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Godiva is a 33 feet high puppet which is travelling from Coventry to London as part of the Cultural Olympiad. When she arrived in Northampton she was presented with a bespoke pair of riding boots made by a local manufacturer - size 72! Unfortunately she was wearing a long skirt, which meant that we could only see a small part of them.
After receiving the boots on the Market Square she made her way around the town centre preceded by a motley crew made up of the Mayor,and some Councillors, corset wearing Morris Dancers, Belly Dancers, the 'Ministry of Cycles', and 'Wicker Maidens' - who I assume were the yong ladies bearing flowers.
www.imagineerproductions.co.uk/content/6567/godiva/godiva...
The one thing I don't miss about childhood is the sleeplessness. I spent hours awake for years on end, and it all blurred together. That was my insomnia season, too late to turn on the light and read, too early to get up and run around the house. It was a lifelike limbo, and it felt just as real. Somewhere in the sleepless morning, I’d lose my faith in the coming dawn. My whole world was in the shimmer of headlights through my bedroom window, rectangles of light reaching a corner above me and fading at the far wall. They were my prison spotlights, periodically passing and warning against escape. I’d look for things that didn’t exist, grey ghosts living in closet clothing, shapes capable of becoming anything in the murky midnight. It was a place I entered and left through sleeping, solitary confinement, sometime between 11:00 last night and 4:00 in the morning.
Sometimes I’d give in to imagination. I’d be a magic carpet traveler, flying anywhere I wanted from the borders of my bed. Maybe I’d turn my clunky clock-radio on low, tuned in to 106.5 in Middleton. CBC Radio, playing back the scattered news stories of the wider world. I’d push my ear to the speaker for ten minutes of events from somewhere out there, the accents of Europe and tales from a mirrored hemisphere, seeking connections to a planet out of reach. They’d tell me what was happening where the sun was shining, spoken with voices sounding little like my own. Sometimes I’d catch a glimmer of Radio Disney in New York City, breaking loose from the usual daytime static. I’d listen to the latest pop music, strange language in a shuddering signal before it whispered out for good. I was haunted by songs like Dreams by The Cranberries, making me shake and shiver in the shadows with a feeling I couldn’t define. Our family never played popular music, so it felt foreign and thrilling, love at first listen.
I was on my own, but I wasn’t alone. I shared a room with the body of my older brother. David was born five years earlier, and he slept or snored deeply through every evening. He was always present like a somnolistic statue, a shadow casting itself in a puddle on the far wall. There was an alley between us, two narrow feet separating two single beds. He was a quiet boy, but now and then he’d speak in his sleep. I kept a journal for a while of everything he said, labeled and dated to tease him with later.
One night, with emptiness on my mind, I closed my eyes and watched what passed through the darkness of my eyelids. I waited for unprovoked images to wind their way across my vision, dancing into the inchoate darkness. I called it "passive imagination", taking my mind out of the equation and a break from active thinking. It was a way to dream without dreaming, more honest than inspiration, easier than making sense of anything around me. It was like getting tangled in a recurring dream, waking to a blackness that welcomed me back. Everything felt philosophical, ageless in the darkness. I had early questions that I never asked in the daytime, never requested a response when I knew that no one had the answer. "What came before the beginning?" If it was God, when was God born? How can something come from nothing, when did all this timeless time that’s haunting me begin?
"Why am I me, and not someone else?" It seemed impossible that anyone was real. I was stuck in my skull, this endless elaboration of self, where I could hear my thoughts clashing and cluttered about. By the very virtue that I couldn’t read the minds of others, I was convinced that they couldn’t be real. How could they feel like I feel, how could they be some kind of heartbroken whole human if I’ve never heard a word to prove it? The more I was sleepless, the less I was convinced by the sallow souls of the sunny world. They were thoughts unfurled with no wind to catch them, hanging limp limbs down to gravity, and disappearing at dusk.
When I did sleep, the old familiar nightmare kept returning. I was always floating with this vertigo feeling, somewhere in a black space. The wide world was out there, hovering beneath my feet. It seemed fine for a while, just buzzing with a terrifying unknowing. Then the screams started, billions of voices in a muted mumble at full volume, nothing ever whispered so loud. While I watched, the planet was swallowed slowly by some black hole opened wide, drifting from pole to pole until every single living thing was choked out of existence. Then I was alone, just a void in the universe, and me.
I spent my days searching for things I’d seen while sleeping. I had this deep abiding belief in déjà vu, that no matter how ordinary, whatever happened in my dreams was coming true. One day, on our way to visit friends in Saint John, my family stopped at a Berwick junk shop called Bargain Harley’s. While walking down an aisle, I suddenly remembered something from sleep the week before. I knew from a dream, that on a shelf at the end on the left, there would be a box of Lego bricks with a castle, wizard, and dragon on the cover. I walked over, and there it was, like I’d tripped out of time and caught a splinter from a future that never really mattered. Finally, one morning, I dreamt that I woke up — and sleep came easy, for the first time in years.
January 12, 2026
Clementsport, Nova Scotia
Year 19, Day 6637 of my daily journal.
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I love that feeling of when you wake up somewhere else and there's that moment when you don't quite know where you are
this is what I saw when I woke up at my friends new house
"The awake gipsy" Wall painted in the Fokus festival in Görlitz. Inspired by the painting of Rousseau "The sleeping gypsy" where a lion admires an sleeping gypsy. In this case is the gypsy awake and intending to kill an almost sleeping panther. Through this wall i try to represent the treacherous nature of the human being. Dedicated to the one that almost killed the sleeping panther in me.
Asakusa Extreme : Thunder Gate vol.2
2013/10/05 at Asakusa KURAWOOD
head liner
LITTLE BASTARDS
AWAKED
support
EVIL
ANAL VOLCANO
NECROLUST
VEIYADRA
Godiva is a 33 feet high puppet which is travelling from Coventry to London as part of the Cultural Olympiad. When she arrived in Northampton she was presented with a bespoke pair of riding boots made by a local manufacturer - size 72! Unfortunately she was wearing a long skirt, which meant that we could only see a small part of them.
After receiving the boots on the Market Square she made her way around the town centre preceded by a motley crew made up of the Mayor,and some Councillors, corset wearing Morris Dancers, Belly Dancers, the 'Ministry of Cycles', and 'Wicker Maidens' - who I assume were the yong ladies bearing flowers.
www.imagineerproductions.co.uk/content/6567/godiva/godiva...
"Abbatti i muri dell'egoismo. Rendi il tuo amore così vasto e profondo da contenere tutti gli esseri viventi."
Paramahansa Yogananda
Godiva is a 33 feet high puppet which is travelling from Coventry to London as part of the Cultural Olympiad. When she arrived in Northampton she was presented with a bespoke pair of riding boots made by a local manufacturer - size 72! Unfortunately she was wearing a long skirt, which meant that we could only see a small part of them.
After receiving the boots on the Market Square she made her way around the town centre preceded by a motley crew made up of the Mayor,and some Councillors, corset wearing Morris Dancers, Belly Dancers, the 'Ministry of Cycles', and 'Wicker Maidens' - who I assume were the yong ladies bearing flowers.
www.imagineerproductions.co.uk/content/6567/godiva/godiva...
This one male sea lion was the only awake and barking on all of these platforms alongside a pier in San Francisco. You could hear him from blocks away, and helped me to find the colony of sea lions with ease. Thanks, buddy! © 2011-Current.
A break from the norm...I have been working on this nights when I cannot sleep. unfortunately, it is more often than not these days...
iPhone/finger/brushes...a few weeks worth of insomnia...productive tho.
posting because I plan to sleep tonight. :-)
Godiva is a 33 feet high puppet which is travelling from Coventry to London as part of the Cultural Olympiad. When she arrived in Northampton she was presented with a bespoke pair of riding boots made by a local manufacturer - size 72! Unfortunately she was wearing a long skirt, which meant that we could only see a small part of them.
After receiving the boots on the Market Square she made her way around the town centre preceded by a motley crew made up of the Mayor,and some Councillors, corset wearing Morris Dancers, Belly Dancers, the 'Ministry of Cycles', and 'Wicker Maidens' - who I assume were the yong ladies bearing flowers.
www.imagineerproductions.co.uk/content/6567/godiva/godiva...
Godiva is a 33 feet high puppet which is travelling from Coventry to London as part of the Cultural Olympiad. She is powered between towns by cyclists riding this wonderful contraption. When she arrived in Northampton she was presented with a bespoke pair of riding boots made by a local manufacturer - size 72! Unfortunately she was wearing a long skirt, which meant that we could only see a small part of them.
After receiving the boots on the Market Square she made her way around the town centre preceded by a motley crew made up of the Mayor,and some Councillors, corset wearing Morris Dancers, Belly Dancers, the 'Ministry of Cycles', and 'Wicker Maidens' - who I assume were the yong ladies bearing flowers.
www.imagineerproductions.co.uk/content/6567/godiva/godiva...
"The awake gipsy" Wall painted in the Fokus festival in Görlitz. Inspired by the painting of Rousseau "The sleeping gypsy" where a lion admires an sleeping gypsy. In this case is the gypsy awake and intending to kill an almost sleeping panther. Through this wall i try to represent the treacherous nature of the human being. Dedicated to the one that almost killed the sleeping panther in me.
AWAKE AND SING
by Clifford Odets was directed by Eric Thibodeaux-Thompson and performed April 5-7 & 11-13, 2013
Synopsis – from A Noise Within Study Guide: "The Berger family apartment in the Bronx houses three generations in the same working-class Jewish family. It is in this apartment that Bessie Berger, indomitable matriarch, oversees the lefist leanings of her father Jacob, and attempts to influence the romantic yearnings of her son (Ralph) and potential matches for her daughter (Hennie). When the seemingly inescapable poverty of the Great Depression forces Bessie to rent out a room in the apartment to petty bookie and World War I veteran Moe Axelrod, she encounters a new challenge as he positions himself as suitor to young Hennie. Hennie has her own ideas for love — ideas which, when pursued, lead to serious consequences.
Bessie attempts to protect her family from high hopes and fruitless idealism, grounding her perceptions of reality in the cold truth of struggle. However, the Berger family has a will of its own and does not always support Bessie’s iron-fisted policies, as those who seek to provide a sense of freedom and hope for Ralph and Hennie enact their own redemptive yet heartbreaking plans."