Ranking Alexa Global: # 3,778,270,Alexa Ranking in India is # 191,641
Server:GSE...
The main IP address: 216.239.32.21,Your server United States,Mountain View ISP:Google Inc. TLD:com CountryCode:US
The description :a coming-of-age lifestyle blog of one girl finding her feet in the city, and trying to live remarkably along the way....
This report updates in 26-Nov-2018
Created Date: | 2012-12-27 |
Changed Date: | 2018-12-20 |
Geo IP provides you such as latitude, longitude and ISP (Internet Service Provider) etc. informations. Our GeoIP service found where is host scarphelia.com. Currently, hosted in United States and its service provider is Google Inc. .
Latitude: | 37.405990600586 |
Longitude: | -122.07851409912 |
Country: | United States (US) |
City: | Mountain View |
Region: | California |
ISP: | Google Inc. |
HTTP Header information is a part of HTTP protocol that a user's browser sends to called GSE containing the details of what the browser wants and will accept back from the web server.
Content-Length: | 31128 |
X-XSS-Protection: | 1; mode=block |
X-Content-Type-Options: | nosniff |
Content-Encoding: | gzip |
Expires: | Mon, 26 Nov 2018 05:40:11 GMT |
Server: | GSE |
Last-Modified: | Mon, 26 Nov 2018 05:37:53 GMT |
ETag: | W/"8fe12bab85b98d3d9287483448d8894fdd0c8dbd991d8a483b6a52e18c476b7e" |
Cache-Control: | private, max-age=0 |
Date: | Mon, 26 Nov 2018 05:40:11 GMT |
Content-Type: | text/html; charset=UTF-8 |
soa: | ns37.domaincontrol.com. dns.jomax.net. 2016050400 28800 7200 604800 3600 |
ns: | ns38.domaincontrol.com. ns37.domaincontrol.com. |
ipv4: | IP:216.239.32.21 ASN:15169 OWNER:GOOGLE - Google LLC, US Country:US IP:216.239.34.21 ASN:15169 OWNER:GOOGLE - Google LLC, US Country:US IP:216.239.36.21 ASN:15169 OWNER:GOOGLE - Google LLC, US Country:US IP:216.239.38.21 ASN:15169 OWNER:GOOGLE - Google LLC, US Country:US |
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pages home about music instagram: thursday, 29 march 2018 world, i'd like you to meet sit down on trading for sit down, and the story behind our debut ep: 'cheap luxe' it'd been a month since we'd returned from the fateful summer in new york city, i was sitting in the coffee shop in brighton where greg had just got a job, and everything felt like hell. through my headphones, i listened to the demo he'd recorded the night before, a screeching guitar and thundering drum beat that told me more than he ever could put into words. he felt it too. i pulled out a notepad and pen and scrawled a few lines in time with the track: my hair's a fucking mess and doesn't even look good. i'm so fucking hungry i don't have any food. when nothing i do matters, all is wrong with the world, i'm an angry, motherfucking angry girl. it was the first song we wrote as the band we called sit down , a name we chose because we wanted something angry and punchy and didactic; sit down, shut up and listen to this. we were young, passionate and broke, and so desperately furious at so many things. during our time in new york we'd slipped from the matrix, turning on the idyllic world we'd always known, only to realised how deeply fucked it all was. the clawing dissatisfaction that flowed through us swirled in a vortex of anger and a compelling need to do something about it. it was this raw energy that sparked a counter-cultural explosion in the 70's and feminist anarchy in the 90's. it was punk. and the only thing that could do justice to the fury was pure, unadulterated noise. continue reading post... » 29 comments : friday, 23 march 2018 the last scorned woman "i won't be the villain in your stories any more." i said, as the midnight waves crashed against the shore and we shivered in the moonlight, his arm draped over my stiff shoulders. it was strange how brutally cold it was, yet we were both somehow pretending it was worth it. "you were never the villain." he replied softly, gazing out across the dark swelling sea, as if he'd find the right words dancing along the horizon line. then he turned, his arctic eyes fixed upon mine, and i looked up at him expectantly. with the utmost sincerity he could muster, he looked at my lips and murmured; "more like the saviour." and with a cross between a snort and a choke, i burst out laughing in his stupid fucking face. and that's when i knew that i was free. continue reading post... » 22 comments : monday, 1 january 2018 the scars inside ourselves it’s the dead of winter, and still a surprise to run a thumb across my wrists and find grooves where the strings were once tied. my breath fogs against the icy glass, a storm between two panes, and as the familiar parts of me begin to ache and howl, i quiet them with a warmth and stillness of my own. something in me has healed, a once damaged light which only now fixed reveals the other wounds i didn’t know i had. it’s funny, isn’t it? how skin toughens into scar tissue, but only once it’s been destroyed. when i was younger, i was obsessed with the scar on my forehead. a thin white gash that extends into my hairline, from a childhood accident involving a glass door and an untied shoelace. at school, scabs and scars and broken bones were social currency, a way to prove how interesting you were, and how you had got here. and i displayed mine with pride, a jagged pearlescent trophy of my resilience and bravery, because here was healing you could prove. a neat story from start to finish, a memory immortalised with a permanent souvenir. but not all healing is as linear. i wonder how many of those other children were carrying the scars that could not be seen. i am a woman now, and i have collected many scars along the way. it pains me to credit man for any manner of my making, but there is a heaviness i carry that could’ve been forged by none other. i was raised by my mother, protected by my sister, and understood by my aunt, but only ever because men were either incapable, or worse, unwilling. while on the surface i grew older and wiser over the years, softer and kinder from the impact of brilliant women, what in fact forged my character was the scar tissue growing inside of me; bitter, blanched and tough from the claw marks men left on my soul. when i later began my path of self-discovery and the male indifference inevitably reversed, i became prey, vulnerable and completely exposed through my naive desire to excavate the reason why i was the way that i was. i began as we all do, ethereal and vague, with no defined edges or sharp corners, open to any and all things that could impact me. today i stand misshapen and tough, like a long-chewed piece of gum spat out by the world, warped from years of changing myself to be enough for the men that i have loved. but in my toughness is strength. that resilience and bravery that was foretold on my skin. and i have arrived, fully-formed and blossoming into that shape i have ended up being. because unlike the scar on my head or the proud injuries we displayed as children, sometimes we can learn how to undo the scars inside ourselves. and that is what i have come here to do. this silent year i killed the puppet master. i tugged at my own strings and the faceless man fell, stumbling on his own surprise. i didn’t know i could do it until i did. and i turned and looked up into the beady eyes of the man of all men and watched as my own thieved purity seeped from his fatal wound. then i dug the strings from their well-worn grooves and i stepped out into the cold alone. a woman who’d never again be controlled by man. the last scorned woman. i can’t promise i’ll do it right, but i promise i’ll do enough. 12 comments : monday, 6 february 2017 the final act of boy oh boy, have i had to think long and hard about how to start this. in fact, it’s taken me months from the moment i began typing this sentence to get to this point now - which if doesn’t say more about how much things have changed, i don’t know what does. perhaps a good place to start was when i woke up to that email informing me my blog domain was due to expire after it's 3-year lease, and the question: did i want to renew? or when i found an old film reel in my room, and on it, found photos from that day in summer i hadn't known would be the last time in this city that i’d ever feel alone. or most recently, when the man in the bar, who’d been staring at me in confusion for some moments finally approached - and i silently prayed he wasn't from one of those tinder messages i'd been ignoring all month - and he put his hand on my arm and he said my name, but not my name. because he asked me if i was , and it had been so long since i'd been asked that and it was so deeply unexpected, i wasn't sure i knew how to answer him. even now, when i experience things like this, the fresh memories instantly frame and polish themselves into a solid self-serving moment, before carting themselves off to that little treasure chest in my mind labelled 'content'. here lies countless little nuggets of profundity stored in my mental banks as a good opener for a piece i’ll never write, material for a post i’ll never birth into existence. bragging rights for a status i’ll now never update. maybe it's the storyteller in me, or perhaps it's the more sinister glutton for attention, but i still know when a moment becomes a moment - and the value it has once it fossilises into a story. and over the years i've become very good at testing the weight of these gemstones as they fall between my fingers, always knowing precisely the one to trade in at the right time for the highest reward. all those years, and i never thought to ask myself why i ever needed to feel rich in the first place. today as i write this, i can’t quite process how different my life is compared to just a few months ago. i think it goes without saying for the most of us, last year was truly awful. from the state of the world, to the death and loss wherever we look, to just our
http://www.scarphelia.com/2017/02/the-final-act-of-scarphelia.html#comment-form
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Whois is a protocol that is access to registering information. You can reach when the website was registered, when it will be expire, what is contact details of the site with the following informations. In a nutshell, it includes these informations;
Domain Name: SCARPHELIA.COM
Registry Domain ID: 1769085186_DOMAIN_COM-VRSN
Registrar WHOIS Server: whois.godaddy.com
Registrar URL: http://www.godaddy.com
Updated Date: 2018-12-20T03:22:40Z
Creation Date: 2012-12-27T03:25:30Z
Registry Expiry Date: 2019-12-27T03:25:30Z
Registrar: GoDaddy.com, LLC
Registrar IANA ID: 146
Registrar Abuse Contact Email: [email protected]
Registrar Abuse Contact Phone: 480-624-2505
Domain Status: clientDeleteProhibited https://icann.org/epp#clientDeleteProhibited
Domain Status: clientRenewProhibited https://icann.org/epp#clientRenewProhibited
Domain Status: clientTransferProhibited https://icann.org/epp#clientTransferProhibited
Domain Status: clientUpdateProhibited https://icann.org/epp#clientUpdateProhibited
Name Server: NS37.DOMAINCONTROL.COM
Name Server: NS38.DOMAINCONTROL.COM
DNSSEC: unsigned
URL of the ICANN Whois Inaccuracy Complaint Form: https://www.icann.org/wicf/
>>> Last update of whois database: 2019-08-12T15:43:06Z <<<
For more information on Whois status codes, please visit https://icann.org/epp
NOTICE: The expiration date displayed in this record is the date the
registrar's sponsorship of the domain name registration in the registry is
currently set to expire. This date does not necessarily reflect the expiration
date of the domain name registrant's agreement with the sponsoring
registrar. Users may consult the sponsoring registrar's Whois database to
view the registrar's reported date of expiration for this registration.
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Registrars.
REGISTRAR GoDaddy.com, LLC
SERVERS
SERVER com.whois-servers.net
ARGS domain =scarphelia.com
PORT 43
TYPE domain
DOMAIN
NAME scarphelia.com
CHANGED 2018-12-20
CREATED 2012-12-27
STATUS
clientDeleteProhibited https://icann.org/epp#clientDeleteProhibited
clientRenewProhibited https://icann.org/epp#clientRenewProhibited
clientTransferProhibited https://icann.org/epp#clientTransferProhibited
clientUpdateProhibited https://icann.org/epp#clientUpdateProhibited
NSERVER
NS37.DOMAINCONTROL.COM 97.74.108.19
NS38.DOMAINCONTROL.COM 173.201.76.19
REGISTERED yes
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