View allAll Photos Tagged stutter
And I'm begging you,
Bring me back to life,
I just can't stand leaving you alone tonight.
It's too late to go,
Already taken me forever just to try, you know.
One for the money, two for the show,
Three to get ready, and four to go.
For the life of me,
I don't know why it took me so long to see.
Stutter, Stutter, Stutter,
Di-di-di-di-di-did I?
Stutter, Stutter, Stutter,
Di-di-di-di-di-di-did I?
Stutter, Stutter, Stutter,
Di-di-di-di-di-did I?
Stutter, Stutter, Stutter,
Di-di-di-di-di-di-did I?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Stutter - Marianas Trench
Hey people! :D
As you can see I got a new doll today! ^w^
My first Isul and oh my gosh! I'm totally in love with him! ♥♥♥ I did make some changes to him because the fact that you couldn't even tell that he had eyebrows bugged me, so I just customized him a bit (and will customize him more later on too).
His name is Kuran, Oliver, Pendragon and is the youngest child in the Estate family (Jamie, Mathew and their older sister).
He is my musician (his favourite instrument to play is the harp) and mysterious guy, and if you didn't get the hint from the song I chose for this picture, he does indeed have a stammer/stutter/speaking impediment. :3
I'll write up all his information soon, because I've been planning his character for a very long time. (Estrella should know we were both fangirling in our heads XD)
This photo also goes out to Shannon and Apollo! Thanks so much you two! GiGi and I really appreciated all the hard work that you put into making that time machine for all of us! *hugs*
Sorry about the cake (I actually did make some), Angry and my relatives ate it before I could use it for a picture. ^__^"
Hope you all had a fantastic start to the week everyone! :D
Thanks for reading! ^w^
Great Horned Owls are nocturnal. You may see them at dusk sitting on fence posts or tree limbs at the edges of open areas, or flying across roads or fields with stiff, deep beats of their rounded wings. Their call is a deep, stuttering series of four to five hoots.
Monday, 9 December 2019: temperature is -6C (windchill -10C) at noon, and it was snowing up till about a minute ago. Sunset is at 4:29 pm.
I am adding this very sad email that I received yesterday, just in case there are any local birders/photographers who knew Sue Konopnicki, but have not heard that Sue passed away on 6 December. Thank you, Joan, for sending out these thoughtful words. My condolences to Sue's family and friends.
"Our Birding community is deeply saddened to inform you of the passing of Sue Konopnicki on Friday, December 6th after a courageous battle with cancer. For many years Sue has been an enthusiastic Saturday participant with the Friends of Fish Creek Birding sessions. Her passion for nature and especially birds developed at a young age and continued throughout her life. As a principal with the Calgary Board of Education, and working together with a group of like-minded teachers, she facilitated a nature-focused learning environment in her school. As well, Sue was a board member with Nature Calgary, a volunteer with Nature Conservancy and a long-time bluebird nest-box monitor. Highlights of her various volunteer roles included arranging funding for students to attend nature-focused field trips, co-founder of the Family Birdwatching Course and Youth Birding Camp with Friends of Fish Creek and Nature Calgary and membership with the Calgary Bird Banding Society. Her love for life-long learning, leadership skills and deep appreciation for the outdoors were inspirational. She touched many lives in deep and meaningful ways. Sue will be greatly missed and lovingly remembered by her daughters, sons-in-law, grandchildren and all who walked the pathways with her. She has been a great friend and the Saturday group will miss her immensely. We were privileged to be a part of her life."
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Today, 9 December 2019, I have just posted five more odds and ends of photos, from way back in my archives, instead of going through photos taken more recently. I'm just not getting time to get out and take any new photos, anyway. I am adding the description that was under another photo taken the same day.
"Yet another overcast, dreary morning here today, 18 November 2016, with a temperature of -3C (windchill -7C). The sun is supposed to come out this afternoon, which would be a really welcome sight.
This photo of a Great Horned Owlet was taken on 6 May 2016, in a local natural area/park. Unfortunately, I had half a dozen errands to run before allowing myself to go out with my camera, so I didn't get there till late, and the light quickly began to fade. No time to look around the area for any other birds on this visit.
This beautiful owlet had been on the ground for a while before I arrived. There were a few people there and more came and went. However, I later heard that the owlet had been able to claw and flap its way up one of the trees and was safely out of reach of most predators. Meanwhile, the other fledgling had been very high up in a different tree, along with Mom. I'm glad I did call in at this location when I did, as this beautiful little owl gave us a few chances for photos when it was up on a log or down on the ground, usually partly hidden by the plants and bushes. I don't know how it ended up on the ground, but obviously it fell from somewhere or misjudged flying distance and missed an intended branch when it finally left the nesting tree. An interesting world for it to explore, though it wasn't very steady on its feet yet : )
Things seem to happen so fast this spring and I missed seeing the two owlets balancing on the rim of the nesting tree, exercising their wings before fledging. Also, I had been so busy that I only went over to see the youngsters a handful of times. Looking on the more important side, this meant one less person intruding on their area, of course, though I have to say that these owls are remarkably tolerant of humans. If a Canada Goose, on the other hand, should get anywhere near the nest or the little ones, Mom or Dad flies in for an immediate attack."
"With its long, earlike tufts, intimidating yellow-eyed stare, and deep hooting voice, the Great Horned Owl is the quintessential owl of storybooks. This powerful predator can take down birds and mammals even larger than itself, but it also dines on daintier fare such as tiny scorpions, mice, and frogs. It’s one of the most common owls in North America, equally at home in deserts, wetlands, forests, grasslands, backyards, cities, and almost any other semi-open habitat between the Arctic and the tropics.
Great Horned Owls are nocturnal. You may see them at dusk sitting on fence posts or tree limbs at the edges of open areas, or flying across roads or fields with stiff, deep beats of their rounded wings. Their call is a deep, stuttering series of four to five hoots." From AllAboutBirds.
Boy this is old
But I've loved it for about
4 months now
+1 SOOC
I hope everyone had a terrible superbowl night.
Just kidding.
Go Steelers.
Bathing in Del Rey Lagoon while youngster forages.
Thought I'd, once again, try posting directly to Flickr, rather than uploading to YouTube and posting the link in Flickr. However, when I play it, there's a stop motion/stuttering. If anyone else experiences this, please let me know.
I love photographing these lovely flowers when they are available in the spring at our garden centers. Admittedly the genus name is a bit of a land mine for mediocre spellers. People so often judge us more for our minor flaws, rather than for our profound statements or brilliant accomplishments. I have a friend with dozens of patents (several marketable). He's a very poor speller, so many people think he's stupid! Another acquaintance is a valedictorian of his high school class. He has a foreign accent and stutters, so he's incorrectly judged as a moron by many.....Fuchsia is a plant genus with 110 species, consisting mostly of shrubs or small trees. As I mentioned previously, one of my favorite flowers to photograph. ❤❤
8. “But can I at least see where this pit is?” The newbie wanted to know so he could certainly avoid this horrid place.
“It’s against my better judgment,” replied the chairman, “but I’ll show you the entrance where the pit is found. It is heavily guarded, so you know the seriousness of what we mean.”
They descend a few flights of stone stairs into the deep basement of the Secret Society Hall. The light becomes dimmer as they approach the entrance. The guard on duty straightens up, holding his sword and shield in readiness to defend the entrance.
“It is I,” the chairman said with an air of authority. “Please lower your weapons.”
The guard dutifully obeyed. Then the chairman pointed into the darkness and told the newbie, “Beyond this entrance and a few steps to the right is the infamous pit. Those who go down that pit seldom return.”
The newbie simply swallowed hard. “You...you...you... mean they ne...ne...never come out?” He stuttered due to the fright instilled in his very being.
“I haven’t seen anyone come out since I have been chairman.”
“How long have have you be...be...been the chairman?”
“About 30 years now.”
Lesser Redpoll (Acanthis cabaret) breeds only in western Europe; mainly Britain and the Low Countries. Some authorities treat it as a race of Common Redpoll (A. flammae) but BOU continue to treat it as a full species on the official British List. Lesser Redpolls are red-listed because they suffered a breeding population decline of >50% 1981-2010, with a corresponding decline in winter, and a range contraction. The population is thought to be c260,000 breeding pairs, which sounds like a lot, but compared with 1.2 million pairs of Goldfinch, it isn't huge. They have largely disappeared as a breeding bird from lowland south and east England but in Scotland populations appear to have recovered slightly. I still see them regularly in the Pennines, though most of my sightings are flyovers that I identify from their staccato stuttering calls: xeno-canto.org/821425 They have a strong association with birch trees, and to a lesser extent with alders. Most of my close sightings are in winter when they feed on seeds from the catkins, like this individual is doing. They really are tiny as well, weighing in at just 11g that is less than a third of the weight of a House Sparrow. You can see here the distinctive red poll (forehead) and the little black bib. This was an opportunistic grab shot while I was out walking with a friend last week, one of a mixed flock of Redpolls, Siskins and Goldfinches.
“.. that appears to be something but is not really so.”
Sounds like a false front, no?
Fact: At times, I could be shy, have the stutters and act silly when I'm with someone I have feelings for. It's pretty embarrassing.. coz' by the end of the day, I'm all smiles and people go asking... "Emily, why are you smiling to yourself again?!"
It happened. Uncountable times.
From today's many discoveries..
“Well, now you know I don’t like chocolates.” – E.J
Just one soul, yet so many truths to reveal about one self.
I’m simply saying.. it takes time to understand someone.
Minutes, days, years, decades.. yeah.
… but the process of it is the most intriguing.
p/s: This is how the hair colour actually looks like without sunlight. So, yeah, all those previous shots have had sunlight in it. I've never dyed my hair before.. and I want a haircut. :D Yes, it's the oversized shirt that I wore in the previous shot.
Happy Friday!
252 / 365
...a girl's best friend.
~Lorelei Lee, Gentlemen Prefer Blondes.
I've been on a movie binge lately. We saw "King's Speech", "RED", "Die Hard" and just finished "Salt". "King's Speech" so far has been most impressive from the batch of Oscar wannabes. Colin Firth is so damn good of an actor that he reportedly continued stuttering for two months after the movie, in which his character stutters terribly, has been finished.
The rest of them are just straight actions. "RED" is actually surprisingly not bad. Bruce Willis, John Malkovic (damn that guy's great), Morgan Freeman, Helen Mirren and a couple of others. the movie has some kick-ass funk tunes in the soundtrack. Being partial to funk I can't miss that.
Bruce Willis in RED prompted us to re-watch "Die Hard", the first one. You know, when the guy actually had hair. The movie is 23 yrs old, still looks good.
The last one is "Salt", which is a womanese for "Bourne". Some new actors, some more Angelina Jolie lips and hips, panties hung over the security camera and, above all, bad, Bad, BAD Russian language from the actors that are not Russian natives. Hell, with a budget like that I could teach Angelina Jolie to speak those four Russian phrases fluently.
Strobist setup:
* Sunpak 5000AF left @1/64 135mm
* Sunpak 5000AF right @1/64 135mm
* white sheet of paper as a diffuser bent over the bracelet
To see how simple it really is, see the strobist setup shot: click HERE
====Cobblepot Subway Station====
"Get away from him."
Flannegan smirks, admiring her makeshift costume. "Hello gorgeous, A for effort, F for execution. Oh boys!" He lets out a whistle, and on cue, rats come pouring through the walls towards her. Kate fires a warning shot, but, realising it's a waste of ammo, sets her sights back on Flannegan, shooting him squarely in the chest. The connection severed, the rats squeek away, back into the sewers where they came from. Flannegan mumbles "Come back, come-" before trailing off into unconsciousness.
Kate rushes to Batman's side, trying to silence his crying, then plunges a needle of adrenaline into his arm, jolting him awake. "Sorry."
Bruce sits up, back to business immediately. He doesn't know who this woman is, but, he also doesn't have the time for introductions. "Where are they-?"
"The guy in the rags? Must've gone before I got here"
"The children, he's got-"
"I know, I know. Just hold still," she says, applying antiseptic cream to his bite marks.
Bruce mutters in protest, before finally asking "Who are you?"
"I don't know yet, trial and error I suppose. But I'm here to help," she replies
"If you really want to help, you can start by ditching that," he responds, now on his feet.
Confused, Kate looks at her holster.
"I don't like guns." he explains, as he handcuffs Flannegan to a pipe.
"That gun just saved your life."
"And it could've just as easily taken his. You're an soldier, aren't you?"
"Was. Sargent Kate Ka-"
"No. I don't need your identity, that's how we end up with-"
"End up with what?" she asks.
Could it be? "Kate *Kane*?"
"Yes, why?"
Bruce smiles weakly to himself. Of course it'd be her. "Nothing," he responds, as he examines the Scarecrow's laboratory... The children, who took the children? He looks at the walls, across them are various formulas, essays and theories all linked to fear. On the table, there lies a shipping manifest Paris, it's cargo? A hundred wild mushrooms. Strange.
He opens a drawer, inside a letter. The recipient's name has been marked out, but it's been written by...
"Hellfern."
"Who's Hellfern?" Kate inquires.
"A Nazi. Figures... A master chemist, run into him before. Whoever this... Scarecrow is, he's learned from the very best..." He moves the letter away, and jolts back. "No."
It's a blueprint of Gotham General's ventilation systems... The kidnappings were only a teaser of what's to come. He pulls a camera from his belt, and hands it to Kate. "Send these to the GCPD. That madman's going to hit the maternity ward. Hundreds of newborns!"
"Wait, where the hell are you going?"
"To see if I can't get there first."
Batmobile's parked outside, must be how she found me. Clumsy... I jump in, and go over the files. "Master Bruce! Thank goodness you're alright. I've been trying to reach you all night!"
"I'm fine, Alfred. Had a run in with our kidnappers. I'm fine, but the ringleader escaped. Goes by Scarecrow. Don't worry, I know where he's going..."
"That's all well and good sir, but your vitals, they're still far too high... Can't you let the police handle this? We wouldn't want you to faaaaaaaail aaaaaaaagain wooooullllld weeeee?"
I pause. "Alfred, what did you say?"
"I said, surely the police can take care of this?"
I'm still not at my best, still hearing things...
"No, this maniac's got some kind of hallucinogen. I've seen it, Alfred, it's able to bring anyone's darkest fears and phobias to life. Anyone's."
I turn the corner.
"Now a scarecrow... He chose a scarecrow for a reason. Alfred, bring me up a list of families living in the rural areas of Gotham, cross referenced with students of Karl Hellfern... Any psychologists who specialise in fear."
Alfred sighs. He knows something's wrong. "One moment, sir. Here we are, one Doctor Crane, Jonathan Crane. Rather troubled upbringing, orphaned at birth, raised by his aunt. She died when he was a teenager- a rather grisly end at that..."
"Go on."
"She was pecked to death, by hundreds of... Crows. They never linked it to him, but later evidence seemed to suggest she beat him on a regular basis... A neighbor of theirs claimed she locked him in their family's aviary, on a nightly basis. She said she could hear the screams almost a mile away."
"So what happened next?"
"Crane left for college a day later, and, upon graduating, took up a role as a professor in psychology at Gotham University up until... One year ago. Reason for dismissal... ah. "Unorthodox and dangerous teaching methods."
"So he was testing his toxins on his own students..."
====Gotham General====
"Who are you, you can't be here!" an orderly yells, as the Scarecrow enters the maternity ward, smiling his Glasgow smile, and stretches out a bony finger. "Earl, stop him-"
"Hush little baby, don't say a word," he cackles, spraying the doctor, Earl with gas. "Momma's going to buy you a mockingbird..."
"Spiders! Spiders everywhere!" he screams, rolling on the ground, trying desperately to scratch them off.
"Arachnophobia. How... Boring," Crane says, disappointed, as he approaches the now cowering orderly. "How about you, my dear," he asks, a vial of toxins in his hand.
"Please," she's begging. "Please don't."
"Oh don't worry, there's nothing to fe-"
A batarang knocks the vial out of Crane's grip, and it falls to the floor.
"Get away from her."
Scarecrow laughs. "You're too late, Batman. My work is done. All that separates the newborns from their nightmares is this detonator."
Alfred's right... The GCPD *can* deal with the gas, but leaves me with Scarecrow. Have to keep stalling. "Don't."
"You know, we never finished our talk. So, tell me, what nightmares keep the Batman awake?"
The gas... I'm still... Keep focused on him, keep focused on-
-----------------
I'm here. Crime Alley. Dirty, damp, dark... My parents' blood runs along the ground, in the centre, is him. The gunman... Their killer.
No. No, it's not. I'm not in the alleyway, I'm in Gotham General.
He has a gun. A revolver. Mother is dead, Father is dead.
No. It's not him, it's the Scarecrow. They're gone, he's gone, I have to move past it. I need to move past it.
"You've failed us, Bruce," my father calls. "You killed us..."
It's just the toxin... Not in the alley, I'm in the hospital... Remember Bruce, it happened, they're gone, now fight it! Remember what you promised them, that's how you honour them, not by surrendering to these... Ghosts.
Remember. Remember. "By the spirits of my parents-"
"Bruce, this is your father!" the ghost screams.
"I will avenge their deaths-"
"Bruce, stop it now! You're too late," Mother echoes.
"by spending the rest of my life-"
"Stop it, I command you, I-"
"warring on all criminals."
-----------
The hospital. I'm in the hospital.
"Now... tell me, Batman, what did you see?" Scarecrow asks again.
So I tell him. "I see... A boy."
"A child-?" he inquires.
"An orphan. His parents, dead."
"Of course... Yes, of course it'd be your childhood... What do you see now? Failure, is that it? The fear of failing, of disappointing them?"
"Yes, I... I see bats, and alleyways, and I see birds."
For a second, Scarecrow falters. "Birds?!"
"An aviary. Filled with them, all of them angry, and hungry, pecking and knawing at this poor little boy... He calls for help, but no one listens... What do you suppose that means, Doctor?"
He's on edge... Push him too hard and he might press the detonator.
"How do you... How could you possibly-?"
"Because I'll tell you what I think-"
"Enough!" he cries.
"I see a sad, broken man, a man who shuts himself off from everyone else, a man burries himself in his work, all to find that final, pressing answer, the question that's followed him all his life... What drove his aunt to beat him?"
"I said enough-!" he bellows. "How... How are you doing this? How are you resisting my toxins!" His finger's on the detonator.
"I'm not."
His lip's trembling. "Impossible. Impossible!" With a click, he presses the detonator and... Nothing. Gordon... Gordon's done it. Realisation dawns on Crane's face, he runs at me, and then, a crunch. He's stepped on the vial, breaking it.
"No," he whispers, as he falls to his knees. Whatever he's seeing... It's too good for him.
"Now," I ask, pulling him up. "Where are the children?"
"T-the mushrooms... I needed the mushrooms for my research..." he stutters.
"The children, Crane, where are they?"
"S-so, s-so I gave him the children..."
"I need a name!"
"The Monk! The m-mad m-monk," he shrieks, as he returns to his nightmares.
Thank you to all who have made suggestions for improvement. I myself knew I had a better version inside of me and I hope this is it. All comments and critique very welcome and please let me know if this is better or worse.
Anthem for Doomed Youth
What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?
Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle
Can patter out their hasty orisons.
No mockeries for them; no prayers nor bells,
Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs, -- -
The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;
And bugles calling for them from sad shires.
What candles may be held to speed them all?
Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes
Shall shine the holy glimmers of goodbyes.
The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall;
Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds,
And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.
IC photo of Neith Petrova, Cocoon RP
Consider that pussy I gave you charity, for all the bitches that are scared of me
Can you really get down in the mud? You tellin' me you're scared of a little blood?
Bitch I'm f*king serious, I'm mean as shit, I'm not even on my period, take a dip, if there was blood you would feel it, I'd let it drip, it would just add to the feeling, an extra slip - slip - slip- slip - slide, push them panties to the side, my boyfriend is a vamp once a month I give him life, the lady is a tramp but does she make you wanna dive? I didn't mean Tekashi when I say I want 69.
Consider that pussy I gave you charity, for all the bitches that are scared of me
Can you really get down in the mud? You tellin me you're scared of a little blood?
B-b-bitch did I stutter? We can f*k without a rubber. I'm not trying to be a mother. I am your father, theres no other.
Consider that pussy I gave you charity, for all the bitches that are scared of me
Can you really get down in the mud? You tellin me you're scared of a little blood?
Stuttering Barred Frog (Mixophyes balbus), New England region, New South Wales.
A nicely marked but threatened species which once extended from northern NSW to Victoria. However it is rare and possibly extinct south of Sydney and its populations to the north are fragmented and affected by chytrid fungus. The bright blue in the upper iris helps to distinguish it from other barred frogs which occur across its range.
I found this male at night in the leaf litter along the banks of a creek. After a heavy downpour several male frogs emerged from the leaf litter and began calling perched high on granite boulders along the stream.
I’ve never been a fussy eater (apart from porridge, semolina, tapioca and rice pudding, that make me gag) but over the years I’ve come to quite dislike a “Chinese”.
Not that that worried me too much when I took a business trip to Shanghai some years ago. But it helped me form a view that just as the Chinese do so much the opposite to us, so it is that the Communist machine brain washed the peasant population that the delicacies are the chicken feet and wings, whilst reserving the juicy chicken breast, succulent thighs and tasty flesh for the ‘good’ senior Communist party members. I mean have you nibbled on the small callus-like pads on the base of a chicken foot? That’s the part ordinary Chinese will say is so delicious, but reminds me of chewing a fungus-riven old toe-nail.
I sat down for a meal at an authentic restaurant in Shanghai with our Chinese agent partners and whilst they translated the menu, largely let them decide on, and order the food. First course turned out to be some sort of delicately steamed catfish that they called ‘River Trout”. No, it didn’t have soft flavours like Scottish trout but instead reeked of thick and putrid mud. But it turned out to be the best par of the meal. Next up a football sized pot of bubbling soup was put in the centre of the table. I took my lead from the others and used my chop sticks to fish around for the “velly special vegetatables” they said were in it. I did eventually connect with something squishy solid and prised it up out of the pot, a wiggly strip of something, snookered between my two chopsticks. It didn’t look like any sort of “vegetatable” I had ever encountered elsewhere in the world but I was willing tyo give it the benefit of doubt and levered it across into my mouth. Hmmm. Not very legumative in my opinion, it was nothing more than an expensive strip of fat, that explained why it had wiggled as it hung from the chopstick. Well, it wouldn’t do me any harm if I cut down on a few calories so I continued to smile and chat as best I could. Fortunately a new dish was brought to us, another big bright red pot. I’m not sure how my host described it, but again we started fishing about in the pot’s murky depths with our chop sticks. I’m quite dextrous and soon had a big disc of something suspended from my chopsticks above the red liquid in the pot. I enquired in my best “I’m not really bothered what it is nonchalant style” WTF is that? At which my host paused his fishing and looked across at me, clearly searching for the correct English word. It didn’t come out easily, and with a stuttering Bl – bl-bl-bl-blur he eventually got it and blurted out “Bl-Bl-Blood!” Well, I’ve had black pudding at home, but somehow what I was seeing in front of me looked far less appetising. It meant that at the following meal I went vegetarian in a cafeteria type place where you chose plates of ready prepared food from out of clear plastic display cabinets. I’ll never forget the aspects of the meal that reminded me of an English garden: on one plate a blackbird lying on its side, dead, yellow beak and yellow legs, and on the next plate a miniature pyramid of Giza shape made out of fresh bright green hedge trimmings. Ya, see what I mean? Chinese food. It’s all about persuading the peasants that the rubbish parts are the best bits.
Had to pump up the ISO, because of poor light, but there was no doubting the excitement and drama, as Black Five 45407 thundered through our little station on a Liverpool to York Yuletide Special
Explored Dec 14th 2008 #90
The Last Express
Where did those years go, I often sigh
Since the last express cloaked in steam roared by
The smoke and stuttering noise of steam
Evokes a never ending dream
All now gone except a few remain
In preservation their only domain
Lime Street station still there proud
Quieter now, no smoking allowed
The turntable at the top of platform nine
A faded memory of days so fine
Where engines would turn for the journey home
And young boys collecting their numbers roam
The driver and fireman on the footplate await
The signal, the sign, we must not be late
Years of experience a formidable team
Shrouded now in a cloud of steam
The signal changes the whistle blows
The coal in the firebox brightly glows
The graceful movement as she pulls away
A green light showing the right of way
The passengers now in their seats sit back
Awaiting the sound of the clickity clack
They are off on their hols, away from their mates
Away from the boss and the factory gates
The seaside beckons, the excitement grows
To paddle in the sea with their lily white toes
And then suddenly, I realise
I awake from my dream and rub my eyes
I can never go back to those long gone days
Never to return to my youthful ways
When steam locomotives were my only passion
Numbers and names spoken parrot fashion
Youth and expectation were taken as read
Alas, long gone, that era is dead
A Stoddern
Causewayed enclosures
In this illustration, we see a foreground of sedentary locals (settled protagonists in the Neolithic revolution) gathering to watch and listen to the arrivals of Transport Dragons (vestige clans and groups, each of which retain movement within their distinct and logically contradictory collective mythologies). The local crofters listen to the songs, and perhaps see shadows of dancing. They will visit the circle over the coming week to either watch theatre, dance, song, technical demonstration or speech; to trade and even to witness to local judgements, as these 'ancients' attempt to retain hierarchy over the landscape that they have travelled and learned through great ages. Some have become saltimbanque, others trade raw or finished goods, some trade wisdom, some trade promise of protection from bandits or simply heavy lifting, and one gathering may differ qualitatively from another.
There are no shocks or surprises, and this is not an image of misunderstanding, implicit distrust and incomprehension – just two ways of being which probably had an significant amount of blur between. For example, Transport Dragons that made summer camps for several months (as was common in the Mesolithic) and sedentary crofters that retained a ritual memory of a past Transport Dragon and its qualities. Many new populations without a Transport Dragon mythology must also have existed.
Both 'styles' of being are in regular contact, synergy and, at times dispute. At a time when permanent fixtures and markers were increasingly impressed onto the landscape, the Transport Dragons joined the spirit of the age and turned many of their regular meeting spots into a series of concentric ripples in the Earth's surface. Today we term the category of British site a 'Causewayed Enclosure'.
Causeways tend to be raised and go from an A to a B, and I have never understood why the mounds should not be the 'causeways', rather than the breaches for which it is said. In this illustration the earthworks are projected as 'Pedestal Rings', reminding all that even when the 'Transport Dragon' was not locally present their undulation on the landscape would not forget, and I will continue to use my descriptive term for this earthwork style.
The covered frame structures I term 'Transport Dragons' (features of Homo Sapiens that were so important in helping him navigate through extremes - for example Ice Age and mega predator) had become increasingly meaningless as the Neolithic package tied man to a fixed pastoral landscape. Despite the incongruity of just such a protective carry device in increasingly mild conditions, and without great predators, a mix of inertia, stubbornness and applied speciality will have kept a vivid percentage of their number in movement - in movement and aside today's archaeological record. Nodes where the new generation of pastoral crofters could meet these applied residuals from man's deep past being a way for the new and the old to retain dialogue and mutual support.
In central Europe, variants of Causewayed Enclosures can be called 'Rondels' (70-110m in diameter) and we can easily put forward a hypothesis. Between 4900 and the limits of 4800 BC, mutually beneficial fixed points on the landscape were recognised for meetings between sedentary populations and residual Transport Drangons, and these areas were carved and built into the landscape as 'Pedestal Circles'. In central Europe, sedentary Neolithic populations finally arrived with speed, and took over prime spots on riverbanks and aside lakes. As these new locals, with their striking wooden 'long houses' and 'linear band keramik' (LBK) turned clan allotment into local power, they would dispute the importance of the decisions taken by the Transport Dragon collectives, and as the free passage aside the rivers stuttered to a close, with the rapidly increasing number of LBK homesteads and fences, the Transport Dragons failed to witness mutual trust, exchange or benefit. By 4700 BC, the peoples of the Rondels were categorically rejecting token LBK advances. LBK were seen to be clearly undermining the greater laws of 'mythical' people, and landscape, and they could even be seen seeking trade and ideas from the river's flow rather than from its littoral, the inland flux and detailed landscape knowledge. The bounce and chatter from the now decimated littoral highways had all but gone from central Europe and beyond. A rupture of confidence and goodwill had occurred. To resolve the rupture, the Rondels became 'military'; the Transport Dragons were converted into fighting 'machines', and the long house LBK culture was purged. The Transport Dragons had fire power, defence, combined raw power and otherworldly surprise. Some evidence of fire is always to be expected, as things can burn, but some of the evidence of burn from this period may be from warfare as this became the period of Kilianstadten, Herxheim and Talheim, known today as perhaps the first real evidence of war between man.
Currently theories try to believe that the LBK auto-destructed, with hypothetical arguments that seem to require an a priori that there was a sudden loss of both IQ and common sense. Not easy to imagine in a society still dominated by seasons. The auto destruction was said to have been powered by younger brothers moving on to find new land, and that the point of saturation 'auto exploded' the whole social network, unthreading the LBK's sense of social stability, function and 'culture'. This same principle of younger male sibling expansion can be seen to have pushed farmsteads to well above the 1000m altitude in mountain ranges such as the Pyrenees. This example includes descriptions from living memories and helps account for some of the derelict high altitude farms. Severe weather, every few years, caused rupture and failure - real local level problems, but no auto destruction of the whole rural lifestyle: and land opportunities were still fertile back during the latter LBK periods, certainly for minds open to a little imagination within demographics that were still very low for the species - so this hypothesis of a population saturation tipping point that fed into a total auto-destruction seems to carry a great weight on very thin ice. The argument is explained on a Youtube by Stefan Milo: www.youtube.com/watch?v=OF664B27aBo
Returning to the Causewayed Enclosures of Britain, and we see again that they were a feature of early Neolithic interface, which for this geography corresponded to a building frenzy within the slot of time from 3700-3625 BC (precise dates from Professor Alasdair Whittle, of Cardiff University) so perhaps just 400 years after the arrival of the Neolithic package, and at the very least 100 examples of earthwork being built over a period of just 75 years. Here in Britain, turning flat meeting-grounds into varietal 'Rondels' might have been seen as a way of communicating that either 'we' get to keep littorals free, movement free, trade and respect for our mythical Dragons, or, our earthwork loci will turn against you. People told each other the stories of life, and in the ages prior to writing, stories could last - including stories of a first 'war'! It might be that from 3625 BC, more neutral gathering sites were favoured, with a sudden agreed change opening curtains on the rise of the cursus (see drawing linked below), henge, stone circle, and long barrow. For stability, it may have been that the standing stones of later circles had a preferred flexibility to represent both new leaderships of sedentary arrivals, new leaderships of new Transport Dragons, and older leaderships from traditional Transport Dragons and post Mesolithic neo-sedentarism.
With today's internet there are plenty of ways of bathing in visions of Prehistory, and one statement offered as a 'given fact' can be juxtaposed here to see if slots into our hypothesis and puzzle:
“The Stone Age was a series of tiny city states run by oppressive class of totalitarian priests” Historia Civilis.
"?!" AJ
A few words on details and form: one circle could gain new outer circles of 'pedestals', with this increase in size over time simple showing how success breeds success. The site at Whitehawk in Sussex appears to have finished with four concentric rings of pedestals that seem to be tailored for different sizes of Transport Dragon: from the self referential neo one-man Medjed-esque/Bosch-esque/ jester-esque, all the way up to long walking trains of linked 'wagon' sections. The ditches (key to making the pedestal), may also have served a formal taboo. Anyone approaching from a ditch (the exterior side) might put themselves in danger, with the two ends guarded by hospitality and protocol, and the inner side of the Transport Dragon rolled up with attention facing inwards for interaction. With some late Transport Dragons dedicated to trade of goods, just such a taboo would make sense. There is evidence of year to year upkeep of the pedestal and ditch. In good order, rain would run away from the base of the Transport Dragon, and in conditions of high wind, the transport dragons could be walked to the centre for mutual protection. Some examples (especially Rondels) may have had wooden central palisades, and functions from stopping song from being 'blown away' to providing a sense of dedicated space. Occasionally ditches had stone walls reinforcing their structure (French examples) and some of these were in use for such a long time that phase changes may have occurred. As might be expected, a general detritus of life was found in the ditches.
If we were to criticise my drawing, the tree pole is too large and some of the gaps are a little large and the exterior ditches are not greatly obvious. The mix of late Transport Dragons also seems to be too varied, with a Sphinx-like formal mythological example aside a Trojan-horse like 'pro domestication' wicker and stretch model, some phantasmagorical examples and some more measured and functional examples perhaps closer to early bronze age carts.
With Causewayed Enclosures predating by decades the long barrows (for example West Kennet), and by over 1000 years Woodhenge, they are important early earthworks for an Isle that went on to deliver a festival of diverse henges, circles, cursus, mound and enclosure.
AJM 07.12.21
Olney State Forest, The Watagans, New South Wales, Australia
Vulnerable
Contact me on jono_dashper@hotmail.com for use of this image.
Yesterday, 23 April 2016, I joined a few friends for a walk at Inglewood Brd Sanctuary. I only took about 10 photos and this is basically the only one that I will be keeping. Posting it just for the record of where I went that day. Such dismal weather - more like winter, especially when my vehicle got a light dusting of sleet/snow on the drive home. I knew the weather would be no good for photos, but I wanted to spend some a bit of time with firends. As well as the leisurely walk, we also went to the Blackfoot Diner for lunch. Always an enjoyable experience.
"A rich, russet-and-gray bird with bold streaks down its white chest, the Song Sparrow is one of the most familiar North American sparrows. Don’t let the bewildering variety of regional differences this bird shows across North America deter you: it’s one of the first species you should suspect if you see a streaky sparrow in an open, shrubby, or wet area. If it perches on a low shrub, leans back, and sings a stuttering, clattering song, so much the better." From AllAboutBirds.
www.allaboutbirds.org/guide/Song_Sparrow/id
Today, the weather has been very unpleasant, too, but didn't stop nine of us from going on a day trip SE of Calgary, to the Frank Lake area. Will post a photo from there tomorrow morning with a species list of 56 bird species seen!
That's right, i didnt stutter bitches, the amahhhzing peeps of dcny are treatng us with a freaking wall of dollarbies, go get em!!!, follow the lm!
More wire sculptures by Polly Verity can be found at www.polyscene.com
Work in progress: Wire and Paper Sculpture of a Dodo,
After Tenniel from his illustration for Lewis Carroll's 'Alice's Adventures in Wonderland'.
Here the Dodo is about to take flight from his paper chrysanthemum.
Lewis Carroll's (Charles Lutwidge Dodgson's) use of the Dodo in his book is a reference to himself, he had a stutter and very frequently pronounced his name "Do-do-dodgson".
Materials:
Silver wire, acid free tissue paper, copper walking stick
Technique:
Small pliers are used to manipulate the fine wire, wire is wrapped around wire at every join. Eventually this process creates a wireframe creature, the wire describing the contours and the outline. Finally, fine paper is applied sized and wet. As it dries it becomes taut like a drum and forms the translucent skin.
The dodo stands on a paper flower tuffet that is created using a ancient Chinese modular money folding technique. Hundreds of the same miniature origami pattern are folded up and these are slotted together to make the paper chrysanthemum. No glue holds the flower together.
photo: CS Stevens
M7 105mm Howitzer Motor Carriage, Priest.
My LEGO rendition of the iconic self-propelled artillery from World War II, incorporating an M2A1 gun reverse-engineered from the Brickmania kit.
Read the write-up on The Brothers Brick.
James "Come Home".
A side:
Come Home (Extended Flood Mix)
B side:
Fireaway
Stutter (Recorded live at Manchester Apollo by Piccadilly Key 103 FM)
Released in 1990
12" vinyl.
Double-sided glossy business cards arrived yesterday (500 cards)! And they're so smooth (from the glossy finish) I cannot wait to start handing these babies out! :D
Check out some of my samples designs here!
UPDATE: If you would really like one, I'd love to send you some (especially if you'll be sharing with friends/family). Feel free to send me an email with your mailing address and I'll send some your way, free of charge: madelaine.etsy@gmail.com
Low key studio shots of Hannah playing the flute, using one studio light in home studio on low power. f/11 stutter 1/125, ISO 100, white balance = flash.
Max Headroom was a futuristic computer-generated character on a popular British television series back in 1985. He became well known for his jerky techno-stuttering speech, wit, and puns. Now he's just a piece of discarded cardboard.
Washpool National Park, New South Wales.
For use of this photo please contact clancywildlife@gmail.com
The extra-long sequel to: www.flickr.com/photos/133558185@N07/23290211525/in/dateta...
Chris Peterson’s eyes snapped open. He was in some kind of interrogation chamber, immobilized in the grasp of a wicked apparatus. Assumably he was still on board the Blabber superweapon. A dark, cloaked figure stood before him, its emotionless visor reflecting his own face back at him.
“So, you’re finally awake,” it said, in a rather disinterested voice, “I would’ve thought my neural stimulators would’ve woken you up faster, but I guess you don’t have enough brain mass for them to be effective.”
“Nice torture chamber,” said Chris, looking around with a smirk, “I’ll be honest, I didn’t expect such high-grade facilities from an Overlord of your, erm, caliber.” He smiled to himself as he surveyed the forbidding room. Doubtless this darkly arrayed being felt rather put out by his coolness, he thought, after all it’d gone through to look intimidating. Maybe it even felt a little insecure, after all…
“AH!” Chris cried, his train of thought cut short as he turned his head and found himself staring down the four barrels of an oversized laser turret.
“That… That’s big,” he added, trying not to look like he’d almost wet himself.
“I have some questions for you,” said the figure. Chris’ face hardened.
“I’ll never tell you anything, murderer. I’d sooner be smashed to subatomic particles than breathe a word to you,” he said.
“Well, then I suppose there’s no point in keeping you alive,” said the figure, turning away. Light suddenly blazed in the turret’s barrels, promising to literally blow Chris to atoms in a few seconds.
“Wait, wait, wait!” he screamed, “I’ll talk, I’ll be reasonable! I’ll say anything you want! Just turn that thing off!” The upcoming blast faded away back into the depths of turret and the figure turned to face him once more, chuckling.
“Your endurance is truly heroic.” it said, a sarcastic smile in its voice, “Now, onto the questions. First, what is this? A laser plunger?” The figure pulled out Chris’ weapon of choice, igniting its glowing conical end.
“No, no, that’s an Electromagnetic Extractor,” Chris explained, “Though, now that you mention it, it does kinda look like a toilet plunger… Aw, cummon, why’d you have to point that out? I never noticed it before!”
“Moving onto the second question—what is this?” the figure pulled out Chris’ Superdimensional Karate Assistant & Travel Evolver (SKATE) board, throwing it down on the floor. In its folded state, it rather resembled a mangled duck made of titanium, but Chris knew it was much more powerful than it looked. He thought fast. If this overlord found out that his SKATE board was an interdimensional conveyance that could go nearly anywhere in the universe in a matter of minutes, it would doubtlessly use it for its own purposes. And that would be… Bad. Really, really bad.
“Oh, uh, that’s um, uh… That’s kinda personal,” he said, wracking his brains for a conceivable lie.
“If you’d rather not tell me, I can just melt your face off and figure it out myself.” suggested the figure, glancing at the turret.
“No, no, if you really wanna know, I’ll tell you,” protested Chris, “It’s a… Mobile waste disposal system.”
“It’s a what?” asked the figure.
“It’s a portable toilet,” Chris elaborated.
“Ahuh,” said the figure, glancing at SKATE with a mixture of newfound disgust and curiosity. “Moving on—why, and more importantly how, did you just walk into my Blabber and sabotage my Phlebotium Core? Do you have any idea how freakishly hard it was to get the Phlebotium to make that? Do you? Because I feel like, if you did, you would’ve thought twice before blowing the entire thing to smithereens without a thought about the trials of an Overlord.” The figure’s voice, previously apathetic and emotionless, started to betray some annoyance.
“Oh, I know how hard it was for you to get that. In fact, I was the reason it was so hard for you to get your Phlebotium whatchimidoohickey. And, if everything had gone well, you would’ve never even gotten it in the first place,” said Chris, with some pride he couldn’t conceal.
“Is that so?” asked the figure, “What great operative do I have the honour of addressing?” His voice was laden with sarcasm.
“I’m Chris Peterson,” said Chris, “And I’m not an operative. I’m a freelancer.”
“I can tell,” said the figure, eyeing the Electromagnetic Extractor with contempt. “May I ask why a freelancer would sneak into a top-security superweapon-equipped space station that belongs to an obscure overlord without a planet to his name?”
“Uh…” said Chris, trying not to cross the line between bragging and blabbing, “No reason. Or at least, not one I’m going to tell you.”
“Well, alright,” said the figure, “Send me a postcard from the afterlife.” The turret powered on once more, this time so quickly Chris could feel the heat of the forthcoming beam on his face as he shouted in panic.
“Fine, fine! I’ll tell you! Just don’t blow me up!” he cried frantically. The dangerous light in the turret’s barrels slowly backed away, but did not leave entirely this time, lingering like the gleam of insectoid eyes.
“To clarify, it wouldn’t blow you up—it’d melt you. Slowly,” explained the figure, “Now tell me why you blew up my Core.”
“Well…” said Chris, hesitantly, “You kinda used your superweapon to wipe out six billion people or so… And that’s not cool. Thankfully your Blabber thing kinda blew up when you used it, so you backed off for about twenty years. But then you came back, and with your new fancy Core you were gonna be able to hit multiple planets in a row without a hitch and scare everybody into submission. And that really wasn’t cool. So I blew up your Core.”
“Certainly you had to have a better reason than that you thought my conduct ‘wasn’t cool’. Plenty of people think what the Overlords do isn’t ‘cool’, but few have the pluck to strike back against them. Or the tech, for that matter. So why’d you do it?” asked the figure.
“Because it was the right thing to do,” said Chris, proudly.
“Oh please,” snorted the figure, rolling its eyes behind its visor, “Everyone says that. What’s the real reason? Do you have friends down on my target of choice, perhaps?” The darkly-clad being wandered towards the big screen that displayed the planet the Blabber was orbiting. Chris new it well. Very well.
“Ehm…” stuttered Chris. The fact was, it was actually his planet, and he did have a dear friend or two down on it. He didn’t feel like admitting that was a good idea, though. Revenge ran deep in the blood of the Overlords. Or at least in blood of the ones who had blood.
“That would be an interesting revelation,” the figure continued, “I wiped out everybody on this planet with my first strike, except for a couple thousand or so. It’d be rather ironic if, out of that ridiculously small tithe of people, someone managed to grow up and then acquire the tech to sabotage my second design. Ironic and annoying.”
“Heheh, it is kind of ironic,” said Chris, before he could help himself. “I mean, uh, that you were thwarted at the same planet twice; the first time because you didn’t have a powerful enough Core, and the second time by a guy like me. You just can’t catch a break, can you?”
“Seemingly not.” said the figure coldly, “I have one last question: Where’s your girlfriend?”
“My what?” asked Chris.
“That lady you were with in the Core Room. She’s not showing up on any of my scanners. Not even giving a life reading. Normally I’d just assume she’d been smashed, but my security cameras and motion sensors seem to be telling otherwise. I’ve been catching glimpses of her for about an hour now. Where’s she hiding, and how is she doing it?”
“First off, she is NOT my girlfriend,” said Chris, “She’s just… No, not that… And secondly, I have no idea where she is. Even I can’t find her most of the time.”
“What stealth tech is using?” asked the figure.
“I dunno,” said Chris, which was true. He was bad at remembering names, especially technical ones. The lights in the turret’s barrels began to get brighter, and the figure turned round again.
“Don’t try and play games with me, freelancer,” it said, “You and your not-girlfriend are much more likely to live if you surrender. Just tell me how I can detect her and I’ll spare your lives.” Chris could feel the heat of the turret’s blast on his face, getting hotter and hotter.
“I seriously don’t know!” he cried, “Honestly! If I did I’d totally betray her like a weakling, but I really don’t!”
“Then why should I keep you alive?” asked the figure. Chris’ face was beginning to burn, and the light was so bright now he could hardly see. And then, quite suddenly, the turret switched off, the light exploding in its barrels as its containment field failed. A chunk of shrapnel hit the figure over the head, knocking him across the room. One of the floor grates was pushed aside from below, and out of the hole it left leapt the very woman they’d been talking about.
“Charlotte!” cried Chris, in surprise. Without replying, she snatched his Extractor and SKATE off the ground, grabbed him by the shoulder, and switched on the latter. A giant invisible sphere deformed the world around them, the interrogation room fading away as a wormhole sucked them into another dimension.
“This isn’t the end!” cried the figure’s voice, and then the physical world vanished.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=8zSRkr1nQNw
"You still stutter after certain questions
You keep in contact with certain exes
Do you, though, trust me, nigga, it's cool, though
Said that you was workin', but you're out here chasin' culo
And putas, chillin' poolside, livin' two lives
I could've did what you did to me to you a few times
But if I did decide to slide, find a nigga
Fuck him, suck his dick, you would've been pissed
But that's not my M.O., I'm not that type of bitch
And karma for you is gon' be who you end up with"
Molly: *snorts loudly, clearly stating that he is indeed ‘well aware’*
Diego: *shrugs, signs/says* “That seems to be the consensus, not that it’s doing me a damn big of good where it matters.”
Yuri: “And, pray tell, where does it matter?”
Diego: *turns his head and stares directly into Charley’s eyes with a heart-stuttering intensity*
Charley: *returns his gaze steadily, lips parting, as she struggles to keep her breathing even*
Yuri: “Hmm…*studies the pair, face enigmatic* I shall have to consult with Kumi about this straightaway. Diego, may I take a photo of you with my phone? It will help during our discourse, if we have visual aids.”
Charley: *breaks eye contact with Diego to gawk at Yuri* “Consult about what?”
Yuri: *waves her hand back and forth between Diego and Charley* “This.”
Charley: *steps away from Diego, voice low* “There is no ‘this.’”
Molly: *rolls her eyes exasperatedly, signs* “I need more gummy worms.” *turns on her heel, stalks off*
Diego: “You shouldn’t argue with her, Charley. She clearly has a better grasp on the situation than you do.”
Charley: *grabs her jars of peanut butter from the cart, stiffly* “If you’ll both excuse me, I’m going to pay for these and head back to the apartment. I have to get ready for my date with Dane, my boyfriend.” *pivots smartly, marches off*
Yuri: “She does not seem to be reacting well to your advances, Diego.”
Diego (unconcernedly): “She’s reacting just fine. The opposite of love isn’t hate, it’s apathy…and there has never been, nor will there ever be, anything apathetic about Bug’s feelings for me.”
Yuri: “Surely you recognize that you are playing a weighty game here. You stand to lose all.”
Diego: “Far be it from me to correct you, since you don’t strike me as the type to appreciate it, but you’re wrong on both counts.”
Yuri: *watches Charley’s retreat, face thoughtful* “Really? Do enlighten me, then.”
Diego: “Firstly, this is no game. Secondly, I already lost it all when she left the first time. Now…*hands tighten around the handle of the cart, as he follows Charley departure with hungry eyes* I’m trying to win it all back.”
To be continued next Tuesday…
Fashion Credits
***Any doll enhancements (i.e. freckles, piercings, eye color changes, haircuts) were done by me unless otherwise stated.***
Yuri
Skirt: Mattel – BFMC – Pretty in Pleats Barbie
Bodysuit, Belt & Stockings: IT – Monogram – Discreet
Shoes: IT – NuFace – Miracle Child Ayumi
Purse: Randall Craig RTW Accessory Set
Long Necklaces & Ring: IT – NuFace – Miracle Child Ayumi
Choker: Me
Doll is Nu.Fantasy Little Red Riding Hood Yuri transplanted to a NuFace body.
Charley
Jeans: Clear lan
Top: Sekiguchi Momko – Lazy Seventeen
Belt: Cangaway (etsy.com)
Sneakers: Sekiguchi Momoko Accessory
Glasses: Sekiguchi Momoko Accessory
Necklace: Me
Doll is a Morning Dew Giselle transplanted to a Poppy body, re-rooted by the superlative valmaxi(!!!)
Diego
Jeans: Clear lan
Shirt: IT – Fashion Royalty – Homme – Raw Appeal Lukas
Vest: IT – Fashion Royalty – Homme – Fast Track Victor James
Belt: Miema (etsy.com)
Shoes: IT – Poppy Parker – Baby, It’s You Chip
Hat: Mattel – Barbie Collectible – Frank Sinatra: The Recording Years
Necklace: Me
Doll is a Rock Steady Romain, eyes, brows, facial hair, and shading by me.
A junction of copings provide the basis for a multiple exposure.
Hand-held nine frame ICM multiple exposure. Frames exposed in a short sharp upward sweep, following the line in the left of the frame. Big amends in Lightroom.
ChunkaChunkaChunka at Pelcomb Portraits.
Composite of 47, 28 second images, 17 mm @ 4.5, processed using StarStax and StarCircle Academy Advanced Stacker; also LR4. The moon was so bright it created beautiful shadows in the river. Though there are a few stutters in the trails (teensy screw up on my part), I am still pretty pleased with the results.
© 2013 All Rights Reserved. My photographs are available for licensing and fine art prints. If Interested please contact me.
Soundtrack // Bande-son: GREAT LAKE SWIMMERS ("Uncertian Country"): www.youtube.com/watch?v=ajm4eYcv5oU&t=5s
"Static in the frame, and with a stutter... Not in flight, on the road, on foot... Can’t reach it... UNCERTAIN COUNTRY... Uncertain country..;"
Sur la route menant de Timbaki à Agia Galini, sur le littoral sud du district régional de Réthymnon (Crète).
I've always wanted to shoot a long exposure of fair-rides, and this was my first attempt. Definitely pleased with the results--this was from when they were off-loading people, and only moving in small motions. To me, this "spoke" look is much more interesting than large circular trails.
Nikon D800
Nikon 16-35 f4 VRII
Polarizer
Natural light
A little Melospiza melodia lol (Song Sparrow) I saw yesterday ;) Looks like she's sittin on top of the world..Enjoying Canada Day and the seeds from this bush..............
"A rich, russet-and-gray bird with bold streaks down its white chest, the Song Sparrow is one of the most familiar North American sparrows. Don’t let the bewildering variety of regional differences this bird shows across North America deter you: it’s one of the first species you should suspect if you see a streaky sparrow in an open, shrubby, or wet area. If it perches on a low shrub, leans back, and sings a stuttering, clattering song, so much the better."
Enjoy! Best viewed LARGE.
This sun was mine and yours; we shared it.
Who’s suffering behind the golden silk, who’s dying?
A woman beating her dry breasts cried out: ‘Cowards,
they’ve taken my children and torn them to shreds, you’ve killed them
gazing at the fire-flies at dusk with a strange look,
lost in blind thought.’
The blood was drying on a hand that a tree made green,
a warrior was asleep clutching the lance that cast light against his side.
It was ours, this sun, we saw nothing behind the gold embroidery
then the messengers came, dirty and breathless,
stuttering unintelligible words
twenty days and nights on the barren earth with thorns only
twenty days and nights feeling the bellies of the horses bleeding
and not a moment’s break to drink the rain-water.
You told them to rest first and then to speak, the light had dazzled you.
They died saying ‘We don’t have time’, touching some rays of the sun.
You’d forgotten that no one rests.
A woman howled ‘Cowards’, like a dog in the night.
Once she would have been beautiful like you
with wet mouth, veins alive beneath the skin,
with love.
This sun was ours; you kept all of it, you wouldn’t follow me.
And it was then I found out about those things behind the gold and the silk:
we don’t have time. The messengers were right.
Giorgos Seferis
2020 Elf Off the Shelf
December 4, 2020
9/31
Frodo and Maurice turn around, and standing at the end of the platform appeared to be a station manager. He appeared out of nowhere. So did the passenger train! The two travelers had their back to the rails that they hadn’t seen or heard the train roll quietly in.
“W-we were l-looking for the sch-schedule of arrivals and d-departures from this station,” Frodo hesitantly replies in a stuttered sort of way.
“We’re here now,” the man gruffly answered. “Now, do you have your ticket? Or do I have to sell you one on the train? You can’t ride for free, you know.”
Maurice stepped up and countered, “Sir, I have the money for my ticket, but I won’t have any leftover for my second-cousin-twice-removed.” Maurice touched Frodo’s shoulder and tells him sadly, “I wish we could continue together, but I don’t think that’s possible. Will you forgive me for not being able to take you along?”
Frodo turns and faces Maurice with slightly tearful eyes. “I understand. There are many times people make trips to a distance place, wanting to take family and friends with them, but they are the ones who must make the journey alone. Of course, I forgive you, but will you remember to do me a favor?”
“Anything!” Maurice replied quickly. “What is it you need?” Maurice had no idea if he could even deliver on this promise, and inside he wondered if he should have even offered in the first place.
“Could you please bring back warmth and peace here to Middle Earth? Ever since the scourge hit, everyone has been on edge and agitated. We face a common, unseen enemy, but we don’t know how best to confine that enemy to a cave and shut him in. Perhaps you can find a way and help us.” Frodo stood still for a moment, then stretched out his arms to give Maurice a big hug. Hobbits love to give hugs, when appropriate.
Maurice was taken aback by Frodo’s desire, but knew he could help. Maurice was heading to the North Pole, and soon Christmas will arrive. Will he know Santa well enough to ask him about this request? He could only hope.
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A Former Friend.
Hunter Zolomon - Two boys as thick as thieves, Hunter Zolomon and Wally West spent most of their adolescent and adult life together. Everyone around them knew they were closer than brothers from the moment they met, sharing everything from toys to their very first jobs. They were both two of the nicest boys while simultaneously being the biggest troublemakers those around them had ever known. Every day one could find the pair together, that was until Wally moved to Central City to live with his aunt Iris and her boyfriend Barry, thus leaving Hunter by himself in Keystone City. While the pair were only separated by the Gem Cities Bridge, the two quickly became distant from each other. Their weekly car trip across the state line to visit one another swiftly drifted into a once in a while text message or phone call. Eventually the messages mostly stopped as Wally moved to New York for what he claimed would be a great learning opportunity at a prep school.
Hunter was left alone in Keystone for years, and because of his tight bond with Wally coupled with not really knowing many more friends than him, Hunter had a hard time finding any luck socializing with the other kids in his school. Eventually, Hunter dropped out of his school and opted to finish his high school years online, furthering his isolation from any form of friendship. After Zolomon graduated from high school he spent a few years in a community college but his real goal was to become a cop when he became of age. So once he turned twenty-one Hunter enrolled in to a police academy so as to fulfill his goal.
A few years had passed and Hunter had become an esteemed police officer, even being considered a promotion to detective after he cracked a case that had stumped many of his fellow officers. All while this was happening, Wally had finished college and was travelling the world with the Titans, though Hunter only knew that he was with some “friends.” Eventually, Wally made his way back to the Gem Cities to stop by and visit his Aunt and her now Husband. While there Wally made his way across the bridge to once again meet up with Hunter. The pair hung out at Zolomon’s house and reminisced about old times as well as caught up on things that had transpired since the last time they had seen each other. Wally went on and on about his travels across the country and abroad all while Hunter really only had stories of cases he had worked on and nothing more.
Almost a year passed and Wally had since moved back home to Keystone City where he began work as a mechanic for Zolomon’s precinct. All felt right again as the pair again began to spend most of their free time together. That was until one day Zolomon was called to a case that got very violent. Caught in a shootout, Hunter had nowhere to go so he had no other option but to call for back up. Unfortunately the back up showed up to late and Hunter was caught in the cross fire of two rival gangs. A stray shot struck Hunter in the back and instantly paralyzed him. The loud gunfire caught the attention of Wally who was patrolling the city as the Flash. Quickly, Wally made it to the scene and disarmed all of the gang members, even going as far as finding some chain to tie up all of the thugs. With a painful groan, Hunter yelled for the Flash to come to his aid. Wally swiftly ran to Hunter’s side and quickly unmasked in an attempt to calm Hunter. In the blink of an eye, Wally got Hunter to the hospital before any further damage happened and the doctors were able to stabilize Zolomon. However, due to the point at which the bullet entered Zolomon’s back he was now left paralyzed from the waste down.
After Hunter was discharged from the hospital he and Wally met up so Hunter could thank his friend for saving him that day. Wally assured Hunter that he would do anything to help Hunter and that he would be by his side whenever he was needed. Hunter again thanked Wally and the pair began discussing Wally’s secret life and all things superpower related. Eventually the conversation got the point that Wally mentioned that at one point he travelled back in time thanks to a “cosmic treadmill” that Star Labs had let him use. With this information, Hunter asked Wally if there was a way that he could use the treadmill to go back in time and stop what had happened. Wally quickly shot down the idea because he said that it would tamper with the timeline and only cause more issues to arise if he did so. Hunter begrudgingly agreed, though he began to think that if he could somehow gain access to this treadmill that maybe he could reverse the events that had transpired.
So with this hopeful idea, Hunter secretly made his way to Star Labs in Central City. There he broke in to the facility and found what could only be described as a glorified treadmill. With what little mobility he had left in his lower body, Hunter made his way onto the treadmill after finding the power source and flicking it on. Hunter braced himself on a bar and waited for the treadmill to begin moving. With a loud roar and a fury of blinking lights, the treadmill began to slowly move. Zolomon began to stumble along the moving ground beneath him as the machine began to hiss and stutter. A loud crack sounded behind Zolomon and a flash of electricity jolted his legs causing him to fall face first on the ever accelerating platform on which he stood. As Hunter crashed off the back of the treadmill he noticed a small puff of smoke coming from the treadmill’s power source. The small puff quickly became a large billowing stack of smoke as a large blast of flames came bursting forth out of an electrical panel. Hopeless once more, Hunter laid there as the machine roared ever louder and sputter flames onto the ground before him. Hunter closed his eyes as he knew the machine was about to explode before him, though to his surprise, with the sound of a loud pop he found himself falling through a realm of electricity. In shock, Hunter faded into unconsciousness and landed back into the reality he found familiar.
After coming to, Hunter found himself in a hospital room, a surrounding he had unfortunately grown accustomed to. Though this time he felt different, he could feel his legs and every muscle in them. For the first time in almost a year Hunter could move his legs, so he did what anyone would do in his position, he got up and began walking. Much to his surprise, however, as he began walking he was moving much quicker than he could really comprehend. In a second he found himself outside the hospital and in the middle of the street outside. Somehow he could set his sights on a place and in the blink of an eye his legs could carry him there with little to no effort. Remembering what had happened to him and why it did, Hunter became filled with rage towards Wally. He knew that Wally could have stopped what had happened to him because of the very fact that he now had the ability to move his legs again.
Filled with rage, Hunter raced to Wally’s house, there he found Wally’s girlfriend, Linda. Without thinking much, Hunter took a hold of Linda and raced her out to the exact spot where he had gotten shot. Angrily, Hunter grabbed Linda’s phone from her jacket pocket and dialed Wally. Hunter told him exactly where he was and what he would do if Wally didn’t show up to talk to him. Zolomon figured that Wally wasn’t willing to risk his life to help him get his legs back, so he was going to pay for it by losing his girlfriend. One thing kept racing through Zolomon’s mind and that was that Wally had never truly cared for him. To Hunter, that’s why Wally left him alone all those years ago. In Hunter’s mind, Wally was the reason every bad thing had happened to him, so in return Hunter himself would be the reason every bad thing moving forward would happen to Wally. Along with the powers of the Speed Force, Anger, rage, jealousy, and heartbreak are the only things that seem to course through the veins of Hunter Zolomon.
To save this man’s life I grab hold of him and lift him up off his feet. Saying he wasn’t best pleased would be an understatement, but he knows that his only options are to stay in close proximity to my person or be shot by Talia. Needless to say it can be assumed he isn’t a big fan of being shot, then again aside from Clark who is? Thus, in order to save his own skin, he chooses to not put up much of a fight. Normally that would be quite alarming. If an opponent suddenly stops his attacks, it’s never a good sign. Often it means they have something that will tip the odds in their favour. In this case though I appear to hold all the cards. It’s either lose to me or be shot by Talia. I don’t approve of using death as a method to force compliance but in this scenario I have no choice. My suit is in poor shape and I can’t afford another drawn out fight with him so I have to end this now.
Sadly, for him the end of this battle isn’t good for him in either scenario. The only difference is that with me he’ll walk away with his life.
”Get out of the way! It’s him or us.”
”I won’t let you indulge in your father’s tactics Talia. If you use his methods, you’re no better than him!”
”Move Bruce, don’t make me fire on you!”
It’s a bluff. At least I hope so. Talia may have no quarrels with taking a life, but she doesn’t have a major blood thirst unlike some of the other members of the League, in part due to her not being overexposed to the Lazarus pit. Perhaps that’s why Damian was so willing to kill anyone in his path, not because of his training but because of his exposure to the pit’s effect. It’s hard to know given my lack of knowledge as to the extent of his training.
Maybe I’m just telling myself that in the hopes that he can be redeemed. After all who wants their son to be a willing serial killer. Huh. Funny. That’s the first time I’ve actually referred to him as my son. I only wish it was under better circumstances.
After a few quick punches to the chest, the assailant is all but defeated. The only thing needed is to restrain him. Originally I had intended to simply drop him to the ground and use a pair of the handcuffs on the floor, from when I forced my belt to empty its contents, and leave him for Jim. But that all changes as he reaches for a small knife on his leg holster. Just like their katanas , this knife is able to cut through the armour of my suit as if it was simply paper.
Needless to say, in a moment of both shock and anger I quickly throw him to the other side of the room causing him to slam into the chest of drawers where Talia pulled her gun from. Evidently I threw him with a large amount force, more so than I thought at least, as he smashes the chest to pieces whilst being rendered unconscious.
A quick inspection of the wound allows me to see how deep the cut is. Amazingly, he was able to cut through the bat symbol on my chest with ease as if it were nothing. Thank goodness it’s the most reinforced part of my whole suit or he’d have done a tremendous amount of damage. This, this is just a flesh wound. It’ll heal in a month…..assuming I’m still here in a month’s time.
Talia takes a moment to inspect the wound and panics when she sees blood coming out of the opening in my suit. It’s only when I show her the thickness of my armour plating that she calms down…..somewhat. It doesn’t stop her from slowly walking over to the unconscious assailant and putting her gun to his head.
”It’s over Talia. You don’t need to take his life.”
”If you cut down a tree but leave the roots, it will grow back eventually. If we leave him alive he’ll come be back and he won’t be al…”
As she stutters Talia loses her balance. Clearly the painkiller is starting to wear off and the pain is coming back to her. Sadly, I’m somewhat relieved by this as horrible as it sounds, because it stops Talia from taking another life. Though at the same time this does worry me. I expected that the painkiller would give her body time to heal using the residual Lazarus in her body. The fact that her body doesn’t appear to have healed itself at all is…. interesting…. though I doubt she’d agree with me on that remark.
For a moment it looks like she’s able to overcome the sudden rush of pain, but then almost immediately after it looks like she’s regained her composure she stumbles. Before she has a chance to collapse I race to her side and help support her.
”The painkiller is wearing off. I need to get you back to the cave so we can remove the bullet.”
”So I’m finally going to meet the infamous….Alfred…..Pennyworth….after all this time.”
Despite the situation I can’t help but crack a smile for Talia. Both to put her at ease and also knowing that at long last, she gets to meet Alfred. It doesn’t sound like a major thing, but after how much I talked about him during my time with the League, Talia’s been desperate to meet him if only to know who was the poor man that had to put with raising me for all those years.
”You are Talia. You are.”
I’m not going to lose you Talia. Ra’s may have stolen the son I never knew I had, but I’m not going to let him take you away from me again.