My association aside from direct observation from life, would be movement, ritual.

in to artlessness

The Intercourse of the people of the world

is not (like) the family of the dove: she finally

makes her family by looking at the other birds

ܐܬܪܐ

The Establishment of A Concrete Colony (Of Great Things to Come)

A lonely gannet named Nigel has died on a New Zealand island surrounded by dozens of fake birds after years of solitude.

Conservationists attracted Nigel ‘no mates’ to Mana Island, a scientific reserve off the west coast of Wellington, in 2015 using a colony of 80 fake birds.

They hoped the concrete decoys would attract real birds to establish a breeding colony on the island, but for years Nigel was the only gannet who arrived.

Without any real company, Nigel fell in love with one of the fake birds and did his best to “woo” her, even building her a nest from dirt and seaweed.

The Friends of Mana Island, a volunteer group, said Nigel was a “lovely bird” but “a bit confused” and was likely to have been kicked out of another colony.

Conservationists have attempted to attract gannets to the predator-free island for 40 years with the decoy birds, that were repainted and moved to higher ground in 2016.

A solar-powered speaker system emitting bird calls was also repositioned, helping attract three gannets a few weeks ago.

However Nigel shunned the new arrivals for his concrete friends and remained on a different side of the colony.

Tragically, Nigel’s body was found next to his concrete love this week by Department of Conservation ranger Chris Bell, who also lives alone on the island.

Reference

The Telegraph, Nigel the Lonely gannet dies on island surrounded by concrete birds

àrna Moire

θ………………………………………….*

Bewaar die knikkertjie

we can have no good idea of the representation without knowing in some measure the thing represented

谷

の =(o·)=( (の)· (ッ)

de dum de dum

反應

Although

实病/ 虚病

which is interesting. Empty/ full. Above (In its diseased form).

random waffle, I have never read Husserl but just strayed across him while squashing a raven in the pages of a manuscript, somewhat absent of mind .

Sachverhalte

meh

allabair

as if it just jumped off a cliff

The raven

flew

jumped the spine

leaving its bones

white- teethed

on the pale

in a cloud of red

gypsum and verdigris

But I can see past the clunk and see what it is (and what I was reading, the conversation of Columba and the Youth at Carrac Eolairg).

Memory. Snap shot. Not intended to live outside of my own head. To keep something alive, in living memory.

Raven, the sun the of winter. Sitting on a post, empty of head, calls, ruffles its feathers, flies into the day.

They have a distinctive individual sound, this was the last time I heard  that one (not that I knew that at the time).

Desire to condense every thing about Egypt into one poem, to help with memory. I need to remember where I am without having a book in hand, to think is to move with something.

From my limited understanding, I should be able to condense its mythological cycle into the way the sun, rises and falls over one day.

This would be its start. Like yawning. Snapping the spine into place on the doorstep, in the first of the mornings sun.

= (o·?)=

=(o·?)=(o·?)=(o·?)=

No cultural read required, you simple need to have a body. I am presuming the writer has an idea about such things (or a sense of things, from experience would be my preferred way of looking at things).

Like the birth of Ra, it’s biological understanding/ in terms of art = observed.

My association aside from direct observation from life, would be movement, ritual.

Although the form here is 2d, its a scribal language, very limited in terms of both time and space. Highly localized.

In context, = highly aroused state. Language of sexuality is hidden and submerged. Stylistic feature, culturally desirable.

The very basic read I get, is, ‘this is someone who knows what they are doing.’

Practised hand.

Its a crafty introduction.

As the crow moved on the white

bee spun, round and round.

and the ant moved around the rocket.

Immediately before the love poem, I was wondering where my sense of scale was coming from. Ants in my garden rather than Egypt.

ball of shit rolling down hill

Hello, Hello
We are the Gorgie Boys
Hello, Hello
You’ll know us by our noise
We’re up to our knees in Fenian blood
Surrender or you’ll die
For we are
The Gorgie Boys

Note

Little love duet a moment ago, marching down the street. Someone is happy. Rangers song normally, Gorgie = Hearts, the local football team.

Derry boys = Derry, Northern Ireland, across the water.

Fraternal society of the 19th century extending from Ulster, through trade to other parts the world. 1689 and all that, the siege of Derry, defeat of a Catholic king.

True Blood