Musée National de la Préhistoire - Les Eyzies de Tayac

 

L'homme de Néandertal, son enfant et un spécimen d'homo sapiens.

Taken at one of the big houses on St Charles- they also do the Skeleton House during Halloween!

multiplying

Capitol Reef National Park, Utah

BEST TO View On White @ LARGE SIZE

I'm not entirely sure how many I need for the social tote but any extras can be put to good use I'm sure. These little blocks are so addictive and so not as fiddly as I thought they would be.

Now heres the biggest combo I'll get up in awhile!

 

feel free to tag away!

Two small tortoiseshell (Aglais urticae) Nässelfjäril

 

200mm (72mm) on a SONY RX100 VII

Exper - www.hobosedizioni.it

 

Design: Apophysis - Rendering: Flam3

_MG_8569_Montage multiply_1_au²

without edit

THANK YOU for all your lovely comments, invitations & awards.

Trying to be quirky with maths again

 

Stagecoach South - 10943 (SN18 KNG) - Route 700 - Alexander Dennis Enviro 400 MMC

Brighton & Hove - 839 (SK67 FKU) - Route 7 - Wright Streetdeck (Daimler)

bfb2009.multiply.com/

470 ways to know you are addicted to Minecraft.

You continually refresh Notch's blog for the latest post about the next compatability-breaking update.

You wear a diaper to increase time between bathroom breaks.

You begin to panic when you black screen for more than 10 seconds.

You go to bed in minecraft when you're tired in real life.

You haven't eaten or slept in 24 hours.

You just sit down to mine a few blocks and look up to realize its already been 4 hours.

If you've completed the 404 challenge more than once.

You refresh the mod page hoping for a new mod update to reflect Notch's latest update.

You google "Minecraft addiction".

The only time you see your friends is in-game.

You worry about server griefing while you're offline.

You get excited when Notch releases a demo video about the next update.

You begin dreaming about blocks.

You see a dark area in the kitchen and have the urge to put a torch there.

You smack snow with a shovel and half-expect snowballs to pop out.

You make a website about Minecraft addictions.

You see fog and think about hitting "F"

You look at every building in real life and start seeing it as blocks and measuring it.

You get coal as a gift and think its a good thing.

You are referred by people in real life by your Minecraft nickname.

When you're in public and you hear "ssssss" and you yell "CREEPER!!!"

When you watch too many "Let's Play's" and you begin commentating every move you make.

You are afraid of the dark because you think mobs will spawn.

Your body parts start getting blocky.

You forget to feed your real dog, because you were too busy feeding your pack of virtual dogs...

You hate it when people ask you to eat while playing Minecraft

When it's dark, you try to place a torch.

You re-create your town in Minecraft and live your life in there.

You break all the bones in your hand due to attempting to open doors by punching them.

You see some pesky trees in your yard and think, "I really wish I at least had my wooden axe right now."

You see a stray dog and think, "Dangitt why didn't I bring my bones with me!"

You use Minecraft as a model maker for your dream home/city. (We all have dreams you know)

You hear someone go Uggghh, and you tell your friend, "I think that guy over there is a zombie. Do you have your sword on you?"

You see a beautiful landmark and think, "I bet I could make a cool version of that in Minecraft." And later that night you put a scale replica in you town and say,"Yep, that is as cool as the real Washington Monument."

You see one of those commercial where you sell your used gold for cash, and think, "No way! I'm saving my gold for power rails!"

You're hungry and you think, "Man, I wish I could find a pig right now."

You tested 99% positive for minecraft addiction.

You have submitted over 11 Minecraft addiction jokes to this website. (To whom I thank very much. --Drise)

You try to punch your way through a tree.

You start wondering who people on a server really are.

You begin to view the world as Minecraft.

You punch a tree 5 times hoping it yields some wood.

You try to start a new world IRL because you fell.

You walk into a jewelry store in think "Dang, whish I had a workbench, and a pickaxe".

You hear creeper or zombie noises when you wake up in the middle of the night.

You wonder why a thing doesn't break as easy as in minecraft and why real life is harder.

You start drawing creeper faces everywhere.

You know more about minecraft, than you do in your classes

You suffer from the tetris effect.

You watch Ultimate Survival and Think "I could do alot better"

You start planning what you are going to build the next day, IN YOUR DREAMS.

While fishing you're hoping a fish pops out of the water.

You make cake, but leave the bottle of milk in the mix.

At night you go to bed, lie there five seconds and get up thinking it's day.

You have arachnophobia and begin to see skeletons riding spiders.

You punch pigs when you're hungry.

You punch pigs when you get hurt.

You think Notch is your god and Mojang your church.

You have more then ten Minecraft-related YouTube subscriptions...

You always think with blocks.

You mod your night lights into torches and place them in your house.

When you don't know what to build, you look up famous monuments

You make your own house in Minecraft

You cut part of the bottom of a tree trunk thinking the rest will stay up.

You look at a birch tree in real life and see it as blocks.

When the cat hisses, you run away and come back in 2 minutes looking for the crater.

You give your dog 5 bones just so you can take him for a walk and slap him on the head once to make him sit.

You get arrested for punching sheep.

Your biological clock adapts to Minecraft's 10 minute days and nights.

You see a circle and think "wait, that's not right."

You stay home all day isolated in your room

You start driving minecarts instead of cars

You notice perfectly square brick columns IRL and think, "man, where'd that guy find all that clay?"

Your desktop, mouse cursor, screensaver, and homepage all relate to Minecraft

You start swinging your arms like the minecraft character when you walk.

You are in history class and you imagine the building as if they were built in minecraft

When you bookmark this page.

You walk by sugarcanes and attempt to make a bookcase

You see the sun as a square.

When the server you play on is down you immediately curl up in a corner and cry while playing single player on your laptop with a creeper skin to prevent theft.

When you don't have bread, you align 3 wheats together.

You start eating raw pork.

You try to make friends with wild wolves.

When you stay up late at night starring at your computer trying to find redstone somewhere

You check your backyard mob grinder every ten minutes hopping to find bones and gunpowder.

You jump off a 50 ft tower and hope you land in that 3 ft deep water

You think apples made of pure gold taste delicious

You recreate your real life house in MC, and make better things inside.

You break your head attempting to place a big stone block above you...

You try to organise things in multiples of 4.

You mutter /time day in your sleep.

You attempt to put fires out with your bare hands, then eat cookies until you stop burn ing.

When you say "In Notch's name" instead of "In God's name"

You don't go near obsidian for months because your afraid if you light it on fire it will send you to the nether

When you see a person wearing diamond jewelry IRL, you think, "How the nether did that guy find that much diamonds??!!!" And proceed to ask that person what kind of mining technique they use.

You throw an egg hoping for a chicken to pop out.

You are afraid that your cup of water may flood the kitchen.

You feel strange whenever you see something taller than 64 meters.

You think of the world from a blocky perspective

If you are tired but you can not sleep because it's a day

You fear to go to the woods because you think there are a lot of wolves.

When you will die, you look forward to finally meeting this "re spawn" Button!

You think you can carry 10 billion pounds of stuff in your pockets.

You see a creeper and you piss yourself

You punch the grass on your lawn, and when someone asks you what you're doing, you tell them you're going mining.

The ONLY vehicles you know of, are minecarts and boats. Wooden boats.

You walk on stuff lying around your room, hoping you automatically pick them up.

You listen to minecraft-parodied songs rather than the original.

You Play Minecraft(FULLSTOP)

When diving, you think that you can evade drowning by eating pork really fast.

You dig Diamonds

When you want to make a book stack 3 papers and wait...

You make weapon,and hurt tree!

You start digging a hole and look for caves in real life.

When you see something white in the dark, you think it's a Skeleton.

It gets dark out and you think: "must find coal...)

Your friends make hissing sounds just to makeyou jump.

In math class, your using the calculator to find out just how many cobble you'll need for your next castle.

You always get scared around wooden structures because you think they'll be greifed.

You start finding crafting recipes for common things: Tv:two glass by eight cobble and redstone Pencil: coal and stick Fish tank: two water plus four glass

You try to change pictures on the wall by punching them

You always check your basement for slimes

You walk down the street, saying "THIS TEXTURE PACK IS AMAZING"

You try to hit right click when your real life dog is bothering you.

You picture redstone running through your walls when you turn a light on.

You do research to find out how real life mining compares to Minecraft mining.

You think when you sprinkle ground up bones on to a tree sapling and expect it to suddenly grow into a tree.

You validate 'creeper' as a real animal.

The only animals you've ever known of are cows, sheep, chickens and pigs

You are suprised you get hurt when you make a belly dive from the highest diving platform.

You wonder why the real world is so small and doesn't have snow next to the desert.

You see someone with a checkered shirt and think: Dont tell me you haven't added a HD texturepack.

You think outside the blocks.

Your friend finds you in the garden, in a 5 metre deep hole trying to find iron.

You connect your electrical devices using reddish-black dust.

You place 3 diamonds and two sticks on a workbench and think, "Dang it, why isn't this turning into a diamond pickaxe?!"

You think smashing a saddle on a pig and riding it will make you epic. But the farmer just screams at you.

You go to sleep with your lights on, and wait for everything to get progressively dark before you close your eyes.

You start to make cartoon characters in minecraft.

You think you're dead when you fall 6 feet.

Your "downloads" folder is Full Off Minecraft stuff

You try to attach a stone to your wall and wonder why it falls down.

I Play Minecraft until i can't focus on the screen.

You run away and jump for cover everytime you hear a "Ssssssss" sound, expecting a explosion.

You stuff porkchops and coal into the furnace and hope that 10 secs later a cooked porkchop pops out.

You try to ride a pig on a regular basis

you throw a wooden plank in front of a door and step on it to open it

You can only count up to 64 and then start over at one

Putting a lump of coal on top of a stick you found outside and thinking "Where is my torch?"

You think of redstone instead of wires and minecarts instead of cars.

How many creepers does it take to screw in a lightbulb? None cause they dont have any arms.

You sit your dog down and expect it to stay there until you stand it up, no matter how far away you go.

You sprint away from your dog as fast as you can just so you can see it teleport to you.

You plant a seed in the ground, thinking it will be fully grown in an hour.

you try to make bread by mashing up wheat on a work bench

you try to do the /fly command and then brake your face trying to fly

You start to see creepers appearing as flowers in your garden...

You look up at the sky to see which way the clouds are moving in order to determine which way is north.

When you hear a dog bark, you quickly climb over the nearest hill/mountain hoping to find a wolf pack.

Your in geometry and you have to find the area of a square, but you already know it because tis the same parameter as the temple your building.

When you pick up steel tools, you think its iron and and if you have one, whack your diamond ring with it.

You're setting up a minecart track and say, "Mom, can i have some redstone?... or maybe just some stone?"

you ride the mono-rail and think "I wonder where the boosters are?"

You go door to door asking for your neighbors to let you inspect their house to make your scale replica of your town in Minecraft.

You constantly wonder, "How does life not lag with this super high res texture pack?"

You say "/give tnt 999" when you're really board and somehow are not playing Minecraft.

You throw dirt in the air trying to make it float.

You spend your school day making textures.

You read all of these jokes hoping for help.

When someone drops wood, you run away because you don't have a sword or arrows.

You chill

You walk into a library and think "It must've taken a long time to get all those reeds."

You see a water fountain and think "Wish I had some buckets on me."

You're heading out to the store, and check and see if you've got everything you need - Wallet, car keys, list of stuff to get, redstone compass...

You try to find a torch when your room gets dark.

Your Face is a Creeper

You punch trees IRL and wonder why your fist bleeds

You try to establish your house on a floating island.

You change your clock time forward IRL to engage hyperspeed.

You hear about the earth running out of resources and think 'just spawn some, damnit!'.

You sit in class and sketch stuff to build later.

You decide to learn Java just so you could make Minecraft mods.

You see solar panels at the store and explain to your dad how they work in Industrial craft format.

When your parents say 'Come on, we have to go now!' and you said 'Wait a minute, I just need to finish this..'

It is physically impossible for you to eat beef, chicken or lamb.

When you see a dark corner you think "I should put a torch there."

You dig holes in your backyard looking for coal and iron.

you ask your P.E teacher if you can go on a creeper pking field trip

you try programing a mod for real life

you broke your hand cause you needed wood.

You get a job as a miner and bring a sword with you.

When you can tell the time of day by looking at the sun

You feel like you need an obsidian panic room

Your scared that monsters will spawn out of your shadow.

you can eat gold !

You lay your building materials in geometric-grid shapes expecting them to build themselves.

You trade your olex for a clock that only shows day-time and night-time

You burn real pigs and wonder why they don't drop cooked porkchops.

You punch trees in real life to the point where you rage because its too slow without your diamond axe.

you watch bluexephos and then attempt to sing the diggy diggy hole song!

When 64 seems like an important number

you see an ugly building and think "I need a new texture pack"

When you want pork, you go find a pig to kill

When you want to pick something up you start punching it first.

you see a dead skeleton and try to take his bones and arrows

You go and play another game and DIE SKOL AFSOLFAO SLASPÖ

When you see a thunderstorm you become extremely scared of pigs and all things green

when you click on this site.

You smelt your own wedding ring to make gold.

You think you can dig up dirt in 3 seconds

You try and make a diamond pickaxe

Reading this entire list.

You try to change texture packs in real life.

You try to mod real-life.

you think that your render distance is low when it is foggy in real life.

You are terrified of the color green.

You break your door with an axe hoping it's miniature version will drop to the floor to be re-used.

if you see a creeper at your door telling "oh what nice house you got here" you run away telling "panic" and you falling down by dizzy.

You can describe, in-depth, three different mining systems and their varying efficiencies for finding ore.

When the entirety of your absent-minded doodles consist of designs and schematics for mechanisms or new projects.

You look at a building and image what it would be made of in Minecraft.

You beat the crap out of your computer waiting for a small flat pixelated portable version to pop out

You try to collect parts of your house.

you look at your clock or wristwatch and expect it to be half blue with the sun and half black with the moon

You build a clock that only has "Day and Night" on it.

Minecraft its a funny game im right?!

When you hear footsteps you grab the nearest pointy object and hide behind the sofa waiting for the creeper to pop out.

When you go outside you start punching trees

When you make a site to know if you're addicted or not..

Everything is blocky, even your eyes.

You cry for days when you lose your minecraft saves.

You have all the icons from Orion-Pyro

You have memorised all the splash screen messages.

You know about Dr. Leon Sisk's existance from Bobby Yarsulik's song, "PigMen Story" and also know he actually is a real person.

If you get a raging boner after seeing all the dicks on multi player servers... You mite be a faggot.

You see something green and grab out a wooden sword and charge

You crouch to make sure you don't fall off

You start to think of clothing as skins.

You try to find lava for your new house.

you wonder why things on the ground are not popping in to your quickbar

You start to to call yourself Steve and wish you could change your skin.

You are looking for the create a new world button when things go bad on Earth.

You hold shift to not fall from a building

you keep a list of your mod names,just in case there is a new update

you turn your car into a minecart.

You can't make a perfect circle in the real world.

You call your parents pussies because "they disabled hostile mobs spawning".

You walk for ten minutes trying to find a new biome.

You think about digging up the floor and look for iron under it.

When your parents come in the room, you scream, thinking its a creeper

When something happens to your minecraft you cry

When you get bored of minecraft you watch youtube about minecraft or go to the forums

You make a facebook so you can like this page or any other minecraft page.

When you hear Notch has twitter, you delete your facebook, and go on twitter.

Every site you make an account, you use your minecraft name

You don't care about dying because you think you can respawn.

You try to punch cacti without being hurt... ouch!

You keep refreshing this site to see if your joke has been added.

Creepers are green Spiders are black Now your shelter is under attack

You see a beautiful sunset and think "Hey, that's just like Minecraft"

You try to milk a giant squid, and when you fail epicly, you think: "Curse the Beta 1.3 update!"

You cut down a tree in real life, and once you regain conciousness in a hospital with severe breakages in all your bones, you wonder why gravity sudeny started working.

When you see green jello in your fridge, you slash at it wildly with your sword, and later wonder why it didn't multiply or attempt to eat you.

You want to have everything infinite in REAL LIFE.

You play on "PEACEFUL" because you hate that ... SsssSsss......

You start smashing your head at table when Notch release minecraft update and the mod's you really like gets broken.

You never try to catch squid with a fishing rod because you read on MinecraftWiki that it is impossible.

You put a piece of coal on a stick thinking that it will instantly become a torch that never burns out or lights stuff on fire.

When some-one asks you how big your house is, you proudly answer, "Four chunks."

You look at a map of a round Earth and think, "Where are the Edgelands then?"

Your wallpaper is minecraft.

you see a person and think: man, he needs to change skin

You go out in the morning looking for some arrows/bones/feathers

You never go outside for more than 10 minutes.

You try to press e to open your inventory and place your new dirt and rocks in there...

You live in constant fear of your neighbors punching through the wall and stealing all your valuables.

You throw coco beans at a sheep hoping it to turn brown.

You eat nothing but pork chops.

You sit around hoping to see a pink sheep.

You try to swallow apples with 8 cubik meters of pure gold around it, atempting to heal all of your woulds

You try to change your skin if you think you look ugly.

You hit a real crafting table and think a gui will show up and get frustrated by that.

Everyday, you watch at least 2 Minecraft videos

You see the sun and moon as squares

You can carry 81365 cubic feet of stone.

You think bears are a mod.

In real life you think that bookshelves are for decoration only

You can't hold a conversation in real life.

You started thinking electricity works the same as redstone and becomes surprised hearing that wires are circular.

your dream is what you did earlier that day on minecraft

You dream in Java code.

You see a car and go, "How!?"

When you look into a mirror, you think about F5 and i

When you go to the beach you take sand and come home and out it in a furnace

You build your room full-detailed at a scale of 1/1000 (no, really, its scary)

You think "this will make things easier!" when you see floor tiles.

You carry a grid-paper notebook on you at all times.

You cry when your wolf drowns.

when you star a painting and put it on the wall its blank as you forgot that paintings only automaticaly paint themselfs in minecraft

You want to know what texture pack it is when u go outside

You don't understand why your dog in real life doesn't sit when you right-click on it.

When there is a blackout, you try to wire your computer into a redstone torch.

Its a sqaury joke you got there

You hear a tyre hissing and you run away.

You make a site that has a werid name for minecraft addicts

You don't go out at night because you think Zombies will come after you!

You look at your bed and wonder why it isn't red.

You don't get a job because you think you can make your own with self-harvested resources.

You dump a bucket of water on a flat surface and wonder why it doesn't flow towards a hole you placed 7 meters away.

You wonder why your computer has colors other than black and red.

You see a spider and wonder why it's not as big as you are.

You start telling people "I like your skin. Where'd you get it?"

You see a dead person lying on the ground and wonder when they'll respawn.

You wonder how the Empire State Building was built when the sky limit is only 64 meters above sea level.

You See a book IRL and you wonder when Notch will let you write in it.

You have a Minecraft themed birthday with a creeper cake.

You kill an animal and wonder why it doesn't disappear in a poof of smoke.

Whenever there is a thunderstorm in real life, you are scared that monsters will spawn.

You wonder why you don't move upward when you walk into a ladder.

Whenever you get hurt in real life, you imitate that "Ohff" sound that you make in minecraft when you get hurt.

You punch someone and wonder why they don't turn red and jump backwards.

You place a cake in real life, and wonder why punching it doesn't make small portions of it disappear

You start seeing pigs fly through your screen when you're actually riding them off a cliff.

You see a sky scraper and think "that can't be right, the world isn't that high."

You try to break stone with wood.

When you stop listening to the real version of the song and listen to the Noteblock one instead.

You see a rectangle and think: "thats almost right!"

You always bring two extra porkchops when going diving.

When it's dark, you fear that a creeper spawn behind you.

You are actually reading this.... to see if you are addicted.....

You go out in a thunderstorm with a pig waiting for a lightning to strike it so you can have your own zombie pigman

You wonder why your hand gets bloody one you punch things

You make a giant creeper out of wool and fill it with TNT so you can blow it up when a sheep walks near it.

You find some obsidian and try to set it on fire so you can see your deceased grandfather

You never swim in the ocean without a fishing rod because of your perfectly rational fear of fireball-spitting-floating-jellyfishes

You sing the Minecraft "TNT" song everytime you hear Taio Cruz's "Dynamite"

You often get splinters in your knuckles due to the amount of wood-punching you do.

You drink milk by pouring it on the ground.

You start thinking about how epic your house would look with a few creeper traps.

You start raiding graves to make some fertilizer and tame all the wild wolves you come by.

You dig to the core of the earth, and you think you can survive the lava since you have hax on.

When it's dark, you try to /give 50 64.

When you see a shovel and start thinking about starting a mine in your backyard.

you hang up a painting and take it off repeatedly thinking it will be a new painting

You lay 2 sticks and 3 chunks of wood on your kitchen table.

you start putting rocks in your stove.

you try to make a wooden pickaxe out of fallen sticks

You try to put a pumpkin on your head.

you tried and failed to get to the bedrock layer

You find yourself fiddling with sticks and stones on a crafting table

You expect your friend to turn red for a couple of seconds when you punch him.

You look at your wife's jewelry box and say "Yes! I can finally get obsidian!"

Whenever you're wife gets angry, you think of the Charlotte mod and throw a flower at her to make her stay put.

You Try punching a Tree

You see real creepers

You continue to ask to be OP

When you are driving and see the fuel gauge going down you ask your passenger: "Hey, you have any spare coal?"

You use your wives diamond jewlery with sticks hoping for a pickaxe.

You make sure there isn't any way creepers can get into your house before you go to sleep.

You see a tree in real life and immediately calculate how many tools you can make from it.

You accidentally hit your dog and wonder why it's eyes aren't red.

When it starts getting dark you jump in your bed and go to sleep.

You build boats

You put your mom's ring's Diamond on the end of a stick attached to another stick and try to dig with it.

Every day, when you have to go to school, everything looks smooth and hi-resolution, and you think, wait, thats not right

You meet a blind person and think it's Herobrine.

When your motto is thinking outside of the block.

You wish for a minecart every time you need to go somewhere irl.

You cannot go to sleep unless the whole area is sleeping,

you have played more than 10 minecraft adventure maps

You jump into lava thinking you have god mode on.

You sat through this entire list.

Every light in your house has to be on.

Your pulse shoots off every time you hear a bow twang

You expect leather to pop out of a cow after it dies.

You find diamond in real life and try to make armor out of it.

You disassemble your computer and look at your motherboard: 'Woah, the guy who created this deserves a free internet.'

When youre stuck, you think you can just jump and put some dirt under you.

You keep your old computer because it has all your minecraft saves on it and you dont have a USB stick.

When you get greifed you start to treat everyone on the server as greifers. (even admins/ops)

You need a pick axe, oh wait, yes I have in my backpack

You have read the entire 'Art of war' thread on the forums and actually understood it.

When you see something ugly you think "Man i need to change my texture pack".

You feel like pressing shift-f whenever a game lags.

When you know the exact circumstances for leaves not to decay in alpha.

You think real spiders are midgets

When you get told that riding pigs is apparently a bad idea.

When your wolf says CREEPER than cry!

you walk up to people and hit them so you can take stuff of there dead bodies

you can survive a head on collison with a minecart going at full speed

You are still reading this

You see tree's waving in the wind. You say, " Thats not right..." .

You place a rock against the wall and when it drops, you wonder if it was gravel.

You're drawing minecraft figures all over your homework.

You shout "HAX!1!!!1!" when someone runs by faster than you can walk.

You attempt to re-texture IRL.

When your bored you try to add a mod.

You make a house dedicated to crafting

You try eating 10 un-cooked porkchops and wonder why you got sick.

You are no longer impressed by gold medals.

When you see a pig get hit by lightning in real life, you expect it to turn into a Zombie Pigman.

You refuse to take trigonometry because is it based upon heresy. (circles)

You stab a a sheep with a sword and the wool doesn't fall off, you call the president and tell him to fix the bug.

when you watch movies you think: ''c'mon just jump in the water it will be ok''

You know what a creeper actually is...

I guess you can say that Minecraft is pretty.. *Sunglasses* Top Notch.

You call yourself steve.

you think you have to press ''T'' before talking to someone

You read all this stuff here.

All your friends were made through Minecraft.

You get on minecraft at 6:30 then someone asked you what time it is and look at the clock and it says 5:45...

you have attempted to ignite a living pig in an attempt to cut out the time it would take to cook it's pork

You go out at night and worry,"Am i gonna get eaten by zombie"

You see flowing water and think "I'm going the other way"

You jump off a building, thinking you can eat an apple later.

You end up breaking your neck from looking up to see where the sun is.

You we're mining on a cave when you saw 50 creepers chasing you and you won.

You avoid moss stone because you are afraid that a dungeon might be near

The only way you spend time with people is on SMP.

You read every single one of these.

You see a TV and wonder how the redstone circuitry works.

You know every block id.

When you get stuck, you jump up and punch at the ground continuously, but no dirt appears.

You've burned down your house trying to create a Nether Portal.

In Geometry class, you suggest you spend a little more time on cubes.

You were sleepy and punched your bed.

you expected a mere metal bucket to hold a cubic meter of lava.

You poured a bucket of water on top of a mountain and were disturbed by the fact it didn't create a waterfall

you tried to carry 2,301 cubic meters of sand.

you punch things to pick them up.

You are afraid to go within a 5-meter radius of sprinklers.

You search all the sports channels looking for a Spleef match that's going on.

When Creeper stops meaning the guy who's a creep.

You cant stop listening to the "Form this way" yogcast music video.

When you hear a lot of sizzling and yell 'CREEPER GANBANG!'

You have several Minecraft related apps, even ones that do nothing like the Redstone torch app.

your watching TV and you wonder how to make it with redstone

You Punch Trees in your backyard When you want a new house

You look at grass IRL when your low on seeds in Minecraft and say "Dangit, I should've brought my hoe."

You get home from a car trip, cautiously walk into your dark house, and jump out in every room swinging a stick around in case there are creepers who have spawned, and then go to sleep with every light in the house turned on.

You have dreams about Minecraft updating.

You're constantly dissapointed with modern architecture, because you know you could build better in-game.

you look at a cow and wonder how much leather will drop

You hear groans and run only to find out that it was only your big brother

You jump off a high cliff into shallow water thinking you will be just fine by hitting jump.

You see a forest and think "I can build a wood fortress!"

You refer to Notch has "The Creator".

You always place your hands on the AWSD keys and mouse while waiting for stuff on your computer to load.

You refresh this page constantly to see if your joke has been added yet.

You get a watch thinking it shows a sun and moon.

Youve actually read all of these, shame on you...

You think that a creeper caused the Haiti earthquake.

You made Minecraft forums your homepage.

You see a jellyfish and run for your life, thinking that it will blast you with flaming snowballs.

You see strange landforms in real life and think "HEROBRINE".

You try to punch a tree in real life, hoping to get wood, but then you're just disappointed.

You never go underground in case of the Obsidian Skeleton.

You put cactus in the oven, then hope to dye sheep green with the resulting paste.

You go to a graveyard and punch the bodies expecting to get feathers.

You think that spiders won't bite you in the daytime.

You try to shear a sheep with snowballs.

You swim in shark-infested waters thinking that you're safe because you don't have Mo creatures on.

You put four pieces of sand in a grid formation expecting to get sandstone.

You put a log on a workbench expecting to get planks IN REAL LIFE.

you watch commentary by slyfox and yogscast everyday.

It has been 10 minutes and your wondering why the sun hasn't started to go down.

You think cages are Mob spawners

You light a steel cage on fire and put a model of a pig inside expecting swine to be created in puffs of smoke.

You think worshipping Notch is a religion.

You can't read normal clocks.

  

Also PSN Will be back tomorrow with free membership and free downloads for 30 days.

~Luke 12:6-7; Matthew 10-29-31~

 

Are not five sparrows sold for two pennies?

Yet not one of them is forgotten by God.

Indeed, the very hairs of your head are all numbered.

Don’t be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows.

 

Sometimes it seems that God is the only one who cares for sparrows. Cats and birds of prey like to hunt and eat them, and little boys have been known to torment them. Adults complain about how they multiply and consider them pests. Yet, Jesus said, "not one of them falls to the ground apart from your Father's will" (Matt. 10:29). It is interesting that Jesus chose the most common of all birds to teach a profound truth: in God's eyes, no one is insignificant!

  

Happy May Day! ; )

DSC08639

bfb2009.multiply.com/

Larger.

 

www.pbase.com/night86mare

 

Punggol Beach, Singapore.

 

Blend of 2 shots, ND110 + Hi-tech 0.9 GND filter.

Modèle : Sarah

styling and make up : made by me

 

light :

One flash argentic

Our Daily Challenge ... opposites.

 

"7 Days of Shooting" "Week #5 - Crossed " "Macro Monday"

 

Multiply and divide, black and white, purple and yellow, focused and blurred.

She pops into the bathroom

Just after a shower and

She plays with my makeup and creams

Keeps trying to look like me

 

And goes through the motions

Posing this way and that,

Holding it in,

If it makes you feel better, then knock yourself out

 

Say hi there to my bad body double

This is my bad body double trouble

Oh no, my bad body double, mmmhm

I've got bad body double trouble, oh.

 

She's trouble

She's trouble

She's trouble, alright.

 

Yeah, yeah

 

Sometimes I manage to lose her

Shake her at a bar, in the gym for five minutes

It feels so good to be back to my own self again

Can get quite confusing.

 

We look very similar except she's got some grays and

A little extra weight on the sides

And dimply thighs,

I hear that stuff's a bitch to get rid off

(No, no, no, no)

 

We're having quite an intimate, personal moment (not now)

Could you maybe come at a slightly less awful time? (not now)

She can see I've got someone quite nice here with me

Can't we just be left alone...

I guess that's a no then

Seeing as you're still here

Seeing as you're still here

Here

 

It's not me, no

It's my bad body double

I got bad body double trouble

Oh no, my bad body double, mmmhm

I've got bad body double trouble, agh.

Bad body double, mmhm.

I've got bad body double trouble

Oh dear, my bad body double.

I got bad body double trouble.

 

She's trouble

She's trouble

She's trouble, alright.

Yeah, yeah, yeah

She's trouble

She's trouble

She's trouble, alright.

Yeah, yeah, right there.

 

Can't shake her, Can't shake her, Can't shake her, Can't shake her

Everywhere I go, Everywhere I go, goooo

Can't shake her, Can't shake her, Can't shake her, Can't shake her

Everywhere I go, Everywhere I go, goooo

 

Say hi there,

To my bad body double

My bad, bad, bad body double.

She's trouble

I can't shake her

And I hate her, I hate her, I hate her, I hate her, I hate her.

She's everywhere I go,

 

I'm going to get rid

Of you once and for all...

 

Listening: Bad Body Double - Imogen Heap

multiplying

An image of Santo Tomas de Aquino in a museum in Vigan. See rally65.multiply.com/journal/item/22

Xenodream

fake butterfly + Spectra 5x multiply filter

taken last year (or year before), but never scanned

single exposure

Don't ever tell anybody anything. If you do, you start missing everybody.

 

. . .

  

"You know that song 'If a body catch a body comin' through the rye'? I'd like -"

 

"It's 'If a body meet a body coming through the rye'!" old Phoebe said. "It's a poem. By Robert Burns."

 

"I know it's a poem by Robert Burns."...

 

Anyway, I keep picturing these little kids playing some game in this big field or rye and all. Thousands of little kids, and nobody's around - nobody big, I mean, except me. And I'm standing on the edge of some crazy cliff. What I have to do, I have to catch everybody if they start to go over the cliff - I mean if they're running and they don't look where they're going I have to come out from somewhere and catch them. That's all I'd do all day. I'd just be the catcher in the rye and all. I know it's crazy, but that's the only thing I'd really like to be. I know it's crazy."

 

—excerpts from J.D. Salinger's Catcher in the Rye

  

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"Somewhere along the line - in one damn incarnation or another, if you like - you not only had a hankering to be an actor or an actress but to be a good one. You're stuck with it now. You can't just walk out on the results of your own hankerings. Cause and effect, buddy, cause and effect. The only thing you can do now, the only religious thing you can do, is act. Act for God, if you want to - be God's actress, if you want to. What could be prettier? You can at least try to, if you want to - there's nothing wrong in trying." There was a slight pause. "You'd better get busy, though, buddy. The goddam sands run out on you every time you turn around."

 

—excerpt from J.D. Salinger's Franny and Zooey

  

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John Keats

John Keats

John

Please put your scarf on.

  

Do I go on about my brother's poetry too much? Am I being garrulous? Yes. Yes. I go on about my brother's poetry too much. I'm being garrulous. And I care. But my reasons against leaving off multiply like rabbits as I go along. Furthermore, though I am, as I've already conspicuously posted, a happy writer, I'll take my oath I'm not now and never have been a merry one; I've mercifully been allowed the usual professional quota of unmerry thoughts. For example, it hasn't just this moment struck me that once I get around to recounting what I know of Seymour himself, I can't expect to leave myself either the space or the required pulse rate or, in a broad but true sense, the inclination to mention his poetry again. At this very instant, alarmingly, while I clutch my own wrist and lecture myself on garrulousness, I may be losing the chance of a lifetime - my last chance, I think, really - to make one final, hoarse, objectionable, sweeping public pronouncement on my brother's rank as an American poet. I mustn't let it slip. Here it is: When I look back, listen back, over the half-dozen or slightly more original poets we've had in America, as well as the numerous talented eccentric poets and - in modern times, especially - the many gifted style deviates, I feel something close to a conviction that we have had only three or four very nearly nonexpendable poets, and I think Seymour will eventually stand with those few. Not overnight, verständlich. Zut, what would would you? It's my guess, my perhaps flagrantly over-considered guess, that the first few waves of reviewers will obliquely condemn his verses by calling them Interesting or Very Interesting, with a tacit or just plain badly articulated declaration, still more damning, that they are rather small, sub-acoustical things that have failed to arrive on the contemporary Western scene with their own built-in transatlantic podium, complete with lectern, drinking glass, and pitcher of iced sea water. Yet a real artist, I've noticed, will survive anything. (Even praise, I happily suspect.) And I'm reminded, too, that once when we were boys, Seymour waked me from a sound sleep, much excited, yellow pajamas flashing in the dark. He had what my brother Walt used to call his Eureka Look, and he wanted to tell me that he thought he finally knew why Christ said to call no man Fool. (It was a problem that had been baffling him all week, because it sounded to him like a piece of advice, I believe, more typical of Emily Post than of someone busily about his Father's Business.) Christ had said it, Seymour thought I'd want to know, because there are no fools. Dopes, yes - fools, no. It seemed to him well worth waking me up for, but if I admit that it was (and I do, without reservations), I'll have to concede that if you give even poetry critics enough time, they'll prove themselves unfoolish. To be truthful, it's a thought that comes hard to me, and I'm grateful to be able to push on to something else. I've reached, at long last, the real head of this compulsive and, I'm afraid, occasionally somewhat pustulous disquisition on my brother's poetry. I've seen it coming from the very beginning. I would to God the reader had something terrible to tell me first. (Oh, you out there - with your enviable golden silence.)

 

I have a recurrent, and, in 1959, almost chronic, premonition that when Seymour's poems have been widely and rather officially acknowledged as First Class (stacked up in college bookstores, assigned in Contemporary Poetry courses), matriculating young men and women will strike out, in singlets and twosomes, notebooks at the ready, for my somewhat creaking front door. (It's regrettable that this matter has to come up at all, but it's surely too late to pretend to an ingenuousness, to say nothing of a grace, I don't have, and I must reveal that my reputedly heartshaped prose has knighted me one of the best-loved sciolists in print since Ferris L. Monahan, and a good many young English Department people already know where I live, hole up; I have their tire tracks in my rose beds to prove it.) By and large, I'd say without a shred of hesitation, there are three kinds of students who have both the desire and the temerity to look as squarely as possible into any sort of literary horse's mouth. The first kind is the young man or woman who loves and respects to distraction any fairly responsible sort of literature and who, if he or she can't see Shelley plain, will make do with seeking out manufacturers of inferior but estimable products. I know these boys and girls well, or think I do. They're naive, they're alive, they're enthusiastic, they're usually less than right, and they're the hope always, I think, of blase or vested-interested literary society the world over. (By some good fortune I can't believe I've deserved, I've had one of these ebullient, cocksure, irritating, instructive, often charming girls or boys in every second or third class I've taught in the past twelve years.) The second kind of young person who actually rings doorbells in the pursuit of literary data suffers, somewhat proudly, from a case of academicitis, contracted from any one of half a dozen Modern English professors or graduate instructors to whom he's been exposed since his freshman year. Not seldom, if he himself is already teaching or is about to start teaching, the disease is so far along that one doubts whether it could be arrested, even if someone were fully equipped to try. Only last year, for example, a young man stopped by to see me about a piece I'd written, several years back, that had a good deal to do with Sherwood Anderson. He came at a time when I was cutting part of my winter's supply of firewood with a gasoline-operated chain saw - an instrument that after eight years of repeated use I'm still terrified of. It was the height of the spring thaw, a beautiful sunny day, and I was feeling, frankly, just a trifle Thoreauish (a real treat for me, because after thirteen years of country living I'm still a man who gauges bucolic distances by New York City blocks). In short, it looked like a promising, if literary, afternoon, and I recall that I had high hopes of getting the young man, a la Tom Sawyer and his bucket of whitewash, to have a go at my chain saw. He appeared healthy, not to say strapping. His deceiving looks, however, very nearly cost me my left foot, for between spurts and buzzes of my saw, just as I finished delivering a short and to me rather enjoyable eulogy on Sherwood Anderson's gentle and effective style, the young man asked me - after a thoughtful, a cruelly promising pause - if I thought there was an endemic American Zeitgeist. (Poor young man. Even if he takes exceptionally good care of himself, he can't at the outside have more than fifty years of successful campus activity ahead of him.) The third kind of person who will be a fairly constant visitor around here, I believe, once Seymour's poems have been quite thoroughly unpacked and tagged, requires a paragraph to himself or herself.

 

It would be absurd to say that most young people's attraction to poetry is far exceeded by their attraction to those few or many details of a poet's life that may be defined here, loosely, operationally, as lurid. It's the sort of absurd notion, though, that I wouldn't mind taking out for a good academic run someday. I surely think, at any rate, that if I were to ask the sixty odd girls (or, that is, the sixty-odd girls) in my two Writing for Publication courses - most of them seniors, all of them English majors - to quote a line, any line from "Ozymandias," or even just to tell me roughly what the poem is about, it is doubtful whether ten of them could do either, but I'd bet my unrisen tulips that some fifty of them could tell me that Shelley was all for free love, and had one wife who wrote "Frankenstein" and another who drowned herself.* I'm neither shocked nor outraged at the idea, please mind. I don't think I'm even complaining. For if nobody's a fool, then neither am I, and I'm entitled to a non-fool's Sunday awareness that, whoever we are, no matter how like a blast furnace the heat from the candles on our latest birthday cake, and however presumably lofty the intellectual, moral, and spiritual heights we've all reached, our gusto for the lurid or partly lurid (which, of course, includes both low and superior gossip) is probably the last of our fleshy appetites to be sated or effectively curbed. (But, my God, why do I rant on? Why am I not going straight to the poet for an illustration? One of Seymour's hundred and eighty-four poems - a shocker on the first impact only; on the second, as heartening a paean to the living as I've read - is about a distinguished old ascetic on his deathbed, surrounded by chanting priests and disciples, who lies straining to hear what the washerwoman in the courtyard is saying about his neighbor's laundry. The old gentleman, Seymour makes it clear, is faintly wishing the priests would keep their voices down a bit.) I can see, though, that I'm having a little of the usual trouble entailed in trying to make a very convenient generalization stay still and docile long enough to support a wild specific premise. I don't relish being sensible about it, but I suppose I must. It seems to me indisputably true that a good many people, the wide world over, of varying ages, cultures, natural endowments, respond with a special impetus, a zing, even, in some cases, to artists and poets who as well as having a reputation for producing great or fine art have something garishly Wrong with them as persons: a spectacular flaw in character or citizenship, a construably romantic affliction or addiction - extreme self-centeredness, marital infidelity, stone-deafness, stone-blindness, a terrible thirst, a mortally bad cough, a soft spot for prostitutes, a partiality for grand-scale adultery or incest, a certified or uncertified weakness for opium or sodomy, and so on, God have mercy on the lonely bastards. If suicide isn't at the top of the list of compelling infirmities for creative men, the suicide poet or artist, one can't help noticing, has always been given a very considerable amount of avid attention, not seldom on sentimental grounds almost exclusively, as if he were (to put it much more horribly than I really want to) the floppy-eared runt of the litter. It's a thought, anyway, finally said, that I've lost sleep over many times, and possibly will again.

 

(How can I record what I've just recorded and still be happy? But I am. Unjolly, unmerry, to the marrow, but my afflatus seems to be punctureproof. Recollective of only one other person I've known in my life.)

 

—poem and excerpt from J.D. Salinger's Seymour An Introduction

  

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I was staring, as I remember, directly in front of me, at the back of the driver's neck, which was a relief map of boil scars, when suddenly my jump-seat mate addressed me: "I didn't get a chance to ask you inside. How's that darling mother of yours? Aren't you Dickie Briganza?"

 

My tongue, at the time of the question, was curled back exploratively as far as the soft palate. I disentangled it, swallowed, and turned to her. She was fifty, or thereabouts, fashionably and tastefully dressed. She was wearing a very heavy pancake makeup. I answered no - that I wasn't.

 

She narrowed her eyes a trifle at me and said I looked exactly like Celia Briganza's boy. Around the mouth. I tried to show by my expression that it was a mistake anybody could make. Then I went on staring at the back of the driver's neck. The car was silent. I glanced out of the window, for a change of scene.

 

"How do you like the Army?" Mrs. Silsburn asked. Abruptly, conversationally.

 

I had a brief coughing spell at that particular instant. When it was over, I turned to her with all available alacrity and said I'd made a lot of buddies. It was a little difficult for me to swivel in her direction, what with the encasement of adhesive tape around my diaphragm.

 

She nodded. "I think you're all just wonderful," she said, somewhat ambiguously. "Are you a friend of the bride's or the groom's?" she then asked, delicately getting down to brass tacks.

 

"Well, actually, I'm not exactly a friend of--"

 

"You'd better not say you're a friend of the groom," the Matron of Honor interrupted me, from the back of the car. "I'd like to get my hands on him for about two minutes. Just two minutes, that's all."

 

Mrs. Silsburn turned briefly - but completely - around to smile at the speaker. Then she faced front again. We made the round trip, in fact, almost in unison. Considering that Mrs. Silsburn had turned around for only an instant, the smile she had bestowed on the Matron of Honor was a kind of jump-seat masterpiece. It was vivid enough to express unlimited partisanship with all young people, all over the world, but most particularly with this spirited, outspoken local representative, to whom, perhaps, she had been little more than perfunctorily introduced, if at all.

 

"Bloodthirsty wench," said a chuckling male voice. And Mrs. Silsburn and I turned around again. It was the Matron of Honor's husband who had spoken up. He was seated directly behind me, at his wife's left. He was seated directly behind me, at his wife's left. He and I briefly exchanged that blank,uncomradely look which, possibly, in the crapulous year of 1942, only an officer and a private could exchange. A first lieutenant in the Signal Corps, he was wearing a very interesting Air Corps pilot's cap - a visored hat with the metal frame removed from inside the crown, which usually conferred on the wearer a certain, presumably desired, intrepid look. In his case, however, the cap didn't begin to fill the bill. It seemed to serve no other purpose than to make my own outsize, regulation headpiece feel rather like a clown's hat that someone had nervously picked out of the incinerator. His face was sallow and, essentially, daunted-looking. He was perspiring with an almost incredible profusion - on his forehead, on his upper lip, and even at the end of his nose - to the point where a salt tablet might have been in order. "I'm married to the bloodthirstiest wench in six counties," he said, addressing Mrs. Silsburn and giving another soft, public chuckle. In automatic deference to his rank, I very nearly chuckled right along with him - a short, inane, stranger's and draftee's chuckle that would clearly signify that I was with him and everyone else in the car, against no one.

 

"I mean it," the Matron of Honor said. "Just two minutes - that's all, brother. Oh, if I could just get my two little hands -"

 

"All right, now, take it easy, take it easy," her husband said, still with apparently inexhaustible resources of connubial good humor. "Just take it easy. You'll last longer."

 

Mrs. Silsburn faced around toward the back of the car again, and favored the Matron of Honor with an all but canonized smile. "Did anyone see any of his people at the wedding?" she inquired softly, with just a little emphasis - no more than perfectly genteel - on the personal pronoun.

 

The Matron of Honor's answer came with toxic volume: "No. They're all out on the West Coast or someplace. I just wish I had."

 

Her husband's chuckle sounded again. "What wouldja done if you had, honey?" he asked - and winked indiscriminately at me.

 

"Well, I don't know, but I'd've done something," said the Matron of Honor. The chuckle at her left expanded in volume. "Well, I would have!" she insisted. "I'd've said something to them. I mean. My gosh." She spoke with increasing aplomb, as though perceiving that, cued by her husband, the rest of us within earshot were finding something attractively forthright - spunky - about her sense of justice, however youthful or impractical it might be. "I don't know what I'd have said to them. I probably would have just blabbered something idiotic. But my gosh. Honestly! I just can't stand to see somebody get away with absolute murder. It makes my blood boil." She suspended animation just long enough to be bolstered by a look of simulated empathy from Mrs. Silsburn. Mrs. Silsburn and I were now turned completely, supersociably, around in our jump seats. "I mean it," the Matron of Honor said. "You can't just barge through life hurting people's feelings whenever you feel like it."

 

"I'm afraid I know very little about the young man," Mrs. Silsburn said, softly. "As a matter of fact, I haven't even met him. The first I'd heard that Muriel was even engaged -"

 

"Nobody's met him," the Matron of Honor said, rather explosively. "I haven't even met him. We had two rehearsals, and both times Muriel's poor father had to take his place, just because his crazy plane couldn't take off. he was supposed to get a hop here last Tuesday night in some crazy Army plane, but it was snowing or something crazy in Colorado, or Arizona, or one of those crazy places, and he didn't get in till one o'clock in the morning, last night. Then - at that insane hour - he calls Muriel on the phone from way out in Long Island or someplace and asks her to meet him in the lobby of some horrible hotel so they can talk." The Matron of Honor shuddered eloquently. "And you know Muriel. She's just darling enought o let anybody and his brother push her around. That's what gripes me. It's always those kind of people that get hurt in the end ... Anyway, so she gets dressed and gets in a cab and sits in some horrible lobby talking with him till quarter to five in the morning." The Matron of Honor released her grip on her gardenia bouquet long enough to raise two clenched fists above her lap. "Ooo, it makes me so mad!" she said.

 

"What hotel?" I asked the Matron of Honor. "Do you know?" I tried to make my voice sound casual, as though, possibly, my father might be in the hotel business and I took a certain understandable filial interest in where people stopped in New York. In reality, my question meant almost nothing. I was just thinking aloud, more or less. I'd been interested in the fact that my brother had asked his fiancee to meet him in a hotel lobby, rather than at his empty, available apartment. The morality of the invitation was by no means out of character, but it interested me, mildly, nonetheless.

 

"I don't know which hotel," the Matron of Honor said irritably. "Just some hotel." She stared at me. "Why?" she demanded. "Are you a friend of his?"

 

There was something distinctly intimidating about her stare. It seemed to come from a one-woman mob, separated only by time and chance from her knitting bag and a splendid view of the guillotine. I've been terrified of mobs, of any kind, all my life. "We were boys together," I answered, all but unintelligibly.

 

"Well, lucky you!"

 

"Now, now," said her husband.

 

"Well, I'm sorry," the Matron of Honor said to him, but addressing all of us. "But you haven't been in a room watching that poor kid cry her eyes out for a solid hour. It's not funny - and don't you forget it. I've heard about grooms getting cold feet, and all that. But you don't do it at the last minute. I mean you don't do it so that you'll embarrass a lot of perfectly nice people half to death and almost break a kid's spirit and everything! If he'd changed his mind, why didn't he write to her and at least break it off like a gentleman, for goodness' sake? Before all the damage was done."

 

"All right, take it easy, just take it easy," her husband said. His chuckle was still there, but it was sounding a trifle strained.

 

"Well, I mean it! Why couldn't he write to her and just tell her, like a man, and prevent all this tragedy and everything?" She looked at me, abruptly. "Do you have any idea where he is, by any chance?" she demanded, with metal in her voice. "If you have boyhood friends, you should have some -"

 

"I just got into New York about two hours ago," I said nervously. Not only the Matron of Honor but her husband and Mrs. Silsburn as well were now staring at me. "So far, I haven't even had a chance to get to a phone." At that point, as I remember, I had a coughing spell. It was genuine enough, but I must say I did very little to suppress it or shorten its duration.

 

"You had that cough looked at, soldier?" the Lieutenant asked me when I'd come out of it.

 

At that instant, I had another coughing spell - a perfectly genuine one, oddly enough. I was still turned a sort of half or quarter right in my jump seat, with my body averted just enough toward the front of the car to be able to cough with all due hygienic propriety.

 

—excerpt from J.D. Salinger's Raise High the Roof Beam, Carpenters

  

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John Coltrane—"I Want To Talk About You" (1962)