Recycle ideas.

Kinda cute. Image mainly selected for it's potential inspiration value. 

http://www.treehugger.com/eco-friendly-furniture/hacking-ikea-create-whole-new-look.html

happy breakfast to me

tiny things that live in Yakamia creek

Karen passed onto me to aid my research images of some of the macroinvertabrates that live in Yakamia creek, taken under a microscope. Sorry I don't know the name of the photographer - appologies. I will get back to you with her name as soon as.

But I have to share them Right Now, because they are so incredible!

Notalina sp.

Necterosoma sp

Acarina mesostigmata

Lancetes lanceolatus

Hellyethira malleoforma

Symphitoneura wheeleri

Click on the images to get the big view of them. The bigger they are the better.
My favourite is  Hellyethira malleoforma. If I was an artist that is the kind of art I'd make. Brilliant! INcredible!

My other favourites are Notalina sp. and Symphitoneura wheeleri, also Lancetes lanceolatus, Necterosoma sp., and Acarina mesostigmata.

Arthur Alexander

Look what I did today!

Bit of a stuff up with this one - cut the base too fine. 

Ixion

Turning and returning

The wheel returns once more,

Once more the circus master

Beckons through the door.

Will nothing stop the shadows’

Convulsions on the floor?

Will nothing stop the shadows

Must I once again perform

the usual limited number

of variations from the norm?

Though the sky seems set for thunder

There’s never any storm.

Though the sky seems set for thunder

Rest assured it will not rain;

At least til the appropriate season

Has everything in train.

There’s never any reversal

For the slayer and the slain.

There is never any reversal,

The axe achieves the block

Denyal produces only

The crowing of the cock

Turning and returning,

No-one stops the clock.

By Lex Banning

note: I transcribed this from the radio, so the layout of the poem may be different from this. 

Poem

Heritage

Though on the day your hard blue eyes met mine

            I did not know I had a heart to keep,

All the dead women in my soul

            Stirred in their shrouded sleep.

There were strange pulses beating in my throat,

            I had no thought of love: I was a child:

But the dead lovers in my soul

            Awoke and flushed and smiled;

And it was years before I understood

            Why I had been so happy at your side

With the dead women in my soul

            Teaching me what to hide.

For it was not the springtime that had come,

            Only on strong flower thrusting through the snows,

But the dead women in my soul

            Knew all that summer knows.

Dorothea Mackellar, New Book of Australian Verse, 1986