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RMCrookes
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PostPosted: Tue Jun 05, 2007 11:39 am    Post subject: Time capsule Reply with quote

Have a look at this:-
http://www.buriedcar.com/tulsarama.asp

Now there's an idea - a time capsule website. people submit photos, stories, music - whatever in digital form and the website is closed down (maybe 50 years is too long) with a timing program that makes it live again in say 10 years.
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opticalparadox
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PostPosted: Tue Jun 05, 2007 4:17 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Not sure a website would work, think I prefer the old fashioned way. Interesting idea though. Ahh so what would you put in your time capsule?
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RMCrookes
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PostPosted: Tue Jun 05, 2007 4:38 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

You're probably right Jen. Now I'll have to think about that... I'll make a list, I suppose it's got to be things that are of everyday life today rather than favourite things. I'd love to see that car dug up though.
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opticalparadox
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PostPosted: Tue Jun 05, 2007 4:49 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Yes, remember the old brick car phone that looks ancient now? Do you think in future, a small mobile phone will look past-it as people will have some kind of communication device attached to their head? Who knows? Yes, I guess best to choose items that reflect this time in history.....
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opticalparadox
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PostPosted: Mon Jun 18, 2007 12:04 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Did you decide what to put in the time capsule?
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RMCrookes
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PostPosted: Mon Jun 18, 2007 12:59 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Well I put this together for another project . Anyone else fancy a go at doing something similar?

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opticalparadox
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PostPosted: Mon Jun 18, 2007 1:17 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Hmmm....looks like fun. I suddenly have "Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens" playing in my head.
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RMCrookes
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PostPosted: Mon Jun 18, 2007 1:29 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Anyone know this song:-

A Soldiers things

Davenports and kettle drums
and swallow tail coats
table cloths and patent leather shoes
bathing suits and bowling balls
and clarinets and rings
and all this radio really
needs is a fuse
a tinker, a tailor
a soldier's things
his rifle, his boots full of rocks
and this one is for bravery
and this one is for me
and everything's a dollar
in this box

Cuff links and hub caps
trophies and paperbacks
it's good transportation
but the brakes aren't so hot
neck tie and boxing gloves
this jackknife is rusted
you can pound that dent out
on the hood
a tinker, a tailor
a soldier's things
his rifle, his boots full of rocks
oh and this one is for bravery
and this one is for me
and everything's a dollar
in this box

Tom Waits

Paul Young covered it once but the original is by far the best. Very poignant I find
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Ian Moore
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PostPosted: Mon Jun 18, 2007 1:49 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

That's beautiful. I assume I can find that song in your music collection, Richard? Been finding some real gems in there (so much to discover).

I made a start on doing a personal portfolio following my beloved grid format. So a grid of images for people in my life, a grid for music, a grid of excerpts from favourite books, a grid of excerpts from my own writing, one for films, and so on. I could post a few at some point, I guess - I'm kind of running a bit slow at the moment if it comes to generating or posting images. I've been playing catch-up at work, and also becoming preoccupied with working out new directions for me life and stuff.

I had an art lesson at the weekend and remembered to take my camera (left it at home today, though). So although Vinegar Vera isn't finished yet I could post a shot of her as work in progress?
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RMCrookes
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PostPosted: Mon Jun 18, 2007 2:08 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Yeah - come on Ian - I'm dying to see vinegar vera - she's a fantastic character - I have to say - I'm very impressed with the story so far (about half way through now.

So are these grids posted up anywhere?
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Ian Moore
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PostPosted: Mon Jun 18, 2007 2:52 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

I'll post Vinegar Vera tomorrow. She's not finished, mind Confused

Photobucket is doing my crust in. I think I must be the only person in the world that in crawls like a glacier for. Don't know if I can summon the spirit to upload my image grids.

What I can do is post the text excerpts here. So here are the excerpts from other people's writing that I arranged into a grid ...


-------------------------------
Near the Castle of Erl there lived a lonely witch, on high land near the thunder, which used to roll in Summer along the hills. There she dwelt by herself in a narrow cottage of thatch and roamed the high fields alone to gather the thunderbolts. Of these thunderbolts, that had no earthly forging, were made, with suitable runes, such weapons as had to parry unearthly dangers.
And alone would roam this witch at certain tides of Spring, taking the form of a young girl in her beauty, singing among tall flowers in gardens of Erl. She would go at the hour when hawk-moths first pass from bell to bell. And of those few that had seen her was this son of the Lord of Erl. And though it was calamity to love her, though it rapt men’s thoughts away from all things true, yet the beauty of the form that was not hers had lured him to gaze at her with deep young eyes, till – whether flattery or pity moved her, who knows that is mortal? – she spared him whom her arts might well have destroyed and, changing instantly in that garden there, showed him the rightful form of a deadly witch. And even then his eyes did not at once forsake her, and in the moments that his glance still lingered upon that withered shape that haunted the hollyhocks he had her gratitude that may not be bought, nor won by any charms that Christians know.

from The King of Elfland’s Daughter, Lord Dunsany
----------------------------------------------------------

Rocket Summer
One minute it was Ohio winter, with doors closed, windows locked, the panes blind with frost, icicles fringing every roof, children skiing on slopes, housewives lumbering like great black bears in their furs along the icy streets.
And then a long wave of warmth crossed the small town. A flooding sea of hot air; it seemed as if someone had left a bakery door open. The heat pulsed among the cottages and bushes and children. The icicles dropped, shattering, to melt. The doors flew open. The windows flew up. The children worked off their wool clothes. The housewives shed their bear disguises. The snow dissolved and showed last summer’s ancient green lawns.
Rocket summer. The words passed among the people in the open, airing houses. Rocket summer. The warm desert air changing the frost patterns on the windows, erasing the art work. The skis and sleds suddenly useless. The snow, falling from the cold sky upon the town, turned to a hot rain before it touched the ground.
Rocket summer. People leaned from their dripping porches and watched the reddening sky.
The rocket lay on the launching field, blowing out pink clouds of fire and oven heat. The rocket stood in the cold winter morning, making summer with every breath of its mighty exhausts. The rocket made climates, and summer lay for a brief moment upon the land …

The Martian Chronicles - Ray Bradbury
---------------------------------------------


And then, one Thursday, nearly two thousand years after one man had been nailed to a tree for saying how great it would be to be nice to people for a change, a girl sitting on her own in a small café in Rickmansworth suddenly realized what it was that had been going wrong all this time, and she finally knew how the world could be made a good and happy place. This time it was right, it would work, and no one would have to get nailed to anything.

So Long, and Thanks for all the Fish – Douglas Adams
-------------------------------------------------------------

“Ah, yes,” said Merlyn. “how did I know to set breakfast for two? That was why I showed you the looking-glass. Now ordinary people are born forwards in Time, if you understand what I mean, and nearly everything in the world goes forward too. This makes it quite easy for the ordinary people to live, just as it would be easy to join those five dots into a W if you were allowed to look at them forwards instead of backwards and inside out. But I unfortunately was born at the wrong end of time, and I have to live backwards from in front, while surrounded by a lot of people living forwards from behind. Some people call it having second sight.”
Merlyn stopped talking and looked at the Wart in an anxious way.
“Have I told you this before?” he inquired suspiciously.
“No,” said the Wart. “We only met about half an hour ago.”
“So little time to pass as that?” said Merlyn, and a big tear ran down to the end of his nose.

The Sword in the Stone - T H White
-----------------------------------------

Is my friend dead? Is Mo Jenkins gone, the boy of the Garndyrus cave, of the fight up on Turnpike. He who sang when I was wedded to Mari, great in his strength, fearless before the might of the terrible Dai Beynon; is he gone for eternity on the rush of his Father’s tears?

Is Idris Foreman gone, and Afel Hughes to his burned wife and his girl Ceinie? Is Richard Bennet in the Great Palace, entering in his youth the portals of the dead when all his life he had fought for a heaven of the living? He whom Morfydd loved, is he with us this day of defeat, this tumult of a day that has beaten down all he strove for?
Is Edwina gone, the sister I never understood? Does she sleep under the yew trees in St Mary’s, her frail, white beauty going to dust? Is my father gone, he so great in strength? Is my country dead, this beloved land that has powdered the bones of other conquerors and trampled their pennants into dust? O, this Land of the Ancients that has echoed to the feet of Rome and known the laurels of victory; who has snatched her soul from the fire of her persecutors and held high her honour in the face of shame! I can see from here the black outline of The Top. I see the white streams tumbling from the Afon Lwydd through the heather of Waunavon. I see the mountains green again in the lazy heat of summer, and cold and black under the frozen moons of winter.

Rape of the Fair Country – Alexander Cordell
----------------------------------------------------

The boy with fair hair lowered himself down the last few feet of rock and began to pick his way towards the lagoon. Though he had taken off his school sweater and trailed it now from one hand, his grey shirt stuck to him and his hair was plastered to his forehead. All round him the long scar smashed into the jungle was a bath of heat. He was clambering heavily among the creepers and broken trunks when a bird, a vision of red and yellow, flashed upwards with a witch-like cry; and this cry was echoed by another.

Lord of the Flies – William Golding
---------------------------------------
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Ian Moore
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PostPosted: Mon Jun 18, 2007 2:55 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Here are the excerpts from my own writing ...

-------------------------------------------------------

Arthur Crumb had been taught to live a very quiet life. Even when he was a grown-up man of considerable years he never had a single adventure.

He lived on his own in a grey little apartment, in a grey block of flats, on the edge of a large smoky city. He tried his best not to upset people, and liked it most of all when nobody even noticed he was there.

He liked to eat sensible, healthy food that didn’t have too much flavour and didn’t make too much noise, but he would eat sprouts on Sunday as a special treat as long as they weren’t too crunchy.

- Arthur crumb
-----------------

The best of the heat had gone out of the day but the terraced street was luminous with late summer light. They piled out of Pauly’s double decker, still finding sand in their eyebrows and behind their ears. Maeve was slowed down, as he tried to disembark, by a little kid, bug-eyed with sleep, easing himself down onto the road with all the care of a drunk. Dumpy Rita followed Maeve to his silver Fiesta and sat in the passenger seat and babbled to him about something that was important to her while he spent a full ten minutes correcting its parking. He had the window rolled down. He watched Pauly fussing over his bus. Now the passengers had dispersed Pauly loitered around in its doors as if it were a street corner. Half a filterless cigarette poked from between his lips. It never went out. He never had to light a new one. Occasionally he’d pincer it between two fingertips and a thumb tip, pull it out and wave it expressively, ejecting banter at passing street dwellers. When he ate, or slept, he simply set it to one side. It would be there waiting for him when he was ready, his fire hazard dæmon. He had slicked-back black hair and he was wearing a white vest. His moustache was of the pencil variety and he always talked in what he thought was an imitation Brooklyn accent. He said it was a medical condition.

- Plasticake
-------------

Sometimes I try to picture Real Sal’s face, the way she was after she matured herself, and I can’t do it. I feel bad, as if I’m betraying her somehow. And the harder I try to picture her, the more her face eludes me. But then, sometimes, when I’m going about my life, not thinking about her at all, maybe cutting my fingernails or taking a frozen pizza out of its box, a memory flares, and there she is as clear as day - as if she’s come back. Her eyes are smiling at me because of something she’s just said. It’s always the same memory that flashes inside my mind.
We’re in my old bedroom. It’s Christmas Eve and sunlight is slanting through the window behind her, blurring her outline in gold and dust.
“I read something once,” she says. “The book was really thick and heavy, and I never finished it, but one thing stood out and stuck with me. It said this: ‘Everything that everybody ever does is a request for love.’”
She’s thinking about it, her head nodding gently in agreement. “That makes a lot of sense to me, now,” she says.
Her eyes are laughing their way into my memory forever.

- The monodreme
---------------------

... a tremendous pulse of energy shot forth from the planet and beamed in a straight line towards Roger, and found him amongst the infinity of stars, as surely as if the skipping of his craft, across the surface of the universe, was a trail of breadcrumbs.
Inside his pod Roger sensed the oncoming of the massive pulse of love, the love of an entire planet, and he howled a primordial howl, but there was nowhere for him to go, nowhere for him to escape to. And then the energy arrived, and entered inside, and suddenly ... all was silence in the vast reaches of the void.
All was silence,
but for the distant
skip,
skip,
skip
of a little pod,
carrying its cargo home.

- The Badtime Bedtime Storybook
-------------------------------------
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RMCrookes
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PostPosted: Mon Jun 18, 2007 3:31 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

How did you do these grids Ian - what form do they take - are they on your wall or what? -I'll have a read through later - one or two I know in there.
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Ian Moore
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PostPosted: Mon Jun 18, 2007 3:40 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

It's just A4 sheets that can be printed and then put together in a display folder with clear pockets.

So I assemble the images into grids on Photoshop (just a question of making sure the images in any given set are cropped and resized to the same dimensions).

The text excerpts I type into text boxes in a word processor. I then arrange the boxes as I did the images, and tinker with the fonts a bit.

Nothing fancy, like.

It's quite minmalistic really. No headings or labels (apart from creditting the author's of the excerpts). Each set is self explanatory ... it's a bunch of album covers, or a bunch of film posters, etc.
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paranoidandroid
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PostPosted: Mon Jun 18, 2007 9:55 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

What's the object on the Peter Hammill CD Richard?
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