Imagine waking up one morning, opening the curtains and where once had been a busy street is now a huge fissure in the surface of the earth with molten lava pouring into the broiling waters hundreds of feet below….
No it is not the apocalypse or a result of too much drink the night before.
You are witnessing the street art of 41year old German artist Edgar Mueller.
In Dun Laoghaire in Ireland he was invited to create a work for the Festival of World Cultures, supported by the Goethe Institution as the German contribution to the Art Festival.
He transformed a section of the East Pier into a yawning Ice Age crevice, a feat that took Mueller and his five assistants five days to complete.
Mueller used acrylic house paint for his creation “The Crevasse”.
“The conditions were difficult because if it started raining before a section had dried it could wash it all away.
“I was very lucky that I managed to get each part done before the heavens opened.” he added.
Because of the nature of the paintings being so large and on a horizontal surface (as opposed to a vertical surface such as a wall), the perspective only works from one single viewpoint. Move away from that point and the picture does not work. When working on these pieces Mueller always has a camera set up at the view point to ensure the perspective is correct.
The artist is almost saying to you “go on, I dare you. Walk across it.” and certainly the paintings beg for the participation and interaction of the viewer.
Information taken from link
The following quotations are taken from official court records across the nation, showing how funny and embarrassing it is that recorders operate at all times in courts of law, so that even the slightest inadvertence is preserved for posterity. And can be found at :link
1.
- Accused, Defending His Own Case: “Did you get a good look at my face when I took your purse?”
The defendant was found guilty and sentenced to ten years in jail.
2.
- Lawyer: “Did you blow your horn or anything?”
- Witness: “After the accident?”
- Lawyer: “Before the accident.”
- Witness: “Sure, I played for ten years. I even went to school for it.”
3.
- Lawyer: “Doctor, before you performed the autopsy, did you check for a pulse?”
- Witness: “No.”
- Lawyer: “Did you check for blood pressure?”
- Witness: “No.”
- Lawyer: “Did you check for breathing?”
- Witness: “No.”
- Lawyer: “So, then it is possible that the patient was alive when you began the autopsy?”
- Witness: “No.”
- Lawyer: “How can you be so sure, Doctor?”
- Witness: “Because his brain was sitting on my desk in a jar.”
- Lawyer: “But could the patient have still been alive nevertheless?”
- Witness: “Yes, it is possible that he could have been alive and practicing law somewhere.”
4.
- Lawyer: “I show you Exhibit 3 and ask you if you recognize that picture.”
- Witness: “That’s me.”
- Lawyer: “Were you present when that picture was taken?”
5.
- Lawyer: “Do you know how far pregnant you are now?”
- Witness: “I’ll be three months on November 8.”
- Lawyer: “Apparently, then, the date of conception was August 8?”
- Witness: “Yes.”
- Lawyer: “What were you doing at that time?”
6.
- Lawyer: “How many times have you committed suicide?”
- Witness: “Four times.”
7.
- Lawyer: “Are you married?”
- Witness: “No, I’m divorced.”
- Lawyer: “And what did your husband do before you divorced him?”
- Witness: “A lot of things I didn’t know about.”
Remember the old saying “kids say the darndest things”? Well, they were nothing compared to what you can hear in the average courtroom almost any day of the year. You would think that it would be the defendant that usually makes the stupid errors, but, NO, as you can see, most often, it is the lawyers, or attorneys, as they like to be called, am going to say I believe it is because they are NOT listening, nor are they really paying attention to what is going on under their noses. They have too many other “more important cases” that need to be thought about” while they are rambling on about “are the dead dead” Laughing ……………………..
Anyone else have examples?
Feel free to post yours:
PABLO NERUDA – Love
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Love Because of you, in gardens Because of you, I love the white statues drowsing in the you. I live with pain that is like a wound; if you touch me, you will Because of you, the heady perfumes of summer pain me; because  |
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Dance through the hoop by ~Z-erin on deviantART
CCSome rights reserved. This work is licensed under a
Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 License. by ~Z~erin.
The day my father left home, the wind blew hard through the mountains and trees surrounding our village, filling our ears with its harsh whispers and our lungs with the breath of faraway places. There are legends among my people of deceitful creatures in the mountains who blow winds of temptation over the surrounding lands when they are hungry and crave another victim. The day my father left us, I stood in the doorway and watched him walk away, his leather-bottomed shoes carrying him farther and farther away. I called to my father, hoping he would turn around and come back, but the wind swelled at that moment, snatching his name from my lips and whisking my hope away in one blow.
My father warned me never to enter the woods alone.
I could not stay like I promised, so I took father’s satchel hidden underneath his bed and followed the smell of him. If I could not smell anger, I could at least smell my father, wandering the valley bloodthirsty and violent. In the search for my father, I found someone else. Another man, smelling for something angry, with only one eye and a tangling beard. He was distinctly foreign.
She stood tall and menacing in her fire-infused robes. “Where are you from,” her tongue flickered when she spoke, “and where do you think you are going?”
I told him I got them from my father.
“Sugar and spice,” the old woman beckoned as she held out palms filled with cinnamon falling between her fingers like sand. As she sprinkled it across the floor my head swum up in a dizzy spell of hunger. I could no longer control my feet moving towards the cheap gimmicks of an old woman.
Under my feet I felt the rhythm of aches and sighs breathe with each step I took. I felt like I was walking on quicksand. And indeed, when I tried to move my feet I could not feel my toes but only the inability to move them on the surface of palpable danger. When I turned to ask for his help he only laughed. Then I began to think it was he who was making my feet turn to stone.
The man beside me glanced at me with his only eye. “You boy, you go. I can see inside of you with this eye of mine and you are good. Listen to me. Leave the mountain far behind you because those who killed your father want to hurt you too.”
“Let me go then,” I said.
I fled, I fled so fast that my feet did not feel the ground. Instead they chafed the cold breeze as my heels vibrated like wings of locusts and dragonflies.
The white bird in the sky asked me if I could pull out the needle that rendered its foot into a half-crescent shape.
After I took the needle from its place, I pryed my father’s bones from the floor and put them in my satchel.
The fairy placed a single seed in my palm which I immediately planted and tended to for months. For days, I watered the seed, showered it with words of encouragement as it grew into a young sprout, and gave it proper space and care as it blossomed fully into a magnificent red rose that granted any wish that I whispered lovingly into its soft petals.
When the people of the soil touched my feet they fell back into the ground with shrieks and cries. Now I could reach the top of the mountain without fear of falling down.
A foreigner stopped me on my rise toward the mountaintop. He had one eye and loose skin that folded around his body like paper cloth. Laid before him was a set of colored tablets and sticks. “Stay for a game,” he said to me. “After you win your game with me I’ll let you go on your way.”
The blade struck me against my face and left a blood spot in the shape of a star.
But since I had been given my gift I did not fear what stood in front of me. As his body touched mine if fell to the floor covered in a carpet of needles.
From within the bowels of the creature I found my leather bottomed shoes and ring that father left to me. There at the top of the mountain I decided to bury my father’s bones.
So I began my journey home.
In my path stood a young pear tree, that, on first appearance looked wretched and covered with soil. But the second time I looked at it the sapling had already blossomed into a maturity. It grew pears the size of my mother’s hands. It waved to me with its branches, beckoning me towards the sweet fruit. As I attempted to climb the three, the leaves enclosed me and stung my skin with nectar.
In an attempt to lose my pursuer I took hold of the tall silver needle in my pocket and threw it to the ground, watching it form a wall of iron thread and knots.
Before I could tell my mother anything the boys spoke for me. “We’ve found father,” they cried. She burst into tears and hugged them both, ignoring my stinking presence.
“As a child, my son could dance along the soil so quickly that the men who died and live in the ground could not catch him. Prove this to me now,”
Without hesitance I lifted my pant legs began to dance in father’s leather bottomed shoes. The soles breezed across the floor, cutting the mist with rhythmic motions. I then turned the ring on my finger and watched my father rise, soil shedding from his skin. His shaved face and clean hands stood against the paling crowd. This impressed the people who stood before me, as did the fact that my tongue did not bleed from the needle it held.
As mother embraced me, she looked at my brothers with great disdain and hurt.
My mother’s embrace rendered the burns and boils on my skin pristine.
Suddenly a swarm of angry vultures swooped upon the ogre and began to peck at every pore and crevice of his body. Together, a mass of flapping and buzzing around a core of struggling flesh, they danced a violent dance. His pitiful screams were drowned in a sea of hundreds of angry screeches and the sounds of countless beaks piercing flesh. I ran from this bloody scene as quickly as I could.
I was offered a place in the palace, but I could not accept. I wanted to be with the mountain; I felt it move under my skin as I knew part of me was in the mountain too.
Based on ideas input by myself. Isn’t that something?
This short story generated by computer at
Did you know that there are thousands of people playing an online game called Travian? The players come from all over the world, and enter the game with a plot of land and the ability to “grow resources” wood, clay, iron, and wheat in order to survive. First you ensure your own survival, then you go forth and try to find “friends”, and in the process avoid making enemies that are now scrounging around trying to take your plot of land and steal your resources. It is supposed to be mideviel, but it somehow reminds me of a lot of countries of today. During the processs of the game, the people band together for support and this is the point of my little lecture. They make up the most interesting artwork to identify themselves. It all has to be made out of keyboard strokes, dots, dashes, slashes, etc. And I’m going to show you some of the most interesting:
~*♥*~~*♥*~~*♥*~~*♥*~
A clan of Irish-Druids…
Said to contain one of the most
powerful druids this world has ever known…
The Druidic Master Elrin Randix…
~*♥*~~*♥*~~*♥*~~*♥*~
Dias Mhuir Dhuit, to one and all.
Remember when all things are said and done.
More things will be said, than things are done….
~*♥*~~*♥*~~*♥*~~*♥*~
_۩_
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۞╬|▓▓▓ TDS* ▓▓▓|╬۞
┌╜‾‾‾‾╚╗░▒╔╝‾‾‾‾╙┐
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ULTIMATE FEMALE JOKe
A woman was sitting at a bar enjoying an after-work cocktail with her girlfriends when an exceptionally tall, handsome, extremely sexy, middle-aged man entered. He was so striking that the woman could not take her eyes off him.
The young-at-heart man noticed her overly attentive stare and walked directly toward her. (As men will.) Before she could offer her apologies for staring so rudely, he leaned over and whispered to her, ‘I’ll do anything, absolutely anything, that you want me to do, no matter how kinky, for $20.00…on one condition.’
Flabbergasted, the woman asked what the condition was.
The man replied, ‘You have to tell me what you want me to do in just three words.’
The woman considered his proposition for a moment, and then slowly removed a $20 bill from her purse, which she pressed into the man’s hand along with her address. She looked deeply into his eyes, and slowly and meaningfully said:
‘Clean my house.’
Convicted forger A. Schiller was serving his time in Sing
Sing prison in the late 1800s when guards found him dead in
his cell. On his body they found seven regular straight pins
whose heads measured the typical 47/1000ths of an inch or
1.17 millimeters in diameter. Under 500 magnification it was
found that the tiny etchings seen on the heads of the pins
were the words to The Lord’s Prayer, which is 65 words and
254 letters long. Of the seven pins, six were silver and one
was gold – the gold pin’s prayer was flawless and a true
masterpiece. Schiller had spent the last 25 years of his life
creating the pins, using a tool too small to be seen by the
naked eye. It is estimated that it took 1,863 sepatate carving
strokes to make it. Schiller went blind because of his
artwork.
Earth 2100: The End of Civilization?
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It’s an idea that most of us would rather not face — that within the next century, life as we know it could come to an end. Our civilization could crumble, leaving only traces of modern human existence behind.
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