Sound of the drums / Beatin’ in my heart / I’m Thunderstruck

storm-art-pursuit

Joan of Arc was not stuck at a crossroads…
she chose a path,
and went down it like a thunderbolt.

~ G. K. Chesterton, Orthodoxy


Notes:

  • Credits: Quote Source: Thank you Mme Scherzo. Image: Mennyfox55
  • Post title Inspired by AC/DC’s Thunderstruck: I was caught / In the middle of a railroad track. (Thunder) / I looked round / And I knew there was no turning back (Thunder) / My mind raced / And I thought what could I do (Thunder) / And I knew / There was no help, no help from you (Thunder) / Sound of the drums / Beatin’ in my heart

Guess.What.Day.It.Is?

camel-wednesday-hump-day


Notes:

Driving I-95 N. And Recycling.

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Tuesday.
Drive home.
A torrid August afternoon.
Waze signals an express track: 22 minutes.
Reality reports something else.
Traffic inches forward.

The car in front is a late edition Mustang hard top.  Driver and passenger wearing baseball caps. A empty Marlboro pack is tossed out of the passenger window, skips once and lands on the simmering asphalt.

That’s bullsh*t.

Traffic snakes ahead.
A butt is flicked out the window, and lay smoldering on the shoulder.

Pig.

The A/C is blowing, but I’m hot, from the inside-out.  I loosen my tie.  Unbutton the right shirt cuff, and then the left. And roll-up my sleeves. I sit.

Here you go again, with another demonstration of Fuller’s Celtic inclinations: irritability, intolerance and irascibility.  You bathe in it Man. It is your Oxygen. [Read more…]

Today’s Forecast

hot-humid-august-summer-hot


Source: Birthe Piontek via This Isn’t Happiness.  Piontek is a fine art photographer based in Vancouver BC, Canada.  Originally from Germany, she moved to Canada in 2005 after receiving her MFA from the University of Essen in Communication Design and Photography.

How to Age Gracefully. (7 to 93)

Uhtceare

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Source: this isn’t happiness

Monday Morning Wake-Up Call

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owl-gif-funny


Source: Gifak-net

My dog most certainly is god spelled backward.

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My dog most certainly is god spelled backward.
He is sublimely present.
No fatigue.
He loves.
He licks.
He chases and wags.
Eats, shits, leaps like a dolphin for his Frisbee.
Sleeps and guards.
Snorts in his sleep and awake,
begs for orts of cheese, smackerels of beef crumb.
A belly rub, an ear massage.

~ Melissa Pritchard, Decomposing Articles of FaithA Solemn Pleasure: To Imagine, Witness, And Write (The Art of the Essay)


Notes:

The Salt of the Earth

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“I also befriended a whale. These are the whales in Argentina. An adult like this is 35 meters long, weighs about 40 tons. She came so close to the boat, I could touch her.  And it was incredible. Such sensitive skin! As I was caressing her, I could see her tail, 35 meters away, trembling. Incredible sensitivity. We had a small boat, just 7 meters long. She knew she could have sunk us. But she never once hit the boat. Not once! As we left, she began slapping her tail.”

~ Sebastião SalgadoGenesis from The Salt of the Earth (01:33:26)


Whether you are a professional or hobby photographer, or don’t take pictures at all, this documentary on the life and work of Sebastião Salgado will leave its mark on you.  Must see…here’s the trailer:


Notes:

Sunday Morning: The Sabbath, the day of rest

Oliver-Sacks

In February, I felt I had to be equally open about my cancer — and facing death. I was, in fact, in the hospital when my essay on this, “My Own Life,” was published in this newspaper. In July I wrote another piece for the paper, “My Periodic Table,” in which the physical cosmos, and the elements I loved, took on lives of their own.

And now, weak, short of breath, my once-firm muscles melted away by cancer, I find my thoughts, increasingly, not on the supernatural or spiritual, but on what is meant by living a good and worthwhile life — achieving a sense of peace within oneself. I find my thoughts drifting to the Sabbath, the day of rest, the seventh day of the week, and perhaps the seventh day of one’s life as well, when one can feel that one’s work is done, and one may, in good conscience, rest.

~ Oliver Sacks: Sabbath. The Seventh Day of the Week. The Seventh Day of Life

Postscript:

Oliver Sacks died this morning. He was 82 years old. His work here is done and may he now rest in peace.

The story in NY Times: Oliver Sacks Dies at 82; Neurologist and Author Explored the Brain’s Quirks


Notes: