An opera house is a theatre building used for opera performances that consists of a stage, an orchestra pit, audience seating, and backstage facilities for costumes and set building. While some venues are constructed specifically for operas, other opera houses are part of larger performing arts centers.
The first public opera house was the Teatro San Cassiano in Venice, Italy, which opened in 1637. Italy, where opera has been popular through the centuries among ordinary people as well as wealthy patrons, still has a large number of opera houses. When Henry Purcell was composing, there was no opera house in London. The first opera house in Germany was built in Hamburg in 1678. Early U.S. opera houses served a variety of functions in towns and cities, hosting community dances, fairs, plays, and vaudeville shows as well as operas and other musical events.
In the 17th and 18th centuries, opera houses were often financed by rulers, nobles, and wealthy people who used patronage of the arts to endorse their political ambitions and social positions or prestige. With the rise of bourgeois and capitalist social forms in the 19th century, European culture moved away from its patronage system to a publicly supported system. In the 2000s, most opera and theaters raise funds from a combination of government and institutional grants, ticket sales and, to a smaller extent, private donations.
Zaha Hadid, CBE (Arabic: زها حديد Zahā Ḥadīd; born 31 October 1950) is an Iraqi-British architect and winner of the Pritzker Architecture Prize in 2004.
Hadid was born in 1950 in Baghdad, Iraq. She received a degree in mathematics from the American University of Beirut before moving to study at the Architectural Association School of Architecture in London.
After graduating she worked with her former teachers, Rem Koolhaas and Elia Zenghelis at the Office for Metropolitan Architecture, becoming a partner in 1977. It was with Koolhaas that she met the engineer Peter Rice who gave her support and encouragement early on, at a time when her work seemed difficult to build. In 1980 she established her own London-based practice. During the 1980s she also taught at the Architectural Association. She has also taught at prestigious institutions around the world; she held the Kenzo Tange Chair at the Graduate School of Design, Harvard University, the Sullivan Chair at the University of Illinois at Chicago School of Architecture, guest professorships at the Hochschule für bildende Künste Hamburg, the Knowlton School of Architecture, at The Ohio State University, the Masters Studio at Columbia University, New York and the Eero Saarinen Visiting Professor of Architectural Design at the Yale School of Architecture in New Haven, Connecticut. In addition, she was made Honorary Member of the American Academy of Arts and Letters and an Honorary Fellow of the American Institute of Architects. She has been on the Board of Trustees of The Architecture Foundation. She is currently Professor at the University of Applied Arts Vienna in Austria.
Don Quixote ( /ˌdɒn kiːˈhoʊtiː/; Spanish: [ˈdoŋ kiˈxote] ( listen)), fully titled The Ingenious Gentleman Don Quixote of La Mancha (Spanish: El ingenioso hidalgo don Quixote de la Mancha), is a novel written by Miguel de Cervantes. The novel follows the adventures of Alonso Quijano, who reads too many chivalric novels, and sets out to revive chivalry under the name of Don Quixote. He recruits a simple farmer, Sancho Panza, as his squire, who frequently deals with Don Quixote's rhetorical orations on antiquated knighthood with a unique Earthy wit. He is met by the world as it is, initiating themes like Intertextuality, Realism, Metatheatre and Literary Representation.
Published in two volumes a decade apart, in 1605 and 1615, Don Quixote is considered the most influential work of literature from the Spanish Golden Age and the entire Spanish literary canon. As a founding work of modern Western literature, and one of the earliest canonical novels, it regularly appears high on lists of the greatest works of fiction ever published. In one such list, Don Quixote was cited as the "best literary work ever written".
Joe Bonamassa (born May 8, 1977) is an American blues rock guitarist and singer. He began his career playing guitar in the band Bloodline, which featured the offspring of several famous musicians (such as Miles Davis, Robby Krieger and Berry Oakley of The Allman Brothers Band). He released his first solo album A New Day Yesterday in 2000, and has since released nine more solo studio albums, four live albums and three live DVDs, along with two albums with the band Black Country Communion and one album in collaboration with vocalist Beth Hart. He tours the world regularly, and has developed a large following in the U.K. especially. His most recent album, Driving Towards The Daylight, reached #2 on the U.K. Top 40 Albums Chart, and he completed an arena tour there in 2012. In 2009 he was the recipient of the Classic Rock Magazine "Breakthrough Artist of the Year" award, and The Guardian said of him: "the 32-year-old from upstate New York has consolidated a reputation as the pre-eminent blues-rock guitarist of his generation".
Bound by fear, you’re weak, cannot survive, Respect me,
your god, of blinded eyes, pray, Kneel and wait, give
faith, in vacant pews, speak to god, a god, that can’t
hear you. Hand it all, over, in charge of things, never
once think about, who’s pulling strings. One foot
forward, raise that boot, in the air, Bring it down with,
disgust, and a lack of care. Crush the puny, no regrets,
head held high. Expunge the weak, drop them all, without
despair. Brutality, Cruelty, Embrace the demon. Smite
them two times for their malice, vacate their pews. Spite
them two times, as your credence, They’re one less
without you. They spite you, never let them smite you, Go
take that golden rule and plead with your deity, go take
that logic and milk it for sympathy. As the Shepherd
Watch the life fade from your eyes in the pale moonlight,
Now they’ve found just what they strived for, walked
right into your demise, Up in the sky there’s a Raven
who’s eyes see your every move, as your teeth clench you
lose. Communicating your life to the wolf pack that
hides, anticipating the time, where your restrain is
contrived. Mind the wolf bird, it has the ability to see
through you and me. Mind the Raven, wings a-spread wide
it helps our pack feed. Bring the beast down, down to the
fucking ground. Time has come to die. Don’t go walking in
the forest; they fly above to warn the others. Can’t find
refuge from the Ravenous, Can’t eat, can’t sleep, they
hear your heart beating. They feed off the carcasses to
survive, Sheering off tendons for which they thrive. Like
vultures, the ravens they wait their turn to pick from
the cadaver for which they yearn. Your time to die, Call
out your time to die. Yell out your time to die. Scream
out your time to die, Howl out your time to die, So on
and on, and on the cycle goes. Ripped apart, still alive,
letting go, Bled out, as they rip and tear skin. Shoving
their snouts through your intestines. Ground coloured red
as you ooze on the snow. Sounds getting fainter as you
go. Panic and shock are about to set in, as the quadruped
consumes you through razor blade grin. Writhing. The
somberness of spruce and green; Ripped apart with no one
to hear you scream, wishing it was all just a dream. The
Evoke evil, Haunting the mind’s eye, black as the night’s
sky, Pale in the moonlight, dancing by flicker light,
Grave stones answer calls, of what we’ve known all along,
Rain drops streaming down, cast iron all around, Torments
she creates, Tortured by her hate, The rape when she was
small, has left her hollow Carnival clown tattered and
bound. Scarlet, Rapture. Scarlet’s why his life is
ruined, Rapture falls asleep in his arms, Scarlet plagues
the morning star, Scarlet, Crawl with me, you do, Cum
with me, hate you, but fuck you. Look up to see who does
these things I do to you. Come with me n’ die, like a fly
to the light. Come with me high, come to cemetery to die,
Suddenly in half-sleep
Shifting from awake into dreams
Silently comes to me
An eternal unravelling
A deafening roar fills my skull
I'm losing myself in it all
I'm losing myself in it all
Psychical
Shattering
Lightning strikes behind my eyes searing
Voices echo deep in my skull
Body lifts only to slump down again
Swiftly, in the dark of my mind
The eye appears swallowing my vision
Piercing gaze keeps me cold and still
Paralysis explodes my memory
Flashing memories once forgotten
Peering into oblivion
Oblivion
Time will cease
Peering into oblivion
Oblivion
Silent screams in
False reality
Senses overwhelmed by the unfamiliar
To die, no longer a right
Shock is not enough
To bring me back to the light
I'm losing myself in it all
Voices echo deep in my skull
Swiftly in the dark of my mind
Piercing gaze keeps me cold and still
Flashing memories once forgotten
Peering into oblivion
Oblivion
Time will cease
Suddenly in half-sleep
Shifting from awake into dreams
Silently, comes to me
An eternal unravelling
I'm losing myself in it all
I'm losing myself in it all
Left to clot, my still-blood that tight spot, inside rot,
painted words, all filled with lies. Cold Breath of
death, dressed up in bags. Watered down. Wandered alone.
Tied to skulls with regret, benign matter. Died, the
soul, day we met, plastic shattered. Wants to feast on
every soul, be her own death every day. Screams for mercy
and control, breath wreaks of sex and decay. Feasts on
still blood, lips dusty and grey. She’s our little
secret, decomposing every day. Blast at night, carnal
rights, danced till high, opened thighs, Funeral light,
pale dead eyes. Laid out open for business. She has
tricks, god as her witness. Imagine the possibilities,
Lifeless and willing to please. Left to clot, my still-
blood. That tight spot, inside rot. Blinded eyes. Goose
bumps, we’ll never get you, but bent over the toilet,
she’ll let you writhe. Cum into death’s eyes, we serve
What law holds? Moral and political sodomy. Why can’t
your law control you? Why do you pass off blame as
dignity? You’ve got your law to cure you. What happened
to personal accountability? Why? To wreck and fry you?
Bygones have stood and will repudiate. Lies; guile
tomorrow. Go to bed son go to bed with amphetamines
Nestled in the dark, nestled in the dark, nestled up, in
the dark. If I gut you, and I feel you? If I gut you
everyway, everyday? If I gut you, and I feel you? If I
cut you everyday, everyway? If I gut you, why don’t you
bleed for me? But they gut you with “high” morals. They
gut you with perjury, and “typos”. They gutted you with
all that oil. Lies! Low! Pure sodomy, lies, pours salt on
it. Bull! Hyperbole! Breathe hope through dishonesty.
Wreak Guile, and twisted fallacy. Total sovereignty. Lies
all, and mendacity, lies all over me, Lies, salt
croissant with tea; naked, cranked on fear. Lies, all
Don’t know what I am feeling. Don’t know the
“truth”.Don’t know what’s worth regretting. Don’t know
what else to do. Don’t know what I am after. Don’t want
to continue. Don’t know why it has come to this. Can’t
remember the last time I felt. You’re never ending.
You’re never preset. You’re in this for you. You don’t
get through. You’re what they speak of. You’re just what
they warned about. You’re the catalyst. You’re why I
swiftly fall. You’re the wind now. The muse of my sweet
demise. My lifeless worth, filled with pain and regret.
Failed but tried so hard. Lie timeless beneath you.
Confusing glares of resentment. Forsake your resigned
contentment. Blind. It falls on me right? Martyred
flight. Breeze feels so good tonight. As I fly. Shame’s
on me. The fall sets me free. Follow me down. Between the
Bound me down, tight, right. The stars don’t align its
your sickness. The synapses slumping like afterbirth.
Stringing along the sequestered light. Left in your wake
just macabre stench of pain Indignant. Cut me first,
bleed me first, lick me first, suck me first Choke me
first, gut me first, rot me first, eat me first. Touch me
first, drain me first. In line. Every time I see your
eyes, They’re looking down. Down, to see blood on the
ground Indulge in the blood on the ground, Bliss with the
blood on the ground. Fuck in the blood on the ground.
Down, good to see blood on the ground. Soak in the blood
on the ground, Dance with the blood on the ground. Revel
in blood on the ground. Down, nothing about me is pretty,
glistening bloody convulsing. Abandoned the new
Sat down, lied to, fucked up again. Child’s mind, naive,
pick’s up the signals we send, fill the brain, program,
all our fear. Sociopathic child that we reared. Dig down,
deep down, repressed. Dig down, deep down, contempt. Dig
down, deep down, profile is grandiose. Beautiful, but
frail, the peddles of this rose. Exercises despotic
control over every aspect of the victim's life, emotional
need to justify his crimes therefore he, “I don’t feel
your righteous in me”. The core. Anti-social. Falling
down. Down to the ground, delinquent soul drowned. Most
aberrant architecture we’ve ever found. Failed, frail,
deceit for pleasure. Messed around, paranoid today. My
time’s the judge, mess around the thoughts, my time’s
today, Messed around, enslaved in their way. I don’t feel
your righteous in me. The core, anti-social. Hand wounds
while masturbating. Failed, frail, deceit for pleasure.
Doesn’t suit the cost, does the ditzy boss, grows like
moss. Dealing with the law, and the clothes were gone,
ditched and lost. Chasing, traitors with lack of empathic
nature. Chasing, traitors with lack of moderation. Raw