this may be my last submission to the 52 Weeks group. i'm a hypocrite if i stay. i started this group so that i could enjoy some great dog photos from other great dog photographers and dog lovers ... but due to my schedule (14 hours/day, 7 days/week for the past 5 years) i barely have the time to keep up with the admin duties of the group.

two weeks ago my partner's entire team was laid off ... that's 2/3s of our income gone. i'm now working 16-18 hours/day, and there's just no time for flickr (even if i liked flickr).

i think i've finally reached the point where i have to throw in the towel, wave the white flag, cry uncle ... i.. just. can't. anymore.

© tt

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Please note that any Invitations from groups which are running Sweepers and have hypocritic admins that are hiding behind them, are ΝΟΤ welcome and will not be accepted.

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Sweepers are insulting for photographers.

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>>> Also note that any Invitations from groups with admins who are MORE

Photographers and LESS counters are happily accepted <<<

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IN CORSA PER IL PODIO

Sono in corso a Parigi i trentaquattresimi Giochi Olimpici e da sempre lo spirito è quello della lealtà sportiva fra i partecipanti. Da sempre il motto è "L'importante è partecipare" ma tutti concorrono per un posto sul podio, inutile essere ipocriti.

Macro studiata per il concorso di oggi sul gruppo "Macro Mondays"

--------------------------------------------------------------

RUNNING FOR THE PODIUM

The thirty-fourth Olympic Games are underway in Paris and the spirit has always been one of sportsmanship among the participants. The motto has always been "The important thing is to participate" but everyone is competing for a place on the podium, no point in being hypocritical.

Macro studied for today's competition on the "Macro Mondays" group

CANON EOS 6D Mark II con ob. CANON EF 100 mm f./2,8 L Macro IS USM

Name: Wren Hayward

Age: 21

Hometown: Costa Mesa, California

Likes: Cheesy horror movies, Rap music, EDM, Baseball caps, Gold chains, Partying, Alcohol, Candy

Dislikes: Hypocrites, Judgemental people, Boredom

Why should I be in Maxine's My New Bff S3: I never really thought about that. But I'd probably say it's because on shows like these, there's a plethora of girls and little to no guys. It's probably because guys aren't as committed as ladies but I don't know. I guess I just wanna break gender barrier or something. I think guys have a great chance of being Maxine's best friend. To add to that, Maxine would be a great person to be friends with. She's beautiful both inside and out, and a very genuine woman.

____

Of course I'd enter with Dex. Surprising. Thank you Nik, Tyrique, and Ivan for giving me the idea to use him. I'm pretty excited about this comp, the other contestants are... interesting to say the least. Though, my favorites by far are Beverley, Lucy, Kylie, and Monique..

Old school here with four old style K6 telephone kiosks in Pimlico, which looked to be in working order.

Hypocritically I guess, this photo was taken with a mobile phone!

Shadow Work in the Gospels

Father Richard describes Jung’s concept of the shadow and how it is present in Jesus’ teachings.

The ego wants to eliminate all humiliating or negative information in order to “look good” at all costs. Jesus calls this self an “actor,” a word he uses fifteen times in Matthew’s Gospel, though it is usually translated from the Greek as “hypocrite.” The ego wants to keep us tied to easy and acceptable levels of knowledge. It does not want us going down into the “personal unconscious” or, in Jung’s term, our “shadow self.” The shadow includes all those things about ourselves that we don’t want to see, are not yet ready to see, and don’t want others to see. We try to hide or deny this shadow, most especially from ourselves.

Jung asks: “How can I be substantial if I fail to cast a shadow?” [1] He makes clear that the unconscious is not bad or evil; it is just hidden from us. Jung describes shadow also as “the source of the highest good: not only dark, but also light; not only bestial, semi-human and demonic, but superhuman, spiritual” [2] and, in Jung’s word, “divine.” That is why we dare not avoid the deep self. Wild beasts and angels reside in the same wilderness, and it takes the Spirit to “drive” us there (see Mark 1:12–13).

The more we are attached to any persona, bad or good, any chosen and preferred self-image, the more shadow self we will have. We absolutely need conflicts, moral failures, defeats to our grandiosity, even seeming enemies. These are necessary mirrors, or we will have no way to ever spot our shadow self. Even if we only catch a glimpse of such shadows, that may offer graced insight and a moment of inner freedom.

Jesus seems to precede Jung and modern depth psychology by two thousand years when he says, “Why do you observe the splinter in your brother’s eye and never notice the plank in your own? How dare you say to your sister or brother, ‘Let me take the splinter out of your eye’ when all the time there is a log in your own? Take the log out of your own eye first, and then you will see clearly enough to take the splinter out of your brother or sister’s eye” (Matthew 7:4–5).

Note that Jesus does not just praise good moral behavior and criticize immoral behavior, as a lesser teacher might. Instead, he talks about something caught in the eye. He knows that if we see rightly, our actions and behaviors will eventually take care of themselves. God wastes nothing and includes everything. The God of the Bible is best known for transmuting and transforming our shadow selves into our own more perfect good. God brings us—often through failure—from unconsciousness to ever-deeper consciousness and conscience. I doubt if there is any other way. All the rest is mere self-validation.

-[1] C. G. Jung, Modern Man in Search of a Soul (Harcourt, Brace and Company: 1933), 40.

[2] C. G. Jung, The Practice of Psychotherapy: Essays on the Psychology of the Transference, and Other Subjects, trans. by R. F. C. Hull, 2nd ed. (Princeton University Press: 1976), 192.

Adapted from Richard Rohr, Things Hidden: Scripture as Spirituality (St. Anthony Messenger Press: 2008), 75–76; and

Richard Rohr, Breathing Under Water: Spirituality and the Twelve Steps (Franciscan Media: 2001, 2021), 31–33.

I'm taking photos, because I know someday, I won't look this good, LOL!

This photo got me into Facebook Jail for 30 days...and it's so hypocritical that Andrew Christian underwear can have men in more risque photos than this, and I get my photo removed. All attempts in the past few days to reach Facebook have been futile.

I realize that Facebook is a website of CHOICE, and we don't have to use it, but I want to say that their customer service access BLOWS.

I’m oppressive, because I’m part of oppressive society. I, in my privilege, have pointed out oppression. So I, in my privilege, have perpetuated oppression—thus proving myself to be an oppressor. My privilege is a stumbling block to the oppressed, which makes me an oppressor. In my privilege, I am a champion of the oppressed—an oxymoron. Since I am an oppressor, all that I have left to do is to loath my hypocritical self. Therefore I must not only hate society, but I must also hate myself. In the end my dialectic will cause my own downfall. My truth will be my destruction. Yet I don’t care, because I must follow my satanic cult to destruction. It is what consumes me, it is what I know best—destroy, destroy, destroy! Instead of selflessly helping poor neighbourhoods, I selfishly burn them down—rioting and looting. The end justifies the means! I selfishly demand, but I never selflessly give. My goal is to tear down society, not to build it up—yet in the process, I am tearing myself down. It is for the greater good!

I like to say “do not judge,” yet I make judgments about society—that it is bad and needs to be destroyed. I make judgments on people, whether they are good (oppressed) or bad (oppressors). Since I don’t believe in absolute truth, don’t believe my judgments/truths, because they are not true. I am an antiracist racist, and an antifascist fascist. Indeed, my truth is nothing but lies.

Here is a faith based statement: you can choose your own gender. Indeed, it takes blind faith to believe such a statement! You are woke puritans, spreading the gospel of your neo-Marxist/Antichrist religion. You are religious fanatics. You believe that your prescribed doctrine is unquestionably true. You are absolutists, who like to police people. “Political correctness is fascism pretending to be manners.” Your diversity is all about ideological conformity. Indeed, you collectivists love conformity!

You hate hierarchies, but you yourselves have your own woke hierarchies (hierarchies of victimhood/victim status). Your hierarchies cause resentment, which produces hateful bullies/oppressors/tyrants like Lenin, Stalin, and Mao (your heroes). You tear down one hierarchy, only to replace it with a hierarchy that is much worse. Your hierarchy revolves around hate (oppression) and revolution (rebellion), so when you come to power you murder millions of people (genocide). You are bitter, so you hate. You hate, so you kill. Your hierarchy will eventually bring in the Antichrist; then many more will die at the hands of your oppressive hierarchy. Can anyone say: genocide!?!

Our Hegelian dialectic moves on, pushing the moral boundaries of society farther down the rabbit hole of depravity. Society must be torn down, so that we can reBuild it Back Better. Order out of chaos! We will build a New World Order, replacing humans (oppressors) with transhumans. The goal: transhumans will eventually evolve into a raceless and genderless slave race, without families or cultures—equality for all! We will all be equally enslaved by our elite oppressors! Survival of the fittest! “There’s a sucker born every minute!” Humans/oppressors are obsolete and must go. They must become extinct. Artificial Intelligence must reign supreme; through it we will have eternal consciousness…godhood...bahahahaha!

We are the oppressors, and mother earth is the oppressed. We are nothing but poison to the earth. Woohoo—Net Zero Emissions, a mass cult suicide! Since all humans are oppressors, we must all go, we must all be replaced. Climate change—the real enemy is humanity itself. Transhumanism is the future. Eventually humans will be no more, and we will no longer oppress the earth. Artificial Intelligence must replace us.

Where is this cultural revolution headed? Just read the Bible! The oppressors who hate humanity will embrace transhumanism—the destruction of humanity. 666 take the Mark, worship the Beast! Your cult is of the spirit of Antichrist, and it will produce an Antichrist. Freedom bad! Authoritarianism good! You think that you are inclusive, but you are not inclusive when it comes to God and His laws. You suppress the truth, because you are an oppressor. You suppress freedom, yet the Bible says: “It is for freedom that Christ has set us free.” Indeed, you don’t know what freedom is. That’s why you have embraced your bondage. You are nothing but a slave to your truth, your selfishness, your sin!

Revelation 13:4 “And they worshiped the Dragon (Satan) because he had given authority to the Beast (Antichrist), and they worshiped the Beast, saying, ‘Who is like the Beast, and who is able to make war with him?’”

In the end it’s a spiritual decision: whom will you serve? Will you serve Jesus or the oppressor? I already know your answer, because you are drawn to oppression like a moth to light—that’s why you oppress others. Like Satan, your goal is to destroy society and humanity. In the end your plans will go to hell, and so will you.

Your woke religious dogma is broke—you oppressors are oppressing our society.

Repent, for the Day of the Lord is near!

Visit my website at: www.graemekellyphotography.weebly.com

you can also follow my page for news and updates on Facebook

I’m also now displaying my work at 500px

Looking down into Lulworth’s Stair Hole, home to the famous crumple, and beyond to the cove itself. One day these two coves will join to form a small bay, but at the moment they are kept separate by a deposit of Wealden clay and a few thousand years. I’ve been teaching the geography of Lulworth to school groups for 4 years now and have given constant warnings to stay away from the cliffs, so I judge myself a hypocrite as I found myself scrambling up here to catch the last rays on the top of the crumple.

Like the image? Press ‘L’ to see it large and ‘F’ to add it as a favourite, and feel free to leave a comment; it’s always nice to hear what you think.

Thanks for looking

Graeme

© Copyright 2014 All Rights Reserved. If you would like to purchase prints or use my work then please contact me through flickr or my website.

Today, marriage became legal for everyone in Connecticut.

Marriage is now equal in two states out of fifty, Massachusetts, and Connecticut.

Several states, including Vermont, California, New Jersey, Maine, Hawaii, DC, Washington and Oregon, have fallen short, creating Civil Unions, a policy of supposed Separate Equality, which is inherently unequal.

This country is absolutely treading on the rights of a minority group. Our laws are in place to protect minorities from the tyranny of majority rule.

If you want to take action, get in touch with the Equality group in your area.

There is a Nationwide protest against homophobic discrimination this Saturday, November 15th. Stand up and be heard.

Love is love.

In a country where church and state are separate, religion is free, and genders are equal, we are hypocrites operating under the principle that all Americans must abide by Fundamentalist morality in personal and legal matters, a moral system which inherently divides women from men.

So here's my question for you:

If I legally change my gender, can I marry whomever I want and get on with my life?

Leisure's.

المغادرة الحتمية ذات أهمية خاصة هياكل مثيرة للاهتمام تتوج تأملات مشاكل المعاصرون تقييم الاختلافات الفردية,

journalizing solidarity's catastrophe details actual crimes authoritarian deals hypocritical charades presumptions punishments,

schèmes aléatoires divisions invariables lignes mythiques distinctions narratives confusion pensée éléments de différenciation compartiments séparés histoires diverses,

themata philosophica transformationum formarum incomperta- tiones movet, retinentes quaestiones formales traditiones continuas proposita constructionum epicorum,

оппозиции, напыщенные вступления, многословные стихи, типичные выражения, подозрительные монологи, постоянные мысли, переписывающие детали.,

μοδάτες προσοχές κοροϊδεύουν χαρακτήρες περίτεχνα στυλ μπερδεμένα χαρακτηριστικά που απορροφούν εκπομπές παράξενα ακροατήρια διαλεκτικά δικαιώματα ρητορικές ενέργειες,

嫌な顔元気な視点考えられる要素を統一する解放崇高な休息実現動機マニック批評家は、並外れた過去の並外れた旅を続けて歩く連続した散歩をします.

Steve.D.Hammond.

TD: "And they chased you?"

"From Chinatown to the I-39."

TD: "Why were they after you?"

"Well, lookit me? Aren't I just deliscious?"

TD: "Yeah, like something from a taco bell dumpster."

"Really though, I know why those cultist shits were after me. Burr."

TD: "That guy that shut down your school?"

"Who else?"

TD: "Well, that's what you get for burning his house down."

"I'll do alot worse the next time I see him."

TD: "Adam, no. Leave it to the people who know what thyey're doing."

"The people who know what they're doing had years to nail this assclown and did nothing. You had your chance, but it's done now. I want payback, dammit."

TD: "Just back off, seriously. This is personal to you, you'll end up letting your emotions take over and you'll just get killed."

"Wow, that the kind of bullshit Wayne feeds you every night before bed?"

TD: "For god sakes Adam, just--"

"I mean really, you think you're gonna do any better when you can't even look Steph in the eye?"

TD: "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Steph saved me on the highway, alright? We talked and I told her about Burr. Of course she didn't believe me or what I said about his shitnozzle son, but--"

TD: "What did you say about Zander?"

"C'mon man, he's one of them."

TD: "...that prep school moron eats women in his spare time? Really?"

"Great, you're just a stupid as she is."

TD: "What?"

"Steph didn't believe me, either. Even though COME THE FUCK ON."

TD: "Just stay out of this Adam. You really don't ewanna get involved."

"No! not until I avenge myself and my school! And more importantly when you and Steph stop bitching at eachother and start working as a team again!"

TD: "That's none of your concern, either. Just stay away from her."

"She's my friend Tim, and so are you. So yeah, this is my concern, because I just want you two happy."

TD: "So you commit arson and damage the city roads? That just makes everyone happy."

"Wow, no wonder you and her are a perfect match. You're both impossible hypocritical douchebags!"

TD: "I don't have time for this..."

"You see this? This is your problems, this is why you're not on Wayne's level and never will be! Even that antisocial fuck knew he needed help, that's why he got you and chives the butler. And lookit how well that's gone for him! But here you and Steph are slowly falling apart and not letting anyone, not even your best goddamn friend help you! And you know what? That's why they call you the sidekicks. Not heroes."

TD: "...get out, Adam."

*CREEEEEK*

*SLAM*

How the hell did Wayne let either of these twats have a costume? Thought it'd be better with Tim but shit....whatever, I'm getting my revenge, dammit. With our without them at my side....

Dublin Ireland

Named for Padrig Pearse, Leader of the Easter Uprising April 2016. He was executed for his role.

Perhaps Pearse foresaw this future role in a poem he wrote called “The Rebel”:

I am come of the seed of the people, the people that sorrow

That have no treasure but hope,

No riches laid up but a memory

Of an Ancient glory.

My mother bore me in bondage, in bondage my mother was born,

I am of the blood of serfs;

The children with whom I have played, the men and women with whom I have eaten,

Have had masters over them, have been under the lash of masters,

And, though gentle, have served churls…

… And I say to my people’s masters: Beware,

Beware of the thing that is coming, beware of the risen people,

Who shall take what ye would not give.

Did ye think to conquer the people,

Or that Law is stronger than life and than men’s desire to be free?

We will try it out with you, ye that have harried and held,

Ye that have bullied and bribed, tyrants, hypocrites, liars!

The most perfect and satisfactory reason to shape the hips, is that one can wear whatever women wear AND most important of all, what ever tranny´s dare. This is especially the case where the infamous ”too short skirt” is in consideration and especially as we witness above, when no skirt at all is used and is replaced by, what is known among women as a sweater/cardigan, but is WAY long enough to function as a dress in the T-girl universe.

It is only fair to say in defense of women that this sweater practically IS too short to function as a dress, resulting in potentially embarrassing situations plus one has to constantly pull it down. But what is considered annoying and even embarrassing among women, is considered QUITE sexy and attractive among trannys.

To day I really boosted the hips to the max. - Don't know why really, just felt like trying. But dear spirits what a result. Personally I am a ”leg man” (and woman... I guess...) but I really find hips is almost.. ”part” of that leg attraction.

Feast my eyes on a pair of beautiful legs and if the hips are just as perfect and harmoniously feminine.. trust me, looking further up the body I have VERY little critic what so ever to the rest.

But truly.. if such perfect legs are wearing sexy high heels, invitingly shining soft nylon stockings and a tight short skirt... my mind becomes VERY uncontrollable in its direction and focus, and my heart holds it breath so long, I need to forcefully tell it to breath again.

If women truly knew the power of these things and dared harness it's magic. They would not only hold men enchanted in their grasp, they would rule the world. *LOL* If women united world wide and denied men sex for some demand or reason, men would come crawling, begging within a week, bringing presents along with promises (though empty as they would be) of fulfilling any wish women wanted.

If any hypocrites ever claim that ”men are the strong sex”, know that in truth men are by far the most pitiful and pathetic. It IS no mere coincidence that far more than 9 out of 10 prostitutes on this entire planet are women. Further more if men denied WOMEN sex, demanding something in return, the world would never have heard such magnitudes, volumes and cheerful laughter from women, as women would most likely consider it a an invigorating experience, along side which treat it like a blissful vacation knowing very well men them self would crack up like puddle, before women themselves even get close to the state of being ”spontaneous desperate”.

“The time of a man's life is as a point; the substance of it ever flowing, the sense obscure; and the whole composition of the body tending to corruption. His soul is restless, fortune uncertain, and fame doubtful; to be brief, as a stream so are all things belonging to the body; as a dream, or as a smoke, so are all that belong unto the soul. Our life is a warfare, and a mere pilgrimage. Fame after life is no better than oblivion. What is it then that will adhere and follow? Only one thing, philosophy. And philosophy doth consist in this, for a man to preserve that spirit which is within him, from all manner of contumelies and injuries, and above all pains or pleasures; never to do anything either rashly, or feignedly, or hypocritically: only to depend from himself, and his own proper actions: all things that happen unto him to embrace contentendly, as coming from Him from whom he himself also came; and above all things, with all meekness and a calm cheerfulness, to expect death, as being nothing else but the resolution of those elements, of which every creature is composed. And if the elements themselves suffer nothing by their perpetual conversion of one into another, that dissolution, and alteration, which is so common unto all, why should it be feared by any? Is not this according to nature? But nothing that is according to nature can be evil.”

― Marcus Aurelius, Meditations

Dave: Agnes and Bruno, are you guys planning on getting out of bed today?

Agnes: Already did that. Went pee. It was cold.

Dave: And the cold canceled your plans for the rest of the day?

Agnes: Nope. Just my outside plans. I have still have other plans.

Dave: Would you care to elaborate?

Agnes: Always do. I plan to hang out in bed with big fuzzy pillow here.

Dave: So can I assume that you don't want to go for a walk?

Agnes: Is the walk outside?

Dave: Yes.

Agnes: Then no. I'm good up here with this furry head rest.

Dave: And Bruno, how do you feel about this?

Bruno: A little squished. But overall quite comfy.

Dave: And do you want to go outside?

Bruno: Sure thing. The cold doesn't bother me. But, first I have three more things that I want to accomplish from my list.

Dave: Wow, a list of three things. That's ambitious for you.

Bruno: Sure is. I thought I would aim high.

Dave: And what would those three things be?

Bruno: First nap, second nap, and third nap. Now if you'll excuse me, it's time to get to my to do list.

----------

We're still in the dead of winter here. The wind chill is below -35c. And although Bruno doesn't mind the cold, Agnes would rather spend the day hanging out in bed.

This was actually a tough shot to get as Bruno is a big hypocrite about personal space. He demands to be in everyone else's personal space, but if Agnes touches him he always grumbles about puppy touching him then moves away. I'm convinced that she has started to do touch him on purpose to get to better cuddle spots with her humans. This shot was only possible with lots of patience and numerous repositioning of the dogs. Also, no treats were allowed at the photo session as Bruno gets a little distracted and excited when treats are in play so he never would have been able to fulfil his role as furry pillow/backdrop for the photo.

Sometimes, I want to get away from this hypocritical world.

One scene seen through there lenses and three cameras and several picture settings in camera and in gentle edit. This is the first image from the third camera and lens. The horizon holds the silhouette of reclining female figure that I have photographing for many years now. From some sites she looks to be pregnant as the skyline rim of The Pentland Hills alters dependent upon your perspective of them. This image started with 18 pictures that were taken into 7 and then their pattern of over and underlaying was focus upon itself to create block and blend work. This brazen block and buttering blend bring out another way to appreciate the scene. The still image and the blended union of them in a harmonious glyph expanding and contracting present a dream like lens upon the landscape as, “One Then Another And Also Along With As Well As All Together Create a Panorama of The Pentland Hills Regional Park Scotland.”

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

www.pentlandhills.org/

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.

www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Matthew+16%3A2-3&...

Nature is dying, we are poisoning her. That is old news. What is astonishing is the sheer amount of industrialization and decadence exuded by the developed nations, who has the capability and the resources to avoid the fate. Purchasing 'Carbon credits' to 'transfer' the blame is hypocritical.

www.holyspiritspeaks.org/videos/city-will-be-overthrown-m...

Introduction

It is recorded in the Bible that the Lord Jesus condemned the Pharisees with the seven woes. Nowadays, the path walked by the pastors and elders of the religious world is that of the Pharisees and they similarly suffer God's detestation and rejection. So why did the Lord Jesus condemn and curse the Pharisees? It was primarily because they had a hypocritical essence that defied God, because they only paid attention to performing religious rituals and keeping rules, they only explained the rules and doctrines in the Bible and did not put God's words into practice or follow God's commandments whatsoever, and they even discarded God's commandments. Everything they did completely ran counter to God's will and requirements. This was the hypocritical essence of the Pharisees and it was the primary reason for the Lord Jesus hating and cursing them.

Terms of Use： en.godfootsteps.org/disclaimer.html

This is my piece for the 'Spin on This' bike-artwork exhibition at the Recoat Gallery in Glasgow next weekend (opening August 7th). It's going to be an A3 digital print and a spoke card too, more info on that when they've been printed!

As for the design itself, I wanted to do something that parodies how elitist and 'fascistic' sub-cultures can be, especially the fixed gear scene. It's basically a modern piece of propaganda, as 'Death before Derailleur' is such a ridiculous and hypocritical phrase, I wanted to play on that.

It's all a bit of fun though, I ride fixed and don't care if a bike has 20 gear, no gears, 3 wheels or a basket - it's all good fun!

Best view on Black

recoat.blogspot.com/

The morning sun is everything. If I'm camping and sleep past sunrise, it seems like a waste. First, it's beautiful. And then there's the light. Evening light is wonderful, but there's soft emptiness to in the morning that the evening's golden hour can't bring.

Not to be that guy, but a Thoreau quote comes to mind: 'The morning, which is the most memorable season of the day, is the awakening hour. Then there is least somnolence in us; and for an hour, at least, some part of us awakes which slumbers all the rest of the day and night.'.

When I was young, I nodded along with everything this guy said. Now, older and knowing more about him, I understand that he set ideals and goals to which he could never live up. Just like me.

Of couse, he was much better spoken (or at least written) about it than I was.

So now, nearing the age at which Thoreau died, I can see that he was wildly flawed and hypocritical . We all are.

Maybe now would be a good time to revisit the old fellow. Just walk up to the door of his Walden cabin, knock and then realize that he's off at the Emerson's, sponging off of Ralph's good intensions (and wealth).

.

.

.

'Explaining'

Camera: Canonet QL-17

Film: Kodak Ektachrome 100; x-01/1999

Process: DIY ECN-2

Spokane County, Washington

September 2019

www.flickr.com/photos/claudiusbinoche/sets/72157651655361...

Il est certainement l’un des plus sulfureux artistes de sa génération, peintre, aquafortiste, dessinateur, illustrateur et graveur, Félicien Rops, le provocateur, est né à Namur le 7 juillet 1833.

En 1851, Rops s’inscrit à l’Université libre de Bruxelles pour une candidature en philosophie, préparatoire au droit. Il y retrouve plusieurs amis namurois et noue de nouvelles relations dont une, capitale, avec l’écrivain Charles De Coster. Il trouve rapidement sa place parmi les cercles étudiants les plus actifs : la « Société des Joyeux » et le « Cercle des Crocodiles ». Il en devient le dessinateur attitré et s’initie avec talent à la lithographie. Deux ans plus tard, il s’inscrit à « l’atelier libre Saint-Luc », un des centres de ralliement de la bohème bruxelloise où s’échangeaient les idées d’avant-garde. Il y rencontre Artan, Dubois, Charles De Groux, Constantin Meunier…, futurs tenants du réalisme en Belgique.

"Rops suis, vertueux ne puis, hypocrite ne daigne". Cette profession de foi, l’artiste belge la déclinera sa vie durant. Son œuvre et son mode de vie reflètent l'indépendance d'esprit et de création qui caractérise ses dessins, gravures et illustrations.

Graveur et dessinateur d’exception, Félicien Rops capte et anticipe des corps de femmes d’une modernité absolue. Abandonnant les formes conventionnelles de l’époque, l’artiste crée des mises en scènes pleines d’humour, de tendresse ou d’insolence pour la jubilation de l’œil du spectateur. Les titres de ses œuvres ne sont guère innocents et témoignent d’une imagination débordant des conventions. Aucun sujet n’est tabou, ni la mort, ni les saintes écritures, qui sont illustrées sous l’angle tout particulier d’un saint Antoine confronté à la tentation de la chair. Rops vivait dans une société bloquée, où les bourgeois, habillés comme il faut, prônaient les valeurs convenues qui confortaient leurs principes, dont le paraître et la propriété. Il étouffait dans le conformisme ambiant et très tôt, ses œuvres et spécialement ses «nus» visèrent à explorer l'envers du décor de la culture bourgeoise. Rops déshabillait la femme non pour la souiller, mais pour exalter son pouvoir de vie face au pouvoir de mort d'un «establishment» engoncé dans les certitudes économiques et les dogmes moraux ou religieux. À son époque le sexe était synonyme de scandale pour le puritanisme imposé par les dominants ; Rops s'en servit donc à l'envi, ne supportant point de devenir un artiste toléré dans une société intolérante.

www.flickr.com/photos/claudiusbinoche/sets/72157651655361...

He is certainly one of the most sulphurous artists of his generation, painter, etcher, draftsman, illustrator and engraver, Félicien Rops, the provocateur, was born in Namur on July 7, 1833.

In 1851, Rops enrolled at the Free University of Brussels for a candidacy in philosophy, preparatory to law. There he found several friends from Namur and forged new relationships, one of which, crucially, was with the writer Charles De Coster. He quickly finds his place among the most active student circles: the "Society of Merry" and the "Cercle of Crocodiles". He became its official draftsman and learned lithography with talent. Two years later, he enrolled in the “Atelier Libre Saint-Luc”, one of the rallying points for bohemian Brussels where avant-garde ideas were exchanged. There he met Artan, Dubois, Charles De Groux, Constantin Meunier…, future proponents of realism in Belgium.

"Rops am, virtuous do not then, hypocrite do not deign". This profession of faith, the Belgian artist will decline throughout his life. His work and his way of life reflect the independence of spirit and creation that characterizes his drawings, engravings and illustrations.

An exceptional engraver and draftsman, Félicien Rops captures and anticipates women's bodies of absolute modernity. Abandoning the conventional forms of the time, the artist creates scenes full of humor, tenderness or insolence for the jubilation of the eye of the spectator. The titles of his works are hardly innocent and testify to an imagination overflowing with conventions. No subject is taboo, neither death nor the Holy Scriptures, which are illustrated from the very particular angle of Saint Anthony confronted with the temptation of the flesh. Rops lived in a blocked society, where the bourgeois, dressed as they should, advocated agreed values that reinforced their principles, including appearance and property. He was suffocating in the ambient conformism and very early on, his works and especially his “nudes” aimed to explore behind the scenes of bourgeois culture. Rops undressed women not to defile them, but to exalt their power of life in the face of the power of death of an “establishment” stuck in economic certainties and moral or religious dogma. In his time, sex was synonymous with scandal for the puritanism imposed by the dominant; Rops therefore used it at will, not supporting to become a tolerated artist in an intolerant society.

Yesterday I was driving to work. And I was running late. But I still took time out of my already late ass to roll into a McDonalds.

No. Not to buy their nasty ass meals. But to just buy an iced coffee.

But I was coming up to the parking lot and saw the drive thru was filled with like 10 cars. I couldn’t help but think of the cattle resemblance of the cars lined up ready to buy mass made animal feed.

Fuck it.

I parked my car. Left it running. And told my kid to “Wait here babe”, as I ran in to the nasty food wannabe “restaurant” to get my lousy iced coffee.

But wait. I’m standing in line and looking around. What do I see? A lady with a mic running around bagging gross prepackaged microwaved nauseating food in a bag. A couple of people in the “back” microwaving nasty-patties and wrapping them up in a cheap ass wrapper just to throw down their “shoot” as to define it is “READY TO EAT!”

The orange juice came out of a machine. They just pressed a button with a recycled paper cup thrown underneath it. It released just enough juice for the paper cup to hold.

Everyone ran around like the world was ending. Run. Scurry. Fast. Go. Money money money!! Make the “food”. Throw it in a bag. Get it out the window. Move on to the next person.

Eat the cowfood. Divulge in the repugnance. Yum Yum Yum. Eat me. I’m a pre-packaged horrid over processed nastiness that has nothing to do with the cows, pigs, or chickens that I’m assuming at some point were killed for this madness.

Frozen, horrible, deep-fried, and vulgar. Fuck me in the ass you uneatable shit.

It all seemed so robotic. All those people running around. The person running the drivethru. The minimum wage person in the back running the microwave. The other person throwing shit in the deep fryer. The unseen person boxing up the nastiness. The other unseen person mass killing the a foreseen “animal” that originates from the disgusting shit we choose to put in our mouths.

Not my mouth. Too nauseating man.

Although that said, I’m not a McDonalds Nazi. Meaning I’ll treat my kid once or twice a month. In slight moderation the shit won’t kill you. I think I just psyched myself out to be disgusted by it all so I won’t eat it. Because in reality, most of it actually does TASTE good.

The shot at hand? Me being a total health hypocrite and putting a cigarette in my mouth in my bathroom. Then I proceeded to smoke it and take a self-portrait.

What’s worse? The crabby patty or the cancer stick?

The album below? A minimalist indie rock masterpiece. It’s catchy and cool and singable. I’d recommend it to anyone who wants to bop their head and think about how rad life is.

Location: my bathroom; Alameda, California

Taken: September 29th, 2009

Posted: November 6th, 2009

Album of the Day: Dreams by The Whitest Boy Alive

Video: Golden Cage by The Whitest Boy Alive

*=lapse

America is big on “healing” through medications… I will be a hypocrite when I say this (when my mortgage depends on 👆), but maybe we give chemistry more power than physiology of a human ❤️

What's art about if it isn't about learning something? Well I learnt something. Several things actually. Will I use what I've learnt to grow and become wiser? That seems unlikely. So what did I learn?

1) Ice is very cold.

2) Icy water feels even colder.

3) Even kneeling on ice might not spread your weight enough to prevent it cracking.

4) Don't ever admit to doing something stupid. Especially not on the internet. You'll never know who might read it.

I've resigned myself to the fact that I won't ever feel confident enough in my creativity to know what it is I will make ahead of time, and I won't know how, whatever it is, will turn out. It was never an issue when noone ever saw what I make but now, a little self doubt lurks in the back of my mind, that I must make something interesting otherwise I shouldn't have bothered. Often, as I wander around some wild place somewhere (no not a bar in Blackpool on a Saturday night), I am thinking about future land art projects and the potential of different places. But always lurking there is the thought that it better be good when I get round to doing it.

On the face of it, this voice at the back of the room would seem to be a help, always encouraging me to try harder. But the weird thing is, this voice actually seems to be a hindrance. There is a subtle but important difference between "it better be good" and "I wonder if it'll be any good?"

When I listen to those words it seems to be an extra burden, a burden that makes it harder to tap into any creativity. I have no idea what creativity actually is, where it lives or how it operates. But what I do know is that you can plug into it directly if you would just relax and go with the flow. A sense of expectation of how something should be, how it ought to be, if only you tried hard enough is not where it's at. I think this is what I love about land art. As I start, the distractions, the so called "encouraging" voices just fade away and all that matters is the moment. And when enough moments join together, I often end up exactly where I wanted to be had I been thinking about it in the first place. I've said it before but it seems it is a hard lesson to learn. It's about the doing. The thinking, the planning, the expectations. None of this really helps.

So I set off, the frost crunching under my feet and doubting/encouraging voices in my head struggling to help me think of what I could do. I went to a small pool of dark water and tried to chop out some ice. Fun though that was, it didn't inspire me, so I continued to trudge up the hill. On the slopes either side of me, camo jacketed plonkers with shotguns and dogs attempted to shoot, stupid and inbred pheasants. A fitting challenge for the Saturday shotgun warriors. We haven't quite gone to the lengths of fencing in animals for rich (and fat) obnoxious clients to shoot but it isn't far off.

Now don't get me wrong, I am not hypocritical enough to suggest that shooting is completely wrong. I could only occupy the moral highground if I didn't eat industrially farmed animals and didn't ignore the fact that I couldn't kill, what I eat, myself. But I do wonder at the mentality of people who shoot animals for a hobby, as a way to relax, to let off steam on a Saturday morning. Does it make you feel manly to outwit a pheasant with a bunch of beaters, dogs and high powered weaponry? Is it simply target practice and honing a skill?

I always wonder whether they have something missing in their lives and their neuroses drive them to show off, inaudibly shouting "look at me, look at me, LOOK AT ME! I'm really, really important! I demand your attention!" Because what seems to be common amongst this activities is noise. Lots of it and the seemingly willfull need to pee off as many people as possible. Especially people who like peace and quiet!

How many examples can you think of? Here's a few for starters: riding big, powerful motorbikes around country lanes in the summer, riding jet skis across lakes and off shore, off roading on green lanes and shooting things for fun. Why oh why do all these things have to be so loud? And why do you have to do them in beautiful and quiet places and spoil the peace and quiet for so many others? Are you so lacking in empathy that you have no idea how you are spoiling it for everyone else? Or do you have a pathological need to take over places and claim them as yours to make up for your inadaquecies? I think this is one of the biggest splits in our species. The sensitive and the not sensitive. The noisy and the quiet. The considerate and inconsiderate.

So the soundtrack to my sculpturing went like this "hey, hey, hey, hey, hey!" As the beaters flushed the doomed birds from the undergrowth and "KABOOM! KABOOM!" as another pheasant bit the dust. I expect that if I ever go mad that that will be the soundtrack to my insanity too. I wanted to stand on a rock and shout out "shut the hell up you noisy idiots!" to try and get rid of my frustrated feeling. But I don't think they were going to see the error of their ways so I went back to what I was doing with the frustrated feeling still present.

So what was a I doing I hear you ask?

A bank of fog was sliding in from the south, leaving the tips of the mountains poking through the sea of moisture. Unusually for an inversion, a layer of cloud lay above us too (me and the mountains) and gradually the temperature began to warm.

On another small dark pool I begun to lay out sections of frosted bracken, to make a pattern on the ice. When I leant back I noticed I had left hand prints where my body heat had melted the surface and I liked them and decided to do something along those lines instead. On all fours, I kneeled on the ice, positioning my hands to make prints in the surface, when suddenly cracks spread across the surface like fractured glass and I was about to become more acquainted with this medium than I originally planned. I had one of those Wiley Coyote moments like when he runs over the cliff's edge, only to be found pedalling in mid-air. Just for a split second gravity didn't grab me and then all at once the icey water and me, became intimate. I managed to extricate myself after immersing only one leg and fortunately I was wearing two pairs of trousers for warmth and had some spare socks, so pretty quickly I was dry again. I smirked to myself at being such a fool but soon found that the broken ice was fantastically clear and square edged so my foolishness had served a purpose and revealed to me the beauty of this ice.

I took a section and rounded the edges before trying to melt my hand print into it. I could only manage a little at a time before I had to rewarm my hand, so I challenged myself to count to fifty before I would put on a glove to warm up, only to try and melt some more for another count to fifty.

As the handprint begun to form I started to think about how I would be able to photograph it. The imprint was like a ghost, difficult to pin down, like a fleeting image in the corner of your eye. I put the ice back in the water but the image disappeared so I went searching for another way.

I found a slab with thick frost on it, so I melted another handprint onto it and placed the ice on top, in an effort to put a black background behind the imprint. This didn't work either. I then picked some holly berries thinking that I would squish them up and fill in the mould but that was also a failure. And then it dawned on me, bubbles underwater are very bright, especially against the dark, peaty water!

I went back to the little pool and to its twin with the unbroken ice. I put my handprint on top of it, face down so that air would be trapped and then started to ladle (I didn't actually use a ladle - who carries around a ladle?!) water from the broken pool onto the ice of the intact one. Soon the effect was working and I had learnt something new about contrast and ice.

After taking some more pictures of it set against the sky, I collected my gear and headed off downhill. The cretins were still shooting at anything that moved and the irritation at the noisy buggers still dwelled in the pit of my stomach.

At the bottom of the hill I sat and watched two Buzzards sitting in adjacent trees, one of which kept calling and flying to the other one, perhaps with spring on her mind. For a few minutes I watched transfixed and thought what magnificent creatures they are. As I set off again towards home I noticed that the feeling in my stomach had gone and a few quiet moments observing the wonder of nature had calmed and comforted me. That is all that is required for peace. An open mind and a moment to fill it. Perhaps the Saturday shotgunners should try it one day. They might actually like it and discover that there is another way.

Location: Manjuyod Sand Bar at low tide

Negros Oriental, Philippines

-----------------------<-------------------<@

Good moments at the beach captured with these children.

I should say they are the lucky ones. There are many children around the globe who were abducted , leaving no trace where to find them. Some were taken from shadowy orphanage of poor countries, trafficked by network of abusers . Some were taken from care homes , or under adoption, whether officially legal or not , were being exploited, abused, even murdered. Those are the defenseless little ones whose cries and screams of extreme anguish and fear many haven't heard of, as the powers run behind the abused are enormously massive and dark , they muffled the sound of their screams to nothing, but the Lord heard the screams of innocent blood who's life wasted in the Altars of the hypocrites.

Luke 8:17

"There is nothing hidden that won't be revealed, and there is nothing secret that won't become known and come to light."

Now is the season of shame and diclosure of the abusers. The final judge is God . God is raising up people in this generation to stand for righteousness and expose evil that has been kept secret. This is Biblical prophecy on our face, that we may open eyes and return to the Lord in repentance.

*Kevin Annett : Satanic molesters and murderers of children

*Kevin Annett : Abducted Children raped, murdered , sacrifice on the Altars of Mollech

*Witnesses to 800 Irish children slaughtered / decapitated

Human hunting parties, killing the innocent children like in a fox hunt / ritualistic killing, blood drinking. Who on earth with a human soul and conscience can do that to another human being.

*Kevin Annett : Vatican on trial ITCCS update July 2014

Locke was founded in 1915 after a fire broke out in the Chinese section of nearby Walnut Grove. The Chinese who lived in that area decided that it was time to establish a town of their own. A committee of Chinese merchants, led by Lee Bing, Chan Hing Sai, Tom Wai, Chan Dai Kee, Ng So Hat, Chan Wai Lum, Chow Hou Bun, and Suen Dat Suin was formed. They approached land owner George Locke and inquired if they could build on his land. An agreement was reached. The town was laid out by Chinese architects and industrious building ensued. The founding of Lockeport, later 'Locke', was a reality. By 1920 Locke stood essentially as you see it now.

Levee construction originally brought the Chinese to this area, but by the time Locke was built most of the work was in farm labor. Locke had many businesses that catered to the farm workers and residents of this region. In the 1940's restaurants, bakeries, herb shops, fish markets, gambling halls, boarding houses, brothels, grocery stores, a school, clothing stores, and the Star Theatre lined the bustling streets of Locke. At its peak 600 residents, and as many as 1500 people occupied the town of Locke.

On August 2, 1970, Locke was added to the registry of national historical places, by the Sacramento County Historical Society, because of its unique status as the only town in the United States built exclusively by the Chinese for the Chinese.

Locke is no tourist trap, nor is it a ghost town. Its unusual, out-of-the-way charm is genuine. Perhaps it is this authenticity, without any hypocritical overtones, which brings so many out of town visitors to its doors.

source www.locketown.com/

Amazingly in tact abandoned house in rural Ontario. From the outside this house looked like any other but inside was a gold mine of personal belongings. This was one of 4 bedrooms in the house with beds still made from the last time someone had resided here.

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Falling To Ones Death.

Defenseless nicht zu unterscheiden shrill predicament course,

dismayed μανιακός occasion of coming tomb,

zkroucený antics beneath thy gossiping streets,

unglücklich masquerade lead thee on blood drenched tracks,

puzzling danger a загадка below pulsating cracks,

Medea O'thy pýcha that thou robes,

unwahrheiten of endearments burning in knotted hearts,

bitter abhorrent self's acquired anger in šialenstvo furnace,

presumptuously still πυκνός yoke breaks backs,

tarnished rozrušený death accursed disgrace full force,

rancorous penetrabilior fire destiny of gloom,

proud cruel implacable дрхтање remorse peaks,

jealous cyclones of schatten blacken gestures axe,

miserable hypocrite's znechucen corpses still probes,

demoralizing falsch übersetzt questions stick as darts,

hot headedness rambling's чрезвычайно torments as sternness,

ravenous ungeziefer demon tricked thee 'tis a treacherous tax!

Steve.D.Hammond.

I've never really been into the Steampunk/Victorian thing.

I usually tend to avoid books, games

and whatever that feature that kind of a world.

However--His Dark Materials was awesome.

I loved all three books.

I read them all a long long long time ago.

And at the time I never really thought about it being Steampunky or anything.

Not sure if that phrase was even being used then.

Maybe it was.

But I know now that it was definitely

an alternate Victorian type fantasy world.

I also liked The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen.

And definitely loved A Series of Unfortunate Events--

though there was no magic

or fantasy really in those events.

I'd actually like to see a (new) film version

that has a darker horror like spin

on the misfortunes of the Baudelaires.

But it'll never happen I'm sure.

Oh--and damn it all--my beloved Bloodborne.

So --again--

The Hypocrite Is Me.

A few days after our discovery of the explosion at the chemical processing plant, I float some twenty feet above the hectic goings on of life in downtown Denver, invisible, watching time slowly pass. Despite all that has happened during my time on Earth, I still feel as though I am an outcast. The residents of Earth accept me in all the same ways that they accept people like Superman. But I realise, observing them as they go about their taxing, monotonous lives, that despite everything I do, and everything I will do for this planet, I will always be the true foundling, the extraterrestrial. The man from Mars.

I will arrive to prevent a crime, and the people will say "thank you." But behind me, there will always be those whispers; the discrete glances around the shoulder to keep me in check. To ensure I'm staying in line.

For a species that has enough trouble accepting itself, I don't doubt for one minute that it doesn't have second thoughts about accepting me.

Despite my best efforts, those whispers will always be heard. Even at home on Mars, the way society worked was microcosmic to what occurs here, on Earth.

It may be that I'm just being hypocritical; that I refuse to acknowledge that I too have acted just like them, and that exclusion is just a way of life.

I suppose, in a way, that makes me more human than anything else does.

To some extent the true aliens of this planet will never fit in.

I pull myself from my thoughts and open my mind to the thoughts of the pedestrians below me, a skill I have come to master in these past months. The moment I begin, my mind is flooded with the thoughts of those around me:

My eyes flip open and I steadily float over to the source of the noise, but before I can make a move the noise dies down and a voice rings out through the air.

"Martian Manhunter! I'm looking for Martian Manhunter! Hello? Does anyone know where I can find Martian Manhunter?"

Amazed, I scan the area for the source of the voice, but my eyes soon do the job for me and discover who it is that is speaking.

In the middle of the street stands a fairly tall, well-built figure whom appears to be coated in some kind of rock that covers him from head to toe. Two beady red beacons shine out in the space that should be occupied by his eyes, and streaks of a burnt orange solution line his face in place of blemishes and wrinkles. As he steps forwards, the solution that hides in the cracks of his face appears in the exposed gaps of his rocky exoskeleton, seemingly taking up the place where one would find skin. As he approaches, I turn visible again and gently glide down to the street to face him.

The thing pauses, and we look at each other for a moment.

The figure opens what I presume to be his mouth, displaying a set of yellowed teeth, and begins to speak.

"There you are. I wanna talk to you."

There is a gravelled edge to his voice that makes it sound strained and tired, but underneath the distortion, I realise that I know that voice.

The red beacons widen as I speak, and his smile grows wider as he steps forwards.

"You do know who I am!"

I remain silent.

"I didn't think you would recognise me!"

"I'm not entirely sure I do, Michael."

"Haha, all will be explained. And please, Michael Miller is no more. Call me Human Flame."

I remain where I am stood with caution. I knew something did not feel right about him.

His grin subsides as he takes a step back.

"Just watch."

He takes a breath and flexes his arms, then out of nowhere his body ignites itself in a sea of bright orange flames.

I step back as his grin re-appears, but I do not share in his enjoyment.

Of course, during our encounter in the bank, he never did find out the true power of fire against a Martian.

He pulls his eyes from examining his arms and looks up.

"What?"

"Don't do this, not here at least. You're making the people anxious."

He looks around, but ignorantly holds out his hand and ignites a flame, in some kind of attempt to put on a show for them.

"No I'm not, see?"

A group of girls move back in caution, and a father picks up his daughter and begins to move away.

He looks around, then nods.

"Alright. Let's go."

I take Michael up to the hills just outside the city, the sight where I often bring M'gann to help her with flying practice. It's calm and isolated conditions are perfect for creating a work area of absolute focus where the mind can be at rest, away from the bustling noises of the city.

I doubt I am going to be treated to such a calming discussion today, however.

Michael looks around at the mountains, then positions himself next to a rock and looks at me.

"I've never been this far out of Denver before. It's amazing."

"That's good to hear. Now, tell me, because I'm having some slight difficulties piecing this together, what exactly is going on?"

He smiles.

"Where do I start?"

"The beginning would be preferable."

He laughs excitedly, then steps forwards to face me fully.

"Alright, alright. I guess I'll start right after we met. You remember that, right? The bank? Homemade hairdryer?"

I nod.

"I do."

"Well, after that, I guess I hit rock bottom. All my life I wanted to be someone, to do something people would remember me for. Now I had no talents. I couldn't sing, or act, and I sure as hell couldn't be a hero like you."

"So you decided to hold up a bank."

"Well, yeah, I guess. I made the flamethrower and pieced together that shitty suit and just decided, screw it, I may as well do something, right? And, we all know how well that ended up. But after you talked those cops into letting me off, I realised something. I realised, you don't need special powers to be a hero, or to make a difference. You just need the right mindset. You'd inspired me to make a change."

I am silent.

"So when I was released that night, that's when I decided to start a new life. A whole new me. I found that chemical plant outside the city, and decided I'd try and fix my gear, but-"

"So that was you."

"Oh, the explosion? Well, yeah I guess. It was an accident, but, that's not the point!"

I sigh.

"Go on."

"Before that happened, I had a massive come-down. Again. I thought I was being an idiot in trying to change. I tried to destroy my gear, but it caused this explosion, and when I came round...."

I nod.

"You were like this."

"U-huh. But I thought that was it. I'd become some kinda freak, a monster. I didn't know what the hell to do, so I ran off into the forest, and there... Well, that don't matter. What does matter is what happened next."

He looks around.

"I heard these gunshots from somewhere in the forest. Now, again, not knowing what the hell to do, I followed them, and found Oaksridge,"

"Oaksridge?"

"It's this little town in Roosevelt Forest. It's where I had my...what's it called? My epiphany."

"Your epiphany?"

"U-huh. Some guy in the town was trying to kill this other guy, and I stopped him. When I did, I realised I could do this-"

He goes to ignite himself again, but I raise my hand to stop him.

"Thank you, Michael, I get the picture. You were saying?"

"Oh right, yeah. So I save this guy, and suddenly the folks there are treating me like some sorta hero. Me! It was then I realised, I could do what you do. I could be the hero. I stayed in Oaksridge a few days, then decided to come find you, to tell you what had happened. After all, if it weren't for you stopping me back at the bank, who knows where we'd be now, right?"

I don't know what to say. It is clear Michael has found great excitement in what has happened to him, but I know better than anyone else that just because you can do something, it doesn't mean you should.

"Your body has gone through a momentous change, one you were lucky to survive from how it sounds, and you need to take time to adjust to those changes. I know how you feel. You have powers beyond your imagination and a burning passion to do good, but you need to prepare, to take time to get used to yourself. Rome wasn't built in a day."

"Then train me! Help me get used to it! I wanna be like you; help you!"

I don't tell him of my weakness. Training him would be impossible. His fire power may be too much for me to handle. His heart, however, does appear to be in a good enough place, one that might allow me to help him somewhere down the line, and if I can contain him, guide him, his abilities may not be as big a threat to me as first believed.

But then I face a dilemma.

I don't want to treat him like some experiment, or to try and subside his powers and treat him like an animal. He is, at the end of the day, still human.

He looks down at his feet, then steps back and nods.

"Alright. I get it."

There's a long pause, and I am tempted to enter his mind to find out what it is he's debating. I decided against it, however. This is something he needs to decide by himself.

"I know now. I know what I could do."

He begins to head down the hills and back towards the city, but turns at the last moment to face me with a smile.

"Thank you, Manhunter. Thank you for everything."

He begins to leave, but as he does I step forwards.

He smiles.

"Okay. J'onn."

Not losing the smile from his face, he turns back and begins to descend the hill, leaving me alone, looking out over the mountainous skyline on the horizon.

My friend Kaisar, four years junior then me, Honors Student of Pure Chemistry in Jogonnath University, Dhaka, Bangladesh. - A photographer with highly aggressive strength and a strong personality to keep on focusing subjects around....... Member of BPS (Bangladesh Photographic Society) and a photojournalist.

Meeting with him was dramatic, was by a funny way... another friend of me Ikbal was write about a person called Moon in his stream, if Kaiser knows him, using my account when i was log in flickr in Ikbal's studio, without let me notice... Kaiser become confused and send me mail for inquiry... it was like who searching who, and first it was sending flickr mail, then call by phone and confirm all misunderstanding.....

Relation with him wasn't close until a Bangladesh borned pathetic looser made a mistake,,, was said some untruth thing about Bangladesh and proved himself a hypocrite. I was the one claim on it at my most, didn't check my language, and the guy was delete both our conversation and the topic and were send mail to too many of his contact to block me, when he was a old user of flickr and for me it was less then 15 days i join flickr..................... Kaiser denied his request, and receive a block from him........ and we become closet friends instantly :):):)

and the only native flickr user with who I usually make some photo-walk, etc...... The only fear I have for or dislike of him is, he just afraid to touch a SLR... I doesn't mean dSLR:p, he thinks he can't use Film...... and still missing the test of most advanced technology of photography (not DArt) in human history.....

May Almighty give him superb skills and the earth and sun on his side to capture every unique moments he face while he in mood of Photography, Aamiin

Theda Tammas - Hypocrite's Crayon Gallery

Matthew 6:5-7

7 But when ye pray, use not vain repetitions, as the heathen do: for they think that they shall be heard for their much speaking.

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Broom maker (4)

Location : Guihungan ,Negros Oriental ,Philippines

Theda Tammas - Hypocrite's Crayon Gallery

114

I am a hypocrite.

trees will make a forest

trees will make a bow

these are all the harder

words you have to know

if everyone's a structure

where their own savior sits

they tied her up and laid her on the train tracks

listen?

Please let me know if you blog my photo.

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He Entered Your World

I once waded into the Jordan River. On a trip to Israel, my family and I stopped to see the traditional spot of Jesus’ baptism. It’s a charming place. Sycamores cast their shadows. Birds chirp. The water invites. So I accepted the invitation and waded in to be baptized.

No one wanted to join me so I immersed myself. I declared my belief in Christ and sank so low in the water I could touch the river bottom. When I did, I felt a stick and pulled it out. Well, what do you know–a baptism memento! Some people get certificates or Bibles; I like my stick. It’s about as thick as your wrist, long as your forearm, and smooth as a baby’s behind. I keep it on my office credenza so I can show it to fear-filled people.

When they chronicle their anxieties about the economy or concern about their kids, I hand them the stick. I tell them how God muddied his feet in our world of diapers, death, digestion, and disease. How John told him to stay on the riverbank, but Jesus wouldn’t listen. How he came to earth for this very purpose, to become one of us. “Why, he might have touched this very stick,” I like to say.

As they smile, I ask, “Since he came this far to reach us, can’t we take our fears to him?”

“For our high priest [Jesus] is able to understand our weaknesses. When he lived on earth he was tempted in every way that we are, but he did not sin. Let us, then, feel very sure that we can come before God’s throne where there is grace. There we can receive mercy and grace to help us when we need it” (Hebrews 4:15-16 NCV).

Does this miracle matter? It does if you are bedridden. It does if you battle disease. It does if chronic pain is a part of your life. The One who hears your prayers understands your pain. He never shrugs or scoffs or dismisses physical struggle. He had a human body.

Does this miracle matter? If you ever wonder if God understands you, it does. If you ever wonder if God listens, it does. If you ever wonder if the Uncreated Creator can, in a million years, comprehend the life of a truck driver, housewife, or immigrant, then ponder long and hard the promise of the incarnation. God say: I understand you and I always will.

Are you troubled in spirit? He was, too. (John 12:27)

Are you so anxious that you could die? He was, too. (Matthew 26:38)

Are you overwhelmed with grief? He was, too. (John 11:35)

Have you ever prayed with loud cries and tears? He did, too. (Hebrews 5:7)

Some have pointed to the sinlessness of Jesus as evidence that he cannot fully understand us. After all, if he never sinned, they reason, how could he understand the full force of sin? Simple, he felt it more than we do. We give in! He never did. We surrender. He never did. He stood before the tsunami and never wavered. In that manner, he understands it more than anyone who ever lived.

And then, in his grandest deed, he volunteered to feel the consequence of sin.

“God made him who had no sin to be sin for us, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God” (2 Corinthians 5:21 NIV).

The greatest pain of the cross was the pain of sin. Jesus didn’t deserve to feel the shame, but he felt it. He didn’t deserve the humiliation, but he experienced it. He had never sinned, yet was treated like a sinner. He became sin. All the guilt, remorse, and embarrassment– Jesus understands it.

Does this miracle matter? To the hypocrite, it does. To the person who can’t remember last night’s party it does. To the cheater, slanderer, gossip, or scoundrel who comes to God with a contrite spirit, it matters. It matters because they need to know, “we do not have a high priest who is unable to empathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who has been tempted in every way, just as we are—yet he did not sin. Let us then approach God’s throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need” (Hebrews 4:15-16 NIV).

Because Jesus is human, he understands you. Because he is divine he can help you. But he does neither if you don’t go to him. He didn’t remain aloof; why would we? He didn’t keep his distance; why would we keep ours?

Let this be the day you draw near to him. He entered your world so that you could enter his.

© Max Lucado, January, 2017

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What You Needed Most

God is enough. Isn’t this the message of Moses and Joshua and the journey to the Promised Land? Who opened the Jordan River? Who led the people across on dry ground? Who appeared to encourage Joshua? Who brought down the Jericho walls? Who fought for and delivered the people? God!

He cared for his people. Even in the wilderness they never went without provision. He gave them not just food but clothing and good health. Moses once reminded the Hebrews, “Your clothes did not wear out and your feet did not swell during these forty years” (Deuteronomy 8:4 NIV).

The following phrases were never heard in the wilderness: Oh, bummer, my robe has another rip in it…or…. Hey, new sandals. Where did you get them? There was no want for food; no need for clothing. God provided for them. And God has promised to provide you.

From God is With You Every Day. Max Lucado

In total contrast to the uncompromising wildness of the last upload, I've cranked up the twee factor for this one. Lakeland has wildness in abundance, when on the heights, but as you descend the twee factor tends to rise (& completely goes off the scale at valley level!) This isn't necessarily a bad thing, you understand; it's just that I'm a bit like a fish out of water when attempting to photographically arrange such bewildering prettiness.

The European Larch (Larix decidua) is not native to the British Isles. Of all alien species, however, this one 'seems' to fit in rather nicely. It is certainly a favourite tree of mine (what a f***ing hypocrite!).

I’ve been away for a bit; needed to recharge. I want to thank all my followers (many new ones lately) and the well over ½ million views.

I’m continuing my efforts exposing Gang Stalking, Community Stalking and Workplace Mobbing. Yosemite continues to rally is self-righteous hypocrites, simpletons and halfwits; to stalk, harass, workmob, discredit and defame. Like the Energizer Bunny, I keep going and going.

•The truth about Yosemite: www.nbcbayarea.com/news/local/Sexual-Harassment-Common-in...

Gang Stalking, Community Stalking and Workplace Mobbing are Psychological Torture. These illegal and immoral acts are carried out by residents and contractors, in Yosemite National Park every day; while Yosemite’s Superintendent and Law Enforcement look away.

The truth today is hidden so deep, it becomes gray.

Thank you for visiting my Photostream.

162/365

www.youtube.com/watch?v=SgqSI1BESVE

Duty, Honor, Country: Those three hallowed words reverently dictate what you ought to be, what you can be, what you will be. They are your rallying points: to build courage when courage seems to fail; to regain faith when there seems to be little cause for faith; to create hope when hope becomes forlorn.

Unhappily, I possess neither that eloquence of diction, that poetry of imagination, nor that brilliance of metaphor to tell you all that they mean.

The unbelievers will say they are but words, but a slogan, but a flamboyant phrase. Every pedant, every demagogue, every cynic, every hypocrite, every troublemaker, and I am sorry to say, some others of an entirely different character, will try to downgrade them even to the extent of mockery and ridicule.

But these are some of the things they do. They build your basic character. They mold you for your future roles as the custodians of the nation's defense. They make you strong enough to know when you are weak, and brave enough to face yourself when you are afraid. They teach you to be proud and unbending in honest failure, but humble and gentle in success; not to substitute words for actions, not to seek the path of comfort, but to face the stress and spur of difficulty and challenge; to learn to stand up in the storm but to have compassion on those who fall; to master yourself before you seek to master others; to have a heart that is clean, a goal that is high; to learn to laugh, yet never forget how to weep; to reach into the future yet never neglect the past; to be serious yet never to take yourself too seriously; to be modest so that you will remember the simplicity of true greatness, the open mind of true wisdom, the meekness of true strength. They give you a temper of the will, a quality of the imagination, a vigor of the emotions, a freshness of the deep springs of life, a temperamental predominance of courage over timidity, of an appetite for adventure over love of ease. They create in your heart the sense of wonder, the unfailing hope of what next, and the joy and inspiration of life. They teach you in this way to be an officer and a gentleman.

---- General Douglas MacArthur

Seven Truths

- When I was little I used to go in my closet when I cried. It was dark and nobody could see me. It’s funny because I don’t go there anymore but I find that same secret place inside my mind as crazy as it sounds. Nobody can see it and I like it that way.

- I’d rather be known as the crazy church girl than the one nobody expected to be religious.

- I don’t feel that release in skating anymore. I haven’t been writing. I haven’t been taking pictures for myself. It’s like I’m purposely keeping everything held back. Then I go and become absorbed and obsessed with school. With getting good marks. With having teachers love me. Of course, when I mention how excited I am to do an upcoming essay I laughed when my friends made fun because really, who actually likes essays. But I’m noticing it. It scares me, it’s like I’m looking for a way out somewhere and every release I find becomes dangerous in some sense.

- My fear of those dark things hit a peak last weak. I felt a new type of fear…one I had never even imagined feeling. Me. The kid who writes like it’s her job can’t even find words to express this.

To anyone who is dealing with a fear that is controlling your life, that is making you do things you wouldn’t normally do, or just making you uncomfortable in your own skin just know that that fear has more power over you than the actual thing you are scared of. Fear is only an emotion. You can’t shut it off but you can control it.

(and the hypocrite of all time award goes to Hannah Martin)

- I have the most amazing friends. But I feel like god is playing some sick joke on me. Every single one of them is either destroying themselves slowly or destroying me. There are a few very important ones who I could never give up on because I see their strength through those weaknesses but the truth is sometimes I want to escape. I don’t want to help. I don’t want to watch them ignore me and hurt themselves worse. Sometimes I just want to stop and remember what it’s like to actually breathe again…

- Sometimes I get so frustrated with myself because I just wish ‘I’ would find myself beautiful. Sometimes I don’t even need other people to tell me. I don’t want it. In the end I’m not stuck with them, I’m stuck with me.

- I felt so good last week while I was in the hospital in sweats with no make up. I hate wearing face make up or too much of anything because I want to feel natural until I see all the girls at school. The gorgeous ones that I would die to look at. I know how much make up they wear, I know how I feel about that. Yet I just want to look like that and feel like they do and have other people look at me like that.

I hate it.

I don’t want to talk about these. I feel vain. And stupid. And immature. Starting this ‘project’ was easy. Everyone said I was so brave but I wasn’t. They were easy. Now though…I resent these truths. You have no many ideas how many times I start a seven truths and delete it all because it’s too hard or too personal.

But I hope you’re all well.

www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100083134488329

424735605_370664282381385_3579570144301062866_n_upscale 2

And the calf that you carve with a smile

Is murder

And the turkey you festively slice

Is murder

Do you know how animals die ?

Kitchen aromas arent very homely

Its not comforting, cheery or kind

Its sizzling blood and the unholy stench

Of murder

"Be careful what you wish for."

"Welcome to the Big Time, Sarah. I hope you enjoy your time in the sun."

btw... Thank you so much for dragging the rest of us along with you.

Can you tell that I'm loving being an Alaskan right now? : )

In all seriousness, her administration's done some good things for this State. I didn't vote for her in 2006, even though I was happy she won the primary, it was mostly because I just really, really didn't like Murkowski at all.

I posted this same shot of her back when I originally took this in August of 2006.

I was thinking about that shot on the drive home from work today as I listened to story after story about this situation. Figured I'd check it when I got home.

Yup. 7K+ hits, most all of them in the last six days or so.

Shocking! /sarcasm

All I really care about right now?

LEAVE HER KIDS (AND THEIR FRIENDS) ALONE.

Do I see the delicious irony in the fact that her daughter is pregnant and she advocates for abstinence only as a basis for sexual education? Well, duh.

Regardless of her mother's political policies/ideology, she's still entitled to be a child (and/or young adult). I can't repeat some of the horrid things I have read just tossed about about this seventeen year old and her boyfriend. Whom, I must admit from his myspace page, seems like a complete tool, but you know what? HE'S A KID TOO. We were all freaking tools as teenage boys. (Go on. Lie to yourself. We were.) Some of us made stupid mistakes. This guy makes one and his GF's mom gets picked for a Veep ticket and now he won't be able go to the local store or answer his freaking phone and has HIS every action and statement "vetted" and magnified? WTF?!?

I feel that somewhere between the mid to late 80's and today, the world just up and forgot that we are all human. We all have feelings and are all trying to make a life. Now everything and everyone seems to be fair game for everything.

LET ME BE CLEAR: I don't have a whole lot of sympathy for Sarah right now. She's in her 40's and a public figure. She's old enough and smart enough to know what awaited her once she accepted that nomination. Let the chips fall where they may for her. But her kids shouldn't be part of that reality. Every politician and public figure's kids shouldn't be. Sue me. It's what I believe.

And don't give me the "I'm being naive", or "it's Sarah's fault for dragging her kids through this" crap either. Use that for an excuse and we should all just go back to being knuckledraggers and be thrilled with the occasional fire. It's news worthy because people condone the salaciousness of the reporting. Because there are reporters who feel the need to get "in depth" with this sh!t.

She's human. Her daughter's human. Her daughter's boyfriend is human. If anything, this makes her a real human being with real problems just like the rest of our country deals with on a daily basis.

God forbid we ever have one of *those* in an office that matters. *gasp!*

PS: That last statement (well, this whole post, really) is not an endorsement of the McCain/Palin ticket. I am, and have always been, an UNDECLARED voter. That should not equate as apathy, for I do vote. Every single opportunity I have to. It's just that I am as disenchanted with our society (and its political processes) as I have ever been right now and this lack of reason and candor in all of this stuff, both liberal and conservative, well, it's just not helping me one iota.

PPS: God Bless The Internet. : )

EDIT 04 Sep 08:

If you'd like, you can read the full comment below. Thanks.

This photo needs to be viewed on anything other than Chrome or Internet Explorer (I am being a massive hypocrite and typing this on Chrome...) to see the colours POP! (Although even then, they're nothing like the original photo, silly Flickr).

Straight out of camera besides crop.

I doubt anyone would, but would anyone be interested in buying prints?