sacrifice
.50 calibre sacrifice
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.50 calibre sacrifice
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sacrifice: gloves
They may look fine on the backs, but the palms are trashed and shredded, they’ve been used for a decade of fire-tending at chill campsites around the west, after a useful career in colder places. Not even sure where I got them, but I suspect in Iceland in the early 1990s. They’ve had a good life.
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.50 calibre sacrifice
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.50 calibre sacrifice
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.50 calibre sacrifice
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sacrifice: empty pen
Staedtler pigment liner 0.3, Art. Nr. 308 03-9, EAN 40 07817 330418
I had the ‘ex’ send me four of these from Iceland a couple years back, but am on the last one now, they don’t do to well in hot & dry situations. But otherwise, they are an excellent and clean substitute for my exploding Koh-i-noor India Ink drafting pens which were just too sensitive to changing air pressure (i.e., flying), and had to be totally disassembled and cleaned prior to any travel. The beauty of the line, and the feel of the metal tip on paper was superlative, but the hassle was too much for the traveler to bear.
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.50 calibre sacrifice
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.50 calibre sacrifice
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.50 calibre sacrifice
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→ tags:: documentation, military-industrial complex, performance, sacrifice
.50 calibre sacrifice
I decide to initiate a new series for the sacrifice project — this time, using the large bag of .50 caliber machine gun bullets collected out on the gunnery range on the expansive salt flat south of Wendover last year. The brass sheathings on the “balls” are weathered green from time and brine. These evidences of the military-industrial complex need to be re-distributed back around the west.

Cartridge, Caliber .50, Ball, M2. Used by M2 and M85 machine guns. The cartridge is intended for use against personnel or unarmored targets. The cartridge is identified by a plain bullet (“ball”). Type Classification: STD – OTCM 36841
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.50 calibre sacrifice with fly
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sacrifice
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sacrifice
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sacrifice
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sacrifice
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sacrifice
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sacrifice from Dritvík
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Ya’ a’ te’ eh
The most sacred of places is made powerful by the history, stories, songs and prayers it contains. As we see this place, it is an experience of awe and gratitude. It is as if the Holy People are physically comforting us, encouraging us, smiling at us, strengthening us. That Diné Tah (the land of the Navajo people, the Diné) seems an empty, barren place suits us — we are among the most fortunate people in the world because of it. — Luci Tapahonso
a successful trip with Uncle Al to Grand Falls, and with last night’s rain and full moon, the falls were a torrent of mocha-red water.
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→ tags:: history, night, people, place, power, quotes, road-trip, sacrifice, success, travelog, video, water, weather, window
sacrifice
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pilgrimage north-east
flickering times. a month of brilliant sunrises, a month full of stress. some enjoyment, as per usual, though not enough. slingshot north and east to the Front Range, propelled by various portents of success and survival. across Indian Lands, regenerating the rolling vision quest. through the mountains, in the chill of an un-heated car, thanks to a leaky heater valve on the interior heater unit. Wolf Creek Pass. and the ritual stop at the Center of the Universe. leaving a whisker from Yokono there in the artesian fountain — Yokono who narrowly escaped euthanasia-by-injection last Saturday as the vet was too busy. poor beast. she has been suffering of late. took her in for a haircut which leaves her ego a bit bruised, but otherwise she gets quite perky after a cut, unencumbered by pinching mattes of her long hair everywhere on her body. this time, even under her chin. age leaves her no will to groom. and then in the last days her hips seemed to be giving her significant trouble. so it went. anyway. through Durango for a brief visit with Richard and Holly and the kids. Richard on his way north and west to Seattle. on business.
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stoned

Akeno leads the last day of her Butoh lessons in Mika’s class. and serves home-made sushi and green tea. and then does a ten-minute performance. about the lotus and a small Buddha-child statue. about what is happening in the energized soul of the statue as the elemental powers of presence flow through it. the dreams of the world. amazing. I take a stone that Loki and I found in Colorado, one with a textured color that reminded me of anagama-fired ceramics. I give it to her after her performance. there was the stone that I gave to Simon Stockhausen that he made a composition from, and all the other stones that have found me for a time, and then found an Other to join for a time. and all those stones will be around long after we are all dead. this is an undocumented part of the sacrifice project
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→ tags:: dreams, fire, flow, learning, Loki, meals, mind, performance, performances, power, presence, project, sacrifice, soul, travelog
sacrifice, sans objet
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sacrifice, hand over Hell
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sacrifice, Svartifoss
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sacrifice, Dyrhólaey
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sacrifice, Konzentrationslager Dachau
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sacrifice, Gígjökull
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sacrifice, the well in the Cloister of St. Vincents
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self-portrait with sunLight, summer Solstice on the Arctic Circle
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sacrifice at Dettifoss
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sacrifice at Svínafellsjökull
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sacrifice
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winter sacrifice
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the original sacrifice
leaving and taking, carrying with, moving, carrying with, moving, juxtaposition, transformation, non-invasive objects, alien placement. sacrifice is a process of leaving value behind, leaving all behind. the body as temporary carrier, temporary custodian of objects which gain energy through proximity. and re-radiate that energy in their next location. for every object kept, one is left. a moment of concentrated thought grounds the exchange, the leaving especially, while acquisition is a focus on what leaps out from back-ground and into hand.
beyond the ongoing action itself, which is the crux, this work is documented through a hypertext/image work that bridges between the Self, the Objects, and texts about Place (be careful, there is no returning); and through a series of images.
→ commentWe’ve just eaten some mushrooms. It’s bearable out here, to do this, west of the Ubehebe Crater at the far north end of Death Valley. There’s no one around, we haven’t seen another human since last night’s fill-up somewhere in Nevada. The air is still, completely desiccated, with a uniform steel-gray cloud-cover, not too cold. Anthony’s old Ford Torino—the Toe-ree-no we call it—rattled, rattles, will rattle for the whole trip from Colorado, it is mid-winter. It is still rattling as we start up the bad dirt track, southwest towards Teakettle Junction, Anthony was driving. His window is part-way down. I hear some other sound coming from the back of the car, damn, breakdown. I turn to look back as something starts to screech. It grows to an full-on eye-watering scream, and looking across out Anthony’s window, I watch as an F-16 roars past, by us, straight out the window, not 15 feet off the ground. We are both yelling, at each other, at the terrible roar, at the plane which disappears instantly. Stop the fucking car! No immediate place to pull off, the track is cut into the land, below grade, so to pull off is to high-center the car, guaranteed: no tow-trucks out here. We are crawling along, finally come to a pull-out where we stop and exit the vehicle as fast as possible, clamber down into the dry wash nearby, where we sit on some wide and water-smoothed limestone to settle our hyper-stimulated selves down. It is not for a time until we discover the entire surface of the rock we are lounging on is covered with petroglyph star charts, oh my god, we are here! then the sun sets and it gets single-digit cold immediately in the single-digit humidity. We retreat back to the car and drive on in the transparent dark to the Racetrack Playa to cry with the intense cold and wind, watch the unbearably clear skies, before crashing on the frozen ground.
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