I am the grit in the gears, the missing bolt, I am the poker of sticks into spokes.
I like to know how things work, but sometimes when I take them apart and rebuild them, I have a few pieces left over.
I am a man, so I tend to leave reading the instructions until after it goes wrong.
And like all men I have a comprehensive mental map of the world and never need to ask directions.
I never get lost, only sometimes I'm late, or end up in the wrong place entirely.
It's what we do.
On the Ning Nang Nong Where the Cows go Bong! and the monkeys all say BOO! There's a Nong Nang Ning Where the trees go Ping! And the tea pots jibber jabber joo. On the Nong Ning Nang All the mice go Clang And you just can't catch 'em when they do! So its Ning Nang Nong Cows go Bong! Nong Nang Ning Trees go ping Nong Ning Nang The mice go Clang What a noisy place to belong is the Ning Nang Ning Nang Nong!!
To see a World in a Grain of Sand And a Heaven in a Wild Flower, Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand And Eternity in an hour.
A Robin Red breast in a Cage Puts all Heaven in a Rage. A dove house fill'd with doves & Pigeons Shudders Hell thro' all its regions. A dog starv'd at his Master's Gate Predicts the ruin of the State. A Horse misus'd upon the Road Calls to Heaven for Human blood. Each outcry of the hunted Hare A fibre from the Brain does tear. A Skylark wounded in the wing, A Cherubim does cease to sing. The Game Cock clipp'd and arm'd for fight Does the Rising Sun affright. Every Wolf's & Lion's howl Raises from Hell a Human Soul. The wild deer, wand'ring here & there, Keeps the Human Soul from Care. The Lamb misus'd breeds public strife And yet forgives the Butcher's Knife. The Bat that flits at close of Eve Has left the Brain that won't believe. The Owl that calls upon the Night Speaks the Unbeliever's fright. He who shall hurt the little Wren Shall never be belov'd by Men. He who the Ox to wrath has mov'd Shall never be by Woman lov'd. The wanton Boy that kills the Fly Shall feel the Spider's enmity. He who torments the Chafer's sprite Weaves a Bower in endless Night. The Caterpillar on the Leaf Repeats to thee thy Mother's grief. Kill not the Moth nor Butterfly, For the Last Judgement draweth nigh. He who shall train the Horse to War Shall never pass the Polar Bar. The Beggar's Dog & Widow's Cat, Feed them & thou wilt grow fat. The Gnat that sings his Summer's song Poison gets from Slander's tongue. The poison of the Snake & Newt Is the sweat of Envy's Foot. The poison of the Honey Bee Is the Artist's Jealousy. The Prince's Robes & Beggars' Rags Are Toadstools on the Miser's Bags. A truth that's told with bad intent Beats all the Lies you can invent. It is right it should be so; Man was made for Joy & Woe; And when this we rightly know Thro' the World we safely go. Joy & Woe are woven fine, A Clothing for the Soul divine; Under every grief & pine Runs a joy with silken twine. The Babe is more than swaddling Bands; Throughout all these Human Lands Tools were made, & born were hands, Every Farmer Understands. Every Tear from Every Eye Becomes a Babe in Eternity. This is caught by Females bright And return'd to its own delight. The Bleat, the Bark, Bellow & Roar Are Waves that Beat on Heaven's Shore. The Babe that weeps the Rod beneath Writes Revenge in realms of death. The Beggar's Rags, fluttering in Air, Does to Rags the Heavens tear. The Soldier arm'd with Sword & Gun, Palsied strikes the Summer's Sun. The poor Man's Farthing is worth more Than all the Gold on Afric's Shore. One Mite wrung from the Labrer's hands Shall buy & sell the Miser's lands: Or, if protected from on high, Does that whole Nation sell & buy. He who mocks the Infant's Faith Shall be mock'd in Age & Death. He who shall teach the Child to Doubt The rotting Grave shall ne'er get out. He who respects the Infant's faith Triumph's over Hell & Death. The Child's Toys & the Old Man's Reasons Are the Fruits of the Two seasons. The Questioner, who sits so sly, Shall never know how to Reply. He who replies to words of Doubt Doth put the Light of Knowledge out. The Strongest Poison ever known Came from Caesar's Laurel Crown. Nought can deform the Human Race Like the Armour's iron brace. When Gold & Gems adorn the Plow To peaceful Arts shall Envy Bow. A Riddle or the Cricket's Cry Is to Doubt a fit Reply. The Emmet's Inch & Eagle's Mile Make Lame Philosophy to smile. He who Doubts from what he sees Will ne'er believe, do what you Please. If the Sun & Moon should doubt They'd immediately Go out. To be in a Passion you Good may do, But no Good if a Passion is in you. The Whore & Gambler, by the State Licenc'd, build that Nation's Fate. The Harlot's cry from Street to Street Shall weave Old England's winding Sheet. The Winner's Shout, the Loser's Curse, Dance before dead England's Hearse. Every Night & every Morn Some to Misery are Born. Every Morn & every Night Some are Born to sweet Delight. Some are Born to sweet Delight, Some are born to Endless Night. We are led to Believe a Lie When we see not Thro' the Eye Which was Born in a Night to Perish in a Night When the Soul Slept in Beams of Light. God Appears & God is Light To those poor Souls who dwell in the Night, But does a Human Form Display To those who Dwell in Realms of day
They crossed over the border the hour before dawn,
Moving in lines through the day
Most of our planes were destroyed on the ground where they lay
Waiting for orders we held in the wood
Word from the front never came
By evening the sound of the gunfire was miles away
Softly we move through the shadows, slip away through the trees
Crossing their lines in the mist in the fields on our hands and our knees
All that I ever
Was able to see
The fire in the air, glowing red
Silhouetting the dust on the breeze
All summer they drove us back through the Ukraine
Smolensk and Viasma soon fell
By autumn we stood with backs to the town of Orel
Closer and closer to Moscow they come
Riding the wind like a bell
General Guderian stands at the crest of the hill
Winter brought with it the rains, oceans of mud filled the roads
Glueing the tracks of their tanks to the ground, while the skies filled with snow
All that I ever
Was able to see
The fire in the air, glowing red
Silhouetting the snow on the breeze
In the footsteps of Napoleon, the shadow figures stagger through the winter
Falling back before the gates of Moscow, standing in the wings like an avenger
And far away behind their lines, the partisans are stirring in the forest
Coming unexpectedly upon their outpost, growing like a promise
You'll never know, you'll never know, which way to turn, which way to look you'll never see us
As we're stealing through the blackness of the night you'll never know, you'll never hear us
And evening sings in a voice of amber, the dawn is surely coming
The morning road leads to Stalingrad, and the sky is softly humming
Two broken Tigers on fire in the night
Flicker their souls to the wind
We wait in the lines for the final approach to begin
It's been almost four years that I've carried your gun
At home, it will almost be spring
The flames of the Tigers are lighting the road to Berlin
I quickly move through the ruins that bow to the ground
The old men and children they send out to face us, they can't slow us down
All that I ever
Was able to see
The eyes of the city are opening
Now it's the end of a dream
I'm coming home, I'm coming home, now you can taste it in the wind the war is over
And I listen to the clicking of the train wheels as we roll across the border
And now they ask about the time that we were caught behind their lines and taken prisoner
They only held me for a day, a lucky break I say
They turn and listen closer
I'll never know, I'll never know, why I was taken from the line and all the others
to board a special train and journey deep into the heart of holy Russia
And it's cold and damp in the transit camp and the air is still and sullen
and the pale sun of october whispers the snows will soon be coming
And I wonder when, I'll be home again and the morning answers "Never".
The evening sighs and the steely, Russian skies go on,
forever...
Not the hexagram of the heavens, nor the strings of my guitar...more like a fraction of the pentagram of the heavens perhaps, But it's a sign. -I knew it was 'a sign'...... Yep. A sign that airliners will be important in my life soon.....................
These, as most of my photos, are taken with my phone, a Sony Ericsson K800i. (3.2 megapixel). As the phone has no optical zoom, I tend to crop and tweak them a bit, using Google's free photomanagement suite, Picasa. I recommend Picasa wholeheartedly. It's easy to use, and outperforms some other systems, it has Email tools and web albums built-in. And no, they don't pay me anything for this commendation. The drawback to the phone is SonyEricsson's diabolical software interface, which took forever to install on my computer, and often crashes it. It has conflicts with other device drivers, and frequently crashes Windows XP Pro. My previous Sony phone, a K750i had none of these problems... connect to the computer and the phone drives are mapped as external storage devices. This one.... Well, sometimes it works okay..... And when it's in 'Data Transfer Mode'... the phone part is disabled. How very annoying....
Bell Rock, Inchcape, Angus, Scotland I originally labelled this incorrectly, somehow placed it on the west coast. The Bell Rock Lighthouse is on the Inchcape Rock, part of a reef about twelve miles east of Arbroath, Angus.
Inchcape Rock
No stir in the air, no stir in the sea, The Ship was still as she could be; Her sails from heaven received no motion, Her keel was steady in the ocean.
Without either sign or sound of their shock, The waves flow’d over the Inchcape Rock; So little they rose, so little they fell, They did not move the Inchcape Bell.
The Abbot of Aberbrothok Had placed that bell on the Inchcape Rock; On a buoy in the storm it floated and swung, And over the waves its warning rung.
When the Rock was hid by the surge’s swell, The Mariners heard the warning Bell; And then they knew the perilous Rock, And blest the Abbot of Aberbrothok
The Sun in the heaven was shining gay, All things were joyful on that day; The sea-birds scream’d as they wheel’d round, And there was joyaunce in their sound.
The buoy of the Inchcpe Bell was seen A darker speck on the ocean green; Sir Ralph the Rover walk’d his deck, And fix’d his eye on the darker speck.
He felt the cheering power of spring, It made him whistle, it made him sing; His heart was mirthful to excess, But the Rover’s mirth was wickedness.
His eye was on the Inchcape Float; Quoth he, “My men, put out the boat, And row me to the Inchcape Rock, And I’ll plague the Abbot of Aberbrothok.”
The boat is lower’d, the boatmen row, And to the Inchcape Rock they go; Sir Ralph bent over from the boat, And he cut the bell from the Inchcape Float.
Down sank the Bell with a gurgling sound, The bubbles rose and burst around; Quoth Sir Ralph, “The next who comes to the Rock, Won’t bless the Abbot of Aberbrothok.”
Sir ralph the Rover sail’d away, He scour’d the seas for many a day; And now grown rich with plunder’d store, He steers his course for Scotland’s shore.
So thick a haze o’erspreads the sky, They cannot see the sun on high; The wind hath blown a gale all day, At evening it hath died away.
On the deck the Rover takes his stand, So dark it is they see no land. Quoth Sir Ralph, “It will be lighter soon, For there is the dawn of the rising Moon.”
“Canst hear,” said one, “the breakers roar? For methinks we should be near the shore.” “Now, where we are I cannot tell, But I wish we could hear the Inchcape Bell.”
They hear no sound, the swell is strong, Though the wind hath fallen they drift along; Till the vessel strikes with a shivering shock, “Oh Christ! It is the Inchcape Rock!”
Sir Ralph the Rover tore his hair, He curst himself in his despair; The waves rush in on every side, The ship is sinking beneath the tide.
But even is his dying fear, One dreadful sound could the Rover hear; A sound as if with the Inchcape Bell, The Devil below was ringing his knell.
Robert Southey
Flamborough Light, Yorkshire
Well, I'm not obsessed, it's not my hobby or anything. but I remember going as a kid to visit a lighthouse. A fairly small one, climbing all those spiral stairs, up to the lantern at the top.
The lighthouse was on the top of a cliff, I remember being very impressed that it could be seen from 24 miles out to sea.. I remember the great glass fresnel lenses, and the fact that the huge lamp assembly could be turned with hardly any effort. Though it weighs over a ton, it floats on a bath of mercury, which makes a near perfect bearing.Flamborough Light, Yorkshire
Later, probably because John Smeaton, the designer was from my home town, I learned of the very different nature of offshore lights, perched on rock, and needing to withstand the roughest seas, and how, in 1696, Henry Winstanley resolved to put a light on the deadly Eddystone Rock, 14 miles offshore in the English channel. Only a few years later, in the Great Storm of 1703, it was swept away in a storm, and Winstanley with it. Then a Captain Lovett built a great wooden tower on the rock, designed by an engineer called Rudyard. This lasted almost fifty years before the lantern house caught fire, and the keepers were unable to save it. So a new light was needed, Yorkshire engineer John Smeaton was given the task to design a structure that would endure where others had failed. He thought of the task, and modelled his tower on the broad base and tapering trunk of an old english oak tree.
He came up with a design that required a heavy stone construction, wherein each stone interlocked with others, both side to side, and above and below. Marble dowels, oak wedges, granite blocks, created an immensely strong structure. Stone plan, Base of Bell Rock Light, Scotland
To make it he had to invent a new type of crane, and further, to invent a new form of fast setting mortar, that would even set underwater. All these things he did. This lighthouse was to be the model system that most later lighthouses would follow, and was exactly what was needed.
Interlocking stone courses in the Bell Rock Lighthouse, Scotland Bell Rock, Stephenson/Rennie design, (after Smeaton) Angus, Scotland
It weathered the worst the sea could throw at it, for over a hundred and twenty years. Then it became noted the tower could be felt to move in a storm. Nothing wrong with Smeaton's work, but the rock beneath it had started to crack. A new tower was built then, close by on the reef. Smeaton's was dismantled and re-erected on the clifftop at Plymouth. That is, the upper part. His base section proved so well constructed that it could not be dismantled, and remains standing today. The next tower to be built (using Smeaton's techniques) is still in use, Douglas's tower, (now has a helipad on the top). Near it can be seen the base of Smeaton's tower.
Yo ho, Here's a tale That's fair and dear to the hearts of those that sail 'Bout a lighthouse keeper and his bare faced wife Who joined together for a different life Yo ho, The winds and water tell the tale
My father was the keeper of the Eddystone light He married a mermaid one fine night From this union there came three A porpoise and a porgy and the other one me!
Yo ho ho, the wind blows free, Oh, for the life on the rolling sea!
Late one night, I was a-trimming of the glim While singing a verse from the evening hymn A voice on the starboard shouted "Ahoy!" And there was my mother, a-sitting on a buoy.
Yo ho ho, the wind blows free, Oh, for the life on the rolling sea!
"Tell me what has become of my children three?" My mother she did asked of me. One was exhibited as a talking fish The other was served on a chafing dish.
Yo ho ho, the wind blows free, Oh, for the life on the rolling sea!
Then the phosphorous flashed in her seaweed hair. I looked again, and me mother wasn't there A voice came echoing out from the night "To Hell with the keeper of the Eddystone Light!"
Yo ho ho, the wind blows free, Oh, for the life on the rolling sea!
