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I consider myself very lucky to have stumbled upon Eilean Donan, on an unusually still and calm evening, allowing for some lovely reflections from the illuminated castle.
Considerado uno de los hoteles más hermosos del mundo, el Palacio de Buçaco se yergue imponente en el seno del Bosque de Buçaco.
Diseñado por el escenógrafo Luigi Manini, este edificio deslumbrante es una recreación de la arquitectura manuelina, inspirada por obras como la Torre de Belém o el Monasterio de los Jerónimos y reproduciendo su decoración rica en detalles. Grandes nombres del arte portugués, como Norte Júnior, Carlos Reis o Jorge Colaço, están vinculados a la estructura y la decoración del edificio, convertido en uno de los hoteles más emblemáticos en el país, una extraordinaria arquitectura que combina a la perfección con la exuberancia del bosque.
Considéré comme l'un des 1 776 exemplaires du Coupé XJ6 Série 2 4,2 litres construit en 1977
Vendu 17.250€
Tel Aviv es la segunda ciudad más grande de Israel y cuenta con una de las poblaciones más jóvenes del mundo. Situada en la costa del Mediterráneo, goza de un clima cálido y soleado, con una media de 300 días de sol al año y con grandes playas que bañan la ciudad.
Se trata de una ciudad joven, nacida en 1909, que daba continuidad a la ciudad de Yafo. Pero su modernidad y atractivo hicieron que Tel Aviv creciera superando la población de la anterior en pocos años. Está considerada la capital cultural del país por su población cosmopolita, su turismo internacional y su comunidad LGTB.
Una ciudad blanca, de arquitectura Bauhaus, que recuerda el estilo de las islas mediterráneas, y que fue declarada Patrimonio de la Humanidad por la Unesco por tener la mayor concentración de edificios modernistas del mundo, mezclando rascacielos de diversos estilos.
El ayuntamiento de Tel Aviv se encuentra en la Plaza Rabin, la más grande de la ciudad. Este enclave se hizo tristemente conocido el 4 de noviembre de 1995, ya que fue aquí donde se produjo el asesinato del primer ministro israelí Isaac Rabin. En la actualidad, unas losas de basalto indican el lugar exacto donde fue abatido el mandatario.
Es el edificio público más importante de la ciudad de Tel Aviv, y durante los primeros días del verano, en los que transcurre la Semana del Orgullo LGTB desde 1998, refleja luces multicolores para recibir a los miles de visitantes que llegan a la región a disfrutar de este festival, uno de los más populares y multitudinarios del planeta.
(...) Considere la cantidad de pura superstición que contribuye a la formación del hombre convencionalmente virtuoso y piense que, mientras de niños se nos trataba de proteger contra toda clase de peligros imaginarios a base de prohibiciones estúpidas, prácticamente ni se mencionaban los verdaderos peligros morales a los que se expone un adulto: las triquiñuelas en los negocios no penadas por la ley, la dureza en el trato a los empleados, la crueldad con la esposa e hijos, la malevolencia hacia los competidores (...) éstos son los pecados verdaderamente dañinos entre los ciudadanos respetables y respetados.
A través de ellos, el hombre siembra miseria en su entorno inmediato y pone su parte en la destrucción de la civilización.
Pero, ¿por qué su moralidad subconsciente está tan desligada de la razón? Porque la ética en la que creían los que le guiaron en su infancia era una tontería; no estaba basada en un estudio de los deberes del individuo para su comunidad; porque estaba compuesta por viejos resíduos de tabúes irracionales dictados por sacerdotes y parientes mentalmente esclavizados (...) va siendo hora de que quien va a participar de la vida normal del mundo aprenda a rebelarse contra esa idiotez enfermiza.
B.Russell
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Personaggio: Io mi considero un lubrificatore sociale del mondo dei sogni. Aiuto le persone a diventare lucide, senza problemi. In pratica elimino le paure, le angosce, e lascio solo il bello, lo spasso.
Protagonista: Con diventare lucidi, intendi sapere che si sta sognando, giusto?
Personaggio: Sì, così puoi controllare i sogni. E i sogni controllati sono più realistici dei sogni non lucidi.
Protagonista: Io mi sono appena svegliato da un sogno, ma non era di quelli tipici, era come se fossi entrato in un universo alternativo..
Personaggio: Sì, è un sogno reale. Tecnicamente sognare, è un fenomeno del sogno, ma ci si può anche divertire un casino nei propri sogni! Perché tutti sanno che divertirsi è il massimo [...]Che succedeva nel tuoi sogno?
Protagonista: Ah, c'erano un sacco di persone che parlavano, qualcuno diceva cose assurde. Sembrava quasi uno strano film. Più che altro, pontificavano su qualsiasi argomento, con molta intensità [...]
Personaggio: Questi sogni li puoi controllare.[...] Il trucco è renderti conto che stai sognando, fin dall'inizio. Devi essere capace di riconoscerlo. Devi essere capace di chiederti: oh cavolo ma è un sogno? Sai, quasi nessuno si fa queste domande, né da sveglio, né tantomeno quando dorme. È come se tutti fossero sonnambuli quando sono svegli, e vegliambuli quando dormono. In entrambi i casi, non ne traggono vantaggio.
Protagonista: Quello che mi ha fatto rendere conto che stavo sognando, è stato il mio orologio digitale. Non riuscivo a leggerlo, come se i circuiti si fossero completamente guastati.
Personaggio: Sì, capita abbastanza spesso. Anche le piccole scritte sono difficili da leggere, sono molto instabili. Un altro indizio è quando cerchi di regolare l'intensità della luce, non ci riesci mai! Se ti capita di vedere un interruttore, spingili e prova a vedere se funziona.
È una delle cose che non si possono fare nel sogno lucido... Ma sai che mi frega, io posso volare, posso conversare per quanto mi pare con Albert Schweitzer, posso esplorare queste nuove dimensioni della realtà...Per non parlare della possibilità di fare ogni genere di sesso che voglio! È a dir poco stupendo! Non posso regolare la luce, e allora?
Protagonista: Ma è una delle cose che servono a controllare se stai sognando, giusto?
Personaggio: Si! Come ho detto, anche tu puoi allenarti a conoscere i segni, basta che ogni tanto provi ad accendere una luce. Se la luce è accesa, e tu non riesci a spegnerla, probabilmente stai sognando. Allora puoi darti da fare, e credimi, il campo è sconfinato... Sai a cosa mi sto dedicando? Visioni a 360 gradi! Bello eh?...[...]
_Tratto da "Waking Life".2001_di Richard Linklater_
Alsace
The different ways of loving are the jewels of nature and its splendor. Consider all forms of love as the colors of the same rainbow.
(Sioux proverb)
© Philippe Haumesser. TOUS DROITS RESERVES - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED ©.
Merci beaucoup pour vos visites , commentaires et favoris♥
Thank you very much for your visits, comments and favorites
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Siurana puede considerarse como uno de los pueblos más bellos de la provincia. Asentado sobre un enorme peñón de roca caliza y rodeado por el torrente del Estopiñá, preside una magnífica panorámica del valle del río Ciurana y su embalse. Ciurana de Tarragona fue declarado paraje pintoresco en 1961. Entre sus paisajes naturales destacan formaciones rocosas como la peña gemela de la Siuranella, el Salto de la Reina Mora o la Trona, y los acantilados de Arbolí, frecuentados por aficionados a la escalada. Siurana está flanqueada por la sierra de Montsant, y por picos como el de la Gritella (1.089m) y el de Gallicant (1.028m).
Siurana de Prades se encuentra en el extremo este de la Sierra de Prades, a 737m de altitud sobre el nivel del mar, en una montaña con forma de península que domina los valles del río Siurana y de Cornudella. Se llega por una pista asfaltada desde la población de Cornudella, y también por un camino forestal desde Prades. también se puede llegar a pie por varios caminos y senderos, usados frecuentemente por vecinos, escaladores y excursionistas. Desde el año 1942 forma parte del municipio de Cornudella de Montsant.
I normally consider LEGO adorable; my goal with this creation was to make the bricks as disgusting as possible. You can catch a small back story over on MOCpages: www.mocpages.com/moc.php/229304
Disparu d'égypte , cet oiseau assez magique et néanmoins considéré comme une espèce invasive est limitée par endroit ....
This is old. But I like uploading. This is white chapel I believe. Don't really listen to them. But they were good live. Wish that guys arm wasn't blurry. :) Oh well.
thanks! <3
One of my favorite ideas to consider is the passing of time - how heavy it can feel, or how light. How we search for it and how we cannot touch it. I think I'm partially so interested because I've never had a problem with it - with aging, with death, with regret. I'm not saying I haven't struggled with those things, but that I tend to see them in a positive light. That was my inspiration for creating this image.
Yesterday I ran out shooting, very excitedly, and arrived at my location with ten minutes to spare until perfect light. I jumped in the back of my car, put a dress on, gathered my things and walked out into the field to take a photo I had been daydreaming of earlier. I waited for the perfect moment, took my test shot, and then: No memory card.
I laughed and laughed at myself, especially since a small crowd had gathered, clearly expecting to see something interesting happen, and there I was, memory-cardless... or just memory-less! I got a big "Awwww!" from them and we laughed together, and then I was on my merry way. These things happen, and if we can't learn to laugh at ourselves our good humor perishes. Just laugh, few things are such a big deal in the grand scheme of time.
Model: Jen Brook, photographed in Melbourne, Australia.
Consider the lilies of the field...soft lavender pink ones in my senior apartment's garden area. I did not grow these but my camera and lens like to show them off.
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While most people consider the Mandalorians to be a singular people, Mandalorian society actually consists of many different clans and loosely bound groups of individuals. Examples are clans as Clan Skirata, the Death Watch and Clan Jiyu. The latter stands out because of its long history and core believes. The clan exclusively consist of mercenaries that have been banished or excluded from their previous clans. While usually forced to be alone for the rest of their days, Clan Jiyu provides a new home for those fallen from grace. The clan was originally founded by Zal Castra, a Mandalalorian woman, banished from her clan at a young age for showing mercy to an enemy and thus breaking a mercenary contract. Not accepting to be punished for doing the right thing, Zal gathered likeminded Mandalorians and her clan aspired to hold up a higher moral code than many others. While being considered weak by other Mandalorians, Clan Jiyu was certainly a force to be reckoned with. Once given a contract, which they always carefully studied for moral pitfalls, they never failed to do the job.
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Here are my three Mandalorian figures for my fig-off challenge against carterl_bricks. It was a lot of fun creating them and I might use them in a build some day, when I am less busy. The story is completely going by old canon btw (Republic Commando etc.).
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THE PHOTOGRAPHY OF THE BIRD WHISPERER
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DON’T BULLY
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CIVIL AIR PATROL:
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EINSTEIN'S MUSHROOM TRIP - Episode 1:
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TNT: an AC/DC Cover
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FUN LOOK AT MARRIAGE
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I consider my Grandad to have sent me this, as the day before i photographed it i had just said to my mum "oh how i wish i could photograph a wild british snake"... and the next day i find this little guy on my patio (which used to be my grandads' house) it's such a rarity and i am so pleased :)
This is a juvenile british grass snake (Natrix natrix), please view larger on black
Me and my Grandad were as close as anyone could ever get, he would always help me with my art, he was an amazing artist, i hope that he is proud of my photography..
I recognise some of those megalomaniacal male tendencies you are describing, and why wouldn’t I (DUH!)? I know that ‘lost boy’ behaviour. It’s even attractive until one reaches a certain age, then it slopes off through unfortunate, and heads downhill rather swiftly towards downright tragedy. Applying the brakes at that stage is no party, let me tell you. Sometimes I feel as if I had been worn down up to the knees, a would-be demi-legged, own-trumpet-blowing, Falstaff, (if only those Jesuits had gotten hold of me) but then this isn’t about me. All these men searching for mammies, what can I say other than sorry about my gender, and thank Yahweh that I am a cis-gender homo (can I call myself that anymore?).
I think you can tell that I have arrived at the point that I am at, now, not at all sure what I am, or am not, permitted to call myself. I fear that I, at last, know what and who I am, but I am not at all sure if being that is acceptable in an evolving world. Luckily, we will all be dead soon enough. Now that’s something to really look forward to for the terminally bewildered. I like the idea of ‘A Death’ as the inflection point of this ‘Comedy’ we are constructing. I have that funny death story to tell yet properly. That one where Jeffrey suddenly shot upright, screaming at his parents who were quibbling over what to watch on the TV. He screamed fiercely at them “I’m dying, I get to choose the video!”. It was gloriously well said. I do love the tyranny of the dying. I do love the abject tyranny of the victim (my specialty). Feck it, I will go the whole hog. I do love tyranny. I also love saying ‘Feck’, when everyone understands that you are insinuating another vowel in the place of that ‘e’. I love that feck is proper and Irish, a softening of that blow, like a dropped ‘h’, that sort of softening and lilting.
He chose 'Singing in the Rain' and collapsed back into bed raving madly about having to make three different types of pies to prepare for some party or other in his head.
I did my job. I pressed the button and released more morphine, through the catheter in his chest, awash in the 'poor meeees'.
mea culpa, mea culpa,mea máxima culpa.
Later, I made a drawing about his wonderful, life-affirming, self-assertion. I photographed myself beside it, the drawing that is, but discovered, whilst looking at it later, that I seemed to have disappeared.
I guess that's how things go. (Secretly, I love removing myself (with photoshop), but don't tell anyone).
John: A fine eulogy, full of life.
Ruin: I want to reply to this, a little later. I might even have to go into the third person, to get a little distance from the answer, and what it means. This will be an important part of 'the book'. I am putting this here as a sort of commitment.
Anyway, to start, another extended version of this 'story' begins under this photo (the title in parentheses below) below this. It starts with “I’m dying, I get to choose the video”, about halfway down. But I now want to write something a lot more personal, a lot more 'private' perhaps. So far I have been writing about what I call the 'Wild Geese', a recognised phenomenon in Irish history and culture. Now I want to talk about something a little more close to home, and that's the cuckoo gene. That born out of desperation taking up domicile in the 'nests' of other birds, that type of 'taking over'. I think of it slightly relative to that 'banquet idea' that excess, like a pheasant being stuffed with a quail, and the quail in turn being stuffed with a starling, or any smaller bird, that decadence. Anyway, I want to look at that goose initially stuffed with a cuckoo, that idea of the self as a desperate exploiter, but also looking at it as a survival strategy, a Darwinian ploy, even. I am still brewing it in my head, so it will stutter along.
‘On Universal Innocence and The Forgiveness of Freckles’.
But back to Geese and cuckoos.
‘The Rôti Sans Pareil Is 17 Birds Stuffed Inside Each Other and It Is Delicious’. So ran the headline.
"The recipe calls for a bustard stuffed with a turkey stuffed with a goose stuffed with a pheasant stuffed with a chicken stuffed with a duck stuffed with a guinea fowl stuffed with a teal stuffed with a woodcock stuffed with a partridge stuffed with a..."
There is a sort of madness there, manifesting, perhaps, one of the reasons we don't deserve to be here at all. Not that deserving has anything to do with it anyway.
Chickenman, Wild Geese, and now Cuckoo, this sounds like I am on a type of fowl trajectory. Here's to soaring, or swansonging, or attempting both, even!
John: The cuckoo was a popular metaphor in the 1950s, quite possibly in response to the aftermath of WWII and your revival gives it greater depth. One of the explorations of Bernard Malamud and Saul Bellow was the impossibly undermined reconstruction of male identity, no matter what roots they sought to revive. The cuckoo, with its echo of cuckold, the returners from war rewarded with the ghost of doubt of paternity, puts all into those same murky depths of identity which artists equally embrace or flee. As ancient mythology evidences, we have always had a need to understand and belong. Post-wars and natural disasters our need for the perceived solidity of information is greatly enhanced. Technically, having a family formed of my partner's and her ex's three daughters, I am a cuckoo.
Apart from the actual people (greatly rewarding) I have also wondered if I was defying my sense of unbelonging by consciously electing to be the cuckoo, which, unlike being an artist, is I believe a choice.
Ruin: Yes, that would be true, that returning soldier thing. I would guess it has always been the case, have soldiers not been returning since time immemorial? I didn't make the connection between cuckoo and cuckold, a 'duh!' moment for me. Of course, it is there. I particularly like the cuckold personage. If I was going by the evidence of Reddit, or wherever, cuckolding seems to be enjoying a huge revival in the fetish world currently. I would guess it was all part and parcel of dealing with the diminished, and further diminishing, male, that area of 'twixt and 'tween being generated by an excess of hormone disruptors now in the environment (in plastics and whatever). But I have a whole theory about that relative to the possibility of the human animal evolving from sexual reproduction to bifurcatory splitting, that laboratory-assisted dividing known as cloning, the copying of the self, whilst we are at that point of the Y chromosome being, apparently, at 3% of its former glory. Scientists tell us that it appears to be stable at 3%, but infinity is funny like that relative to stability.
The only place we would differ on here is that "unlike artist", which I am pretty sure we might partially agree on anyway. I don't see making art (or writing, even), any form of communication really, as a 'choice'. I see it both as an instinct and a compulsion, and for the most part a disruptive nuisance, an itch. I would have to fight very hard to resist it, that scratching called art making or communicating. I would have to go totally against my 'natural' self.
But this is something I will continue to work out until I no longer can, compulsively, this awful/wonderful itch. I like writing here, simply because it is immediate communication, and sometimes the feedback like yours is invaluable. There is this idea that writing needs to be done alone, like art, but I don't think that is necessarily 'true'. I think you have to work it out the best way you can, and there are no rules.
When I quote you, should I call you John Seven, or just John? I have been calling you John, but thought I should ask. As in "John: A fine eulogy, full of life." Would you prefer John Seven?
John: Well, I don't know what went wrong with my sentence construction there, as I intended to state that artist is not a choice (nor a guarantee of quality). Now amended. Regarding my name - John used to be the skinhead universal form of address, as in "Y'want bovver Jon?"
It was also, in the the year I was born, the Mohamed, It was also, in the year I was born, the Mohamed, Muhammad, Muhamad, or Mohammad of its day, the most common male name in the world. In its many forms - Ian, Iain, Ifan, Sean, Shaun, Shane, Jens, Jean, Joan, Johan and so on.
I am happy with whatever you choose.
Ruin: I guessed we were on the same page relative to art, or writing, this 'fever' to communicate is uncontrollable. It’s not a choice at all. But I feel the same about this cuckoo behaviour and this catfishing too. I see them both as survival manoeuvres, generated mostly out of desperation. Anyway, that's the point I will be starting from for this 'chapter'. I will be using the text generated here, and pulling it through the pronoun mangle, writing it in the third person, to get some distance, some overview.
Blimey, he realised, his behaviour had been stark raving cuckoo. He found it as difficult to think about as to write about this, but felt in the writing of it, that some liberation might be found there. The working out of it was going to have to be in the present, but there would be references and stories that harked back to his ‘Wild Goose’ history, his wandering, his running away. He knew too that he was going to have to stop playing with words, stop trying to entertain, this was not the way to go. By this he meant that “meself” as opposed to myself, that ‘cod Irish’, that “at all, at all”. That would naturally fall away anyway, as he moved away from childhood, as he learnt to speak, to communicate, even. His leaving Ireland was, in a way, his learning to talk. Before that period, he had been that oft-described stuttering, nervous entity, floundering between church-generated guilt and maintaining his secret—that abuse, that incest, that familial interference that could only serve to completely sunder him from family, and any semblance of security, of a feeling of belonging or of ever having been nurtured. It was nobody’s fault. Those who haven’t been nurtured have no idea how to nurture, and similarly those who have never been protected have no way of knowing how to proffer protection. Both his parents had, in their turn, been abandoned as children. It was all they knew. This was somehow part and parcel of the history of that emerald island, that history of hundreds of years of abuse. That this abuse caused Irish literature to blossom, in that foreign tongue, English, is one of those creative offshoots of abuse, one of those ‘miracles’, as his mother used to say, describing anything good or beneficial, a silver lining around those multi-generational deadening clouds.
He was angry, sad, and excited when he discovered that he had to leave to survive, that he had to give up everything and everyone he had ever known, and set out alone for that pagan land on the other side of the Irish Sea. Looking back, he liked that this cuckoo also described a sort of madness; other than the survival instinct it became somewhat renowned for, it also described that ‘stark raving’ idea, that there had always been this connection we humans make about this misunderstood creature, and its development of certain Darwinian characteristics generated by its struggle to survive.
Stealing somewhat from the title of the book by Mr Foster Wallace (of the multiple footnotes on footnotes), he suspected that he had come to that point where he might, at last, ‘Consider the Cuckoo’.
John: This riffing on a thought, expanding out to discover surprises and similarities is a thing of wonder.
Ruin: It's a bit strange to be working it out in 'real time' here. I am literally working it through in my head as I write it. It becomes a self-justification, of sorts, I guess. I will tie it in, somehow, to the main theme. I am coming out of that chapter which has to do with childhood, and heading towards London, via a year in Liverpool—that age-old Irish route—through Aristophanes' The Birds, from which the expression 'Cloud Cuckoo Land' comes, through Mr Darwin, on the way towards New York, and 'Rack and Ruin'.
But yes, he was heading for ‘Cloud Cuckoo Land’, only inasmuch as it was to be totally unfamiliar; there was the madness there of difference, a way of thinking that was foreign to everything he knew. The old rules just didn’t apply, but there were also new rules to learn.
On Universal Order
Or blessed lack thereof.
Dear Rack,
I suspect we have both had our moments with each other, compassionate and understanding, and the opposite. I have never felt particularly worthy, but that’s a universal, some dreadful leftover from a hideously insecure childhood, neglectful parents, an absent alcoholic father and an abusive uncle—all that palaver, that stuff of amateur melodrama, probably endemic, commonplace even, on that little emerald jewel called ‘home’. The thing is, or the pedestrian tragedy is, that you don’t really realise what you are carrying with you when you set off into the world alone; when you put on your walking shoes, you have no idea what your coping mechanisms are, how skew-whiff they might be relative to a world out there, a place that has most likely generated another type of abuse, a foreign variant, one which you have no experience of at all. It’s not unlike our beloved Omicron, another spiked battering ram, something that you might survive or not.
Yes, it’s the same old same old, those ‘Wild Geese’ setting off, full of youthful energy and dreams of conquest, already weighed down by their own undoing. Compassion was easy for me when we met. You had, apparently, fallen at the first hurdle, or so it seemed. I was very wrong about that. Wrecked Rack was phoenix-like. I didn’t know that then, though that constant re-igniting can work a certain ruin on the old cadaver. I notice a chemical smell in my urine, and I was wondering if you do too. We are now part chemical; a bit like our beloved de Selby’s part bicycle, part human. We have been absorbing chemicals now for decades, and you even two decades more than I have. One cannot help but wonder how they have an effect on our very DNA, our day-to-day thoughts, our moods and our hopes, or despairs. But, butt, chicken butt, as I like to say, I have decided to make their influence positive. We are a hybrid, a new man and woman, a chemically enhanced super-breed of survivors.
How’s that for famous last words?
We are like no one else, though this is true of everyone. Now we have the added input of our screens, our hard-drives and external devices, all brain-enhancers and exploitable. These are our external memories, as that innate ability to remember slopes off, and it’s nothing less than a frigging ‘Universal Superhighway’. Nobody has had that before, though I would question as to whether this is a recurring phenomenon, forgotten but recurring, on an infinite, ever-expanding loop (call me loopy). Heloise and Abelard could have done with a bit of that, but they managed anyway, so how can we not rape and pillage the universe with this magnificent, unimaginable tool at our disposal? The only thing that holds us back is our massive insecurity, and our excuses. But the proffering of these to each other, the unashamed exposing of them, is the beginning of this Knausgaardian ‘struggle’, and we have been doing this for almost 30 years. We have the capacity to cross-germinate, to percolate Sontag’s ‘Camp’ through Knausgaard’s, and the other tyrant’s, ‘Kampf’—that tragedy and camp comedy combined. I would like a little more of that ‘fun’ back, the laughing at the absurdity of it all combined with the realisation of what we wrought, and how blindly reactive it was, and we were.
It would be wonderful to laugh, and scream, together again.
"But I wonder if you share my feeling that to write anything sufficiently accurate and engaging, and actually get it over all the hurdles of publication, and risk the ultimate disappointment of remaindering ... Oh, I could not do it now."
No, I have no intention of 'publishing', or even presenting what I am writing and thinking about, other than on Flickr. I find that I do things in 4-year tranches. The idea is just to sort out some of the mess I made, that cacophony of images I generated whilst trying to understand.
I am looking for where I didn't manage to communicate, although some of it ended up in museums (with appropriate puffing out of chest). A 4-year tranche is a challenge, a challenge because of age and the dragging of another 'fatal' disease along with one through a pandemic. Blissfully, science has intervened yet again, somewhat offering respite, temporarily, from the Horsemen. I got that second AstraZeneca yesterday, but am still jealous of those enjoying the intervention of the mRNA vaccines into the livestream of their DNA. If we are going to be so interfered with in that way, I want to be one of the first on that cutting edge of the glorious new Science religion (that I love)! I would have loved to have been the Musk of death, that space pioneer and not the smell. Although, one appears to have missed that boat, along with many others, for now. But there is an acute awareness of their fetlocks and broomsticks—of those aforementioned Horsemen, that is, and their Woo and Woe.
Publishers, Bookshops, Museums and Galleries are over. Didn't you get the memo?
At the same time, that remainder bin is essential. It is, more or less, where we all end up, the good and the bad, those who write with clarity and those who lick and salve their purple wounds in public.
You know that I love purple, in a hate purple sort of way. Don't start me on Orange.
Romanesco: Some consider it a variety of Broccoli, others a variety of Cauliflower. I consider it a variety of "WTF? That's seriously cool!". I picked this up at the Farmer's Market on Saturday. It should make a pretty interesting curry, though I might try and get a better picture of it first.
Update: I kept this around in the fridge with the full intention of getting a better shot before I ate it. Unfortunately, I procrastinated too long and it went bad....double damn! I never saw this again at the farmers market either. Oh well, maybe next year.
O cemitério do Bonfim pode ser considerado um museu a céu aberto, devido às várias “obras de arte” presentes no local. O cemitério possui um acervo de diferentes estilos, passando pela Belle Époque, o Art-Deco e o Modernismo.
Fundado em 12 de outubro de 1897, final do século XIX, ele está localizado no bairro de mesmo nome. Comporta, nos seus 172 mil metros quadrados, cerca de 17 mil sepulturas. Calcula-se que aproximadamente 40% do total de túmulos são compostos por “Arte Fúnebre”: esculturas, bustos e imagens assinados por artistas famosos, como os irmãos Natali e João Amadeu Mucchiut.
Personalidades
Algumas dessas obras preservam as histórias de várias personalidades e instituições do Estado. Destacam-se, dentre outros, os mausoléus da Polícia Militar, do Corpo de Bombeiros e dos ex-governadores de Minas Olegário Maciel, Bias Fores e Raul Soares. No Bonfim encontram-se, também, os túmulos do escritor Roberto Drummond e de padre Eustáquio, cujos restos mortais foram transferidos para igreja de mesmo nome.
O cemitério pertence à Fundação Parques Municipais, da Prefeitura de Belo Horizonte. O necrotério foi tombado pelo Instituto Estadual do Patrimônio Histórico e Artístico de Minas Gerais (Iefha/MG), pelo decreto 1.8531/77.
Londres , capital del Reino Unido , está considerada, con sus 7,7 millones de habitantes, la ciudad más grande de Gran Bretaña y Europa. Es una ciudad multicultural en la que conviven cientos de razas, culturas y religiones aparte de la raza blanca,que ocupa el 45% de la actual población. A lo largo del siglo XIX, fueron llegando inmigrantes de otras nacionalidades: irlandeses, judíos polacos y rusos, asíaticos chinos e indios, jamaicanos, pakistaníes, bengalíes, africanos, vietnamitas , ciudadanos de Europa del Este y de los Balcanes. Ello ha dado lugar a una mezcla no solo de orden, racial, sino también cultural ,religiosa, lingüística y de estilos de vida absolutamente opuestos y diversos. Con el fin de organizar esta gigantesca corriente migratoria el gobierno reglamentó la situación laboral y todo extranjero que no consiga trabajo en seis meses debe salir del R.U.
Consider Tour Montparnasse as an alternative to the endless queues (or lines if you don't like French) of La Tour Eiffel... After all you can't see the Eiffel Tower from the Eiffel can you? (Normally you can go on the top of the roof of the 56 floor Montparnasse Tower seeing Paris 360° but we were unlucky arriving on that one day when the roof was closed and had to see it from a window).
Dear Flickr friends, this marks the end of my travel blog (and my vacation days) from France, posting 27 images in 10 days "on the run" while exploring Paris and Normandie. Big and humble thanks to everyone who took time trying to keep up....
It has been a ragbag of postcards and streetshots, of monochrome and color, that really put the "fun in photography" back, as traveling always do for me. I enjoyed the liberty of not considering if it "fitted in" on my stream, or if I had the time to post to groups, to visit contacts, to leave time to get more comments...
Still, the feedback - as always - is the main reason why I enjoy Flickr so much. And after being a "hurricane" of new images to upload it is back to work - and to a regular pace from now on.
As time goes by, there will be more additions to the "Paris/Normandie 2011" set though, obviously. Cheers :-)
Defining Beauty Theme
"So if worrying adds nothing, but actually subtracts from your life, why would you worry about God’s care of you? Think about the lilies. They grow and become beautiful, not because they work hard or strive to clothe themselves. Yet not even Solomon, wearing his kingly garments of splendor, could be compared to a field of lilies. If God can clothe the fields and meadows with grass and flowers, can’t he clothe you as well, O struggling one with so many doubts?" Luke 12:26-28 The Passion Translation
"God breaks few records but he always arrives in the end. One of the best things we can do for our souls is to wait and one of the worst things is to force the issue. God lets the plant grow at its own pace. That is why He can bring forth supernatural beauty in and through imperfect instruments." Evelyn Underhill
I bought a bouquet of unopened white lilies a week before Christmas at Trader Joe's. A woman also purchasing some explained how you could "force" it to bloom faster. It made me think about how I've done that all my life (and for my poor children and loved ones. . .) This time, I allowed the lilies to open at their own pace and have enjoyed every slow unveiling of the petals until now at New Year's we are still enjoying their simple "supernatural" beauty that I had nothing to do with except enjoy. I hope I'll learn my lesson this next year to worry less and allow life to unfold before me. I'll try to Jesus' words to consider the lilies . . . .
Considerada uma das praias mais urbanizadas de Guarapari, é também uma das mais procuradas por turistas. Com uma espaçosa faixa de areia clara, possui mar azul, levemente agitado, muito propício para o banho. Diversas castanheiras enfeitam a orla, além de fazer sombra para alguns visitantes. Por ser uma praia central, possui grande diversidade de comércio, além de ótimos quiosques na orla, que servem bons pratos e petiscos. O lugar costuma ficar movimentado até mesmo durante a noite, principalmente no verão, por conta da iluminação disposta no calçadão. É uma ótima praia para visitar com a família, tomar um refrescante banho de mar, descansar à sombra da castanheira e comer algum petisco em um dos quiosques. Durante o entardecer, a caminhada no calçadão é uma boa pedida.
Fonte: www.praias-360.com.br/espirito-santo/guarapari/praia-das-...
I'm not sure if Sandhill Cranes consider juveniles to be lazy delinquents the way their human counterparts do, but this youngster landed next to its parents with a slightly guilty look about its beak...
While it may look like there's just a flock of random birds at first, after a while it becomes clear the Sandhill Cranes are organized as families, almost always two adults and a youngster together. And while I'm unsure if these adults are the same as in the previous photo, the youngster knows exactly who its parents are.
If you consider that Song Kul lake is inaccessible for more than half the year due to general remoteness, high altitude, never ending winters and in the grip of sudden strong winds, rain, snow or hail storms, it feels really lucky to come accross those weather conditions when visiting.
One of my friends even got convinced to swim in it.
I simply couldn't.
[Fans] consider Ace a cheater and a Dirty fighter.
[The ACE] twitter.com/AceShereif
considers himself the smartest and the most complete fighter with his ability to quickly analyze the situations and coming up with the best plan for each of them.
[Hunter] twitter.com/AviHunter7
Believes in justice and in fighting honorably. He has a list on which he adds names of dirty wrestlers to be hunted.
Just returned to wrestling after 3 years to find out that The ACE exists and he fights in new ways.. Dirty ways unfamiliar to the honorable old school ideals. His first match was VS The ACE and thats when he decided to take Hunter's side.
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Hunter Decided to add The ACE to his list and thats when The ACE started showing Hunter why he's not an easy Target.
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[Episode 2]
The ACE cheated vs BK and Hunter decided to add The ACE to his list
www.youtube.com/watch?v=m9YAE8pF_Qo&feature=youtu.be&...
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[Episode 3]
The ACE showing Hunter that Ace is not an easy fish to catch
www.youtube.com/watch?v=hiWaGfHOC9k&feature=youtu.be&...
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[Episode 4]
Hunter punishes The ACE and give him his hardest match ever in his whole career
www.youtube.com/watch?v=UvnutZhtnEw&feature=youtu.be&...
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[Episode 5]
The ACE shows Hunter that he has weaknesses.. including that he has people he needs to protect. The ACE attacks Hunter's wife in front of him
www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZOw_o2vclsQ&feature=youtu.be&...
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[Episode 6]
The Hunter checks on his wife in the Hospital and then promises revenge. But The ACE had other plans for Hunter
www.youtube.com/watch?v=KGVkS1kGiG4&feature=youtu.be&...
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To find out what happens next join us in discord to know when the next Episode is.
And join our inworld group
secondlife:///app/group/b1f4bade-86fe-6411-5332-1775958bc075/about
In my inworld profile, I concluded myself : "I'm so many things to different people, but I consider myself a pixel poet, a gardener."
In my little garden, I have grown different plants: little poppies, daisies, roses, lavenders, forget-me-not, just to name a few.
At the beginning, I planted alone. After a while, some people walked past my garden and saw the beautiful flowers. Most were kind to compliment how beautiful they are, very few would stay and ask if we could grow a plant together. Usually I would politely refuse. I know gardening is not for everyone. It takes lots of patience, love, cooperation and communication. Many people want the beautiful flowers only, not the difficult process to achieve the beauty.
Now and then I would agree to try when I see people showing initiative and interest. At first, they visited the garden regularly. We chatted, we shared love with the flowers.
After a while, their lives got busy. Some would kindly tell you that they can't continue cos they have other things to do. I thanked them for the participation, and let them go. I took care of their flowers.
Some just didn't show up without a word. I was upset, yet, I let them go too. We know gardening is not for everyone, right? So, I looked after their flowers.
A few of them showed up now and then. But everytime they were in the garden, they were being absent-minded. They watered the wrong flowers. We know gardening is not for everyone, right? After a few times, I asked if they would like to continue planting. They smiled and said yes. But then, they started to show up at the garden less and less. Sometimes I had to call them and see if they still wanted to grow the flowers. It would be okay if they were not available. They insisted yes.
Two weeks, three weeks, four weeks passed. There was once I went out for more fertilizers. I walked past the garden not far from mine. A face looked familiar to me. Oh, him. I remembered that he worked there for sometime. But the owner of the garden was on business, so he was looking for something to do to kill time. He saw my flowers so nice, so decided to garden at my place. I wondered if he would have enough time to manage the flowers here and there. He said not sure but he would like to try.
He was happily excitedly chatting with the owner while removing the weeds. I looked at them for a bit, didn't say a word, then I left.
I stared at the flowers we grew and all other flowers in the garden. Sorrow surged. I cried under a big sunflower. The flowers were abandoned.
The next day, my friends came. They visited regularly to water our flowers as usual. They saw me sleeping under the big sunflower. They cried. "Why wastes your soul on flowers that were discarded? They were meant to be grown together with other gardeners." Without an hour, they threw away all those flowers that were no longer wanted.
The garden became empty but came with some freshness. "We are not the best gardeners, but we knew that only when we have the willingness to do it together, there is a chance to keep them growing."
Le coton égyptien est souvent considéré comme l'un des meilleurs cotons au monde, grâce à sa douceur, sa durabilité et sa capacité à absorber l'humidité. Dans cet article, nous explorerons les origines de ce tissu extraordinaire, ses caractéristiques uniques, et pourquoi il est si prisé dans l'industrie de la mode et des textiles.
Un Héritage Ancestral
L'histoire du coton égyptien remonte à des milliers d'années. Les Égyptiens anciens utilisaient déjà le coton pour fabriquer des vêtements et des draps. Ce savoir-faire s'est transmis au fil des siècles, et la culture du coton est devenue un élément fondamental de l'économie égyptienne. Aujourd'hui, l'Égypte est renommée pour sa production de coton de haute qualité, principalement cultivé dans la région du Delta du Nil.
Les Caractéristiques du Coton Égyptien :
-- Fibres Longues : Le coton égyptien est réputé pour ses fibres longues et fines. Ces longues fibres donnent au tissu une texture douce et lustrée, offrant une sensation agréable au toucher.
-- Durabilité : Les tissus en coton égyptien sont non seulement doux, mais aussi résistants. Ils conservent leur forme et leur couleur même après de nombreux lavages, ce qui en fait un choix idéal pour les vêtements et la literie.
-- Absorption de l'Humidité : Grâce à sa capacité à absorber l'humidité, le coton égyptien garde les utilisateurs au frais et au sec, ce qui le rend parfait pour les climats chauds.
-- Écologique : De plus en plus, la culture du coton égyptien adopte des pratiques durables. Cela signifie que le coton est cultivé sans l'utilisation excessive de pesticides, réduisant ainsi l'impact environnemental.
luly.ch/blogs/news/le-coton-egyptien-le-tresor-textile-de...
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