i came across this in London as i was walking around in the back streets (as i often do) to find some Banksy work...

I couldn't believe it when i found it, this is NOT altered in anyway, i found these beautiful flowers thrown like this into a trash can...not only was i amazed at seeing them, but also, how many people would ever see something like this, wandering around you see these small things that can mean so much, you would never see this stuff as a tourist in London...

anyway, the more i think about it, i wonder how, when we go through difficult circumstances this is what we see as life

Corgo. Cervantes

Not exactly Shibuya Sentaa-gai. ;)

Processed with VSCOcam with p5 preset

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to "Some Lights Are Dark" by Red Car Wire

monday morn, off to work i go,

We were happy that it made it through the winter and the move and came back to life this spring.

via Instagram www.instagram.com/p/BqVw4mlhgzC/

As some of you may know I have a lot to do with dementia sufferers.

These blank albums immediately made me think of the horror of Alzheimers.

TKMaxx again.

So, despite the little christmas eve gift from fdflickrtoys, I cannot seem to get out of the rut of having exactly 5 photos in explore -- the SAME 5 that have been there for the last three months. Ever since they changed the algorithm it's been the tank of oblivion for me; hence, the plunger metaphor. Just me being grumpy. :)

I found this explanation and example of a metaphor and thought it cool.

There's a room full of Unicorn tapestries at the Cloisters, apparently as a metaphor for the punishment and ressurection of Christ

So I am reading a book titled 'The Time Traveller'

A short story based novel where the protagonist, set up as the antagonist in the story, tells of his invention. I suppose he circles the world faster than the world turns and can from that be either in the future or the past. He has a disbelief in his observations of the future.

He forgets his Kodak, barely has a writing utensil, a pack of matches about to run out. He finds himself at least 8 millennia in the future from ours. The inhabitants are dressed in well-to-do garments in all luxury behaving in a form that behoves they know nothing of labour. He's astonished at their graceful disposition towards him. His time machine beside him.

He wanders abound. He takes in light and ideas of their coming in his own imagination. He presupposes this is the golden age from their behaviour. Not a slight towards him, only a overwhelmingly strong hospitality towards this unknown guest. He thinks this is the future of people achieving enlightenment. Only after receiving nothing but admiration, and a hint of these people possess the mentality of four year olds does he begin to question. Where do these garments get manufactured? You exhibit no markings of people who labour.

He in his own naivety supposes nothing. This must still be the golden age. They are fearful of night, of even matches at night. He finds his time machine missing. He senses an underbelly of life at night. He sees a figure moving in shadow, he strikes a match, a copper enterprise belonging to where his time machine was.

In disparage, in fright, questions his humble hosts. They understand little of his language; he must learn theirs. They hide from the accusations, acting like they fear something beneath, he feels either lack of basic understanding or they fear something irrational. He supposes the golden age could bring about securities and a sanctity of life that disallows questions (and ability to).

If this is Utopia who am I to bring about my own fear?. Did I not fight humanity in my time and in that trajectory want something different? What is this anxiety I feel to get out? Am I this absurd?

I have not reached the climax of the book. I am about one chapter away. I can not say he is absurd or not, all I can say when this story was given birth it was after he reached his point of living eight days in one with a gin and tonic telling his story to disbelievers.

I sometimes feel like that. I have invented almost nothing... other than maybe myself?

"You laugh at me because I am different; I laugh because you are all the same."

~Daniel Knode

A metaphor is a device used by writers who sometimes say “this” is “that” in order to make things clearer.

Some metaphors:

Life is a journey;

My shed is a vehicle for thought;

My shed is a factory of light;

My shed is my retirement project;

My table is a my project manager.

Ricardo Cinalli ‘La metáfora del perturbante’, serie ‘Nocturnos’, ('The Disturbing Metaphor', series 'Nocturnos'), Museo Superior de Bellas Artes Evita, Palacio Ferreira / Evita Fine Arts Museum, Córdoba, Argentina

Waiting for the Monsoon

Title: - via Instagram: ift.tt/2qiIdZv Info: Follow a journey of adventurous metaphors; dive into the belly of self-love with unyielding trust and peace through the flow of Yoga, Meditation, Insight, Wellness, & Life. ift.tt/KhKH1x

Metaphors, acrylic and oil on canvas

Etna, Wyoming

Somehow this is a metaphor for my name, surname and the mood I am in at the same time

8 8 8 100

"Why Do I Keep Counting?" - The Killers

There's a plane and I am flying

There's a mountain waiting for me

Oh these years have been so trying

I don't know if I can use them

Am I strong enough

To be the one?

Will I live to have some children?

Help me get down,

I can make it,

Help me get down

Help me get down,

I can make it,

Help me get down

If I only knew the answer

I wouldn't be bothering you, father

Help me get down,

I can make it,

Help me get down

Help me get down

I can make it

Help me get down

If I only knew the answer

And If all our days are numbered

Then why do I keep counting

My sugar sweet is so attainable

This behaviour so unexplainable

The days just slip and slide

Like they always did

The trouble is my head

Won't let me forget

I took one last good look around

So many unusual sounds

I gotta get my feet on the ground

Help me get down,

I can make it (ohhhhh...)

Help me get down,

I can make it, help me get down

Help me get down

I can make it, help me get down

If I only knew the answer...

I wouldn't be bothering you, father,

Help me get down

I can make it, help me get down

Help me get down

I can make it, help me get down

If I only knew the answer...

And if all our days are numbered,

Would you help me get down? (I can make it, help me get down)

(Help me get down)

(I can make it, help me get down)

If I only knew the answer...

If I change my way of living

And If I pave my streets with good times

Will the mountain keep on giving

And if all of our days are numbered

Then why do I keep counting

I sure like noodles and milk....

*

"Sometimes an old photograph, an old friend, an old letter will remind you that you are not who you once were, for the person who dwelt among them, valued this, chose that, wrote thus, no longer exists. Without noticing it you have traversed a great distance; the strange has become familiar and the familiar if not strange at least awkward or uncomfortable, an outgrown garment. And some people travel far more than others. There are those who receive as birthright an adequate or at least unquestioned sense of self and those who set out to reinvent themselves, for survival or for satisfaction, and travel far. Some people inherit values and practices as a house they inhabit; some of us have to burn down that house, find our own ground, build from scratch, even as a psychological metamorphosis."

- Rebecca Solnit

A Field Guide to Getting Lost

*

"But what is the past? Could it be, the firmness of the past is just illusion? Could the past be a kaleidoscope, a pattern of images that shift with each disturbance of a sudden breeze, a laugh, a thought? And if the shift is everywhere, how would we know?"

- Alan Lightman

Einstein's Dreams

*

"While it's true you're haunted by your past, it's truer that you've traveled spectacularly far away from it. You swam across a wide and wild sea and you made it all the way to the other side. That it feels different here on this shore than you thought it would does not negate the enormity of the distance you traversed and the strength it took you to do it."

- Cheryl Strayed

*

I sure do love noodles

*

SPICY CHINESE NOODLES

•••

½ pound Chinese noodles, dried egg noodles, or spaghetti

Peanut oil

½-inch-long piece of fresh ginger

2 scallions

1 teaspoon sugar

2 tablespoons Chinese black bean paste with garlic

1 tablespoon Chinese bean paste with chili

½ pound ground pork

Sesame oil

Cook the noodles in boiling water until al dente (the time will vary with the type of noodle).

Drain, toss with a half tablespoon of peanut oil, and set aside.

Peel and mince the ginger (you should have about two tablespoons).

Chop the white parts and slice the green parts of the scallions.

Mix the sugar and the two kinds of hot bean paste, and set aside. Heat a wok until a drop of water skitters across the surface.

Add a tablespoon of peanut oil, toss in the ginger, and stir-fry for about half a minute, until the fragrance is hovering over the wok. Add the pork and white scallions and stir-fry until all traces of

pink have disappeared.

Add the bean sauce mixture and cook and stir for about 2 minutes. Stir in the green scallions and noodles and quickly toss.

Add a drop of sesame oil and turn into two small bowls.

This makes a perfect snack for two.

Save Me the Plums: My Gourmet Memoir

Ruth Reichl

*

Métaphore de circonstance

I've talked to a number of friends lately about the fact that I finally feel, healthwise, as though I can see the light at the end of the tunnel. I'd love to say that the picture on the bottom right depicts this for me the best, but it's more like the one in the bottom left-hand corner. I can see the light clearly, but I can't quite tell what's out there yet. (Large)

To me this is a metaphor for Bangladesh.

The urban development project in the far distance, the fishing boats and a view that cannot be explained.

Oh yes, film alright. Yashica FX-3 and ISO 200 film

Muir Woods.

Just about ran over this while out on my ride this morning. Today is my second day out riding the bike again. Wahoo! The 4 and a half months away have certainly cost me ... I'm really s-l-o-w ... But that's okay. I'm riding again and that's all that matters at the moment.

I thought the empty nest (albeit a little worse for wear having been sitting out in the middle of the road for at least a day) was an appropriate metaphor for my having recovered enough from the hernia surgery to get back out there and do a little flying of my own.

p.s., No, I don't carry my camera with me while out riding. After I got done with my ride I went back out and brought it home to photograph.

It's always so hard for me to let go of summer. A shell in my desk drawer working as a catch-all for paperclips and doo-dads makes me smile each day :)