Comparing Scars

"If love is a labour, I'll slave 'til the end."

From Swing Life Away

Once again, Rise Again make a beautiful song.

Love, Ethan..

Oddi-ditty, #9

I'm going to live forever, or die trying.

Odd Ethan..

Out of Misery

Sometimes we must do what we wish we must not;

Life is riddled with these cruel hurdles.

They say it's so easy, but they must've forgot,

Shooting broken fish swimming in circles.

Decision-Making Ethan..

Without Knowing

Only those who have loved know sorrow and bliss.

Scribbling Ethan..

Sex, Words, Swords.

From Olivia -

The Jerk

by Jeffrey McDaniel

Hey you, dragging the halo-
how about a holiday in the islands of grief?

Tongue is the word I wish to have with you.
Your eyes are so blue they leak.

Your legs are longer than a prisoner's
last night on death row.
I'm filthier than the coal miner's bathtub
and nastier than the breath of Charles Bukowski.

You're a dirty little windshield.

I'm standing behind you on the subway,
hard as calculus. My breath
be sticking to your neck like graffiti.

I'm sitting opposite you in the bar,
waiting for you to uncross your boundaries.

I want to rip off your logic
and make passionate sense to you.

I want to ride in the swing of your hips.

My fingers will dig in you like quotation marks,
blazing your limbs into parts of speech.

But with me for a lover, you won't need
catastrophes. What attracted me in the first place
will ultimately make me resent you.

I'll start telling you lies,
and my lies will sparkle,
become the bad stars you chart your life by.

I'll stare at other women so blatantly
you'll hear my eyes peeling,

because sex with you is like Great Britain:
cold, groggy, and a little uptight.

Your bed is a big, soft calculator
where my problems multiply.

Your brain is a garage
I park my bullshit in, for free.

You're not really my new girlfriend,
just another flop sequel of the first one,
who was based on the true story of my mother.

You're so ugly I forgot how to spell.

I'll cheat on you like a ninth grade math test,
break your heart just for the sound it makes.

You're the 'this' we need to put an end to.
The more you apologize, the less I forgive you.

So how about it?

Seducing Ethan..

Lost & Found

I've always been confused when I've lost something, and people respond with the time-honoured adage, "It's always in the last place you look."

That helps no one. Of course it's in the last place you look! Why would you keep looking?!

Vexed Ethan..

Oddi-ditty, #8

I ate Gilbert Grape.

Odd Ethan..

One Day I'll Have A Question

A very pretty song.

Question - Rhett Miller

She woke from a dream

Her head was on fire

Why was he so nervous?

He took her to the park

She crossed her arms,

And lowered her eye lids

Someday somebody's gonna ask you

A question that you should say yes to

Once in your life

Maybe tonight

I've got a question for you

She'd had no idea

Started to cry

She said in a good way

He took her by the hand

Walked her back home

They took the long way

Someday somebody's gonna ask you

A question that you should say yes to

Once in your life

Maybe tonight

I've got a question for you

I've got a question for you.

Happy Ethan..

Anthropocentrism

This is one of the main reasons why I'm not big on religion. Mark Twain mocks the idea brilliantly:

"If the Eiffel Tower were now representing the world's age, the skin of paint on the pinnacle-knob at its summit would represent man's share of that age; and anybody would perceive that that skin was what the tower was built for."

-- Mark Twain

Quoting Ethan..

Carry On, All You Minstrels of the World

A truly brilliant song.

The Minstrel's Prayer - Cartel

All these stupid silly songs
Keep trying to catch your ear
I'm trying desperately
It's just so hard to persevere
And even if you listened,
I never had much to say
'Cause it's that same old song
I've written for a day

Shelter me oh genius words
Just give me strength
To pen these things
Give me peace to weld her wings
And oh oh carry on all you minstrels of the world
We will catch our lady's ear
We will win for us the girl

All these minstrels through the ages
That is really all we are
Simply singing for the girl
That makes us try so very hard
To craft the perfect limerick
To wield unending woe
To write such silly songs
And the difference never know.

Shelter me oh genius words
Just give me strength
To pen these things
Give me peace to weld her wings
And oh oh carry on all you minstrels of the world
We will catch our lady's ear
We will win for us the girl

I'll hold on to the dream
Ooo this beggar's plea, an optimistic fantasy
Just hold the hand and drop the knee
You're facing love
You're embracing melody

Shelter me oh genius words
Just give me strength
To pen these things
And give me peace to weld her wings
And oh oh carry on all you minstrels of the world
We will catch our lady's ear
We will win for us the girl

And carry on oh carry on all you minstrels of the world
We will catch our lady's ear
We will win for us the girl

Optimistic Ethan..

Criminal Psychology 101

I and the public know

What all schoolchildren learn,

Those to whom evil is done

Do evil in return.

-- W. H. Auden

Quoting Ethan..

Oddi-ditty, #7

I hope that the hokey pokey isn't what it's all about.

Odd Ethan..

On Writing, Part V

Thursday, September 23, 2010 - First attempt at getting a piece of writing published.

Finally Ethan..

There Is No Art of War

I've been watching the HBO TV series Generation Kill. It's based around a Marine 1st Reconnaissance Battalion in Iraq. I can't put my finger on why exactly - it's seems so flat and... nothing - but I can't stop watching it.

When I think about war, there is no comment I can make - no opinion I could formulate - no image I could conjure - no message I could convey, that could be expressed as beautifully as the following song.

Although it's aimed more for the Iraq War (Operation Iraqi Freedom, tsk tsk), I think it has that balance, of showing the suffering of a needless war while still supporting patriotism and stationed troops, that is befitting of most, if not all wars.

Brilliant.

The lyrics are below should you need, but the video clip couldn't be more powerful.

He said, “Son,

Have you see the world?

Well, what would you say,

If I said that you could?

Just carry this gun,

You’ll even get paid.”

I said, “That sounds pretty good.”

Black leather boots,

Spit-shined so bright.

They cut off my hair but it looks alright.

We marched and we sang,

We all became friends,

As we learned how to fight.

A hero of war;

Yeah that’s what I’ll be.

And when I come home,

They’ll be damn proud of me.

I’ll carry this flag,

To the grave if I must,

'Cause it’s flag that I love,

And a flag that I trust.

I kicked in the door.

I yelled my commands.

The children, they cried,

But I got my man.

We took him away,

A bag over his face,

From his family and his friends.

They took off his clothes.

They pissed in his hands.

I told them to stop,

But then I joined in.

We beat him with guns,

And batons not just once,

But again and again.

A hero of war;

Yeah that’s what I’ll be.

And when I come home,

They’ll be damn proud of me.

I’ll carry this flag,

To the grave if I must,

'Cause it’s flag that I love,

And a flag that I trust.

She walked through bullets and haze.

I asked her to stop;

I begged her to stay.

But she pressed on,

So I lifted my gun,

And I fired away.

And the shells jumped through the smoke,

And into the sand,

That the blood now had soaked.

She collapsed with a flag in her hand,

A flag white as snow.

A hero of war;

Is that what they see?

Just medals and scars,

So damn proud of me.

And I brought home that flag,

Now it gathers dust,

But it’s a flag that I love,

It’s the only thing I trust.

He said, “Son,

Have you seen the world?

Well what would you say,

If I said that you could?”

Awestruck Ethan..

Oddi-ditty, #6

I would like my tombstone to read:

Killed trying to recreate the scene in Top Gun when he flips the rogue pilot the bird - in a go kart.

Odd Ethan..

No Backyard

Our society was focussed on the wilderness - the great outdoors.

Then we built fences, and the backyard became our home.

Then we made television, and the living room became just that.

Now we have the internet, and people live within virtual worlds.

In the future, we won't leave our minds.

Mind-full Ethan..

Journeyman

From Return From Japan

It's a stop, start, up, down, here, there, quiet, loud, bright, dark, happy, sad, honest, false, calm, crazy kind of world that we just get pushed around in.

Delirious Ethan..

Oddi-ditty, #5

I gave $2 to a man pretending to be a statue. Then realised it was a statue.

Odd Ethan..

Fear and Loathing

God is a comedian, playing to an audience that's too afraid to laugh.

- Voltaire

Admiring Ethan..

11:11

Damn you, 11:11.

One minute is not enough time to find the question, that will be your life's answer.

One Short, Ethan..

Omn-impotence.

Is God willing to prevent evil, but not able?

Then he is not omnipotent.

Is he able, but not willing?

Then he is malevolent.

Is he both able, and willing?

Then whence cometh evil?

Is he neither able nor willing?

Then why call him God.

-- Epicurus

Quoting Ethan..

The Boy Who Saved The World.

He's dormant in childhood,

Biding his time, biding his time.

Playing with leaves, discovering animals,

Trying to climb, trying to climb.

He knows nothing of what he will be,

In his prime, in his prime.

So he sits laughing in his sandpit,

Biding his time, biding his time.

Delirious Ethan..

Love.

A good wingman will always be there to help you out.

Nawww Ethan..

Infinity

This is the sharpest image yet of the Orion Nebula.

Awestruck Ethan..

Oddi-ditty, #4

I'm glad they spelt kowtower with a 'k'. Using a 'c' would've created a very odd and confounding mental image indeed.

Odd Ethan..

Oddi-ditty, #3

Claiming that you're the Frogger will not get you out of a jaywalking ticket.

Odd Ethan..

Oddi-ditty, #2

I once killed a bear using only a fish bone. Didn't realise you had to take them out when cooking.

Odd Ethan..

Oddi-ditty, #1

I wear odd socks to let people know that I am psychotic, and not to be trifled with.

Odd Ethan..

My New Novella

Men, women and children ran screaming through the streets. The women were staring in terror at the sun, shrieking indiscernible cries of torment while they shepherded children into their homes. The uniformed men unslung their assault rifles but couldn’t bring themselves to fire. Instead they threw down their weapons, ran to their houses, and cowered between their wives and children.

A small dark spot in the sun grew larger, advancing quickly until a silhouetted figure began to form. The shadows of wings sprouted from the black profile and began to swing in monstrous thrusts that produced a deep resonating thump.

The shadow developed into the shape of a man.

The few soldiers remaining in the streets fell to their knees and began praying desperately to Allah, hoping for salvation from this angel of the apocalypse. Some picked up the fallen rifles of their comrades, closed their eyes and in a fit of utter terror, fired bursts of bullets wildly into the air. But the winged demon came closer, clutching a giant metal ball in its claws. Some men cried out in desperation, and turned the weapons on themselves.

***

Luke was shitting himself. Bullets whistled past his ears as he descended into view. He had to fight hard to stay in the air with the weight of the bomb grasped in his arms pulling him back to Earth. The zing of a close bullet prompted him to summon the remaining strength he had, and in a dim-witted attempt at self-preservation, he strained the bomb up to cover his face.

He peeked around the bomb and searched ahead to see the large building, almost a mile away, near the main square of the village. The target was a disused factory – now a headquarters for a terrorist sect bent on the elimination and repulsion of any American presence in Iraq. The uniformed men below were soldiers of the Iraqi Armed Forces, opposed to the radical extremists – allies to America.

Another bullet fizzed past Luke’s hip, tearing a hole in his desert-camouflaged cargo pants. He screamed and tore his eyes away from the target, searching for the source of the bullets.

He saw a number of scattered soldiers on the ground. Some men were kneeling quietly in a frighteningly bizarre exercise, and several were shooting up at him after apparently executing a number of their comrades.

To Luke, they were all psychopaths.

Another piece of lead shot through Luke’s left wing, sending a plume of white feathers into the air. Luke howled, “I’m hit! I’m hit!” into the tiny microphone secured to his collar. He turned his head away, unable to bear the sight of his grotesque, disfiguring wound. It became all the more difficult to stay airborne. He dropped his metal shield of ordnance, threw his arms in front of his face and turned to the south, flying for the horizon as fast as he could. He shut his eyes and prayed that God would save him from the insane anarchists below. After a few moments, there was a deafening explosion and the bullets stopped searching for him.

Luke began to cry. The only sounds that could be heard were his heaving sobs, and the thumping of his wings.

The Death of Heaven.

Laws, Commandments, and Heaven and Hell become redundant, when a single person is considerate of another.

Ethan..

My Cave of Wonders

A patchy varnished wooden box, about the size of a small book;

A redolent scent of tobacco, torpor and time;

Prying open the creaking lid, twisting the broken hinges;

There grows a shrub of paper, speckled with insignificant significance;

Filled with words and relics and mnemonic artefacts of happiness past;

The names at the bottom of letters begin to lose connection to a face;

The cracked paper of tributes, love and reminiscence turn yellow;

The artefacts I've so carefully carried from place to place, lose colour and sheen;

My only fear, is that the memories follow;

Fading, until the box is empty.

Ethan..

Happiness, Part II

Eponym? My, Nope.

I've been fiddling with palindromic sentences. It's an encapsulating, engaging, infuriating, engrossing, enlightening, invigorating, enveloping, enslaving, enthralling, inspiring, enchanting, entombing and enigmatic enterprise.

From the others that I've read, they all contained "O, ye, ay, eh" or some other outdated or irksome representation of sound. Or someone's name. It vexed me, so I've tried to write full, correct words, devoid of names or the use of letternapping apostrophes that are metaphoric of the raping of cheap prostitutes.

Here are a couple of ditties:

Wonder, ever evil. Interpret nil; I’ve revered Now.

Smart rats start rams.

I fear that their meanings will forever be my own.

Footnote:

This activity has been an interesting tool in perspective, causing me to discover anagrams in words that I've found quite evocative. For example, the word 'imagine' can be rearranged to form 'I, enigma'. I like that. Or letters can be repeated - "I am an enigma".

Also 'dream' backwards sounds like the French word for 'shit'.

Mirrored Ethan..

Ready To Fall

The Earth's salvation is not the prodigious burden of some, but in the miniscule efforts of all.

God had the luxury of a blank canvas.

Ethan..

Upon A Mackerel Sky

Clouds are capricious. They dance,

Contorted in pain; tortured by the winds,

Pierced by the sun, acquiescent to the whims of nature.

They gang in omnipotent rage, forming behind your vision,

And glowering menace as a reminder of their power.

Then melt and vanish over the world's edge,

Leaving only warmth, and infinity.

Precipitating Ethan..

Chameleons

There has been a lot of research, and many arguments and theories around the social construct of "fitting in". I've talked about it a few times - about how sometimes people try indefatigably and vociferously to be different, and end up being an indistinguishable pea in a homogenous pod. But I love how some people seem a dime a dozen, but are in fact, brilliantly unique.

I think of these brilliant people as being like chameleons: perfectly camouflaged into any environment, but look closely and you'll see a curious and beautifully peculiar creature.

Marbleless Ethan..

The Army Ant

It's been a while since I gave homage to an animal, but the Army Ant certainly deserves a mention.

As implied by its name, the Army Ant swarms in a massive throng of abdomen and pincers to overwhelm and kill their prey. Unlike other ant species, the Army Ants do not form permanent colonies, but rather are nomadic in nature, emigrating monthly. As Army Ants live for only sixty days, they build nests out of the living bodies of worker ants rather than sand or dirt, brooding new armies for the next migration. This is possible as the queen can lay 250,000 eggs in ten days. They can cover two hundred yards of rainforest floor in a day, but when the initial raid from the colony begins, they can cover twenty yards in an hour, devouring any animal in their path.

Relative in weight, the Army Ant has more fighting power and strength than any other creature on Earth. Their pincers cause massive pain to the individual it bites and causes welts as big as five cent pieces.

I mean seriously, look at the soldiers. Their heads and jaws are larger than the rest of their bodies. They are ferocious when attacking and can easily pierce human skin. These pincers enable the soldiers to tear apart spiders, scorpions, worms and other much larger animals so that they can be carried off by worker ants. They have even been known to eat tethered cows, as the venom in their sting liquifies the body tissue. When migrating, the soldier ants will form boundaries around the trails of the worker ants, up trees and over rocks, so that the worker ants can not fall.

What lovely chaps.

Ethan..

I've Had An Apostrophe! (Words, Part III)

I love how words are being manufactured everyday. But I love more that the scholars who create them have a sense of humour.

"I do not engage in literary floccinaucinihilipilification for the sole ratiocination that I suffer from Hippopotomonstrosesquipedaliaphobia."

- Ethan Dornbusch.

Ratiocination - A formed judgement by a process of logic; reason.

Floccinaucinihilipilification - the action or habit of estimating something as worthless.

Hippopotomonstrosesquipedaliaphobia - A fear of long words.

And penned from a writer much cleverer than me:

"If the English language made any sense, a catastrophe would be an apostrophe with fur."

- Doug Larson.

Silence In Screaming

Screaming Colours Digital Art by Wietske De Blauw

Screaming, growling, yelling - they're the most primal form of vocal communication. How can it not be in music?

Exhilarated Ethan..

Flying Gavels

It's impossible to make fun of someone who doesn't take themselves seriously.

Smiling Ethan..

Rimous Last Words

To be honest I'm not sure if "rimous" (or the variation, rimose) is even a word. It supposedly means "full of cracks, fissures or crevices"; and it rhymes with famous - I can forgive its imperfections for the poetic paralipsis.

"Hallelujah" - Jeff Buckley - The best cover. Ever.

I could feel. Everything. Every pupil. Every eye piercing the obscurity of tears: a mangled assortment of water, salt, molecules, atoms - essence. And then they pierced me. I stood at the door, with the weakly smiling faces of the departed turned in yearning. They were willing me forward - welcoming, in their mind. In mine, they were hunters watching a deer step into the crosshairs.

I wish I strode; I wish I could launch myself down the aisle, pushing through the musk of the ages; through the myth, the doubt, the repentance; but I couldn't. Confidence, unfortunately, was not a virtue. Chastity, Temperance, Charity, Diligence, Patience, Kindness, Humility; these were teachings of passiveness - waiting, reacting. Now with no action, no reason for anything, the gaunt people just sat there, staring. Waiting for an answer, or perhaps just entertainment.

The minstrel's chords rose in alternating beauty, then fell to a shuddering whisper - it felt like a moment, but I was already standing behind the podium. I looked nervously around the room, resting my notes on the stand before fully appreciating its grandeur. It was carved in oak; a stable column with wings extending from the top - a homage to archangels and doves and all things free and holy. It felt shameful using the rigid faux-feathers as a platform for my papers. Perhaps if I wrote less, the podium would feel freedom once again.

I began to speak - telling what I had been told. Saying what had already been written.

As I spoke, my thoughts escaped the trap, circled the ageless cathedral and fell at the feet of the podium. It was so beautiful; an angel in its own right. With the potential to soar, to leave everything behind and seek... anything. Just fly. But it stood where I was, grounded by its purpose - its reason for creation. I looked down and smiled.

Footnote.

The idea for this one is odd. Too odd to describe, honestly. Nothing my trusty footnotes can't elucidate.

This ditty is from the perspective of a poor man who I am bloody thankful not to be, and concerns destiny.

I'm not sure if I believe in destiny. Perhaps it exists. Perhaps you can't escape it. But I don't think you can ever know what it is. I don't think you should know what it is; it would ruin the opportunity to do what you want until that moment of fate.

Ha. I guess that's where you were those 18 years.

Delirious Ethan..

Tumbleweed Waterfall

Jumping between shadows like puddles of refreshing silence.

I am the tumbleweed in this ghost-town.

Needing nothing; truly free.

And for a moment,

These streets

Are mine.

........

.....

...

.

Id

From Freud's structure of the psyche, "Id" is the unorganised and untamed part of the psyche that contains our most primitive drives.

"We all approach the id with analogies: we call it a chaos, a cauldron full of seething excitations... It is filled with energy reaching it from the instincts, but it has no organisation, produces no collective will, but only a striving to bring about the satisfaction of the instinctual needs subject to the observance of the pleasure principle."

Freud, New Introductory Lectures on Psychoanalysis (1933)

"Recreation of the Id" by Robert Panzullo

(Brilliant artist. You can see more of his work here.)

The term "Id" originates from Latin, meaning literally "that". (This may better explain the valedictory insignia on my previous entry). I like the simplicity.

I'm fascinated by what I find fascinating.

Chaotic Ethan..

Lying In Repose

'Neath an entwined copse of rosebushes, and the reverie of romance,

Sleeps a diminutive creature of scepticism and scrutiny.

Its wings of chrome and cracked ashen leather crave chance,

For the cool updrafts of mystery and the warm winds of salacity.

But the covetous beast feels only the thorns of trapping delusions;

A farcical masquerade; a locked prison of illusion,

To which the absent paramour, alone possesses the key.

Id Ethan..

Nessie

I believe that the Loch Ness Monster existed. The problem is trying to explain a creature and behaviour that fits the evidence for and against its existence. Mainly, why are there many "sightings" of giant moving creatures on sonar, but when the BBC performed a full search of the Loch, using over 600 separate sonar beams and satellite tracking - a combination that could pick up a small buoy - why was there no significant sightings?

There are obviously a lot of hoaxes surrounding the Loch Ness Monster, and a lot of evidence has been ruled out, so I'll try to decipher as best I can:

Firstly - What.

A fool would believe that there is only one creature in there that produces the evidence that we have. A fool would also believe that Nessie is a plesiosaur left over from the Cretaceous period. If there were plesiosaurs living in the Loch, there would be multiple sightings daily as they would have to surface to breathe. Also, Loch Ness is only 10,000 years old, and was a solid ice cube for 20,000 years before that. Plesiosaurs also couldn't live in such frigid waters as they would be cold-blooded. So not a plesiosaur.

I believe the evidence shows that the "monsters" are (or were) particularly large amphibious creatures (a hypothesis which has been supported by experts R.T. Gould and Roy Mackal) - possibly resembling the physiology of a large newt. It has been argued that the creatures sighted could be giant eels, but as they move in an undulating sideways motion they don't fit the sonar evidence.

Secondly - How are they spotted so many times, but not one significant hit in 2003?

I believe that these creatures have unfortunately perished. Although there is a lot of evidence to suggest that there was a significant connection between Loch Ness and the North Sea, nowadays, it's unlikely for such an animal to migrate unnoticed. The northern waterways from Loch Ness to the North Sea are indeed large enough to allow the migration of hundreds of five-foot pike and salmon every season, so it is possible for them to support quite large animals. But there is still hope.

The problem with the Loch is that it is horribly murky - you can only see the top five feet of a Loch that is (at its maximal) 40km long, 2.4km wide, and 250m deep. As such, the only evidence that can be taken is sonar.

Now, the evidence.

The contemporary interest in the Loch Ness Monster began on July 22, 1933, when George Spencer and his wife spotted a large animal cross the road 20m in front of their car, leaving broken undergrowth in its wake. They described the creature as having a long neck, about 3m long, extended from a large body approximately 1m high and 8m long. They reported seeing no limbs - this has been discussed in the media as proving the depiction of a plesiosaur-like creature, but the report also notes that the couple couldn't see the lower portion of the body due to a dip in the road. Such sightings, with precise descriptions of similar creatures continued throughout that year, and sporadically through to 1963 where the first video footage was released.

Unfortunately, as it was taken at a distance of 4km, it is quite poor quality, but does indeed show an animate object that fits the dimensions described in early accounts:

The periodic nature of the sightings between 1933 and 1963 could be the result of migrational movements through the waterways explained earlier. The sightings became frequent enough to prompt the creation of hunting parties determined to capture the creature "dead or alive", and in 1938, the Chief Constable (William Frasier) wrote a letter declaring that he had no doubts that the creatures existed and believed that he was unable to protect the "monsters" from such parties.

In 1943, a member of the Royal Observer Corps reported seeing a creature some 230m away from his boat. He also described a long body, about 6m long, with an extended neck that protruded about 1.5m out of the water. The theory of an amphibious creature helps to explain this encounter but also explains why there may not be as many as if the creature required air like a marine mammal (or a plesiosaur).

In 1954, the fishing boat Rival III spotted sonar readings of a large object keeping pace with the boat some 150m below. The large object followed the boat for about 800m before disappearing behind the boat, only to appear some time later. Although there were many sonar reports before this, the Rival III's encounter was the first conclusively positive sonar report of such a creature.

In 1960, Tim Dinsdale used a primitive 16mm camera to film a "hump" crossing the water with a powerful wake for approximately four minutes. This film was repudiated by sceptics, as it was claimed that if the contrast was increased, the hump is simply a boat, with a man clearly seen on board. However, in 1993, Discovery Communications made the documentary Loch Ness Discovered where they digitally enhanced the Dinsdale Film. The computer expert's analysis found the outlines of the rear body, rear flippers and two additional humps of the body.

In 1968, the Loch Ness Phenomena Investigation Bureau (LNPIB) introduced a two-week trial where they used sonar transducers to create a sonar "net" across a section of the Loch to see if any animate objects passed through the area. They reported multiple 6m long animate objects travelling in a distinct propulsion motion, ascending from, and descending to the Loch floor. These objects reached speeds of 10 knots (19 km/h) and the fact that they rose and descended so rapidly implies that they are animals, rather than just abnormally large fish.

In 1969, the LNPIB performed another examination, this time in a sweep formation. They followed a 6m long moving object for approximately three minutes.

In 1969, a team from the World Book Encyclopaedia attempted to use a submersible to track the sonar hits from earlier expeditions. The Pisces picked up a large moving object on sonar 60m ahead of the craft, about 15m above the Loch floor. The pilot closed to half that distance (30m) but the echo moved rapidly out of sonar range and disappeared.

In 1970, the biologist Roy Mackal used hydrophones (underwater microphones) to monitor the length of the Loch. "Bird-like chips" were heard by the hydrophones, with the deepest ones (set at 180m) showing that many of the sounds came from a deeper source. Later recordings revealed "knocks and clicks" followed by "turbulent swishing" sounds, suggesting the tail-locomotion of a large animal. Interestingly, the noises stopped whenever a craft passed over or near the hydrophones.

In 1972, Robert H. Rines, a lawyer, inventor, researcher, and composer, looked out his friend's window and allegedly saw the creature powering across the Loch. He, his wife, and his friends were convinced. Mrs Rines said to her husband, "You need to find that animal again, no matter how long it takes." Thus began this brilliant man's lifelong quest.

Later in 1972, Rines tried to capture a photograph of the creatures to see if the animals producing the sounds in Mackal's experiments were the same as those on the sonar. He attached submersible cameras with high-powered floodlights, capable of piercing the ludicrously murky deep Loch water, just enough to produce a vague image of a close object. When the submersed devices picked up an echo on sonar, the floodlights would be hit and a picture taken. This is the result:

In 1972, Rines performed more sonar sweeps, finding several 6-9m moving objects. This time the more advanced Raytheon DE-725C was able to pick up disturbances projecting from the rear of the objects. These 3m long rapidly moving echoes suggested "highly flexible laterally flattened tails" used for the tail-locomotion implied in the hydrophone experiments.

Unfortunately, this is where the more conclusive sonar echoes begin to fade away.

In 2001, Rines' team found marine clam-shells and fungi that aren't usually found in fresh-water. This suggests that the connections from Loch Ness to the ocean could still be intact and it is possible that such waterways could support the migration of larger animals.

In 2008, Rines declared that due to a lack of recent recordings and the effect of global warming, he believed that the creatures in the Loch were unable to adapt to the warming waters of the Loch and had died. Rines then turned his attention to sweeping the Loch's floor for animal remains in the hopes of finding proof of the creatures' existence. He managed to inspect only 5 of his 100 locations of interest until he died on November 1, 2009.

When once asked about his work and his sceptics, Rines replied, "Admiral Peary had to make 28 trips before he got to the North Pole. What am I to do, forget what I saw?"

God bless that man.

So. In conclusion. I'm convinced large creatures roamed Loch Ness. These creatures were approximately 6m in length with long necks and long tails (which were used for locomotion). I believe the creatures either moved out of the Loch into the North Sea, or have unfortunately died. For some reason I'm really not that fussed whether the finding of a large animal carcass will ever come to be, and the existence of such animals will be conclusively proven - or not.

I'm just a man possessed by an idea.

Submersed Ethan..

Steampunk

I think that the idea of a steampunk world is brilliant. The link between steampunk and magic realism in Howl's Moving Castle is especially appealing. And there are so many reason why I love this genre;

The gizmos;

(The above, believe it or not, is a working PC)

The transports;

The ever beautiful women;

The houses;

(The above is from Shaun Tan's The Arrival. Brilliant.)

And the general surreal mayhem that is the world;

I might try to write a little something in this vein.

Steam Ethan..

My Mistress, Maggie

Yes. I have named my guitars. My favourite is Maggie - my temptress, my mistress, my distress: the very definition of fickle. I find it amazing that some days I will try to learn a new (often deplorably simple) song and get nowhere.

Then, on a day like today, when there is no clarity or reason for reaction and co-ordination - on the contrary, as it is the Monday after my 21st birthday weekend, my motor skills should be decidedly frazzled - I will be able to pick up and remember songs that I've spent only a couple of minutes trying to figure out.

My songs today;

Hello, I'm in Delaware - City and Colour

Hey There Delilah - Plain White Ts

The Minstrel's Prayer - Cartel

and my favourite at present;

Cannonball - Damien Rice

I know I'm a bit late on this bandwagon, but a truly beautiful song in every way; and very fun to play.

It's Not Hard To Fall Ethan..

"And There Goes My Life..."

I've unfortunately been forced to study my previous subject's research of depression and grief - this elective has not been a happy one. But there are buoys of enlightenment to hold on to.

This song is so beautifully, heart-wrenchingly honest, and although I believe it's a long-distance relationship, or perhaps break-up song, I find it fitting to every form of grief or loss. I love how it covers you with the umber dust of regret and sorrow for lost loved ones, then picks you up, brushes the webs if dolour from your sunken shoulders, and sends you off into the mountains with nothing but hope.

"Hello, I'm In Delaware" - City and Colour (Dallas Green)

So there goes my life,

Passing by with every exit sign.

It's been so long,

Sometimes I wonder how I will stay strong.

No sleep tonight,

I'll keep on driving these dark highway lines.

And as the moon fades,

One moment gone, only twenty more days.

But I will see you again,

I will see you again,

A long time from now.

And there goes my life,

Passing by with every departing flight.

And its been so hard,

So much time so far apart.

And she walks the night.

How many hearts will die tonight?

And will things have changed?

I guess I'll find out in seventeen days.

But I will see you again,

I will see you again,

A long time from now.

My body aches,

And it hurts to sing.

No one is moving.

And I wish that I weren't here tonight,

But this is my life.

And I will see you again,

I will see you again,

A long time from now.

And I will see you again,

I will see you again a long time from now.

See you later Ethan..

Howl's Moving Castle

I couldn't recommend this movie enough.

["You who swallowed a falling star, o' heartless man, your heart shall soon be mine." Hmm, that can't be good for the table.]

Turnip-Head Ethan..

Moving Realisation

Do You Realise?

"...you make me feel alive..." - "Breathe" - Angels & Airwaves.

Experimenting in Locomotion, Ethan..

My First Attempt At A Novel, Part II

The sun filtered into the visitors’ room with a discoloured translucence, due to the dwindling budget of the prison and the use of the same tainted bulletproof glass as that in the booths separating loved one from loved one – or in Luke’s case, life-long friend from unfortunate life-long friend.

Mikey sat at the only empty booth, obviously unaware of the teachings from his dozens of previous visits; upon seeing Luke he raised his arms and roared a presumably crass greeting, happily ignorant to the role of the telephones attached to the counters. He began to laugh to himself. The other visitors stopped the precious little time for conversing with their incarcerated loved ones to stare intently at the weasely man sitting alone.
Luke walked past the guard watching over the room and moved to the booth. He glanced around at the other inmates, smirked sheepishly at his neighbour, then sat down and picked up the phone.
“Hey.”
“Herald! How’s things?” Mikey’s life work was simple and constant: find any and every way of referring to Luke as an angel, bird or any other entity that possesses wings, wing-like arms, or a name that rhymes with wings.
“Herald. Angels herald things. Guy’s name. Get it?” Mikey's smiled and raised his eyebrows to show the immense pride he had for his efforts.
“Yeah I get it.” Luke couldn’t help but smile. Up until this point, Mikey was the only constant, dependable thing in his life, as he was so undependable and unstable in every way.
“So. Clipping Day, ay?” Mikey gestured to the roughly pruned feathers sticking out at odd angles. “You look like road kill that has unfortunately and inhumanely been brought back to life.”
“Oh, gee, thanks.” Luke said, rubbing the back of his neck. “One of the guards has become pretty good at that lasso. I think he’s been practicing.”
Mikey held the phone away from his mouth, perhaps thinking that if Luke couldn’t hear him laughing, he would be oblivious.
“They finally got the lasso trick? What a flock of birdbrain dodos!” For some reason Mikey adopted a Cockney English accent.
“Alright. That’s enough.” Luke knew if he didn’t try to stop him, he would just keep going.
“Couldn’t be more cuckoo.”
“Ok, Mikey.”
“They’re so stupid they wouldn’t know a finch from a fairy penguin! I trust you gave them the bird?” Mikey couldn’t hold his lips together for much longer. The corners of his mouth were heading past his ears.
“Ha. Ha.” Luke said sarcastically. “I’m not a fucking bird. And penguins don’t even have wings, cock.”
“HA! COCK!”

Mikey fell backwards out of his chair.
Luke hung up the phone and walked out of the visitors’ room.

Stay Tuned..

E. L. Dornbusch..

Shark Storm

Great White Ethan..

On Writing, Part IV

A creative writer: a rebel without a clause.

Ethan..

On Pantheism

I have just discovered that there have been some incredibly influential Panthers, whose work has been incredibly influential in my life. The things we learn. I also like that the more research I do, the more I see how these people have helped to shape many other religions. I think their transcendence around and through these doctrines is exactly how I perceive what a healthy belief to be. No one should be happy sitting still. Everything is changing.

Albert Einstein

Ralph Waldo Emerson

Henry David Thoreau

Walt Whitman

D. H. Lawrence

Ansel Adams was also a Panther, and although he hasn't been particularly influential in my life, his iconic black and white photos are some of the most beautiful I have ever seen.

The Tetons and the Snake River

I would also like to look like Walt Whitman when I am old.

Ethan..

Pantheism

For most of my life I've been bouncing between beliefs and theologies. No religion out there really seems right; I don't think any collection of ideas can form a religion for more than one person. The idea of a mass amount of people feeling compelled to believe the same thing, and have their beliefs shaped by anything but their own perception of the universe vexes me. See IntoleRANT VagRANT CorroboRANT, Are We There Yet? and "A Humble Admiration of the Illimitable Superior Spirit" - actually most of my blog is centred around this inward search for a knowledge of nothing.

A couple of weeks ago I discovered a religion that (although my belief is still slightly different, it) is the closest yet: Pantheism. Pantheism comes from pan (all) + theos (God) = literally, all is God. However, this discovery was not the result of a soul-sapping search, or spiritual epiphany; I found it accidentally as I was typing "Pantheon" into my computer's dictionary.

The irony.

If you would like to know more, see here.

Catholics have Catholicism. Buddhists have Buddhism. I hope those who believe in Pantheism are Panthers.

Heraclitus Ethanus..

My First Attempt At A Novel, Part I

The Cage
12th of May, 2010.

It was an odd occurrence for Luke to find himself in such a dire location, condition and vocation. Although in hindsight, from the moment he was born his condition prompted poking and prodding of a physical and metaphysical nature, and caused him to fall into numerous predicaments, so perhaps the concomitant result is far from odd. In fact it was his seemingly fitting vocation and peculiar condition that landed him in such a location. Even his real name was indicative of his abnormality, which is why he incessantly referred to himself as Luke. But in his current quandary the constant struggle of equality that plagued his existence was suddenly reversed into a glow of appreciation for his oddity.

There were seven men advancing on him. All of them had dark blue shirts and trousers with small black epaulets on the shoulders. All but one had octagonal flat caps with short brims. The dishevelled hatless man stood on the wing of the group, slightly behind the others, holding a long coil of rope and spinning the noose end menacingly.

“Oh, shit.” Luke had an apparent firm grasp of the situation.

“Now, just take it easy. No one wants any trouble.” The largest guard spoke through gritted teeth. Luke’s eyes spun quickly, darting from foe to foe. The men advanced closer, edging their way over the concrete floors. Luke was shorter than all of them – a physical trait that was passed down the bloodline of his vertically challenged father. He sank further back from the small mob, until he felt the bricks and metal of the wall.
“Easy, buddy. Easy.” The rope-wielding cowboy-guard began pushing the others forward. The seven men advanced slowly, their arms stretched out as if they were about to take flight. The irony. Firstly, as Luke was the first person in history to be born with wings; and secondly, the men were indeed trying to take the option of flight away from him.
Luke looked to the ceiling of the prison’s indoor recreation area. He spied the usual target: the small ledge of the highest barred window. He glanced between the advancing guards, and took a deep breath.
“Now! Now! Now!” The guards gave their portentous battle cries and charged at Luke. He spread his wings to their full and awe-inspiring span and with a mighty plunge towards the cracked floor he rose in majesty from the chaos below. The guards rushed forward and threw themselves at Luke’s feet, falling inches short and crashing together against the wall. With another burst Luke ascended over the guards heads and turned his attention to the window ledge.

Unfortunately, the cowboy-guard proved to be unbefitting of ridicule, and expertly looped the coiled rope over Luke’s head.

From the age of seventeen, Luke had been able to pick up and fly comfortably with an average-sized person in his arms – it had even been his job for some time. But flying with five large men hanging from a rope crushing his voice box proved to be the shortest game of tug-of-war in history.

Upon Luke’s unceremonious landing – face-first onto the marked lines of the recreation area’s basketball court – the seven guards leapt on him, grappling for his limbs. Three men pinned him to the ground while two guards wrangled a wing each, trying to hold them outstretched. After a few brief moments of jostling, scrambling and tumbling, the group had managed to hold Luke’s wings against the ground.
The largest guard shouted in the direction of the doors in the far corner, “Ok guys, we got him.”
The double doors opened wide and two men carrying a large guillotine rushed over to the uncouth bundle of flesh and feathers. The guillotine had been made upon Luke’s arrival to the penitentiary and was slapped together with loose pieces of wood found in the prison’s greenhouse and a machete that one of the guards had confiscated from another inmate’s grievously dim-witted visitor.
The two men on Luke’s left wing slipped it into the guillotine and slammed the lever, sending the sharp blade through the pinion, and showering the feathers outwards across the floor. After the right wing was guillotined into a similar plume of plumage the men released Luke, who stood up, heaving with exertion from the struggle and brushed the fallen feathers from his shoulders and arms. He flexed his wings uncomfortably. The monthly clipping felt similar to when you cut your nails, and everything you touch feels distant and electric. The difference with wings is that you don’t have to touch anything to feel that discomposing feeling, and it usually took about a week for normality to return.

Last time Luke had managed to evade the surprise hunting party as they ran into the rec area in their pruning routine, and sat triumphantly on his ledge for hours, slowly cutting away at the bars while the guards tried repeatedly to force a cherry picker through the impractically small double doors. Luke had almost made it through the third bar using a chisel that he liberated from the prison workshop. It would have been easier had he been born with talons, but unfortunately, while it is demonstrably bizarre that he was born with wings, that is where his ornithological similarities end.

The guards began sweeping up the dirtier feathers, keeping the clean white ones to be made into the quills that over the past six months had conjured a spurious sophistication amongst them.
“Same time in a month or so then, ay Luke?” The largest guard asked.
Luke smiled wryly. “We’ll see, Brian.” Brian returned the smile then turned and followed the others out of the room, swinging his baton with a well-practiced finesse.

A loud and grinding buzz came from the speakers circling the rec area, signalling the arrival of visitors, and the mandatory assembly of prisoners at the front of their cells to find out if anyone in the free world still loved them.

Luke trudged towards the double doors alone. The guards kept a close eye on him towards the end of every month, but without his wings, Luke couldn’t be more pitifully harmless. He retrieved the chisel from his pocket and began twirling it between his fingers, both hoping and dreading that today was the day that Mikey decided to visit.

Stay Tuned..

E. L. Dornbusch..

Little Girl, You Are So Lost

The sun beat down on the desert path that snaked through a wide thick forest, which was surrounded by an ocean of more desert. Skipping and dashing and spinning her basket, our heroine enters the scene and releases a perfume of lavender into the hands of the desert and jungle. An oasis of nothingness for miles and miles with this hostile heaven bent into purgatory and scolded with the sweet dreams of hell, smack bang in the middle. A solid pond of gas spills into view and mops the worry from our heroine's thought. She casts off her robe, throws her basket into orbit, and dives sideways into the fumes of relief.

And at that very moment, dear reader, our now valorised and vicious villain pounces into view and brings with him the story's complication.

The white monster of legend takes the gown from the ground, and uses his sharp claws to liberate the pretty red ribbon from the basket's accessorial inventory. He uses the ribbon to tie his hair back revealing sideburns that cover his entire body, culminating at either end: a diminutive mohawk, and a diminutive tail.

"Oh little girl, you are so lost."

This reservoir dog chases the lavender scent around the pool of smoke until the follicles of his suit are covered, filled, fixated with our heroine's essence. He picks up the basket in his clutching claws and clambers clamourously over the cleft of calamity and out over the clearance.

And it is here that we discover the predetermined destinies of the delightful duo: a clairvoyance that brings closure to our beloved characters, but forces our instantaneous and eternal departure.

Our heroine finds her true self, her purpose, her sandals. The villain finds the love of his life and sandwiches.

Unfortunately the parcel has been pilfered and the penurious purloiner has perished in his perfect paradise. And as such, the grandmother falls to sleep with nothing to save her.

And now we may only return when the amaranth fades - from pink to an anaemic grey.

Little Red Riding Ethan..

A Word Is Worth A Thousand Pictures, Part VII

Howling At The Sun

I think that I think about perspective a little too frequently. I see a wolf howling at the sun. Some might see a bull. Or a devil. Or a young boy sitting on Falkor's back.

The importance, as always, is immaterial.

Clouded Ethan..

A Word Is Worth A Thousand Pictures, Part VI

Thinking Blue.

Ethan..

All Apologies

Walking in the cool amber gloom of Macquarie Street, I think the music blaring in my ears could be heard from the next block. I don't know what I'm feeling. I don't know what to feel. There is no augur.

This is the Unplugged in New York version. Io preferisco.

What else should I be?

All apologies.

What else should I say?

Everyone is gay.

What else should I write?

I don't have the right.

What else should I be?

All apologies.

In the sun,

In the sun I feel as one.

In the sun,

In the sun,

Married!

Buried!

I wish I was like you,

Easily amused.

Find my nest of salt.

Everything's my fault.

I'll take all the blame;

Aqua sea-foam shame.

Sunburn with freezer burn,

Choking on the ashes of her enemy.

In the sun,

In the sun I feel as one.

In the sun,

In the sun,

Married! Married! Married!

Buried!

Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah.

All in all is all we are...

All in all is all we are...

All in all is all we are...

..."All Apologies" - Nirvana

Sometimes, you can't say anything as perfectly, as beautifully as those before you.

Apologies, Ethan..

The Stages of Mourning

"99% of Us is Failure" - Matthew Good

I've been doing a little reading about the Kübler-Ross model, where there are five stages that define one's progress through the process of grief:

1. Denial

2. Anger

3. Bargaining

4. Depression

5. Acceptance

While I think that this is a very accurate representation of the process, I believe that there is one more stage. I hazard to put forward an opinion given that I have no grounding or research in the field other than my own experience, but as always, I will regardless.

I see grief as an addiction. I've realised that whenever I grieve over someone or something that is lost, so many feelings rise to the surface, filling me with the same emotions, just of lesser toxicity. The Kübler-Ross model evokes a sense that you fall through the stages, one by one, until you are swimming in the ecstasy of Acceptance. But I feel like I can go through the entire cycle in a day - in a moment. Like an addiction, I go through those five stages as if the curtain of tragedy had fallen only moments ago - and that is why I think there is a sixth stage: Relapse - the final stage, that assures you only one thing: that this is not the final stage.

Every time those feelings begin to collect and swarm towards my consciousness, I get that desire, that need for the thing/s I miss most. Of course not all tragedies can be (quite negatively) correlated to drugs - it's just the feeling.

Grief unfortunately strikes us all. The meagre consolation is that it gets better over time. Relapse becomes less frequent, the feelings become less potent, and the fond memories, the happiness, the lingering warmth of what's lost always remains. Constant.

Goodbye From Ethan..