A stark and clear reminder of the blatant use of subliminal advertising in countries everywhere.
How could a reputable corporation such as Coca-Cola, in 1886, contrive such a blasphemous logo?
God Help us All.
Virginia and I started going to the Summit. It’s a group of Christ loving people at the University who meet once a week for music and sharing.
It’s also a club involved with the university. For instance; right now we’re trying to launch a food bank for university students in January.
School and the like are going well; all the while the hardest thing is ensuring that the pursuit of knowledge doesn’t turn into something tedious like washing dishes. Avoiding repetitive actions and slowing this down from time to time to absorb some random fact. I try to make sure that my professors know my name and am learning to humble myself enough to submit my work within the parameters of their own preference.
That is the challenging part. Writing for someone else. Taking a picture someone else will enjoy. Suppressing an opinion that is offensive. We progress though; always forward, even when the currents take us back.
My glad feet shod with the glittering steel I was the god of the wingèd heel. The hills in the far white sky were lost; The world lay still in the wide white frost; And the woods hung hushed in their long white dream By the ghostly, glimmering, ice-blue stream. Here was a pathway, smooth like glass, Where I and the wandering wind might pass To the far-off palaces, drifted deep, Where Winter's retinue rests in sleep. I followed the lure, I fled like a bird, Till the startled hollows awoke and heard A spinning whisper, a sibilant twang, As the stroke of the steel on the tense ice rang; And the wandering wind was left behind As faster, faster I followed my mind; Till the blood sang high in my eager brain, And the joy of my flight was almost pain. The I stayed the rush of my eager speed And silently went as a drifting seed, -- Slowly, furtively, till my eyes Grew big with the awe of a dim surmise, And the hair of my neck began to creep At hearing the wilderness talk in sleep. Shapes in the fir-gloom drifted near. In the deep of my heart I heard my fear. And I turned and fled, like a soul pursued, From the white, inviolate solitude. -- Charles G. D. Roberts
It’s all gone. I’ll leave your imaginations to do the work.
I cut off my golden locks of hair last night.
No pictures for now though…I’ll let it sink in for a bit…plus my batteries are dead in the camera…