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Jack Cassidy

How Many Others have Written of Their Time at the Belvedere?

By | 2016, Europe | No Comments

How many of our homes will eventually become museums to the passage of style, culture and time? I have no idea. I would try to organise bets of some form, but I can think of no ways to formulate odds based on general populations, sizes of structures, how often people move, or how well a structure will weather the passage of time and the ravages therein. The Belvedere Summer Palace is certainly a good place for the displaying of art though, and no, that was not a weird way to get an essay-like document started. That is the way of the train of thought.
See, none among our numbers are connected to big dynastic families, generational politic-influencing cabals, or shadowy organisations bent on organising the world in our own order. If any among us are, well then shame on you for not telling us sooner. We could have made a lot more unusual adventures. As no one has admitted to such connections at this point, the only way a place we have called home would become a gallery of material possessions would involve someone growing in cultural influence over extended periods of time. After such personal developments have reached their prime, an individual would have to be filthily wealthy. And possibly started some kind of generationally growing familial thingamajig.
After all of that, you would only really need one thing. A climate controlled place you and your family have called home with tall rooms. High ceilings are very important. So, who among us is now arching their fingers together and plotting how to take over the world, own a home the size of the Belvedere or bigger, just so they can have their house turned into an art gallery long after their passing?

Our Wander Over Yonder

By | 2016, Europe | One Comment

Goodness gracious. Haven’t we had a merry collection of experiences already. Chasing film sets from childhood films, wandering down streets that had previously only been known from photographs and time diluted stories. Monuments known across the globe become buildings that certain among our numbers have taken selfies in front of. Not so sure how I feel about that last one. So too do we look into a collection of parts of the world that have seen their hey-days and begun to shine out to the world through interactions of legacy and floundering societal control. We have wandered through the seat of power of the empire that, for better or worse, made our homes possible. We have seen its relics and walked where paragons of human developmental fields have learned their trades and passed on ideas to their peers. But so too do we go through streets that are only reflections of those times. Smoky air and sky-scraping towers of glass and steel erupt all around those relics of times gone and dusted. There is a sense of crumbling mixed into the stabled facade of these old towns. It can be somewhat threatening.

But all in all, everyone seems to be well. High spirits are voiced, unique scenarios and locations become interesting accounts, and unusual inside jokes take root. Were I to write “pwoft,” or “uncle that steals the silverware,” a smile might cross a face or two in times to come. Time will tell whether that will truly be the case. It will be good to find out in the coming weeks. Onward we go then.