Podcasts about dimly

We invite you to join Jacob and study this weekend. Title of this episode is 'A Bruised Reed & A Dimly Burning Wick'. Originally recorded for RTN TV, Word for the Weekend.You can connect with Moriel in more locations than just YouTube!Check out all our official links on the About page: https://www.youtube.com/c/MorielTVministries/about.The U.S. Copyright Office protects this video and its contents under section 107 of the Fair Use Copyright Act 1976 which can be found here: can be found here:https://www.copyright.gov/title17/92chap1.html#107.While we do encourage comments, all are held for review before posting. We ask that you please focus your posts on the video and it's topic. Keep it relevant to the message; and of course showering us with love is always welcome. We do appreciate you and thank you for caring enough to speak up and speak out.Please note: Posts that are longer than a short paragraph, contains hate, or disrespectful comments, or links to websites or other videos will be deleted. Comments determined to be inappropriate, obscene, disrespectful or with links to pornographic material, will get you banned.All decisions on comments are at our discretion.

In this solo episode of the Anglotopia Podcast, Jonathan Thomas delivers his definitive guide to Oxford — his favorite city in England outside of London and the subject of his guidebook 101 Oxford Travel Tips and Tricks. From the bleary-eyed chaos of his first visit in 2012 with an angry 16-month-old and the Mini Cooper factory ring road at midnight, to two stays as a student on the Oxford Experience program, Jonathan brings nearly 15 years of personal history with the city to bear on a comprehensive, enthusiastic, and practically useful travel guide. The episode covers how to get there, how long to stay, the Oxford Experience immersive student program, the colleges you must see, the Bodleian Library's remarkable layers, the essential museums, the unrivaled bookstore scene led by Blackwell's and its famous five-mile Norrington Room, Oxford's extraordinary literary connections from Lewis Carroll to Tolkien to Philip Pullman, the day trips that demand your time — including Blenheim Palace and the Cotswolds — and the practical tips that will make your visit infinitely more enjoyable. Links 101 Oxford Travel Tips and Tricks by Jonathan Thomas — [Anglotopia Store link] Oxford Experience at Christchurch English-Speaking Union Oxford Course Bodleian Library Tours — bodleian.ox.ac.uk Blackwell's Bookshop Oxford — blackwells.co.uk Oxford University Press Bookshop Scriptum, Turl Street Ashmolean Museum — ashmolean.org Pitt Rivers Museum — prm.ox.ac.uk Blenheim Palace — blenheimpalace.com Rousham House & Garden — rousham.org Didcot Railway Centre — didcotrailwaycentre.org.uk Oxford Walking Tours Morse Walking Tour Oxford The Randolph Hotel (now Graduate Oxford) Friends of Anglotopia ⠀ Takeaways Oxford is Jonathan's favourite city in England outside London — and most Americans either skip it or see it in a rushed half-day bus tour that barely scratches the surface. Two days minimum is the right call; three is better. Oxford is just 60 miles and 40-45 minutes by direct train from London Paddington, making it one of the easiest day trips or overnights in Britain — and you can also get there direct by bus from Heathrow without going into London at all. The Oxford Experience — a residential immersive programme at Christchurch offering one-week courses for adults in July and August — is Jonathan's single highest recommendation for anyone who wants to truly inhabit the city. Courses cost £1,500–£2,000 all-in and include room, board, lectures, and excursions; book in November when the schedule is released as popular courses fill within hours. The Bodleian Library is not one library but several — the Divinity School, Duke Humphrey's Library, the Radcliffe Camera, and the Weston Library — and the best way to see them properly is to book a guided tour well in advance, as they sell out. Blackwell's bookshop on Broad Street is arguably the greatest bookshop in the world — the underground Norrington Room alone has five miles of shelving beneath Trinity College — and Jonathan has never left without spending several hundred pounds. Staff will package books in brown paper and ship them back to the US at reasonable rates. Oxford's literary connections are extraordinary: Lewis Carroll wrote Alice in Wonderland at Christchurch (Alice was the Dean's daughter); Tolkien and C.S. Lewis met with the Inklings at the Eagle and Child every Tuesday through the 1930s and 40s; Philip Pullman set His Dark Materials here; Oscar Wilde studied at Magdalen; and Inspector Morse has made every corner of the city feel like a crime scene. The Eagle and Child — the Inklings' famous pub on St. Giles' Street — has been closed since COVID and is currently being refurbished by new owners. It must reopen as a pub by heritage law, and is expected to reopen either in 2026 or 2027; keep an eye on the show notes link for updates. If you're in Oxford for even one day, you must go to Blenheim Palace — just eight miles away by bus, the only non-royal non-episcopal palace in England, birthplace of Winston Churchill, UNESCO World Heritage Site, and arguably the greatest country house in Britain. A bus from Oxford drops you at the gates. Jonathan's top Oxford hack: stay for at least one night. By 4-5pm the tour buses are gone, Oxford becomes a completely different city, and the cultural life — theatre, bookshop talks, music — begins. Arrive early to beat crowds at the sights, then save the evenings for culture and quieter exploration. Avoid mid-April to mid-June (exam season, colleges restrict access), avoid July if you run hot (medieval stone buildings have no air conditioning and bake in the heat), and buy a fan the moment you arrive if visiting in summer. September and October are ideal months to visit. ⠀ Soundbites "Most of my early memories of Oxford were driving the ring road at midnight with a toddler who would not go to sleep and who would only stop crying if he was in the car. We drove round and around, seeing nothing other than the Mini Cooper plant every time we went past." — Jonathan on his first trip to Oxford in 2012. "Oxford has this warmth to it — that yellow beige Cotswold stone, weathered and warm. And there's this scholarly, bookish vibe from the place that you don't really get anywhere else. It's not just a campus. Oxford University is the town of Oxford." — Jonathan on why Oxford grabs you. "I was immediately spellbound. I loved it immediately. And that's the thing about Oxford — it grabs you once you visit, and you're walking around this beautiful architecture surrounded by deep, deep history. They don't even know exactly how old the university is. It's over 800 years old. When Oxford was founded, the Aztec Empire hadn't even reached its peak." — Jonathan on falling in love with Oxford in 2016. "There were riots. There was full scale urban warfare in Oxford in 1355 — the St. Scholastica's Day riot. 63 scholars and 30 townspeople were killed. As a result, the town was forced to pay annual reparations to the university in a formal ceremony that continued into the Victorian era." — Jonathan on Oxford's violent town vs. gown history. "You basically get to live as an Oxford student for a week. Morning is lectures, afternoon is tours and excursions, evening is formal dinner in the Great Hall. And one night you're invited to high table — suit and tie, port, mingling with the professors. It's a very quintessentially British experience." — Jonathan on the Oxford Experience programme. "I've never gotten out of the Norrington Room without spending several hundred pounds. Let me just say that. Five miles of shelving underground beneath Trinity College. So many books." — Jonathan on Blackwell's legendary underground bookshop. "The Pitt Rivers Museum is like the Victorian cabinet of curiosities. Dimly lit, quiet — maybe people don't even know it's there. Polynesian canoes, samurai outfits, weapons, armour. A strange and wonderful melange of human culture from all over the world." — Jonathan on one of Oxford's most atmospheric museums. "If you're in Oxford and you don't go to Blenheim Palace, you've wasted a trip to Oxford. It's the only non-royal, non-episcopal palace in England. I would argue it's probably the greatest house in Britain. And a bus from Oxford drops you right at the gates." — Jonathan on Blenheim Palace. "By four or five o'clock in the afternoon, the tour buses are gone. And it's just you and the people who live and work and study in Oxford. Oxford becomes a completely different place. That's when the cultural life wakes up." — Jonathan's key Oxford overnight hack. "Scriptum on Turl Street — if you're a bookish type, you will love this place. Beautiful blank books, journals, diaries, fancy pens. I have a beautiful leather book from there with gorgeous cream pages that I cherish so much I haven't written anything in it. I'm afraid to ruin it." — Jonathan on his favourite hidden gem shop in Oxford. ⠀ Chapters 00:00 Introduction — Jonathan sets up the Oxford guide episode and plugs his Oxford guidebook 01:48 Jonathan's Relationship with Oxford — Brideshead Revisited, American universities, and the Oxford DNA in US campus culture 03:30 First Visit: Oxford 2012 — Diamond Jubilee trip, an angry toddler, and the ring road at midnight 06:20 Second Visit: Oxford 2016 — The train from Paddington, the proper day, and falling in love properly 08:42 A Brief History of Oxford — Ford of the Oxen, Alfred the Great, Henry II, 800 years, and the St. Scholastica's Day riot 13:30 The University Explained — 44 colleges, town vs. gown, the founding of Cambridge by Oxford exiles, and Oxford today 16:10 How to Get There — Train from Paddington, Oxford Tube bus, direct from Heathrow, and why not to drive 19:30 Getting Around Oxford — Walking, taxis, park-and-ride pitfalls, and Tolkien's grave 21:10 Day Trip vs. Overnight — Why staying beats leaving, and how Oxford transforms after 4pm 23:40 The Oxford Experience Programme — Christchurch, Worcester College, the Nelson course, high table, and the Enigma course Jonathan wants to do next 33:15 Accommodation Options — Hotels, staying in colleges out of term time, and the Randolph (Inspector Morse's pub) 35:20 The College System Explained — 44 semi-independent colleges, how to apply, porters, scouts, and visiting hours 38:00 Must-See Colleges — Christchurch, Magdalen, Worcester, Merton, Wadham (Brideshead), and the peculiar All Souls 43:00 The Bodleian Library — Five buildings, Duke Humphrey's Library, the Radcliffe Camera, the Divinity School, and why you must book a tour 47:00 Radcliffe Square & St. Mary's Church Tower — The most beautiful urban space in Britain and the best views in Oxford 48:40 The Ashmolean Museum — Britain's first public museum, the Alfred Jewel, Guy Fawkes's lantern, Turner paintings, and it's free 51:00 The Pitt Rivers Museum — Through the Natural History Museum, the shrunken heads, Polynesian canoes, and the Victorian cabinet of curiosities 53:00 Carfax Tower, Oxford Castle & Prison, and the Covered Market — Views, ruins, Brown's Café, and Ben's Cookies 55:30 The Botanic Garden & Broad Street — Riverside walks, the Martyrs' Cross, and the Reformation in Oxford 56:30 Shopping in Oxford — The High Street, Blackwell's, the Norrington Room, OUP Bookshop, Scriptum, The Last Bookshop, and why to skip the Harry Potter tat 01:03:00 Literary Oxford — Lewis Carroll, Tolkien, C.S. Lewis, Oscar Wilde, Philip Pullman, Inspector Morse, and the Eagle and Child update 01:09:00 Harry Potter Oxford — Divinity School, Duke Humphrey's Library, Bodleian courtyard, Christchurch Great Hall, and the new TV series 01:12:00 Day Trips from Oxford — Blenheim Palace, the Cotswolds, Stratford-upon-Avon, Rousham House, Didcot Railway Centre, and Bicester Village 01:18:00 Practical Tips — Book ahead, avoid exam season, avoid July heat, arrive early, save museums for the afternoon, walk everywhere, punt the river, visit Scriptum 01:24:00 Wrap-Up — Oxford rewards time and attention; two days minimum, the Oxford Experience if you can, and a call for listeners to share what they love about Oxford Video Version

In this episode of Best in Fest, host Leslie LaPage sits down with Charlotte Delaney Riggs, an award-winning actress and rising talent known for projects like Austin High, Thunder Road, and Through a Glass, Dimly.Charlotte shares her journey from performing in elementary school theater productions to working professionally in film and television—while balancing school, auditions, and life as a young actor in today's fast-changing entertainment industry.

Message 6 in our Main Service Series, –A Vision for 2026–

Job 18-25

1 Corinthians 13:12 - Sermon by Aaron Markham

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Join us each week for a brief encouraging word from Pastor Roger Hirth or one of our associate pastors.

Looking for more? Stay connected, even online! Find all kinds of resources from SouthPark Church at southparkchurch.com. Who is SouthPark Church in Charlotte, NC? We want to help those around us live life to the full. Jesus inspires us, especially when he says, “I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full” (John 10:10). We are a group of imperfect people seeking to live abundant, full lives. Full life is all about loving relationships with God and each other. We'd love to hear from you. Connect with us at www.southparkchurch.com/contact Owner holds Streaming License and Copyright License through CCLI.

This dark, gripping teen drama about a girl suffering from an eating disorder begins with a surreal carnival dream sequence where protagonist Nicole sees herself distorted in a funhouse mirror, seemingly instigating a pattern of binge-eating candy and purging. Stuck traveling in between the houses of her divorced parents, Nicole's disorder becomes life-threatening after an electrolyte imbalance causes her to faint while horseback riding on her father's remote ranch. Director Barbara Sundstrom is a lesser known but accomplished Christian film ministry director whose work we've celebrated for years on our podcast, especially her 2007 magnum opus THE SABER (about a marine recruit battling porn addiction.) Sundstrom does not shy away from intense themes in her work, which primarily stars the teenagers who work with her as a part of her film ministry project Cross Wind Productions. Teens deal with intense emotions, so Sundstrom must feel that teens can handle powerful artistic truths. The dark subject matter of IN THE MIRROR DIMLY combined with its forays into the surreal, sometimes intentionally and other times unintentionally through bizarre visual storytelling, make the film an essential watch for anyone who appreciates unique film experiences. Joining us for this week's review is another singular filmmaker, but from a very different realm: Canadian edgelord auteur Louise Weard, whose star is rising with the recent success of her crowdfunding campaign for upcoming feature CASTRATION MOVIE PT. II. This will be a sequel to CASTRATION MOVIE PT. I, which last weekend drew two nights of sold out crowds at screenings in the Los Angeles area. Taking a break from her touring schedule to join us in the studio, Louise discussed the parallels between IN THE MIRROR DIMLY and her own work (mainly, tons of vomit sequences) and also dropped hints that Christian influences might creep into her upcoming CASTRATION MOVIE sequel. Download Louise Weard's films CASTRATION MOVIE and COMPUTER HEARTS on Gumroad: http://louiseweard.gumroad.com View our full episode list and subscribe to any of our public feeds: http://boysbiblestudy.com Unlock 2+ bonus episodes per month: http://patreon.com/boysbiblestudy Subscribe to our Twitch for livestreams: http://twitch.tv/boysbiblestudy Follow us on Instagram: http://instagram.com/boysbiblestudy Follow us on Twitter: http://twitter.com/boysbiblestudy

Message 1 in our Main Service Series, –Clearing Some Things Up–

Welcome to A Different Door, where every week we have a conversation in reference to the Scripture and dive deep into topics and issues that are going on in our world.

Chapter 6 - The PortkeyINTRO - Character impressions in your mind.Harry felt as though he had barely lain down to sleep in Ron's room when he was being shaken awake by Mrs Weasley.Q1 - Is this the worst feeling ever? Non-snow days? What is the worst feeling as a kid?Q2 - You need a license to Apparate? Do you think anything else should require a license in the magical world?Q3 - What's the earliest you've ever woken up?[Portkeys are] objects that are used to transport wizards from one spot to another at a prearranged time.Q4 - Would you rather travel by broom, apparition, or portkey?Q5 - Amos Diggory works for the department of the regulation and control of magical creatures…did he vote yes to killing buckbeak?“I'm sure Harry'd say the same, wouldn't you, eh? One falls off his broom, one stays on, you don't need to be a genius to tell which one's the better flier.”Q6 - How do you like Amos and Cedric?Q7 - Thoughts on the wizarding world spreading trash around the planet in the form of portkeys?Chapter 7 - Bagman and CrouchQ1 - If you had to hide a quidditch world cup game, how would you do it?“Been having a lot of trouble with him. Needs a Memory Charm ten times a day to keep him happy. And Ludo Bagman's not helping. Trotting around talking about Bludgers and Quaffles at the top of his voice, not a worry about anti-Muggle security.”Q2 - How should they deal with Mr Roberts…should some Muggles just be able to know about Wizards?“Always the same.” said Mr Weasley, smiling, “we can't resist showing off when we get together.”Q3 - How do you like the magic of expanding something like the tent into being massive inside?It was only just dawning on Harry how many witches and wizards there must be in the world; he had never really thought much about those in other countries.Q4 - How large do you figure the wizarding world is? Q5 - There's a description of all sorts of other witches and wizards here, if you could travel to see magic from any other country in the world, where would you go visit?“I'm not putting them on [referring to the trousers],” said Old Archie in indignation. “I like a healthy breeze around my privates, thanks.”Harry laughed but didn't voice the amazement he felt at hearing about other Wizarding schools. He supposed, now that he saw representatives of so many nationalities in the campsite, that he had been stupid never to realize that Hogwarts couldn't be the only one.“That's Bode and Croaker…they're unspeakables.” “They're what?” “From the department of mysteries, top secret, no idea what they get up to.”Q6 - What do you think they do in the Department of Mysteries?Q7 - How do you like Bagman and Crouch? Which do you like more?“Ali Bashir's on the warpath. He wants a word with you about your embargo on flying carpets.” Mr Weasley heaved a deep sigh. “I sent him an owl about that just last week. If I've told him once I've told him a hundred times: carpets are defined as a Muggle Artifact by the Registry of Proscribed Charmable Objects, but will he listen?”Q8 - Broom or Carpet?A sense of excitement rose like a palpable cloud over the campsite as the afternoon wore on. By dusk, the still summer air itself seemed to be quivering with anticipation, and as darkness spread like a curtain over the thousands of waiting wizards, the last vestiges of pretense disappeared: the Ministry seemed to have bowed to the inevitable and stopped fighting the signs of blatant magic now breaking out everywhere.Q9 - Harry gets Ron omnioculars…is he cheap for saying he won't get anything for him for Christmas?And then a deep, booming gong sounded somewhere beyond the woods, and, at once, green and red lanterns blazed into life in the trees, lighting a path to the pitch.Chapter 8 - The Quidditch World Cup“Ah, sir,” said Winky, shaking her head, “ah, sir, meaning no disrespect, sir, but I is not sure you did Dobby a favor, sir, when you is setting him free.”Q1 - What do you think of House Elves? Should they be set free?Q2 - Do you think it's cruel to have a house elf sit at the booth who is afraid of heights just to save a seat?She would have been nice looking if she hadn't been wearing a look that suggested there was a nasty smell under her nose.Q3 - What are your thoughts on the Veela and the Leprechauns? Q4 - What would the American mascot be?Q5 - What do you think of Victor Krum?Q6 - Would you want to go to this game?Q7 - Was Krum an idiot for ending the game when they were down too much?Chapter 9 - The Dark Mark“Get up! Ron — Harry — come on now, get up, this is urgent!” Harry sat up quickly and the top of his head hit canvas. “S'matter?” he said. Dimly. He could tell that something was wrong. The noises in the campsite had changed. The singing had stopped. He could hear screams, and the sound of people running.Q1 - Have you ever been in a riot or a situation this scary?Q2 - What do you think of these masked people's actions?The colored lanterns that had lit the path to the stadium had been extinguished. Dark figures were blundering through the trees; children were crying; anxious shouts and panicked voices were reverberating around them in the cold night air. Harry felt himself being pushed hither and thither by people whose faces he could not see. Then he heard Ron yell with pain.Q3 - Do you think Lucious might be out there among the masked people?Q4 - How many magical schools do you think there are?A rustling noise nearby made all three of them jump. Winky the house-elf was fighting her way out of a clump of bushes nearby. She was moving in a most peculiar fashion, apparently with great difficulty; it was as though someone invisible were trying to hold her back.Q5 - Do you think Harry is right, that Winky is just disobeying, or do you think she was cursed?Q6 - Do you think Stan Shunpike would ever become minister of magic? And would he do better than Fudge?Q7 - What do you think Bagman was doing deep in the woods? Do you trust him?For a split second, Harry thought it was another leprechaun formation. Then he realized that it was a colossal skull, comprised of what looked like emerald stars, with a serpent protruding from its mouth like a tongue. As they watched, it rose higher and higher, blazing in a haze of greenish smoke, etched against the black sky like a new constellation. Suddenly, the wood all around them erupted with screams. Harry didn't understand why, but the only possible cause was the sudden appearance of the skull, which had now risen high enough to illuminate the entire wood like some grisly neon sign. He scanned the darkness for the person who had conjured the skull, but he couldn't see anyone.Q8 - What do you think of the Dark Mark?Q9 - Do you think Crouch is good at his job or is he mad?"Here, look. " Mr. Diggory held up a wand and showed it to Mr. Weasley. "Had it in her hand. So that's clause three of the Code of Wand Use broken, for a start. No non-human creature is permitted to carry or use a wand."Q10 - Are wizards right to restrict wand usage to just humans?Q11 - What are your thoughts on Amos Diggory's interrogation style?Q12 - What do you think of the Prior Incantato spell?Q13 - What do you think of Mr Crouch and Winky's relationship?"Of course it's not Him," said Mr. Weasley impatiently. "We don't know who it was; it looks like they Disapparated. Now excuse me, please, I want to get to bed.”"I don't get it," said Ron, frowning. "I mean. . . it's still only a shape in the sky. . . " "Ron, You-Know-Who and his followers sent the Dark Mark into the air whenever they killed," said Mr. Weasley. "The terror it inspired. . . you have no idea, you're too young. Just picture coming home and finding the Dark Mark hovering over your house, and knowing what you're about to find inside. . . . " Mr. Weasley winced. "Everyone's worst fear. . . the very worst. . . " There was silence for a moment. Then Bill, removing the sheet from his arm to check on his cut, said, "Well, it didn't help us tonight, whoever conjured it. It scared the Death Eaters away the moment they saw it. They all Disapparated before we'd got near enough to unmask any of them. We caught the Robertses before they hit the ground, though. They're having their memories modified right now. " "Death Eaters?" said Harry. "What are Death Eaters?" "It's what You-Know-Who's supporters called themselves," said Bill. "I think we saw what's left of them tonight - the ones who managed to keep themselves out of Azkaban, anyway. "Q14 - Who do you think actually conjured the Dark Mark?Q15 - What do you think of the Death Eaters?

Are you tempted to skip over passages in Bible that contain messages of judgment? Katy Shelton, author of Forever Matters: How the Return of Jesus Completes You, a brand new devotional on the book of Revelation, actually helps us see God's great love in these messages! You can pre-order ⁠Forever Matters⁠ now, just about anywhere books are sold online! In addition to Forever Matters, Katy has co-authored Christmas Matters based on the book of Luke and Easter Matters, based on the book of John, with her good friend Anna Nash. Check out "What Matters - Let's Talk About It," a podcast with Katy Shelton and Anna Nash, that provides Bible readings for their devotional series. Coming soon...Katy and Anna will discuss each chapter of Revelation to accompany Forever Matters! If you would like to contact Katy, then please visit her website: katyshelton.com Follow Katy on Instagram: @katydshelton Follow "What Matters - Let's Talk About It" on Instagram: @whatmattersletstalk Follow the Meet Me in Isaiah Podcast on Instagram: @meetmeinisaiah You can now also subscribe and watch the Meet Me in Isaiah Podcast on YouTube! All music on this episode is courtesy of Project of Love. Check out their music on Spotify, YouTube, and more!

Overfuckingrated at SOAK 2023. IANDUSTRIAL. SHE WHO HAS NO NAME AT THE MOMENT. SPACE CADET. NATASHA. Ignition NW. Critical (Massive.) Counting the sex camps. Kinky Fucking Campers. Sex positivity. DTF = not a sex camp. RevoFUCKINGlution. AbsoFUCKINGlution. IPfuckingA. A glory hole shadow theater with corndogs. Main Burnarble Structure. Summer Camp. Cold S'mores. Flaming Giraffe Art Car. Big jellyfish. MANIMAL. CHEF JUKE. Also Burnout. The Burner Barn is a resource. EMILY goes as long as the song. Soul Train Christopher. BRC Welding & Repair. Other "friends." Blue Light District est. 1997. Swiss Space Bar. SENSEI STRANGE, indeed. Flipside. 6907 camp? APPARATUS. Seacompression. PABLOVEX? The interest is there. Unbroken Spring. Thinning the thicket. Shift. DIMLY. Massive massive. Bridge & tunnel volunteering. Train your replacement. BRATTY CAT. Not just one team. School of Burning Man Event Production. Can't sit still. Rainbow procession.  MUSIC: "Your State Smells Like Cow Shit" by Late Bus JOIN OUR DISCORD: https://discord.gg/qXUb7hf6bd FOLLOW US ON BLUESKY: @accuracy3rd.bsky.social Patreon us on Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/A3rd

In this episode, Dr. Fredrick J. Long (@greekmatterswithfredlong) examines 1 Corinthians 13:12 using the Constituent Marking Method. Tune in to learn more! ***GlossaHouse resources are available at our website! - https://glossahouse.com/ ✏️ ***Sign up for classes with GlossaHouse U - https://glossahouse.com/pages/classes

Chapter 32: The Woman Who Dimly Foresaw His Death

The Man with a Storm in His Eyes – Volume 4NOTE: If you have not listened to Volumes 1, 2 and 3 of this 4-part miniseries, please pause this episode, and go listen to the first three installments, otherwise the story won't make much sense.Over Thanksgiving I spent a few days house- and cat-sitting for a friend. The moment I met Russell the cat I was completely charmed by the milky cloudiness of his eyes. What fascinated me most was that he appeared to be able to see just fine... to the point where sometimes he appeared to be seeing things that I myself couldn't see. I found myself inspired and fully credit Russell with breaking through my writer's block.This story is available in written form in its entirety exclusively to Patreon Supporters, visit the link below to join.Join Melissa's Patreon for early access to podcast episodes, music downloads, and more: http://www.patreon.com/melissaoliveriContact: theskylarkbell@gmail.comThe Skylark Bell official website - http://www.theskylarkbell.comThe Skylark Bell on Instagram: @theskylarkbellAuthor/Producer: Melissa Oliveri - http://www.melissaoliveri.comAll music by Cannelle: http://www.cannellemusic.comCannelle on Instagram: @cannelle.musicFULL TRANSCRIPT:Things with Wings Productions presents: The Man with a Storm in His Eyes - A Skylark Special Miniseries written exclusively for The Skylark Bell podcast. I am your host, Melissa Oliveri.  Before I begin, if you haven't listened to the first three installments of this story, I strongly suggest you hit pause on this episode and go listen to volumes 1, 2 and 3, otherwise this episode won't make much sense. In last week's episode, Marie broke the sisters' one rule and brewed a cup of the forbidden tea for herself, but she was interrupted by their early return. Disgraced and embarrassed, she returned home... only for the twins to appear outside her window a few days later.Today we conclude this wild and eerie tale... fair warning, the ending made me cry the first time I re-read the story in its entirety.Lastly, I'd like to thank Lauren and Rachel for the use of their apartment over the Thanksgiving holiday. The opportunity to house and cat sit for them gave me the calm and space I needed to to start writing, and in the end, their cat, Russell, provided the inspiration for the story I wanted to write. The spark has grown into a flame, and there are more stories to come in the future, so stay tuned.But for now, it's time to get settled in… grab a blanket, and a warm drink... perhaps a handkerchief, just in case… and let's read the conclusion of The Man with a Storm in His Eyes. The spell broken, I shook my head and scurried down the stairs and out the front door to collect the book they had left behind. I ran my hand over the smoothness of its cover, and noted the leather was embossed with a collection of odd symbols. I clutched the book to my chest and hurried back up to my flat as quickly as my fuzzy slippers would allow, completely oblivious to the neighbours gawking at the sight of me outside in the cold wearing only a short frilly nighty. I threw myself onto the sofa and placed the book on my lap, puzzling over the symbols on the cover before unbuckling its leather strap and cracking it open. I flipped through the book haphazardly and was met with page upon page of tight cursive handwriting. Every so often I would land on a carefully drawn illustration with labels and notations. About halfway through the book I found a folded piece of paper tucked between the pages. I gingerly pulled it out, the ornate handwriting was different than the one filling up the pages of the book. I squinted in concentration as I began to read:Dearest Marie,You must have endless questions about the goings on at 51 Dimly Court. We did not mean for you to get pulled into the vortex of our stormy existence, and I apologise for our poor handling of the situation the day you left. Winifred and I have decided to share with you the story that is neither ours, nor Russell's, nor even little Jones'. The story is our mother's. Her name was Fiona Merriwell, and she was what many would, for better or worse, call... a witch.  Our mother grew up in the “old world”, a time and culture filled with mystique and superstition. It would be easy to brush aside these traditions as hogwash, but as you now know, there was truth to at least some of it. Our maternal grandmother was a gifted seer and would warn people of things to come, or describe things that had happened long before any of them were born. Our mother was always envious of this gift, but her talents lay elsewhere. She was an expert healer and could create concoctions to heal most ailments common in her time. Her one wish, however, was to find a way to recreate her mother's capabilities using her knowledge of plants, herbs, tinctures, and the like. She made it her life mission... and it cost not only her, but several of us dearly. The teas in the canisters were created by her, and she was the last one to brew a cup, until you came along, of course... but I'm getting ahead of myself. Our mother raised us on her own after our father passed away. She worked odd jobs and kept herself busy making salves and teas to sell at local markets. Behind the scenes, however, she continued to work on her plan to create a tea that would allow her to see through veils of time, and she eventually succeeded, but things did not go as planned. She had just finished perfecting a recipe one day when there was a knock at the door. A young man, sharply dressed in a grey wool suit, stood on our front steps, he was selling top-of-the-line cookware. Our mother, always willing to indulge young entrepreneurs, invited him in and put the kettle on. She was fully intending to simply listen to his presentation, but as their conversation wore on an idea crossed her mind. The young man mentioned that his brother had recently passed away, and that he missed his him terribly, and wished he could see him again, if only for a moment. The gears in our mother's mind began turning; if she served her tea to the young man and it was effective, it might provide him with an opportunity to see his brother again, and if it failed, he would be none-the-wiser and would simply have enjoyed a nice cup of tea, no harm done.I must say at this point that our mother was neither conniving nor cruel, she was entirely under the impression that the effects of the tea would be temporary, there was no way for her to know her spontaneous decision and, ironically, lack of foresight would change the course of all our lives.And so it was that Russell J. Holcomb, luxury cookware salesman, came to sit at our kitchen table and drink the tea our mother had aptly named Violet Storm. He remained in our kitchen for a few hours, demonstrating his goods. Winifred and I came home our jobs at the hospital partway through his sales pitch and sat at the table listening to him, enthralled. Russell was very charismatic; he would certainly have had a successful career in sales if he had never had the misfortune of knocking on our door. Winifred was especially taken with him; she would later tell me it was his smile that won her over so quickly. Little did she know we would only rarely ever see that smile again.We were there when the tea began to take effect. I remember it so clearly because, unfortunately for Russell, there was a storm brewing outside. Winifred and I had rushed home from work due to the dark, threatening clouds hovering in the sky above. We would later learn that stormy weather exacerbates the effects of this specific tea... but once again, I'm getting ahead of myself. Russell was just finishing a demonstration that involved cooking an omelet, he slid it onto a plate and placed it on the table for us to see. It was then that he stumbled backwards and fell to the floor. His eyes darted back and forth as a mist began to rise in them. He started to shake and pointed at something behind us. The three of us turned in unison, but there was nothing there. Our mother crouched next to him, put a hand on his shoulder, and asked if he was okay. Through rapid breaths Russell explained that he could see other people, dozens of other people, all semi-transparent, moving throughout the kitchen. Walking, cooking, sitting at the table... he could even see different furniture, and he could see grass on the ground as well as different versions of the kitchen floor, layer upon layer upon layer of the past all visible at once. He let out a scream that still echoes in my mind to this day, then squeezed his eyes shut and clutched his head in his hands shouting, “Make it stop! Please! Make them go away! Make it all go away!”Distraught, our mother wrapped a dishtowel around his eyes and tied it at the back of his head, then lead him to the sofa to lay down and wait until the effect of the tea wore off. Once the storm passed the effects did diminish considerably, but the clouds never left Russell's eyes, and he never stopped seeing relics of the past all around him at all times. Our mother settled him in the empty flat upstairs, no one had lived there for years, and it didn't have much of a past to speak of, or see. The outside world was far too overwhelming for Russell, so he remained in the upstairs flat from that day forward. Because he had no family to speak of, Russell decided it was best to leave him flagged as a missing person to the outside world, it seemed simpler than trying to explain the reality of what had happened. The four of us agreed to never speak of that day's events, and our mother immediately set to work trying to create a remedy.Days turned into weeks and months. Winifred spent a lot of time upstairs keeping Russell company, and the two fell deeply in love. One day our mother announced she had come up with a remedy, a tea she called Black Moon. She brewed a pot, and Winifred volunteered to bring it up to Russell, promising to report back if it had any noticeable effects. But as Winifred was climbing the stairs to the apartment, a shadow of doubt came over her... What if this new concoction made Russell worse? Her heart ached at the thought of involuntarily harming him in any way, so she sat on the top stair outside his door and slowly drank the cup of tea herself to see how it would affect her before giving any to Russell. Russell never did drink any Black Moon tea, because within a short period of time Winifred came crashing down the stairs screaming and waving her arms in the air as though swatting away a swarm of bees. Unlike Russell, her eyes never clouded over, instead they turned into two deep, dark, inky pools. We came to discover that Winifred was now plagued with incessant visions of the future: Buildings being torn down, new ones being erected, wars, unrest, and the cacophony of centuries of living beyond anything she'd ever known... Her condition worsened during the new moon when the sky was at its darkest. On these nights, her existence became nearly unbearable. Layers of the future would wrap around her like a snake wraps its body around its prey, squeezing the air out of its lungs, and effectively crushing it. On these nights,Winnifred would wear a blindfold, which helped to alleviate some of the stress of her condition. I paused my reading then, thinking back to Christmas Eve dinner with Russell, and his odd behaviour as the storm rolled in. He must have been suffering through a similar experience, a ramping up of the effects of his condition... My heart ached for him, for Winifred who was similarly afflicted, for Florence who was tasked with caring for them both, and for Jones the cat who had now joined their ranks. I heaved a sigh, then dove back into the letter. In our mother's mind, the tea she had concocted to view the future would have cancelled out the tea Russell had ingested which gave him visions of the past, but after seeing what happened to Winifred, we didn't dare let him drink any. It became difficult for Russell and Winifred to be in the same room, they were essentially living on different plains now, he in the past, she in the future, with only a bridge of present between them so small they could never stand on it long enough to truly be in one another's company. Heartbroken, Winnifred stopped going upstairs to visit, and only rarely ever spoke.Our mother, devastated by the tragedy she had inadvertently unleashed on our family, made one last attempt at setting things straight. She poured over her craft for several months, studying herbs and tinctures used by our ancestors. Some ingredients she foraged for herself, others she sourced locally or from overseas, until finally one day she came to us with the resulting Golden Sunset tea. This tea, she was certain, would fix both Winifred and Russell's conditions, but she insisted she would drink a cup first to ensure there were no unexpected results. As you may have guessed, the results were, indeed, unexpected, and very tragic.The last entry in our mother's book was written moments after she drank the Golden Sunset tea. She detailed a scene from the future, of a young woman living in our flat, and a cat named Jones with glowing amber eyes. She said this woman would be instrumental to the future of our family history as she would carry on guarding the tea until she reached the age of 93. That is where the diary ends, there were no details beyond that.After drinking her tea and writing in her diary, our mother walked out our front door and stood on the stoop. Winifred and I stood at the window, watching her back as she stared at the world outside, motionless. Perhaps a few minutes went by, perhaps a few hours, neither one of us could tell, but eventually our mother exclaimed “It's all so beautiful!”, then she fell to the ground. Shaken out of our reverie we ran to her, but she was already gone. Presumably, whatever it was the tea caused her to see, it was more than the human mind and body could take.In the decades that followed I continued to care for Mr. Holcomb and Winifred. Winifred would provide guidance on future events and occurrences, which is how we knew you were planning on drinking the tea, and that we were going to arrive just in time to stop you. We tried to change the course of history and arrive in time to also prevent Jones from drinking the tea, but as with every other time we've attempted to change the future, we failed.From what Winifred has shared, and she only shares things she feels are absolutely necessary, I am to make you the beneficiary of our estate upon our passing, which, Winifred has assured me, is much farther away than anyone would ever dream. Perhaps our mother's longevity tea worked better than her other ones. I wish you all the best Marie. We shall not see you again after today, but from what I can gather, someday in the distant future, you will once again see us. Take care,FlorenceI refolded the letter and placed it back between the pages of the book, then closed the cover, re-buckled the strap, and placed the book on the coffee table in front of me. There would be ample time to sift through its pages down the road, right now I needed to process the events of the past week.I carried on with my life over the next few days. Those days turned into weeks, months, years, and before I knew it nearly three decades had gone by. In that time, I earned a nursing degree and used some of the knowledge from Fiona's diary to help patients. I married and divorced, had two children whose careers eventually took them to opposite ends of the country, adopted and went through the heartache of saying goodbye to 3 different cats, all with glowing amber eyes, and... well... I grew older. Not nearly as old as the twins however, who died within days of one another at the ripe old age of 103. It was on a Wednesday afternoon a couple of weeks after the twins' passing that my postman Gordy placed a small package on the stoop outside my front door. I happened to be looking out the window when he came and waved to him as he carried on to my neighbour's house. He smiled and waved back; he was always such a pleasant young man. I reached into my post box and pulled out a small stack of letters, then bent down to pick up the package. I felt my stomach tighten when I saw the return address for the solicitor's office on the parcel. I knew this day would come, this wasn't a surprise per se, and I had only briefly met the sisters on two occasions nearly 30 years ago, yet I still felt the sting of tears in my eyes. Inside the package was a letter from the solicitor detailing the legal intricacies of the estate and the steps I needed to take to finalise things. The only other item in the box was an old antique key. I recognized it immediately as the key Florence had left for me that fateful day all those years ago. I placed the key in my palm and closed my fingers around it. If I focused enough, I could almost feel a low electrical pulse emanating from it.My first time stepping back through the front door of 51 Dimly court was surreal. Everything was exactly the same as it had been the last time I was there. Every trinket, every book, every curtain and pillow and blanket, even down to the plush towel and robe set I had used after taking a bath that Boxing Day afternoon three decades ago. I walked through the flat in wonder, gently tracing my finger along the edges of the sisters' belongings, the items strewn atop their dressers and vanities. Winifred's copy of The House on the Strand was still on her nightstand, I understood the significance now, with her experiencing time differently than the rest of us. I stood at the bottom of the stairway to Russel's flat for a long time staring at the off-center number 7 on the door. I'd read his obituary years ago, I'd lost track of how long it had been exactly, but I remembered it said he had passed peacefully in his sleep with his loved ones, presumably Winifred and Florence, by his side. Eventually I made my way up the stairs and let myself into Russell's flat, which was also frozen in time. I stepped into his office, noting his satchel was still on the desk. I peered inside and saw a collection of marketing materials for cookware. This was the bag he was carrying the day he disappeared, that fateful day he met Fiona Merriwell and her enchanted, or cursed depending on how one views these things, collection of teas.I stepped into the little kitchen; bright sunshine was streaming through the window. I smiled as I remembered sitting at the table sharing a meal with Russell, telling stories, and laughing together. He was a lovely man, lovely and lonely. His fate was not one anyone would have been envious of, unable to leave the confines of his apartment, destined to pine away for an impossible love just within his reach but never attainable... my heart ached for him.I lived on in the flat for forty more years, keeping everything the same as it had always been. I eventually retired from my decades-long career as head nurse at a care home, and before I knew it found myself older than the twins were when I first met them. I surprised myself gravitating toward some of Florence's dresses and coats. Winifred's wardrobe, however, remained too gothic for my taste. As time wore on, I became rather uninterested in the outside world, preferring to focus on my own private little secret world inside the sisters' flat. I never stopped thinking of it as the sisters' flat. My children rarely visited and would only stay in town long enough for a meal, always at a fancy restaurant of course, before returning to their busy lives, and I was okay with that because they were happy.And now we've come to today. Today is my 93rd birthday. I am celebrating alone, and rather enjoying my own company. I finished my cup of tea 15 minutes ago; I can feel its effect taking hold. I see a warm glow around everything in the flat, as though every object has been wrapped in goldleaf and the setting sun is shining through the window, even though in reality today the sky is grey and loaded with a mass of storm clouds. I walk to the sitting room and lower my tired body into a chair by the window, turning to face the inside of the room. I watch as the past fades into view. I see Florence and Winifred as children with their mother reading stories by the fireplace, the same fireplace in which the contents of the tea canisters and Fiona's diary are burning right now. I see young Russell looking dapper in his grey wool suit with his satchel strapped over his shoulder, he's coming in to do a presentation of the luxury cookware he is selling, and Fiona is guiding him toward the kitchen. I see all the events Florence described in her letter unfold before my eyes.Eventually I see myself walking into the flat for the first time, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other waiting for Winifred to speak through the garish red lipstick streaked across her mouth. I marvel at my youth, how naïve and innocent I was then. I watch the entire Christmas holiday unfold, cooking for Mr. Holcomb, rushing outside to rescue Jones, cuddling with him on the sofa, staring into his beautiful golden eyes. Then the fateful night when he drank the tea...Layers of past begin to pile atop one another in rapid succession now, and I see events flash before me. First, I watch the twins grow old and eventually disappear altogether. Then I see myself, older, but still young by my current standards, returning to the flat after several decades away. I watch myself age at a breakneck pace and eventually see myself, dressed the way I am dressed right now, walk into the room. I gasp as I catch of glimpse of my eyes, now turned into two glowing orbs filled with a swirling mass of mauve, gold, coral, and burnt orange. Now I understand why Fiona named this tea Golden Sunset. I watch as I gingerly lower myself into the chair I am sitting in at this very moment. That's when things truly take off, when past, present and future finally collide.In a flash of amber, coral, and lilac everything sets off at lightning speed. I see the future, I see what happens to me, what happens in the decades and centuries beyond this moment in time. I see the people who lived here before the twins, before Fiona, and those who will live here after. I see the field that was here before the apartment building, and the structure that will be built after its demolition decades from now. I turn to look out the window, the view is breathtaking. I can see everything that has come before and everything yet to come, all awash in a swirl sunset colours. It's chaotic, it's heartbreaking, it's electric, it's inspiring, it's... life......and it's all so beautiful.Thank you so much for listening, I truly hope you enjoyed The Man with a Storm in His Eyes. It has been my pleasure to write and record this story for you, and I am very much looking forward to doing it again. Stay tuned for more spooky and unusual tales in the future!If you enjoyed this story, please consider leaving a rating or a review, they are both greatly appreciated. You can also support my work by subscribing to Patreon. Patreon supporters get early access to ad-free podcast episodes, digital downloads of my music, and so much more. It's the first place I share my creations. However, if you prefer not to subscribe, but would like to make a one-time contribution, you can do so via your podcast platform. Any and all financial support is greatly appreciated.Once again, thank you for listening – I'm Melissa Oliveri, writer, composer, and producer of The Skylark Bell Podcast. Support this podcast at — https://redcircle.com/theskylarkbell/exclusive-contentAdvertising Inquiries: https://redcircle.com/brandsPrivacy & Opt-Out: https://redcircle.com/privacy

The Man with a Storm in His Eyes – Volume 3NOTE: If you have not listened to Volumes 1 and 2 of this 4-part miniseries, please pause this episode, and go listen to the first two installments, otherwise the story won't make much sense.Over Thanksgiving I spent a few days house- and cat-sitting for a friend. The moment I met Russell the cat I was completely charmed by the milky cloudiness of his eyes. What fascinated me most was that he appeared to be able to see just fine... to the point where sometimes he appeared to be seeing things that I myself couldn't see. I found myself inspired and fully credit Russell with breaking through my writer's block.This story is available in written form in its entirety exclusively to Patreon Supporters, visit the link below to join.Join Melissa's Patreon for early access to podcast episodes, music downloads, and more: http://www.patreon.com/melissaoliveriContact: theskylarkbell@gmail.comThe Skylark Bell official website - http://www.theskylarkbell.comThe Skylark Bell on Instagram: @theskylarkbellAuthor/Producer: Melissa Oliveri - http://www.melissaoliveri.comAll music by Cannelle: http://www.cannellemusic.comCannelle on Instagram: @cannelle.musicFULL TRANSCRIPT:Things with Wings Productions presents: The Man with a Storm in His Eyes - A Skylark Special Miniseries written exclusively for The Skylark Bell podcast. I am your host, Melissa Oliveri.  Before I begin, if you haven't listened to the first two installments of this story, I strongly suggest you hit pause on this episode and go listen to volume 1 and volume 2, otherwise this episode won't make much sense. In last week's episode, Marie rescued a kitten named Jones, and made the startling discovery that Mr. Holcomb had been labeled a missing person decades prior.Now, get settled in… grab a blanket, and a warm drink… and let's dive back into the story.I didn't need to worry about waking the next morning as Jones took it upon himself to serve as an alarm clock when he felt it was time to be fed. “You little rascal, you're just loving this aren't you?” I teased as I placed a bowl of turkey pieces with a strong pour of gravy in front of him. I was about to go take a shower when the phone on the kitchen wall rang so loudly I was sure the neighbours three houses away could hear it. I grabbed my chest with my hand and waited a moment to catch my breath before lifting the receiver off the hook. “Hello?” I asked tentatively. “Oh, hello Marie dear, this is Florence,” came the voice on the other end of the line. “I was simply calling to let you know we plan on returning home early tomorrow morning. I trust things are going well?” she asked.I could still feel my heart beating out of my chest, but I managed to compose myself enough to reply. “Yes, everything is great. Mr. Holcomb is quite lovely. Oh, I should probably tell you, I found a stray kitten that I'm caring for, I hope that's okay?” I figured I should probably make mention of the fact that I'd brought an animal into their home.There was a moment of silence at the other end of the line, and I grew nervous that Florence was displeased. “That's quite alright dear. I'm sure Jones is thoroughly enjoying spending the holidays with you,” she eventually replied, and I heaved a sigh of relief. “Right then, we'll see you in the morning,” she added before promptly ending the call.I put the phone back in its cradle. Something about the conversation was bothering me... I stood barefoot on the cold ceramic kitchen floor running the conversation through my head again, then it finally hit me: How did Florence know the kitten's name was Jones? On cue, Jones wandered into the room and rubbed up against my legs. I picked him up and held him at arm's length. Of course! Jones had a name tag, perhaps Florence had seen him before, maybe he even had a reputation for visiting neighbourhood homes and getting a few extra meals out of it. “I knew you were a rascal!” I giggled. I pulled him in and bumped my nose against his, mesmerized by those unearthly amber eyes, before gently placing him back on the ground.I showered and put on a festive sweater and some dressy trousers before heading upstairs to join Mr. Holcomb for Boxing Day breakfast. I told him about the rowdy boys and the kitten, and how Jones and I had eaten Christmas dinner by candlelight before I spent a couple of hours reading Alice in Wonderland in the reading room. I was itching to ask him about the newspaper clippings, but something about his expression stopped me. His brow was knit, and his eyes had turned that stormy charcoal grey again. I realized then that I'd been speaking non-stop since we'd sat down, so I quieted myself and waited for him to speak.“So... Jones is here now,” was all he said. I nodded but wasn't sure if he noticed as he seemed to be staring off into space. I let the quiet linger between us, hoping he would elaborate, but his lips remained tightly pressed together.“Mr. Holcomb...” I began, unsure of how to broach the subject. “Your questions will all be answered in due time, my dear Marie,” he said, sparing me the trouble of asking. “There are things that should not be known before one is ready to know them...” he mused obscurely, still with that faraway, stormy look in his eyes. I didn't dare ask him to elaborate, I would just have to be patient. We spent the rest of breakfast speaking of innocuous things; childhood Christmas gifts, funny stories about relatives falling off chairs or spilling food and drink on one another at holiday parties. Though we only talked about surface things, the conversation was merry, and Mr. Holcomb's eyes progressively morphed from steely grey to an appealing feathery white.It was past noon by the time I got back downstairs to the sisters' flat. Jones meowed at me in greeting and climbed up my shin to be picked up. I curled him into my arms like a baby and stared into his eyes, bordering on chartreuse in the midday light, while feeling the soft rumble of his purring against my chest. I felt the weight of the world disappear then, there was such comfort in the softness of his fur and his desire for companionship. A sudden chill passed through the air causing Jones and I to shiver in unison. “I think I'm going to run a bath,” I said, lowering him to the hardwood floor. “Don't worry, I have no expectation that you will want to get anywhere near the water,” I laughed. “Why don't I make a fire in the fireplace for you, and you can wait for me on the sofa with a blanket?” I suddenly became aware that I was speaking to Jones as though he were human and felt simultaneously ridiculous and grateful that there was no one around to hear. I got Jones settled then made my way to the bathroom. I took the time to admire the vintage Art Deco tile pattern on the floor and walls before turning the hot water faucet on the claw foot tub to its maximum, then adding a bit of cold water and two capfuls of green apple bath bubbles. I placed a thick fluffy towel and a bathrobe on a nearby wooden stool in preparation for the aftermath of my soak, then draped my clothes over the edge of the sink before carefully slipping into the steaming hot water. I closed my eyes and breathed in the sweet, fruity fragrance while listening to the crackling of the bubbles.I sat quietly in the tub, keeping thoughts of cloudy eyes and mysterious disappearances at bay, choosing to think instead of what I would prepare for dinner and which tea from the three forbidden tea canisters I would brew first. Eventually the water grew uncomfortably tepid, and the skin on my fingers began to wrinkle. I used my toe to pull the chain attached to the bathtub stopper and let the water drain a moment before standing to step out of the tub. The towel and bathrobe were both luxuriously plush, and I relished the warm, cozy feeling of being wrapped in them. I walked to the living room and rooted through my weekender bag for a fresh change of clothes. Jones was fast asleep on the sofa, curled up on a throw pillow with the glow of the fire reflecting off the sheen of his velvety fur.I made my way to the kitchen and perused the pantry and refrigerator contents for inspiration. I grabbed some zucchini, carrots, peas, and broccoli from the fridge and a box of pasta out of the cupboard. With a little butter, cream, and spoonful of flour I could whip together a mean pasta primavera, there was even a block of fresh parmesan cheese in the fridge to top it all off. I still had leftover rum raisin cake and custard for dessert. “That will pair perfectly with a cup of forbidden tea!” I chucked to myself out loud in the empty kitchen. I set to work making a roux and roasting the vegetables. My mum had always loved my pasta primavera; the secret was roasting the vegetables rather than boiling or steaming them, the caramelization added a lovely depth of flavour to the dish. “Jones, time to eat!” I called as I placed a bowl of shredded turkey with a dollop of cream sauce at his place setting across the table from me. I set my plate on the table as well, then gave each of us a generous sprinkle of parmesan. “Now I don't want you to think this is what you get to eat every day, this is a Boxing Day special, okay?” I said to him as he hopped onto the table. I patted the top of his head then sat down to eat. A flood of memories of suppers with my mother came to me as I took my first bite. I could see her smile, hear her laugh... what I wouldn't do to see and hear her again...Jones finished his meal long before I did and stretched out in front of the stove, rolling onto his back to let its warmth tickle his belly. I cleared the table and quickly did the washing up, then put the kettle on. While waiting for the water to boil I unwrapped the rum raisin cake, cut a generous piece and placed it onto a plate. “Perfect timing!” I exclaimed as the kettle sounded its whistle. I turned off the stove, then stood in front of the shelf with the three glass tea canisters, I hadn't yet decided which one I was going to brew. I noticed a label at the bottom of each one, and squinted to read the ornate cursive handwriting in hopes it would help inform my decision. I started with the canister to the left, the tea inside was black and appeared rather nondescript. “Dark Moon, sounds like something Winifred would come up with!” I said, laughing at my own humour. I moved on to the next canister, the tea inside was shades of purple with delicate dark pink rose petals mixed in, its label read “Violet Storm”. Intriguing! The last canister was filled with a mixture of gold tea leaves, yellow and orange flower petals, and citrus rinds, the label on that one read “Golden Sunset”. I pondered a moment longer, and decided Violet Storm sounded like a good accompaniment to rum raisin cake. I gingerly lifted the canister off the shelf and placed it on the counter. I popped open its lid, and the aroma of lavender, elderberry, hibiscus, and a strange sickly-sweet smell I couldn't pinpoint rose from its contents. I found a scoop in the utensil drawer and placed three spoonfulls into the infuser part of the teapot, then poured the boiling water in and stepped away to let it steep for a few minutes. I walked to the stove and crouched next to Jones, running my hand over the sleek fur of his body. He looked up at me with those amber eyes and blinked that slow blink cats do when they're rather satisfied with their circumstances; a full belly, a warm napping spot, and a human to do their bidding. I finally admitted to myself that I'd grown unusually attached to this kitten over the past couple of days, as though we were kindred spirits from the start.“Tea time!” I said as I stood up. I poured tea from the pot into the teacup Mr. Holcomb had gifted me. I left the teacup on the counter while I brought my plate of cake and the little pot of custard to the table. Then I grabbed the saucer with the teacup precariously balanced on it and held it up to my face, breathing in the steam. The unidentified sweet smell was even more pungent now, and I desperately wondered what it would taste like. I shifted the saucer to my other hand and grabbed the teacup by its delicate handle, slowly lifting it to my mouth. Suddenly, a loud slam came from behind me. Startled beyond belief I jumped and spun on my heel. Before I could wrap my brain around what was happening the teacup flew out of my hand and went crashing to the floor, leaving the echo of a shattering sound ringing through the kitchen. I stared in shock at the purple streak of tea spreading across the black and white tile of the floor.“I told you not to drink the tea!”I gathered my wits about me and looked up. Standing a few paces away was Winifred. She had a small cut on her hand, presumably from when she slapped the teacup out of my grasp. It took me a moment to notice Florence was standing directly next to her. “Oh dear,” breathed Florence, looking at something behind me with sadness in her eyes. I turned and saw Jones voraciously drinking from the puddle of tea on the floor.“Oh Jones, that's not for you!” I said, bending to pull him into my arms.“It's too late,” croaked Winifred. I instantly recognized the voice on the phone that stormy Christmas Eve night in Mr. Holcomb's flat. What in the world was going on?!“I- I wasn't expecting you back so soon,” I stumbled over my words, both nervous and embarrassed. “Winifred felt strongly that we should come home early,” said Florence. “It's probably best that you go home now, Marie,” she added. Her voice was neutral, neither kind nor unkind, neither soft nor stern. I sheepishly bent to clean up the mess of broken porcelain on the floor. “Leave it,” she said. I kept my gaze glued to the floor and withdrew to the living room to tidy up and pack my things.As I made my way into the hall Jones sauntered over and looked up at me with those glorious glowing yellow eyes. I pondered whether I should scoop him up and take him with me, but Winifred came through the doorway to the right and stood between us, her inky eyes piercing into my soul, and slowly shook her head no. I muttered an apology and made a swift exit.I wallowed in self-pity and embarrassment for a few days, then decided to leave the confines of my flat to take a walk. I wandered through the woods where the crows cawed to one another as though saying “Look at that ridiculous girl, a guest in someone's home and doing as she pleases with no regard for them!” I felt disgraced, and disappointed in myself. Making a cup of tea seemed like such a small, innocuous, harmless thing at the time, but clearly it wasn't, clearly there was a valid reason why the sisters had forbidden it... and I should have respected their wishes.I wandered aimlessly, stopping at one point to select a drink at the local café. I stared hopelessly at the menu board, unable to make up my mind, and finally settled on some iced tea, then chuckled bitterly at the irony of my selection. My walk eventually took me to the top of Dimly Court. I looked down the street past the brick row houses and perfectly manicured shrubs, hesitating. Would it be out of place for me to walk by? The sisters were hermits, the odds of one of them seeing me were rather low. I decided to take my chances and turned onto their street. Every window covering at 51 Dimly court was drawn, but I could see Jones' silhouette sitting on the windowsill, the patterned chenille of the drapes hanging behind him like backdrop. I stood in front of the window, admiring the velvety sheen of his coat. “Jones!” I whispered as loudly as I dared. The kitten turned his head and I gasped. I instinctively took a step back and nearly tumbled off walkway. In the place of those glorious golden eyes that I had stared into just days before were two orbs filled with a swirl of thunderous grey clouds. The cat's head suddenly darted back and forth as though watching something behind me. I turned to look but there was nothing there. I stood on the empty street watching him get increasingly agitated. “Oh Jones, what happened to you?” I choked. Suddenly, the curtain was pulled aside and Winifred's pallid face came into view, that eternal streak of red lipstick still across her mouth. Her carbon-coloured eyes locked firmly on me as she pulled the kitten into her arms, then she quickly stepped back into the shadows from whence she came. The curtain closed behind her, a supple but effective barrier between us.I trudged back home in slow, plodding steps, my head hung low. My mind, however, was in overdrive. Jones' eyes were now in the same condition as Mr. Holcomb's... what on earth could have caused it? I let different scenarios play out my head, then stopped dead in my tracks as it hit me: The tea! It had to be the tea! That would explain why the sisters had instructed me not to drink it. Jones had lapped it up after it spilled on the floor, and now he had a storm in his eyes. I let the swirling thoughts keep coming; perhaps Mr. Holcomb had ingested some of the tea as well, and that's how he ended up the way he did. I suddenly remembered the glimpse of him I'd caught the night of the storm when he'd sat rod-straight in his chair, a blindfold strapped across his eyes. My next thought sent a shiver down my spine... What was it he was avoiding looking at that night? What was it, exactly, that Jones and Mr. Holcomb were able to see with those cloudy eyes that I apparently could not? I shuddered as I realised how closely I had come to joining their ranks.I spent the next few days alone, only going out for the odd walk in the woods and to do a bit of shopping at times when I was least likely to encounter other people. Thankfully, I didn't have to return to work until after the holidays. I rang in the new year by myself in my dark living room, doing my best to ignore the cacophony of the festivities outside the walls of my apartment. I simply wasn't in a celebratory mood, and other people's cheer was the last thing I needed.I woke at the crack of dawn the first day of the new year with the unsettling feeling that something was amiss. I heard the sound of a car door outside my window, and got out of bed, tugging my twisted nighty back into place. I slid into my fuzzy slippers, then walked to the living room so I could look out the front windows. My stomach clenched instantly. There, standing immobile on the walkway to my apartment building, a black 1940s style car parked behind them, were the twins. Winifred was dressed all in black with a black strip of fabric draped over her eyes, which made her white powdery makeup and smear of red lipstick stand out even more. In complete contrast, Florence was decked out in a floral dress with a long brown chequered coat draped over her shoulders. The sisters' arms were laced together, presumably so Florence could guide Winifred who surely couldn't see much, if anything, with the blindfold. Florence locked eyes with me, then carefully and deliberately bent down to place a brown leather-bound book onto the pavers of the walkway to my building. She gave me a small nod, then the pair turned and methodically walked back to the old-fashioned car. Florence helped Winifred get in her seat, then walked to the driver's side, and eased herself behind the wheel. I watched, equally confused, and mesmerized, as the pair drove off.Thank you so much for listening, I truly hope you enjoyed this third installment of The Man with a Storm in His Eyes.Be sure to check in next week for the final portion of the story!If you enjoyed this episode, please consider leaving a rating or a review, they are both greatly appreciated. You can also support my work by subscribing to Patreon. Patreon supporters get early access to ad-free podcast episodes, digital downloads of my music, and so much more. It's the first place I share my creations. However, if you prefer not to subscribe, but would like to make a one-time contribution, you can do so via your podcast platform. Any and all financial support is greatly appreciated.Once again, thank you for listening – I'm Melissa Oliveri, writer, composer, and producer of The Skylark Bell Podcast. Support this podcast at — https://redcircle.com/theskylarkbell/exclusive-contentAdvertising Inquiries: https://redcircle.com/brandsPrivacy & Opt-Out: https://redcircle.com/privacy

This week Matt and Derek discuss the details of The Apostles Creed and whether Jesus, "descended into Hell." They talk in detail about what happened on the cross and whether Jesus was forsaken. They finish with a discussion on how we, "...see through a mirror dimly."   Know the Creeds and Councils - Justin S. Holcomb  https://www.amazon.com/Know-Creeds-Councils-Justin-Holcomb/dp/0310515092

Prayer Vigil and Communion Service Join Johnny Baptist and the believers in the chat room for a Holy Communion Service and an hour plus of united corporate prayer and praise helping to draw us closer to our Lord Jesus, and our awesome Heavenly Father God. This night we will pray together, share in some Biblical mysteries and partake in Holy Communion to honor our King. God Bless You - See you there! To sign up for radio show Email Notifications click  Mail Link: http://gem.godaddy.com/signups/185380/join

In this blistering climax, answers await those behind the scene at the Smellcast studio: Before this episode is done, the cast asembled will hear an answer from Toppie that will decide the fate of all concerned.  Sounds pretty dramatic, huh?  Once again, featuring special guest star, IKK from the Shy Life Podcast with thanks to Paul Chandler! Write to Toppie at Smellcast@aol.com. Leave a comment on Toppie's blog!  Follow him on Twitter. Friend Toppie on Facebook by emailing him YOUR FB name and link, then Toppie will find YOU and friend you! Rss feed: http://feeds.feedburner.com/TheSmellcast  

TRUST GOD WHEN YOU DON'T UNDERSTANDKEY VERSE: NOW WE SEE IN A MIRROR, DIMLY, BUT THEN FACE TO FACE. 1 CORINTHIANS 13:12 

Scripture : Matthew 2:1-8 Permalink

It's #Noirvember, which means a tip of the hat to the cynical, wisecracking anti-hero and the seductive, conniving femme fatale of FILM NOIR! Dimly-lit bars and alleyways, lots of cigarettes, stark contrasts between bright lights and shadows, fedoras and trench coats, and murder most foul abound in this stylized genre that dared to depict in the 40s and 50s the seedy side of the American Dream. 1944's 7-time Oscar nominee Double Indemnity is in the upper echelon of these character-driven crime thrillers, and Sorry, Wrong Number got Barbara Stanwyck her fourth Oscar nod for wrestling with a telephone receiver. Plus, the usual behind-the-scenes fun facts, poll results, and listener trivia segment!

Chapter 9 - The Dark Mark“Get up! Ron — Harry — come on now, get up, this is urgent!” Harry sat up quickly and the top of his head hit canvas. “S'matter?” he said. Dimly. He could tell that something was wrong. The noises in the campsite had changed. The singing had stopped. He could hear screams, and the sound of people running.Q1 - Have you ever been in a riot or a situation this scary?Q2 - What do you think of these masked people's actions?The colored lanterns that had lit the path to the stadium had been extinguished. Dark figures were blundering through the trees; children were crying; anxious shouts and panicked voices were reverberating around them in the cold night air. Harry felt himself being pushed hither and thither by people whose faces he could not see. Then he heard Ron yell with pain.Q3 - Do you think Lucious might be out there among the masked people?Q4 - How many magical schools do you think there are?A rustling noise nearby made all three of them jump. Winky the house-elf was fighting her way out of a clump of bushes nearby. She was moving in a most peculiar fashion, apparently with great difficulty; it was as though someone invisible were trying to hold her back.Q5 - Do you think Harry is right, that Winky is just disobeying, or do you think she was cursed?Q6 - Do you think Stan Shunpike would ever become minister of magic? And would he do better than Fudge?Q7 - What do you think Bagman was doing deep in the woods? Do you trust him?For a split second, Harry thought it was another leprechaun formation. Then he realized that it was a colossal skull, comprised of what looked like emerald stars, with a serpent protruding from its mouth like a tongue. As they watched, it rose higher and higher, blazing in a haze of greenish smoke, etched against the black sky like a new constellation. Suddenly, the wood all around them erupted with screams. Harry didn't understand why, but the only possible cause was the sudden appearance of the skull, which had now risen high enough to illuminate the entire wood like some grisly neon sign. He scanned the darkness for the person who had conjured the skull, but he couldn't see anyone.Q8 - What do you think of the Dark Mark?Q9 - Do you think Crouch is good at his job or is he mad?"Here, look. " Mr. Diggory held up a wand and showed it to Mr. Weasley. "Had it in her hand. So that's clause three of the Code of Wand Use broken, for a start. No non-human creature is permitted to carry or use a wand."Q10 - Are wizards right to restrict wand usage to just humans?Q11 - What are your thoughts on Amos Diggory's interrogation style?Q12 - What do you think of the Prior Incantato spell?Q13 - What do you think of Mr Crouch and Winky's relationship?"Of course it's not Him," said Mr. Weasley impatiently. "We don't know who it was; it looks like they Disapparated. Now excuse me, please, I want to get to bed.”"I don't get it," said Ron, frowning. "I mean. . . it's still only a shape in the sky. . . " "Ron, You-Know-Who and his followers sent the Dark Mark into the air whenever they killed," said Mr. Weasley. "The terror it inspired. . . you have no idea, you're too young. Just picture coming home and finding the Dark Mark hovering over your house, and knowing what you're about to find inside. . . . " Mr. Weasley winced. "Everyone's worst fear. . . the very worst. . . " There was silence for a moment. Then Bill, removing the sheet from his arm to check on his cut, said, "Well, it didn't help us tonight, whoever conjured it. It scared the Death Eaters away the moment they saw it. They all Disapparated before we'd got near enough to unmask any of them. We caught the Robertses before they hit the ground, though. They're having their memories modified right now. " "Death Eaters?" said Harry. "What are Death Eaters?" "It's what You-Know-Who's supporters called themselves," said Bill. "I think we saw what's left of them tonight - the ones who managed to keep themselves out of Azkaban, anyway. "Q14 - Who do you think actually conjured the Dark Mark?Q15 - What do you think of the Death Eaters?Chapter 10 - Mayhem at the MinistryQ1 - Is it a little crazy that they slept at the campsite rather than just going back home?“I shouted at you before you left!” Mrs Weasley said, starting to sob. “It's all I've been thinking about! What if You-Know-Who had got you, and the last thing I ever said to you was that you didn't get enough O.W.Ls? Oh, Fred … George …”Q2 - Do you remember the last thing you ever said to someone?“Ron,” said Hermione, in an I-don't-think-you're-being-very-sensitive sort of voice, “Harry doesn't want to play Quidditch right now... He's worried, and he's tired... We all need to go to bed...” “Yeah, I want to play Quidditch,” said Harry suddenly. “Hang on, I'll get my Firebolt.” Hermione left the room, muttering something that sounded very much like “Boys.”Q3 - What do you think about Rita Skeeter?“I'm never wearing them,” Ron was saying stubbornly. “Never.” “Fine,” snapped Mrs. Weasley. “Go naked. And, Harry, make sure you get a picture of him. Goodness knows I could do with a laugh.”Q4 - What do you think is each character's main desire?

The Depths of the Grassby Michael Field (1846-1914 & 1862-1913)Look, in the early light,    Down to the infinite    Depths at the deep grass-roots;       Where the sun shoots In golden veins, as looking through    A dear pool one sees it do;    Where campion drifts Its bladders, iris-brinded, through the rifts       Of rising, falling seed   That the winds lightly scour—Down to the matted earth where over    And over again crow's-foot and clover      And pink bindweed      Dimly, steadily flower. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit iwillreadtoyou.substack.com/subscribe

In this episode, our teacher will speak from various scripture on one of the greatest needs in the church, which is what it means to be a Spirit-filled Christian.

As we approach the solstice and the halfway point of the year are you maybe noticing the days are getting brighter outside, but not in you? Sometimes personal development and advice can feel overwhelming and not match your inner vibes. If you're feeling dim, or know you're prone to having your own dim days episode 72, Dimly, is for you. Today is all about how living brightly is more about walking your light than constant self optimization. Link in bio to listen. #DoItDimly #Dimly #SelfOptimization #ShineYourLight #DoYourBest

Rick talks about his conection to a hand-painted Rams football helmet dates back to 1940s and Rick disusses the upcoing Jose Ramirez fight. Dimly lit, the stone slab, or stele, doesn't look particularly noteworthy, especially when compared to the more lavish sphinxes, jewelry and cauldrons one encounters en route to the room where it is installed. The Food and Drug Administration on Friday postponed its review of Pfizer's COVID-19 vaccine for kids under 5. See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

An enigma is someone, or something, that is mysterious or puzzling. That's how Paul describes the way we sometimes see God's work in our lives – although he uses a wonderful phrase to do it. He says, "For now we see in a mirror dimly." So while our vision is blurry, God gives us faith so that we can look forward in confidence to what our eyes can't see right now.

Jesus Is With Us When We SufferKey Verse: FOR NOW WE SEE IN A MIRROR, DIMLY, BUT THEN FAE TO FACE. NOW I KNOW IN PART, BUT THEN I SHALL KNOW JUST AS I ALSO AM KNOWN.1 Corinthians 13:12

TULSA TOP TEN: Part 2Date Night RestaurantsToday we are releasing a new episode from the Tulsa Top Ten series! Tulsa Top Ten is a series where I collaborate with local bloggers from Instagram to share their favorite places that the metro has to offer. This collaboration is with Instagram blogger Lindsay Morris. If you want to follow along, she is on Instagram at “Tulsa Places.” 10. Ti Amo: They've been in Tulsa for 30 years! Two romantic locations - 61st and Sheridan and downtown. Just their bruschetta alone is worth writing home about! My favorite Lasagna in town!9. Bull in the Alley: Talk about the mystery - green door with a tiny bull hanging over it. This place is swanky! And pricey. We're talking $25 for Creme Brulee. I had a steak and a side of potatoes when we went, and it was delish! There was also someone playing the piano. Very secluded, exclusive, VIP feel.8. Mahogany: great choice for an anniversary meal! Always exceptional, unpretentious service. These servers are true professionals. Exceptional steaks and au gratin potatoes. You have to finish your meal with their key lime pie!7. Polo Grill: it's a great lunch or dinner spot. They recently added patio seating. Expansive wine cellar. You must try their Lobster Bisque and Salmon “Tamale”.6. Stonehorse Cafe: Already mentioned in the patio seating category. I love their pizzas and a big glass of wine!5. Juniper: fresh, locally sourced food! The menu is very creative! Excellent service. You will never feel the same about brussel sprouts after eating theirs. Autumn Butternut Squash Soup! Be sure to get whatever Risotto is in season!4. Prhyme: another Justin Thompson restaurant. Picturesque Iceberg Salad. They are known for their steaks, but they also have lobster tail, lamb chops, and several other decadences.3. In the Raw Vu: Tulsa's most impressive meal with a view. Good luck getting reservations on a weekend for dinner! Great place to watch the sunset, eat sushi, and impress your sweetheart!2. Villa Ravenna: mentioned in ethnic foods. It's dimly lit, Andre Bocelli is always playing, the service is exceptional!1. Blue Stone: We first tried this place a few months ago and were blown away! I feel like it's a hidden gem that south Tulsans are hiding away. Dimly lit, live music, and dancing on Saturday nights. Some of the best service I've ever had.Delicious steaks, fresh Norwegian salmon, sea scallops, etc. Their fresh garlic mashed potatoes are to die for!EPISODE LINKSwww.instagram.com/tulsaplaces/ThisIsTulsaPodcast.comMERCHwww.thisistulsapodcast.com/store/LEAVE A REVIEWwww.thisistulsapodcast.com/reviews/new/SUBSCRIBE TO THE PODCAST NEWSLETTERhttps://bit.ly/3BLRCuG#thisistulsa #tulsa #tulsaok #tulsapodcast #tulsabusiness #keepitlocal #travelok #tulsatalks #918 #keeptulsacreative #tulsalove #podcastSupport the show (https://www.buymeacoffee.com/thisistulsa)

The so called Elites want us to play Squid Games and to watch Squid Games. James Corbett says its on and Bill Maher agrees? Canadian Aviation professionals continue to stand for freedom and there is …

The so called Elites want us to play Squid Games and to watch Squid Games. James Corbett says its on and Bill Maher agrees? Canadian Aviation professionals continue to stand for freedom and there is …

Season 2 of Breathe, The Stress Less Podcast is here! Listen here: https://www.lifeaudio.com/breathe-the-stress-less-podcast/ Subscribe to our sister podcasts: Your Daily Prayer: https://www.lifeaudio.com/your-daily-prayer/ Crosswalk the Devotional: https://www.lifeaudio.com/crosswalk-devotional/

ALAN WATERS, an award winning director/designer/producer with work all over the stage, on film, and in music, will join us to discuss his amazing work and career, his podcasting services, and his future plans.  FROM HIS BIO: "Alan is an award winning director/designer/producer from Statesboro, GA; now based in South Western Virginia. He went to school at Ogeechee Technical College for Hospitality and Tourism Management, and then Georgia Southern University for Theatre and Performance.  Alan began his professional career at the Averitt Center for the Arts, and has worked regionally with the Weston Playhouse Theatre Company. ​His Off Broadway credits include work with Abingdon Theatre Company, Bard City, Barrow Street Theater, Classic Stage Company, Fiasco Theater, Keen Company, New World Stages, New York Theatre Barn, Out of the Box Theatrics, Red Bull Theater, Sheen Center, SITI Company, The Cell Theatre, Transport Group, Trusty Sidekick Theatre Company, and The Duke on 42nd.  ​Alan is the Managing Artistic Director of DimlyWit Productions, a multimedia production company founded by independent producers for independent producers, for which he produces and designs podcasts, web series, and other virtual productions." www.dimlywit.com/walanwaters

2 Timothy 1:1-7

Jun 7th, 2020 - Chris Trailer

Rev. Ian Cummins

Our hosts, with guest host Dimly, recap the second magician episode of a cartoon with no Christmas special. Our GDPR privacy policy was updated on August 8, 2022. Visit acast.com/privacy for more information.

Friend of the show Dimly pinch-hits for Maq as our hosts recap "Homeland, Heartland." Our GDPR privacy policy was updated on August 8, 2022. Visit acast.com/privacy for more information.

How can we see the world through a lens less dim?

Our hosts (with pinch-hitter Dimly of Witch Planet Games) discuss "Renaissance Woman," an episode with a very loose understanding of British law. Our GDPR privacy policy was updated on August 8, 2022. Visit acast.com/privacy for more information.

In the 4th episode of YFB, we spice things up a little bit! Brandon is joined by Zach from Citizens & Saints to talk, song-by-song, about their new album 'A Mirror Dimly'! To get the new album, and see tour dates, go to http://www.citizensandsaints.com Don't forget to subscribe, review, and tell a friend!