Crime Scene

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… of course it’s not — we stalked across the field … not sure what we could see — if it was a bird on a post; it was huge, vast, fright­ening … but it didn’t move … at all.
Perhaps it was just a dead, twisted remnant of gorse.

And then it did, of course, as we got too near.

It was a buzzard.

When it took flight and dipped and swooped to the nearest but safe vantage point, it dimin­ished — it was still large … but quanti­fiable, conforming, believable.

And it left behind its shit. Accumu­lated crap. An archival ossuary.
And a beautiful still life.

Carpe Diem

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… fish of the day?

As in Buffy, rather than Horace.

Can one say something about our escal­ating alien­ation from the natural world, the indus­tri­al­isation of the food industry, the rape of the seas (and live hard by Newlyn) and make an homage to early Warhol and even, in fact, like him, make an honest little statement about routine and lunch … ?

Can anyone be that ambivalent? And still mean it?

Erm … Yes.


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Three of the Nine Maidens at Boskednan … Carn Galva in the background.

There are actually eleven stones, two are fallen. Their even spacing suggests that the site was originally laid out as a perfect circle, about 22 metres in diameter, made up of 22 or 23 stones with smooth inner faces.

Just exper­i­menting … hmmm …