Coral Castle

And i thought i had covered all the wierd and wonderful places, apparently not.

Here's the most fascinating account of a man who built a whole playground our of coral. 30 ton blocks arranged in what clearly was a personal taste, but more astonishingly, one man alone seems to have achieved that.


The Incredible Mystery
Of Coral Castle
By Christopher Dunn
From Atlantis Rising
7-14-3

Go have a look and see what you think!!

Bad jokes

So against my initial thoughts, i'm going to talk about the rapture, the one that didn't happen, ergo, small r.

Now it's all very bizarre to someone like me, who likes things to kind of make sense, sometimes. So when you want to talk about the "rapture", you are looking at christian teaching, as based on the bible. So we look at the bible and discover that:
a. The "rapture" isn't actually stated, just inferred by 20th century thinkers
b. The bible explicitly states that no one will know when it is, until it is.
It's very clear to me, it's a minor theological point of discussion with the only certainty being it's uncertainty.

So when someone, anyone stands up and says "i know when it's going to be, based on the bible" ... they're bullshitting ... everyone, including themselves. It only remains for the rest of us to ignore such stupidity, and carry on with hopefully more meaningful pursuits.

But despite that, there is an even worse aspect to the whole story, which i want to examine. The aftermath, not really all the now poor and suicidal idiots who believeds the story, i'm actually reffering the the millions of others who didn't, YET STILL GIVE THE WHOLE STORY VALIDITY. How do they do this? By actively engaging in the story, by making jokes about it, laughing and deriding it. Now i do need to tread carefully, because the rapture doctrine is something that has affected me personally very strongly in the past, but same time i don't actually accept it as such.

Anyway, the point is the complete mockery applied to ALL aspects of the situation. From "jesus" jokes, to "christian" jokes" to EVERYONE talking about the rapture like it was a cold morning, not some theological gray area. As i'm typing this, someone sends this:
http://www.hayibo.com/rapture-happened-but-only-rick-astley-fans-taken/

Now before i get pilloried for being an overly sensitive christian apologist, i'd like to make the same complaint about the alleged death of bin laden.

Now to me the entire bin laden story is a bad joke. From his rich family background, to it's cia kickstart, to what we have come to accept as 9-11 to the truly monstrous security state we all seem to live in now, to his death, and even more security for our safety., it's a macabre story. Even the final chapter, containing scenes of him being shot in the head unarmed and his wife also being shot, for "lunging" at these "special cunts" ... it's inhuman.

So after all the news stations had run their rubbish repeats of propaganda feeds from the white house, the jokes started. From actual jokes to stupid fucking gif images that everyone seems to think is funny, except me. I mean, it's like laughing at a cripple .... wtf?

I get accused sometimes of being overly serious, a charge i accept gladly. But this is not the same, i mean it's not about having a sense of humour, it's about exercising a selection process as to what is funny. Men being "double ttapped" naked in their bedroom isn't funny. Ever. For anyone. Under any circumstances. Ever. There's a silent scream of anguish that escapes me over all this. It's not only about watching people DEHUMANISE themselves, and dehumunising others, which is what they are doing, but also about the completely narrow perceptions they have, completely preprogrammed mentality, down to the off colour jokes.

Somehow despite us all being unique and driving our own colour and make car, we are surrounded by this ... sludge mentality that pervades those around us. All the same mindsets, and it's not a utopia of thinkers and artists and mystics, it's a dirty polluted river where each square metre perhaps appears different, thanks to same unique item of rubbish to be found, but right under the thin surface bubbles the same turgid, smelly thought patterns. And the jokes have the same smell.

It's a rant i know, but i appeal to those who read this to stop and think about these issues for a moment. Is a dead man funny? Is a deranged 90 year old who has ruined thousands of lives funny? I keep hearing my voice of reason say things like: humour is a means of dealing with "trauma" which could be a very good argument, but i cannot accept it. Humour in this case is nothing more than a deflection of intent. While people are amusing themselves to death, the death is only coming closer.

So please, next time you get a stupid joke about something that's not funny, don't send it, ok?

The Pig Farmer

It's not often you find a truly beautifully written story, complete with moral and happy ending. But i found one this morning, and couldn't stop reading until i was done. A story which is fairly common in fact, but usually just dismissed in our daily bustle, and the deeper issues glossed over like cheap paint on a picket fence.

A sincere thanks to Running cos i can't fly for reposting from the orgional story to be found on John Robbins Blog.

I'm not going to repost, or even print excerpts, the story must be read and enjoyed as a whole, so when you have your drink of choice, and a comfy chair, and some time for a good story, please go have a look and read and feel the hope that shone through to me.

peace and love

Tiger, tiger, burning bright ...

William Blake. 1757–1827

489. The Tiger

TIGER, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder and what art
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand and what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? What dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,
And water'd heaven with their tears,
Did He smile His work to see?
Did He who made the lamb make thee?

Tiger, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

Don't play the blonde ...

Yes i know it's a stripshow, yes i know it's a very good strip show. However, have a listen to the music, if you can :p

Very cool, my new theme tune for a while, just happy .. you know?

peace

Will power

There's been a thread of thought lately about the Will, yes, with a capital W. Our will, as people, how to harness it, activate it, use it in some way. It's starting to look remarkably like the holy grail to me. While pondering a post and how to present my thoughts, i quite accidentally found the following essay, entitled Will To Power: How The Public Corrupts Us To Act In Bad Faith by macthephi.

About the accidental: through a google image search i found an image which resonated, i then scrolled through the image directory, and finally to the homepage, where i found the essay. Well thought out and presented, extra points are scored by his referencing Kierkegaard (!) amongst others. It's an existential crises that is coming to the fore of consciousness, over a centuries long awakening in our minds. But it's here, i sometimes take solace in pretending to be a medieval serf, and try imagine the simplicity of thought he might have had. But it could only ever be a fanciful flight and never sustainable for long. Ever more into life ... through it ... to the other side, to see if it perhaps is anything.

Something worth mentioning briefly, which happened on the way to work this morning. Lane splitting along the highway, the high clouds bubbling between patches of deep blue sky, the rising sun casting patches of bright orange between the gray. It wasn't cold, and the traffic was remarkably docile for this early Monday dawn. The sun peaked out from behind a cloud, shining straight into my visored face. I could feel the warmth, feel the energy and power of this celestial marvel, and as much as the light pierced my vision, it's rays pierced straight into my soul, and for just a brief moment, i felt the most wonderful joy bubble up inside. I think it was Maslow who first used the term "peak experience", but that's what it was. Of course, as soon as i realised it i was over analysing what i felt, as much as trying NOT to zone out while doing 50km/h through standing traffic.

An almost ritualistic task, a calm collected countenance, and the wonder found every morn ... and i am drawn back to Blake:

To see a world in a grain of sand,
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
And eternity in an hour.

This ... door to a new world was opened to me in traffic this morning, very gently but unmistakably. I guess the modern man reaction is wtf? But i'm left laughing at the irony of it. The buddha is as comfortable in the cylinder head as he is at the top of the mountain, to paraphrase Robert M. Pirsig.

I think the point i'm reaching to, is that we hold the keys, every moment of our lives we are able to access this ... hidden world, but we don't. We are enslaved to ourselves as much as to others, and yes, freeing oneself from oneself is infinitely harder than freeing oneself from another.

The Will to Power essay lays hold on one of the primary reasons for our weakness, and yes it's external to us, and yes, it's something that can be overcome, but only at the price of your sanity, which is your "acceptance of socially condoned behaviour and thinking". which brings me back to one of my favourite phrases in all literature, from Herman Hesse Via the Treatise of the Steppenwolf:

PRICE OF ADMITTANCE YOUR MIND. NOT FOR EVERYBODY.

Please go read Will To Power: How The Public Corrupts Us To Act In Bad Faith - macthephi and think about where your power and will have gone.

Freedom ... reprise

“Don’t you wish you were free, Lenina?” he asks.

“I don’t know that you mean. I am free, free to have the most wonderful time. Everybody’s happy nowadays.”

He laughed, “Yes, ‘Everybody’s happy nowadays.’ We have been giving the children that at five. But wouldn’t you like to be free to be happy in some other way, Lenina? In your own way, for example; not in everybody else’s way.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” she repeated.

From 1984, By George Orwell.

Freedom

Existentialism

One sticks one's finger into the soil to tell by the smell what land one's in; I stick my finger into existence - it smells of nothing. Where am i? Who am i? How did i come to be here? What is this thing called the world? What does the word mean? Who is it that has lured me into the thing, and now leaves me there?
... How did i come into the world? Why was i not consulted, why was i not made acquainted with its manners and customs, but was thrust into the ranks as though i'd been bought from a kidnapper, a dealer in souls? How did i obtain an interest in it? And is it not a voluntary concern? And if i am compelled to take part in it, where is the director? I would like to see him.

More from Soren Kierkegaard, from his novel "Repetition".

I'm really starting to like this guy.

Boredom

The Gods were bored, so they created man. Adam was bored because he was alone, so Eve was created ... Adam was bored alone, then Adam and Eve were bored together; then Adam and Eve and Cain and Abel were bored en famille, then the population of the world increased, and the people were bored en masse. To divert themselves, they conceived the idea of constructing a tower high enough to reach the heavens. This idea itself is as boring as the tower was high, and constitutes a terrible proof of how boredom had gained the upper hand.

Soren Kierkegaard, Translated by D.F. Swenson.

William Blake

To see a world in a grain of sand,
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
And eternity in an hour.

A robin redbreast in a cage
Puts all heaven in a rage.

.........................................

Every night and every morn
Some to misery are born,
Every morn and every night
Some are born to sweet delight.

Some are born to sweet delight,
Some are born to endless night.

We are led to believe a lie
When we see not thro' the eye,
Which was born in a night to perish in a night,
When the soul slept in beams of light.

God appears, and God is light,
To those poor souls who dwell in night;
But does a human form display
To those who dwell in realms of day.

William Blake - Auguries of Innocence

Piece of sky

I look up, at the sky framed by trees
And walls and wires
Stars twinkling softly in the dusky sky
Cold and distant, impossible to grasp
I recall soft campfire lights
Where the stars were only an arms length away
The crisp globe of sky part of my evening meal
And the ground too
Crunchy soil and dead leaves moulding
The immediacy of their touch
Around me trees and people and stuff
All part of my soul, imprinted forever
Tonight i leap up and try
To recapture my sky
Mind reaching out across the cavernous reaches between
To hold a star gently in my mind
Caress it and marvel at it's brilliance
So far ... so far away from me the stars tonight
No more than ever, but somehow it's me
Too small to see
Where i end and where i am lost in
The light reaches out
Piercing my eyes and my soul
Longing for that union ... oneness
Where i am it, and it is me
Shining through me, like a candle in a million mirrors
But i alone and cold and dark in a foreign land
Feel the light reflect off my face
And show contrast between light and dark
Warmth and cold, me and it ...
Open my mind ... my heart my soul
Smash down these walls of fear and regret
Hate and malice and strife
Oh for open eyes to see the wonder of shimmering glory
That is our creation
For that instant sparkling ray of heaven
That shines upon my mortal mind
To know that light shines always ... pure and clear
And that only i turn away ... like a blind man
But even the blind know the sun
How then do i doubt the light?
How then do i mimic the madness
And question what is divine?
Like a flower bursting open in spring
Dazzling all with it's colour and scent
Allowing the cosmos to glow in vibrant harmony
So too must i
explode
Dissipate
Disperse
Myself
To fling my consciousness across the universe
And claim
My piece of sky

Fracking bad idea

This is why Shell's ideas on fracking the entire Karoo (it will never be less than total destruction, that's how these guys work):

Bradford County's director of public safety said a Chesapeake well went out of control late Tuesday night. That means the well blew near the surface, spilling thousands and thousands of gallons of frack fluid over containment walls, through fields, personal property and farms, even where cattle continue to graze.

DEP is taking ground water and stream samples to determine the extent of the spill.
______________________________________________________________

A massive chemical explosion. So ... what chemicals?

http://democrats.energycommerce.house.gov/sites/default/files/documents/Hydraulic%20Fracturing%20Report%204.18.11.pdf

About every damn chemical ever invented in that list, and that's only raw chemicals, they do not show what secondary substances are generated by mixing etc.

For an excellent article on what fracking is, see here:

http://8020vision.com/2011/04/17/congress-releases-report-on-toxic-chemicals-used-in-fracking/

They have greased all the beaurocratic gears with plenty of oil dollars, and we commoners are expected to sit back and allow government to destroy our land. The time for a half brick approaches.

The Parrot Rossi

We have taken into our household a parrot recently, looking after it on behalf of a friend, who is unable to look after him right now. His name is Rossi, and he is an african grey with a bright red tail.

What an astonishing creature!! Apart from the ability to mimic, his choice of words and his reactions to specific people is also very ... disconcerting almost. He is a very intelligent bird, and you can immediately understand that in the jungles, he would be the king.

His mimicry can be annoying, like over the last few days where he has taking to impersonating the cough that i have (i'm sick as a dog the last few days) ... but hearing yourself cough form the other side of the house is ... odd. He has a full reportoire of birds, whistles, clicks and squeaks and squawks, but words and almost prefect imitations of people. You hear a child ask and adult answer in one breath, and Rossi gets the tone and pitch just right.

He doesn't like me at all, which is apparently cos i'm a male, and he ... takes offense, or something ... ? LOL. He won't talk to me, and if i stand near his cage he goes silent, and watches me intently, taking no action while i'm there, the second i'm gone, he calls for attention "come to me", turn around and go to him, silent. He loves attention, and the kids all have their relationships with him, and he responds differently to each.

It's a shame he's not ours, in the sense that he hasn't bonded to us from young, and there is a whole other level of trust and interaction that can be accessed. Trust, thats an important word in this, and it's him that has to trust, and he does so very well, i wouldn't trust me either if i were him. But considering that this is all new to him, and different, he has adapted remarkably well to OUR environment, specifically. I do want him back with his "mommy", but until then i'm happy to have his noisy humour punctuate the air. For he is a very happy little bird, and friendly, in his own way.

peace :)

Helping a friend

So i offered a colleague some help with replacing his chain and sprockets, my garage is better than many i guess, and i don't mind getting dirty to help. So we went through after work, stripped the wheel and chain and sprockets and proceeded to fit the new ones.

The job went from bad to worse to stupid to broken. Very very quickly. You see, he was in a hurry, to go on a date, where he'd promised the girl a ride. So quickly quickly, everything in a hurry. I discovered that part of the reason for haste was a non working headlight. I also discovered his back brakes were worn. Not worn as in the pads finished and the metal is scraping, i mean the metal was finished, and the disc is nearly gone. The sprockets were finished, not as in replace now, as in, they should have been replaced several years ago. GONE. No teeth on the front sprocket. Back sprocket slightly less bad, but way past worn, and teeth broken in some places. The chain was similarly beyond any hope.

The job failed, miserably. And i'm glad. I'm torn over not being able to help a friend, as i had planned. I feel like a bad mechanic and friend, those feeling are normal kneejerks to failing in the garage, with any job. But when i get through all the egotistical crap, there is a slow realisation that the bike standing forlornly in a foreign place is preventing it being ridden. And that is a positive thing. For now at least i guess.

I love bikes, i tolerate bikers, and i sincerely wish to see many many more on the roads around us. But the caveat is that it can only be done within a safety orientated framework. The thrill of the ride lasts only as long as the metal that makes it move, when the metal fails, so does the thrill. And when metal fails at high speed, so too ends the life of the person on it, and pillion too, if you're counting.

I also watched first hand how NOT to approach a mechanical repair job. The slow, ponderous, thoughtful approach of all the mechanics i know is there for a reason. Even when things go wrong, which they always do, taking slow allows a solution, eventually. Battering your will against the hard reality of cold metal brings blood, and pain, and fustration, and broken metal. And broken wills too.

I'm glad that the bike is broken, and not the rider. I'm glad that the bike is now going to be taken and fixed, by those who are trained to do so. This doesn't change my views on home repairs though, i've just reassembled my own bike's engine. But i have a much greater respect now for both the bike and the methods of approaching the bike. On the road and in the garage, respect first and foremost, for without that respect, fear and even awe of the engineering, we are but children playing with a very hot fire.

peace and love

The Peace of Wild Things

When despair for the world grows in me
And I wake in the night at the least sound
In fear of what my life or my children's lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

~Wendell Berry

hat tip to K :]

Back in the Saddle

It's day 3 since i rode my bike again, after a 2 week break, and it's a miracle i've not yet maimed myself. I can't stop, i can't turn, i can't balance at slow speed, nothing like that.
All i can do is try miss all the damned cars that seem intent on sending me to the hereafter. Had an altercation with a rich black bitch in a fucking huge white merc. After not stopping at a stop street, and pulling straight in front of my path without even slowing, she the attempted to drive away as if nothing had happened. So i pulled her over and explained what a brain dead bitch she was. I hope i ruined her day.

For my own part, i'm just trying to "reconnect" with the machine. Trying to get that feeling back ... don't get me wrong the bike, apart from sounding like either a beetle or a tractor, thanks to the valve lifters, has developed an engine tone an octave lower, only noticable once you open the throttle, but a deeper than usual ROAR lets me know there is plenty of grunt waiting for me.

The thing is, i NEVER "floor it", i never gun the motor as i ride, there's too much. I'm always riding very gently with the throttle, opening is small manageable amounts, gently pouring more power through to the wheels. That's why i love my bike so much, absolutely linear power band, utterly responsive to even the most sensitive throttle adjustments. Speed up, slow down, and all with the finest twitch on the throttle producing immediate results. Even when i do want to go fast, never the "dump" movement, throwing everything at once, but i keep the throttle at absolute minimum for the required acceleration, otherwise i'd have been thrown off a long time ago.

But it's tempting, that low throaty growl i hear under me when i give that little bit extra. It's that growl of an animal about to pounce, of pure power unstretching itself.

This weekend, i'll fix some of the valve clatter, collecting the footpegs today, and the plastics soonest, but i want frame sliders before i fit the new plastics, otherwise i'll crash probably 2 days after fitting said new plastics ..lol.

peace and love and safe travelling!

That's it!

Source

Vroom

Bike is running.

*breathe*

BOOM

http://soho.esac.esa.int//data/realtime/sps/lasco/c2/2011/04/20110407_1248_c2_512.jpg