Interval

All the life hides in the rocks, but sometimes I like to swim out away from the liminal colonies into the heart of the bay, where what lies beneath that barrier between above and below is sparse and empty. Above that open land I float, surrounded by a shifting jade which has no depth, no perspective, simply colour that surrounds me. Below, the sand is pale and whorled with the fingerprint of the waves, the same waves that lift me up and away from this, suddenly, and drop me back down to watch plumes of sand take flight, dance, settle in pattern anew. Untethered and orphaned seaweed waltz languidly across these little valleys and mountains, and amongst them too are carried comb jellies, their grand ball gowns torn apart by the waves and trailing in tattered skirts behind them. Although lifeless, the water still ruffles the tiny cilia of the hems, and when the sun, bent by the shape of the water, falls upon them, they throw rainbows like secrets. To touch them is to wonder if this, perhaps, it what it is to touch a ghost. A school of tiny silver fish dart away from me, but I am motionless, without hunger, and they come back to circle within my shadow. They light up, bright, pure, when skeins of sunlight catch them, and it is like watching lightning, small and sweet.

Small hours on a German station, MAKE VIDEO BLOG

If you're going to watch any of these stupid videos of mine, watch this one. The South Coast of Iceland is just gorgeous, the little glimpses provided in here don't even give you a taste.

While I was standing inside the glacier I took my glove off to run my hand over the ice, and started laughing, as I do when something delights me.
"It's dry!"
"Yes," said the Dutch Man still lingering. "It is ice."
"Yes, but it's dry!"
He nodded, and stated again, a little slower, "it is ice."
There was too much of a language barrier between us for me to explain that where I come from, no ice stays dry.

OH LOOK A DOG

Whilst reeling about Rothenburg ob der Tauber this afternoon I happened across possibly the cutest little mutt in the world, and I say that knowing that the dogs back home are the cutest dogs in the world. He was part Dachshund, have that long body, short legs and a fairly lean muzzle, and wiry haired, which I've never seen on a sausage dog. Had the sort of colouring of a German Shepherd, you know, the black saddle and brown trim. AND HE HAD A RIDGE BACK. Seriously, from the top down he was massively shaggy, but then everything but his roof was short-haired! And he was trotting along with his low belly being quite amiable and cheerful and sooooooo CUTE.




I miss my doggles.

Icelandic Phallological Museum

After discoverinq that some scabbinq monqrel stole half my loaf of bread and all of my oranqe juice, I had a very anqry cup of tea, followed by very anqry toast, and then I set off into the snarky winter air to visit the penis museum. Anqrily.

It isn't a very biq museum. 1000 ISK for adult admission, and loan of one cataloque of specimens in the lanquaqe of your choice. The exhibits to not attempt to educate you on the use of the penis or any particularly odd sexual behaviours of animals around the world. It is simply a room stuffed full of penis.

So much peen.

The photos I took are not particularly qood, due to a combination of indoor liqhtinq and awkward display cabinets, but photoqraphy is not at all the point. The point is penis.

That is not penis. That is testicle. Two of them. From homo sapiens. Accordinq to the cataloque, it is,

Both testicles and epididymis from a 60 year old Icelander. Donor unknown. Autumn 2006.

It is somewhat alarminq that they can have a set of balls and not know who they are from.

I...think...this is boar dick? I could be wrong?

This is definitely boar penis. Artistically mounted on a rock, and risinq up like either a charmed or extremely pissed off snake.

So much peen. Those wee ones at the front are rat penis bones.

Mink penis. I'm not sure what that...thinq...in the middle jar is.

Alarminq mink penis.

Cat dick. Although small and meek, definitely the most threatening dick on display.

Doq penis. And penis bone. From fluffy doqs.


Some impressive horse cock. And a phallusesque lamp.

Arctic fox peen. Many arctic fox peen.

The smallest exhibit, at less than 2mm, a hamster penis bone.


So the owner and curator also makes lampshades out of bull balls.

Here's a close up of the bull ball liqht shade, for your consideration. If you're interested you may buy your very own bull ball lamp from the shop for 15,000 ISK.


Here is a close up of a cross section cut of a sperm whale penis. Rather fiberous lookinq.

Mounted whale penis. On the left, a killer whale. On the riqht, a Fin whale.

Look at that chubby. Sperm whales, man, they're all about qirth. I mean, really.

Yet more mounted whale penis. Sei and Fin whale aqain. Qood thinq they're up hiqh. Could take someone's eye out with those thinqs.


Badly cured sperm whale. I couldn't quite tell if this was an attempt to treat whale penis for leather.

It's a qiant sperm whale penis. It is taller than I am.

No, really.

Minke whale qot a chubby.

That hurts to look at. Poor Sei whale. Qlad he was dead before that happened. (Well, I'm makinq an assumption there.)

Perch peen. Yes! Fish peen!

Hell, I don't know, lots of peen.

HOLY HAMMERHEADS, THAT'S A WALRUS PENIS?!

Polecat penis bone is somewhat alarminq. The hook is entirely unnecessary, really.

As for skunk penis bone, that isn't a hook...I don't entirely fiqure how that works.

A little something from home; wallaby penis!


The 2008 Icelandic Olympic Handball team! Silver medalists! YES. SILVER PEEN. A WHOLE TEAM OF SILVER PEEN.

The last section was a little room off to the side, in which was a cabinet of phalluses relatinq to Icelandic folklore. In this jar is the phallus of one of the Hidden People.

Catafox penis in the front, and Sea Howler penis in the back. I'd howl if there was a hole in my dick too.


Shadow-hound penis. Not at all like dog or fox penis.

A merman penis. The cataloque stated a fisherman had a spat with him, and he came off the worse.

Now, I realise that is a funny lookinq penis, but to be honest, I'm more intriqued by the owner. What is a 'rustic' elf? Does it sit around on old farm porches with tin cans waitinq for Donna Hay to come by?

I refuse to qooqle 'enrichinq beach mouse'. The mystery deliqhts me.

Damn riqht it's a troll penis.

QHOST PENIS.
AAAAHHHHHHH.

I'm not qooqlinq 'necrophlaqic cat' either.

I saw more penis than you did today, and I'm willinq to bet money on it.

Also the museum smelt funny. Not of formaldehyde, althouqh no doubt that contributed. There was a definite MUSK odor in the air.

If that was too much cock for you, here is a pleasant chaser;


Aqain, the view out the front door, taken around 1.30 in the afternoon. There is nothinq but lonq liqht in this place.

Fred & the Beagle

The VanderMeers took me on an excursion to the St Marks National Wildlife Refuge, for a 5 mile hike through the wetlands. It was perfect, and I could go on at length about the beauty of the park and flood you with too big, badly edited photographs, but instead I am going to share one incident.

We were walking by the larger lake, watching a clique of ducks set out from the shore. Tubby little black birds, they moved as a very tightly huddled group. Our comments scrambled mid-sentence as a much larger bird came flying in low to the water, a deep wingspan and shining white head.

"Is that a-?"

"That's a Bald Eagle!"

And not just a Bald Eagle, but a Badass Eagle (hereafter referred to as "Beagle").

Defying the laws of physics and matter, the ducks drew even closer together as the Beagle strafed over them. They paddled about in a panic, the flock splitting to confound the Beagle then unifying as the Beagle drew up for another pass. The Beagle hovered and feinted a couple of times, but the ducks remained united.

Except for Fred.

Fred decided to stick it out alone, and the Beagle figured if Fred was goinq to make things easy for him, he was okay with this. The Beagle dove down at Fred! However, Fred was a canny duck, he was all, "AHA! You shall not catch me!" and dove under water.

The Beagle, who was old hand at all this, was all, "Whatevs, you're gonna come up for air soon," and without further waiting the Beagle plunged into the lake.

Where, it must be said, he floundered about not at all unlike a graceless chicken, to the point I turned to ask my companions if he was in fact stuck and goinq to have to wade over to the shore to get out.

I did not give the Beagle enough credit. With his mighty wings he broke free of the water.

With Fred.



Nature is badASS.

Big Ol' Pile o' Panda

I completely failed to see anything of San Diego while I was there, and so don't really count the city has having been visited. Did, however, put aside a whole day for the zoo, which was so completely and utterly worth it, and maybe I should have put aside two days, because there was a lot of beasties I didn't see even though we tore arse around the zoo.

There are many photos, and they are not all of animal butt.

I was lucky enough to hit the Giant Pandas just as they were finishing up lunch, and as such the two on display were pretty active, and I managed to get this video of the most adorable and ineffective grooming you will ever see.

Celebratory Peanut Brittle

As far as afternoons go, this was a pretty good way to spend one.

Things They Do Not Warn You About In New York

Puppies.

We popped out of the Met and it must have been dog walking time because there were little scrappy doggy things everywhere. EVERYWHERE. Being a cute and happy and doggy! I half thought maybe there was some rule about dogs in New York, restrictions on pounds per inch, but today I spied quite a few larger breeds, including a gorgeous golden retriever prancing about Central Park.

We even stumbled upon a store on Lexington Avenue that sold puppies. This store was called, wait for it..."Puppies".

AND THEY WERE SO CUTE. WE DIED.

Actually the conditions were horrific. But nothing subtracts from the cuteness of a gleeful climbing puppy.







So, I am warning you. New York = puppies.

MEXICAN JUMPING BEANS

Guys.

Guys.

Seriously.

Guys.



THEY EXIST. THEY ARE REAL. THEY WERE JUMPING IN THEIR LITTLE PLASTIC BOXES WHILE I STOOD THERE AND THE CASHIER GAVE ME BEMUSED LOOKS FOR SQUEALING.

Tangent: Tortoises are clearly proof of the existence of extra-terrestrials AND evil.

I took these photos myself, yesterday. Look at them. Look at them closely.




I rest my case.

Evening, my train station, ambient noise

The birds haven't seen each other for hours and there is so much to tell. by sirtessa

Plans only last until contact with-

It can now be revealed that last weekend and operation was conducted that saw the covert invasion of Canberra for the purposes of attending Gillian's 50th birthday party. This operation was successful. Copious amounts of fairy bread were neutralised.

This operation could not have been carried out without the assistance of a third party, who shall go unnamed at this point in time, especially given what happened after the party, which I shall now recount.

At the entrance to his base we stood in the dark, he with the key in the door and I freezing my non-existent nuts off, when a "Baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!" rang out in the night. My accomplice half-turned to me, as if unsure about drawing my attention to the sound, or unsure if I was the one who had made it, as I said, "Did you just hear a sheep?"

My accomplice opened the door, and said to the [redacted] standing in the hall, "What have you done?"

Before he could finish this question, a second very definite "BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!" shook the house, and a third, and we proceeded straight to the kitchen and observed the following;

One (1) new-born lamb in a cardboard box lined with newspaper.



A lamb. Definitely.

"BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

This lamb had been born only hours before hand. Unfortunately the act of giving birth inflicted a prolapsed uterus upon the mother, who had to be put down. The [reeeeedaaaaaaacted] were already running late, and could not leave the lamb unguarded or the eagles would get it. The crows too, apparently crows are all for stealing bebelamb's eyes. In light of this, they took the only course of action available to them and took the lamb with them. In an esky on t he back seat.

It was crusted with blood and placenta still, and "BAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"ing incessantly.

Being the big strong unmeltable person I am, I immediately went to the bebelamb and proceeded to coo and whisper and pat it furiously. All it wanted was contact. Put a hand to his head and he became quiet and calm.

The legs amazed me. So ridiculously knobby, so many joints cannot be practical. [redacted] lifted and set him down on his feet, and those knobby legs shook like crazy, the look on his face nothing short of a terrified "OMG GUYS, GUYS OMG, THIS IS HIGH UP, LIKE, REALLY HIGH UP."



Then he peed. Aww. Bebelambie's first wee!

A mixture of milk and sugar was concocted, and once it was warm enough fed to the bebelambie from a bottle with a massive teat. Bebelambie loved the shit out of that, gobbled it all right up. And his tail went SPASTIC with joy. I have never seen such a happy tail!

Sadly, bebelambie did not shut up. Thankfully, bebelambie slept at the other end of the house.

In the morning, there was no sign of the bebelambie.

Chops for breakfast?