Playing with the Guitar Gods
If only I could play like BB King, Stevie Ray Vaughn or Eric Clapton!
Read MoreDwelling In the Desert
“What do we mean by setting a man free? You cannot free a man who dwells in a desert and is an unfeeling brute. There is no liberty except the liberty of some one making his way towards something. Such a man can be set free if you will teach him the meaning of thirst, and how to trace a path to a well. Only then will he embark upon a course of action that will not be without significance. You could not liberate a stone if there were no law of gravity — for where will the stone go, once it is quarried?” Antoine de Saint-Exupery
Read MoreGuitar Man
Late afternoon in the Dandenong Ranges
A steel string guitar
Cowboy paradise
self portrait, effects applied using the GIMP with FX-Foundary plugins
weekend snapshot entry
el hombre cielo grande
I decided that it had been far too long since I had pulled out the ol’ camera and took some shots. I walked around this morning with my daughter and took a few experimentals. While editing them on my favorite editing software, the GIMP, I accidentally choose the Threshold option. This gives a very stark black and white image. I was impressed with how the stripes on the shirt contrasted the other elements in the composition.
I decided to use the threshold edit and layer it with an alpha mask and a circular gradiant. This pulled in color and gave me a great color and texture contrast. If all this sounds like goobledy gook and you wouldn’t know your GIMP from a lame Pimp, then check out the GMIP tutorials located on the site here. The second part of this tutorial explains the threshold tool and how to use it.
Read MoreLone Soldier by Juniper
The other day was Remembrance Day in Australia. My daughter was asked to write a short essay to commemorate the day and then read her essay on a local radio station. She wrote and read the essay without much fanfare. Her teacher advised how impressed he was with her writing skill. I’ve copied her essay here. I think you’ll agree, she one talented 10 year old!
Many people, except us, had moved on. Our lost corpses had been dumped in a small, claustrophobic crevasses; no name, nothing. We missed everything – the celebrations, the parties; we never got to tell our story to the new generation. Never. How would you feel being dumped in a cold dark grave? Especially when you’re thrusted into a small compartment with no headstone. How would your family know where to put the flowers? We, nameless soldiers, spirits hang around, watching our families at home, eating peacefully and seeing their fathers and sons return home from the traumatizing war. Seeing them throw celebrations for the return of their relatives. But some never return. While our body rots and deteriorates into nothing but a clump of ash, our bodies shake with fear on what will happen to us, what the afterlife will be like. I wish life was a time machine and could turn back, but who would want to turn back to a disastrous war when you hear ear splitting screams, blood curdling gun shots, and even worse … death?
We spirits hang around. When we return home, unknown we’re dead, we feel heart broken – families grieving, pets looking like they were dumped at the pound’s doorstep, and then you see the letter, that letter. The letter that tells you your loved one has died, and then that’s when it happens. When they bury your corpse, you can never return. Never again will your heart beat, never again will you feel the sensation of new born air soaking into your lungs, when you’re joyful and feel victory bubbling inside you, tingling your finger tips. But that is all left behind, that will never return. All you must do now is follow your heart and decide what to do. Let your spirit glide in the graveyard, watch your family all solemn, or look at all the returning soldiers, all proud and they tell their sons and daughters their destructive journeys.
When you leave your body, you feel awkward, like a stinging sensation, then a huge lump in your throat when you turn around and gaze at your corpse. Your eyes poise attentively to it – like it’s the ugliest thing you have ever seen. Your face scrunches up in disgust, and then a ghostly tear falls from your face. We always know we’ll be remembered, remembered as those who tried.
Several years later your spirit has left this world. Everything had been modernized. Houses, cars, buildings, clothes, everything, but we have been left untouched. Everything had changed around us, as quick as lightning bolts crackling in the sky. Then after years, you join your family again. You watch the world from a distance with them, just like modern families sit at the lounge and watch television, back in our days, we didn’t have entertainment. I remember me as a young soldier, representing my country with pride. I was as prouder than a Wedged Tailed Eagle grasping a fish with its talons. I was grasping my pride with my talons because I know we will never be forgotten, and I will always keep that saying in my ghostly mind…
Lest we forget …
Juniper, 10 years old
Read MoreLet That Lonesome Whistle Blow My Blues Away
I hear the train a comin’
it’s rolling round the bend
and I ain’t seen the sunshine since I don’t know when,
I’m stuck in Folsom prison, and time keeps draggin’ on
but that train keeps a rollin’ on down to San Anton..
When I was just a baby my mama told me. Son,
always be a good boy, don’t ever play with guns.
But I shot a man in Reno just to watch him die
now every time I hear that whistle I hang my head and cry..
I bet there’s rich folks eating in a fancy dining car
they’re probably drinkin’ coffee and smoking big cigars.
Well I know I had it coming, I know I can’t be free
but those people keep a movin’
and that’s what tortures me…
Well if they’d free me from this prison,
if that railroad train was mine
I bet I’d move just a little further down the line
far from Folsom prison, that’s where I want to stay
and I’d let that lonesome whistle blow my blues away…..
-Folsom Prison Blues, Johnny Cash
Read More