elephant castle

7

Beckett using reverse psychology that time Castle tried to get rid of the elephants, is still one of the funniest moments ever. The way he backtracks saying he actually likes them and her being so proud of herself, priceless. 

thelostspecial - numbers

We all saw this in the page code. But what is MMTE? I tried some numbers.
MMTE
6683 (on the phone)
1313205 (english alphabet)

I’ve googled some streets and that’s what I’ve got:
- 6683 Marylebon Road

and
- 13205 Baker Street

But that’s just the BEGINNING. I’ve continued with Bible (that may mean nothing, but I tried all possible variants I could think of). We have John 6:6-8, John 13:13-20 and John 13:5. 

Those are pretty meaningfull if you think about them, linking thm with Sherlock. Let’s don’t forget that it’s JOHN.
After Bible I turned to rationalism and started to look for numbers. That’s what I figured out:
1313205/ 1+3+1+3+2+0+5=15; 13+20+5=38
13.9.16/ 13+9+16=38
6683/ 6+6+8+3=23
15(1313205)+23(6683)=38
83-66=17
1+3+2+0+5=11
There’s also a date 1904 and 1881. 

1904-1881=23
What a funny coincidence with numbers.
However, that’s not the end of my searches. I looked through The Valley of Fear and som of the chapters: Sherlock Holmes Discourses (2), A Dawning Light (6) and Danger (13), and I tried to search for some words, which are equal to numbers. Some of them I’ve got according to my own numbers.
Chapter 2
those  friend  be  overstatement  shocked  his
5          11      15      17                  23       38

Chapter 6
many   to  returned  to   village   which
5         11      15      17     23       38

Chapter 13
of   who   appointed   Deacon  day   that
5     11       15               17       23    38

AND we still got ‘terror’ - the ninth word.

I continued searching and now I have 38 Deacon Way, which is near the ELEPHANT & CASTLE STATION

And Elephant & Castle has postcode districts which are similar with the numbers I got earlier.

And now I’m reading about the Great London Fire (honestly I don’t remember how I even ended up there, BUT) the fire lasted for 4 days from 2nd September, Sunday till 5th September, Wednesday in 1666 (count: Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday). There are 4 days and 1+6+6+6=19+4 days=23.

There are TOO MANY coincidences that make me nervous. TOO MANY NUMBERS that can’t be ignored, can’t be put off. 
I always got 38 or 23. They must mean something. They aren’t just numbers. If you go on and Google streets, you’ll find 23 Baker St, 3866 Baker Street and yes, let’s not forget about 23 NORBURY COURT ROAD AND LONDON ROAD, which cross, so do Marylebon Road and Baker Street.
BTW, 221b Baker Street - 22+1=23. There has never been 221b Baker Street. London only has 22 postcode areas. 23rd is the lost one? Also, there was a fire in London in 1632.

THERE ARE TWO NUMBERS 38 AND 23. Look for them. They are everywhere. They are connected.

The Lost Special IS REAL.
Virginia Woolf on the impossibility for Elizabethan women to have the genius of Shakespeare

“Be that as it may, I could not help thinking, as I looked at the works of Shakespeare on the shelf, that the bishop was right at least in this; it would have been impossible, completely and entirely, for any woman to have written the plays of Shakespeare in the age of Shakespeare. Let me imagine, since facts are so hard to come by, what would have happened had Shakespeare had a wonderfully gifted sister, called Judith, let us say. Shakespeare himself went, very probably – his mother was an heiress – to the grammar school, where he may have learnt Latin – Ovid, Virgil, and Horace – and the elements of grammar and logic. He was, it is well known, a wild boy who poached rabbits, perhaps shot a deer, and had, rather sooner than he should have done, to marry a woman in the neighbourhood, who bore him a child rather quicker than was right. That escapade sent him to seek his fortune in London. He had, it seemed, a taste for the theatre; he began by holding horses at the stage door. Very soon he got work in the theatre, became a successful actor, and lived at the hub of the universe, meeting everybody, knowing everybody, practising his art on the boards, exercising his wits in the streets, and even getting access to the palace of the queen. Meanwhile his extraordinarily gifted sister, let us suppose, remained at home. She was as adventurous, as imaginative, as agog to see the world as he was. But she was not sent to school. She had no chance of learning grammar and logic, let alone of reading Horace and Virgil. She picked a book now and then, one of her brother’s perhaps, and read a few pages. But then her parents came in and told her to mend her stockings or to mind the stew and not to moon about with books and papers. They would have spoken sharply but kindly, for they were substantial people who knew the conditions of life for a woman loved their daughters – indeed, more likely than not she was the apple of her father’s eye. Perhaps she scribbled some pages up in apple loft on the sly, but was careful to hide them or set fire to them. Soon, however, before she was out of her teens, she was to be betrothed to the son of a neighbouring wool-stapler. She cried out that marriage was hateful to her, and for that she was severely beaten by her father. Then he ceased to scold her. He begged her instead not to hurt him, not to shame him in this matter of her marriage. He would give her a chain of beads or a fine petticoat, he said; and there were tears in his eyes. How could she disobey him? How could she break his heart? The force of her own gift alone drove her to it. She made up a small parcel of her belongings, let herself down by a rope one summer’s night and took the road to London. She was not seventeen. The birds that sang in the hedge were not more musical than she was. She had the quickest fancy, a gift like her brother’s, for the tune of words. Like him, she had a taste for the theatre. She stood at the stage door, she wanted to act, she said. Men laughed in her face. The manager – a fat, loose-lipped man – guffawed. He bellowed something about poodles dancing and women acting – no woman, he said, could possibly be an actress. He hinted – you can imagine what. She could get no training in her craft. Could she even seek her dinner in a tavern or roam the streets at midnight? Yet her genius was for fiction and lusted to feed abundantly upon the lives of men and women and the study of their ways. At last – for she was very young, oddly like Shakespeare the poet in her face, with the same grey eyes and rounded brows – at last Nick Greene the actor-manager took pity on her; she found herself with child by that gentleman and so – who shall measure the heat and violence of the poet’s heart when caught and tangled in a woman’s body? – killed herself one winter’s night and lies buried at some cross-roads where the omnibuses now stop outside the Elephant and Castle.”


Virginia Woolf, A Room of One’s Own (1929)

instagram

Thingy I be workin on at the minute… a painting plan. Finally settled into my new room in Elephant and Castle, London 💜🇬🇧So this has been the first time I’ve had a proper chance to sketch. Happy so far. #art #artist #australianartist #melbourneartist #london #uk #elephantandcastle #centrallondon #londonartist #artislife #sketching #sketch #drawing #religiousart #creative #shpongle #sphynxcat #firewaterairearth #elements #deer #doe #chaos #chaosandorder #girl #portrait (at Elephant and Castle)

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