Upper Texas Coast.

 

We saw this Northern Raccoon (Procyon lotor) vanish into the dense grasses of a coastal marsh as our vehicle approached. The raccoon is perhaps one of North America's most instantly recognizable organisms. They are ubiquitous, range across most of the continent, and can be found in close proximity to humans, even in heavily urbanized areas. Despite all of this, they can be quite difficult to observe due in large part to their nocturnal habits and generally secretive nature. So I was disappointed that I got so close to one in good light without a decent photo op.

 

As is so often the case with wildlife photography, patience paid off, and the raccoon soon emerged from marsh and cautiously and curiously eyed us. We figured it was feeding on trash callously left at a nearby boat ramp. Their mask-like pelage and propensity to take advantage of human refuse has earned them nicknames like "Trash Panda" and "Ring-tailed Bandits". In reality they are highly intelligent, curious, and often misunderstood. They were also my aunt's favorite animal, and seeing them always reminds me of her.

I was told I was creative, but not given the paint to show,

I was told I was talented and I should write, but I found no pen high or low,

I was told I was beautiful, but also told to change how I was,

I was told I was kind and sweet, but also bitter just because,

I was told I had a good heart, but also that I had none at all,

I was told I had a partner for life, who knew I would befall,

I was told I was funny and sometimes bratty as well,

I was told I was an angel, and yet I was ushered away to hell,

I was told I was hard headed. that i believe I really am.

I was also told I was the only one, and that was I thought the plan,

I was told I need to move on, and that I try each day,

until you creep out of nowhere, to completely fuck up my day,

I was told I deserved better, that I deserved to be told,

I was told you were a piece of shit. inhuman, callous and cold,

I was told you had no heart, that anyone that cared would not have done,

I was told I am so much better off, that even though it hurt. I had really won,

I was told I love you once, I was told it was legit,

I was told so many things by now, I just really want to quit.

PUT YOUR CHILD'S FACE UNDER THIS HOODIE, AND PLEASE - IN GOD'S NAME - PLEASE ACT ACCORDINGLY! America's conscience is still too calloused, and racism yet simmers close to the surface. It must be torn from all our hearts - every last shred of it - otherwise we all deserve to be humiliated to the same degree that whites have humiliated blacks these past two hundred years, and more. IT'S MORE THAN ENOUGH! It's a shame on our claim to humanity, to dignity, to the innate value of each individual. And we talk of a free country! For many, yes! For black youth... ?

 

The Jewish holocaust is quickly and easily condemned, by almost unanimous consent. But what of the daily humiliation and personal insecurity of young blacks in America, and what of the suffering of all American families of color, who sense that they have to watch their backs wherever they walk, in whatever store they enter, and always watch whites watching them warily. And the justice system, what does it do? By default, it lets this shameful state of affairs go on, for, assuredly, there is too much else on their hands......

 

So look hard in this now-deceased boy's eyes, see the face and eyes of your child, or your sibling, under that hoodie instead, and in the name of God, Creator of us all, live a life of love, compassion, and mercy towards all! After all, that is how humanity is called to act, and it is not beyond us, if we summon the will and the resolve.

My right sole/heel after a long barefoot outing!

Another image from the Deliverance trip and a beautiful moody piece of music to accompany. Hope you enjoy both, if not...............I'm over it.

I'm callous and heartless like that. :-))

 

youtu.be/2fNcH4jWtHw?list=RD2fNcH4jWtHw

callous lack of empathypsychopath test pclr

 

please score yourself 0 1 2 3 on each of the 20 items and record your score as a comment on the total score image

 

The PCL-R is a clinical rating scale (rated by a psychologist or other professional) of 20 items. Each of the items in the PCL-R is scored on a three-point scale according to specific criteria through file information and a semi-structured interview. A value of 0 is assigned if the item does not apply, 1 if it applies somewhat, and 2 if it fully applies. In addition to lifestyle and criminal behavior the checklist assesses glib and superficial charm, grandiosity, need for stimulation, pathological lying, conning and manipulating, lack of remorse, callousness, poor behavioral controls, impulsivity, irresponsibility, failure to accept responsibility for one's own actions and so forth. The scores are used to predict risk for criminal re-offence and probability of rehabilitation.

 

The current edition of the PCL-R officially lists four factors (1.a, 1.b, 2.a, and 2.b), which summarize the 20 assessed areas via factor analysis. The previous edition of the PCL-R[5] listed two factors. Factor 1 is labelled "selfish, callous and remorseless use of others". Factor 2 is labelled as "chronically unstable, antisocial and socially deviant lifestyle". There is a high risk of recidivism and currently small likelihood of rehabilitation for those who are labelled as having "psychopathy" on the basis of the PCL-R ratings in the manual for the test, although treatment research is ongoing.

 

PCL-R Factors 1a and 1b are correlated with narcissistic personality disorder and histrionic personality disorder. They are associated with extraversion and positive affect. Factor 1, the so-called core personality traits of psychopathy, may even be beneficial for the psychopath (in terms of nondeviant social functioning).

 

PCL-R Factors 2a and 2b are particularly strongly correlated to antisocial personality disorder and criminality and are associated with reactive anger, criminality, and impulsive violence. The target group for the PCL-R is convicted criminals. The quality of ratings may depend on how much background information is available and whether the person rated is honest and forthright.

 

[edit] The two factorsFactor 1: Personality "Aggressive narcissism"

 

Glibness/superficial charm

Grandiose sense of self-worth

Pathological lying

Cunning/manipulative

Lack of remorse or guilt

Shallow affect (genuine emotion is short-lived and egocentric)

Callousness; lack of empathy

Failure to accept responsibility for own actions

Factor 2: Case history "Socially deviant lifestyle".

 

Need for stimulation/proneness to boredom

Parasitic lifestyle

Poor behavioral control

Lack of realistic long-term goals

Impulsivity

Irresponsibility

Juvenile delinquency

Early behavior problems

Revocation of conditional release

Traits not correlated with either factor

 

Promiscuous sexual behavior

Many short-term marital relationships

Criminal versatility

Acquired behavioural sociopathy/sociological conditioning (Item 21: a newly identified trait i.e. a person relying on sociological strategies and tricks to deceive)

Early factor analysis of the PCL-R indicated it consisted of two factors. Factor 1 captures traits dealing with the interpersonal and affective deficits of psychopathy (e.g. shallow affect, superficial charm, manipulativeness, lack of empathy) whereas Factor 2 dealt with symptoms relating to antisocial behaviour (e.g. criminal versatility, impulsiveness, irresponsibility, poor behaviour controls, juvenile delinquency).

 

The two factors have been found by those following this theory to display different correlates. Factor 1 has been correlated with narcissistic personality disorder, low anxiety, low empathy, low stress reaction and low suicide risk but high scores on scales of achievement and well-being. In addition, the use of item response theory analysis of female offender PCL-R scores indicates factor 1 items are more important in measuring and generalizing the construct of psychopathy in women than factor 2 items.

 

In contrast, Factor 2 was found to be related to antisocial personality disorder, social deviance, sensation seeking, low socio-economic status[6] and high risk of suicide. The two factors are nonetheless highly correlated and there are strong indications they do result from a single underlying disorder. However, research has failed to replicate the two-factor model in female samples.

 

Recent statistical analysis using confirmatory factor analysis by Cooke and Michie indicated a three-factor structure, with those items from factor 2 strictly relating to antisocial behaviour (criminal versatility, juvenile delinquency, revocation of conditional release, early behavioural problems and poor behavioural controls) removed from the final model. The remaining items are divided into three factors: Arrogant and Deceitful Interpersonal Style, Deficient Affective Experience and Impulsive and Irresponsible Behavioural Style.

 

In the most recent edition of the PCL-R, Hare adds a fourth antisocial behaviour factor, consisting of those Factor 2 items excluded in the previous model. Again, these models are presumed to be hierarchical with a single unified psychopathy disorder underlying the distinct but correlated factors.

 

The Cooke & Michie hierarchical ‘three’-factor model has severe statistical problems—i.e., it actually contains ten factors and results in impossible parameters (negative variances)—as well as conceptual problems. Hare and colleagues have published detailed critiques of the Cooke & Michie model. New evidence, across a range of samples and diverse measures, now supports a four-factor model of the psychopathy construct,] which represents the Interpersonal, Affective, Lifestyle, and overt Antisocial features of the personality disorder.

 

Diagnostic criteria and PCL-R assessmentPsychopathy is most commonly assessed with the PCL-R, which is a clinical rating scale with 20 items. Each of the items in the PCL-R is scored on a three-point (0, 1, 2) scale according to two factors. PCL-R Factor 2 is associated with reactive anger, anxiety, increased risk of suicide, criminality, and impulsive violence.

 

PCL-R Factor 1, in contrast, is associated with extraversion and positive affect. Factor 1, the so-called core personality traits of psychopathy, may even be beneficial for the psychopath (in terms of nondeviant social functioning). A psychopath will score high on both factors, whereas someone with APD will score high only on Factor 2.

 

Both case history and a semi-structured interview are used in the analysis.

      

I have been doing quite a lot of barefooting lately, and as you can see, the results prove it

A little humor always helps. I also loved the sign the woman is holding next to her which reads, "I Am Not Free When Any Woman is Unfree"

 

We must not let race, economics, or religion separate us! We must be in this movement together!

 

**All photos are copyrighted. Please don't use without permission**

Jimmy served in an Army unit that fought in Iraq and has suffered high post-war casualties due to cancer, specifically non-Hodgkin's lymphoma. More than 40 soldiers in his unit have been diagnosed and about 20 are now dead, he said. The Veterans Administration cut his benefits and forced him to undergo a reevaluation with a VA medical contractor -- 70 miles away in Delaware. That's a crazy demand for someone who's homeless and carless in sububan Timonium, MD.

I'd love to think the callous treatment comes from Trump-era stinginess, but uncomfortably for Democrats like me, it ain't so.

The lines between tenderness and callousness, solitude and chaos, precision and blunder are blurred as the breeding season brings the mass cackle of the northern gannet back to Bempton Cliffs. Okay, the blurred flight motion at the top of the frame is barely discernible as a gannet, but I wanted a shutter speed that would contrast the stillness of the nesters on the rock with the rush of the busy flyways above.

I know the sun shone in my eyes this morning and woke me up. This has to be the first day in the last 10-12 days that it hasn't rained. The callous on my shutter finger has softened!

 

Explore October 6, 2015 No. 269

slave! I'm ready to view my new pleasure palace!

yes, lord. here it is.

ah! at last!

the artisans created a ridiculous mixture of Burmese, Indian, Persian and Chinese motifs, hoping at least some of them would satisfy your endless lust for overstatement.

I know that! you think I don't know that?!

and when the result was insufficiently insane, they ingested massive doses of LSD to increase the overall intensity.

far out!

your obvious concern for their health is laudable, o callous one. they all sustained brain damage. permanent, but mild, fortunately.

so worth it, wouldn't you say? now summon my valet, I must dress for the occasion.

which hair piece tonight, lord?

the blond one, of course!

you've taken a fancy to it, haven't you?

it takes years off, don't you think?

one hardly notices your paunch, lord.

my what?

your heroic figure, sire.

it is heroic, isn't it.

definitely, o delusional one.

“Everywhere, in whatever realm of life, whether among its callous, coarsely impoverished and messily moldering lower ranks, or among its monotonously gelid and tediously tidy upper strata, everywhere, if but once, a person will encounter a phenomenon on his journey that is unlike anything he has chanced to see heretofore and that, at least once will awake in him a feeling unlike any he is fated to feel for the rest of his life.”

― Nikolai Gogol, Dead Souls

 

An Oxpecker sit upon the head of one of the most feared and dangerous animals in Africa, the Cape Buffalo. They have an unspoken and at time contentious relationship. The bird will glean a treasure trove of insects, a delicious and succulent feast fit for avian royalty, by scouring the buffalo for parasites. The buffalo, in turn, submits to constant poking and prodding, though sometimes visibly annoyed, and even occasionally surrenders strands of hair at the bequest of the bird for use in her nest. She rests upon the crown of mighty horns, like a queen on a callous throne with her cape at her feet. #Oxpecker #CapeBuffalo

 

www.danieldauria.com

  

Rise Rebel Resist-Otep

www.youtube.com/watch?v=1ooXPFRh6rs

 

perfect little spouses

in perfect little houses

it's family fun time

let's commit a hate crime

 

....if i can't be loved, then I'll be hated.

 

I'm disconnected

I'm uninspired

I'm burning in water

I'm drowning in fire

 

I'm trapped inside my mind

beneath these piles of stinking life

you use this abuse to keep me conquered

you're so absurdly common

 

vacant faces

brainless strangers

 

sputtering, stuttering insect language

I'm the creature you created

everyday i grow jaded

calloused and exasperated

 

if I'll never be loved

then I'll be hated

 

I'm one of the

freaks, the fagots,

the geeks, the savages,

rogues, rebels, dissident devils,

artists, martyrs, infidels ...

 

do we sit still

under attack?

 

or do we start pushing back?

 

never back up

never back down

 

& FIGHT.

 

RISE

REBEL

RESIST

 

RISE

REBEL

MAKE A FIST

RESIST

 

RISE

REBEL

RESIST

 

RISE

REBEL

MAKE A FIST

RESIST

 

I'm human pollution

I covet retribution

I'm just a big mistake

a defect you can subjugate

 

your ridicule is just typical antics

spineless, mindless, tragic, fanatic

 

puritan, bigot

lunatic, hypocrite

 

To save my soul from disaster

self-destruction could be the answer

 

if I'll never be loved

then I'll be hated

 

I'm one of the

freaks, the fagots,

the geeks, the savages,

rogues, rebels, dissident devils,

artists, martyrs, infidels ...

 

do we sit still

under attack?

 

or do we start pushing back?

 

never back up

never back down

 

& FIGHT.

 

RISE

REBEL

RESIST

 

RISE

REBEL

MAKE A FIST

RESIST

 

RISE

REBEL

RESIST

 

RISE

REBEL

MAKE A FIST

RESIST

 

masochistic

so sadistic

all they see is another statistic

 

maybe I'm a misfit, maybe I'm different

it will never be an average existence

 

masochistic

so sadistic

all they see is another statistic

 

If I can't be loved

then I'll be hated

 

it's family fun time

let's commit a hate crime

 

WAR

WAR

 

RISE

REBEL

RESIST

 

RISE

REBEL

MAKE A FIST

RESIST

 

RISE

REBEL

RESIST

 

RISE

REBEL

MAKE A FIST

RESIST

 

(WE ARE)

the

freaks, the fagots,

the geeks, the savages,

rogues, rebels, dissident devils,

artists, martyrs, infidels ...

 

do we sit still

under attack?

 

or do we start pushing back?

 

never back up

never back down

 

& fight

 

WAR

WAR

 

RESIST

 

Pose: 5ifth Order

Armor: Tonktastic

Weapons: C-Tech Mag 10 and Semple Creations Prince Sword.

Location: Higashiosaka

'Super Callous Fascist Racist Tories are Atrocious'

15 July 2017, Lassen Volcanic National Park

 

On a 1.6-mile trail to a beautiful waterfall, a seven-year-old was trotting along singing a song he had just made up, ‘when you’re walking a mile…’. The night before, he had witnessed the Milky Way for the first time, and today, he was walking his first trail in a national park. As all passersby could tell from his lung-full song or incessant display of his newly acquired permanent incisors, he was happy. The kid was followed closely by his father, who did not know much about this trail or how his son would react to it. Turns out, both bloomed with wildflowers, the former literally, and the latter, with his red cheeks and happy lungs, metaphorically. After the hike and a hearty snack in the Kohm Yah-mah-nee visitor center parking lot, the father asked his son, ‘Should we do this again?’.

 

The son nodded his head with an emphatic yes.

 

The childish energy pervaded the father and pulled him out of his internal gloom.

 

‘Ah, ok, if this was fun, then should we visit all the US national parks? ’ the father goofily asked, not even knowing how many national parks the country had (59 in 2017) or would go on to have.

 

‘Yes!’, the little kid said, with a bright twinkle in his eyes and a warm smile on his flushed face. The father smiled in return.

 

Sometimes, innocence mandates the mighty. Sometimes, it becomes the mighty.

….

 

29 November 2025, Dry Tortugas National Park

 

A mighty late-afternoon thunderstorm is gathering strength above the sea off the Florida Keys. Hurrying past this storm back to Key West, the ‘Yankee Freedom’ catamaran is negotiating the salvo of angry waves much like a ping pong ball. At the stern, the father and son have found seats on two ice-chests to weather the emetic ride. The crew is playing some club tracks on the deck, and the son is jamming to the music. The storm light is drenching, as is the pelagic spray from the speeding boat. Wet in more than one way, their tired, bouncing bodies are somehow sustaining an earnest smile.

 

The father and son are now returning from Fort Jefferson in the Dry Tortugas, their 63rd and final US national park.

 

All these interim years have been much like the ferry ride this morning: turbulent at times, treacherous at others. The COVID lockdown, family health scares, the teenage years… you get the idea. Nonetheless, the ride has been exhilarating!

 

Visiting all the national parks has felt like plucking and savoring experiences from several parallel lives, where colors are richer, sounds are fuller, and stories are deeper. “Ma’am, we do not ‘collect’ national parks, we experience them!”, the father had once protested to a park ranger, who had callously referred to her visitors as park collectors. Parks are not to be ‘collected’ but felt. Lived! As one lives a sweet memory. Again, and again, and again. Repeated sixty-three times. Weaved between the father and his son, these memories will outlive one of them and likely define the other.

 

“Can you believe this?” Hanging on to a railing of the speeding boat, the father asks, still coming to terms with this day of their long journey. The son warmly smiles back and nods his head. His smile is still the same, only the face is now lightly bearded. It feels unreal. As if the surrounding ocean is now spilling over the dams built to hold back all those meddling emotions.

 

Sometimes, the mighty mandates innocence. Sometimes, it becomes the innocent.

 

8 January 2009

 

But why are you letting me fall in love with him?

 

Ah, today. Well, it was better than yesterday, but that's not much to beat. Tomorrow will be better though, I already know it =]

 

Oh! I also went to the doctor for my huge writer's callous and headaches. The callous, is a callous and won't go away unless I keep off it =[

 

And as for my headaches, well, they will still be burdening me 2-4 times a day...

“If I am mad, it is mercy! May the gods pity the man who in his callousness can remain sane to the hideous end!”

― H.P. Lovecraft, The Temple

 

The Citadel, Untouchables

maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Untouchables/50/122/24

 

I often wonder, when I look up at the eternal sky

who am I? why am I here?

when I was a young lad, I thought I was just a body

then when I was angry, jealous or in love, I thought I was just emotions

and when I studied, I thought, I was just a mind

but now that I am old and gray and look forward to the grave

I realize what I should have known all along

that is, I, I am not this mind, not this body, not these emotions

but I am, the pure spirit, the part of me that lives for ever and can not die

and who knows where I will end up

whether it will be Heaven, Hell, Purgatory or Limbo

God only knows

  

Special thanx to McD for helping with this shot, without which this concept was all but nothing.

 

I hope you all like this piece of work, waiting for your comments.

"Tears that soak

A callous heart"

 

I Stay Away by Alice in Chains

www.youtube.com/watch?v=ODTv9Lt5WYs

"My broken spirit and back

My calloused, shaking hands

The ache I carry in me

My grief and skeletons

The weight you carried inside

A weight that held my bloodline

I count these burdens as mine

 

And still all you see is that bastard in me"

___________________

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Personal

"The two men who shot him were indifferent as men go, or perhaps they were less than that. At least they shot him without killing him, and then turned the unsconscionable eye of a camera upon his agony. It was a small, a stupid, but a callous crime.”

― Beryl Markham, West with the Night

You are ninety years old. Old and in pain. In your youth, you tell me, you were the most beautiful girl in the village – and I can believe that. You never learned to read. Your fingers are thick and gnarled and your feet have the texture of cork. On your head you carried tons of firewood and stubble stolen from the fields as fodder, and whole lakes of water. You saw the sun rise every day. The bread you kneaded over the years would be enough to furnish a universal banquet. You raised both people and animals, you even used to take the piglets to bed with you so that they wouldn’t freeze to death. You told me stories about ghosts and werewolves, old family disputes, a murder. You were the mainstay of the household, the fire in the hearth – seven times you fell pregnant and seven times you gave birth.

You know nothing of the world. You understand nothing of politics, economics, literature, philosophy or religion. You inherited hundreds of practical words, an elementary vocabulary. And that was quite enough for you to live by and to go on living. You are as fascinated by major disasters and royal weddings, as you are by petty local scandals and the theft of your neighbour’s rabbits. You harbour grudges against people, for reasons you can no longer recall, and for certain others profess an equally baseless devotion. You live. The word “Vietnam” is merely a barbarous sound of no importance to your league-and-a-half of world. You know about hunger: you’ve seen a black plague flag raised on the church tower. (Did you tell me that, or did I just dream it?) You carried with you your small cocoon of interests. And yet your eyes are still bright and you’re still happy. Your laughter is like a firework exploding. I’ve never heard anyone laugh the way you do.

I’m sitting here before you and I don’t understand. I’m your own flesh and blood and I don’t understand. You came into the world, but made no effort to understand it. Now you’re nearing the end of your life and, for you, the world is still what it was when you were born: a question mark, an unfathomable mystery, something that forms no part of your inheritance, which consists of a few hundred words, a piece of land you could walk round in five minutes, a house with an unboarded roof and a mud floor. I squeeze your calloused hand, stroke your lined face and your white hair, grown thin from the weight of all those burdens carried on your head – and still I don’t understand. You were beautiful, you say, and I can see that you’re intelligent. Who stole the world from you? And why? But perhaps I could understand and explain the how, why and when of it were you able to choose from my innumerable words the words you could comprehend. There’s no point now. The world will continue without you – and without me. And we won’t have told each other what really matters.

Or will we? I will have failed to give you the world you deserved because my words are not yours. Worse, I’m left feeling guilty about something you never accused me of. But Grandma, how can you sit outside your front door, looking up at the vast, starry sky, the sky of which you know nothing and across which you will never travel, at the silent fields and the dark trees, and say, with the serenity and tranquillity of your ninety years and with the fire of your still burning youth: «The world is so beautiful, it makes me sad to think I have to die!»

That is what I can’t understand – but that’s my fault not yours.

José Saramago

 

.

Abused & Abandoned Jungle Dogs.

 

Figured the title would grab your attention ! Right ?

I've made a major blunder and take full responsibility !

Today I've been called before "The Man" for a judgement !

 

So --

I'm standing straight as an arrow, shoulders back, chest out !

Your Honor, with all due respect & as stated above I do take

full responsibility for the issues at hand. Furthermore there

is an explanation as to why this slight mix-up took place.

And, without further delay and of course with your

approval I'd like to start that explanation now.

 

Approximately 28-29 days ago this young

abused an abandoned puppy was dumped

at The Monkey Temple by persons unknown.

 

Immediately she was taken in and given shelter from the storm.

A couple images of her emaciated body was shared on flickr.

Now, Your Honor a number of brave souls took pity on her

and quickly donated funds to help with her health issues.

And just as quickly we went into action getting her well.

 

Over time she has come in closer so I could remove the

dozens of bloated tics from her body but she remains

very spooky to close touch which is a result of abuse.

So Your Honor I stand before you to once again say

I take full responsibility for this slight of hand type

of mix-up. Everyone, including myself, were so

excited by her cute-ness she was named -

.. "Little Miss Lisa" ..

 

Your Honor,

This will be wrapped up soon as I'm now getting

to the end of the final part of this explanation.

 

Little Lisa was always hunched over with an arched back.

She was very sick and suffering from the agony of mange.

Little Lisa has been kept on medications and fed good food.

((done by mixing the meds into the food and stepping back))

 

So,

Today, Little Lisa was full of puppy energy and came in close.

This gave me a chance to go over her body much closer and

what did I find you might be wondering ? Your Honor in all

honesty I found that Little Lisa has a "wing-dang doodle !"

 

Your Honor you witnessed me raise my right hand

and swear to tell the truth and only the truth !

And I'm here right now to testify that not

only does Little Lisa have a doodle-

noodle but the family jewels too.

 

Your Honor I will get down on bended knee before

the court and swear I did not know of this before

todays early run out to The Monkey Temple !

 

But before you pass judgement on me I beg

the court to allow one last favor, please.

 

Before any mental health issues might occur with

Little Lisa finding out she is not a she, but a he,

I would like to petition the court to re-register

Little Lisa legally as Little Larry. Thank You.

 

Standing with head held high the gavel came

crashing down as the court is called to order.

 

A ruff callous voice barks out at the spectators

threatening to clear the court room if there's

any more yapping and hooting from them !

 

The Judge (talking)

 

Mr. Jon the photo man, he says, while thumbing

thru a thick black file. I have here before me an

interesting file. Some parts are sensitive and

have been redacted by a higher authority !

So, the word I'm looking for is impressive,

yes that's the word, but yet you live on a

small river in a dangerous poison snake

infested jungle, why do you do that ?

  

Sir, (snapping to attention)

It is my sworn duty to never leave anyone

behind and that is exactly what I'm doing.

 

Well in that case I will now pass sentence.

 

The Judge --

 

Mr Jon The photo Man, I sentence you

to doing The Same Same But Different !

 

Furthermore, you are to report back to

the court in 6 months 4 an update on

all the temple dogs, plus Mr. Gibbon.

 

And the court also excepts your

petition changing Little Lisa's

name to Mr. Little Larry.

  

Court is adjourned ............;-)~~~

  

Thank you for your comments and donations.

 

Jon&Crew.

 

Please help with your donations here.

www.gofundme.com/saving-thai-temple-dogs.

  

Please,

No Political Statements, Awards, Invites,

Large Logos or Copy/Pastes.

© All rights reserved.

     

.......................

..

The Broad Bay Roar

 

Upon still nights, when frost lies deep,

And moonlight paints a world in sleep,

The Broad Bay Roar breaks through the calm,

A thunder sound, a savage psalm

It echoes in the air so clear,

As I recall a voice so dear.

 

He'd take me out beneath the sky,

Where stars like ancient beacons lie,

their lights aglow from aeons flare

He'd point to constellations there:

Orion’s belt, the Plough aglow,

The Pleiades in galactic flow.

 

In those soft moments, cold and bright,

thunderous waves roared through the night,

While ice-bound currents shrieked around

to fill the air with drumbeat sound.

Each echo seemed to call the past,

Where ancient days are held so fast.

 

Through years now gone I still can hear

my father’s voice, both far and near.

An echo, yet I feel him stand,

as pointing to the stars, his hand

would trace the sky with loving grace.

His memory frozen in that place.

 

Now, in the stillness, I can see

these constellations, wild and free

as Seumas Sgarraidh, though long gone,

his stories echo like a song

as Broad Bay roars and stars align, his memories entwine with mine.

 

As stars above, his tale remains

of war torn seas, through snow and pains.

The Arctic's grip, a bitter hold

with winds that howled, and night's deep cold.

They sailed through death’s unyielding gaze,

where wolves of war prowled icy waves.

 

Each shadow masked a lurking foe,

each breath a gift in frostbound glow.

Yet still Polaris burned so bright,

A beacon in the endless night.

It called them home, through wrath and storm,

A constant flame, the convoys' norm.

 

In peacetime's silence tending sheep,

with calloused hands, he sows and reaps.

The storm of war now distant cast,

his peace hard-won, his anchor fast.

A steadfast heart, the land he keeps upon the Isle where wild winds sleep.

 

Though he now rests, his echoes stay

'neath these same stars which light my way

As through my thoughts his spirit roams

upon the endless sea that foams.

And as I gaze at skies above,

I hear the ocean’s song of love.

 

Its whispers blend with starlight’s gleam,

recalling him in every dream.

For in his quiet, determined way,

he taught me truths that still hold sway

to teach in turn the young to see

his stars, his strength, his legacy.

 

©Magz Macleod 2024

During the early years of the Apostle Peter following the Lord, he was told “when you were younger you dressed yourself and went where you wanted.” That may have been true for Peter but it wasn’t for me. For the first fifteen years of my life I was totally dependent on others to go anywhere unless I wanted to walk or take a tractor.

 

But my geographic dependency led to some lifelong lessons. For a dozen years or more every Thursday morning my father would ask my mother, “should we go see the folks tonight?”

 

The folks were my grandmother and grandfather on my dad’s side who lived about 8 miles away from our farm in southwestern Minnesota. Nearly 70 years later I remember those treks often done in a primitive 1942 Ford that had dim headlights even for that period of time.

 

The visit to my grandparent’s modest house was not a time for shouting, laughing and great gaiety, especially for a lad who had not reached double digits yet. The nights were quiet and to my immature ears the muted conversations were about people and things unimportant to me.

 

But these were times I saw these fine old folks in a way that has remained with me all my life. My grandfather who read so many Louis L'Amour books that when he stood up he had to dust himself off, was stooped over, moved slowly and always thumped about using a striped cane, all the results of a life of hard physical work and the fact he insisted on painting barns and houses into his mid-80s even after falling and breaking a hip.

 

Each Thursday night we ended our time together around a small kitchen table covered by an oilcloth tablecloth by partaking of a meager snack that normally consisted of Oreo cookies and milk for me, baloney sandwiches and coffee for my parents. While eating I often studied my grandfather’s large calloused hands and the throbbing blue veins on the back of them that seemed to have a mind of their own as they pulsed.

 

He was a man of few words but often cleared his throat at the table and asked me if I enjoyed school. I always told him yes which must have mystified him as neither he nor my dad had much formal schooling. His wife of over 60 years was a frail arthritic-plagued woman at that time but to my eyes she was uncomplaining and always cheerful though she did not have an easy life.

 

Dull nights? Yes, but looking back now I realize my folks were modeling the essence of caring for their folks, checking on them and being alert to any unspoken needs. Too often in our technology driven world, physical visits to aging parents have been replaced by texts and emails although there are some folks who would even settle for that.

 

because not all australians are callous bastards

 

these people are decrying the vile treatment of asylum seekers consigned to the australia's off shore concentration camps

 

adelaide, south australia

 

#EvacuateNow

#BringThemHere

#SOSManus

in the black hills,

the bad lands,

the calloused east.

i buried my ballast,

i made my peace,

with four winds,

leveling the pines.

  

this one goes out to sammi

The decline of summer is beginning to move into the acute phase for me. Began pulling up spent tomato plants from my garden yesterday. So sad to callously yank out the roots of plants that I so gingerly planted just a few months ago. May and June were filled with hope and optimism for another garden season. The days were long and filled with sun and brightness. Now my backyard is filled with pockets of deep shadow as the midday sun no longer rises high enough to get past the trees. The days are still mild, but an evening chill rushes in now like an ocean tide at sunset. I scurry about closing windows in the house. It all seems so sudden, and it's this sense of being rushed that adds to the undercurrent of anxiety. For me it's not so much winter but the impending darkness. These seasonal reminders are all about. Some more subtle than others. One thing I notice lately is not so much an occurrence as much as its absence. The familiar sounds of people cheering on little league baseball teams. That chorus of voices, heard from far away, that would rise and fall with each hit of the ball. The voices have fallen silent as the diamonds are now deserted. I came upon one of these rural ballfields the other day about the same time a storm front arrived. The diamond was already overgrown with weeds which were crawling up the backstop and into the dugouts. I walked the baseline, very slowly. I traced the outline of home plate with my boot. It was embedded into the ground, but curling up at the edges. There's something eerie about venues like this, built entirely for recreation and enjoyment, but now desolate and abandoned. The crowds and the kids may return here next spring. But for now it's just me and the ever increasing darkness.

Built for FebRovery 2025.

 

This wheel was hell to put together.

The only reason this exists is that I wanted an original rover for the Magic School Rover to be so callously halting.

Full Of Promise & Peril, Breathtaking Untouched Unedited Sunset 11/01/2020 At Blessed Tampa Bay Home (SOOC) Right Now - IMRAN™

With the stressful USA national elections just 2 days away and the dreadful practice of turning the clocks back having kicked in at 2 AM, this November is full of both peril and promise. The pagan ritual of Halloween had passed by with the global horrors of more than a million dead from a pandemic and many more of us to die in the days and months ahead.

The faux celebration of death that is Halloween was made more horrific by the callous and willful disregard for the safety and well-being of others by those who celebrate the buffoons led by a deadly clown who is putting the entire world and all of us at great peril. So, it was an interesting November starting up this otherwise eerily quiet Sunday.

As the large moody cloud hung over Tampa Bay this late afternoon, with a steamy sultry feel to it - despite the mild temperatures - I knew I was likely in for a stunning sunset. How stunning? You tell me.

I still have my Nikon D850 outside making a timelapse movie of the sunset and dusk. But I had to come inside immediately just to share this mind-blowing image with you right now. You can see why.

It was taken with the 13-years old Nikon D300. NO edit. NO filter. NO tweaking. NO processing. NO changes, except my name in the lower right corner.

The waterfall and dolphin-shaped fountains had turned on by then. So the dark silhouette of the statues and the molten gold streams of liquid shining in, and reflecting & refracting, the gold & orange-red sunset's light made this a moment to cherish.

The extra dark cloud to the left is also so perfectly tapering off into wisps to the right, just above the dolphins, giving an extra bit of dramatic flair to the image.

Though I have put my copyright and name on the image, I truly cannot take any credit for it. It is all just another of the daily miracles we call life. All I did was go outside and savor being blessed to witness this magic of God's handiwork in the sky. I bow my head, once again, in prayer and gratitude, at Maghreb.

 

© 2020 IMRAN™

 

#ApolloBeach, #blessed, #Boating, #Clouds, #commentary, #D300, #elections, #Florida, #gratitude, #Halloween, #IMHO, #IMRAN, #ImranAnwar, #Lifestyle, #literature, #Maghreb, #Nature, #Nikon, #November, #politics, #prayers, #prose, #seaside, #silhouette, #Sunset, #TampaBay, #weather

What is it about humans that makes us so callous and murderous?

My ode to Fuji Acros, which is not long for this world. As with winter, the inexorable spin of the planet and the relentless pull of time and progress have their way eventually. Acros will be a memory, but what memories it will have made. This roll, for example, exposed on a frozen lake in the middle of the Canadian Rocky nowhere, with the wind howling and the temperatures brutally low.

 

Tangentially, I'm a winter guy. I love snow. I love ice. I love the quiet that both bring. But winter comes and goes such that despite how well we get along, we always part. But we part with promises to reunite again when we can. Eventually time will break that promise but til then...

 

I am disappointed to see Acros break that promise, but it is a fact of life as a film photographer. I have seen more films come and go in my years than films currently available. Weirdly enough, I am ok with this and that is largely because I have images like this. It is worth it to live through the demise of Acros because I had this chance to make this image with it. And not to sound callous, but there are other films.

 

Still, I will miss this stuff.

 

Hasselblad 500C

Fuji Acros

Policeman's Prayer

 

.....Author Unknown

 

When I start my tour of duty God

wherever crime may be,

As I walk the darkened streets alone,

let me be close to Thee.

 

Please give me understanding

with both the young and old.

Let me listen with attention

until their story's told.

 

Let me never make a judgement

in a rash or callous way,

but let me hold my patience,

let each man have his say.

 

Lord, if some dark and dreary night,

I must give up my life.

Lord, with your understanding love,

protect my children and wife.

   

"l've seen how people have allowed their humanity to drain away. Only it happened slowly instead of all at once.They didn't seem to mind. All of us a little bit we harden our hearts, grow callous. Only when we have to fight to stay human do we realize how precious it is to us."

 

AKA fascism.

 

from "Invasion of the Body Snatcher" (movie 1956)

Fossilized sharks teeth are plentiful here at this sand bar. Just walk along and pick them up - it's a nerdy thrill!

 

They are tiny, usually, but you will occasionally find a large one. If you know where to look you can even find the huge megaladon teeth, the "holy grail" of shark's tooth hunters.

 

I will take these back and end up giving most of these away to the kids on the beach. Great fun!

Hands. Hands. What kind of hands can I shoot? This is the question I had been asking myself for over a week. You see, “Hands” was the topic of the fortnightly CPS Challenge that I participate in, and frankly I wasn’t feeling it. No particularly inspirational ideas were coming to me. I’ve also been doing a heavy road travel business week across the Midwest, so time for photography was limited at best. I had all but resigned myself to not having an entry for this Challenge. However, out of the blue, opportunity knocked.

 

Dyersburg Tennessee is a little backwater located just east of the Mississippi River. Returning from my dinner (alone), I was making the final home stretch to my room at the Holiday Inn. I was exhausted, and the last thing in the world on my mind was photography...I just wanted to get to my room to retire for the evening. I entered the elevator and pressed ‘3’ for my floor. As the door was closing I saw a man hurrying his way toward the elevator. I quickly stopped the doors from shutting so he could enter. As the doors closed again and we started our short ascent, I glanced over to size up my new fellow rider. He was a rough neck coming in from a hard days work. And what's that?...a worn and faded tattoo across his dirty and calloused right hand? My stranger radar suddenly jumped as I sensed that there may be some stories in those hands. Could this be the hand shot I had given up on? Do I actually have the nerve to confront a stranger on an elevator? I had to make a decision fast because the doors opened and the gentleman began his first step out of the elevator. He did not reach his third step before I finally broke, ”Excuse me sir. My name is Chris, and I’m a photographer…” and there I was, starting my stranger pitch.

 

His name was Aaron, and he was returning from a day of outdoor manual work. My sudden burst of enthusiasm about his hands must have been persuasive as he was agreeable to the impromptu hand modeling job. Even better, after I quickly retrieved my camera from my room, he agreed to return to the lobby with me so that we could set up some sort of decent-looking shot. I have never done a hand portrait before, so I had no notion on how to proceed or what to expect. Once in the lobby area, I quickly identified a small desk lamp sitting atop the dark breakfast bar counter as an attractive light source and background. This is where we set up shop.

 

Before, when we were in the elevator, the only tattoo I could really see was the fleur-de-lis on his right backhand. It wasn’t until we got busy with the shoot that I saw the faded lettering across his knuckles; “HOLD FAST’. Right on.

 

If this image intrigues you and you're interested in seeing more stranger street portraits, I invite you to check out my 100 Strangers albums. You may also consider visiting the 100 Strangers Group where hundreds of photographers from all over the world submit their street portraiture work : www.flickr.com/groups/100strangers/

 

The final forming of a person's character lies in their own hands.

 

Anne Frank

Every season has its own glory (James Watkins)

 

Every season has its own glory,

Every purpose has its own time,

Every moment has its own story,

Every story has its own line.

 

I have walked deep into cities,

Shining brightly never to fail,

Listened to heart cries,

Lost in the morning,

Standing on corners

Stagnant and stale.

 

Where is the hope

That brought forth the laughter?

Where is the song?

The music unveiled?

Why are the choices so

Wasted and bitter?

Gathered in hatred,

Broken and pale.

 

There are the voices lost in confusion,

Crushed in the thriving, deepening swale-

Calloused and cold the circling convenience,

Crippled commotion emotions prevail

 

Severed connections, squandered projections-

Revered reflections, stammering tongues-

Coined by controlling contriving convections,

In different directions now written in stone.

 

I have seen new stars on the mountains,

Fed on the movement of heaven and earth-

Filled up by frameworks

In perfect perspective,

Fueled by the turning of terrible truth.

 

Come now and sing of mists in the forest,

Sensual sonnets of songs in the dirt-

Come and behold the delicate balance

Of seasons and reasons and rhythms

And birth.

 

Beacons of quiet in last true performance,

Heralded nature in singular cause-

Ancient and pure dreams

Shattered and twisted

Arrayed in transitional

Smoldering awe.

 

Now is the time to look to the heavens,

Now is the moment to take up the cause,

Now is the voice of blazing amazement,

Borne on the winds of the gathering storm.

 

Listen to stream, listen to forest,

Listen to flower, and staggering fawn-

Listen to voices rolling like thunder,

Drink of the waters

And dance with the dawn.

 

Wrapped in the garments of natural beauty,

Facing the force of burgeoning call-

Strong in the seasons of life and creation,

Firm on foundations that will never fall.

 

James Watkins 09-01-08

"You there, impotent, loose in the knees

Open your scarf'd chops till I blow grit within you

Spread your palms and lift the flaps of your pockets

I am not to be denied...

Mine is no callous shell

I have instant conductors all over me

[repeat]

I merely stir, press, feel with my fingers

And that's about as much as I can stand"...

Severed Heads / Goodbye Tonsils...

www.youtube.com/watch?v=l3-v2u2dz2E...

This sign, with Biblical roots reflects a sentiment to care for those less fortunate. Even when we might be afraid, we must feel compelled to be kind to immigrants and refugees. We must also look to those living in poverty without health care and those with disabilities. We must fight for those less fortunate.

 

I am glad to see some of those who identify themselves as Christian are speaking out against Trump. It's pretty incredible that someone who wants to take away healthcare from 22+ millions of Americans to reward the top 400 wealthiest families could be considered Christian.

 

I grew up with both Methodism and Catholicism and nowhere did Jesus ever say in the Bible, "Screw the poor, let the rich take over the world!" Nope...just wasn't there. Here's a recent article on the religious left speaking out:

 

www.reuters.com/article/us-usa-trump-religion-idUSKBN16Y114

 

In more recent news, Trump and co. have scammed people, including those living in poverty to give charitable donations which ended up just benefiting the rich yet again.

 

Trump, in his continually callous and damaging behavior towards people with illnesses and disabilities shifted funds for children with Cancer into his own profit:

 

www.forbes.com/sites/danalexander/2017/06/06/how-donald-t...

 

Even more recently, his lawyer Jay Sekulow scammed people into giving charitable donations just to make himself and his family richer.

 

www.independent.co.uk/news/world/americas/donald-trump-la...

 

I don't know how anyone can defend such actions, personally. I don't necessarily consider myself a Christian but I try to live a life of kindness towards others. What I do know is that these actions are appalling.

 

**All photos are copyrighted. Please don't use without permission**

July 10, 2011.

And I wonder if I ever cross your mind? For me it happens all the time

It makes me feel rather depressed to look at pictures of people who are no longer in my life; for reasons such as the fragile threads of my complexity being too much for them to comprehend. Because even the printed ink of their eyes seem to speak out what they said in the past, tangled words of miscommunications and frustrated anger all spilling out.

The callous tones used, the darkness of their unhappiness, the coldness of their nonchalance.

The irony, bits and pieces of irony all fitted carefully into that tiny picture; how they were smiling - was that a real smile, even back then? The way they leaned closely; the way their body language was posed.

One still. Tons of memories.

It almost doesn't seem fair how it forces me to remember.

 

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