1960's america

The Weaver

*continues to throw things at you because Reasons, mostly to do with the fact that this is awesome*

There was once a girl at Elsewhere who spoke to spiders.

She would study their webs, snapping pictures with her cheap instant camera and, later, studiously recreate them with graphite and ink. For the first eight weeks of freshman year her roommate hated spiders, then one evening she opened the door to see ‘him’ feeding the tarantula that had taken up residence in one corner. She never mentioned the odd teeth or the hollowness of his back, and quietly moved all the iron out of the room, bit by bit (except for the bracelet she wore and the old washers she hid in her pillows).

That was when she started weaving.

As a child she had been the one who came home with muddy shoes and dirt smeared on her face and clothes, only willing to take a bath when her father (single, divorced, but still won sole custody - a rarity in 1960’s America) demanded it of her. She grew into the girl in the oversized sweaters that were as comfortable as they were ugly, the sleeves stained with food, ink, and occasionally blood, and never paid attention to what anyone else said - mostly because she never heard. The bloodstains might have been from picked pimples and accidental nicks from the whittling knife she kept hidden in her shoe, but nobody else knew that, and she was a tall girl - six feet even - with the broad shoulders of a swimmer whose father taught her how to punch and kick and scream. So when she went to Elsewhere, the textile industry was the last thing on her mind. She wanted to be an artist, to carve stories and emotion out of wood blocks.

But then, on her first day, she found a large, hairy, potentially deadly spider sitting on her not-yet-made bed when she came out of the bathroom. She shrieked, of course - the spider was nearly the size of her pillow - and grabbed for the plunger next to the toilet (school plumbing was always going to be shit, no matter what school it was). She did not, however, try and hit the spider - don’t hurt the animals, even the bugs was one of the first things the told you at Elsewhere, right after wear your iron and keep salt in your pockets.

So instead, she took a nervous step forward. “Do you need help?” she whispered.

The spider didn’t nod - couldn’t - but the feeling brushed past her face like faint tendrils of web. Yes.

She swallowed nervously. “What do you need?”

The feeling brushed past her face again. Take me.

Her face blanched as certain meanings of the phrase came to mind as she immediately tried to scrub the images away because oh sweet Jesus NO. “Where…where do you need to go?”

Under the hill.

She swore (in Latin) - but the spider rode her yellow rubber plunger to the entrance under the hill, and when she woke up the next day she found a shawl folded neatly at the foot of her bed, made of a strange, silvery material - soft as a daydream and impossible to damage.

She switched her major to textile production that afternoon, and if you needed something stitched or mended, she was always willing - for a price. When she left, she moved back home and started up her own business, taking in customers both humanly and inhumanly strange, accepting payment in oddities as well as in the swipe of a credit card. Everything is handmade on a wooden loom, and everything has its place.

Everything has a story.


TS - #008

A virus is not just DNA; a virus is also packaged up, covered over with a series of proteins in a nice, elegant, well-compacted form. 

- Francis Collins

An archaeologist begins to explore the ruins of an ancient Scottish castle that dates one of the many battles in the ‘War of Craft’. His hand faltering and flitting over the stonework, he flinches somewhat as he feels something cold and damp, scared that somehow it may be blood or rot. Instead when he shines a light on the sticky white concoction, his eyes widen as a white dampness turns into what feels like white heat searing through his palm and travelling up his body.

Before he knows it, he’s bent down, hand wrapped around his cock as he can already feel the change happening. His bones shift as his back grows sending him to be over 6’ tall. His feet burst out of his boots. His own ass becomes thick as it grows. His once skinny and pale frame now broad and fair as he can feel muscle growing and growing in an endless wave of pleasure. By the time he cums on himself and feels his intelligence draining, he knows it’s too late, as for now he’s nothing more than a temporary victim of Cordypecs.

Morbus incrementum musculus otherwise more commonly known as Cordypecs is a virus that originated in the late 1400’s due to the actions of Sir Thomas. Having been transformed into an orc, Sir Thomas believed the affliction to be permanent and sought out [REDACTED] believing it to be a cure. During a heated discussion with The Craftsman, he was warned that his case was not permanent and that [REDACTED] wouldn’t cure him but only make him permanently become an orc and have disastrous consequences on both him and those around him. However Sir Thomas did not heed The Craftsman’s words and once he [REDACTED] he found himself shifting into an orc for the very last time as he became the first human-orc hybrid, containing the humanity and intelligence of his old self but the body and power of an orc.

He could barely control his body through the lust as he learned that he had a similar effect to the transformation that ensued for his squire, Gared. Only this time instead of making men more masculine (or at least their idea of masculinity). He also robbed them off their intelligence for the however long they lasted in their new forms. Eventually all men who were even transformed once by this method were soon able to find themselves transforming others and thus what was once a blessing was now viral, spreading from men to men across generations to come (no pun intended).

The virus has since been spreading around however it has weakened in the modern day era, now only leading people to last as long as a few hours in their new forms. Not much else is known about the virus other than it is only spread through semen and that it transforms men into their idea of an ideal man. This has changed throughout the ages, whereas men in the medieval period became knights, soon in the 50’s they became sexy businessmen that worked wonders on Wall Street and then greasers that enjoyed diners, leather, and all things motor in the 1960’s America and so on and so forth. 

Nowadays the ideal man to many varies and one can become anything from a male model, to celebrities, to a jocked out gym bro. Only time will tell what many men will soon become, and perhaps even you will soon become your ideal man.

1962 little newlyweds Shirley Bolingbroke and Billy Barty: Shirley was a graphic design artist and Billy a prolific actor from the earliest days of Hollywood until his death in 2000. He founded the 7,000+ member organization Little People of America in 1957.

‘Tricontinental’, Organization of Solidarity With the People of Asia, Africa and Latin America (OSPAAAL), Havana, Cuba, 1969. Includes articles by Carlos Fonseca Amador (Nicaragua), Ahmed Sekou Toure (Guinea) and Yasser Arafat (Palestine). Cover art features Ho Chi Minh and Che Guevara.

Pattie Boyd and George Harrison in the garden at Kinfauns, Esher, 1965 - photographed by Henry Grossman

“I thought he was absolutely adorable. He was very, terribly good looking, but really funny as well and just enchanting.” - Pattie Boyd on first meeting George Harrison on the set of A Hard Day’s Night in 1964, Good Morning America, 2007


How the Mafia fought racism in Mississippi,

On the of June 21st, 1964, three young civil rights workers were driving on Highway 19 in Neshoba County, Mississippi when then were suddenly and unexpectedly chased by a police car and a number of cars manned by local members of the Mississippi White Knights of the Ku Klux Klan.  The three young men were James Earl Chaney, Andrew Goodman, and Michael Schwerner (middle pictures).  They were forced off the road, removed from their cars, beaten, and then brutally shot dead.  Overnight their bodies and car disappeared.

The murder of the three civil rights workers sparked tremendous outrage among the American public.  Even supporters of segregation were shocked by the brutality.  Worse yet, little was done about the murders at first.  Most of the local police and sheriff’s department were manned by members of the KKK.  Many were directly responsible for the men’s deaths.  Under the direction of President Lyndon Johnson, FBI director J. Edgar Hoover started a massive investigation involving over 150 FBI agents.  The investigation  involved a massive search, the questioning of hundreds of persons of interest, and the offering of a $25,000 reward for any information on the murders. Regardless, the people of Neshoba County kept their mouths shut.  Hampered by the wall of silence erected by Neshoba citizens and law enforcement, the FBI had few leads and no tangible evidence. With the president breathing down his neck for results, J. Edgar Hoover reached into his bag of extra-legal tricks to make a break in the case.  Sometimes it takes fire to fight fire, and in 1960’s America there was only one organization that was more ruthless and bloodthirsty than the KKK; La Cosa Nostra, the Mafia.

The FBI contacted mafia don Carmine Persico (bottom left picture), head of the notorious Colombo crime family in New York City.  The FBI offered Persico some… favors, if Persico used some of his resources to aid the FBI.  Persico lent the FBI a few mafia thugs, as well as his head enforcer Gregory Scarpa (bottom right picture).  Affectionately known as “The Grim Reaper”, Scarpa was a career mafia assassin who also had a talent for getting tight lipped people to talk.

One of the men behind the murders was a TV salesman and klansman named Lawrence Byrd.  One day a man with a peculiar accent entered his store and bought a television.  After buying the TV, Byrd offered to carry the box to the man’s car.  As he loaded the TV into the man’s backseat, the man came up from behind him and bopped him on the back of the head with a blunt object.

When Byrd awoke, he was in a secluded location face to face with Gregory Scarpa, who had an offer he couldn’t refuse.  What followed was a “questioning session” that involved rounds of beatings and other torture.  After a few hours of questioning Byrd told all. Some say Byrd spilled the beans when Scarpa lit his blowtorch.  Others say it was when he force a gun barrel down Byrd’s throat.  Regardless, the information gleaned from Byrd amounted to a 22 page confession, giving away the location of the bodies, the men who conducted the killings, and the men who were responsible for ordering and covering up the murders. 

The bodies of the three civil rights workers were found buried at a levee on a local man’s farm.  In addition, the bodies of 8 other murdered black men were discovered.  Byrd’s information lead to the FBI uncovering more information, which led to the arrests of 21 men.  Many of the men were respected local businessman, politicians, and law enforcement officers, all were members of the White Knights of the KKK.  Because Mississippi officials refused to prosecute the men, they were charged with the federal crime of depriving a person of their civil rights (through murder).  The men were prosecuted in federal court, with most being convicted guilty.  Unfortunately, they were only charged 3-10 years for their crime, none served more than 6.  The last to be prosecuted was Edgar Ray Killen, a KKK organizer who helped plan the killings.  He was convicted of three counts of murder and sentenced to 3 consecutive 20 year prison terms in 2005.

Gregory Scarpa became an FBI informant during the 70’s.  In the 80’s an assassination attempt was made on him, which caused him to go on a massive killing spree during a war between the Colombo and Genovese families.  He was arrested and charged with murder, racketeering, theft, weapons trafficking, and a number of other charges.  He died in prison due to complications from AIDS from a tainted blood transfusion in 1994.

Mob boss Carmine Persico is currently on year 17 of his 139 year prison sentence.