Owl.

Portrait of the owl. This owl 'bubo' is tawny brown and beige with a flat face and prominent ears like horns. Bubo, as described by Aristotle (buas or bruas in Greek) was as large as an eagle which must indicate the relatively rare eagle owl. It has prominent ear tufts as shown but it is tawny all over and does not have a flat face. The long eared owl has a flat face and ears but is also tawny all over. The barn owl is closest in colouring to the illustration and also has a flat face, but it does not have ears. As projecting ears or horns are not mentioned in the Bestiary text they may derive from a much earlier source which was still aware of the connection between bubo and the eagle owl.

Portrait of the owl. This owl ‘bubo’ is tawny brown and beige with a flat face and prominent ears like horns. Bubo, as described by Aristotle (buas or bruas in Greek) was as large as an eagle which must indicate the relatively rare eagle owl. It has prominent ear tufts as shown but it is tawny all over and does not have a flat face. The long eared owl has a flat face and ears but is also tawny all over. The barn owl is closest in colouring to the illustration and also has a flat face, but it does not have ears. As projecting ears or horns are not mentioned in the Bestiary text they may derive from a much earlier source which was still aware of the connection between bubo and the eagle owl.

Text Translation:

Of the owl Isidore says of the owl: ‘The name owl, bubo, is formed from the sound it makes. It is a bird associated with the dead, weighed down, indeed, with its plumage, but forever hindered, too, by the weight of its slothfulness. It lives day and night around burial places and is always found in caves.’ On this subject Rabanus says: ‘The owl signifies those who have given themselves up to the darkness of sin and those who flee from the light of righteousness.’ As a result it is classed among the unclean creatures in Leviticus (see 11:16). Consequently, we can take the owl to mean any kind of sinner.

The owl gets its name from the sound it makes, because its mouth speaks when its heart is overfull, for what it thinks about in its mind, it utters with its voice. It is said to be a filthy bird, because it fouls its nest with its droppings, as the sinner dishonours those with whom he lives, by the example of his evil ways. It is weighed down with its plumage, as the sinner is with an excess of carnal pleasure and with fickleness of mind; but it is truly hampered by the weight of its sloth. It is hindered by the weight of its idleness and sloth, as sinners are lazy and slothful in acting virtuously. It spends its days and nights around burial places, as the sinner delights in sin, which is like the stench of decaying human flesh. For it lives in caves like the sinner who will not emerge from darkness by means of confession but detests the light of truth.

When other birds see the owl, they signal its presence with loud cries and harrass it with fierce assaults. In the same way, if a sinner comes into the light of understanding, he becomes an object of derision to the virtuous. And when he is caught openly in the act of sinning, his ears are filled with their reproaches. As the birds pull out the owl’s feathers and tear at it with their beaks, the virtuous censure the carnal acts of the sinner and condemn his excesses. The owl is known, therefore, as a miserable bird, just as the sinner, who behaves in the way we have described above, is a miserable man.

Folio 50r – the blackbird, continued. De bubone; Of the Owl.

Frigg’s Day Mood.

Pain – Coming Home.

Been watching myself in the mirror for forty plus some years
And seen how time makes you wrinkled and grey
Remember when we were young
We had all the time in the world
And our life was beautiful
We didn’t have a clue
As we’re getting older the more lies are shining through
And I’m busting my heart for the world
I’m getting tired, I just wanna go home

I’m coming home
I’m coming home

My head is empty and I need a break
I have to be hungry again to breathe and create
Life don’t come easy, it’s always the same
My brain is a ticking bomb
I’m getting tired, I just wanna go home

I’m coming home
I’m coming home
Life’s not a dream
Nothing is what it seems to be
My brain is a ticking bomb
I’m getting tired, I just wanna go home

I’m coming home
I’m coming home

Oh, It’s All So Girly! What About The Poor Young Men?

Bono (Photo: JStone / Shutterstock).

Aww, Bono is awash in sad tears over the state of angry young men, because girly. The Girly™, it’s ruining everything!

I think music has gotten very girly. And there are some good things about that, but hip-hop is the only place for young male anger at the moment – and that’s not good. When I was 16, I had a lot of anger in me. You need to find a place for it and for guitars, whether it is with a drum machine – I don’t care. The moment something becomes preserved, it is fucking over. You might as well put it in formaldehyde. In the end, what is rock & roll? Rage is at the heart of it. Some great rock & roll tends to have that, which is why the Who were such a great band. Or Pearl Jam. Eddie has that rage.

Oh, the poor, poor young men, who will cry for them? Golly, such a terrible state of affairs when an angry young dude just can’t pick up a guitar, or bangsmash on a drum set, howl out their angst, or write a poor, pitiful me ode, because Girly™. Of course, it’s imfuckingpossible for women to be angry, because what on earth do ‘girls’ have to be angry about, right? Bono, an old white dude afloat on money and privilege, being a seriously bone-headed twit. Sorry dude, you aren’t relevant anymore, you’re plain old white male moneyed establishment. You can go fuck off, and in doing so, make way for the angry, sarcastic women…

Via Raw Story and Rolling Stone.

Cancer Chronicles 1.

CN: icky medical stuff. If you’re sensitive, don’t read.

Sore. Punctured. Bruised. Discoloured. I’m 7 days out from diagnosis, 6 days out from surgery. My protruding gut is still very swollen, and it feels so damn heavy. It’s difficult to walk with a straight back. My stomach muscles screech in protest over normal movements. Not so normal now. I feel…limited.

Today, I showered, and soaked off all the steri-strips and caked blood. Then it was time for a bag change. The instructions all say to rinse the old bag, then put it in a plastic baggie, seal it, then put that in a second baggie. They come with the stigma and shame included. I rinsed mine out and tossed it in the trash. There is a sense of revulsion; of a loss of control. I expect that will lessen with practice and experience. I don’t even know how to describe what it’s like, gently cleaning off an internal organ.

It hit early this morning – for the first time in my life, I feel old. Frail. I despise feeling this way. Somewhere, under the weight of this, is my usual self, but I don’t feel as though I can shift this density off. I know I need to eat, but I can’t find my appetite. I do have the perfect excuse to over indulge in ice cream though.

Patience is not a virtue I possess; I hate all the waiting. I won’t even see the radiation therapy Doc until 1/15. I just want this done. I want to rip out this part of me gone rogue, stomp it to death and get back to my life. I want my gut back on the inside where it belongs. This is all going to take so damn long.

My hair keeps trailing through my thoughts. How long do I try to keep it? Do I hope it doesn’t start falling out during radiation therapy? Can I manage to keep it until chemo starts? I don’t know, but the thought of losing my hair is bugging me more and more. I know it’s a minor thing; hair grows back. Still, this is what I get stuck on – having to surrender those 39 inches of hair.

I need to get my studio cleaned up, because I’ll have to start painting soon, it’s the only emotional outlet I have. Ideas flit in and out, nothing has settled yet. Feeling like broken pieces of coloured glass; there’s no coherence yet, the brighter colours subsumed by a muddied swirl of black, maroon, and purple, with threads of brightly spilled blood throughout.

I won’t be inflicting these chronicles on you all too often, just as the mood and need strike.

ETA: I put my rings back on. I was instructed to remove all jewelry for the colonoscopy, so I did, and then I ended up in hospital for four days. I thought about putting them back on when I got home, but just let them lie. I shouldn’t have done that, because nekkid fingers aren’t me. I think I need some new rings. Yep, I do.  The little things, they aren’t so little.

That Prayer Is Badly Designed!

Hideously designed bumper sticker.

Tony Perkins, president of the anti-LGBTQ group Family Research Council, urged FRC Action members to join him in praying that God grants wisdom and protection to President Trump and to display a “PRAY FOR PRESIDENT TRUMP” bumper sticker on their vehicles so others do the same.

They don’t need to pray for the Tiny Tyrant, they need to pray for a better bumper sticker designer, that thing is awful. Really awful. You could choose a high school student at random, and I’m pretty sure they’d do a better job than this mess. This sticker is like an advertisement of how to do design wrong in every way. Part of the FRC letter reads:

I’m not ashamed to say it: I PRAY FOR PRESIDENT TRUMP!

You too, I’m sure!

I can tell you firsthand, Donald Trump needs and appreciates our prayers—for God’s wisdom and guidance, for His grace and protection, and for His will to be done and our nation blessed to the glory of God.

As committed followers of Jesus Christ, we are directed to pray for the leaders God has placed in authority across our land. All Americans—especially God’s people—could probably use a gentle reminder in these troubled times.

I’m not in the ‘god’s people’ category, so I’d thank you to keep your “gentle reminder” to yourself, especially when that reminder is a glaring monument to ugly design and bad taste. That’s the sort of thing, that seen while on the road, can result in an hour long rant about people who think there’s nothing at all to that there design business. Aaarrrgggh. Anyroad, going by your own holy book, you aren’t supposed to be announcing your prayers or making a big public deal about them. It’s amazing how you christian assholes never pay attention to that bit.

The letter, which goes on for quite a while, includes a custom tailored petition. Here’s a bit:

…your personal petition will let our leaders in Washington know that you’re not only praying for President Trump but also for them to pass the conservative agenda WE voted for last November!

Specifically, it lets them know which issues – the ones you check off – that you’re praying for them to work on with President Trump to enact, including:

Repealing ObamaCare.
Defunding abortion giant Planned Parenthood.
Reforming the tax code to make it more family friendly.
Standing with the nation of Israel.
Repealing provisions of the Johnson Amendment which prevent Christian pastors from speaking out on many key issues deemed “political” by the IRS.
Restoring religious liberty for all Americans, including:
-Small business owners declining to help celebrate same-sex weddings.
-Doctors and nurses refusing to perform abortions.
-Military chaplains refusing to deny their Christian faith.

You can read the full letter at RWW.

Blackbird.

Portrait of the blackbird in a roundel. It is painted brown either in ignorance of the text or because it is a female bird.

Portrait of the blackbird in a roundel. It is painted brown either in ignorance of the text or because it is a female bird.

Text Translation:

Of the blackbird. Isidore says of the blackbird: ‘The blackbird in ancient times was called medula, because it sang rhythmically.’ Others say that it was called merula, because it flew on its own, mera volans, so to speak. Although it is black wherever it is found, there is a white species in Achaia. The blackbird is small but black. It represents those tainted by the blackness of sin. The blackbird both moves and charms itself by the sweetness of its own voice. It represents those who are tempted by the suggestion of carnal pleasures. In fact, the blessed Gregory refers to this in his book of Dialogues, when he recounts how the blackbird came on the wing to the blessed Benedict and how after the departure of the bird, he was tempted with the fire of lust.

Gregory says: One day when the blessed Benedict was alone, the tempter appeared. For a small, black bird, commonly called a blackbird, began to fly around his head and to come up close to his face in a cheeky fashion, so that Benedict could have taken it in his hand if the saint had wanted to hold it. But he made the sign of the cross and the bird flew away. Such a temptation of the flesh as followed the departure of the bird, the saint had never experienced. For the evil spirit now brought before his inner eye the image of a woman whom Benedict had once seen. And the mind of the servant of God burned with such fire at the sight of her, that the flame of his love could scarcely contain itself in his breast and, overcome by desire, he now almost resolved to quit the wilderness. When suddenly, touched by the grace of heaven, he recovered himself, and seeing thick bushes of nettles and thorns growing nearby, he stripped off the garment he was wearing and threw himself naked amid the pricking thorns and stinging nettles. And having rolled in them, he emerged with his body covered in wounds, and through these wounds to his skin he discharged from his body the wound to his soul, because he transformed his desire into pain.

Yikes. Seriously, not a selling point for christianity. Blackbirds are among my favourite birds, and I can quite honestly say that not one of them has made me be overcome with horniness.

The blackbird in flight, therefore, represents enticement, tempting you to desire. If you want, therefore, to reject the desire symbolised by the blackbird, you must follow the example of the blessed Benedict and turn instead to the correction of discipline and thus rid yourself of pleasures of the mind by inflicting pain on your flesh. In the regions of Achaia, according to Isidore, there are white blackbirds. A white blackbird represents purity of will. But by Achaia we understand the industrious sister. There are two sisters, Rachel and Leah, namely the active and the contemplative life. Leah we take to be the industrious one. The active life teaches us to devote ourselves to works of charity, to teach men who lack discernment, to have the purity of chastity, to work with our own hands. This is Achaia, the active life. In Achaia, therefore, like the white blackbirds, live those who live chastely the active life.

Folio 49v – the stork, continued. De [merula]; Of the blackbird.