I am posting this response to Hannah Ziffs post “Journeys are the midwives of thought” onto my blog because comments are not turned on on her blog.

– On Subconscious Inspiration vs. Thought  –

I find this distinction that you have made between Subconscious inspiration and thought is bringing up in me lots of ideas and questions on the nature and utility of perception. How can perception be defined? Webster gives us two similar but importantly distinct definitions. The first says that perception is “the ability to see, hear, or become aware of something through the senses.” and the second “the way in which something is regarded, understood, or interpreted.” The first is an action, a thing that we do to understand the world around us. We use our senses to perceive the world and collect information. The second is more of a thing than an action. It isn’t something we do but instead it is something we have. We posses our perception of something in the same way we would posses an opinion about it. It is an understanding of something. I find it interesting because without the first definition one would never arrive at the second. What I mean by this is that in our moment to moment doings we use our perceptive skills to collect information about the world around us and we gather that information into our perception of the thing that we are perceiving. It sounds silly but, in fact, we perceive in order to percept. We look in order to understand.

This is where I find myself beginning my contemplation on the utility of perception. What is it that we are doing when we develop our perception of something? Is it passing judgment? Is it developing opinion? It seems so, for when one posses a perception of something it becomes like a caricature of that thing that is being perceived. it is inherently reductionist, judgmental and opinionated. For what is perception but an incomplete series of information without judgment and opinion? At this point in my contemplation I realize that those judgments and opinions must be inherently false due to the impossible nature of the task of total perception. That is to say, our perception is fragmented and never accounts for the whole and thus never provides us with enough information to be able to truthfully pass judgment or honestly develop an opinion. Perception of the whole is nothing but a lie that our minds trick us into believing is possible by ignoring all that it cannot see.

I feel as if I have seen through the illusion that perception presents us and behind it I have found an answer to the question previously posed (what is perception but an incomplete series of information without judgment and opinion?). Through my judgmental and opinionated perception I have come to the conclusion that perception without judgment or opinion is truth and it is honest. It does not lie to itself  and so it does not believe lies. It simply says “this is”. That to me seems to be how you described your sense of perception when journeying. Not developing thoughts (judgments and opinions) but instead allowing things to be and taking them in just as they are. Quite Taoist in fact.

I want to say thank you Hannah for providing me with an opportunity to think so deeply on these important concepts. I don’t know if I ever would have come to this understanding of the way of things without your influence.

I was surprised that a high percentage of the people on our flight were senior citizens. The nine hour flight from Miami to Montevideo, the only flight from the US to Uruguay, was around half full (so wasteful!) and all the old people and I got to lay down in our rows. The group I queued up with were the same three I was sitting near in the gate and they also happened to be sitting in the rows in front of and beside me. I complimented the woman’s flawless skin- when I first saw her in the gate, I thought she was a teenager but now realized she is the mother of the young teenage boy she was with. Her mother beside me had to translate my compliment- the first of many translations made on my behalf the past few days. I asked for a glass of wine from the flight attendant working the drinks cart to help me fall asleep and after he asked if I was twenty one and if I was sure I was twenty one, the dear man pored me two plastic cups full of wine. Maybe it was the lack of air pressure or maybe the airlines pick the booziest wine because they know everyone drinking it wants to sleep, maybe both because it went straight to my head. Although I was briefly drunk, I only slept for three hours. Waking up, I noticed for the first time, thanks to the map on the TV at the front of the plane, that I was flying farther than if I were to fly to North Africa. As the plane neared the ground, I noticed the area outside the city was sparsely populated and mostly grass lands dotted with bushes which is perfect for raising livestock, the largest export of the Uruguayo economy. I also saw what looked to me like small shanty villages and I wonder if they are for working or living or both. The grandmother next to me warned me that it’s getting colder here and I’ll need a jacket because it’s Fall (however, I’ve been sweating in shorts every day so far). After making it through customs, the young teenage boy ran up to me and handed me a note in Spanish on the back of the customs card introducing himself and summarizing his trip in America. I thought the saleswoman in the duty free was pointing out an advertisement to me as she was showing me the slot to put my customs card but the second time she explained to me (still in Spanish) I saw what she was pointing to. Then, it was time to find my bag which arrived the previous night (another story). After yet another translated conversation, I found the lost luggage counter and, although I had around five tickets, I didn’t have the ticket with the bag receipt on it. Luckily, the agent was able to find my bag anyway. I left security and found my ride holding a sign with my name on it- a service that costs $40 (and my German roommates say this city is expensive?!) I learned that taxi is an international word. After we got in the car, my driver called his boss and told him he picked up the muchacha. 

 

I love all of the Spanish words for woman I know so far: muchacha, chica, mujere, and my favorite: mamacita. I love it when people in Miami call me mamacita in conversation or in the context of an arepa purchase ect. Many of my favorite parts of South Florida culture are thanks to the Latin American influence: people with supernatural skin who are fun and friendly, going out late, staying out late, rhythm. Driving into the city, I was surprised to see the occasional horse drawn carriage transporting goods and how extensive La Rambla is- the park along the riverfront (seems more like a beach since you can’t exactly see Argentina on the other side). It completely wraps around the peninsula. I was happy to see so many people running on it- happy to know I would feel comfortable running here (not something I can say for every city, especially not our capital, D.C.) We took a right from the beach front and one park and two blocks later, we made it to my home for the next five weeks.

My landlord, the boyfriend of my Grandfather’s friend’s niece, was waiting in the doorway for me. He gave me two bronze keys, one of them them looks as old as the two hundred year old house, and a Spanish tour. Many of the buildings here are from the 19th century due to the meat export boom in the economy at that time. We walked up a flight of dusty marble stairs to the main living area (the first floor is another apartment). There are five bedrooms (with what looks like original wooden floors) encircling a small living area with a couch and a chair, and two more doorways leading to two small bathrooms and a small half kitchen. When I say small, I mean smaller than notoriously European small. I mean I have to squeegee the bathroom after my shower. Then, we took another flight of stairs to the other half kitchen. Lastly, we climbed one more wooden flight of stairs ( more like a ladder because you have to face it whether you’re going up or down) to the roof which is perfect for tanning and has a view of the river. My landlord left and I got to meet my roommates, three from Germany, one from Spain, two studying medicine, two studying political economy. All of them like to party.

I texted my contact, Manual, also a music student who my grandfather’s friend, a concert pianist named Enrique Graf, also set me up with. Manual was at my door shortly and he gave me a walking tour of our neighborhood and talked about life. I found out Manual also wants to compose for films and he hopes to attend University of Miami next year to study composition. We took a bus to the main street of downtown Montevideo for about $1.00 and checked out five music stores comparing prices of keyboards (I found the best price at a rocker store specializing in guitars.) We went through several squares, including the main square, Plaza Independencia, with a larger than life statue in the middle of Che Guavara, the hero responsible for so many beneficial social reforms throughout Latin America. On the far corner is Teatro Solis. As we crossed the square towards the old city gates to the Old City and the Teatro Solis, Manuel pointed out the conductor of the theater’s philharmonic, looking like any other city goer with a blue striped button down and a backpack. We went inside Teatro Solis to pick up a season program and headed to the other large theater of the city about five blocks away, the very snazzy, 80′s, grand, Auditorio Nacional Adela Reta. Although they were closed, we walked right in and an attendant gave us a tour. We saw stage hands setting up for an a cappella show and she told us about an upcoming performance in memorial of the Armenian genocide (I’m beginning to notice an Armenian influence here in the cultural events and cuisine). Manuel took me to a free museum outside of the Old City gates where he told me there is a white piano we can play. I found out the museum was the house of colonists. The original decorations were maintained including two pianos and a harpsichord. Although the house sits in the heart of Montevideo, at the time it was built it sat in pasture land. We took a closer look at two birds bathing in the fountain of the small garden. Manual dipped his hand in the fountain and exclaimed “This water is potable. All of the water in this country is potable isn’t that amazing? It’s the only country in South America with completely potable water.” I do find that amazing.

Since there was a sign on the piano saying “NO TOCAR”, Manual just asked a woman working there if we could play the piano anyway and took turns showing off to each other. By the time we left, the sun was setting and we had been walking around for a few hours. Manual took me to a restaurant to try a traditional Uruguayan dish of shredded potatoes, vegetables, and eggs. I learned that the Uruguayan pronunciation of “Uruguayo” is “urd-oo-guay-sho” (like show). I find the “sh” sound more Portuguese than Spanish and I hypothesize that the word stems from the Brazilian influence. Brazil neighbors Uruguay to the north.

On the way to the bus stop to go home, we made a couple stops. One was a casino where I gambled for the first time although Manual had to tell me everything to do since all the buttons on the Phantom of the Opera slot machine were in Spanish. The other was an ice cream parlor where I tried a delicious Uruguayan flavor of ice cream with dulce de leche and chocolate wafers that taste like cocoa puffs. After five hours of walking I came home exhausted.

Although I was ready to go to sleep, I decided I should make friends with my new roommates by helping them make chile con carne for a “family” meal around the coffee table. “What language should we speak?” asked Julio since my Spanish is next to nill and so is Claudia’s English. “Espanol por favor.” I asked. In this style of immersion, my Spanish has already improved, especially since Spanish with a German accent is easier for me to understand. During dinner, my roommates invited me to a “Couch Surfers’ meeting”. My curiosity of this meeting was greater than my fatigue so out I went.

We walked three blocks to the couch surfers’ meeting. Although it was around 10pm, we were a bit early. We bought a couple beers to share (the most common local beer is Patricia and it comes in 1L bottles) and walked upstairs to see if we could find a meeting. The last group we asked was having a birthday party and we joined them! I don’t really know why this happened or why I agreed to this but one of the woman painted the Swiss colors on my face. The night, like Montevideo itself, was casually fun. 

-btw second time writing this, had no internet and deleted the first one…

We arrived Tuesday at LAX and I immediately ran into my Aunt and Uncle on their way to France for three weeks, ironically they had just got off the same flight as us. But as you’ll find out irony is starting to lose its effect, its got me thinking I have some ability to be at the right place at the right time.

My good friend Kory picked us up thirty minutes later. He’s originally from New Mexico but moved to California for surfing and marketing business with some modeling (I say surfing because down here it’s a trade in itself.). I know him through a mutual friend of ours, who ill talk about in a minute, and every since we met about 3 years ago, have always had a great time together.

We drove with him from the airport down to Newport stopping by a Costco to pick up some food for the week as well as handfuls of free samples. Driving down here would scare the Hell out of half of the drivers in Washington. Up there everyone drives in suspense that something is going to go wrong, but down here every one just does what ever they want so they made a few more lanes and decided to let everyone haul A** down the freeway. But K.’s got a V8 Chevy Tahoe, and I know you Greener’s will complain, but id rather be safe amidst the chaos than to lower my emissions.

And by the way, we’re carpooling. We got to the secret surf shack whose location will remain anonymous, laid out our stuff, breathed out, arrival: Check.

We surfed twice in twenty four hours, listened to a band play at a restaurant, Packed our recording gear and went back up to in to LA to stay with my childhood best friend where we have been for the past four days. He is a producer that started writing and recording his own music when he was thirteen. He has been on X-Factor and his bedroom-produced-version of their audition song Sunset Blvd sold over 100,000 copies on iTunes.

Him and his brother Wes and their roommate Tyler share a house that sits in West Hills with an amazing balcony to watch the sunset (I’m gonna put a picture right here of it). It is a always full of pop artists, fan girls, and social media celebrities working on music or videos or sitting around smoking hookah. The first afternoon we met a singer/songwriter named Spencer who had an amazing voice. He would have a final take in his first three takes, and his vocal rolls unbelievable. We got to watch Keaton do his work and how the creative process is approached in the pop genre.

Although Pop isn’t my favorite genre there is always so much you can learn in the studio from every single person in there. What I’m learning about how these artists draw inspiration is from all the things we used to listen to when we were naïve and just liked a kind of music or didn’t. When people really let go and let the music resonate with them, out comes these old styles and things you can hear from previous inspirers.

I can really start to feel the momentum now, and I love how much surfing has taught me about music and the process to building success.  So much is based just on whether or not you can continue to paddle out, but if you do every time you’ll see progress.  Just like in surfing you get thrown around in the waves to become comfortable enough with where you’re at, and with the music business it’s going to be the same way. But if I can continue to take the right steps, the way I manage those moments of chaos will make all the difference.

We have been reading All You Need to Know About the Music Business by Donald S. Passman and it’s ironic (again) that everyone we were meeting at Keaton’s place had been told by those in the industry to read that book. Its been very influential in helping me to see where I want to go with the brand that I am and the way I want to handle my business, especially in the “How to Build a Team” chapter. There are strong talented people that I choose to surround myself with, people with creative souls and lots to teach me. It’s important to keep these people around and be apart of what they do and have them be apart of what I do. This is really much bigger than I could have imagined, but all the pieces have continued to come together and I thank the people who got me here.

We are back Kory’s place enjoying a sunny April twentieth enjoying our veggies and waiting for the wind to die down a bit to go surf. Expect some posts of music we have been working on as well as a possible video or two down the road. …things are in motion…

“A continuous mosaic of distinctive districts”

In this is a quote from Image Of The City Lynch is describing Boston and its many small districts that lie very close together. Although this is true for Boston it appears to be merely coincidental and doesn’t apply to the entire city. In Barcelona the districts are smaller and there are more of them. They all abut each other geographically and leave no space in between for a person to feel like they are “in the middle of nowhere”. In each district one will find what feels like many small villages. Within those villages one will find intimate little settings to feel at home. Nearly every building abuts a public square and at any time of day one can find people meeting there for myriad reasons. This is a stark contrasts to what I know from American cities which generally have one large park and all other places where one might want to see a public space is instead occupied by privately owned buildings and plazas where meeting or simply relaxing is a crime called “loitering”.

This mosaic metaphor works so well for Barcelona. If Barcelona were a mosaic I think that it would be one of fractal like repetition. One where the micro mirrors the macro and vice versa. One where in each piece, the whole is reflected.. In Barcelona one can feel the sense of the plaza in which the tapas bar resides within the tapas bar itself. One can feel a sense of the district in which the plaza resides within the plaza itself. And finally, one can feel a sense of the city in its districts, each representative of a characteristic feature of the city.
For example, in La Ribera, where I am staying, is home to most of the oldest architecture in city which is mostly medieval. This may come as a surprise because the oldest buildings in the city are over 2000 years old but in 985 most of the city was destroyed by Muslims that had been attacking the city consistently since it was taken from them by Christians in 801. Where I am staying was one of the earliest parts of the city to be rebuilt. In its medieval infancy, La Ribera was host to events such as jousting and witch burnings, the locations of which are marked and treated as tourist destinations. That being said, La Ribera is located just east of El Barrio Gotico and has considerably less tourists than any other part of the city. It represents a stronghold that locals have on culture and identity throughout Barcelona that can not be washed away even by heavy tourism and non-spanish “europeanization”.

La Ribera is one of the most culturally significant districts to both Catalan and Spanish people in Barcelona. And this quality of the district is no more clearly represented within itself than in Fossar de les Moreres. It is home to the site of the most celebrated events in Catalan history, the massacre and subsequent mass burial of hundreds of Catalan people who were protecting the city from the french. It was about two in the morning when I learned this from an extremely drunk Catalan couple that insisted on using the very little English they know say this to me, “Catalan people, we only people who celebrar loses. Other people, only celebrar good. We celebrar bad.” The plaza where the massacre took place is marked with a commemorative sculpture, a 25 foot tall bowed structure with a large flame burning on top that never goes out. On it is inscribed a poem,

Al fossar de les

moreres not

s’hi Enterra

traitor cap, fins

perdent

nostres

Banderes Sera

l’l’urn honor

or in enlgish

In the Pit of the

mulberry trees

no traitor in

not burried

until losing our

flags will be

the urn of honor

De Botton says “journeys are the midwives of thought”. A fitting metaphor describing the way in which journeys provoke ideas. What it is about this metaphor that is truly fitting is that two sides of the truth are illuminated. What one immediately sees in this statement is hope, a claim that journey will encourage the traveler to grow. But when considered along with all of its implications, this metaphor comes with as a warning. The journey does not do the thinking for you, it only helps you along the way. For even when a mother is assisted by the best of midwives a baby may yet be still born. This outcome may be the consequence of uncontrollable circumstances or that of simple negligence. Regardless, the metaphor holds true; a journey can bring fourth a flood of ideas, intellect, and inspiration… or it may not. Sometimes that “not” will be the consequence of circumstance and sometimes the traveler them self is honestly at fault for not opening themselves up to the inspiration that one can receive from a journey. De Botton also makes it clear in his section “On Anticipation” that journey alone is not the only factor at play here. It is ones experiences prior to the trip that shapes much of how they are affected by the journey.

Take, for example, the story of Duc de Essientes. Essientes has his mind changed wildly by his journey and this change in mind, this form of thought new to him, is so heavily due to his experiences before his journey. We see a man who lives in seclusion become so inspired by the writings of Emily Dickinson to experience england that he accidentally does so before even making it there. It was Dickinson’s descriptions of British life that allowed Essientes to see his homeland through new eyes. Essientes’ journey, though short lived and not far reaching, seems to have been a life changing one. If nothing else, he has been made happier by his experiences.

It is soon after that, in the sixth section of part one, that de Botton describes a negative traveling experience that he had had. He craftily describes the beauty of the place he was visiting just to continue on to explain how it was all lost on him. A combination of circumstance and negligence led to his dissatisfaction and anxiety. The circumstance being a sore throat and the negligence being his failure to leave the stresses of life at home.

In many cases I have found myself filled to the brim with ideas during travel. One example that stands out in my mind is the first time I visited Barcelona. Before I left I gained an interest in a particular subset of digital art called Glitch Art. I researched artists and spent a good deal of time appreciating the art form. Creating this sort of art was not something that I was considering or even feeling compelled to do. In fact, I wasn’t feeling compelled to be creative in any way and I hadn’t for a number of years. Journeying to Barcelona sparked my creative impulse; the do-it-yourself nature of the city, the magnanimous organization, the bolstering of humanity. It was these things that thrust me into thought. It was these elements of the city that inspired me. After that trip I began to approach art with a new found sense of responsibility. Now feel that it is my duty to create in order to continue to generate change in the world.

There have been other journeys on which I have found nothing. At the age of nine my father took me to his homeland, England. We visited some of the most beautiful parts of the country and I met lots of people that were very important to my father. I was offered an experience that could have changed my life and I, in effect, turned it down. I was a very sad and emotionally distraught child. Nearly everything caused me a great deal of anxiety and because of that I harbored a deep hatred for everything including myself. I brought this immature hatred with me on my journey and I blinded myself to anything that may have changed my outlook.

I feel that everything one could learn from all of this is incredibly cliché and could be stated in a series of prescribed statements. Thats not to say that it is not of value, for it surely is. It is simply to say that what there is to learn from this is simple. To get the most out of journey one must be present in the moment. They must show up with themselves ready to experience that moment. And even then, when one is putting forward an honest effort to experience that moment, a sad truth explained in the metaphor, “Journeys are the midwives of thought,” may come to fruition and mere coincidence may hamper any possibility of emotional or intellectual growth.

The El Bar and venue is located under the Light Rail less than a mile from my house. It’s considered a local “Dive” spot. The El shows music almost overnight.

On April 11th, they featured a Four Local Philadelphia bands, Harsh Vibes, Ttotals, Natural Velvet, and Dulls.

 

 

 

This is the first band that played, Harsh Vibes.

I was unable to talk to any of the members of Harsh Vibes, and I have been unable to find much information about the band. However, I enjoyed their music. They were a mix between Shoe Gaze, Psycadelic, and Indie Rock.

The second band, Ttotals, are a national contempory blues/rock band from Nashville, Tennessee.

 

 

 

 

 

 

They are signed to Twin Lakes records. Here is what Twin Lakes records had to say about the Ttotals sound…

“Nashville’s outer blues duo Ttotals are back, creating dark, brooding twisters of sound, downing power lines with leagues-deep drums and haunting vocals, scorched-earth guitars, and flashes of sampled electronics…a careening vortex performing a muddy dance stomp along the Mississippi Delta as it flings the blues up to the heavens. ”

Here is an example of their music:

The third band called themselves, “Natural Velvet.” They are from Baltimore Maryland

 

 

 

 

 

 

They sounded like a punk rock band that decided to play indie music instead. According to their Bandcamp site, they identify with a “Dazed Post Punk band.
During their perfomance, a lot of people left the stage area to use the restroom, buy a beer or smoke outside. Their crowd response wasn’t that great. Although they didn’t appeal to the Fishtown crowd, they played a song titled “Salome.” The following is a DIY video with the comment underneath,””Salome” video from the EP “Salome With The Head of John The Baptist” by Natural Velvet.” It became apparent that they were influenced by music of the second Vienese School. Here is the Video:

The last band to play were called “Dulls.” I have researched high and low for information about this band and I can’t find a single thing about them. They were a really intense punk rock band that received the biggest crowd response. Not a single person stood at the bar. Everyone was on the main floor moshing, jumping on and off the stage, and dancing. I wish that I could find something about the band because I enjoyed their performance.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

On April 14th, my roommate and I were talking about the local neighborhoods and the history behind the area. Tim brought up a historical hotel located at
699 North Broad Street, Philadelphia, PA 19123 (2.6 miles from my house in Fishtown.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

When we arrived, it was late at night. The building has been abandoned since 1999. The building wasn’t guarded by any fences. People born in Philadelphia often regard their unlawful trespassing into The Divine Lorraine as a rite of passage

According to Philadelphia Weekly’s article “One woman’s big dream to reinvent the Divine Lorraine—and Philly’s art scene,” “there are 1,390 Instagram posts tagged #divinelorraine; 488 tagged #divinelorrainehotel—most images are taken in a style of photography called “ruin porn”: (which are) images of abandoned or decomposed places that are sort of beautiful in their own way. That’s largely what the Divine Lorraine has become: a luxury apartment turned progressive-minded hotel turned architectural zombie standing ten stories above many of the apartment buildings in the lower end of North Philly where Fairmount Avenue meets Broad Street.”

Here are a few examples of Ruin Porn taken inside the Divine Lorraine-

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Rhttp://www.philadelphiaweekly.com/news-and-opinion/covead more: er-story/Divine-Lorraine-254435611.html#ixzz3XhfWa35B

Early History-

Both the location of the building and the architecture itself reflect the changes that were occurring rapidly in the city of Philadelphia and in the country at the time. North Philadelphia of the 1880s attracted many of the city’s nouveau-riche, those individuals who became wealthy as a result of the industrial revolution. The Lorraine was a place of luxurious living, providing apartments with new amenities such as electricity. In addition, the building boasted its own staff, eliminating the need for residents to have private servants. There was also a central kitchen from which meals were delivered to residents.

The Lorraine Apartments were also an architectural feat. Prior to this period, the majority of Philadelphia’s buildings were low rise, generally being no more than three or four stories tall. Not only were construction materials and techniques not capable of supporting taller buildings, but the inconvenience of the many flights of stairs to get to higher floors in the absence of an elevator was significant.

The Lorraine, at ten stories tall, was one of the first high-rise apartment buildings in the city. The building’s architect, Willis G. Hale, also designed an earlier high-rise apartment building at 22nd and Chestnut Streets, which stood from 1889 until its demolition in 1945. Hale designed many other buildings around the city, but quickly fell out of favor at the turn of the century when most patrons rejected his highly stylized Victorian designs for the sleeker style of modern skyscrapers, and most of his landmarks had been torn down after the Great Depression.

Father Divine and the Universal Peace Mission Movement

In 1948, the building was sold to Father Divine (Reverend Major Jealous Divine) for $485,000. Father Divine was the leader of the Universal Peace Mission Movement. After purchasing the building, Father Divine renamed it the Divine Lorraine Hotel. His hotel was the first of its class in Philadelphia, or indeed in the United States, to be fully racially integrated.The Divine Lorraine was open to all races and religions, men and women who were willing to follow the rules of the movement. Among others, the rules included no smoking, no drinking, no profanity, and no undue mixing of the sexes, with men and women residing on different floors of the building. Additionally, guests and residents were expected to uphold a certain level of modesty, meaning that women were expected to wear long skirts – pants were not allowed. Believing that all people were equal in the sight of God, Father Divine was involved in many social welfare activities as well. For example, after purchasing the hotel, several parts of it were transformed for public use. The 10th-floor auditorium was converted to a place of worship. The movement also opened the kitchen on the first floor as a public dining room where persons from the community were able to purchase and eat low-cost meals for 25 cents.

The Divine Lorraine received a historical marker from the Pennsylvania Historical and Museum Commission in 1994 and was listed on the National Register of Historic Places in 2002 as a site significant in terms of both architectural and civil rights history.

Abandonment

The building was closed in 1999 and sold in 2000 by the International Peace Mission. In May 2006 it was resold to Lorraine Hotel LP. to be converted into apartments. Development never come to fruition but furnishings were sold while floors, paneling, and other architectural items were removed by salvage companies.As of 2015 the building remains a hollow shell, covered with graffiti, with windows boarded up or open to the weather.

The Universal Peace Mission Movement still exists in the form of a network of independent churches, businesses, and religious orders. Its followers operated another hotel, the Divine Tracy in West Philadelphia, but the building also was sold. It is now The Axis Apartments.

The property was transferred to developer Eric Blumenfeld in October 2012 at the city’s monthly Sheriff’s sale. He was the sole bidder for the empty hotel at 699 N. Broad Street. Blumenfeld gained control of the site in a two-step process: first, for an undisclosed price, he paid an outstanding note on the property from the New York-based Amalgamated Bank. Then he paid off city taxes and other liens. The value of both the mortgage and liens was $8,054,104.39.”- Wikipedia.

I found a really great video of a drone flying of the the abandoned “Divine Lorraine.”

Click here to view the embedded video.

 

 

 

Here follows the account of the coming of Gwynne of the Isle to the West, who consolidated the Sunset Lands into a unified Kingdom and was sainted after his death to become Agin, the Realmwright. — From the Fyddic annals of Hroekfyde, penned c. 38 AL

            Before the rule of Gwynne the Conqueror, the frontier lands of El-Shorrai were in chaos. Try as it might, the dying eastern empire had ultimately failed to keep its hold on the recently discovered new landmass, where dozens of men now called themselves “King.” These kings were a petty lot of grasping tyrants, using both their serfs and the natives of the land as fodder, seeking to solidify their claim to the new world and its untapped wealth of resources. When Gwynne came from the East and landed his ships at the Firth of Fyde, they fought hard against him and his leal knights’ attempts to bring order to the land. But they were as disorganized as they were dissolute, and they could not prevent the invaders from securing a foothold on the mainland, sailing up a tributary of the River Fyde and building a small motte-and-bailey ringfort as a bulwark against counterattacks, the aptly named “Gwynnfort.” He combined his forces with King Burm II of Norbury, who became his staunchest ally. It is believed by many that it was Burm himself who encouraged Gwynne to come West, to bring some semblance of control to the lawless new world.

The land reeled from the repercussions of the new arrival, and the local kings and lords conspired and bickered amongst themselves, unable to agree on a course of action to deal with the threat.  Gwynne sent envoys to the neighboring colonies, demanding that each send a representative to Norbury to acknowledge his new kingdom and his right to rule. ”Queen” Ariatra of Alva proposed marriage and alliance if Gwynne would choose her son Darren as his heir, and Lord Wullen of Weoford declared that he would aid Gwynne in battle against his enemies, but would not yield. Gwynne rejected both of these offers, and none of the other rulers were willing to submit.

Gwynne moved quickly to the attack; with nearly two thousand infantry and four hundred mounted knights he had more military forces than any one of his individual foes. He fell upon the river lowlands with his knights while King Burm struck in the North. One by one the rival Kings fell in battle, swore fealty willingly, or were killed by their own councilors. The last of the petty Kings to fall was Ulmacht of Ystradell, known as the Storm King, who bent his knee to Gwynne on the Hill of Mora after two days of fighting in torrential rains. This day is remembered as the official end date of the War of Conquest, which lasted only eight months from the day of Gwynne’s landing.

After the fighting was done, Gwynne returned swiftly North to his hidden fastness of Norbury and began making plans with his allies to consolidate his power and establish a seat from which to rule. In a prudent move, he decided to allow freedom of religion in his new Kingdom, which won him approval from much of the native population with their queer pagan gods.  Almost all of the peasantry liberated by Gwynne conquest came to him willingly. Their treatment at the hands of their previous lords had made them wary, but Gwynne was possessed of a powerful presence, commanding and charismatic. Word spread quickly of the nobility and honor of their liberator, no doubt perpetuated by his own allies. Several other lords submitted to Gwynne’s rule now, and many villages and holds were assimilated into the new Kingdom without much fuss. A few still resisted, and Gwynne’s new vassals were delighted to demonstrate their loyalty by laying siege to or burning their forts, or in the case of Castle Rookmoor, sending a single assassin through a postern gate to who killed Lord Feredach and hung his headless corpse from his own balcony before being killed himself while escaping.

The King’s coronation took place in the Gwynnfort late that year, as the days grew shorter and darker. He was crowned in front of all his lords by the High Shaman of Ayenwatha, a respected Wise Woman of the native tribes, a decision intended to show respect to the native beliefs but which some of his officers questioned. He took the titles of several of his fallen foes, styling himself as “King Gwynne Cartholan I, Monarch of Fyde and Strathgollen, Chieftain of Firth and Dale, Storm King of the River lands, and the Shield of his People.”

The day of his coronation was declared the start of a new era, and saw the implementation of a new epoch; it was the year O AL, with the start of the New Year subsequently falling on the anniversary of Gwynne’s landing on El-Shorrai. Lastly, he delegated authority to several loyal followers, declaring them his “High Lords” and giving them titles and holdings of their own. Gwynne and his knights planned to wait out the winter in the Gwynnfort, though hundreds of the peasantry would be dead from the cold by spring, Gwynne’s resolve remained strong.

Gwynne’s troubles were far from over. Relations with the natives began to sour after multiple incidents where conscripted soldiers torched their villages and raped their women, despite the swift justice dealt to the outlaws by the King. Bands of hardened Northmen wearing fur cloaks came down from the icy wastes to the North, unafraid of the cold, emboldened by tales of turmoil and uncertainty in the lowlands, and seeking to take what lands they could by force. They harassed the northern periphery of the fledgling Kingdom through the winter, until Gwynne sent his most leal knight Ser Baldric north with many warriors to deal with the threat. Ser Baldric slew their leader in single combat, temporarily routing the attackers.

As the snows melted in the lowlands, Gwynne ordered the construction of a large stone and wood castle on a promontory overlooking the junction of the River Fyde and the River Gollen. He named the castle Hroekfyde and set it as the capitol of his new country. He commanded his ships to sail East and return with more ships, and colonists to fill them. After word of Gwynne’s impressive deeds reached East across the Great Atlean Sea, this year became known as the “Spring of the Sunset Kingdom,” and even as the new realm began to prosper, secret and powerful factions in the Old Empire had their sights set on the West, and were plotting in secret to supplant the “pretender king” and his vainglorious audacity.

To be continued…