PEARLS AND RUBIES

Sisters of Stone

2009-02-14T09:01:00.008Z

Gorilla's in the Mist

2008-08-13T01:22:00.004+01:00

Sailing on a gap to Dunloe

2008-08-12T22:11:00.010+01:00

History of Medicine

2008-08-12T21:45:00.011+01:00

Trepanation is a fascinating procedure in which a hole is drilled into the skull of a live person in order to expose the dura mater. I could not believe it but back in neolithic times this hole would be pierced with a flint stone. One would wonder whether or not there was any logical reason behind such an egregious practice to make it medicinally viable. But apparently, it is a very old surgical procedure used to cure many ailments like epilepsy, migraine and vapourisation of the evil spirits in order to treat mental illness.

Storm of the Century

2008-03-09T22:05:00.027Z

After a night of boozing with a couple of folks, I dragged myself out of bed to go for a walk. I drove along the Liffey and noticed how the water level was so high. The water was ebbing with a mighty force of energy and enthusiasm along the rivers bank. At O'Connells Bridge there was very little displacement of air left between the two arches of the bridge and the height of the water level. My heart palpitated slightly as everyone was dandering by the bridge and boardwalk without noticing the oddity of the tides. I just boiled it down to the fact that I was slightly hungover.

I continued on in my journey heading towards Clontarf. To my left I noticed a camera-man filming the movements of the passing of cars, the angle of his camera then changed slightly pointing towards the sea. I looked over to my right to discover vibrant yellow sandbags tracing the coastal outline of Clontarf. These yellow sandbags were only concentrated along weak points of this particular coastline. A few men from Dublin County Council were standing around these yellow sandbags. I was not able to distinguish whether they had any purpose to be there or was it just for the camera-man.

As I furthered my journey towards Dollymount Strand, I noticed an ambulance with Civil Defence Force imprinted along its side and rescue at the back. A man in his late 50's was at the drivers seat. At this point my anxiety was rising slightly as I didn't know what was going on. I called into a friend of mine who still hadn't arisen from the outing. I divulged my account of the journey to my friends father, who was laughing as apparently Ireland is going to be hit with a storm for two days consecutively. We started laughing at how ill prepared we were for these sort of natural catastrophies.

For threats of flooding in Dublin coastal areas, gale force winds of 6 and gust of winds of 100kmph, one would have to laugh at Dublin Council County preparation for the flood. Perhaps I should write to Dublin County Council and ask them if they think their workers ought to lay down a few more sandbags in preparation for the apparent flooding at Clontarf. Also if they are going to advise residents on their internet flood sites (www.flood.ie) on precautionary measures, perhaps give them any form of information other then a screen with FLOOD.IE in bold.

Welcome to the Reek or "Garland Thursday"

2008-03-08T04:28:00.030Z

Not sure if it would be blasphemous to edit the day of a holy day. It should really be so-called Garland Sunday but since I climbed it on a Thursday I shall always remember it as Garland Thursday. I can justify this as I perceive myself as being non-christian and if you object just leave a comment or get off the site. Although, I sincerely do hope that you are still reading on as I was only playing with words. Is this what they call vocab-tomfoolery? Or am I trying to parody some form of bad religious humor but successfully belly-flopping.

I have just come back from Croagh Patrick. Initially I was just going to put up a couple of pictures of the summit, make a few comments here and there but it really would not do the whole journey into the West any justice. For me the journey was about making my first attempt to climb a mountain and the people I met along the ascend and descend. I wasn't at Croagh Patrick for the Pilgrimage aspect of the mountain. Although, I throw my hat out and shudder violently to those who attempts this journey barefoot.

When I arrived at the foot of the mountain I fell on my arse due to the force of the wind combined with a set of slippery steps that lead towards the statue of St. Patrick. I was cursing in any language I could muster proficiently, which was really f*** it in english. To top that off, once you get pass the statue of St. Patrick you have to amble across rocks where you finally reach a fence with a wooden gate. Adjacent to the gate was a hazard sign - POISON. This image was enough to barricade me to the world that I was presently in from the world that I was about to enter. The wind was really picking up speed such that I couldn't open the wooden gate. A part of me sighed in relieve as I feared what the conditions would be like if I escalated any higher up the mountain. But the other side of me wasn't going to be deterred by such trivialities. I have driven many a miles to get here so I surely wasn't going to loose my focus. I forced open the wooden gate and off I went on my merry way.

It was a really strange journey as the wind was picking up speed, there were points were I thought I was going to be blown off. When all of a sudden there would be an abrupt calmness that one would only expect to be in the eye of a storm. In one of these calm moments I sat on a rock and looked back to see how far I have achieved. The gifted image I was presented of Clew Bay is one I will never forget. The sky palette was a magnificent blue brushed with brilliant white streak of clouds. The stark contrast between the islands of Clew Bay and the mainland was striking but yet in a subtle sort of way. The islands were like disarrayed stacks of hay in both colour and in shape. All this came together with the balance of a rainbow arching over Clew Bay. I took a deep breath and absorbed every last detail of this memorable landscape. I hauled myself off the rock with the sun beaming down my face and a drizzle of rain. Bless! Nature’s way of refreshing me before the steep part.

I finally made my way up to the steep part of the mountain. I bumped into the two yanks. Lets just call them Mister Republican and Mister Democratic, as they both portray atypical political viewpoints and personalities of their chosen name. They were seated on a rock each taking a rest before their last leg of the mountain slope. All I could see was Mister Democratic lips moving so I had to politely take my headphones off. One step at a time he ushered. The man could chat for all the Greek Gods and for St. Patrick himself. I took my camera out to take a photo to make myself productive whilst Mister Democratic was chitterling away. I noticed Mister Republican hadn't even stirred a muscle with all the shenanigans even when I took a shot of him embraced in the serenity of nature. He bore the weight of both worlds on his shoulders. A quiet Yank there must be something wrong with him. I kept going.

I looked up to see whether I had far left to go. My only viewpoint was of rocks almost in a vertical position. The wind at this level of the journey was so strong I had to hold on to dear life to those loose rocks. Well at least it wasn’t raining I thought to myself. With just a split second of thought I got the rain. I kept prodding along. For a while I ended up inside a cloud. It felt extremely cool and refreshing inside the cloud almost analogous to moving mist. Finally I made it to the top. There was an overwhelming sense of achievement. Your whole perspective changes where your whole initial focus was the outline of the mountaintop. But once you reach it to the top you get a panoramic view of the your surroundings. Your psychology changes in line with your newfound depth of understanding freedom and independence. You gather up your newfound freedom and independence like they were loose marbles tumbling out of their contained bag and you make your descend.

On my way down I stumbled upon Mister Democratic and Mister Republican again. This encounter was somewhat symbolic as their roles reversed. Contemplative Mister Republican had a couple of things to get off his chest. He informed me that he had the ashes of his mother, father and brother in his rucksack. He was going to scatter their ashes on Croagh Patrick so it could airborne out to Clew Bay. He had chosen this day as it was his birthday and they were the wishes of his parents to have their ashes scattered across the bay. I gave him an understanding nod and said no more on the subject. I left them to do their final ascend up the steep part of the mountain.

On my way down the mountain I kept thinking about Mister Republican, perhaps I should have spoken to him about it. But considering where we where I felt there was no need for talking for a silent understanding was a given. We are after all subjected to that vulnerable transient state of existence. It was surreal to imagine he held two generations of his bloodline in his rucksack. Both Mister Democratic and Mister Republican later caught up with me. Mister Republican appeared a lot more content with himself. He had fulfilled the wishes of his loved ones. We said no more on the subject we all just concentrated on our descend. It probably would have been a hell of a lot easier if we just schooshed all the way down on our arses.

Plastic Cling Film

2008-01-10T22:25:00.005Z

A guy peers over and watches as the Indian man sieves through a box. His sparkling beady eyes and cheeky grin made me feel like he was up to some mischieve. He shouts across with sheer delight, excited that the box contained what he has been long searching for. What is all this excitement? How can this place I surround myself in stir a volcanic explosion of emotions? I was extremely intrigued as to what I would find peering across the counter. A crusty guy with a well trimmed beard, Jamiroqui hat, and innocently light blue eyes presents himself before me.

I laugh at him and question what he really wanted with these plastic cling film bags. It is all so dubious. He utters without hesitation that he wanted these plastics bags to store his seeds in. I laugh hysterically almost in convulsion but at the same time didn’t want to appear too rude. Mister Jamiroqui spin me another yarn. You have been my only entertainment today and I am loving the show. To prove his point he places this elongated neon green seed on the counter. It was brilliantly green, somehow it reminded me of the green powder out of Adaptation. I was dissolved in a moment of Adaptation, the whole obsession of orchids or was it drugs? Or was it drugs embellished in a world of mysteria, aahh the obsessive life of an orchid lover.

Mr Jamiroqui’s seed had an unusual element to it. It resembled a lot of things. I thought perhaps it was special in its own right as it possesses the ability to be a googalplex of identity. Initially I thought it was an unripe chilli wrapped in a thin film of oil giving its green shiny perceptive reflection. I just can’t get over how neon green this seed was. It looked beautiful. Or could this seed be a potential starfruit, as in its existing form it also gives off the impression of looking like a baby starfruit. I would like to think that it has the potential to become this amazing godetia but I gainsay take away from its original entity. Like in Adaptation, when you strip mysteria out of anything in life you are only left with the truth or shall I just plainly say reality. As it transpires from the conversation with Mister Jamiroqui this neon green seed had the potential to be garlic cloves. Oh! how wonderful - Mister Jamiroqui just go ahead, strip my minds journey of mysteria and leave it lying naked and cloth it with reality.

Mister Jamiroqui whips out a horse-chestnut from his magical bag of seeds. I internally let out a shriek of delight, as that morning whilst I was walking through the park to work I too discovered a horse-chestnut. I made it come back to life as I rubbed its oily texture between my fingers. I didn’t know why I was so engrossed in this horse-chestnut as surrounding me in the park was a dense mist with rays of light penetrating through it, giving a real tranquil feel to my environment. Squirrels were scuttering around preparing for their winter hibernation. At a distance even with the dense mist I can make out a massive white tent with black triangles bordering the top giving the impression of a rooftop. I laughed excitedly as being here at this point kind of reminds me of being back in medieval times, at a knights festival but all the knights are all asleep and drifting into a deeper realm of the dream world. It is after all early morning.

Salute to 2008

2007-12-27T02:50:00.003Z

Just arrived back from a night of jonesing with a friend. Nothing hardcore just a fest of maynards sours, pastilles, and winegums. All this laced with a couple of episodes of "Flights of Conchorde". We were like pigs in shite, literally. Anyhow, I sit here feeling too queasy to go to bed due to the excessive over-indulging. I think I may have developed a jelly-induced stretch mark on my belly. Sheer agony, the pain is too great for me to sit here and articulate a summary of 2007 so I leave you with these images.

Took this shot on Christmas Day it reminded me of 2007

May we welcome in the New Year with the inclination that we shall all be lavishing in hope, peace and happiness. We all deserve this, don't we!.....In some Asian beliefs the figure 8 represents the infinity sign and luck. So therefore, I am blindly hopeful that 2008 will be a year of great changes. We can only pray that these changes will draw in positivity around us. If I am wrong I shall challenge you's all to a Maynards Jelly Consumption Competition at the end of 2008. Salute, to a good year.

Taken on Christmas Day 2007, it stemmed from the same tree as above, only this one looking more hopeful! Fingers crossed that this one represents 2008

Have just discovered that if you click onto each photo you will see the full effect and details of each photo.

Visitation of Depression

2007-12-23T04:08:00.002Z

At some point in our lives we shall encounter with a brief visitation with depression. Be it personally, within the family and throughout our friends. Without ruining the festive season, I thought it would be of great importance not to forget these people and post this image up as a mark of respect to them. This image has a strong impact as the life-ring represents the hope in everyone of us, and the rope represents darkness and the loss due to this terrible illness. Both the life-ring and the rope bears equal weight and are equally powerful objects both congruously and in isolation. I would like to think of it as the hope embracing and encasing our darkness and loss.

"More than any time in history mankind faces a crossroads. One path leads to despair and utter hopelessness, the other to total extinction. Let us pray that we have the wisdom to choose correctly." A quote from Woody Allen himself.

I really like this quote as it tells you alot about Woody Allen. He is not all about humour and sarcasm. It makes you wonder does he raid his medicine cabinet for anti-depressants, along with his big stash of aspirin. We can only hope that he never cuts himself as he would only bleed to death due to the large aspirin consumption.

Random Rambler

2007-12-15T02:28:00.002Z

I don't know why I like this shot. But I just do. It probably goes against the rules of basic photography. It was a non intentional accident, like all the photos I have taken. My editing abilities is not the greatest either. So I must suffer in silence and spoof my way through photography.
Do you remember those books that people write about, like a guide to bluffing your way through philosophy or how to learn a language in two hours. Well my photographic abilities is somewhat similar. Like buying a camera on impulse, having it constantly wrapped around your neck like a noose at all times, and voila you have moved from amateur to professional photographer overnight. Ach aye, if only it was that easy. Honestly, I don't intend to go anywhere with it, but I just enjoy the sound that the camera makes, click, click, kodak. I immensely enjoy the freedom you have at staring at your subject and been granted an unlimited pass on time to stare or observe. For me the greatest thing I achieved from my short time with photography is that easy access to escapism. Perhaps there are many downfalls to photography that I have yet to experience but I find when I have taken my shot and that clicking sound comes to an end, so does that split second escapism. Then the emotional rollercoaster starts again in search for another image to stir the minutest emotion or stimulate that long degenerated nerve that leads to the window of our perception.

You see what I mean, in a photographical sense I am not sure which one would be better. But I still like the darker one. But perhaps if I got myself a photography book and read up on the technicalities I may just well understand why I like the initial photograph. Then again I may look at it again in a few weeks time and ask myself what the hell was I contemplating about. They are both equally as shite (pardon my unsophisticated language). But the one thing I can extract from these two photos is how they both appear so different even though they were taken seconds after each other. The weather in both picture depicts dark clouds with threatening outburst of rain and thunder. I am in a less sleep deprived state so things aren't that obvious to me.

This photo really stood out, as I was rambling around searching for berries. Waiting for opportunity moments to take a photo, of course there would constantly be some form of obstacles. Be it people, branches, Santa Claus himself or the rain. I kept getting herds of people rushing towards my direction and only when I whipped out the camera. I got slightly frustrated so I mentally started categorising people. At this moment in time to me there were only two types of people: those that were non-territorial and the territorial ones. The non-territorial ones can be identified with distinctive traits in personalities. To me they possess a gentle, caring, nature and would be considerate to their environment and the people enclosed in it. They hovered around me and patiently waited till I have perfected this shoot. Little did they know I am only a seed to the photography world, so their patient quality may be for a futile cause. In contrast to this group were the territorial bunch. They reminded me of an ungodly avatar, but more in the sense of a descended cross between man and animal. Arbitrarily, they would urinate all around me to mark their territorial space. They would be quiet aggressive in their approach to life and their environment. They would grunt and utter nonsensical under their breath. But being an extremely silent lip reader I understood each and every breath. Each breath would vaporise and formulate their marked distinctive character to me.

After all this pontification, I decided it would be best if I got out of the ready made pathway and into the muddy wilderness alone. It was the best decision I have made all day as I never got to find the berries but found a place where it was easy to take a photo as the scenery was already carved out for me. All I had to do was automatically go into autopilot mentally, choose the easiest option on the camera which is auto and click away till my little soul is content.

Apologise for randomly positioning the photos. The title is afterall random rambler, and also I have just discovered this new invention called no choose, left, center or right positioning of photos. Hence the indecisiveness of the location of each photo. What can I say about this photo except the life ring sang out like a punk tune at a retirement party. There was no-one around, and the air was so still that the life ring had no reason to be there. Only perhaps if a retarded individual with no swimming abilities decides to go for a cold December dip in the man-made lake. Shiver! Shiver!

Due to the size of this photo. You probably can't make it out but there is a branch stuck to the centre right that appeared to be levitating in mid-air. Much to my amusement I had to take it. Oh! I did finally manage to find cranberries on my rambling adventure but I had to buy them in the market so much for personally selecting the natural wild ones.

THE END

Oh! The Hills of Donegal

2007-12-09T07:33:00.002Z

Not so long ago a friend and I was feeling claustrophobic with city life so no better place then a trip to rural Ireland. We wanted to immerse ourselves in the mystical beauty of a place everyone rants and raves about, and discover the true essence of Donegal. My expectations of the place was to see snow white beaches, hike the Blue Stack Mountains and divulge in rural living culture.

It took an eternity to get out of Dublin. Cars honking at each other, M50 traffic was as swift as an American highway on pause. I was simultaneously stressed and excited about leaving Dublin behind for a few days. Stressed due to the traffic and excited with the notion of freedom. Free from inner city life, the hustle and bustle, and free from the materialistic society that created us into the epitome of stress. We drove through the night across numerous counties. Dimming and dipping of lights continuously for four and a half hours, I may have hypnotised myself without realising. So we stopped for a coffee in Ballinahub petrol station. I immediately noticed the cashiers accent, he had a pure country accent. Initially I found it difficult to register the tone in his voice, I thought the guy said that we were in Ballina. I let out a premature excitement, just to discover I didn't hear the hub part of Ballinahub. Everything was gradually going into surreal mode. One minute we were stuck in Dublin traffic, the next we were edging towards a much slower pace of living were people spoke and behaved differently. It was immensely refreshing to observe. Oh! it was great being in the country.

We finally drove into Donegal town. There was a great Friday nite atmospheric buzz in the air. It engulfed us immediately, followed us round the roundabout, and to our accommodation. We exchanged a few words to the woman from the accommodation, dumped our bags and scowered around for the nearest pub. We stumbled upon the Forge Pub, it appears to be an important landmark as it possessed a front door that can convert into two halves. This was amusing as all the locals always mentions this highly significant door. Its significance I have yet to discover. We ordered our first drink, absorbing the quaint and relaxing new environment of ours. However, this came to an abrupt halt when a plethora of men from the nearby village came sauntering through the half-way door. A bus load of them, this was pure humour. I was internally laughing at this, it instantly cured my humour constipation I have developed over the years. We met a guy called Mr. Irwine amongst the mist of men from the busload. He suggested that we head off to Teelins Cliff, albeit the roads are seriously narrow and dangerous. Well perhaps in hindsight, we should have taken the Columba boat trip to Teelins Cliff.

Enough is enough, too many men getting off the magic bus so we left for another pub. We came across the Reel Inn where they played traditional live music. The wind blew the door open, myself and my friend were like John Wayne characters making our entrance to the bar. I now feel the origin of the term "blow-ins" or perhaps flatulence in the breeze would be more accurate. We nestled ourselves comfortably at the bar. I looked across and found a man sitting contently alone at the other end. I think I was gaping with astonishment. A black man (can I say this or would this be deemed as a racial comment) in Donegal town. I know we have become a cosmopolitan country over the last few years. But are people worldwide still migrating to Ireland. Why! may I ask? It was even more surreal to see this black man in Donegal Town and in this live traditional music bar. We got chatting away to him, harassed him for his lighter and christened him the Nairobi Man.

We drifted away from Nairobi Man and followed the music. A two man band was on live performance tonight. A gregarious Johnny Cashman was strumming away at his guitar playing in harmony with a grossly malformed type of guy (without meaning to be cruel) who was co-ordinating the piano accordian. While we were listening to the music a gin and bitter lemon William McTell sat down beside us and uttered alot of aarrgh, bleugh, aargh which I hadn't the faintest idea in what he was trying to say. So I offered him another gin and bitter lemon. Because I am finding the blogging concept very tiredsome, I had to assinate alot of the characters that we met on the journey. Even the ones I have just mentioned, I feel slightly guilty as they offered an awful lot and I have just axed them. Severed characters, how very bad. But one thing I will say I had fun times being around these convivial companions, and the Rural Irish certainly do possess a famous ability to find good craic. It surely is different to city living.

The scenery out of Donegal Town and en route Teelins Cliff

Sunset at Teelins Cliffs

Apparently the highest cliffs in the world

Tribute to the Trilby

2007-12-03T04:06:00.003Z

A Trilby hat is a soft felt men's hat with a narrow brim and a deeply indented crown. Traditionally it was made from rabbit hair felt, but now it is sometimes made from other materials, such as tweed, or wool. Trilbies are softer then Homburgs, and have a flexible brim instead of a curved one. They are similar to fedoras, but with a narrower brim. The hats name derived from a play based on George du Maurier's 1894 novel Trilby. A hat of this style was worn on stage during the play's first London production. The Trilby has been a symbol of chic elegance and class, and has been associated with jazz, ska and soul musicians.

The trilby was also often worn by Inspector Clouseau, the character portrayed by Peter Sellers in the Pink Panther film series. According to Sellers, he already owned a trenchcoat when he created the character, and he bought Clouseau's trilby from a shop in London, because he thought the hat just naturally completed the outfit.

My one and only ever possession of a Trilby was last seen at a Spanish party. Trilby was manoeuvring around on the dance floor to some hardcore techno tunes. Trilby being a socialite passed herself around the crowd. Mingling intially to some tall lawyer dude. Then the Spanish crew took possession of Trilby for a short while. Next I know Trilby has now gone awol. Perhaps into the vortex of the abyss. Her presence is now gone forever. But I live in hope that she may return one day.

Memoir of Ruby

2007-12-01T12:24:00.003Z

Woke up this morning with my brain screaming at me for marinating it with alcohol the night before. So I decided to punish the brain by creating this blog. I positioned myself in front of the computer trying to collaborate with my thoughts and ideas for this new blog page, but nothing is coming. I sit here alone embracing the void. Its like being inside a circus tent with no audience, no clowns nor animals. Only yourself and the tamers whip. Whipping away at the brain.

I am trying to post a picture of my deceased dog called Ruby. She passed away just a week ago from today. Age just crept up on her and brought along a friend called death. They both seduced her to another world. They promised her dog heaven, unification with her sister Pearl. Usually when I called her name she would jump out of her kennel. Each leap she made there would be the rhythmic sound of her wicker basket rubbing against her kennel. It was hilarious to watch as she would have to carefully dodge the radiator that always obstructed her leap out of the kennel. Unbeknownst to be me, she successfully came out unharmed. However, I have witnessed Ruby colliding her head off the rooftop of the kennel. Once she escaped the kennel she would run as fast as her little legs would take her to the front door. Waiting patiently for someone to let her out.......