#polish cemetery

[windysaturday]

#mine #cemetery #graveyard #cmentarz #spring #graveyard wildlife #wildflowers #life and death #Polish cemetery #spring goth #countryside goth #eastern Europe #Easter #resurrection #old graves

[itsdetachable]

Anyways Polish Cemeteries are gorgeous, especially so around All Saints Day when everyone does the cemetery pilgrimage to visit family graves, clean them, put flowers on them and light znicze (grave candles)

#poland #polska #polish cemetery #cemetery #graveyard

[polishwave]

#legendarna kochanka #polishcore #poland #polska #polishwave #polish #grobbing #cemetery

[with-my-murder-flute]

Obscure Cemeteries of Amalo theory

About who Tura Olura's lover is.

Spoilers for The Witness to the Dead

What if it's Ema Dravenezh?

Iäna says the Marquis Parzhadel "seems the last person who would support an opera company, especially when he can’t attend himself." Meanwhile, Ema Dravenezh is an attendee every single night

Except for the period following Tura's death, when after the theatre was repaired, he "missed so many performances [Iäna] thought he'd been fired"

Iäna also comments on how he's always the only one in the box. That can look like a weary solitude... but if you are, perhaps, secretly connected to one of the people most frequently onstage, you can feel a lot less alone

Arveneän met and blackmailed Tura when she'd scheduled an appointment to visit the Marquis

If it became a public scandal, it could be argued that Mer Dravenezh persuaded the Marquis to fund the Vermillion Opera, so the fallout would hit not just him and Tura alone, but potentially the entire company and enterprise, which is the kind of secret that's honestly kinda worth murdering over. Arts funding before hoes, etc.

Imagine him sitting there after Tura's death, where it's such an enormous reminder of him, but probably also, what else will he do with his nights? Despite the pain, there are benefits to familiarity, and this collection of people he's supporting.

#the witness for the dead #look ma! I can hyperfocus on multiple books at a time! #the cemeteries of amalo #the chronicles of osreth #katherine addison #audiobooks are the worry stone in my pocket that my fingers are polishing smooth #lis's chronicles of osreth theories

[gennsoup]

Cemeteries swarmed with elegant, unseen guests, like a ballroom at dawn when dreams pale.

Adam Zagajewski, Postcards

#Adam Zagajewski #Postcards #cemetery #cemeteries #graveyard #ghosts #spooky #spooky season #Halloween #October #Polish literature #poetry #poetry quotes #quotes blog #literary quotes #literature quotes #literature #book quotes

[deeisace]

So this morning, cs my brain is fried in many ways,

As a companion to the Draculas of New Jersey, have all the Frankensteins of England -

First, on the very first census, of 1841, we have Jacob Frankenstein and his family, living in Liverpool -

There really wasn't much detail on early census records, and whoever's filled this in has done it a slightly odd order (dad, youngest son, mum, oldest daughter, middle son), but we see we have Jacob Frankenstein, who is a merchant, his wife Sarah, and their children Henrietty (age 5), Samuel (age 3) and Nathan (age 1 or possibly 7), and that F in the last column marks them as "born in Foreign Parts".

The house they live in, they seem to share with two other families - an English roper, his wife and four children, and an Irish tailor his wife and their servant. I imagine, if I might, that it may have been one of those tall buildings you get in the town centre occasionally, with a shop below and two or three storeys above - the tailor would have the shop and the floor above, and the one/s above that would be split between Frankenstein and Choppers (the roper)

I'm not certain, cs nothing much is certain on the 1841 census, but I think that must be the case, because there's a 1 for 1 dwelling/building, and then the families have little notch marks separating them (you can just see one above the J in Jacob there).

If we skip forward 20 years, we find them not in Liverpool, but having moved to Islington, London

A little more detail on this record - we find out that Jacob and Sarah are from Hanover, which I gather is now a part of Germany. Henrietty has anglicised her name to Harriet, and that N must be Nathan, which means he was 1 on the 1841 record. We also see Harriet was born in Yorkshire, and Nathan in Liverpool, tho I can find neither record. And that Jacob's merchant-ing is going well enough that they needn't share housing and they actually have a live-in maid!

And, there's another record to show he joined the Freemasons in about 1850, so I imagine he was doing fairly well for himself.

-

There is, at the same time as our Jacob in 1841, another J Frankenstein, but this one is an "agent" - whatever that means 180 years ago - and he lives in Stepney!

He is also "of Foreign Parts" and also in his 30s, but he is instead a lodger, with several other single German-sounding men (you can see Doctor Gotentag above him there), in the house of some laundresses (Sarah Kelly, Elizabeth Pryor, and her daughter Sarah)

I jumped forward 10 years to 1851, and couldn't confirm finding this same Frankenstein, but there are a couple of new ones -

We have Adolphus, a tailor from Breslau who is lodging in Manchester with a Polish hawker and his family

And we have Isaac, a licensed hawker - a seller of things, the type that shout you over, like a marketstall man, tho maybe without a stall - in this case, jewellery - and he lodges in Portsea/Portsmouth, with Kitty Barnard and her daughters.

-

Then, if we jump again to the 1870s, there are a great many more Frankensteins -

We have Jacob, Israel, Simon and Harris Frankenstein, who are all Polish tailors (tho sometimes the record says "Russia Poland"). Israel and Simon live in London, Whitechapel and Spitalfields respectively. Jacob is in Cheetham and Harris is in Manchester. And all their families, too.

Also in Cheetham, we find Reub and his family - I imagine he is Jacob's brother or cousin (he is also listed "Russia Poland") - he is a glazier, and his teenage sons are tailors.

Philip Frankenstein, also in Cheetham and from Poland and so likely another brother or cousin, is a waterproof manufacturer (did macks exist then?).

And Leon, who lives in Rochester, married a Kentish woman called Lydia Jolley (nee Gladdish), and he is a picture frame maker, also Polish - tho he, unlike the rest, is listed under "Poland, British Subject" - either, he lived in England most of his life and was just born in Poland (see, my John Scarth, who always listed himself as "Portugal, British Subject", and was from Orkney), or because he married an Englishwoman, I'm not sure, and he, nor the census man, are not here to quiz.

If I go any later, I imagine there'll be a great deal many more records to trawl through and I don't really want to, so I shan't.

I am mildly disappointed there are no Adam Frankensteins, tho, I did check

#research #genealogy #i should say - tho i don't know much jewish history beyond the last century - that these are most if not all polish jews #(who knows about leon and his wife #if either converted or if she was jewish to start with) #i would say they were fleeing a polish/russian pogrom but i don't know their reasons for moving #i do know that henrietty/harriet is buried in willesden united synagogue cemetery

[nawoja]

All Saints’ Day (Wszystkich Świętych) in Poland

#all saints day #wszystkich świętych #Polish tradition #graveyard #cemetery #cmentarz #november night

[kornaart]

I am happy to present to you a painting from the "Mystical gates" series, my digital artwork.

Available for purchase with a commercial license

https://www.creativefabrica.com/designer/korna-art//ref/6509872

#artists on tumblr #polish art #digital painting #digital illustration #digital art #creative #creative fabrica #mystical #mystic #gate #bat #creepy aesthetic #digital collage #cemetery gate #cemetery gates #cemetery #abandoned #abandoned aesthetic #kdp #amazon kdp #graphics #web graphics #abandonedcore #secretly #mystery #mysterious place #haunted #spooky aesthetic #graphics design #craft paper

[natzx]

Rasos Cemetery (Cmentarz na Rossie)

Vilnius, Lithuania

Having a walk there was a breathtaking experience. While being there you can just feel the ghost of the past. I'm polish, so it was important for me to see this cemetery since most of the people buried there also were polish. I was extremely excited to see the grave of Euzebiusz Słowacki, the father of Juliusz Słowacki - an amazing poet and writer. It was probably the main point of my trip, therefore I can truly recommend visiting this place on your way around Lithuania!!

#lithuania #vilnius #dark academia #light academia #romantyzm #academia aesthetic #juliusz słowacki #słowackiewicz #adam mickiewicz #polish literature #wilno #cemetery

[polskasroka]

I still hear a ringing in my ears

But the concert was simply incredible

I'm back at the hotel and I can't express my joy

I cried thrice (at the beginning, while yelling Zeit's chorus and at the end), which is the ultimate proof for how much fun I had

Wow, simply wow, words can't express it all and how much I've enjoyed it

#my post #when the fire came in it smelt like on November 1 on Polish cemeteries #gold #rammstein #rammstein 2022 #rammstein warsaw 2022

[asiawalecka]

Jakarta, Indonesia FEB23

#documentary photography #documentary #reportage #Street Photography #photojurnalism #indonesia #jakarta #cemetery #colour photography #polish photographer

[beaversatemygrandma]

...I had to clean out my bag because my migraine meds somehow exploded over the bottom. And as I’m digging out like 50 pills from the depths of this little backpack, I found a rock. Not just like a plain old rock from gravel or something.

Like this gorgeous shiny white gem with green veins. I have no idea where this came from or why it’s in there, but holy shit. Fucking fantastic rock. I love it.

Now why the hell was it in my bag?

#taks speaks #i think it's either agate or chalcedony #maybe howlite but howlite is gray and black not green #I'm genuinely wondering if i ended up stealing a rock from the gemstone buckets at this one theme park i was at a few months ago #that or my sister #either way i love this rock #quality rock right here #too polished to be something i picked up on the ground #so likely not that #then again i am remembering this time i was walking around a cemetery for pokemon go with my dad and sister #and my sister ran up to me and was like I FOUND COOL ROCKS #there is a chance she took that right off a gravestone #there is a small chance i have a dead people rock #though i swear that one was amethyst #i get good vibes from this rock #maybe I'm just happy i found a cool rock within that annoyance

[windysaturday]

Letnie popołudnie (2019), dir. Youssef Quarrak

#youssef quarrak #letnie popołudnie #letnie popołudnie 2019 #polish film #lgbt movies #lgbt films #lgbt cinema #arthouse #polish arthouse #european arthouse #european cinema #maria pawłowska #cemetery scene #movie scene #movie still #film still #kadr z filmu #polskie kino #polski film #drama movies #film polacco #cinema polacco #indie movie #indie film #indie cinema #aesthetic #graveyard #graveyard scene

[manwalksintobar]

Autobiography (Polish it like a piece of Silver)  // Richard Brautigan

I am standing in the cemetery at Byrds, Texas. What did Judy say? "God-forsaken is beautiful, too." A very old man who has cancer on his face and takes care of the cemetery, is raking a grave in such a manner as to almost polish it like a piece of silver.

An old dog stands beside him. It's a hot day: 105. What am I doing out here in west Texas, standing in a cemetery? The old man wonders about that, too. My presence has become a part of his raking. I know that he is also polishing me.

#poetry #Richard Brautigan #death #American poetry #polish #silver #cemetery #beauty #summer #funny #Texas

[indyanapolis898]

A Tale of Two Tombstones

bruce wayne x f!reader

Synopsis: Batman needs a break after endless nights of work. He decides to visit his parent's grave as Bruce Wayne, where he's able to open up to his parents and someone else.

The roaring of his motorcycle halted as it pulled into its intended parking spot. The rider slid off the bike, falling heavily onto the dusty ground of the cave in which his headquarters resided. 

A few grunts escaped his lips as he lay idly in the dim lighting of the cavern. Batman moved his gloved hands to his face to remove his dirty cowl, bloodying his gloves in the process. His messy, damp hair covered his forehead; the sweat combined with the blood on his face and head. 

He took a few unsteady breaths, trying to gain his composure. He'd finished another late night of work at the cost of his physical health. His body armor would need serious work and repatching. He blinked a few times, shutting his eyes to sleep for a few minutes.

***

Bruce Wayne opened his eyes, shifting his body, which resulted in a painful shout.

"Hey, easy there," said a concerned Alfred, rushing to the operating table in the surgery room- located in the south wing of Wayne Manor. 

"Where- what-," Bruce breathily mumbled. 

"I found you in the cave after the computer alerted me of your presence. You took a heavy beating. I stitched up most of your wounds, but you've earned some rest, Master Bruce." 

"No. I-" Bruce cut himself off with ragged coughs. Alfred sat the bed up and raised an eyebrow with an I told you so, look. 

"Fine," Bruce finally accepted his fate and lay back on the pillow to rest more.

*** 

Bruce garnered a total of eighteen hours in and out of sleep, healing very slowly from the brutal fight he'd gotten into in a gang-filled subway station. They had tech and brute weapons that Batman hadn't seen before. They were strong enough to plaster him and his suit. The gang was still on the loose. It was plaguing Bruce's weary mind, but he knew he was in no state to get back into crimefighting. 

Sometimes, while laying in bed with his eyes open because his mind wouldn't stop running, Bruce wondered if his thoughts would ever quiet down. The only thing that could help was getting things off his chest. It was a temporary high; however, his ego and insecurity kept him from sharing with Alfred. That's why, with Alfred's permission, Bruce found himself limping to the mansion's garage in a simple gray sweater, black trench coat, and jeans. His hair was messy and unkempt, only kept out of his face with the pair of sunglasses that rested on his forehead.

Bruce entered one of his vehicles, a black SUV with tinted windows, and let his driver take him to the Gotham Graveyard. 

***

After a morning of light showers, the sky had cleared up into a baby blue. Bruce struggled out of the car, leaving the driver to wait on the curb outside the cemetery. It was an empty scene. Rows and rows of headstones sat under a canopy of trees with no people to visit. The graveyard resided in a more rural area of the city, so the memorial area was quiet besides the occasional squawking of birds and the wind rustling the autumn-kissed leaves.

Bruce stepped onto the damp, all-too-familiar grassy path leading to the headstones of his late parents. 

Their monuments were big and overly fancy. The cleaner Alfred hired twenty-six years ago still came every month to polish and clean the headstones. In honor of the Wayne's, a bench sat on the side of the stones, so Bruce sat there, idly taking in the silence. 

Breathe in, breathe out.

Speaking in a tranquil but emotional voice, Bruce began to talk to the air, confessing how he missed them, his beloved mother and father. 

"...and that's why I came. I just needed to talk. I needed to be in your presence again. I believe Alfred still cries over you, Father. He acts strong, as you taught, but deep down, he's like me: broken."

"I wish I could be fully capable of feeling, but all I think about is the injustice and monstrous side of the city. The city that took you two away."

Bruce stared at the ground, trying to focus on the words he was saying when a leaf crunching from behind alerted him to whip around. 

A woman, maybe five foot, stood behind him, wide-eyed and embarrassed. 

"I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to startle you..." she caught her breath, most likely at the realization of who she was talking to, but regained her train of thought. "My mother... her grave is just behind them," she explained, gesturing to a headstone behind the Wayne's. 

Heather Lycona. 

Bruce resorted to nodding in reply. The woman approached closer to the headstone but stopped, clearly wanting to say something the way her mouth opened and closed. Bruce cocked a brow. He decided to attempt to be conversive. "How?" he nodded his head at her mother's gravestone.

"What?"

"How did she pass?" he tilted his head. She clutched the ends of the scarf she was wearing, a shade of black to contrast the white dress under her jet puffer coat. 

"Oh, um, gang violence. Three months ago, Mom was out at night just trying to get groceries, and, she um..."

Bruce nodded in indication he understood. "Mine as well."

"I know- I mean, I know the story, of course," she awkwardly laughed as a buffer. She looked around and then back at Bruce sitting on the bench. "I'm sorry for intruding on your moment. I-I can come back later."

Bruce shook his head wordlessly. "No, that won't be necessary. I did what I came here to do," he answered raspily. 

"May I sit?" 

Bruce didn't expect the woman to want to be in his presence any longer, yet he wasn't against her sitting with him. Her eyes could tell a story, one that he wanted to hear. His eyes traveled to the open space beside him, barely nodding at it. 

She sat down on the wooden bench, breathing in the mossy air. "There's something about the cemetery that's so peaceful. Everyone says it's scary because it's the resting place for hundreds of people, but I believe it's just a reminder of all the lives that came before us. Everyone is just asleep here, and we sit with them."

Usually, Bruce wouldn't be a fan of the conversation, yet he decided that she was intriguing, a type of thoughtfulness he appreciated. 

He hummed at her words. "Bruce Wayne," he introduced even though she knew very well who he was, leaning back into the bench. 

"Y/N Lycona." 

"Why did you visit today?"

"Sometimes I just enjoy being around her. It's peaceful here."

"I understand."

"What about you? Why did you visit, Mr. Wayne?"

He glanced at her before looking back to the swaying tree branches. "Same as you," he breathed out. He wasn't sure why she was asking him. Not that Bruce believed he was too good to answer questions, but because he'd assume she wouldn't be interested in him. Usually, people were interested in his position. 

"Do you ever feel they were the only people who understood you? I feel like that with Mom."

Bruce nodded, barely moved his gaze to her, then studied her with his signature deadpan expression. Bruce picked up once again on what he'd thought earlier. Y/N seemed warm, like in the right situation, she'd open up. She probably thought a lot. The woman stared off at the trees like he'd been earlier, looking deep in thought. 

"Your mind... is it always running?" 

She quietly sniffled in the chilled air. "Yes. I got approved for the investigative division of the GCPD. I want to help find and eliminate the gangs of Gotham. I don't know what my mother would've wanted me to do for her case, but I know she wanted me to help bring justice to the city. She got me through school for criminal justice. It's what I wanted to do from the start, but it was for the sake of others. Now, it's all for her- for her justice."

"You seem very driven, detective. I hope you do what you set out to do," Bruce stated. 

"If I can contribute to bringing criminals and killers to prison, I'll do what I must. I can't just watch someone turn into the next Heather. Gotham needs change." 

For the first time in a while, Bruce's lips slightly twisted up. "Then we are very alike." 

The two sat in comfortable silence for ten minutes, occasionally making small comments. 

Bruce decided he'd stayed his welcome, opting to stand up suddenly. He nodded down at Y/N. "I give you my best wishes on your assignment. I'll be using my resources to continue assisting the work," he said, his tone void of emotion, but they could both tell he meant it. 

"Good to talk to you, Mr. Wayne."

"Bruce is fine," he mumbled audibly, turning to leave. 

"Thank you for understanding. You don't say much," Y/N chuckled, "but I could tell you understood me."

Bruce gave a close-mouthed smirk, walked out the gates, and got in his car. 

"Thank you for your patience, Gerald."

The driver nodded and drove the pair back to the manor. 

Bruce came out of his visit knowing two things: 

First, he'd have to visit the cemetery more often. 

And second, as soon as he could get back his vigilante work, he would thwart every gang he could get his hands on. If it would help fulfill Y/N's goal, he'd devote all his energy to it. 

#battinson x reader #the batman 2022 #batman #batman x reader #batman x fem!reader #robert pattinson #battinson #robert pattison #fanfic #dcu #bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x fem!reader

[kornaart]

#watercolor #artists on tumblr #krakow #dark art #cemetery #painting #polish painter