National Geographic - Honey bee larva time lapse
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National Geographic - Honey bee larva time lapse

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“In retrospect, it’s easy to dismiss the Germs as the epitome of LA’s early identipunk scene. Singer Darby Crash was a barking spiky-haired brat, an alarming adolescent combination of Johnny Rotten’s snarling vocal ferocity and Sid Vicious’ self-destructive cool. Three years after the band’s first live performance (at the Whisky in 1977), Crash died of a drug overdose, reportedly self-inflicted in morbid tribute to Vicious’ own fatal OD in 1979.”
/ From The Trouser Press Record Guide, 1985 /
Died 45 years ago today: feral frontman of Los Angeles punk band the Germs, Darby Crash (aka Bobby Pyn, real name: Jan Paul Beahm, 26 September 1958 - 7 December 1980). “He was Johnny Rotten and Sid Vicious rolled into one, a befuddled punk prophet with a brilliant mind,” Chris Campion writes in “Darby Crash: Saint Anger” in the October 2014 edition of Dazed Digital. “Darby Crash presided over the birth of the LA punk scene in 1977 and signaled its demise with his own self-inflicted death three years later. His was a vision of chaos that would never come to pass but left in its wake a legacy of destruction and one fiery punk classic, the Germs' 1979 Joan Jett-produced album, G.I.” Swallow a fistful of ‘ludes, give yourself a Mohawk, smear yourself in peanut butter and blast “Forming”, “Lexicon Devil” or “Media Blitz” LOUD today in Crash’s memory!
Darby Crash of the Germs performing live in 1979? 1980? Who knows, it was almost 50 years ago.
Photos taken by Jill Ash
The Germs, Forming, 1981
Goddess of the Universe, oil painting by Kinuko Yamabe Craft

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SYSTEM TW: Depictions of the sensation of forming
You open your eyes, where are you? Where are your friends? Where is your home?
The air is different, there are all kinds of new smells and feelings. Your eyes adjust to the dim light. You lay in an empty room, but you can hear voices in the far distance.
You stand up and rub your eyes, trying to decipher what was happening, was this a dream? A nightmare? A hallucination?
You pinch your arm lightly, but nothing truly happens, you feel the sensation of stinging very clearly.
You move every bit of your body, it kind of aches, as if you had been putting pressure on every limb and muscle.
Once you gain composure you try to recall what has happened, but can't think of it. You have your memories, but limited amounts of them. there are so many empty spaces in everything.
You walk forward out of the arched exit of the room, and realize you are underground in a cave, but a very cozy cave. There are holes in the walls here and there, holding lanterns. There are tapestries and drawings hung on the walls in a surprisingly orderly fashion.
you walk down a long corridor, passing many closed doors. Eventually you wander far enough that you have found a new room, a sort of lounge.
"Hello" an unfamiliar voice speaks gently "Welcome to the innerworld"
(Written by an anonymous headmate)