Areopagus sermon

Paul had encountered conflict as a result of his preaching in Thessalonica and Berea in northern Greece and had been carried to Athens as a place of safety. According to the Acts of the Apostles, while he was waiting for his companions Silas and Timothy to arrive, Paul was distressed to see Athens full of idols. Commentator John Gill remarked:

his soul was troubled and his heart was grieved, …he was exasperated and provoked to the last degree: he was in a paroxysm; his heart was hot within him; he had a burning fire in his bones, and was weary with forbearing, and could not stay; his zeal wanted vent, and he gave it.

So Paul went to the synagogue and the Agora (Greek: ἐν τῇ ἀγορᾷ, "in the marketplace") on a number of occasions ('daily'),[to preach about the Resurrection of Jesus.

Some Greeks then took him to a meeting at the Areopagus, the high court in Athens, to explain himself. The Areopagus literally meant the rock of Ares in the city and was a center of temples, cultural facilities, and a high court. It is conjectured by Robert Paul Seesengood that it may have been illegal to preach a foreign deity in Athens, which would have thereby made Paul's sermon a combination of a "guest lecture" and a trial.

The sermon addresses five main issues:

Introduction: Discussion of the ignorance of pagan worship (verses 23–24)

The one Creator God being the object of worship (25–26)

God's relationship to humanity (26–27)

Idols of gold, silver and stone as objects of false worship (28–29)

Conclusion: Time to end the ignorance (30–31)

This sermon illustrates the beginnings of the attempts to explain the nature of Christ and an early step on the path that led to the development of Christology.[1]

Paul begins his address by emphasizing the need to know God, rather than worshiping the unknown:

"As I walked around and looked carefully at your objects of worship, I even found an altar with this inscription: TO AN UNKNOWN GOD. So you are ignorant of the very thing you worship — and this is what I am going to proclaim to you."

In his sermon, Paul quotes from certain Greek philosophers and poets, namely in verse 17:28. He alludes to passages from Epimenides[7] and from either Aratus or Cleanthes.

Paul then explained concepts such as the resurrection of the dead and salvation, in effect a prelude to the future discussions of Christology.

After the sermon a number of people became followers of Paul. These included a woman named Damaris, and Dionysius, a member of the Areopagus (not to be confused with Pseudo-Dionysius the Areopagite or Saint Denis, the first Bishop of Paris).

In the 20th century, Pope John Paul II likened the modern media to the New Areopagus, where Christian ideas needed to be explained and defended anew, against disbelief and the idols of gold and silver.

Me: Well, I was just going to say someone was asking about you today...*smile*

Lottie: *pause* ...huh, Really? *exasperated* ...I'm really late Mom, can it wait til tomorrow?

261.366

oops...took the pic and forgot to upload it to ABAD

of·fend·ed

əˈfendid/

adjective

resentful or annoyed, typically as a result of a perceived insult.

"after his picture was taken, his appearance of being slightly offended is an understatement"

synonyms: upset, insulted, affronted, aggrieved, displeased, hurt, wounded, disgruntled, put out, annoyed, angry, cross, exasperated, indignant, irritated, piqued, vexed, irked, stung, galled, nettled, resentful, in a huff, huffy, in high dudgeon; informal riled, miffed, peeved, aggravated, sore, teed off, ticked off; vulgar slang pissed off

"he was offended because she had burned the toast"

Gallery www.justanobserver.com/

Blog www.juzno.com/

# #offended #street #streetphotography #blackandwhite #portrait #candid #anger #pissoff #maninthestreet

Este pasado lunes nuestra suerte no pudo ser peor debido a la pertinaz niebla, pero a pesar de no ser una gran foto, para mí era novedad poder fotografíar una 335 de Captrain en el Directo Madrid-Burgos. Pasamos antes por varios sitios para poder tomar la foto en condiciones, pero la niebla estaba por todas partes... ¡La experiencia fue verdaderamente desesperante! El tren procedía de Venta de Baños (Palencia) y su destino final era Aranda de Duero (Burgos). La locomotora que remolcaba al tren era la número 335-002.

This past Monday our luck could not be worse due to the persistent fog, but despite not being a great photo, for me it was new to have been able to photograph a Captrain 335 locomotive on the direct line Burgos-Madrid. We went through several places to be able to take the photo in good condition, but the fog was everywhere... The experience was truly exasperating! The train came from Venta de Baños (Palencia) and its final destination was Aranda de Duero (Burgos). The locomotive that towed the train was number 335-002.

://Begin Veto's personal log\\:

It has been two weeks since the attack on Bakura. After having received a share of the Empire's reward, I embarked to search for other jobs, this time with a friend I had met on Bakura - a bounty hunter with the name of Marcus Bender. Together we've been searching for a job the last 14 days without success. It wasn't until today that we received the transmission describing a new high paying job for us...

"Remind me why we're here again?"

I had asked a million times, however Marcus always answered differently.

"Isn't it obvious? I need to repair my speeder and what better place is there to do that than a repair garage?"

How infuriating. It was perfectly clear his speeder needed repairing - he had crashed into some crates while chasing some wanted Rodian and demolished it into about 1000 pieces. Personally I didn't think there was any hope for that speeder.

"I mean why are we on Corellia? We've been wasting away here for the past few days with little to drink and even less to eat. If someone had wanted a job done, they would have contacted us by now"

Marcus sighed. "I've already told you what we're doing here - we're trying to put together a larger crew. I've heard rumors of a new job that involves taking down Imperial forces. I don't feel to good about taking on the strongest military force in the entire galaxy by ourselves"

"You're a bounty hunter and I'm a smuggler - our type work best alone"

He raised an eyebrow. "Yet here we are looking for a new job which we plan on doing together"

He had a point I suppose, however I still wasn't completely certain.

"Besides," he continued. "Working together got us far on Bakura. Believe me when I say that's the first job I felt good about after completion in a while"

We had reached our destination - a small complex on the outskirts of Coronet city. We entered the building and found are selves in a dark and dusty garage. The only source of light were two yellow lamps on the ceiling which made the garage look even more deserted. I looked at Marcus - by the look on his face I guessed he was having second thoughts about this place.

I noticed a man just visible in the eerie glow of the lamps. He was sitting down with his back against the wall. He either hadn't noticed us or didn't care because he showed no sign that he knew of our presence. I walked a little closer.

"We're looking for the best speeder repair shop this side of the city. I trust we've come to the right place?"

The man looked up. "Depends on who's asking. What are you here for?"

"We're innocent spice traders here to get a speeder fixed, why else would we be here?" asked Marcus, evidently exasperated.

The man stared us for a while, as if sizing us up. He noticed Marcus' fob and raised an eyebrow. Finally, he spoke;

"Y'all can come out, they're good"

It seemed that out of nowhere two men appeared - one carried a quarter staff, the other electro tools. Instinctively, I reached for my blaster and turned to face the newcomers. Marcus however remained motionless.

"You say you've go-" began the man armed with the quarter staff, but was cut off by Marcus;

"Quiet!" He had an excited look on his face. Everyone remained silent, perhaps out of sheer surprise at Marcus' outburst.

"Is everything al-" I began, but I too was cut off. Not by Marcus, but by a disembodied voice which emitted from our comlinks.

"Beginning transmission. Attention all bounty hunters and smugglers - we have a new major job issued by the CR on Ord Mantell. Be ready to receive more information at 2200 hours. End Transmission"

Marcus turned to face me. "The rumors are true." He couldn't hide the smirk that was slowly spreading across his face. "And it just so happens that there's a transport leaving for Ord Mantell tomorrow - I checked all star ships leaving tomorrow from the spaceport"

"My dear sirs," said Marcus, this time to the mechanics." We're sorry to have wasted your time, but something more important has come up, and we must leave immediately"

The sitting man got up and walked over to Marcus.

"Why don't we go together? After all," he removed a comlink identical to Marcus' from his pocket. "I heard you talking with your friend outside - you need more men. We can help, we're all experienced smugglers. We'd have a larger chance of completing the Mission together."

"I thought you said you were mechanics," I said. The man laughed.

"And I thought you said you were spice traders?"

Marcus looked from me to the mechanics. After a while he seemed to come to a decision.

"Alright, you can accompany us, however once we've completed this job I don't want you tagging along with us." He leaned over to me and whispered,"if they're any good it'll make our job easier, if they aren't - well, there'll just be a smaller chance that the imperial troops will shoot at one of us"

And with that statement the two became five.

://End Veto's personal log\\:

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------My newest MOC for the Dark Times RPG - an operation on the planet Corellia. I've recently acquired an Instagram account, so if anyone is interested, here is the link: www.instagram.com/neon_5_lego/

Happy Building!

My sister on the left sitting next to my wife who is getting very tired of all my picture taking. On a side note, I'm reflected in my sunglasses taking the photo.

our local mall was open late today and it was crowded with families , and we strolled and laughed at the sights, window displays and cute kids and cranky crying kids and exasperated parents and scantily dressed teens and it was fun.

listening to The Hooters singing "And We Danced" 1985

www.youtube.com/watch?v=zB1Q-PfUvN0

Large size | Original uploaded size | My portfolio

exasperation (n): the act of exasperating or the state of being exasperated; irritation;

Source: Wiktionary.

Light: a single 580EXII inside a Lumiquest Big Bounce from the left, triggered by a ST-E2.

© 2014 Thousand Word Images by Dustin Abbott

Winter has been very, very slow to vacate the premises this year, leaving us all a little exasperated. Easter came with below freezing temperatures, which doesn't leave anyone happy. So this image is shared in hope. In hope that temperatures will again be warm, that skies will be blue, and that fields will be green. I love the simplicity of a beautiful lone tree in a field, and I long for the days when the world is again filled with color. In hope...

Technical information Canon EOS M, Rokinon 12mm f/2 NCS. Processed in Adobe Lightroom 5, Photoshop CC, and Alien Skin Exposure 6

Want to know more about me or make contact? Take a look at my website and find a lot of ways to connect and view my work.

During a tour of the Internal Canadian Parliament Building in Ottawa our guide throws up her arms. Exasperated?... No, she was just extremely enthusiastic and very good at her job!

Parliament Hill, colloquially known as The Hill, is an area of Crown land on the southern banks of the Ottawa River in downtown Ottawa, Ontario. Its Gothic revival suite of buildings serves as the home of the Parliament of Canada and contains a number of architectural elements of national symbolic importance. Parliament Hill attracts approximately 3 million visitors each year.

Originally the site of a military base in the 18th and early 19th centuries, development of the area into a governmental precinct began in 1859, after Queen Victoria chose Bytown as the capital of the Province of Canada. Following a number of extensions to the parliament and departmental buildings and a fire in 1916 that destroyed the Centre Block, Parliament Hill took on its present form with the completion of the Peace Tower in 1927. Since 2002, an extensive $1 billion renovation and rehabilitation project has been underway throughout all of the precinct's buildings; work is not expected to be complete until after 2020.

The construction of the bridge lasted 70 years (1308 to 1378). In local folklore it is said that the foreman, exasperated by the slow pace of the work, signed a pact with the Devil. In the pact the Devil promised to use his skills to expedite the work and, if he carries out all of the foreman's orders, then his (the foreman's) soul would be forfeit.

Having seen the bridge built on time, the foreman regrets his decision and issues a final order to the devil to go and collect water for the other workers using a sieve. In revenge for having been tricked, the Devil sends a demon each night to loosen the final stone in the central tower (known as the Devil's Tower) to ensure that the bridge is never finished and must be repaired each day

During the restoration of the bridge in 1879, the architect Paul Gout inserted a stone bearing the sculpted image of an imp into the central tower. As a result, according to the updated legend, every time the Devil checks to see that his vandalism has been carried out he is confused into thinking that the stone image is one of his demons tasked with dismantling the bridge..

I remember being with my sister and my mother in Gastown, around 1975ish? It was a happening area and many new little boutiques and cafes had opened. This one store had lots of pretty tchotchkies and plants, and at least a dozen of these painted Chinese teapots, in the traditional colours of blue, pink, yellow, and black decorated with stylized flowers and butterflies. It was coming up to my mother's birthday, and she seemed so smitten with them, so I said, Choose one and it will be your birthday gift ... so it began. Each teapot was examined and pondered over at least five times. My sister and I were trying to be patient but it became ridiculous. I was starving, so I suggested going to eat then coming back, which we did.

Then while we were eating she decided she didn't want one, sigh. So, a few weeks later, I returned to the store and chose this one and gave it to her for her birthday, which I thought would thrill her ... no. She seemed not to remember the event

and when I reminded her she just laughed it off. My Dad loved it and tried to use to for everyday but Mom put it high up in the back of a cupboard where it was forgotten, even by me until a few years ago, when we were emptying their apartment, and there it was, unused, unloved, unhappy and it brought back the memories of that day, what fun we had, how exasperating she was, and I missed her, Mary, Mary, quite contrary.

song - "Mary Jane's Last Dance" Tom Petty

www.youtube.com/watch?v=L5pHM-o2_Dk&list=PL4EgJJ7vvsx...

No child was hurt during the making of photo ;-). This is the exasperated look I get everytime I point camera his way.

--ZZZAAAAPPP!!--

“What did you just do to me?” Billy grimaced as he brushed ash off his clothing.

The Wizard spoke slowly, disappointed yet again, “I looked into your life choices as I have with many others, searching for a pure good person. But you are as imperfect as every other soul I've brought here”

Billy began pacing around the stone chamber, his footsteps echoing off the walls, “You don't look so good yourself grandpa. You're like a thousand years old” he spoke without looking to the old man.

“Oh I am much older than that...” The Wizard insisted.

“Yeah? Well I'm only fifteen and I already know that there's no such thing as a 'pure good person'” Billy responded mockingly, his gaze still looking anywhere but in the direction of The Wizard.

“You are wrong, child”

“Well how long have you been looking smarty-pants?”

The Wizard sighed, “A very long time...” he spoke, exasperated.

“So let me give you a clue, because it doesn't look like you get out much.” Billy's pacing stopped, his eyes locked with The Wizard. “People are horrible. They disappoint you. They let you down. I've spent my entire life learning that.”

“There are pure people... there must be...” The old man muttered.

“Good people get swallowed up. They get taken advantage of. They disappear. Trust me, it doesn't matter how good you try to be, everyone else is going to drag you down with them.” Billy paused “...You... You're looking for something that doesn't exist...” Billy's eyes fell to the floor. “That's why you've never found it.”

“But you yourself have said, you tried to be good. Is that what I should have been looking for all of these centuries?” The Wizard's voiced raised, “Do you have the embers of good within you, is that it?” A light began to grow from behind him as his volume increased ten-fold, “Does this boy have the embers within him?!” The Wizard shouted as a bolt of lightning shot from his hands and into Billy's chest. Billy was knocked to the floor, vision of his past were shown before him in rapid sequence that he couldn't quite make out.

The flashback's vanished and The Wizard turned away. “...Yes, yes you do have the potential I suppose...” He turned back to Billy a final time and picked him off the ground by his shirt. “Woah woah woah, are you okay?” Billy said frantically

“We need to hurry! Say my name!” The Wizard demanded.

“Dude we just met, I don't even know who you are!”

“My name, say it! Say Shazam!”

Billy raised an eyebrow quizzically “Uh... Shazam...?”

His words echoed in the silence as he hung from the collar of his shirt. “Well... was that supposed to do something...?”

“No!” The Wizard shouted “Say it with a purpose, with belief, with the intention for good! With thoughts of your parents, and your family! Say the word and you will be transformed into you're greatest potential! Say SHAZAM!”

Billy scowled, and looked deep into the eyes of The Wizard. “Sha-

--CRACKOOOOMMM--

A bolt of lightning came from the sky faster than Billy could finish the word. It struck his chest and omitted a great and powerful light encasing his entire body. The stone chamber shook as his voice changed into that of a grown man's. He could feel the power surge through him as smoke gathered around his feet. It only took a moment, but Billy came to his senses with two words, “I'm... taller?”

“No child!” The Wizard said, weaker than before, “You are now the inheritor of my chair on The Council of Eternity, you are now all that stands between your world and the magical threats that would destroy it. Your are magic's champion, Billy Batson.... Now 'you' are Shazam!”

--------------------------------------

I've been wanting to post this for a while now. I built this super simple MOC back in early November of 2015 and did a shoot with it, only to finally have the time to post it now. After two holiday's, two blockbuster movies, a season finale, two different flickr contests, and getting a new DLSR, I can finally play a bit of catch-up and just post what ever I want again. I have a bunch of big projects on the way, so this was a nice change of pace for me. :)

A majority of the dialog was borrowed from Geoff Johns' and Gary Frank's New 52: Shazam. Go read it if you haven't, because it's great!

You hear that Geoff? I'm still waiting on that Captain Marvel solo series you promised us! I'm still waiting! *shakes fist into the sky*

To see a bit more, check out my Patreon! www.patreon.com/andrewcookston?ty=h

In retrospect, I'm certainly embarrassed that I hadn't realized there was a state park here.

New Years Eve 2023, I was racing the sunset down the Kennebec River after a few small river lighthouses, then trying to find a place to park the car. All of the coastal area in Phippsburg is private beach or vacation homes with no trespassing signs, making it nearly impossible to get a view like this, although now that I'm looking at the map I think I may have missed public parking lot.

The clouds were low and thick, with the sun funneling between them and the surface of the sea. A few minutes prior, the side of Seguin Island had been lit up orange for a short moment, and I was becoming exasperated as the more intense colors flew past, with nowhere to safely leave the car. I finally discarded any fear of a ticket, parking along the road under a NO PARKING sign. Digging frantically through the cases in the trunk, I mounted the 200-500mm lens on the body and slapped it on the tripod before darting for a small gap in the dune fence. In my rush I hadn't noticed that where the slats had been removed, the wire was still there. I hit the tripwire, going down. My body was thankful it was mostly sand, but there's no way I didn't get grains inside the lens. I don't think I stopped moving to pick myself up and my rig up, before running through the brush onto the beach and setting up in the harder wet sand. There were two families walking in the surf, hundreds of yards away, nobody to witness my clumsy break-in to their private beach. The best colors were gone buy a few minutes, but I still feel like I'm right there when I look at this photo set. It means the world to me.

I did use Lightroom to remove three blurry people from the beach.

PLEASE, NO GRAPHICS, BADGES, OR AWARDS IN COMMENTS. They will be deleted.

~ Pablo Neruda, Ode to the Lemon

Hasselblad 500cm | Polaroid Back | 80mm f/2.8 | Fuji FP 100C

BIBLICAL CONTEXT: Ephesians 6:1-4 NIV

(from biblegateway.com)

1 Children, obey your parents in the Lord, for this is right. 2 “Honor your father and mother”—which is the first commandment with a promise— 3 “so that it may go well with you and that you may enjoy long life on the earth.”

4 Fathers, do not exasperate your children; instead, bring them up in the training and instruction of the Lord.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

5 MORE THINGS YOU SHOULD KNOW:

1. Like it or not, we are ALL sinners: As the Scriptures say, “No one is righteous—not even one. No one is truly wise; no one is seeking God. All have turned away; all have become useless. No one does good, not a single one.” (Romans 3:10-12 NLT)

2. The punishment for sin is death: When Adam sinned, sin entered the world. Adam’s sin brought death, so death spread to everyone, for everyone sinned. (Romans 5:12 NLT)

3. Jesus is our only hope: But God showed his great love for us by sending Christ to die for us while we were still sinners. (Romans 5:8 NLT) For the wages of sin is death, but the free gift of God is eternal life through Christ Jesus our Lord. (Romans 6:23 NLT)

4. SALVATION is by GRACE through FAITH in JESUS: God saved you by his grace when you believed. And you can’t take credit for this; it is a gift from God. Salvation is not a reward for the good things we have done, so none of us can boast about it. For we are God’s masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so we can do the good things he planned for us long ago. (Ephesians 2:8-10 NLT)

5. Accept Jesus and receive eternal life: If you openly declare that Jesus is Lord and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved. (Romans 10:9 NLT) But to all who believed him and accepted him, he gave the right to become children of God. (John 1:12 NLT) And this is what God has testified: He has given us eternal life, and this life is in his Son. Whoever has the Son has life; whoever does not have God’s Son does not have life. (1 John 5:11-12 NLT)

Read the Bible for yourself. Allow the Lord to speak to you through his Word. YOUR ETERNITY IS AT STAKE!

There’s nothing that makes you more insane than family. Or more happy, or more exasperated, or more secure.

Disagreeable Hills.

Limosa profunda parasitorum gestus psychiatricas asperas significans falsas semitas grauis opinationes diligentem methodologiam effectivam poeticam titubantes eventus,

insectes névrotiques étapes classées fou amusant psychose roches humeurs mitigées hypermanies yeux élevés travaux profonds ennemis fatigués,

modelleren volbrachte manieren interessante rapporten verstrikkende regels transmissies wetten overwicht geel onderzoek groen,

ισχυρές προτάσεις θαμμένες καλλιτεχνικά ευρήματα μεγάλες ανταμοιβές διακεκριμένα χρώματα επίπονες προσπάθειες έμπειρες τεκμήρια,

discipline nemiloase distrugere structuri accidente dihotomie blues răsucit voci exasperate evoluții contemporane,

管理された措置 初歩的な呪い 荒廃した夜 決定的な方向性がない 心理的な含み 派手な懸念 古典的理解 画家のリソースを強化する 絵の夢.

Steve.D.Hammond.

Le "plat d'étain" est un ancien relais de poste situé à Houdan. Au XXe s., il devient une auberge réputée et son écurie un garage de réparation automobile. Le restaurant restera ouvert jusque dans les années 1970.

Dans l'affaire Seznec, selon les dires de ce dernier et des témoins, Seznec et Quémeneur auraient diné le 25 mai 1923 au "plat d'étain" avant que Quemeneur prenne le train en gare d'Houdan pour rejoindre Paris. On ne le reverra jamais vivant et Seznec sera condamné au bagne.

Pour rappel, Seznec et Quéméneur, conseiller général du Finistère , étaient en affaire pour convoyer de Bretagne à Paris des Cadillac, des surplus de l'armée américaine de la première guerre mondiale pour les vendre à la Russie. Lors du trajet la Cadillac a été victime de nombreuses pannes et crevaisons. D'après les déclarations de Seznec, Quéméneur excédé aurait pris le train à Houdan pour gagner Paris si bien que Seznec est la dernière personne à l'avoir vu vivant. Le cadavre de Quéméneur n'a jamais été retrouvé. Sans cadavre Seznec a été condamné au bagne à Cayenne pour faux en écriture car des experts ont montré qu'il aurait envoyé des faux télégrammes pour faire croire à la famille de Quéméneur que ce dernier était toujours vivant ainsi que des fausses promesses de vente de biens de Quéméneur à Seznec. Ce point constituerait le mobile du crime pour lequel Seznec est condamné.

Une autre théorie a vu le jour d'après un secret de famille qui raconte que l'enfant de Seznec aurait vu sa mère repousser les avances de Quéméneur qui se serait mortellement effondré. Des fouilles ont été entreprises en 2018 dans les jardins et remises de la maison de Seznec pour essayer de retrouver sa dépouille mais n'ont pas abouti.

Enfin, autre théorie, une femme de 85 ans aurait récemment révélé que son père, employé à l'entretien du cimetière de Saint-Lubin-de-la-Haye, distant de 5 km de Houdan, aurait aidé un mécanicien à y cacher le corps de Pierre Quéméneur. Ce mécanicien (du plat d'étain ?) l'aurait tué en lui tirant dessus après une altercation.

www.ouest-france.fr/faits-divers/affaire-seznec/affaire-s...

Un rappel sur la chronologie des faits:

www.ouest-france.fr/societe/justice/affaire-seznec-chrono...

Traduction anglaise de Google:

The "tin dish" is a former coaching inn located in Houdan. In the twentieth century, it became a famous inn and its stable a car repair garage. The restaurant will remain open until the 1970s.

In the Seznec affair, according to the statements of the latter and of witnesses, Seznec and Quémeneur would have dined on May 25, 1923 at the "tin dish" before Quemeneur took the train at Houdan station to Paris. We will never see him alive again and Seznec will be sentenced to prison.

As a reminder, Seznec and Quéméneur, general counsel of Finistère, were in business to transport Cadillacs from Brittany to Paris, surpluses of the American army from the First World War to sell them to Russia. During the journey, the Cadillac suffered numerous breakdowns and punctures. According to the statements of Seznec, the exasperated Quéméneur would have taken the train from Houdan to Paris so that Seznec is the last person to have seen him alive. Quéméneur's corpse has never been found. Without a corpse Seznec was sentenced to prison in Guyana in Cayenne for forgery because experts have shown that he would have sent false telegrams to make Quéméneur's family believe that the latter was still alive as well as false promises of sale of goods from Quéméneur to Seznec. This point would constitute the motive of the crime for which Seznec is condemned.

Another theory has emerged from a family secret which tells that Seznec's child saw his mother reject the advances of Quéméneur who would have died fatally. Excavations were undertaken in 2018 in the gardens and sheds of Seznec's house to try to find his remains but were unsuccessful.

Finally, another theory, an 85-year-old woman would have recently revealed that her father, employed in the maintenance of the cemetery of Saint-Lubin-de-la-Haye, 5 km away from Houdan, would have helped a mechanic to hide the body of Pierre Quéméneur. This mechanic (of the tin dish?) Would have killed him by shooting him after an altercation.

Cali will impose her will on me all.the.time. Today she came along while I had my laptop open on my lap and she decided she wanted to sit in my lap and pushed the laptop down so she could sit where she wanted. You can tell by her ears she is thinking, "this is exasperating". Clearly, she did not understand the theme. Happy Caturday!

…...... for they rarely grow up to be exasperating male friends!!!!! a few weeks back I went to visit a good friend of mine who had just had a another baby...a male friend had given me a lift to visit her, after knocking on the front door and getting no answer, we walked round the back and into the garden , fought our way passed a whirly-gig-line of wet washing and waited ...after a while my friend appeared at the back door complete with babe in arms... as I moved to greet her the bloke I was with ...whispered in my ear “ did she have a boy or a girl?”

photo taken of her back garden on the day we visited!!!!!!!! the original photo I've edited in the name of “art” but not as much as you may think ….if anything I'VE TONED DOWN THE PINK!........(best seen large)

Hans Multscher (Leutkirch im Allgäu, c. 1400 - Ulma, 1467) - the death of the Virgin - altar of Wurzach (1437) - Gemäldegalerie Berlin

Multscher fu un pioniere nell'introdurre in Germania, importandolo dalla Borgogna e Paesi Bassi, il realismo fiammingo che sostituì il weicher Stil, lo "stile morbido", astratto e idealizzato, tipico dell'arte tardo gotica locale. Nei pannelli dipinti dell'altare di Wurzach, del 1437, il suo stile realista lo porta ad esasperare la bruttezza dei personaggi per sottolineare accenti di carattere, personalità o atteggiamento.

Multscher was a pioneer in introducing into Germany, importing it from Burgundy and the Netherlands, the Flemish realism that replaced the weicher Stil, the "soft style", abstract and idealized, typical of local late Gothic art. In the painted panels of the altar of Wurzach, dated 1437, his realist style leads him to exasperate the ugliness of the characters to emphasize accents of character, personality or attitude.

My title is derived from me getting ready to post my Rainting and some having fanciful idea of what the subject represents to me at the time. In fact, the subject was probably 3 red traffic lights or a gas station or such. Raintings can be fun or exasperating that way.

*********************************************************

ABOUT RAINTINGS

Rainting is a word I coined describing a painterly effect, achieved by photographing the subject through glass that is being rained on, like a windshield or other. It achieves an oftentimes pretty or soft flowing effect, and sometimes other-worldly. It is usually creative, fun, and fluid, seldom harsh in my opinion. I have an album of them on Flickr. Rainting is already in "The Urban Dictionary" but I would like it to also be in a more sophisticated/educational type of dictionary. I started a public Flickr group of Raintings on New Year's Day 2020.

The more collegiate type of dictionaries say that the word has to actually be used by people before they're likely to publish it. So if you like the word and my idea, say it loud and say it clear and take a few Raintings and post them to my new group. Using my word and trying my new group are not inclusive of one another.

*********************************************************************

"My thin white border is not so much a frame as a defense against Flickr's all dark background"

*********************************************************************

"DSCN1125RaintingStillLifeVase&VeggiesAAresamFlickr021820"

“These are days when no one should rely unduly on his competence. Strength lies in improvisation. All the decisive blows are struck left-handed.”

- Walter Benjamin

“Left-handers are wired into the artistic half of the brain, which makes them imaginative, creative, surprising, ambiguous, exasperating, stubborn, emotional, witty, obsessive, infuriating, delightful, original, but never, never, dull.”

- James T deKay and Sandy Huffaker from The World’s Greatest Left-Handers

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

August 13 is International Left-Handers Day. I was born left-handed, but I was made to use my other hand. Anyway, I still continue to use my left hand in daily life in spite of all attempts to retrain me. So, this is my Holiday, and I wish Happy Left-Handers Day to all lefties...!

Here is some information about this day:

www.ibtimes.com/happy-left-handers-day-facts-trivia-about...

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thanks a lot for visits and comments, everyone...!

Please don't use this image on websites, blogs or other media without

my explicit permission. © All rights reserved

juste-pour-la-mode-sl.blogspot.fr/2018/04/11-exasperated....

.. but aside from the driving snow, hail, rain and windy I really like it!!"

Another rather elemental day .. this time in the Brecon Beacons in Wales. All the weather sort of went over Elk's head but Mist didn't really like it at all and kept going into survival mode (digging a hole every time we stopped) and kept looking quite exasperated when we carried on. Elk on the other hand kept seeking out bits of straggly heather - not that there was much, to pull out of the ground and bring to me .. which obviously blew away as soon as she did that thus providing DIY fun in terms of chasing it down - Maybe we'll get a bit of sunshine one day soon!

“Sky, I have noticed recently that you are starting to get rather tubby.” Said Bertie looking at his friend.

“Yes, I noticed that too, Bertie.” Replied Sky. “Why do you think that could be?”

“I can tell you exactly why, Sky.” Said Posh Bear smiling.

“You can, Posh? That is so clever of you. Why do you think that I am getting tubby?”

“You eat too much, Sky. All that honey, chocolate, and marshmallows. You eat far more than any of us here.”

“Really? I had not noticed that.” Replied Sky trying to look innocent. “Why would eating make me tubby, Posh?”

“Well eating what you eat is known as fattening, and that makes you tubby.” Explained Bertie.

“The man blames the government, whoever they are. He blames them for everything from the weather to the time of day.” Said Barnaby giggling.

“I knew it was not my fault, Barnaby, most problems like this are the fault of hoomans.” Agreed Sky and smiled at his friend Barnaby.

“That is not the reason, Sky. You are the reason; you simply eat too much.” Stated Posh Bear.

“So, are you saying that my hollow legs that you are often on about, Posh, have filled up?” Asked Sky looking slightly worried.

“That is not what I am saying, Sky. Your legs are not hollow, they just seem to be at times for I don’t know where you put all the honey and chocolate you eat.” Said Posh Bear looking exasperated with his friend.

“It goes into my mouth, Posh, you must have seen me eating. Anyway, I would suggest that to become tubby one would have to eat lots of tubs, and I haven’t eaten a single tub so I can’t be getting tubby.”

“You need to eat less, Sky, and also eat other things apart from honey, chocolate, and marshmallows.” Advised Bertie.

“Okay guys, I will tell you what I do to prove that it has nothing to do with what I eat or how much of it that I eat. I will have breakfast after our sleep tomorrow, then I will not eat a single thing until dinner at what the man calls midday, and we will see if I still look tubby.”

“Sky, you would never be eating during that period anyway, you never do. No, you need to eat what you want, but not so much of it.” Said Posh Bear.

“That is good thinking, Posh, then there will be more for us to eat.” Said Barnaby giggling as he looked at the horror-stricken face of Sky.

“Not at all, Barnaby and you should not tease Sky like that. Starting tomorrow, we will all eat a little less the same as Sky and see how we get on doing that.” Said Posh Bear. “It is only right, for Sky is our friend and we support our friends and do not leave them to do things like this alone.”

Posh looked around at the bears assembled and they all nodded their head agreeing with him. As from tomorrow he thought they would all be eating a little less and maybe, they might even try that stuff the man called fruit… but then again – maybe not.

This is Dodger, hanging around for some more left-over cat food that is supposed to be for the hedgehog. He is, or was at the time, a daft, giddy young fox, all gangly legs, who’s into everything and who bounces around the garden like Tigger. Often accompanied by his dad who manages to look long suffering and exasperated at the immature behaviour of his off-spring. Dad is very beautiful and incredibly calm, and has such polite manners and acquiescent body language, one could swear he’s been to dog-training school.

Dodger keeps bringing golf-balls into the garden, goodness knows from where, we're nowhere near a golf course.

Just wish they didn’t stink the garden out. Wow those foxes whiff!

Accessing log....

Access failure...

Overriding...

Access granted.

////Begin Log\\\\

Command wasn't kidding when they said, "complex trenches".

The second we hit the surface, the whole gunship( Which had been filed with four motionless squads) seemed to come alive.

As soon as the main shutter, was opened, we all shot out. Charging across the massive stretch, between the landing point, and the trenches surrounding the spaceport.

The minute I had been given charge of the squad on the Endurance I was responsible for them. But here, on the battlefield, responsibility is a totally different aspect.

As we left the LAAT, my squad just kinda stood in front of the ship, like a group of frighted chickens, looking around like a bunch of idiots not knowing what to do, while the other squads immediately took off across the field, yelling and screaming as the ground was torn up around them, by countless lasers.

It wasn't until the LAAT( that had just dropped us off ) took off into the sky, that I realized that we needed to move.

Or we would die.

I was suddenly yelling and screaming at the other startled guys, trying to get them to move. We all eventually did move, racing across the field, in a half-mad frenzy, trying to get to the trenches, before we were killed by the ten hundred droids placed in them.

Above us I heard a roaring sound, and realized that the LAAT had been hit in mid-air. I looked back, to see it erupt in a ball of flame, shooting out shards of flaming debris, in all directions.

"Run!" I yelled. "we're nearly there!"

We reached the trench, and immediately threw ourselves down, about 10 meters from the edge.

I looked at the rest of them, all panting from the long run, and readjusting their gear, and weapons. I noticed Dyre no longer had his cannon, and had replaced it with his small, EC-17. He must have dropped it, due to the heavy weight. I felt bad. I should have known better.

"Twitch." Hedge said suddenly. "You've been shot."

We all immediately gathered around him, and now i saw, a small, sizzling hole in the side of his armor, just above the waist.

"I'll be fine." He muttered. "Its just a scratch."

Normally, i would have told him to stay behind, but here, I gave no thought to it.

"If you can walk, c'mon." I told him. "We have to get to the trench!"

The exhausted squad, began to move slowly across the dirt, between us and the trench, in a strangely fashioned, army crawl. Luckily, there was not much attention from the droids, in our area( seeing we had run way off course ) so the going was fairly easy.

We reached the edge, and peeked down, slightly startled at the ten- foot depth.

"I'll go first." Dyre silently volunteered, and dropped down, before I could object.

He hit the ground with a soft "thump" and nodded up to us.

Twitch was next, and with a soft grunt he slid down awkwardly to the bottom. Me and Hedge stayed on the top, watching for droids.

Further down, I noticed an AT-RT attacking a section of trench with another small squad. All our squads has been offered one, but I had refused, knowing that the vehicle, though small, would draw fire, and be an easy target.

Hedge silently tapped me on the shoulder, and I turned around.

"Let's go."

I nodded, and began to lead my squad down the trench, me and hedge on top, the other two below.

Hedge( who was leading ) suddenly stopped and raised a hand. I immediately stopped, though it took the guys in the trench, a little longer to get the message.

Hedge silently pointed at a small, blinking rotating object, concealed in the grass, only meters from us.

I cursed my stupidness. I had forgotten about the turrets.

It finished it's cycle without noticing us, and we began to inch forward.

"Must not read inferred." Hedge whispered."Probably motion detecting."

I nodded, and signaled for the guys in the trench, to start moving.

It was then, that the droids found us.

One minute the trench was airily silent, next minute they were coming from everywhere.

Me and Hedge immediately opened fire, while the shocked Dyre and Twitch began to desperately, defend themselves.

Hedge picked an active spot, on a corner, and began to blast away, at reinforcements that kept coming in a steady flow while I fired at droids attacking twitch, who at the moment didn't exactly have the best weapon. The second he fired his launcher, the mega blast would easily kill him, as well us. Eventually, he was able to whip out his secondary, a small titanium dagger, and began to attack the droids in a old-style combat. I had to admit, it was pretty efficient, and the weapon took out droids with ease.

As I was finishing off a B-2, I realized that Dyre was nowhere to be seen, and began to slightly panic, for the younger, more inexperienced clone, praying that he was safe.

I immediately moved down to where Twitch and Hedge were, and began to assist them, in destroying droids. As a armed droid approached Twitch, Hedge popped a clean shot through the startled thing's middle, before it had time to react.

I nodded.

"Good shot."

Hedge said nothing.

As Twitch finished off the last droid, with his dagger, I quickly addressed him.

"Twitch," I said "Where's Dyre?!"

Twitch gave me an exasperated look, and turned his head down the trench.

"Him?! Down there somewhere getting lost."

It really stinks to lead this squad."

////End Log\\\\

__________________________________________________

Mission 1.9 for the 253rd:

__________________________________________________

One full picture.

One 16.9 Crop

Then Three the Above, the Centre and the Lower Crops.

I did not reach for the highest reaches of the sky in Above so I made One more crop.

1 of 6 – Full Frame

2 of 6 – 16.9 Crop

3 of 6 – 16.9 Above Crop

4 of 6 – 16.9 Above Crop

5 of 6 – 16.9 Above Crop

⁕⁕⁕6 of 6 – 16.9 Ultimate Sky Crop⁕⁕⁕

The crops are technically all in and from the Full Frame. The Crops are me sharing some things that I see in the Full Frame and enjoy looking at and sharing. It might be too much similar, same and more and more so for others, but I hope to be looking at these images when I am older, weaker and less able. My gentle adventures to this scenic spot might be just the tonic that I need then, it is tonic right now as I edit these pictures and load them. It could be that in years to come I am completely exasperated with loading the same scene when maybe I could have been recording and loading other scenes and so enjoying more memories from more places? Right now this what I happy with.

The beautiful Pentland Hills Regional Park forms the superb skyline in this photograph.

Nature created all of the drama presented here and science and art made the exposure and the framing that is given so dramatically here by me.

When this image popped up on the screen I was confident that I had a record of the passing wonders that were delighting even as they deftly delicate dwindled before my eyes. Here the passing of light and the return of the dark was both absorbing, enthralling and enchanting. I was drawn into the scene as I photographed it and it drew me in further and further in as I altered and attempted exposures. The viewer and especially the recorder, the witness if you will becomes a part of the changeable scene feeling a prediction and an expectation of the elemental interplay til there is a belonging into the exchange that when eventually broken is a waking from an involved moment, a small encounter of a world within this world. Picture taking and making can be a Yoga exercise a communication with the scene and an appreciation of the seeming elemental metamorphosis, a time of something like first a loosing and then a finding of a self with a divine understanding whether that be any and every position you take on the potential of such.

© PHH Sykes 2023

phhsykes@gmail.com

Pentland Hills. The Regional Park...

www.pentlandhills.org/

Canmore - Upperside Limekiln, South

canmore.org.uk/site/234624/upperside-limekiln-south

Sierra begs me to let her wear my pretty pink dress. And of course she winds up looking much prettier in it than I do! She's so exasperating!

One Eaglet is hiding the whole fish from its sibling.. Mom looks exasperated but didn't interfere.. There was a third Eaglet below these two that never got to eat..

“You can touch the steering wheel, but leave everything else alone!” I was sitting at the driver’s seat of Grandad’s Ford Thames minibus beside the big old green canvas tent in the forest clearing. Around us were a number of grazing ponies, something else I’d been instructed not to touch. “They’re friendly as long as you keep your distance, but if you get too close they might bite you.” All the best things seemed to be off limits, but as always Grandad knew best. He’d made the journey south from the Midlands to set up Base Camp One in advance of our arrival, before heading a few miles east to an unspecified location somewhere near Winchester, where Henrietta, our elderly Ford Cortina Estate had broken down on a hill outside what I can only describe as an enormous mansion. Dad had knocked on the door and asked to make a couple of phone calls, while we were ushered into the kitchen and fed on biscuits and orange squash by the kindly owner. A while later Grandad appeared in the familiar creamy white minibus and whisked us away to our beds for the night. A recovery truck came for Henrietta later on. We’d only come 130 miles on that August day in 1975, but it seemed to have taken us forever.

I hadn’t wanted to leave our small town on the Romney Marsh. I loved it there – the place held every memory I treasured. On that fateful day the car was packed to the rafters, five of us stuffed inside it amongst the mountain of possessions that evidently weren’t entrusted to the removal company. Dad never bothered learning to drive, so my poor exasperated mother had decided to take lessons instead. She was a very competent but equally nervous driver and withdrew from the road once more as soon as it were humanly possible. In fact I don’t believe she’s driven a car of any kind in more than thirty-five years now. My best friend Paul came to wave us goodbye on that foggy summer afternoon; even at the age of nine we knew it seemed unlikely we’d ever see each other again. Together we’d climbed trees, played football and cycled furiously around the big green rectangle known locally as The Rype. Together we’d tried smoking the butts of his Dad’s roll-ups from an overflowing ashtray when everyone was out and built a den in the woods that nobody else could find. We knew every corner of that small edge of the world place where it seemed the summers would never end.

Mum hadn’t wanted to leave either; it was Dad, born and raised in Devon who wanted to reconnect with his Westcountry roots and so after a number of interviews at various schools we were one day told we would be moving to Falmouth in the summer., where he'd secured a position as a teacher at the school I'd be attending myself. I only vaguely knew where Cornwall was. In fact I thought it was called “Cormall.” I really wasn’t keen on moving, but you don’t get to play a part in the decision making when you’re nine. Everything was about to change forever.

And so we found ourselves here at Base Camp One in the New Forest at the start of a zigzag journey west that took two weeks to complete. From here we went at very short notice to Base Camp Two; home to an apparently horrified great aunt in nearby Romsey, from where the other grandparents took over. My grandmother arrived from Barnstaple (because Dad’s father had also never bothered with the business of getting behind the wheel), at which point there was very probably a showdown with Great Aunt Maud that went over my head, before we were whisked away to Base Camp Three, namely North Devon in convoy with Henrietta, who had now been restored by a local garage to her former coughing wheezing self. I believe we spent a week there – one morning in the bathroom I sang “Happy Birthday” to my nonplussed five year old brother, but it seemed everyone else had neglected to tell him what day it was.

From North Devon we went of course to Base Camp Four in South Devon. Obvious eh? Bet you thought we were going to finally head over the border to the new home didn’t you? Not quite yet – we had to go to Dartmoor to see our Great Grandmother first. More of that in another story to follow. But finally, after a couple of nights at the edge of the moor we crept over the Tamar and slowly drove the remaining sixty-five miles to our new home in this mysterious foreign land. Forty-seven years later, I’m getting used to it, although I’m still regarded as an outsider by my in laws, and strangers often seem to think I’m just down from London for the week. Or sometimes they ask if I’m from Australia. When I lived in Falmouth, there were plenty of outsiders like me who’d come from elsewhere, but in Redruth, pretty much everyone is as Cornish as the tin mines, Skinner's Ales and Barnecutt’s pasties.

Ali had never been to the New Forest, but suggested it when we were wondering where next to go in the van. And that’s the great thing about having a campervan – it takes you to places you might otherwise ignore, stopping along the way for the odd night here and there in our own little world of base camps. That alone breaks the longer journey up and makes it interesting. Perhaps after all my parents were pioneers of the slow road. “B Road Britain with Brenda” has a nice ring to it; I’d better find a publisher quickly.

And so last week I returned to Base Camp One for the first time since that summer day when I was a small boy sitting at the wheel of my Grandad’s minibus, being told to leave the levers and buttons alone. This time I was driving Brenda, our own home on wheels, with all of the levers and buttons under my command and parking at the edge of a clearing on a camping ground, where we watched the ponies come to graze quietly each morning. It brought those memories of an unusual adventure flooding back. The red trim inside the lovely Ford Thames camper that he’d bought brand new before I was even born. Moths careering into paraffin lamps over and over again and learning nothing from the experience. The reassuring hiss of the Trangia kettle boiling on the camp stove; the spitting and popping of the sausages in the pan. Strong sugary tea in tin mugs that were too hot to hold. That enormous old green canvas tent that they’d pitched at the sides of lochs in the Scottish Highlands when my mother was a child, and those horrible camp beds with the sprung legs that would never go into their slots without a fight. Putting the first leg in was simple, but the second required brute force almost completely beyond the capabilities of small boys. I dreaded nothing more than trying to put those beds together. They were beds with a bad attitude.

It struck me then that my parents, both of whom are rapidly approaching eighty were the same age then that my own children are now. To my older eyes they seemed so young and full of plans for the future. Where did all of those years go? How on earth did that small boy arrive so quickly in the second half of his fifties? Blink and another ten years will fly by in an instant. If that’s not a reminder to enjoy the journey and make lots of base camps as we go, then I’m not sure what is. Time to get the atlas out and work out the next plan for a meandering voyage from A to Z via most of the rest of the alphabet in a big red van that was built for the slow lane.

The Clash on Oldies station: Should I Stay or Should I Go

www.youtube.com/watch?v=BN1WwnEDWAM

Should I stay or should I go?

Diana: (at home with Emmilynn, fussing with the blankets on Emmi's bed) Now, you're sure you'll be all right?

Emmi: (fondly exasperated) I'll be FINE, Mom. Go to work.

Diana: It doesn't feel right, leaving you alone.

The Clash on Oldies station: So you got to let me know - Should I stay or should I go?

Ethan: (from the doorway) I'd be happy to stay with her, Mrs. Brookless.

Diana: (clearly more worried about him being with Emmi than Emmi being alone) Oh, no, Ethan. I wouldn't want to impose.

Ethan: No imposition at all.

The Clash on Oldies station: So if you want me off your back

Diana: But you -- stayed all night at the hospital. You should go home, get some sleep.

Ethan: No problem. I can crash on the couch. That way, if Em needs anything, I'll be right out there.

The Clash on Oldies station: Should I stay or should I go now?

Diana: "Em," yes... Well, you need to work, don't you?

Ethan: Not until nine, tonight. I'll hang out here until you get home, then I'll take off. That'll give me plenty of time to grab a shower, and dinner, before my shift.

The Clash on Oldies station: So come on and let me know

Emmi: See, Mom? I'll be fine.

Diana: I just don't think--

The Clash on Oldies station: This indecision's bugging me

Ethan: Don't worry about anything, Mrs. B. (sort of ushering her to the front door) If Em needs anything I can't get for her, I'll give you a holler.

Diana: A holler.

The Clash on Oldies station: Should I cool it or should I blow?

Ethan: Sure, you're right next door, right? I got a good set of lungs. You'll hear me.

Diana: I don't think you should--

Ethan: Everything is under control, I promise. And if those cheapskate bastards let you have lunch, you can check in then, right?

The Clash on Oldies station: If I go there will be trouble

Diana: Ethan, you really shouldn't call them--

Ethan: I may not have tact, but what I do have is honesty.

The Clash on Oldies station: And if I stay it will be double

Diana: Do you.

Ethan: Yeah, now you go on to work, and don't worry about a thing.

Emmi: (from the bedroom) Bye, Mom! Have a good day at work!

The Clash on Oldies station: Should I stay or should I go now?

Diana: Bye, honey!

Ethan: Bye, now. (smiling and closing the door behind Diana)

The Clash on Oldies station: And if I stay it will be double

Diana: (on the doorstep, seems at odds between going back inside or leaving, finally leaves)

Ethan: (strolling to the open bedroom door) Your mom seems nice. A little on the nervous side, though.

Emmi: (amused) I can't imagine why.

The Clash on Oldies station: So ya gotta let me know me tienes que decir - Should I stay or should I go?

(Thank you to Kes Rivers for leaping back into the role of Diana Brookless.)

The legend has it that Gregory the Great ascended to the papal throne on the backdrop of anarchy and famine, where few, scattered citizens roam the ruins of what was the capital of the world; To complicate an already critical situation comes a terrible plague, which tithes the already low population. To invoke divine mercy, Pope Gregory organizes a three-day procession to which the entire nationality takes part. When they reached the height of the Hadrian's mausoleum, however, the Romans clearly distinguish the angel's silhouette against the violet sky in the act of placing a flamboyant sword in the sheath. It is August 29, 590. That same evening the plague ceases.

This is linked to the creation of a statue in honor of the Archangel Michael-

The first statue is placed on top of the building around the 11th century; Made of wood and therefore not resistant to atmospheric agents, must soon be replaced by a second marble exemplar, which however was destroyed during the assault of the exasperated Roman to the building in 1379. A third angel, also marble , Equipped with a sword and bronze wings made by Jacomo da l'Aquila on Pope Niccolò V.'s commission in January 1453. The new statue has unfortunately short life: in 1479 a lightning strike down the top of the Castle, blasting the dust: The resulting, violent explosion overwhelms the entire tower and even the effigy of the Angel. The fate of the next statue, the fourth, made of gilded bronze is no longer happy: during the dramatic sack of the city of Rome in 1527 and the ensuing siege of the Castle by the Lanzichenecchi, the angel is melted to obtain balls with which Load the cannons. In 1544 it was the turn of the work of Raffaello da Montelupo - today placed in the Third Level Courtyard of the Angel - that stands on top of the building until 1752, when it is replaced by the bronze angel of the Flemish Peter Anton van Verschaffelt, who still contemplates the roofs of the city with his gaze gloomily and melancholy.

La leggenda narra che Gregorio Magno salito al soglio pontificio sullo sfondo di una città in preda all'anarchia ed alla carestia, dove pochi, sparuti cittadini si aggirano tra le rovine di quella che è stata la capitale del mondo; a complicare una situazione già critica sopraggiunge una terribile pestilenza, che decima la già scarsa popolazione. Per invocare la misericordia divina, papa Gregorio organizza una processione di tre giorni a cui prende parte l'intera cittadinanza. Giunti all'altezza del mausoleo di Adriano, però, i romani distinguono chiaramente stagliarsi contro il cielo violetto la sagoma luminosa di un angelo nell'atto di riporre nel fodero una spada fiammeggiante. E' il 29 agosto del 590. Quella sera stessa la pestilenza cessa.

A questo fatto si lega la realizzazione di una statua in onore dell’arcangelo Michele-

La prima statua viene collocata in cima all'edificio intorno all'XI secolo; realizzata in legno, e dunque poco resistente agli agenti atmosferici deve essere ben presto essere sostituita da un secondo esemplare in marmo, che tuttavia è distrutto nel corso dell'assalto degli esasperati romani all'edificio, nel 1379. Un terzo angelo, pure in marmo, dotato, nel gennaio 1453, di spada ed ali bronzee realizzate da Jacomo da l'Aquila su commissione di papa Niccolò V. La nuova statua ha purtroppo vita breve: nel 1479 un fulmine si abbatte sulla sommità del Castello, facendo saltare la polveriera: la conseguente, violentissima esplosione travolge l'intera torre e anche l'effige dell'Angelo. Non è più felice la sorte della statua successiva, la quarta, realizzata in bronzo dorato: durante il drammatico sacco subito dalla città di Roma nel 1527 ed il conseguente assedio del Castello da parte dei Lanzichenecchi, l'angelo viene fuso per ricavarne palle con cui caricare i cannoni. Nel 1544 è la volta dell'opera di Raffaello da Montelupo - oggi collocata nel Cortile dell'Angelo del terzo livello - che si staglia sulla sommità dell'edificio fino al 1752, anno in cui viene sostituita dall'angelo bronzeo del fiammingo Peter Anton van Verschaffelt, che ancora oggi contempla con il suo sguardo fermo e malinconico i tetti della città.

During her EWBT - Emergency Water Braking Test - Mrs Mallard failed the safe distance hard stop, much to the consternation of her exasperated examiner. Hey Ho, another go around beckons...

The Natural Curiosity of Lot’s Wife -

Do you want to hear a story about an inquisitive girl probing the bucolic mountains? An October morning, she reached the twilight zone where the mouth of the cave meets daylight. Located further down were two tonsils, one on either side. She gawked right then left. Craving the very thing that mankind is scared of, she crept cautiously to the brim. As she was peering bottomward a voice suddenly bellowed, its echoes stirring up to the ear. “Twenty-six, twenty-six, twenty-six … !” She was stunned momentarily. I suppose she hadn’t seen that coming. Frightened but fine, she stepped back and looked up the two orifices. The first burrow came close to being a snake hole that could fit Titanoboa, a one-and–a–half ton colossal constrictor. The taller eyelet beside mimics so well a cavernous hollow tapped by woodpeckers which preferred stones to timber. To the left or right? Both carry risks. Which should she choose? Eventually, with an exasperated sigh of resignation she muttered, “Alright, let’s see what you got.” She abseiled down the left aperture with ropes and experienced … nothing solid beneath her feet. Whatever happened to her? I know that I know now, that I know nothing. The following year a different girl walked in and stood in front of the access defiant. Same as the previous, she edged nearer to the openings so inviting. You think this time she better pick the right dugout? Left or right, it didn’t matter for she listen not her own heartbeat but a strange call reverting, “Twenty-seven, twenty-seven, twenty-seven ….”

Bird with a sense of humor

High above the streets of Metropolis, Superman floats gracefully above the city. People bustling to and from their destinations, Cars honking at bikers in the road, steam rearing from manhole covers. Birds fluttered atop the skyscrapers, cooing as they greeted one another.

He can hear it all. The brake pads on an old taxi down on 11th Ave, a mother soothing her child after a long afternoon nap seven blocks away. Even the sound of exasperated breathing, from a shop owner hiding under his checkout counter. He could hear feet shuffling, a few murmured demands, a cash drawer open... and the sound of a slide being cocked back over a loaded gun!

He could hear the gun fire, as he instantly flew it's direction! Seconds later he was outside the small store, it was as if time was slowed. Superman floated in gracefully as the bullet trudged closer and closer to the shop owner. Superman landed softly, stepping through the doorway, a hooded gunman was aiming towards a cowering older man, a bullet was mid-flight between the gun and the man's heart. Superman walked calmly up to the heated projectile. Reaching out, he plucked it from the air without the slightest hesitation.

Time returned to normal as he turned to the shop keeper, “It's okay now” He spoke sternly, giving a small smile. “Are you hurt?”

“Uh gee uh... wow...no, I guess” The owner stuttered in a loss for words. His tense body relaxed significantly as Superman turned to the gunman. He was barely legal to own that weapon, Eighteen, maybe Nineteen.

He stood there stiff, still aiming straight at the store counter where superman stood, but shock cascaded over his face. He lowered the gun slowly, and began to cry.

“I'm so sorry...” tears welled up as the boy dropped the firearm “Superman, I'm sorry...”

“I'm not the one you should be apologizing to, Son” Superman said taking a step back letting the two characters see eye to eye once more. Silence fell onto the room, their heartbeats slowed.

“Com'ere,” Superman gestured with an open arm, inviting him to the counter. The boy shuffled under his arm and hugged Superman tightly. “My Mom... she's sick...” The boy sniffled, “I just want to help her...” He looked up to Superman, then over to the Shopkeeper “I'm... I'm sorry.” The boy emptied his pockets of wadded Twenty's and two rolls of quarters.

“My wife...” The shopkeeper said, stepping closer “She knows a doctor. She could get her to take a look at your Mom...”

Superman grinned subtly as the boy released the vice-grip from around his waist to lean against the counter to talk with the shop owner. The three talked for what felt like hours. Later, an officer came by at Superman's request to take the boy home.

Before leaving, Superman took the boy's handgun from the floor and crushed it into the size of a golf ball, tossing it into a trash bin as he exited the shop. He slowly floated back into the sky, and the sounds of Metropolis found his ears once again. He smiled. No one got hurt today.

--------------------------------------

Okay, let's set the tone...

www.youtube.com/watch?v=EngKxF3Cqh4

Oh man, it feels like I'm the last kid on the block to get this fig! Adam's Indestructible Hero is a fantastic figure!

Superman is far overdue for a new look, seeing as the first, and only time Lego had made a Superman fig was from 2011. The planned N52 costume from The Lego Batman 3 video game never saw the light of day, and I was pretty bummed about that. So obviously when Phoenix Customs announced their figure based on Jim Lee's design, I would be an idiot not to buy one :P

This fig also came with a starched cape with an 'S' symbol printed on the back, but for artistic purposes I left it out, substituting a sponge-y cape to give this photo just a bit more fluidity with the invisible breeze I image when I look at these photos.

Also, thinking about it now, this could almost be a sister piece to Gotham in Red... flic.kr/p/FfLKRJ

Oh and like always, there is a bunch of cool bonus stuff over on my Patreon, including some different set-ups to the fig and the lightning, and a side by side comparison of the original photograph to the completed image you're seeing here :)

________________________________________________

If you think this photograph is worth at least a dollar, check out my Patreon to see early photography, behind the scenes images, and WIPs of upcoming projects!

www.patreon.com/andrewcookston?ty=h

I had this on my Flickr before but the photo was a scan from a mag..

This one's better so I've re-posted it. ...

This was done just outside St Pancras station in 1992.

It was Christmas. I had no outline planned and half the paint I'd ponced off Skore and co down the Wag club earlier that night (I told em I was going yard after the club and could they donate a few spits and crumbs of the old spuitverf-as the Dutch call it) Hence armed with no outline and a bag of colours that I didnt choose Im pretty happy with how this came out.

It took about 3 hours to sketch and fill in then I had to sit for almost 2 hours waiting for the sun to come up so I could outlne, as having no paper-sketch and a mad fill in 'Id completely lost the original sketch up. This was all exasperated by the fact that a lot of the cans I got from the chaps had paint all over em and in the darkness of the lay-up I didnt even know what half the colours I was using were. In the end I just made some of it up and put the final sketch anywhere. I reckon it works. Just!

Royal Mail train! Property of the Queen! Should I have painted it?

Yes of course I should have and if she disagrees can I suggest that maybe she needs to get out more often.

Common goldeneyes.

Hans Multscher (Leutkirch im Allgäu, c. 1400 - Ulma, 1467) - The Birth of Christ - altar of Wurzach (1437) - Gemäldegalerie Berlin

Multscher fu un pioniere nell'introdurre in Germania, importandolo dalla Borgogna e Paesi Bassi, il realismo fiammingo che sostituì il weicher Stil, lo "stile morbido", astratto e idealizzato, tipico dell'arte tardo gotica locale. Nei pannelli dipinti dell'altare di Wurzach, del 1437, il suo stile realista lo porta ad esasperare la bruttezza dei personaggi per sottolineare accenti di carattere, personalità o atteggiamento.

Multscher was a pioneer in introducing into Germany, importing it from Burgundy and the Netherlands, the Flemish realism that replaced the weicher Stil, the "soft style", abstract and idealized, typical of local late Gothic art. In the painted panels of the altar of Wurzach, dated 1437, his realist style leads him to exasperate the ugliness of the characters to emphasize accents of character, personality or attitude.

He was only around for a couple of weeks so here is one last photograph of my albino Rook. In various folk-lores it is generally held that black birds were originally white. In Greek myth, a white Raven told Apollo (the patron of Augurs, including Ravens) that his lover Coronis had been unfaithful. In his rage, Apollo slew his lover Coronis, but then in remorse "he blacked the Raven o'er, and bid him prate in his white plumes no more" (Addison's translation of Ovid's Metamorphoses). Incidentally the Ancient Greek name for the Latinised Coronis (Κορωνίς) means curved and has the same root as the Greek word for crow (Korone), named for its curved beak, and persists in the scientific name for Carrion Crow (Corvus corone).

There is also a Christian folk-lore tale from the Tyrol relating that Christ went to a stream where some (white) Ravens were bathing. He asked them to allow him to drink but they rudely kept on splashing and ignoring him. So Christ said "Ungrateful birds! Proud you may be of your beauty, but your feathers, now so snowy white, shall become black and remain so till the judgement Day" (from CE Hare; Bird Lore 1952).

I will be amazed if anyone recognises which TV show my title comes from. It is from a 1960s American TV show called "Combat!" and White Rook was the radio call sign for Sgt "Chip" Saunders. en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Combat!

One final thing. I almost called this photo "Stone the Crows!" an expression regularly used by comedian Tony Hancock. But it apparently originates from an actual event which happened in the late 1800s, just south of Roebourne in Western Australia. A teenager who was part of the original settlement there was becoming exasperated with the flies and the heat and in a moment of temper he picked up a stone to throw at a crow. As he was about to throw the stone, he stopped in his tracks because the stone was too heavy for its size. On inspection the stone contained a large proportion of gold. The term "stone the crows" traditionally translates to, "well how about that".

One full picture.

One 16.9 Crop

Then Three the Above, the Centre and the Lower Crops.

I did not reach for the highest reaches of the sky in Above so I made One more crop.

1 of 6 – Full Frame

2 of 6 – 16.9 Crop

3 of 6 – 16.9 Above Crop

4 of 6 – 16.9 Above Crop

5 of 6 – 16.9 Above Crop

⁕⁕⁕6 of 6 – 16.9 Ultimate Sky Crop⁕⁕⁕

The crops are technically all in and from the Full Frame. The Crops are me sharing some things that I see in the Full Frame and enjoy looking at and sharing. It might be too much similar, same and more and more so for others, but I hope to be looking at these images when I am older, weaker and less able. My gentle adventures to this scenic spot might be just the tonic that I need then, it is tonic right now as I edit these pictures and load them. It could be that in years to come I am completely exasperated with loading the same scene when maybe I could have been recording and loading other scenes and so enjoying more memories from more places? Right now this what I happy with.

The beautiful Pentland Hills Regional Park forms the superb skyline in this photograph.

Nature created all of the drama presented here and science and art made the exposure and the framing that is given so dramatically here by me.

When this image popped up on the screen I was confident that I had a record of the passing wonders that were delighting even as they deftly delicate dwindled before my eyes. Here the passing of light and the return of the dark was both absorbing, enthralling and enchanting. I was drawn into the scene as I photographed it and it drew me in further and further in as I altered and attempted exposures. The viewer and especially the recorder, the witness if you will becomes a part of the changeable scene feeling a prediction and an expectation of the elemental interplay til there is a belonging into the exchange that when eventually broken is a waking from an involved moment, a small encounter of a world within this world. Picture taking and making can be a Yoga exercise a communication with the scene and an appreciation of the seeming elemental metamorphosis, a time of something like first a loosing and then a finding of a self with a divine understanding whether that be any and every position you take on the potential of such.

© PHH Sykes 2023

phhsykes@gmail.com

Pentland Hills. The Regional Park...

www.pentlandhills.org/

Canmore - Upperside Limekiln, South

canmore.org.uk/site/234624/upperside-limekiln-south

Today WAH are visiting I Found This

I found this today on our dog walk.. Apparently it's a thing here that if you are upset, angry, irate, annoyed, vexed, exasperated, irked, piqued, resentful , incensed, fuming or just just pissed off with someone you write down all your gripes about them on a plate and then go and smash it somewhere. What pisses me off is that they smash it and leave the pieces for someone else to clear up........ I won't be writing anything on a plate.

Evaporate, exasperate

Watch the world with swivel hand

We're hanging on a wire

Cigaretes, nicorettes

Life's addications father stress

But who can make it better

Oh-ho-ho!

Watch me rise

Oh-ho-ho!

Synchronized

Take me high

Space age hero

Pain

Take the strain

Go insane

Like a monkey in a cage

Melting in a fire

Picture taken, BW and texture by me .Bling bling added by Habaneros.

www.flickr.com/photos/habaneros/

emart-emmanuellebaudry.e-monsite.com/

Please support my art on Tipee (gifts) - Soutenez mon art svp sur Tipeee :

www.tipeee.com/em-art-emmanuelle-baudry-auteure-photographe

Une bulle,

Une plume,

Une lune.

Ses cratères,

Quel caractère !

Elle m'exaspère.

E.B.

A bubble,

A mumble,

A moon hole.

Its craters,

What character!

She exasperates me.

E.B.