View allAll Photos Tagged Existence
in the inner violet
"The zero is the greatest metaphor. Infinite most analogy. The existence, the greatest symbol."
FERNANDO PESSOA
Fantasy Faire 2023
Sim : Dingir
Sponsor : What's lost spirits
Design : Whatss Zond
"In another existence, just outside our own, is the forgotten city of Dingir. Its streamlined Art Deco architecture was once filled with bright colors and rich materials, meant to reflect the beginning of a new age of consciousness. Now muted and neglected, it lies somewhere between our dreams and reality.
Dingir served as a crossroads between the human-bound Dreamers and the entities that would become humans. These creatures were known as “Those Who See and Observe”.
They entered Dreamers’ subconscious and helped guide them along on their path. However, there were some Dreamers that became too strong and aware, which gave them the ability to reach through the barrier between worlds, causing chaos and irreparable damage to Dingir, and places like it."
So remote that I can't remember exactly where this is! I think that it is probably in Lunedale on the B6276 between Brough and Middleton-in-Teesdale, but I could easily be wrong!
It was certainly wild countryside even on a relatively nice day of sunshine and showers. It must be so bleak in the depths of winter.
Excerpt from heritagemississauga.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/04/Meadow...:
15. Apple Tree Inn
(c. 1858) 7053 Pond St.
Luther Cheyne, who served as the village’s first postmaster in 1854, built this residence in 1858. Throughout most of its existence, the structure has served as a private home. In 1920, Miss Yates and Miss Beardmore acquired the house and opened a tea room, which remained in business until 1944. The proprietors had the distinction of offering the only place in the village where a visitor could find a room and refreshment after the prohibition movement had forced the closure of the other public houses in Meadowvale. During the summers of 1920 and 1921, the tea room catered to the students of the Ontario College of Art who travelled to the area to sketch and paint the local scenery. The Apple Tree Inn is now a private family dwelling.
(Latin for 'I Will Not serve')
A collection of stories called 'A Perfect Vacuum.'
www.youtube.com/watch?v=AjI2J2SQ528
"It has to do with a programmer who creates a whole collection of artificial virtual personalities in a virtual world, but he doesn't let them know that they're virtual. So they argue among themselves as to whether there exists a creator, and if so whether they owe him any gratitude for their existence.
Pix'd @ Hangars Liquide - maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Hangars%20Liquides/89/48/2208
Windlight: Rot
Avatar: Genesis Lab Bento / Maitreya
Thαηks for your vιsιts αηd coммεηts.
Pℓεαsε doη't usε thιs ιмαgε on wεbsιtεs, bℓogs or othεr мεdια wιthout мy εxpℓιcιt pεrмιssιon.
Aℓℓ rιghts rεsεrvεd © GoldenCrotalo.
Read this interesting blog about this sim: solexistence.com/
╭─ ✧○ HALLOW MANOR ○
├─ ▷The Looking Glass - Ruined Grand Gate
╰─ At🔺Hallow Manor
HALLOW MANOR Dates: OCT October 23rd - November 2nd!
╭─ ✧○AXIA○
├─ ▷ Miss Luly Fatpack
╰─ At🔺 Access
╰─ And then At🔺 Mainstore
maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/RockMead/207/23/23
The secret of success is to be in harmony with existence, to be always calm to let each wave of life wash us a little farther up the shore. Cyril Connolly
From the looks of this eastbound crossing San Timoteo Canyon Road in Redlands, CA you'd never know Southern Pacific had been merged out of existence nearly two years prior. SP 8656 leads five other Southern Pacific standard cab EMD's east on Union Pacific's Yuma Subdivision. This unit survives today as part of the WAMX locomotive fleet. The lead units may have been the Loma Linda Helper set assigned to assist this train up Beaumont Hill.
SP 8656 SD40M-2 (ex-BN 6473 SD45)
Hi another from Bolehill quarry in the Peak District . The rising sun just catching the tree tops :):)
“Among my stillness was a pounding heart.”
― Shannon A. Thompson, Seconds Before Sunrise
Soundtrack : www.youtube.com/watch?v=YykjpeuMNEk
HYMN FOR THE WEEKEND - COLDPLAY
I sit in silent imagination
knitting my life and slipping it on
like a well-worn and much loved cardigan
I tease the threads of my existence
knit one, purl one, drop a stitch
pick it up and begin again
I find comfort in repetition
numbers are my friends
and the Fibonnacci sequence; my night time ritual after prayers
my elbows are patched with the soft Italian leather
beloved of you my old Professor
your corduroy jacket scuffed and crushed
the ridges uneven now and fading patches
thread bare as old and ancient carpets
scattered along the Great Hall
where often someone will have a mishap
catching their shuffling sheepskin clad slippers
sticking their toes into the holes of time
coins fall from a hole in your pocket
too late they find a crack in patchwork parquet floors
still scrubbed and shining despite their age
and never do I hear the coins hit the bottom
what lies beneath this floor;
there is no cellar that is known to me
I catch sight of your elbows once more
a lifetime spent leaning on a wooden desk
the ink spots barely visible in this dull and dusky room
chalk dust and dust bunnies hover as you plump a cushion
spring up and fill the air and reach your lungs
you cough a sudden, sharp and hacking sound
like the cracking of a riding crop that I detest so much
there it is where it was always kept
above the great stone fireplace
an ugly feature of this old and distant childhood home
a shotgun carelessly leant against it's rough hewn stones
I wonder if it's loaded, but of course I know it is
where are you now my old Professor
now the shadows pass you by
in your head you are still young
but looking in the mirror you catch a glimpse
your father or your grandfather looking back at you
accusingly with sharp glinting eyes that pierce your skin
and feel so real, you lift a hand
as though to defend yourself from further harm
but it was never you who got hurt … was it
it was us; we who gave our love to you in vain
and the torment you felt inside your head
I now know the cause, though I didn't then
I was just a child;
I barely paid attention to what adults talked about
I had my own selfish inner dialogue;
and only spoke aloud if ever required
I saw little point in talking
no-one noticed me or listened to my words
and so I stored them up in the vault inside my head
I saved them for another time
when words would bring me solace
just as numbers did
I counted everything; the petals on a flower
the leaves on a tree; the clouds in the sky; the minutes in an hour
anything and everything was an equation I wanted to solve
and so I did and was told off in class
I never showed my workings out you see
teachers expected to see how you arrived at a conclusion
but I got it right, didn't I, I asked impertinently
that's not the point they would reply to me
later on when I applied for my first accountancy job
was the first time I didn't have to show my workings out
I sat a test without a calculator;
I found it easy and finished in such good time
I could check it over several times
I got the job and so my love of numbers
brought me more than personal comfort
it brought me everything I never had in childhood
but still I did not feel secure within myself
and now I think maybe I am just made this way
maybe it's time to accept myself for who I am
and so my old professor; I know where you are now
and you can never find me or hurt me again
because now you are very old and pushing up daisies
and I sit on the grass and pick those precious flowers
make daisy chains and count their petals
content and free on a Summer's day
alone with my numbers; my thoughts and hours
and in the stillness, I found the rhythm of my life
I felt my heart start to beat again and a gentle sigh escape.
- AP - Copyright © remains with and is the intellectual property of the author
Copyright © protected image please do not reproduce without permission
existence. Authentication, not enlargement or interpretation is what we want :-)
Wright Morris
HFF! Science Matters!
hydrangea, 'Ruby Slippers' j c raulston arboretum, ncsu, raleigh, north carolina
Just trying to hang on in Lick Wash.
Lick Wash; Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument, Utah; October 2016
1939, a nameless man in a nameless city somewhere in Europe carries out his quiet, ordinary life. Once World War II is about to break, his hometown is no longer a safe place. Strange woodland landscapes slowly show up in his mind, till a point where dreams and reality merge into a reborn existence…
Visit the project : www.vincenzopisani.com/wald-photographer-rome