“Unlike other forms of psychological disorders, the core issue in trauma is reality.”

~ Bessel van der Kolk (from his book 'The Body Keeps the Score')

www.facebook.com/nefiseHphotography

South East Queensland and Northern New South Wales are under yet another big wet. We can only hope it is nowhere near as bad as the last one, just a month ago but no doubt, many traumatised people will be holding their breath. I think this poor sodden little Noisy Miner may be feeling the same way. They love their afternoon bird baths, but enough is enough!

Brownsea Island (also archaically known as Branksea) is the largest of the islands in Poole Harbour in the county of Dorset, England. The island is owned by the National Trust. Much of the island is open to the public and includes areas of woodland and heath with a wide variety of wildlife, together with cliff top views across Poole Harbour and the Isle of Purbeck.

The island was the location of an experimental camp in 1907 that led to the formation of the Scout movement the following year. Access is by public ferry or private boat. The island's name comes from Anglo-Saxon Brūnoces īeg = "Brūnoc's island".

The island was purchased by wealthy stockbroker Charles van Raalte who used the island as a residential holiday retreat. During this time the castle was renovated and served as host to famous visitors such as Guglielmo Marconi.[ Robert Baden-Powell, a close friend of the van Raaltes, hosted an experimental camp for boys on the island in the summer of 1907. Brownsea was largely self-supporting, with a kitchen garden and a dairy herd. Many of the pottery factory workers had stayed on after it closed, farming and working for the owners. Charles van Raalte died in Calcutta in 1907 and his wife eventually sold the island in 1925. In 1927 it was purchased at auction by Mary Bonham-Christie for £125,000. A recluse by nature, she ordered a mass eviction of the island's residents to the mainland. Most of the island was abandoned and gradually reverted to natural heath and woodland. In 1934, a wild fire caused devastation after burning for a week. Much of the island was reduced to ashes, and the buildings to the east were only saved by a change of wind direction. Traumatised by the event, Bonham-Christie banned all public access to the island for the rest of her life.

During the Second World War large flares were placed on the western end of the island to mislead Luftwaffe bombers away from the port of Poole. The decoy saved Poole and Bournemouth from 1,000 tonnes (160,000 st) of German bombs, but the deserted village of Maryland was destroyed. In April 1961, Bonham-Christie died at 98 years old and her grandson gave the island to the Treasury to pay her death duties. Concerned the island could be sold to commercial developers, a campaign was started by local conservationist, Helen Brotherton, with the aim of purchasing the island to protect its natural habitats. The National Trust subsequently agreed to take over responsibility for the island if enough funds were raised and in 1962 its purchased Brownsea for £100,000.[23] Work was carried out to prepare the island for visitors; tracks were cleared through areas overgrown with rhododendrons and firebreaks were created to prevent repetition of the 1934 fire. The Dorset Wildlife Trust leased a nature reserve on the north of the island, the Scout and Guide Movements were allowed to return and the castle was renovated and leased to the John Lewis Partnership for use as a staff hotel. The island was opened to the public in May 1963 by Olave, Lady Baden-Powell, the Chief Guide, at a ceremony attended by members of the 1907 camp. Soon after Brownsea Island was opened to the public, it was attracting more than 10,000 visitors a year.[24] Larger boats means that today the island attracts some 110,000 visitors annually.

Apologies.

I still haven't been able to answer your comments from yesterday, but over the next couple of days I promise to get back to you and visit your page. But I think all pet lovers will agree, I have a good enough excuse.

Our cat Dusty went missing on Friday night. I let him out for a little break before bed and when I went down to bring him inside he was gone. Okay, he'll turn up at our bedroom window as he has done in the past and wake me. I am like a mother with a baby to this cat. I hear his smallest cries.

Well to cut a long story short, he didn't show and the hours ticked by. I checked all his possible local haunts and no sign at all. Checked with the neighbours: Dusty not seen. So then your mind starts weighing up the possible bad scenarios. We could safely rule out that he ran away, but he wanders a little in the grounds of the college next door. Being Saturday there was no one around, so I was able to check every nook and cranny.

There have been reports of pets being abducted locally (especially exotic breeds for the black market) so that starts to become a real option after he was gone all day and the sun was setting. But Flickr did help me in one respect. I would go ahead and post some photos as planned, but I simply wasn't yet able to bring myself to answering any of the comments (that was just too taxing given the high anxiety we were under).

The most therapeutic thing I did though was to spend most of yesterday morning concentrating on processing black and whites. I felt good about the results because I simply had to concentrate to avoid the dread of possibly losing our beautiful cat.

But to get to the point, last night I was in our driveway comforting my wife Marjorie when I heard that feint little cry. Perhaps I was hearing things. So I called out Dusty, but really didn't expect a response. My mind was playing tricks. But no it wasn't, and it turns out neighbour Glenn had mowed his lawn and left the door under his house open. A curious cat wanders in. Later Glenn remembered to go down and lock up, so Dusty must have been trapped.

So we have our Dusty back almost exactly 24 hours after he disappeared. Hungry and dehydrated but okay. Because he has no real conception of time, apart from getting hungry, we have been more traumatised than him.

But I think I'll take a couple of days break from Flickr (apart from answering your comments).

Enjoy your weekend. Ours is much better today and our dear Dusty is sleeping peacefully on his bed next to his favourite stuffed toy.

somewhat traumatised from the wind yesterday, which blew down a lot of the foliage around their nest.

I don't think the nest sustained any damage, but it is far more open now, and the birds seem to be fussed!

TED: "I fergot to tell yew - when me an' the hoomuns wuz comin' back frum our holibobs I got stopped by customs offishuls at the airport an' searched! They opened the bag I wuz travellin' in an' tested me fer DRUGS!!! The man rubbed a lickle strip of sumfink over me face an' paws an' then put it fru' a machine to test if I wuz carryin' drugs, but it's OK, I wuzzn't, honest! I ain't never bin so embbarased in me whole life!"

#traumatised

It has been eight years since I have been working with kids. I have worked with different ages, starting from the one not having idea of how to write and finishing the teenage stage when you think you know the world the best possible way.

I have seen children telling me the wisest things in the world, also the funniest and, of course, the stupidest. I have seen them being abused by their parents, both physiologically and physically. I have seen some of them gaining confidence in themselves within the years and I have seen some of them losing the desire to live and claiming that there is no reason to live. I have also seen them lying to me and also being the sincerest telling me their secrets. I have seen a lot.

I like comparing. This came from my childhood. At the age of ten I lost my father. It impressed and traumatised me deeply. I vividly remember all the things happening to me after being ten, but all my recollections before ten seem to be a vague puff. I guess that happened because I was happy as a small child and I have seen no special need to remember things in details. Every single day was full of adventures, life seemed to be an endless journey. After the loss, I got acquainted with the concept of death. It came by saying hello to me and has changed my life ever since. Experiences, plans, impressions, chasing dreams have become so important to me especially from that negative experience.

‘Our childhood makes us’ they say. It is so obvious, but yet the way we analyse things we get through is so different. People can do the same things, let’s even imagine them doing them synchronically. It seems to be the same picture, but the the perception of every single individual is always different. After all, we are nothing but our experiences.

© Mari Nino Photography

| blog

Sami arrived here more than a month ago from a shelter from which we took some of our cats before. Sami and his other brothers and sisters were rescued from a house that was unfortunately burnt down. Luckily, all of them were not injured but, according to the shelter, Sami was the most traumatised one by the accident.

He is absolutely a scared one and it was difficult for him and the shelter to find his new home. Because we have experiences to take care of some difficult cats, for instance Ai Ai who was bullied by his previous owner, the shelter asked us if we could provide him a stable accommodation.

It was not an easy decision and we came to decide to provide Sami his new home.

I do not know how long it will take him to settle in here and hope he will find here his happy home. I have not touched him yet.

I would like to thank FANTXTIK so much for helping me out with this fig! He has an amazing method of using Nail Whitener on figures instead of paint (which I personally think is way easier to use!) that's what allowed me to do the shorts and fingerless gloves!

LC Verse Batman

Harley Quinn - Harleen Francis Quinzel

As a young girl Harleen was a prodigy in gymnastics, after intense training as a teenager she was set for the olympics. However on one unfortunate day her parents were killed in a car accident on the way to tryouts. She was discovered by the Joker when him and his goons were on their way to a heist, Joker told her to "Just keep smiling and it will make the pain go away." Which she tried her best to do despite being traumatised. He then took her under his care seeing potential within her and she became part of his team for many years.

Harleen was a henchwoman for Joker for many years and idolised his eccentric ways, she wields a sledge hammer which she used to knock Batman out one time. This caught Jokers attention and he began to take a liking to her and wanted her to be his by pushing her into a container of acid giving her bleach white skin the same as him. The two started taking over the streets of Gotham together, unfortunately for them Batman foiled their plans of taking control over Gotham and Joker became violent towards her in anger. She then went for advice from Queen Ivy who she became friends with when she met Joker, Queen Ivy created some herbs for Harleen which over time gave her enhanced physical attributes to make her more independent and give her the mental and physical strength she needed to move on. Queen Ivy then persuaded Harleen to leave the Joker which she did becoming her own super villain called "Harley Quinn". Harley now attempts to take over Gotham City to prove to herself she is just as good, if not better than Joker and is determined more than ever to kill the Batman and become one of the most notorious villains in Gotham.

Flew into the house, caught by the dog, spat out of dogs mouth onto the carpet, licked and pawed by the dog, saved by myself and placed outside! It cleaned itself up and flew off hopefully not too traumatised by its ordeal!

Imagine, if you will, two old blokes who've known each other for ages. Theirs was the kind of relationship that speaks in silent codes. Shared experience has shaped them. They are synchronised, to a point. The elder one has status, is connected, or just nosey. The younger is respected by the older, but inquisitive. After the pleasantries, an inevitable question forms. What does Jack know that I don't: "Give us ya guts, officer". Always, always, he was "officer". Clearly there was something I didn't know. Some have access to arcane skills and knowledge. The rest of us are just human.

Some of you might recall that my 60D and 10-22 zoom tested Newton's Law of Universal Gravitation from a horse-drawn cart on Sark. What now looks like a bit of NASA surplus space junk is actually a Canon YG2-2158-000 FOCUSING ASS'Y USM and MIDDLE LENS ASS'Y CY3-2119-000. When the lovely people at Canon took my traumatised lens into the operating theatre and performed lifesaving surgery, they gave me the "guts" as a memento!

Yesterday, I made one of my uncommon visits to a Post Office. The charming and ever helpful clerk asked if I wanted to insure my package, as well as track it… I explained, in it's current state, it was maybe a doorstop or paperweight. Her advice? Save your money! Let them insure it when it comes back. You see, my EF 100-400mm f/4.5-5.6L IS II USM was, after refusing to focus and emitting strange growling noises, effectively worthless — not worth insuring until, when and if, its function was restored. Now its on its way to those same surgeons as did the subject of an impromptu physics experiment on Sark.

Quite likely, the last serious work that the zoom telephoto did was to keep watch on the family of Australian Hobbies who made their home in a disused raven's nest. They don't, as many other birds do, build their own nests — they just adopt someone else's. On the weekend just gone, while they thought the sound of a chainsaw — common enough in the bush — would not be noticed, some gutless individual took to the hobby's tree and lopped off its upper limbs and those of its neighbour. They hadn't bargained on the switched on local authorities who, springing into action by — I suppose the motivation of some dobber — took them down with the same lack of compassion they offered the trees, and the hobbies. I can't imagine a sanction cruel enough to offset this stupid act. Too late, their nest is gone, even if the trees — clipped but not killed — still stand. Perhaps nobody else cares? I'm gutted by this selfish, gutless act.

When the wizards restore and return my lens, it'll find new subjects. Watch this space…

For the curious: my camera was "mounted" on a concrete floor, the scene lit by bounce flash from a handheld Canon Speedlite 580EX II off a white ceiling, and the shutter released by an RS-60E3 Remote Switch. Now, I can probably retire these mementos…

13 May 2021, the Dutch war film "De Oost" was released. The film is set in 1946 in the Netherlands East Indies at the time of the Indonesian National Revolution. My cousin Kees Ruigrok sent me this photo, in which our uncle Frans can be seen, leaving to fight in the war against Indonesia's independence. Young Dutch men were sent to participate in this war, many unknown with what to expect. Over 100,000 Indonesians were killed during the war of independence and some 6,000 Dutch soldiers. In recent years, information was published about excessive violence during this war, which turned out to be not exceptional. The 2018 documentary series "Onze Jongens op Java" ("Our Boys in Java)" showed interviews with 14 men who served during this war. Many of them had not talked about this period for 70 years. The series gave a clear and personal insight in what took place during this war.

What did the experiences in Indonesia do to my uncle, mentally, I have wondered for a long time. My cousin had talked to our uncle about it and had heard that he had found a way to deal with it, several of his fellow soldiers were traumatised.

My grandfather Piet Lommerse, first from the right in the photo, had a tulip bulb preparation company in Hillegom. His sons Frans, Jan and Kees participated in the company and currently, the company is led by my cousin Frans, son of Kees and Joke Lommerse. Two sons are not shown in the above photo. Jan Lommerse was working in New Zealand as a carpenter at the time. After his return, several company buildings were built by him. Kees Lommerse was having medical treatment in Brabant at the time.

My father, Dick Lommerse, was the youngest son and because he was good at school, he studied HBS (higher secundary education) and at Nyenrode and worked for an international company.

I saw this photo for the first time this week and was struck by the resemblance of my father with a photo of myself as a youth (underneath).

Courtesy Lommerse-Uitendaal-Ruigrok family archives

One was the first formal portrait project I undertook. 1977UK Crowthorne Susan H. Traumatised by mother's cancer. Studied to become a lawyer. Lives (I think) in Malaysia #blackandwhite #1-8 #berlinstagram #panatomicx #6x6 #analogue #art #realpeople #reallives #portraits #b&w #photography #instagram #street www.hughes-photography.eu www.hughes-photography.eu www.flickr.com/photos/michael_hughes www.flickr.com/photos/michael_hughes www.hughes.berlin @michaelcameronhughes

Kinglake, Victoria

Kinglake Ranges Rotary which meets in the beautiful Kinglake area north of Melbourne held its annual Lift the Lid Walk for Mental and Physical Health this morning.

These walks which are held in various parts of Australia seek to highlight the importance of mental and physical health via a walk and talk in the community.

They are also an opportunity to raise funds for Australian Rotary Health which supports medical research and health scholars.

Mental health has been very much a front of mind issue for Kinglake Ranges Rotary which grew out of the many community responses in a deeply traumatised community after the horrific 2009 Black Saturday bushfires which saw a great deal of destruction and the sad loss of many lives.

This was only published five months after it was taken, once Jake had recovered and returned to his unit, and given his considered, written consent.

You can read the accompanying article, including an interview with Jake and his comrades, here: bit.ly/oN00ip

CAPTION: Specialist Jacob William Moore, 21, stares into the distance as he clutches the hand of a seriously wounded comrade on board a medevac air ambulance racing towards Kandahar Air Field in southern Afghanistan, Nov 22, 2010. Spc Moore was part of a stretcher team carrying a wounded man to safety when they hit a second explosive device, buried in their path. The men, from the 2-502 Infantry's Attack Company were operating in Nalgham, in Zhari district. Two Americans and one Afghan soldier were killed in the attacks, four others, including Spc Moore, were wounded.

The troops are part of the 101st Airborne Division - known as the screaming eagles - sent to Afghanistan in June 2010 as part of Barack Obama's surge. Moore and his comrades paid tribute to their fallen as "phenomenal soldiers". They said the general public in America have no idea what is going on in Afghanistan. Moore returned to active duty and finished out his tour in Afghanistan.

In 2012 he returned to Afghanistan for a second tour of duty.

On Instagram/Twitter JJ and I are following the progress of a dog called Sophie, who came from Romania and is living with journalist and former BBC technology correspondent, Rory Cellan-Jones. He and his wife have had Sophie since December and didn't realise how timid she would be. She spent most of her time hiding behind the sofa and it's been very slow progress. I think they still haven't been able to walk her yet.

(www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-11675081/Ex-BBC-journa...)

I have just started following Rory's dog trainer on Instagram and he has a blog that really resonates with the way we are handing Harbie. We are training Harbie with treats, sometimes we go through loads in one day.

So here are some quotes from "You're Spoiling That Dog":

"One of the most unhelpful myths around positive reinforcement training is the idea of ‘spoiling the dog.’ People think doling out treats with a generous hand will simply reinforce a pattern of unwanted behaviour or make a dog unmanageable.

It’s a really sticky myth and can create a barrier to progress for people when working with a fearful dog. Because in the early stages, we aren’t asking for any particular obedience behaviour in return for treats. We’re just establishing a positive association: ‘Hey - these people, this place, that unfamiliar dog means great, tasty food. Cool, huh?’. And achieving that means rapid, frequent, repeated delivery of good stuff at every opportunity where you can make that association."

"Don't expect them to be 'brave'. We don’t need a fearful dog to ‘earn’ their treats. We absolutely don’t need them to be brave. We want them to feel safe and comfortable and to choose to make the next step because they feel really secure in doing so. And that can be counter intuitive for the people side of the partnership, too – ‘feel the fear and do it anyway’ and all that. But while as humans, we may prize courage, with fearful dogs, demanding bravery is counterproductive."

"These rules apply if you’re working with a dog who is fearful of other dogs. We want lots of rapid treating when your dog sees another at distance. But always, always keeping them feeling safe, not demanding bravery by getting too close. If the dog won’t take treats, they’re too anxious and you need to put distance between you and what’s making them afraid."

Tim built this bed for Sam (two dogs ago) by the way, but Harbie has discovered that our bed is far more comfortable!!

great nesting material.

Earlier in the year, we were given tickets to the Maleny Botanic Gardens and Birdworld in the Sunshine Coast Hinterland. With various issues disrupting life it took us until recently for our friend May (Maybe) and us to visit the park. Now May has already posted a couple of delightful shots and Jenny agreed reluctantly for this one to be made public. But before we get into that, I would like to borrow May's eloquent statement about the park (I am sure she won't mind) with which we agree explains the great work they do. We love birds to be free but sometimes, humans have to step in to help the animal kingdom. The birds, often not native species (like those shown here) live in very large aviaries that are made to feel as comfortable as possible in well constructed environments. They are well fed with food specific to their needs, allowed to develop social and family links with other birds in their species and in particular, are free to engage in social activity or not as they please with visitors who fund the park and their well being. I can say for sure there is a lot of love here as birds and humans elect, if they wish to cross the divide and interact.

Here is May's statement.

"I I know some of you will be unhappy with me for posting images of birds in captivity, but before you do so, 70%+ of these birds have been rescued from the illegal bird trade or have been donated to the park once their owners have died and other family members couldn't or wouldn't look after them. Many of you will know that our parrot friends are greatly prized on the Black Market and many do not make it out alive from their first harrowing journey. Those that do are often deeply traumatised by the experience and find themselves in less than suitable surrounds for their physical and intellectual needs."

Jenny and I absolutely adore interacting with birds on their terms. We had a wonderful Sulphur-Created Cockatoo for many years who was the love of our lives (apart from my human family of course) and we have a variety of birds drop by for some food on a daily basis on their terms. The other thing is that yes, we would prefer these birds to be free. As May states, there are good reasons why this cannot be so for those at the park including the fact that many are not native species.

You will notice that birds have a great affinity for Jenny's hair. She hates her hair but they don't. They tease and pull it out, no doubt, it would make ideal nesting material! Perhaps these two are getting ready to set up house! As you can see, many of he birds just love interacting with humans. We know that during lockdowns when the only visitors were staff that the birds reacted very strongly to the loss of interaction.

The Wikipedia article on these Sun Conures is rather long, so I have added the link so anyone interested can read the whole lot at your leisure.

Extract From Wikipedia (I hope this is the correct species!)

The Sun Parakeet (Aratinga solstitialis), also known in aviculture as the Sun Conure is a medium-sized, vibrantly colored parrot native to northeastern South America. The adult male and female are similar in appearance, with predominantly golden-yellow plumage and orange-flushed underparts and face. Sun parakeets are very social birds, typically living in flocks. They form monogamous pairs for reproduction, and nest in palm cavities in the tropics. Sun parakeets mainly feed on fruits, flowers, berries, blossoms, seeds, nuts, and insects. Conures are commonly bred and kept in aviculture and may live up to 30 years. This species is currently threatened by loss of habitat and trapping for plumage or the pet trade. Sun parakeets are now listed as endangered by the IUCN (International Union for Conservation of Nature).

en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sun_parakeet

Et j'ai pensé que la meilleur façon de le faire était en continuant à transmettre ce qui me semblait intéressant, beau, poétique, artistique, philosophique, afin que chacun puisse élargir son cadre de référence, s'ouvrir sur d'autres cultures, apprendre à apprécier toute forme d'art (du moins ne pas les condamner), devenir curieux, poser 1000 questions, penser, contester....

Je vais donc continuer comme avant, partager avec vous mes découvertes, mes passions, mes interrogations. Une chose sera nouvelle : tout les mardi, je vous emmènerai au musée, ce sera mon "MaMjour".

Je n'oublierai pas ceux et celles qui ont été physiquement ou psychologiquement traumatisé, probablement à vie, dans cette tragédie, ceux qui ont perdu un membre, soit de leur famille, soit de leur corps, dont la vie a été ravagée, mutilée, ceux et celles qui sont morts trop tôt pour rien, juste parce qu'ils vivaient.

Non, je ne suis pas guérie de l'effet dévastateur de cette boucherie, mais dès demain je retourne à ma mission de transmission et de partage. A demain au musée Picasso...

ENGLISH :

I wondered how to get on with my life on flickr. I wanted to get across the idea that "life" continues, that it always wins, but that we should cultivate, accompany, to enrich it...

And I thought that the best way to do that was continuing to convey what seemed interesting, beautiful, poetic, artistic, philosophical, so that everyone can expand their frame of reference, can open up to other cultures , learn to appreciate all forms of art (at least not condemn them) become curious, ask 1000 questions, think, debate ....

I will continue as before, share with you my discoveries, my passions, my questions. One thing is new: every Tuesday, I'll take you to the museum, it will be my "MaMday".

I will not forget those who have been physically or psychologically traumatized, probably for their lifetime, in this tragedy, those who have lost a limb or their families, or their bodies, whose of which life have been ravaged, mutilated, those who died too early for nothing, just because they lived.

No, I am not cured of the devastating effect of this butchery, but tomorrow I return to my mission of transmitting and sharing.

Tomorrow the Picasso Museum ...

Masai Mara National Reserve, Kenya

A tortoise made the mistake of wandering past these cubs and ended up as a plaything. When we followed the cubs later, I was really worried that they had left it upside down, in which case it would die, but scrutinising subsequent photos showed that it was up the right way! Don't know how traumatised it was by the whole experience though!

Vous ne connaissez pas un puissant somnifère qui la fasse dormir pendant une semaine?

Elle me rend dingue. Cette nuit j'ai dû aller la chercher à 1hOO du matin au jardin (en pyjama et pieds nus dans mes Crocs) parce qu'elle aboyait (j'ai eu juste le temps d'enfermer Lewis avant qu'il ne la rejoigne). Ce midi elle m'a refait une vraie crise d'hystérie en voyant un cycliste (qui a eu l'air traumatisé même si j'étais à une certaine distance). Et là je viens de gronder Lewis qui a fait un trou énorme dans la haie au point qu'on voit les racines....

Bon sang il est où le temps où les moments avec mes chiens, notamment les promenades, étaient les moments les plus relaxant de la journée? J’ai toujours su que Livia et Betsy (Rambo aussi ) étaient pratiquement parfaites, je le sais encore plus maintenant !!!

Do you know a powerful sleeping pill that makes her sleep for a week?

She drives me crazy. Last night I had to pick her up at 1:00 am in the garden (in pajama and barefoot in my Crocs) because she barked (I just had time to lock Lewis up before he joined her) . This afternoon she made me a real crisis of hysteria seeing a cyclist (who looked traumatized even if I was at a certain distance). And some minutes ago I just scolded Lewis who made a huge hole in the hedge to the point where we now see the roots ....

Where is the time when the moments with my dogs, especially the walks, were the most relaxing moments of the day? I always knew that Livia and Betsy (Rambo too) were almost perfect, I know it even more now !!!

lorsque j'ai demandé à notre Boucher un os pour Ice il cru que nous avions un Lion à la maison,

elle n'ose même pas y toucher, elle va être traumatisée par la chose ....

Another good night shooting at the old Helensburgh station tunnel. A varied night of people visiting and the tunnel from some shinning torches in all directions making it a little difficult for our eyes to adjust both for photos but to just enjoy this freak of nature. There was a crew there spinning lit steel wool at high speed giving some interesting effects. Though driving home I wondered if this might traumatise these potentially fragile insects. Upon later investigation indeed this does reduce glow worm population and in my opinion be discouraged.

Blue angel!

Merlebleu de l'Est

Eastern bluebird

Sialia sialis

Une séance photographique d'un grand bonheur dimanche dernier grâce à Michel Paquin qui a localisé l'oiseau. J'ai eu l'occasion de le photographier debout, assise, à genoux appuyée sur une pierre tombale. Je ne croyais avoir le courage de faire cela après avoir été traumatisée par une scène du film Carrie!! Ce Merlebleu m'a donné tout un spectacle et j'ai encore plein de clichés à vous présenter!

My friends little girl, Olivia, again.....none of you will ever have any idea how many silly faces and stupid noises I had to make to get her this mesmerised by me....or should that be 'traumatised' lol

A small emperial airship is unlucky to meet the Lady McZep, an outlaw ship filled with dangerous pirates who will wittingly attack.. After a tremendous fight the ship crashes down and splashes into the ocean. the few survivors, traumatised by their misery, are now threatened by the raising fire.

Entry for the Collosal Battle contest.

100% lego. The flextube and the nets are cut, no other pieces were harmed.

Forget them not. In memory of those who lost their lives last night at the Ariana Grande Concert with love and support to all those injured and traumatised by this horrific event.

Je vous présente une grande artiste méconnue européenne, suisse précisément, malheureusement trop tôt décédée en 2004, mais dont l'oeuvre proche de l'Art Brut me touche énormément. Et dont la personnalité résistante et obstinée, a permis dix ans après sa mort, que la Confédération reconnaisse sa culpabilité dans le scandale des enfants placés, en lien avec la Pro Juventute, un programme politique concentrationnaire visant minorités et foyers en difficultés sociales. Louisette née en 1933, sera comme des milliers d'autres petits suisses, internée d'instituts en orphelinats religieux et enfin à la prison de Bellechasse, sans qu'à aucun moment, elle n'ait été internée pour délit ou crime.

Traumatisée par cette expérience, mais aussi passionnée de dessin, Louisette traitera en partie sa souffrance à travers la peinture, le dessin et l'écriture.

"Mon Tour de Suisse en cage" paraît dans les années 90, puis elle entame plusieurs expositions et se consacre toute la fin de sa vie à la fois à sa peinture mais aussi à un combat pour que la justice suisse et les pouvoirs politiques sortent du silence et admettent leur culpabilité.

Elle fera plusieurs grèves de la faim, mais aussi escaladera des grues pour interpeller au mégaphone les autorités judiciaires, la population sur le drame des enfants placés.

Je ne sais pas si en Suisse, son oeuvre picturale est aujourd'hui très connue ni exposée. Mais j'avais envie de lui rendre hommage pour tout ce qu'elle a été et ce qu'elle a fait.

Elle était pauvre, a vécu les pires humiliations et douleurs qu'un individu peut souffrir dans une vie. Mais elle a réussi à transformer cela en don merveilleux à la fois pour s'épanouir et permettre aux plus faibles et rejetés, de relever la tête et d'être un peu écoutés et considérés, d'obtenir justice sur leurs internements arbitraires.

Une source d'inspiration et d'espérance, un modèle pour moi.

Je vous mets un documentaire pour que vous puissiez la découvrir plus avant:

www.rts.ch/archives/tv/culture/viva/6623156-louisette-buc...

“Goodbye," said the fox. "And now here is my secret, a very simple secret: It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.”

First of all, I want to wish you all a splendid new year. I hope 2016 will bring much joy, happines and love.

The past 6 months had a lot of ups and downs for Luna. This summer she had a hotspot on her tail and only after a month was she completely okay again. Two months later she again started biting her tail, for a reason we don't know. But this was quickly over. And in november it started again. She was really traumatised by it and panicked every time she thought she felt something on her tail (even it wasn't). it was a hell of a month for us all. We've tried many things to help her. For now she's okay again and we hope it will stay this way. Let 2016 be a good year for my little fox.

Harassed by lens

Flicker x 100 2017 challenge. 24/100 Theme- Bob Dylan songs Evangelical Phase.

From the years 1979 to1981, Dylan, born a Jew, became a born-again Christian, releasing three albums reflecting his new found evangelicalism (Slow Train Coming, Saved and Shot of Love). While Dylan has often used religious and biblical imagery in his lyrics, he had never before dedicated entire songs and albums in such an overtly religious way. It seemed out of character for such a counter-culture icon. Of course this alienated fans although it was also a period where he was most engaging with the audience and he managed to utter more than two words during a concert, often preacher style. However, during this phase, he still produced some beautiful songs with evocative imagery. Listen to Every Grain of Sand vimeo.com/61822795.

Some info sourced from www.independent.co.uk/arts-entertainment/music/features/b...

Of Dylan's conversion he says that late in 1978 he sensed “a presence in the room that couldn’t have been anybody but Jesus”, and even felt a hand placed upon him. “

I have sat on this image for awhile due to the circumstances around the time I took it. It was during the January school holidays when I took my daughter into the city for some shopping and photography. It was just after lunch and we were sitting on a bench in the sunshine of the Bourke St Mall, enjoying the street performers and buskers. I saw the bike and as I was on the lookout for images for my Dylan Challenge, I thought this would work as a representation for his religious phase. The next day, just after lunch, a young man with a history of mental illness, drug use and family violence drove down the Mall, including where we had been sitting, deliberately running into pedestrians. Six people died and over 30 were injured, and many, many more left traumatised by what they saw. I was haunted by how the author of this sign may have interpreted the incident and the fact that it could have been my daughter and I. One is tempted to use the words "but for the grace of God" and relate it to the image but I find that offensive as what does that leave for the people who did die and who lost loved ones in a most random and horrific way?

By 1982 Dylan returned to Judaism. He has just released a Bootleg called Trouble No More: The Bootleg Series Vol 13/1979-1981 which covers this period.

Apologies for length of post

Last year, when I first got my 10 stop filter, we took the 7D to Mudeford. That disaster of a photo walk traumatised me for months...

Today we found ourselves back at the same spot, armed with my new BFF, the X100, and had another go. This time was rather comical (camera on a gorillapod in the face of a 'bracing' wind), but I got some shots I really like so hopefully I've put that saga to bed. ;)

My emotional avatar right there.

For many years I’ve been struggling with my former time at school. The coercion, peer pressure, loneliness, the tribal culture and seeming chaos of random acts of cruelty and humiliation perpetrated by my peers deeply affected me. Add to that the bullying that was directed upon anyone observed to be either too smart or too dumb. So I ran silent and deep, tried to become invisible, did the minimum effort to receive a pass in my assignments, in constant fear of being cast out, rejected and mocked. After finishing school I felt cheated; I’d lost my chance at a career or even becoming who I might’ve been. I felt like a shadow. I felt like a failure. The bullies had won. I felt bitter and angry; I would resort to road rage to vent my aggression. In my mind I would become obsessed with questions like “Why” and “If only-“, I was trapped in my own past.

Through much counselling, reading and introspection, I had an epiphany recently. I realised that I’d survived. It sounds a so simple and a little quaint but I suspect that I had to be in the right place in order to realise the power of that statement. I was traumatised by school but I survived. Unfortunately many kids don’t. But I did, here I am. Suddenly the questions in my mind turned to “Now what?” and “What happens today?” Saying to myself that I survived something in the past gave me not only strength but focused me back on the present, the here and now. This moment here becomes important rather than trying to fix or resolve or find meaning in the past. That's a hugely powerful feeling for me and I’m proud of myself for surviving something I found so traumatic.

I don't know why it took me so long to get here but that's in the past now too. I don't know if this helps anyone reading it but if there's even the remotest, slightest possibility that it might, then it's worth sharing. Sharing our vulnerabilities makes us stronger, I think.

WARNING

Adult content, that may trigger.

Today my colour is green.

A diary entry.

My dog likes classical music.

I bought him, my miniature fox terrier, to occupy my dad’s time, and mind, as he died from cancer. I thought a tiny pugnacious boy dog, would frustrate my dad to life, and not death, as he came to terms with his terminal disease. It worked. I had to bring him home after I bought him from kind people, next to a swamp on the Murray River. I put him in a cardboard box with holes in it. I did it to calm him, and to keep him from getting under the cars peddles as I drove, a potentially fatal experience for us both. My dog is an utter boy, so much so, if he was in the modern education system, they would have him on Ritalin. He would not settle down in the car at the start of the 160klm or 100-mile trip home. The answer I found was music. I ran through the channels on the radio, seeing what would be best, and we settled on ABC classical. I always remember how it alleviated his distress, that stemmed from being separated for the first time from his canine and human families. He cried in the car for them, upsetting not just him, but me. So, when I found out he liked classical music, it was a joy.

I was sitting at home today watching the D Day commemoration. Later by chance I was listening to the Hauser Adagio for Strings (Barber). Here is a link the YouTube video www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hc8gYoXkLZ4. It is from the soundtrack for the movie Platoon. If you don’t know it is a movie about the Vietnam war, and it stars Charlie Sheen. My dog’s ears swivelled and tilted, his head looked left and right, following the stereo music from speaker to speaker. His face pointed at the music with curious intent, going from one speaker to the next. It grabbed his attention, after minutes of being a boy with no purpose, he stopped, and we both listened intently.

Later, I would think about war, and my role in it.

The D Day commemoration in France commemorates the landing that was so pivotal in the swing of the fate of France and Europe. On that day 80 years ago, 4414 troops lost their lives, so my copilot tells me. It makes me a little emotional. Thinking of the loss of life.

I once went along to the RSl or the Returned Services League on ANZAC day. ANZAC day is if you don’t know a commemoration of the wars, those that served, and those that died. We do it here in Australia. It stands for Australian New Zealand Army Corps. I had run out of grog, and was after a drink, so I went along. In general, I have nothing to do with Anzac Day on a public level, as it is too distressing, and the potential of me weeping openly raises to many questions. I think it could cause some distress for others, as I lose my composure. The other reason is my great grandfather was in World War one. He was highly traumatised by the experience, so much so he never talked about it, and refused to go to Anzac Day parades. It is not about me, as to why I do not attend. I am not confused about my intent of what I did.

The colour green. My 365-word processor icon is green today, a sign of renewal, or so it says. I am informed after doing a search for the colour’s meaning, or its representative connotation on the net. It was the colour for our school jumpers at high school, and I remember that it was part of the sporting group Chisolm, my group or team when it came to school sports. It was a team that celebrated the Australian woman, Caroline Chisholm. Here is a link to her wiki page, en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Caroline_Chisholm, quite a remarkable woman, on all accounts. She was a friend to immigrants in Australia. Despite my family being here in Australia for approximately one hundred years, and, even though I was born here, I am still treated like an immigrant. Oddly it seemed strange that an aboriginal woman who dislikes welcome to countries, would make me feel at home, with the teachings of her traditional uncle. She said her uncle had taught her that if you were born here, you are from here. I am highly confident that it is a simplification of a very lengthy consideration. This consideration, when I reflected on that day at the RSl was gutting, it touches part of me, like no one had, since childhood. Her words affected me today, as I recalled that day at the RSL years ago. A day where I went to remember and have a beer. To be honest it was upsetting for all the wrong reasons. On that day, I drank quietly, and watched the veterans play lawn bowls, at least one of the veterans was a very good bowler, and I said “good bowl” on several occasions. A gentleman approached me and said very politely that it was a time of quiet reflection, and to come inside and have a beer while the gentleman bowlers remembered the fallen in silence, and why they went to war.

I went inside after apologizing and sat at the bar. While inside, another man approached me. He started with a line of questioning or what would become an interrogation of sorts. I had been taken inside for an education, an education as to who the locals were, and to be questioned as to where I come from. It may have been well intended but was unnecessary. I know where I come from, and I know who the locals are. I grew up here at a time when the phone book was only ½ and inch thick, to use the old standard, and half of that was business adds with pictures. I didn’t take offence, when the man questioned me about my heritage, as I grew up in an era where being of Italian origin was not ok in the least for many here. It didn’t matter to this man that my family had been in the town for nearly a hundred years, and at no time had we been implicated in the second world war, other than to help feed the war effort. In fact, one day as Dad was being dinked or pinioned on my grandfather’s bicycle, they road past Italian POWs or prisoners of war, here in Shepparton Australia. My grandfather noticed, and new one of them, he yelled out, Gessepi, (if that was his name), hello! He smiled and kept riding. Quite happy I am sure, that it was not him in prison. My grandfather was a 1920s immigrant, or around there. He left Italy not long after the first world war. He never served in either world war, as the train he was on taking him to war, was turned around. The war had ended, and he went home as a 17-year-old. The man that approached me that day, went through the list of rifles, mounted on the wall telling me where they were used and stopped at the World War 1 rifle. It was a threat. Going on to tell me how it was potentially used on Italians. We kept on talking and I discussed the other side of my family, my great grandfather on my mother’s side, who had served for Australia in the first world war, and I discussed with the man about his trauma, and asked coldly but not bluntly, if I was allowed to sit and have a beer. Years later I would sit at another local just up the road, on the wall was other relative’s names, on a memorial board, commemorating the first world war. The same type of thing would happen, so I pointed to the board and informed the young gentleman trying to be confrontational, that my relatives are on that list. I had my beer then left, feeling not welcome at all in my own country.

Despite this it was ironically years later, that an aboriginal woman who does not like welcome to countries, made me feel more at home than anyone had in a long time, or at least in comparison to that day at the RSL anyway. That day at the RSL where friends must have heard I was there. The day they came to get me. They probably came to get me because they knew what type of reception I would get. They took me to their friend’s home, the house of a returned Vietnam veteran, who had served as a medic during the Vietnam war. A veteran who never fired a round from his revolver. A veteran who had to deal no doubt with his own hands, things that would make most people vomit, things that would never leave you. We where not friends, but we sat one way or another and we had a beer. I genuinely appreciated it.

Every ANZAC day I consider the different defence activities that are conducted by Australia, not just the military ones. Activities that should allow you to turn up at ANZAC Day and not be questioned to the point of interrogation as to who you stand with. It has raised many discussions among friends and peers. It, war, causes me every time I look at it, to consider something new in it. I don’t take it lightly, as it introduces me to new questions as to what war is about, and what are the motives for war. And more importantly how far should war go? I looked at the example of Nancy Wake, here is her wiki page if you don’t know her, here is a link to it en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nancy_Wake. I liked her on TV because she was delightful, she enjoyed her role in war. She did it with informed and considered intent and came out smiling. She killed in a war against evil. To paraphrase a wiki quote, probably in the wrong context, "...her irrepressible, infectious, high spirits were a joy to everyone who worked with her…"! I would have liked to have met her, shook her hand and said hazzah, despite neither of us having served in the English navy. It would have been a segway I hope, to a good conversation. And if you have never heard hazzah used, here is a link to the Movie Master and Commander, www.youtube.com/watch?v=sowv7fPZI8U a movie with Russell Crow as the star. A depiction of another war, or battle, that helped end another evil, slavery.

This line of personal inquiry presented openly in the public domain might seem flippant to the value of life, but it is not. It is an outright respect, a respect that exists in me, despite going to ANZAC day and being disrespected. I don’t regret what I have done, or what I have been involved in, or my work being involved again, if in fact my work has never stopped being used, despite retiring from that line of inquiry over 20 years ago. I never will regret it. Despite this I can understand why Australian soldiers kill themselves, something that I do not condone under any circumstance. Despite the concerns of so many, they have done it in such large numbers when they get back from active service, that it is being pushed for a royal commission. Raising in me the question, why?

What is the purpose of a Royal commission in investigating the obvious. Returned soldiers are greeted by people no longer allowed to spit on them after the Vietnam war. They are greeted by people who publicly deface their work, after they fought for the rights of women and children, not to be raped and murdered, and for our countries not to be attacked from afar. Hell, they even fought at one time for the rights of homosexuals. They fought, only to be received by the groups that get voted into public office by said groups, and to be treated with open public disdain. They use political propaganda designed by the social science department at the university in your city, to maim the soul of the men, that had put everything on the line. So many would die, but so few would stand up publicly and ask, are you ok? As the intellectual bullies of the ultra-left wing political, and media classes, became so left wing, they went full circle, into ultra-right wing, with a hatred of everything decent.

What happens when my friends talk on social media? Far too often they talk about their brothers and sisters in arms lost after the battle. A battle that would unfortunately never end. After coming home to their country to face a media, and a propaganda onslaught, their reward for serving the people that now defiled them. They confronted, and confront, the knowledge, that there would be no end, to their battle. There was no cheering in the streets. All it was, was endless sombre. Unlike Nancy who cheered at the death of monsters, and was cheered for ever since, by some of us. Monsters would cheer for the death of her comrades some 60 years later. Who where they, it would be the leftist citizens that they protected, that murdered their soldiers, one way or another, with the cuts of a thousand words.

So where does that leave me, when it comes to my call of good bowl? Where does it leave me with Nancy Wake, and a hazzar? It leaves me in good stead, sleeping well and dreaming of Nancy. So, I thought I would get up at 2am and write about her. It is not that the fickleness of war does not escape me. It is not that I don’t like Germans or their Australian descendants. Like any group I like some, but not all. The point is, when it comes to war, you should not lose a second of sleep about the people you help kill. If you do, most likely they, whoever they are, who sent you, got it wrong. In no way am I saying war should not be avoided, but that avoidance should not come at all costs. Part of my family story is that with a few butterfly effects, or sliding doors, my grandfather could have been shot by my great grandfather in the first world war, and I would never have been born. Despite the oddity of my existence, I still cheer for Nancy, as she seemed like the type of warrior that might on the occasion raise a glass to a dead Nazi. So, here’s cheers, to a good-looking woman we should all miss, and for her, I fall silent. And for those that have fallen silent, I say, “good bowl”. Because currently in modern warfare there is no end to it, even when you get home.

Hamburg, 3rd October 2023 (city centre, just behind the old Stock Exchange). Leica M8, Elmar (collapsible) 50/2.8.

A small emperial airship is unlucky to meet the Lady McZep, an outlaw ship filled with dangerous pirates who will wittingly attack.. After a tremendous fight the ship crashes down and splashes into the ocean. the few survivors, traumatised by their misery, are now threatened by the raising fire.

Entry for the Collosal Battle contest.

100% lego. The flextube and the nets are cut, no other pieces were harmed.

I forgot to put this on private while I added descriptions. Sorry about that, you can soon go back and read about each shot.

It's about high tide on the morning of Monday 28 February 2022 and this volunteer overlooks a street in south side Hawthorne, Brisbane, beside the raging Brisbane River which has spilled into surrounding streets. Despite being so close to the river down the end of the street, you can just see a City Cat ferry tied up and being hammered by the river and its debris in the distance, the street is quiet. People are just waiting for the high tide to pass, some are pumping water from their ground floors but this water won't be going anywhere until the tide drops. And then it will return twice a day until flood levels drop a bit later this week. Then the mud army (ordinary people, volunteering to clean up) will move in, as they have done before and already done in some streets in the 140 affected suburbs. 15000+ homes many flooded to their roofs will need extensive help cleaning out. Peoples' their lives and stinking mud will be dumped on the footpath to be carted away. Many were not so badly impacted as in the last big flood in 2011, but for many, it is sadly deja vue and for others, much worse. If you were affected by rain run off and swollen creeks the clean up has already begun, if you are affected by the river and its tributaries you will wait days, of high tides pushing the flood back and invading your home until the flood level recedes.

These are just a few shots we took yesterday. For many and technically, the water level was officially lower than 2011 but for many, it has been worse because of the sheer amount of rain that fell. Authorities have called it a "water bomb". I worked in the last two major floods in 1974 and 2011 and saw very little of the utter devastation at the time. In only 11 years, it has been inflicted on our beautiful city once again. And the whole of South East Queensland and northern New South Wales. No-one saw this coming, nor how bad and fast it would be. No-one was prepared. Eight dead last night just locally, our dams full, Wivenhoe, our largest was getting close to water restrictions but in just two days went from 58 to 188% capacity (it is a drinking water and flood mitigation dam). The Brisbane River has not only inflicted such trauma on the city through flooding, but as usual, it has released barges, boats, pontoons, a City Cat, house boats and millions of tonnes of household and industrial detritus like a volley of shots downstream at high speed. Many of these have had to be rescued and saved or just saved from smashing into other things like bridges, other boats etc. A barge with a massive crane building a new bridge in the city was close to collapsing or floating away yesterday, a City Cat got loose overnight and shot downstream and eventually hit a cargo ship in the Port before it was secured. A whole shopping centre (mall) at Toombul, which despite being adjacent to Kedron Brook has never gone under since it opened in 1967 was wiped out. And the list goes on and on and that says nothing about the cities north and south of Brisbane. Gympie experienced the worst flood since 1890 and Maryborough downstream just got over its most devastating flood in January to go under again. And many people can no longer get insurance in flood prone areas. Goodness knows how they will rebuild their lives.

This is just a quick peek as I said. There are four main thoroughfares into the city from our home on the north side. Yesterday morning, only one was not flooded. Wherever we went, we found flood waters in front of us and had to turn away and find another route. I have not tried to take photos of flooded homes or people cleaning up looking devastated and traumatised. I have those people just down the road and that is far too intrusive. It was easy travelling about yesterday, all schools were shut, all public transport stopped (none could get into the city anyway), people couldn't get to work so business remained closed just like another lockdown.

I have disabled comments on all the shots except this one.

With climate change, we know this type of disaster will become more common. Sadly.

And we say thanks to the emergency workers, the State Emergency Service, the police, the firemen, the paramedics and the volunteers, the Mud Army. The will don their gumboots and gloves and give selflessly of their labour, moving, sweeping and swilling out. Thank God that we still have goodness in this world. They will all be even more sorely needed as the week unfolds and we see the sad remnants of lives and livelihoods.

Louisa Pesel and Canvas Embroidery

The project was such a success that it was copied elsewhere, notably at Wells Cathedral in the 1940s. Indeed, a “Winchester style” of embroidery grew as a result.

Source Tracy Chevalier

ANSH 123 (16) handmade

123 pictures in 2023 (8) artefact

This painting in Versailles struck me most,with the terror in the poor horse's eyes and that curly hair,which makes it look more humanlike..The light there did not make it easy for me to take a clear shot..I tried so many times but never got a perfect result..Still,I wish to share this with you.I thought I shot the name of the paiter but now I see that I got only the name of the painting and it's in the tags.

I've had a hard day.. Cannot comment today but I'll be back tomorrow.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=wVtkwb5T7Uk&feature=related

flickriver.com/photos/tags/chateaudeversailles/interesting/

Miranda- Dad?

Tiger Shark- Yes sweetie?

Miranda- Where’s Drury?

Tiger Shark- Hmm?

Miranda- Drury. My husband. I tried asking Gar but he just screamed in Russian. I think he's traumatised

Tiger Shark- Oh, that Drury? I’m sure he’s fine. Roman’s taking good care of him

Miranda- Oh. Ok

Tiger Shark- *gulp*

—————————

Tiger Shark- Where is he?!

Black Mask- What?

Tiger Shark- The little bug bitch, my daughter’s worried sick.

Black Mask- Aww. You miss him

Tiger Shark- Fuck off!

Black Mask- Relax. I took care of it.

Tiger Shark- Where?!

Black Mask- I sent him on a wild goose chase down to the circus. To get him out of the way.

Tiger Shark- What Circus? Haley’s?

Black Mask- You mustn’t get out much. Haley’s been closed for, like, eight years. It’s some strange place...

Tiger Shark- The Circus of Strange?! You shipped my son in law off to Professor fucking Pyg?!

Black Mask- What’s the problem?

Tiger Shark- What’s the problem?! I said take care of him! Not carve him up!

Black Mask- You asked me to “take care of him”. So I took care of him. We’re gangsters Gaige. If a gangster said that to me then I’d *assume* he wanted someone dead!

Tiger Shark- I meant take care of him! Like send him to the cinema!

Black Mask- To see what?

Tiger Shark- I don’t know! This isn’t the 1920s anymore! Who says “Take care of him!” when they want someone dead?!

Black Mask- ...Scarface?

Tiger Mask- Oh, fuck, yeah.

Renault/Berliet TR280 & ERF B series 4x2 tractor units, with a Seddon Atkinson 400 6x4 hook loader.

This is the Doctor who appears in my (supposedly) ongoing Lego Doctor Who series.

The Last Doctor

Now over 5,000 years old and scarred by the actions of his previous incarnation, the final incarnation of the Timelord known as the Doctor has all but embraced the inevitably of his fate. He will die alone and with his death, the legacy of the Timelords will be little more than whispers and fairytales.

Dazed and confused, the new Doctor was greeted by two strangers known as Vale and Samuel who had somehow managed to make it onboard his Tardis. As the Last of the Timelords collapsed in front of them, the pair raced him to the ship's sickbay all the whilst the Last Doctor heard the voice of his predecessor calling out to him. Despite his best attempt to purge all traces of him, the Doctor quickly realised that his previous incarnation would remain with him for the rest of his life even if he was the one seemingly in control...

So this is a bit of history for how my Doctor should be interpreted, in some regards I imagine him as having PTSD as a result of the actions of his predecessor. Unwilling to face up to the reality of his actions though, the Doctor instead chooses to bury his memories of that life as deeply as possible both behind a smile and by completely changing the Tardis console room. Although it's clear he's more traumatised than some versions of the Doctor though, this incarnation still longs for companionship so he has a new perspective to see the universe from beyond his own.

Victoria Baths, Manchester, England - Vintage Home Show.

I am trying to sell some 1960s furniture at the moment, so was hoping to meet dealers that are interested in buying it.

Earlier in the week I sold some of my parents' stuff to someone who had a stall at the Show and she'd pretty much sold most of it already by the time I arrived.

Good on her, that's what I say - she'd paid for a stall, stood there for hours and lugged all the stuff from her car into the building so I don't mind her making a profit. I was told in no uncertain terms by Mrs K "NOT" to buy anything to bring home though lol.

Victoria Baths is amazing and a good place for the show. I've not been for a while.

Part of my :-

Manchester

Northern England

Victoria Baths

And

Revisited..... Flickr albums.

I was actually pretty traumatised when I came across the most expensive thing there by far. We used to have the very same three-piece suite but our young Labrador dog ate it one lunchtime whilst we were out of the house.

It wasn't valuable when we bought it - it was second hand and bought for a pittance. But the upshot was the same - the dog ate it. Not completely, of course, he would have had terrible stomach ache. But just enough to ruin it.

:-( He was a little cutie and the kids liked him...

I don't think I was traumatising this animal by photographing it! It lay down, so I did too. Obviously used to being around people.

4 ans déjà ma Pucette.... Dont 3 de vie heureuse à la Ferme !!! Tu fais le Bonheur de toutes et tous , de ton petit frère Diego et de toutes tes sœurs, grandes et petites....Mais surtout , tu fais le Bonheur de ta Môman.... Que je t'aime ma Lily Puce et que de chemin parcouru depuis l'Espagne, ce pays qui t'a martyrisée et laissée désemparée et traumatisée.... ! Désormais, tu le sais bien , tu n'as plus de soucis à te faire...Tu me donnes tant de joie, tant de

reconnaissance, tant de rires, tant de câlins !!! Il n'y a qu'à regarder tes yeux et.... on comprend tout... !

Je t'Aime ma Lily.....

Happy new year everyone -

I hope it's going to get better, generally speaking.

After 3 years of restrictions, fire crackers, rockets and flares were on the sale again and everything was just as normal as ever. Normal madness so to say. Bang Bang for a couple of days allready. I was thinking about the traumatised that came from war zones, wondering what people here are up to, vaporizing millions of € into the skys of Germany and pounding bystanders and neighbours with flash bangs. Just to make it clear, i loved the display of rockets between 00:00 and 00:30, but face it, who needs that crap? Moaning about high energy prices and spending hundreds of € on fire works? The old tradition to scare the ghost away, to make room for a better year, seems to have failed at 00:01 allready.

Another opening, another show (‘The Repeat Cycle’).

Ergo, there is no starting point generated by the simple ‘non-act’ of being born, or the act of ‘not being’, of dying. There is no action required, other than that unavoidable showing up. There are no options to choose between, none at all, and no inherent blame.

Impulse includes that pulse. That’s both the beauty and the revulsion of the whole shebang.

That idea, that starting point, would be an insult to the beauty of ‘Dust Breeding’ (Élevage de poussière), the majesty of all and everything else.

This, of course, upends everything, or at least appears to, when it actually does no such thing. It does precisely nothing. It’s just that old-fashioned ‘IS-ness’ asserting itself, or not, just ‘being’ as it would happen, being having no need to assert itself. That act of assertion is just a desperate ‘us’ attempting to pretend our ‘Dominion’ onto our imagined reality.

Pretending can be beautiful, or horrific, though ‘being’ doesn’t give a feck either way. It is wholly itself.

So there is no beginning, no ‘Once Upon a Time’, but more of a ‘Billions of Times Upon a Time’, allowing those billons to be instantly outstripped by trillions, or the next invented denominator we generate to try to explain ourselves to ourselves, to peacock ourselves, to impress 'Us' enough to generate awe manifested in religion, status, celebrity or whatever. This might corporealise as our ‘The Trillionaire Mylon Tusk, the richest rhino in the whole universe’, or whoever. These are our stories, our fantasies, our dreams, all generated by our collective ‘déjà vus’, perhaps.

‘Eternal Recurrence’ is perhaps now Mr. Nietzsche’s ‘old hat’, but then what isn’t a variation of that cyclical motif? I, for one, would like to throw my ‘old hat’ into the ring. That there is no ‘ring’, or hat for that matter, only makes this ‘futile gesture’ infinitely more attractive. Duchamp knew this, why he even gave us an invisible ‘Boxing Match’ suspended in his ‘Large Glass’, and an upended bicycle wheel, permanently spinning, paradoxically stationary on a stool.

Shall we begin?

A.I. wants me to explain, but there are millions of words to come, and images, sorry about that, ‘mea culpa’ and all that palaver. The ‘explanation’ will be there, integral to the words and iconography. It’s how we have always done it, how we have ‘storied’ everything into being. When I say ‘we’, I am not only, of course, talking about us. Dust is there too. Dust will be edified equally with everything and non-thing else, feeding the 'lowly' silverfish, even.

The bots will just have to be patient. They will get their turn, perhaps sooner than later. Who knows?

Chomp, chomp (Be careful not to swallow that bit).

You are dropped into life like you are being dropped onto an uncharted battlefield. It just happens, no time to prepare, no strategies to plan, no protective clothing or weapons, just a naked screaming you, ushered, even forced, through someone else’s protestations, into life.

That’s if you’re very lucky.

You are vaguely aware you are causing trauma even before your descent begins, you hear the noises around you echoed in the beating of your own heart, and the larger heart above you. You hear the groans and screams and rallying cries from unfamiliar voices, all speaking a language utterly foreign to you.

You have to start somewhere, or not, so you start with a ripping. You are both ripped out of, and you are the ripper, rending your way towards life or death, or ideally both; you are the traumatised and that bringer of trauma. Again, this would be the ideal situation, the best possible route and outcome, but there can be complications too; that 'once more unto that breach' assault. You aren’t even aware, yet, that you have a tendency towards doing things arse-backwards, and you have no awareness of the outsize of your own head, that bringer of future trauma. You are frighteningly unaware that these red pulsating walls cannot be breached with a backwards ramming. You are unschooled.

No one ever sets out to be an inverted battering ram.

You have no idea during this rending, that the host, which is seemingly so violently rejecting you, is an entity called a mother, you are only aware that you are being aggressively sundered from the only safety you have ever known.

The universe doesn’t care or not care. It simply vibrates a certain ‘feck that for a game of tennis’, the resounding litany of itself.

No different from you or I then. Who could have possibly guessed?

On 23 March 2011 the Japanese Ambassador to Norway, and a party of black-suited dignitaries, gathered at Oslofjord to toss white chrysanthemums and carnations onto the frozen water. I felt that the blooms' pristine whiteness, and the water's icy stillness, provided a poignant contrast with the situation in the Ambassador's traumatised home-land.

All pictures from my recent trip to Oslo [ of which this is the first ] were taken with my son's Canon IXUS 950 IS camera.

View On Black

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I'd really appreciate it if you did not incorporate your own photostream badges, etc. into your comments : I simply haven't enough time to give them the attention they deserve. Sorry.

No multiple awards / invitations please.