He stood still, the breeze gently brushing across his figure. Trapped within his own mind, escape was not possible. Staring at the ground beneath him, he could not break his gaze. He was unaware of the world in which he stood. The sights before him reached his thoughts, but went unnoticed. The world he saw was his own and only by his own actions had he arrived in such a place. A barrier of emotion kept him from truely opening his eyes to see what lay before him. Silently, a chill swept over him, and the back of his mind was quickly filled with terror. Something wasn’t right and it was causing the hairs on his arms stand on end. A strange whistling sound cut through the air, and within a fraction of an instant, unimaginable pain pounded within his chest. Staggering backwards, his eyes were blinking furiously as his dreams were shattered in front of them. The pain overwhelmed him. In a daze, he looked downward and slowly came to realize what had transpired. A cold, sleek, unforgiving arrow stuck out from his chest, aimed perfectly into his pierced heart. He quickly fell to his knees, coughing blood into his numb hands before him. Fading ever further, he fell to his side. Every heartbeat was a futile attempt at life, labored and uneasy, resounding like thunder through his entire body. His mind formed a final farewell, and he slipped into his dream world for the last time.

(CFD.net.au – Contract for Difference, Share, Forex, ETFs, Commodities Traders) – Qantas says it is working with the manufacturers of the Airbus A-380 to fix a flight stability problem with one of the super jumbos it has on order. The airline’s fifth A-380 was due to arrive at the end of this month but its arrival has now been put off until December.

Qantas says the delay is because it is discussing flight trim issues with the manufacturer.

The flight trim system keeps the plane flying straight whether it is operated manually or on auto-pilot, but Qantas says any suggestion the plane cannot fly straight would be incorrect.

Steve Purvinas from the Australian Licensed Aircraft Engineers Association says it is not a safety issue, but the aircraft becomes less fuel efficient.

“A trim system on an aircraft is designed to keep your aircraft flying straight through the air, when you’re travelling along a path you want your aircraft lined up like an arrow rather than flying through the air like a brick,” he said.

“What can happen is the aircraft can start to oscillate in a figure eight pattern, but you try to avoid all those things with your aircraft having an effective trim system.”

Three A-380s have already been grounded this year.

One plane has had to have its fuel tank re-lined, while there were nose-wheel problems with another.

Source: Qantas talks straight on Airbus problem

This story originated from the mind of the late Harry Nilsson who said, “I was on acid and I looked at the trees and I realized that they all came to points, and the little branches came to points, and the houses came to point. I thought, ‘Oh! Everything has a point, and if it doesn’t, then there’s a point to it.” (source Jacobson, Alan (May 2004). “What’s The Point? The Legendary 1971 Animated Feature on DVD”) It took me a while to hunt up a copy of this as the original airing of it was on television back when a special program was typically shown at best, once a year. The Point follows the tale of a little boy name Oblio, a round headed boy in a village where by law, everyone and everything had to have a point. The sketchy style and expressive background coloring is very reminiscent of the old School House Rock short snippets on Saturday Morning where staying in the lines was ignored for patchy swatches of color as representational form. Voices provided for the characters include such notables as Ringo Starr (four people actually did the voice of the narrator, however, Starr’s voice was used for the home release of this movie), Davey Jones, Mickey Dolenz and Paul Frees. The storyline follows a highly imaginative group of individuals including giant bees, a pointing man and rock people. Be prepared for puns and double entendres as well as the melodious old songs of Harry Nilsson.

La ministra de Cultura, Ángeles González Sinde, asegura que la vía española se orienta a una estrategia basada en actuar “contra las páginas web”, “contra las fuentes”.  (La Vanguardia, 21.11.2009)  Más información

Esta afirmación llega  justo en el momento en que Viviane Reding ha visitado Barcelona esta mañana, Reding ha afirmado que España puede tener problemas si se aprueba una nueva legislación al margen de la UE  Más información. Esta mañana Viviane Reding ha recogido el premio Atlántida otorgado por el Gremio de Editores de Catalunya por su labor de protección del copyright y por los proyectos Europeana y Arrow. El acto se ha celebrado en el Liceu de Barcelona.  Más información.

617 // November 20, 2009

I love when I find great examples of usage for unnecessary quotations. Wait, maybe that is an oxymoron.

Anyway, if you haven’t seen, them please visit this hilarious site: The “Blog” of “Unnecessary” Quotation Marks.

(CFD.net.au – Contract for Difference, Share, Forex, ETFs, Commodities Traders) – Qantas says it is working with the manufacturers of the Airbus A-380 to fix a flight stability problem with one of the super jumbos it has on order.

The airline’s fifth A-380 was due to arrive at the end of this month but its arrival has now been put off until December.

Qantas says the delay is because it is discussing flight trim issues with the manufacturer.

The flight trim system keeps the plane flying straight whether it is operated manually or on auto-pilot, but Qantas says any suggestion the plane cannot fly straight would be incorrect.

Steve Purvinas from the Australian Licensed Aircraft Engineers Association says it is not a safety issue, but the aircraft becomes less fuel efficient.

“A trim system on an aircraft is designed to keep your aircraft flying straight through the air, when you’re travelling along a path you want your aircraft lined up like an arrow rather than flying through the air like a brick,” he said.

“What can happen is the aircraft can start to oscillate in a figure eight pattern, but you try to avoid all those things with your aircraft having an effective trim system.”

Three A-380s have already been grounded this year.

One plane has had to have its fuel tank re-lined, while there were nose-wheel problems with another.

Source: Qantas talks straight on Airbus problem

Ett sedvanligt välvadderat Groove-paket landade idag på dörrmattan, innehållande fyra nya skivor.

Claire and the Reasons – Arrow

Kapten Kid & det oändliga sommarlovet – Ingen lek

Joseph Arthur – Nuclear daydream

och sist men inte minst…

Josefina Sanner – Love case scenario

En första genomlyssning har genomförts under den alltmer febriga eftermiddagen, sedermera kvällen. Det är alltid en lättnad när det står klart att ingen av de fyra (det är alltid fyra per paket) skivorna är rent ut sagt dåliga. De tre-fyra efterföljande lyssningarna blir så oerhört mycket roligare och textkonstruerandet betydligt mindre ångestfyllt.

Utöver dessa, avsedda för Groove, finns ytterligare några recensioner som kommer hamna annorstädes. Kolla Musiklandet och Vertex under de närmsta dagarna så får ni veta vilka skivor det gäller. Ledtråd: Det rör sig om genomgående bra skivor.

Here is my review of Arrow, by Clare & the Reasons, which I did for a local newspaper here in Tacoma, Washington called The Volcano. 

Clare & The Reasons (Frog Stand Records 2009)

By Megan Mitchell

November 18, 2009

New York-based indie pop band Clare & The Reasons (Clare Muldaur, Olivier Manchon and Bob Hart, mainly) should not be dismissed as yet another frivolous romp through the format field of other artists in the genre.  Clare & The Reasons combine their talents to create their meticulously composed sophomore album, Arrow. 

Featuring My Brightest Diamond’s Shara Worden (on “This is the Story”) and a cover of Genesis’ “That’s All,” this album is sure to span a unique range of musicality.  Most of the songs feature a lovely string orchestra of violins, violas and cello, often backed by heavy bass drums and Muldaur’s whimsical, almost childlike vocalizations.  In addition to this diverse span of instruments, expect to hear some French horn, synths and lighthearted kazoo in the mix. 

Tracks such as “All the Wine” and “Ooh You Hurt Me So,” truly exemplify Muldaur’s hauntingly simplistic vocals, while still revealing the painstakingly precise compositional steps made to present this work of true artistry that spans multiple genres.

No se si llamarle talento aunque la verdad muchas veces el talento sorprende y esto me sorprendió por completo, un amigo me lo comentó hoy pero no lo creía…………… no queda más que digan ustedes que piensan de la veracidad de esto:

Have You Seen Smallville: Season 6 Episode 4 – Arrow?

Episode Synopsis:

Clark and Lois are on the trail of a thief that Lois has named the Green Arrow Bandit. But this “bandit” may not be as big a villain as they believe.

So what do you think of this episode?

If you missed it, you can watch it here.

Bukan pura-pura cinta kepadamu
Setulus perasaan yang datang
Dari dalam jiwa

Hanya engkau saja beraja dihati
Mengisi kekosongan kekeringan
Jiwaku yang tandus sekian lama

Pergilah saat duka lara
Lupakan masa derita
Hadirmu merubah segala
Dunia bagaikan syurga

Luka dihatiku engkaulah pengubatnya
Cintamu yang syahdu satu dalam berjuta

Terimalah sayang cintaku seadanya
Jangan dikesalkan aku pernah terluka
Hanya pada tuhan kuserahkan segalanya
Tiap perancangan suka duka manusia
DitentukanNya..

1933 Silver Arrow body c 1129×800 image wallpaper of 1933 Silver Arrow body c 1129×800
to view full size click1933 Silver Arrow Body C 1129X800 image ( 1933 Silver Arrow Body C 1129X800 image )

The hunter had been tracking his prey for nearly three months now, and he had strayed far from familiar grounds. The feel of the underbrush beneath his feet was different, softer. The sounds of the birds carried a strangeness to him, as if they were speaking a different language. All around him, trees packed in and crowded him, and he took care to avoid smacking into one as he sped swiftly through the forest, bow in hand. Ahead, far ahead and out of sight, the hunter knew his prey ran, fleeing the bite of his arrow, and so long as it ran, he would pursue endlessly, even if the chase took him to beyond the forest limits and into the grasslands beyond. There would be no reprieve.

Though the hunter ran, his footsteps barely made a sound. So silent was he that not even the small warm-blooded creatures that lived within the roots of the towering oaks were scattered by his course. Branches and leaves whipped and scratched his face, but he blinked them away and never slowed. Soon his progress was halted by a narrow ravine that stretched to beyond the reaches of sunlight. Straddled across it and swinging precariously in the wind was an ancient wooden bridge. The hunter stopped running and approached the bridge cautiously, examining the state of it. The wooden posts that anchored the bridge to the edge of the ravine were rotting in the damp earth. Much of the rope that had once provided handrails and additional support was snapped or loose. Worse yet, the slats that weren’t broken or missing were rotted and would not support his weight.

The hunter contemplated his next move. He could step cautiously and hope that some of the slats would not break as he walked across them, or he could attempt to repair it and waste valuable time. The hunter put his bow away and gripped the frayed handrails. Then, after a quick prayer to the gods, he stepped onto the bridge, placing his feet at the edge of each plank so most of his weight had the support of the rope as well as the plank. As he walked, the bridge rocked and swung and threatened to throw him off a few times, but he managed to reach the end intact. He sighed in relief and withdrew his bow again. His prey was close now, he could sense it. It must have taken a longer way around to avoid walking on the bridge. The hunter grinned and started running again, through the unfamiliar forest.

He must have run for over an hour before he stumbled across a clearing. The tree line ended abruptly and was replaced by a large circular patch of grass, with the occasional rock outcrop. A family of rabbits had made their home here and were bounding across the small grass island. At the centre of the clearing, though, was something that clearly did not belong. It was a stone tower. The closer the hunter got to the construction, the older it became. The stone bricks were worn smooth, and moss and creeping vines clung to its sides. Many of its crenelations had broken off and embedded themselves in the dirt surrounding the tower. The door had simply rotted and fallen apart, leaving only a gaping black whole on the face of it. The hunter neared the opening where the door used to be and peeked inside, his eyes quickly adjusting to the sudden lack of light. He blinked, but before he could spot anything of interest, he heard a rustling outside, and a sudden stamping of many feet striking the ground. He withdrew his head and without a moment’s hesitation he was off and running towards the source of the noise, bow with arrow up and ready to fire.

I was sticky. The breeze came off the water and across The Beach. My mother poured the sunscreen on my back and rubbed it in. I looked at the overcast sky as she covered my neck. My eyes closed as her greasy hand wiped over my face. Chester crashed his pink tugboat into the sand, the dog watching.

“You’re done,” my mother said, “play in the tidal pool until I finish slathering your brother.” I stood up as she pushed the hair off my forehead. Over the wet sand to the long rock that broke up the beach, I climbed over the barnacles and into the cratered center. Squatted in the warm water hunkering my bottom to the rock, my knees were almost equal to my shoulders. I splashed the warm water over myself, trying to warm my skin against the late spring air. Chester stood so my mother could cover his knees and shins. His bushy brown hair already had sand in it. The dog smelled his back. Chester waved at me. Water squirted between my hands in his direction. Chester laughed. My mother zipped his red life preserver and stood up, pulling her long hair over her shoulder. She walked to my tidal pool with Chester.

“Boys, since this is a tradition, I think I should say something.” She took Chester’s hand and mine, pulling me up. The air met the water on my skin, causing my teeth to chatter. My mother continued.  “I am just so happy that every year, June first, we, as a family, go swimming in the ocean. It means so much that this is something we can accomplish every year, so that every other swim we take for the rest of the summer is warm as a pool in comparison.” She smiled down at us. My lips were probably bordering on purple. Chester climbed the rock and picked up a piece of light green kelp, pulling back my mother’s swimsuit strap. “Don’t you dare.” she said, not turning around. Chester giggled, trying to balance himself on the barnacles, his feet soft from a winter of shoes. “Don’t you do it Chester Arthur Sillman.” Chester let the kelp and straps go, pinching the slimy green leaf to her skin with a snap. My mother grabbed Chester around the middle, running to the water. She threw him in ahead of her. Chester bobbed in the water, kicking and splashing. My mother shouted up to me as I stood with my ankles in the tidal pool, shivering, “Come in TR, it’s not so bad.”

I wished she’d thrown me in too. Spring ocean water hurt to the marrow. Wading meant stepping further in, knowing that the feet that hurt would be joined by shins, and then knees. Wading was bones and skin and blood screaming, the body pleading, until numbness. Waiting for my knees to stop screaming, I submerged my thighs. Wading took hours, days. Chester splashed the dog’s back. Numbness reached my waist so I went under. Cold water on the face and head makes the lungs try to gasp. My eyes stayed open, the greenish darkness fuzzy with bits of sand and seaweed floating in front of me. I stood up, my lungs gasping, cold salt in my mouth. Chester doggy paddled towards the beach. Dragging my numb legs through the water, up The Beach, I made it to my towel. I didn’t understand how they could stay in so long. Small waves rose beneath my mother and Chester, big waves didn’t make it through the harbor. The dog jumped through the bits of foam, biting crustaceans.

When I warmed up and my mother and brother came out of the water, I took a green bough from the apple tree and tied my leather string to both ends. Like Robin Hood, I notched the outside of the points, locking the string in place. Because the wood was green it didn’t break apart when pulled. I made arrows with my leatherman, sharpening the points, notching the ends. I felt like a man, like my father, who went hunting in the fall with my uncles and his friends. I felt like a warrior, and a brave. I was going to kill, and bring home what I had killed. Other boys wouldn’t be men until their parents told them so, but I was.

Chester sat in the tidal pool, pouring water from a bucket and onto his boat. My mother sat in her beach chair, sunglasses on, her long hair hanging wet over the back, sand stuck to the ends. Her head was hanging over the back of her chair, air noisily coming in and out of her open mouth. Past the apple tree that hung over the sand, tiny and undernourished crabapples underfoot I went. I crouched in the grasses behind the tree where my mother took the dog to poop. The seagulls circled over the harbor, the tree, and the harbor master building. I took out my first arrow, firing it between the branches. It came back down. The gulls flew low, trying to get the mussels, clams and crabs at the low tide, finding old apples easier to pick up off the ground. One tried to land between me and the tree. I fired. The arrow hit it, bounding off. I notched another arrow as the gull started flying away. My arrow hit the gull between the wing and ribs. I didn’t it would actually work.

It squawked, wings not beating together, one fast, and one not completing the flap. I watched it hit the ground, further hurting the left wing. Blood colored the white feathers. The gull cried. The right wing kept trying to fly, but the left hung around the arrow sticking out of its side. I grabbed the gull. “I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry.” I kept saying it. “I’m sorry I’m sorry.”  I pulled the arrow out, the blood dripping off the feathers, onto my stomach. Blood came out of it’s beak, the gull opening its mouth all the way, its small tongue like a red worm. I held it to my body, it would get better, I would fix it. “I’m sorry I’m so sorry.” It screamed some more, as I hugged it tighter to me. I whispered my sorries to it like a chant. The right wing pushed against my chest. The gull’s head moved back and forth, crying and leaking. My mother called my name. I couldn’t stop sorrying. Chester ran up the path behind the tree.

“Is it ok?” he asked. He reached his hand out to touch it. I jerked away.

“I’m fixing it! You’ll ruin it!” I yelled. A couple of tears fell on the gull’s feathers. They would help, tears and sorries would help. It would be fine. It would be great. It would come home with us and live in my room. I would have a gull and name it Derek. The gull screamed again, this time panting. My stomach and swim trunks were red with bird blood, white and gray feathers sticking.  Chester reached his hand out again, and I screamed. The gull screamed with me. The blood was warm between the feathers and my stomach. Chester would break it. I needed to fix it. I was sorry. I squeezed harder, the pinned wing pushing against me. My mother stood at the bottom of the path. The dog sniffed the gull. “I’m Sorry!”

My mother asked me to let go. I couldn’t.

“I have to fix it.” I said. She had to understand.

“Sweetheart, let it go, it’s dying.” She put her hand on my shoulder. I had to save it. I had to get it clean, the blood was making it sick, there was too much blood. I walked down the path. Chester was crying and my mother picked him up. I walked down The Beach towards the water. It just had to be clean. The gull pushed its wing into my solar plexus. The cold water sunk itself into my skin, biting me. Blood and feathers mixed with the dark green. The gull would get better. It lived in the ocean, it needed the salt. We needed to go under, to be clean, for the salt to polish us bright. My mother came up behind me and lifted me around my middle. The gull drooped. It was warm against the water. My mother’s arms pulled me backwards towards The beach. Screaming. I wasn’t clean. I was bloodied and feathered. My mother dropped me on the sand. The gull’s eyes didn’t close when its head hit the rocky ground.

Following yesterday’s post on the behind the scenes of the site of the Good Things Arrow and Crane, this second video now takes a look at the heart – or be it – the brain that’s sorting out all those messages that appear on the arrow itself.

      I can’t seem to stop… just one more… then two… well three when I last looked…  for all the sorted details go directly to Folk Art Online page.

Hope these make you smile….PJ

 it’s all he ever wanted….

just one shot….

These are my first paper mache,  ever.  Can’t tell you how much I loved doing these.  No pain.  I can work with both hands, 90 miles an hour.  So much fun.  I think I have 3 more in front of fans.  Now you know what I’ve been up to while you’ve been looking at Memory Lane stuff.  

The details will be on the gallery online page later today.  Thanks for looking! ….PJ