View allAll Photos Tagged BLOODLESS
BATAILLE or COMBAT DE REINES (BATTLE or COMBAT OF THE QUEENS). It is a bloodless competition between pregnant cows to acclaim "Reina di corne" that is "Queen of the horns", in the Aosta Valley dialect, the strongest cow. Estoul, Ajas Valley, Aosta Valley, ITALY.
The duel was bloodless; the only thing which was spilled may have been beer. The occasion was sad one, as one of the Toronto icons of Traditional Jazz, Christopher Daniels died in early January. Singer and bass player, Chris started Climax Jazz Band in 1971 and it was going strong for the last 50 years. Chris missed only one gig, on Sunday January 1, 2023. He died healthy at 84 in his bed. Cause undetermined. 50 plus musicians came to play and celebrate life well lived and another 150 music lovers came to pay respect to exceptional friend and human being. Gram Whitty was on the bass at this moment and Jacob Gorzhaltsan with the clarinet.
180. Smokeshow. P1510206; Taken 2023 Feb 05. Upload 2023 Feb 013.
Explore #13 - 18.06.2009 & Explore Front Page
Thou imagest my life. Thy darksome stillness,
Thy dazzling waves, thy loud and hollow gulfs,
Thy searchless fountain, and invisible course
Have each their type in me: and the wide sky,
And measureless ocean may declare as soon
What oozy cavern or what wandering cloud
Contains thy waters, as the universe
Tell where these living thoughts reside, when stretched
Upon thy flowers my bloodless limbs shall waste
I' the passing wind!"
From The Spirit of Solitude by Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822)
Best Viewed Large On Black - See where this picture was taken. [?]
“Books are good enough in their own way but they are a mighty bloodless substitute for life.”
―quote by Robert Louis Stevenson
__________________***____________________
"When every day is an adventure"
well, fresh-ish
Pryce: Macabre Halloween Challenge 2.0
stuff from:
KoKoLoReS
!gO
HUMAN GLITCH
:::NOIR:::
Genus
ANTINATURAL[+]
With flowing tail and flying mane,
Wide nostrils never stretched by pain,
Mouth bloodless to bit or rein,
And feet that iron never shod,
And flanks unscar'd by spur or rod,
A thousand horses - the wild - the free -
Like waves that follow o'er the sea,
Came thickly thundering on.
Lord Byron
The Celts settled in the middle of a swampy landscape in the Rhone Delta and traces of the Romans can still be found today, especially in the city of Arles.
After Rome, the most Roman remains can be found there. Of the eight monuments in Arles (UNESCO World Heritage Site), the Roman amphitheater is undoubtedly the most important.
It was built in 90 AD and could accommodate up to 21,000 spectators.
Today, the Provençal bull games take place here.
In contrast to bullfights in Spain, the Course Camarguaise is bloodless. The bullfighter tries to tear a tassel wrapped around the animal's horns with the help of an iron claw.
The bulls come from the Camargue and are allowed to return to the pasture there after the game.
Das römische Amphitheater in Arles
Schon die Kelten haben sich inmitten einer Sumpflandschaft im Rhone-Delta niedergelassen und Spuren der Römer begegnet man heute noch. Besonders in der Stadt Arles.
Nach Rom kann man dort die meisten römischen Überreste finden. Von den acht Denkmälern in Arles (UNESCO-Weltkulturerbe) ist das römische Amphitheater zweifellos das bedeutendste.
Es wurde 90 n. Chr. erbaut und bot bis zu 21.000 Zuschauern Platz.
Heute finden hier provenzalische Stierspiele statt.
Im Gegensatz zu den Stierkämpfen Spaniens geht es beim Course camarguaise unblutig zu. Der Stierkämpfer versucht mit Hilfe einer Eisenkralle dem Tier eine um die Hörner gewickelte Quaste zu entreißen.
Die Stiere kommen aus der Camargue und dürfen nach dem Spiel auch wieder dorthin zurück auf die Weide.
With flowing tail and flying mane,
Wide nostrils never stretched by pain,
Mouth bloodless to bit or rein,
And feet that iron never shod,
And flanks unscar'd by spur or rod,
A thousand horses - the wild - the free -
Like waves that follow o'er the sea,
Came thickly thundering on.
- Lord Byron
Captured and edited by Orchid Arado
"Masks beneath masks until suddenly the bare bloodless skull."
Featuring San Ttsu no Yama Masks by [The DeadBoy]
The black bulls live in the Camargue, the marshy habitat of flamingos and wild horses.
Although the herds of Camargue bulls, some of which are very large, live outdoors, they have owners and carry corresponding brands.
The Camargue bull or "raço di biou" has existed since Gallo-Roman times. The breed was even the subject of crossbreeding aimed at reconstructing the aurochs.
The black Camargue bulls are revered throughout France like pop stars.
In the bloodless bullfights, the "Course Camarguaise", the bulls have colorful ribbons, the "cocarde", tied to their horns, which rise up into the sky. The aim of the bullfights is to catch these ribbons, which the bull wears.
Stiere in der Camargue
Die schwarzen Stiere leben in der Camargue, dem sumpfigen Lebensraum von Flamingos und Wildpferden.
Die teilweise sehr großen Herden der Camargue-Stiere leben zwar im Freien, sie haben aber Besitzer und tragen entsprechende Brandzeichen.
Den Camargue-Stier oder "raço di biou" gibt es seit der gallo-römischen Zeit. Die Rasse war sogar Gegenstand von Kreuzungen, die darauf abzielten, den Auerochsen zu rekonstruieren.
Die schwarzen Camargue-Stiere werden in ganz Frankreich verehrt wie Popstarts.
Bei den unblutigen Stierkämpfen, den "Course Camarguaise", bekommen die Stiere an ihre aufrecht in den Himmel ragenden Hörner bunte Bänder gebunden, die "Cocarde". Ziel der Stierspiele ist es, diese Bänder, die der Stier trägt, zu fangen.
To follow the previous capture this is one close-up shot of the vivacious but bloodless action high in the sky
(Circus approximans & Corvus mellori)
It's called a Blood Bee. But that's a reference only to its color. Bee blood is very different from that of vertebrates like ourselves (even that of Frogs!). Our blood in varying shades of red carries oxygen to burn sugars and give us energy. Bee blood doesn't transport gases like oxygen, only nutrients and such. Oxygen is supplied to our flying beastie through spiracles and tracheal tubes. Moreover, Bees don't have veins and arteries; their pale blood circulates freely within that exoskeleton.
'Ah!', you might object! 'When I kill a fly the death patch is reddish!' Well, that color in fact comes from its eyes not its blood. And the red of squashed mosquitoes is, of course, our own blood.
So 'Blood Bee' merely in a metaphorical sense.
Here it's on Oenanthe crocata, Water Dropwort, just now coming into flower in the Hortus. It can be used for Bloodless Death... (www.flickr.com/photos/87453322@N00/27499241967/in/photoli...).
As you emerge onto the hand-levelled platform atop the ridge, the sense of exposure after the climb is suddenly liberating. The High Place of Sacrifice (al-Madhbah in Arabic) is one of the highest easily accessible points in Petra, perched on cliffs that drop an almost sheer 170m to the Wadi Musa below. It’s just one of dozens of High Places perched on ridges and mountain-tops around Petra, all of which are of similar design and function. A platform about 15m long and 6m wide served as the venue for religious ceremonies, oriented towards an altar, set up on four steps, with a basin to one side and a socket into which may have slotted a stone representation of the god. Within the courtyard is a small dais, on which probably stood a table of (bloodless) offerings.
What exactly took place up here – probably in honour of Dushara – can only be guessed at, but there were almost certainly libations, smoking of frankincense and animal sacrifice. What is less sure is whether human sacrifice took place, although boys and girls were known to have been sacrificed to al-Uzza elsewhere: the second-century philosopher Porphyrius reports that a boy’s throat was cut annually at the Nabatean town of Dunat, 300km from Petra. At Hegra, a Nabatean city in the Arabian interior, an inscription states explicitly: “Abd-Wadd, priest of Wadd, and his son Salim… have consecrated the young man Salim to be immolated to Dhu Gabat. Their double happiness!” If such sacrifices took place in Petra, the High Place would surely have seen at least some of them.
It’s also been suggested that Nabatean religion incorporated ritual exposure of the dead, as practised among the Zoroastrians of Persia; if so, the High Place would also have been an obvious choice as an exposure platform. You can survey the vastness of Petra’s mountain terrain from here, and the tomb of Aaron atop Jabal Haroun is in clear sight in the distance.
The ridge extends a short distance north of the High Place, nosing out directly above the theatre, with the tombs of the Outer Siq minuscule below. From here, it’s easy to see that the city of Petra lay in a broad valley, about a kilometre wide and hemmed in to east and west by mountain barriers. North, the valley extends to Beidha, south to Sabra. It looks tempting to scramble down the front of the ridge, but there is no easily manageable path this way; it would be dangerous to try it.
Henry Hill, Manassas National Battlefield Park, Virginia
"A house divided against itself cannot stand."
- Abraham Lincoln, paraphrasing Matthew 12:25
Such a beautiful place as this witnessed the shock of a nation, not once, but tragically twice. Manassas at the start of the American Civil War was a major railroad hub in northern Virginia, and therefore made for an important strategic objective for Union forces to capture. Manassas was the very first major battle of the American Civil War. The stunning defeat of numerically superior but unprepared Union forces here on July 16, 1861, shocked the North to the core; most Americans at the time had thought it would be a short and relatively bloodless war. They were wrong by 4 years and over 600,000 dead.
You may know the name of this battlefield as "Bull Run", as in the First Battle of Bull Run. This was the Union name for the battle, and its fame spread via Northern newspapers. But now 150 years later, the actual policy of the National Park Service, which dutifully manages this hallowed ground, is to name battlefields after the pattern of the victor of that particular battle. The Union usually (but not always) named battles after the nearest geographic feature, hence, Bull Run, a creek that runs across the battlefield even to this day. But the Confederates named them after the nearest town or city, hence Manassas. When Union forces tried again in late August 1862 and once again were crushed, the Second Battle of Manassas repeated much of the loss of blood across the very same ground.
Here at Henry Hill, the Park Service has worked hard to recreate the terrain as it was then, including a reconstruction of Henry House. The Park is a lovely break from surrounding Northern Virginia (NOVA), which sadly is surrendering to continuous urban sprawl from nearby Washington D.C.
Runners and those wishing to get some fresh air enjoy the space; I had to wait multiple times for groups to pass out of view to get this shot. How strange history flows, echoing down the years from such tragedy to create in the present a fine running path in the morning air...
Also on the same battlefield, the Old Stone House.
Selected for FLICKR Explore February 4, 2022, # 45.
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bloodless 17.03.2021
This one is from Rose Garden on roof of Molde Town Hall
Most of my shots are taken in and around the city of Molde. Molde is the second largest city in the county of Møre og Romsdal, lies along the shores of the Romsdalsfjord in Western Norway.
The official, and also most common, nickname for Molde is The City of Roses or Rose City.
As you explore the city, you will see why it was given its nickname. In the city center you will find rose gardens, parks, statues, and murals all paying homage to the iconic flower. Even the town hall roof has a rose garden and is accessible to all! Decorative gardening has been popular in Molde for many generations and adds to the city’s beauty and charm.
"The town's largest collection of roses is to be found at the Town Hall roof, but the magnificent roses in the Alexandra Park is also worth your time.
A rose is a woody perennial flowering plant of the genus Rosa, in the family Rosaceae, or the flower it bears. There are over three hundred species and tens of thousands of cultivars. They form a group of plants that can be erect shrubs, climbing, or trailing, with stems that are often armed with sharp prickles. Flowers vary in size and shape and are usually large and showy, in colours ranging from white through yellows and reds. Most species are native to Asia, with smaller numbers native to Europe, North America, and northwestern Africa. Species, cultivars and hybrids are all widely grown for their beauty and often are fragrant. Roses have acquired cultural significance in many societies. Rose plants range in size from compact, miniature roses, to climbers that can reach seven meters in height."
My Website:
A photo taken from the inner moat side toward Tokyo Station.
The road in the photo is called Gyoukou Doori (行幸通り the street for Emperor's visit) as it was built as the approach for Emperor to Tokyo Station.
It is an addition after Meiji Restoration when the castle was transferred to the imperial family from Kyoto after the Bloodless Surrender of Edo Castle in 1867. Tokugawa Yoshinobu (徳川慶喜 1837 - 1913), the 15th Shogun, returned the governance of Japan to Emperor Meiji (明治天皇 1852 - 1912) and Edo was renamed to Tokyo.
Tokyo Station is at the end of the road, and the area in the photo is called Marunouchi (丸の内) meaning "inside of the castle compound). There used to be the outer moat of Edo Castle just behind the station.
The area used to be a residential area leased to local Samurai rulers called Daimyou (大名) whose family members were forced to live in Edo as hostage. All the Tokugawa properties were confiscated by the Meiji government. Daimyou residences were abandoned as their families did not have to live in Tokyo anymore after the surrender of Shogun.
Marunouchi was sold to the Iwasaki family, merchants from Tosa, present-day Kouchi prefecture. They established a cozy relationship with the Meiji Government through their fellow countrymen. They later expanded to the Mitsubishi conglomerate.
Marunouchi is currently planned, managed, and often owned and developed by Mitsubishi Estate Co. Ltd. (三菱地所).
It is one of the major business districts of Tokyo. Its cityscape is neat and well controlled unlike other urban centres in Tokyo thanks to the Mitsubishi management.
Inspired by Neko Case - I Wish I Was The Moon
Chimney falls and lovers blaze
Thought that I was young
Now I've freezing hands
And bloodless veins
As numb as I've become
I'm so tired
I wish I was the moon tonight
Last night I dreamt I'd forgotten my name
'Cause I sold my soul
But I woke just the same
I'm so lonely
I wish I was the moon tonight
God blessed me I'm a free man
With no place free to go
Paralyzed and collared-tight
No pills for what I fear
This is crazy
I wish I was the moon tonight
Chimney falls as lovers blaze
I thought that I was young
Now I've freezing hands
And bloodless veins
As numb as I've become
I'm so tired
I wish I was the moon tonight
How will you know if you've found me at last?
'Cause I'll be the one be the one be the one
With my heart in my lap
I'm so tired
I'm so tired
And I wish I was the moon tonight
www.youtube.com/watch?v=gCV-YMD6oXA
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"What a weird place to be. Where the moon and the stars run away to". When you want to escape, when it becomes unbearable and you just can't move or don't know what to do. Runaway Moon welcomes you with a dazzle, twinkle and a content smile.
♪♫♬She was such a graceful creature, she was such a worthy teacher
But how can one unlearn such love when love is war, is love is war my dear
I spit the blood from my mouth crying, I cannot express my "undying" love
For all you've given me for all you've taken
Man can change, can change, this man can change...
A bloodless kindred that never hindered
The chest has splintered, the bond has over-wintered
Heart cracked in several places...
Listen to the stream so violent, climbing up the hill so silent
Destitute inside these veins were slowly closing up, this heart weakened
Chances are you'll never get this, bled me dry it's time to forget this
No-ones ever seen me like this, should I ever fall this deep in love again?♪♫♬
A more indigenous genre of bullfighting is widely common in the Provence and Languedoc areas, and is known alternately as "course libre" or "course camarguaise". This is a bloodless spectacle (for the bulls) in which the objective is to snatch a rosette from the head of a young bull. The participants, or raseteurs, begin training in their early teens against young bulls from the Camargue region of Provence before graduating to regular contests held principally in Arles and Nîmes but also in other Provençal and Languedoc towns and villages. La course camarguaise est un sport dans lequel les participants tentent d'attraper des attributs primés fixés au frontal et aux cornes d'un bœuf appelé cocardier ou biòu (bœuf en provençal), mais auquel on confère parfois la dignité de taureau en l'appelant : taureau cocardier. Ce jeu sportif, sans mise à mort, est pratiqué dans les départements français du Gard, de l'Hérault, une large partie des Bouches-du-Rhône, ainsi que dans quelques communes du Vaucluse.
tv shot
Necessities
BY RUSTY MORRISON
"In through our bedroom window, the full dawn-scape concusses.
Difficult to sustain sleep's equilibrium of wordlessness.
Naming anything, like stepping barefoot in wet sand up to my ankles.
Name after name, sinking me farther beneath waking's buoyancy.
House, this morning, is pale with the rush of what night siphoned off.
Objects, still emptied of resemblance, hum their chord-less cantos.
Bloodless, my knuckles knock on walls without echo, testing singularities.
Sun on the cutlery offers an ageless sheen.
Though it ages the silver relentlessly.
New, but still rudimentary tools to be gleaned from my over-used weaponry."
She stared from the window as the cab turned the corner; her expression a cascade of memories and uncertainty. But now she was free; free from the tyranny of a life misunderstood. Blood might well be thicker than water but it can make you choke; and spirit should never collapse under the weight of blood; of bloodless emotion. Heart will set the sprit free. Have courage.
The Ponte 25 de Abril suspension bridge is one of Lisbon’s most notable landmarks as it spans the River Tagus at the narrowest point. The suspension bridge connects Lisbon, on the north bank, with the commuter districts of Almada on the south bank.
The bridge, which bears such a striking resemblance to its San Franciscan twin, was in fact built by an American Bridge Company, the company who constructed San Francisco’s Bay Bridge (not the Golden Gate Bridge).
The Ponte 25 de Abril bridge was completed in 45 months and inaugurated on the 6th August 1966. The bridge was originally named Ponte Salazar (name of the former dictator who built the bridge) but after the bloodless revolution in 1974 the name was changed to the date of the revolution and symbolically the brass name of the bridge was replaced.
For more photos of Portugal, please click HERE.
'I' am never alone
Yet the Mind yearn
To possess all that I love
Those that I cannot own
I reach out for the sky
Leap to seize the Sun
Though frail are my wings
and so weak is my leap
One more lesson I learn
One more trip and overturn
I bite the golden dust
and kiss my own failing feet
I rise up to lament
It's out of reach, I cry
I lick my bloodless wounds
and hug my bundle of rich rags
I keep counting my lessons
Not knowing the simple truth
that the ape never leashed
Is neither not released
Once released, 'I' soar
No limits no more
Boundless my belongings
Not a thing 'I' own
- Anuj Nair
www.flickr.com/photos/anujnair/2783005541/
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© 2013 Anuj Nair. All rights reserved.
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________________________________________________
© 2013 Anuj Nair. All rights reserved.
All images and poems are the property of Anuj Nair.
Using these images and poems without permission is in violation of international copyright laws (633/41 DPR19/78-Disg 154/97-L.248/2000). All materials may not be copied, reproduced, distributed, republished, downloaded, displayed, posted or transmitted in any forms or by any means, including electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording
without written permission of Anuj Nair.
Every violation will be pursued penally.
This fox kit is nearly full grown but still listens to mom. I had a minute or two to shoot, in the last light of the setting sun, before the parent fox - concealed in tall grass nearby - gave a sharp warning and the kit abruptly dived into its den and safety. Two ears poked up from concealment, then two eyes and part of a face: a beautiful blonde variant! But I couldn't convince her to come out and pose for me, and a few moments later I lost the light.
We come now to one of my longstanding gripes. I try not to use Flickr as a forum for complaining, because nature and wildlife photographers already know these things and are here to share positive experiences and great photos. But. Just. Once. A moment ago, checking online to make sure the Red Fox is still taxonomically Vulpes vulpes, I came across this in Wikipedia: "the red fox is one of the most important furbearing animals harvested for the fur trade."
Wrong. You do not "harvest" an animal. You kill it. This euphemism is intended to soften the blow, cushion delicate souls from reality, minimize the suffering, deny the truth. We hear politicians use such odious language all the time. The governments of Washington and British Columbia are currently "harvesting" wolves; a certain percentage of moose may be "harvested" each fall - as if they were as insensitive as rows of corn or wheat in a field. No images of blood and death, please; it's too offensive to contemplate. It's so widespread, this spinning of truth into some sort of palatable fantasy that may ease the conscience a little - so that people slide into apathy and allow barbaric practices to continue. So that people who wear fox coats or hats can think of bloodless rows of corn, if they think at all. So that the politicians can appease as many voters as possible and get re-elected. So that we never have to admit what we really do.
Okay, enough. End of rant. I realize that it's unrealistic to expect honest words from elected officials and other authority figures. But I really am tired of the bs.
Photographed near Val Marie, Saskatchewan (Canada). Don't use this image on websites, blogs, or other media without explicit permission © 2019 James R. Page - all rights reserved.
Forget pretentious Bloodless, Blue Supermoons- in Glasgow moons like this bring out all the howlers and buckie swalliers* for mayhem and mischief. There were one or two howling around the incomparable Kelvingrove Museum while I was lining up these shots!
[* "buckie swallier", Glaswegian Scots, noun. An enthusiastic imbiber of Buckfast Fortified Tonic Wine 15%ABV]
"Life is beautiful" ; my dear you used to say
Yet, against my will isn't my fate designed ?
A fateful day , the dawn of darkest nights
Came the doomsday that you bid adieu.
Daunted she lay and thus spake soliloquy :
Tears welling my eyelids, shying to drop down,
'Cause, my pain, my love for you will never be mine
Tears welling my eyelids, never will to drop down
'Cause, my pain, my love for you is just mine
Salt and water in my tears, so inseparable
My heart and your thoughts, so bonded
Many a time I have hurt my dear sweet lord
Taking longer strides than I should have.
Words, they say come from language
Nay, it comes from the bottomless pit of my heart
Silence, so noisy, I hardly can hear
My heart cries for your forgiveness,
Tears may not dry, but thicken as blood
I will live, live to bear the pain
Tears welling my eyelids, never will to drop down
'Cause, my pain, my love for you is just mine.
Living in a dream, a small little sunshine of my own,
Giving into pain, with no hope, but despair
Eating my heart and soul that no one own
Leave it to my love until my death
Always afraid of darkness and death,
Befriended them last night,
Brings me peace, soaking in my own tears
Brings me solace, of permanence of my soul, that love you.
Surrender to the pain thee bring in your absence
Dreaming of the flame you lit in my life
Wonder the innate presence of my thy warmth
Little while ago, still lingering, in my tears.
Pain is unbearable for the heart that yearn
For lost love, lost woven among the shredded yarn
Filth and dirt of the physical soul that sure to die
For the undying love safely knit in the web of eternal soul
Pleasures has the senses seen so many,
Pain out of love bears the signature of true love
Marred by eclipses of human errors
Eyes that weep in silence might wash my dirt away
The pittance my memories doles on me to breathe
are fortunes that I dream to decorate my wreath
A dying soul, trying to liberate from its own death
Forever wishing the living grace of forgiveness
No name do my heart calls my love in words
It is just the tears and whimper of the dying soul
Hoping to die wearing the wreath of studded tears
Never to wither away, as long as my soul lives here
The sharp prick of conscience, with a pain so intense
The heart satiates when the soul tries to get off the hook
Surrendering to the pain, denying to free itself
The ultimate cry of the heart to say I know not what love is not.
Crush'd leaves and flowers leave their fragrance behind
Hey, my tears have dried up, leaving no mark of me
Brush'd aside are the dirt of unwanted soul
Lying here to be washed away to the goal
Limpering and simmering the fire of emotion
That burn up my blood of future
Resizing my life to the dreams of it's most beautiful part
Lived and existed for a painful departure
Wonder if it is painful to let free my soul
Wonder if there is life after death?
If life sustain after death as a formless soul,
It is worth the pain and my heart's desire will not go in vain
Corpses that lie still, I seek that serenity
Knowing too well that those tears were useless
When a loving soul can be near to my lost love
For ever as little sunshine in his life.
Sleepless night awakening the untired soul
Searching every corner of the universe
For the lost love, lost in the ocean of sin
Drowning in the swamp of bloodless wound
Hey, heart sleep tonight to rest
The soul that bears the love of your heart
Lost in the wilderness of burning distress
Fuming to kindle the fire of nothingness
Long sleep of no return, come on naturally
For the soul that has the imprint of my love, never to be hurt again
Until the sinful bones wither in to mother earth
Can't wait until I see the endless tunnel of hope end.
The more I grab the sand at the ocean,
More it escapes away from within the fingers
Surrender to the little grains of my love's feeling
Divine love - so it be to the painful pleasure of undying death.
Wake up my dear, from the dreams
Like you wake up from dreams within dreams
Nothing is lost, lest you gain; Everything 'Here' remains
When all that it seems as you see,
are mere perceptions of flickering illusions;
and random playback of those perceptions.
No dream longer than this moment, here, now
Wake up - be free; drift with the flow
- Anuj Nair
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© 2012 Anuj Nair. All rights reserved.
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_______________________________________________
© 2012 Anuj Nair. All rights reserved.
All images and poems are the property of Anuj Nair.
Using these images and poems without permission is in violation of international copyright laws (633/41 DPR19/78-Disg 154/97-L.248/2000). All materials may not be copied, reproduced, distributed, republished, downloaded, displayed, posted or transmitted in any forms or by any means,including electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording without written permission of Anuj Nair.Every violation will be pursued penally.
Pragmatic ideologues rule the roost
in uncompromising pursuit of power
with all the moral mandates they’ve produced
and countenance most dour.
Looking down from Capitol Hill
emboldened by their popular support,
demigods elected- pure, distil,
not a human, not a wart.
Each election cycle brings about a bloodless coup,
yet takes a toll on the minds of men.
From crackpots to despots, what are we to do?
The polarization sets in.
If men were angels in a celestial theocracy
there’d be no sin and no bureaucracy.
If angels were to govern Earth,
we’d need no check on government girth.
With beatific support we make the choice
for a human with the heart of sin.
This is our political voice,
each vote cast a silent Amen.
Caught in currents with no life preserver,
cast your vote with self-righteous fervor
and be not afraid of apostasy within.
It’s not ‘till after, disappointment sets in.
Political theorists often opine,
victory to the strongly allied.
“No vote wasted, unless it’s against mine.
If you want all the glory, then vote on my side.”
Ensure yours is counted. There’s only one way.
Forget the lures and the poll and cast that ballot.
Our Uncle needs you to vote today,
no matter the party of your palate.
Moving state by state like a conquering Khan,
the opposition stands in defiance.
The lines of discourse are sharply drawn,
and I hear the sound of silence.
- Timothy Nall
"Il disait tant de choses
Que les fleurs exsangues
Mouraient dans la brassée
Du vent chaud de ses mots."
[Lionel Deyna]- L'homme et la rose soeur
My tribute to his talent...
and to the "Visual Poems" group created by Pentimento
"He said as so many things
That the bloodless flowers
Died in the infusion
Of the hot wind of his words."
From my archives.
La course camarguaise est un sport dans lequel les participants tentent d'attraper des attributs primés fixés au frontal et aux cornes d'un bœuf appelé cocardier ou biòu (bœuf en provençal), mais auquel on confère parfois la dignité de taureau en l'appelant : taureau cocardier. Ce jeu sportif, sans mise à mort, est pratiqué dans les départements français du Gard, de l'Hérault, une large partie des Bouches-du-Rhône, ainsi que dans quelques communes du Vaucluse.
A more indigenous genre of bullfighting is widely common in the Provence and Languedoc areas, and is known alternately as "course libre" or "course camarguaise". This is a bloodless spectacle (for the bulls) in which the objective is to snatch a rosette from the head of a young bull. The participants, or raseteurs, begin training in their early teens against young bulls from the Camargue region of Provence before graduating to regular contests held principally in Arles and Nîmes but also in other Provençal and Languedoc towns and villages.
An empty limestone train heads back to Proctor after delivering to Minorca on a dull · drab · uninteresting · flat · dry · banal · bland · insipid · colorless · lifeless · sterile · tedious · wearisome · boring · unexciting · unstimulating · uninspiring · desolate · vapid · jejune · bloodless · soul-destroying · as dry as dust · humdrum · routine · monotonous · uneventful · run-of-the-mill · prosaic · pedestrian · commonplace · everyday · unexceptional · unremarkable · quotidian · unvaried · repetitive · featureless · ho-hum · sad · miserable · depressing · grim · gloomy · glum · somber · grave · doleful · mournful · melancholic · joyless · cheerless · wretched · dismal · bleak · dark · dingy · murky · overcast day across NE Minnesota.
The Ponte 25 de Abril suspension bridge is one of Lisbon’s most notable landmarks as it spans the River Tagus at the narrowest point. The suspension bridge connects Lisbon, on the north bank, with the commuter districts of Almada on the south bank.
The bridge, which bears such a striking resemblance to its San Franciscan twin, was in fact built by an American Bridge Company, the company who constructed San Francisco’s Bay Bridge (not the Golden Gate Bridge).
The Ponte 25 de Abril bridge was completed in 45 months and inaugurated on the 6th August 1966. The bridge was originally named Ponte Salazar (name of the former dictator who built the bridge) but after the bloodless revolution in 1974 the name was changed to the date of the revolution and symbolically the brass name of the bridge was replaced.
For more photos of Portugal, please click HERE.
KLYTIE (Clytie) was an Okeanid-nymph loved by sun-god Helios. When he forsook her for the love of Leukothoe (Leucothea), she pined away and was transformed into the sun-gazing heliotrope flower.
Klytie was probably identified with Klymene (Clymene), the Okeanid mother of Phaethon by Helios. Both of their names mean "Famed One."
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See also the album: www.albelli.nl/onlinefotoboek-bekijken/3af1427e-1eae-4620...
Ancient Christian Albanian Church in Kish (Azerbaijan).
Kish , the oldest of Azerbaijani villages, is known for the unique ancient Albanian temple. It has a special status among Christian Albanian monuments. It is valuable not only as an architectural monument but also because of its outstanding historical significance. The official date of its birth is the 1st century AD when the territory of Azerbaijan was included into Caucasian part of Albania. Historians assume that the temple was founded by apostle Elisei who brought Christianity to Albania : " Elisei having received the Orient as his lot went from Jerusalem to Persia and started to preach with his three pupils; there he was prosecuted so he arrived in Kish where he founded a church and made a bloodless sacrifice"
During the peak of Christian religion on this territory the Temple was very popular; however, later it was forgotten and has miraculously survived. Even now the Temple amazes imagination with its beauty. The bright red spiked hip- roof "burns" in the sun. There is a cross on the tall dome. The thick walls of the Temple are decorated with small windows. It is cool inside the Temple even in the hottest weather, the air t ere is saturated with antiquity and the it seems like the God's presence is tangible. The visitors throw coins in a special niche making a wish. The internal walls of the Temple, unfortunately, have peeled off and decayed. But in one place there is still a layer of ancient plaster. People believe that if a coin stucks to this spot the wish will come true. The yard of the Temple is also interesting. There you will find an ancient burial place covered with a transparent plastic dome. One can see the ancient people's bones llying several meters deep. There are a number of such burials on the territory of the Temple. Apparently, there were buried attendants of the Temple or holy people who had deserved the right to be buried at the foot of "the House of the God ". The height of the buried people is amazing - two meters and taller.
The Ponte 25 de Abril suspension bridge is one of Lisbon’s most notable landmarks as it spans the River Tagus at the narrowest point. The suspension bridge connects Lisbon, on the north bank, with the commuter districts of Almada on the south bank.
The bridge, which bears such a striking resemblance to its San Franciscan twin, was in fact built by an American Bridge Company, the company who constructed San Francisco’s Bay Bridge (not the Golden Gate Bridge). The Ponte 25 de Abril bridge was completed in 45 months and inaugurated on the 6th August 1966.
The bridge was originally named Ponte Salazar (name of the former dictator who built the bridge) but after the bloodless revolution in 1974 the name was changed to the date of the revolution and symbolically the brass name of the bridge was replaced.
For more photos of Portugal, please click HERE.
Note to the class: Nope, not on the theme for this week, and not offered for discussion — just a postcard to the class from Monument Valley since I wasn't with you last week!
November full moon rising over East Mitten, Monument Valley, AZ; while bloodless at this point, destined to become a blood moon during the full eclipse starting in several hours. I was afraid I wasn't going to get this shot, as I looked at the cloud cover over the eastern horizon — but the moon suddenly appeared between a couple of the cloud layers, which proved to be thinner than they first appeared.
There are many Americans that have a lot of extra time on their hands. Why don’t we use it to educate ourselves and try to make this a better country. Look at the mess we are in and the politicians that led us here, while filling their coffers. Look at Corporate America and how they are not reaching out, to those that have dedicated their lives to many of these organizations. Look at the toxicity in many workplaces and communities. Many have suffered from Workplace Mobbing, not knowing, it is actually organized, conspired, harassment and retaliation. This has become common practice in many workplaces and in many communities.
Rather than go on about what I endure here in Yosemite, it would be great if you educate yourselves with some good reads. The first read is; Mobbing Emotional Abuse in the American Workplace, by Noa Davenport, Ph.D., Ruth Distler Schwartzz and Gail Pursell Elliot.
A quote from Daniel Maguire, Professor of Ethics; “Until evil is named, it cannot be addressed. This book names “mobbing” a common and bloodless from of workplace mayhem, and proceeds with brilliance to show it’s roots and possible cures.” Many in the workplace go through this, not knowing how organized it is. Another read is; The Bully at Work, 2nd Edition, by Gary Namie, Ph.D. and Ruth Namie, Ph.D.
Once many get back to work, things may be hectic. We don’t need the additional stress of Workplace Mobbing. We need to rid the workplace of hate, harassment and retaliation, the Good-ol-Boy systems in place. What I mean is; toxic employers and supervisors, hiring and promoting like minded unethical people. These same people, ridding their organizations of anyone that questions these environments.
This not only happens in the workplace, but is extended to many communities. You want an example; take a good look at Yosemite National Park. It will bring out some of the most vile, vindictive, hateful, amoral people; to harass you beyond belief. These are people that don’t know you and have never taken the time to do so. There are many communities across America that do the same; you just don’t know it. Some call it Gang Stalking, but I think “Community Stalking” is more accurate. There is a lot of good information on Gang Stalking, but unfortunately there is more disinformation. Not only am I mobbed and harassed at work, but also in housing by my neighbors and housing staff. This also, as I venture out throughout the park. As I type this; my neighbors are stomping pass my room, down the hall, clanging dishes and slamming doors. With more exposure they are finding alternative ways to harass me. You can't reason with these people. These acts of “Community Stalking” have become too common across America. We, as a Nation; need to be better than this. We can be better than this. It’s time we pull together, as our grandparents did, our parents did. It’s time we rid ourselves of the politicians that have led us here.
So many across America are putting their lives on the line, to save others. Why can’t we take this time to help them make this a better country. The togetherness you see in the photo; is Bob and Marley. They joined me on the way home from work today.
Thank you for visiting my photostream. Please be kind and reach out to those in need.
Razor blade.
I’ve always harboured serious doubts about the wisdom bringing several sharply-honed steel edges into close proximity to your jugular veins in dim light while half-asleep and sometimes without even a mirror. But there we are.
At least it explains (in case you wondered) why men sometimes arrive at work with bloody tissues stuck to their manly looks. The clotting time of human blood is about 15 minutes and you can’t hang around - you’ve just got to get moving, lol. (And don’t mention electric razors: real men and all that…)
If natural selection is as strong as they suggest then one wonders why, after billions of years of evolution, all men aren’t bearded? Strange :)
This is a picture of a razor blade in its plastic case for this week’s Macro Mondays theme Ready for the Day. The width of the picture is around 20mm. I was trying to bring out the metal blades even under the plastic and the textures of the case. I hoped the diagonal and the arrow would strengthen the composition a bit.
Thanks for taking time to look. I hope you enjoy the (bloodless) image :) HMM!
[Natural daylight augmented with LED torch for blade highlights. Blue paper background. Tripod; remote release, VR off.
Focus stack of 5 images processed in Affinity Photo. I used a stack to get a breadth of field not possible at this magnification using F16 to limit diffraction softness.
Developed for contrast and a bit of saturation but no vibrancy. A slight increase in colour temperature to take out a green cast top left.
Touched up using inpainting to remove hairs.
Sharpened using High Pass filter/Linear Light blend and Unsharp Mask to bring out the textures in the plastic case. Played a bit with a Depth of Field filter in Photo to take some of the detail out of the edges.
Slight dark vignette to finish :)]
Da secoli nella città di Bukhara vive – anzi ormai sopravvive, numericamente esangue – una comunità di ebrei sefarditi. Con le sue 10 mila sepolture, il loro cimitero testimonia un passato florido, ma gli ebrei vivi in città sono, al più, un centinaio. Gli altri sono emigrati negli Stati Uniti, in Israele e in Australia negli anni Settanta e Novanta del secolo scorso. Con numeri così esigui i praticanti sono pochi perché è sempre più arduo attenersi alle norme alimentari ebraiche e raggiungere il minimo di dieci fedeli maschi (minyan) necessari per la preghiera corale in sinagoga. La comunità ebraica, comunque, non è, e non si sente, discriminata o minacciata dai connazionali musulmani.
For centuries in the city of Bukhara a community of Sephardi Jews has lived - indeed it now survives, numerically bloodless -. With its 10,000 burials, their cemetery bears witness to a flourishing past, but the Jews living in the city are, at most, a hundred. The others emigrated to the United States, Israel and Australia in the 1970s and 1990s. With such small numbers, practitioners are few because it is increasingly difficult to comply with Jewish food standards and reach the minimum of ten male faithful (minyan) necessary for choral prayer in the synagogue. The Jewish community, however, is not, and does not feel, discriminated against or threatened by fellow Muslims.
Europe, Portugal, Tejo, Setubal, Barreiro, Almada, Cacilhas, Tejo, Cais do Ginjal, Olho de Boi, Ponte 25 de Abril (slightly cut from B)
The final part of the Cais do Ginhal (the post-industrial northern edge of Lisbon’s ‘outra banda’) ends in the Olho de Boi - ‘The Oxe's eye’. It was once was the HQ of the Companhia Portugesa de Pesca (CPP) here. In its days the company was one of the major fishing companies of Portugal. At its peak it owned 25 ships, employed 700 workers and had extensive cold storage and technical facilities. It even had on site housing (a 'barrio social') for its workers. The companhia was nationalized in 1976 and dissolved in 1984.
In the BG is the Ponte 25 de Abril (1966). It took the New Yorker Steel International Inc and its co-contractors 4 years to build this suspension bridge at a cost of 32 million US dollars. It shares quite a lot of design characteristics with the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco. This bridge was, by the way, designed as a two-deck bridge, too, but due to cost and engineering considerations, it was changed to a single-deck design.
It was inaugurated in 1966 as the 'Salazar Bridge', named after the dictator who had it built. It was later renamed to commemorate the bloodless 'Carnation Revolution' that happened on the 25th of April 1974.
It has two decks now. On the top 5 lane deck the car, busses and lorries pass and on the lower deck, the trains do. From the outset, the bridge was designed to carry a railway on the lower deck. In summer 1999 the lower railway deck was ready for use after major preparatory works which included the fitting of additional cables and the widening of the roadway to six lanes, as well as repainting of the bridge. Due to the extra weight, the bridge sank some centimetres. The "retro-fit" of the railway track was the largest such project undertaken on a bridge in the world. A Fertagus shuttle train is to be discerned on it.
The whole stretch of the quay (including Olho de Boi) will be redeveloped/transformed. The planning process took 10 years. And some months ago a final decision was made to start with the actual works. All the old industrial facilities will be affected. Like the Hugo Parry & Sons shipbuilding- and repair workshops: here and here.
The functions to be realized in the revitalization plan are, not surprisingly: creative industry, recreational facilities and accommodations for the performing arts. Check out: Novo Cais do Ginjal.
This is number 185 of the Lisboa & Outra banda album and 5 of Fish factory (Olho de Boi).
Please view original size :)
Seahorses
A thousand horse and none to ride! -
With flowing tail, and flying mane,
Wide nostrils never stretched by pain,
Mouths bloodless to the bit or rein,
And feet that iron never shod,
And flanks unscarred by spur or rod,
A thousand horse, the wild, the free,
Like waves that follow o'er the sea,
Came thickly thundering on,...
~Lord Byron, XVII, Mazeppa, 1818
Photos shot in SecondLife & painted in Gimp
Credits
Prim horses by Laika Amat
Textures, with thanks to : Heedingthemuses, Pareeeica and Angelandspot - all on Flickr
"I am not afraid of an army of lions led by a sheep; I am afraid of an army of sheep led by a lion"- Alexander the Great
During Alexander the Greats invasion of the Achaemenid Persian Empire, the Persian Emperor Darius III was desperate to keep his falling Empire alive. Two years earlier he was defeated at Issus (portrayed in the famous alexander mosaic) which resulted in the capture of his wife, mother and two daughters. Alexander then made gains in the Levant after capturing the city of Gaza and taking Egypt in a bloodless conquest.
Darius III was so desperate had tried to negotiate a peace deal. Sources range from him outright saying the Greeks should leave Asia or to him offering his daughters hand in marriage. The negotiations failed. Darius III then did what he could to build up an army from the remaining parts of his empire.
The two armies met at a battle field that Darius III ordered his troops to flatten but this did not help. The Persian Empire had about 50,000-100,000 soldiers waiting for the Greeks whos forces numbered around 47,000.
As the battle begun the Persians were very unorganized and threw whatever they could at Alexander's army. That failed and he launched a massive attacks toward the main Persian line. In the fighting Darius' chariot was destroyed and soon fled on foot. The Hellenic forces decimated Darius' army of foot soldiers, cavalry, chariots and even war elephants. The Greeks and Macedonians lost 1,000 troops, while the Persians lost 40,000. These sources vary however given the circumstances they're probably true.
After the battle Darius III retreated with his remaining soldiers and planned to raise an army from his eastern most provinces in Persia, Central Asia and India. That failed as well when one of his generals Bessus. He was captured a year later and killed. The remaining Persian Satraps pledged loyalty to Alexander and their leaders were allowed to stay in power. The death of the Persian Empire lead to the Macedonian one Alexander the Great created.
Fragmento de: Tu nombre, poesía
Autor: Gilberto Owen
Y hallar al fin, exangüe y desolado,
descubrir que es en mí donde tú estabas,
porque tú estás en todas partes
y no sólo en el cielo donde yo te he buscado,
que eres tú, que no yo, tuya y no mía,
la voz que se desangra por mis llagas.
/
Fragment of: Your name, poetry
Author: Gilberto Owen
And find at last, bloodless and desolate,
discover what is in me where you were,
because you are everywhere
and not only in heaven where I have sought you,
that it is you, that not me, yours and not mine,
the voice that bleeds for my wounds.