I've said it before, I'll say it again...Words fail. Metaphorically...

If humanity is to survive what appears to be the inevitable Apocalyptic consequence of the insatiable all consuming modernism with any semblance of civilized moral dignity,we must abandon our servile support of the compromised popular icons of material success.Arcane symbols of terrestrial power,and distractive flags of convenience,are insufficient to the needs of the 'collateral base', the poorest and the most disadvantaged. We may not all be emperors or kings,nor may we yet be gods, no matter how well intended our naive apologies. There are not enough crumbs now to even feed the opportunistic entourages that hover like buzzards, awaiting high table favours,let alone feed the poor.
"The poor are always with us." Begs the question, 'What do we think we are?'
Conditional aid,distributed with the assistance of patronizing invading armies, sweetened with the promise of prestige and luxury,will do nothing to obviate the cyclical misery of those furthest from the feeding troughs at the pyramids' base.
Initiative must be taken individually to equip ourselves with the means to regenerate life support far beyond the flat earth blurred visionaries' watchtower gaze,the vantage point of historic slave masters.One may observe that the principles of universal civilization,our evolved genetic code,may not have the whole hearted subscription,other than token lip service and the cynical pragmatic posturing, by the executives of failed and fading empires,both secular and sectarian,jointly and severally.The common aspiration of civilization by conduct must be seen to transcend the 'bottom line' motivation that drags all nations' standards,divisively into disrepute.
Pirates ,entrepreneurs, manipulative exploiters,slavers and carpet baggers,individual and corporate,inclusively,await in the wings of the Theatre of Tragedy like stray dogs around a butchers door. Natural disasters compounded by the ever accelerating man made crisis provide an open season for profiteers.
Competitive living is encouraged in schools and homes,to have winners in any bipolar struggle there must be losers.To the victor the spoils.
How are the surviving poor to avoid being divided like loot, for use and abuse by unworthy masters. Will they survive with any degree of humane dignity at all. Some would say not. Already, mock Class War scenarios are orchestrated in Police training exercises to acclimatise to the predictable chaos that would engulf all nations globally.Failed radicals indulge in self appeasing barricade photo opportunities,Acting like monkeys who think they are the leaders of men, speaking of, 'necessary violence', with too much certainty, as though it was a forgone conclusion.
Is there any viable sustainable hope for the possibility of civilization,regardless of perceived class and economic division, emerging with equitable grace from the storm of madness that is steadily engulfing the world? Views may differ,we may be assured of little but the certainty that Global Disaster,in all it's incidental varied forms will be no respecter of privilege, or rank. nor academic intelligence.Whether tsunami or earthquake,famine civil unrest or outright war,to name but a small sample of the many doom laden fates that may befall us, Every tribe and every species that ever made a mortal progress on this planet faces possible extinction, without exception.
What may we do to obviate the existing misery and steer a course that leads to the one sustainable singular,probability of universal, progressive, integrated civilization?
The way forward is the simple choiceless option.....

Getting back to the field... The Izdom of Iz.

Currently...

I will be picking and bottling peaches today. Anne-Sophie will be spinning wool. Peace.

I haven't finished...

I couldn't find the follow up pictures to my previous posting. We are not stopping there. You'll just have to imagine where it's going.
Top: The quoins of the round house entrance, not quite in place, a couple of turns it'll be perfect.I'm not rushing . It's heavy work.
Centre: A pretty bit of walling hiding demurely behind the foxgloves.
Bottom: We are calling it "The hut". Early days yet.It's got to start somewhere.
What else...

Rock Wrestling...

If you can rock it,you can roll it. Two of us gave up on it a while ago,I realise  it was really a one man job.Nearer to home now but not quite at it's  final destination.A tactical retreat has left me in a state of gormless exhaustion.Twice as knackered happen than if we'd stuck to our guns and completed the job together. Reviving now with a cheese salad sandwich and a cup of tea.  That done I will entertain myself with stones of a smaller calibre. I will post some photos soon.Maybe. If you are desperate to see,you could always stop by in person. We are awaiting another twenty tonnes of stone.See you there if you dare.

Bodhran practice sample.

             
                                                     Giffer sticking...

Bodhran songs... One hand clapping, one stick drumming.

"Just another bum with a drum.", "The band couldn't make it."
It can be a lonely business playing solo in the street. The drum reborn needs to be heard.  I do my best hearing with my eyes closed,fat chance the passing crowd would ever dare to indulge itself in that small luxury. The bodhran has songs of its own,not merely there to keep time for the scrapers and the blowers. Certainly not there to cover up and take the blame for the slack timing of drunken squeezebox players. Glad I am for discovering the wonders of playing alone.It has been a long journey of learning and practice so far. It's time my bodhran songs came in from the cold. Home for the drum is in the occasion separating the living from the dead. In the presence of the Muse. Within the space,between the beats. I guess you would just have to be there.  If I can't find compatible ensemble, I won't be deterred from whacking out  more shape shifting music. The drum speaks for itself, you'd have to be at ease enough to bear to listen, chance to hear it.
I don't class what I practice with my bodhran,"Irish music", nor my tootling flutin'. There are enough genuine Irish musicians,as well as thousands of wannabe's world wide.  I just play the music of my heart "sans drapeaux". I have read and heard a lot of stories about the origin of the drum.  I may not wholly agree with all or any. The drum and the flute have been around longer than homo sapiens, examples of frame drums exist in indigenous cultures throughout the world.Easy enough to get a good sound with the hand in hot counties, for me the "Irish" innovation was the sticking combined with the vamping with the other hand. The humidity in Eire encourages the slack softer drumming styles, I have had to leave little session rooms because they said my bodhran was too tight and too loud. That caused me to wonder about crossroads gatherings, common until Cromwell scared the folk into hiding. There's many a pub session where I have left through being "too big " for the back room.   I can play as big as I like outside, discovered that there's a mass of sober folk outside who like it too.

My recordings of  bodhran are just experimental praxis. Out of context to all occasion,just an exploration of possible sounds.I am highly critical of the results, with a view to improve. Live performance is what the drumming is intended for. Here's hoping I am able to deliver a worthy product once the practice is done.