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Timmy Tippin' Tombstones

Timothy Moriarty


Dernière mise à jour : 8/12/2009

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Sexe : Male
Statut : Célibataire
Age : 36
Zodiaque: Capricorne

Ville : Walnut
Région : California
Pays: US
Date d’inscription :: 1/07/2005

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vendredi, mai 22, 2009 

Humeur actuelle :  aventureux
It's like looking for the change in a vending maching, or the rock of meth hidden somewhere in the crack of the couch... You just know that if you find it, you're going to feel better. But you end up with crap in the end, and only 10% of it is the 'real deal'! So you pack it in your pipe and smoke it. And it rolls into nothing but shit... Could your energy have been spent on something better? Looking for self gratification...? Try religion on. If it feels fake, then try depression... If that doesn't work, you could just kill yourself. You could feel happier, with any chosen drug, you could... But are you really satisfied!? Simplicity is next to god, but complication makes it fun! Why even bothter to learn if it's only going to hurt you? And why feel bad if feeling bad makes you feel bad? The heart is for play, the mind is for fucking, and the body is for living. Ohh and I'm kinda buzzed right now, =)
vendredi, février 13, 2009 

Humeur actuelle :  amoureux
If we could just erase everything we've ever done, and start a new.... how would that turn out? Would we become better, not making the same mistakes, not being bound to what we "are". Or would we simply waltz down the same path, blind as we always were. For me, I'd like to think that my eyes are in fact very open. That it would be a refreshing change, to start a new me. Maybe even erase some memories, just to bring a bit of innocence back? I dunno, this stale vessel is sinking, and I need to find a new one. No matter how much ink you remove, the depression of a hard pressed pen will always remain... sketch lightly, or furiously with all emotions running, funny I don't have many left. I hate ink, and love pencil, but even that leaves depressions. It's cold out side, it's cold inside. It's even snowing. I am not really here anymore, as I spend most of my time in 'another' world. Watching the real one slip by, and fade like a sunset going around for one more go. How does it keep up all that energy? and for what reason? It's for me to find out, someday, but for now, I'll switch to felt pen.

lundi, juillet 07, 2008 

Humeur actuelle :  vache
 Redlights on highway
I love to drive at night
Me and my car we are one
On the engines
Catch on the screen
Redlights valleys and fields
Rain on the street
I'm a pilot automatic

Redlights on highway
I love to drive at night
Me and my car we are one
On the engines
Catch on the screen
Whitelights valleys and fields
Rain on the street
I'm a pilot automatic
mardi, avril 15, 2008 

Not sure who is interested in this type of music, but I'm going to this regardless if I have to go solo. If you want in, here are the details, (sample video posted further below)


Avaland feat. Claude VonStroke, Ellen Allien, Sascha Funke
Avalon in Hollywood
Saturday, 03 May, 2008 - 8:00pm
pre-sale tickets Price: $15.00

Pre-Sales End: 6:00 PM PST - 5/3/2008
Ages: 21+

Avalon Hollywood
1735 Vine Street
Hollywood 90028

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wGxfDj0fMo4

mercredi, septembre 26, 2007 

Humeur actuelle :  ivre

A second murder took place on the Crumbles in 1924 and was known for years afterwards as 'The Bungalow Murder'. A few cottages, once Occupied by coast guards, stood isolated on the beachland at the border of Eastbourne and Pevensey. One, called the Officer's House, was a neat whitewashed building and in the spring of 1924 was leased for two months at a rent of three and a half guineas a week to Patrick Herbert Mahon, a man of thirty four, using the name of Wailer.

Mahon had taken on the bungalow ostensibly as a romantic hideaway fohimself and his mistress, Emily Kaye, and on 7 April 1924 Emily traveled to Eastbourne and moved into the bungalow believing that this was the start of a new life with her lover.

Oddly enough she was also a shorthand typist but unlike Irene Munro she was not a foolish young girl but a woman of thirty seven, tall, fair-haired and coolly attractive. A thoroughly nice person according to a cousin who said a better girl never lived'.

However, the warning bells had not rung for Irene Munro and they did not ring for Emily Kaye. She worked for a firm of accountants in London and had met Patrick Mahon who often called at her office and soon began an affair with him. She knew he was married but believed he would leave his wife and that they would start a new life together. She also knew by chance that Mahon had previously been in prison for a bank raid but she was pregnant and very much in love with the dark good-looking Irishman. She readily agreed to leave her job and embark on the venture he proposed.

Unfortunately for Emily she did not know that Patrick Mahon was an indefatigable and practised womaniser with an unsavoury past which included fraud as well as the bank raid which had landed him in prison for five years.

He had married a young Irish girl when he was twenty one and his wife, Mavourneen, had stood by him when he was imprisoned. Now Mahon was involved with a woman who did not take the affair lightly, who was pregnant, and who expected him to leave his wife. He was in a fix.

Having installed Emily in the Crumbles cottage Mahon continued to go home to his wife most days during the week. True to form he struck up a new acquaintance with a young woman at Richmond, an Ethel Duncan. Never one to miss another romantic interlude he arranged to take her out to dinner during the following week.

On 11 April Mahon returned to Eastbourne and moved Emily's large travelling trunk to the bungalow. He then returned to London, apparently to make arrangements to secure a passport but on Saturday, 12 April, he went to an ironmonger's shop in Victoria and bought a large cook's knive and a tenon saw.

He returned to Eastbourne and Emily, and the two were together in the bungalow for the next three nights.

On Tuesday evening, 15 April, Emily Kaye met her fate. Afterwards Mahon swore that her death was an accident, the result of a quarrel about their future and that she had fallen heavily and hit her head.

Mahon dragged the body into the spare bedroom and locked the door. The next day he returned to London, met Ethel Duncan and took her out to dinner. Incredibly he invited her to spend the coming Easter weekend with him at the bungalow on the Crumbles, to which the unsuspecting girl agreed.

On the morning of Good Friday Mahon was back in Eastboume and a further horror began. He dismembered Emily's body with the saw and knife bought in London and the dreadful parcels were put in Emily's trunk in the spare bedroom.

In the evening Mahon met Ethel Duncan at Eastbourne station and they spent the weekend together at the bungalow. Ethel saw the trunk in the spare bedroom and Mahon said he was it was full of valuable books he was looking after for a friend. While she was there he screwed up the door. Ethel Duncan did not find his behaviour suspicious and on Easter Monday she returned to her home in London.

During the following week Mahon built a fire in the sitting room grate and burned Emily Kaye's head, which had been severed from the body. Other parts followed, disposed of in the same way, then the torso was further dismembered and boiled in stewpans in the kitchen so that they could be cut into smaller pieces. Mahon put most of these last remains into a Gladstone bag and threw them from the carriage window of a train when he later travelled to Waterloo Station in London.

It was then that he made the first and only mistake in his cold and methodical plans. He left the Gladstone bag at the left luggage office at Waterloo station and while he was away from home on the weekend of 25 April his wife searched the pockets of his suits and found the cloakroom ticket.

Mavourneen had been worried by his absence over the two previous weekends and believed he might be frequenting racecourses and returning to his old ways. She said nothing to her husband but enlisted the help of a private investigator, John Beard.

On 1 May they went together to Waterloo and retrieved the Gladstone bag. Beard was no fool and although the bag was locked he probed into one end and found something that prompted him to call Scotland Yard. When the police arrived they took a small piece of cloth from the bag which revealed human blood. Mavourneen was sent home, still unaware of the find, to return the cloakroom ticket to Mahon's suit.

Now a trap was set. Two detectives kept watch on the left luggage office and on 2 May Mahon collected the bag prior to another trip to Eastbourne. As soon as it was in his possession the police pounced and Mahon was taken to Cannon Row police station and confronted by the Contents which included a few pieces of blood stained clothing, a large Cook's knife and a canvas tennis racket bag with the initials E B K.

He remained cool and told the police he supposed 'he had carried meat home for the dogs' in the bag, but finally after hours of interrogation he admitted the death of Emily Kayc and his disposal of the body.

Two police inspectors were sent to Eastbourne to the Officer's House and what they found there was a scene described by the experienced Home Office pathologist, Bernard Spilsbury, as the most gruesome he had ever come across. There was a terrible stench in the small bungalow as four parcels still remained in the trunk in the bedroom.

The presence of the police and the pathologist soon became known and while Spilsbury made his painstaking study of what was left of poor Emily Kaye, a task which took eight hours, a crowd of horrified people gathered outside.

On the following Tuesday Mahon was charged with murder at Hailsham magistrates court and the next day an inquest was held at the bungalow, attended by Mahon at his request.

A thousand sightseers surrounded the building, booing and jeering as the accused man was led in under heavy police escort.

Strenuous efforts to find other parts of the body were made but despite searching nearby areas and digging up the garden of the cottage, nothing was found. The inquest resumed in May and Patrick Mahon was sent for trial at Lewes Assizes on 15 July.

Sir Henry Curtis Bennett led for the prosecution and Mr J D Cassels defended Patrick Mahon. The unfortunate Ethel Duncan, considerably distressed, spent an hour in the witness box and maintained she had seen nothing to arouse her suspicion during the weekend she spent with Mahon. As the trial continued and the macabre story unfolded two jury-men collapsed. They were replaced and Mahon gave evidence for more than five hours.

The story he told was of a woman infatuated with him and one who had drawn him reluctantly into an affair. He told the court on the evening of Emily's death they had a furious quarrel and according to him he was attacked by his lover.

At this point he broke down in tears and still sobbing went on to relate that in the struggle they fell and Emily's head hit the coal scuttle. This, he said, must have caused her death and, because he was in a state of fear and shock he remembered little of the next hours except that he went outside. When he returned he panicked and decided to conceal everything.

At the end of this dramatic story Mahon's counsel asked him: "Did you desire the death of Miss Kaye?" Mahon, calm again, replied: "Never at any time".

The defence did its best to plead that Mahon was the victim of extraordinary circumstances rather than cold hearted murderer, but members of the jury, who had no knowledge of his previous record, were not convinced. The cause of death given by the accused man was refuted by the pathologist who said a fall on a coal scuttle would not have caused injuries that would have had such a rapidly fatal result.

Most damning of all for the jury's opinion of Mahon's character was his assignation with Ethel Duncan, at a time when he had a wife and child at home and a mistress in a bungalow at Eastbourne. He was found guilty of murder.

The bungalow on the Crumbles became a strange tourist attraction when the lease was taken over by a group of entrepeneurs of doubtful taste but sounds business instinct. Visitors were charged a shilling each for guided tours of the cottage and as the queues increased cold drinks were served from the front gate. There was considerable local protest and for two weeks the bungalow was closed, only to open again with the entrance fee increased tols 2d as coachloads of the curious continued to arrive.

Before his execution on Wednesday 3 September Mahon wrote a kind and loving letter to his wife from his cell. Mahon's wife remained loyal to the end !

dimanche, septembre 09, 2007 

Humeur actuelle :  fatigué
I'm tired, and working with a 1400x900 resolution monitor (so alignment is being a pain). It's 5:10am, I'm working in the dark, and I'm done with this for now. This background will be the new 'feel' for my page soon, just to tired to dick around with html atm. Peace out......