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IF
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you
But make allowance for their doubting too,
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream–and not make dreams your master,
If you can think–and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ‘em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: “Hold on!”
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings–nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much,
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And–which is more–you’ll be a Man, my son!
Rudyard Kipling
please check out large | original | My top 100
Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare sieze the fire?
And what shoulder, & what art.
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? & what dread feet?
What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?
When the stars threw down their spears,
And watered heaven with their tears,
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?
Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
William Blake - 1794
Visto en Praga / Seen i Prague:
www.marionettes-rici.com/es/sale/
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de/from Wikipedia:
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es.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marioneta
Marioneta
Definición: Figurilla hecha de diversos materiales (madera, pasta, trapo, metal, plástico, etc.) que manipulada gracias a un conjunto de hilos o cuerdas cobra movimiento. Está considerada por los profesionales, estudiosos y artesanos del ramo, el títere más difícil de manipular y con una de las técnicas más antiguas, teniendo su origen en la marioneta de barra y a pesar de que "como muñeco totalmente movido por hilos sólo aparece a partir del siglo XVIII".
Historia
Grecia, Roma y Edad Media
Grabado del siglo XII del Códice Hortus Deliciarum (ca. 1150) de Herrad von Landsberg.
La técnica de muñecos manipulados con hilos era común entre los griegos, que llamaban a esas figuritas neurospasta, palabra que viene a significar "objeto puesto en movimiento por hilos", expresando así su naturaleza. Aristóteles habla de ellos cuando dice que si "aquellos que hacen mover figuritas de madera tiran el hilo que corresponde a éste o al otro de sus miembros, éste obedece al momento, y se ve así cómo mueven la cabeza, los ojos, las manos, de modo que parece una persona viva". También, ya en la cultura romana, habla de ellos Horacio.
La presencia de muñecos movidos con cuerdas en algunos primitivos grabados europeos sugiere cierta posibilidad de transición entre las máscaras de las farsas atelanas de los romanos y la marioneta medieval. El erudito titiritero cubano Freddy Artiles menciona como uno de los más antiguos, un grabado del siglo XII del Códice Hortus Deliciarum (ca. 1150) del abate Herrad von Landsberg, en el que aparecen dos jóvenes jugando con marionetas de hilos simulando guerreros que pelean sobre una mesa en una justa imaginaria (una puesta en escena gráfica de la técnica de los bavastels). También menciona Artiles otro grabado que muestra el taller de un titiritero fabricando los muñecos y concluye que aquellas figurillas con el cuerpo entero y articulaciones sencillas podían considerarse herederas de las marionetas romanas.
Títeres
Los artistas que construían y manejaban los muñecos recibieron en España el nombre de titereros (así se lee en El Quijote) o titiriteros. Como otros cómicos de la legua actuaban por lo general al aire libre, en corrales, o en los interiores de los mesones. En el Siglo de Oro español la palabra titiritero amplió su campo semántico y empezó a aludir no solo a los artistas de marionetas sino también a los saltimbanquis, acróbatas, prestidigitadores y volatineros. Ello produjo una serie de connotaciones negativas para el término "titiritero" que quedó asociado a aquellos que viven en los caminos y viven de sus diversas artes en el mundo de la farándula. También se les confundía o asimilaba en muchos casos con el charlatán. La figura del charlatán del siglo XVIII es un falso médico, con remedios falsos que lo curan todo. Encandilaban con su charla a los espectadores, tanto en espacios abiertos como en los salones donde eran invitados; estas personas tenían a gala el desprecio de los conocimientos antiguos y aseguraban que los suyos, más modernos, eran los que tenían valor. Eran profesionales de la palabra y con ella embaucaban y deslumbraban a su público. Hasta tal punto se apoderaron de la palabra títere que con ellos surgió la titeretería, el arte o la ciencia de los charlatanes.
Cervantes se refiere a esta forma teatral en dos ocasiones: en El retablo de las maravillas, entremés de 1615, y en los capítulos XXV y XXVI de la segunda parte de Don Quijote de la Mancha, publicada aquel mismo año.
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en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marionette
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Marionette / Puppets
A marionette is a puppet controlled from above using wires or strings depending on regional variations. A marionette's puppeteer is called a marionettist. Marionettes are operated with the puppeteer hidden or revealed to an audience by using a vertical or horizontal control bar in different forms of theatres or entertainment venues. They have also been used in films and on television. The attachment of the strings varies according to its character or purpose.
History
Ancient times
Ancient Greek terracotta puppet dolls, 5th–4th century BC, National Archaeological Museum, Athens
Main article: Puppetry
Puppetry is an ancient form of performance. Some historians[who?] claim that they predate actors in theatre.[citation needed] There is evidence that they were used in Egypt as early as 2000 BC when string-operated figures of wood were manipulated to act kneading bread and other string-controlled objects. Wire-controlled, articulated puppets made of clay and ivory have been found in Egyptian tombs. Marionette puppetry was used to display rituals and ceremonies using these string-operated figurines back in ancient times and is still used today.
Puppetry was practiced in Ancient Greece and the oldest written records of puppetry can be found in the works of Herodotus and Xenophon, dating from the 5th century BC. The Greek word translated as "puppet" is "νευρόσπαστος" (nevróspastos), which literally means "drawn by strings, string-pulling", from "νεῦρον" (nevron), meaning either "sinew, tendon, muscle, string", or "wire", and "σπάω" (spáō), meaning "draw, pull".
Aristotle (384–322 BC) discusses puppets in his work On the Motion of Animals:
The movements of animals may be compared with those of automatic puppets, which are set going on the occasion of a tiny movement; the levers are released and strike the twisted strings against one another.
Archimedes is known to have worked with marionettes.[citation needed] Plato's work also contains references to puppetry. The Iliad and the Odyssey were presented using puppetry. The roots of European puppetry probably extend back to the Greek plays with puppets played to the "common people" in the 5th century BC. By the 3rd century BC these plays would appear in the Theatre of Dionysus at the Acropolis.
In ancient Greece and Rome clay and ivory dolls, dated from around 500 BC, were found in children's tombs. These dolls had articulated arms and legs, some of which had an iron rod extending up from the tops of their heads. This rod was used to manipulate the doll from above, exactly as is done today in Sicilian puppetry. A few of these dolls had strings in place of the rods. Some researchers believe these ancient figures were mere toys and not puppets due to their small size.
The Indian word sutradhara, from sutra, refers to the show-manager of theatrical performances (or a puppet-player), and also means literally "string-puller" or "string-holder".
...
luciebluebird.com/2016/09/11/carnal-innocence/
Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare sieze the fire?
And what shoulder, & what art.
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? & what dread feet?
What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?
When the stars threw down their spears,
And watered heaven with their tears,
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?
Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
~William Blake
The area around the geothermal baths of Iceland is covered with hundreds of acres of the hardcore sinew of the planet. It's black, pockmarked, fresh and raw earth. This is the part of the mid-atlantic rift that happens to be above ground and these spontaneous geothermal pools appear in the wild. As I approached the blue lagoon, I found this glistening powder blue pond (no color added -- promise!) with the steam of other vents in the distance.
See it Large on the blog at stuckincustoms.com/2008/05/15/approaching-the-blue-lagoon/
Times square NYC
-
Olympus E-M5 camera
Olympus 45/1.8 lens
Nik (Dfine2, pre-sharpen)
Intensify Pro
Topaz Impression
Two ferocious predators. Ever alert, ready to seize upon any opportunity. Every sinew seems to exude an almost tangible sense of raw, untamed power, elegance...and ruthlessness.
Yup
These sleek and racy, lean but muscular hounds work dusk to dawn in pursuit of the wily raccoon. The sight of the American English Coonhound tearing through the moonlit woods, all sinew and determination, bawling their lusty night music, is coon-hunter heaven.
Let me accompany this with a poem:
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too:
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;
If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim,
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same:.
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build'em up with worn-out tools;
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings,
And never breathe a word about your loss:
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much:
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son! - Rudyard Kipling, IF
It's one of my favorites and something that I'm hoping to eternalize with me.
_______________________
With this week's theme, I try to associate each color with something and hope you were able to see my intention. Not just matching the color of the clothes, but to show what each color evokes for me, and maybe to you as well.
Tight hugs xx
p.s. hand veins are soooo sexy. 😏
I’ve always been a fan of the works of Robert E Howard. I have the pleasure of being in a roleplay group who meet on Thursdays. We have just started playing Conan,
Leandro the Grim. A Zingaran pirate, flung far from his homeland. He has fled as a fugitive of justice. Attacked in a bar brawl he killed a noblemans son in self defence, a short tenure as a crewman on a pirate sloop ended with no small degree of treachery. He now works as an enforcer for the Merchant Kobad Hak’mani. Expect no mercy from his savage cutlass, The only thing dirtier than his fighting is his salty seadog mouth.
Melina - Is a refugee from the ongoing civil war in Stygia. When her masters house was being ransacked she took her opportunity and fled across the border to Shem. Utilising her skills as a vicious assassin she has been recruited into the black hand. The garrotte is her weapon of choice, it’s cruel embrace like the warm handshake of an old friend to her. Her Master has not forgotten her betrayal and may yet seek some sort of painful recompense.
Kobad Hak’mani, fabled merchant and raconteur. His psychological strong arm tactics brow beat opponents into submission. .His naturally charming demeanor belies his true nature, that of a calculated monster. He carries an amulet passed down through generations, he does not know what purpose it serves but it can never be lost and it’s destiny is his own whether he cares for it or not.
Skull the Barabrian is a Gunderman hailing from the North. He wears a terrible death mask made of bone and sinew to hide his grief. He has spent the last 5 years pursuing his wife's' murderers across the globe. He will not rest until his sword oath keeper is sated. Such is his anguish his mental faculties seem to have been diminished, supplanted with primal rage. His martial prowess increases with every day that passes, but his grip on reality is slipping.
Hypatia is an Archer of no little renown.. The last remaining member of the famed Bossonian mercenary unit “The volley”. She is on a seemingly impossible task to piece together what happened that fateful day on the blood soaked desert plains of Nascula.
Inside my skin there is this space
It twists and turns
It bleeds and aches
Inside my heart there's an empty room
It's waiting for lightning
It's waiting for you
And I am wanting
And I am needing you here
Inside the absence of fear
Muscle and sinew
Velvet and stone
This vessel is haunted
It creaks and moans
My bones call to you
In their separate skin
I make myself translucent
To let you in, for
I am wanting
And I am needing of you here
Inside the absence of fear
there is this hunger
This restlessness inside of me
and it knows that you're no stranger
you're my gravity
My hands will adore you through all darkness aim
They will lay you out in moonlight
And reinvent your name
For I am wanting you
And I am needing you here
I need you near
Inside the absence of fear
Jewel - Absence of fear
This is just not my day, or maybe week, who knows. I promissed myself yesterday, before falling asleep to stay in bed today as long as I could. So I did, till 14:30. Then I jumped out to clean the house. But getting dressed was already too much to ask. So I didn't do anything except waiting for the postman. I had a text message yesterday that my order had been send. But I thought it was a mistake 'cause I hadn't ordered anything. So I asked Emiel, what it was about, and he said that it was a mistake. He bought me a birthday present, but didn't checked the phonenumber and because I ordered something from that website before my phone number was still in their system. But the postman was really late. And I really needed to get out of the house. Emiel was working late. Just when I decided to go, at 21:00, the doorbell ring. Postman, with present. I placed it on the table and had a really long walk with Benthe. I found a really nice, for me, new trail. And it was so nice to just walk and watch Benthe having the time of her life :) Fresh air, birds singing, no people...
I pointed out a heron to Benthe. And we were watching it several minutes. Benthe just sat still and just watched. I made a film of it with my mobile phone, but the card crashed so I don't have it anymore. When Emiel got home at 22:15 he said: Happy birthday sweety, and gave me the present. My birthday is next week (20th of may), I don't like my birthday. So it's an early birthday present from him and his mother :) it totally made my day, 'cause it's the lens I've wanted for such a long time!!! I'm totally loving it!! I took this photo with it.
Recreation of an early Greek siege engine known as an Oxybeles. The bow arms were made of a horn and sinew mix that provided the required flexing action.
The wind, a ruthless artisan, carved its will through stone and ice, driving clouds into spectral ribbons that unraveled across an indifferent sky. Before me sprawled the boundless frost of Paso Marconi, a brittle expanse where time lay trapped beneath a crust of ancient cold. The glacier spread out — a colossus caught mid-shudder — its frozen sinews crisscrossed with fissures, each groove a testament to forgotten epochs.
Above, the mountains surged skyward with the audacity of gods. Mount Fitz Roy’s spire pierced the heavens, a blade of raw granite held aloft, its surface flaring under the sun’s gaze. Light danced along its stark ridges, casting fleeting patterns of silver and ash. To the right, Cerro Torre loomed behind its shifting veil of cloud — a phantom fortress, its silhouette half-consumed by vapor, as if the sky were swallowing its secrets.
Here, in this realm of relentless winds and spectral silence, the earth spoke in absolutes: cold that stripped the marrow, beauty that seared the eye, isolation so profound it unstitched the fabric of self. Pockets of turquoise meltwater, trapped in the gray labyrinth of stone, shimmered like stolen fragments of sky — delicate, ephemeral. Their fragile stillness mocked the violence of the surrounding terrain.
Under the vast canopy of shifting clouds and looming peaks, I felt reduced and expanded in the same breath — a particle in an endless void, yet strangely limitless. The immensity of this place unmoored me, tearing away the constructs of flesh, time, and purpose. The wind’s keening whisper carried the syntax of another world, ancient and untranslatable, threading through ice and rock like a secret long forgotten.
In that breath of cold, I glimpsed the world's true nature — a silent, merciless grandeur that defied interpretation. No warmth, no solace, only the stark, unfiltered truth of existence laid bare. Here, on the trembling brink of the world, I found beauty untamed, a force that didn’t ask for understanding, only a raw and reverent witness.
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To explore more evocative landscapes and poetic reflections like these, visit the artist and writer's website — a journey awaits you through images and words that unveil the raw beauty of the world:
Island of Madagascar
Off The East Coast of Africa
Palmarium Reserve
The male chameleon is more colorful than the male and has a bump on the nose. The males can come in a variety of colors.
Wikipedia-
The panther chameleon (Furcifer pardalis) is a species of chameleon found in the eastern and northern parts of Madagascar in a tropical forest biome.
Panther chameleons are zygodactylous: on each foot, the five toes are fused into a group of two and a group of three, giving the foot a tongs-like appearance. These specialized feet allow the panther chameleon a tight grip on narrow branches.
Their eyes are the most distinctive among the reptiles and function like a gun turret. The upper and lower eyelids are joined, with only a pinhole large enough for the pupil to see through. They can rotate and focus separately to observe two different objects simultaneously; their eyes move independently from each other. It in effect gives them a full 360-degree arc of vision around their bodies.
Panther chameleons have very long tongues which they are capable of rapidly extending out of the mouth. The tongue extends at around 26 body lengths per second. The tongue hits the prey in about 0.0030 sec. The tongue of the chameleon is a complex arrangement of bone, muscle and sinew. At the base of the tongue, a bone is shot forward, giving the tongue the initial momentum it needs to reach the prey quickly. At the tip of this elastic tongue, a muscular, club-like structure covered in thick mucus forms a suction cup. Once the tip sticks to a prey item, it is drawn quickly back into the mouth, where the panther chameleon's strong jaws crush it and it is consumed.
'' High up on tiptoe every sinew straining to give the maximum volume to his last crow of the day "
Thank you most kindly for stopping by to view my work.
If you find you have a few words to say about what I have done they will much appreciated.
My best regards to you.... Martin
And how it came to meet your leg
And how the muscle bone and sinews tangled
And how the skin was softly shed
Credits:
Head: {LORE} Cernunnos Crown
Hair: Navy&Copper - Mango
Body: Caboodle - Warm Fur Stole - Blue - Maitreya @TheEpiphany
Body: imbue. crystal drop bodychain @PocketGacha
Outfit: Milk Tea: Song @AnyBody
Hands: Amala - The Atara Stacking Rings
Decor:
A.V. Fountain Octagonal
Kalopsia - Flying leaves
{anc} nebra beads
Navy&Copper: maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Statue/112/143/26
AnyBody: maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Elmira/143/136/27
The Epiphany maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/The%20Epiphany/128/128/2
those fangs are about 3.5 inches - no wonder they can do so much damage
i was about 6 feet away during this capture
William Blake. 1757–1827
The Tiger
TIGER, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?
And what shoulder and what art
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand and what dread feet?
What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? What dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?
When the stars threw down their spears,
And water'd heaven with their tears,
Did He smile His work to see?
Did He who made the lamb make thee?
Tiger, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
Andy Scott's magnificent Kelpies. These steel equine sculptures tower over the Forth & Clyde canal between Falkirk & Grangemouth in Scotland.
They may be steel representations of Heavy Horses but they are alive as you watch them. You can follow muscle and sinew up their necks, sense the strength and pwer of these magnificent animals.
A beast of burden it is not.
No yoke adorns its crown.
Majestic, and stoic of stature;
master of the open ground.
Lungs heave as bellows,
sending snorts of pleasure and pain
from the massive bearded head
on a thickly carpeted mane.
Forelegs draped with sinews,
to push or pull or run,
carrying the mighty torso
over plains from sun to sun.
Such nobles led great herds,
of millions were their number;
meant to last for time to come,
but not immune to plunder.
For what was ripe in beauty
and lordly in its bearing,
became not a source of food,
but rich robes for the wearing.
Quickly herds were slaughtered.
The meat rotted in the sun.
Few beasts were left remaining
when all was said and done.
What is left is the legacy
of the beast, strong and proud;
for it survived the fashion
and truth now is its shroud.
Gerard A. Geiger April 2, 1986
Monday for me, argghhh!!! but only one week til my holidays ;) Now didn't that come around quick ;) Happy days my dears ;)Car
Today's Carsounds -
Plywood burning bright.
Processed in Affinity Photo
The Tyger by William Blake
Tyger Tyger, burning bright,
In the forests of the night;
What immortal hand or eye,
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies,
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand, dare seize the fire?
And what shoulder, & what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? & what dread feet?
What the hammer? what the chain,
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp,
Dare its deadly terrors clasp!
When the stars threw down their spears
And water'd heaven with their tears:
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?
Tyger Tyger burning bright,
In the forests of the night:
What immortal hand or eye,
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
The face of 2020 will haunt us for a long time to come. We were true to these times of fear and courage, despair and hope, helplessness and help. But above all it has been a time when we had nothing to prove but fidelity to the spirit of holding on. Kipling could not have been more proud.
“If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’
As the priority of privileges goes, she and her family may be a long way from getting immunised. But then may be as nature’s priorities go, they may develop herd immunity sooner than science comes to their rescue.
I have seen several such faces, some of them I have shared on Flickr. I am thankful to you for showing support, encouragement and hope.
I have received heart warming responses to my rather scattered gallery of nature and birds and streets.
Fabulous work from Francesc Candel, www.flickr.com/photos/141453264@N07/, Pascal Reiemann, www.flickr.com/photos/95566715@N08/, Nancy Charlton , www.flickr.com/photos/32927502@N07/, has kept me inspired. If it was not for the generosity and kindness of @Leon Van Kemenade, @Jeanne @Paul Gallagher @RavenXXIII @Jean-Marc Depreux Raven, @Laszlo Bacs @James R. Page, @ Eduardo Vales, @robert moushi I would have been but a dull photographer. Your own work is so wonderful, I have learnt many a line and light from you.
With hope in my heart and a little mist in my eyes, my heart-felt thanks to all of you my dear Flickr friends for showing me how to hold on!
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!
~ Rudyard Kipling~
Some of you say, “It is the north wind
who has woven the clothes we wear.”
And I say, Ay, it was the north wind,
But shame was his loom, and the soften-
ing of the sinews was his thread.
And when his work was done he laughed
in the forest.
Forget not that modesty is for a shield
against the eye of the unclean.
And when the unclean shall be no more,
what were modesty but a fetter and a fouling
of the mind?
And forget not that the earth delights to
feel your bare feet and the winds long to
play with your hair.
—Kahlil Gibran
By all accounts it was a choppy old morning on the third of March. As a south westerly gale drove sleet and snow across an angry Bristol Channel, the crew of the SS Nornen, a Norwegian barque, fought with every sinew to keep her afloat, but gradually she was being dragged along the water towards a sorry end upon the muddy sandbanks of Berrow’s seafront. A clearing through the fog was enough for the stricken ship, whose sails were by now little more than shreds, to be spotted from the shore, and the stout hearted men of the Burnham lifeboat set a course through the furious waters in the hopes of saving the occupants of the stricken ship. As the SS Nornen was on the verge of being driven aground, the lifeboat crew managed to come alongside her and rescue the entire crew of ten, plus the ship’s dog into the bargain. On the way back to the safety of Burnham on Sea they passed a trio of top hat wearing togs wearing oilskin trench coats, furiously pumping their bellows and disappearing under black sheets armed with fistfuls of big silvery plates to focus their box brownies on the lighthouse. Or whatever model of camera was in vogue in 1897. Later the weary Norwegians were treated to a slap up fish and chip dinner and a couple of pitchers of spiced rum at the local Wetherspoon’s, where they reflected upon their luck at having been rescued by such a brave band of heroes as were those men of the Burnham lifeboat.
The SS Nornen was slightly less fortunate than her crew, left floundering on the perilous sands of Berrow beach; later sold for salvage. All that remains one hundred and twenty-five years later is the skeleton of that once proud ship, seemingly destined to rest forever on the treacherous coast where the tides race in and out across broad stretches of sand at a frightening speed. It’s not a place you want to hang around for long when the water is rising. The local advice is very firm – stay away from the mud if you want to complete your visit with a return journey. Otherwise, you might just end up being a curiosity for a trowel wielding archaeologist in the year 3000. We were here in February, just a couple of days before another late winter storm going by the seemingly peaceable name Eunice was due to cause carnage across the land. Dave, Lee and I (and I thank the gods my name isn’t Travis) had arrived in North Somerset after a leisurely drive up from Cornwall via an impromptu foray among the shelves of a well stocked Aldi at the edge of town, and checked into our digs, a compact yet well situated garage conversion behind the dunes. We wasted no time as we made straight for the beach after dumping our cases unceremoniously in the living room and dragging out our tripods and camera bags. With little more than an hour of daylight to go we didn’t have any time to linger over cups of tea or a sneaky early holiday beer. We were on a mission. Not as dangerous as the one undertaken by that courageous Victorian lifeboat crew, but at least an adventure with a sense of purpose.
Although that purpose changed quite quickly after cresting the dunes down onto the beach. You see we’d intended to make for the lighthouse, a five minute stroll to the left. But Dave had been looking rather more closely at the map than Lee or I had, and was already striding off to the right, muttering something about groynes and a shipwreck. We shrugged and went with the flow; but what none of us were quite certain of, was exactly how much flow there would be to go with. Seemingly forever, we marched in a north-easterly direction along the unchanging landscape of the long strip of beach, ever scanning the shoreline for signs of our bounty, passing and being passed by a succession of dog walkers and joggers as we went. Was that shipwreck really here? Why couldn’t we see the groynes yet?
We saw the latter first; two distant rows of little dark studs leading from the dunes right down to the water’s edge across the sand, separated by two hundred yards or more of empty sand. We knew that the wreck was somewhere before them, and with the tide on the way in we had no idea whether or not we’d be too late. The groynes in themselves had much promise as a subject but they could be photographed wherever the tide happened to be, while the opportunity to shoot the bones of the SS Nornen might be missed if it turned out that we’d lingered too long over our beer selections an hour earlier. Their new range of craft ales makes it much more difficult to choose you know.
And then we spotted the carcass, a criss-cross collection of still connected planks wallowing in the shallows, while spiky little crests of white water raced in along the fast rising tide. There was just about time to grab a handful of unprepared shots before she was gone below the muddy grey and brown waters for another night. With another big storm not far away the sea was far more strident than I’d ever seen it in this part of the world. Not like the enormous winter tempests at home in Cornwall of course, but there was enough going on to remind the visitor just how tricky the currents are around here. For a moment I imagined what it must have been like on that fateful day one hundred and twenty-five years earlier. Visions of a big swell coursing across that flat expanse of sand and mud and a broken ship careering helplessly out of control on a surge of filthy brown foam. Those sailors must have been terrified for their lives, even though they were so close to the shore. It wasn’t long before the incoming waves were surrounding my wellies and chasing yards along the beach beyond me. Time to move on and take photographs of groynes with what remained of the light, before making the two mile hike back across the sand by torchlight.
Sometimes there’s no chance to plan at all. You just have to arrive prepared for immediate action and at least have half an idea what you’re hoping to go away with. Not so easy in a place you’ve never visited before. At least that long walk gave me time to think. What struck me immediately was the way the water moved, almost as if from right to left and back again, creating a zigzag of textures in a greyish blue landscape that looked a little like a chaotic parquet floor, interrupted only by the uppermost sections of what remains of the SS Nornen poking up through the surface like a row of jagged teeth. Had we arrived ten minutes later, the teeth would have been underwater, so it was a good job we were less fussy about the wine we’d chosen for dinner. Hmm dinner – hungry now. Fish and chips anyone?
1.YOKAI - Kawaii Floats -Unicorn RARE
Atoxy // Maro Bikini Reborn
Cake Inc.: Glitch Bandaid
GENUS MORPH - Ears Vampire
GENUS MORPHtoon - EyeMorph Almond
GENUS MORPHtoon - Head Base Triangle
GENUS MORPHtoon - LipMorph Sweet Pierced
NSFWZHENYA - Venus Heels (Reborn)
Sadge Stuck On You - Reborn
Usagi Society - Zoe Hair
Void - Elf Ear Deformers (Size 0) Down +
id - Mirage Lashes - Toon Almond W
[Kottr] Sinew Tail
These sleek and racy, lean but muscular hounds work dusk to dawn in pursuit of the wily raccoon. The sight of the American English Coonhound tearing through the moonlit woods, all sinew and determination, bawling their lusty night music, is coon-hunter heaven.
Ogres are the unstoppable juggernauts of fantasy warfare. Other creatures, like giants, are bigger, but ogres can field military forces in abundance. One ogre can rush a platoon of warriors and crash into them, his massive club scattering them like debris, looking like an obscene porcupine from the multitude of arrows that managed to pierce his skin but could not make their way much further into his iron sinews. So, then, 20 ogres? 50? 100?
There is nothing clever about ogres, no special areas of expertise, no advanced battlefield tactics. Possibly the purest of combat forces, ogres simply rush their enemies en masse with their feared and infamous bellows of rage and macabre excitement.
The ogre's musculature is so dense that swords and arrows tend to make only slight cuts, and bludgeoning weapons bounce off them.
Simply, no assembled group of combatants, whether they be warriors or wizards, can halt an ogre rush. Very thick stone walls or natural barriers such as a river, since only the rare ogre can swim, are the only way to stop their advance.
The ogres have ranks among themselves with chieftains and, as seen here, tribal brutes. But this is not important as little to no leadership is needed to guide ogres to doing what they do so well: laying waste to other creatures by the score. For this reason, though they fight exclusively in the forces of evil, their allied forces make sure to steer clear of them in combat.
Ogres also dislike orcs, trolls, and ettins so much that it is not uncommon to see them turn from attacking enemies to rush to destroy their "allies".
Powerfully destructive and exceptionally hard to kill, no one is safe on the battlefield with these beasts.
👾 Happy 🏰 Heroclix 🏯 Friday! 🐉
__________________________
A year of the shows and performers of the Bijou Planks Theater.
Woman knitting Mercado Central de San Pedro, Cuzco, Peru
Job 10:11
clothe me with skin and flesh and knit me together with bones and sinews?
Children's Activities
Children are the pride & joy of Iñupiaq, Yup'ik & Siberain Yupik Families.
The Wealth of Spring & Summer
Center: Sled Model
Gift of Austin Simonds, Dwight Simonds & Suzanne Simonds.
Kayak
Top: King Island, Ugiuvangmiut, Iñupiat.
Collected by Dr. D. S. Neuman.
Kayak
Bottom: Gambell, St. Lawrence Island,
Sivuqagmi.
Jigging for Fish
Jigging for Tomcod & Artic Cod through the ice is a favorite spring activity involving the whole family. The men cut holes in the ice, & elders & children jig the rod to attract the catch. Fishing supply a steady food source & are great family entertainment.
Fish Nets
Yup'ik use net of different sizes depending on the species of fish. They place the nets perpendicular to shoreline or near eddies. Traditionally, people needed weeks to prepare the amount of sinew of willow bark for even a small net. Today, the make similar nets of nylon & plastic.
And death shall have no dominion.
Dead men naked they shall be one
With the man in the wind and the west moon;
When their bones are picked clean and the clean bones gone,
They shall have stars at elbow and foot;
Though they go mad they shall be sane,
Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again;
Though lovers be lost love shall not;
And death shall have no dominion.
And death shall have no dominion.
Under the windings of the sea
They lying long shall not die windily;
Twisting on racks when sinews give way,
Strapped to a wheel, yet they shall not break;
Faith in their hands shall snap in two,
And the unicorn evils run them through;
Split all ends up they shan't crack;
And death shall have no dominion.
And death shall have no dominion.
No more may gulls cry at their ears
Or waves break loud on the seashores;
Where blew a flower may a flower no more
Lift its head to the blows of the rain;
Though they be mad and dead as nails,
Heads of the characters hammer through daisies;
Break in the sun till the sun breaks down,
And death shall have no dominion.
The "Solaris Poem" by Dylan Thomas
The moment the defender knows he has lost and the striker know knows he is through. I don't mind being injured sometimes as photographing the game is almost as good as playing lol.
Island of Madagascar
Off The East Coast of Africa
Palmarium Reserve
Best Seen In Lightbox-
www.flickr.com/photos/42964440@N08/38599404045/in/photost...
The male chameleon is more colorful than the male and has a bump on the nose. The males can come in a variety of colors.
Wikipedia-
The panther chameleon (Furcifer pardalis) is a species of chameleon found in the eastern and northern parts of Madagascar in a tropical forest biome.
Panther chameleons are zygodactylous: on each foot, the five toes are fused into a group of two and a group of three, giving the foot a tongs-like appearance. These specialized feet allow the panther chameleon a tight grip on narrow branches.
Their eyes are the most distinctive among the reptiles and function like a gun turret. The upper and lower eyelids are joined, with only a pinhole large enough for the pupil to see through. They can rotate and focus separately to observe two different objects simultaneously; their eyes move independently from each other. It in effect gives them a full 360-degree arc of vision around their bodies.
Panther chameleons have very long tongues which they are capable of rapidly extending out of the mouth. The tongue extends at around 26 body lengths per second. The tongue hits the prey in about 0.0030 sec. The tongue of the chameleon is a complex arrangement of bone, muscle and sinew. At the base of the tongue, a bone is shot forward, giving the tongue the initial momentum it needs to reach the prey quickly. At the tip of this elastic tongue, a muscular, club-like structure covered in thick mucus forms a suction cup. Once the tip sticks to a prey item, it is drawn quickly back into the mouth, where the panther chameleon's strong jaws crush it and it is consumed.
Howl at the coming night,
Your hot breath
Flaring up across the fading light.
Raging in isolation,
Sinews taut
Against the evening's cold deprivation.
- a fragment
#BreakFreeWithOlympus, #buffalo, #fire, #firebreather, #firedancers, #flow, #flowarts, #m43ftw, #night, #ny, #street, #streetphotography, #summer, #toned
#originalwork, #ccwelcome
500 lire Caravelle
old silver coin
engraver Guido Veroi
Christopher Columbus's ships, the Nina, Pinta and Santa Maria .
en.numista.com/catalogue/pieces2716.html
just price of it: $20
Money
“To Christians, the love of it is the root of all evil. To generals, it is the sinews of war; to revolutionaries, the shackles of labour. “© Niall Ferguson, 2008
1492
12 октября 1492 года, экспедиция Христофора Колумба достигла острова Сан-Сальвадор в Багамском архипелаге.
ricorrenza celebrata in molti paesi delle Americhe per commemorare il giorno dell'arrivo di Cristoforo Colombo nel Nuovo Mondo, il 12 ottobre 1492
Seinfeld:
youtu.be/-PHf7FUGG74?si=6I3RyTUbAvZERPZx
israël geld
Женя:
« хотели как лучше, а получилось как всегда » 🇷🇺 2013
ik snap het.
www.valuewalk.com/everything-you-need-to-know-about-buyin...d
История с географией:
youtube.com/watch?v=8ENPlg8VR9g&si=EnSIkaIECMiOmarE
Dalio:
youtube.com/watch?v=bT5xz6ugYM0&si=EnSIkaIECMiOmarE.
Латвийский мир
youtube.com/watch?v=uhmwEZmGzao&si=EnSIkaIECMiOmarEo
share of the individual appropriation
Yanis Varoufakis | Escaped Sapiens #46
This is a section of a long path through the Forest known as Long Harry, near to the crossing of Walk. It is probably named after King Henry VIII, who was a frequent visitor to the Forest where he used to hunt while wooing the Forest Warden's daughter, Jane Seymour.
On the hilltop is a small Forestry Commission Camp Site – Postern Hill Campsite – together with a public car park and barbecue area. Four tracks head southwards through oak forest, the principal one being Long Harry. The track descends gradually, crossing White Road and Church Walk before veering east where it meets Grand Avenue just near the 'Surveyed Oak'. Tree cover is not dense and this route is lined with ancient oaks, including one named 'Saddle Oak' on account of its near-horizontal bough (which has splintered and fallen from the tree in 2023) as well as the 'Sinewed Oak' (or 'Long Harry Oak').
The colour along Long Harry was beautiful when I last walked it with my constant companion made more sublime with the bright skies. Having already taken images of some of the ancient oaks, it was only right to capture the beauty of the track, although I did have to wait for quite a while for the many visitors to clear before taking the image.
Yum!
---------
Headband: { Tomo/Dachi - Simple Maid Headband (25L$ on MP!)
marketplace.secondlife.com/p/TomoDachi-Simple-Maid-Headba...
Horns: { Tomo/Dachi - Chubby Horns (75L$ on MP!)
marketplace.secondlife.com/p/TomoDachi-Chubby-BOM-Horns/2...
Hair: [^.^Ayashi^.^] Toya hair
Bangs: bonbon - mavis bang (unrig) gift (GG - 99L$ to Join)
Eyes: YOSHI Ultaar Eyes - FatPack-04- BOM
Ears: BentBox Sylvan Ears
Teeth: KitCat - Toof Fangs
Tail: [Kottr] Sinew Tail (TRY THE DEMO ;D )
Choker: Buxom ~ Rotterdam Collar ~ Reborn (Free GG)
Necklace: : mercurial : rivet spike necklace : steel
Arm/Thigh Cuffs: {minuit} Kenyatta Set
Dress: [KRR] Anette's dress
Fishnets: ALT3 > Fishnet (Past Gift)
It was cold and black as pitch when i began my climb of Holme fell, stumbling over roots and feeling uneasy at the shapes that loomed in the dark.
It was stupid really as id fractured one ankle, and twisted the other in recent weeks. I could feel that the bones had not fully knitted together, i could feel further damage being done by the climb. In the dark i thought that i could hear the fresh tearing of sinews.
Truth be told, i didn't care. I was going nuts at having to 'stay in and rest up' and being told that i'm too old for all this mountain malarky.
My upward climb was frustratingly slow and the Sun overtook me.
As i stopped for breath, i turned to see that the sky behind had became flush with pinks and reds- it was quite glorious. However i was way out of position and annoyed that with my handicap.
By the time i summited the cloud had closed in, and i spent the next hour wrapped up, sheltering from a cutting wind and watching snow squalls converge over the Langdale valley. I spent some of that hour wondering wondering why i had left a warm bed.
A small patch of sunlight appeared on a nearby fell, it was fleeting, but all i needed for a renewed hope. Then another, and another.
By now i had decided on the very spot where i wanted the sun to fall- it was just a matter of willing... and reminding God that i'd been to church a lot this year.
This wasn't the shot i had in mind when i had left my warm bed that morning,... This was much better...
© All rights reserved. Use without permission is illegal!
And what shoulder, and what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? and what dread feet?
What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?
When the stars threw down their spears,
and watered heaven with their tears,
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the lamb make thee?
Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
William Blake
Very different than my usual, both the concept and the execution...but, you know, mind's immobility makes the spirit of art die. I titled this photo "The lamb" but I put Blake's "Tyger" as a description because the whole image is a contrast. It happens sometimes that the mild ones are the most dangerous.