“Artspeak!” – Converse like a Critic!

Fun post.

Was sent this link recently.

It’s just too good not to share  …  click  ‘here’.

…  hee-hee …  enjoy!

A non-eMiss poem bout Speling … (another poem)

Eye have a spelling chequer
It came with my new pea sea,
It plainly marques four my revue
Miss steaks eye kan knot sea.

Eye strike a key and type a word
And weight for it two say,
Weather eye am rong oar write
It shows me strait a weigh.

As soon as a mist ache is maid
It nose bee fore two long,
And eye can put the error rite
Its rare lea ever wrong.

To rite with care is quite a feet
Of witch won should bee proud,
And wee mussed dew the best wee can,
Sew flaws are knot aloud.

Eye have run this poem threw it
Your sure reel glad two no,
Its letter perfect awl the weigh
My chequer tolled me sew.

-Sauce unknown

This delightful little piece came to my attention recently. Is there an author/ress? No idea. But it is fun, and that is good enough to pass along …

‘The Gilded Beaver by Anonymous’ – - – - 10th Anniversary Celebration!

“…mystery surrounds this erotically charged novel ….the ABC’s of Canadian fine furniture design and production…” – Ottawa Citizen

“…like good wine – rich, complex, pleasingly acerbic…a dance of intellect and eros that expertly unfolds …and closes with panache…” – Jim Bartley, Globe & Mail, Toronto

“…a psycho-sexual tug of war in the world of design…” – Spring Book Review, Globe & Mail, Toronto

‘The Gilded Beaver by Anonymous’

LOOK FORWARD

IMAGINE, dear reader, if you will, that we are in the year two-thousand-eight-hundred and ninety-seven.  2897 A.D.

We are watching an old man. His name is Wong. He is carefully removing the tattered remnants of decaying cloth from an ancient and fragile black walnut chair frame. As he gently brushes the dirt and grime from the back of a brittle marquetry panel, an inscription is uncovered in a language that he does not know. Close by, there are two numbers beside each other, pencil written by two different hands. One is relatively recent, the other an ancient script.

1997 / 2336

Wong’s experienced fingers caress the smooth worn-out carving on the shafts of the weakened legs. He discovers that the once dramatic and voluptuous human figurines at mid-section are oddly without hands. He has never in his long years of restoration seen this kind of mythic imagery. One leg had been professionally pinned and well repaired long ago. Wong quietly admires the subtle and skilful craftsmanship of his talented predecessor of 2336.

He stands back to study the piece. Puzzled.

Again he examines the intricate marquetry panel. Once beautifully done, it shows a small mouse nibbling on a cherry seated on a burled wreath of pine cones beneath a sprig of mistletoe. Wong’s index finger thoughtfully touches the adjacent inlaid antler image, trying to understand. Some pieces of the original ebony stringing are now missing.

He looks again at the overall shape of the chair frame.

He curls his fingers around the knuckle on the armrest. It had originally been crisply carved by, and for, a delicate hand. But the overall size of the chair was uncommonly large. And there was something being told by the taut stance of that back leg. And why was the wood hoof on the front cuffed with what seemed to be some kind of beaded bracelet? Again he looks at the fading antler image, damaged by time through exposure to raw sunlight.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the long lost mystery of Origin began to reveal itself to the ageing Master’s Eye. This strange decorative art object was North American, late-twentieth century, of that he was certain. As for the rest of the intricate details of its engaging story, who had so artfully made it, and why, that, he regretfully knew he would never ever know.

He chuckled, returning to his work. Nature still managed to keep some of her creation secrets from the prying sharp eye of her attentive white haired apprentice. “

…

Winner of the Hamilton Arts Council ‘Best Fiction Award’ in 2000, ‘THE GILDED BEAVER by ANONYMOUS’ was first printed in a Collector’s Edition of 800 Numbered Copies. In celebration of this title’s 10th Anniversary, ACORN PRESS CANADA is offering an EXCLUSIVE opportunity to ‘Canadada Readers’ to purchase this work significantly below the List Price  of $79.95 for an amazing  $48 Canadian !!!  Price ALSO includes global shipping & handling!

Dear readers, only 122 copies remain in stock. This is truly a Collector’s item …

If interested in owning your very own piece of  ‘Canadada’ – please send an International Money Order for $48 (Cdn funds) (- available at your local bank or post office – ) to ‘ACORN PRESS CANADA’ .  Mark envelope as follows: –

Attn: ‘The Gilded Beaver by Anonymous – 10th Anniversity Offer’.

ACORN PRESS CANADA

17 Main Street, P.O.Box 1425

Waterdown, Ontario, Canada, L0R 2H0

Remember to mention in your cover note – with your return address – that you are a ‘Canadada Reader’, then kindly allow 2-4 weeks delivery. This offer has been arranged ONLY for this  10th Anniversary Celebration and runs ONLY until December 31st, 2009. The Gilded Beaver by Anonymous’ is ONLY available at this price via CANADADA.

NB: First come, first served -  while quantities last.

… phew … how was that – ???

Love & kisses,

Canadada

Brainwaves: Frequencies & Functions …

… the brain activity chart above (circa 2008) raises as many questions as it answers …

… as does the image below of the Dalia Lama watching t.v.  …

... and what about gender?

The chemistry of the brain is not gender neutral. Hormones, glandular activity, body functions interact with the brain  -  & vice versa ..

…. Is it possible to separate the Sexual Mind from the physicality of the Brain?

I wonder …

‘Planet Forward’ on PBS … Airing April 15th, 2009

The following web-based production struck me as innovative ‘tell-a-vision’:

http://www.planetforward.org/

The ‘idea’ is to draw on the vast resources of the web to whip up an informed ‘citizen’ broadcast that will collate, merge & present divergent points of view about our current energy needs and resources …

Check it out.

My own contribution occured sometime ago … waaaaay back in 2008, over at another blog site ‘wattsupwiththat’ …. If you want to consider that, here’s the link.

The main post there, ‘Top Ten Science Based Predictions that Didn’t Come True’,  acted as a ’spring board’ for a looonnng digression – and TIMELY DEBATE -  about Energy and OUR  Energy consumption. ‘The Debate’ in the ‘comment section’ got very heated & INTERESTIN’ …

Well worth the read.

All in all, this wondrous planet IS our Future …

… we forget that at our peril …

Ring of Fire: The Movie … (another short story)

Draft 4. Screen Treatment:

An award winning international portrait photographer, Sir Anthony Post, introduces himself to the camera by announcing his decision to quit photography . “My eyes have been blinded by the Sun.” We see that he is basically a likeable fellow now living in splendid ‘retirement’ in Barbados in a gentleman’s ‘grand house’ with servants, pool and a stable of thoroughbred horses. Life has been good to him as he enters the eve of his life – he has just celebrated his 70^th birthday.

But tragedy has struck. His 15-year-old daughter by his second marriage has just been discovered dead in the pool. She has drowned and the circumstances are highly suspect. Anthony clearly knows who the murderer is, but he cannot and will not do anything about it. He knows too that he is ultimately responsible for this huge loss and that he must bear both the responsibility and his grief in shameful silence.

It is, after all, his just due.

He prepares a large transfer of funds to an offshore account as per the instructions of his young and beautiful wife. She is packing – content and triumphant – and ready to go. Tony picks up a faded snapshot from his desk and looks at it long and hard. “My eyes have been blinded by the Sun. At least, that is what I will say.”

Flashback to 1960. Anthony is a precocious and ambitious young prairie boy fresh out of the west coast Emily Carr Art College. His portfolio is strong and he is the pick of many newly emerging advertising companies. Soon he is winning enticing commissions that promote a variety of different consumer products. He cuts his hair short while his peers continue to grow theirs long. He develops a certain infamy for the stark realism of his work – much the result of offsetting angles. Objects are not framed they are sideswiped. ” I learned it from the prairie winds”. It is an unsettling but effective technique to get others to both look and see. His career takes off.

After several years of product shots from cans to cars, he is invited to undertake more ambitious projects. He begins to work on annual reports for corporate businesses. Americans begin to call. He moves to New York in 1970 and lives it up as an ambitious go-getter. He frequents Greenwich Village jazz clubs and Harlem nightclubs befriending unknown talented musicians and ladies-of-the-night. One young friend and co-vivant, Stewart, is a sax-playing Brit. Stewart was ‘hiding’ in America from his father’s ambition that he become a partner in the London based century old family law firm. They explore together.

In the late 70’s as Anthony’s pay cheque increases, he moves from the bohemia of the Lower West Side to the tony Upper East Side. Soon one plum ‘corporate photography’ assignment has him off to Indonesia for three months. There, he photographs an open-pit gold mine, part of the Busang deposit. Smelters and fires roar up from the bowels of the earth. While at the mine he is witness to corruption on a scale unimaginable in the generally law-abiding confines of North America. To fulfill his own curiosity, he casually and somewhat innocently associates with an unscrupulous local ‘geologist’, Raoul, to further investigate and ‘learn’. He inadvertently becomes involved in a series of events that embroil him in a controversial ‘corporate fraud’ (known as salting) involving the very company that has hired his services. During this interlude, while running with the rogue, Tony has a short sexual encounter with a shy local girl. Raoul had introduced the pair at a ‘company beach picnic’. The quiet girl is the daughter of the native chief of the Wawanessi tribe that inhabits the area surrounding the Busang deposit. The local girls are all very popular with the foreign men. But the government of Indonesia, the Wawanessi tribe, and her father are strictly against any inter-racial sexual mingling. It is forbidden. Tony is merely and somewhat naively satisfying his basic body urges. He cares for her in an off-hand kind of way and pays her handsomely for her thigh favours. He loves to burnish that penny birthmark on the back of her right thigh.

For the native girls, sex with the foreigners is a cheap and easy way to get valuable American dollars. They instinctively know how it will alter their centuries-old life and give them a modicum of freedom. As the chief’s daughter, the girl knows she enjoys certain privileges and associations. Advised by her mother (number 7 wife of the chief), she is doubly discreet and also highly ambitious. When she learns of Tony’s involvement with the ‘salting’, she uses it as leverage to secure her own future. She threatens to expose the ‘fraud’ to his unsuspecting overseas employers.

In anger at her surprising betrayal and ‘native’ cunning, Tony brutally rapes her, leaving her with a crashing blow across the face. He cruelly photographs her as she lies whimpering in the corner. However, he still throws the $5000 U.S. she had requested into her lap with the parting words ” Who would ever believe you? You’re just a two-bit nothing.” The assignment over, he returns home. Older and wiser and poorer.

Returning to America he continues to cultivate his career. Annual reports turn into corporate executive head shots – he flatters and shoots. In the early 1980’s, he is picked up by global media/advertising companies as a rising star ‘portrait’ photographer. He becomes a regular contributor to Vanity Fair, People, and Playboy; and quickly becomes the darling of celebrities who seek his irreverent yet sympathetic portraiture. His schedule is filled too with national dignitaries; he even shoots the ‘official portrait’ of two Presidents. And he begins to make a lot of money.

He meets and marries his first wife, Alice, in 1982. Tony is 37, she is 25. Alice is working in the public relations department for her family-owned privately held brewery company. A fluff job, she doesn’t really have to work for a ‘living’. She is an Ivy League born and bred beauty – complete with Yale and Vasser-Wall Street parents. Tony meets her on a ‘commercial shoot’. Their ‘best man’ is Stewart, (now a junior partner in the family law firm in London). Stewart arranges a British pre-nup that on the surface seemingly protects Alice’s large inheritance for any children. Tony grows his hair long into a ponytail when his peers cut theirs short. His is always the maverick ‘fashion’. Soon Tony is introduced into the tightly controlled world of the old money WASPS of the East Coast. The association gives him an additional polish and charm and her money further propels him into the international jet scene. Alice quits her job. Tony and his new bride travel to Europe frequently on her money and hobnob with private school and privileged young adults as well as eurotrash Prince and Princesses in Vienna, and Paris. She gets pregnant, but loses the baby after a bad fall on the ski slopes of Gstaad. Not long after, while lunching at a ‘see and be seen’ restaurant in Lichtenstein, Tony is approached by a Royal Family Messenger to ask if he would consider producing a ‘private family album for the Royal Family’. He does, at an exorbitant fee. While there he is privy to several indiscretions and uses photographs to extort an additional ‘privacy’ fee. The Queen, meanwhile, in gratitude for his outstanding work, bestows him with an honorary knighthood and ‘in-house’ title – ‘Photographer of Our Realm’. Now as ‘Sir’ Anthony Post the commissions just pour in. Alice gets pregnant again, but loses the baby again. She meanwhile gets progressively jealous of his growing social success and increasingly demands more of his time and his money. The marriage turns sour. He finally divorces her under English law – giving her nothing from his burgeoning estate – and gets away with it because she has ‘failed to deliver an heir’.

Single again, rich, popular and very manly, he dates a variety of intriguing self-possessed and powerful moneyed American women. His relationships are short lived however as his work always comes first. The women are initially attracted by his prospects – good looks, life of the party, and growing international fame. But they eventually find him to be an emotional lightweight, unreliable and always ‘away on assignment’. Men are increasingly interested – in his rugged prairie good looks and polished charm. He meets and uses his new ‘artist’ acquaintances to further his commissions. He develops a ‘Coward-esque’ friendship with a Lebanese ‘art dealer’ who traffics in antique bronze horses. Soon he is introduced into the fabulous wealth and greed of oil-rich Arabs. ‘Sir’ Anthony is feted and a welcome palace guest and court photographer. He takes his camera everywhere and records it all – he then sells the world of the Saudi Princes to the National Geographic. (Armchair anglos just love those powerful sheiks with their veiled women chattel…) He photographs sidelong forbidden glances, the exoticism of desert racehorses and Moorish architecture. He wins his first coveted CNN World Photography Grand Prix Award.

When he returns to his New York Park Avenue flat his secretary delivers his messages and mail. There is a call from the pressroom at the United Nations, a Miss Emma Hanlu. He returns her call and instantly responds to her shy flirtatious tone – “Might he be available to group photograph the newly appointed Environmental Commission?” He meets with her to discuss the details and in short order they are an item. Emma is an outstanding Hawaiian beauty of surprising wit, charm, sex and youth. Young male heads turn as she glides into a room, and old men visibly buck up. Tony is besotted and marries her in a passionate instant. Anna’s mother does not fly over to the weekend-in-Vegas wedding. According to Emma, her mother does not speak English anyway and is a ‘bit backward’, her mother calls her ‘my little mongoose’ and is sort of embarrassing, so it doesn’t really matter. She never knew her father, it’s a non-issue. Tony could care less, all he wants is Emma.

Emma immediately becomes pregnant and has a child, a girl, Anna.

Anna is a beautiful honey coloured baby with only one unusual blemish – a small penny size birthmark on the back of her upper right thigh. A remarkable coincidence, Tony remembers the local native girl of long ago, but he says nothing of this to Emma. He does however derive a perverse pleasure in this seemingly peculiar ‘synchronicity’.

At 52, Tony settles into married life contentedly. He buys a small house on Long Island in South Hampton for his family, and keeps his apartment in the city. He dots on Anna and spoils her rotten. He continues to trophy and squire Emma. The money is pouring in. Tony hires a young ‘digital’ protégé, Daniel, to assume his small/mid size assignments and ‘work his profile’ on the internet. Additional awards and honors keep coming in. He receives an honorary title from the American Press Club.

Emma is increasingly homesick for Hawaii, and wants to introduce Anna to her ailing mother. Tony, ” suddenly frantic with business”, suggests a short holiday to the Caribbean instead, Jamaica. While there they meet Jonathan Winslow an old Greenwich village acquaintance of Tony’s, now Chief of Police and a major drug lord. He and Tony develop an easy money-laundering scheme. Tony is a frequent international traveler so he can move cash with impunity. He becomes Johnny’s front man and gets 17% of all the cash he redirects on Johnny’s behalf. Johnny also holds several exotic Caribbean properties and makes them available to the Posts as desired. These properties distract Emma while Tony “works” and she develops a small reputation as a ‘design consultant’. She makes a little pocket money. Anna attends private day school in New York.

At 62 Tony buys Johnny’s Barbadian ‘hideaway’, moves his family down, (escaping taxes) and settles into the life of an island gentleman. Emma redecorates with charming elan. A retrospective of his ‘advertising’ work of cans and cars is put on at the Gagosian Gallery in New York to great acclaim. Books are published that record his later ‘indigenous people’ works. He is lauded by the privately owned ‘liberal’ press for ‘showing the evil effects of corporate imperialism’ (especially noteworthy are the photographs of the tiny beaten native girl strewn with cash…) He gives several interviews by satellite. Larry King. 60 minutes. He produces a series of platinum prints ‘Thoroughbreds: Royalty and their Horses’ and is exhibited at the new Getty Museum. Life goes on.

He makes Anna her first pinhole camera as a birthday gift when she turns 10, and delights in island sojourns with her to teach her how to look and see. He buys her a horse, then one for he and Emma. They ride the island, exploring, enjoying. Life is borderline bliss.

Johnny Winslow dies of a heart attack. None are the wiser about his dealings with Tony.

Daniel – still running the office in New York – develops an interest in pinhole photography, grows his hair long and begins to visit at Christmas. He is developing an interest in the budding Anna.

Tony’s 70^th birthday is coming up and he wants a large celebration. Over 300 international guests and celebrities are to attend the gala 3-day affair (and thereby indirectly boost the island economy). The Governor makes special provisions and remarks that Anna is turning into a stunning beauty just like her mother. Tony’s heart swells with pride.

Suddenly Tony notices that Emma has gone strangely quiet. Her youth and gaiety vanish overnight and when he seeks affection she displays a forbidding anger. His conscience however intuits the shadowy truth. He begins to drink heavily – morning, noon and night. He sarcastically suggests she see a psychiatrist and he seeks solace in the pleasant and innocent charm of his daughter Anna, though the horrible and diabolical truth of his old sin becomes increasingly difficult to bear. Emma grows increasingly volatile and deliberately attempts to sabotage the ‘father-daughter’ love and affection between Anna and Tony. Anna, meanwhile, does not understand their muted martial problem and becomes increasingly resentful and angry with her mother. Emma is beside herself.

She has received a copy of her dead mother’s Will. Attached to it was a privately sealed envelope to her from her mother. Inside Emma finds a faded snapshot of Tony as a young man. He is boldly standing on a beach with his arm around her bashful mother – and the note reads in broken English: “Emma, Tony Post your daddy. No good. I shame. Move to Hawaii. When I see your wedding picture, I see our future. My little mongoose will eat this poison snake. We Wawanessi now all gone. Our land, our people, our spirit broken. And for what my baby this sad sad life? Never no gold in Busang. Never no gold. Ask your daddy now. Always kiss kiss you, mama”.

In a heart-wrenching scene, Emma slowly drowns Anna after the opening night festivities of Tony’s birthday. The following morning Tony discovers Anna’s body in the pool. Emma silently gives the photograph to Tony, and tells him she is leaving. With cold and forbidding eyes, she also tells him she expects the proceeds of his entire estate to right his great wrong.

Tony sits at his desk in the library.

He looks again at the faded snapshot, and considers his bleak future –

“My eyes have been blinded by the Sun.”

Camera Close-up of his face, his eyes, to the centre of his left pupil, enter in, saturate frame to jet black …

His voice over. ” … at least,that is what I will say … “

Cut.

(Author’s note: This ‘fictional story of a screen treatment’ is loosely based on the infamous Bre-X ‘gold mine’ salting scandal. When that ‘news story’ initially broke, the Canadian investment community, both greedy investors and savvy underwriters, suddenly ‘came of age’, kicking and screaming …)

When Brothers Love … (another short story)

He had said, early on, that one can only perceive what one can see. She, naturally, did not agree with him. This had been their way. When they had last met, they had tried yet again for reconciliation. He had given her a small, hard-carved argillite pendant. As he had given it to her, she had accidentally dropped it and the top edge had chipped off. He gruffly remarked that she was certainly cavalier. She brusquely replied that she was sorry: it was an accident. She slipped the broken rock into her pocket. Soon, however, their escalating bitter words pushed them even further apart, until, finally, they abruptly broke off from each other. Later, alone, separate and thoughtful, they wondered just how they had become so estranged. What was really going on between them?

Meanwhile, she continued to sit for his brother. He had been working on her portrait now for several long months. And while she sat, framed, as she was, by the early morning light from the east-facing window, they would talk. His brother and she. About the ways of seeing.

He was painting her as an angel. She knew this was stupid. But she said nothing, not wishing to interrupt the flow of his fantasy. She just sat, hoping he would be finished soon. It was only a matter of time, in her mind, before he redesigned the glistening wings, darkened the golden aura to some mud sepia, removed the cherry glow from her cheeks. Just a matter of time. Perception, she knew, changes. The wind blows. It is as simple as that. And yet, she sat. Still, quiet. Mindful of his intent gaze. For that reason the portrait was taking an indeterminable amount of time.

She preferred it best just before they began. When they went into the studio barn together they would idle about making tea, or coffee, listening to the weather hiss through the wooden walls. He might lightly touch her elbow as he gently guided her to the stool. She would tease him about his ever scruffy shoes. She would flow with his motion like she used to flow with his brother’s motion. Within that motion intimacy was the knowing – you belong to my brother, I belong to your brother. Never spoken of course. But there – in the air. For this reason too, the portrait was taking an indeterminable amount of time.

The final reason that things were taking longer than usual was that he, the painter brother, was falling in love with her. And as any painter knows, this is not what a painter should do. It disrupts one’s Work. It interrupts one’s Ambitions. But there he was, sable brushing gold fleck around this pretty angel’s face. This problem was compounded by the simple fact that he was married to a good woman who he loved. He had had two children with her. He loved making love to her, and he loved her making love to him. Yet, here was this angel, sitting quietly, waiting patiently, perched on a stool, bathed in warm sunlight. He knew what a splendid gift his brother had indirectly given him. To fall in love with her seemed the most natural way of saying thank you. But it was a problem. He knew he could only ever really touch her through his painting. Her portrait was interrupting all his other work. He had spoken of it with his wife. She knew what was happening to him. And she, being the good wife that she was, would always make sure that there was enough tea or coffee in the studio barn before they began their painting sessions.

And so the portrait continued.

“What do you think, Jack, about painting me in the moonlight?”

He paused. His brush lifted from the painting.

“Nude?”

She turned her head slightly. Looking at him.

“Sure. Why not?”

They held eyes for an instant. Then he looked back to the canvas.

“It would be something.”

“I guess it all depends on when we finish this one,” she said.

He put his brush into the thalo blue. Pushing it around the oil, thinning it. She resumed her pose. Exactly.

From her vantage point, she could see out the window. She was able to watch the training arena with its broad white blank railings. The wind was starting to blow. She noticed a bent post. She quickly licked her lips.

“Did you see the moon last night Jack? It was so beautiful. Full.”

Jack paused. Lifting the brush again from the painting.

“Yes. We walked home.”

“I envy you that. I can see it now, strolling down some river path, past the lake, beneath the willow trees. I can see it.”

He touched his brush into the yellow, sliding the tip into the olive green.

“Any news from your brother?” she asked.

He lifted his brush. Pausing. They listened to the air.

“No. Not recently.”

She held her gaze out the window. Not flinching.

He placed the brush near her eye. The tip touched the wet canvas.

“I could give him a call tonight, and find out what’s up. Any message?”

“No. Thanks. We will speak when we will.”

She tried to keep the bitterness from her voice. He noticed her face fell.

“Any horses in the arena today?” he asked.

She focused. “No. But there is a post bent over by the gate.”

“What’s happened?”

“Looks like one of the mares has been rubbing it. Probably that dappled gray.”

“What makes you think it’s her?”

She laughed. “Haven’t you seen her Jack? The way she runs around? She’s just a frisky filly forever taunting that tired old stallion.”

He smiled, changing his brush. Wiping his hands on his smock.

She looked out the window again. She noticed the trees were budding. She had been watching them throughout the winter, wondering at just what point they would finally brave the cold. It always happened so suddenly. This new discovery was like a beacon. Her body hummed to it. Even through the window. The trees beckoned, inviting her to come closer. But she was stuck, immobile, enraptured at a distance. ‘Be still’, she said to herself, ‘be still.’

He was painting around her thigh.

“If there is one thing I would like to do, Jack, it would be to paint you in the nude.”

Startled, he lifted his brush. He saw she was smiling.

He smiled too. “I’ll tell you what, I’ll paint you nude painting me nude. Deal?”

They laughed.

“Spring has sprung. Me thinks,” he said.

She sighed, glancing down at her hands. “Yup. Guess so.” She looked out the window again.

Jack’s wife was coming down the path with a plate of cookies.

The barn door opened.

“Hi. Jack, your brother is on the phone. He wants to know if we would go up to his place for brunch. I told him you were painting.”

The stool squeaked.

“I need another hour. I’ll call him back when I’m done.”

“O.K. How’s the coffee? I’ve brought some cookies.”

“Fine. Thanks.”

“Well, I won’t disturb you. Nice to see you.”

The girls nodded at each other. And the door closed.

“Are you good for another hour?” he asked.

“Sure. Then I’ve got to get going.”

“All right.”

They resumed their positions. He continued painting for a time.

“I’ll have to fix that post I guess,” he mumbled.

She suddenly jumped up from the stool.

“Jack! Jack! Here she comes!”

He rushed to join her at the window to see and as he did his brush blazed a bright orange trail right across the centre of the canvas.

Meanwhile, Luke put down the receiver. He returned to the calf skin sofa, and lay down. The room was filled with books. Architectural drawings were stacked upon the marble floor. He placed his right arm over his eyes and tried to sleep.

…

Her taut thighs, calves, ankles and bare feet curled around the silky body of the steaming stallion as she thundered on towards the birch grove.

Asleep, Luke’s hand slid to the floor. His immaculately cleaned baby finger nail touched the glistening white marble.

Her mud-caked gripping fingers clung to the coarse wild mane. Her red auburn hair blew wild. Warm blood flushed through her cherry cheeks, and her lips glistened with saliva and early morning dew.

Luke turned his head.

As she slid from the broad backside, the large equine head turned and nuzzled her matted tussled hair. She left him with a gentle pat, and began the slow walk up the rocky promontory.

Luke opened his eyes.

She stood very still. Her aching body absorbed the vastness of the extending horizon. The wide lake far below shimmered bronze and gold as it stretched further east and west. Skeletal feathered trees rose from the water’s edge. Mauve mist hugged the shoreline. Birds soared slowly to and fro high above her head.

She took hold of the rough stone in her pocket. Pulling it out, she rubbed her thumb along the broken edge. Holding it up to the rising sun, she cried,

“So, just what is it EXACTLY that you want me to do?”

Luke rubbed his eyes with his left hand. He sat up. As he turned his feet to the floor, he noticed, through the window, that the mist off the lake was filling the rising air with a soft golden hue. The skeletal trees fanned the shoreline in gradations of rose and mauve. He could see a brisk breeze blow across the lake. The wind was coming up. In the distance, storm clouds were rapidly forming. Strange, he thought. He looked down at his watch. Damn, they’ll be coming soon. Will she come too?

She accidentally dropped the stone to the ground. It landed with a thud. Rain began to fall upon her tangled hair. As she bent to pick up the argillite pendant, she exclaimed over her shoulder -”You want me to do WHAT?”

…

As Jack closed his paint box he could hear the rain hit hard on the roof and the wooden walls. He thought, I’ll ask him to help me with that post tomorrow, before she comes. She’ll like that. He slowly turned back to look at the spoiled canvas and then lowered his eyes.

His wife burst through the door, her hand pushing back her rain hood.

“Ready Jack?”

Obama-ville … (an artsy-fartsy post)

This is really too good not to share  …

Check out http://obamicon.me

Paste Magazine is offering a very novel use of Frank Shepard Fairey’s iconigraphic ‘Obama’ paint palette to create images  to your liking.

(Fairey’s graphic art computer-generated image of Obama was BASED on Mannie Garcia’s original PHOTOGRAPH of same. This FACT has recently turned into a very interesting  tussle between legal eagles over on -going issues within the realms of ‘copyright’, ‘trespass’ and ‘fair use’  … If interested in following this ‘debate’, see: … http://www.aphotoeditor.com/2009/01/27/the-obama-hope-poster-shepard-fairey-and-photographer-mannie-garcia/)

Canadada wacky samples follow …

The 2nd WORLD FUTURE ENERGY SUMMIT is on NOW …

GO TO  –

http://www.worldfutureenergysummit.com/

GO LOOK.

Please CONSIDER what it’s all about, and who is attending and sponsoring ….

On YouTube, go to:

World Future Energy Summit

Also, in tandem, consider this site:

http://www.theoildrum.com

…

Obama is RIGHT, it is up to US …

WE, all over this wonderful life-sustaining planet,  must make CHOICES.

Colloquial English Acronyms: … Are you having a ‘Bad Letter’ day?

A

A3 Anytime, anywhere, anyplace
AAF As a matter of fact
AAK Asleep at keyboard
AAMOI As a matter of interest
AAP Always a pleasure
AAR At any rate
AAS Alive and smiling
ACK Acknowledge
ADD Address
ADN Any day now
ADR Address
AEAP As early as possible
AFAIK As far as I know
AFK Away from keyboard
AFPOE A fresh pair of eyes
AIGHT Alright
AISB As it should be
AKA Also known as
ALCON All concerned
AML All my love
AOTA All of the above
ASAP As soon as possible
A/S/L Age/sex/location
ASL Age/sex/location
AT At your terminal
ATM At the moment
AWOL Away without leaving
AYEC At your earliest convenience
AYOR At your own risk
AYSOS Are you stupid or something
AYTMTB And you’re telling me this because

B

B/F Boyfriend
B4 Before
B4N Bye for now
BAK Back at keyboard
BAU Business as usual
BB Be back
BBIAF Be back in a few
BBIAM Be back in a minute
BBIAS Be back in a sec
BBL Be back later
BBQ Be back quickly
BBS Be back soon
BBT Be back tomorrow
BC Because
BCNU Be seein’ you
BCOS Because
BF Best friend
BDN Big damn number
BFN Bye for now
BG Big grin
BGWM Be gentle with me
BFG Big f***ing grin
BIOYN Blow it out your nose
BLNT Better luck next time
BM&Y Between me and you
BOL Best of luck
BPLM Big person little mind
BRB Be right back
BRT Be right there
BTA But then again
BTDT Been there, done that
BTW By the way

C
CMIIW Correct me if I’m wrong
CMON Come on
COB Close of business
COS Because
C/P Cross post
CR8 Create
CRB Come right back
CRBT Crying really big tears
CU See you
CUA See you around
CUL See you later
CUL8R See you later
CWYL Chat with you later
CYA See ya
CYO See you online

D
D/L Download
DL Download
DEGT Don’t even go there
DIKU Do I know you?
DQMOT Don’t quote me on this
DTS Don’t think so
DV8 Deviate

E
EBKAC Error between keyboard and chair
EF4T Effort
EG Evil grin
EMA E-mail address
EMFBI Excuse me for butting in
EMSG E-mail message
ENUF Enough
EOD End of day
EOM End of message
EVA Ever
EZY Easy

F
F2F Face to face
F2T Free to talk
FBM Fine by me
FC Fingers crossed
FICCL Frankly I couldn’t care a less
FISH First in, still here
FOMCL Falling off my chair laughing
FITB Fill in the blank
FRT For real though
FWIW For what it’s worth
FYEO For your eyes only
FYI For your information

G
G Grin
G/F Girlfriend
G2CU Good to see you
G2G Got to go
G2R Got to run
G9 Genius
GA Go ahead
GAL Get a life
GB Goodbye
GBU God bless you
GDR Grinning, ducking, and running
GD/R Grinning, ducking, and running
GFI Go for it
GG Gotta Go or Good Game
GIAR Give it a rest
GIGO Garbage in, garbage out
GL Good luck
GL/HF Good luck, have fun
GLNG Good luck next game
GMTA Great minds think alike
GOI Get over it
GOL Giggling out loud
GR8 Great
GR&D Grinning, running and ducking
GT Good try
GTG Got to go
GTRM Going to read mail

H
H&K Hugs & kisses
H2CUS Hope to see you soon
H8 Hate
HAGN Have a good night
HAGO Have a good one
HAND Have a nice day
HF Have fun
HHIS Head hanging in shame
HOAS Hold on a second
HRU How are you?
HTH Hope this helps
HV Have

I
IAC In any case
IANAL I am not a lawyer
IB I’m back
IB I’m back
IC I see
ICBW It could be worse
IDK I don’t know
IDTS I don’t think so
IDUNNO I don’t know
IG2R I got to run
IIRC If I remember correctly
ILBL8 I’ll be late
ILU I love you
ILY I love you
IM Instant message
IMHO In my humble opinion
IMNSHO In my not so humble opinion
IMO In my opinion
IMS I am sorry
INAL I’m not a lawyer
IOW In other words
IRL In real life
IRMC I rest my case
IUSS If you say so
IYKWIM If you know what I mean
IYO In your opinion
IYSS If you say so

J
j00r Your
JAC Just a sec
JIC Just in case
JJA Just joking around
JK Just kidding
JMO Just my opinion
JP Just playing

K
K8T Katie
k/b Keyboard
KB Keyboard
KISS Keep it simple, stupid
KIT Keep in touch
KOC Kiss on cheek
KOTC Kiss on the cheek
KOTL Kiss on the lips
KNIM Know what I mean?

L
l33t Leet, meaning “elite”
L8R Later
LD Later, dude / Long distance
LERK leaving easy reach of keyboard
LMAO Laughing my a** off
LOL Laughing out loud
LTM Laugh to myself
LTNS Long time no see
LYLAS Love you like a sis

M
M8 Mate
MFI Mad for it
MorF Male or female
MoS Mother over shoulder
MSG Message
MTF More to follow
MTFBWU May the force be with you
MUSM Miss you so much
MYOB Mind your own business

Abbreviation Meaning
N
n00b Newbie
N1 Nice one
NBD No big deal
NE Any
NE1 Anyone
NFM None for me / Not for me
NIMBY Not in my back yard
NLT No later than
NM Nothing much / Never mind
NMH Not much here
NO1 No one
NOYB None of your business
NP No problem
NRN No response/reply necessary
NVM Never mind
NW No way
NW) No way out

O
OIC Oh, I see
OMG Oh my God
OMW On my way
OO Over and out
OOH Out of here
OOTD One of these days
OP On phone
OTB Off to bed
OTL Out to lunch
OTOH On the other hand
OTT Over the top
OTTOMH Off the top of my head
OTW Off to work
OVA Over

P
PCM Please call me
PDQ Pretty darn quick
PLMK Please let me know
PLS Please
PLZ Please
PM Private Message
PMFI Pardon me for interrupting
PMFJI Pardon me for jumping in
POAHF Put on a happy face
POS Parent over shoulder
PPL People
PROLLY Probably
PRT Party
PRW People/parents are watching
PTL Praise the Lord
PTMM Please tell me more
PXT Please explain that
PU That stinks!

Q
Q Queue
QIK Quick
QT Cutie

R
RL Real life
RP Role play
RME Rolling my eyes
ROFL Rolling on floor laughing
ROTFL Rolling on the floor laughing
ROTFLUTS Rolling on the floor laughing unable to speak
RSN Real soon now
RTFM Read the f***ing manual
RUOK Are you okay?

S
SAL Such a laugh
SC Stay cool
SETE Smiling Ear-to-Ear
SICNR Sorry, I could not resist
SIG2R Sorry, I got to run
SIS Snickering in silence
SIT Stay in touch
SLAP Sounds like a plan
SMHID Scratching my head in disbelief
SNAFU Situation normal all fouled up
SO Significant other
SOL Sooner or later
SOMY Sick of me yet?
SOTMG Short of time, must go
SPK Speak
SPST Same place, same time
SRY Sorry
SS So sorry
SSDD Same stuff, different day
SSINF So stupid it’s not funny
STR8 Straight
STW Search the Web
SUITM See you in the morning
SUL See you later
SUP What’s up?
SYL See you later

T
T+ Think positive
TA Thanks a lot
TAFN That’s all for now
TAM Tomorrow a.m.
TBC To be continued
TBD To be determined
TBH To be honest
TC Take care
TGIF Thank God it’s Friday
THX Thanks
THNX Thanks
THNQ Thank-you
TIA Thanks in advance
TIAD Tomorrow is another day
TLK2UL8R Talk to you later
TMB Text me back
TMI Too much information
TMOT Trust me on this
TMWFI Take my word for it
TNSTAAFL There’s no such thing as a free lunch
TPM Tomorrow p.m.
TPTB The powers that be
TSTB The sooner, the better
TTFN Ta ta for now
TTTT These things take time
TTYL Talk to you later
TTYS Talk to you soon
TU Thank you
TY Thank you
TYT Take your time
TYVM Thank you very much

U
UCMU You crack me up
UGTBK You’ve got to be kidding
UKTR You know that’s right
UL Upload
UR Your / You’re
UV Unpleasant visual
UW You’re welcome

V
VEG Very evil grin
VFM Value for money
VGC Very good condition
VIP Very important person
VM Voice mail
VSF Very sad face

W
WAM Wait a minute
WAN2TLK Want to talk
WAYF Where are you from?
W/B Write back
WB Welcome back
WC Who cares
WCA Who cares anyway
WIBNI Wouldn’t it be nice if
WDALYIC Who died and left you in charge
WDYK What do you know
WIIFM What’s in it for me?
WISP Winning is so pleasurable
WITW What in the world
WIU Wrap it up
WK Week
WKD Weekend
WRT With regard to
WOMBAT Waste of money, brains and time
WRK Work
WRUD What are you doing?
WTB Wanted to buy
WTF What the f**k
WTG Way to go
WTH What the heck? or What the hell?
WU? What’s up?
WUCIWUG What you see is what you get
WUF? Where you from?
WWJD What would Jesus do?
WWYC Write when you can
WYLEI When you least expect it
WYSIWYG What you see is what you get

X
X Kiss
XLNT Excellent

Y
YA Your
YBS You’ll be sorry
YCMU You crack me up
YGBKM You’ve got to be kidding me
YKWYCD You know what you can do
YMMV Your mileage may vary
YR Your
YR Yeah right

YRYOCC You’re running your own cookoo clock

YSYD Yeah sure you do
YW You’re welcome

Z
ZZZZ Sleeping (or bored)

…

If you get really stuck, try … ‘www.all-acronyms.com’ .

(I know, I know -  ’tis seemingly mindless trivia – but I think you’ll be surprised how much you may need to ‘double check’ with this list. I’ve HAD to use it ALOT out of NECESSITY over the past year …  Times they are a’ changin’ … )

Latest addition: CYL – Call Your Lawyer – !!!