View allAll Photos Tagged Dissonant
Alternative titles might have included "follow the A40" or "take the A40 up the hill". Van Morrison has already used the former and the latter might be a bit underwhelming for a rough track to what appears as a mountain summit on maps and charts. This time we aren't going from London to Fishguard, just from the reconstructed Mount Franklin Chalet site up to the top of the Mount Franklin Slalom Run.
The Chalet site, near to the Nursery Run where I tricked you with the Harley Davidson-powered ski tow, is at 1522m ASL. Over the hill is not such a bad title for the track up Mount Franklin to the summit trig station at 1646m ASL. As mountains go, this is pretty straight forward ascent of 124m over about 1.1km, a little over 11 per cent gradient and easily enough walked; or run for some more frisky types. It must have been a bit more challenging to address the direction to take the A40 up the hill! Here it is, up the hill and over the brow.
All that is left of the Austin A40 which powered the Slalom Run tow is here, in this frame. It has been progressively vandalised over the years that it has sat here on this mountain. I suppose it was easy enough to get up here when a ski tow was required and less easy to take back down the mountain when its work was done!
I'll leave it here too, taking nothing but photographs, and leaving it to rust in pieces peace; a reminder of a time when it snowed; before winter's fun on Mount Franklin was ruined.
Sitting waiting for hummingbirds, who never came, I occupied my mind with the zinnias and other flowers in our little garden. I liked the disarray of lines and shadows and lack of focus I noticed in front of me.
Adjectives 101 group, dissonant
Het oude vrachtschip passeert de geopende brug. Na dit oude vrachtschip kwamen er ook nog een aantal luxe jachten door de brug maar die vormden zo'n dissonant met de entourage dat ik die foto's maar voor mijzelf houdt.
The old ship is passing the opened bridge. After this old ship a couple of modern yachts passed the bridge but I will keep this pictures for myself because it was no sight those modern ships in this old surrounding.
The band blends aspects of dark electro, dissonant art rock, and plodding indie rock in a constantly shifting sound.
Song Sample: youtu.be/oQgicu6G6n8
Location: Ancienne Belgique, Bd Anspach 110, Brussels.
saw a plane navigating through the birds - comment by maistora: "Birds on wires always remind me of notes: The plane = a somewhat dissonant note on the score sheet"
so today, Cameron and I went to old mans cave. we walked around for hours just exploring and shooting. this is probably one of my favorite locations throughout the entire place, and I knew I wanted to do a clone, so here it is! i hope you guys enjoy
The Übermensch Pulling Against The Superego.
Thee solemn fiendish battle of thee bad'st titans of gore.
Who shall win this dissonant war against thy anguish self of woe?
O'ercome thy self and push them aside,
push thy egos below a asunder thou must go,
O'yee with thy minds so lost within,
worms of a feather must find something better,
Arise alas truly thou must truly learn to live before thy perishes in thee ego flames below,
lamppads of seven awaits thy presence duely stand pardon bow,
who is thee biggest badd'st of thee ego's thee weak asks with a grin?
How lost thou must be to ponder such things in thou's distemper'd brains,
ask thee saurian toads on thy pad be it must, if thou must,
the super ego,what a name from thou's ego giv'ft such a name, be it lost as it is,
Übermensch, the superman with no cape to fly, just mutters in darkness rats in thee gutter,
represents so much for many professors in hard chairs that cant e'en rock,
yet nothing of value of be,
'cept perhaps a rustled degree,
a conversation piece whilst thou sipp'st at garden tea,
as does the different types of egos sipp'st at thyselfs, no cups need to be fill'd,
the more thine fight thee senseless battle without swords, but cut just as deep,
the more the field in which they dwell shall lose,
( i.e. YOU! thou body is now up for auction, Sold! be it cheap, first hand went'ft up)
give up your self construed idolatrous egos abound within,
but soft, learn to love as thee gentle doves that soar high above in stars delight,
for thee battle of hideous egos,
will lead thou to the paralysed war within thou self's,
and very quickly shall be your own plunging destruction,
then where will your desolate ego lay be it cold under ground?
That's right,good guess without e'en guessing,
next to old knave, Id Sigmund,
and the O' hapless entombed lad called Nietzsche.
Steve.D.Hammond.
Van Nelle factory, Rotterdam, The Netherlands.
Design: Brinkman & Van der Vlugt in cooperation with civil engineer J.G. Wiebenga (1925).
Restoration design (1999): Wessel de Jonge Architects (WDJA).
The spiralised staircase contrasts angainst the angular structure of this great example of functional architecture.
Portrait of a Woman with a Book of Music; [1540–1545]
Bachiacca (Francesco Ubertini) (Italian, Florentine, 1494 - 1557)
Oil on panel; 103.2 × 80.3 cm (40 5/8 × 31 5/8 in.); 78.PB.227;
No Copyright - United States
LA, Getty Museum
*********************************************************************************
This unidentified woman wears an elegant, colorful dress of a type that was the height of Florentine fashion around 1540. Her costume and music book indicate her cultured, patrician background; she may have been a member of the Frescobaldi, a powerful Florentine banking family that once owned the painting.
The surprising juxtaposition of the bright green of the tablecloth alongside the sitter’s pink dress, and the polished, sculptural treatment of flesh tones are characteristics associated with Florentine painting of the early sixteenth century. The artist here shows off his ability to represent intricate embroidery and textures, such as the fur trim of the sitter’s sleeves and patterns on her dress. According to biographer Giorgio Vasari (1511 – 1574), Bachiacca was famous for his accurate illustrations of birds, examples of which appear here on the border of the tablecloth—they can be identified from left to right as a great or lesser grey shrike, a blue jay, a wren and a yellowhammer. The same birds appear in the borders of tapestries designed by Bachiacca, as well as in the fragmentary remains of some of his murals in the Palazzo Vecchio, Florence. All of these details reveal the artist’s many talents: Bachiacca and his younger brother in fact worked across many media, and were producers of a variety of luxury items for the Medici court, including tapestries, embroidery design, and zoological illustrations. The melody on the sheet held by the woman is unintelligible; the artist, who is not known to have read music, deliberately obscures it with the sitter’s hand. Bachiacca derived his ambiguous space, juxtaposition of dissonant colors, and polished, sculptural treatment of flesh from Agnolo Bronzino's contemporary portraits of members of the Medici court.
Source:
In the throat of the forest, where silence rots into violet dust,
a shape awakens; not born, not summoned,
but leaking through the ruptured seam of an exiled geometry.
It rolls its angles like broken hymns,
each facet trembling with the memory of a world
that was never permitted to exist.
Light bleeds through its fractures,
not as illumination,
but as a confession escaping a condemned dimension.
Around it, the trees bend like witnesses
forced to watch the trial of an unnamed god.
Their branches twitch with metallic nerves,
their roots recoil from the cold pulse
radiating from the monolith’s wounded core.
It hums; a dissonant tremor,
a distortion of breath,
a declaration of insurgency whispered
through every forbidden corner of the night.
And as the mist rises like a funeral veil,
the forest exhales its final coherence,
knowing the truth no human tongue will ever hold:
that this thing is not an arrival,
but a return; the return of what we tried
so desperately
to uncreate.
Installation description from the in/future website.
Dotting a section of the West Island’s shore line like some bizarre species of plant, John Dickson’s Wind Flowers are activated by Lake Ontario’s Winds.
Made from repurposed cymbals, Wind Flowers respond to the power of the breeze, ranging in intensity from gentle buzzing to dissonant clanging. Seemingly neither plant nor fully machine, Wind Flowers suggest the technology of an unknown future society, or hint at the revitalization of our own society’s junk in a post-industrial era.
Preoccupied with human attitudes about the environment and the desire to seek control and domination, Dickson often crafts works whose outcomes are complex and unpredictable, giving a sense that his creations live their own life-cycles beyond his initial intentions.
Parámetros :: Parameters :: Paramètres: Fuji FinePix SL1000; ISO 800; 0 ev; f 2.9; 1/1500 s; Fuji lens, 4 mm.
Título :: Title :: Titre ::: Fecha (Date): Trazos :: Strokes :: Traits ::: 2014/12/25 12:33
(Es). Historia: Tudela. Navarra. España. Tudela tiene un conjunto de graffiti particularmente interesante. Hace unos meses publiqué una imagen de una fachada completa con un graffiti de una silueta humana caminando a cuatro patas y sujeto por una cadena a un burro: Tendencias. Hoy, cuando volví por allí con más tiempo, recorrí las otras fachadas por ver si había otros graffiti. Efectivamente así era, había muchas más pinturas. Cuando observé detenidamente el edificio resultó extraño que tuviera unas garitas de vigilancia y casi todas sus ventanas con rejas. Pensé inicialmente que podía ser una cárcel abandonada; pero no. Cuando estaba delante de su fachada principal haciendo fotos apareció un coche y bajó de él un señor de edad avanzada y que iba a entrar en una casa que estaba enfrente a este graffiti. “Disculpe un momento” le dije. Ya me había visto hacer fotos instantes antes y amablemente se acercó a mí. “Mire, estaba haciendo fotos a esta fachada y me preguntaba cómo es posible que se hubieran pintado tan ampliamente todas las fachadas del edificio, desde el suelo hasta el tejado que esta a varios metros. ¿Qué era este edificio anteriormente?”. Con amabilidad comentó que era un antiguo cuartel de cría de caballos sementales del ejército en el que precisamente Él había hecho el servicio militar. Estaba abandonado desde hace tiempo, a la espera de que haya fondos presupuestarios para rehabilitarlo y darle otro un cultural. “¿Y todos estos graffiti?” le repetí a continuación. “Bueno… el Ayuntamiento ha decidido que la mejor forma de evitar que se pinten sin criterio alguno es hacer ese encargo a personas que pueden darle un aspecto temporal más estético y, al mismo tiempo, se protege de ese vandalismo de pintadas de poco sentido”. Estuvimos un rato hablando sobre ello, hasta que nos despedimos y seguí haciendo fotos con Fray.
Toma: Sigo sacando partido a la FinePix. Es cómoda de transportar cuando salgo con Fray. Pesa poco, la puedo enlazar bien en una mano y me permite encuadrar sin mirar por el objetivo; eso hace que pueda controlar a Fray al mismo tiempo. Me pongo en la acera de enfrente y dejo a Fray atado a la puerta; esto último me permite más libertad de movimiento y además le tengo como referencia de tamaño y como elemento disonante en la imagen.
Tratamiento: Con Aperture. Original en JPG. Además del encuadre, modifico la temperatura de color para aproximar más a la realidad. Aumento la definición para hacer los trazos de graffiti más densos. Las luces altas las apago ligeramente y aplico una viñeta para suavizar los bordes de la imagen.
¡Eso es todo amigos!
(En). The History: Tudela. Navarra. Spain. Tudela has a particularly interesting set of graffiti. A few months ago I posted a picture of a complete facade with a graffiti of a human silhouette walking on all fours and attached by a string to a donkey: Trends. Today when I went out there with more time, I walked the other facades see if there were other graffiti. Indeed it was, there were many more paintings. When I stared at the building was strange to have a sentry boxes and almost all windows with bars. Initially I thought it could be an abandoned prison; but not. When I was in front of the main facade taking pictures appeared a car and dropped him an elderly gentleman and was going to enter a house that was opposite to this graffiti. "Excuse me a moment," I said. I had already seen taking pictures moments before and kindly approached me. "Look, I was taking pictures of this facade and wondered how it is that they have been painted so widely all facades of the building, from the ground to the roof, which is several meters. What was this building before? ". Kindly commented that it was an old barracks breeding stallions army where exactly he had done military service. It was long since abandoned, waiting there budgetary funds to rehabilitate and give it another cultural way. "And all these graffiti?" I repeated below. "Well ... the Council has decided that the best way to prevent any paint without criteria is to make this request to people who can give a more aesthetic temporal aspect and at the same time protects the vandal painted with little sense" . We were a talking about it, until we parted while and I kept taking photos with Fray.
Taking up: I'm taking advantage of the FinePix. It is comfortable to carry when I go to Fray. It's light, I link the well in one hand and allows me to frame without looking through the lens; that makes Fray can control simultaneously. I stand on the sidewalk which is opposite and left Fray tied at the door; the latter allows me more freedom of movement and will also have reference size as dissonant element in the image.
Treatment: With Aperture. Original JPG. Besides the frame, I change the color temperature to approximate closer to reality. Increase the definition for strokes denser graffiti. The high beams turn off lightly and apply a vignette to soften the edges of the image.
That's all folks !!
(Fr). Histoire: Tudela. Navarra. L'Espagne. Tudela dispose d'un ensemble particulièrement intéressant de graffitis. Il y a quelques mois, je ai posté une photo d'une façade avec un graffiti d'une marche de silhouette humaine à quatre pattes et attaché par une chaîne à un âne: Tendances. Aujourd'hui, quand je suis allé là-bas avec plus de temps, je marchais les autres façades voir se il y avait d'autres graffitis. En effet, il était, il y avait beaucoup plus de peintures. Quand je regardais le bâtiment était étrange d'avoir un guérites et presque toutes les fenêtres avec des barres. Au début, je pensais que ce pourrait être une prison abandonnée; mais pas. Quand je étais en face de la façade principale de prendre des photos apparu une voiture et laissé tomber un vieux monsieur et allait entrer dans une maison qui était opposée à ce graffiti. "Excusez-moi un instant," je ai dit. Je avais déjà vu prendre des photos moments avant et m'a gentiment approché. "Ecoutez, je prenais des photos de cette façade et je me demandais comment il se fait qu'ils ont été peints si largement toutes les façades du bâtiment, du sol au toit, qui est de plusieurs mètres. Quel était ce bâtiment avant? ". Veuillez remarquer que ce était une ancienne caserne étalons reproducteurs armée où exactement il avait fait son service militaire. Il a été abandonné depuis longtemps, attendait là-bas fonds budgétaires de réhabiliter et de lui et donner un sens culturel. "Et tous ces graffitis?" Je rappelées ci-dessous. "Eh bien ... le Conseil a décidé que la meilleure façon de prévenir toute peinture sans critères est de faire cette demande aux personnes qui peuvent donner un aspect plus esthétique temporelle et en même temps protège le vandale peint peu de sens" . Nous étions un parler, jusqu'à ce que nous nous sommes séparés et je ai gardé tout prendre des photos avec Fray.
Prendre: Je profite de la FinePix. Il est confortable à porter quand je vais à Fray. Il est léger, je ai peut lier ainsi dans une main et me permet de cadrer sans regarder à travers la lentille; qui fait Fray peut contrôler simultanément. Je suis sur le trottoir qui est opposé et Fray est liée à la porte; ce dernier me permet plus de liberté de mouvement et auront également la taille de référence comme élément dissonant dans l'image.
Traitement: Avec Aperture. Origine JPG. Outre le cadre, je change la température de couleur pour approcher de plus près à la réalité. Augmenter la définition de coups plus dense graffitis. Les feux de route se éteignent à la légère et se appliquent une vignette pour adoucir les bords de l'image.
Voilà, c'est tout!
Estou doente e cansado do frio.
E o filho da puta ainda nem chegou oficialmente.
Oh Deus, ó deus do céu...
Manda o aquecimento global logo.
Assim, quem sabe,
O povo pára de procriar,
As vacas de peidar,
Os países industriais de produzir, de expelir gazes
E os ursos apreenderão a nadar
(e não morrerão afogados).
Nova geração.
Novo tudo, tudo novo.
Mas é o seguinte...
Pega lá o esperma do Hermeto,
Manda logo clonar uns quinze igual a ele
E a gente vai esquentar gozando, como um lindo forró.
Forro de Santo André...
Pronto, vai ai um poema em inglês.
Na parte que eu escrevi 'caves', na parte da minha mãe, eu queria escrever era 'buceta', mas o povo americano, talvez fosse me criticar (ou crucificar).
Então vai aí um poema que eu escrevi pensando em minha mãe. a quem já dediquei alguns outros poemas.
Offspring
Finding emotions em dual tones
Just like life finds us.
Happy or sad.
But always,
live is full of drama....
Waiting for the on and off switch
I treat life with the utmost respect
And the dual tones of life and death
Muted in a dissonant sad cord.
I killed my mother and father,
And there goes the umbilical cord
Just like my body full of blood
Out of my mothers cave.
I killed my mother and father slowly,
By moving so far away
And today I see my off spring doing it..
The same way.... The same away... The same await..
We killed them so we can see
Our life in dual chrome as an instinct,
I'm sad to stay
I have to go
Even though
I'm full of Blood and will
Always be longing for
Your soft touch...
And life itself is killing me softly,
lovely, warmly, irresistibly,
Because you're my fresh and soul
and just you know...
I'm sad to go
But you made me strong
To see my off spring
Following the everyday blood...
Folowing their dreams.
Portrait of a Woman with a Book of Music; [1540–1545]
Bachiacca (Francesco Ubertini) (Italian, Florentine, 1494 - 1557)
Oil on panel; 103.2 × 80.3 cm (40 5/8 × 31 5/8 in.); 78.PB.227;
No Copyright - United States
LA, Getty Museum
*********************************************************************************
This unidentified woman wears an elegant, colorful dress of a type that was the height of Florentine fashion around 1540. Her costume and music book indicate her cultured, patrician background; she may have been a member of the Frescobaldi, a powerful Florentine banking family that once owned the painting.
The surprising juxtaposition of the bright green of the tablecloth alongside the sitter’s pink dress, and the polished, sculptural treatment of flesh tones are characteristics associated with Florentine painting of the early sixteenth century. The artist here shows off his ability to represent intricate embroidery and textures, such as the fur trim of the sitter’s sleeves and patterns on her dress. According to biographer Giorgio Vasari (1511 – 1574), Bachiacca was famous for his accurate illustrations of birds, examples of which appear here on the border of the tablecloth—they can be identified from left to right as a great or lesser grey shrike, a blue jay, a wren and a yellowhammer. The same birds appear in the borders of tapestries designed by Bachiacca, as well as in the fragmentary remains of some of his murals in the Palazzo Vecchio, Florence. All of these details reveal the artist’s many talents: Bachiacca and his younger brother in fact worked across many media, and were producers of a variety of luxury items for the Medici court, including tapestries, embroidery design, and zoological illustrations. The melody on the sheet held by the woman is unintelligible; the artist, who is not known to have read music, deliberately obscures it with the sitter’s hand. Bachiacca derived his ambiguous space, juxtaposition of dissonant colors, and polished, sculptural treatment of flesh from Agnolo Bronzino's contemporary portraits of members of the Medici court.
Source:
And the birds up on the wires and the telegraph poles
They can always fly away from this rain and this cold
You can hear them singing out
their telegraph code
~Dire Straits~
if you have the option to buy a house across the street from a park, don't. lest you too will hate the ice cream man.
as soon as it is remotely nice outside 2-3 dueling trucks circle the freaking park from the crack of dawn until the last sliver of light is squeezed from the day...blasting their dissonant tunes. by the beginning of june i am plotting the murder of all 3 drivers.
i wonder if this is the same one who was busted for selling drugs from his truck. they arrested him right in front of my house. he seemed reticient to have his photo taken and was oddly waiting for the construction workers, not the kids in the playground... all the while blaring "do your ears hang low?"
It would be a lie to say Belle Reve Penitentiary had seen worse days. Even in times of riot, attack by supervillains, and the occasional inspection by the IRS, Belle Reve had stood strong, and retained an air of cold defiance in the face of adversity.
But Belle Reve had never seen anything like this. Thick, twisted kudzu gripped its fingers around every surface that unrecognizable fungi did not grow. Brilliant flowers twisted into themselves, each petal pronged and barbed. There was not a surface of the facility that was not covered in foliage
And absolutely none of it was natural.
A green flash vomits the Squad violently to the border of the verdant invasion, a good seven hundred feet from the Belle Reve doors.
Boomerang: Strewth, what a landing.
Deadshot: Bend, what the hell?
Angelo Bend, baffled, shakes his device with a ferocity, hitting any button, hoping for any results.
Angle-Man: I . . . The device won’t work, I dunno! Look, Every time I try and use it, it shorts out.
Sonar: Perhaps your inferior intellect has finally broken it.
Deadshot: Don’t start, Wladon. Bend, you’ve gotta have a damn good reason for this.
Angle-Man: I don’t know! I tell you, I don’t know! Maybe it really has just shorted out finally!
Armageddon: Uh, ‘scuse me for talkin’ out of turn here, but uh, that Exclamation fellah mentioned any tech they send in they lose communications with. Maybe this is the same kinda thing?
Sonar thinks for a minute, then attempts one of his sound blasts. All he succeeds in is blowing one of his own fingertips off.
Sonar: AAAHH, Aaahh, Sweet lord, what has brought this upon me?!
Boomerang: I’d say y’own inferior intellect, eh?
Deadshot: So the both of you are dead weight, got it.
He rips off a shred of Sonar’s cape and wraps it around his half a finger.
Deadshot: Just as well, if Flag and Co. never came out, there’s nothing saying we will either. May as well have a few guaranteed survivors.
At their feet, there’s a noticeable difference in the grass. At the border of where the surreal foliage stops, the grass is longer, coarser, and a deeper shade of green. None of them notice however. None but Mike Aparo, plucking a single blade and inspecting it closely. He hisses in his mask, and tears the blade in half.
Deadshot: Alright, Harkness, Conway, Aparo, you’re with me. Aparo?
Boomerang: Looks like he’s scarpered, mate.
And indeed, a trail of footprints imbedded in the soft grass, the size and shape of Mike Aparo’s boots, leads steadily into the greenery.
-----------------------------------------------------
The sound of birdsong is a sound entirely out of place in Belle Reve, and yet, the sing-song twittering of birds unknown came from the rafters far overhead. The architecture appears to have shifted slightly, but it was impossible to tell in that strangling, suffocating foliage. Vines snaked their way through old windows, up cell bars and darted in and broke down doors.
Bodies lay strewn about in violent, and impossible positions. One corpse is practically reduced to a skeleton, a vine jammed through his hip-bone, crawling through his ribcage and ripping through his skull. There’s a broken, frail pair of glasses next to him.
Captain Boomerang’s eye is caught by a glint below his feet. He bends down to inspect it, and stands again with a pair of dog tags in his fingers.
“Doc Evans,” He reports, quietly.
The other two stop and turn around slowly.
“He one of the Task Force fellas?” Asks Armageddon. There’s a hint of anxiety in his drawl.
“Yeah,” replies Deadshot, “the brainiest one. Doesn’t bode well.” Despite the birdsong, there’s a stillness to the air. It makes him uncomfortable. He shifts on his feet, and wishes for a rifle.
Boomerang flips the tags through his fingers absently and says “Y’notice he’s nothin’ but bones? I may not be a genius cobber, but even I know y’can’t melt down to ya clackers in only a matter of hours.”
After a minute, Deadshot replies, “You’re not wrong, but that’s not the issue at hand.”
Then it hits them, the faint smell of chemicals. “Sirs,” Armageddon pipes up again, “I think I found the trail of our Mister Orange.”
Slashed like a gaping wound through the foliage, a sizzling, chemical burned trail snakes out in front of them. Following it, carefully stepping over thick roots and passing spiny plants, eventually they come across Agent Orange, wildly spraying some corrosive chemical over everything around him. He cackles gleefully as he arcs poison in all directions.
“Oh the glorious, delicious scent of pesticide!” He cries.
Deadshot shouts his name, and hurries up to him, careful not to get any of the sizzling fluid on himself. He wraps his hands around Agent Orange’s collar
“Breathe deeply,” says Aparo, “Inhhaallle all the flavorrrrr.”
“This isn’t a goddamn vacation,” Deadshot hisses acidly, “You stick to the mission, you follow my lead, you defoliate what I point at. Understood?”
Agent Orange giggles and nods, but says nothing of intelligence. Deadshot lets him go, and orders Armageddon to the front. Armageddon and his Axe. He swings mightily and chops heavily, carving through the undergrowth like so much butter.
“So eh, have we got a cardinal in mind eh?” Asks Boomerang, swatting away at an insect species that never existed before today.
“Come again?” says Deadshot, flatly.
“A direction, mate. Otherwise we’ll just wander around this bloody jungle ‘till we too are moldy bones.”
“I say we get to the monitor room,” Says Deadshot after a minute. “At the very least, maybe we can salvage some footage from last night, maybe find out what went wrong.”
“Do we actually plan on extracting the other team, sir?” Huffs Armageddon, his arms slowly growing weary.
“If we come across ‘em,” Deadshot replies, his scope training on a passing bird, “If not, we know what happened to at least one of ‘em.”
In the distance, comes a rattling wheeze that quickly descends into a dismal, low moan. Steadily, it grows, and grows, exploding into a crescendo of wailing, mournful, ear-splitting noise. A wicked, teeth-shattering bawl. The Squad all drop and ready their weapons, whirling their heads in every direction, but nothing comes.
The moaning stops.
“What the hell was that?!” Shouts Boomerang.
“Doesn’t matter,” Deadshot manages to spit out. “Doesn’t matter. Let’s just keep moving.”
---------------------------------------------
In the mess hall, the first signs of violence made themselves truly apparent. Frozen bodies, petrified with lichens and rigor mortis, lay strewn everywhere. One prisoner’s remains grew into one of the long tables, bisected in half by it’s surface. One duo died locked in combat, scratching and biting at each other’s throats. Another still, had stabbed forks into his own hands, and remained seated upright, long after death. Dozens of bodies rested in this way. And all of them were covered in mushrooms.
Boomerang makes the effort to wrap his scarf around the lower part of his face, thankful that the accessory finally had a use except as a handle for The Flash to grab him by. Silently, grimly, the four pass through the mess hall, and down into the nearest corridor.
The corridor, they realize, leads to the guardrooms. This did not use to be the case. The staircase, once straightforward and short, winds down and down, plunging into the earth, winding in spirals. The walls, soft and slimy to the touch, seemed to heave lightly, as if breathing on their own. As if alive. Tiny, incandescent plants lined the walls, and provided low light in the descent.
The Guardroom, when they reached it, seemed surprisingly unchanged, save for a thick layer of dust over everything, ashen and gray.
“Alright,” Says Boomerang, “We need ta take bloody stock.”
“Meaning?” Replies Deadshot.
“I don’t understand,” Says Armageddon shakily, “I ain’t been here long, but I don’t remember any of this place bein like this.” He buries his face in his hands, muttering something about “them walls, them walls . . . “
“Meaning,” says Boomerang, “meaning that th’rookie’s right. The stairs didn’t used to go in bloody circles. And what happened to all those poor blokes up there, eh? What drove em to mad killin’? Why’s this room been mostly untouched. What the hell is going on in here?”
Agent Orange fiddles with his gun, muttering about green.
Deadshot looks to each of the squaddies. He senses the growing restlessness. As calm as he possibly can, he says,
“I can’t pretend I know. But if we can find the monitor room, maybe we can figure it out.”
“Yeah,” says Boomerang after a minute, “yeah, fair enough.”
Then, there’s a humming. A buzzing. At first, like a cloud of bees, then like a swirl of dissonant voices, coming from the stairs behind them. It grows louder, slowly, but steadily. It grows closer just as fast. A warm, gold light begins to slowly trickle in ahead of it.
“Run.” Whispers Deadshot.
Boomerang, Armageddon, and Agent Orange all bolt out the door to the rear that didn’t exist until today. Deadshot takes a deep breath as the sputtering voices grow louder. For a second, he considers facing it. For a second, he considers fighting. Then, on the wall, a small, framed picture of a girl, almost entirely obscured by dust, catches his eye. He picks it up, dusts it off, places it on his belt, and sprints off after the others.
Something has ruptured here — but in silence. A chilling stillness reigns, as if the image itself were apologizing for witnessing an event it can’t fully contain. A house — ordinary, suburban, almost harmless — stands upright. But it is being eaten. Disintegrated from within. Devoured by a crystalline, black, inhuman growth.
These sharp-edged, mirrored geometries burst forth from the building like mental thorns, or fragments of a code compressed too long. These aren’t ruins — they’re proliferations. Dissonant structures erupting from the walls like repressed thoughts made solid.
At the base, leaves and plants intensify the disturbance. They seem more alive than the building. More human. Nature, usually quiet, becomes a witness — or perhaps a collaborator. There is a vegetal tension in this scene, as if flora were calmly watching a mutation unfold.
The sky offers no comfort. No warning. No apocalypse. It watches. It waits.
This image captures the exact moment when architecture begins to rebel. When the concrete world yields to a mathematical intrusion — a dissidence from a realm deeper than matter.
Toronto ON 4 Jul 2020
A lovely bit of waxing gibbous was happening last night. Beauty amid the suburban ennui.
Toronto ON 4 Jul 2020
A lovely bit of waxing gibbous was happening last night. Beauty amid the suburban ennui.
The city pulses in a relentless wash of neon and static, yet we stand rooted, eyes locked on a fleeting vision of an untouched world. A glimpse of life before the hum of machines wove their dissonant song into the very air, before connection became compulsion. The sight stirs something deep—a longing for a simpler time, an ache for days unmeasured by time and untouched by technology. Here, in this city of light and steel, the world we yearn for exists only in memories, fading like the echo of a melody lost to time.
With all my ❤️ I thank you for your ⭐ or 💬 or just for 👀 it.
A 📷 taken by me + Camera Raw
THIS PHOTO IT'S NOT AI 📀
You can look at the Exif data on your right.➡️ in pc, and on phone below the comments 👇
Amid the vibrant green of the Euphorbia, one flower turns away from the rest.
Is it upset? Does it feel different?
Perhaps it’s simply seeking its own path, unaware of the group’s harmony, chasing the light from a different angle.
Sometimes, even in perfect harmony, there’s a dissonant note that makes the melody more intriguing.
The insane dark orange skies we had over San Francisco due to the wildfires in California, Wednesday September 9, 2020.
West Toronto Railpath, Toronto ON 12 Jul 2020
Outwood Cafe sponsors a socially-distanced dance party on the West Toronto Railpath
West Toronto Railpath, Toronto ON 12 Jul 2020
Outwood Cafe sponsors a socially-distanced dance party on the West Toronto Railpath
"Feeling safe won't do you no good out here. You need to guarantee survival yourself."
---
A man in a black duster pushes open the door to a bar and walks inside as the door brushes his arm before closing shut. He scans the room cautiously, as if searching for someone. One hand is kept in his pockets; the other is positioned on his waist, near the holster in which he keeps his gun with him at all times in case things go south. The man approaches the counter and sits by a mysterious hooded gentleman leaned forward, keeping to himself.
"You can try and hide your face in disguise as much as you want. I can still recognize you a mile away," the man dryly said. The hooded stranger gave a light chuckle.
"Ain't hiding out here. Just minding my own business here in peace," the stranger chortled. He sat upright now and called the bartender.
"One for him too. It's on me," the stranger ordered. The man with the duster sharply exhaled.
"The town's thinking of putting a bounty on you. Somewhere around--"
"A million at least? Let them."
"Do you know why they're after you?"
The stranger paused, then reached inside his jacket to pull out a white revolver. He placed it quietly on the counter. The bartender arrived with the drink and set it on the counter as well before minding his own business.
"What's that?" the man asked in regards to the revolver.
"The reason I'm notorious for being dangerous. Everyone wants this Renegade dead for a reason," the stranger joked.
"Yeah well...if you dabble with forbidden magical powers you don't understand..." the man tried to explain before the Renegade put his hand up to interrupt.
"Nah, I understand it very well. Old theocracy back in the town is scared. Already got thousands of bounty hunters carrying out missions against those ugly aliens for money. Now if I wanted to go the extra mile and use their own power for myself so I can get paid more, what's the harm in that?" the Renegade countered.
He then looked to the white revolver.
"See this? It's not your typical run of the mill revolver. I crafted it myself a while back. It fires bullets capable of draining the life out of people. Couple of shots and the target drops dead. It's like one of those old vampire movies brought to life. Tore open a couple dozen of our extraterrestrial friends and deciphered their holy scripts for hours to get it working. Friendly tip: don't eat the head. Not as good as you might--"
"So have you used it on anyone yet?"
"I had a mercenary group of bounty hunters breathing down my neck. I ain't ever seen fanatical zealots like them before, and I thought back home was where the crazy ones were at. 'Using dark magic recklessly? That's unacceptable by law! We can't tolerate heretics like you messing with powers like that!'" That's all they said. Bunch of ignorant fools to be fair. They don't get that this 'magic' is something we can weaponize and master so we can conquer anything out here in these wilds. It's the key to getting paid the most," the Renegade elaborated. He laughed and it was obvious he didn't care about things like laws and the theocratic leaderships banning all interactions with dark magic for fear of corruption and the rise of "heretical heathens" like the Renegade himself.
For exiled people like the Renegade, money wasn't enough. Towns often enticed bounty hunters with payments for capturing or killing certain targets, but for those willing to enter the darkness, a whole realm of power and bounties was sitting there, waiting. The Renegade knows this power isn't safe to use but he ultimately sees profit in it, unlike the town he turned his back on, who sees it as a corruptive force of evil and heresy. Only humanity can be the "god" in this frontier, and only the words of their gods are pure and holy, not the alien species that co-exist on Earth and not their foreign language of dissonant screeches, growls, and roars, especially since their arcane arts almost accidentally rendered humanity extinct a long time ago. For the fanatical and gullible bounty hunters who aren't allowed to hear anything different apart from the drivel in their homes and cities, the word of the gods is that all that is not human but are of darkness must be purged. Do this and riches await. And thus, the current state of humanity is led by greed and the words of a being no one has seen in actuality, against a power one can argue is godlike and against a species who are trying to survive in a world not native to them.
The Renegade aimed down the sights of his revolver. A white holographic reticle appeared with two smaller marks denoting bullet drop at certain ranges. He jerked the weapon up to mimic firing a shot and made a firing noise as if he was a child playing with toy guns.
"I assume those bounty hunters...you killed them all?" the man in the duster questioned, but the question was posed as if it were a rhetorical question, as if he knew very well what the answer was already. He just wanted to hear the answer from the man himself.
"Without hesitation. You come to me looking to kill me, it's no holds barred after that. Ain't no rule in the wild that says I can't kill anyone that I see as a threat. Hey, speaking of the wilds, why don't you come join me? You must be getting bored playing the neutral game by now. Maybe you're interested in holding one of these in your hand, hmm? Or you can challenge me too if you love the thrill of immediate danger," the Renegade began to offer.
"Nah, no thanks. I already got my trusty six-shooter by my side. Don't need no alien magic to do the job I've been doing for years unlike you and I ain't got any personal problems with you. I like being neutral anyways. Besides, I only really came to warn you. One particular bounty hunter is interested in killing you, especially 'cause of weapons like that. Might wanna keep an eye out on your own back," the man revealed.
"Oh? And who might that be?" the Renegade inquired curiously.
"You'll know when you see her handiwork more often. You know the wilds well so you should know to sleep with both your eyes open. It may just help you a lot these next days," the man said, rising out of his seat.
"I trust you ain't lying to me just for your own benefit, 'cause if you are...well...I do have more than one bullet, you know," the Renegade threatened coolly. The man in the duster simply chuckled and walked away and out of the bar, while the Renegade leaned back forward and continued having his drinks in peace.
"Hmph. So even she's in on the hunt. Oh well then. Nothing to worry about," the Renegade quietly assured to himself, tucking his revolver back into his jacket.
560 Blue. © Copyright 2013 G Dan Mitchell – all rights reserved.
A man walks past a blue San Francisco building in morning sunlight.
Let me start by pointing out that this is not the first time I have shared this photograph. An earlier interpretation of it exists using a different aspect ratio. I came across it again recently as I scanned through my old raw files, and I decided to take another look at it. This time I altered the aspect ratio, retaining the original 3:2, though I more typically work with 4:3. This allowed me to include the decorative rectangles at the upper right and left. In addition, as I thought more about the role of the blue color in this photograph I decided to simply remove a few elements that were dissonant with that.
The scene is a San Francisco street, and I made the photograph on one of my day trips up to “The City” by train, something that was a regular photographic event for me prior to the pandemic. I was walking up into the main downtown area from the train station, pausing along the way to photograph interesting subjects in the full morning sun across the wide street. I had already made a couple of photograph of this very blue building when I saw the man walking into the scene.
G Dan Mitchell is a California photographer and visual opportunist. His book, “California’s Fall Color: A Photographer’s Guide to Autumn in the Sierra” is available from Heyday Books, Amazon, and directly from G Dan Mitchell.
If you head west from the Costa Brava coast - maybe up and along the banks of the river Ter, squeezing through to the basin of Vic, before curling to the flat lands of Saragossa, Huesca and Pampelune; all the time following the plane that stretches, sheers and falls; walking with the distant Pyrenean mountain air blowing : reflection and shade - a monumental guide-line for trade and exchange between the Atlantic and the Mediterranean. Finally, sea-gull hills return as you curl north, and after a giddy of tops, you drop down onto the Atlantic shores of the Biscay. A regular prehistoric trader, or a once-in-a-lifetime wanderer (a desire to see for yourself the colder water with a strong taste and a different quality of wave). The destination : a crashing iodine 'right turn' in a region that is now known as Basque. This natural water-bound meeting place for the peoples from the great rivers and coast of the south west of France, the people of the rivers and coast of the north Atlantic Iberia and the green riddles of curved ridge and stepping vale of the corner land's hosts.
The Pyrenees is a mountain range that provides water for great rivers, and links seas and oceans. From the Biscay, beach highways head north and well trodden paths drive west. Overlooking the Biscay is a set of dramatic anamorphic curves known today as 'Les Trois Couronne' - from my perspective, the quintessential and primary example of a 'venus hill' - a geography with the looks of a pregnant woman lying down, and an evocation of the sense of group care and attention - nature's goodwill and fecundity; a background 'mother earth' that helped assure man's passage through the ice age.
Elsewhere on my Photostream, I have suggested that paleolithic venus figurines are best understood as having been conceived in a horizontal position, and that they rang harmony with nature's Catherdral venus hill - the reality of a clan's precious future held snug on the back of a transportation 'dragon' held tight by the innovation of a tool I name the 'tension lever' (see past posts).
An individual arriving at the Great Biscay from the rich and advancing Mediterranean might marvel at the Queen of the three Crowns and all of the attention, protocol, exchange and rite she gathered at the feet of her rise (on shores long since flooded): and when asked to describe his home by the warm sea, the visitor from the east may have reflected his mind's eye over the hills of home, remembering a similar female-form that looked over his region. His venus hills are now known as the Montgri and are pictured above. Once again the vision is anamorphic.
Here, one Venus hill culture asks for another.
The Eastern Iberian Venus hill is pictured here as seen from a summit in the Gavarres hills, looking north towards the final fade of background mountain range (the head and long hair to the right with the knee of one leg lifted and a slim tummy). Unlike the Basque Venus hill, which dominates the view of any coastal walker, the Montgri venus hill is a figure that needs to be found. There are clear viewpoints on the plane behind L'Escala, from Llofriu and the northern fringe of the Gavares hills - she is more of an invitation than a universal.
The three photos were taken with a vintage 135mm Pentax 3.5. There are many megaliths within these hills that have this as a view, including several of the Forallac clusters (Dr Pericot...). The monolith known as the 'Tron de la Rein' (Queen's throne) may also have been linked to oversee : a monolithic throne for a living representative of the Venus hill (potentially explaining the great width of the back of the chair). The 'Tron de La Rein' is to be found with the Celtic city of Ullastret in the plane just before the above image. With today's tree cover it is difficult to know if it comanded a direct viewpoint.
There is an indubitable quality of heavy pregnancy to the Venus hill of the Biscay that is missing from the above silhouette. In addition, the lines are almost Picasso-esque, hinting at a relaxed and almost sensual femininity aside a deconstruction of several potentials. If a venus hill conveys the need to look after the next generation: fecundity - and to be looked after by natures fecundity cycles, the above example may have been contentious and dissonant. Her presence a source of both strong local pride and a natural geographical polemic. Calming this dissonance for visitors from afar, a task for local thinkers... The dilemma in her silhouette was : how can an apparently relaxed 'Venus Cathedral' represent the fecundity of their landscape without symbolizing the act of carrying a child and its implicit need to be looked after? A tacit rule being that everybody walked with the transport 'dragon' apart from the pregnant and infirm, otherwise the weight would be impossible to manage. The outline of the breasts of this venus hill are perhaps its greatest sign, and individuals may have argued that she is providing for new born, resting during a period of stasis. Others may explain that for this mother earth, her future children are kept away from this first view... The resolution of this issue may have made it easier to accept venus hills such as the Cailleach na Mointeach, which might suggest a Mesolithic or early neolithic resolution.
AJM 17.05.18
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An Alphabetical Catalogue Philosophy and Alchemy ..... Him whom Three that are to Fit thy house to thy what thou ...... as deque Magno Mundi Mysterio languages. purg, 1609, ..... In 1528, Paracelsus proceeded to Colmar. issuu.com/accipio777/docs/lives_of_the_alchemystical_phil...
John Dee (13 July 1527 – 1608 or 1609) was a mathematician, astronomer, astrologer, occult philosopher, imperialist[5] and adviser to Queen Elizabeth I. He devoted much of his life to the study of alchemy, divination and Hermetic philosophy.Simultaneously with these efforts, Dee immersed himself in the worlds of magic, astrology and Hermetic philosophy. He devoted much time and effort in the last thirty years or so of his life to attempting to commune with angels and demons in order to learn the universal language of creation and bring about the pre-apocalyptic unity of mankind. A student of the Renaissance Neo-Platonism of Marsilio Ficino, Dee did not draw distinctions between his mathematical research and his investigations into Hermetic magic, angel summoning and divination. Instead he considered all of his activities to constitute different facets of the same quest: the search for a transcendent understanding of the divine forms which underlie the visible world, which Dee called "pure verities". en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Dee
Colmar, La Maison des Têtes, 1609. A thoroughly disquieting individual, with his bonhomous countenance, jester’s gear, seeming lack of arms and cloven hoves below shackled ankles. The whole facade is filled with heads of all sorts, 102 in facade . Another dour-looking fellow, equally from 1609.Warts, Imperfect Pearls and Baroque Thoughts
Baroque is a curious term, familiar by almost more by connotation and innuendo than by actual content and context. Even more curiously, its origins, via a tortuous trail through Portuguese barroco, French Baroque, Spanish barrueco, or Italian barocco are ultimately unknown. (My educated guess is the street.) In 18th-century French it meant “irregular”, from the Portuguese word for an imperfect pearl. A near neighbour is Spanish barucca (wart). According to Fuseli’s translation of Winkelmann in 1765: “This style in decorations got the epithet of Barroque taste, derived from a word signifying pearls and teeth of unequal size.”
It also appears to be largely a derogatory term, only rehabilitated by art historians in the mid-1800’s, which in itself is ever more curious – how could an art from, which lasted and defined a century and a half of colossal construction – churches, palaces, avenues, in a sweeping urbanism that erased huge tracts of earlier building – be labelled with what is basically a slanderous sobriquet? Perhaps explained by the gulf that existed between the royal and titled families of Europe and their royally taxed peoples – Versailles for example, seen from a tawdry and insalubrious slum that might well have shocked any self-respecting citizen from a few centuries before, may not necessarily have brought kind thoughts and words to mind and tongue. Perhaps explained by the faltering of the faith that made Gothic shoot skywards – Baroque churches are hardly pious and restrained (that is reserved for straight-laced Reformers and three coats of quicklime after the dust settles) with their gilding and profusion of decoration, they seem to look more at themselves than at the face of the Maker. (The most baroque of Baroque edifices are to be found in Meso and South and Meso-America, where unrestrained imperialism financed by a steady flow of pilfered gold and riches takes Baroque on a building spree to the full extent of excess – returning ships riding low in the water, holds foul with gold, also paid for a good number architectural extravagances in Europe – but further enriched by local culture, in the same way that Baroque music in the Americas has an added texture.)
In many ways, it is an abandonment of form for a surfeit of decoration (rococco abandons even pretense, and relies on meringue – pastry applied to architecture). Structure is everywhere engulfed by embellishment, peppered with putti and smothered with stucco. That’s why popular art in architecture from that period always seems so intriguing. There must be thousands of long thin men from the 17th and early 18th centuries starting down from cornerposts throughout Europe. With their willingness to scrunch their shoulders up and dangle their arms in front of their tube-like torsos and turn their squared toes inward, accepting the limitations of structure and working within those strictures, popular figurative Baroque can be awkward, ill-poised, elongated and curiously aloof. They also often seem to have a ferocious mein, these long thin men, they don’t look benevolent or amenable, they are stern and a little frightening, something of the ogre in them despite their emaciated silhouettes. None of the sack-of-potatoes physiques so dear to the Renaissance and taken up again by Rubens with such gusto, little of the relaxed Classical nudity, not a hint of the desperate lightness and frivolity of the early 1700’s, this crowd are of a hungrier, harsher, buttoned-at-the-collar kind. It’s hard imagining them in the same world as Fragonard’s Swing** when upper-crust Baroque had lost all semblance of gravitas and taken the rocaille garden path of Rococco (a distinction they blithely left to be made much much later by art historians).
www.john-howe.com/blog/2008/02/16/on-the-absolute-necessi...
The other day, on a business trip (I love saying “business trip”, it makes this cockeyed profession of drawing pictures sound somehow actually respectable) to the Alsace, we took a couple of hours to wander around Colmar before heading home. Much of what has been built in the 20th century, since we’ve been creating new building materials which are not cut down in forests, cut from quarries, smelted from ore or the product of judicious alchemy – plaster, stucco, brick, ceramic, glass) is a form of denial of time. It takes on little attractiveness with age, simply decrepitude. I doubt there can be a modern equivalent of the Deutsche Romantik movement with what the industrial era has to offer as ephemera. Modern ruins don’t trigger romanticism, it’s hard to imagine Caspar David Friedrich painting abandoned abutments, deserted overpasses and vacant lots with the same unshakeable optimism and unbridled nostalgia. Now, this is most definitely NOT a criticism of industrial development (inevitable), not a nostalgic rant for things gone by (puerile), but simply a regret for a connection which is lost (paradoxically, in a society obsessed with “connectivity”). Removing a piece of nature and fashioning it into an element of human expression does not negate the material itself, which of course will continue what it has been doing before – gently eroding under wind and rain and frost.
That’s why I was literally stopped in my tracks in Colmar the other day. By a bannister colonnade of the steps of the Koifhus, or Ancienne Douane, doubtlessly many-times-replaced in a warm ochre sandstone. I was transfixed by the transformation of a row of ordinary balusters* into something by Giacometti. (Giacometti Descending a Staircase, even.) Reinforced concrete won’t do that for you. It seems clear enough to me that modern architecture, for all its advantages and undeniable capacity to house us comfortably, puts us once again slightly out of joint with time. A reinforcement of mortality by an estrangement of sorts from things that age the way nature ages simply leaves us with fewer references and a narrower context. Modern urban decrepitude contains little connectedness with nature, despite brave weeds and scrubby persistent grass in vacant lots.
Goodpost-apocalyptic film sets or big dollars for developers, but no emotional involvement other than mayhap a fleeting case of the blues..All that curiously coupled with our infatuation with ancient ruins, which we dig up. reassemble, cordon off, pay to admire, work to preserve. (We’re tireless in our efforts to arrest time.) We’re better informed than our ancestors, but we’re certainly no more intelligent, so where DOES that put us? But, we’ve not lost touch entirely. A little erosion can go a long way.Names of Angels, Archangels, fallen angels, guardian angels, seraphim, ... with anthropomorphic features, or they have one face each of man, ox, lion, and eagle . ..... Funny Names, Rainbow Names,
Secret Names, Shadow Nam.judicious alchemy
– plaster, stucco, brick, ... That's why I was literally stopped in my tracks in Colmar ... for all its advantages and undeniable capacity to house us ... Left: Colmar, La Maison des Têtes, 1609. a noble family in his teen years ..... Swiss alchemist and physician (died 1577) Deaths April 6 – Albrecht Dürer, .... Paracelsus visits Colmar in Alsace.
Álvar Núñez Cabeza de Vaca - Expand Your Mind - Revolvy
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La spagyrie ou la médecine de Paracelse par Patrick Rivière, JL Garillon . En effet, ni la Médecine Homéopathique et ni, à fortiori, la Médecine Allopathique, ne peuvent s'en réclamer à bon droit, tant cette "Médecine de Paracelse" offre des aspects originaux et multiples . Paracelse emprunta largement à "l'Hermétisme" médiéval - voilant pudiquement les termes "d'alchimie" et de "magie naturel-le" - la matière ésotérique de son oeuvre. En réalité, loin de se cantonner à la seule pratique de la médecine hippocratique", Paracelse s'avéra être un authentique "philosophe par le feu" ("philosophus per ignem"), c'est-à-dire un remarquable "alchimiste" doublé d'un médecin doté d'une réelle efficacité (2). D'ailleurs, n'écrivait-il pas à cet égard, à l'encontre du caractère péjoratif entachant "l'Alchimie" : "L'alchimie qu'ils déshonorent et prostituent n'a qu'un but : extraire la quintessence des choses, préparer les Arcanes, les Teintures, les Elixirs capables de rendre à l'Homme la santé qu'il a perdue". Il s'agissait bien en effet pour lui, de concilier des expériences d'origine apparemment empirique à la sublime réalisation de "l'Ars Magna". Il y parvint magistralement car lui seul sut fidèlement transposer les lois "alchimiques" dans le domaine médical ou "Iatrochimique" (de "iatros" = médecin) "Je vous ferai connaître la Teinture, l'Arcane ou la Quintessence donnant la clef de tout mystère. Chacun peut se tromper et ne doit se fier qu'à l'épreuve du feu. En spagyrie, comme en médecine, il faut toujours attendre que le feu ait séparé le vrai du faux. La lumière de la Nature nous indique ce que nous devons ad-mettre" ("De la teinture des physiciens", chap. I). C'est ainsi que Paracelse fut amené à appliquer les lois "alchimiques" dans le domaine médical, sous le terme générique qu'il innova : la Spagyria (la "Spagyrie"), pour désigner la "Médecine hermétique" et la préparation des remèdes thérapeutiques qui en émanent directement. Et c'est grâce à cette "médecine" - révolutionnaire en soi -, à des heures de celles d'Hippocrate et de Galien, que Pa-racelse contribua très largement à enrayer de son temps de nombreux fléaux, tels la peste, certaines maladies nerveuses, l'épilepsie, l'hystérie, etc. Aussi peut-on lire l'épitaphe suivante déposée sur sa tombe à Salzbourg: 'Celui qui a fait disparaître par son art merveilleux les plaies cruelles, la lèpre, la podagre, l'hystérie, et d'autres maladies incurables. Que recouvrait donc le terme de Spagyrie? Paracelse s'était attaché à appliquer la devise "alchimique" : solve et coagula ("dissous et coagule") pour la préparation particulière de ses nombreux remèdes. Le terme même de "spagyrie" s'en trouvait directement issu ainsi que son étymologie ne manquait pas de le souligner : "spao" signifiant en grec "extraire" et 'ageiro, agerein", "rassembler" ; or, pour séparer et extraire, ne fallait-il pas nécessairement dissoudre, ainsi que pour recombiner, ras-sembler, ne convenait-il pas de coaguler ! Mais de quoi s'agissait--il au juste, sinon des principes essentiels résidant au sein des trois règnes végétal, minéral et animal. Le dessein principal de la Spagyrie consiste donc bien à séparer la matière subtile de la matière grossière et tangible d'un "mixte" - corps composé, de l'un des trois règnes - dans un but de "purification" et, par voie de conséquence "d'évolution", afin de transmettre les vertus régénérées du "mixte" à tout individu dont la santé est éprouvée par un quelconque déséquilibre. "La Spagyrie est une science qui nous apprend à diviser les corps, à les résoudre (réduire) et à en séparer les "principes" par des voies, soit naturelles, soit violentes. Son objet est donc l'altération, la purification et même la perfection des corps, c'est-à-dire leur génération et leur médecine. C'est par la solution (putréfaction animale, fermentation végétale ou liquéfaction minérale) que l'on y parvient et l'on ne saurait y réussir si l'on ignore leur construction et leurs "principes" (le mot "principe" signifie ce de quoi une chose tire son origine et ce qui constitue l'essence de cette même chose). On sépare les parties hétérogènes et accidentelles pour avoir ensuite la faculté de réunir et de conjoindre les homogènes. La méthode spagyrique dérive de la science hermétique ; tous les êtres sublunaires sont constitués par trois 'principes" (3) : le sel, le soufre et le mercure. Toutes les maladies sont inhérentes à un déséquilibre dans l'action de ces trois "principes". C'est pourquoi tout véritable remède est destiné à entretenir cet équilibre dans le corps et à le ramener si l'un des principes vient à dominer les deux autres avec trop de violence..." (4) Ainsi, en observant "dans la lumière de la nature et dans le miroir de la vérité" (selon l'expression chère à Paracelse), tout ce qui vit sous le soleil est d'essence triple, bien qu'étant "un" en apparence, qu'il s'agisse d'un minéral, d'une plante ou d'une substance animale. Chacun de ces composants subtils porte le nom de "principe de la matière" ; en analogie avec la tripartition métaphysique de l'Homme :"Corps - Ame - Esprit", les principes spagyriques se dénomment "Sel -Soufre - Mercure" -, ces derniers ne correspondant pas aux substances chimiques du même nom mais faisant référence à des notions infiniment plus subtiles. Paracelse traduisit cette division en ces expressions succinctes :"l'Art les isole et les rend visibles, et ainsi- ce qui brûle, c'est le "Soufre",- ce qui s'élève en fumée, c'est le "Mercure",- ce qui se résout en cendres, c'est le "Sel". Et de préciser en son "Traité des trois Essences Premières" "l'un est une liqueur, c'est le "Mercure", l'autre est une "oléité" ("oleitas", sorte d'huile), c'est le "Soufre", le troisième est un alkali, c'est le "Sel" de l'unité, tirez le nombre ternaire et ramenez ensuite le ternaire à l'unité." Cela implique donc que dans la pratique il convient d'extraire ces trois substances - voilées sous les vocables de "mercu-re", "soufre' et "sel" - de les purifier séparément, puis finale-ment de le conjoindre harmonieusement. Voilà qui donne bien tout son sens au terme de "Spagyrie" (extraire et rassembler). Quant aux processus d'extraction, ils seront bien entendu variables en fonction de la nature de la "matière" utilisée ; car, extraire le "soufre" des végétaux (huile des plantes) est chose aisée, mais des minéraux et des métaux, c'est évidemment bien plus complexe. Les opérations "spagyriques" tendent à procéder des lois naturelles, c'est-à-dire qu'elles semblent reproduire au sein du laboratoire ce qui se déroule à grande échelle dans la Nature. " ... la Spagyrie sépare dans chaque mixte des trois genres (les trois règnes) tout ce qu'il y a d'impur ou d'étranger" (6). Et de prendre pour exemple concret le "mécanisme de nutrition" qui entretient la vie dans le corps en rejetant les "grossièretés et superfluités" de la digestion par l'entremise de l'intestin ! "(les termes de "pur" ou "d'impur" se différencient ici du critère actuel de "pureté chimique" ; il s'agit davantage d'une notion de pureté énergétique, voire "spirituelle", que nous pouvons qualifier plutôt de "vitalogène"). Selon les Anciens "tous les corps sont faits de matière et d'esprit. La Matière est passive et inerte, tandis que l'Esprit est le principe vital-actif, empreint de l'Idée divine qui est cause d'évolution. Il est donc clair que la vertu des mixtes (corps composés d'atomes ou de molécules et tirés de la Nature) est dans l'esprit, et que cet esprit est beaucoup plus actif lorsqu'il est dé-livré de sa prison corporelle. Tout le côté physique de l'Art spagyrique réside dans cette séparation ou extraction. Pour obtenir cet es-prit en puissance de son maximum de vertu, il le faut exalter ; pour l'exalter, il le faut mûrir (faire évoluer), et pour le mûrir, il faut cor-rompre son corps, à la façon dont le grain se putréfie dans la terre avant que de pouvoir germer. Or, cette putréfaction n'est autre que l'évolution de la matière, par laquelle les atomes de la substance se séparent des hétérogénéités, se resserrent, se purifient, s'exaltent et s'élèvent à une altitude beau-coup plus noble que n'était leur état primitif. Tout l'Art Spagyrique consiste à provoquer l'évolution de la matière pour la purifier et l'exalter, ce qui ne peut se faire que par de subtiles et longues opérations que les auteurs anciens ont laissées dans l'ombre". En quoi consiste la pratique spagyrique: Les techniques de préparation des remèdes spagyriques exigent une connaissance approfondie de la Nature et du Cosmos : pour effectuer les récoltes (lieux et moments propices), pour mettre en oeuvre les fermentations, distillations, cohobation, sublimations, calcinations, digestions, etc..Ces manipulations de Laboratoire de nature "spagyrique" définis-sent l'ensemble des "opérations sur le minéral, le végétal, ou l'animal"; dans ce dernier cas, il s'agit le plus souvent de sous-produits animaux. Autrefois, le nombre des différentes opérations était plus conséquent ; pas moins d'une cinquantaine de manipulations sont décrites dans les ouvrages anciens, dont beaucoup sont tombées en désuétude, telles que "l'assation", la "réverbération", la "réincrudation", etc...Les plus importantes qui se pratiquent couramment sont au nombre de sept: 1- dissolution ou décomposition (avec décantation et filtration),2- fermentation ou putréfaction,3- distillation et rectification (avec circulation ou rotation), 4- calcination ou cémentation, - sublimation ou exaltation, 5- cohobation ou ré-union,7- coagulation ou fixation.
Dans son "Cours de Chymie, contenant la manière de faire les Opérations qui sont en usage dans la Médecine", publié en 1687, Nicolas Lémery livre "l'explication de plusieurs termes des-quels on se sert en Chymie" : - 1"Circulation" : c'est un mouvement que l'on donne aux liqueurs (liquides) dans un vaisseau de rencontre, en excitant par le moyen du feu les vapeurs à mon-ter et à descendre ; cette opéra-t-on se fait pour subtiliser les liqueurs ou pour ouvrir quelque corps dur qu'on y a mêlé. - 2"Coagulation" : c'est donner une consistance aux liquides, en faisant consumer une partie de leur humidité sur le feu, ou bien en mêlant ensemble des liqueurs de différente nature. - "Cohobation" : façon de réitérer la distillation d'une même liqueur, l'ayant renversée sur la matière restée dans le vaisseau. Cette opération se fait pour ouvrir les corps ou pour volatiliser les "esprits". 4- "Fermentation" : c'est une ébullition causée par des esprits qui, cherchant issue pour sortir de quelque corps et rencontrant des parties terrestres et grossières qui s'opposent à leur passage, font gonfler et raréfier la matière jusqu'à ce qu'ils en soient détachés. Or, dans ce détachement, les esprits divisent, subtilisent et séparent les principes, en sorte qu'ils rendent la matière d'une autre nature qu'elle n'était auparavant. 5- "Rectification" : c'est faire distiller les esprits, afin d'en séparer ce qu'ils peuvent avoir enlevé avec eux des parties hétérogènes. - 6"Sublimation" : c'est faire monter par le feu une matière volatile en haut de l'alambic ou du chapiteau. Il serait pour le moins fastidieux de décrire toutes les autres opérations qui nécessitent de patientes et minutieuses manipulations dans le seul but de faire "évoluer" un végétal ou un minéral jusqu'à sa perfection optima-le, en délivrant ce que Paracelse qualifiait de Quintessence :7 "La Quintessence est une certaine matière extraite de toutes choses que la Nature a produites et de chaque chose qui possède sa vie corporelle en elle-même, une matière la plus subtilement purgée de toute impureté et de toute mortalité, et séparée de tous éléments. D'après ceci, il est évident que la Quintessence est, pour tout dire, une nature, une force, une vertu, et une médecine, à la fois, en vérité, enfermée en toutes choses, mais désormais libre de tout domicile et de toute incorporation extérieure."
En effet, à l'opposé de la pharmacologie moderne qui cherche à isoler le "principe actif chimiquement pur", la spagyrie parvient à purifier la totalité du "mixte" (= plante ou minéral ou substance animale) pour en faire une 'entité supérieure" apte à libérer les forces de régénération de l'individu en correspondance avec ce mixte, ou plus exactement en correspondance avec la signature astrale de celui-ci. C'est particulièrement dans le cas de substances toxiques, comme par exemple des plantes vénéneuses : Aconit, Hellébore, ... ou des métaux toxiques: Plomb, Antimoine, ... que le phénomène de purification spagyrique s'observe le mieux, puis-que ces substances deviennent par l'Art de "souverains remèdes". En libérant les 3 principes de leurs impuretés initiales, la Spagyrie élimine totalement les poisons contenus dans les mixtes pour faire place à une sorte de perfection, ou "quintessence", au service de l'homme. Ainsi, la Spagyrie est souvent dé-nommée "Art des Quintessences" dont on dit que les remèdes sont ouverts et orientés, ce qui signifie qu'ils sont devenus totalement assimilables par l'organisme et qu'ils sont en correspondance énergétique et cosmologique avec les organes à traiter.
En quoi consiste la loi de correspondance: "Le savoir traditionnel a pour premier caractère une conception unitaire du Cosmos" écrit l'anthropologue Gilbert Durand dans "Science de l'Homme et Tradition" (Ed. Berg International). En effet, 'la création du Monde étant la création par excellence, la cosmogonie devient le modèle exemplaire de toute espèce de créa-t-on" ajoute Mircea Eliade dans 'Aspects du Mythe" (Ed. Gallimard). Et la très fameuse "Table d'Émeraude", dite d'Hermes Trismégiste énonce clairement: 1 - "Il est vrai, sans mensonge, certain et très réel, 2 - Ce qui est en bas est comme ce qui est en haut, et ce qui est en haut est comme ce qui est en bas, Pour l'accomplissement des mi-racles d'une seule chose. 3 - Et comme toutes choses sont et proviennent d'Un. Ainsi toutes choses sont nées de cette chose unique, par adaptation. 4 - Le soleil en est le père, la Lune en est la mère, Le vent l'a porté dans son ventre, La terre est sa nourrice et son réceptacle. 5 - Le père de tout le Thélesme du monde universel est ici.Sa force ou puissance reste entière, si elle est convertie en terre. 6 - Tu sépareras la terre du feu, le subtil de l'épais, doucement avec grande industrie..." Jusqu'à la fin du Moyen-âge, l'homme s'est toujours senti lié au Cosmos et c'est par la pensée analogique qu'il a pu effectuer des rapprochements subtils entre les innombrables domaines du monde manifesté. Paradoxalement, cette forme de pensée verticale ou spirituelle qu'est l'analogie ne s'oppose en rien à la pensée rationnelle ou scientifique que nous pouvons qualifier d'horizontale. D'ailleurs, certaines sciences modernes telles que l'écologie ne redécouvrent-elles pas cette interdépendance universelle que les Anciens respectaient tant sous le nom de "Théorie des Signatures" ? Comment s'applique la Doctrines des signatures . Il faut étudier à nouveau Paracelse pour poser les bases de cette quête philosophico-scientifique: - au sujet d'une philosophie de l'invisible : "Qu'est la nature sinon la philosophie, et la philosophie sinon la dé-couverte de l'invisible nature ? " (VIII, 71) "Les étoiles sont visibles, mais elles ne constituent pas pour au-tant le Ciel" (XII, 38) "Le ciel agit en nous, mais pour connaître l'essence de cette action, il faut connaître les propriétés du ciel et des astres..." (Parra-minum I) "Celui qui désire devenir un vrai thérapeute doit chercher à comprendre la composition d'une prescription selon la conjonction des herbes et des astres du firmament." (Peste I)
- au sujet de la nature en sa Lumière : "La nature donne une Lumière par laquelle elle peut être connue dans sa clarté propre." (XIV, 115). "La nature est une lumière qui luit plus que la lumière du soleil... au-dessus de tout regard et de toute puissance des yeux. Dans cette lumière, les choses in-visibles deviennent visibles." - au sujet des signatures :
"Il n'y a rien sur quoi la nature n'ait apposé sa marque, et c'est par là que nous pouvons con-naître ce que recèlent les choses ainsi signées." (XII, 91) Cette fameuse doctrine des Signatures a été reprise par Jacob Boehme en 1622 dans son "De signatura rerum", attestant des correspondances naturelles dans les trois règnes avec le Ciel ! En réalité, cet-te théorie est une application pure et simple de la loi d'analogie naturelle qui constitue un des piliers de la sagesse hermétique (cf supra : la Table d'Émeraude), "laquelle suppose la conscience d'une solidarité cosmogénétique de toutes les formes vivantes de l'univers. Cette solidarité cosmogénétique se fonde sur une correspondance astrologique". (in "Médecines traditionnelles sacrées." ( Cf Brelet-Rueff, Ed. Celt. 1975). Il est intéressant d'observer que le règne minéral a toujours fasciné par les formes symétriques des mi-néraux. Cette symétrie ainsi que la perfection des faces des cristaux résultent de lois naturelles qui captivèrent déjà Aristote et Théophraste de la Grèce antique : cette symétrie devait résulter d'une dis-position intérieure particulière. Par une méthode d'extraction spagyrique, il est possible d'obtenir le "Sel Fixe" d'un mixte, cette fraction minérale cristallisable est véritablement caractéristique de la signature du mixte considéré. A titre d'exemple, voici quelques "signatures astrales" bien connues
Planètes Métaux Plantes Organes fonctionnels SOLEIL Or
Arnica, Romarin Coeur, Energie vitale LUNE Argent Nénuphar, Pavot Cerveau, Estomac MARS Fer Ortie, Oignon Bile, Sang, Muscles MERCURE Mercure Lavande, Valériane Poumons, Syst. nerv. JUPITER Etain Pissenlit, Mélisse Foie Métabolisme
VENUS Cuivre Achillée, Ulmaire Reins, Peau, Glandes SATURNE Plomb Houx, Prêle... Rate, Os, Articulations Un tel tableau de correspondance astrale mériterait un ouvrage complet à lui seul. Retenons simplement que la Tradition nous enseigne deux types de conjonctions astrales : - les conjonctions harmonieuses: Mars = Vénus Vénus = Jupiter
Mars = Jupiter Soleil = Lune - les conjonctions dissonantes Soleil Mars Lune Mars Jupiter / Mercure Soleil / Saturne
Vénus / Saturne Ce phénomène nous permet de mieux appréhender certaines réalités subtiles inexpliquées à ce jour, telles que les affinités et les répulsions entre végétaux (bien connues des agro-biologistes sous le non de 'plantes compagnes" et "plantes ennemies"), de même que les phénomènes de complémentarité (= synergie) et incompatibilité reconnus dans le domaine thérapeutique : phytothérapie, aromathérapie et bien en-tendu homéopathie. trois siècles avant le fondateur de l'homéopathie, Samuel Hahnemann, qui avait énoncé la loi de Similitude ('les semblables sont guéris par les semblables"), le grand Pa-racelse avait écrit la loi universelle : "L'Astre est guéri par l'Astre", la-quelle doit gouverner toutes nos actions au sein du vivant. (1) - P. Rivière: "La Médecine de Paracelse", El. Traditionnelles, Paris, 1988. (2) - P. Rivière : "Alchimie & Spagyrie...". Ed. de Neustrie, Caen, 1986 (3) - Le traité des 3 essences première de Paracelse (4) - Extrait du dictionnaire Mytho-hermétique de Pernéty (5) - P. Rivière: "La Médecine de Paracelse", El. Traditionnelles, Paris, 1988. (6) - in Le Breton : "Les Clefs de la Philosophie Spagyrique qui donnent la connaissance des Principes et des véritables Opérations de cet Art dans le Mixtes des trois genres.' 1722 (7) - J. Mavéric : "La Médecine Hermétique des Plantes", Ed. Bélisane.
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8 juil. 2014 - Duveen 31 “The most important English alchemical text. ...... With less of original genius than Paracelsus, he has more ...... 38)” The Labourd witch-hunt of 1609. ...... in 1565 and was made first physician of the city of Colmar.An Alphabetical Catalogue Philosophy and Alchemy ..... Him whom Three that are to Fit thy house to thy what thou ...... as deque Magno Mundi Mysterio languages. purg, 1609, ..... In 1528, Paracelsus proceeded to Colmar. issuu.com/accipio777/docs/lives_of_the_alchemystical_phil...