Poveglia, an island located south of Venice's historical center, and not far from the area known as Boche di porto di Malamocco. It was originally a self-governing island hundreds of years ago. That is, before it was taken over by Italy when the Black (Bubonic) Plague was sweeping over the country side, and the island became the dumping grounds for the dead -- and the not so dead but definitely doomed. Even alive, the plague striken people were tossed into "plague pits" with their fellow dead comrades and either buried, burned, or just left to lie there and rot. And, as the plague worsened, panic swelled, and those showing even the slightest symptom were dragged kicking and screaming from their homes. These living victims, including children and babies, were tossed just the same into the pits to be burned, buried, or left dying in agony and the smell of rotten flesh. The island was used as thus during the three times that the Black Death spread through Europe -- beginning with the Romans -- and was an efficient way of keeping the infected people separated from the healthy. It is believed that over 160,000 people died on the island throughout its pit-filling history.

The island was once home to a small community...until it was abandoned around 1380, during the War of Chioggia. Reports of voices, footsteps, eerie sounds, and an overall sense of evil permeating the island is rumored to be the cause, and locals of the area today still will not journey to the island at night. Most will not even talk about the island, its history, or its 'inhabitants', not even for the sake of capitalizing on tourism.

The soil on the island, combines with the charred remains of the bodies, formed a layer of sticky ash on the land. The top layer of the ash has dried to form a fine dust that blankets the island in the breeze and catches in the lungs. Part of the island's core consists of a layer of human remains, a reason for which fisherman avoid the area, as chances of catching a body part of two is likely.

In 1922, a psychiatric hospital was built on the island. Many of the patients claimed to see the tormented spirits of the plagued and plague victims; a perfect justification for the administering physician to conduct torturous experiments on the patients in order to discover the cause of their insanity. Patients described, in horrid detail, seeing the ghosts of rotting corpses from the plague, of hearing whispers echoing off the walls, and being deemed demented, their reports fell on deaf ears and in the hands of an even more demeted doctor -- a little too zealously ambitious...oh, and eventually driven completely mad by the ghosts himself. Or so it is believed.

The doctor's methods of experimentation were crude, to say the least, having performed lobotomies using a basic hand drill or, more often than not, a simple hammer and chisel. The observation tower became the place where they were subjected to the most hideous of tortures.

After years of performing his experiments, the doctor himself began seeing ghosts and, it is said, took flying leap to his death from the bell tower. Miraculously, or one really fucking funny joke of a ghost, the doctor did not die -- not immediatly, that is. According to one nurse, as the doctor lay writhing in agony, a fine mist swirled up around him, entered his body, and choked him to death. It is whispered from tight lips in dark corners by locals that the doctor is bricked up in the bell tower, and on a still night the bell can be heard tolling across the bay.

Recently, a family sought permission to tour the island, in the hopes of buying for a cheap sum in the pursuit of building a vacation home. Reports state that the family left the island before the night was over. The family has refused to comment, but it was a little harder to hide their daughter's face -- which required 20 stitches after "something" ripped it open.

Thrill seekers have eluded the light police patrol (the island is currently closed to the public) that guards the bay and subsequent island at night. Though all have sworn never to return. Reports of "moans and screams that reverberate around the island are unbearable" and that "there is a feeling of the most intense evil."

This makes Poveglia the perfect candidate for a museum of ecology, history, nature, and culture of the lagoon; a sort of laboratory which will involve the visitors in a cultural journey to the discovery of the Venetian lagoon. Nope, not even Gilding is sick enough to employ this one (but do note she said employ. That's not to say she wouldn't have hilariously and with a maliciously fervored glee thought about it).

In a current project, restoration and restructuring of the island's existing buildings, avoiding the introduction of new construction, and with planning directives that put above all the importance of the environment and employing building strategies peculiar to Veneto culture, and more specifically, particular to Venice.

Plans for the island's current architecture include a "Welcome Center" housed in the southern part of the island, the main building, and situated opposite the canal, separating it from the "octagon", a prominent structure, once used as a fortress, on the island. The "Guest Quarters", a.k.a. 'Foresteria', will be made of the building directly behind the Welcome Center, and wil be used for the comfort of visitors between scheduled events -- because nothing says comfort while waiting for your conference, concert, or movie screening inside the place that Satan's tortured minions play. A restaurant, located on the south west side of the island next to the welcome buildings, will offer Venetian cuisine -- all produce used in the dishes will come from the organic vegetable farm located in the northern part of the island. And don't mind the dripping strips of ghoul flesh slopped on your plate -- simply hand it back to your attending tortured soul...er...waiter and you may escape your dinner with your face still intact.

Oh, and for the eco-concious, plans have been envisaged for a computerized system to control the managament of public lighting, therefore, avoiding "light pollution." Just one tiny step in conservation in the sphere of all the charred body ashes that the island is contributing to the atmosphere.

Link: Shadowlands | Phunk U-- "Poveglia Island of Horror" | Poveglia | Wikipedia--Pveglia
Related: Poveglia: A 1st-Hand Account

Bricks, it seems, are the literal building blocks of civilization, whereas moss is the incremental destroyer. To see them together -- and to appreciate the beauty of this -- is to understand that you cannot have one without the other, just the way you cannot have spring without winter, love without pain, or Lauren without Heidi. Many are the hours where we have sat trying to figure out whether we are made of moss or brick, and only now and again does it really seem as if both are there equally -- so that we are in equilibrium -- and for just a second we are filled with a fleeting sense of truth and revelation that is replaced by longing and melancholy as soon as it is gone.

-Jason

[vodpod id=ExternalVideo.633514&w=425&h=350&fv=]

"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains: round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away

Pillars at Herodion, 5 km south-east of Bethlehem (15 km from Jerusalem) one of Herod the Great's (37 - 4 BCE) most ambitious building projects. It served as his summer palace, fortress, monument, district capital and (possibly) his burial place. During the Jewish revolt against Rome in 66 CE, Jewish rebels captured it for 4 years. In 132 CE, it was captured again by Jewish rebels in the Bar Kochba revolts. It was deserted from the 7th century CE until recent decades.

Wander XII, In Progress

Bom, não vou ficar aqui falando dos sites ruins, mas vou falar dos sites bons, que se caracterizam pelos bons serviços prestados. Esses sim eu recomendo! Não se engane com os outros leitor, os melhores para acompanhar são os já bem conhecidos PCI Concursos e Correioweb e, as boas novidades da área e meus favoritos, Concursos 2008 e Edital Concursos. Há outros, certamente, mas por enquanto esses já estão excelentes para acompanhar concursos.

I stand in a field of broken cubes. They are about 5 times bigger than me and made of stone. It is a very sad sight. It is the ruins of my soul. They are meant to be stacked in a great arch up into the sky. They are not. They lie as rubble on the ground. I do not know how to put them back together.

On a sunny day, Provence is paradise. Yet, nearly every good walk in the region includes the discovery of an ancient building, long since abandoned by those who struggled to survive here but had to move on.

At the rest area on the route to Mont Ventoux, a short walk from the picnic tables leads to the crumbling remains of a shepherd’s home perched on a steep rocky hill. The walls, which someone worked so hard to build in this rocky landscape, have nearly all fallen but the southen wall is still standing, allowing explorers to look out the same window and imagine the difficulty of life in a simpler time.

Driving west on the scenic route from Sault to Cavaillon, the sheer cliffs and stunning depths of the Gorges de la Nesque to your left command all of your attention. After you pass through the third tunnel, however, keep your eyes open for a high stone wall on the right and be ready to pull over. The skinny path through briars and thorns leads to a house so overgrown, it’s turned into a secret garden. A number of small trails lead up the steep hill to a series of cliff dwellings protected from strong winter winds by thick stone walls framing panoramic views of the gorge and its lush forest of pine and chestnut.

As published at Planet Eye

From the bbc.co.uk article:
The ancient city of Pompeii has fallen into such disrepair that the Italian government has declared a "state of emergency" in a bid to save the ruins.

Ministers intend to appoint a special commissioner to oversee the site, and have earmarked extra funding for it.

According to analysts, the ruins have suffered from lack of investment, mismanagement, litter and looting.

Pompeii was buried by a volcanic eruption in AD79 and was not rediscovered until the 18th Century.

The volcanic debris preserved many of the city's buildings, frescos, silverware, mosaics and other artefacts.

But experts complain that the relics are now in danger.

"Every year at least 150 sq m (1,600 sq ft) of fresco and plasterwork are lost for lack of maintenance," Antonio Irlando, a regional councillor responsible for artistic heritage, told the Corriere della Sera newspaper.

"The same goes for stones: at least 3,000 pieces every year end up disintegrating," he said.

Read the article here.
There is also a short video describing the situation.

This bizarre military/scientific research, and eerily futuristic doomsday-weapon-of-mass-destruction looking, creation is located close to the city of Istra (50 miles from Moscow), and is the only open-air kind in the world.

Amazingly, it's still in use. The experiments done here are based on the work of Nikola Tesla, who continued his research with generators and multi-million volt transmitters until his death in 1943.

Link: Dark Roasted

Our road was narrow and unpaved. A landscape of spring time fields full of fresh green shoots, village women in their bright chunris, wrinkly old men herding goats, buffaloes and children bathing at the same water hole, blue sky above, and georgette like veil of clouds. Dotting this landscape were ruins of old forts and chattaris, cenotaphs and occasionally, ads for mobile phones.

I may have mentioned before, Bhangarh was nowhere to be found on our map of Rajasthan. We asked villagers we met on the road. Often we got conflicting directions. We didn't know when we would reach Bhangarh - it could be in an hour or it could be the next day. We shared the road with goat herds, camel carts and tractors. I doubt we made more than 20 kms every hour.

At times a close encounter with the camel kind would nudge us off the road. I have seen camel races on TV so I know they can run. But if you see a camel up close, it is hard to imagine these long legged bored and lugubrious looking animal running. On a narrow road, when their drooling mouths and big teeth approach close to your face, it can get a bit creepy.

We actually reached Bhangarh by midday. Established in mid 1600s and abandoned in early 1700s, Bhangarh is now a ghost town. Guidebooks will have you believe that it is considered a haunted place by the local folks. Although not old, it is supposedly a charming ruin - a fort, some temples and what once was a village with 10,000 people. A fairytale legend surrounding Bhangarh's abandonment has the usual masala - tantrik lusts after the beautiful queen, queen resists, tantrik curses city. I have only read cut and paste versions of this same story on the web, so who knows what the real reason is. Likely some battle or other that Bhangarh lost.

On entering the premises, the very first thing you notice are the ruins of the village. This area is quite remarkable, cobbled streets, planned layout - it looks in parts like Machu-Picchu. After exploring these, we wandered around the temples. Two were more prominent - they stood a little secluded from the village, each one on a small hillock. A goat herder resting on the steps of one of the temples told us that while no one stayed in the premises after sun down, the temples were in fact still in use. The temples are indeed partially restored, although in a haphazard fashion. From anywhere in the village, one could see the fort and the lookout high up on the hill. I am sure that the fort would have provided a good vantage point for Bhangarh, but it was too lazy a day to walk all the way up.

We did some people watching instead. A water reservoir was close to the base of the fort. Surrounding the reservoir was a well maintained lawn. I suspect ASI is responsible for maintenance. There were several groups of villagers here. Some enjoying picnic lunches. Some bathing. Kids were running around or diving. We overheard one woman cursing loudly on her mobile. Several dozen monkeys had gathered close - where there are people, there are monkeys!

While there were no other city tourists like us, it was clearly a weekend tourist spot for the villagers. It was indeed charming - just what the guidebook had promised. Although, to be perfectly honest, I had hoped for greater isolation. Was I thinking that the superstitions associated with the ruins would keep the crowds away? In any case, it was time for us to find our way to our next destination - Abhaneri, site of an 8th century stepwell.

Travel Note: Bhangarh is somewhere between city of Alwar and Jaipur. We had a large map of Rajasthan and Bhangarh was not marked. But, it is fairly easy enough to find directions from other travelers on the road. Keep plenty of food and water. We didn't find any lunch place en route. We had packed lunch thanks to Sariska circuit house cook otherwise we would have had to live on tea.

Before the events of May and June of 1987 put me on a quest regarding a recovery of Gnostic practices and world view...culminating in the months leading up to the last war and pretty much wrapping it all up for me on my fortieth birthday, I'd had a series of "visions" if you will that seemed to be a fusion of two of my favorite classic Golden Age Science Fiction novels: THE END OF ETERNITY by Asimov and THE CITY AND THE STARS by Clarke.These visions would be most pronounced in the Ruins of Chollas Station north of College Grove Drive. Those ruins are still mostly intact...though the area that was grated to be the start of the land fill has been re-visioned by the city of San Diego as an Athletic Field.

Even thirty years after my first encounter with the Ruins, they are still pretty much the same, not a whole lot of decay: early in the 20th Century they really knew how to make concrete that lasted.

Or Did they?

My failed Science Fiction Writer mind wondered some times if that was just a cover by the City, as half the neighborhood didn't even seem to be aware of the existence of the ruins.

In the Visions, the ruin had actually always been there, before the coming of the white man, and were impossibly old, on the order of 30 Billion years, older than the physical universe.

That it had actually fallen back in time from some later epoch.

As part of the perfect final city, going back into the past to ensure that the future turned out the way it did.

A moebius loop paradox of galactic age endurance.

The People at the End of time were actively reaching back thru the ages, working on manipulating history to come out the way it should.

They way it should?Real time was at the end of time, the time of perfection, when humanity had reached its highest goal.

But there were factions at the end of time that wanted to reach into the past, start nuclear wars, change elections, have person a make choice c instead of d in their life;  just to change their own standing, or their group's standing, at the end of time.

A nuclear war in 1988 would have only small adjustments in the final city. In all possible worlds the Final city is there, just with different aspects.

The City at that end of time was much like Diaspar, the version in THE CITY AND THE STARS, not  as in AGAINST THE FALL OF NIGHT: Enclosed, everyone dinkin around in virtual environments of intellectual exploration or having esoteric sex, mathematical pursuits that go on for tens of thousands of years across incarnations; human beings incarnated via a Master Computer, sex only for enjoyment not reproduction. A potential population in the trillions, with only a few millions actively incarnated at any given time.

Sounds like Heaven.

The Eternals and the Factions: One of the actual jobs in this Diaspar like city was monitoring the prior centuries, millennia, eons and making corrections to time: ensuring the time line. But unlike Asimov's Eternals who could only manipulate Centuries starting from the 2600s: when the Temporal Field was created, drawing energy from Earth's Sun's Death Throws, these Temporal Guardians/Adjustors and Rogues had access to all time, including a pre-human dinosaur civilization. The dinosaurs didn't die out, our human ancestors at time's end dropped the bomb on them.

Not a totally original notion, all of this. LAST AND FIRST MEN has the mind of a Last Man influencing Olaf Stapledon to write that book. In LAST MEN IN LONDON the premise is revealed that Olafs' Last Man had been with him for decades, and actually influenced much of his actions...which I wasn't to read until about 1996.

But it was never clear from these Blakean visions if the Platonic Guardians were actually physically traveling back in time, or if they were just mentally traveling back in time, focusing on key individuals at key times.

The last half of the twentieth century being a Crux Period from the view point of the end of time...that this was the era in which humanity could make or break it's world.

Anyway.

Events in Ocean Beach in the last weeks of May 1987, and then leading up to a return there on June 10th of that same year, sent my life in a completely different direction, hot on the heels of hermetic speculation . A year later, after a correspondence with a celebrity on the subject, I was enmeshed in a close study of the published material pseudo Gnostic Victorian club, actually making up some of my first elaborations of their spiritual speculations at that point, diverging from their stodgy co-masonic practice.

Little did those Victorian Speculators, or myself and my late twentieth century comrads, realize that the information they took as a supreme spiritual key to understanding the universe was actually a miscommunication from a yet different set of humanity, a mere seven billion years past our own era.
 
And then making a re-entry into the work force in a completely alien field to my interests, and actually succeeding in it.
 
All through the 1990s there was this constant background interest in this misunderstood communication.  One myth stated these were semi-divine beings.  Another that they were Extra-Terrestrial in Origin.  Until the accident with the laser driven time machine in 2012 no one realized that this key to the spiritual universe was a partially working radio to a race of Man facing extinction on an Earth nearly swallowed by a Swollen Sun.
There should have been clues that this wasn’t what it seemed.  Everyone who spent any considerable time delving into it suffered strange flu like symptoms.  Or worse, became allergic to almost everything in modern life.
 
And again…there was one of those shifts in perspective, and most of those involved in this studies became engrossed in the Philosophy and Life Style going by the name of “Agape” which promised to be a unification and solution to all western philosophy, religion, and spiritual yearns.
This failed, scattering everyone back to their individual lives.In times of Social Crisis like the failure of “Agape” I found myself returning to the Stapledonian Mytho of long geological eras of human and other intelligences’ history.

During the 1990s I got this fix via Dr. Benford's novels set about 30K years from now near the Galactic Core...where humanity had come to Bitch-Slap ancient Machine based Intelligences for attempting to play the forced extinction game on them...only to end up being rats in the walls...until humanity played the final trump.

Benford's sequel to the Diaspar story: BEYOND THE FALL OF NIGHT, tied in his Galactic Novels in a loose way to Clarke's condensate of LAST AND FIRST MEN and STARMAKER: A time eons after carbon and electronic based intelligences settled their differences and got on with business.

In some ways I feel like a periodic comet looping around two binary stars at a 101 AU distance from each other: One being the Stapledonian Mythos and the visions of Winter/Spring 87, the other being an interest in Gnostic studies and practice, also binaried to Heideggerian ontology

Two years ago I had come to a point in my studies of original Gnosticism where I had made a major breakthrough into something new, actually putting together a more original system of doing things, more in line with the historical Gnostics and not the Victorian Era Simulation...and then suddenly I am in charge of computers around the world and my Dad is diagnosed with Lung Cancer...derailing continuing development from those discoveries to deal with a !CRISIS!...feeling like a microcosm of one of Stapledon's future races of Humanity: They would reach some kind of spiritual pinnacle and then Viral Cloud Intelligences would invade from Mars, or their racial Joy would knock the moon out of Orbit, or after taking a billion years to arise again on Neptune and attain a perfect society there telepathic unity would upset the Sun (also an intelligent being) triggering a Nova Event to wipe out the vermin in his system.

 
With my father having one foot in the grave and the other on a banana peel for a year and a half, was forced to re-experience the neighborhood in which I grew up.Returning to Oak Park on a daily basis brought back memories from forgotten decades, and a rediscovery that Chollas Station had been reopened to the public: the City closed it down in Spring '88: giving me access to that space and the old memories.

The ruins endure.

The ruins look the same.
Though one structure ended up buried in adebris flow after the mud hill above it collapsed.
And yet many in the surrounding neighborhoods are oblivious that it is there.
Walking the ruins the day before thanksgiving last year produced a brief sense of fractured eternity, a cascade of images, of events and personages up and down the time line, and to the sides.

Those have been recorded elsewhere.  

While Clarke’s Diaspar is a perpetual presence in my imagination, the visions of that final city, and it’s broken projections into the current era, only occur in the anomaly of the ruins of Chollas Station.

Every now and then, confused individuals are found stumbling out of the Western Gate at Chollas Station road, and wander down into Redwood Village, babbling incoherently and trying to purchase food and drink at Trade Winds Liquor with what the owner of that store has told me was  “Monopoly Money”.   And chases them out of his store.

Outside of the ruins the Final City is only a vague presence.

Yet “when” I am is always suspect.  Doug Smith says we don’t even know what planet we’re really on any more.  Or what year this really is…

Falling off to sleep initially I dream of the Warner Valley, 50,000 years from now, when the male gender has gone extinct.  As I fall deeper asleep it’s Alexandria just before World War Two.   And Alexandria endures thru the night, in the predawn sleep it’s the Alexandria of Origen and Plotinus, and listening to the same lecturer that formed their thought, in that same academy like place…

A special commissioner will be appointed by the ministers, in order to oversee the site, and have earmarked extra funding for it.

The ruins have suffered from lack of investment, mismanagement, litter and looting, analysts say.

In 79 AD, Pompeii was buried by a volcanic eruption, and was rediscovered in the 18^th Century. Thanks to the volcanic debris, many of the city’s buildings, frescos, silverware, mosaics, and other artefacts have been preserved.

But experts complain that now the relics are in danger.

Tourist attractions

"Every year at least 150 sq m (1,600 sq ft) of fresco and plasterwork are lost for lack of maintenance", Antonio Irlando, a regional councillor responsible for artistic heritage, told the Corriere della Sera newspaper.

"The same goes for stones: at least 3,000 pieces every year end up disintegrating", he added.

The newly-elected government has decided to act, as the ruins are one of Italy’s biggest tourist attractions.

"To call the situation intolerable doesn't go far enough", Reuters quoted Culture Minister Sandro Bondi as saying.

The "state of emergency" will last for a year.

Picture of Kogi house style campsite.

It is difficult to imagine how a ‘city’ that was once the centre of a thriving civilisation can be ‘lost’ without a trace, but there are many archaeological sites around the world that have been reclaimed by the jungle and been forgotten in time.

Such is the voracity of the jungle in the remote parts of the world these ruins are located in, as the excavations continue, the already excavated areas are again being swallowed up by the jungle unless constantly maintained – try walking around the outer ruins at Tikal in Guatemala and Palenque in Mexico.

Once a focal centre for the Tairona (sometimes spelt Tayrona) people, La Ciudad Perdida is buried deep in the jungle in the Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta mountain range in the far north of Colombia.

It pays to be fit to walk the 2-3 day trek through the thick vegetation and river crossings to arrive at the bottom of some 1200 single pile stone steps that lead up to La Ciudad Perdida. This last hurdle is a true engineering marvel of precision and dedication. They have remained intact, despite centuries of heavy rain and all-engulfing jungle, as have the neatly piled flat-stone terraces and roads at the ancient city itself.

Picture of a Kogi male

It was a real shocker to emerge into the open clear-cut farmlands at the end of 6 days of wrestling with the dense jungle, its remoteness, muddy hillsides and vicious mosquitoes. All of a sudden, the greenery that had cast cool shadows gave way to wide open sky, I could hear chainsaws and dogs barking and see rising smoke at different points in the distance.

There is a degree of danger when visiting La Ciudad Perdida due to the fact the region is controlled by battle hardened paramilitary groups. There have been some tourist kidnappings. They control the coca plantations you will see on the trek and you might even be offered a visit to a working cocaine laboratory.

The potential danger is not deterring many tourists doing the trek every year. Along with Parque Tairona (Tairona Park), it is a highly recommended place to visit in the region (and in the country).

Related: "Gingerbread Houses in the Ruins"
Link: EnglishRussia.com
Via: ullabenulla

Before he is even two year old, Black Beauty some men hunting.  While leaping a stream, one of the huntsmen fell.  He and the horse were both badly injured.  A few days latter, Black Beauty saw a black carraige drawn by black horses move slowly toward the church.  The horse's rider had died.  Black Beauty never found out what happened to the horse.  This book is clearly trying to say that hunting for sport and not for food is bad.  This is only true to a certain extent.  We Christians are to be stewards of the earth.  Therefore, we should not kill anything unnecessarily.  However, in our day and age, people often carry this to far and instead of killing to much the do not kill anything.  This is also wrong.  Did not God tell us to eat meat?

Soon after the hunting accident Black Beauty is broken in.  This means that he was taught how to wear a saddle, a bit, and all the other necessary gear of a horse.  After he was broken in, Black Beauty was sold a had to leave his first home.  This was  only the beginning of his moves.  Throughout his busy life Black Beauty changed homes many times.  He meet good masters and bad.  A bad master nearly ruined him.  A kind horse, Black Beauty worked hard for his good masters and took ill treatment patiently. By the end of the book, Black Beauty, an old, tired horse, is bought by a kind mistress who promises never to sell him, but to treat in with care.

Black Beauty does give characteristics of humans to animals.  The horses in this story can think and talk to each other, and one horse, Black Beauty, can write a book.  However, this is not like some stories today in which animals talk to humans.  Some people think that the Bible is against giving any human attributes (reasoning, talking, writing, wearing cloths, etc.) to animals.  I am not sure exactly were I stand on this issue, but, as you can tell from the fact that I read this book, I do not think that the Bible is against giving animals human attributes.  If the Bible was against this, then why did God cause Balaam's donkey to talk to him?  I real life God caused an animal to talk.  Why can it not happen in fiction then?  As I said earlier, I am not certain what I think about this issue, and if someone would like to discuss it with me feel free to do so.

When I was younger than I am now I would go into my local library and read nearly everything. This mostly stemmed from my need to understand what the "adults" were talking about. After all this is what we were going to grow up to be ... adults that is. I would read anything but there were a few books and subjects that I always went back too. Greek mythology was one of those subjects.

I distinctly remember a large hard bound yellow book with an illustration of Zeus on the cover that I would checkout at least once a month. I'd lug the thing around the school and on the bus and read about all the Greek gods and their escapades, like a really bad sop opera :) And when I found out that there really was a mount Olympus in Greece I was amazed ... I never thought I'd see Greece.

Greece is beautiful and ruled by water and I'd go back every summer if I could. Travel is good for the soul. I am very grateful that I can share these pictures ...

]]> http://elizatruitt.wordpress.com/?p=157 Tue, 01 Jul 2008 20:04:59 +0000 elizatruitt http://elizatruitt.wordpress.com/?p=157 So a few weeks ago I got to photograph the Coffee Shop Jam for the second time. The Coffee Shop Jam is when all the students of Rob Hampton , guitar teacher extraordinaire, get to strut their stuff on stage in front of a real live audience.

It was my second time photographing the Jam (click here to see my photos from last time) and despite the name, this time it was not held in a coffee shop. Instead it was in a more glamorous venue, the Ruins. The Ruins had the advantage of a nice big stage, plenty of room for parents and other fans, and fabulous food, which everyone enjoyed between sets. It's a testament to Rob's incredible teaching and his connection with the kids he works with that some of the parents sponsored the event, donating both the space and the lunch.

I was amazed at the way kids as young as this little guy were so into music and were eager to get up on stage and play (that's Johnny Cash peeking out from his shirt).

This amazing kid below performed songs he had written about the Civil War, inspired by stuff he was learning at school:

And there were plenty of grownup students performing, as well:

There was also a five man acoustical jam--these guys all take a group lesson together:

The guy second from the left in the photo above is the dad of the little guy in this photo below, who seemed to be enjoying the show:

Rob, along with bass teacher Brady Millard-Kish, and drum teacher Mark DiFlorio accompanied some of the the students as they performed, and the three of them got together to play a few songs sans students:

The song they played that stuck with me the most was "Cliffs of Dover," which I hadn't heard since I was in high school. Definitely brought me back for a moment; click here for a serious musical flashback.

The rest of the photos are posted on Rob's website if you want to see more. It was a great day full of music and fun, and it all happened because one cool guitar teacher decided that his students deserved to be on stage. Thanks, Rob!