View allAll Photos Tagged eTHIC
It's o'dark-thirty when I leave the cabin in Newland for a spot at Rough Ridge, some twenty minutes away. Arriving at the parking area, I see I'm not the first to arrive... Sharon Canter is as determined as me. "Is that you, Tony?" It's definitely dark.
Tony Gouge shows up about a minute later and we quickly get acquainted... we want to be well ensconced on our high perch before others arrive... and it's quite a hike up from here. Look to the right of the image to see just a bit of the Blue Ridge Parkway... that should give you an idea of the climb up to this point.
As I adjust my gear and warm clothing, I can't help but glance up at the sky... Jupiter and Venus shine bright to the east. Orion the Hunter is nearly overhead, and no stealthy hunter is he... it is still so dark that the stars seem like jewels you can reach out and touch. You get a lesson in contrast here... the sky is so dark and the heavens are so brilliant that a distant satellite is evident as it moves silently across Rigel, the star that makes up the hunter's left knee. I could be satisfied right here in this celestial beauty... but then I realize I'm here for another reason... and I was here on this particular morning because I was expecting clouds to reflect the sunrise. Stars.
The three of us find our spot and settle into our routine... ISO and white point are determined... I settle for a little higher ISO to stop the effects of the breeze around us. Then we wait for the show... it's fascinating to me to see us all working the same ethic... "We're professionals, we know what we're doing. Do not try this at home!" I have to laugh just a little to myself. Don’t take yourself so seriously.
What's more fascinating is to be with others who are doing their level-best to show this world in all its beauty, and I admire them for that. Perhaps we should put a camera into the hands of some world leaders and see what happens.
Check out Tony's rendition of this morning here and tell him hello while you're at it. flic.kr/p/zJspnS
This past weekend, Ken and I visited the Jesse Owens Memorial Museum and Park, in Oakville, AL, where this remarkable Olympian was born. This seemed very apropos as the Olympics are in full swing! There was even a replica of the family home where Jesse grew up. These last few shots are in the cabin.
From humble beginnings as a sharecropper's son in Oakville, Alabama to standing atop an Olympic podium wearing gold, Jesse Owens made it look easy, but it was not. Racial and socioeconomic barriers were just a few of the obstacles Owens overcame.
Equipped with a hard work ethic that he learned from his parents and feet that could fly, Owens did what no other had done before - he won four gold medals at one Olympiad.
1936 Olympics
On July 11th, 1936 at the Olympic Trials in New York City, Jesse breezes to victory in the 100 meter, the 200 meter and the long jump. The next day Jesse meets Babe Ruth at a dinner honoring the Olympic athletes. When Babe Ruth asks Jesse if he is going to win at the Olympics, Jesse replies, "I will try." Babe tells Jess, "Everybody tries, I succeed. Why? Because I know I'm going to hit a home run just about every time I swing the bat. I'm surprised when I don't. Because I know it, the pitchers, they know it too. Know, Jesse, that you will win!"
Jesse Owens departs for Berlin three days later.
Beginning on August 1, 1936, Jesse Owens wins the gold medal in the 100 meter with a 10.3 second time, tying the world record. On the 4th, he wins the gold medal in the long jump with 26 feet 5 1/4 inches, setting a new Olympic record. On the 5th, he wins the gold medal in the 200 meter with a 20.7 second time, setting a new Olympic record. On the 8th, Jesse, Ralph Metcalfe, Foy Draper and Frank Wykoff win the gold medal in the 4x100 relay with a time of 39.8 seconds, setting a new world record.
Returning home to a ticker tape parade, Owens' life was changed forever. However, what endeared him to so many were the lives that he then changed forever with his humanitarian work that spanned four decades.
An ant.
Not my cup of tea, but any handheld shot with an MP-E65mm twisted out to 5x magnification that's anything like in focus deserves uploading 😆
I've been watching these guys colonise my patio for a couple of days now, one grain of sand at a time.
They have a good work ethic 👍
This past weekend, Ken and I visited the Jesse Owens Memorial Museum and Park, in Oakville, AL, where this remarkable Olympian was born. This seemed very apropos as the Olympics are in full swing! There was even a replica of the family home where Jesse grew up. These last few shots are in the cabin.
From humble beginnings as a sharecropper's son in Oakville, Alabama to standing atop an Olympic podium wearing gold, Jesse Owens made it look easy, but it was not. Racial and socioeconomic barriers were just a few of the obstacles Owens overcame.
Equipped with a hard work ethic that he learned from his parents and feet that could fly, Owens did what no other had done before - he won four gold medals at one Olympiad.
1936 Olympics
On July 11th, 1936 at the Olympic Trials in New York City, Jesse breezes to victory in the 100 meter, the 200 meter and the long jump. The next day Jesse meets Babe Ruth at a dinner honoring the Olympic athletes. When Babe Ruth asks Jesse if he is going to win at the Olympics, Jesse replies, "I will try." Babe tells Jess, "Everybody tries, I succeed. Why? Because I know I'm going to hit a home run just about every time I swing the bat. I'm surprised when I don't. Because I know it, the pitchers, they know it too. Know, Jesse, that you will win!"
Jesse Owens departs for Berlin three days later.
Beginning on August 1, 1936, Jesse Owens wins the gold medal in the 100 meter with a 10.3 second time, tying the world record. On the 4th, he wins the gold medal in the long jump with 26 feet 5 1/4 inches, setting a new Olympic record. On the 5th, he wins the gold medal in the 200 meter with a 20.7 second time, setting a new Olympic record. On the 8th, Jesse, Ralph Metcalfe, Foy Draper and Frank Wykoff win the gold medal in the 4x100 relay with a time of 39.8 seconds, setting a new world record.
Returning home to a ticker tape parade, Owens' life was changed forever. However, what endeared him to so many were the lives that he then changed forever with his humanitarian work that spanned four decades.
Excerpt from www.hospitalitynet.org/announcement/41007033/the-pearle-h...:
The Pearle Hotel and Spa announced today it will open on Burlington's vibrant waterfront (3 Elizabeth Street) on November 1st, 2021.
The urban retreat just steps from Lake Ontario is designed by the award-winning design firm Studio Munge and emulates a modern lake house with elegant white oak panelling, tranquil views of the lake and the heart of downtown. Through thoughtful design, the 151 guest rooms and all public spaces reflect the richness of the changing Canadian seasons.
The luxurious, full-service spa is reminiscent of the arrival of spring, with a curated offering of rejuvenating treatments. Adjoining the spa, a Hammam steam room, an indoor swimming pool, and a state-of-the-art fitness facility adds to the guest experience.
The Pearle Hotel and Spa is home to two inventive, farm-driven dining options, with much of their offerings grown on Pearle Hospitality's own farm located 20 minutes down the road. Inspired by the vibrant, casual days of summer, The Pearle Hotel's restaurant Isabelle headed by Executive Chef Ben Heaton (formerly Patria, Mira, Byblos), has an expansive lakeside terrace with a weather-friendly patio destined to be a space for sharing and connecting with loved ones. The hotel will also house the fourth location of the popular Earth to Table: Bread Bar for high quality ingredient dishes and coffee with more casual cafe seating.
The hotel's exclusive event floor features elegantly designed event space totalling 10,000 square feet. With show stopping floor-to-ceiling windows, hand-blown fixtures by local artisans, and breathtaking lake views, The Pearle Hotel and Spa is the perfect venue for any event, from executive retreats to weddings — memorable moments are guaranteed.
The Pearle Hotel and Spa is inspired by the Ciancone family matriarch, grandmother Pearle, whose work ethic and spirit of hospitality remain deeply admired by her family today. Elegant and free of formality, The Pearle Hotel and Spa embodies and honours the founders' grandmother Pearle.
Excerpt from www.hospitalitynet.org/announcement/41007033/the-pearle-h...:
The Pearle Hotel and Spa announced today it will open on Burlington's vibrant waterfront (3 Elizabeth Street) on November 1st, 2021.
The urban retreat just steps from Lake Ontario is designed by the award-winning design firm Studio Munge and emulates a modern lake house with elegant white oak panelling, tranquil views of the lake and the heart of downtown. Through thoughtful design, the 151 guest rooms and all public spaces reflect the richness of the changing Canadian seasons.
The luxurious, full-service spa is reminiscent of the arrival of spring, with a curated offering of rejuvenating treatments. Adjoining the spa, a Hammam steam room, an indoor swimming pool, and a state-of-the-art fitness facility adds to the guest experience.
The Pearle Hotel and Spa is home to two inventive, farm-driven dining options, with much of their offerings grown on Pearle Hospitality's own farm located 20 minutes down the road. Inspired by the vibrant, casual days of summer, The Pearle Hotel's restaurant Isabelle headed by Executive Chef Ben Heaton (formerly Patria, Mira, Byblos), has an expansive lakeside terrace with a weather-friendly patio destined to be a space for sharing and connecting with loved ones. The hotel will also house the fourth location of the popular Earth to Table: Bread Bar for high quality ingredient dishes and coffee with more casual cafe seating.
The hotel's exclusive event floor features elegantly designed event space totalling 10,000 square feet. With show stopping floor-to-ceiling windows, hand-blown fixtures by local artisans, and breathtaking lake views, The Pearle Hotel and Spa is the perfect venue for any event, from executive retreats to weddings — memorable moments are guaranteed.
The Pearle Hotel and Spa is inspired by the Ciancone family matriarch, grandmother Pearle, whose work ethic and spirit of hospitality remain deeply admired by her family today. Elegant and free of formality, The Pearle Hotel and Spa embodies and honours the founders' grandmother Pearle.
another homeless person
The term unsheltered refers to that segment of a homeless community who do not have ordinary lawful access to buildings in which to sleep. Such persons frequently prefer the term houseless to the term homeless. Others may use the term street people, which does not fully encompass all unsheltered in that many such persons do not spend their time on urban street environments. Many shun such locales and prefer to convert unoccupied or abandoned buildings, or to inhabit mountains or, more often, lowland meadows, and creek banks and beaches Many jurisdictions have developed programs to provide short term emergency shelter (often in churches or other institutional real property, during particularly cold spells). These are referred to as warming centers, and are credited by their advocates as lifesaving.
A portion of the homeless population are generally in transit, but there is no generally accepted terminology to describe them; some nomenclature is frequently associated with derogatory connotations, and thus the professional and vernacular lingo to describe these persons is both evolving and not lacking in controversy. Much of the concern stems from the European situation, where homeless persons of Roma, Sinti and other ethnic descent have rejected the term gypsy. Other terms which some use regarding in-transit persons are: transient, vagabond, tramp or drifter. Occasionally, these terms are interchanged with terms not necessarily implying that the person is a traveler, i.e. hobo. The termbum is used for persons lacking a work ethic. The term transient is frequently used in police reports, without any precise definitions across jurisdictions.
It is complex and difficult to define homelessness. Many different definitions have been made and changes to the concept are constantly being brought to attention. The United States Congress has developed a definition that has gone through multiple changes. First applied in 1987, this general definition was provided and is now called the McKinney-Vento Act. As time went on and homelessness was still apparent in the USA, Congress added a definition for the homeless children and youths that will be using the educational programs; this change accrued in 2002. Congress later, in 2009, enacted the Homeless Emergency Assistance and Rapid Transition Housing Act, also known as The HEARTH Act. This broadened the general definition of homelessness and gave more consideration to help given to those who are considered homeless. Once again, in 2011, the United States Department of Housing and Urban Development (HUD) issued a final rule to implement changes to the definition of homeless in the HEARTH Act. The implemented rule expands who is eligible for HUD-funded homeless assistance programs.
See more history on previous photo !
Contents
more candids here
www.flickr.com/photos/23502939@N02/albums/72157622769131641
More France here
www.flickr.com/photos/23502939@N02/albums/72157624934073273
Jan Herremans
My father (pictured) often said that his early years of living in South Dakota during the Dust Bowl days were the most difficult of his life. But in later years when he would visit the area, he could look back at that cruel crucible and find in it, the young sprouts of a life-long work ethic and a never quit attitude that grew to serve him well for the next 40 years in Minnesota.
Copyright © 2005 Tatiana Cardeal. All rights reserved.
Reprodução proibida. © Todos os direitos reservados.
Beyond our ethic flag.............................................................From the serie Fairys for fathers
Blogged by United-Children of the World
Blogged by Catchy Colors
Our lives are generally fast paced. We work hard. Sometimes that ethic bleeds over into our recreational time. I frequently find myself frequently trying to do and see too many things in a short period of time. When I visited the wild horses on the Pony Express trail this year I knew I only had a day or so to spend. I decided to pass the time enjoying those horses that I managed to encounter easily rather than running from place to place to find others. I also took some time to play with exposures and walk the landscape. At one point, a few horses came running by. I slowed my shutter speed and did a few panning shots. Panning photos, for those that are not familiar, are essentially motion blurs but with one caveat. The one necessity is that at least one portion of the photo should be in relative focus. Otherwise, you simply have a blurry photo. Not everyone loves pan shots but I love the sense of movement and activity that they convey. It also allows me to slow down and enjoy my time in the wild. #WildHorses
we're trying to get him to help out around the house with one chore per day - here he's putting away the clean dishes and loading up the dishwasher with dirty ones.
copyright © 2009 sean dreilinger
view nick performing increasingly relevant chores - _MG_5076 on a black background.
Road workers in Hong Kong. You have to admire them for their work ethic while at the same time shake your head at the lack of safety on the job. Apart from the chap operating machinery while wearing shorts, note the power leads and multiple power adaptors. Did I happen to mention it was also raining. Check out the pedestrian in the background with the umbrella.
From Wikipedia:
"Nothing was a small unincorporated settlement in far eastern Mohave County, Arizona, United States with four inhabitants.[1] The locals told travelers it "got named by a bunch of drunks."
The town sign reads "THE STAUNCH CITIZENS OF NOTHING ARE FULL OF HOPE AND FAITH AND BELIEVE IN WORK ETHIC. THRU THE YEAR THESE DEDICATED PEOPLE HAD FAITH IN NOTHING, HOPE FOR NOTHING, WORKED FOR NOTHING FOR NOTHING."
This is the farm my wife grew up on and that I have had the privilege to visit many times. It is now being managed by her brother. To me, this farm represents an extraordinary work ethic, families pulling together, and men and women who know how to fix anything. As farming is increasingly being taken over by giant agribusinesses, I fear that the small family farm is rapidly becoming yet a another sacrifice to the god of centralized corporate greed. Ref: 90D5073
Excerpt from www.hospitalitynet.org/announcement/41007033/the-pearle-h...:
The Pearle Hotel and Spa announced today it will open on Burlington's vibrant waterfront (3 Elizabeth Street) on November 1st, 2021.
The urban retreat just steps from Lake Ontario is designed by the award-winning design firm Studio Munge and emulates a modern lake house with elegant white oak panelling, tranquil views of the lake and the heart of downtown. Through thoughtful design, the 151 guest rooms and all public spaces reflect the richness of the changing Canadian seasons.
The luxurious, full-service spa is reminiscent of the arrival of spring, with a curated offering of rejuvenating treatments. Adjoining the spa, a Hammam steam room, an indoor swimming pool, and a state-of-the-art fitness facility adds to the guest experience.
The Pearle Hotel and Spa is home to two inventive, farm-driven dining options, with much of their offerings grown on Pearle Hospitality's own farm located 20 minutes down the road. Inspired by the vibrant, casual days of summer, The Pearle Hotel's restaurant Isabelle headed by Executive Chef Ben Heaton (formerly Patria, Mira, Byblos), has an expansive lakeside terrace with a weather-friendly patio destined to be a space for sharing and connecting with loved ones. The hotel will also house the fourth location of the popular Earth to Table: Bread Bar for high quality ingredient dishes and coffee with more casual cafe seating.
The hotel's exclusive event floor features elegantly designed event space totalling 10,000 square feet. With show stopping floor-to-ceiling windows, hand-blown fixtures by local artisans, and breathtaking lake views, The Pearle Hotel and Spa is the perfect venue for any event, from executive retreats to weddings — memorable moments are guaranteed.
The Pearle Hotel and Spa is inspired by the Ciancone family matriarch, grandmother Pearle, whose work ethic and spirit of hospitality remain deeply admired by her family today. Elegant and free of formality, The Pearle Hotel and Spa embodies and honours the founders' grandmother Pearle.
The James J. Hill House is certainly an impressive structure, but during the tour there is a lot of emphasis placed on James J. Hill and his family's lifestyle. They highlight his relentless work ethic and the team of servants who assisted in raising his children (alongside his wife), and in hosting extravagant parties aimed at impressing influential guests and raising their kids to "marry well".
All of the time and effort spent in achieving societal status and money...I just don't get it. Now there is this impressive house all of these years later that people like me can tour and be impressed by, but at what cost? I'm not talking about price, what did it cost him? How many adventures with his kids did he go on...any? What about quality family time that wasn't just a show for "important" people? It seems to me that money & status were more important to him than the riches that only quality family relationships can bring. The house is impressive, and I am sure most people would think that he was a good example of success...but when you look at the big picture of his life, I feel like he missed it.
This really reminded me of the giant clock that one can see in the cafe at the Musee D'orsay, Paris But is an iconic image regarding the Time Exhibition by Rone. Industrialisation brought different ideas of time, time keeping and the "protestant" work ethic. rone.art/
Does your work ethic match your ambitions?
Where do you want your photography to take you? Do you have a goal in mind? Are you actively pursuing that goal every day?
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.Plz View My Light Box At Getty Image Here
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The Photo Belongs to Our Old Flicker er Shaheed Mamun and his belongings , and these were captured while his tour at Dhaka in last Dec 2010,
Me and MS Karim Bashir Had an wonderful Evening with you mamun vai, an Unforgetful memories blended with LOve and respeect for Lens and Ethic of PhotogrpHY
#89 Sentimental (119 Pictures in 2019)
We have such affection for Trudi. She is so endearing -- for her quiet and gentle manner, her fun sense of play, and her bold and keen work ethic.
I found my name in a word search. it was actually part of the words we were supposed to search,--- weird.
the second picture was the crossword on the back of this worksheet. It says,
"Whatever you do, do it with all your might. Work at it, early and late, in season and out of season, not leaving a stone unturned, and never referring for a single hour that which can be done just as well as now."
I like this quote, a lot, because it relates to me and how it should be with my karate training.
Any objection to the evangelistic methods of our present golden-calf Christianity, is met with the triumphant reply, "But we are winning the lost!"
And what are you winning them to?
To true discipleship?
To cross-carrying?
To self-denial?
To separation from the world?
To crucifixion of the flesh?
To holy living?
To nobility of character?
To a despising of the world's treasures?
To total committal to Christ?
Of course, the answer to all these questions is NO!
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
I am among those who believe that our Western civilization is on its way to perishing. It has many commendable qualities, most of which it has borrowed from the Christian ethic, but it lacks the element of moral wisdom that would give it permanence. Future historians will record that we of the twentieth century had intelligence enough to create a great civilization—but not the moral wisdom to preserve it!
He plays the euphonium for two (four) hours per day, minimum.
Unless he's playing piano.
He has a deranged work ethic.
And sounds better all the time.
mccashins.co.nz/pages/our-story
“Back in the 1980s Terry and Bev McCashin took on New Zealand’s brewing duopoly from a small Nelson factory using their own recipes. They gave people more than just something to drink…they gave us choice. And so began the craft beer revolution…
When it all began in the 1980s, the country was dominated by a duopoly, with two giant corporate breweries of Lion and DB controlled virtually all of New Zealand’s beer. But Terry and Bev were stubborn, feisty, and willing to stand up and be counted.
In fact – when the brewery was opened by none other than then Prime Minister Robert Muldoon, he described it as a 'David against two Goliaths' moment.
Together with a handful of likeminded folk, they began developing and refining their own unique recipes and handcrafting beverages from Nelson's finest ingredients.
Fate had played a helping hand along the way, putting them in contact with a chap called Jim Pollitt, an accomplished brewer who’d already made his mark on the European scene with Carlsberg.
With Jim’s natural talent and passion for the process, and Terry and Bev’s innovative mindset and relentless work ethic, the craft brewing revolution was born.”
Inspired by the 1930’s painting by Grant Wood, American Gothic, Jasper wanted me to do a portrait that reflects the strong work ethic of an Australian Shepherd dog alongside his female human. Jasper wanted the portrait to inspire loyalty to humans and the drive of a good working dog. Oil on Canvas
The Making:
For this shot, I recreated the American Gothic house in PowerPoint. (Lame, I know, but it’s one of the tools of my trade that I know well.) I know the original American Gothic had the woman’s hair pulled back, but I like my wife Jean’s curly hair, so I asked her to leave it down. I Then shot Jean and Jasper against a white backdrop. Let me tell you, it’s not easy keeping bib overalls on a dog. Their shoulders are just not meant for human clothing. I masked Jean and Jasper in Photoshop, then copied and pasted them into my American Gothic home image. I watched a YouTube on how to make a picture look like an oil painting, then added a canvas texture and, voila! Australio-American Gothic!
Black & White is a sensitive subject. Before there was color photographs, Black & White was the only option. Black & White shouldn't just be respected in a artistic format, it should be in a human form too. I've never met a perfect person let alone a perfect ethic group. I've been deceived and used by both Black & White, so for me it's hard to see the difference in both. All I've learned in my travels across this plant is that each person is unique beyond color. Don't judge a person by the lack of color, but what they have to offer in the unique chemical/spiritual connection. The only color that exist on this earth is the RBG. Red, Blue & Green. If you're a human or a person with a camera, respect our roots as a colorless community. As most people read this it make your blood boil, just know you my be apart of the problem not the solution. Love over politics.
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In a post-apocalyptic (post-pandemic?) world, we imagined the Survivors and how they would have improved their skills and
humanity to become better Citizens of the Third Millennium returning to craftsmanship, manual skills, bartering, reusing, recycling
and with an improved ethic of a true sharing.
Art direction, styling & photography: #AEupani
Model: Laura Passenger
Original Vintage accessories, eames era planetary purse, belts, leather apron dress & body ornamental jewels:
Vintage Workshop® Archives
Shooting Location: Montebianco - Milano
Shoot. Production & Research: ©Vintage Workshop®
Ref. 169-100 MD.reduc (squared)
Image copyrighted ©Vintage Workshop. All rights reserved
"New Beginning"
First post of the new year! Hoping everyone's 2018 will be full of adventure and inspiration.
I'm uncertain if the scene captured in this image remains intact or fell victim to the wildfire which ravaged the Columbia River Gorge late last summer. As someone who has explored and photographed the Gorge extensively over the past two decades I can honestly say watching many of those cherished places go up in flames (in a completely preventable wildfire) was one of the most painful experiences of 2017. I haven't expressed many of my own thoughts on the the fire, but I’m convinced the added pressure put on these wild places by social media played a role. It's an eight armed octopus of a discussion whenever you dive into the pros and cons related to increased visitation in natural areas, so please understand the point of this post is not to start a debate. Social media is the world’s least useful forum for resolving differences or hashing out differences of thought.
Moving into a new year is a great time to spend time reflecting and reassessing. First, let’s commit to taking steps to minimize our own impact on the natural world whenever we are outside hiking, climbing, photographing, etc. The ethic of Leave No Trace is a perfect place to start and something we should all learn, adhere to, and encourage in each other. Second, let’s contemplate the very reasons for going into nature in the first place. Why are our true motivation for going into nature? Is it to take a break from the “real” word so we can find refuge while surrounded by soul-filling beauty, or to find adventure, or to perhaps create a piece of art? Or are our motivations for going outside completely unrelated to the actual experience of being in the outdoors and, instead, more driven by potential personal gain in the world of social media? Each person must answer this question for themselves. I am in no way saying people should stop going outdoors for the purpose of creating social media content. What I am saying is we each need to assess our motivation and accept complete responsibility for our decisions. That brings me to the last point: let’s consider carefully the types of images we choose to promote online. We should realize the content we post online directly influences others who may then decide to follow in our steps. If we engage in poor behavior just to capture an image, this sends a clear message that this behavior is normal, and others are free to do the same. The photographic community is to blame for this. So, let’s all commit to asking ourselves the hard questions this year. Here’s hoping we have the wisdom to answer them honestly.
Typical rainy, cloudy and dreary weather so common during the winter months in the Seattle area is just another day to those who work and live there. This photo captures the blue collar work ethic that was the backbone of Seattle for so many years with Boeing making airplanes, the Port of Seattle with international shipping, barges supporting logging and supplies to and from Alaska. Burlington Northern Railroad typifies the backbone of industrial labor as a transfer freight between Auburn and Everett gets underway after working at Interbay Yard in Seattle, WA. January 1982.
Eurasian Blackbird / turdus merula. Garden, Derbyshire. 15/05/20.
'THE NEW NEIGHBOUR.'
This gorgeous female Blackbird has chosen to nest in our Privet hedge which I'm very pleased about.
I devoted most of a day photographing her as she gathered materials from around the garden and was very impressed by her work ethic.
Until watching her, I'd always thought birds' devote specific times each day to build nests. Wrong ... at least, as far as this beauty was concerned! Apart from taking short breaks to rearrange feathers, drink or feed, she just kept on going with her domestic duties. She deserves every success in raising her (second?) family. I'll be keeping an eye out for unwanted intruders like cats, Magpies and Crows.
BEST VIEWED LARGE.
The first thing a young farm teenager saw when he was dropped off by the school bus at the end of this lane was the make-shift patch on his dad's silo. Farm life a half century ago was not glamorous nor were most farms a photographic candidate for the cover of "Country Living". But in the imperfection was normally a stable family, the development of a life-long work ethic and a filling of the heart's memory bank that lasts long after moving away.
The 'smugglers' who shared the cabin with me on the Trans Siberian always placed a generous cash gratuity into our passports as we were to be searched. Andre 'the elder' would assert his authority as the head smuggler and collect all four of the passports... including mine... and he would give them to the officials with a mischevous smile and a nod that said 'this is my gift to you.' This is my business. This is what I do.
Andre always put the American passport on the bottom... I think he thought it would draw less attention there...and then he always shushed me with a stern and piercing look as he prepared for these most critical transactions. The first thing the official would do is put the American passport on top. I began to realize that although we shared that cabin and the comraderie of the rails... or confinement thereof... that Andre 'the elder' didn't really think that having an American in his cabin was all that much good for business. It seemed to bring a little 'extra special' attention and scrutiny to his little clandestine smuggling operation. Maybe he had to bump up the bribes a notch or two to insure the safe passage of his valuable contraband. Either way you could just tell by watching him that Andre was a bottom line kind of guy.
By the end of the journey though Andre had invited me to live with him and his family in Poland... to work at his store... and to marry his daughter who he assured me had the bluest of eyes and breasts that were the national pride of Poland. Although I never saw him again I came to love Andre as a father in law even though I never met his daughter... somehow I feel like I know her.
It's no joke either about Polish womens breasts being an object of national pride. Somehow Andre 'the elder' seemed capable of working it into any conversation relating to his motherland... to which Andre 'the younger' and their female companion would invariably agree with.
This usually led to a toast... a clanking of the glasses... the tipping of a bottle and a slurred chorus of 'nasdorovia's.'
Whenever the merits of Polish breasts were agreed on, indeed that meant it was time to drink some more vodka. Even to this day... when I think of Andre or Polish womens breasts... it makes me want to knock back a shot of vodka... but I don't drink anymore and really I am more of an ass man... but still. I never had the heart to tell Andre that... I mean, talking about Polish womens breasts really seemed to make him so happy. I didn't want to take that way from him. You've just never seen a guy so filled with joy as Andre was whenever his favorite subject was being discussed or debated... it really lit him up from the inside.
Anytime you want to make a Polish national feel good... or homesick... just bring up the fact that Polish women have the best breasts. It's been good for a lot of free drinks for me.
I had just left Asia... everyday I travelled closer to Europe. With the passage of time and distance Andre's observations were indeed verified though... the closer I got to Poland... the larger breasts became. I'm not kidding. Andre was right.
The first Russian I met... the man smiling in the photograph... was like most Russians it seemed...named Sergei. A few were named Alexander or Andre. I think Russians have only three names... except for politicians or people of fame. I might have met a couple of Victors and a handful of Igor's as well. Somebody once said they'd heard of a Russian named Nikolai too. Still... most men in Russia are named Sergei. That's just the way it is there.
Seconds after I took this photograph Sergei slipped into his pocket without flinch or hesitation the currency that Andre had stashed in his passport. I knew it was coming and I was watching closely for it. I barely caught it. And I grew up in Chicago.
Living on that train with those smugglers was like taking an advanced college course in the subtleties and techniques of graft. It was Andre 'the elder' who taught me that you need to keep variable amounts of currency in each of your four pockets... like five in one, ten in the next, then twenty and a hundred...and that you must properly size up the person you are attempting to bribe and choose from one of your pockets the minumum amount you are betting it will take to pacify that official.
That's helped me more than once in life since then.
Andre also showed me that it was really important to telegraph the bribe... to look the mark right in the eyes and demonstrate that one... you were about to bribe him and two... that you were going to reach into your pocket and take out all of the money you had available to you for this transaction. It was really deep psychology according to Andre. The man had an ethic and he was a perfectionist. It's always remarkable to watch such a master at work.
Andre pointed out that it was good form to allow your pocket to turn slightly inside out so that the mark could see that indeed you really emptied it. This he noted made them feel really special. Like you went all the way for them. He also taught me that a bribe is never to be peeled off of a larger wad of bills or taken from a wallet... unless you had done business with the mark before but in his opinion it was still a bad idea.
Andre's bribes never failed or produced even the slightest trace of hesitation. The man was truly a master. Andre 'the elder' was the maestro of bribery. And he taught me well. Halfway through the journey he announced that he was getting sick of the train and that he and his cohorts were getting off at Irkusk and flying on to Moscow.
He gave to me a case of vodka and an envelope with additional bribes in it and told me that he would meet me in Moscow with the 'goods' next week.
I was proud and honored that Andre 'the elder' trusted me with the 'stuff.'
I was officially a smuggler now.
When I went through Japanese customs they even pulled me right out of line... took me to this little office where I presumed I was going to learn what a rough rectal exam was like. They never even looked in my bags though... they just wanted to know if I slept with any prostitutes in Bangkok... it was a real interrogation too... they didn't believe me when I said I hadn't... they even tried to say I must be gay then. the fact that I didn't seem to take much offense at their calling me gay really seemed to disturb them because thry had a little conference among themselves... in Japanese... so I had no way of knowing what they were saying.
I told them that i did get a killer massage at the James Bond Turkish Bath and Massage House... but there was no happy ending if you know what I mean. I only went in because of the James Bond motiff. I'm a sucker for that stuff... like the cosmonaut cigarettes on the train in Russia.
Still they didn't believe me but they let me go with a warning... a reminder to call them if I wanted to change my story and they gave me this pamphlet that described all of the symptoms one might have after a hedonistic weekend in the city of angels... Bankok. Reading the brochure it made me really glad I just stuck with the massage. The pictures, even though they were in black and white, they were especially disturbing.
Bangkok... really the only reason I went there is because I loved that song by Murray McMurray... you know the one... 'one night in Bangkok makes a hard man humble.' I wanted to see what the inspiration for that song was... and I thought I could use some humbling. Murray was correctamundo... I was indeed humbled.
I dealt with smugglers before in Japan... Nigerians... but dealing with the Nigerians always made me feel dirty. And that was before they became famous on the internet.
Those Nigerians... they are a resourceful bunch though. And the colorful clothing... you haven't partied until you've partied with a Nigerian man wearing a yellow daishiki with a matching hat. I couldda stared at those intricate psychadellic patterns forever. I still felt dirty though. But as a rule, if you ever want anything illegal, if you want to find the corruption or a cities dark underbelly... look for the Nigerians... you can't miss them the way they dress. Or you can just find cab drivers... who are often Nigerian anyway. Cab drivers are also a valuable resource when you are looking for some sin in a new city. I never once got into one of those three wheeled cabs in Bangkok called "Tuk-tuk's" without being offered a "massagy-massagy," Not once.
When I was in high school and I wanted some beer or alcoholoc beverages... I'd just call for a cab... and when the guy got there... I'd tell him to go get me a twelve pack or something... then I would do that "rip the twenty dollar bill in half" trick and tell him he'd get to keep the other half when he came back. They loved that. It always produced for me. It's one of the most secret agent like things you could do... ripping a bill in half like that... it's an all or nothing move... it's like saying neither one of us trusts the other but this twenty... that's what it's all about. Of course you gotta figure in the cab fare too.
I think Nigeria has the worlds biggest cab driver school or something. Most Nigerian guys grow up to be cab drivers... the ones with more education do internet scams... white collar work. From what I've seen... those are your only two career paths if you're from Nigeria. Smuggling and dealing in hashish is just a very common side gig. And they had this scam where they used a computer to alter prepaid phone cards and increase their value. Nigerians can be geniuses.
It was a Nigerian that taught me that if you took the local train long distance in Japan you could have a friend get on at the station before your destination and give you an extra ticket he bought there for like a buck and you could save hundreds because if you over rode your fair they didn't check on the train... you just had to pay when you inserted your ticket at the exit. Those Nigerians.
The Japanese didn't have much an apetite for the devils weed... they preferred amphetamines... something I never did. I always thought it would be pretty hillarious to hang out with some really stoned Japanese people. I wondered what their eyes could possibly look like when they were smoking pot.
The other gaurd in the picture... the mean looking one... noted the transaction as if to say 'I had better get my cut' and the money quickly dissapeared with all of the magnificence of a Las Vegas slieght of hand magician.
You could see it in the officers eyes... and he didn't appreciate my shutter happy finger either. I thought this would be another precious roll of thirty five millimeter lost to the angry hands of the authorities. That stuff is hard to come by in Siberia you know.
It was obvious these men were used to being treated to such gratuities. Probably they sent word ahead... there is a man in the rear cabin who treats security officials very well.
It reminded me of the consulate officer at the Russian embassy in Beijing who informed me that they were 'all out of visas' until I produced my last eight american dollars... and even then he motioned for me to show him the inside of my bag because I'm sure he wanted to make it an even ten. That's why you keep your money in different pockets. Miraculously the rubber stamp that made visas was rejuvenated and after a strong smack on the stamp pad was good for just one more visa.
Our cabin and our bags were never searched. Not anywhere on the entire journey. They could have contained a ton of heroin or four chinese children set out to work in the kitchens of europe.
At this time I didn't know what the two Andres and their female cohort were smuggling, but I had hoped that it was indeed something that would make the journey more pleasant.
My passport was taken from me there at Manzhoulli and I was issued Russian travel papers that I carried for the duration of the trip. Papers that were stamped with a radiation symbol the morning after we tore ass through the radiated zone caused by the disaster at Chernobyl. To this day I wonder how the passport was returned to me as I departed Russia at the Polish border.
Later Sergei 'the compensated' and I sat outside the Manzhoulli station where he smoked a cigarette and asked me questions about America. It wasn't small talk... Sergei had a deep interest in the way things were there... why our countries grew up in this diabolic situation of mutual assured nuclear destruction. What was so different about us his words seemed to say in a meandering way. I saw then that Sergei was raised too on the same diet of propoganda that I was... just the other end of the spectrum. I remember it seemed as if we both realized that right at the same time... his deep basso Russian laughter overwhelmed mine and carried beyond our immediate confines to precede me into Siberia.
I uncapped the pewter whiskey flask in my bag... the one decorated with the golfers on it that I shoplifted from Carson Perie Scott's in high school and we shared a sip. The same one the port official in Shanghai uncapped to smell but never dared to partake of. I crushed that flask when I had it in my back pocket when I fell off the back of a moving truck... the flask was empty... which undoubtably had something to do with me falling off of the back of a moving truck... but I was crushed too because I loved that flask. I ended up filling it with water and freezing it repeatedly until the crushed metal expanded outward. Plus I think it's realy the only thing I've ever shoplifted... except for candy and stuff like that. I just fell in love with that thing the first time I saw it. I knew then that I had to have it and I carried it around the whole world.
In Siberia vodka was golden... but whiskey... even the cheap Japanese stuff I carried...Suntory I think... it produced a reaction in my Russian friends like nothing I had ever seen. One sip... savored as if it were sent from heaven above and there were kisses and bear hugs. One sip of whiskey to a Russian then always opened up an immediate and strong friendship. Sometimes it even lasted longer than the fire it produced in your stomach and the burn in your throat.
I watched the sunset there that evening in Manzhoulli. Alone at the side of the rails I wished that someone would have walked over... sat next to me... and even in the silence of those who speak no common language... just appreciated that Manzhoulli sunset with me.
If I could have found one...I would have paid a prostitute just to sit next to me and enjoy that there. But I've heard that prostitutes always make you pay extra for weird stuff like that. I did after all have a bag of Yuan's that I worked out of the black market in China. The ones that I was left with after they wouldn't let me buy booze with them. The ones only chinese citizens are supposed to carry. Foreigners in China are supposed to carry a different money than the Chinese... they're called foreign exchange certificates. I called them 'fecks' because I like to come up with acronyms or slang names for things. It makes me sound smarter... like I been around the block a time or two.
Chinese money confused me... they rarely used coins... I'd break a one yuan note... worth maybe twenty cents and about the size of a buck... and for change I'd get a bunch of smaller notes of differing sizes. It was like some of their cash was as small as a postage stamp. After a week I had so much of the stuff and couldn't figure out how to use it... I'd just open my hip bag and let the bus driver or shop keeper help themselves.
It was the hearbreak of the solo traveller... that I should be in a place of such significance and see something of extraordinary beauty and have no one there to even draw breath with in in the way one does when confronted with such magnificence. The sigh of beauty.
Envy was the emotion I always felt as I watched others hold hands or share the entwinement of a lovers arms... those who whispered to each other at these moments... them who had someone stand on the pier or at the station to wish them bon voyage... even more so they who met someone to welcome them to their destination.
I always stepped off of my conveyance alone.
I was there alone as the sun set on Asia... I said goodbye as it was dropping low over Mongolia and casting a gorgeous and firery reflection off of the steppes and the deserts miles distant.
It would be to me my last sunset of Asia.
And my last stupid thought. Possibly it was the vodka the Andres forced upon me there... but I clasped my hands behind my head and layed back on my backpack as the sun rounded the earth... and I entertained myself with a promise that if I were ever to become filthy rich that I would buy my childhood home... the one I grew up in... have it taken apart piece by piece and put into shipping containers where I would then have them shipped here... or maybe to the Steppes of Mongolia in front of me... and reassembled exactly as it was. I didn't care where... I just thought it would be loads of fun to take my childhood home apart and rebuild it somewhere really far away.
That I might live in my house and look out the window at this place.
House Martin / delichon urbicum. Northumberland. 01/07/24.
'NEST NUMBER 14.'
An image made at a small colony of House Martins this summer, in Northumberland.. There were 12 complete nests in the colony, most holding chicks at various stages of development. In addition to those, one nest (number 13) was in its very early stages of construction, by a single bird only.
*(see my previous post where I expand on this).
Finally, there was this almost complete nest, number 14. I'd watched it being started on 19th June, thirteen days previously, (again, by a bird working entirely on its own). However, it was really noticeable the bird's work ethic/behaviour had changed drastically during the interim period.
In mid-June it had flown back and forth tirelessly collecting fresh mud pellets, then working them with gusto. But on 1st July, it added just one pellet, then stayed inside the construction, peering out at other HMs visiting their own nests. It often sang, throat visibly bulging, as if to broadcast its presence, although there was no interest/reaction from any of the other birds.
My image shows the new behaviour, peering upwards whilst singing. Note the inflated throat and whites of its eyes! The single new mud pellet is below the tip of its beak.
Again, I found myself pondering the back story of another bird in the colony ...
BEST VIEWED LARGE.
Not entirely sure which moining bee (Andrena sp.) this one is, but judging by how full the scopae (pollen baskets) on the hind legs are with lovely yellow pollen all the way up on the sides, it at least has very good work ethic.
Taken just after sunset and shot during the beautiful hazy soft light. The beautiful Basilica del Redentore again taken on last years Rohan Reilly work shop.
I keep looking through the files and finding shots that I think are worth processing. I highly recommend Rohans workshops as they are great fun and also very worthwhile. They are tiring though as his work ethic is 2nd to none.
I am desperate to do another as soon as possible if your reading this Rohan :-).
I hope you like the image and please comment and or critique.
Thanks in advance, Ricky
The most exotic city of Cuba, lots of different ethic groups have settled themselves in this city.
The second biggest city, after Havana. Santiago de Cuba, a city full with history of the revolution, the fight against dictator Batista.
The Capital of Santiago de Cuba Province, which has one of the first seven settlements that the Europeans founded in Cuba early in the 16th century, is one of the most picturesque on the island.
The founding fathers made the most of its stunning setting a coastal terrace bordering and impressive purse-like bayand used the wood from the tall forest on the nearby mountain range to raise the first buildings of what would, for several years, be Cuba's first capital.
Meanwhile, at Jerry's apartment...
"Well, George, you can't give up. You know, just keep knocking on doors."
"Knocking on doors? It's like, once they talk to me, they bar and lock the doors!"
...laughter...
"George, you have to keep trying. I was fired from Pendant Publishing but then I got the job with Mr. Pitt. And then, when I lost that, I was hired on at the J. Peterman Catalog."
"You met Peterman in the street! You were walking around in a daze!"
...laughter...
"Well... I mean... I have a job..."
"Maybe I should walk around in a daze in the rain."
...laughter...
"You're not far from that already."
...laughter...
"Funny, Jerry. Just what I need! Kick me when I'm down!"
"Oh, come on, George! Okay, do you have any other companies to visit?"
"Right now just one. The Dunder Mifflin Paper Company."
"What's that?"
"I don't know. Their information was very vague. Their company statement didn't make sense. They don't seem to have a real purpose."
"Hey, that sounds perfect for you!"
...laughter...
"Look, I would appreciate a company with a good work ethic."
"George, you never work, and you have no ethics."
...laughter...
"I don't know why I even bother to come over any more."
"Hey, nobody's twisting your arm."
...laughter...
...applause...
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A year of the shows and performers of the Bijou Planks Theater.
Funko
Mini Moments
Seinfeld - Jerry's Apartment
Jerry
George
Elaine
AI assisted image according to my instructions, rendered as Vintage ink drawing with sepia hues and finished with my handmade chiaroscuro digital painting and post-processure.
PROLOGUE: I support any means and tools to make and improve art. And I second the idea that AI doesn't need to be criminalized, but, instead, supported. Obviously, not indiscriminately but in the right places, in the suitable groups, with ponder and gut and with the right artists. (See my quest here below and in my considerations down in the comments roll).
EXCERPT :
"With AI you can create ugly monsters as well as beautiful creatures
(or even beautiful monsters) but the artistic level you can realize and appreciate
when, in both cases, you don't just leave the prompt result unaltered but, instead,
you improve* it with your hands, especially to correct errors and distortions
(like feet detached from legs, 7 fingered hands, distorted eyes and various
other several mutilations)."
*or, as my new Friend & AI master Philip says "Anatomically and surgically enhanced".
Are you beginning to be annoyed by AI ? Then readdit:
I hope my modern Hentai with a Vintage spirit will be liked or held per interesting enough to proceed reading what matters me the most on a serious criticality about the wrong usage of the Artificial Intelligence which is overflowing and overwhelming a lot.
This odd image has been inspired to me by watching some poorly done AI pics, for instance a woman meant to be a normal woman, even sexy, when the "prompt commissioner" didn't pay attention to the fact the picture was generated with deformed/distorted limbs, extra-long totally unproportioned feet, hands with 6/7 fingers or even disconnected from the wrists.
I am not meaning those creatures that intentionally are made with dark or naughty appearance (like fantasy vampires etc.) but to the figurative imagery that is believed to be perfect by whom directed the AI prompt without even bothering to move his hands to refine and improve what sorted out.
This let me deduce some people, due to lazyness or lack of talent, generate an AI image but can't help editing and refining it to make it pleasurable or realistic and they yet dare to call them "women" or "girls" without considering they generated distrofic bodies which may be disappointing and disturbing for the viewer or, if you prefer, just call them less than trash.
So, I been willing to generate a very stylistic monster where, even the distrofic body parts are as intentional as well cared and edited by applying a good processure, retouching and even some digital painting.
All in all, the final result looks like to me more acceptable and elegant than some careless distorted images made to resemble real and that someone dares to call "art" ;-)
>>> Even if I am not at all a AI expert, a lil hint I experienced by myself, for those who are not or not yet able to recognize if an image is a AI and if it has a dignity or not: look at the eyes, the limbs and especially the hands of the body. If you see many errors, that is for sure AI but, especially, a poorly done image where the "author" didn't engage at all to improve it, probably due to lack of skills.
I have seen beautiful AI imagines, full of poetry and so pleasurable but, guess what, when, instead, they are poorly done, it's typical to see them dumped in zillions of depot groups.
(For more, read the comment boxes below. As usual, I welcome anyone interested in taking part in the dialogue exchanging ideas in a respectful confrontation).
Seems the beautiful boss of the HQ wishes to meet with me after my 'hard' work ethic and my 'stamina' to perform many tasks efficiently. Just sitting with my cafecito while I wait for her to arrive.
Skawennati’s ground breaking practice skillfully links Hauenosaunee culture with cyber aesthetics. Her machinima – a technique of movie-making in virtual environments – includes cultural and historical references and highlights Hauenosaunee diplomacy, sovereignty and futurity. By evoking the cultural practice of extending the longhouse to accommodate new generations and others into the community, the title speaks to a deeply held ethic of inclusion.
This wasn't the photo I had originally intended to post tonight... but a message from an old friend took me in another direction and after a lot of tears, I arrived here. An old door on an old house.
I met Jim back when I worked at Mennen (B.K. ... before kids). He was my lab partner, the best lab partner I ever had.... which has nothing to do with his scientific skills or work ethic... he was simply, one of the most fun people I had ever worked with. He was also exceptionally talented... which also had nothing to do with the job. He wrote songs, and played guitar, and sang.... in the stairwell at Mennen... during work hours. Yup, we would sit in the stairwell, where the acoustics were good, and he would play his guitar and sing.... and then, wearing our lab coats, we would stroll out of the building and go out for breakfast (only on Fridays). It's really a wonder that we kept our jobs. He was also almost always late, and as I recall, we spent a lot of time planning and playing jokes on people... and going to the cafeteria. I loved that job!) Eventually, he moved to Florida and we lost touch until a couple of years ago when we found each other on Facebook. Turns out he is even more talented than I ever knew. He is also an artist. He was painting back when we worked together, but I guess I never knew that. After some twists and turns, life has turned out well for Jim and he is living in an old (very haunted) farmhouse in Virginia with someone he loves... and painting. Makes for an interesting life. I do hope to get down to see him sometime this summer.
Today I posted a photo with this quote: “It was a mistake to think of houses, old houses, as being empty. They were filled with memories, with the faded echoes of voices. Drops of tears, drops of blood, the ring of laughter, the edge of tempers that had ebbed and flowed between the walls, into the walls, over the years.
Wasn't it, after all, a kind of life?" ~Nora Roberts
... and Jim placed a link in the comments under my photo. His song.... his words.... are absolutely perfect. He has pretty much nailed the way I think about these old houses.
And here he is... sitting in a stairwell.... singing and playing, like old times, which made me smile.... about an old house... which touched my heart and made me cry. Give a listen www.youtube.com/watch?v=oX5WjjIu3BQ&feature=youtu.be
.... and then.... take one more look, before you close the door.
After I bumped into Princess Leia walking down the street, my wife and I headed to an art festival that was going on downtown. There were a lot of artists there that day who were making art on the sidewalk lining the park with chalk. Laura was one of those artists. Her work caught my eye first and then I noticed how awesome her tattoos were and I knew I had to take her portrait. I asked her if she would let me and she agreed I took only one shot and asked for her card because she was still in the middle of working on her piece and I didn't want to delay her any further. She went on to win 1st place for the people choice for the event!
I emailed her the next day to give her a copy of her photo and ask if she'd be willing to provide some info about herself to go along with my post and this was her response.
"I am 22 yrs old, I was born and raised in Northern California. Grew up in a family of talented artists. My family has taught me the importance of a good work ethic, determination and living passionately. I've been making art since a very young age. Having art shows and promoting myself since 16. I'm extremely passionate about art and I enjoy making people feel connected to my pieces. I really have my Family/friends to thank for supporting me as well as other artists I look up to. I like to use a couple different mediums such as, prisma color pencils, acrylic paint, pen and ink. I recently just started using chalk at the Chalk it up event at the Fremont Park, Sacramento where I was voted 1st for people's choice. I look forward to attending next year and meeting many more inspirational people."
If you are interested in checking out Laura's work she goes by "little_bow22" on Instagram.
El no-lugar no imprime característica alguna a quien lo transita, propiciando tan solo una ínfima relación personal. En definitiva, se trata de un lugar que carece de sentido. «Un no-lugar es un espacio intercambiable donde el ser humano permanece en el anonimato», explicaba Augé en 1992. No es lo mismo contemplar construcciones el Acueducto de Segovia, la Plaza de San Pedro, los canales de Venecia o la Torre Eiffel, que constituyen lugares únicos e intransferibles, con un McDonalds, cuya ubicación poco importa: son el mismo lugar (o no-lugar).
(fr) : La vie est une histoire racontée par un idiot, pleine de bruit et de fureur, mais qui ne signifie rien.
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Outlining a Theory of General Creativity . .
. . on a 'Pataphysical projectory
Entropy ≥ Memory ● Creativity ²
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Etude du jour:
La vie est une histoire racontée par un idiot, pleine de bruit et de fureur, mais qui ne signifie rien.
Life is a story told by an idiot, full of noise and emotional disturbance but devoid of meaning.
( William Shakespeare - Macbeth 5.5.26–28 )
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rectO-persO | E ≥ m.C² | co~errAnce | TiLt