Free Humanity
This moth. This moth. Which predator will dare to attack it? To eat it? Look at those eyes. They look as if they belong to some monster. Things like this are so fascinating. Was it an accident of nature that allowed some mutant moth child to survive and mate? To cause an eclipse of moths to take over some edge of wood, of forest?
And again, the eyes.
OulandishDram—Sam, in 55 days!
This is just to tide us over. Jamie in the flesh. Outlander, coming soon!
” The Onion” a satyrical magazine just printed an article about no more Catholic Priests being allowed in Hell. Regardless of a stance or side taken, this is the greatest portrayal of Satan I’ve seen in some time. (I just noticed that satyr is the beginning of satyrical. Hummm.)
The article reads that the 9th ring of Hell (according to Dante of course) is become so crowded as to make further accommodations impossible. Further, the Father of Evil declared, the Catholics (Priests) rather creep him out. He says they are seriously messed up and unrepentant.
Apparently too much for the Rebel of Heavenly Powers who himself was kicked out of the Palace of Opulence. But for Pride, not incest. Hence his undeniable belief in his superiority over the Princes of Greed and “odorous foul-smelling rot.” They are stinking up Hell.
*Whew*
Posted on Modern Art 20th Century
This is from Pablo’s “Blue Period.” It’s called Woman In A Flowered Hat.
Just think, this was painted in 1901. I wonder, had it been purchased then, at what profit today.
These photos are from Bob Good Photography, taken at Lawrence Lake near La Crosse.
I look at these, walk down the dock and I can smell the scent of the water and fish, feel the slap-slap movement of the boards, know the calls of the birds skimming the water. For so many years summer life centered on the water and the boathouses there. Beer was kept by being dropped into the cold of the river. (Fish nets put to good use.) Many a beer, many a fish fry. Diving off docks, swimming against the current.
It’s where we lived, it’s where we played and slept. Then you could keep boathouses directly on the river and ours were docked just past and under the big Mississippi bridge that crossed over to Minnesota. When those were gone we were not allowed to replace them. Time moved on, faster than the current and quicker than a walleye jumping for a June bug.
Now these photos below of the lake are for a different story. The one that will be told of lakes and eddies where it’s still okay for the parking of the boats and boathouses. They’re not on the Mississippi; they’re not in the way of the main lane for the big boats, the new business of summer, the new Riverboat Queen.
And so it goes—another bridge built, another song. And I wonder how they keep their beer cold?
