More than 60 years ago, excavations at the Qumran Caves revealed almost one thousand ancient scrolls that offered important glimpses into humanity’s past. Archaeologists were stumped to find one unusual text among these, a scroll that offers clues regarding the demise of the Nephilim. It is called The Book of Giants.
The Bible makes several references to the Nephilim and most of them can be found in the book of Genesis. The bulk of information pertaining to these giants of old come from the apocryphal Book of Enoch. This ancient Jewish religious work is attributed to Noah’s great-grandfather, although some scholars date parts of it to around 300 BC.
Enoch is a puzzling character, to say the least. The book of Genesis tells us he lived on Earth for 365 years, before being taken by God; “he walked with God: and he was no more; for God took him.” During his time down here, our planet was also inhabited by ‘angels’ who interacted freely with humans, eventually interbreeding with the “daughters of man” and giving birth to a race of unnaturally strong and giant hybrids called the Nephilim.
The origin of the word “Nephilim” isn’t fully understood but scholars have proposed several etymologies: “the fallen”, “apostates”, or “those that cause others to fall down.” Regardless of their name, the Nephilim have always been a synonym for giants.
The Book of Giants found in the Qumran Caves offer a perspective that is different from that of the Book of Enoch. Although incomplete, the scroll fragments paint a grim picture: the Nephilim become aware that, as a result of their violent and deviant ways, they face imminent destruction—and that scares them enough to ask Enoch to speak on their behalf in front of God.
The text begins by detailing how the Nephilim plagued the Earth and all that lived on it. But once they all start receiving prophetic dreams of doom, fear seeps into their hearts. The first one to have these dreams was Mahway, the titan son of the angel Barakel. In his dream, he saw a tablet being submerged in water. When the tabled emerges, all but three names have been washed away. This symbolizes the Flood and subsequent destruction of all but Noah’s sons.
At the time, this fact had not become obvious to the Nephilim so they debated the meaning of Mahway’s dream, but were unsuccessful in interpreting the signs. Soon after, two more giants, Ohya and Hahya, the sons of the fallen angel Shemyaza, begin having similar dreams; they dreamed of a tree being uprooted except for three of its roots.
Following this, the rest of the group of giants began having apocalyptic dreams:
Thereupon two of them had dreams and the sleep of their eye fled from them, and they arose and came to […and told] their dreams, and said in the assembly of [their comrades] the monsters […In] my dream I was watching this very night [and there was a garden…] gardeners and they were watering […two hundred trees and] large shoots came out of their root […] all the water, and the fire burned all [the garden…] They found the giants to tell them the dream…”
The giants now realize the prophetic nature of their dreams and seek help from Enoch. Unfortunately, Enoch had already disappeared from the face of the Earth so the Nephilim elected one of their members to undertake a cosmic journey in order to find him.
[Mahway] mounted up in the air like strong winds, and flew with his hands like eagles […he left behind] the inhabited world and passed over Desolation, the great desert […]and Enoch saw him and hailed him, and Mahway said to him […] hither and thither a second time to Mahway […]The giants await your words, and all the monsters of the earth. If […]has been carried […] from the days of […]their […] and they would be added […] we would know from you their meaning […] two hundred trees that from heaven came down…”
Unfortunately, parts of the scrolls were damaged beyond repair but the general direction of the text is obvious. One of the Nephilim traveled outside of Earth in search of Enoch and his vision interpreting powers. The text becomes very interesting if we substitute a few terms and regard it not as an allegorical account, but the description of a real event whose meaning became muddled over time.
If we consider flying “with his hands like eagles” a metaphor, can we hypothesize that Mahway took off from Earth in a space ship? In this case, does “Desolation, the great desert” refer to interstellar space? It depends on how far we’re willing to interpret a fragmentary, 2,000 year-old scroll but ancient alien theorists do more than just take it at face value.
Enoch sends Mahway back where he came from, promising him he will speak to God on their behalf. Unfortunately for the Nephilim, the tablets Enoch sent them as a response did not bring good news:
The scribe Enoch […] a copy of the second tablet that [Enoch] sent in the very hand of Enoch the noted scribe […In the name of God the great] and holy one, to Shemyaza and all [his companions…]
Let it be known to you that not […] and the things you have done, and that your wives […] they and their sons and the wives of [their sons] by your licentiousness on the earth, and there has been upon you […and the land is crying out] and complaining about you and the deeds of your children […] the harm that you have done to it.
[…] Until Raphael arrives, behold, destruction [is coming, a great flood, and it will destroy all living things] and whatever is in the deserts and the seas. And the meaning of the matter […] upon you for evil. But now, loosen the bonds binding you to evil…] and pray.”
Whether they prayed or not, the text cannot say. But they don’t appear to be here anymore, once again proving the effectiveness of a global flood.
French designer Marlène Huissoud explains how she produced a range of “glass” and “leather” objects using resin collected from beehives and silkworm cocoons in this movie from Eindhoven.
Huissoud‘s project From Insects aims to showcase the “unique” and “precious” materials that can be created from insect by-products.
“I’m showing two different materials that come from two different insects,” Huissoud says in the movie, which was filmed at Dutch Design Week last year. “It’s a celebration of the properties of these materials.”
Huissoud, who comes from a family of beekeepers, has produced a series of vases out of a kind of biodegradable resin called propolis. The resin is produced by bees from plant matter and used to fill small gaps in a beehive.
“The bees collect it and use it as a sealant,” Huissoud explains. “Once a year the beekeeper has to remove this material in order to extract the honey.”
“[Propolis has] different properties depending on the trees [the bees produce it from],” she explains. “The one that I’ve been exploring is from rubber trees. It has a really unique glass-like aspect.”
With a much lower melting point, the material is easier to manipulate than glass, Huissoud says, but produces similar – if slightly smellier – results when set.
“The smell comes from the beehive and is very strong,” she says. “It will last a long time, so if you want a piece [in your home], you’re going to have a smell with it as well.”
The second material Huissoud has developed is made from the cocoons of a species of Indian silkworm, which is bred primarily for the food industry rather than silk production.
The cocoons contain a natural glue called sericin that binds the fibres of silk together when heat and water is applied.
“[The cocoon] is like an onion; it has different layers of fibres and it contains an amazing natural glue,” Huissoud explains. “You can make a really strong paper out of it.”
Huissoud discovered that by combining this paper-like material with propolis, she could make a material with many of the properties of leather.
“I used the bee bioresin as a varnish on top of it,” she says. “This new material is very similar to leather and it can be used in fashion or furniture.”
Both materials are made from the natural by-products of insects, but Huissoud doesn’t believe the processes could be scaled up to produce more sustainable materials in future. Propolis is actually very rare, with a single hive producing no more than 100 grams a year, she says.
“It is really a craft project,” she explains. “I don’t see it having industrial potential because bee bioresin is so precious.”
This movie was filmed in Eindhoven at Dutch Design Week 2014. The music in the movie is a track called Family Music by local hip hop producer Y’Skid.
And yeah, he always had “that look…” That way of staring straight through you into some faraway, unknowable beyond. It was there when I first saw him, but nothing compared to what he looked like when we said goodbye. That’s the story I’m going to tell you now: I’ll try to keep it short.
I forget how the idea of selling acid at Jim Morrison’s grave first occurred to me, but when it did it seemed like a pretty good one. Turned out it was too – it only took about a week and a half hanging out in Pere LaChaise to finance my next three months in Europe. I bought two sheets of blotter on Telegraph and mailed it a friend in Paris accordionned inside a cassette mailed with a bunch of other cassettes. It was decent, garden variety blotter, and I called it “Electric Warrior” because that was the T-Rex cassette I sent it in. Between the market forces of supply, demand, and relative strengths of the Franc, Dollar and various Kroner at the time, I was able to pull in close to a thousand percent profit and still be offering a good deal to the stream of quiet Scandinavians who flowed through to pay their respects to the Lizard King. When they’d ask “Where’s it from?” I’d say “Berkeley”and their eyes would go wide and they’d repeat the word “Berkeley” like it was Xanadu.
So anyway, it was something like my third day on the job and along with the Norwegians, Danes and Swedes there’s this quiet Russian dude with a guitar, Vladimir, who’s there to pay his respects like the rest of us. Although he wasn’t interested in my product, when he found out I was from San Francisco he got really animated and wanted to hear everything I could tell him about it – the music especially. I guess like a lot of people he thought it was just 1967 forever by the bay with the Airplane and the Dead still playing in the park… I told him about the handful of Dead shows I’d seen, and he got a far off look and said “Just to see Jerry…Y’know? Just to be there and see his fingers and lips moving and hear the music at the same time… Man…”he sighed. “Hey now,” I said, “it’ll happen.” He just shook his head in that way people do when there’s just too much to explain. Vlad was like that a lot.
Lots of people bring their guitars to Jim’s grave, thinking they’re going to play something. But when they get there they seem to understand pretty quickly it’s not right. Vlad though, he just sat down next to the grave, pulled his guitar out of its case and did “Crystal Ship” while the rest of us just sat there stunned. It was like Jim’s voice coming up out of the ground and straight out of this guy’s mouth. Like Mr. Mojo himself risin’ up from the grave.
His case had the tell-tale bills and coins of a busker, and when a couple of Swedes started towards it with some francs he politely waved them off. He was off work, he said. Likewise when he finished and we asked him to do more. He just smiled politely, sweetly even, and begged off. He said we could see him at the Metro station at Les Halles if we wanted to: he was there every day. I gotta say, the guy had class. And a lot of what Hemingway called “the dignity of an iceberg…” that quiet aura about him that let you know you were seeing only a fraction of what was beneath the surface.
The next day I figured what the hell, went down to Les Halles and watched him do a couple of sets. Mostly old stuff: Leonard Cohen, Jacques Brel, some Neil, of course. His mainstay though, believe it or not, was Donovan. Back then he had the look, or at least the hair. But he also had that far-off quality, that sort of otherworldliness that Donovan had. He was pretty solid through and through, but there were some songs… man. His “Let it Be” came with a sort of emotion that was practically transcendent.
We talked for a bit between songs. He was staying at a hostel and I told him he was welcome to crash at my place for awhile. The guy I was staying with was in Morocco for a couple of weeks, so I had a place all to myself in Saint-Denis. I made the offer without hesitation, there was something about him that let me know immediately that I could trust him. But there was something else too – that hint of something buried deep inside him that cried out for help, or at the very least just needed a friend.
They say that youth is wasted on the young, and I suppose most of the time that’s true. But there are times in youth that aren’t wasted at all, when you’re young and free and friends and lovers are all plentiful and beautiful and smart and funny… you’re living the life and you know it. Every relationship, even every conversation, is meaningful and beautiful somehow, no matter how brief. Those weeks with Vlad and the neighbor girls in Saint-Denis were like that.
It took about a week for him to open up about the KGB. I’ll never forget how he put it, he said “You know how you hippies in America, when you talk about authorities you talk about ‘the man…’ Well in Russia, that is me. I am that man.”
We were drinking wine and playing chess, Babette and Lisbeth dutifully writing in their journals. We all kept journals back then. Anyway, Vlad had been pressing me for details on a Hot Tuna show I saw at the Sweetwater when Grace came in and did a couple of songs. “Wooden Ships,” was the only one I really remembered… (fucking mushrooms – so tough to get the dosage right…) He had a real thing for Grace Slick and hell, who could blame him? I’d told him how she dropped in at the Sweetwater all the time and made some remark about how someday we’d see her together and he went stiff. It wasn’t hard to tell when something bothered Vlad, believe me: you could feel the temperature of the whole room drop. That’s when he told me about being in the KGB.
I was a bit incredulous at first, but then I started to laugh: I couldn’t help it. He was serious though, and so I said “I’m sorry man… I’m sorry. But that’s some pretty fucking deep cover you’ve got going… playing Donovan songs in the Metro… I’d have never guessed it myself.” And he starts to laugh too, because it’s funny. And because he’d made his confession and knew we were still friends.
I started to understand him better after that, and at least some of the ghosts that were haunting him. His time here in Paris, playing and singing in the Metro was, as he put it, his “soul journey…” and it was ending soon. We never talked about it openly, but I knew he must’ve been thinking of defecting. Even with his talents, which were considerable, he knew the odds of actually making it in the music business were slim to none. But more than anything else, defecting would mean never seeing his parents again, and I knew enough about him by then to know that wasn’t going to happen. He also hinted at there being more to his career than simply “being in the KGB,” so it’s possible that defecting to the west might not even be survivable.
Ultimately it seemed like he knew he’d be going back and this was sort of his last youthful hurrah – and I’ve got to say it was a privilege to be a part of it. He was a really fascinating person to me – I’ve always been a sucker for the quiet type – but I could tell whatever it was he kept so deeply hidden, it was in no way malevolent. Whether or not that’s still true, or was ever true to begin with I don’t know. Obviously he’s changed a lot since then, and I’m a little ashamed to say I was a part of that change. Rather a large part too I’m afraid, but we’ll get to that soon enough. Since he seems to be running our country now, I just want you to know that I knew Vladimir Putin very well – or at least as well as anyone could. He was a puzzling and deeply complicated man, but somewhere beneath it all there was a very beautiful person. Of course, back then we were all beautiful, weren’t we?
Sometimes we’d go out, but mostly we’d just stay in with the girls. We’d all smoke hash and listen to music, play some chess or backgammon. We’d drink wine and cognac and chainsmoke Gitanes or Gaulloises and talk about other places we’d been, adventures we’d had… the other people we’d met and things that they’d said. We’d talk until we ran out of words, then retire to our separate rooms with our lovers. His time was running out though, and there was a sadness to the normally happy sound of “Surrealistic Pillow” seeping in from their room. I’d put on a Chopin concerto and make love to Babette and afterwards just lie there spent, staring into the darkness while I ran my fingers through her hair. Grateful for the moment, and thanks to Vlad, grateful for my freedom.
In the darkness I understood though, free as I might be, I was just like Vlad… just with more time. I knew all of this would be ending sometime, and probably sooner than I thought. I forced myself to remember the beauty of that moment – the look of the darkness and the smell of the room… the sound of Babette’s breathing and the feel of her hair and the sheer luxury of just lying there painting pictures in my mind and slowly drifting off to sleep. And I did remember it, just as I remember it to this day. And I highly recommend anyone reading this who’s in love to do the same. Trust me on this.
For spies, like lovers, the truth comes out piecemeal. Turns out what I’d been laughing at wasn’t a joke after all: Vlad was on the job. And the last person some Ukrainian defector is going to think is tracking him was the kid in the subway singing “Heart of Gold.” When he told me I felt stupid for not realizing it in the first place. They don’t just let Russians bum around Europe playing guitar, let alone KGB. As his time ran out Vlad became more agitated: he’d stay in his room and instead of his usual full repertoire, he’d just practice the same five or six songs over and over for hours – and I realized he was working on a demo tape. He acted more and more homesick too, and one time he started talking about his parents and his eyes started to water a bit. He was thinking of defecting, I knew it… the poor bastard was actually thinking of doing it.
By the time he came out with it I’d already had a few days to think it over and I said not to do it. “Put aside everything else – your highest duty is still gonna be to your parents. It’d be different if you hated them, or didn’t care. But so long as you love them and respect them and worry about them, you’ll never truly be happy out here. Even if you end up playing with the Dead and banging Grace Slick on the side.” Vlad smiled and said he knew that, but was searching for some kind of third way, a middle path. Maybe a way of getting his parents out, maybe something else, he didn’t know. What he did know was that he only had a few days left to find it. So, like any responsible international acid dealer, I suggested he drop some acid and see if the answer came to him while he was tripping. We’d smoked hash and drank pretty much every night together, but Vlad had always drawn a line when it came to LSD. This time though, he gave in.
A few minutes after we dropped Vlad asked how long before the effects would kick in, and I said about half an hour or so. I said he’d feel a sort of rising sense of excitement at first – maybe a bit of loopiness of thought…
“Okay,” he said, “then I want to tell you this now. Before.”
“I shouldn’t tell you this at all, but I have to tell someone. And I know you will not speak a word of this to anyone. I just need you to know why all of this is so… difficult for me.”
We’d left the apartment and were walking beside the Marne. He’d stopped and was leaning against the concrete balustrade, looking out over the river. There were a few people around, but nobody too close.
“You see, this man I’m watching – they’re going to kill him. I don’t know how, or when, or even why… but I know he is going to be killed, and that I will be a part of his death. And that will be a first time for me, and I don’t know how I feel about it.”
I said “Oh.” and just stood silently. There wasn’t really anything I could say. I definitely understood the gravity of it though, and kind of wished he’d mentioned it before we’d dropped the acid.
“And every day when he goes by I think to myself I could tell him. I could stop the whole thing if I wanted to. But in reality I know I can’t. No matter how I did it, they would find out. It would mean my death.”
“So I just wanted to tell you that. And that I know this is only going to be the first. If I go back to Russia, there will be more. It will probably never end. And that’s why all of this is so hard for me, and so strange.” His eyes begin to well up and he shook it off. “This… this will change me, I’m sure of it. But I just wanted to tell you, these last days, with you and the girls… they have been my happiest. They may always be my happiest. You are a crazy hippie, but you are a very good friend…”
“Aw shit Vlad…”
We walked along in silence. I didn’t want to, but couldn’t help rethinking, and judging a bit, the poor guy walking next to me. He was as much a captive of his own talents as he was the agency he worked for. When I say he sounded just like Donovan, believe me, he did. And I know it sounds funny, but you’ve never heard “Diamonds and Rust” until you’ve heard it sung by Vladimir Putin. I pictured him there in the subway, back against the tiles, guitar case open in front of him, singing “Let It Be” and finally understanding where all the emotion behind it was coming from.
He was good, sure, but pretty much everyone trying to make it was good. If he had any kind of real shot it was as an impressionist. Every guy with a falsetto thinks they sound like Neil Young, but Putin actually did. He had an incredible range: from Art Garfunkel highs all the way down to Leonard Cohen lows. And when he’d play “Ne Me Quitte Pas”you might not think you were listening to Jacques Brel himself, but somebody damn close. It was difficult, practically impossible, to think of such a voice as an accomplice to murder, but then I felt a chill run through my veins when I realized he was in fact very much on the job… because the one thing he didn’t sound like was Russian.
Now there are rules about acid, particularly about being with someone on their first trip. You don’t have to have the whole “safe space” with Indian rugs, incense and favorite music and all that crap, but there are certain things you should probably avoid. So when we just started coming on and Vladimir said, “Oh Man Dude Look, We gotta go see that!” My first thought was, “No, we probably shouldn’t…” But he was insistent, so I went along with him into the theater thinking, “What’s the worst that could happen?”
What’s the worst that could happen? Those six little words… I think we all know what I’m talking about. We can all point to times in our lives where we’ve said, “What’s the worst that can happen?” only to have the worst that could happen actually happen and turn out to be way worse than we could’ve possibly imagined. For me that would have to be going and seeing Pink Floyd’s “The Wall” with Vladimir Putin in 1983 while we were high on acid and he was going through a transitional phase.
For those of you who haven’t seen it, “The Wall” is a highly disturbing and psychedelic film of a musician’s journey from innocence through madness into a sort of dictatorial fascistic dystopian hellscape, and the biggest mistake of my life was letting Vladimir Putin see it high on acid. The second biggest mistake of my life was letting him see it again right after that… and you can probably guess what the third biggest mistake of my life was.
We didn’t talk much on the way back, or much at all after that night. I don’t need to tell you the experience changed him profoundly, nor the direction in which those changes took him. He spent one last night in Saint-Denis with Lisbeth, and I took the above picture the next morning. I was trying to be as cheerful and goofy as I could, but as you can see he was having none of it. I doubt he slept much, if at all. He left sometime during the day and never came back, and I never saw him or heard from him again. My friend came back from Morocco a week later and two weeks after that I spent my ill-gotten gains from Pere LaChaise traveling through Italy and Greece. I tried to put Vlad out of my mind, but it was impossible to do it entirely. Before I left back for the States I spent a few last nights in Paris with Babette. It was bittersweet, and romantic in its own way, but just as I’d foretold that night staring into the darkness, it wasn’t the same.
So that’s my story… my confessional. There’s a whole bunch of reasons why our nation is in the fucked-up state it’s in, with a so-called President and ruling party firmly under the thumb of a single man in Moscow… (And if you don’t believe me, you just wait…) I’m not gonna take any responsibility for the caricature of a man that is Donald J.Trump, or any of the scum-sucking ruble-drunk traitors in the GOP that support him. I do feel somewhat responsible for the character and motivations of Vladimir Putin, however, and since he seems to be the man currently pulling their strings, for that I’m deeply sorry and solemnly promise that I will never do it again.
If there’s one bright spot in all of this I can offer you, it’s this: After Bill Graham died in a helicopter crash in 1991, there was a memorial concert in Golden Gate Park, and everyone who he’d promoted through the years played that day. The Grateful Dead, Santana… members of the Airplane/Starship… Neil even got back together with Crosby Stills and Nash for the occasion… Everyone was there. I knew if there was still a spark left of the Vladimir Putin I’d first known back in ’83… he’d be there too. And if there was even a trace of his old hippie heart still beating inside that oligarch chest, then there may indeed be a ray of hope left for us.. And I’m proud and happy to tell you that I did, in fact, see him there… I’m pretty sure.
But you know: fucking mushrooms… It’s so hard to get the dosage right.
The man behind the tattoo is Richard Batey, he came up with the idea for another client initially and said Kenny was the ‘right man’ for his design.
He told UNILAD:
The design is actually something I came up with for another client, so I had the idea and I needed the right client for it, which I thought I had, so I drew out the design but he didn’t like it, it was too much for him.
Then Kenny came in with no tattoos, he wanted two sleeves, I showed him this chest piece, I’d been sitting on this design, and he loved it.
It’s gone around online and it’s still only sketched on, need another four hours on it yet.
There’s a lot more detail and shading, I’m going to draw tattoos on the tattoo, so those arms will have tattoos, yeah, there’s loads to do to it yet.
He’s got several sessions booked in, but I’m looking at bringing the next appointment forward because I’m sick of seeing pictures of it when it isn’t finished!
In 1939, an apartment in Paris was abandoned. Seventy years later, an auctioneer opened the apartment and discovered artwork that was valued in the millions.
Twenty-three-year-old Madame de Florian abandoned her apartment in Paris, France, in 1939. It was the start of World War II, and it was likely that Madame de Florian received word that German soldiers were approaching Paris.
In an effort to stay out of harm’s way, she locked her apartment and fled with other Parisians.
Madame de Florian headed south to the free zone where safety and security awaited her.
She never managed to return to her apartment. However, she continued to pay rent for the rest of her life. In 2010, Madame de Florian passed away at the age of ninety-one.
It was after she had passed that relatives and heirs learned of her apartment in Paris. They hired an auctioneer named Olivier Choppin-Janvry to take an inventory of any notable belongings of value in the abandoned apartment.
Upon opening the door, the auctioneer and his entire team were speechless. The apartment was a perfect snapshot of the age before World War II.
More importantly, there were very valuable treasures hidden in the apartment. The dining area was completely stocked with dishes and glassware. Artwork had been removed from the walls as if they were to be transported, but the owner never managed to have enough time.
This vanity table looks as if it awaiting the return of its owner. There are brushes, makeup, and perfume bottles scattered across it.
In the corner of the room, you can find an original Micky Mouse and Porky Pig doll. They were reflective of the time before World War II.
Perhaps the most interesting discovery was the painting of a beautiful woman in a pink gown. Further examination would reveal that this woman was Marthe de Florian, Madame De Florian’s grandmother.
The artist was not known at first, but a later discovery helped researchers conclude that the painting was done by Giovanni Boldini, an Italian painter from the Belle Epoque period.
Marthe de Florian was a very well-known Parisian actress who lived a lavish and luxurious lifestyle. A collection of love letters could be found in the apartment, and they were from many famous suitors, including several Prime Ministers and Presidents of Rance.
While Marthe was a subject of Giovanni’s paintings, further evidence showed that the two were lovers. The portrait of Marthe was completed in 1888 when Marhte was twenty-four-years-old. In 2010, the painting sold for $3.4 million dollars after it was discovered in the abandoned apartment. It was the most valuable of any of Giovanni’s works.
Watch the video to see more about the apartment:
What did you think? We want to hear your thoughts. Let us know in the comments below!
The long-delayed project to extend Rome’s subway system has brought treasures of the past to the surface and allowed them to be showcased at one of the city’s new subway stations.
Rome city officials this week unveiled the Metro C archaeological exhibit, which features amphora, marble panels, coins and even peach pits dating back to the Roman era.
The permanent exhibit will be on view as passengers descend into the three-story San Giovanni subway station, which is expected to open in 2018.
“For those who will use this metro — this station in particular — it’s a full immersion into the history of Rome and of this site,” said archaeologist Rossella Rea, who is in charge of the dig for the Italian government.
Archaeologists said their surveys, which reached an unusually deep 20 meters (yards), indicated the site was once a huge farm. Peach pits, seashells and other organic remains have been found intact and are featured in the exhibit.
Lines on the southeastern section of Metro C have been operational since 2015, while northern lines near the city center are still under construction. The project has been delayed for years by the repeated discovery of ancient underground treasures.
A new film opens with artist David Huggins saying, simply, ‘When I was 17 I lost my virginity to a female extraterrestrial.’
It’s a bold claim, explored in a new film ‘Love and Saucers’ – where Huggins shows off his often sexually explicit paintings inspired by a life of unbridled sex with a being from another world.
Huggins is married, by the way.
One is simply titled, ‘Virginity lost’ – and many feature explicit scenes with Crescent, who resembles Gene Simmons from Kiss, but with breasts.
Huggins claims that sex with Crescent was initially painful – but then they became lovers, and he fathered an alien child with ‘her’.
David Huggins says he has fathered several half-human, half-alien children – and has shown off a painting with alien women holding up weird hybrid babies he claims are his.
‘I just lay down on the ground and she got on top of me. I have no idea why me. I just don’t know.’
‘I don’t know much, but I do know for sure I lost my virginity to an extra terrestrial woman.’
Huggins has chronicled his often X-rated alien experiences as part of an exhibition of paintings, which depict no-holds-barred alien-on-human sex with merciless realism.
Huggins claims he was first abducted by aliens aged eight, but that his relationship with the sultry alien took off later.
Huggins claims he also met little hairy aliens, grey aliens and insectoid aliens, who he did not have sex with.
Nigel Watson, author of ‘The Haynes UFO Investigations Manual’ says, ‘David’s experiences are very detailed, and his works of art show they have had a powerful influence on him throughout his life. Yet, he is not the only one to claim such experiences, which haunt people from childhood onwards. In his book Communion, Whitley Strieber famously described being abducted by aliens who inserted a 1ft (0.3m)-long anal probe inside him. It seemed to be a living entity, so when it was taken out he was surprised to see it was a mechanical device.’
‘Many of these type of cases came to light in the 1960s but were largely ignored by ufologists, who just wanted to prove that UFOs were robot craft from outer space. Alien encounters and abductions only began being seriously considered and researched in the 1970s.’
‘In this period, the case of Antonio Villas Boas was the most outstanding. As he claimed that he was dragged inside a flying saucer and forced to have sexual intercourse with a beautiful alien woman. When he left, she pointed at her stomach, at him and then at the sky, implying she would have his child somewhere in outer space.’
‘To some ufologists these reports and many other similar cases seem to indicate that the aliens are conducting a hybrid breeding program to create a race of super beings, for what purpose we can only imagine. Sceptics claim these experiences are likely to be the product of sleep paralysis, where people are unable to discern the difference between fantasy and reality during the period between sleeping and waking.’
Imagine making your commute home, bracing yourself for the human tsunami that is sure to greet you when cutting through a busy train station. Only this time, instead of the din of a bustling crowd, you’re met by an angelic chorus.
Fellow travelers silently wave you over to an open, domed hall, where the angels stand, singing in a semicircle. One is drinking a beer. Another is barefoot.
Okay, they’re not actually angels. They’re the Icelandic folk group Árstíðir. On this particular night, they had just finished a concert in Wuppertal, Germany, and were making their way back to their lodgings when they were struck by the station’s perfect acoustics. Its arched, stone ceiling created a cathedral-like environment.
Boosted by the success of the evening, the six men broke into song. A hush immediately fell over passersby, some of whom almost certainly missed their trains to stay and listen to the beautiful harmonies.
Despite the fact that this song, “Heyr himna smiður,” dates to around 1208 and the Wuppertal Hauptbahnhof station was built in the mid-19th century, the sound and the space seem perfectly suited to one another. At one point a public announcement is piped over an intercom. Instead of ruining the music it magically weaves a new voice into the harmonic tapestry.
“While these events are usually extremely secretive, photographs of this particular Ball surfaced on the web. In short, it is a mix of an “Eyes Wide Shut”-style masked ball mixed with a Lady Gaga-style pop video. Indeed, behind the fun and games, these pics reveal the underlying ideology and the mind state of the occult elite”
You may have heard of the new manicure craze that has gone viral—#WeedNails. But this time, we’re not talking about pictures or decals of pot leaves painted on fingernails.
We mean actual crushed marijuana leaves, embedded in a gel or acrylic manicure!
While we are not sure where the idea for #WeedNails originated (our guess is the West Coast, naturally), the trend has already gone global. Instagrammers and nail art enthusiasts, as far-flung as Australia, are proudly displaying their canni-manis.
For many nail technicians worldwide, weed manicures must be done covertly, to avoid trouble with the authorities.
Kristina, a nail technician from Studio S Salon, in Orange, California, did her first manicure with weed just a few weeks ago.
“My client really wanted it,” Kristina said. “She brought her own [weed] with her, and we tore little pieces off. I placed it underneath the acrylic, over some gold glitter, and then put another layer of acrylic on top, to seal it. Since then, I have received a lot more requests for it, so I will probably be doing it again, with different designs.”
Evon, from Levon Nail Spa, in Kent, Washington, gave her first weed manicure, as a gift to one of her favorite clients on her 30th birthday.
“My client sent me a photo of Bob Marley, because they share the same birthday,” Evon explained. “She wanted something along those lines. I asked her if she would be interested in a marijuana manicure, and she became really excited by the idea!”
“Marijuana is legal here, for personal use, but I cannot charge for this service, because I will have to pay federal tax on the marijuana product itself,” Evon continued. “I called a few lawyers, to make sure. It is a sensitive issue, so I had to call around and ask the legalities of it.”
Nicole, who owns Deadly Nails, a salon in Melbourne, Australia, has put oddities like insects, feathers and candy into nails. She enjoys “challenging people’s perception of beauty.”
She advises aspiring weed manicurists, “not to glue the weed on top of the nails.”
“It looks clumpy and gross,” she explained. “Encapsulate it in acrylic, so it looks like resin. Since weed is a natural substance, it won’t disintegrate once it hits the solvents. The weed is set between two layers of acrylic, like solidifying it in amber.”
Australia is in the middle of their own battle for legalization, so Nicole has to be careful only to apply the weed to fingernails of clients she trusts, or can instinctively “suss out.”
“We are a little behind the times with legalization, but we are catching up.” she said.
Nicole has experienced a bit of backlash on social media, for “wasting weed,” but says no one should stress over a few flakes. “I am turning it into a piece of art.”