AAARGGGHHHH, JIM LAD—

(Bring aft the rum, Darbs~!)

 

THIS GUY

down eyeface

says it all for me. (For us, if you did but know it.)

YOU HAVE TWO CHOICES, LAD—

  • you can go along with The Establishment*, or
  • you can look at what’s on offer, from all over, and/or
  • do your own blasted thinking …

—and yes, there’s actually two choices … (if you spotted that, there’s hope yet).

selfie

* And he covers that too. (Enthusiastic wee fellow, but he has that “ring of Truth”.)

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BOW WOW?

No … BOW FUN

Screen Shot 2019-04-28 at 18.11.44.pngand other points of interest.

Moving on  finger-pointing-down

Concerning moi, I am left-eyed.

Yup~! Mine left eye is my dominant eye.

So?

So: the few times in my life that I’ve been privileged to try my hand with bows and arrows I’d done it wrong.

And well may the patient experts try to correct me, it is, as we say, like spitting in the wind—

Mock on, Mock on, Voltaire, Rousseau;
Mock on, Mock on, ’tis all in vain.
You throw the sand against the wind,
And the wind blows it back again   …

—which don’t get no-one nowhere. I is me, and even though the mind commands the physicals it just doesn’t feel right … and so I ‘olds me bow in the wrong ‘and, Guv, and that’s the end of it (snort).

Whatever.

Mine arrows go where they want to, dammit.  In fact, when I’m shooting the safest place (the only safe place, actually) is right in front of the target with an apple on your head.

So?

So why should I have such a strong instinct for holding a bow? Is this some kind of legacy transmitted to me in someone else’s future, could it be a lingerment via karma from my own pre-birth past? Born again, to again lose the shafts I loose if there’s any long grass around?

I pulled in a u-tube vid with this shot in it—

Screen Shot 2019-04-28 at 17.33.23.png

—and noted that every bugger there is holding his bow wrong.

Wrong, according to The Gospel Of Argus— but there ya go. So why, really, should I have this instinctual urge to do it “incorrectly”, hmmmm? (Unless it is something to do with being left-eyed—which never, however, affected my riflemanship).

selfie

A bit of a toughie …

Anyway, the image above burgled from—

—here. (And you’ll never guess what attracted me in the first place …)

CLUE:  sure wasn’t the scruffy Samurai bowmen~!

BOOM BOOM

I LOVE

THESE~!

All good clean fun so long as no priest gets his jollies burning pretty girls (for saying “NO!” ?) at the stake.

Here, have thee a wee stern-on view of a pretty girl—

Screen Shot 2019-04-28 at 09.41.55.png

—and ponder for a minute or two how you’d feel, if as a priest suffering a bad attack of the ‘fanny maggots’ you were repulsed, especially when you had God on your side. (No wonder so many women/girls were burned at the stake—in Godly/priestly counties it’s a wonder any attractive genes survived at all.)

BUT FUN AS IT IS

(the vid, that is … not the torturing of pretty nay-sayers to death in the name of the most merciful Almighty) my message once more concerns the illusion we call Time. I repeat that Time is a very convenient illusion and that in this rapidly changing fast moving ever-shifting altering universe…

nothing at all moves — and all is, in fact, a single static stasis.

NOW PERLEEZE

don’t ask me to explain. It comes (after a lifetime’s study)(and working at it) as a satorical revelation — you’re either in the club or not, you are fertile (or rocky!) ground or not.

Once more I nonchalantly toss out a Challenge for all the best backyard-philosophers and/or ordained priest-people:

  • prove me wrong
  • if you can

(you can’t—so toddle off and pray somewhere and save yourself some fretful anxieties—you never know, your god may have decided thousands of millions of years ago that in the future (God has a future? Wow~) He’s already granted your wishes.)

Or not.

Screen Shot 2019-04-16 at 10.08.04

Argus!” 

(Oops … bugger … now I’m for it) “Yes, Mr God, Sir?”

“You’re wasting your time, Dog. Go chase a cat or something else productive.”

“You know us dogs, Sir; you programmed us to be persistent—”

… … … … damn …” 

dodo

MIXED EMOTIONS

skull & bonesINDEED

Read me,

and you’ll know that I stand entirely for unfettered Freedoms.

Yes?

No?

Maybe?

It’s YES—

—so long as YOUR freedom doesn’t infringe mine, and mine doesn’t infringe yours.

Hold that thought … and we’ll look at the definition of ‘anarchy’—

Screen Shot 2019-04-27 at 16.55.08.png

—and anyone knowing human behaviour will promptly think that ‘anarchy’ is not a good idea. Some people are thieves, others looters and/or murdering rapists, others are religious kooks who’ll do anything to make their god/s supreme (and all others grounds for murder).

Legal murder; it’s hee hoo time again:

 

HEE HOO HOLDS THE BIGGEST GUN

…  …  CAN LEGALLY DO NO WRONG

 

I THINK

we need objective laws.

It’s a common dream and everyone everywhere bleats along with it—the few exceptions are of course irrelevant unrealistic idealistic Cranks. I too think that laws, good strong laws coupled with the oomph to back ’em up are a good thing.

Sometimes …

NOW:

before I go any further with this it’s time for your ‘prescribed reading’ (in this instance, viewing) after which there will be neither test nor examination but you’ll feel better for it.

No?

Yes … now go get ’em, Tiger:                   finger-pointing-down

And tell me in words of one syllable whether you’d rather exist in a system based on objective laws or  … … … God’s Laws. (laws revealed to His Chosen by God).

YOUR CALL

I’m old enough not to care a hoot—by the time God gets elected here in NZ I’ll be gone, and I have no downlines.

So: does the thought of God ruling your own worry you at all?

Why should it? God, as we are often told, is infinitely merciful, all forgiving, all powerful and so compassionate you just wouldn’t believe … the only catch is—

—you have to believe

and believe with no hint of doubt. Definitely no questions.

Your call …

Screen Shot 2019-04-13 at 08.30.38

HONI SOIT QUI MAL Y PENSE

 

NOW THIS, IS

U-TOOBE

as she should be. Apparently well researched, succinct; and like a good dinner, good cigar, good wine or good woman leaves you craving more—

—and with u-tubes like this I never bother reading the comments. Life is too brief a candle to indulge the wannabe ‘witty’ folks or the folks who shamelessly know all the answers.

Anyway, I prefer questions to answers.

Answers often aren’t, or if they are, are merely transient while

a good question lasts for ever.

 

dodo

PLEASE EXPLAIN

as in

WTF~?

Like wtf could possibly have caused this?

finger-pointing-down     (Wrt the snaps below; purloined from one of the many crank webbies I peruse in a restless relentless quest for hints of at least some manner of explanations before the world ends.)

Screen Shot 2019-04-24 at 19.43.38.png

You really don’t want the source. It may or may not be yet just another blasted crank on u-toobe. If you are still a tad bemused and feel that the ol’ dog has finally slipped his leash, here’s a wee closer-upper:

Screen Shot 2019-04-24 at 19.45.31.png

—and the claim made is that these are fairly elderly ruins in South America, and those blobby things are once-were-rock blocks.

Given (why?*) that space aliens don’t exist (not here, at any rate); at that at no time far enough back to lichen-ise those rocks did anyone posses heat-ray guns … then the damages must be entirely natural. Of course.selfie

If so:

I await with mad rapturous enthusiasm any (R) ANY explanations you may venture to offer.

I think I can expect a rather long wait~?

 

dodo

 

  * ‘Cos to use the term (spacies) is to actively define oneself as a crank. So there**.

** I ain’t no such crank. I’m a special crank … you know, open-minded.

STROLLING

selfie.pngOBSERVATIONS

as observated by moi this afternoon. Spouse was doing the ‘over the teacups’ bit with a friend, which made husbands redundant so I slung my hook (and camera bag) and toddled out into the world, come what may …

First target of opportunity when I got to Winton was this bird, nesting on a fence—

Screen Shot 2019-04-23 at 20.53.16.png

—I was unsure whether it was a shearwater or a scissorbill, but he looked happy enough now that the chicks had flown.

Further along was a house that so matched the sky above I was smitten. The colour shot did it no justice so I tried shooting with blue as the only colour in a temporarily B & W world and scored this—

Screen Shot 2019-04-23 at 20.54.32.png

—which hopefully makes my point (and they say we dogs are colour blind) (sheesh).

On to the end of the road where for weeks the council guys have been updating the stormwater systems; crossed the road and was reminded that the day after tomorrow is ANZAC Day—

Screen Shot 2019-04-23 at 20.55.16.png

—and in this small sheddie thing where every December the guy has his Christmas Crib scene (Joseph, Mary, couple of shepherds and a wee infant in a cradle)(no more donkey, sadly, but that’s progress for you) I noticed his tribute to the WW1 ANZACs. Tomorrow is ANZAC Day (and I’m sure their cannon being fired at the Dawn Parade*  every year is responsible for the summer surge in births in Winton).

Moving along I couldn’t help but notice the avian demography at the Winton oxidation ponds (water treatment plant) has changed—

Screen Shot 2019-04-23 at 20.55.48.png

—normally it’s standing room only for seagulls, the wall-to-wall ducks is different. Then it clicked: the first of May is Duck Day!

Duck Day Dawn here is like listening to a replay of the opening of the Battle of the Somme, or (lacking only engine noises) Kursk. Open Season on ducks lasts for a full couple of months but the heroes only get dolled up in full camo gear (complete with face-paint, mottled suits and netted ‘hides’) for the first morning. The decay in attendance afterwards is a perfect exponential until a week later there’s only an occasional distant pop as some late arrival gets potted.

So of course the pond is temporarily crowded with ducks and the resident gulls get hardly a look-in—

—them ducks may be bird-brains but they sure ain’t stupid …

dodododododododododo                           dodo

* Too early to get up, too late to go back to sleep …