ROLE OF HYDROLOGY AND GRAVITY

Pure water doesn’t conduct electricity. Normal water too is a poor conductor of heat. Exchange of heat takes place almost entirely by convection. Molecules carrying heat travel within the system and spread heat uniformly.

Ice and snow being solid, molecules have no freedom of movement. Unlike a rod of iron, heat is not passed on from one end to the other if the rod is made of ice. This is the reason why the igloo (hutment made of ice blocks) retains warmth inside it, even when the temperature outside falls much below the freezing point. A human being may remain alive for some days, if he sleeps in the arctic region. The snow deposited on his body forms a blanket which will not allow the heat of the body to escape outside and also protects from the cold wind blowing from the Poles. Such cases have been reported. At the same time beggars sleeping outside in the cold season in north India die as reported in newspapers, as they lose their body heat easily in the absence of warm cloths.

 This unique quality of frozen water plays a very important role in preventing heat of the earth from escaping into outer space by radiation. The Polar regions, and a considerable part of temperate regions in winter, remain covered with ice and snow. This is true of the mountainous regions and the plateaus of higher altitude also. In the seas the thermal insulation provided by the snow cover allows life to flourish throughout the year but prevents escape of heat and makes considerable contribution to global warming.

 There is continuous evaporation of water from the seas (not covered by ice) and land. Each molecule of vapor carries considerable quantity of latent heat as additional calorie. When they rise in altitude, the molecules form clouds and then descend towards the earth as rain, snow, dew and mist. This circulation of water results in cyclic movement of heat. Only the latent heat released at the time of formation of clouds results in escape of heat by radiation. In areas where humidity is minimum the heat lost by radiation will be considerable. Ironically deserts help to ‘fight Global Warming’ and greenery works in the reverse direction!

 If the earth were devoid of water, transfer of heat from the earth by radiation to outer space would have been easy and enormous in quantity as in the case of  the Moon.

 GRAVITY

What is the source of geo-thermal energy?

 A stack of lignite will catch fire if left in the open. Obviously this is because of the pressure developed inside, raising the temperature to ignition point of lignite which is comparatively low. Such rise in temperature takes place inside a stack of coal, iron ore, sand etc also. The pressure is caused by gravity of the earth which continuously pulls the stack down and the surface of the earth opposing this force, causing pressure. Therefore we may say that gravity generates heat. A hill is also a stack of great dimension. As the crust of the earth is not falling down due to gravity; it is obviously subjected to pressure caused by opposing forces of gravity and forces supporting the crust to remain in position. When the pressure at a point, say 10km inside the earth, is multiplied by the area of the globe at this point, we will get a mind boggling figure of the thrust, capable of generating heat, comparable to that produced by thousands of hydrogen bombs.

 Well, this may be the source of geo thermal energy and not radiation as maintained by geologists. The above theory is borne out by the fact that as we go deeper into the earth the temperature rises. In depressions like the Grand Canyon in America and the Dead Sea it is very hot.

 “Hence, omitting all reference to the active volcanoes, and to thermal springs at all temperatures below that of boiling water, found in all parts of the world, it is well-known fact, that in descending into deep mines the temperature is greatly above that of the mean of the exterior air, and increases progressively with the depth. This was first remarked by Gensanne, about the year 1740, in the lead mines of Giromagny, near Beport. Saussure afterwards observed the same fact in the salt mines at Bex, in Switzerland; but the attention of naturalists was not generally directed to the temperature of the lower strata, till Humboldt has executed an extensive and interesting series of experiments in the mines of Freyburg, in 1791. The best set of observations we possess on the temperature of deep places, is that which has been uninterruptedly continued for more than half a century in the caves under the observatory of Paris. In 1783 the Count de Cassini, in concert with Lavoisier, placed a very delicate thermometer in one of these excavations for the purpose of observing the curious phenomenon of an invariable temperature, which had been noticed to exist in the same place, by the first Cassini, in 1671, and by La Hire, in 1730. The thermometer is placed at the depth of rather more than thirty yards under the surface, in a bed of fine sand, and has indicated no change of temperature, or at least its oscillations have not exceeded the 1/33 of centesimal degree. The constant temperature exceeds at that depth, by 2.16 degree Fahrenheit’s scale, the mean tempreture at the surface: and supposing a uniform increase at the same rate, we would arrive at the temperature of boiling water at the depth of 2542 yards under the city of Paris. We may quote a few other results of observation. In the coal mines of the north of England the temperature is 70° at the depth of 800 or 900 feet, when the air at the surface is only 48° or 49°; and in the mines of Valenciana in Mexico, it is 92° when the surface-air is at 60°. The following are additional examples:-. In a copper mine at Dolcoath, in Cornwall, a thermometer was kept eighteen months buried in the rock to the depth of a yard. The depth of the mine was 1377 feet. The temperature indicated was 75.5°, while that of the country is 50°; and consequently the increase of heat there is at the rate of 1° for every 54 feet.

 At Giromagny, in the Vosges, the annual temperature at the surface is 49°; at 330 feet depth it is 53.6°; at 1008 feet, 65.8°; at 1416 feet 74.6°. in four of the deepest mines of Saxony the annual tempreture at the surface is 46.4degree at from 510 to 600 feet depth it is 54.5 degree; at 840 feet, 58 degree; at 1080 feet, 62.6°.

 In the deepest British coal mine, that of Killingworth, the annual temperature at the surface is 48°; at 900 feet depth it is 70°; at 1200 feet, 77°. A similar gradation is found in many of the deeper mines at home and abroad.

 There is thus in the Vosges an increase of temperature in descent below the surface amounting to about 1° in every 60 feet; in Saxony 1° in every 66 feet; and in Britain 1 degreein every 45 feet. After the ratio observed in the Vosges, the tempreture of the hot springs at Bath, 113°, will be found at three-quarters of a mile in the interior of the earth, and that of boiling water at a depth of nearly two miles. “The facts strongly support three conclusions:- First, that the heat of an interior shell of the earth is greater than the superficial shell. Second, that this heat augments progressively as we descend towards this region, in a ratio bearing some relations to the depth. Third, that, even at moderate depth, this heat is greater than the mean heat of the globe ought to be, if entirely derived from the sun. The heat of such an interior mass must be constantly diffusing itself towards the surface; and at the surface it may be kept down, so as to affect the temperature derived from the solar action very feebly, by the greater or less rapidity of its dissipation. But as it is very improbable that it should be diffused with perfect equality round the whole exterior shell of the globe, it may be the true source of some of those anomalies of climate, such as the discrepancy in the annual heat under the same parallel, which cannot be easily referred to other known causes”. If the heat of the globe were entirely derived from the sun, Pekin, at an inconsiderable elevation above the sea, ought to have the same mean annual temperature as Naples, being under the same parallel of latitude; but instead of that being the case, the temperature falls short of that at Naples by nearly 9°. Other causes may contribute to produce this discrepancy; yet it is not unreasonable to suppose that the mean heat at Naples is raised by its proximity to a focus of internal heat which smokes and flashes through the chimney of Vesuvius”.

 It is amazing that pioneers like Humboldt, Lavoisier etc had done path breaking observations regarding geo thermal energy and deserve all praise. Had this line of research continued, the conclusions now reached by me would have automatically been revealed much earlier. That the scientists, especially geologists, have not cared to  study physical geography is a big loss. I have only filled up the spaces left void by the pioneers.

 To conclude: global warming is caused by the earth itself and cooling is retarded by water – our father and mother. Shall we blame our parents or thank them for giving precious life enabling us a few year’s visit to this wonderful earth to enjoy it’s beauty and sublimity?

The best to be had on this overcast day…

"Dusty Rose" (Rose, Side View) Nikon D300, 105mm, F/8, 1/40s, -1.0EV, ISO 640, Built-in TTL Flash, -2.0EV

After enduring a foggy nightime drive to Farmville, VA and a full nights sleep we woke up to a foggy morning so what else can you do in the fog but take pictures!!! Here are a few that I thought were cool…

Other than wonky camera settings (I accidentally had the ISO set to ISO-1250) I like these photographs. This marks my first photo shoot in the fog

(continued from Intro)

Perhaps my unwanted facial features had become more prominent, but I don’t ever remember taking note of them in the past!  While I was being haunted with my facial features I took a step out to purchase a variety of inexpensive cosmetics.  Then, I checked out beauty books and surfed the Internet for tips on wearing makeup.  I didn’t know that I was going to see Christ in what I was reading!

I began to see how the beauty world has borrowed from Christ.  Here is how.  I read about two looks that would make you attractive, the look of bronzed and the dewy look.  These looks sell and they are hot.  That’s when the light came on.  It goes something like this.  The cosmetic world esteems the beauty that is Christ’s thus borrowing from him looks of bronzed and dew!   I’ve seen the terms bronzed-goddess and divine dew used in my readings.  Bronze and dew are used in scripture to describe Christ (Revelation 1 bronzed feet; Numbers 21 bronzed serpent).  Furthermore, beauty belongs to him (Psalms 50:2).  He is the dew from Heaven (Hosea 14:5).  So beauty is about him (Song of Songs 5:9-16). 

I have his beauty because he dwells in me.   If it’s beauty that you seek just know that Christ is the altogether lovely one (Song of Songs 5:16).

ok, my mission to find the right foundation to cover these dark-eye circles is not aborted.  On this journey I might eventually find foundation to match my skin tone, but today I have the Beautiful One in me.  And I am as he is, the lily of the valleys, the rose of Sharon and the fairest (Song of Songs 2).  I see myself as he sees me.

Lazy to wake up, I kept tossing on my bed.. intermittently romantically provoked by the twittering that sounds music to my ears..

Yet another day.. I wish I could take a day off. I cared to open my eyes and spotted my roommate sleeping… and i escaped to the safety of my quilt again. Winter mornings can be romantic. It invokes a lot of emotions.. aspirations and enthusiasm. This gets followed by the miseries of life and my soul wishes for inspiration. My soul asks for guidance. My heart wishes for a touch of a very near one.

Am I insecure, afraid or am I just hurt?

In my desperation to take a day off, I started dragging myself to the bathroom to freshen up.

I was feeling so very fresh, the breeze seemed to have soothened my scars.. The trees seemed to be welcoming me and the birds seemed to be singing a welcome song for me.. Its heavenly feel.

A sip of hot tea at mashi’s tea stall, a silent tryst with nature… an endevour to feel… whadda start to the day!

The dew seemed so glistening, the sun unclear. The tree tops were swinging responding to the breeze. The dog near the stall seeks shelter behind the pillar, made for itself a comfortable place to lazily recline. The regular adda doesnt seem to come alive in this chilly morning. 2 strangers beside me with tea cups, cigarette and newspaper.

That was my time to leave and try out feels more comfortable and interesting than passive fagging. I had no better option but to go to the field near by.. not the mashi’s one.. The place where I and Praveen go when we are sad and together… walking across I felt my feet wetting a bit. Yea its the dew…

I had a 360 degrees view. No! no one was watching me! I hold my chappal with my hand and walked through the field barefoot. Its awesome. No words can ever describe the feel. Its healing, accomplishing… It felt mother nature nurturing me, playfully tickling and cuddling with me. It was chilling, wet and one could hardly stay there barefoot. At the end I had to run to reach the “Jhula”. [Dont get shocked, sometimes elder kids also love the jhula(the swing)]

Some 20 minutes of complete silence. Me and the empty jhula beside me.. The sky was clearing and when I raised my head up… I could see my inspiration. A sudden stike of nascent sunlight made me playfully shy away. The sun was round, red and clear. It feels thats another gift nature gave me today. It stood there high up, strong and confidence. Without its normal glare and strength… soft as it was it was asking me to get my beliefs back towards my moral, my ethics.. It was asking me to get my confidence back, and work even harder… I felt He was scolding me for having behaved like a defeated warrior.. I kept staring at the red sun until the clouds hid it…

A ray of hope, a ray of warmth…. a hope of affection, a warmth of a tryst…. Good morning friends!

the bag-carried charms of lonely school-girls

blue crushed dreams drowned at noon-day

vented fortunes melted and re-created

morphed laughters reflected in a magenta pool

shadowy remains of the over-large green lantern

vultured skulls swinging by their guitar strings

music honeyed lions pondering the dancing stars

there a stare – here a smile – everywhere death

paper-thin mannequins feasting on shrimp salads

oceanic largesses buttoned and stored sideways

sun-dried tomatoes drank with overmuch salt

zion led saints proportioning those fairly decked nuns

swing crushed remains – the bread cracks of yore

the vegan induced convulsions of some carnivore

emperor dreamed lords dressed in nakedness

street whispered symphonies overtaken with sun-dried laughters

slithering oysters wrestling with some stranded toe

darling buds gnashing their teeth as they gently kiss those receding winds

suffocated wedding bands recalling past conquests

suffused pleasures desiring a proper vessel

the sweaty palms of boys chained in boarding schools

green sullied roof tops laced in brown jacaranda leaves

death masked violins overran with a craving for strings

there be but a remainder of mats – herded feet whistling their displeasure

overmuch excitement – the sure emblem of lovers at war

gloried bosoms rounder than the fairest august apple

middle apportioned fortunes starved of the seasons fallings

i pose a conundrum – suppose i cared

those circular yearning s teasing the pathetic fortunes of our failings

trombone led bands cowering beneath flute dresses

museum honeyed murals of masters unknown

leather clobbered loins remained upon the chiefest lizard cliffs

shop stewed beans rustling in their metal prisons

willows distantly dancing a fresh of the flowing muds

the punished sounds of choirs hanged at dawn

boot driven passions remained on a plastic plate

a loose lip here – a shoe there – everywhere death

numidian mushrooms sheltered beneath kilimanjaros shoulders

kissed birds overcome with grief

the booked imaginings of shy pupils giggling in rain

pampered lobsters sunbathing in their coffins

oiled thighs standing erect besides michelangelo’s david

yellow scented lusts of husbands given over to theatre

comedy driven longings – the perpendicular stares of wronged lover

the karoo streams – kalahari basins – toureg chants – gorgon encampments

they all be but simple venison servings

table laid charms bottled in salt

how fair are those dancing bears – even the same fur-less devils

suspended aloft that soon disappearing iceberg

night stars rushing purposefully to their deaths

sychellian crustaceans wallowing in grief

the bushveld  tropics leaning gently upon fair mozambique’s cheeks

soon-approaching monsoons announcing their arrival in himalayan chants

train hurried suns murmuring for a lack of attention

the haired touching of lovers stranded at and in the sea

easterly badlands housed in some papal estate

toe-tugged yearnings elegantly decked in straw skirts

of epher’s children – salute them with a gentle tug in either direction

craven red shoes seated upright in some rainy mud hut

of mau mau and his abandoned harlots – whistle only and touch not

burning forests housed wholly in her mouth

olympian straits considered and rejected

righteousness forced upon unwilling saints – they chose sin instead

snow-covered churches overcome with laughter

coat pocketed jealousies of rivals resorting to righteousness – dueling

scorched lands immigrating downward and into hell

cherry scented mustangs awash in fresh aloe

dew carried feet refusing the flung serving of fresh boots

the remaining african horn fed to the nomadics of eritrea

diseased waters bottled and sent to epher’s descendants

soap deprived ankles painted in valley yellow

dark suns prejudiced at the sight of blue oranges

suited bullfrogs desiring an audience with the priest

mournful dirges of some tragic anthem lorded over the plains

serengeti woodlands teaming with overmuch grasshoppers

lateral – dental – palatial

the rice grown hatreds of aphrite’s rude cousins

millet rinsed touchings of loves and lovers clothed in burnings

sight condemned ancients rehearsing their final movements

hurried motionings of sharks harpooned at the high deserts

drunk instructors condemned to the wine cellars

drought moustaches grown arrogant with the occasional brush

ankle dipped hands dancing on freshly painted ceilings

roman centurions sheepishly waiting upon the priests

the back covered lashes of whips crying at dawn

zebra teethed lions lying sideways – the feed was much

meditating monks nightly preaching patience as they doubt its efficacy

rib jointed searchings of parents transfixed upon some tragic statute

guitar stringed understandings of lovers soon to be loosened

hurricane gales refusing freely gifted medications – they instead desire destruction

church chimed machinations – the loud shadows of sarcadortal hems

leather-covered sweaters speaking of soon returning father abraham

marsh covered bibles resurrected to their mournful parents

papered lips pretending to care yet found out

fortuned souls buried in moses’ bosoom

piano starved school children emaciated and in need of fresh cassava

drunk pilgrims desecrating their holy places

curses courtiers given over to overindulgence

pleasured hips forgetting how to dress

earth abused servants despising their hoes

equator neglected bears doubly aggrieved

polluted musics distilled in yellow barley

tomato crushed dreams of lovers separated by war

tributaries of untamed passions spewing from eva’s bosom

tribal instincts of mothers caressing their pops – confused loves

crucified sailors condemned for purity of passions

the yellow ribbons circling about in their blue trousers

bus driven fears of known futures

boiled mannequins cascading in sheltered rage

the oiled ankles of lovers destined to fail

teaming marshes pregnant with the anticipation of your impending hanging

what would shylock do

such purity contained in those unassuming holy loins

not a penny more or less

the weighty pendulums of earthly expectations placed shoulderwise

upon such lowly flesh – pray for his rich poverty

freely consider the run – jonah did

circular chains layered outwardly upon her cheeks

wandering stares of the decomposing tortoise

craged backs of prisoners rejoicing at the sight of a whip

unseemly lovings of the nile priests

snow married rains competing for the mastery

roaming preachers begging for fresh underwear

any recall the simple pleasures of death

hyacinth troubled waters refusing to suffocate

consider the daffodils and their fair cousins – the black mamba

following – continue your runnings

street dancing muses overtaken with giggling willows

haggard poets taking up whistling

layered burnings of victims returned from their nightly flames

the bleached denials of lovers untrained in the art – of lying

caressed lips of saints hanged and burned by the eclipse

green creeks snaking around eva’s proud towers

ever populated with the bagged trifles of smiles sealed and delivered

expected rains falling only the honest sinners

touch not but freely reach

the flasked remains of wars forced upon the innocent

dirt condemned shoulders praying for rain

honeyed nights scribing the moanful chants of reunited lovers

built ruins of some ancient king – god

boot-straped cowboys jeaned and straightwith saddled

onion ringed stairs of pilgrims unfurling their carpets in prayer

stoned devils loosened on an unassuming friday afternoon

the shamelessly chanted charms of choirs rehearsing compassion

free range grains frustrated at the sight of a sickle

garden manufactured sandals covered in cassava peelings

the red vases of fortunes’ train soon approaches

temple plundered riches housed in some temple

boat driven suspenders tugging the wily doe

arabian summers spend it hibernation

square run destinies married to music slithered hands

love-worn seagulls taking up residence on greenland’s beaches

the pilgrim stares of submerged penguins

superfluous gains of tormentors destined to burn

collected unicorns aimlessly peddling their air cycles

terrace covered nakedness of summers spent at the arctic

zerubabel conducted symphonies arrested by the passing eclipse

the retrograde joys of past loves recalled in regret

of pains  known and grown out of – try harder

vase-shaped frustrations – even the same man nurtured

sandals of ambitions dead at birth

any care pass along the rope – how make you a proper noose

how sweet the contradiction daily raping humanity

baleful mourns of innocence hushed in the still of the night

bewildered stares fixed upon the priestly robes of the temple vultures

scavengers given over to overmuch prayer – before consuming their flesh

teeth mapped meats shaking with fear

with love and for love yet always serving self

hades scented saints marching triumphantly towards their sabbath pews

those proper passions gently housed in some harlots bosom

care consider her kind

rude awakenings of skirts hugged one upon another

round fingers – the meandering coins emblazoned with sea fortunes

sword kissed deaths transfixed upon some tragic mount

that they too desire to commune with father moses – any care find him

knee-nursed yearnings of some crawling pop

kettle-whispered lovings of mothers overcome with joy

loves journeyed in darkness only to be condemned by the searching light

some waffled longings of imprisoned cousins – twice removed

fortunes plundered and straightaway surrendered to mightier foes

watched yearnings of those round face anthills

care imitate the socialized hatreds of the sheppard

joyous singings at the news of the stranded winters upon the seas

today be the burial of some tragic figure – some son of three parents

scared remains of lovers burned in love – rather it be love that burned then -

or love caused these burnings – love burned them – in a word: they be dead

the dragon costumes singularly common yet without a mother

companies of soldiers bewailing their blood-muddied swords

pure-bred expectations of fathers married to daily runnings

parisian harlots – even those decadent damsels of notre dame

lamp lighted walkings of some painted corridor

symphonic laughters given over to overmuch prayers

recall the butterfly laced travels of righteous odysseus

the drought peopled apartments quietly screaming for chardonnay

touched purities of priests aggrieved in spirit yet glad in the flesh

palm lined libraries of cairo giddily seated adjacent jerusalem’s famous lamps

summer covered carpets laced with gerbera ferns

nightly runnings of forbidden lovers conspiring their next escapes

apostolic sureties of saint eva – blessed be her musical loins

poems collected in empty wooden wine skins

coerced laughters masked in the lying giggles of the anaconda

prayerful knees of the arabian monk wrestling with an empty sea shell

rehearsed returns of the blue women of the green lagoon

liberian tiles refusing their ordained marriages to cuban cements

any care hear of the loud shrills of the debauched crickets

plimsol expectations of princes ignored in plain sight

the returned piercings of lapped waters dancing in a great danes mouth

restrained sheep recalling their wild histories as dakota mustangs

of sacrifices a dove yet wholly unrepentant

rosy mornings carried in an empty jar

that the sistine chapel was erected by a harlot – aye even eva

that most righteous and upwardly decked saint of the weeping sheets

known of most for her convulsing inducing hands

virgin pilgrims remained upon their store-bought piety

some raisin cured yawns of the whited sepulchers housing her blessed remains

glass layered centuries of accusations returned and loosened

sweet-honeyed chirpings of the wooly mammoth

crane-spoted hyenas jumping rope in the serengeti plains

crowned turtles desiring the company of boiling lobsters

any recall the tearful repentances of proud nabucco

slaves become masters and enslaving their fellow slaves

how that in running – they instead lost themselves

have a care

Memory #146: Someone has made art involving conkers. They have collected one conker short of a million and each one is encased in a small glass cabinet and is named: It makes me feel like it is impossible to ever collect enough conkers.

Memory #147: There is also a display of old pictures of the clouds from down below. They look so innocent. Remembering looking up at them and also travelling through them makes me feel very …

Memory #148:

Memory #149:

Memory #150:

Memory #151: Vixen McGogh is only one artist still working at this end of the spaceship and she looks after the galleries too. Her medium is smells.

Memory #152: I think my brain may still be tangled from my journey but McGogh’s smell pieces are truly amazing. She shows me seemingly endless rooms, each of which features one of her works. She blends different smells together which combine to create a picture in your head. It is truly remarkable. The smells seem to hang in the air indefinitely.

Memory #153: My favourite piece of smell art is one which somehow manages to conjour up an image of a young farmer boy staring up into a vibrant blue sky and watching his red balloon drift off as though it is the only thing he has in the world. Do not ask me how it works for I do not know, I will just tell you that I think it is beautiful.

Memory #154: I go back to the crash site and sit with Rusty. It really is a remarkable collection of crashed buses. It seems like practically everything here is art. Three days after I arrive another bus comes hurtling down and mangles itself into the landscape.

Memory #155: I am glad I brought food with me as there seems to be nothing to eat here. Engine parts have never been my favourite.

Memory #156: It is a long walk back. Even though I know that there will be no traffic for three days I still prefer to walk on the pavement. There seems little point in having pavement on this road but then it also has hedges and street lamps.

Memory #157: The long walk has eroded the soles of my shoes away so that there are big gaping holes in them. They used to have a map of the world on them but that too has gone. It was always easy to see a picture of home with them around.

Memory #158: Now they are a constant reminder that home has gone.

Memory #159: I put them in the bin and consign them to an eternity floating around the space ocean. I will have to go barefoot from now on. This place could really do with a shoeshop.

Memory #160: Instead of a shoeshop a new restaurant has opened whilst I was away. It is called Cashew’s. I am not sure who owns it but it certainly has a lot of cashews.

Memory #161: The Edward Woodward clan are gathered around a table eating thirty-one different varieties of cashew nuts from thirty-one bowls in the middle of the table.

Memory #162: From the four hundred-strong menu the clan have chosen the following types of cashew nuts: garlic, honey, rosbif, capuccino, toothpaste, earth, beer, orange, richter scale, lime, pepper, fruit pastilles, cajun, seaweed, cajun seaweed, conker, paper, cumin, thyme, peanut, pineapple, hip-hop, ink, dew, tomato, cobweb, revenge, dystopia, onion, dandelion and chocolate.

Memory #163: Thirty one? Yes, there had been a new addition to the clan – Ebjarb Joobjarb, the bouncing baby son of Ebwarb Woobwarb, father, and Ejwarj Woojwarj, mother. I congratulated them and contemplated the stitched-together name.

Memory #164: I envisage generations and generations of oddly named children until the name Edward Woodward is completely lost, the years carrying it further and further away until it is all but burnt in a huge wicker effigy.

Memory #165: Back in the here and now they all seem to be enjoying their cashew nuts so I glance quickly at the menu which also includes: mango chutney, pesto, plastic, story, vanilla essence, sweat, asparagus, old rope and absinthe but, deciding I am not in the mood for cashew nuts I leave it for another day.

Memory #166: The opening of Cashew’s has affected the trade of the the space-ship-shop-shippitity-shop-ship-shop-open-non-stop (to give it its full name) and so I go there to show my support and buy some whisky and another toblerone. Chocolate, like cheese, just seems better in triangles.

Memory #167: It is nice to see out of the window into space again. The fish peer in at me as if we had a casual relationship like perhaps we meet at bus stops and since they had not seen me for a while they had wondered where I was. They had no idea where to start enquiring about me. Of course we do not know each other but we exist on the fringes of our respective memories.

Memory #168: I curl up on my rounded plastic seat and enjoy falling asleep in it. Soon though I slide off the seat again. I think it has been polished whilst I was away.

Memory #169: Now seems like as good a time as any to try out Cashew’s. My stomach seems to be revolting at just being fed endless toblerones.

Memory #170: The food at Cashew’s is quite expensive and so I must go to a cash machine on the way. I take my bank cassette out of its plastic case and insert it into the hole. The machine fluuurrps it in. The cassette is a modern space invention which stores information on miles of magnetic tape. This space age invention is not without its problems – the tape often becomes tangled and can completely confuse your important finance details.

Memory #171: Today it is happy to give me money and so I take some out and at Cashew’s I order the autumn leaves flavoured cashews for my stomach and a portion of chewing gum flavoured cashews for me.

Memory #172: I like to think whilst I eat. I think about floating in space. Have I always been floating in space? I can’t remember. I can’t remember not floating in space and I can’t remember getting on the spaceship. But then, I have a memory of a home. Once. A long long woolly way away. Away from where I am floating in space. I must have always been floating in space.

a simple plain image of the morning dew on the widshield of a car during sunrise. one of the favorite “things” of a typical winter morning in san francisco. it is the best feeling to wake up before most of the people from time to time, going out and exploring these special sizes, textures, and colors that no one has changed in the dew yet.

Drizzle, drizzle, no rain just a little frost melting off the branches. I wish you could have seen the beautiful trees in the woods this morning as the sun twinkled through the branches. The sound in the forest was that of a mild rain shower as the ice slowly melted off the trees. It was lovely….

A few berries were left on the trees and the sky was the perfect shade of blue. It was very cold but the sunlight reflecting off the drippy branches made it dreamy. There were so many other things I should’ve been doing but there was no other place I wanted to be. The sun makes everything better- I crave sunny days and we get so few here.

Last June I began to think about what makes a home cozy and for some reason I thought a big fat cat added that cozy feel and helped make a house a home. I didn’t own a cat at the time so I pondered the idea of getting one but didn’t. Well not long after that a big fat bob-tailed cat showed up at my door, followed shortly after that by momma cat and her babies. How did they know?  A few days later I started thinking about an old friend and began wondering what had happened to her,I wrote about her in my diary and then two weeks later she contacted me.  Hmmm… Over the past few months I have been applying for jobs in hopes of supplemented my very minor income but my heart wasn’t in it. But just a few weeks ago I started to feel a little more motivated and wished for a little work outside my studio and guess what happened? I got several calls for an interview and got hired.  It’s funny and sometimes a little scary when that happens. I guess the moral of this little story is be careful what you wish for…  Sometimes it happens!

Have a great weekend y’all

(p.s. I’ve always secretly wished to live in the south, near the ocean with a little lemon tree in my yard)

wink, wink…

xo-jj

New image in the natural orange photography contest

A awesome orange flower with some water drops. Took this uptown one mourning. …
Dew Drop in the Mourning photography picture

New image in the natural orange photography contest

This is a pretty cool flower I saw uptown one day I went up. Had to boost the saturation to bring the color out but it looks nice. …
Dew Drop Mourning photography picture