“A good marriage winds up as a meeting of minds, which had better be pretty good to start with.”

It is Day 2 of my shoot with my cousin and his fiance, they are lovely to work with. I don’t think i will ever get it this easy in the future and they have been excellent hosts.

As i’m going through this shoot i feel like it has been a learning process, each and every step of the way. Each time a different situation, a different lesson.

“For me, it is as though at every moment the actual world had completely lost its actuality. 
As though there was nothing there; as though there were no foundations for anything or as though it escaped us. 
Only one thing, however, is vividly present: the constant tearing of the veil of appearances; the constant destruction of everything in construction. 
Nothing holds together, everything falls apart.”
(Eugene Ionesco – French dramatist, 1909-1994)

This afternoon nearby the house in Varanasi (Benaras), those men were emptying a truck.
They seemed to be out of this world and they reminded me Butoh dancers “performing” in white-body makeup with slow hyper-controlled motion.

“When your intellect will completely pierce the veil of delusion, then you will become indifferent to what has been heard and what is to be heard [from the scriptures].”
(Bhagavad Gita)

This man was taking a break as he kept on emptying plaster bags from a truck which stopped in my street in Varanasi (Benaras).
The amazing light and the dust gave a theatrical touch to what became my subject for a short while.
He was tired and I could se sweat melting with plaster on his skin, his expression could be taken for the state of piercing the veil of delusion…

Right behind you guys…

http://www.istockphoto.com/stock-photo-9434439-new-life.phprefnum=delihayat

hand holding a fresh young plant, symbol of new life and environmental conservation

http://www.istockphoto.com/stock-photo-9434439-new-life.phprefnum=delihayat

hands, concepts, human, care, hand, planting, unrecognizable person, growth, keeping, carrying, outdoors, conceptual symbol, new life, rural scene, humus soil, symbol, environmental conservation, giving, plant, dirt, palm, small, holding, leaf, green, finger, beginnings, gardening, protection, fragility, environment, agriculture, conservation, organic, environmental, hands, concepts, human, care, hand, planting, unrecognizable person, growth, keeping, carrying, outdoors, conceptual symbol, new life, rural scene, humus soil, symbol, environmental conservation, giving, plant, dirt, palm, small, holding, leaf, green, finger, beginnings, gardening, protection, fragility, environment, agriculture, conservation, organic, environmental

woman playing with wedding ring

woman playing with wedding ring ring,hands,playing,care,human,symbol,jewelry,engagement ring,caucasian,holding,fingers,gold

hands pulling a tuft grass with a ring on it, jealousy concept

hands pulling a tuft grass with a ring on it, jealousy concept

ring,tuft,jealous,jealousy,hands,woman,human,idea,love,romance,caucasian,grass,green,day,scene

Got on the streetcar this morning, but this month the service is diverting two routes for a few blocks to avoid construction. This is handy, since I live at the last stop on the detour before the car I usually walk blocks to catch heads south again, and then that same route lets me off right at the front doors to my office building. Laaaaazy no walking!
 
Despite several weeks of this detour thing, daily commuters (people who presumably ride the streetcar every morning and every evening, and whom I can’t understand missing this detail until now) don’t pay attention and just hop on any old streetcar, and then freak out when they forget to pay attention to what the driver is announcing. Namely, that he or she is now about to turn right, head south, then continue east along the regular route. Everyone suddenly hops out of their seats, dinging the the stop-bell and grumbling about whatever the heck what’s this what’s going on why didn’t the driver say something.
 
So then.

This morning, this wee little hobbled and rickety old lady gets on board with the assistance of a team of about a half-dozen men, each helping with her walker, purse, satchel, taking her arm, laboriously helping situate her in the correct position to take a seat, and meanwhile at the top of her voice she’s shouting her gratitude, thanking these men, telling them about all the things she would bake for them to make them fatter and to say “thank you” properly, and shouting to the driver thanking him for waiting and being patient and not driving while she is trying to walk and sit down like them other drivers what don’t pay attention to an old lady, and thanking the man who surrendered his seat, and thanking all other passengers for being patient while she does her thing.
 
I am sure you can imagine where this is going.

Immediately, the streetcar heads south, and she starts shouting “OHHH MY GOD! Now you turning! Driver! You turning! Why you doing this?! Ohhhh my goooooood! I needa get off! Let me off! I can’t go this way! You turning!” THe streetcar lurches to a stop, the doors swoosh open, and the whole process takes place in reverse, unloading the lady and getting her back up the hundred metres or so to College Street to wait for the proper College-bound car.
 
Awesome.

**************

Hours later:

This truly is the day that keeps on giving. At lunchtime, I cut through the department store across the street from my office, heading to pick up a sandwich at a place I love a few blocks south. I’ve learned that the fastest route through the store is the men’s department; perfumes, stockings, ladies’ wear and household appliances will be jammed with office ladies on their breaks, and add a good ten minutes to the trip. I was zipping along not paying much attention to the neckties, pyjamas and weird weekend warrior clothing lines (oh my gosh, so many ugly shirts bearing so many ugly designs!) when I hit the underwear aisle.

Slowed down…something was amiss…checked out the mannequins…and, it seems someone had been hard at work, if you will pardon the pun. The parade of white plaster dudes displayed not just their customary Calvin Kleins, but also great big boners, wads of tissue paper crumpled and crammed into each pair of y-fronts and boxer shorts.

I am so going shopping and giving the mannequins little tissue erections next time I am at a loss of how to spend my lunchbreak! Childish, certainly, but like potty humour and bad swears and the right kind of physical comedy, dang did this ever this made me laugh!

As I discover what I want to do with this blog, I find that selecting and showcasing pictures that move me and saying why they move me (as a Top) is a big part of it. Alas, so many of the pictures out there are derivative. But this one, which I know nothing about, but which I found at Keagen’s Spanking Memoir is worth noticing.

Keagen comments: “To me, it says, ‘You can fight and struggle, but I promise, it’s ok. I’m strong enough to handle the fight, and strong enough to handle you.’ Yet, she’s not being FORCED into position. She is there of her own free-will. (You can tell because of the relaxation in her lower body and back.) *simply* I like it. His hands come over top of her body, so she is extremely close to him, and he is not simply standing behind her. This is, more than anything, a gesture of love, of support, of safety. It’s a gesture of strength, of containment. . . . of boundaries.”

To which I would only add how much I like the focus on hands. Hands are so important in spanking – what he does with his (obviously) and what she does with hers, or is not allowed to do. And her hands are very open, very accepting and receptive. I like too the different skin tones they have. Something sexy about her paleness and his mustiness. Also this is clearly a ‘bondage’ picture, but without the ersatz chains and crap. What a relief. And, lest I forget my true calling, her bottom is very desirable, spankable indeed.

A Maricopa County Sheriff (Ariz.) racially profiled Alma Chacon and stopped her on her way to cash a check.     Although she had outstanding unpaid tickets and a misdemeanor shoplifting charge, she was not detained for these reasons.   The detaining officer believed she was an undocumented immigrant.

Wow…

This girl was 9 months pregnant and thrown in jail.    During her second night in jail, she began to bleed.    She was transported to a hospital with her hands and feet shackled.      The officer present refused to remove the shackles, even when the paramedic who arrived indicated they were not necessary.

At the hospital, this mofo again insisted that she remain shackled.    A nurse requested that Chacon be freed to get a urine sample, but the officer again refused,  and said the bed should be dragged to the bathroom!   

What an asshole!!

Chacon delivered the baby with her hands and feet shackled to the bed.    Deputy Chief Jack MacIntyre said that “inmates must be shackled for security reasons”, and indicated that someone could be faking labor in order to escape from jail.  (what the h3ll did he put in his coffee this morning!? )   He added that Chacon ‘could have escaped and assaulted the hospital staff’.  Yeah, right.  She a wide load at 9 months pregnant, and I sure dont think she ’s lookin’ for a fight about now…  Chacon was transported back to county jail,  denied a breast pump &  pain medication, and was not even allowed to see her child.

This girl had no violent criminal history.   There was really no reason to suspect that she had faked labor and would leap out of the hospital bed and start assaulting hospital staff…

Somebody should kick his ass.

And I’d sure see me a man about a lawsuit…

I’ve spent the morning preparing images for a new exhibition at Griffith University’s School of Social Work and Human Services here in Brisbane. These are the images they selected to reflect the nature of the department’s involvement in things like mental health, Aboriginal affairs, community and relationship.

Let me know what you think of the images!

——–

Feel free to email Jo at admin@visitedplanet.com with your comments/thoughts/photo aspirations.  See and learn more at www.visitedplanet.com

Dogs and owner, New South Wales

Sunset on the Oodnadatta track, South Australia

Hands reaching out over the fire, India

Aboriginal child, Queensland

Canoe at Lawn Hill Gorge, Queensland

Mother and baby in Segou, Mali

Karnatika girls selling cloth on a Goan beach, India

Footprints in the dune near Birdsville, Queensland

Darkness covers the city

And we are playing with it

You whisper my name

Telling, I’m to blame.

Your words cut like a sharp knife

As if they were taking my life.

They are oh, so loud

I got lost in the crowd

Now I see your hands taking

Mine. I see them truly faking.

They are so proud

I am lost in the crowd.

I feel you coming closer

I see us growing older

We are so very bound

I am part of the crowd!

I feel your face next to mine

I feel you breathe it’s so fine

We were all too soused…

I belong to the crowd.

Now you kiss my trembling lips

And then you shout those killer hits:

My name, my name, my name

Tells me I’m to blame

And darkness turns into light

Our Sins are getting too bright

We all whisper a name.

We are all to blame.

I feel you getting colder

Hands get off of my shoulder

My eyes seem to shout:

Once, I was part of the crowd!

Once,

I was

Part of that

CROWD…

The winter season is getting to me…:( The darkness is making me tired and with no energy. I really don’t like it, and still I have another month to go before the sun turns and the days will get longer. Around that time I will also spend a week in Dallas, TX, which will help tremendously, I can hardly wait

I mentioned yesterday that I did a shoot, which was really nice so I figure I share a couple of the photos I did

A tender moment.

Holding hands.

Don’t you just hate it when you’re trying to open a trash bag, and it just won’t open?  Well, here’s a simple solution that never fails.  Wash your hands.

The reason it becomes hard to open the trash bag is that during the course of the day, oil from the fingers builds up.  The oil is especially slippery when it rubs against the plastic.  When you wash your hands, it removes the oil from your skin, making it tacky enough to open the bag without slipping.

This has worked with all the trash bags I’ve tested,   even the hard to open bags.

Enjoy,

Allen

If you have any questions that need a creative solution, let me know in the comments.

Thanks Eli for the find!

Gerry (Jerry) Phillips has been playing music for 40 years, but he doesn’t play an instrument or sing…. he uses his hands.

Apparently, when he was 9 years old, he learned the fabulous childhood gift of farting with your hands:

From YouTube page:

i could do it right away. i soon found notes, then simple songs, now i can play just about everything. i’m happy making videos and featuring them on youtube where people like you can see them!

Kudos good sir. Check out my favorite video of his below and also check out his YouTube page for more awesome covers!

Many of you have noticed that I have not been posting to my blog as regularly as I had been in the past. If you are a regular reader, I apologize. It seem that as the title states “My hands have been silent”.

 The reality of it is that I have struggled recently with being able to put into words my emotions and thoughts. Since being in a major car accident in September, my routine seems to have me out of sync. Although my faith in God has not faltered, my willingness to call on him for strength seems to come only after I have carried my burdens farther than I should have on my own. I know better than that. But I also believe that as a human being many of us have a habit of leaning on ourselves first, and God second.

Psalm 121:1-3

A song of ascents.

 ¹ I lift up my eyes to the hills—
       where does my help come from?

 ² My help comes from the LORD,
       the Maker of heaven and earth.

 ³ He will not let your foot slip—
       he who watches over you will not slumber;

Our Lord is with us every second of every day. He never stops standing guard. He never lets go of us. It is we who forget, we who let go of God, not the other way around.

Prayer: Precious God, thank you for always being there beside me. Even in the toughest of times you are there. When my struggles are at their peak, you are there to carry my burden. Remind me oh God of your great strength and the shield of protection you offer me from my faults and my demons. Help me to lean on you first, and make myself a distant second. In the name of your son Jesus I pray. Amen

luv is bright on the other side uv the tracks,
wood lines up,
wheels creaking streaming people across land.

train riding i am transported, eyes opening thru a port uv window.
luv luv luv the riding the
bringing me to the border uv the

infinite being within myself, the self that never ages,

on my way to wards.

i am alive  inside my eyes reach out across the plain.

old wrinkled luving hands uv rome’s tree tops reach back.

i see grand mother and mother, hands reaching across the table,
 i am inside my brown wooden dinner bowl uv salad, tossing up the oil and salt, licking the bowl to get  a tention from the green beneath me.

this land,  italia, is licking me from head to foot, like a dog, with a ball, ready to play.

 this play ground, i am here, and my bones can feel it, losse, bones attached to meat, meat, attached to air, air mixing with blood and the whirl uv encouraging juices

like the push uv hands uv great parents standing behind their little ones on a play ground so they can swing higher and higher on the swing set.  push me harder!  i am going to reach the highest point to  jump off  and land on my cat feet. 9 lives to come weeeeeeeeeeee!

my lifted heart being swirled with memories uv land i tracked “must be in past lives”, says the woman at the airport hair gently lifted exposing her soft all knowing forehead. “its the hairspray” she explains. easily in her sixties but far softer on the eyes than all the walloping twenty sumthings brooding thru bags to touch up their makeup.  she standing upright with a perk in one shoulder and a perk in one knee, waiting to grab her valice ( luggage).

her stance is speaking to me,  “hey, i am a mediterranean woman, we move even when are still.”

 oh, i must speak to her,  she looks like a glamorous actress, sophia loren, aging deliciously each year like wine, with a pair uv hot purple pumps pulling off a pair uv blu jeans dressed with artigiano jewellery and uv course confident italian flair.  so i approach her and within few moments she is already motherly, warning me, “attenzione, the men here will go crazy for a young woman like u, but… they are often married.!”.
(wow nothing gets by her)
“but ur parents are really good letting u come here on a one way ticket.”  “yes i can see that tu sei italian. but it is strange u know. u were born in vancouver. u really were italian in ur past life”.

strange, the second time, since i have arrived and another (non-gypsy) stranger is talking to me about my past lives.
regarding this pastlife buisness, i change the subject, in allegria, in happiness, i tell her how wonderful it is she now lives in london, a city i am now feeling affectionate about, and is able to go between londra e roma, and in celebration uv the nonrational behaviour i am bringing out uv my soul, the walking up to strangers, and sharing our lives for whatever time, even for a few moments, regarding my past life, i say no thing,
instead,
realizing i have set foot on new land where i can re enliven and begin to stir the gestural magic potion thru my body, i smile smile
and let my hands do the talking.