View allAll Photos Tagged FUTILE
Old wooden sea defences reinforced with resilient Norwegian granite boulder, Sea Palling, Norfolk, England.
At one time they were the town squares where friends and neighbors would meet and even talk to strangers. There was little talk of politics or religion. We avoided those topics, knowing that it was futile in some cases and only led to hard feelings. We sure have lost our way.
Outfit by Blueberry, btw:)
This is the time of year I dread, where the temperatures hover near the 100 mark and heat warnings are a daily occurrence. I can't really venture outside until after sunset so trying to keep my flowers alive and thriving is futile. I find myself dreaming of fall, of cool, crisp mornings with colored leaves where the footsteps of winter can be heard in the distance.
Every year in late October, my husband and I travel to northwest Arkansas for the amazing fall colors. Along the way we pass through little towns that once thrived but now are nothing more than a school and a few churches. I see lots of charming, old homes and barns that make the trip take longer than my husband would like because of my asking to stop for pictures. I try to limit my requests, biting my tongue while secretly I feel I will explode but I tell myself that something better is just around the corner.
Sorry, I have a problem with my new monitor I just bought, Damn, I can't bring out the real colors, everything seems to be anemic, paler than pale. The auto-configuration was futile I guess. Sigh !!! It needs a calibration, my other handicap. Help!!! Mier and Andrew !!! haha.
Close up of a bee orchid flower. If you see carefully, the dark part of the flower is shaped and coloured very much like a bee - in particular a female bee. This fools the male bees and they get onto the flower in a futile attempt to mate. This, however, serves the plant's purpose of pollination.
St Patrick's, Pennyburn, generally known as Pennyburn Chapel, part of the RC Diocese of Derry and about a mile north of Guildhall Square. Not of any particular architectural merit that I know of but the jaunty "copper biretta"-topped tower caught my eye as I drove back into the centre of Derry from a futile expedition to find the perfect spot to photograph the River Foyle meandering through the city.
The foundation stone was laid by the Most Rev'd Bernard O'Kane DD, Bishop of Derry, on 25 February 1932. The architect was Edward J Toye, designer of many civil and ecclesiastical buildings in the city, and the builder was FG O'Hare.
Howard W. Middleton shipwreck, Scarborough, August 10, 1897
On August 10, 1897 this schooner was under full sail despite the near zero visibility. It contained 894 tons of hard and soft coal as it came up the coast from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania to Portland. Although attempts were made to save the ship, they were all futile. The schooner's crew's belongings and most of the cargo were taken to other ships. However, the Howard W. Middleton did wreck. Parts of the hull are visible at Higgins Beach. The amount exposed depends on the amount of beach sand from tides and ocean storms. [www.mainememory.net/record/31656]
the answer? I hope not, because I'm not going chasing after it!
I should be saving these as I'm likely going to be using archived shots for a while, but I can't help myself.
Adirondack Mountains, NY
It was unasked for and unexpected. An overcast day with rain in the forecast but a window of clearing for night photography found me lakeside, waiting to see what would develop. Towards sunset, things began to break apart, the ceiling split by a shock of nuclear bright sunlight, a last effort where the gray couldn’t quite cover it all. On cue, the center slid into a horizonal notch, leaving a great wake of cloud fanning behind its course towards tomorrow. Perhaps in sinking, it was throwing radiance from its decks to stay afloat; but of course it steamed on, the world turned, the sky grew brighter and at first the clouds darker. Until the engine’s light began refracting out there, already longitudes away, a pyrotechnic feast on the errant flotsam as the sky tried to pull itself back together. I stayed for a long while, watching the air above the mountains turn a red so deep that I questioned if it was really there. Ultimately, the sky closed back over and there was no more shooting that night, but I tossed in the waters of the day’s end, which would come for me as another performance occurred on a coast four time zones away. I could wish for every evening to be like this, always a remarkable display. But I never ask, and prediction is a futile endeavor. I simply count my blessings when I’m there in sunset’s wake.
Painting – Acrylic on Canvas 16x20 inches
This is just an annual exercise that I do to paint a Christmas card to a close circle of friends and family members from afar. It Is especially important this year as we have been subjected to a World Record lockdown in an attempt by our state government to eliminate the Covid-19 virus. In the end of the day, it appears to me to be a futile attempt by an egoistic government driven by pride rather than a realistic approach to strike a delicate balance between the welfare of the people and the control of the pandemic. This pandemic also restricted our ability to travel overseas to see dear friends and relatives who lives in a different Country.
The scene is from last year around Christmas in a suburban shopping strip which is deserted irrespective of all the Christmas decorations and well hanged decorative lights.
It was a somewhat eerie scene that I hope will never be repeated again.
It may be a bit premature at this moment, nevertheless, I wish everyone a very happy Holiday season this year and ever after.
Wind was whipping at Wilpen as the Keenan switch was in route to serve the Viking Explosives plant during a snowstorm. The best intentions proved futile, and the attempt was abandoned with the crew retuning back to the yard for another attempt for another day.
On June 9, 2021 BDZPP's new Smartron locomotive 80 035 was the power for train БВ 8601 from София (Sofia) to Бургас (Burgas). It has already passed the mountain section over Sredna Mountains and now rolls through Thracian Valley. East of Септември (Sptemvri) modernized line # 1 allows higher speed. While the vegetables are growing in the futile valley at Ковачево (Kovachevo) Pirin Mountains are still snow capped.
Am 9. Juni 2021 hat die BDZPP 80 035 - ein Smartron aus dem Hause Siemens - mit ihrem БВ 8601 auf dem Weg von София (Sofia) nach Бургас (Burgas) den gebirgigen Abschnitt über das Sredna Gebirge bereits hinter sich gelassen. Ab Септември (Septemvri) ist die nun durch die Thrakische Ebene verlaufende Strecke 1 mittlerweile gut ausgebaut. Bei Ковачево (Kovatchevo) eilt der Zug an fruchtbaren Feldern vorbei während auf den beinahe 3000m hohen Gipfeln des Rila Gebirges noch immer der Schnee liegt. (6728)
Doug Harrop Photography • September 15, 1991
A Union Pacific merchandise train rolls eastward along the Lynndyl Subdivision in Tintic Valley. The ghost towns of Mammoth and Silver City can be seen along the hills above the train.
Vestiges of mining magnate Jesse Knight's venture into agriculture stand trackside as ghosts of a futile attempt at farming in an arid desert region of central Utah.
They are so, and we are so, and they and we go very well together :-)
Georgs Santayana
HBW! HGGT! Hate Will Not Make US Great! Vote Blue!!!
syringa, lilac, 'New Age White', j c raulston arboretum, ncsu, raleigh, north carolina
I'm in a really bad headspace. The cases at work in the schools here are skyrocketing and several of my students and coworkers have tested positive in the last week or two. Kids and staff who always wear their masks and who have never gotten sick before are getting Covid for the first time in 2 years and there are others still who are getting it a second or third time.
Meanwhile, because masks are technically optional now, (which violates a contractual safety agreement) kids are coming to school unvaccinated, unmasked, and often sick because we have both poor health care options and no flexibility for mothers who can't take more time off to quarantine. I spend most of the day feeling anxious, getting coughed on and with constant fluids and germs, which was typical before the pandemic as I work in closer proximity to kids and see kids with physical, cognitive and/or sensory needs aged 3-21 but with the added stress of Coronavirus being a much more dangerous thing to catch. There's a 5 day guideline through the CDC and most people are still symptomatic after 5 days so they are coming back sick infecting others. It's so bad that there aren't even enough healthy substitute teachers to cover for all of the sick teachers who are out.
Meanwhile, we've been told by so called public health experts the last few months that Omicron is mild and we should treat it like an itty bitty flu and Reuters came out with a larger study that suggests that was all a complete lie. www.reuters.com/business/healthcare-pharmaceuticals/omicr...
I am not sure what it is going to take for people to make safe choices for themselves and others but relying on our government either for accurate information at this point or any type of safeguards is completely futile and for people like myself who always double mask indoors and don't even eat indoors, I feel like I'm in a sort of Twilight Zone surrounded by coworkers and students acting recklessly who will spread this to me eventually and that it is only a matter of time.
I should mention I have heard of a lot of mysterious deaths not attributed to Covid but seemingly connected for otherwise healthy people my age or even younger who were infected with Covid and likely died from complications. In my country, if you die from stroke or heart attack, for example, even if the main cause was Covid, it's not counted as a Covid death. (This is another way they can get away with under reporting or acting like this is a non issue now)
And again, at this same time, there are a lot of people who act as if wearing a mask is the worst punishment they can possibly endure and that everything is fine. Our current publicized rates as a city are around 5% but the Covid % in our waste water tells a different story. It is highly likely that most people aren't reporting positive rapid tests they take at home (apparently only one in 70 tests may be reported) and I think there are a lot of people who have just given up on getting tested unless they are really sick.
So what does all this mean? Well, in America, we have always had huge inequities when it comes to health care so now we're going to have more of the same only with a growing percentage of a work force with long Covid symptoms and increased suffering. I guess all of that is ok as long as those billionaires, keep getting richer, though. I would hate for Elon Musk and Jeff Bezos to have to give up a trip to space on behalf of having a shred of humanity and empathy for others.
**All photos are copyrighted.
In the sepulchral dusk of a world long extinguished, I, Quirlin, a humble ant, bear witness to the desolation that has befallen this forsaken earth. A world unrecognizable, a spectral remnant of its former grandeur, this planet has endured the scourge of 135,235 years since the cataclysmic advent of the first Solar Cyclone. This cataclysm, these calamitous epochs we designate as the Eras of Blazing Wrath, have all but obliterated the race once known as humanity. These five dread ages – The Flaming Inferno, The Burning Wrathfire, The Glowing Destruction, The Heated Chaos, and The Scorched Ash – have eradicated every vestige of electrical circuitry upon this forsaken sphere. The once vital electric grid, the erstwhile lifeblood of civilization, now lingers only in the ephemeral realm of myth.
In the aftermath of these colossal power failures, the cooling systems of all nuclear power plants faltered, precipitating over four hundred catastrophic core meltdowns and an insidious contamination of nuclear radiation. It was amidst this irradiated desolation that we ants began to burgeon, evolving into beings of prodigious stature.
In this transformed and accursed realm, we insects, and particularly we ants, have ascended into beings of titanic proportions. Across countless generations, we have garnered the arcane knowledge preserved within the tomes you termed books, transmitting these esoteric treasures through the annals of time. Our mode of communication has transcended rudimentary methods; we now utilize intricate electrochemical signals, conveyed through the slightest of touches, a language of elegance and precision refined over hundreds of millions of years.
Upon a fateful and foreboding day, as I foraged amidst this wasteland for sustenance, I encountered a solitary human survivor – a trembling monk. The monk, gripped by palpable terror, uttered incoherent supplications to deities long forgotten.
Cautiously, yet impelled by an insatiable hunger, I approached. Despite the altered state of our existence, the primal need for nourishment remained undiminished. As I made contact, his feeble electrochemical signals coursed through me, starkly discordant from those of my kin – chaotic, disordered. I discerned his emotions: raw terror within the monk.
In a futile bid for mercy, the monk raised his hands in desperate supplication, but he was no match for my formidable strength. With a deft maneuver of my mandibles, I dismantled his feeble defenses and commenced my grim repast. His scream, a haunting echo through the desolate expanse, was swiftly stifled. His essence coursed through me, revitalizing my form.
Thus sated, I moved onward. This world, harsh and merciless, now falls under the dominion of us ants. We are the new sovereigns of the earth, and our electrochemical signals shall perpetuate the chronicles of this post-apocalyptic realm. Thus, I traverse the scorched remnants of this ancient world, ever poised to inscribe the next chapter of my saga.
Translations in French, Spanish and German in the first comments.
You tell me it's a search
A futile search we make.
A walk through the entrance
The magician flute sings and I pass the tunnel /
Dens
Waving hypnotism of a perfume
Rising and falling
In between sounds
I find myself in a ceremony
Trusting halves and havenots
A star
Guest amongst guests
The heat of the globe
Glowing through my flesh makes an offering
Blood to blood
Feuds and fumes
Arms pulled
Right
Love and longing
Fate and soul
Left
Alleys of self
Trials and tribulations
Arms pulled
Above and across the fires of the abyss
Arms pulled
Unwilling and weary, an Icarus
Let go and
I fall
and
I fall
I roam
Amongst tree trunks and ashes
I bow to leave the light on extended palms
I walk
I walk backwards, a woman on my own feet
Longing and desire
A power rising above wills
Ripping through
And through all
A woman
Not walking on her own feet
I washed the long wall of windows along the deck yesterday, a job I joyfully attend to at least every two years or so (a possible exaggeration as to frequency), and was rewarded not only by blinding sunshine penetrating the recesses of my abode, sending previously unseen spiders scurrying to deeper and darker corners, but with repeated "clunks" of confused birds futilely attempting to penetrate this new passage. With each, I, of course, had to inspect the deck to insure no one was injured, discovering only this white breasted nuthatch flapping on his back in distress. Using my tried and true technique of cupping the shocked bird within my warm hands, he quickly calmed down and remained quite a while, content to enjoy the comfort on a chilly day while I snapped away (as shown in the comment photos), ultimately needing to encourage him to test his wings...happily successfully.
[And, yes, I did photoshop all those hand wrinkles IN for effect...]
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Evil laughter echoes through the trees of the forest as an unfortunate traveler wanders down a narrow path, trying to cross it.
His car had broken down, and his phone had no signal, leaving him no choice but to make his way on foot to the next town.
As he quickens his pace, the laughter grows louder and more sinister.
He tries to look away, but through the branches of a bush he sees them.
Glowing white eyes dazzle him.
Sharp, long teeth peek out from a wide smile drawn across the hyena’s face.
Fear grips the traveler, and he breaks into a desperate run.
A futile attempt that only makes the laughter intensify.
The hyenas could get him anytime they wanted, but that wasn’t fun enough.
Like children toying with their prey, they delight in watching him struggle to escape.
They feed on the fear their victims develop while being chased.
The traveler’s heart pounds like a drum in his chest.
Branches whip against his face and arms as he runs blindly through the dense underbrush.
The sinister laughter follows him, bouncing off the trees like a dark melody.
Suddenly, a low growl rumbles behind him. He dares a glance over his shoulder. Two glowing eyes lock onto his, closer than before. The hyenas are closing in, their jaws snapping with hunger.
He tries with all his remaining stamina to run faster, but exhaustion begins to weigh him down.
His foot catches on a root. He stumbles, crashing to the forest floor.
The laughter erupts into a chorus of cruel delight.
As the pack surrounds him, the traveler closes his eyes and covers himself—an instinctive reflex seeking protection.
He feels the hyenas slowly getting closer and closer.
At that moment, he realizes all he has done was in vain; there is only one thing he can do.
He prays for a miracle.
Nothing else can save him after all.
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Continuing the series of "ugly" pictures with the same comment:
Without any intention to offend anyone for the state of some houses, this series of ugly images is my desperate, probably futile attempt to save the architectural heritage that is already in such a state that her salvation is gone.
There’s a little problem in the Canadian National yard in Brockville, Ontario. It appears that two locomotives have tried to occupy the same switch simultaneously, a feat which has almost never successfully been accomplished. The local maintenance crew is on the scene, and has already made a futile attempt to move the geep with the aid of a bucket loader. Now, they are waiting for heavy equipment reinforcements to arrive.
Lava streams flowing from the eruption at Fagradalsfjall in SW-Iceland down into the valley of Nátthagi. The eruption is now in its fourth month of activity, with no signs of slowing down. The black streams seen here are mostly 1-2 day old, as the lava started to flow in earnest down into the lowlands. There were plans to try to stop the lava before it reaches a nearby road, which could be a matter of a couple of weeks, but experts have abandoned that plan, as the eruption could drag on for a long time, and such efforts would then be costly and futile.
Doug Harrop Photography • June 1986
This is easily two of the most compelling photos from the camera of Doug Harrop. They capture from the cab of a Southern Pacific GP9E the increasing peril of railroading on the Great Salt Lake causeway west of Ogden in northern Utah in 1986.
Doug's work train was making a futile attempt to raise the level of the right of way with ballast and rip rap during a time period when the lake was rising to record levels. In a few days, 11 miles of track would be destroyed in a series of storms, closing the SP mainline west of Ogden for 77 days.
Additional photos from this series will be posted on Flickr.
I decided to brave the morning cold and attempt to create frozen bubbles. All of my first attempts proved futile as I sat outside this quiet and frigid Sunday morning. As I was about to give up, I looked down and saw that some of the bubbles had frozen but were on the driveway and much smaller than those I'd hoped to create. It was then that I decided I better put on an extension tube and make the best of the situation. It is unfortunate that my new camera does not have an articulating screen because doing shots on the ground is now quite cumbersome. By the time I saw these my hands were numb from the cold and I was shivering. Although this is not the sharpest image, I loved the light hitting the bubble so it is the winner. Next time, I will get an assistant because it was a tricky process.
It may seem irrational, but at that moment, it was as if scales fell off my own eyes, and looking back on all my worries and questions, I could see clearly how empty and futile they had been. Yes, it was obvious that I was called to the monastic life: and all my doubts about it had been mostly shadows. Where had they gained such a deceptive appearance of substance and reality? Accident and circumstances had all contributed to
exaggerate and distort things in my mind. But now everything was straight again. And already I was full of peace and assurance—the consciousness that everything was right, and that a straight road had opened out, clear and smooth, ahead of me. (SSM, 365)
-Thomas Merton, The Seven Storey Mountain (New York: Harcourt, Brace and Company, 1948)
What a cutie! This picture was taken by the rescuer-in-chief at her home. Needless to say resistance was futile.