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The Cyclone is a tri-swivel-fan jet designed for speed. Intended as a race plane it was co-opted as a fast reconnaissance jet when the Empire of the Lion declared war on the Free State Alliance. Like many planes in the air war, this jet is unique and has been grouped with a selection of other speedy sport planes to fly missions over enemy airfields and landing pads.
The three swivel fans allow for a good kick and a surprising boost when in the air and a variety of fins make it exceedingly manoeuvrable. Like all former civilian aircraft, the Cyclone has been fitted with two pulse blasters, guns that utilise a weakness in the enemy shielding system to short out the command computers in the countless drones sent out by the imperial forces.
Another Sky-Fi creation, The Cyclone was first conceived as a take on the Captain Boomerang planes that feature in the DC Tangent Universe books. However when I got to building I ran away with myself and ended up with this. I am perfectly happy with the end result. The stickers are mostly from Exo-Force with the roundels from my selection of plane themed stickers.
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Master Corporal Alexandre Gagnon of the Air Detachment of the HMCS REGINA conduct maintenance on the CH-148 Cyclone during OPERATION PROJECTIONN in the Pacific Ocean on February 16 2019.
Photo: Corporal Stuart Evans, BORDEN Imaging Services
©2019 DND-MDN CANADA
XA01-2019-0035
View from Town Beach of the southern end of the storm system as it approached Broome from the East across Roebuck Bay. This storm hit Broome before TC Riley (tropical cyclone) was named. Fortunately, Riley passed Broome out to sea. G1X7289
My original design for the Wright R-3350 Duplex Cyclone radial engine and its nacelle was rudimentary at best, but the redesign of these engines caused me the most trouble of all the revisions! Some of my more recent radial engine designs moved towards using plates instead of bricks. The B-29 has an elongated engine covering with larger air ducts below the engine. I used an eight-sided parabolic ring as the base for the engine, using 1x2 plates with holders to situate the nacelle plates. I retained the original propeller assembly but changed the chrome boss cap.
English:
CH-148 Cyclone
Royal Canadian Air Force
The CH-148 Cyclone is one of the most capable maritime helicopters in the world. It is Canada’s main ship-borne maritime helicopter, and it provides air support to the Royal Canadian Navy.
The Cyclone can be used for surface and sub-surface surveillance, search and rescue missions, tactical transport and more. It can operate during the day or night and in most weather conditions to support missions in Canada and around the world.
Length: 17.22 m
Length (folded configuration): 14.78 m
Rotor span: 17.48 m
Height: 5.44 m
Maximum Gross Weight: 13,000 kg
Maximum speed: 287 km/h
Range: 740 km
Location(s):
Patricia Bay, B.C.
Shearwater, N.S.
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Français :
CH-148 Cyclone
Aviation royale canadienne
Le CH-148 Cyclone figure parmi les hélicoptères maritimes les plus efficaces au monde. À titre de principal hélicoptère maritime embarqué du Canada, son travail consiste à apporter un soutien aérien à la Marine royale canadienne.
Le CH-148 Cyclone accomplit notamment des missions de surveillance et de contrôle de surface et sous-marins, de recherche et de sauvetage et de transport tactique. Il peut accomplir son travail de jour comme de nuit, dans la majorité des conditions météorologiques, afin de soutenir les missions canadiennes et internationales.
Longeur : 17,22 m
Longeur (plié) : 14,78 m
Envergure du rotor : 17,48 m
Hauteur : 5,44 m
Masse totale maximale : 13 000 kg
Vitesse maximale : 287 km/h
Autonomie : 740 km
Bases :
Patricia Bay, C.-B.
Shearwater, N.-É.
NASA image acquired June 3, 2010
Tropical Cyclone Phet lingered over the Arabian Sea, off the coast of Oman, on June 3, 2010, although the storm’s wind speeds had dropped since the previous day. The U.S. Navy’s Joint Typhoon Warning Center (JTWC) reported that Tropical Cyclone Phet had maximum sustained winds of 105 knots (195 kilometers per hour) and gusts up to 130 knots (240 kilometers per hour). The storm was located roughly 220 nautical miles (410 kilometers) south-southeast of Masqat (Muscat), Oman.
The Moderate Resolution Imaging Spectroradiometer (MODIS) on NASA’s Aqua satellite captured this natural-color image on June 3, 2010. Phet stretches almost the entire length of Oman’s coastline, and extends hundreds of kilometers out to sea.
The JTWC forecast that the storm would weaken as it approached Oman, veer toward the east, and finally dissipate after making a second landfall north of Karachi, Pakistan.
NASA image courtesy MODIS Rapid Response Team at NASA GSFC. Caption by Michon Scott.
Instrument: Aqua - MODIS
To see more images from NASA Goddard's Earth Observatory go to: earthobservatory.nasa.gov/
NASA Goddard Space Flight Center is home to the nation's largest organization of combined scientists, engineers and technologists that build spacecraft, instruments and new technology to study the Earth, the sun, our solar system, and the universe.
Inbetween the heavy winds during the cyclone on 1-22-11. Imagine this forlorn creature singing the Rolling Stones song "Gimme Shelter", then take a look at the video on the right.
POEM PARKING LOT
MOONLIGHT
Moonlight softens a multitude of sins.
Glows delicately, soft, not blazing, just
Reflecting. Shines a gentler light on things.
Reminds us that we’re not really as hard
As we pretend. Let the fragile side of
Yourself out of its shell, enjoy the night
Sky’s splendor. Make time for someone
Special to you. Moonlight reminds us
How precious calm can be, that we
Needn’t spend each moment in a flurry.
How we’re meant to do more than just
Fight our way through existence, either
Conquering or breaking free. Sometimes
It’s clear how all this conflict is just so
Much invention, mostly needless. Leave
All of that alone for now. Let moonlight
Remind you how in the midst of all we
Resist there’s still a natural wonder it’s
No sin to give in to.
HOT PLATE
That which can’t be spoken of in honorable
Terms. That which has been declared off-
Limits, old business, trashed, abused,
Treated like something of no value. No use.
Responsibility dropped like a hot plate that
Ought to shatter but doesn’t. Hear it clang
Like an unwanted gong ringing awareness
You haven’t forgotten and never will. Try
Harder? Smash it to pieces like you wish
You could smash the pain into dust for the
Next wind? Passionate as it might appear,
Destroying plates as some kind of display
Seems so undignified. Unnecessary to
Victimize the kitchenware. Angrily, sadly,
This kitchen reeks of indignity already, and
It’s not the dishes’ fault. Silly old fashioned
Me, I thought we were supposed to value
That which doesn’t break.
SEEDS
A burger would look barmy claiming to
Be a cow. Potatoes grow in the ground,
Not potato chips. Oranges grow in
Florida, but orange juice comes from
A factory. Metal comes from the earth,
But your car, mostly metal, didn’t just
Drive up from some garage under the
Surface. That laptop facilitating your
Interaction with the world is mostly
Plastic, which comes these days from
Corn, but nobody credits the corn for
Social networking. The whole point is
No matter who or what we come from,
Life changes us into something separate,
Distinct, different, new called ourselves.
When this happens with natural things,
We say it’s so great, but when it happens
With people, for some it’s a sign of the
End times. Maybe not all transformation
Is good, but can you think of anything
Worse than none at all? So we needn’t
See ourselves as betrayers if we stray
From our roots – that’s what seeds do.
It’s moving forward, not ending. Worry
Not, beloved sisters and brothers, time
Won’t end till you’ve paid off your debts,
Which we all know will never happen.
UGLY
You say my poems sound like they’re
Afraid to go somewhere ugly? As if
Ugliness, that decreasingly vague
Sense of threat, needs any more
Expression – just turn on the news.
Watch people struggling, starving,
Stealing, raping, destroying, killing
For no good reason, but our steady
Diet of violence has made us numb
To others suffering. Ugly enough?
Certain social entities want you
Convinced the world’s a dangerous
And ugly place, because conveniently
They have a solution to sell you,
Provided you sign up for their program.
Fear and ugliness do good business,
So they’d prefer you forget there’s
A way that’s free. You don’t need a
Program to appreciate beauty.That’s
All someone like me tries to remind
People of. Ugliness is the wolf at
My door, and my means or resistance
Is to reach all I can for harmony before
I’m consumed too by some ugly hunger.
In the midst of so much ugliness,
Embracing what’s beautiful is almost
An act of subversion. I want to subvert,
With a passion.
INVENT
When you invent me in your mind as
Someone you can’t trust, can’t open
Up to, can’t reach out to, can’t relate
To, can’t use period, it’s too bad you’re
Not writing for Hollywood. When you
Assume a whole ideology, value system,
Attitude, belief, sensibility and you
Attribute it to me without even asking,
That’s an astounding leap of faith and
Confidence in your own convictions
I wish you’d save for your religion.
Good thing you’re not as convinced
You can walk on water or part the
Red Sea as you are that you have me
All figured out.
REASONS
Some reasons are like weeds, you think
You’re rid of them but the just spring
Back up. The longer you leave them the
More they take over. Dealing with them
Is the price you pay for having a garden.
I guess you’d classify this type of reason
As doubts. Other reasons are like trees,
Standing tall no matter what nasty acts
Of nature take place. With age, they
Attain a certain height, and can shelter
Other living things. I guess you’d refer
To this type of reason as faith. Stranger
Reasons are like cactus, living where
Most life would die, protecting what’s
Precious under sharp thorns but unable
To reach out or be reached without
Hurting. If you want to reach them, it’s
Going to hurt. I can’t decide whether
To call these reasons cynicism, damages,
Or life insurance. Maybe all three.
SO PURE
I really should resolve to market
Myself more effectively. Problem is,
I’ve got this deep seated conviction
That it’s classier to just give things
Away. This sort of begs the question
As to whether anyone genuinely
Values that which they’re just given.
So tell me, would you take my poetry
More seriously if you had to pay for it?
Think carefully – my future creativity
Could be riding on your answer. And
Truthfully, the only reason I need
Money is to stop worrying about it.
So how is it I’m not prospering
When my intentions are so pure?
TRADE SECRET
Do you wonder where all these
Poems come from? Well, it’s
Simple. I have a Good Angel on
One shoulder and a Bad Angel
On the other, both vying for
My attention, to be the one
Taken seriously, establish
Credibility, each whispering
Profound, provocative, pure,
Soily, sacred, profane, mystical,
Physical, sexual, intellectual,
Spiritual, selfless, selfish, true,
False, angry, forgiving, gentle,
Devoted, demented, violent,
Me me me and you you you
Influences on my outlook from
Moment to moment. Poems
Are what’s left over when the
Crossfire momentarily ceases.
HOMES
I feel at home in more than one place.
There’s the home where I was born, the
Home where I live, and the homes I’ve
Discovered and return to when I can.
No ambivalence about my citizenship,
But I’ve left a little bit of myself and
Taken with me something from all the
Different places I’ve called home, even
If only for a few days. They’re all part of
Me now, regardless of where my feet
Kick back at any moment, just like you
Don’t have to be right beside someone
To love them deeply, even if you wish
You could be. That’s why, contrary to
Appearances, I don’t think of this at all
As an exile.
DRAMATIC BAGGAGE
Maybe I was left in front of the TV
At too early an age. I didn’t just
Watch the shows, I felt them too.
(What else is a good show supposed
To make you do?) That’s my earliest
Impression of human conflict and
Resolution. Now I wonder whether
Unconsciously I still expect everything
To be too black and white like our old
TV, too cut and dried. In theory I’m
Aware of complexity, but emotionally
It’s a different story – if my feelings
You’re engaged, you’re either a hero
Or a villain. Villains must be punished
Or defeated for heroes to come out
Shining before the last commercial. I
Know that’s distorted, but we don’t
Just think about people, we feel them
Too. So if you’re going to get dramatic,
Know that all it does is warm the tubes
Of my old TV feelings that never leave,
Just leave more dramatic baggage than
I know how to handle. As a child, to me
Everyone on TV seemed so much more
Alive, but involvement with them was
Just something you could always turn
Off anytime you liked.
TRAVELING
Traveling is my freedom and my prison,
My choice as well as my inescapable
Fate. Like a shark starts to fade if it
Doesn't circulate, I need to move. In
The shadows between one location
And the next, there's somewhere all
Is still, my only moments of peace.
It's not just arriving, not just leaving,
But the movement between that keeps
The weeds and vines from encircling,
Enclosing. Can you ever really be
Close to someone who won't stay
Put? Yes. Be a partner, not an
Anchor.
WHAT A DOG
Dog with a bone can’t let go. For all
He knows, it’s dog nirvana. Canine
Heaven made flesh (or in this case
Bone). Never seen him so fully
Committed, or willing to lay down
His life to protect what’s so precious
To him. Never seen him so happy,
Wagging his tail at its sight, gamboling
Like he thinks he’s a lamb, savoring its
Taste, aroused by its scent, licking
Tongue expressing the depths of his
Affection, barking baritone love songs
Of faith and devotion. Playing with it
Like each moment they have together
Is golden. Makes you wonder how they
Ever did without one another. They’re
Partners till he’s gnawed the last of
The marrow from its insides. When
It loses its special appeal, dog thinks
Nothing of moving on to the next one.
What a dog.
DREAMS
In their isolation, inhabitants of tiny
Islands, known to and knowing only
Themselves, weave mythologies that
Map their location as the center of
The universe, of creation, of time.
Dwarves who don’t know better
Think they’re giants. Same with
Dreams – won’t acknowledge limits
If they don’t have to, sometimes
Growing big enough to think they
Can depose reality. Poor dreamer,
Then, what mutiny must brew in
Your soul. For we know how reality
Has taken many a battering, but
Always is the one left standing
Because dreams seldom outlive
The dreamers. Through rebellion
Is more romantic, at least in teen
Novels, dreams might do better to
Treat reality more politely, to make
Their pleas free of expectation reality
Will listen, just with a humble hope
Reality might point the way to truth
Just as real as it was in your dream.
GUESS
No more guesses. Nothing brings on
A flood of bad emotions like feeling
With all your being that you’re right
Then realizing you’ve simply guessed
Wrong. Maybe the more something
Means to you personally the less
Clearly you can really see it. There’s
A time to be objective, and a time to
Follow your heart and dive right in.
Too bad sometimes we can only
Guess which is which. I feel like I
Dove into a pool that turned out to
Be empty. The water was imaginary,
Unlike the concrete. So please, don’t
Expect me to guess. If you want me
To believe you, first believe in what
You want to convey enough to say it
Face to face.
BEATNIK MOSQUITOES
Poems are like mosquitoes drunk on the
Blood of a nicotine addict such as moi,
Haphazardly careening in circular flight,
Their mission - inner space exploration,
Little bitty buzzings sounding like jazz
Saxophones soundtracking beatnik
Free verse, these insect Allen Ginsburgs,
Improvising wildly like a Dixieland band.
Jazz poetry from beatnik mosquitoes
Drunk on my blood - how beautiful!
SLAP
Poems are like mosquitoes, flying
Around sucking on people’s feelings,
Spreading disease, making you
Itch, disrupting your sleep,
Inspiring a good slap or two.
WHEN WE WERE NORMAL
Inter-generational conflict rendered
Me less than at my best for a long time.
I resigned myself to the reality that my
Elders were clueless and my peers were
Crazy. By necessity, I kept a foot in both
Camps, but my head and heart were
Somewhere else. It’s all cooled off by
Now, but the cynicism I got from the
Bad years has stayed with me like an
Unwanted tattoo. Worse is the feeling
That while now-meaningless battles
Consumed our thoughts, something
Slipped by us. We still see the world
Like we did when we were normal,
But that was a long, long time ago.
POOR OLD ROBOT
Poor old robot from a second hand
Robot store. Can’t find your parts
Anymore, can’t find your owner.
Poor old robot, feeling outmoded,
Knowing your warranty expired
Yesterday but refusing to just sit
Around and decay. Poor old robot,
All your friends in the junkyard,
Sadly mute, reminding you of a
More animated past. Poor old
Robot, wanting to be helpful but
Only speaking Chinese, confusing
The elderly and frightening the
Young. Poor old robot, short-circuiting
Your own speakers issuing distorted
Robot moans about how nobody
Appreciates you, sounding more
Annoying than rap (in Chinese)
Through a broken boom box. Poor
Old robot, voice of every invention
First coveted greedily then tossed
Aside casually as soon as there’s a
Newer version. Poor old robot,
Wishing you could take your metallic
Hands and throttle whoever saddled
You with this limited lifespan. Poor
Old robot, I want to shoot you just
To shut you up, but you look at me
With those tortured robot eyes and
It scares me how easily I can relate.
DUSK
Dusk, and the day’s content to let
Its light relax and fade. There’s
Still work to be done, but for now
That’s enough. Now day and night,
Opposites but still ideal partners,
Do their changing of the guard at
Dusk. Then the light disappears,
No one knows where to and no
One asks. After all it does for us,
It’s entitled to its privacy. There’s
A time to shine as bright as you can,
And a time to do nothing more than
Enjoy being alive. In the long run,
It’s the steadiness that counts,
Finding a comfortable rhythm that
Won’t grind you down. Day and
Night split their time equally. We
Should learn from that balance.
DEVIL’S TOOLS
During the bad years I was judged
Constantly, even for things I’d never
Actually done. No one can justify
Another’s pretensions, no matter
How well-intended, but there was
Still some expectation the prodigal
Son might turn out to be a golden
Boy after all. When that didn’t
Happen, they imagined the worst.
Someone’s anger stings no less
Just because you know it’s based
On a mistake – the real sting is
What they’d believe about you.
Wrong ideas, in the minds of
People firmly convinced they
Can’t be anything but right, are
The devil’s tools for dismantling
Families.
AUSTIN
Take me with you back to Austin – I’m not
Understood here, much less appreciated.
Here, I have to sing in a language I can’t
Speak. In Austin, I can sing in English, and
I’ll learn as much Spanish as I have to. In
That kind of milieu, they'd more likely take
Me to heart. Here, I get shot down just
For showing I care, and if anyone cares
For me, they’ll be damned before they’d
Admit it. Austin might find me more
Socially acceptable, value my cultural
Contribution more highly than my home
Town Lilliputians. Plus I’ll make you money –
Be my manager. Austin’s feminist enough
For a woman Colonel Parker. I can be like
Your Mexican, except I’m a citizen. So it
Makes perfect sense economically, socially,
Emotionally and culturally that you take
Me with you back to Austin, home of the
Armadillo. I really can do better, but not
Here, where every time I open my mouth
I remind everyone they didn’t invent music.
INOTE: You know who Colonel Parker is, right? In case you're clueless, Colonel Parker was Elvis' manager. See, reading my poems is very educational.)
CALI PHONE YA
I will miss you, sprawling industrial district.
You too, cold winds at night. You too,
Mall after mall, all the same stores. You
Too, people everywere on cells, lost in
One way conversations for all appearances.
You too, healthy, skinny, multi-ethnic
Residients reminding me to diet. You too,
Radio where they play what they like,
Acoustic western swing for cruising. You
Too, old people acting young. You too,
Redemption tickets at Indian gambling
Palaces, payback for white wrongs. You
Too, taquerias on wheels, food names I
can't pronounce. You too, tall eucalyptus
Straddling the highway. California, land of
Great distances. Spent half my time here
Driving. Almost always worth it. A week
Here is like a month at home. Gotta say
Bye before I flame out, die of fun.
IN FRONT OF STORES
In old Samoa they would sit around
The fire at night. Now boys sit in front
Of stores from twilight till closing time.
One of the side effects of society based
On industry and wages is boys with
Nowhere better to go than bus stops
Or store parking lots. They have homes
They can’t go to, parents they can’t be
Around. What kind of adults will they
Become, growing up feeling like home
And family have to be avoided? For the
Sake of our future, every adolescent
Should be asked to think about the
Questions: what should a family be,
And how does it turn into something
You want to run from?
STICKS AND LEAVES
Once upon a time the two had a
Mansion. One they didn’t have to
Earn, but came to them naturally.
Then, for reasons that vary
Depending on who’s explaining,
Their mansion lay in ruins. What
Are their options? They could say,
It doesn’t matter, we’ll make a
Shelter of sticks and leaves, and it
Will do as long as we’re together,
Or they could turn their attention
Separately to other mansions that
Just happen to have an empty room
And role they could easily fill. Sounds
Cold, I know, but you’d be surprised
How many would go for it given the
Circumstances. One day you may
Have to choose between insisting
On the mansion class at any cost,
Or accepting when you have
Nothing but sticks and leaves left
With someone, and saying it’s a
Start, not the end.
WALL
Quite a big wall to keep out
Just one person, don’t you
Think? Oh right, the wall’s
Not for me, not a message.
It’s for vampires, werewolves,
Traveling salesmen, Santa,
Elves, reindeer, postmen
With colds and girls scouts
Trying to push their cookies
On you. What’s sad about
Walls is what can’t get out,
Not just what can’t get in.
What if a rainbow ends on
The other side, with a pot
Of gold that’s yours for the
Taking, but you can’t get
Over your own wall?
ROADRUNNER
Too fast to be caught, never held
Back, I wanted to be Roadrunner.
A life of highways to explore at full
Speed. Grant me the freedom to
Travel and I’m happy. Take it all in,
And take off running before you’re
Tied to anything or anyone. Beep,
Beep, moving on. I wanted to be
Roadrunner – life in the fast lane.
Amazing it lasted as long as it did.
Sad I’d finally find someone I’d
Love to run with right when fate
Has forced me to hit the brakes.
It’s clear each time you beep beep
By like you don’t even know me –
I wanted to be Roadrunner, but
Ended up Coyote.
DEATH SENTENCE
I think I know what’s going to
Kill me – stupidity. Involuntary
Meditative state 24/7 where
The mantra is, “That was stupid.”
Stupidity is relative, therefore
Relatives are stupid.
OBJECTS
Objects have a history. Objects
Could tell stories, given where
They’ve been and what they’ve
Seen, but instead they must sit
Mute and just watch. Objects
Are a paradox – they’ve never
Had what we’d describe as life
And yet they’ll still be here long
After us, and in fact they’ll be
Here forever until someone
Destroys them. To remember us,
Those still here will preserve our
Objects. But that’s nothing like
The kind of interaction it would
Be with us in person, is it? So
Better interact now, and not be
Shy about it either. It’s sort of
The movements of our akimbo
Limbs, and sort of the yappings
Of our colorful tongues, and
Sort of many other things, but
Mostly it’s the sweet essence
Of life itself that makes us more
Than just objects.
DISCLOSURE
My own point of view is
Hopelessly biased – there,
I admit it. I put it out there
Anyway because… Well,
Why not? The worst that
Can happen is you think
I’m delusional. Yep, like
Zillions of others, like the
Wavering masses. like
You too in many ways.
The best that can happen
Is that you know we’re
Really thinking the same
Thing, or not far from it.
That means something.
What? I don’t know, it’s
Always still unwritten.
Anything you want, and
Hopefully nothing you
Don’t. Just for the record,
Thank you for your time
And kind attention. That’s
Today’s disclosure.
ART FILM
Strangest movie you’ve ever seen,
But hey, this is an art film not some
Hollywood product. Human voices
Narrate, but people have no presence
Onscreen. Objects and images stand
As visual metaphors for the story, as if
These better convey something literal
Action or even narration can’t. The
Silhouette of a village sticking up
Through a forest evokes home existing
Only in memory. Railroad tracks and
Nearby debris symbolize childhood
Displacement. Changing light on photos
Indicates the passage of time. Lives are
Represented by bottles floating on
The sea. When its 15 minutes are up,
A buzz in the audience ensues. An
Esteemed panel of judges seems
Speechless, muttering terms like
“Startling”, “innovative”, and “rich in
“Emotion”. The filmmakers just say
That’s what happens when you don’t
Have a budget and you’ve never made
A film, you just really want to, when
You don’t know what you’re doing but
You’re not about to let a minor detail
Like that stop you.
TELL OF WONDERS
If I could tell of wonders, I’d write
The stories here, not to bring me
Glory by association, but to share
My best. Because this is all I can
Share with you until things change,
The only way I can talk to you. If I
Could tell of wonders, I would, but
Most of my stories are rather
Mundane, just people dealing
With day to day life, sometimes
Discovering themselves through
Each other, sometimes catching
Just a glimpse of something bigger
That ties the mysteries together.
THE WORD MUSIC
The word music is closely related to
The word muse, the reason why
Writers write. The act of writing is
Seen as petitioning fate to intervene
In the hopes your muse will view you
Favorably. Music does the same with
Sound. Notes carry messages words
Can’t. Music, as a word, is not far
From magic. Music works an alchemy
Of its own - let it in and it'll take you
Somewhere. Resist and you’ll get
Noise instead of enjoyment. In those
Moments when music sings to the
Soul, a meaning you needn’t think
About comes through, as if on an
Invisible wire. It’s an open secret
Known to anyone who listens and
Feels, and doesn’t just analyze in
A vacuum. If music doesn’t prove
There’s magic, it at least reminds
That you get out of something what
You put in.
STRAYS
Our dogs simply want something
To eat. They were never farmers
In the first place, but hunters
Who’ve forgotten they ever had
That skill, defenders with nothing
Left to defend but the few scraps
They can pilfer from our leftovers.
More often they go hungry in their
Learned dependence on generosity.
They once served a worthwhile
Purpose for someone or other,
Once had a part in our functioning,
But now they’re strays, deprived of
A livelihood. They’d be more than
Happy to work hard for a crumb of
Your kindness just to survive, living
By their wits but unaware of their
Place in the bigger picture, and not
Caring either.
DELICATE
Can you pull your weeds without
Ruining your garden? Careful, most
Beautiful things are delicate, you
Can’t just slash and burn, as much
As you hate the weeds. Delicate
Things require patience and care,
But look what happiness they bring
Nature is delicate. Life is delicate.
Our deepest feelings are delicate.
How ironic, then, that even apes
Can have more patience and care
Than man, who finds delicacy
Inferior to efficiency, and wants
To slash and burn his way through
Everything, including people.
UNLESS YOU’RE THE POPE
So, are you convinced you can’t be
Forgiven, or just too proud to ask?
It’s pretty arrogant to forgive
Someone who even hasn’t asked
For it, unless you’re the Pope and
Really in a hurry. And if someone
Has the guts to ask, it’s pretty
Heartless to make them grovel,
Unless you want to convince them
They shouldn’t have bothered.
CLUELESS
Hey, pretend you’re a priest while
I make a confession – I’m clueless.
My memory’s ok, but as far as
Processing what those memories
Mean, forget it. I’ve been turned
Around more than once, and no
Sooner do I finish feeling dizzy than
I start feeling clueless. Meanings
Seem to have shifted, signs signify
Differently. It’s all unfamiliar again
To me. I’m blank – will you fill me in?
Maybe my sensibilities just reflect
An earlier time with a different
Notion of what doing right means,
A different approach. But in the
Here and know, I know how my
Cluelessness must appear to you
As if the dinosaurs never left.
EXPOSED
Eyeballs with wings, following us around
As if we’re breaking news, walking sitcoms,
Like our every moment captured can be
Used for selling ads. We’re never wanting
For an audience. Eyeballs with wings,
Posing as innocent bystanders, trying to
Blend in with the birds, swarming in our
Moments of embarrassment like locusts,
Thinking here’s a good one for prime time
Tonight. Eyeballs with wings, all-seeing, no
Heart for understanding. Disdaining eyes,
Ready to bear witness to anything they
Find suspicious. Wish I could shoot them
From the sky, find out if they’re capable
Of tears, but they’re in my head. Eyeballs
With wings, hanging upside down like bats
Outside my bedroom. Even when no one
Wants to know, I still walk around feeling
Exposed.
PORTRAIT
I suppose if you put all the poems
Together, a certain portrait might
Emerge. An attitude embedded in
The language, values suggested
By the style. But don’t be fooled –
Let an artist paint themselves and
It’ll be the most distorted portrait
You could ask for. Expression can
Be a defense, an elaborate disguise,
Pure fiction, the occasional naked
Truth. I must confess to reveling in
The freedom of never being sure if
I’m taken seriously. Gives me room
To evolve, explore, experiment.
If I ever touch your sensibilities
In some way, I’m truly flattered,
But it’s an accident. My thought
Collisions occasionally summon a
Connection rather than an ambulance.
Were a truly accurate portrait to
Crawl from the wreckage of my
Pages, you’d see a shell shocked
Crash test dummy, mangled, head
Backwards, heart sideways, limbs
Akimbo, lips fixed in a grimace,
Jumping right into the next car.
LION TAMER
Taming lions, do you need a circus
Mind? A grasp of animal psychology?
The talent to get them to trust you
Above their own instincts? Can they
Unlearn what another nasty trainer
Has whipped into them, once he’s
Manipulated their wants and needs
To make them behave his way?
Make them feel they’re safe not
Biting the head off anyone who
Doesn’t give them exactly what
They expect? Don’t be like a lion
Trained by the Romans to tear
Apart criminals, deviants and
Religious dissidents to entertain a
Bloodthirsty colosseum audience.
BURRITO
What gets folded-into our story?
What doesn’t? Our story is like a
Burrito – by themselves the
Ingredients would make one big
Mess, cross no-fly zones, riot on
The plate, stain your clothes, soil
The floor. However, these same
Ingredients, when something holds
Them in one place, create an
Unexpected combination of tastes,
Rendered in the burrito’s case all
The more palatable by a Nobel
Prize-worthy masterpiece of
Culinary engineering, a design
With equally valid practical,
Cultural and gastronomical
Qualities. What we think wasn’t
Meant to co-exist in one dish
Somehow does - with willingness
And creativity, and a good salsa
Always helps. Every burrito across
The USA at this very moment
Stands as a testament to what
Hunger and ingenuity can do.
COLUMBUS
History is great – I’m re-learning it all
The time. Like the little-known fact
That besides collecting information
For maps, Columbus also collected
Several hundred Indians to take
Home and sell as slaves. Well, how
Else was he supposed to pay for the
Trip? And besides, in exchange for a
Few hundred slaves, not all of whom
Even made it to Europe, look what
We got. No Columbus, no Las Vegas.
No Seattle. No Boise, Idaho. No Alamo,
No Annie Oakley, no Little Big Horn, no
George Washington, no Ben Franklin.
No Star Spangled Banner. No Civil War,
No Blues, no Jazz, no Rock & Roll. No
Lincoln, no Lincoln Center. No Pearl
Harbor, no 9-11, no Boston Tea Party,
No Boston Strangler, no McDonalds.
No Margaret Mitchell, no Margaret
Mead, no Miley Cyrus. No Fox News.
No American Idol, no FBI, no Civil Rights.
None of this and more would ever have
Come to pass if it hadn’t been for
Columbus. You wouldn’t even be here,
So hey, just let the slave thing slide.
TELEVISION
Television, you pampered only child
Of an arranged marriage between
Hollywood and Wall Street. Television,
Shaping our culture while taping its
Mouth shut and binding its hands.
Television, who do your represent,
Anyway? Am I no longer in tune with
Society since you don’t make sense?
Television, aimed at some imaginary
America where everyone takes your
Word on what’s worth buying and
Believing. Television, you’re teaching
Escape. Television, your signals go
Out into space. Alien races are curious
About you, Television, and now firmly
Believe earth’s highest-evolved life
Form motivates and manipulates its
Own masses by dangling desired
Material items and idealized states
Of being in front of them like you’d
Dangle a carrot in front of a donkey.
RIVERBOAT
Flowing on the slow river of time,
Before you know it you’ve come
Farther than you believed possible.
Whenever this river seems about
To end, it’s only changing, following
A way passed down from the ages.
Why stray from a proven route?
Someone once told me there’s an
Ocean where all rivers meet, where
Their long travels end, but curiously,
Rivers take their sweet time keeping
The appointment. Who’s in a hurry?
We’ll arrive when it’s time. Until
Then, the river is single-mined,
Stopping everywhere, staying
Nowhere, enticing us with a free
One-way ticket. The river wants us
To mix, discover what’s out there.
Learn from and love every moment
On the water. We’re lucky we can
Join this voyage even for a short
Time, and few among us have
Passage all the way to its end.
PANIC
Calm serenity is an illusion, but shout
That lie as loud as you can because the
Truth is panic. As soon as we’re out of
The womb, we’re screaming. As soon
As whatever situation we’re in starts
Spinning out of control, we’re right back
To the panic we reacted with as soon as
We opened our eyes. And not just babies.
No one wants the pressure of keeping it
All together, but who will prevent our
Serenity from descending into anarchy
If not ourselves? Calm serenity reminds
Us of Heaven, a place within us where it
Doesn’t seem like it could all blow apart
Any second. We need that thought to
Deal with the world, keep reminding
The deaf public and dumb governments
There’s always a better solution than
Bombs. Calm serenity is an illusion, so
Forgive me for cultivating dishonesty –
I’m just trying not to panic.
BETRAYAL
If I talk about betrayal, it doesn’t
Mean I’m talking about you, just
About the thousand ways you can
Feel betrayed. I know it doesn’t do
Any good to talk about feeling
Betrayed, but every time I’m right
On the brink of being kind for no
Other reason than just to be kind,
That feeling comes creeping back:
You’re gonna get betrayed. Betrayal
Is the risk you take when you give.
If you give in the right way, there’s
A tiny chance you won’t be betrayed,
But it’s really tiny. Much more
Straightforward to be a taker, a
Heartbreaker, a bastard, a user.
You can’t be betrayed if you just
Don’t care. Might as well betray
Someone else before they do it
To you. Betrayal is a parachute
For those who can’t stand feeling
Trapped, held back. Betrayal is a
Cancer in the marrow of our
Society and personal lives, eating
The blood cells faith needs. Betrayal
Goes back to the Bible – Judas might
Have been forgiven for his betrayal,
But I’m not so saintly.
FOR MARIE ANTOINETTE
If you doubt the power of propaganda,
Consider this. Marie Antoinette, one of
History’s coldest, most heartless bitches,
Once famously remarked that peasants
Starving for bread could eat cake instead.
This immortal utterance, which so well
Characterizes corruption, anywhere,
Anytime, guarantees that Marie won’t
Soon be forgotten. Imagine my surprise,
Then, when I read that there’s actually
No concrete evidence she really said it!
That historians consider the source of
The quote highly unreliable! A tabloid,
No less. Louis and Marie apparently
Believed in freedom of the press, but
As is still so often the case, attacking
The unpopular sold copies. Therefore,
Exaggerations and lies about the
Monarchy were commonplace. But so
What? With a quote so memorable,
Questions of legitimacy are secondary.
Still, imagine going down in history for
Something you never actually said!
History has force fed Marie that very
Same cake allegedly recommended
To the peasants.
R.I.P. LOU REED
The different don’t feel so different
Anymore, not like they used to, not
Like when they had to deny the very
Idea of their natures. The different had
Lou Reed to sing for them. Lou didn’t
Pander for shock value, he just figured
He’d get real, real for him, maybe real
Too for others out there in dark corners,
The margins, the gutters, the alleys, the
Toilets, the jails, the mental hospitals.
This was when being a freak wasn’t chic,
It was dangerous, could cost you your
Life. Sometimes Lou didn’t mind who
He offended, other times he cloaked
His real meanings in clever language,
But no one could probe as deeply into
The taboo shadows of our collective
Psyche with the same boldness or
With as much humanity. That’s what
I’ll remember Lou for, his humanity,
His occasional tenderness, his trying
To find the heart in life’s confusions,
His frequent rubbing of life’s seediest
Sides in your face. He had his own face
Rubbed in it too, but turned the smears
Into part of his costume for the role of
Bard of the forbidden, anarchist of
Sexuality giving all the rejects a voice.
TONGUE TIED
Tongue tied, falling right into a
Role I’m not sure how to play.
Tongue tied, no idea how to
Say what I’m thinking, it might
Be impolite, not to your liking.
Tongue tied, talking around
The subject, trying to say it
Indirectly.Tongue tied, wanting
So bad for the words to sound
Right that they won’t come out
At all. Tongue tied, silently
Screaming.
IT’S MY JOB
You can deny my love if it’s
Not what you want, refuse it
If it’s not good enough, just
Doesn’t move you. You have
Every right by your own free
Will. I just feel like, right or
Wrong, good or bad, happy
Or sad, wise or foolish, it’s
Just my job to let you know
Somebody loves you. No one
Said anything about you
Having to accept it.
REINCARNATION
With every person you’ve ever felt
A passion for, you create a child in
The spiritual world. You may meet
Them there, before or after their
Turn comes to be made real, born
As human. How else to explain why
A poet from a thousand years ago
Reminds me of someone I only met
Yesterday, or why grandparents
Sometimes make more sense than
Mom and dad, or why someone
You rarely even see can still fill you
With both joy and sadness longer
Than time itself whenever you
Think of them?
MORE NEXT DOOR ("CYCLONE SCENE 2")
Wright R-1820-86A/B Cyclone 9 nine-cylinder 29.88-litre radial, 1,425-hp
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Markings: Marines (U.S. Navy) 146253, VMF-323 - NX528TC: Trojan Horsemen warbird demonstration team
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Performer at Canadian International Air Show on Toronto waterfront
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Nikon AF-S DX Nikkor ED 55-200mm 1:4-5.6G
_DSC7158 Avnx2 Q100 Ap 1100h Q10
t Bought built up from Ebayus about 15 years ago . Weirdly came with a Chrysler corp chassis that does actually fit. Although I did out source that . It now rides on an AMT Torino chassis .
It wasn’t painted when I got it except for sills which were black . All chrome faded . So bought model house chrome, swapped chassis, and added the spoiler from the 69 Cougar
The Copernicus Sentinel-3 satellite got a clear look at Cyclone Herold this morning, 17-03-2020, while east of Madagascar.
This image was seen from space through the satellite’s Ocean and Land Colour Instrument (OLCI).
View of tropical cyclone Hikaa east of Oman, as captured by the Copernicus Sentinel-3 satellite on 23 September at 16:21 UTC.
Image free to use, providing the following attribution statement is displayed “Copyright: European Union, contains modified Copernicus Sentinel 2019 data processed by EUMETSAT”.
Timber / saw mills use giant dust extractors (this is one) often referred to as cyclones (because of the way they operate).
Co-incidently (unintentionally) Cyclone is also a brand of wire fencing.
See "Corporate Color"......really blends in with the background!
English:
CH-148 Cyclone
Royal Canadian Air Force
The CH-148 Cyclone is one of the most capable maritime helicopters in the world. It is Canada’s main ship-borne maritime helicopter, and it provides air support to the Royal Canadian Navy.
The Cyclone can be used for surface and sub-surface surveillance, search and rescue missions, tactical transport and more. It can operate during the day or night and in most weather conditions to support missions in Canada and around the world.
Length: 17.22 m
Length (folded configuration): 14.78 m
Rotor span: 17.48 m
Height: 5.44 m
Maximum Gross Weight: 13,000 kg
Maximum speed: 287 km/h
Range: 740 km
Location(s):
Patricia Bay, B.C.
Shearwater, N.S.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Français :
CH-148 Cyclone
Aviation royale canadienne
Le CH-148 Cyclone figure parmi les hélicoptères maritimes les plus efficaces au monde. À titre de principal hélicoptère maritime embarqué du Canada, son travail consiste à apporter un soutien aérien à la Marine royale canadienne.
Le CH-148 Cyclone accomplit notamment des missions de surveillance et de contrôle de surface et sous-marins, de recherche et de sauvetage et de transport tactique. Il peut accomplir son travail de jour comme de nuit, dans la majorité des conditions météorologiques, afin de soutenir les missions canadiennes et internationales.
Longeur : 17,22 m
Longeur (plié) : 14,78 m
Envergure du rotor : 17,48 m
Hauteur : 5,44 m
Masse totale maximale : 13 000 kg
Vitesse maximale : 287 km/h
Autonomie : 740 km
Bases :
Patricia Bay, C.-B.
Shearwater, N.-É.
Right next to the "Aglow" building and Aveina Brothers Store, what's normally a small stream turns into a raging torrent.
POETRY STREAM (turbulent, isn't it?)
LIKE ALICE
Head in the clouds of tomorrow,
Walking into the walls of today.
I love blank pages whereon you
Can create your own reality. Like
Alice contemplating her looking
Glass, I’m in danger of sliding into
The world where these poems
Come from without a clue how to
Return home. I wanted to show
You a state of mind, a garden
Of thoughts, but not to set up
Permanent residence in them.
I like sharing this reality with you.
Even if we can’t find our harmony,
If we keep trying, anything might
Happen. But a long time from
Now, when I’m just a memory of
These good/bad old days, you’ll
Know you can still hear an echo
Of me if you listen in that state,
In that garden.
AWKWARD COCKTAILS
Mr. Mind, are you sure you know
Mr. Soul? Why do you stay on
Opposite sides of the room?
The roots of their discord, it’s
Reported, stem from the time
They shared a common aim. It
Looked like an unbeatable
Combination. One knew the
World outside, the other the
World within. One said focus on
Now, the other said consider
Forever. One said, by any means
Necessary, the other, count your
Blessings. And there they just
Left it. Now see Mr. Mind stylishly
Attired in the trappings of success
While Mr. Soul looks like he shops
In a thrift store. Social climbers
Pay obsequious respect to Mr.
Mind, while it’s mostly old-timers
Who greet Mr. Soul warmly. Very
Different vibe on opposite sides
Of the room. At one point, Mr.
Mind and Mr. Soul both head for
The bar and can’t sidestep eye
Contact. “Still out of your mind?”
Says one. “Still a soulless bastard?”
Answers the other.
MY HIPPY FRIEND
What a beautiful vision – drop out
Of the system, just walk away and
Live by your wits. Better yet, stay
Stoned on pot 24/7. “If the universe
Wants me to die,” she said, “then I’ll
Die, but I think the universe wants
Us to live, and wants us to love too.
The age of cosmic brotherhood is
Where mankind needs to go before
We’re blown to smithereens by
Mistrust, competition and greed.
I’m not attacking the capitalist
System with a bomb – I’m just
Proving you don’t need it! Don’t
Spend your life slaving to make
Someone else rich. Just be free
And the universe will take care
Of you!”
Unfortunately for our friendship,
The universe told me, better get
A job, and my hippy friend was
Not pleased. “I don’t want you
To be just another asshole,” she
Said. I was insulted. We parted
Company and I don’t know
Whatever became of her.
My hippy friend, my first betrayal
Was agreeing with you in principle
But finding you utterly ridiculous
In practice. You were right, but
Way ahead of your time. Man’s
Still not ready to give up his selfish
Ways, even though he’s known for
Ages he eventually has to, either
In the age of cosmic brotherhood
Or in oblivion.
YOU TELL ME
You tell me what’s right in this
Instance. I’m an open-minded
Guy, I can roll with just about
Anything that won’t kill me.
You tell me how to do right
By you – I can’t seem to find
An angle you’re comfortable
With, but I’m sure there must
Be one. You tell me what you
Think is fair – I feel like I’ve
Already jumped under a bus,
Jumped through hoops, fallen
On my sword, walked on fire,
Though you may see all of
This as barely lifting a finger.
You tell me how you want it
To be – you’re not God, butt
Still your will may very well
Be done. I’m just your blank
Page, empty without words
To preserve.
LOOK PAST THE LIES
Look past the lies, the official
Lies, the convenient lies, the
Beautiful lies, the intoxicating
Lies. Lies are like gasoline, seems
There’s an endless supply, but
Every drop comes at a price –
Good pumps don’t come cheap -
And there’s evil in the oilfields.
See it for what it is, it’ll lift
A burden off your shoulders,
Get your tired spine back in
Alignment. Get a breath of
Sweet truth, it’s not illegal yet,
And someone will try and sell it
To you, but why buy what is by
Nature free?
TRAVEL SONG
Playing a song is like flying
A plane – you need a smooth
Takeoff, a smooth flight, and
A smooth landing. The better
You know the song, the easier
This is. If love was like flying
A plane, the takeoff would be
The most exciting part, and
The flight might be either
Spectacular or turbulent, but
The landing is usually more
Like a crash. You’re glad you
Survived and hope your
Wounds soon heal over. Or
Maybe it ended too soon
Without taking you where
The ticket said. Better when
Love is like a sea cruise or a
Desert caravan, when the
Point is not arriving but the
Joy is in the traveling with
Someone special.
CO-DEPENDENT
We consume a lot of innocent
Creatures, keep a lot of chickens,
And cows from fulfilling their
Destiny. How many unsuspecting
Vegetables have we ripped from
The earth before they could grow
Wise, find love, raise a family?
How many fish have we cruelly
Diverted from their spiritual
Jouney? The one fish to usher in
A new age of enlightenment for
His kind could have ended up
In your frying pan instead with
Onions. So to all the chickens,
Cows, vegetables, fish, onions,
I wish to say thank you for the
Few days we had together. It
Was my pleasure, I enjoyed you,
And when you were of no
Further use, I just dumped you.
I’m sorry if this treatment hurt
Your feelings, but for what it’s
Worth, you were really good.
DIRTY BIRD
What will you do now, Dirty Bird?
I don’t know. Maybe write my
Memoirs. I’m misunderstood
In general, and my reputation
Needs rehabilitation. How did
You get your name, Dirty Bird?
I don’t know. The name suits
Those who gave it, I guess. Do I
Look dirty to you? I dust my
Feathers at least once a day.
Maybe I’m just too hard to tame.
Or they taught me some words
A bird shouldn’t say. Where will
You fly now, Dirty Bird? I don’t
Know. Not even sure if the wind
Wants me. No direction beckons
And my homing instincts can’t
Recall an address. So here I sit
On the phone line thinking when
They called me Dirty for all the
Wrong reasons, it really hurt,
But at least they paid attention.
R.I.P. JOHNNY WINTER
What does he mean now? For most,
Just a memory of a very white boy
From Texas in a cowboy hat playing
His very amped-up variation on a
Very black musical tradition. Blues
Is the rock bottom, the foundation
For most music they’re still playing.
Even the sonic cowpiles on the
Radio now have roots, reflect a
Lineage you’d never guess from
The way they’ve blossomed. All
Of it grows from a history, a story
Of music crossing class and racial
Lines, how a chosen few white
Boys lit a passion for playing
What an outsider feels, made
Call-and-response exclamations
From the colorless soul, tapped
Into our relentlessly suppressed
Groove so deeply that even the
Staunchly uptight jumped for joy,
Shouted, shook with the spirit of
Music set free. That’s the drama,
The cultural-spiritual-musical
Scenario Johnny was born into,
Though he probably never paid it
Much thought. Mostly, like those
He admired and those who’ve
Learned from him, he simply
Plugged in, tuned up and let his
Life come out in the notes.
Johnny, omnipresent ten gallon
Hat notwithstanding, I’m glad
You never took after most Texas
Kids in the ‘50s and decided
You’d rather be a cowboy. The
Rodeo’s loss was our gain.
COLLECT STAMPS
Hey, I’m the Passion Policeman here
To tell you you must be a one-person
Neighborhood Watch for stray passions
In the vicinities of your heart and mind.
I’m the Passion Dogcatcher, here to
Snatch those stray passions off the
Street and hasten them to the pound
Where they can’t bite, breed, or bitch,
Just bark to their heart's content.
Passions are unpredictable, sometimes
Desire, sometimes just survival. All
Through the ages, our most trusted
Minds have been telling us how to
Channel our passions, but to what
Avail? Passions like Helen of Troy, like
The Declaration of Independence, like
Whatever passion fueled the plane on
9/11, all expressions of an overriding
Belief in something right, a feeling
Every other consideration must take
Second place, do it or die trying. If
Passion were gas we could massacre
Other planets besides this one, like
Vikings terrorizing Iceland and Alaska.
There’s no arguing that passions can
Be destructive, but woe to one who
Goes from cradle to grave with no
Passion at all for life, even if it’s just
For something innocuous like
Collecting stamps. It would seem to
Behoove us to pursue our passions
In some positive manner – collect
Stamps, but don’t collect heads.
POOH-POOH WAR
You can’t just pooh-pooh war
Once the bombs are going boom
Boom. You can’t say now now
Children behave when so many
Dead need graves that the
Cemetery is telling them take
A number. Where’d you get
The cool, cool headphones?
Do they drown out the cries
For help, muffle the wailing
Of hurt? Be careful that your
Volume’s not up so high you
Can’t hear the missile arrive.
Then you’ll realize what it’s
Like for people as ordinary as
You and I, with no idea either
Why it’s necessary to smash
Everything up, wake our babies
With explosions, make our old
Folks wonder if maybe they
Should have been stricter when
They taught us about love for
Life and clearer when they
Explained mutual respect.
DEATH IN DENVER
Death in Denver, far from home.
Our people are known to travel
Great distances for whatever
Reason takes them. We fill our
Small island with big dreams,
See the skies from our tiny rock
With an awareness of the whole
Universe. Wherever we go, we
Know where we come from.
Death in Denver, but we believe
Our souls find their way back to
Our spiritual homeland Havaiki.
You see it as leaving, we see it
As returning.
RATS IN COST-U-LESS
Oh, to be a rat in Cost-U-Less
With all that bounty just a
Buffet for me and my family.
To eat without working a day,
Spend our time hiding in the
Roof and walls at play, in deep
Philosophical discussion,
Talking politics, being artistic,
Getting all spiritual having
Found our Garden of Eden
In this temple of capitalism.
We comprehend the depths
Of your hate better than you
Do – you’re really jealous
Lowly creatures like us find
A paradise while you have
To slave for a paycheck. Poor
Suckers! You suck and we
Stick our tongues out at you!
Then for another rejuvenating
Nibble at your oranges and
Wheat Thins. Your campaign
To exterminate us is really
Religious persecution. When
Does the next shipment from
The States come in?
JAZZ CAFE
Keep the Jazz cafe in mind
You can get there anytime
Or leave if you don't dig the
Jive the cats lay down. Jazz
Cafe - any sound you want
To hear, as long as it swings,
As long as it's clear to you
At least. Should some snob
Purist snootily inquire with
That sourpuss expression
So characteristic of squares,
"Is that Jazz?" just be cool
And reply with your utmost
Authority, "Of course! Can't
You dig re-interpretation?
The intention is constant
Re-invention, baby."
SONGS
Even with songs I don’t like,
I have to admit they helped
Somebody through their
Day, so they don’t need to
Justify themselves. Someone
Just focused their feelings
About life at the moment
And out came the song.
Music is like 7-11, mostly
Sweet junk and stupidity
Packaged as valuable, but
You still might find what’s
Essential tucked away in
Its margins. Need comfort,
Courage, just fun? Odds are
Someone’s been down that
Road before you and left a
Song to mark the way. Tunes
Tell the story so you don’t
Have to, but you know your
Own turn on center stage
Will come sooner or later.
MATH PROBLEM
Math problems are meant to
Be figured out, but people are
Not math problems, though
They can be just as vexing,
Like a math problem with an
Attitude. But just like math
Problems, people are meant
To fascinate you, challenge
Your assumptions, give you
Pause to reflect, reasons to
Re-define. When it comes to
The puzzle that is a person,
Formulas and theories only
Get you so far. You can’t really
Figure them out much further
Than how to either get along
Or escape.
DOGS AND BISCUITS
Vicious dogs guard your heart,
And it’s wrong to kill a dog for
Doing the right thing. Tricksters
Give the dogs biscuits, get close
To your heart and abuse it. I’m
Not a trickster – I’m trying to be
Honest with your dogs but they
Remain unconvinced. Who can
Blame them, they’re protectors
Not PhDs. Using biscuits would
Be like feeding them broken glass –
I just can’t do it. It’s up to you to
Call off the dogs if you’re tired of
Seeing me bitten again and again.
CRUELTY
Cruelty is the flip side of
Christmas, the season
To be mean to the weak
Cruelty is the toilet of the
Soul, savoring a moment
Of brute control over
Someone defenseless.
Cruelty proves evolution,
Validates Darwin, for
Surely such senseless
Aggression and naked
Need to dominate link us
To our ancestors the apes.
NOTHING MORE THAN A LIFE
A birth, like any other birth,
A chance – one more chance
A child will succeed where all
Others fail, might get right
What most of us get wrong,
Have that special something
To unlock the mystery of
Saving our race from ourselves.
Such high expectations for the
Unsuspecting child. Later,
Disappointments may come,
But those first few moments
Out of the womb always
Remind us of the seemingly
Endless possibilities, even for
Someone so small and so
Vulnerable, given nothing
More than a life.
EMBARRASSED
I wish I could explain, make clear
The differences in the way I feel,
The way I think. I’ve been
Conditioned to be embarrassed
About it all. Embarrassed that I
Can”t figure it out. Embarrassed
That it’s not smooth and perfect
Like a new car, at least on the
Surface. Embarrassed my flaws
Always show right away, but my
Strengths reveal themselves slowly.
It’s said that embarrassment is the
Shadow of ego, but it’s also an
Obsessive concern that your gift
Be worthy of the receiver.
GLIMPSES
My inner reality, pins in nerves
Notwithstanding, confers no
Ownership rights. Until it’s
Accepted and shared, that
Reality's no one's responsibility
But mine. So piercingly as I may
Scream, like King Lear cursing
The sky, I know I’m not owed
Even a raindrop unless the
Clouds are good and ready.
Cautiously should one speak
An inner reality that doesn’t
Necessarily resemble the one
We share, where everything’s
Equal in theory if not practice.
No crime to speak your mind,
Even if the message is more like
An abstract painting than really
Communicating. Glimpses of
An inner reality, the possibility
You might understand if you
Want to, if you try, but quite
Meaningless if you don’t.
CHOICES
It’s my suspicion you made some
Assumptions you shouldn’t have.
Even if you think you can write
The whole story in your mind,
It pays to get to know the truth,
And from the source, not from
Self-proclaimed experts who
Don’t really know but need
To sound like they do. But I’m
Being kind, covering for you as
Usual. The truth, just as likely,
Could be you simply make shitty
Choices, and when unexpectedly
The light comes on you have to
Scramble for some convenient
Excuse or someone else you can
Assign the responsibility to.
SAXOPHONE
It’s hard to speak when I know
How selfish what I have to say
Might sound. If selfishness were
A saxophone, I’d wish I knew
How to play it, how to breathe
The notes with heart and soul,
How to please you by pleasing
Myself. Maybe you’d be on the
Same trip, and we’d be like two
Saxophones, weaving melodies
Around each other. Sounding
Wild like a storm in full force,
Or gentle like a flowing brook,
Or silly like whales honking at
The water before splashing it
Into giant waves. Take off from
Something good and fly into
Something that gets better
The higher you go. Music is the
One excuse for ego run amok.
Selfishness expressed as a tune
That lifts anyone, not just the
Player. Knowing how insanely
Good it can be, anyone thinking
It should be prevented must
Prefer a heartbreaking silence.
GHOST
Ghost can’t really justify his own
Existence, he just finds himself
Back again. He crawls out of the
Grave, the dump, the drain,
Saying I have unfinished business,
Saying there’s something I must
Get right before I can find peace.
Ghost says each of us has a gift
To discover and give, but he let
All the wrong ideas about himself,
Forced into his thinking from
Inside and out, make him sincerely
Believe he had nothing to offer,
Believe that because the one who
Meant the most to him found his
Gift worthless, so would everyone
Else. He also needs to learn faith,
And that the time and place when
And where we’re needed may or
May not be of our own choosing.
So ghost doesn’t have a direction
Or a plan, only a purpose. He can’t
Touch you, but if you’re open you
Can feel him. Ghost is that warning
That doesn’t make any sense, that
Itch in the mind and heart you can’t
Quite seem to scratch, that feeling
Of wanting to make something
Right even when what’s wrong is
As elusive, obscure, buried, painful,
Fearful and stubborn as a Ghost.
NASA image March 29, 2010
Tropical Cyclone Paul spanned the ocean waters between Australia and New Guinea on March 29, 2010. The MODIS on NASA’s Terra satellite captured this natural-color image the same day. The center of the cyclone is along the coast of Northern Territory’s Arnhem Land. Clouds run counter-clockwise across the Gulf of Carpentaria and Cape York Peninsula, over New Guinea’s Pulau Dolok, and over the Arafura Sea.
On March 29, 2010, the U.S. Navy’s Joint Typhoon Warning Center (JTWC) reported that Tropical Cyclone Paul storm had maximum sustained winds of 60 knots (110 kilometers per hour) and gusts up to 75 knots (140 kilometers per hour). The storm was located roughly 315 nautical miles (585 kilometers) east of Darwin. The storm had moved slowly toward the southwest over the previous several hours. The JTWC forecast that the storm would likely maintain its current intensity for several more hours before slowly dissipating over land.
Credit: NASA/GSFC/Jeff Schmaltz/MODIS
To learn more about this image go to:
modis.gsfc.nasa.gov/gallery/individual.php?db_date=2010-0...
NASA Goddard Space Flight Center is home to the nation's largest organization of combined scientists, engineers and technologists that build spacecraft, instruments and new technology to study the Earth, the sun, our solar system, and the universe.
+++ DISCLAIMER +++
Nothing you see here is real, even though the conversion or the presented background story might be based historical facts. BEWARE!
Some background:
The origins of the Saab 19 date back before the onset of WWII. At that time, the Swedish Air Force (Flygvapnet) was equipped with largely obsolete Gloster Gladiator (J 8) biplane fighters. To augment this, Sweden ordered 120 Seversky P-35 (J 9) and 144 P-66 Vanguard (J 10) aircraft from the United States.
However, on 18 June 1940, United States declared an embargo against exporting weapons to any nation other than Great Britain. As the result, the Flygvapnet suddenly faced a shortage of modern fighters.
Just in time, Saab had presented to the Ministry on Sep 4th 1939 a fighter that had been meant to replace the obsolete Gloster Gladiators. The aircraft carried the internal development code ‘L-12’ and had been designed in collaboration with US engineers in Sweden, who were to aid with license production of Northrop 8-A 1s and NA-16-4 Ms.
The L-12 looked very much like the contemporary, Japanese Mitsubishi A6M “Zero” (which had been seriously considered by the Flygvapnet, but import or license production turned out to be impractical). The aircraft was a very modern all-metal construction with fabric covered control surfaces. The L-12 was to be powered by a 1.065 hp Bristol Taurus and maximum speed was calculated to be 605 km/h. Its relatively heavy armament consisted of four wing-mounted 13.2mm guns and two synchronized 8 mm MGs on top of the engine, firing through the propeller arc.
The design was quickly approved and the new aircraft was to be introduced to the Flygvapnet as the ‘J 19A’. Production aircraft would be outfitted with a more powerful Bristol Taurus II, giving 1.400 hp with 100-octane fuel and pushing the top speed to 630 km/h. But the war’s outbreak spoiled these plans literally over night: the L-12 had to be stopped, as the intended engine and any import or license production option vanished. This was a severe problem, since production of the first airframes had already started at Trollhättan, in the same underground factory where the B 3 bomber (license-built Ju-86K of German origin with radial engines) was built. About 30 pre-production airframes were finished or under construction, but lacked an appropriate engine!
With only half of a promising aircraft at hand and the dire need for fighters, the Swedish government decided to outfit these initial aircraft with non-license-built Wright R-2600-6 Twin Cyclone radial engines with an output of 1.600 hp (1.194 kW). The fuselage-mounted machine guns were deleted, due to the lack of internal space and in order to save weight, and the modified machines were designated J 19B. This was only a stop-gap solution, though. P&W Twin Wasp engines had also been considered as a potential power plant (resulting in the J 19C), but the US didn't want to sell any engines at that time to Sweden and this variant never materialized.
An initial batch of 24 J 19B aircraft was eventually completed and delivered to F3 at Lidköping in late 1940, while airframe construction was kept up at small pace, but only seven more J 19Bs were completed with R-2600 engines. Uncompleted airframes were left in stock for spares, and further production was halted in mid 1941, since the engine question could not be solved sufficiently.
The J 19B proved to be a controversial aircraft, not only because of its dubious engine. While it was basically a fast and agile aircraft, the heavy R-2600 engine was rather cumbersome and not suited for a fighter. Handling in the air as well as on the ground was demanding, due to the concentration of weight at the aircraft’s front – several J 19Bs tipped over while landing. As a consequence, the J 19B simply could not live up to its potential and was no real match for modern and more agile fighters like the Bf 109 or the Spitfire – but the Swedish equipment shortages kept the machines in service throughout WWII, even though primarily in a ground attack role and fulfilling other secondary line duties.
Towards the end of WWII, the J 19’s intended role was eventually filled by the indigenous FFVS J 22 fighter – ironically, it was outfitted with a license-built P&W Twin Wasp. By that time, about forty J 19 airframes were more or less complete, just lacking a proper engine. Mounting the now available Twin Wasp to these had seriously been considered, but the aircraft’s performance would not suffice anymore. Consequently, a thorough modification program for the J 19 was started in late 1944, leading to the post-WWII J 19D.
The J 19D was another stopgap program, though, and the economical attempt to bring the fighter’s performance on par with contemporary fighters like the American P-47 or the P-51; both of these types had been tested and considered for procurement, and the P-51 was eventually ordered in early 1945 from US surplus stock as the J 26, even though deliveries were postponed until 1946. The J 19D was to bridge the time until the J 26 was fully introduced, and would later serve in the attack role.
Since the J 19 airframe could not take a large and powerful radial engine like the R-2800, Saab made a radical move and decided to integrate an inline engine – despite the need for some fundamental changes to the airframe. The choice fell on the Packard V-1650, the same engine that also powered the J 26 fighters, so that procurement, maintenance and logistics could be streamlined.
Integration of the very different engine necessitated a complete re-design of the engine attachment architecture, a new, streamlined cowling and the addition of a relatively large radiator bath under the fuselage. A new four blade propeller was introduced and enlarged, all-metal stabilizers were integrated, too, in order to compensate the changed aerodynamics induced by the new radiator arrangement (which made the aircraft pitch down in level flight). A new bubble canopy with minimal framing was introduced, too, offering a much better all-round field of view for the pilot.
Even though the inline engine had a lower nominal output than the J 19B’s heavy R-2600, performance of the J 19D improved appreciably and it became, thanks to improved aerodynamics, a better overall weight distribution, more agile – finally living up to its original design plans, even though its performance was still not outstanding.
Armament was upgraded, too: the inner pair of wing-mounted 13.2mm machine guns was replaced by 20mm Bofors cannons (license-built Hispano-Suiza HS.404), considerably improving weapon range and firepower. Under the outer wings, hardpoints could take a pair of 250 kg bombs, 300 l drop tanks or up to eight 50 kg bombs and/or unguided missiles.
After WWII, the J 19B survivors were kept in service and soldiered on until 1948, when all remaining aircraft were scrapped. Wright was also paid the overdue license fees for the originally unlicensed engines. The J 19D served together with the J 22 and J 26 fighters until 1950, when all of these piston engine fighters were gradually replaced by de Havilland Vampires (J 28) and the indigenous J 29 Tunnan, which rapidly brought the Swedish Air Force into the jet age. The last four J 19Ds, used as liaison aircraft at F 8 at Barkarby, were retired in 1954.
Saab J 19A General characteristics
Crew: One
Length: 9.68 m (31 ft 8 1/2 in)
Wingspan: 12.0 m (39 ft 4 in)
Height: 3.05 m (10 ft 0 in)
Wing area: 22.44 m² (241.5 ft²)
Empty weight: 1,630 kg (3,590 lb)
Loaded weight: 2,390 kg (5,264 lb)
Aspect ratio: 6.4
Powerplant:
1× Packard V-1650-7 liquid-cooled V-12, with a 2 stage intercooled supercharger,
rated at 1,490 hp (1,111 kW) at 3,000 rpm
Performance
Maximum speed: 640 km/h (397 mph) at 4.550 m (14.930 ft)
Cruise speed: 380 km/h (236 mph)
Landing speed: 140 km/h (90 mph)
Range: 1.500 km (930 mi; 810 nmi)
Service ceiling: 11.800 m (38.650 ft)
Rate of climb: 15.9 m/s (3,125 ft/min)
Armament:
2× 20 mm Bofors (Hispano-Suiza HS.404) cannons with 120 RPG
2× 13.2 mm (0.53 in) M/39A (Browning M2) machine guns with 500 RPG
Underwing hardpoints for an ordnance of 500 kg (1.100 lb), including a pair of 300 l drop tanks,
two 250 kg (550 lb) bombs, eight 50 kg (110 lb) bombs or eight unguided missiles.
The kit and its assembly
This is actually the second J 19 I have converted from a Hobby Boss A6M – and this build addresses two questions that probably nobody ever asked:
● What would a Mitsubishi Zero with an inline engine look like?
● Could the fictional Swedish aircraft have survived WWII, and in which form?
The Saab J 19 never saw the hardware stage, but it was a real life project that was eventually killed through the outbreak of WWII and the lack of engines mentioned in the background above. Anyway, it was/is called the “Swedish Zero” because it resembled the Japanese fighter VERY much – wing shape, fuselage, tail section, even the cockpit glazing!
This build/conversion was very similar to my first one, which ended up as a J 19B with an R-2600 engine from a Matchbox B-25 Mitchell bomber. However, due to the later time frame and different donor parts at hand things took a different route – this time, the key idea was the modernization/update of a rather outdated airframe, and the old J 19B model was the benchmark.
Again, much of the literally massive(!) Hobby Boss Zero was taken OOB, but changes this time included:
● The nose/cowling from a Matchbox P-51D
● A modified ventral radiator bath from a HUMA Me 309
● New horizontal stabilizers from a Griffon Spitfire
● A new propeller (Pavla resin parts for a post WWII P-51D/K with uncuffed blades)
● OOB main landing gear was inverted, so that the wheel discs face inwards
● New main wheels from an AZ Models Spitfire, IIRC
● New retractable tail wheel, from a Bf 109 G; the arrestor hook opening was closed
● A vacu canopy for a late mark Hawker Typhoon, plus some interior details behind the seat
In order to adapt the Mustang’s nose to the slender and circular A6M fuselage, a wedge plug was inserted between the fuselage halves from the Matchbox kit and a styrene tube added inside as a propeller mount. The latter, a resin piece, received a long metal axis and can spin freely.
For the new bubble canopy the cockpit opening and the basic interior was retained, but the dorsal section around the cockpit re-sculpted with putty. Took some time, but worked well and everything blends surprisingly well into each other – even though the aircraft, with its new engine, somehow reminds me of a Hawker Hurricane now? From certain angles the whole thing also has a P-39 touch? Weird!
Painting and markings
Again the dire question: how to paint this one? Once more I did not want to use a typical olive green/light blue Swedish livery, even though it would have been the most plausible option. I eventually settled for a pure natural metal finish, inspired by the post-WWII J 26/Mustangs in Swedish service, which furthermore carried only minimal tactical markings: roundels in six positions, the Flygflottilj number on the fuselage and a colored letter code on the tail, plus a spinner in the same color. Very simple and plain, but with more and more Swedish whiffs piling up, I am looking for as much camouflage/livery diversity as possible, and an NMF machine was still missing. :D
All interior surfaces were painted in RLM 02, and for the NMF I used my personal “recipe” with a basis of Revell 99 (Aluminum, acrylics) plus a black ink wash, followed by panel post-shading with Humbrol “Polished Aluminum” Metallizer (27002), rubbing/polishing with a soft cotton cloth and finally and a light rubbing treatment with grinded graphite for weathering effects and a worn, metallic shine of the surfaces.
Around the exhaust stubs, slightly darker panels were painted with Revell Acyrlics 91 (Iron) and ModelMaster Magnesium Metallizer. A black anti glare panel was added in front of the cockpit (P-51 style). The green propeller boss was painted with a mix of Humbrol 3 and 131 – emulating the color of the green code letter on the fin as good as possible.
The decals were puzzled together; the bright roundels belong to a Swedish Fiat CR.42, from a Sky Models sheet. The “8” on the fuselage comes from an early WWII Swedish Gloster Gladiator code (SBS Models), while the green “E” is an RAF code letter from a Heller Supermarine Spitfire Mk. XVI – actually a total print color disaster, since this deep green is supposed to be Sky!? For better contrast on the Aluminum the letter was placed on a white background, created from single decal strips (generic material from TL Modellbau).
After some soot stains around the exhaust stubs and the fuselage flanks with more graphite, as well as around the gun muzzles, the kit was sealed with a 4:1 mix of gloss and matt acrylic varnish, only the anti glare panel and the propeller blades became 100% matt. Some more matt varnish was also dabbed over the soot stains.
So, another J 19, and the “Zero with an inline engine” looks pretty strange – not as streamlined as other late WWII designs like the P-51 or Griffon-powered Spitfires, yet with a modern touch. The NMF livery looks a bit boring, but the unusual green code (used by liason J 26s from F 8 and some rare 4th or 5th divisions) is a nice contrast to the bright and large Swedish roundels, underlining the pretty elegant lines of the converted Zero!
Brunswick Heads, NSW, Australia
Ahh soo happy with this shot.. whilst I was at my nannas place over Xmas the Tropical Cyclone off the coast sent in a massive swell into the east coast of Australia. The heads took a pounding and this champ was riding the waves in the heads. He caught quite a few good ones.. also got close to the rocks many a time. This was at sunset.. and I was hoping the shots would turn out as such. Very little had to be done in the way of colour balancing. I am hoping to get this scanned and printed to frame in the exhibition ill be doing later this month with 3 other film photographers.
Mamiya RZ67
Sekor 110mm 2.8
Ektar 100
Sekor L358 Lightmeter
Cokin Z121S Grad Neutral Density Filter
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Ma Chit Su, 35, with two of her four children, and two nieces. Her youngest boy (in foreground) is only 8 months old. Her husband died shortly after Nargis from stomach ailments. They could not afford to send him to the doctor, but she believes that he was in a state of traumatic shock from Nargis. Her baby boy has six digits on each hand (genes from her side - she has 6 toes on each foot), and although on both hands the exta fingers hang loosely, she is unable to go to a GP to have them removed safely.
She also can't afford to send her children to school, and while we were there, the two older boys were out, gathering and selling firewood. For this they sometimes earn around 1000 kyats ($1) a day. She claims to need 2500 kyats to feed the family properly. They often go without anything but rice (which they have recently recieved from IDE). There is no additional income in the family, though some men in the village have helped her repair her roof. She contemplated trying to get her newborn adopted following her husband's death, as she didn't know how she could raise him. He is however clearly loved, and is alert, intelligent and lively.
Around 70% of Mayan village is landless - reflecting the average for the delta.
Rice prices hit new lows after Nargis, with farmers producing at a loss and spiralling into debt. A dire shortage of wage labour ensued, creating a desperate situation throughout the delta (and throughout much of Myanmar). Furthermore, chronic inefficiency in the agricultural value chain means farmers get only around 30-40% or the final price for rice (as opposed to the other great Asian 'rice basket', the Mekong Delta, where the figure is over 50%). Infrastructure such as roads, transport, port facilities etc. suffer from dire underinvestment, and rice export is further hampered by sanctions and the political situation.
(photographed by Piers Benatar for DFID)
Over the weekend I go to a reading party (table-reading the shooting script for Fellowship of the Ring, with much hilarity) with a few of the members of Rhinestone Gorilla Burlesque. I haven't seen much of them since the group went on its unofficial hiatus, both because they are young and busy all over the place and because, well - no shows to shoot.
If you're new to my stream, I was the company photographer with RGB for a couple of years, and at times it felt like they were all I was shooting. How things change!
It's great to see them again, and it reminds me that I have always intended to explore some of my giant photo backlog from the past few years. Since this year sucky health and a busy performing schedule cut down hard on my active shooting, I reckon I should really be dusting off some of my pictures of the past.
The last full Rhinestone Gorilla show that I shot, I think, was their scripted Postcards from Coney Island: Stillwell Avenue Memories night early in the season with the Burlesque on the Beach series out in Coney Island. This rolls us back to May of 2013, when the place was just opening up again after the damage from Hurricane Sandy.
The show is a set of skits imagining that the Rhinestone Gorillas might come to Coney Island to spend a day doing the things one does in Coney Island, and hijinks ensue. Here, bringing her own gale-force winds to bear (or, at least, a fan mounted on the edge of the stage), Kinky Demure rides the Cyclone roller coaster, and the twists and turns and plummets conspire to tear her clothes off, one piece at a time.
And people wonder why the Cyclone is so popular for dates.
Cyclone Pam hit Vanuatu in March 2015. The category 5 storm caused widespread destruction. Act for Peace responded to the crisis with emergency food, shelter and water.
Image of Tropical Cyclone #Nanauk in the Arabian Sea as seen by Metop-A (11/06/14 05:49 UTC)
Copyright: 2014 EUMETSAT