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It is good to have a congenial relationship with your neighbours. This is my neighbour who lives directly behind me. She let us park our jeep in her yard when our driveway was being paved so we told her to come over and pick tomatoes. We had more than we could use and we wanted to make sure they didn't rot on the vine. She took some to the food bank and some green ones for her daughter to use. Stu will pull the plants soon as the few that are left green ripen up.
Enjoying our Yakitori in one of the little restaurants on Omoide-Yokocho aka Memory Lane aka Piss Alley in Shinjuku, Tokyo. This is essentially a Yakitori alley and I think better than the Ginza version. The perfect place for some yakitori, edamame and beer. Its supposed to be demolished soon so catch it while it lasts (although apparently they have been saying that for years).
Always Best when you Press "L" for LARGE | Facebook
Hanging out at Secaucus for a few hours meant I saw every kind of power that Amtrak, Metro-North, and NJ Transit use on lines that run through the station. The lower level had fewer angles to shoot from, so many of the photos were very similar.
Here we see one of Metro-North's F40PH-3C locomotives shoving it's train towards Hoboken.
F40PH-3C (EMD, 1975-1992)
Secaucus Junction station
Main Line - NJT
My mom has s daycare so I took this picture with the kids there... They had just woken up after their nap.. So I asked if anyone wanted to do something and they said pictures and there is the result....
Nanking cherries grow well in the cold winters of Saskatchewan. They make delicious jelly and syrup. Picking them is pretty easy, especially compared to almost all other fruits, and, as seen here, a good social occasion.
Squint, and you will find workers picking tea leafs at the Sungei Palas tea plantation, up in the mountain resort of Cameron Highlands, Malaysia.
There is nothing more quintessential than apple picking in New England in the fall. It seems to inspire people. Robert Front penned "After Apple Picking," perhaps after he went apple picking. It makes people fall in love. It ignites hunger, albeit for cider and caramel apples. It provides a tableau for artists of all kinds.
I loved the light here.
Have a great weekend.
I'm sorry i don't have much time lately to comment on your photos. I'm gonna try to catch up this weekend!
The 2nd track off the Affair album from Cherrelle is so amazing.
For a while I looked in my archive for a pic that matches the theme. Hope you enjoy my choice...
Listen to this song with me: Cherrelle
The original (by Poynter) is sitting in a cluttered kitchen, which I replaced with some ghostly flowers.
Another shot from one magical morning when a female sparrowhawk allowed me to get real close (less than 10 feet) to her and the catch!
AKA take your pick...
Flann O'Brien
Myles na gCopaleen
Myles na Gopaleen
Brother Barnabas
George Knowall
By any name, he remains most definitely, one of the great 'scientific' minds of his, or any, generation. He was, relentlessly and imaginatively (doggedly, even), the source of some great 'Irish Solutions' to troubling ideas in the field of Physics and Human Psychology.
“The gross and net result of it is that people who spent most of their natural lives riding iron bicycles over the rocky roadsteads of this parish get their personalities mixed up with the personalities of their bicycle as a result of the interchanging of the atoms of each of them and you would be surprised at the number of people in these parts who are nearly half people and half bicycles...when a man lets things go so far that he is more than half a bicycle, you will not see him so much because he spends a lot of his time leaning with one elbow on walls or standing propped by one foot at kerbstones.”
― Flann O'Brien, The Third Policeman
I think of this in terms of cross-infection, or cross-contamination, even.
It is impossible not to cross-contaminate, and I suspect this is true of science too. I am sure it must be a most important area of that particular field. It is like cat's hair, it just gets everywhere, this is just an irritating fact. Abuse is the same, it is a universal. The strange thing is that it is so fertile, or could be at the roots of fertility. I would call it 'charged', like a charged particle. There we are with that irritant again, that grain of sand, that pearl-former. Sand gets everywhere too. It 'abuses' the oyster. I guess the question is about harnessing after all. How do we harness abuse? It demands that we treat it with respect, like domesticating a wild animal. There is a certain perversity in doing this, especially when this 'animal' has mauled you. But then too, it was that very mauling that made you respect it in the first place. In other words, you know what you are dealing with, you know its power. The fact that it is integral to the weave, that it is all pervasive, makes it almost impossible to tell it apart from the 'rest'.
Flann O' Brien wrote wonderfully about this cross-infection in "The Third Policeman", where the cyclist becomes part bicycle, and the bicycle part human due to constant rubbing of man atoms and the ensuant co-mingling with bike atoms during cycling. I just exchanged atoms (and hair) with a rubbing purring cat. I am now more cat-like. I might add that I really do not like cats.
"while The Third Policeman has a fantastic plot of a murderous protagonist let loose on a strange world peopled by fat policemen, played against a satire of academic debate on an eccentric philosopher, and finds time to introduce the atomic theory of the bicycle."
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Flann_O'Brien
My interest is in universal equality, not species equality, or not even the equality of what we call the sentient, but absolute equality of everything. I think we might have to come up with a neologism that is the reverse/obverse of anthropomorphism, a word that describes projecting the infinite onto the human as opposed to the human onto the infinite. What if we tried to make the measure of what we are infinite, instead of trying to make infinity fit our measure. When we do the latter all we seem to generate is the hero and god. Why not approach it all from the opposite direction, possibly the direction of boundless imagining?
The main difference with infinity is that it is virtually inconceivable. It even encourages us to create god to describe it.
I feel a personal need to generate and communicate more wonder.
This takes us close to a philosophy of art for art's sake, beauty for the sake of beauty itself. There is always the possibility of falling 'slack' or fetishizing so that it becomes an end in itself rather than a possible route to encourage more expansion. This would be the decline stage, the mortification of the idea (before it becomes something else).
I am not suggesting that nature and infinity are separate, I am trying to suggest the exact opposite. I am also with Michael Frayn and the notion that we create it. Not that we imaginatively create it, but it is as if infinity or the universe is the debris of us reaching outwards and changing form (and when I say 'us', I am not talking about the 'Human Animal' alone, I am talking of all that has ever 'lived', the sentient and what we have the efftontery to call the non-sentient), that all that, the known and unknown universe, is us, dissolved infinitely. As for the pruning, you also have to consider that there is no such thing as waste. It is a step at a time. When I get to this circular point, this tail-chasing, I know I have to find an image to open this up. This is one of my favourite tricks, this adding more stimulation. This can happen in other ways too: meetings, alcohol, drugs, sex, relationships, friendships, family, children, pets, whatever. The making of an image, the creation of literature, a book, the growing of a tomato plant, or whatever, just makes it all so much more tangible. I think this might be part and parcel of why other people stimulate us.
Mr Shakespeare, the one who didn't die recently of the Corona Virus, described equality in this fashion:
Hamlet: Not where he eats, but where he is eaten: a certain convocation of politic worms are e'en at him. Your worm is your only emperor for diet: we fat all creatures else to fat us, and we fat ourselves for maggots: your fat king and your lean beggar is but variable service, two dishes, but to one table: that's the end.
KING: Alas, alas!
Hamlet: A man may fish with the worm that hath eat of a king, and eat of the fish that hath fed of that worm.
King: What dost thou mean by this?
Hamlet: Nothing but to show you how a king may go a progress through the guts of a beggar.
The flowers your son picks for you - ripped off at the bloom, held in sweaty palms for a time then presented.
You take them, those flowers, slightly crushed with little chance of lasting long. You find a dish he approves of:
“The grey one? or the yellow one? OK. The grey one.”
You fill the dish with water. Float the flowers in it as they have no stems to stand on. This tattered gift, so much nicer than hot-housed and cellophane-wrapped florist flowers.
You say thanks, and you mean it. You kiss a flushed cheek.