First Day

O Immaculate Heart of Mary Mother of Jesus, Our Lady of Fatima, inspire me to grieve sincerely for the sins that weigh heavily upon the souls of men. Sorrowfully I recall the bitter and harsh punishments heaped upon thy Divine Son, when He was cruelly scourged at the pillar, unmercifully crowned with with thorns. I recall His sad journey to Calvary, His crucifixion, and ignominious death on the cross. Yet, they were but the instruments of pain. It was my sins that really caused His precious blood to be shed. His excessive love willed that He should suffer my salvation. Thus, I will give my little love to make amends and atone for a thoughtless and unappreciative world.

Oh Immaculate Heart of Mary, you who suffered, and shared with Him each pain caused and inflicted by our sins, intercede for us that we may be privileged o unite our hearts with yours in an effort to make reparation for our sins, and the sins of ungrateful mankind. Amen.

Our Lady of Fatima, inflame our hearts with the love of reparation.

This is located at the very end of the Upper Geyser Basin from the Old Faithful Inn.

When I first saw this 14 years ago the middle was a beautiful blue. People started throwing things into the pool and changed the the color that you see in this photo. It is a shame that a few thoughtless people do things that ruin it for the majority of people.

Les œuvres photographiques d’André Boto, notamment ses créations conceptuelles et manipulées, offrent une perspective saisissante sur notre environnement et les défis auxquels notre planète est confrontée. À travers des compositions visuelles marquées par une créativité unique, il met en lumière les tensions entre la nature et l’impact des activités humaines.

Ces photographies interpellent sur les conséquences désastreuses de la surexploitation des ressources naturelles, du changement climatique et de l’urbanisation galopante. Elles nous rappellent que la survie de notre petite planète dépend de notre capacité à rétablir un équilibre entre développement et préservation.

En observant ces images, le spectateur est invité à réfléchir sur son rôle dans la protection d’un écosystème fragile, souvent mis en péril par des choix humains irréfléchis ...

°°°°°°°°°°°

André Boto's photographic works, particularly his conceptual and manipulated creations, offer a powerful perspective on our environment and the challenges facing our planet. His uniquely creative visual compositions highlight the tensions between nature and the impact of human activity.

These photographs draw attention to the disastrous consequences of over-exploitation of natural resources, climate change and rampant urbanisation. They remind us that the survival of our small planet depends on our ability to restore a balance between development and conservation.

By looking at these images, viewers are invited to reflect on their role in protecting a fragile ecosystem that is often endangered by thoughtless human choices ...

______________________________________PdF_________

How really beautiful life really is. An inexplicable feeling. It has no anchor in the reality in which we now live. But surely there are also realities other than those one reads about in the paper and hears in the thoughtless and inflamed talk of frightened people? There is also the reality of that small rose-red cyclamen and of the wide horizon one can keep on rediscovering behind all the noise and confusion of the times. (ET 2002, 450)

-Etty Hillesum

“Being silly is still allowed, not excluded by adulthood. What's excluded by adulthood is thoughtlessness, so be thoughtful and silly” Photo By: Nox Morbid

Dear Diary,

do you remember the last time-lost-in-time when I used to write things in-on you? Lifetime(s) ago, yet just a rain of drops-days on my aged back...

I don't know exactly what to tell you, but a silent friend made of virgin paper was a recurrent idea til today. You're true, it's no paper (I still use, though: don't point your finger!), and ticking on a keyboard is not exactly what it should be; but times change, just as hearts and people, faster than ever, and an electronic sheet is suitable as well for this intent. Will it work? I don't know. Will I know more about me? I don't know. Will I remain here, staring at you just as I did with white walls for poetry, for a long while. I just-don't-know. So listen.

All of a sudden the world becomes a huge spectacular ball to my eyes. Rethoric, maybe generated by the curiosity for astronomical things of my seven year old daughter Sara.

We were in the car, on sunday. The sun already fallen, a few stars shimmering above the luminous polluted horizon. "It's not a star", I said, when she pointed at the biggest white dot. "It's Jupiter, a big planet".

She started asking many questions. Once we get home I grabbed for her the encyclopedia, solar system volume. Both emotioned, we looked for Jupiter. "What is this black dot, daddy?" "It's the shadow of one of the four main satellites, love" "And the big red thing bigger that the Earth?" "Here, look. It's a rotating tempest that will never end..."

Weeks ago (before my own personal storm) we spent a beautiful day in a mountain wood, looking for some chestnut to roast after dinner. All the girls were happy, half legs covered with humid leaves. When we had enough, while we rested and ate some bread and Nutella on a concrete's bench and table in the shady yellow atmosphere, I placed a chestnut in a nicely lit spot, for a macro shot. When focusing and framing were ok, a little happy green bug appeared, walking thoughtless on the sheer brown surface. It seemed like a stubborn astronaut, proudly exploring what must have seemed a little planet's surface ...

We all are so little, not so silently standing on this runaway train called life.

We want anything, yet we cannot.

We constantly vacillate on the edge of our dreams just like fragile dwellers, trying to look/taste/hear far more than we can.

Knowing (life on Earth is one).

Knowing not (what really lies after/outside).

Endlessly rotating around this dichotomy; endlessly, just like the big red thing on Jupiter.

Winter's a renovation project? About this time of year (early March), we in the upper Midwest wish it finished already. The contractor is taking too long. Yet, perhaps we see the wisdom of Thomson's words: winter isn't ruin, but, rather, a force for renewal. To which there's a degree of truth (but only a degree). I feel so sorry for those of you living in the subtropics. Do you see what you're missing? Shall we send you some renovation via a north wind?

By the way, two to four more inches of snow predicted for tonight and tomorrow in Northeast Wisconsin (March when this photo was posted). Next week? Predicted temperatures in the 50s F. I think I'm sensing the completion of the project.

Where sits the soul, intense, collected, cool,

Bright as the skies, and as the season keen.

All nature feels the renovating force

Of Winter, only to the thoughtless eye

In ruin seen . . . .

—from "The Seasons: Winter," by James Thomson

(for Poetography, Theme 164—Bright; Literary Reference in Pictures)

The Knife Angel is a sculpture made from over 100,000 blades seized by police around the UK and was specifically created to highlight the negative effects of violent behaviour whilst re-enforcing the critical need for social change.

Not only does the Angel act as a catalyst for turning the tide on violent and aggressive behaviour, but it is also intended to act as a beautiful memorial designed to celebrate those lives who have been lost through these violent and thoughtless actions.

Its touring the UK – I sw it while installed in the grounds of Gloucester Cathedral

"As time passes and i advance deeper

into a still autumn that in mellowing cleanses

the pavements with light, the more i do see

in the sun`s gilted gift an abandoning

of all i have waited for and NEVER received, of all

they asked me for and i declined, possessing NOTHING, of all

i squandered thoughtlessly, until now

i REMAIN only a stranger..."

N. ALEXIS ASLANOGLOU

Shot from the Longshaw Estate this morning. Initially I thought about heading to Higger Tor but decided against it as I was setting off, then thought Curbar. As I drove up, there were some thoughtlessly parked cars on the double yellow lines and the car park was closed, so headed down to the actual parking spaces just down Curbar Gap. There are plenty of cars there already and a few people walking up, so decided to give that a miss as didn’t really fancy trying to vie with others for the same views. I’d driven through a few pockets of mist on the way, so headed back up Froggatt and parked in the lay-by at the top and headed into Longshaw. Some lovely mist down below with the trees poking in and out, so had a great hour or so there, with no one but me and the sheep (and an odd runner on the trail below!) Might be a couple more to come from here!

Eigentlich ist es eine Rekonstruktion des Zufalls. Die Veränderung der Grundstruktur (auf dem DIN A4 Blatt) hat sich durch unüberlegtes platzieren der Einzeldrucke so ergeben und angeordnet. Zuerst habe ich sie ordentlich zusammen geklebt. Aber das war zu einfach und gewollt. Das Zufallsergebnis gefällt mir besser, weil die Deformation eine eigene Geschichte erzählt. Ich weiß nicht mal ob das Betonbaus bewohnt ist. Daher ist es eine zufällige Geschichte. Es lohnt sich immer die Gegenden hinter den Bahngleisen zu besuchen. Zumindestenst in dieser Gegend am Atlantik.

Die Kunst ist es nun den Zufall nachzubauen :-)

--

Actually it is a reconstruction of the coincidence. The change of the basic structure (on the DIN A4 sheet) has resulted and arranged by thoughtless placing of the single prints so. First I glued them neatly together. But that was too easy and wanted. I like the random result better, because the deformation tells its own story. I don't even know if the concrete building is inhabited. Therefore it is a random story. It is always worth visiting the areas behind the railroad tracks. At least in this area at the Atlantic.

The art is now to recreate the coincidence :-)

By now it seemed I could go forever without sleep. Since yesterday morning at home, we’d driven from one side of the country to the other and found the only two empty chairs along the main concourse near the airport’s main entrance. Nothing was conducive to sleep, not the endless stream of arriving passengers, nor the bright lights in a space that was packed with humanity. And despite the long drive to get here, neither of us seemed able to nod off. The endless agitation of the man in the chair on our right did nothing to help, and of course we were both clinging to bags loaded with camera equipment that had taken years of hard work to accumulate. When we boarded the flight for Keflavik at some obscene hour of the morning it was as if we were in a daze. But surely, we’d find some sleep on the plane? I managed an hour at most.

Some time later we were on the roads around the perimeter of Reykjavik, and then heading north towards Snaefellsnes, lost in awe at how imposing the landscape is. Tufts of cloud hung halfway up the near vertical slopes of huge green fingers of high ground that spread from the earth across fjords and towards the sea. The bright ribbon of road sparkled in sunlight as it snaked around the edge of the land, a narrow corridor between the mountains and the sea. There’s just something about the colours and shapes of the land that draw you in and try to steal your attention as you drive. And we hadn’t even got to the good bits yet. After an hour or so we arrived at Borganes, the Bonus supermarket and the café I’d bought a coffee from last time we were here three years earlier. Traditions can evolve from the most mundane of activities sometimes.

After a couple of hours, more or less on time we drove over the narrow causeway across the last fjord towards the small fishing port of Grundarfjordur on the north coast of the Snaefellsnes peninsula, stopping at the viewpoint over the sound to take a few handheld snaps. Inland, clouds hung heavy in cumulus form, racing on the wind across the mountain tops of the interior. But out to sea they were altogether different, smooth edged and cigar shaped, like thousands of strange alien craft that had arrived at the same time as us and were making their way towards a meeting point. Textures that would later make the sky rival a certain location for attention when we pointed our cameras towards it.

We were the first of the new arrivals to an empty hostel, checking into our room with another cup of coffee and hastily assembled ham and tomato deli wraps to celebrate getting there in one piece. Of course, coffee doesn’t go hand in hand with sleep, and nor does the adrenalin generated by the excitement of being in a landscape photographer’s dreamland. And we were only five minutes from the main attraction. Five minutes from Kirkjufell, which dominated the scene from the picture window in our room. We could come here every day if we wanted. Twice a day, three times a day – time couldn’t stop us. In 2019 we only managed the classic shot – a sub standard canvas sits on my wall recording the event – but this time it feels like we observed it from every conceivable angle. Well, every conceivable angle except for the one further up the valley I read about in a book called “Photographing Iceland” that seemed to involve trespassing that is. Amazing how different it looks from each position. From here, the Hogwarts Sorting Hat forever jumps into my imagination.

We’d started on the west side along the empty road behind the marshes. I haven’t shared a shot from there yet, but I’m bound to at some point – it’s only a matter of time. An hour there revealed something different that most of the people a mile away wouldn’t see that day. Watch this space. Then we thought about the obvious view. The one everyone knows. My obsessive planning had already warned us about the new car park that charges visitors one thousand krona to stop at the most well known viewpoint, and for the hard of spending this presented a challenge. But challenges can be overcome you know, and a rough pull in was soon identified at which we ourselves pulled in and made across the bridge for the waterfall view, passing the busy new facility with its number plate recognition cameras and pay machines. Iceland costs enough without throwing bad money after good. Judging by the number of vehicles parked in there, the owners would probably have enough for a luxury holiday in Cornwall by next Thursday.

“That’s a great hat!”

“Thank you”

“Where did you buy it. Over here?”

“No, eBay,” I smiled in return to the young German man. One of the few non photographers among the masses, he seemed to like my bright blue and orange hat, supplied by a well known manufacturer of outdoor clothing and equipment. I returned to the view in front of me. The Great Sorting Hat of Snaefellsnes in all its glory. If you zoom in a bit, you can even see a watchful eye halfway up that all so familiar slope.

The waterfall area was far busier than it had been three years earlier. Mind you, last time we were here it was under the midnight sun. There were still a handful of people here when I thoughtlessly threw on the ten stop filter and lost all definition in the famous waterfalls then, but now the place was chock full of humanity. In fact, I had to wait my turn to line up my shot, this time choosing the slightly less familiar lower falls to share with this story. I hoped my choice of a six stop filter and a speed of a little under a second might deliver something more pleasing. And even though the hour wasn’t golden or blue, those strange cigar shapes in the sky that had gathered here like old friends gave the rugged green landscape an unworldly atmosphere. For a moment I ignored the crowds gathered behind me and pretended I was the only person here. Just me, a sky full of visitors and a giant sorting hat in this remote corner of Europe. Maybe sleep deprivation was starting to kick in after all.

Everybody has different approach to a photographic composition. You may approach a composition in different ways, depending on how it catches the eye. You may see the subject from a far, approach and circle it doing little framing actions with the hands looking for the right angle, position and elevation. One may instantly see the potential and hover backwards and forwards trying to find a good stance for the tripod. Let’s face it the ways are endless, they say creativity feeds the soul. However with this scene all I was interested in was a tazza e caffe. I was attracted to this fallen tree las potential for parking my bum, I was tired I needed a coffee and a snack and this trunk was as good a place as any. However I was not totally thoughtless in my approach, just as I would be very careful on where I placed my feet in wet sand, here I was extra vigilant on the surrounding vegetation, pity I didn’t have the same idea about the frost covered tree trunk. Maybe I should have dealt with my carelessness with Lightroom, but where’s the fun in that, can anyone see where I was sitting?

The Fly (William Blake)

Little fly,

Thy summer’s play

My thoughtless hand

Has brushed away.

Am not I

A fly like thee?

Or art not thou

A man like me?

For I dance

And drink and sing,

Till some blind hand

Shall brush my wing.

If thought is life

And strength and breath,

And the want

Of thought is death,

Then am I

A happy fly,

If I live,

Or if I die.

- Rosa's Garden of Earthly Delights, Keefer Lake, Ontario, Canada -

The dream has been airlifted to safety

at least it seemed so

a moment ago

allaying fears of yet more anxiety

knowing nothing of reality has certain advantages

though recommended it is not

in truth, such certainty's forgot-

the way this life manages

to recoup instinctive possession of place

standing strong to survival's post

pilloried by a society that loves to boast

of it's own trumpeting charms of disgrace!

we offer thanks not to that which 'moulds' us

but rather the missing ingredient

under the guiding hand of the April expedient

that which affords a natural haven to bless

the missing spirit in us all

where elements rage but fail to calm

an explosively thoughtless time bomb;

a subsumption of a sensory close call

can we possibly dig what we cannot reap;

if we're unable to digest our own home-grown choice

with little or no voice

where next will this silence creep

now pain is the slang term for health

a dialect in the emotional subsoil-

the salt of the Earth in spots can foil

even the big brotherly hounds of stealth

give in or fade out is the political message

from those pampered ministerial amphitheatres

our leaders blow up out of their own massaged figures

leaving the populous to decode the cyclic presage

allow Nature to introduce something She'd like us to know;

from the heart of decision

to the mind of control you envision,

just be sure of exactly what it is you're about to bestow.

by anglia24

10h10: 15/04/2008

©2008anglia24

From my album: Pondering Christmas, 2023.

The day after Black Friday shopping...have we bought with purpose and consideration, or have we been swept away by marketing hype, thoughtlessly buying presents for others without even considering their wants or needs?

40-50,000 ft. thunderstorm clouds over the SE can be amazing.

oceans are dreams (jhwatkins)

Oceans are dreams, that rise and fall

beyond the conscious mind.

Vast volumed vaults transitioning-

rolling ridges ranging high.

Joined with all creation,

dance-like liquid living beings-

quiet, dark depths of passion fire-

eternally careening.

Held in viscous vision,

caught between the separate worlds-

all heaven and earthy creature-

floating figured forms unfurled.

Ghosts-aglow and gaping-

gathered gremlins, timeless trails-

beyond all thought or reason-

hidden highways, watery veils.

Desperate, driven, hungry hunters-

casual commerce-bloody blades.

Liquid-larcened fathoms fallen,

fevered fits in cavalcade.

Contrasts, calm and constant-

consummation, cold desire-

carefully crushed by eons,

in vile volcanic fire.

Down some corridor they creep-

until in rest revealed-

unto the doubting dreamers-

caustic children, filled with fear.

Decision paths of plans performed,

adrift in thoughtless themes.

Gathered golden wisdom,

wrapped in scientific schemes.

Predetermined, parliamentary,

railing posted parts prevail-

racked with frail-formed falsities

in fictional detail.

Loving lost the guide unseen

that rules the changeless world-

and brings us back to view the sea

in vision's vacuumed swirl.

Childlike faith-vast beauty breathed,

an author, bold and bare-

for silence sake, stark stepping stones-

it's wealth unfolding fair.

Troll the tame and turning tide,

that flows in measured ebb.

Rolled rhythmic rows of constancy

in concentrated web.

Held hot the hidden history,

revealing holy fare-

formed fellowships and mysteries-

plain patterns painted there.

To see the unseen signature-

to touch the untouched realm-

to gaze at guardian glory...

graced...

by Starred..

Ascending..

Stair.

James watkins (April 2004)

'Aloha' was a recognition of life in another. If there was life there was mana, goodness and wisdom, and if there was goodness and wisdom there was a god-quality. One had to recognize the 'god of life' in another before saying 'Aloha,' but this was easy. Life was everywhere ... Aloha had its own mana. It never left the giver but flowed freely and continuously between giver and receiver. 'Aloha' could not be thoughtlessly or indiscriminately spoken, for it carried its own power. No Hawaiian could greet another with 'Aloha' unless he felt it in his own heart. If he felt anger or hate in his heart he had to cleanse himself before he said 'Aloha'. - Queen Lili'uokalani

Seen on the left on the horizon is Niihau "The Forbidden Island"

Morning Glory Pool is undoubtedly one of the highlights of the Upper Geyser Basin despite being less beautiful than it once was, since large amounts of rocks and trash have been thrown into the pool by thoughtless visitors, significantly reducing the water temperature. The pool used to be filled by rich blue water, with a narrow ring of orange-yellow bacteria only around the edge; now the water is more greenish and the algae band is much wider. The pool is 20 feet in diameter, 23 feet deep, round and symmetric, with a conical vent at the center, and may be viewed from a raised boardwalk that extends along nearly half its circumference. The spring drains westwards into the Firehole River, 100 feet away. It was named in 1883 for its resemblance in color and shape to the morning glory flower.

Hot spring in the Upper Geyser Basin of Yellowstone National Park.

Don't break my heart.....

Sadly I have to say that my heart was broken yesterday. Whilst out walking, I noticed that the very same grass banks and verges that I'd been so blown away with just a few weeks ago, were now just horrible looking areas of badly cut, brown, dry and unattractive grass, covered with not a sign of the beautiful, fragrant wild flowers that had been such a marvelous sight not so long ago. I turned the corner, holding my breath to see that the row of 6 ft high, spectacular looking Cow Parsley which I photographed the other week, was also now just a memory. My heart felt so heavy, it was horrible and to think of all the insects and wild creatures who had just recently been benefiting, or who'd set up home. I remember thinking that at least there were some beautiful and positive things that were happening throughout this horrible time and Mother Nature being left to do her thing was one of them. I desperately hope that we're not reverting quickly back to our detrimental ways, without a thought to the natural world and the future. This surely has to change and people in charge need to see the long term damage these thoughtless actions are leading to. How can anyone in their right mind prefer dry brown grass to a mass of wild and wonderful flowers and beautiful long grasses. People's actions never cease to amaze me. I hope the day comes when I'm amazed in a positive way the majority of the time.

I should imagine these lanes would have been very unsanitary in the past!

I'd love to wander around here at dusk after rain when the stone setts are all shiny and the old lamps are on.

My hometown of Bingley in West Yorkshire was full of these narrow side lanes, ginnels and snickets in my childhood.

I can just remember them, all lost to the 'slum' clearances in the late 60's and 70's. Replaced by shoddy, characterless housing, the old communities thoughtlessly destroyed. If only they had had the foresight to improve them instead - they'd probably be full of antique shops and expensive wine bars by now...

And the original communities would still be in shoddy housing, just somewhere on the outskirts. (Old codger rant over.)

Collett design 'Castle' Class 4-6-0 5043 'Earl of Mount Edgcumbe' raises the echoes at Salterwath as it puts on an impressive performance climbing to Shap summit, working 1Z43 06:56 Birmingham New Street to Carlisle Vintage Trains' 'Shap Mountaineer' on Saturday 16th March 2024.

NB: Taken with kind permission of the landowner. It must be pointed out that, due to a recent thoughtless act of a photographer not closing the farm gates behind upon leaving the field, and resulting in the escape of livestock, the landowner has now quite rightly placed this much favoured location and all adjoining fields strictly out of bounds, without his express prior permission. 'No Entry' signs have been placed on the access gates accordingly.

© Gordon Edgar - All rights reserved. Please do not use my images without my explicit permission

I'm so sad to see that people begins to consider it as a normal thing to steal the work from artists they love even if this artist is going to loose it all by thier fault only for their crazy consomation of dolls... I just can't understand that. Our doll artists are fragile and we must help them to grow buying the original dolls, not by killing their hard work and giving money to someone that hasn't done anything for winning it.

YOU ARE KILLING ARTISTS THAT YOU LOVE!!! THEY WILL MAYBE NEVER DO DOLLS AGAIN BECAUSE OF YOU!!!

Some companies are newborns, in a very fragile state. They are not rich. They just try to work hard to please collectors and feed their families.

HOW CAN YOU IMAGINE THAT WHAT YOU ARE DOING IS A GOOD THING??!

What if you were the artist? Would you be Ok with that? I don't thin so...

Edit: Had to put this up again...

Recast are against most laws and against moral.

People who send dolls to recaster are so thoughtless. So lacking of emapty. So ridiculosly immature and fickle.

Edit: up gain with recast of Nobledoll and Lillycat's dolls. How disgusting. Who send the dolls to recasters? Collectors.

youtu.be/w2JRGv91urY

Little Fly,

Thy summer's play

My thoughtless hand

Has brushed away.

Am not I

A fly like thee?

Or art not thou

A man like me?

For I dance

And drink, and sing,

Till some blind hand

Shall brush my wing.

If thought is life

And strength and breath

And the want

Of thought is death;

Then am I

A happy fly,

If I live,

Or if I die.

William Blake

For more details expanding image

NemO’s is an Italian street artist, known for his thought-provoking, dark comedy murals inhabited by characteristic human figures.

NemO’s large public pieces are almost always thought-provoking, displaying his critique towards our society’s modern values, selfish aspects of our society, with banal and thoughtless actions, or towards shallow and shock-addicted press and media.

NemO's es un "street artist" italiano, conocido por sus murales de comedia oscura y provocadores de la reflexión, habitados por figuras humanas características.

Las grandes obras públicas de NemO's son casi siempre estimulantes, mostrando su crítica hacia los valores modernos de nuestra sociedad, los aspectos egoístas de nuestra sociedad, con acciones banales e irreflexivas, o hacia medios y prensa poco profundos y adictos al sensacionalismo.

Fanzara (Castellón/ Spain)

Whispered in secret hideouts of undiscovered backwoods...

Far away from abodes...

Far away from any known location...

Voiceless keepers of mysteries...

Mysteries of ancient civilizations which used to stay in those lands a long time before appearance of human race...

Unspoken legends from the Age of Magic...

***

A thoughtless wanderer has passed the edge, which should not be passed.

In a blink of an eye the forest has petrified... And a deep silence was interrupted by a high-pitch hum coming from everywhere.

And yes, his destiny was coming...

Introduction

Gospel Hymn | 2019 Church Worship Song With Lyrics | "Listen Carefully to God's Words"

Take heed of God’s words, listen quietly to His voice,

and He will reveal to you.

Be quiet within Him; He’s your God, your Redeemer.

Make your heart quiet too, at all times live within Him;

He’s your rock, He’s your backer,

the support that you’re after.

I

Have no other mind, but lean wholeheartedly on Him,

and He will most certainly appear to you, for He is your God.

Ah, those poor doubters, they surely cannot stand firm,

and so they will be able to gain nothing for lacking faith.

You must know what a crucial time this is now,

what a key point this is!

And don’t bustle about doing things of no use;

get close to God, in fellowship with Him,

all mysteries are revealed.

II

Listen to the Holy Spirit speaking,

follow every word of His teaching.

Don’t pass them over and keep nothing.

You hear God’s words but leave them behind.

Oh, you are thoughtless and blind.

You’ve missed out so much blessing.

You must listen carefully to God’s word,

fellowship with Him, get close to Him more.

He’ll teach you all that you don’t understand,

He’ll lead you down the path onward.

Pay less heed to fellowship with others.

There are now many who preach doctrine

and the letter of the truth,

but its reality is gained by few.

III

Listening to them will leave you confused and numb,

not knowing how to progress.

For though you listen to them,

you’ll only come to learn letters and doctrines in turn.

Watch your step, protect your heart,

and from God don’t be apart.

Communicate closely with Him and soon He’ll let you see

that which you do not understand very clearly.

Watch your words and watch your heart,

walk the path God walks.

Take heed of God’s words, listen quietly to His voice,

and He will reveal to you.

Be quiet within Him; He’s your God, your Redeemer.

Make your heart quiet too, at all times live within Him;

He’s your rock, He’s your backer,

the support that you’re after.

Take heed of God’s words, listen quietly to His voice,

and He will reveal to you.

Be quiet within Him; He’s your God, your Redeemer.

Make your heart quiet too, at all times live within Him;

He’s your rock, He’s your backer,

the support that you’re after.

from The Word Appears in the Flesh

Image Source: The Church of Almighty God

www.youtube.com/watch?v=UNoouLa7uxA

You're always brilliant in the morning,

Smoking your cigarettes and talking over coffee

Your philosophies on art, Baroque moved you

You loved Mozart and you'd speak of your loved ones

As I clumsily strummed my guitar

You'd teach me of honest things,

Things that were daring, things that were clean

Things that knew what an honest dollar did mean

I hid my soiled hands behind my back

Somewhere along the line, I must have gone off track with you

Excuse me, guess I've mistaken you for somebody else,

Somebody who gave a damn,

Somebody more like myself

These foolish games are tearing me

You're tearing me, you're tearing me apart

And your thoughtless words are breaking my heart

You're breaking my heart.

Two of my sisters, my brother-in-law Rik, and I descended on Charleston, SC, just before Christmas 1972. I flew down from Nashville with only the clothes on my back and gifts for my family. And a tin full of untested marijuana brownies I'd made the previous night from an ounce of high-quality Jamaican weed.

In Charleston I stayed with my cute little Christian grandma Dana (on my left above) three blocks away from Tiz's house on Legare St, where the rest of the family was boarding.

The day after I arrived Tiz, my mom, told me that she and Dana had bought me a suit to wear for a cocktail party that afternoon a few blocks away in honor of Hank Stallworth--a guy I'd known at boarding school--and his fiancee: a blue blazer, a white-on-white shirt, an enormous red satin necktie, red double-knit polyester pants, and a shiny white belt.

"Where are your dress shoes?" Tiz asked.

"I'm wearing them," I said.

"Those are boots. Where are your shoes?"

"I didn't bring any."

"My God. All right, they'll have to do. Your stepfather has some shoe polish in his closet you can borrow. Now hurry up, you have to be there in an hour."

The only shoe polish my stepfather had that came close to brown was cordovan, which I discovered too late turned my brown boots purple. Now seemed like an excellent time to eat a brownie, so I had two. A half hour later I was buffing my boots to a nice shine when the full impact of the brownies hit me really, really, REALLY hard. I was much too stoned to go to this party and told my sister Ruthie so.

"Bullshit, Willie. We have to go and we don't even know these people. He's your friend! If we have to go, you have to go!"

This made sense, but it still didn't seem fair. I grabbed my new clothes and my purple boots and walked to my grandmother's. Dana greeted me at the door with a message: "Will, Tiz called and told me to tell you to hurry up." I said to tell Tiz I'd be there as soon as I showered and changed clothes.

Upstairs I was laying out my new clothes on my bed when Dana knocked on my bedroom door.

"Will?"

"Yes, Dana?"

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, Dana, thanks!"

"You were singing!"

"I was?"

"You were singing about The Devil!"

I froze. This was not good. Not only was I not even aware that I was singing, but I was singing loudly enough that an 83 year old deaf woman could hear me through a closed door. I explained my behavior somehow and she went away. A minute later I realized I'd been singing "Sympathy For The Devil" very, very loud.

The water in Charleston was so soft that after my shower my hair, which usually just hung straight down, was cascading down past my shoulders in ringlets (as in the photo above). And the shirt was three sizes too large for my neck. My eyes were BRIGHT red and I had the stupidest shit-eating grin on my face ever. Fully dressed, I looked like I'd been raised by circus people.

When I showed up at my mom's house to get my sisters and Rik, Ruthie answered the door and fell into hysterics. She hollered for the others to come see me at the front door. Rik and my older sister (seen above) almost collapsed from laughter.

We were met at the party by Hank, who introduced us to his fiancee. The inside of the house looked like a Brooks Brothers showroom--short-haired men, dressed in conservatively cut charcoal-grey/black suits, white shirts, club ties, and BLACK shoes, were everywhere. I, on the other hand, looked like a clown the host had thoughtlessly hired to entertain everyone.

I headed for the bar and buffet table. I figured cocktail shrimp and a couple of bloody marys would bring me down. I was so wrong; in a matter of minutes I was both drunk and stoned. I wandered away from the shrimp and passed from one group of strangers to another, not talking to anyone, just listening to their boring preppie bullshit about hunting, sports, and cars. I figured if I didn't actually talk to anyone, I could fake my way through this ordeal; so for 10 minutes or so people engaged me in conversations to which I contributed a nod, a laugh, or a handshake, but absolutely zero interest in or comprehension of what was said.

At some point I found myself listening to this older man talk, but I couldn't understand a word he was saying--it was all just "Blah blah blah blah blah" to me. I began to panic that he might actually ask me a question. Deciding I'd be better off doing the talking instead of the listening, I interrupted him. "You know," I said, "I was talking with Mr. Smythe earlier, and he was telling me this insane story about deRo Myers, how deRo had gone to Princeton and become a 'hippie'. And just between us, I listened as politely as I could, but he really doesn't know what he's talking about. DeRo Myers? A HIPPIE? I mean, I spent four years at EHS with deRo, and I know deRo Myers. And I'm telling you, Mr. Smythe doesn't know what the hell he's talking about. But what do you think? You must know deRo--do you think deRo's become a, quote, hippie, unquote?"

He swallowed uncomfortably. "Well, actually," he said. "Actually, I'm Mr. Smythe and I just finished telling you that story."

"Oh. Right. Well, I'm going to go have another drink."

I quickly made my way to the buffet table and never looked back. I had another bloody mary or two and some more cocktail shrimp. I saw this one really pretty girl standing by herself against the back wall. Having forgotten what I looked like, I approached her and started talking her up. I suggested we have dinner together while I was in Charleston. She politely turned me down, but I kept insisting. Dinner, a movie, anything. My sister Ruthie appeared and apologized for interrupting. "Do you mind if I talk to my brother for a few minutes?" The girl said not at all. Ruthie asked me what I thought I was doing. Hadn't we agreed my talking to people was a bad idea? I countered that I was in the middle of putting the blast on this incredibly beautiful girl and actually getting somewhere, so what's the problem?

"Willie," she said, "that's your friend's fiancee! God, you are such an idiot! Maybe we better go back to Tiz's."

"I'm ready," I said.

The photo above was taken by Rik the next day at Christmas dinner. I resisted -- with extreme unction -- having a record of me in this outfit. To no avail. My expression says it all.

London can be both a beautiful and scummy place all at once. Sadly the city showed me both its sides recently, my girlfriend and I had spent 4 days shooting around city, just before leaving we sat down at a pub outside Euston station where some thoughtless toerag lifted her camera bag when her back was turned. She lost a virtually new Canon 6D Mark ii along with all the pictures she had taken during the trip.

Photography is a hugely important part of both our lives and she’s worked tirelessly to save up for her pride and joy. As I’m sure you can imagine, she was absolutely devastated, not least because she wasn’t insured against theft. So I’m trying to raise some money to help her replace it and get back behind the camera as soon as possible. To do that, I’m offering a selection of 7 digital original images of my most popular London images up for sale for just £10, every single penny of profit from the sale of this set will be going towards replacing her equipment.

Find out more: Help a Photographer

Your help would be most appreciated, thank you.

"As one who sails upon a wide, blue sea

Far out of sight of land, his mind intent

Upon the sailing of his little boat,

On tightening ropes and shaping fair his course,

Hears suddenly, across the restless sea,

The rhythmic striking of some towered clock,

And wakes from thoughtless idleness to time:

Time, the slow pulse which beats eternity!

So through the vacancy of busy life

At intervals you cross my path and bring

The deep solemnity of passing years.

For you I have shed bitter tears, for you

I have relinquished that for which my heart

Cried out in selfish longing. And to-night

Having just left you, I can say: "'T is well.

Thank God that I have known a soul so true,

So nobly just, so worthy to be loved!""

Venetian Glass by Amy Lowell

Personally, I think it's a shame that this type of photo is so utterly oversaturated by "street photographers" that point their DSLRs at every single person that crosses their path, despite having no discernible quality whatsoever, that it has become completely irrelevant. I think it's a shame because it forms the basics of street photography and if done well can be pleasing and interesting on many levels.

One of the things I like about street photography is the challenge to portray the ordinary in an extraordinary way. We can't all be compositional masters, but taking the same photo over and over with a telephoto lens of random people walking towards you from the waist up surely can't be in any way fulfilling? It's not even trying.

Nor can it be fulfilling the empty comments that ensue. When the 'depth of field', 'subject separation', 'nice tones', 'good expression' gratuitous comments are exhausted it then follows to comment only on the subjects attributes, because the actual photo has no merit in its own right. It's not a considered photo that has been taken for any reason, it's random thoughtless snapping.

I have read the opinions of a few of these 'random-people-snappers' and they say how shocking it is, the style of Bruce Gilden and (recently highlighted) Tatsuo Suzuki and how they would only ever treat their subjects with respect etc. yet in their bodies of snaps they have hundreds (from their multiple thousands of almost identical captures) of images of disgruntled people staring into the lens angrily and obviously questioning why they are being photographed. I question it also and wonder what purpose these snaps could ever serve.

Some of these 'snappers' even teach street photography! I've always wondered what the conversation / lesson would go like...

Student: What should I do first?

Master Snapper: Buy an expensive camera.

Student: What about the settings?

Master Snapper: Auto.

Student: Now what?

Master Snapper: Point the camera at a person.

Student: Then?

Master Snapper: Press the shutter button.

Student: What about the composition?

Master Snapper: That is the composition.

Anyway, it's just an opinion. It's all subjective, right?

I found an old dusty slide in the back of my desk draw. When I held it up to the light I saw it was an old photo I took of my home town of New York City. Here is that image that has come to mean so much more to me than I ever thought it would when I took the picture from the observation deck of the World Trade Center.

www.drurydrama.com

The Fly

William Blake - 1757-1827

Little fly,

Thy summer’s play

My thoughtless hand

Has brushed away.

Am not I

A fly like thee?

Or art not thou

A man like me?

For I dance

And drink and sing,

Till some blind hand

Shall brush my wing.

If thought is life

And strength and breath,

And the want

Of thought is death,

Then am I

A happy fly,

If I live,

Or if I die.

In our thoughtless actions, we have tossed aside items like shoes and clothes, oblivious to the consequences they may have on our environment. However, recognizing the importance of safeguarding our planet for future generations, it is time for us to unite and make a change. Let us turn our words into action by embracing recycling, and let us cultivate a greener future by growing our own vegetable gardens using recycled materials. Together, we can create a sustainable world where care for the environment extends beyond today and leaves a lasting legacy for the generations to come.

“There is a strange interdependence between thoughtlessness and evil.” Hannah Arendt.

This photo was taken over 30 years ago at an approximate depth of 40 feet.

Brain Coral - Brain coral is a colony of tiny polyps that extend, particularly at night to eat on other micro-organisms. When they die, new polyps grow over the skeletons of dead polyps. The coral grows very slowly. This large piece of coral may be hundreds of years old.

Tenuous Link: moon

You Took my Breath Away,

Explored #11 T___T

NIGHT

by: William Blake (1757-1827)

The sun descending in the west,

The evening star does shine;

The birds are silent in their nest.

And I must seek for mine.

The moon, like a flower

In heaven's high bower,

With silent delight

Sits and smiles on the night.

Farewell, green fields and happy grove,

Where flocks have took delight:

Where lambs have nibbled, silent move

The feet of angels bright;

Unseen they pour blessing

And joy without ceasing

On each bud and blossom,

On each sleeping bosom.

They look in every thoughtless nest

Where birds are cover'd warm;

They visit caves of every beast,

to keep them all from harm:

If they see any weeping

That should have been sleeping,

They pour sleep on their head,

And sit down by their bed.

When wolves and tigers howl for prey,

They pitying stand and weep,

Seeking to drive their thirst away

And keep them from the sheep.

But, if they rush dreadful,

The angels, most heedful,

Receive each mild spirit,

New worlds to inherit.

And there the lion's ruddy eyes

Shall flow with tears of gold:

And pitying the tender cries,

And walking round the fold:

Saying, 'Wrath by His meekness,

And, by His health, sickness,

Are driven away

From our immortal day.

'And now beside thee, bleating lamb,

I can lie down and sleep,

Or think on Him who bore thy name,

Graze after thee, and weep.

For, wash'd in life's river,

My bright mane for ever

Shall shine like the gold

As I guard o'er the fold.'

The striking Knife Angel, or the National Monument Against Violence and Aggression, is made out of 100,000 anonymously donated knives and knives siezed by the police.

The Angel is 27 feet (8.2 metres) tall. It highlights the negative effects of violent and aggressive behaviour and also acts as a memorial to lives lost through violent and thoughtless actions.

The sculpture is outside Gloucester Cathedral from 1st to 27th February 2023 as part of a UK National Anti Violence Tour. It was constructed at the British Ironwork Centre in Oswestry, Shropshire, and designed by sculptor Alfie Bradley.

It is summer, it is the solstice

the crowd is

cheering, the crowd is laughing

in detail

permanently, seriously

without thought.

~ William Carlos Williams

"On a journey after the sun

we stopped on a windy beach

that's where the peace begun

and the chase ended

through the waves

life is rolling...

- the thoughtless air fits you well

and it's fun to be in the waves -

through the waves

now you're looking

- the foamy curls are far away and still looking -

through the waves..."

Nipped off the bottom rather neatly, pressed out the precious meal within, and thoughtlessly cast aside the discarded remains. Guess mating season ended...

Thoughtless Outfit

• It includes :

• Shirt - With 04 different textures.

• Shorts - With 04 different textures.

• Rigged for Legacy M and Belleza Jake.

- Female version available at the Technofolk store. -

• Please test the demo before purchasing!

Museum of Communication – "Sounds of Silence"

When you sit so thoughtlessly in the museum and listen to the sounds that flow from the headphones, you suddenly discover forms and figures that you think you have to record them....

(taken with the cell phone)

➽ Museum of Communication, Bern

➽ Exhibition "Sounds of Silence"

(46.94185, 07.45030)

Wise men once said

"Wild winds are death to the candle"

A rose by any other name is a scandal

Cautions issued, he stood

Shooting the messengers

They tried to warn him about her

She is here to destroy you

Yes, I have a new most favorite song since I've got the CD with bonus track after album's release and was able to finally listen to it. xD And I also have quite of collection of very different interpretations of it, written by curious Swifties. ;) No, I'm not going to share here which theory I support, but I think if true one day it will be mainstream knowledge, just like that theory about Folklore some people tell y'all two years ago and were ridiculed (and cyberbullied), which theory was basically confirmed by an official account this year and people acted like it's new, but it's not. So no, this picture is not about any theory (though some of them may overlap with it). :)

Those lyrics are great example of visual storytelling, and there is a certain scene with certain vibes, which triggered a memory and reminded me of something that literally happened in a game... at least from my POV it looked more or less like that when I had the choice of which player to save (I chose the danger and I have no regrets). No, I swear, I'm not being dramatic, it was the other player who wrote about falling from the cliff twice and the second time I just couldn't let it happen again! xD

I wanted to include the Albatross to stay as close to the lyrics as possible, because this is a tribute to the song first and foremost. So instead of including the actual characters from that game, I chose another character as a guest character, and I made some redesign, because my own characters were redesigned in previous pictures as well... :) I have our game host's permission to include the character which is not mine, so I hope it's okay. I just wanted to find a way to share a song, cause I think someone would like it.

My favorite part is, of course, the Albatross. I chose Laysan albatross as reference, cause I started with a tail so I needed to keep other parts dark too. I had to digitally recolor the head, though, cause Lego released only three colors, with one of them not being a bird's head at all despite the shape. So don't worry, everything is Lego here. :)

I hope you'll like the picture, cause I'm very excited about how it looks now with all the effects. :D

You can listen to the song here:

Taylor Swift - The Albatross (Official Lyric Video)