When dust dance, far.

[australia, sydney. 1-3. from Brendon Thorne/Getty Images]
[ 4. from Shisberg]

Sydney Morning Herald:

... And everywhere there was dust. It coated footpaths, shop floors, train stations and any other surface the wind could penetrate.

Cityrail trains carried it through tunnels and into underground stations.

"When I got on the train at Cronulla all our seats were covered in this red dust," Robyn Jaques said.

... Up to 75,000 tonnes of dust per hour was blown into the waters off the coast and particle pollution was the highest on record - over 15,000 micrograms per cubic metre at times, when a normal day would see less than 20 micrograms.

The choking dust was far thicker than bushfire smoke, which commonly contains about 500 micrograms per cubic metre.

... Loose red dirt from the arid outback was blown east by strong winds, in what was described by The Sydney Morning Herald as "the day the country blew into town".

... Strong winds following the hottest August on record sucked up dust from a decade-long drought in what experts said was the biggest such incident to hit Sydney since 1942.

joy in a tin can/ get yer fix

[ . www.theflowmarket.com]

anything can be sold.

it doesnt have to be real.

call my berlin bluff.

[berlin. stilinberlin.blogspot.com ]


when demands build and duty bears down, one turns to comfort- comfort eats and comfort looks. and i love stilinberlin for letting me indulge in a little 'action-imagination'- it's the place you go to to live out all your incarnations and play out your most heroic, bravest deeds.

whether an intellectual hobo or a mother who builds jet engines, everyone's a revolutionary. and everyone's implicated in it.

longtime readers to this blog will know my ongoing infatuation with berlin. but it is also a deep respect. there, the only rule is to be real, and reality is tough, not always nice, and always needs a keep on keeping on. how do i tell? no one dresses like they care what everyone else thinks (ugh-ly you say? fingers to you and your prada bag- and i outfinger you 'cos theyre in ragtag mittens); everyone dresses like they think, playfully, bitterly, about what they themselves stand for.

lately, stilinberlin has gone younger and gone upscale, becoming more polished. but well, eager young energy. why not, if its the berliners.

a cap so fine.

[ uk, cardiff. the senedd]

[ usa, illinois. bahá'í house of worship]

[ turkey. erzurum holy mosque. all photos via thedeputydog]

(sometimes i think) the very act of tilting the head up is reverence of one beyond yourself, is contemplation of a possible other.


[ israel, mount carmel. enchantedceiling]

hands.

[ singapore . restaurant(?)]

looking at the chef engaged in his work, precise metal in motion, and hands, his hands moulding and kneading, one felt it was not a job cut out for many. it reminds me:

laborare est orare

(never complicated responsibilities) the essence of it breathes honesty, (not drudgery) its directive simple. and when else do we feel free and simultaneously vital than when we are engaged in that we love; when else do does one feel in harmony with something beyond his lonesome self. we're physical beings in a physical world. shall we not wrestle this and remember how we feel alive when in motion, in tandem with that we enjoy and express, and with that we believe in?

*

Teach me, my God and my King,
In all things thee to see,
And what I do in any thing,
To do it as for thee:


Not rudely, as a beast,
To runne into an action;
But still to make thee prepossest,
And give it his perfection.


A man that looks on glasse,
On it may stay his eye;
Or if he pleaseth, through it passe,
And then the haev'n espie.


All may of thee partake:
nothing can be so mean,
Which with his tincture (for thy sake)
Will not grow bright and clean.


A servant with this clause
Makes drudgerie divine:
Who sweeps a room, as for thy laws,
Makes that and th' action fine.


This is the famous stone
That turneth all to gold:
For that which God doth touch and own
Cannot for lesse be told.

the elixir.
-george herbert