltzing around the room with her clothes as they pack, while Ruby plays the role of a strict French dance mistress, smacking her open palm with her wand.

Quickly now, Goldstein! Move those feet! Amy laughs and bounces up and down childishly on her bed, relishing its softness. It makes her nervous. The summer suddenly seems like an eternity stretched out in front of her. So too does the train ride back seem to go quicker. Tom is not reading, but flipping through her sketchbook, which she left out on the seat.

It is a profile of him from the side in the library, head bent over his work, a few locks of hair falling over his eyes. He needed a haircut when she drew it, she remembers. For goodness sake, it was just a sketch of him. Anyone familiar with history knows that there are some very big things on the horizon for September 1st, , besides a return to Hogwarts. In terms of tone, I would say this is the last, or one of the last, truly 'childish' chapters, since Amy is going to be forced to grow up very quickly very soon.

Amy is on her hands and knees looking for her missing shoe on the morning of September first. Squinting into the dusty dark beneath her bed, she finally notices her leather loafer wedged under the radiator. Groaning, she wriggles under the bed to get it, just as Bianka comes back into the room.

Amy gives a muffled assent as she grabs the shoe and rolls back out. Bianka smiles hesitantly back at her, then sits down on the bed, unfolding the newspaper in her hand. Her smile vanishes as she takes in the front page. Amy only notices out of the corner of her eye, as she puts on her shoe and adjusts her skirt.

She steps over to peer over her shoulder. She quickly scans the article below. Bianka does not smile back, only puts the paper down on her bedside table. Her hands are shaking in her lap. She turns quickly, and Bianka shrinks into herself.

Come on. She casts one last glance at Bianka, who is staring at the floor. Tom is already in his uniform, although not his robes. He straightens the knot of his tie before she bats his hands away and fixes it for him.

Cole is upon them, urging them out the door- their cab is already waiting. Neither is the rest of our world. She tries to push it aside. Tom is right, in a sense.

She has nothing to fear at Hogwarts. They will. She talks about happier things on the train with Tom. Things seemed much simpler. Tom gives her a look that suggests he is inclined to disagree. Loads of girls play. But some do! Things are changing. Amy has just come back from changing when she stumbles upon a crowd in the corridor.

She elbows her way through the murmuring crowd and back into the compartment she and Tom share. He has a freshly acquired edition of the Daily Prophet in his hands. Grindelwald, much like Hitler, has been a frightening snippet here and there for Amy, nothing more.

The revelation that were dark sorcerers and enchantresses seemed par for the course. But the idea that this could be national news, on the same level as a muggle war-. Wizards interfering in the war, or muggles somehow discovering us. Controversial, both of them. The faces of the dead flash across the front page; a man and woman, hanging upside down as though levitating. They file out into the corridor, just as they did the year before, and Amy looks around for familiar faces as everyone exits the train.

Another, younger boy chuckles as he shrugs on his robes, then catches sight of Tom. Amy vaguely recognizes him. He is a year above them, she thinks. She can feel his smile on the back of her neck.

Tom catches her by the elbows. She holds the door open for him as he climbs in after her, then shuts it. But she supposes it goes both ways. Tom hardly has a monopoly on that. What does he say about her, to his friends? Does he mention her at all? Is she the example of a Hufflepuff to him, as he is the standard for Slytherin to her? She burrows into her robes and watches his pale face in the dark, as he looks back at her steadily.

The headlines about Poland that Amy reads are from actual British newspapers at the time. This chapter was intended to cover more ground, but I decided to split it in half. Amy spends a terribly long time getting ready for Quidditch tryouts, mostly, she will admit, due to the trousers.

She tucks them dutifully into her boots, and tugs her borrowed jersey down as far as it will go, trying to pretend it is a dress, but she still looks odd in the mirror. She stares at her legs and hips, trying to will her vision to get used to it.

Not that she will ever get one; it will be hand-me-downs from the older girls, what little they can spare. When she finally turns to go, steeling herself and picking up her school broom, she almost walks right into Patsy Sampson, who she is surprised to see trying out.

She always seemed so… unassuming. Patsy is even smaller than Amy, and skin and bones, with a head of carroty curls and almost elfin ears. She ducks her head awkwardly upon making eye contact with Amy, who smiles. Outside it is a nippy but sunny late September afternoon. The Hufflepuff team and the new prospects are grouped around in a haphazard huddle, chatting and stretching out.

Two boys are flying laps around the pitch. Three weeks ago, Britain declared war on Germany. Amy stands with a few of the hopeful second years trying out, which includes Matthew Abbott, Joe Fair, and Patsy.

A sharp blast of the whistle distracts her. One of the two older girls on the team claps in appreciation. Eddie, show Sampson the ropes with the snitch, have her catch and release with you for now. Lucille Wilson keeps a firm hold on the scarlet ball as she hovers in the air. Amy kicks off, and after a split second of hesitation, shoots after it, a bespectacled boy from the opposing scrimmage team doing similarly.

The other boy is just a few feet below, a grasping hand already outstretched. Amy reaches out and snags it first, tucking it under her arm, and is breathless with excitement for a moment until she realizes he is going to try to steal it from her. Her stomach works itself up into joyful knots and unravels just as easily. If she liked, she could just fly away. Fly back to London, fly to Cornwall to see the sea, fly to Ireland, fly across the Channel to France, fly to America- She could go anywhere, see anything.

She decides to take a shower, and is changing back into her regular clothes when she catches snippets of an argument from just outside. She pauses with only one sock on, and listens, straining her ears to hear. Eddie Ryan, whose Christian name is Edna but who despises it, is having a furious row with a boy who must be her beau. You think the Ministry is going to hand out memory charms to every lad up for conscription so we can dodge the draft?

No, he is frightened. His voice goes up slightly, wavers. Finally, she finishes dressing and cautiously walks out, looking around. Eddie and her Jim have migrated a short distance away, under the towering wooden stands. He has his head in his hands; he is crying, both of them facing away from her, and she has her arms wrapped around him tightly, her chin resting on his back as he shudders. Amy walks back to the castle, unsettled.

If the war is still going on in five years, she thinks, Tom will be turning eighteen, and up for conscription. And they could conscript women, she thinks, not to fight, of course, but to do other things, serve as nurses and mechanics. If he was called up, would she follow him? She thinks she would, but not just because of him or even the war itself but because the thought of being made to wait and wait for years seems too awful to consider.

But she forces herself to think of other, calmer things. The war is not going to last five years. In the warmth and humidity of the Hufflepuff common room, she regales Ruby and Vera with the events of the tryouts, and does not realize how ravenously hungry she is until Vera pokes fun at her snarling stomach.

They hurry down for early supper, then, spilling into the Great Hall with a crowd of Ravenclaws, fresh from their own tryouts and smelling of grass and mud. Amy feels the soreness in her arms when she ladles soup into her bowl, and rubs at her shoulders and the crooks of her elbows while Ruby passes around pictures from the Madras weddings, one Christian, one Hindu.

Amy laughs with them, although her mind is still fluttering with thoughts of Quidditch, and she sleeps restlessly that night, dreaming she is flying once more, only this time she really does fly away, until she reaches the sea, where a perilous storm is raging, and the waves crash grey against the cliffs.

Ye rulers, Heaven appointed, With holy oil, by holier hands, anointed! Just Kings! How God's approval must be given, As, looking downward from the court of Heaven, He sees a race beneath thy justice quake, And thousands slaughtered for the Savior's sake! How well ye hide your black apostacy Beneath the shadow of Mount Calvary! Where Philadelphia rears its friendly walls, Oppression fed his hosts in marble halls, With luxuries impressed by pillagers In gay attire, from helpless villagers.

His well fed charges, champed in cheery stalls ; And there were feasts, and fetes, and festivals, And wines, and women, and official balls ; The flashing epaulet ; the gaudy dress ; The intricacies of the mazy dance ; The unallowed but unrebuked caress ; The snowy cover of licentousness ; Th' attempted loftiness of mein and glance, There comes a lull before the fiercest storms, Which sweep in fury o'er the human soul, Deep as the awful stillness which alarms All nature to a listening hush, while forms The black browed tempest, 'til beyond control, The pent up lightnings burst, and deeply roll The hollow thunders ; for, the springs of power Are in the massive bands, which hold in check Its cumulative force; 'til, in an hour, It bursts its bonds, and drives the shapeless wreck Of vast Armadas, o'er the plunging waves ; Or howls a hollow dirge above the graves Of mariners, whose empty sails drooped o'er The glassy waters, but an hour before.

Firm bound, 'neath granite hill and mountain band, In vaults Plutonian, seas of fire and smoke Expansive seethe, beneath the crust of land ; — Hush!

What deep om'nous sound was that which broke Upon the ear? Than ocean waves more fearful, and more fleet, The billowy land -swells rock beneath our feet ; Mountains new-born of earthquakes, from the womb Others, whose summits have remain'd untrod, Save when they trembled to the tread of God, Tremble and shake, as though an awful doom.

Hangs over them ; they totter, reel, and nod, And toppling downward, with one hollow boom,. They sink forever in an ocean tomb ; And ocean comes : the awful vortex fills, Where cities, boastful of their eternal hills, Had gleamed, the glory of the granite shore, In rapt security an hour before — In rapt security!

That haughty host, So boastful of their triumph o'er the foe, May find the very powers, of which they boast, Are but deceitful bands, which bind below, A deep volcanic force ; a freeman's hate ; 7 Muffled the drums, and slow their solemn tread, Who daily followed, to the silent tomb, The forms emaciate of the patriot dead ; While, o'er the camp, a darker pall of gloom, With each expiring life, was still more deeply spread.

How silently they walked, nor murmured! KY WOl 'Through tent and hospital, from night to night, They moved, like ghosts, and bon ral lamp ; And wheresoever they threw tlr unearthly light, The throbbing heart ill; the spirit took its flight.

How fast our bubbles down the river flow! Death wraps me in the mantle of a shroud! Draw not night's shadows o'er my manhood's day, I ask none better, haste thou not away! Wide flew the dove of hope o'er wintry track, But all was waste, and hunger drove it back. Dark brooding on the future, there appeared No ray of hope, to light the deep'ning gloom, No hand, to save them from the fate they feared, To snatch the army from a common tomb, Or rescue Freedom from impending doom.

Jehovah sat upon the throne of Heaven ; And round about a mingled company Of glowing Saraphim, and Cherubim; And, all in robes of white, the radient host Of spirits, ransomed from a world of sin, — A multitude innumerable stood.

And there were harpers with their golden harps, And while they swept the sweet accordant strings, Until the tremulous atmosphere of heaven Seem'd throbbing with harmonious melodies, An anthem of eternal praise they sang, Which, swelling, closed with one triumphant burst Of :—" Hallelujah!

Blessed be our King! Thou Comforter! Most holy One! The burning orbs which mirror back thy light, Throughout the dreary wastes of endless space ; The bended vast concave of ether sea; The holy hills of Zion, round about ; And all the countless host before thy throne : Sing :—' Holy, holy, blest forever be The Triune God! And through those gates, a soft effulgence rose, As tho' it were a star, all coronate, And tress'd with liquid lines of amber light.

And now, more nearly drawn, it took the form Of constellated spirits, each a star, Which shone from out the nebula of light, Like those which twinkle through the golden hair, Of her, the bright Aurora of the north. It grew in brilliance, coming still more near, With beams of glory flashing from the throne, And wafted onward came its melodies, Like distant, changeful chimes, or like wild notes Of unseen harps suspended in the air, Whose chords the fingers of the wind do sweep, With ever varying sound ; now breathing soft As angel's lullaby to sleeping babe ; Now swelling onward in crescendo grand, Of mingled symphonies, 'til e'en the sky Seems resonant of sound ; and now again To limpid whispers falls, as sweet as though 'Twere breathed on roses from the lips of June.

Thus through the " portals of eternal day," Came Liberty and her attendant host, Of spirits ministrant, and now before Th' Almighty's throne she stood, and in a voice Which thrilled them all with sympathy, who heard, The goddess thus began :— Thou God, Of love and justice the exhaustless source, Bow down thine ear to me, and hear my prayer! In yonder orb, called Earth, from whence I come, Thy children weep,—the ones thou gavest me To bear the banner of my cause, and smite The dragon of oppression to his death.

Oppression rules! Beneath his pond'rous tread, He crushes all who would espouse my cause ; Upon the shrine of freedom, he would rear A palace, built of skeletons concrete ; Would clothe himself in gold and purple robe s Be-diamonded with crystal human tears ; Fur from their homes, in trackless wilds of snow, Where stern despotic winter, throned in ice, And mantled in gray clouds and driving storms, Proclaims with tempest breath his regal sway, Thy sons, the brave defenders of my cause, Now famish, weep, and die!

Oh, hollow ey Oh, ghostly forms! Oh, living skeletons! Oh, bitterness of cherished hopes deferred! O prayers and tears of mothers for their sons! In spirit essence all invisible, 1 moved throughout the camp at dead of night ; I bent above them sleeping, heard their prayers Afi in deep moans they called upon thy name ; Saw briny tears roll down their fevered cheeks, Like bitter waters in a thirsty land. Some spoke of liberty, and some in dreams, Which mocked them waking, talked of balmy spring; Sonic Bhivering sat by fires, nor slept; and some Lay staring through the rayless darkness—dead!

And must they perish all, and I be driven A fugitive from mine inheritance? Then soft eyed Pity, wrapped in robes of love, Bowed low her head and wept, and weeping cried, In tremulous tones of touching tenderness : " O Father! And in sweet Pity's company let me, Tliy messenger as well, thy vengeance bear; And pour upon the dark accursed throng, Who crush thy struggling children to the earth, The terrors of thy wrath!

As well essay to light, with taper's blaze, The dazzling sun, around his burning path ; To pluck Orion from his mount of stars, And hurl him headlong down the hollow sky; Or pierce with human ken Creation's depths- Jehovah spake! For Thou hast heard our humble orisons! And now, with benedictions on our flight, We go, we go, thy ministers to Earth. As though some angel presence had passed by, And on those troubled hearts pour'd soothing balm, Sleep, such as comes when grief and gushing tears Have shorn the mourner of her power to mourn ; Sleep, gendered in a lullaby of sobs, Stole softly down, and wrapped them in repose.

On downy couches of forgetfulness, Like silvery sunshine through a rifted cloud, A sudden radiance rent the veil of night, And then, in spirit beauties, hid from view Save through the wond'rous psychoscope of dreams, Lo! Let not despair destroy the germs of hope! The sun which set in clouds will rise again ; These snows will melt, the winter pass away, And spring will deck the hills in robes of green ; Nor deem thy trials are but barrenness ; Beneatli the snow, a thousand seeds lie hid All frozen in the earth, and yet, the cold Is Nature's key which turns the springs of life ; Frost bursts the shell which binds the helpless germ, So from thy very sufferings, shall bloom Perennial flowers in thy history ; Though nights grow darker, trim the lamp of hope!

And wouldst thou see the future? Around the temples base, a thousand doors Broad, high and ample ; all were opened wide, And over each was written : "Liberty!

Enough hast thou already seen, if thou Dost rightly read this riddle which I give : — ' Who longs for morning must await the dawn. The morning broke. Fierce Winter still proclaimed his regal sway, With tenfold furies howling down the blast.

And were their hopes enkindled but to die, And leave them deeper in despair? Ah no! For like a wounded lion's frenzied throes, Most terrible in agony of death, The hollow voices of the lashing storm, Were but the angry Winter's dying groans.

He lay among the ruins of his throne, Which slowly wore away, a ghastly corpse, Each coming day unlocked a door of ice, Through which the smiling Spring passed softly in. Each coming day brought Plenty's bounteous horn, And laughed to see gaunt Famine put to flight. Until, at shrill of fife and roll of drum, This remnant of an army marched away,.

From what to them had been a living- tomb ; Yet solemnly they marched, oft looking back, With wistful gaze, upon those silent graves 8 All formed like lines of battle on the hill, As if to look a long and sad " Farewell! They're gone, all gone! The heroic braves Sleep sweetly in the patriots' graves ; Their deeds live on, and brighter still Shall gleam like gems in song and story, When others lose their power to thrill, And fades the brilliance of their glory.

By hands like theirs, by such alone Was shaped the broad foundation stone, Upon which firmly rests to-day The fabric of our Liberty. And Valley Forge! Wildly the cold winds blow ; Strangely they come and go, Whirling the dust in the tireless grate.

Cold is their breath to me, Symbol of death to me, With frost they'll enshroud my form when I'm dead! We'll howl a dirge over you! Storms arose ; billows toss'd ; Soon my frail bark was lost,— Wreck'd in a whirlpool of passion so wild.

And the pendulum stops! I don't mean there, but in a doctor's shop. A phyaiciai ircurmr it, prewired it I a bottle of Alcohol. The above ia auppoaed to have been inacribed on the bottle. Though the billowy waves of temptation roll o'er me, And bear me far out on the tempest-toss'd sea, I'll keep thee, my beacon light, ever before me, And return on the flood-tide to safety and thee. Though the strings of my harp be unravell'd and broken, Though silent my lyre, its chords all unstrung, Though the praise of my verse be forever unspoken, Though the songs of the world must by others be sung; My music shall be from the winds of the mountain, In the thunders' sub-bass rolling on through the gloom, In the gurgling trill of the bubbling fountain, In the roar of the ocean, and meteor's boom.

Ha, ha! The Winter 's past ; He 's ta'en awa his robes o' snow, Nae mair we feel his chillin blast ; Nae mair his icy tempests blow ; He 's gane : We're glad to see him go. I took my wee sma' bairn one day, And in my sled I went to town, 'Twas pleasant as the month o' May, But soon the slashin' sleet came down, And we 'd nae robes to wrap us round. Our coats and breeks they were sae thin, The sleet cut nearly thro' the skin.

I clapp'd my hands, and held my ears, And swinged my horse and stamp'd my toes, My e'es were fill'd wi' frozen tears ; But what was worse, my wayward nose Ran ahead thro' the wind, and got a' froze, — It's always colder when it blows.

My simperin' bairn grew blue wi' cauld, And fill'd his bonny e'e wi' tears ; Straight out his chubby hands did hold, But ah, the frostie nipp'd his ears! Then, oh, ye crags o' rock and ice! How ye resounded to his yellin! C'mon now. Same thing with Sorority Row. That story is utter crap but just the hint of nudity will get the jabronis and tweens into the megaplexes.

And did you see that Whiteout trailer with Kate Beckinsale? I definitely saw Kate Beckinsale in a gratuitous naked shower scene Face it. Sex sells and hell I'll pin up Fairuza Balk pictures as I please. On to the continuum! On the last episode of the jaded viewer Assassins vs Assassins vs a priest! Lindy Booth is hawt! Check out the clip below from Wrong Turn where umm well she kinda dies.

The interweb The guys who made Crank made Gamer I have a few more but I'm getting bored and tired. Got any good links? Comment and share with everyone. Enjoy the 3 day weekend! Categories: 10 Best Black Films Of The s , 5 types of moviegoers who watch horror movies , fairuza balk , jennifer's body , lindy booth , megan fox , the horror continuum , the tournament official trailer. As I eagerly wait for promo materials for Black Dynamite , I'm getting into a jive motherfucka mood by reading the novelization of Black Devil Doll book review to come soon!

I did say French blaxploitation. Here be the plot. When his Parisian armored car holdup goes horribly awry, our protagonist Black needs to go on the lam. News from his cousin in Senegal about a stash of uncut diamonds in a poorly guarded bank in Dakar hatches the plan to go on a working vacation that involves a little sightseeing and a lot of mayhem.

Categories: Black Caesar , black devil doll , black devil doll review , black dynamite , black dynamite clip , black dynamite red band trailer , black trailer , blaxploitation , french film. With the pending release of Survival of the Dead, we will have now seen George A. Romero's version of the Star Wars trilogy, but with zombies. Nobody questions the original trilogy Night, Dawn and Day are the pinnacle by which all zombie movies are judged.

Dawn alone is one of the best horror movies of all time. But what of this new trilogy? Do we horror fans turn into geeky fan boy bashers when it comes to Romero's new take on his creation? Think about how this so closely resembles that "other" trilogy. The new zombie movies had: 1. Big name actors more so in Land than in Diary 2. Gimmicky film device SOV, hand held camera shakiness 4. Special effects and big budget excess both flicks 5. Lots of references to the previous films both flicks And Land , Diary and Survival of have all come out 2 years after each other.

So let's get into the thread of the week. Which film did you like better or do you think was better? Which one sucked monkey balls? Land of the Dead or Diary of the Dead? Will Survival of the Dead be better or worse than these 2 previous films? I mean it was Romero's first zombie flick since Day. And though it had its flaws, I dug it. I dug the characters, the setting and the zombies.

And the satire is in plain sight no matter how obvious. It's about classism, the rich vs the poor, the haves and the have-nots.

The fact the status quo somehow remained intact in the middle of a post apocalyptic world. My gripes for Diary of the Dead can be found in my review.

To sum it up I had problems with the 1st person camera thingy, the characters sucked, lack of splatter and gore and the nerve of George to explain to me about what he was satirizing in a voiceover. Winner: Land of the Dead! OK now it's your turn. Which movie did you think was better? And what are your thoughts of Survival? Will it be better? Categories: dawn of the dead remake , diary of the dead , george romero , land of the dead , the thread , zombies , zombies pov. A very forgettable witch gone awry movie that also starred Neve Campbell.

But her leathered up, Hot Topic, nose ringed gothy look was so super duper hot, I began to follow every movie she was in.

Unfortunately, she didn't make a lot of horror afterwards and instead ended up as a cat on the bad remake of The Island of Dr. Moreau and played Adam Sandler's Bayou girlfriend in the Waterboy. She did star in an episode of Masters of Horror as a super vixen hitchiker which was mega cool. You'd think a hot girl with mesmerizing blue eyes, voluptuous, Angelina Jolie lips and a killer body would be in more shit. So while we wait for her next film, let's stare at the picures below.

That shirt is perfect. She's so punk rock. A gothy wiccan whose nuts! Categories: fairuza balk , forgotten horror hottie , the craft. Newer Posts Older Posts Home. Subscribe to: Posts Atom.

Popular Posts. Ranking Blackout Haunted House Happy Halloween! Mainstream media and sites are covering haunts like Blackout, The Green Inferno Review. Nyctophobia Review. To find the the very best haunted houses in New York, you sometimes have to venture away from the city. I've been stuck within the ci Gateway's Haunted Playhouse Review. It's a a bit too warm to get in There is a a new top dog in NYC for the traditional haunted house. And its name is Bane Haunted House.

In the far west side of Manhatt I wanted to explain our rating system so going forward everybody good get a clear understanding of what we think is good and what is utter s Hello fellow interweber!

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