Carving Skulls and StuffCarving Skulls and Stuff7 years ago in Academic Essays More Like This
CARVING SKULLS & STUFF (11-FEB-08)
This is intended as a continuing project. I'll be adding to it, and editing it for greater clarity, in response to your comments and questions. So if something is left out, or not clear, please let me know. Eventually, this may turn into a proper tutorial, but I'm starting out small, so that people who are asking questions don't have to wait until that possibly distant time. And so people can tell me what they actually need to know.
Goggles -- I don't carve unless I'm wearing some sort of eye protection, usually magnifying goggles (because I'm getting old and can't focus up close anymore), but sometimes non-magnifying ones. Chunks of stuff can fly about, and you don't want them in your eyes.
Respirator or dust mask -- Dust is not good for your lungs, and power carving can produce lots of dust. The dust of bone, antler, and shell is very bad; it can _permanently_ clog parts of your lungs. Many stone and
Skull Preservation TutorialSkull Preservation Tutorial5 years ago in Reviews & Guides More Like This
I've been asked multiple times how I go about cleaning and preserving the skulls that I find so I've decided to put together a sort of FAQ/how-to regarding this subject. Please keep in mind that there is more than one "right" way to achieve things in the realm of taxidermy. This is just the way I do my skulls/bones.
You will need:
Plastic bag for picking up your treasure
A good sized flower pot
An ant hill (if possible)
Disposable plastic gloves
Nice sized metal pot kept solely for boiling skulls/bones
Plastic container for soaking the skull/bones in
Hydrogen peroxide 3%-7%
Small pokey thing for helping remove brain bits and other yuck
Super glue, tacky glue, or Elmer's glue for putting the teeth back in
Hokay. While out hiking, I've come across many different skulls/bones of animals in various stages of decomposition. The best ones are when nature has already done most of the work for you and it's already pretty clean. One of the drawbacks of finding them like this tho
Why I Like Taxidermy-Pelts-FurIt's Spring time...when everything starts coming to life, having babies, and bloom. It looks absolutely beautiful out, and I'm seeing the world a bit through rose-colored lenses. As I looked in awe at the simplest things today, I was thinking why I like fur so much.Why I Like Taxidermy-Pelts-Fur5 years ago in Articles & Interviews More Like This
I was watching a dog walking with its owner...I'm a total dog lover, so I shamelessly stared. I watched its muscles work to propel its body forward, its tail swinging in tune with its legs, its tongue out in a happy pant as it walked with its beloved owner. When I got home, I looked at my wolf pelt, Kalik. His eyes weren't his own and they certainly didn't look at me with love and loyalty, his tongue didn't loll out happily dripping with saliva, his tail didn't sway and his legs didn't bring him to me. But I still saw the same beauty as I did the dog. The life may have been lost to this wonderful creature, but its beauty still shows. Looking at Kalik, I can still imagine him laying there not as a pelt, but as a wolf. He was
the girl legend.the girl legend.3 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
let me tell you about a girl.
a girl who is more than a fairytale.
no. this girl?
she's a legend.
the only ordinary she knew how to cope with was coated with the prefixes of extra and un. the sky swallowed her whole on a daily basis and she swam in the shallows of the clouds, dreaming of her one and only. she had been romancing the idea of disappearing because if she was lost, there was a reason for him to find her.
her ideals were bigger than her fears and she had this way of dancing on the jagged edge of fate without winning all and losing more. she had the tendency of catching the tail ends of shooting stars between her finger tips and flicking them into the eyes of her companions, leaving them one breath less stolen from their starving lungs; a gasp never tasted so sweet.
her freckles scattered over her collarbone and winged down those shoulders to kiss her smiling spine and if prince charming played connect-the-dots on her skin he could see the constellations; the heroes and their
Always the CoffeeParked in agony, he spent his time looking in mirrors and staring into her absence. The reality of her departure was almost bearable, but the loss of her ideal lay in far deeper waters than he could ford.Always the Coffee3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
All inanimates seemed to lose their liking for him: toast less crisp, pencils harder to sharpen, and socks never stayed paired. Toilet tissue was now undoubtedly too thin. He would swear that the traffic lights, in their now longer phases of angry red, blamed him for her absence and were determined to let him sit in his own poisonous fumes at every intersection.
His misspent hopes of a child, one who would have his temperament and her smile, filled an empty second bedroom he didn't have.
It was when the coffee lost its perk, falling between bitter and listless, that he began to formulate action. He gathered change for the laundromat, found his best clothes, and cleaned them up. After a shower and shave, he donned his be
would youYou would think that kissing a poet would be different,would you4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
that in that moment,
your souls would touch and sizzle like fire and water,
that a gateway between minds would expand
and you would share the deepened images
outlined in words, words, words
to give them definition
that only poets' minds can see.
You would think...
You would imagine that in tiny valleys
of each puckered lip
would reign the fertile soil of concept,
expelling long planted ideas as they met,
a wicked cross pollination of images,
blossoming into new species that bathed in
the tropical heat-moisture of human contact.
A natural spreading of the seeds, stanza
You would imagine...
You would hope that even after your eyes slid closed,
you could still see, perfect images of dreams
created and those awaiting creation,
awaiting that sensitive opening touch,
that understanding slowly sailing outward
on the unique scent of your body,
a bright and glistening dream
existing in the eternal space
completely aloneswaying with the bottle in my palmcompletely alone3 years ago in Emotional More Like This
with another girl under my arm
always the life of the party
hours of blissful drunkenness
and hours of corrupt passion
drinking away my soul
partying away my life
I never saw who I was
what I was doing
always running from my demons
how scared I was
like a child hiding in the corners of my mind
now here I am
coming from this stupor
to see the wreckage of my life
I ran and I ran and I ran
left all that I had loved
left my heart far behind
I had the right to love
I had a family to hold
does anyone know what it means
to be called a harlot?
well here I sit
To Be Young: Chap. 2 Burns/SmithersIn His ImageTo Be Young: Chap. 2 Burns/Smithers3 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
His excitement mounted as he neared Burns' Manor, peddling as fast as his old hand-me-down bike would carry him. He couldn't wait to show Mr. Burns a smile that wasn't full of metal for once. He skidded to a stop directly in front of the black, wrought iron gates. These strange, new feelings he'd developed for Mr. Burns were a little scary and at times overwhelming for the sixteen-year-old to fully understand.
It wasn't that he was naive about such matters of the heart, but it was the fact that this was Mr. Burns he was dealing with, a man of the world. A real old fashioned gentleman with refined taste and all the frills of the posh lifestyle. He had really lived the high life and had rubbed elbows with the best of them from celebrities to the big-shot millionaires.
He'd had a life full of adult experiences, gorgeous women, a closet full of expensive clothes and shiny polished shoes. What could he possibly ever see in little Waylon Smithers Jr, a mere ghost of his f
A Valentine's MemoryA Valentine's Memory by preety-lady-serenityA Valentine's Memory3 years ago in Romance More Like This
Disclaimer: The characters belong to Matt Groening, who recently celebrated his 58th birthday. You gotta love the guy.
Waylon Smithers stopped to his tracks, causing his boss to continue walking and talking on his own. Realizing this, a couple of seconds later, Mr. Burns turned to see him with an annoyed expression. The young man had turned a deep shade of red and remained transfixed to whatever there was in the shop's front window.
Monty Burns coughed in annoyance and let out a "Smithers" of expectation. The younger man was brought back to reality and hurried to his boss' side. The older man eyed the younger man who fixed his ties and smiled sheepishly. Mr. Burns let out a sigh and hurried towards the Mayor's office.
It was later that evening that Mr. Burns d
FirstsI had sexFirsts4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
for the first time
on a Sunday
ate away the blinds
and snake-lines of light
at undone corners.
I remember less of you,
and more of me,
in yellow sheets
how you kept mumbling
questions and I
are so much less vivid
than the sense
that I was shedding
So that later
in the bathroom,
I saw myself,
twisting my hipbones
shelves that I could
rest my elbows on.
I was nineteen
two times my weight,
welding my bones
made me feel
ten years less lonely.
The Tribble SongHere's a tribbleThe Tribble Song5 years ago in Science Fiction More Like This
There's a tribble
And another little tribble
Tablet, brick, potato
I was once on a Star Ship
I lived in Uhura's Shirt
But I never saw the way
The orange slayed the red shirt
I was only 3 years dead
But it told a tale
And now listen little child
To McCoy Squeal
Did you ever see a tribble
Kiss a tribble
On the tribbke
Tastes of Tribble
Half a tribble
Twice the tribble
Not a tribble
tribble in a car
Alarm a tribble
Is that how it's told now?
Is it all so old?
Is it made of lemon juice?
Doorknob ankle cold
Now my song is getting thin
I've run out of luck
Time for me to retire now
And become captain of a Star Ship
Two years laterWhen we met there was a late March snow and it covered the tiny blue flowers outside your window until their petals became so heavy that they drooped and then closed up quietly like shopfronts at dusk. And we lay in bed and watched it happen, my head on your chest, between your neck and your heart, your scratchy chin tickling my forehead. And we held hands for hours.Two years later3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Now, in the naive months of summer, two years later, the dandelions grow taller than the grass and we pick the buds off of new blooms and hope they won't all flower at once. Hope the bees will find another lawn, the little spiders another stalk, the ants a different sweet yellow stage. My head on your calf, so much farther from you than I once was, I realize how much everything has slowed down. How the world, the clouds, the fresh new shoots, have all quieted - how everything seems to have stopped, just to watch you and I pass by.
Revenge HaikuIn my hand my knifeRevenge Haiku2 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
On the floor your heart and blood
On my face a smile
Brittle things like loveIt is my birth-month,Brittle things like love3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the twenty second year
curls on the nape
of my neck, fat
rather limply there.
I am composed, now,
of a history of mistakes,
leaving kitchen shears
on the counter,
tripping my baby
up the stairs,
saying shit in public
or something else
just like it.
I thought that one day
we would marry,
against a garden,
hydrangeas in my long brown hair -
thinking too often
of things I don't
like soulmates and kitchen
because they always
fill with spoons.
I'm so perfect in
a crisis -
so used to being
ten million little
car wrecks under my wrist,
that when my grandfather
went into hospice
care, I didn't blink,
just helped my mother
pack a suitcase
so that she could watch him
So that when you let me
become a dusty
prom picture in a drawer,
so that when you threw out
a lock of hair you'd kept
since last June,
I don't stammer,
certainly don't cry,
because I was made for this,
made for wri
Perfect linesI didn't know how it would go,Perfect lines2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
being perfect and
skipping everything in between,
sleeping without wrinkling the sheets,
being precise when I answered questions,
and saying "I'm sorry" when you
asked me why I'd got up and left
I expected Iguazu Falls
raining down at my doorsteps
asking me why I hadn't gotten everything
right up until now,
why I hadn't been the person,
my mother always thought I'd be.
But I was trying,
wearing pearls around my neck like a collar,
speaking in tongues,
and wrapping my wrists in silver,
gold, shiny like I meant business,
shiny like I was making more
than my weight
So, left wondering,
skittering across the stoop
the water from a million waterfalls
reminded me to be sure
I kept at it,
perfect lines turn into perfect shapes,
no more of this monkeying around
with what the whole world
had crafted me to be.
Sea frothI've been crawling through your skinSea froth5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
as if I'm crawling through the weeks,
poet dreamers shed like snakes,
and I'm searching for scales with meaning.
I cropped up where you'd least expected me,
in your mother's quilt and your baby blanket,
I was a duck with a heart-shaped eye.
And you found me most recently in
a bag of Chamomile tea asking for
You begged me to release you,
hadn't you once been an octopus,
aching for the Atlantic where
creatures lay on the sea floor,
unspeaking and lonely,
none of this sea froth and algae crowding.
So we're together again where
humidity makes my hair a halo
and your skin peels back like an orange
and nobody is happy but the soil,
who dreams we're decaying.
Living AnticipationWhat she craved was hunger. It took a semester for me to learn that.Living Anticipation3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
She was an exchange student from Italy, a college sophomore, and I was a grad student assisting her ESL class. The class was mandatory her first semester in the States, but she didn't need it. She didn't need a tutor, either.
So, we were lovers.
Every Wednesday, in my far away apartment in Brooklyn, we met and made. Every Wednesday, she would arrive on the N train from Manhattan and let herself in. I left the door unlocked all day, because she would never give me a time. Answering her phone was her lowest priority. All the world could wait for her, it seemed to me.
When she arrived, it was always with a kiss. There were hardly any words at first, just her on her toes and me leaning down to meet her. She was 5 foot tall and all of nothing in weight, and never would I call her beautiful. She was pretty: olive skin and brown hair on youthful frame. Her ac
An Ode To George HarrisonGeorge Harrison,An Ode To George Harrison5 years ago in Visual & Found Poetry More Like This
From the beginning to the end.
From life to death.
From dark to light.
You changed to world.
As a kid, you grew up poor.
Your home was cold.
Your bed was hard.
But your parents remained happy.
It lay down in your hands.
Cracked and beaten.
You practiced endlessly.
You met the right people.
The same people who would take you to new heights.
The people who would cry with you.
The people who would die with you.
The lights flashed.
The fans screamed.
You played away on your guitar.
Standing quietly and formally.
The years progressed.
Your friends seem to be in front of you.
You wish to capture the secret of their success.
You wrote a song.
It all happened so suddenly.
You didn't mean to take the LSD.
You were tricked.
But you liked it.
New experiences opened up.
You were ready to show the world who you were.
Right after you were done meditating.
Gurus, Gods, and Hare Krishna.
A complete circle of love.
Your dream was to fulfill the wish of God.
The ABC's of Monty PythonA is for AlbatrossThe ABC's of Monty Python4 years ago in Reviews & Guides More Like This
B is for Blackmail
C is for Confuse a Cat, Limited
D is for Dead Parrot
E is for Exploding version of 'Blue Danube'
F is for Far too silly
G is for Gumbys
H is for Hungarian Phrasebook
I is for It's
J is for Jumping the Channel
K is for Ken Clean-Air Systems
L is for Lumberjacks
M is for Minister of Silly Walks
N is for Nudge Nudge
O is for One slice of strawberry tart without so much rat in it
P is for Peaches Bartkowicz
Q is for Queen Erisabeth L
R is for Royal Episode 13
S is for Scotsman on a Horse
T is for Terrys
U is for Underwater plays
V is for Vicar of St. Loony Up the Cream Bun and Jam
W is for Whizzo Butter
X is for Ximeneth
Y is for You're no fun Anymore
Z is for Zepplin
A Logical ExplanationA Logical Explanation5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Title: A Logical Explanation Series: TOS (Movie) Rating: G - Suitable for all. Disclaimer: Star Trek belongs to Paramount/Viacom. I write about the characters for my own pleasure and not for profit.
Summary: The story takes place some months after Amanda's death. Spock and Saavik reunited after an absence of six years, celebrate the rites of katra fi'salan, the Souls in the Wind, ceremony.
Spock surfaced in stages from the depths of meditative trance. He raised his head from contemplation of steeped fingers to focus on the silhouetted outline of his one-time student and ward, Saavik.
One winged brow flared upward. Limned in the warm amber radiance of the asenarah lantern that hung by its silver-linked chain from the cloister roof, she stood framed by the sheltered colonnade's pilastered entrance. It seemed she was oblivious to his presence there. Apparently lost in thought, she stared out over the dusky reaches of the ShiKahrii villa's extensive gardens.
Spock watched her in silenc
To Be Young: Chapter 1 (Burns/Smithers)A look at Waylon's past and his emerging crush on Mr. Burns. Burns has his suspicions, but chalks it up to teen-angst and hires him as his assistant partime. Waylon sees this as a way to get closer to Burns and to try and gain his approval. Then, after getting into a schoolyard fight, Burns urges Waylon to fight back like a man. It was a bit of advice that Burns would regret.To Be Young: Chapter 1 (Burns/Smithers)3 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
Rated-Teen, perhaps a little lower rating needed? We'll see.
Warnings: Mild profanity, occasional violence. Burns/Smithers.
Disclaimer: Non-profit fanfic.
* * *
Fortunately, after years of tinkering and adjusting, Waylon's teeth had finally begun to cooperate. He had just gotten his braces off the day before and was feeling quite confident in himself all day, more so than he had in a long time. It was a small thing, but in such formative years of a young man's life, a small thing such as having braces remo
The File And His TeethThat night I was awake for many hours in an attempt to fall asleep. I tossed, turned and even tried gnawing on my wrist (an action that not only conjured blood but also rocked me to sleep). At what I suppose was around three when I decided my insomnia would drag on another night. I stood and walked downstairs, to my well-stocked 'hidey hole'. Abbey had snuck things in with her every time she visited on the weekends. Thus far, she was able to convince the police officers constantly lingering by my home that she was, in fact, my niece, born by a relative never specified. I'd recently asked her for a metal nail file. I told her I wanted something that would last, something I could use to keep my nails dull, so I didn't accidentally harm Vitali when picking him up or placing him somewhere. She believed my reasoning and smuggled one in for me.The File And His Teeth2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I uncovered it now from the depths of the pit I'd formed.
cocklesyour heart is a cockle shell and i work my hands into pleats of calcium carbonate until i am covered in pink dust and you're nothing but smooth.cockles4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
remember, you whisper. to nothing, or the sea, or the vastness of being. or maybe just me standing alone in the kitchen.
i'm remembering your gray sweater, the way your hands could circle around your wrists, the way yours bones looked like topographical maps in lamplight. i'm remembering you cooking pasta over the stove and asking me why i was so goddamn useful. because it's hard to leave people like that.
you were always so afraid of being forgotten. of being cast out like fishing lines at night, thin thread across a deepening ocean. you thought earthquakes had the power to swallow you up.
but i'm remembering. i'm remembering you asking me not to follow, not to call, not to whisper your name into dead phone lines at night because you knew i was a poet and poets were prone to do those sorts of things.