Just an image dump again, really … So busy I’ve no time to think at the moment.
Ach … home. Stephen King not withstanding … ho hum … one day.
The bay guarded by the sentinel ape …
The headland itself defended by a granite crocodile … I’m not sure this is any better than those fields of tiny narcissistic cairns but it does have the advantage of charm …
It’s only when you internalise, embody those angles that the work-a-day reality even starts to go in … fuck.
Zawn Buzz, Porth Ledden, Cape Cornwall and choughs just before sunset … I ask for no more …
Lovely day in Kassel, at about 4:30 am, workers from a local construction company began dismantling Olu Oguibe’s “controversial obelisk made for Documenta 14, titled “Monument to Strangers and Refugees,” (“I was a stranger and you took me in”: Matthew 25:35) with two heavy cranes.
By 9:30 am, the obelisk was entirely gone, strapped to a flatbed truck and sent to a construction site on the outskirts of the city (where it now remains).
Now is the autumn of our discontent
Made glorious summer by this sun of the Anthropocene;
And all the clouds that lour’d upon our house
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.
Just for one day …
Really do need to get over the whole triangles thang.
Basked in the balmy aftershock of summer … can slide into mellow mists, content.
There are no straight lines in nature … waste not want not because every cloud has a silver lining … apart from the ones that are …
And if it looks alike it must have the same cause or at least be related somehow … rhino horns and willies … it’s obvious … or not.
Glimpsing parallel universes … through the looking glass.
An escapee from the set of a 60’s star trek episode. Just after this, I picked it up and, with much affected huffing and puffing, threw it at a reptilian alien who disagreed with me.
Graphics and … Caligraphy
Exploring, wandering, clambering across Porth Ledden just below the Cape …
An impromptu, innocent and gentle crepuscular walk in the grounds of Trelissick turns into an unexpected action movie plot point: a monstrous kraken hauls itself from the mire and lumbers, clicking and creaking and groaning, fingers its way across the sward … and we run … and I tip my camera over my shoulder in the hope of … and we are free … well, derrr …
And then today I was wandering across the apocalytic wastes around Geevor and was reminded of the obsessively claustral, sepulchral aesthetic of the geological vampires of our recent past.
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Friends who’ve come here say: it’s not pretty — no; it’s so frighteningly, dangerously hard — yes; it doesn’t let you forget, does it — no; but it still slips its mineral veins deep into your soul like brittle mycelium — oh yes.
And wherever you go, the Bucca are watching …
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You can fly to the furthest reaches of the globe and fuck the future of our world, and ignore the politics and the ecology and the economics and … and gawp at the natural wonders of the world and tick off your bucket list scores or you can look around yourself, here and now, orient yourself and choose to belong and see the beauty and the depth and the magic of the place where you stand … and …
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cobble together a collage of 6 photos and try to say something about us, people, and the earth, and about the sea and history and hardship and pain and about home.