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Faccio un passo avanti nel mio viaggio per celebrare la giornata a favore del clima.
Siamo su quello che fino a qualche decennio fa in questa zona era il quarto lago del pianeta per superficie: il lago d'Aral, un lago salato di origine oceanica posto al confine tra l'Uzbekistan e il Kazakistan. Dal 1960 a oggi la sua superfcie si è ridotta del 90%, e dei 68.000 km quadrati originali oggi ne restano poco più del 10%. Il restante 90% è deserto e sabbia, tutto il resto dell'acqua si è prosciugato.
Questo perchè l'uomo, per produrre riso e cotone, ha deviato gli immissari provocando uno dei più gravi disastri ambientali della storia umana. E tutto questo per ingordigia condita da una dose massiccia di miopia e stupidità. Questa lezione, a quanto sembra, non è servita a nulla, vedasi infatti ciò che sta succedendo in Amazzonia e in tante altre parti del mondo.
3 foto
The future of my Cuba Libras are hanging on these blossoms. These blossoms are on a Key Lime tree in my yard. It was the first thing I planted when I bought the house sixteen years ago and it has never disappointed.
"With the use of electronic filters and other methods, we will simulate the sound of speech
We can design future worlds
We can design future worlds
We can design future worlds
We can design future worlds
We can design future worlds
We can design future worlds
We can design future worlds
We can design future worlds
By this time you should have adjusted the volume of your phonograph or record player to a comfortable listening level
For those with normal hearing
And set the tone controls as instructed on the jacket
As far as practical, all of the people listening should be seated approximately six to eight feet from the speaker
Remember, once the volume control is set, do not readjust
Do not readjust"...
Meat Beat Manifesto / Future Worlds...
i am endeared to the short phrase 'future weather'.
it's such a wide open phrase.
future weather could be storms, floods, hurricanes
future weather could be sunshine, cool breezes, cerulean skies.
we never know until we get there.
and when we get there, no matter what the forecast,
there will always be future weather to consider.
but once in a while, rainstorms and blue skies occur simultaneously and one finds hope in the sadness,
and sadness in the hope
co-mingling beautifully around each other,
almost protectively
holding on and holding out for even better weather together.
Again updated and improved. Same A5 photopolymer plate, printed on Hahnemühle paper, this time with Cranfield inks.
A still from my machinima, 'Future City'. Blog post: tizzycanucci.com/2017/08/17/mixed-realism/.
Filmed at Cica Ghost's 'Future' and combined with 'The City' from the FDR Presidential Archive on Internet Archive, plus more.
My blog: tizzycanucci.com/
My SL videos: vimeo.com/tizzycanucci
A third handmade print from my video art, Future City, which combined archive film with Second Life material - a sim by Cica Ghost. I really want to do some more printmaking using this video when I can get to a print studio again.
More of my printmaking is on my website.
Me ha parecido super interesante este reto, Myri, de los que te hace estrujarte las neuronas al máximo... y como este finde nos ha tocado estar en casa he intentado varias cosas... aquí la única que se salva de todas!!
Gracias por este pedazo reto!!!!
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A old shot from a few years ago from Buttermere reprocessed last week dreaming of going back there once lockdown is lifted
CP 113 slips over the Cherrywood bridge with some beautifully clean examples of a horrible company name and paint scheme leading the charge. Welcome to the future.
Stop acting as if life is a rehearsal. Live this day as if it were your last. The past is over and gone. The future is not guaranteed. Wayne Dyer
*happy echoing bokeh wednesday*
Education is the passport to the future,
for tomorrow belongs to those who prepare for it today.
Malcolm X.
2 Thessalonians 2:5-12: Remember ye not, that, while I was yet with you, these very things, I was telling you? And, what now restraineth, ye know, to the end he may be revealed in his own fitting time; For, the secret, of lawlessness, already, is inwardly working itself, - only, until, he that restraineth at present, shall be gone, out of the midst: And, then, shall be revealed the lawless one, - whom, the Lord Jesus, will slay with the Spirit of his mouth, and paralyse with the forthshining of his Presence: - Whose, presence, shall be according to an inworking of Satan, with all manner of mighty work and sign and wonders of falsehood, And with all manner of deceit of unrighteousness, in them who are destroying themselves, because, the love of the truth, they did not welcome, that they might be saved; - And, for this cause, God sendeth them an inworking of error, to the end they should believe in the falsehood, - In order that should be judged who would not believe in the truth, but were well-pleased with the unrighteousness.
Seems appropriate reading for 2017 (a few of these I've read in college, some never).
What books in this genre am I missing (besides George Orwell’s 1984, which was out of stock)?
I blogged about it briefly:
www.b12partners.net/wp/2017/01/28/uneasy-about-the-future...
Shanghai skyline at night with a touch of Blade Runner mood to it and hence the title. I remember watching movies back in the eighties where various visions of the future were presented and the cities often looked dark, glowing and with strange futuristic architecture. In some ways that future is now. Looking at Shanghai city at might, I could not help but feel taken forward in time.
Le plus intéressant... | Ma carte | Mes classeurs | Mes albums
Ligne St-Pol-sur-Ternoise - Etaples.
Anvin | Pas-de-Calais (62) | Hauts-de-France | France
Hello friends, I leave you with my latest work on Flickr....its name "Future mom" in which my girlfriend Zaleyna Reyez participates, and who will make me a happy father....
follow me!!
So I’m sitting alone at the kitchen table past any sane person’s bedtime, staring at my son’s canvas wallet. It is much too thick and stuffed for a kid who is unemployed and dependent. I lift it, hold it, weigh it in my hand. I’m surprised to find that it is filled with coinage. Bulky, and heavy with coins. It is also a bit soiled with light dirt, from serving as an inadvertent hand rag for the hands of a teenage boy.
Will was right, this bit of pocket organization will probably go on forever. Never wear out.
A couple weeks ago, Allison presented me with a new wallet. I’m not sure why, except that I actually needed one. But that doesn’t really seem like an adequate reason. I’ve used the same wallet for all the years we’ve been married, which in 16 days will be 22 years. That wallet has held up quite well over the years, but of course 22 are a great many. The edges are worn, torn, and the seams are opening,. When I reach in to pull out a bill, if there are any, I also always pull out a thread as well, and of course this furthers the deterioration process. The once textured leather, alligator-like, is worn smooth and flat and polished to an unnatural sheen.
Upon receiving the new one, I sat at this very table and emptied its contents into sorted little piles and rid myself of the bulk of bits of paper and notes that had long since lost meaning, of receipts for possible returns that showed no signs of ever having contained any written information. Several years of expired car and motorcycle registrations found their way to the trash. I carefully folded and stowed bits that would of course, always be needed – like the yellow legal pad corner that contained, in the blue ink, all-caps, block printing style of my father, the fuel/oil mixture ratio of gasoline and 30-weight detergent motor oil on which the boys’ Maytag engine runs.
When finished, the new wallet made its way to my pocket and the old, no doubt feeling suddenly cold and deserted, lay where it was emptied.
The next day, Will asked me what I would do with the old wallet. “I have no idea,” I told him, “I suppose it will lie around until mom gets frustrated and throws it away.” Will asked if he could have it. I told him of course he could, but asked why he’d want a falling-apart, worn-out billfold. He answered that he thought he’d like a wallet that could be worn out. He didn’t think his wallet could be worn out, and that there was something friendly about a wallet that would grow old and worn.
My heart smiled and wondered at the depth of his contemplations. I wondered if he was feeling vibrations of my years in the emptied, frayed folds. Perhaps he was picturing me in younger, more textured, less worn and thinned days. Maybe he was reaching into a past that he could only trust existed but of which there is no evidence, save bits of weathered and worn leather, textile, and saggy skin. It is possible that he could be merely fantasizing that he, too, as apparently his dad had, could grow older, and richer, and have a deeper past on which to ponder, for at the moment there was no evidence that he was any different than his canvas wallet. In fact, they seem quite the same – rough, indestructible, sturdy construction, and slightly soiled.
There is a moment, maybe a long one, between the invulnerable, immortal, forever-young freedom of adolescence and the growing responsibilities and reality of growing up, during which a boy’s thoughts begin to morph. He begins to contemplate if maybe this slow becoming never actually comes. Suddenly his short past life and shallow experience whisper to his untrusting heart that he’s had all there is. His short past grows longer in his mind and he feels as if he’s lived forever with nothing to show for it. He begins to look for himself before he existed. He searches through the past of his father for glimpses of his becoming, and perhaps sees his reflection, but as of now, he feels no gathered wisdom, no garnered confidence, no assurity of future success based on past work. He glances at himself in the now and sees smooth skin, peach fuzz, lean muscle, tender feet, and green behind his ears. These observations provide little confidence for the young man who has only begun to imagine the road that lies ahead, has measure himself against, and found that his whole being is out of balance.
It may seem like a strange request, the owning of a discarded, worn out leather wallet to replace a newer, indestructible, hip, canvas one. But there is great solace in knowing that hard work makes a mark and assures us that we’ve done well. Reminds us that we work toward an end, and that the infinite vanity we feel in our seemingly pointless pursuits and preparations actually moves us slowly forward toward a goal that brings with it the trophies of physical erosion and the marks of the passage of time as evidence of work well done.
Indeed, many of us carry the previously discarded, the finished-with, the no longer needed. I carry, and use a pair of 60 year-old pliers, and wire clippers in my guitar case as I live out my routine and search through my pre-existence for images of me as assurance of purpose, and meaning, and perhaps even immortality in the post-Rod era.
Until now, I’ve had only the past for promise. I’ve had only the bits that I carry. But I guess I’ve reached a stage where I begin replacing the used-up and the used-up is used for future promise.
It is profound what promise is held in the empty folds of worn out leather, what image is reflected in the polished shine of the tired surface of an old wallet. Promise and reflection, these are elements of wealth, and one should always carry them.