A little bit of everythin...

Howdy y'all!

Back from ol Berlin & it was effin sweet!!!

(just these coupla pics till I gets our own up...)

Highly recommend a trip out there for any & all! Can't wait to get back!

On to other stuff:

Dig ol Master Abraham & his magic pencil strokes!

http://nervousinacape.blogspot.fi/

http://doodledaydream.blogspot.fi/

& The Night!

http://www.thenight.com/

& the fabulous Mr. Halmetoja for all y'all Finlandish
speakers & readers:

http://www.jaakkohalmetoja.com/fi/

& likewise for the Finlanskys:

Jarkko at Raikasweb

http://www.raikasweb.com/

& now for something completely different..

If you fancy getting all gentlemanly & dressing up in fine shirt gets urself one of these babies:

http://www.turnbullandasser.com/indexuk.html

Some good shit right thar!

& lastly a bit of ol Prophet who ain't been around for quite a while...

Then a mason came forth and said, Speak to us of
Houses.

And he answered and said:

Build of your imaginings a bower in the wilderness
ere you build a house within the city walls.

For even as you have home-comings in your
twilight, so has the wanderer in you, the ever-
distant and alone.

Your house is your larger body.

It grows in the sun and sleeps in the stillness of the
night; and it is not dreamless. Does not your house
dream, and dreaming, leave the city for grove or
hilltop?

Would that I could gather your houses into my
hand, and like a sower scatter them in forest and
meadow.

Would the valleys were your streets, and the green
paths your alleys, that you might seek one another
through vineyards, and come with fragrance of
the earth in your garments.

But these things are not yet to be.

In their fear your forefathers gathered you too near
together. And that fear shall endure a little longer.
A little longer shall your city walls separate your
hearths from your fields.

And tell me, people of Orphalese, what have you in
these houses? And what is it you guard with
fastened doors?

Have you peace, the quiet urge that reveals your
power?

Have you remembrances, the glimmering arches
that span the summits of the mind?

Have you beauty, that leads the heart from things
fashioned of wood and stone to the holy mountain?

Tell me, have you these in your houses?

Or have you only comfort, and the lust for comfort,
that stealthy thing that enters the house a guest, and
then becomes a host, and then a master?

Ay, and it becomes a tamer, and with hook and
scourge makes puppets of your larger desires.

Though its hands are silken, its hearts of iron.

It lulls you to sleep only to stand by your bed and
jeer at the dignity of the flesh.

It makes mock of your sound senses, and lays them
in thistledown like fragile vessels.

Verily the lust for comfort murders the passion of
the soul, and then walks grinning in the funeral.

But you, children of space, you restless in rest, you
shall not be trapped nor tamed.

Your house shall be not an anchor but a mast.

It shall not be glistening film that covers a wound,
but an eyelid that guards the eye.

You shall not fold your wings that you may pass
through doors, nor bend your heads that they strike
not against a ceiling, nor fear to breathe lest walls
should crack and fall down.

You shall not dwell in tombs made by the dead for
the living.

And though of magnificence and splendor, your
house shall not hold your secret nor shelter your
longing.

For that which is boundless in you abides in the
mansion of the sky, whose door is the morning mist,
and whose windows are the songs and the silences
of night.