View allAll Photos Tagged hypocrite
These two images are left full of grain and photographic character that sometimes I would remove in favour of smoother less noisy end results. Here these pictures are set to show the camera and lens being pushed to record the diminishing light. Photographically there are options of exposure including Aperture, Shutter Speed and ISO. Here the options have been decided upon so as to create a slightly stressed look, rather than a smooth serene scene there is some strength to gnaw at with a taste of piquant pepper and even a dark sprinkling of crisp crunch to enliven the pictorial munch at every eye bite.
There is a quote and links around the Red sky at night and other weather lore below giving a source from the Gospel of Matthew to show our weather lore and other sayings even beliefs have old roots, not all religious texts.
The Pentland Hills are magnificent and here is a share of their beauty.
© PHH Sykes 2024
phhsykes@gmail.com
Pentland Hills Regional Park
Red sky at night and other weather lore
www.metoffice.gov.uk/weather/learn-about/weather/how-weat...
Matthew 16:2-3, King James Version
2 He answered and said unto them, When it is evening, ye say, It will be fair weather: for the sky is red.
3 And in the morning, It will be foul weather to day: for the sky is red and lowering. O ye hypocrites, ye can discern the face of the sky; but can ye not discern the signs of the times?
Gospel of Matthew 16:2-3, King James Version.
July 02, 2016
Disingenuous:
[dis-in-jen-yoo-uh s]
adjective
1. lacking in frankness, candor, or sincerity; falsely or hypocritically ingenuous; insincere
-----
I always find it amusing when products advertise themselves to be 'squirrel proof', I've yet to see any bird feeder that deters the squirrels.
They're resourceful and pretty clever when it comes to getting to the food.
This feeder had a label letting me know that the squirrels wouldn't be able to figure it out, but the instant I saw it, I knew the squirrels wouldn't have an issue with this one.
I was right, within 2 days they had this thing figured out and were chowing down. No worries, there's plenty more feeders in the garden and the squirrels tend to favour this one, so the birds aren't going hungry!
Hope everyone has had a good day.
Click "L" for a larger view.
Passengers
Elton John
Deny the passenger, who want to get on
Deny the passenger, who want to get on
Deny the passenger, who want to get on
Want to get on
He want to get on
Want to get on
He want to get on
To make a chain of fools
You need a matching pair
One hypocritical fool
And a crowd that's never there
There's anger in the silence
There's wheels upon the jail
A black train built of bones
On a copper rail
Company conductor
You need the salt of tears
Falling on a ticket
That no one's used in years
Non-commercial native
It's tattooed in your veins
You're living in a blood bank
And riding on this train
The spirit's free, but you always find
Passengers stand and wait in line
Someone in front and someone else behind
But passengers always wait in line
Went down to Garie Beach this morning with some great mates for a sunrise shoot. This image started to unfold in front of my eyes, and my mate Ant had finished up shooting, so I asked him to head out onto the rockface and pose for me.
Ant has been back home in Oz from Japan for a three week holiday, and we've had a blast shooting up and down the coast of NSW during this time.
Some awesome memories mate. Have a safe trip back on Monday morning Ant, and say hello to your lovely wife Miho for me mate.
Until our next catchup my friend....
Hope you like "Passengers"
Cheers, Mike
Come down here and find perfect tranquillity in the early morning air, cool and fresh with the scent of wild garlic, vibrant with the sunlight filtering through vivid green young leaves and live with the thrill of birdsong.
Away from the finger pointing, blame and accusations. Let's face it, our way of life has caused this pandemic. And even if in sanctimonious righteousness we say we have followed the lock down rules, I suspect so many of us (and that includes me), perhaps unwittingly, have helped spread the virus, or at least have put others at risk on our behalf.
As someone who works in the transport industry I ask, who in lockdown decided to improve the garden, do some DIY, get some games to play with the kids, and buy items for their amusement and 'betterment' whilst stuck at home? All items that are not essential to life.
Who happily let delivery companies make hundreds of millions of extra deliveries that were not essential? Who happily let pickers, packers and drivers go to work and select, pack, handle and deliver whatever unessential item it was that would put a small smile on your face, whilst many sat at home (many on furlough pay, free to do as they wish at home), whilst the transport industry had to work full time, and put their families, and recipients and clients at increased risk of the virus?
There are few (including me) who can claim to not have contributed to the problem, perhaps only in a small way, but nonetheless guilty is guilty.
I'm not interested in the arguments, the accusations, the finger pointing in the media, often aimed at people who are doing their best to solve a problem that none of us has a solution to. Because by our own existence we are all part of the problem and until some people accept that, we are going nowhere.
I'm now going back in my hole.
thanks for 4000+ views, and 200+ people call me a contact now! :))
and also, thank you to everyone who i have received a print from! as you can, see, theres part of my print wall at the back. if anyones up for an exchange, flickrmail me.
so, i've been tagged a few times now and i guess i'll just do my facts on this photo.
1) i hate sitting in the middle car seat
2) i love it when people say my name
3) i have a list on names i would like to name my kids, like shandi :)
4) books > people, and jodi picoult is a GOD
5) i enjoy making weird nicknames for people. (my favorite is blue whale.)
6) i lovee dairy products - cheese, butter, yogurt - except milk. milk is gross.
7) im kind of a hypocrite :/
8) i would rather tell strangers my secrets than people i know in real life
9) for example, none of my friends have seen any of the photos i post on here.
10) LISTEN
okay, now i'm going to tag some super cool people. :D
please dont blog my photos without telling or crediting me!
This is an important time of reflection for me, looking back on the past year. Every year there is far more cultural progress and impacts to the economy, to climate, and to the global influence that Canada has. Not all of it is good. Is the Canada today better than the Canada of decades past?
It’s easy to see the things that most people in Canada complain about: health care, taxes, climate, and societal freedoms. I think Canada is one of the fairest and most welcoming nations on the planet, with a legal framework for justice and equality that is holding far stronger than that of the United States. Personal freedoms for women in terms of abortion, freedoms for everyone regarding free speech, freedoms and protections for children, and a social safety net that helps the vast majority of people. This is the Canada I am proud of.
But Canada can be better. The path forward is a tricky one, however; just look at the healthcare system. Did you know that hospitals in Canada are their own private corporations run by boards of directors? Public funds into private entities for universal healthcare for all, as a concept, is showing its age. For example, a lower priority wait time for an MRI at the Royal Victoria Regional Health Centre in Barrie is roughly half a year (once you are able to get a referral). Thankfully earlier this year the province announced funding for a third MRI machine to fix this – progress, right? The province contributed $800,000 towards the $2,000,000 machine to go along with the funds raised by public donations through the RVH Foundation.
Why should the public have to raise funds the purchase of an MRI when taxes are so high? Well, take a look at the CEO Janice Skot’s salary: www.ontariosunshinelist.com/people/janice-skot/royal-vict... . In 2016, it was $291,740. In 2022, it was $585,709. I understand that this is just a single example, but it illustrates the divide between the wealthiest within society and the needs not being met for the average person. Ontario also flat-out bans private diagnostic imaging clinics. A lot of room for Canada to do better here.
Canada is in a unique place to improve the global climate crisis, with so much land kept in a natural state and a strong push for zero-emission energy. Ontario energy is 90 percent zero-emissions, thanks greatly to nuclear power generation as well as continued investments in wind, solar, and hydroelectric systems. I’m proud of that, as it also means that people driving electric vehicles are not charging with electricity predominantly generated using fossil fuels. Nuclear energy can be a scary term, especially as we see it potentially being used as a weapon at the Zaporizhzhia Nuclear Power Plant in Ukraine. However, it can be made in ways where this could never happen – just look up small modular reactors and upcoming thorium reactor technology: www.forbes.com/sites/jamesconca/2022/01/18/canada-and-the... . It’s coming, and it will make a difference.
At the same time, Canada is on fire. The smoke is spreading around the world, causing air quality alerts in Europe. The world is trying to help Canada – I read yesterday that South Korea is sending 151 firefighters to help, as many of these blazes are being left completely uncontrolled. Over 1400 foreign firefighters are in Canada to offer assistance. Canada helps the world, and the worlds in turn comes to Canada’s aid. It’s a great example of the “global village” mentality that we should all strive for. At a time when the climate is offering up chaotic patterns, I would hope that significant tree-planting efforts will be underway in the aftermath. One of the best passive methods of carbon sequestration is by forest growth. Not just in Canada, but globally. I remember in elementary school in Falconbridge, Ontario, where ground-level smelting in previous generations destroyed the entire ecology of the region. As children, we would take field trips into the barren landscape with hundreds if not thousands of trees. The forests have returned. Do this everywhere, including urban areas and turn the concrete jungles into a hybrid ecosystem. We can push for this.
I’m a hypocrite, sure. I like cooking in a wood-fired oven. But I also live in a small village in rural Bulgaria now, with a strong incentive to support this local economy and ecosystem. We have planted many trees, we buy from a farm within walking distance for fresh dairy and meat products that are made right there. I spent part of this morning picking fresh mulberries at home that we will enjoy today. There are all ways that we can live more sustainably, and after moving to Europe I have begun losing the desire for rampant consumerism that is so prevalent in Canadian society.
On Canada Day, I like to reflect on how the country I was born and raised in can be better. Ban certain types of single-use plastics (I can drink soda from a can). Offer community colleges with zero tuition (like Finland, Poland, Norway, Germany, Austria, Argentina, Iceland, Panama, Slovakia, Spain, Denmark, Greece, Malta, Lithuania, Scotland and more). Convert the CBC into a telecommunications provider and lock in internet/phone rates at a federally regulated level in line with the reasonable rates found in Europe. Invade and occupy the Northwest Angle (just kidding). Offer more mental health services for those in crisis and take some of this administration away from law enforcement which can cause a spiral of failure for already vulnerable individuals. All basically to say: invest in the children of today who can affect greater positive change in the decades to come.
I’ll never stop being Canadian, and I’ll always care about Canada even though it is no longer my home. Happy Canada Day to all who celebrate this somewhat arbitrary day. Canada as a nation wasn’t “complete” until Newfoundland joined in March 1949, Nunavut was only created in April 1999, and the spirit of Canada existed – for better or worse – before July 1, 1867. Still, it’s a good a day as any.
Luke 12:54-56: “And he also said to the crowds, ‘When you see a cloud coming up in the west, you say at once, “A rainstorm is coming,” and so it happens. And when you see the south wind blowing, you say, “There will be burning heat,” and it happens. Hypocrites! You know how to evaluate the appearance of the earth and the sky, but how is it you do not know how to evaluate this present time?’”
I would like to offer to the voters in the JewSA a little light, to vote for the right hypocritic POTUS candidate on the Tuesday's Quadrennial Freak Show.
Since I've been so busy, I've neglected my flickr. sue me >_< actually no, that would be mean. and you would probably lose anyhow... (thats not a challenge)
I went to Lutsen mountain in Minnesota for a couple day s to go snowboarding, and I got a ton of family photos, but none really artsy xP and I feel like such a hypocrite for uploading something I don't like too much (I despise when people upload something and say in the comments, "duhh, I'm feeling really uninspired today...")
I'll try to be more active xD
this is my brother
Many thousands of people came together. There were so many people that they were stepping on each other. Before Jesus spoke to the people, he said to his followers, “Be careful of the yeast of the Pharisees. I mean that they are hypocrites.
"Ain't but three things in this world
that's worth a solitary dime
But old dogs
and children
and watermelon wine"
- - Lyrics from "Watermelon Wine" by Tom T. Hall
I went out yesterday afternoon not expecting much since it was cold, gray, and the light was quite flat; but I'd had more than a bellyful of dismal news (COVID stats, hypocritical politicians, bellicose egomaniacs, etc, etc) and just needed to come up for air. Lucky me...I stumbled across this photogenic duo and came away with this casual portrait. The young lady was as friendly as could be while her guardian was, well, a little concerned over what I was doing. : )) But this chance encounter was just the spirit lift I needed, and it reminded me of the truth in those lyrics. I hope you'll get a grin from this.
Best viewed LARGE.
Nature gives us an amazing amount of wonders and within her bounty we find similarities upon which we decide to have reflections and those can lead us on to further investigation with wondrous revelations. The figure created by the silhouette of The Pentland Hills is an amazing sight and she can transform her image from different positions even appearing as if she is pregnant from one vantage. Here Mono and Colour are used to give a further insight into the Sleep Skyline Figure that may have been seen as a Goddess, as Geology in transition and also held so many regards that have been given and lost even as she is found in the landscape today and will with weathering and other developments over many, many years be seen as something vastly different than she appears today.
The Pentland Hills are magnificent and here is a share of their beauty.
I have been mentioning the weather lore of, “Red sky at night, shepherd’s delight,” and now the mention is still reaching into the links below.
© PHH Sykes 2024
phhsykes@gmail.com
Pentland Hills Regional Park
Red sky at night and other weather lore
www.metoffice.gov.uk/weather/learn-about/weather/how-weat...
Matthew 16:2-3, King James Version
2 He answered and said unto them, When it is evening, ye say, It will be fair weather: for the sky is red.
3 And in the morning, It will be foul weather to day: for the sky is red and lowering. O ye hypocrites, ye can discern the face of the sky; but can ye not discern the signs of the times?
Gospel of Matthew 16:2-3, King James Version.
I hate Christmas shopping.
(Not sure what the picture of the child's face was about in a shop selling wedding dresses).
A humbug is a person or object that behaves in a deceptive or dishonest way, often as a hoax or in jest. The term was first described in 1751 as student slang, and recorded in 1840 as a "nautical phrase". It is now also often used as an exclamation to describe something as hypocritical nonsense or gibberish.
Taunton, Somerset, UK.
Thanks a million to all my flickr friends for all your visits, assistence & guidance in improving my photography skills.
I have not been to church in years. Don’t get me wrong, I believe in something and this little church up the road I often walk to where I may “talk to God” or whoever / whatever you or I may believe in. I find it a peaceful spot but, I don’t believe in being obligated "to pay" to go to a Church to speak with God or hear what someone interprets the bible to mean. I realize the Church has bills and payments but the obligation of paying to attend regardless does not sit well with me.
I would rather go to my “inner room” and that means to me I can just go and walk near this little church outside and speak with God just like Mathew 6:6 says “And when you pray, do not be like the hypocrites. For they love to pray standing in the synagogues and on the street corners to be seen by men. Truly I tell you, they already have their full reward. But, when you pray, go into your inner room, shut your door, and pray to your Father, who is unseen. And your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you.”
Whatever you believe and how you practice your faith I respect you for your views and faith and hopefully, you too will feel the same for me. As an aside, I do believe in the power of prayer and miracles.
As I walked by I always look up as the church is located up off the road and the light caught my eye coming through the stained glass window here so I grabbed a shot.
Resized in ON1 Photo Raw 2022 for the web only. Have a wonderful day!
I may not always have time to thank you all for your visits and comments but rest assured, that I do read them and am very appreciative that you took the time to pop by and see what I see here "North of 7" in Rural Eastern Ontario (North Frontenac Township) or, where ever else I might be with my camera now that I am retired and loving it.
The Pannage, New Forest National Park
Not my normal subject matter as I’m sure any regular followers have already spotted!
The other week I was driving between silver birch locations in the New Forest and went around a bend to find several cars sitting in the road / pulled over. Now in somewhere like Yellowstone National Park that’s all too common but not over here in sleepy Hampshire! In the New Forest you might get the odd car slow down to look at a pony but not a full on ‘Yellowstone line’ of traffic.
I then spotted a whole ‘group’ of pigs rooting around in the grass verge and partaking in that well known game of “Why did the pig cross the road?”. Quickly parking up (yes I know that it’s a bit hypocritical!) I grabbed the camera and set off to snap a few of them doing their best to clear all the acorns from the forest floor.
So what do you call a group of Pigs? I suddenly realised I didn’t know. According to various Google experts:
A group of young pigs is called a litter.
A group of hogs is called a passel or team.
A group of swine is called a sounder.
Not being any sort of expert on things porcine I will leave it for others to decide.
During the autumn months, it’s not an uncommon sight to see pigs roaming the forest floor and roads in the New Forest National Park. The reason for this is one of pannage!
Pannage is the practice of releasing domestic pigs into a forest, and goes all the way back to the time of William the Conqueror, who founded The New Forest in 1079.
The pigs are released into the forest to eat fallen acorns, beechmast, chestnuts and other nuts; green acorns in particular are poisonous to the New Forest Ponies and cattle which roam the forest the majority of the year.
Up to 600 pigs and piglets will work their way through the forest eating the acorns and nuts from the forest floor. It is the only time of year that the pigs are allowed to roam the open forest, the rest of the time they are kept in their smallholdings by the commoners. In the 19th century the number of pigs released for pannage was as high as 6,000.
Pannage is no longer carried out in many areas of the country but can still be observed every year here in the New Forest National Park. Pannage lasts for a minimum of 60 days and is vital because acorns are poisonous in large quantities to cattle and ponies and can lead to cholic. Pigs however are believed to spit out the toxic skins and enjoy eating the acorns.
You can usually find the pigs roaming the New Forest from around the third week in September, or whenever the acorns begin to drop from the beautiful oak and beech trees. The exact Pannage dates are decided by the New Forest Verderers and the Forestry Commission based on seasonal variations. During times of exceptional acorn falls, the pannage season is usually extended by the Verderers.
New Forest pigs must also be fitted with a ring through their nose which still enables them to forage through leaf litter and surface vegetation but stops them from rooting into the ground with their snouts causing damage to the Forest. Some of the different breeds of pig that you can find out on the New Forest include: Tamworth, Gloucestershire Old Spot, the British Saddleback and the Wessex Saddleback. There isn’t a specific breed of New Forest pig.
During the pannage season some of the local artisan bakeries, farm shops and shops sell piggy-shaped biscuits to celebrate this most ancient of New Forest practices. After pannage, some local butchers sell special pannage pork!
Whilst I do like to experiment with a bit of wildlife photography I don’t think I have the patience needed! Landscapes and some street photography are where I feel happiest.
© All rights reserved to Steve Pellatt. Please do not use this image on websites, blogs or any other media without my explicit written permission.
At the risk of sounding preachy, this photo comes with a message:
"Dear Flickr friends, while we all want to capture and display wonderful photographs, please be careful when you head out in the elements to capture them! Our photos should NOT be 'to die for'."
While we don't yet know how this story will play out, it certainly seems as if this gentleman may have lost his life trying to capture the perfect photograph out in Holland State Park, a place where my friend and I had been taking pictures just a few days before:
www.woodtv.com/Global/story.asp?S=7798476
I look forward to seeing everyone's photographs, but I look forward to seeing everyone safe even more.
(*** I am happy to report that it seems the Holland case had a happy ending ... apparently they found the guy and he's alive!
www.woodtv.com/Global/story.asp?S=7798476
But I still think the message to "be careful and stay safe" remains just as valid! ***)
Best,
Chris
(p.s. Just so I don't sound like a complete hypocrite: this photo is taken at full 300mm equivalent telephoto, and it's cropped ... I wasn't nearly as close to that freezing water as it seems!)
All like thank you be kind and not been unkind block do nothing wrong Gerry Popplestone,Nikoniano,Gert,nikondirt, Nico1959 other’s 19 people seem judge sorry but remember treat other’s here do same to you. Not hypocrite but nothing against you and don’t why you hate me so much boy care for all but looking treat me but not the enemy here, not care who’s hurts do you but come around will return to you, but do good return back good, do bad that’s return bad on you. Only love you not hate you!
" Humanity is a pigsty where liars , hypocrites and the obscene in spirit congregate
Menara HLA , Jalan Kia Peng . Kuala Lumpur . MY
" Wonderful and amazing work, Ian. Somewhat struck by the words, too. It's not an image to just glance at. It's beautiful light and shadows in a fluidity and because of the nature of the silhouette and gradients, the image starts to emerge and change in a way similar to clouds in the sky. "
by Artsee Fartsee.
Enjoy in LARGE and smile at least one tag line on right. Have many Blessings!
_______________
Celebrate St. Patrick’s Day today, tomorrow, and Monday 3.17.2008, by blessing your family and yourself at www.e-water.net/viewflash.php?flash=irishblessing_en
____________________________
Pope: Augustine Is Model of Humility
Says His Conversion Lasted Until He Died
VATICAN CITY, FEB. 26, 2008 (Zenit.org).- In his final reflection on St. Augustine, Benedict XVI spoke of the saint's interior conversion, calling it "one of the greatest" in Christian history.
The Pope affirmed this today during the general audience given in Paul VI Hall. He recalled how his trip last year to pay homage to the mortal remains of Augustine was meant to "demonstrate the admiration and reverence of the entire Catholic Church toward St. Augustine, and my own personal devotion and recognition of a figure with whom I feel I have close ties to due to the part he has played in my theological life, in my life as a priest and a pastor."
Recalling Augustine's own retelling of his conversion in the "Confessions," the Holy Father said that the process is best "described as a journey that remains a true example for each one of us." It was a journey that "continued with humility until the end of his life."
"We can state that all the stages of his life -- and we can easily distinguish three phases -- together make up a single long conversion," the Pontiff explained.
Truth seeking
Benedict XVI characterized the first phase as a "gradual approach to Christianity," since Augustine was a "passionate seeker of the truth."
He explained: "Philosophy, and especially Platonic philosophy, led him closer to Christ by revealing to him the existence of the Logos, or creative reason. The books of the philosophers showed him the existence of 'reason' from which the whole world is derived, but did not tell him how to reach this Logos, which seemed so inaccessible.
"It was only through reading the letters of St. Paul, in the faith of the Catholic Church, that he came to a fuller understanding. […] His eyes fell on the passage of the Letter to the Romans, in which the apostle urges the abandonment of the pleasures of the flesh in favor of Christ. He understood that those words were specifically meant for him. They came from God, through the Apostle, and showed him what he had to do in that moment."
Augustine thus began to seek God, the Pope explained, "the great and inaccessible."
"His faith in Christ made him understand that God, seemingly so distant, was in truth not distant at all. In fact he has come near us, becoming one of us," the Holy Father said. "In this sense his faith in Christ allowed Augustine to accomplish his long search for truth. Only a God who made himself 'touchable,' one of us, was a God to whom one could pray, for whom and with whom one could live."
Mercy
Benedict XVI said a last step, or "third conversion" in the journey, "led [Augustine] to ask God for forgiveness every day of his life."
The Pope explained: "At first he thought that once christened, in a life in communion with Christ, in the sacraments, and in the celebration of the Eucharist, he would attain a life as proposed in the Sermon on the Mount, which is one of perfection given through baptism and confirmed in the Eucharist.
"In the latter period of his life he understood that what he had said in his first homilies on the Sermon on the Mount -- that we as Christians permanently live this ideal life -- was a mistake. Only Christ himself realizes truly and completely the Sermon on the Mount. We always need to be cleansed by Christ, who washes our feet, and be renewed by him.
"We need a permanent conversion. Up to the end we need to demonstrate a humility that acknowledges that we are sinners on a journey, until the Lord gives us his hand and leads us to eternal life. It is with this attitude of humility that Augustine lived out his final days until his death."
A model
The Holy Father said that Augustine, once "converted to Christ, who is truth and love," became a model for every human being, "for all of us in search of God."
"Today, as then," the Pontiff said, "mankind needs to know and to live this fundamental reality: God is love and meeting him is the only answer to the fears of the human heart.
"In a beautiful text St. Augustine defines prayer as an expression of desire, and affirms that God answers by moving our hearts closer to him. For our part we should purify our desires and our hopes in order to receive God's gentleness."
"In fact," the Holy Father concluded, "this alone -- opening ourselves up to others -- can save us."
_______________________________
2nd post on 20080315
I am emailed below from www.medjugorje.org
or Steve Shawl
Peace to All! Below please find the official English translation of Our Lady's February 25, 2008 message to the world as provided by the Information Center in Medjugorje.
“Dear children! In this time of grace, I call you anew to prayer and renunciation. May your day be interwoven with little ardent prayers for all those who have not come to know God´s love. Thank you for having responded to my call.”
___________________________________________________
The Abandoned Valley
Can you understand being alone so long
you would go out in the middle of the night
and put a bucket into the well
so you could feel something down there
tug at the other end of the rope?
Poem by Jack Gilbert in
“Refusing Heaven” (Alfred Knopf 2007)
winner of National Book Critics
Circle Award For Poetry
___________________________________________________
In 2006, the local electorate blessed Dallas County, Texas with a new District Attorney (DA) who has been exemplifying extremely different philosophies like: “Society wins when justice is done, even if the Government fails to convict and lengthy imprison in most cases”.
What leadership qualities resulted in Texas’ old Dallas County DA’s Office causing Dallas County to be the “Send Innocent People to Prison Capital of the USA”. Is it worth studying those procedures, goals, attitudes, techniques to encourage or discourage their continued use else where?
Question: Is the criminal justice system dysfunctional and merely about the sneaker attorney winning?
Question: How do we start drastically altering such a screwed up trophy system? Does innocents being imprisoned, embarrass no one anymore? Why? Because there is so much of it going on?
Answer below please: ______
______________________________________
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Palm Sunday of the Lord’s Passion
Reflections on Holy Scripture at the Procession of Palms:
Matthew 21:1-11
At the Mass:
Isaiah 50:4-7
Responsorial Psalm:
Psalm 22:8-9, 17-18, 19-20, 23-24
Reading II:
Philippians 2:6-11
The Gospel:
Matthew 26:14—27:66 or 27:11-54
Today we begin the most sacred week of the year—Holy Week.
It all begins with the Lord's triumphant entry into Jerusalem, seated astride a donkey, with the crowd shouting "Hosanna!" and it ends with the most astounding event in history, the God-man Jesus, rising from a borrowed tomb. He rises with the light shining from the wounds of His horrible passion and death.
As our Savior rode toward His great confrontation with the powers of evil, the words of today's first reading were very possibly in His mind:
I have set my face like flint, knowing that I will not be put to shame.
(Isaiah 50:7)
No, the shame is ours that our sins and those of the millions before us have brought Him to this hour. This is the week for us to bow our heads and hearts in sorrow and compassion as we put aside our daily distractions and focus on the events of the dying and rising of our loving Redeemer. We need to reflect prayerfully on the ancient Christian hymn that forms our second reading for this Mass:
He emptied himself, taking the form of a slave . . .
he humbled himself, becoming obedient to death,
even death on a cross. (see Philippians 2:7-8)
No wonder every knee must bow at the mention of His name! The early Church fought long and hard to establish the doctrine for all time that it was both God and man that took up that cross for our redemption.
So what is our cross?
It's the cross of responsibilities, the cross of sickness, the cross of loneliness and failure. We gain so much strength to carry those crosses when we take time this week to journey with Jesus to Calvary.
The Church is a master of drama in the liturgies of this week. Through the use of the celebrant and two readers for the Passion this week, and in the voices of the congregation, we all become part of the action. Most of us feel embarrassed to cry "Crucify Him" with the palm branches still in our hands. We feel like hypocrites. Yet it was our sins which brought Him to Calvary.
The Passion Narrative of Matthew is a reminder of the ugliness of sin—Christ's betrayal by Judas, the denial of Peter, the hearings before Caiaphas and Pilate—the awful scourging by the Roman soldiers, the thorny crown jammed upon His weary head, the whip cutting slashes into His flesh, the blood running down his shoulders and back, the cursing by the crowd, the nails tearing through His hands, the thud of the cross into the ground. As He hangs on the Cross, He cries, "I thirst!" How that cry echoes down the centuries as a reminder of His search for our love!
The shock of Palm Sunday's liturgy compresses nearly two thousand years into this present moment. We have no place to hide.
We need to suspend all other activities, quiet our busy-ness, and focus on the events of this week—the local penance services, the Stations of the Cross, the Thursday night adoration and the Good Friday veneration of the Cross.
All this will prepare us for the coming out of darkness into the new fire, the new light, the new saving water of the Easter Vigil—and the Resurrection.
- Msgr. Paul Whitmore | email: pwhitmore29@yahoo.com
__________________________
A Sword “Unmatched by Precedent” (Unlikely to Be Found):
Let us quote exactly what Tahsin Öz, the former museum director, wrote about the sword and its epitaph on pages 38 and 39 of this book:
“At the time this sword was opened for inventory, the sword had a thicker layer of rust than other swords. When it was cleaned, human images and writings were found on it, and it appeared that these were real.
The hilt of the sword is covered with black leather on wood and the cross guard is made of iron. Its length is 101 inches. The base is wide and the two edges are sharp and the tip is pointed. There is a picture of a person near the hilt of the base, holding a sword in one hand and a head in the other. There is an Arabic line under it, which is well deserved, and among the writings there is another type of writing (perhaps Nabati) whose type we cannot determine. In the last line, the names of David, Solomon, Musa, Harun, Joshua, Zekeriyya, Yahya, Isa, Muhammad can be read.
The iron of this sword is made of white metal, and it is extremely sharp and has a characteristic that cannot be matched. However, it was impossible to determine its nature from the partially readable writings on it. After a while, while the works in the palace’s warehouse called the Emanrt Treasure were being classified, a copper inscription caught our attention. Because it had the same pictures on the sword. One side of this inscription was in Arabic with 32 lines and 28 lines on the other side were in the aforementioned font. The picture here was more obvious than the sword.
Head of the Inscription of the Sword
After giving this technical information about the sword and its inscription, Tahsin Öz goes to the summary of the inscription. This is where the real oddities come together.
On one side of this strange inscription, there is a figure holding a sword in one hand and a severed head in the other hand, similar to the sword (as seen in the picture); However, there are major differences between them that seem small. It is as follows: The picture of the man with the sword -it is understood that this picture represents Prophet David – has a funnel-shaped cone on his head, while the figure in the inscription has two horns on his head. When this situation is evaluated together with the feet of the figure, it is clearly understood that this picture represents a genie. Because the two figures that look like the feet of the demon (that is, for show) are not actually feet, but the letter ط (Tı) in Arabic. When the letters ط (Tı) are excluded from the picture, the genie’s legs are bent backwards. The picture looks like a talisman when evaluated together with the vefks below. Perhaps the sword was made as a protective talisman.
Pictorial Part of the Sword
The figure holding a sword in one hand and a severed head in the other (the cut head is slightly faint) and depicting the event of Prophet David killing Goliath is depicted on the sword.
On the face of the copper inscription with a genie picture, a text that cannot be understood in which language and alphabet draws attention. Anyone familiar with occult sciences can understand that these writings, which Tahsin Bey, the former director of the museum, said “may be Nabataean”, are talismanic writings about demons. Historians are well aware of the genie issue. Therefore, Tahsin Bey may have guessed that these writings were jinn, but he did not want to express it from his book, which he wrote in an academic and official style, because this is a metaphysical issue..(?)
Jinn can be written in many different secret alphabets; We can see the common vefk characters here both on the sword and in the inscription.
The story of Talut and Goliath described in Surah Baccarat and the depictions on the sword and inscription in the Topkapı Palace Museum draw attention to the same event. And in the inscription of the sword, it is written that the sword will be delivered to the Mahdi. The relevant sections in the book are as follows.
“Ali says; I found this sword and plate in the treasury of Melik Mukavkis, the owner of Egypt. He had a narration from Prophet David in Syriac and Hebrew. He says; When Goliath became hostile to me, I made a sword and an arrow as my Lord had taught me. And after the galabeh, God made me victorious. One of the signs of this sword is that; On one side, there is a person with a sword and a head in his hand, and on the other side, a person sitting on the pulpit of the country. That severed head expresses my killing of Goliath, and the one sitting on the pulpit expresses his judgment on Solomon and everything. This blessed sword will reach Prophet Yusuf… After that, Hazrat. It reaches Zechariah, then Yahya, and then Jesus. Then it is presented to the Prophet Muhammad. After his death, he reaches Hazrat Abu Bakr. Then he inherited his son Muhammad. Ali bin Abu Talib appoints Muhammad as governor of Egypt. Then he dies. And the sword returns to the treasure of Prophet Yusuf. Then it remains hidden until the 880th year of the Hijra. Elif will be transferred to Egypt. After the Ottomans state is complete, they will fight until the time of Kuffar Mahdi. God bless them. Then the sword will pass to the Mahdi, the owner of the time, and it will reach the Prophet Jesus. With him, the one-eyed hypocrite ibn-i siyat will murder the Dajjal. Allah and His Messenger reported them as secret sciences.”
The strangeness in the copper inscription continues.
There is an Arabic text on the back of the inscription (Image above) and what is described in this text contains information that seems contradictory at first glance. The mystery of the text, which includes some of the prophecies that have come true, is knotted in a picture of a ship encrypted with the science of cifir. But before that, the point that draws our attention is that; There is something strange about saying that Prophet David’s sword will reach Prophet Yusuf. Because Prophet Yusuf lived and died centuries before Prophet David. How is it that the sword reaches other prophets after Prophet Yusuf and returns to Yusuf’s treasury this time. It’s like talking about a time spiral. The strangeness of the chronology given in this inscription, which was preserved and preserved by the Ottomans for centuries, must have been noticed by the Ottomans immediately, because the tradition of religious sciences was always very widespread and developed in the Ottoman Empire. Therefore, it is almost impossible that they did not notice this strangeness. Moreover, the inscription mentions the “Completion of the Ottoman Empire”, that is, the collapse of the state. At that time, even if anyone said such a thing, it would probably result in my extradition. So why did the Ottoman state preserve and protect these pieces for centuries? That is a separate question that remains a mystery.
I'm sick and tired of hearing things
From uptight, shortsighted, narrow-minded hypocrites
All I want is the truth
Just gimme some truth
John Lennon ~
Once,
there was a way
there was a time
there was a day
there was, once
it called,
to me it exhorted
to me it dwelled
to me it purported
to me, it called
stir the warning
to restart memories
to restart all that's consuming
to restart itineraries
to restart and stir the warning
hear it, clearly!
if you listen, the wonderment!
if you listen, to the multifarious expectant
if you listen, with natural adornment
if you listen you hear it, clearly!
and I know...
life's hard, tired, bruised and confused
life's hard, a multiplex of delusion
life's hard, with a soft centre infused
life's hard, now I can't deny what I know...
excessive extremes
so afraid is the dreaming
so afraid is the waking
so afraid is the blaspheming
so afraid of such excessive extremes
no more sorrow
please, let the gun-firing chorus roll
please, let the explosive rift heal
please, let the drums ring out and console
please, borrow no more sorrow
believe
by dint of deposing hypocrites
by dint of toppling the filth and scum
by dint of snubbing the greedy polluting culprits
by dint of believing what YOU truly believe
I heard a voice today
like a chime, a pay-packet in sound
like a chime, nourishment for the senses
like a chime, a bejewelled thought so profound
like a chime, I heard a voice today.
So I...
I will be the one to speak from the dream
I will be the one to wake myself from malaise
I will be the one to see life in it's true esteem
you will be the ones to love...so I...
by anglia24
09h55: 15/05/2008
©2008anglia24
+=========================================================+
Sorry dear friends, been in recovery...not enough strength of late.
Definition: "an expression of disappointment or disgust"
This image summarizes my opinion of those hypocritical Senators who are blocking a bill to help veterans exposed to burn pits. They are the same ones who are always ready to send our young into war, but are unwilling to fully care for them when they came home injured. FOO on the lot of them. :((
P,S, Hats off to Jon Stewart for his straight talk on this travesty !
Classified in the flickstrsBETA
«N'est-il pas raisonnable de penser que les gens qui ne boivent jamais de vin sont des imbéciles ou des hypocrites ? Des imbéciles, c'est-à-dire ne connaissent ni la nature, ni l'homme... Des hypocrites, c'est-à-dire des gourmands honteux, des fanfarons de sobriété, buvant en cachette ou ayant quelque vie occulte...
Un homme qui ne boit que de l'eau a un secret à cacher à ses semblables.»
[Charles Baudelaire]
christinelebrasseur.blogspot.com/
Darckr by Laurent Henocque - More photos - DNA - Ipernity - MySpace - Redbubble - Linked In
I've been tagged by Kira...
I hope will made a decent work!!!
Now, 16 random things about Me:
•I'm a dreamer, often hidden in My studio for drawing.
•I sleep rarely and for little time, so go in bed really late at night.
•I love to read, expecially G.Musso's books.
•I smoke too much (also in this moment I'm smoking!).
•I like drink Hoegaarden (white beer) or Prosecco!!!
•I believe in God, and also in The Rainbow's Bridge (where my Pets are waiting me...).
•Beatrix was the name of my Granny in RL
•I don't leave home without a bottle of water.
•I think (and I'm happy of this) I'm crazy!
•I would die for my Parents.
•I love snow & snowboarding.
•I hate worms, bleah!
•I love some colors: yellow, purple and brown.
•My astrological signs is Leo (so, I'm lazy real like a lion...).
•I love to eat Pizza or at Mc Donald's (double cheeseburger+double chips+Coke).
•I hate the hypocrisy and hypocritical people!!!!
(A response to Quote the Raven )
The officers were satisfied. My manner had convinced them. I was singularly at ease. They sat, and while I answered cheerily, they chatted of familiar things. But, ere long, I felt myself getting pale and wished them gone. My head ached, and I fancied a ringing in my ears: but still they sat and still chatted. The ringing became more distinct: --It continued and became more distinct: I talked more freely to get rid of the feeling: but it continued and gained definiteness --until, at length, I found that the noise was not within my ears. No doubt I now grew very pale; --but I talked more fluently, and with a heightened voice. Yet the sound increased --and what could I do? It was a low, dull, quick sound --much such a sound as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton. I gasped for breath --and yet the officers heard it not. I talked more quickly --more vehemently; but the noise steadily increased. I arose and argued about trifles, in a high key and with violent gesticulations; but the noise steadily increased. Why would they not be gone? I paced the floor to and fro with heavy strides, as if excited to fury by the observations of the men --but the noise steadily increased. Oh God! what could I do? I foamed --I raved --I swore! I swung the chair upon which I had been sitting, and grated it upon the boards, but the noise arose over all and continually increased. It grew louder --louder --louder! And still the men chatted pleasantly, and smiled. Was it possible they heard not? Almighty God! --no, no! They heard! --they suspected! --they knew! --they were making a mockery of my horror!-this I thought, and this I think. But anything was better than this agony! Anything was more tolerable than this derision! I could bear those hypocritical smiles no longer! I felt that I must scream or die! and now --again! --hark! louder! louder! louder! louder!
"Villains!" I shrieked, "dissemble no more! I admit the deed! --tear up the planks! here, here! --It is the beating of his hideous heart!"
Matthew 16:2-3, King James Version
2 He answered and said unto them, When it is evening, ye say, It will be fair weather: for the sky is red.
3 And in the morning, It will be foul weather to day: for the sky is red and lowering. O ye hypocrites, ye can discern the face of the sky; but can ye not discern the signs of the times?
Weather lore offers us an insight into our days. We are sheltered from the climate and some changes. We are still needing to live within nature and to make a balanced harmony of our lives as best as we can.
The Pentland Hills are magnificent and here is a share of their beauty.
© PHH Sykes 2024
phhsykes@gmail.com
Pentland Hills Regional Park
Red sky at night and other weather lore
www.metoffice.gov.uk/weather/learn-about/weather/how-weat...
Gospel of Matthew 16:2-3, King James Version.
in Solidarity with Moulich, i am in strike again !!!
all began yesterday when Moulich had a simple photo moderated.
Today, right now, she has her account Unsafe.
as a woman, i must tell i am deeply chocked with this seen a few of Moulich’ photos catch in a fantastic way OUR inner beauty.
all the rest are just wonderful flowers, photos from Paris and so one ....
i must tell too Moulich is a great photographer and a very courageous woman,
qualities we don’t find all days.
as a human being i feel once more revolted with these policies and of course i cannot be silent, i'ld be hypocrite with myself ....
i will be around.
Love to All !!!
luisa
My love is like cheap mascara. It smears all over my face when it rains. It’s hard to drown a lovestory into ink. Poetry doesn’t heal anything anymore so I’m gluing it to the asphalt, to the buildings, to the lighting poles, in the street. Quietly and hungry. I roam in a world without friendships. with only obscure interests cleverly kept unexposed, knowing that nobody reads anymore. In a world that I loved but that now makes me sick. Tell me you recognize this beggar. Even the dogs bark at me. I know, 50 years has passed. I know I said I’d find you and clean you from all the prejudices at the cost of burning the ground around you. Yeah, ok you will catch fire, so what? As I don’t know any other hydrant in the neighborhood, my preservation instinct will kick in. I’m shoeless here before this puddle cracked by a hypocrite bouquet of flowers. Not even the water can sink the guilt. People mixed up with Bukowski pass me by thinking I’m like an Escher drawing distorted by the rain. I can hear Bach from a window somewhere. It doesn’t muffle the disaster left behind. But I insist, I’m more like an IKEA vase with plastic flowers. Stop pouring water inside! It arrived at my ankles. I can’t move. And what the hell? I’m freezing.
On a rainy day a beautiful man stopped beside me to breathe.
Tom Grennan - Run in the Rain
A el viejo lobo le falta un colmillo...trabajo durante toda su vida. Sabe que hay que enseñar los dientes.
Por unas pensiones justas.
¿Por qué siempre envían a los pobres?
¿se podrá su gasto arrodillarse?
marchando frente a hipocritas
y ordenadores hipnóticos...
de ti depende nuestra protección
sin embargo,
nos alimentarás con mentiras del mantel.
¿por qué los presidentes no luchan en la guerra?
¿por qué mandan siempre a los pobres?
¿por qué mandan siempre a los pobres?
¿por qué mandan siempre a los pobres?
¿por qué mandan siempre a los pobres?
The old wolf is missing a fang ... work all his life. He knows that you have to show your teeth.
For fair pensions.
Why do they always send the poor?
Will your spending be able to kneel?
marching in front of hypocrites
and hypnotic computers ...
our protection depends on you
but nevertheless,
you will feed us with tablecloth lies.
Why do not presidents fight in the war?
Why do they always send the poor?
Why do they always send the poor?
Why do they always send the poor?
Why do they always send the poor?
‼Among fools there is a certain sect called hypocrites, who are constantly learning to deceive themselves and others, but more than themselves, and in reality they deceive themselves more than others.‼
We found a dead moth today and Jenny refused to go near it, even though she let me put the butterfly all over her face.
Hypocrite.
I HAVE ALWAYS BEEN A COMPULSIVE DRAWER. I would declare war on every blank area left on notebooks, desks, chalk-boards and school walls. My teachers never appreciated this, but I did win recognition among the other kids. But I was independent and pretty much a loner. I rarely communicated verbally, but I never failed to communicate by using my favourite language: images.
Luckily for me, it was my grandparents who practically raised me, instilling in me all the values I retain to this day. But even though my grandparents offered material and emotional support, I felt abandoned. It was a pain that was muted and sometimes battered into submission, but it invariably came to surface. Plus I sensed that there was something else, a much more disturbing truth that lay at the core of the adult world. Being much too young to identify it, it remained a frustrated inarticulate feeling. But there was something clearly evident in my drawings that expressed those feelings. My talent for drawing, my attention to detail, and above all, my grotesque sense of humor were obvious in the drawings.
By the age of eight, whatever I had lodged in the back of my mind came forward in a blurry approximation in art. It was art that rescued me. Many of the drawings had an underlying dark tone. The drawings gave my incoherent inner world some form of expression and substance, however crudely rendered. Grown-ups had a profound effect on my artistic development, but not in a way they would have approved. I began to observe and to judge people, making evaluations about their nature and characters. This, too, found its way in my drawings. One could see from the progression of drawings a groping and developing maturity. It was a discovery and odyssey of self.
A teacher observed one of my drawings, and obviously dismayed, he asked: “What is the matter Victor?”
I answered: “What is the matter with everybody else?”
A conscious awareness of the adult world came into sharper focus: my overall impression of adults was that they were bogus liars and hypocrites, saying not what they thought, but rather what they believed would serve some particular purpose, some hidden agenda. Everybody came armed with two faces. It seemed to me that the world thrived on bullshit, hypocrisy and lies. I noted a desperate whoring after status, an irrational and pathetic desire to “beat the Jones” followed up by saccharine sentimentality by mealy-mouthed charlatans—and all of it showcased to the people they themselves loathed. Lies, backstabbing, deception, two-faces, malice and hypocrisy was the currency of exchange in the adult world. And so I took a profound disliking to most people I came across. I could sense the spiritual emptiness and viciousness within them. I wanted to like and admire people but I rarely came across anyone who was worthy of it. The only noted exceptions were my grandparents.
I HAD TURNED SIXTEEN JUST A FEW MONTHS before the holidays. Christmas brought distant relatives and immediate family together at the Pross household. For me, people were bad enough on their own but it became worse when they assembled together under the same roof. It was on such occasions that fully demonstrated the insanity and phoniness of these people. I would scan the large living room absorbing the adults sitting on the couches and chairs, each one looking anxious and distant. They were tipsy on day-long benders of Bloody Caesars, making efforts to appear jovial. There was a constant display of smiley backslapping and “Merry Christmases” by people who maligned one another the moment backs were turned. There was an unvarying spectacle of petty bickering over trivia and the sudden surfacing of years-long resentments best forgotten. All the forms of human flaws and ugliness to be found in the world---a world which insists on being imperfect—were on display before the eyes of the juvenile artist.
To lighten the mood, somebody put a dance song on. I watched with keen interest as glasses were overturned by dancing feet and the coffee table was moved out of the way to make room. A frenzy of stimulation bubbled in the room and everyone’s voice rose imperceptibly in pitch. As far as I was concerned, it was a circus.
Each relative represented an unsavory social stereotype or archetype of one kind or another. They were caricatures. From the town’s busy body gossip-monger tyrant--to the dour spinster forever spouting on about “God’s wrath”--to the town’s fast-talking used car salesman who dressed like a big city pimp---to every other stereotype imaginable. It was all there. This was no less true when it came to Uncle Bernard, better known as “Bernie.” Sitting near the Christmas tree, I was observing him closely. He was the jet-set wannabe playboy type. He sported a dyed perm that looked as if had come straight off a Styrofoam head from 1973. Assuming himself a lady-killer, he actually had all the charm of a toupee made of straw dipped in black ink. With each attempt at a pickup he was invariably shot down. “Lesbian!” he would bellow at women who rejected him.
Sitting next to Bernie was my mother, Terry. She was immersed in conversation, laughing with a forced hilarity, her drink spilling over. There was something that troubled me about my mother. She was a woman who was so utterly self-absorbed, forever preoccupied with what others thought. My mother’s sense of personal value was crucially dependent on the image of herself as a glamorous beauty. At the age of thirty-eight, she was wont to ask for reassurances of her looks. “Do you think I have nice legs? I use to be a Go-Go dance, you know?” and “When was the last time you saw a woman as gorgeous as me—and at my age?” With each passing year she began to perceive every wrinkle on her face as a metaphysical menace. Taking aging as a threat to her identity, she plunged into a series of sexual relationships with men fifteen years her junior demanding fresh admiration to assuage her hollowness.
My mother’s constant need for validation annoyed me. I was nevertheless fascinated with human behavior. What I perceived in my mother was a definite narcissism, only I didn’t have the word for it at the age of sixteen. Spurred by mother’s conceit, I decided to try an experiment. I played upon her vanity by offering her a lavish compliment, just to see her reaction. My motive wasn’t flattery for flattery’s sake, it was a psychological experiment.
I tapped my mother on the shoulder, interrupting her conversation.
“Mom?”
My mother turned to me, clearly annoyed, her expression a fusion of wonder and irritation.
“Victor dear, can’t you see I’m talking to this nice gentleman?”
“But mom, I need to tell you something.”
“Yes, yes, what is it?”
“I just wanted to say that…you look just like Marilyn Monroe.”
My mother took a deep intake of breathe. She clapped her hands in appreciation and snuggled her darling son into her arms. “Did you hear that?” she demanded of the guests. The room fell to a hushed silence. “What is it, Terry?” asked a guest. “My boy said I look like Marilyn Monroe. That’s my boy! Oh, he knows a good looking chick when he sees one!” My mother then let out an exuberant laugh, which itself was enough to draw attention. After a few more brandy-laced eggnogs, my mother became more of an embarrassment. She made damn well sure to tell new arrivals at the party what her son had said about her. It was a compliment that was warmly recalled by her for years to come. I had always regretted my causal flattery.
I appreciated the art of caricature more so than ever before. I enjoyed the spectacle of observing the reaction of anyone I nailed in a drawing. When people observed a grotesque drawing I had rendered of them—in dead-on accuracy---they would dissolve in self-consciousness. This had a clinical kind of fascination to me. Although one can be disconcerted at witnessing an open incision, I got some amazing glimpses of their guts. What came out of it was a deeply ingrained self-doubt. I knew my art had the power to reach people. “You are a sick guy, Pross,” said one of my displeased subjects. “How is it that I’m sick,” I responded, amazed by this sudden psychological evaluation. “The drawing portrays how you are—not me.”
Observing my mania for drawing, my grandfather decided to have a heart-to-heart chat with me. He entered my room as I sat at my desk, which was littered with sketchpads of drawings and half-ass watercolors.
Grandfather picked up a sketch pad flipping through it. “You have a real talent there, my boy,” he said. A firm hand rested on my shoulder. “It would be a shame if that went to waste”
I smiled and lowered my head.
“There are a lot of people who always dump on me for drawing, granddaddy.”
He smiled. “When it comes to insults, consider the source---and also try to consider what you think may be their motivation.”
My grandfather put an encouraging arm around me, playfully mussing up my hair.
He pulled up a nearby chair and sat down next to me.
“Now listen to me,” he said with a pinch of gravity, “you have a talent, son—a very evident and rare talent, but you can’t expect it to do all the work for you. You have to hone and develop that talent. If you want to be an artist, it takes practice, practice, practice. It is about hard work. It’s not enough to have talent alone. You need to have a hunger. You understand?”
I smiled. “I need to be a hungry artist?”
“I’m serious, son.”
“I know. So am I”
“Good. That’s right, a hungry artist.”
“I am. It’s like a compulsion. I feel so good when I’m drawing. It lifts me up. I need to express what I have going on inside of me. I suppose that is a hunger.”
I paused for a moment. My grandfather looked at me, his clear blue eyes beaming. His smile conveyed immense admiration…and hope. “I love you, grandson.”
I couldn’t express in words the feeling that I felt so abundantly. The love and admiration I felt for this man was great, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell him so for some reason. And so I simply smiled and look downward, hoping that this motion expressed what should have said with words.
Not everyone responded with agitation to the drawings of this teenage caricature artist. Sam Ferguson, the owner of the diner I frequented at the time, was blessed with a robust sense of humor. As he observed one of my renderings, he laughed with his whole body, his heavy-set frame shook like a bowl of Jell-O resting on the clothes dryer in final spin. “You are a crazy son of a bitch!” Gus hollowed. “How do you think of this stuff?” In the drawing, I had Gus lurched over a hot stove stirring the day’s soup special with beads of sweat dripping into the pot. In the background, one can see an unsuspecting customer slurping the broth, bellowing, ‘Gus, I love the extra flavor you added!’
“Come here, my boy,” Gus said, sliding a hamburger and fries over to me. “Here’s your payment for a job well done.”
“You’re paying me for that drawing…by feeding me?”
Gus looked astonished that I was astonished. “Of course! A man should be paid for his work. That drawing is hanging on my wall, and it gives me a great deal of pleasure.”
“It does.”
“You are very talented. Hey, I want to frame it and hang it up on my office wall. How much do you want for it?”
“You just paid me,” I answered, biting into the hamburger.
“No, not that, that’s a token payment, I’m talking about really paying you. That is a work of art we’re talking about!”
“I don’t know…”
“Here,” Gus said, taking my hand and slipping a hundred dollar bill into it.
“Hey man, are you serious—a hundred bucks!”
“Too little?”
“No, this is cool. Thanks Gus!”
“One day you are going to be a famous artist. People will be paying you a lot more than a measly hundred bucks. Hey, don’t think that I’m cheating you…I’m not a rich guy.”
“Come on, Gus, I know that. This is so cool, man. If only my grandfather could see this.”
I realized that I could temper my art with light-hearted humor, the gentle good wit that my grandfather imparted in me—along with the acerbic wit characteristic of Barry McConnell. It was here that this artist punk learned that caricature has both a dark and light face to it. I also learned that the caricatures I drew, and the people who inspired them, were not confined to the community where I lived. They circled the globe. It was to the wider culture that my focus turned. I had so much to learn and so much to express.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
**above photo is of my mother--Terry, my oldest brother--Robert, and Kevin (with his arm around me).
my heartfelt message to all the buffons and hypocrite fuckers that I came across... dear serious Artists, please go and $£%$$ yourself!!! get it?
it is possible to make serious art without a fucking diploma in hand, using few rubber bands and advert in a magazine... get it??
**
..on a less than perfect weekend ..late at night ..
..in the hypocritical city that "NEVER SINS"..
..seedier underbelly of tOkKa's belly needs to sleep and dream.. of less seeier buns and seedier times.
Happier times and more hopeful times. About cockroaches and toilet kings, and hunkier ;less-chunkier fat kids who played in 'Stand By Me' and the secret identity of the human cockroach hero will always remain secret uponce tOkKa's beaky lips.
.. and as tOkKa sets to sleep.. he dreams..of roaches and buggy bugs and the rusty center stage in Joe's Apartment.
This was 1996 y'all ..Sex,bugs and Rock n' Roll..
..stale underwear was my drug .. and all the chicks digged me ..(ok ..they were pigeons..alright.. !!)
.. catchin' the surf down in the sewers of NYC.. everything was dirty ..and everythings was free.
Yeh..this is the life !! Come on baby.. show me yir thorax !!
Dun' gonna beat up dude that was macin' on my pupa's mama !!
..you just so happy..them feelers never felt so good ticklin' my sewer soaked souls.. 'Gitchy Gitchy Goo!!'
O'yeh.. comeone Mr.Sandman..this one's for the roachs that were Mercilessly flushed out to Coney Island
..i drop the drawers.. wrap m' favourite towel 'round my waist.. give the wink n' leg up to Ralph n' Rodney as i get ready to sing a hanting rendition of :"Funky Towel" ..
as written by Kevin Weist and John Payson and originally Performed by the Roach Chorus..(tOkKa on backup toilet vocals).
The crowd grows deathly ill ..as i bring my vocal chords up to the microphone to sing this sh6t.. ..den as a parT-EH..goes in dah STANKY HiZZOUZE.. the crowd all sings along n' it goez like diz' ..::
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..-- click here if you wish to join the roaches n' sing along --..
..gimmee a slice of that urinal cake before i go ..
..then tOkKie slowly falls fast..fast into a deep,deep sleep and has a very dirty ..but happy dream.
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Crayons,colour pencil,magic marker,inks, Ph.Shop,Fireworks,Roach Guts,Raid
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©2005-2007 tOkKa,terrible2z.com ..all other elements © their much respected owners..please respect the copyrights..
Nature gives us an amazing amount of wonders and within her bounty we find similarities upon which we decide to have reflections and those can lead us on to further investigation with wondrous revelations. The figure created by the silhouette of The Pentland Hills is an amazing sight and she can transform her image from different positions even appearing as if she is pregnant from one vantage. Here Mono and Colour are used to give a further insight into the Sleep Skyline Figure that may have been seen as a Goddess, as Geology in transition and also held so many regards that have been given and lost even as she is found in the landscape today and will with weathering and other developments over many, many years be seen as something vastly different than she appears today.
The Pentland Hills are magnificent and here is a share of their beauty.
I have been mentioning the weather lore of, “Red sky at night, shepherd’s delight,” and now the mention is still reaching into the links below.
© PHH Sykes 2024
phhsykes@gmail.com
Pentland Hills Regional Park
Red sky at night and other weather lore
www.metoffice.gov.uk/weather/learn-about/weather/how-weat...
Matthew 16:2-3, King James Version
2 He answered and said unto them, When it is evening, ye say, It will be fair weather: for the sky is red.
3 And in the morning, It will be foul weather to day: for the sky is red and lowering. O ye hypocrites, ye can discern the face of the sky; but can ye not discern the signs of the times?
Gospel of Matthew 16:2-3, King James Version.
The last nearly four years have seemed like eons for me. Every day that I can bear to pay attention, I am horrified by what atrocities Trump is responsible for. I have gone to so many protests in so many places for so many causes/reasons, both well attended and scarcely attended in good weather and in the middle of a freezing cold winter. There are times I have really questioned what good it even does but a little voice in my head has still told me it was the right thing to do.
But, then the Coronavirus hit and I wondered seriously if protesting was the right thing to do…after reading the statistics in my own city about people of color being killed by the Coronavirus at a much higher rate than white people, I had to ask myself, is it actually a case of white privilege if I protest? This seems like such a strange thing to ask when you are protesting your outrage about a man being killed only because he happened to be Black and existing in America but still I had to ask. Because, if I am part of the problem of spreading this virus and my presence results in more deaths of more people of color, isn’t that defeating the purpose? In addition, how about all of the healthcare workers who have been burdened for so long? Why should I make a choice for them that could affect the survival and treatment of myself and others? It just seemed too risky for this die hard protestor.
I have never dealt with this kind of moral dilemma before. My sense of right and wrong is usually pretty strong and doesn’t leave room for tons of contemplation and deliberation. I can’t really remember the last time I had to seriously ponder “What is the right thing to do in this situation?” asking myself again and again. I usually just know these things intuitively and then try to make my best ethical choice. I’m not saying that I don’t see layers of grey between black and white so much as just I have an idea of how to act in terms of what is right with my soul. I’m also not saying that I don’t learn new things and from the perspective of others and change based on being open to learning. But, the idea of what is fundamentally the ethical choice to make about whether or not to attend a protest for a cause I believe in has never been this difficult before.
And, there is the other side of things that I don’t really like to talk about-the more human side of things. I am unfortunately all too human in my fears about contacting Coronavirus/Covid19. To be honest, I’m the type of person that gets nervous taking a walk in my own neighborhood and gets frustrated when I see the joggers and dog walkers on my street roaming without a mask or groups of a few friends partying on a rooftop in close proximity. It seems pretty hypocritical to me that I’d also be finding myself amidst thousands of people in super close proximity sometimes under overpasses neck to neck, masks or no.
So, what I am saying is that I am actually probably a little paranoid. For a large part of my life, I didn’t realize I was any different from others in my fears until I went to college and learned about Obsessive Compulsive Disorder and realized that my irrational fear of death that took hold of me if I didn’t do certain things when I was little-tap my fingers every time I saw a green car, squeeze my toes every time I passed a squirrel-that sort of thing-wasn’t what most kids go through. And, it was crippling. Most of the time, I would cry hysterically thinking I was going to die and great harm would really come to my family and I if I told anyone and voiced these fears out loud. I know, I know…it sounds crazy and doesn’t make tons of sense. And, even though I know that and have gotten better dealing with this side of my self as an adult, it still hasn’t gone away completely. There’s a real instinctual fear that makes me think the worst will happen to me.
The news, of course, doesn’t help…and consider that non essential businesses were shuttered and school was cancelled for the rest of the year, I am even more terrified about the damage this virus can do. Then, there’s also the choir study…where they found that one man in close proximity singing with a choir infected pretty much the whole choir and killed a few too. Of course, this is outdoors, but I still can’t help thinking about all of the times I opened my mouth to chant pro Black Life Matters sentiments even if I was wearing a mask.
And, in many ways, I feel like I am not even worthy enough to say the name of George Floyd or Breonna Taylor who should have turned 27 on Friday, the day that I joined these protests. Because, as someone who is white, I could never know the true horror of this. She was a hero, an EMT worker, and it wasn’t just her own life and her family that was robbed but all of our lives and the sadness is overpowering. So, I ended up saying her name a few thousand times and feeling like I was losing my mind because I couldn’t rewind time and change reality.
I don’t know the answer to all of this and I still don’t know if I contracted the virus or not. But, in any case, I hope that these protests meant something and continue to mean something. Maybe it actually means more to those in power that people would risk their lives to fight for Black Lives and, if those mayors and governors really care about the citizens of their city, they have to act on these social justice issues-hold police accountable, take police out of schools and bring in social workers, counselors, librarians, art and music creative outlets instead. Let’s have a dance class or a drama class instead of kids being subjected to cruel excessive force and mock prison cells from early ages. Surely anything that helps kids is better than something doing active harm. Let’s put more money into mental health facilities instead of incarcerations. Let’s make sure when someone is released from prison that they have a job to go to. Let’s make sure our citizens have healthcare and that there are valid low income housing measures. All of these things will reduce crime and improve the quality of life. That is the direction we need to think in instead of increasing a police force. We need to think about the disparities between communities and races and ensure these people are protected and treated with respect-the same respect and treatment white people have been taking for granted in my country for centuries.
Above: a new mural for George Floyd, murdered by a group of police officers in a complicit system where the police are protected from their evil racist acts.
This mural was recently completed in the past couple of days and is found in Humboldt Park, Chicago on Division Avenue just east of California Ave. Cristian J. Roldán and Esther Kovacs
***All photos are copyrighted***