A couple of summers ago, I witnessed the most meaningful ceremony I've ever seen. My friend G married her longtime love. And before I go on... a word about their love.

It's something you can feel when you walk into their house. It emanates... not just from them, but from the house itself... the furniture... the animals... the garden... the bric a brac. Entering that house is like walking into some big yellow-warm sunshine embrace; it is nothing short of palpable. And seeing them together is even more powerful.

These are two people who just so clearly delight in each other's company. Like all of us, they have their share of less than stellar days, but they're strong for each other, they support one another, they complement each other... and, like I said, when you see them together, you can't help but share a little hiccup in your heart... a skip-step of giddiness. In short, if ever two people should be married, G and her love were those two people. And they're both from backgrounds that value marriage; that see it as the highest expression of togetherness.

But there was one more factor at play that made their wedding the specialest occasion. Until that year, they had not had the legal right to marry. Why? Because G and her One True Love are women. To which I say... So fucking what??

Marriage, as I understand it, is all about love and commitment. And no two people were ever more in love or more committed.

And to those who argue same-sex marriage somehow undermines the so-called sanctity of the so-called institution of marriage... I say heterosexual couples... with their soaring divorce rates, and rampant infidelity, and vicious child-custody disputes... are doing that themselves.

Besides. Why should anyone's choice of who to love... or who to marry... be anyone else's business? As long as no one's being victimized, what's the problem?

One of the arguments advanced here in Canada, where same-sex marriage is legal (for the time being, anyway)... is that, if THIS is okay, then what's next? Polygamy?

To which I say... what's the hairy issue with polygamy? If three people (or four or five or whatever) choose to form a legal bond and raise their family collectively... again, as long as no one's being victimized... what is the problem?

Oh, say the critics, but polygamy's tied to child abuse. Uh, right. That's the same thing they say about same-sex unions... based on their ludicrous assumption that all homosexuals are somehow pedophiles, or sex fiends. Ridiculous.

I've heard otherwise rational men say... I'd never go to a gay male doctor.

To which I say.... don't flatter yourself. Just because a man may be in a love with another man, that doesn't mean he's uncontrollably flinging himself at every damned man who walks through the door. I mean... I have a straight male doctor. That means... oooooohhhh.... gasp.... he has sex with women!!!! But that has absolutely nothing to do with him examining me in his professional capacity.

We have a polygamist sect here in British Columbia, and it's under near-constant scrutiny for child abuse. The allegation is that very young girls are married off to men, against their will.

To which I say... if that's the case, it's child abuse, for sure. But it's an entirely separate issue from the marital status of the parents involved.

Sorry if I'm ranting here, but this whole issue gets my knickers in a major twist. I think it's because... as one of those kids who was teased and taunted for simply being who I was... I sort of understand what it must be like to face such senseless discrimination.

We have today, in too many parts of North America, a culture that says... while most other forms of organized hate and discrimination are frowned upon... it's okay to ostracize and mistreat people... solely on the basis of who they love.

It's insane. I mean... I remember when I first encountered boys. There was an instant ZING! From that time on, I pretty much always had a crush on some boy or other and... lucky me... I was part of a majority, so having those feelings was a-okay.

The gay and lesbian people I've talked to had similar experiences somewhere in their lives.... where they felt that overwhelming sense of attraction and excitement and curiosity. But... unlucky them, they were part of a minority, and made to think that what they felt was somehow bad or wrong.

I'm on this topic today because our federal government (recently elected and right wing) is threatening to undo the same-sex marriage law. This is just the latest in a string of reversals that's included:

- killing the nearly-enacted bill that would've decriminalized marijuana

- killing an agreement with aboriginal people that would've finally begun addressing the deplorable conditions many of them live in

- reversing the country's commitment to do its part to address climate change, and

- killing a multi-year agreement with the provinces that would've made child care somewhat more affordable and accessible.

In the government's eyes, child care is bad. I mean, everyone knows mommies should stay home with their babies while daddies work. Climate change is just a bunch of made-up garbage; after all, those scientists are all a bunch of liberals. Aboriginal people... notwithstanding the fact that white people stole their land, stuck them on reserves, legislated away their rights and tore a whole generation of children away from their families and communities... Notwithstanding that, "those people" are just lazy; they just need to pull themselves up by their bootstraps. As for marijuana... well, we all know it's FAR more harmful than booze, which government not only endorses but shamelessly profits from. I mean... just look at all the domestic strife, and public brawls, and armed standoffs, and traffic carnage caused by those crazed, violent potheads. And those humsexuals... well. We can't deport them 'cause they're from here (darnit anyway). But we sure as hell owe it to the citizenry to make sure they're denied the most fundamental of human rights... the right to freely love.

I'm sorry if this is a downer but I'm sick at heart for my country today. I fear where we're going and I feel so helpless... watching our common sense progress slip away.

I guess I should just be glad that G and her One True Love are already married... and no one... not even right wing governments... can take what they have away from them.

Zhapu Rd., Shanghai

Kunshan Park, built in 1895-1898, is one of the oldest parks in Shanghai. Since July 2022, the park has been closed to public for the reason of avoiding gatherings due to the uncontrollable Covid-19 outbreak. With nowhere else to go, people sit densely on the dwarf walls of the flower beds at the edge of the park. But for the park managers, even if this gathering ‘outside the park’ had caused the Covid-19 outbreak, it would not be their responsibility since it didn't happen ‘inside the park’. This is one of the epitomes of China's campaign against Covid-19.

Venezia

-Artificial intelligence “image generators” give everyone the opportunity to be creative, and thanks to their abilities, millions of people have this experience. But there is confusion and new questions. As the artistic prowess of artificial intelligence emerges, it raises questions we haven't encountered before about what it means to be human. Some consider AI products to be works of art, while others object. I evaluated the facts analytically in terms of art philosophy and wrote my ideas in this article.

Below is the article I wrote about art, artist concepts, can artificial intelligence make art, analysis of human art and artificial intelligence products.

*

AN ANALYTICAL PERSPECTIVE ON THE "ART" ADVENTURE OF HUMANS AND ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE

The concept of "art" is the field of creativity, the only feature of being human. As the artistic prowess of Artificial intelligence emerges in a fast-moving world, it raises questions we've never encountered before about what it means to be "human". What kind of a period will "art", which is the result of human concepts such as existence, society, communication, subconscious, emotions, imagination, intuition, love, sensitivity, impulse, instinct, dream, originality and of course, creativity, enter into a period with Artificial intelligence (AI)? With its revolutionary technology that will change production, thinking, lifestyles and the future, will artificial intelligence, which is designed to replace people in other fields of activity, be more creative than humans in the field of art and reach the competence to challenge the artist?

According to Hegel, art carries the spirit of the artist, who is transferred to matter and likens matter to himself. Well, since the products created by machines without a soul today are not generated by an artist, can they carry spirit and meaning?

For years, computer technology has already made an impact and contribution to visual arts with image technologies such as vector, bitmap, 3D, CGI as a tool that creates, processes and changes the image. Today, many smart image generators such as Stable Diffusion, DALL-E, Craiyon, Midjourney, Nightcafe Ai, etc. are software systems that can statistically evaluate themselves over large datasets containing millions of images, train themselves, and produce new images that are not included in the original dataset. Not just images, AI is already being used in other branches of the arts to create music, poetry, sculpture, stories, articles and films.

There are many new questions and concepts such as whether the products created by a system that has human skills but is not human are real works of art, whether programmers and machines will be accepted as artists, whether AI products can be included in the broad and general definition of art. Although there are objections, acceptances, doubts, different opinions, it has been met with great interest by the majority.

First of all, it is necessary to talk about the concepts of “Art” and “Artist”. In its most general definition, art is a reflection of the human mind and cultural evolution, an expression of creativity, way of thinking and imagination. The artist, on the other hand, is the one who makes art with the awareness of "being human", humanizes and shapes life, and realizes the phenomenon of art with action. The artist combines facts with aesthetic elements from a different point of view and records them in social memory. Behind his creative works lie deep stories of man, his age and society. He uses his imagination, patience, enthusiasm and self-sacrificing efforts to embed his passions, memories, dreams, imaginary and abstract ideas, symbols, philosophy and his inner world, the dynamics of the era and society he lives in, with aesthetic expressions. The process of creating the artist's art is complex and difficult, while filtering everything he is affected by and incorporating it into his works. He feels both sadness and happiness most deeply, and experiences his anxiety and pleasure at the highest level.

Art originates from life and human beings and belongs to humans. “Art is an object made by man for man. “ (E.H.Gombrich, The Story of Art) This is a very accurate definition and “Art” is based on a human-made phenomenon that takes its source from the human artist and seeks meaning with its historical, social accumulation and imagination; existence occurs in the unity of human, artist, meaning, aesthetic object and aesthetic taste. In this respect, there is a deep bond of existence between man, art and work of art that complements each other.

The artist searches for the meanings behind artistic intentions and desires and vital phenomena. Since AI is not a living, emotional being, it lacks imagination, the reality of its external world, and the qualities of being human. Unfortunately, those who claim in advance that the products of AI are art, underestimate the artist who realizes the thousands-year-old deep source of art and the artistic production process, and find it unnecessary to question the artist's effort and necessity. Decisions made by those who do not know the depth of the creative process, without entering the enthusiastic world of an artist, are in favor of accepting and affirming AI products without questioning them. We see that the capitalist world, which wants to benefit from the stimulating effect of the trade created by AI products, has great expectations to use this situation in its favor and turn it into money.

The production process of AI is formed by the combination of computer, programmer, data, algorithm, output, aesthetic taste of the receptive subject. Since AI does not perform its actions by focusing on aesthetic values, aesthetic harmony and meaning, the output it produces is only a sensory, aesthetic value uncertain, non-essential, formal object. Because it lacks the subjective point of view and the values of the special creation process in the mind of an artist. The software, which does not take its source from the human mind, does not have emotions, and produces from ready-made data, has the potential to produce likeable outputs. It can even produce outputs, albeit rare, that, by chance, can give aesthetic pleasure and cause emotional and artistic excitement in people. Again, it is the receptive subject himself who adds artistic value to such an output with his artistic disposition, education and dreams. Because, while the output is devoid of a communication basis, an expression to be conveyed and has no artistic value, the perception style, psychological orientation and point of view of the receptive subject who establishes the communication raise the output to the value of an object that gives aesthetic pleasure. The receptive subject participates in the process with its level of perception of the object, aesthetic judgment and creativity, and needs the qualities of its own self and visual capacity. With a subjectivist attitude, he takes the artistic value not from the object but from his own psychology, customizes the object with his own emotions and attributes a meaning to the output. What makes the output of AI valuable is not the qualities of the aesthetic object formed by the activity of an artist, but the way of seeing of the receptive subject.

The work of art is a human creation, the creative subject is the artist. The artist produces by adding meaning to his work, and the visible form has a meaning integrity, a unity of form and content. In his work, the artist formally expresses a reality about life in his work. That is, the meaning is not added after making the work, and the meaning exists as a substance in the mind of the artist before the work takes shape. In the work, the expression to be conveyed without communicating with the receptive subject is already present and ready; all this is hidden in the work as a reality and waits to be seen by a competent receptive subject. This is the process of discovery of the work of a spirit that repeats the aesthetic creation formed in the artist's soul. The receptive subject, who judges the output of artificial intelligence, lacks the pleasure and effort of creating, perceiving and recreating the expression level of the artist, that is, the human being. Because understanding and making sense of a work of art requires an effort like the creativity of the artist.

E.H. “We cannot hope to understand a work of art if we do not have the ability to share that sense of liberation and triumph that the artist has over his finished work,” says Gombrich.

We see that while art is realized with the connection of the artist, the work (aesthetics) and the receptive subject (aesthetic interest), the process in the AI product takes place with the connection of data, algorithm, object (sensory) and receptive subject (aesthetic interest).

Human art is the aesthetic relationship between man and objective reality and includes artistic reality. Its source is life, human, society, created by the artist, it focuses on the whole process and is holistic. It is based on the reproduction of the aesthetic values that the artist brings to the object by the receptive subject, the connections and interaction with the aesthetic judgment. It is directly and tightly connected to human practice, society and social life. The work of art is personal, original, and the artist has a compositional knowledge and skill that will require much more than repetitions, different blending and attachment techniques in AI output. In a way that takes its origins from life and focuses on the soul and meaning, art considers beauty as a unity of values. Like artificial intelligence, it focuses not only on the result, but also on the whole process, and this is what we need to distinguish.

Although AI is capable of creativity, this does not mean that it is an artist. Likewise, neither a programmer nor an algorithm is an artist. Because their production is outside of the vital, emotional, spiritual and meaning integrity we have explained above, they produce automatically and with commands. The algorithm does not create the object by considering artistic values, qualities and concerns, that is, the algorithm is not aware that it is dealing with art, so it is not conscious of reality. It scans the database and generates predictive compositions with the ability to fuse, add, subtract, associate and learn.

Artificial intelligence products can only be at the limit of the general definition of art. The creation process is automatic and is not identical with human art with the layers of existence it has; the source, formation and result are realized by a completely different method. Therefore, it is a phenomenon of experimental production that, although it is ostentatious and surprising, is not competent, imitates art as a form, its essence is incomplete, although it gives the impression of art.

Based on the context of reality, the search for meaning, the layers of existence and the social source of life, it would be appropriate to call it "Human Art" because it represents human beings, and "Artificial Intelligence Art" because it is created by codes. Because we cannot see artificial intelligence, which enters art as a separate actor, as if it is making productions of the same value as human beings and art. What makes human art valuable is that it tells its own story and the struggle for existence with the accumulation of thousands of years of creation process.

As AI enters more and more scientific, everyday and artistic and human fields, we have to make the rules, boundaries and definitions of human domain, arrangements, positioning and criticisms that include what human being is, to remain "human". The important thing is to create and place concepts that will preserve the depth, value, originality, creativity and freedom of the human domain. While doing this, we should determine the roles by defining the field that artificial intelligence, that is, the machine can have. For this reason, the categorical distinction was made as "Human Art" and "AI Art" because it was based on codes. To make both the same, to say that both achieve similar goals in different ways, is a disrespectful, unfair approach to art and the artist and should be objected to.

Of course, AI will enable artists to create new and original products through collaborative work as a resource to benefit from. With artificial intelligence in artistic creation, the artist can expand his creativity, get inspired, try new things, and also think of artificial intelligence as a collaboration tool. Even if the artist is involved in the creation process of the products created by this collaboration, even if he has the initiative, the use of AI based on the source codes will bring about discussions.

The approach to artificial intelligence products will also mean the sincerity exam of people. The artist and no one should not escape easily, and try to show stolen ideas or directly as his own work. It should not make an effort to reflect worthless products as if they are valuable.

Deciding whether the output has value and the quality of its connection with the art means reaching the big problem area in art. A wide variety of factors should be taken into account while making an aesthetic interpretation. Knowing who the work belongs to is also a factor that will affect our decision. Interpreting a work that is not clear by whom it was generated may cause exaggeration or vice versa, underestimation and incompleteness. Evaluating an object as artistic and beautiful is relative (apart from reconciliation with assumptions that make aesthetic judgment general and based on common feeling) and is difficult, but this is a mysterious and normal state of art.

Artificial intelligence will be an encouraging and supportive force with its ease not only for artists, but for everyone. In addition, the copyright problem of the entries that make up the database should be solved, and the rights of the artist and everyone else who does not want to be in the database should be respected.

It should never be forgotten that; The importance of painters and painting did not decrease with the invention of photography, the transformation of smart phones into talented cameras did not turn everyone into a photographer, AI cannot turn anyone into miraculous and fantastic artists, nor transfer talents.

While the subject is being discussed, painting is generally focused on because of its popularity. But how do we react when AI produces an image with details and visual quality indistinguishable from a real photograph? Especially when we compare it with documentary photography, the situation will become more complicated. At this stage, the values shaped in our aesthetic, emotional and imaginary world, which we judge the paintings, will not be enough. We will need to ask whether the photograph is based on objective reality, and we will build our judgmental values after the definition of reality. Because, as a document, that photograph is real, it reflects the state of the world while connecting the lived past to the future, it has a place and a story, it is direct, it is a human and social memory and transfers it to other generations. The photograph created by AI has no story, it only depicts unreal scenes with automatic editing, and the composition is created only with the ability to imitate. Such a photograph will not go beyond an image that only arouses technical admiration before the viewer. For this reason, I think that unmanipulated and documentary photography will become more valuable in the future. Because it will never lose its value as a tool that reflects reality and directly reflects events.

Can you consider William Turner's painting "The Slave Ship" separately from the historical, social, reality of the outside world and the dynamics of the artist's inner world? This painting is not just a painting, it is a work that has meanings far beyond the painting. Now let's imagine that a similar picture is generated by artificial intelligence. Even if pictorial values, light and composition are used appropriately, what historical, artistic, cultural, emotional value can it have? In other words, in the background of art, there are stories of life and a context, while artificial art has nothing to tell, it is a storyless phenomenon that is disconnected from the context of reality, as a product of a system under the control of virtual codes, and has no history.

In today's society, communication habits have changed, the world of possibilities has grown, and even magicalized. AI "image generators" give everyone the opportunity to be creative, and thanks to their amazing ability, they make this experience available to millions of people. Even a child who has learned to read and write can accidentally create remarkable products in front of his computer. It does not make anyone who can write keywords to the computer and who does not have artistic personality and creativity an artist and does not include them in art. Millions of people are attracted to this attractive game without age limit and are entertained by its amazing and strange results, as if they have achieved a magical power. It is more accurate to call them "experimental participants". It is a fact that outliers, complex, uncertain, surreal, mystical, imagination-stimulating images attract a lot of attention. Friedrich Schiller and his theory that art is a game come to mind. But in his theory, Schiller meant real art. Besides, art is a much more complex phenomenon than play.

Although the outputs are strange, unencountered, interesting and attractive, as they multiply uncontrollably in the internet environment, they have a high potential to turn into habitual, valueless, artificial, ordinary objects.

It is human beings who will stand against the destructiveness of technology and protect humanity. Being human, despite your shortcomings, is unique. Do we have the human intelligence, virtue, honesty, will, courage and plan to use the future to be a better human being “together” and to create a world based on beauty and equality? While AI becomes human, we never want a role change where people become automatic, ineffective and robotic.

Man interprets and makes sense of life with his art, resists against time, and transfers his relationship with life to the art environment in freedom with his searches and discoveries. Art is formed in reality through "labor" by the artist. All innovations and technological changes should never be allowed to trivialize art and artists. Because Artificial Intelligence lacks the human touch, love, impulses and, in short, a life.

Einstein said, "The criterion of being intelligent is not knowledge but imagination," and reconciling human imagination with intelligence.

Akil Alparslan / 01 2023

Big Country - The Crossing

www.youtube.com/watch?v=cSVg0eMUmbY

Maps on the back of your hands point to the cross

Scratches on walls in a room draw out your loss

Your islands are conquered and

You are returned to the throne

Martyrs take penance and

Fill up the mattress with stones

Pull straws with holy men

Stain all the atlas pink

And let us find a beach

Where we can cross our hearts

Stand in the wind as the carousels spin

Wear out your welcome again

Stand on the silence of mountains and

Wear out your welcome again

Mornings hit hard with an uncontrollable light

Piercing the senses that click deep in the night

Crouched in a pillow of straw feet on the floor

Creeping a path to the mat that holds back the door

Pull straws with holy men

Stain all the atlas pink

And let us find a beach

Where we can cross our hearts

Build up great railways that run

Through the horns of the moon

Hold up a city with cast iron museum walls

Explain your machines to the boys feed them with tools

Bring out the skill in your skin polish your hair

Pull straws with holy men

Stain all the atlas pink

And let us find a beach

Where we can cross our hearts

Stand in the wind as the carousels spin

Wear out your welcome again

Stand on the silence of mountains

And take a look down to the sea

Stand in the wind as the carousels spin

Wear out your welcome again

Stand on the silence of mountains

And take a look down to the sea

My mother, she told me

"Don't get in trouble"

My father, he told me

He knew I would.

My brothers, they told me

"Don't give a damn"

My sister, she told me

to do something good.

I'm uncontrollable, emotional, chaotically proportional,

I'm visceral, reloadable

I'm crazy, I'm crazy, I'm crazy, I'm crazy

Everybody in the world knows I'm a little twisted

Everybody in the world knows I'm a little twisted

Everybody in the world knows I'm a little twisted

Everybody in the world knows I'm a little twisted

My mother, she told me

"Don't be a quitter"

My father, he told me

He knew I was.

My brothers, they told me

"Do what you do"

My sister, she told me

to do something good.

I'm uncontrollable, emotional,

chaotically proportional,

I'm visceral, reloadable

I'm crazy, I'm crazy, I'm crazy, I'm crazy

Everybody in the world knows I'm a little twisted

Everybody in the world knows I'm a little twisted

Everybody in the world knows I'm a little twisted

Everybody in the world knows I'm a little twisted

My mother, she told me...

My father, he told me...

I'm crazy, I'm crazy, I'm crazy, I'm crazy

Everybody in the world knows I'm a little twisted

Everybody in the world knows I'm a little twisted

Everybody in the world knows I'm a little twisted

Everybody in the world knows I'm a little twisted

(I'm crazy, I'm crazy, I'm crazy, I'm crazy)

www.youtube.com/watch?v=cFtA0ECKh6I

Dark the path camouflaged by bright colors

Omen of occult secrets

The push towards the end of the path

It seems inevitable

It is useless to resist

I will go down there with my heart racing

From dull uncontrollable beats

The fear is as strong as the curiosity to discover

What could be down there

Maybe just a dream or a hallucination

But stopping now without knowing

It is not possible…

(my)

And you think you've had a bad hair day or two. We all have our moments, but this old abandoned shack has the final say where uncontrollable nappy rugs are concerned. I'm thinking about showing this to my barber and asking him to fix me up. I'm going to call it "the tangle."

Half Moon Bay CA

By the stencil Artist: Zen / Zen.Art

Slightly cropped grayscale version of the image (see before). I am interested in this Renaissance rendition of a Satyr (or Pan or Faunus). The Renaissance brought a new self-confidence of the individual or even the autonomy of the self. But here we have what is lurking underneath: uncontrollable drives and desires. You may detect the horns growing out of the Satyr's forehead. In Christian iconography, this visual representation became the template (together with the cloven hoof) after which the image of the Devil was modelled.

More weather, more crashing waves. The uncontrollable violence that nature can inflict is sometimes impressive. In this case, the energy transferred by the water pulverizing the shoreline rocks, makes one step back in awe.

This is also why I chose a longer view. But, when attempting to capture this, the balance was off. So, that lone bird helps the structure of the image, and completes the weighting of the shot. A complete and total stroke of luck.

A close-up of the foliage of one of only two cut-leaf beech trees in our local park.

Please forgive my recent absence from Flickr, I am sure many of you will know the reason why - I was knocked down by an over-enthusiastic uncontrollable young dog weighing only a little less than I do, and broke my hip. Now home from hospital, but it's a long and painful recovery from my hip-replacement surgery. This photograph was taken 2 days before it happened and I haven't been out since !

Many heartfelt thanks for your messages of support, my Flickr friends. I am so blessed to have you !

A special thank you to my Co-Admin in our groups, Tony, "Guy@Fawkes" for running our groups alone, while I've been gone and still while not fully recovered.

The pride of CPKC's fleet - EMD FP9As 1401 and 4107, along with an attractive five-car business train - hold the main at Banff West as the tail-end remote on train no. 112 blackens the sky in diesel exhaust as it notches out of town. While the skies were (mostly) clear at the time of this photo, unbeknownst to the photographer, some 180 miles to the north, uncontrollable wildfires ravaged Jasper National Park. Within a couple of hours, the skies of Banff had turned ominously smoky, along with the gut-wrenching news that the fire had reached the Jasper townsite making for a very somber drive back to Calgary later that evening. My heart truly goes out to all affected by this unthinkable tragedy.

Have you ever had one of those days when someone was so rude and mean to you that you wanted to explode? You managed to control yourself, thanks to your upbringing, where you treat the people who are treating you badly with respect and calmness? Your mood starts with anger (happily not uncontrollable), then your brain goes into gear and you start cooling down, after which you try and rationalize the situation, which takes you into the calming down phase and finally to being able to accept what has happened and as you cool down you can even find a way at laughing at the whole ordeal? Well I had that situation today and it is quite fun to visualize it creatively, I hope that you enjoy my work and get a laugh out of it. Because laughter makes everything better!!!!

HMAM😊😊😍

With heartfelt and genuine thanks for your kind visit. Have a wonderful and beautiful day, be well, keep your eyes open, appreciate the beauty surrounding you, enjoy creating and stay safe! ❤️❤️❤️

© 2022 Peter Mardie, all rights reserved.

Chai & The Blues Maniacs featuring Nurse The Voice! Historical image, shot on 28 June 2014, at the legendary Maggie Choo's Bar, Bangkok.

Patron testimonial:

"Her voice blew my toupee off! The ice cubes shook in my gin glass! I felt as happy as Max my Labradoodle chasing sea gulls on the beach during a typhoon, my ears flapping uncontrollably in the decibel wind! What a great night out!"

Have you experienced The Voice? One of the best singers in Bangkok. Blues, Jazz, Soul, Funk.

And no, I am not getting any kickbacks. My genuine opinion.

-

My web page:

petermardie.smugmug.com

-

Come say hello! (my other hideouts)

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Piana, Falanthos, Arcadia, Peloponnesus peninsula, Greece.

Following a mountain path from the village Piana, in 15 minutes, you reach the cave of the god Pan. This is the cave of the scary god Pan, whose sacred mountain is the Menalon Mountain. The name of the god inspired the Greek word “panikos”, which means “panic”, the sudden, uncontrollable fear that leads people into irrational behavior. As a matter of fact, Pan is a peaceful god. He is the god of the wild, shepherds and flocks, nature of mountain wilds and rustic music. He has the hindquarters, legs, and horns of a goat, in the same manner as a faun or satyr and enjoys the companion of the beautiful nymphs! He is a cheerful, carefree, flirtatious god whose main occupation is music and well-being. But Pan may cause PANIC, terror and fear to people, in case his restlessness and sleep is disturbed. So be careful when you are near this place of the photo. Especially in the noontime, Pan is taking his nap after playing his wonderful music. If you wake him up he will spread panic!

The view from the Pan’s cave is stunning!

Mia Wallace (incarnated by the divine Clara Janssen) and Vincent Vega (superbly played by the wonderful Aristide Atlass) are again fully committed at winning the night's dancing contest at famous retro-themed restaurant Jack Rabbit Slim's. Twisting at the sound of Chuck Berry's "You Never Can Tell", Mia's sexy looks and impeccable moves are absolutely astounding, but Vincent quickly loses the plot and fumbles his way before crashing from the stage.

Our team captured a short video extract from the performance before Vincent collapsed. In another plot twist (pun intended), Mia spent the night at Studios Claris in the arms of our uncontrollably attractive Turkish cameraman and managed not to sniff any unsafe pixel dust!

youtu.be/BPD8_qS9HWk

Mia Wallace (désormais incarnée par la divine Clara Janssen) et Vincent Vega (rôle repris parfaitement par le merveilleux Aristide Atlass) sont à nouveau bien décidés à remporter le concours de danse du fameux resto retro Jack Rabbit Slim's. Twistant sur un air de Chuck Berry, Mia offre une chorégraphie époustouflante, en plus d'une allure des plus enjôleuses. Vincent par contre s'emmêle les pinceaux avant de se casser la figure.

Notre équipe à réussi à capturer un bref extrait vidéo de la performance (lien ci-dessus), avant que Vincent ne s'écrase au bas du podium. Dans un élan d'improvisation créative, Mia a ensuite passé la nuit aux Studios Claris dans les bras de notre irrésistible cameraman turc, et réussit cette fois à éviter de sniffer une poudre pixellisée des plus douteuses!

A Studios Claris production. Check album here: flic.kr/s/aHsmVxZ9mw

It’s almost as if the act of photography bears some relationship to how we consciously manage the uncontrollable set of possibilities that exist in life :-)

Philip-Lorca diCorcia

HBW!! Truth Matters!

fragrant wintersweet, 'Luteus', j c raulston arboretum, ncsu, raleigh, north carolina

The hills near Pigeon Forge, Tennessee, are engulfed by the rapid growth of kudzu, an invasive plant often referred to as the "vine that ate the south" due to its ability to cover virtually anything in its path. This vigorous vine, originally from Japan, was once promoted as an ornamental plant and a means to stabilize soil, but it has since spread uncontrollably, posing a threat to local ecosystems by preventing native plants and trees from thriving.

A few months or ever a year ago, I met this wonderful lady named Trelo. As time passed, I started to get to know her better & better. I decided to give her a special nickname, just as I normally did… Trelobin. Well, the funny fact as I started to know her & her actions and style, I noticed that she is someone that I take my hat off to… Her style is admirable, and we all know that it is really difficult to keep your style alive because a lot of people here copy or naturally get similar to anyone else. Trelobin, trelonoids, trelolyds, treloooolll, you showed me something very special, that no one would EVER show me. Life is difficult, we all have limitations, so forget about them and live today! Enjoy your life as it is and don’t ask yourself, “why me?”. Actually you have to do the opposite, “why not me?”. Life is short, forgive quickly, love truly, smile and laugh uncontrollably, break the rules, and never give up of anything that made you happy. We all have obstacles in our lives, normally life will try to beat you down, we all live in a mean place but the fact is, it is not how hard it hits you, it is how hard you keep going without blaming others. Do your stuff and do not worry about what people think. Thanks once more Trelobin for showing me and emphasising this incredible statement. Each time that I am with you, I learn new things. And I hope to learn a thousand more… ❤

If someone believed me how awesome you are,

THEY WOULD BE

AS IN LOVE WITH YOU AS I AM

To be continued…

Thank you all so much for all your Faves and wonderful inspiring Comments and to Elaine for making me laugh!! Im struggling to catch up with you all and that is a compliment to every one of you out there. Im heading off hiking for the next week so I wont be here much. I will catch up with all of you when I get back though and ill put up a few photos before I go. Take it steady and best wishes to all, from me!

Slan mo Chara!

P@t.

......................................................................................................................

The wild, remote and beautiful Loch Firrib lies high up off the Gap road, a mountain pass that goes through 40 mountains here in Co. Wicklow. It sits at 682m and is not visible from any direction untill you are right on top of it. A map and a compass are essential as its very easy to get lost. The lake is fed from an underground spring that rises on the slopes of Conavala mountain. The mountain peeping above the horizon is Tonelagee 796m Which lies to the n/e of the lake.

Tonelagee means " Arse to the wind " as there is always a wind blowing on its s/w flank.

There is a road in Glasnevin in Dublin called Tonelagee Rd. Its a fairly nice area and a bit posh. The people who live there dont really know what the name means and I like that as arse to the wind road is a good place for them!! Im only poking a bit of fun really but I wouldnt live there!!! Im quite happy here in "Ballygobackwards!"

They are supposed to do Wild Swimming here but Ive never seen it. You would want to be totally mad to even chance it up there. and you could loose a lot of your important bits when they would drop off with the cold! Brrrr!

Tune!

Ive tried to find a tune to fit this scene but I struggled. I settled for " The Corrs " Loch Ernes Shore [ the correct title! ] which is beautiful. Loch Erne is in Co. Galway. People will say that the Corrs, from Dundalk are a pop group but that is incorrect. They are traditional musicians who had some pop hits. Indeed their albums are peppered with traditional Irish tunes. Ive seen them live many times and they are superb and totally natural. They are very easy on the eye too! Well, 3 out of 4 aint bad! Poor Jim Corr! Mind you didnt he marry a supermodel! Isnt that awful for him! Good man yerself Jim!!!

" Lough Ernes Shore ";

www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nb5voqe5C8Q

Art O Neill And Hugh O Donnell. Escape from Dublin Castle 1592.

Hugh Roe O Donnell or "Red Hugh" as he was called, the Earl of Tirconnell was part of the family who were lords of Tir Connell, Northern Ireland, which at that period was the most catholic part of Ireland. He was born in 1572 in their stronghold which is now modern Donegal. The English had made peace with the O Donnells many years before as they had tried to defeat them many times but failed. They thought it was better to confer titles and give them land in exchange for their loyalty. However, it wasnt to be.

On the death of Red Hugh`s father there was a power struggle to see who would succeed him and after a number of fierce battles amongst the cousins, it wasnt resolved but it was expected that "Red Hugh" would succeed him which he did eventually.

At the age of 15 Hugh was bethrothed to Rose O Neill, the daughter of Hugh O Neill, the second Earl of Tyrone.

The English were frighted that this would create one of the most powerful alliances in Ireland which would be uncontrollable, so young Hugh was kidnapped by Sir John Perot to use as a bargaining tool, and imprisoned in Dublin Castle.

On Christmas eve, 1592, O Donnell, with the help of Art and Hugh O Neill, escaped and fled across the Wicklow mountains to the stronghold of Fiach Mc Hugh O Byrne, in Glenmalure about 40 miles across the mountains, in the dead of night. Unfortunately it was one of the worst winters on record and they were badly caught high up on the mountains. Young Art O Neill died of exposure at the foot of a waterfall on Conavala mountain not far from this Lough. There is a large wooden cross overlooking the place and its know as "Arts Cross" in his memory. There is an incribed plaque on the cliff in the little valley where he died. It is written in old Irish script and it is very moving to see it as they say his body is buried here.

Hugh O Donnell successfully reached O Byrnes stronghold, in Glenmalure though suffering from frostbite, he survived having lost a number of toes. He was eventually safely returned to Donegal but he and many others had to flee Ireland and live in exile in Spain as NI was resettled by Protestant planters in 1609 as England felt that it was the only way they could control it. It didnt really resolve the situation as we all know of "the troubles" there which a lot of good people from both sides, fought hard politically to resolve with it great amount of success. It cost 3500 lives, many totally innocent, unfortunately. Enough! We are all hoping and praying here! Yes! Even a total heathen like meself as the alternative doesnt bear thinking about.

Hope you like the somewhat grainy photo as it was a wild day and I suppose it does fit as a tribute to young Art O Neill who lost his life here on that dreadful night so long ago.

Best wishes to all my friends out there in the wilds!

P@t.

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hugh_Roe_O%27Donnell

www.artoneill.ie/

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Plantation_of_Ulster

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Battle_of_Curlew_Pass

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fiach_McHugh_O%27Byrne

Footnote;

This period when the last great chieftains left Ireland is called "The Flight of the Earls" and it is sad as they were the last of their kind.

It was a very difficult place to get to as the ground decending by the waterfall is very unstable but it was wonderful to see the spot where Art died and to think for a moment on such a sad loss of life of such a heroic young man.

" The Art O Neill Challenge " takes place every year here in his memory where groups of "mad" Irish people run from Dublin to Conavala across the mountains, at night in all weathers in Arts memory which though totally off the wall is a very special thing really.

P.

Le fusain peut facilement être considéré comme un médium chaotique : il bave, il est difficile à effacer, il est suffisamment mou pour se briser sous une pression excessive et, de ce fait, il peut sembler incontrôlable. Pour Josh Hernandez , ces caractéristiques font partie de son attrait. Dans ses œuvres, il maîtrise avec aisance les aspects volatils et expressifs du fusain , créant des scènes pleines de mouvement et de personnalité.

°°°°°°°°°

Charcoal can easily be considered a chaotic medium: it smudges, it’s difficult to erase, it’s soft enough to break under too much pressure, and, because of this, it can feel uncontrollable. For Josh Hernandez, these features are part of the draw. Throughout his artwork, he seamlessly manages both the volatile and expressive aspects of charcoal, creating scenes that teem with movement and personality.

To those seeking a memorable outing, consider picnicking at Tom Sawyer Lake. Take off your shoes, sit by the bank, and allow yourself to be present in the moment. Mark Twain's wisdom serves as a lasting guide: "Life is short, break the rules. Forgive quickly, kiss slowly. Love truly. Laugh uncontrollably and never regret anything that makes you smile."

4178a

Temibile (si fa per dire) Scoiattolo grigio (Sciurus carolinensis) a Torino

Come specie alloctona non dovrebbe essere presente in Europa ma oramai il danno è fatto, inutile sterminare una popolazione oramai incontrollabile con mezzi medievali. La natura troverà un nuovo equilibrio nonostante l'impegno della specie umana a scombinare sempre tutto

Fearsome (so to speak) gray squirrel (Sciurus carolinensis) in Turin

As an allochthonous species it should not be present in Europe but by now the damage has been done, it is useless to exterminate a now uncontrollable population with medieval means. Nature will find a new balance despite the commitment of the human species to always mess everything up

A Green Anole peeks over the edge of a leaf, looking for insects to eat. I spent about two hours with these little lizards in my sister's back yard in Jacksonville, Florida when visiting last year (2019). Very happy with some of my captures :)

Green Anoles average about 4 inches in body size, with their tails extending another 4 inches. While the lizard above appears quite large, it is due to the perspective of my macro lens magnification, and the close proximity of the lens to the animal.

In order to get this close without spooking it and having it scurry away, it required a very patient stalking technique involving slow movement, quiet presence, and muscles in my arms and hands that often quivered uncontrollably due to holding my heavy gear for such extended handheld sessions! Actually surprising that ANY of my images were sharp, lol.

In creating this digital composition, I wanted to explore the tension between our urban constructions and the cosmic immensity that hangs above us each night. Starting with a photograph of a modern building in Toulouse whose rigorous geometry struck me, I imagined this edifice opening like a curtain onto the celestial spectacle.

The black and white treatment allowed me to unify these two distinct realities - human architecture and the lunar body - into the same visual language where only forms, textures, and light matter. I deliberately accentuated the perfect symmetry to create this sensation of precarious balance between order and chaos, between the constructed and the uncontrollable.

What particularly interested me in this fusion was playing with scales and perceptions: how a building, imposing at our human scale, can suddenly seem minuscule against a crescent moon which, despite its modest apparent size in our sky, actually represents an immense celestial body.

Through this creation, I sought to evoke that vertiginous sensation we sometimes feel when, walking through our gridded and planned cities, we suddenly look up at the night sky and become aware of our tiny place in the universe. It's this collision between our everyday world and the cosmic infinite, between the urban grid and the natural curve of the moon, that I wanted to capture in this image.

The smoke stacks became visible over forty five minutes ago and remained resolutely distant. The road gets worse the further west you travel, over the last one hundred and twenty kilometres there are almost as many casualties stopped by the side of the road as vehicles passed. Mostly flat tires. And so, after a drive of five hundred and ninety kilometres we eventually arrive at our destination.

Descending down past the huge settling lagoons, the large old TETS sits to one side, a long ore preperation plant sits behind and in front of us is the smelter. The city lies behind.

This is Zheqazgan, a copper producing city almost dead centre of Kazakhstan. The world has an increasing appetite for this metal.

I already had a good look around on the satellite maps, and know that the smelters slag tipping is on this side of town. And a ladle train the first train we see, which makes us almost uncontrollably excited. Plodding back from the tip to the smelter, we easily overhaul the train. Jane watches in astonishment as we both leap out of the car with our camera gear and pile across the road and over the tracks. We have enough time to set up. The sun is on the other side of the tracks you see. Our activity gets us a wave and a whistle blast from the driver, who is probably bemused to see us there. This is our welcome into town!

TEM15-049 plods along with discharged slag ladles returning to the copper smelter at Zhezqazgan on the 3rd of April 2025.

The TEM15 locomotive is an improved version of the TEM2, similar to the TEM2M with a 1200hp Kolomya 6D49 engine. Most were destined for Cuba but never got there, Perestroyka, and production ceased at 194 locomotives, built 1987 to 1995, in line with the discontinuation of the 6D49 engine.

This is the end of part one of this trip, which shall recommence in good time. I must catch up with some domestic trains and also prepare the following series so I can show it to my own satisfaction. Thank you to everyone who has taken an interest in this project.

Cosa fissa con tanta attenzione questo gabbiano? La pescheria di fronte a lui e sta elaborando la migliore tecnica per procurandosi il pranzo!!

Trieste è destinata a trasformarsi in una colonia per gabbiani. Può far sorridere, ma gli esemplari in città aumentano incontrollati, al ritmo del 10% in più l’anno. Ce ne sono circa 2.500, che volteggiano sopra le teste dei triestini.

ROYAL SEAGULL (COCAL IN TRIESTINO)

What is this seagull staring at so intently? The fish shop in front of him and he is working out the best technique to get his lunch!!

Trieste is destined to transform into a colony for seagulls. It may make you smile, but the numbers in the city are increasing uncontrollably, at a rate of 10% more per year. There are around 2,500 of them, hovering above the heads of the people of Trieste.

The woman possessed the perfect formula for perverted passions... to know how to ignite her devotion........ all it needed was a look, a gesture or a word and she obeyed! She was the glory of his hell, in such a way that he could not resist, all that desire, passion and desire to possess her was uncontrollable and from there she became His in his words Mine ! 🌹

...found in an almost uncontrollable tangle of sequin waste!

For mess and mayhem theme 7DoS focus Friday.

Also in Make me smile:)

On Bank Holiday Monday, 5th August 1963, a momentous concert took place in a tatty, hastily-erected marquee on Abbotsfield Park, Urmston. The Beatles were reluctantly honouring a booking that was made before they broke big. They’d had a good time when they played the Urmston Show in 1962, met some nice people and enjoyed a couple of pints in the Bird In Hand, so they happily agreed to come back the following year. Things were a little different by then though – at the time of the second gig ‘Please Please Me’ was riding high, they were ready to release ‘She Loves You’ and they had made their final appearance at The Cavern two days before. It was clear their days of playing council functions in rundown suburbs were over. Brian Epstein had tried to wriggle out of the gig on safety grounds, citing the uncontrollable numbers the newly-famous Beatles could generate, but Urmston Council were having none of it. There was no way they were going to cancel their flagship festivities on the grounds they might be too successful.Extract from Paul Hanleys Leave The Capital.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=ff5LTJBxkh0

“THE WEATHER OF LOVE

Love

Has a way of wilting

Or blossoming

At the strangest,

Most unpredictable hour.

This is how love is,

An uncontrollable beast

In the form of a flower.

The sun does not always shine on it.

Nor does the rain always pour on it

Nor should it always get beaten by a storm.

Love does not always emit the sweetest scents,

And sometimes it can sting with its thorns.

Water it.

Give it plenty of sunlight.

Nurture it,

And the flower of love will

Outlive you.

Neglect it or keep dissecting it,

And its petals will quickly curl up and die.

This is how love is,

Perfection is a delusional vision.

So love the person who loves you

Unconditionally,

And abandon the one

Who only loves you

Under favorable

Conditions.”

― Suzy Kassem, Rise Up and Salute the Sun: The Writings of Suzy Kassem

This robust skipper was having a great time eagerly sipping nectar from the blooms of Autumn Olive (Elaeagnus umbellatus), a deciduous shrub native to Asia introduced into the U.S. as an ornamental plant in 1830.

Regrettably, Autumn Olive is highly adaptable and resilient spreading uncontrollably in the warming climate of the Mid-Atlantic states where entire alleys of this large shrub can be found along forest edges, in sunny clearings and meadows and along fence rows and roadsides. With enticingly fragrant flowers, Autumn Olive attracts pollinators in early spring and later in the fall it attracts birds that help to disperse its abundant fruit.

Where will it crash? That is the big question that no one can answer yet. All eyes of the international space community have been on the Long March 5B, a Chinese rocket that is hurtling uncontrollably above the earth, for a week now.

Je n'avais pas remarqué les deux masses rouges quand j'ai pris la photo (le nudibranche mesure 3mm, 4 peut-être) . Après enquête, il s'agirait de Convolutriloba longifisura. Ça ne vous dit rien? A moi non plus. C' est un ver plat, un plathelminthe, du genre acoèles, redouté par les aquariophiles marins qui sont parfois victimes d'invasions incontrôlables dans leurs aquariums.

*****************************************************************************

I had not noticed the two red masses when I took the picture (the nudibranch measures 3mm, 4 maybe) . After investigation, it would be Convolutriloba longifisura. It doesn't ring a bell? Me neither. It is a flatworm, a plathelminth, of the acoels kind, feared by marine aquarists who are sometimes victims of uncontrollable invasions in their aquariums.

Canon EOS 6D - f/10 - 3.2sec - 100mm - ISO 200

- My granddaughters lost bouncing ball, and after more than 2 years found again in the garden.

Now beautiful - not her opinion ;-) - weathered and cracked.

Diameter of the ball 3.5cm

- I think nature did take excellent revenge on this uncontrollable bouncing ball by making cracks in it.

Why revenge? Because, before I banished granddaughter and ball from house to garden, it did crack a glass vase with flowers.

As I get older, my hands sometimes shake uncontrollably. Even using my tripod, I tend to jerk the camera when pressing the shutter. Out of 10 or 15 shots, this was the best I could get of this Orb Weaver having his breakfast.

That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it... ;)

What a party! Kim Von Coels' 40th in a private field just down the road from Glastonbury was like a mini-festival. After a few strong beers and uncontrollably laughing at Mr Glitter Pants attempts to stand upright, it was time for Phill to drive 5 mins to the Tor, after the long inebriated crawl to the top I was knackered and only awoke briefly to take a couple of shots. Lucky that!

DSC06685

No need for regrets, for the mistakes made yesterday. The past is gone.

No looming fate. No uncontrollable destiny. No hunger. No fear. No sickness. No death.

Nothing ahead. Nothing behind.

Just stillness.

Light.

Warmth.

The pain you felt, the pain you may have caused others, is behind you.

No looking back. No fear of what's to come. Just the pulse of time.

Invigorating.

Soothing.

Bask in my light and take comfort knowing that I am here.

You will never be alone.

_______________________

Elden Ring releases today. A prospect that I find both exciting and intimidating. Here I gather my courage, and alongside Sparklebottom we plunge once more unto the breach.

i have a lot of hair and it's uncontrollable.

if i were more self conscious, this might bother me.

but i'm not.

and it doesn't.

2nd of ten performances finished. whoo!

Song: www.youtube.com/watch?v=q1WWi47ff5A

I never say never with you

I end up together with you

It's hell and it's heaven with you, baby

Anything's possible

The highs are unstoppable

We're so uncontrollable, it's crazy

We say we won't

And then we do

You're all I want, I never say never with you

You gotta touch that kills me, makes me feel alive

Couldn't turn me off, yeah, even if you tried

So keep turnin' me on and turn out the lights

Who knows tonight, we might get it right ♬

Consonance and dissonance.

I the body would be sharing certain events cached in its data files.

I shall remove the text if anybody feels hurt, offended or humiliated by its contents.

Sweet Dreams (Are Made Of This):

In my teens, pretty engaged with professional singing, I was eager to try anything that would help me improve.

It was indeed a challenge to stretch my vocal cords in a residential area, and so I decided to give it a try at the local beach. That didn't work, as I soon realised that it's absurd to sit somewhere at the beach and sing aloud. I even doubted that fishers and other visitors to the beach would drop coins near me if I dare try. Finally, I managed to find the right place. Yes, in a boat!

I started visiting the local boat club all alone, hire a rowing boat and row it in the backwaters, as far away as possible from the shore. It became a routine that I would reach the boat club by 3 pm and return by 5 pm.

Most often, I would be the only rower at the specified time slot. The audience consisted of cormorants, egrets, cranes, ducks and moorhens, and I believe I was not a trouble for them. Occasionally a train would vroom through the railway overbridge far above the lake.

The songs I used to scream/sing were ' Sweet Dreams ' and 'Missionary Man'. As my countertenor is close to Annie Lennox's contralto, I preferred singing those Eurythmics songs. Both of them have a punchy rhythm that perfectly goes along with the rowing tempo. In between, 'Let it Be' or 'Eight Days a Week' by The Beatles, 'Still Loving You' by Scorpions, 'Rosanna' by Toto or 'The House Of The Rising Sun' by The Animals, once a day. Occasionally, I 'tried' a few songs of Freddie Mercury and M.K.Thyagaraja Bhagavathar (mostly Amba Manam Kaninthu).

My rowing wont continued for several months till about the onset of the monsoon rains.

Being a daily visitor, the secretary of YMCA who is in charge of the boat club used to have friendly chats with me and once I revealed my honest intention to him, as he drew curious to know why I'm rowing all alone.

Those days, I have often seen a lady, probably in her late forties, at the boat club premises. Sari-clad and carrying a handbag, she had a charming, graceful face. I saw her eagerly observing my activities and watching me until I moved out of sight from the coast. Seldom when I return, I could see her waiting at the shore as if she's expecting someone.

One cloudy evening as I reached the boat club, as usual, I saw her sitting at the shore gazing at the lake. After signing the register at the office, I walked towards the boats, with the oars handed over to me from the office. On seeing me, she stood up and hesitantly approached me with a smile. Though she had her head covered with the palla of her purple sari, a sudden heavy breeze blew a wisp of her hair on to her forehead. Clearing her forehead and adjusting the drape, she asked," Son, where are you from?". When I introduced myself, she apologised for dawdling my time and politely asked me whether I can spare some time to lend an ear to her. I said it's all right, and she said, "Please come," and walked towards a large tree in the compound. We sat on the concrete around the tree seat, and straight away, she asked, "Son, you come here to sing, right?". While I smiled, she continued rather hastily, "Do you know the song 'Manjil Virinja Poove '? " I said, "Yes, I sing it", and I could see her face brighten. She said, " I don't want to waste your time." Pointing to a spot bit far from the shore, almost below the railway overbridge, she said," Many years back, a person dear to me drowned there. He loved this place, and he used to sing. Today is his birthday. Can you please do me a favour?". Perplexed, before I could answer, pointing to the spot that she showed earlier, she continued," When you reach that spot, can you please sing that song for him?. It was his favourite song." As I sat stupefied for a while, I even forgot what I am there for when she abruptly shook my shoulder and repeated the question. I said, "Don't worry, I'll do that", and I could see her soul through her tear-filled eyes. I got up and walked towards the boat as I saw her whimpering uncontrollably.

I know the song very well, and I often sing it, but I have never sung any song in such an exigent situation. Oblivious of what I am doing, I unfastened the boat and set off from the shore with involuntary movements. Even though I was far from the coast, I didn't sing my usual songs.

I could see the dark clouds looming, along with heavy winds.

In a soliloquy, I asked," Does Nature read one's mind?" and I turned to check whether she is watching me from the shore. No, she's not there. Perhaps she's communicating with her beloved, else crying her heart out. I nearly reached the place that she pointed to, and I sang the song in my sonority. Felt that my regular audience is more attentive than usual, felt everything around, and the whole eternity is listening keenly. As I stopped rowing, the vessel just drifted along the lake. Back to my senses, I took control of the boat and thought of returning.

I was pretty sure that she would be waiting underneath the tree, awaiting my return and was keen to inform her that I fulfilled her desire. Eager to see her smile, quickly I fastened the boat to the shore and hurriedly walked towards the tree. No, she was not there. It started drizzling when I came out of the office after handing over the oars. With the song still reverberating in my mind, I left the place as the drizzle turned to a downpour.

The next day, another sunny day, I reached the boat club as usual and set out with my routine exercise. I sang my songs aloud as always and returned by about 5 pm, as earlier. That day, I inquired about her to the secretary. He said she's a frequent visitor and usually keeps gazing at the lake for hours. Though not clear about the circumstances of the death of her lover, he's sure it's drowning, and it occurred rightly at the spot that she pointed. He said that she remained a spinster following the death of her beloved, and people say she's mad.

I continued my routine for a few more weeks, and I nevermore saw that lady again. Soon the monsoon showers followed, and my rowing and singing practice stopped forever. Later one day I visited the boat club and found a new secretary has taken charge. I walked towards the lake and found that the rowing boats have vanished. It was a sunny day, and the lake appeared to be smiling in glee.

Very soon, the sky turned dark and cloudy. A heavy wind blew away dead leaves and fallen flowers from the ground as I walked back humming 'Manjil Virinja Poove '.

"Sweet Dreams are made of this, Everybody's looking for something."

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Sweet Dreams (Are Made Of This): Sweet Dreams

Manjil Virinja Poove: Manjil Virinja Poove

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© 2020 Anuj Nair. All rights reserved.

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Anuj Nair's Official Blog

www.anujnair.net

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© 2020 Anuj Nair. All rights reserved.

All images are the property of Anuj Nair. Using these images without permission is in violation of international copyright laws (633/41 DPR19/78-Disg 154/97-L.248/2000).All materials may not be copied, reproduced, distributed, republished, downloaded, displayed,posted or transmitted in any forms or by any means,including electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording without written permission of Anuj Nair. Every violation will be pursued penally.

"Life is short, break the rules, forgive quickly, kiss slowly, love truly, laugh uncontrollably, never regret anything that made you smile." – Mark Twain

Taken at the Hong Kong Flower Show 2019

Fenrir the wolf is the child of Loki and the giantess Angrboda, and brother to Hel and the Midgard Serpent.

He grew so fearsome that the gods finally bound him. Twice he broke free, but the third chain – Gleipnir, forged by dwarves from things that “do not exist” – held him fast until Ragnarok.

Fenrir is the very image of uncontrollable power. At Ragnarok, he breaks loose, devours the sun, and kills Odin in battle, before falling to Odin’s son Vidar.

Fenrir is terrifying, yet also necessary: he shows that no force can be restrained forever, and even the gods must face their fate.

The wind delivers a blunt force that is rendered impalpable to us now, as it scours the intricately cracked and frozen surface of Sky Pond, in Rocky Mountain National Park, Colorado. Sunrise brings highlights to the slopes of Taylor Peak (13,158 ft.; 4,011 m) in the distance as we look west toward the Continental Divide. The frozen surface of the Pond is riddled with bubbles of magnificent array and size range, trapped until the spring thaw sets them free.

This morning remains memorable for many reasons, from the hike up past Loch Vale through the frozen dark, to the deep drifts at the base of the icy cascade of Timberline Falls, to the way the wind howled so fiercely in a pinch point near Lake of Glass that communication was reduced to emphatic signing to keep the hell moving. Gaining the vantage of Sky Pond revealed a glittering surface that undergirded the sunrise as it hit The Sharkstooth on the ridge just adjacent to Taylor Peak. With particularly fierce gusts, I could feel the micro spikes I was wearing on my feet begin to break from their purchase, and I wondered what it might feel like to begin sliding uncontrollably backwards, awaiting whatever location into which the whimsical wind might suddenly place me with increasing anxiety.

Thanks for reading and for the visit!

La centrale di Fukushima fuori controllo in Giappone, proprio nel paese in cui il mostro atomico si vide per la prima volta in tutto il suo orrore, è la prova inconfutabile che il dolce mondo in cui siamo nati porta in sé una condanna a morte che lo minaccerà fino al giorno della sua distruzione, quella potenza distruttiva dell'atomo che l'umano ottimismo pensava di poter controllare è invece risultata incontenibile.=======""The central Fukushima out of control in Japan, in the country where the atomic monster was seen for the first time in all its horror, is conclusive proof that the sweet world in which we are born carries a death sentence that threaten until the day of its destruction, the destructive power of the atom optimism that human thought can control and instead it becomes uncontrollable.

My son has an all too ready sense of humour at times. On Sunday evening as I stood here taking in the final moments of my view before racing home to episode 5 of Line of Duty I sent a message to my children. It said quite simply - "one day, but not quite yet hopefully, you can spread my ashes here." I'm not sure why the thought hadn't occurred to me before. This place always makes me feel uncontrollably happy you see. It's had the same effect upon me year in year out since I was first brought here as a teenager more than forty years ago, and it's one of the reasons why I keep coming back with the camera again and again to add yet another image to the ever growing Godrevy album in my Flickr stream.

My daughter responded in kind. It's her local beach and she's one of that growing number of people who swims all year round no matter how cold it is - quite often in the waters here. We've planned to meet up here tomorrow after work - fortunately for photography rather than water sports as it's far too early in the year for me to be donning the wetsuit and racing into the sea. My son's reply was altogether more predictable and to the point. "Rightio. I have a week off coming up, so can be arranged," came the not unexpected witticism. I really need to have another look at my will.

Much of Sunday had been spent in a very similar manner to the days beforehand, during which I'd been on annual leave. The weather has been cold, but clear and calm, meaning that our favoured position next to the garage wall in our loungers had brought the annual garden sunbathing season to an early start. It was only at the last hour that I decided I was going to make a visit to Godrevy for a completely different sunset image that never materialised thanks to the bank of cloud you see on the left hand side of this one. Undeterred by this setback I stayed to enjoy the waves breaking on the rocks below me and take unusable photographs of them. Well they're unusable at the moment but I might change my mind about them later of course. Slowly I strolled back towards the car park, thinking of my dinner and trying to remember what had happened in the previous episode of Line of Duty - I really need a notebook for that series. At various tried and tested vantage points I stopped and turned, just to watch, noticing the line of cloud radiating out to the left of the lighthouse. By the time I arrived here another line of cloud was heading across the sky on the opposite side, with a lovely pink glow just above Godrevy itself.

At moments like this it's almost impossible to tear oneself away from a scene as calm and beautiful as this, no matter how hungry you are nor how much you're looking forward to another hour of splendid confusion in front of the television. But it was Sunday evening and almost 9pm - and the dreaded return to a new term at work awaited me the following morning so dutifully I retraced those final yards to my car and headed home.

Another week is more than halfway through and an evening with the wide angle lens beckons on the beach at low tide tomorrow. All is well in my contented little world. Happy hump day folks.

“And it’s my birthday too!” I added needlessly but truthfully. Even I could hear how pathetic that sounded as the worlds tumbled uncontrollably from my mouth. People need to know it’s your special day when you’re seven, not in your late fifties. I was only adding to what was already probably a gentle sense of concern in the eyes of my rescuers, all of whom were decades younger than me. “What a strange, hapless old man,” they probably thought, and were only prevented from saying by their own politeness. “Happy birthday!” came a small volley in response. “It would have been a shame to get lost on your birthday.” Until that moment I’d almost forgotten what day it was – and staggering to a lonely death in plunging temperatures at an altitude of over eleven hundred metres above sea level didn’t seem the best way to mark the occasion.

Ten minutes earlier, I was confident I’d find the way back to the car easily enough; despite it having disappeared completely from view three hours beforehand, I’d only wandered two or three hundred metres at most. Five minutes after this, I was approaching the early stages of panic. What light there was had started to fade as the thick fog that hung over every inch of my world darkened slightly, giving me no indication of exactly where I was. There was no discernable path that I could see. I was in no doubt that I’d walked past the big lone tree earlier, but I couldn’t remember exactly where from. I was sure I’d had the fence to my left, but now there was more than one fence to choose from. Maybe it had been on my right side after all? I had passed a group of three small benches, but now they appeared to have been removed by the local council while I’d roamed the trees, pointing my camera at every shape that loomed out of the fog and into the viewfinder. While the five layers I was wearing and the continual wandering around had stopped me getting cold, Bill Bryson’s tales of hypothermia induced insanity in “A Walk in the Woods” appeared at the forefront of my mind. If I didn’t find the car, or the road before darkness fell, I was going to be in trouble. Again, I studied my phone; there’s a place at home where I always get lost and where Google Maps always sets me right again – but we weren’t in Ladock Wood at the moment and the location service on my phone was still firmly of the opinion that I was at the bottom of the mountain in Ribeira da Janela. And why had I left my head torch in the top flap of the suitcase? Hadn’t I specifically brought it on this holiday for these moments I’d spend blundering around in the dark? The truth was we’d only gone a little way up the hill six hours earlier for a pastel da nata and a cup of coffee in the café that had been recommended to us. The rest had crept upon us, slowly and certainly as we headed further up the mountainside and disappeared into the mist, so far in fact that Fanal became the obvious destination.

And what a destination it was too for that matter. Under its white shroud it delivered everything and more that I’d hoped for. Six hundred year old Laurel trees, each of them distinct from the others, each of them full of character, shaped and bent by the elements over time. Every one of them cloaked in gowns of dark moss and an abundance of tiny green ferns. Like the proverbial seven year old in the sweet shop I lost all sense of time and meaning as I immersed myself in a landscape like none I’d ever seen before. An intimate and compact landscape where only what was visible existed, and what I couldn’t see was irrelevant. Specimens such as Treebeard here seemed as though they might uproot themselves at any time and tread away into the fog to converse with old friends. Over the nearly eight years since photography became something more than holiday snaps, a handful of places that I’d probably never otherwise thought of visiting had stood out in my mind as the memorable ones, and now Fanal Forest had crashed the party and joined the A list. I can only wonder at what the fog was hiding from me; what I might have seen on a clear day. Somewhere nearby there’s a lake, but for now it remained undiscovered somewhere down the slope. It begs me to return - I like having reasons to go back to places.

But as I took my last shots and eventually persuaded myself that it really was time to go and find Ali, who was waiting in the car with the novel she’d picked up from the shelf in the house where we were staying, I realised that I wasn’t quite sure which way I’d come. With the shroud tightening around me, the knot of woodland between the car and I had disappeared completely, and the big lone tree was the only marker that I was certain of. If I could find the road I’d be ok – it would just be a case of walking up the hill a bit – but what I wasn’t sure of, was whether there were any nasty surprises lying in wait. Madeira is full of enormous vertical cliffs and I wasn’t certain of what lay out of sight. I set out from the big tree a second time, then a third and a fourth, before returning to what I knew. And then I saw the figures, grey shapes moving through the landscape ahead of me – five of them chattering away happily to each other; very probably the group I’d silently cursed an hour earlier as they’d posed for selfies in the middle of the composition I was eyeing up. With no idea what language I was listening to, I raced along behind them, calling out to my unknowing saviours.

We were in a car park now. Not the one we’d pulled up at earlier in the day, but at least I now knew where the road was, and finding my way back was assured. There’s only one road up here after all. I began to walk along it but the rescuers called out through the darkness, insisting they drive me back to my car. One American among them, the rest were from Slovenia, a country full of mountains. I guessed they knew what they were about in a place such as this then. I was glad I’d found them – full of kindness and friendship. Within minutes I had been returned to my car, where Ali had given up reading and begun to wonder whether she’d ever see me again. I thanked my new friends gushingly and waved until their cars disappeared down the track into the approaching night. Maybe I was being melodramatic – I’d probably have found my way back eventually, but for fleeting moments I was definitely beginning to get worried. As birthdays go in middle age, it had been the most memorable one in years; a bit of a close shave, something that I hope never happens to Treebeard here - he'd lose something of himself I'm sure you'll agree.

A few days later we returned to Fanal after walking the nearby Levada do Risco, where it had been clear and sunny. Again, ending up here was inevitable, and this time we thought we would have very different conditions. Yet as we crept down the slope, glimpsing the one and only cloud inversion of our fortnight through the windscreen at a spot with nowhere to stop as we did, the fog rolled in again. This time I parked in the big car park and made certain of my journey into the mystical forest. This time I took photographs on my phone to show me the way back. This time I tore myself away before darkness fell, and I found the car without the help of a team of mountain guides.

“Here is a town to shame the world,” wrote William L Shirer of Ljubljana, the Slovenian capital in March 1937. “It is full of statues and not one of them a soldier. Only poets and thinkers have been so honoured.” It was a paragraph that struck me profoundly and stayed with me when I read it, and ever since I did so nearly twenty years ago, I resolved to one day visit Slovenia. Maybe it’s time now. Maybe I’ll watch my step in the mountains and make sure I’ve packed my bivvy bag.

I hope you have a lovely weekend, and I hope for your own wellbeing you meet some Slovenians along the way to guide you if you're in the hills lost in fog.

This is the last from this intriguing chunk out of a geology textbook in Southern Switzerland. I switched back to good ol' Velvia for this and it proceeded to do its predictable trick in open-shade of sending everything spinning uncontrollably towards the blue end of the spectrum. Fortunately, Photoshop was on hand to apply the brakes and pull things back towards normality.... :O)

Oh and that tree is the same one that starred in the first of this set, trying to muscle its way into another shot. These trees, eh? ;^)