The queen is hot, so get it on...
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Hmmmm…
Not sure myself what it is, but does resemble a mechanical device.
As for the introduction to the piece, I cannot make that out either.
The reference to the Creadion Cinereus. (Jack-Bird.) has me stumped.However it is rather cool looking and poetic sounding.
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Ha ha.lt is hard to recognize what this,because his machines are always extraordinary.lf you know durant for longer you would not be suprised with his modeling and storys.glad to see you here again durant
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I dont know what it is either but I had a look.
here:
http://www.tarotforum.net/archive/index.php/t-81294.html
and
here:
http://www.learntarot.com/cqn.htmNice one Durant.
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Brothers and Sisters,
Been spinning all anew about the 78 -- awesome super natural insight, and kicking killer way to hit curves.
Yeah, like that's working killer cool along with, "Mr. BT, can you chuck me down a pair of frosty colds, and a red basket of tots?"
Jack bird NIce.
"You like hot tatoes in your mouth? Yeah... Sure you do..."
Bring it.
Remember Samantha?
She's in jail now.
It's a long story, but it was her deal.
And she's all wanting me to design her a "prison tattoo," like now, while she's in the can.
It's not like a fresh keg of cool being in there all locked up, but It's what? Like a week she's all ponyed up in there, and Tattoos are for life.
I'm sure she'll spend her days all slurping down mad bottles of cough syrup , carving soap, and combing out sister golden hairs mustache.
Perhaps a model bar of soap.
Did I not share the grinding wiggler machine before?
If so, I'm not trying to Jack bird hog band width.
Durant "I do feel bad" Hapke
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Hello Durant,
Nice to see you are still breathing/lusting/creating....sorry about Sam, but I'm not that surprised.... at least you have the Queen now...she should keep [and you] out of trouble
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excellent work jack,maybe you should repost your killing machine for fly's
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Power blasting Prodigiua,
Jack bird bring it!
Yeah, and yes, my noggins not been pondering said fly machine in a good long while -- what about the combo spray unloader!
That freak machine looked like a "death on wheels" farm implement -- yeah, bring it, I'll have to find that file.
So, dropped down to the county block, mortar, and steel bars, to "Hey, your looking pasty and not so doable, right now, baby," to Samantha, this morning, and she's all working on being "strong."
Not sure where her trepidation stems from per sec, as it's embarrassing to have a record and all, but it's not like there is going to be a riot in the jail house (it's practically under city hall, and the police station).
I can't really see that place being all awash in blood because some clever bit of street snapper knows how to melt a toothbrush into a lethal death shank.
But, it is boring, and that leads to crazy thoughts.
She was tiptoeing around the notion that I should be dropping by to see her more, but sorry Mr. Bird Man, that ain't a happening.
When I have popped by, you sit in a lunch room kind of deal -- you don't get to talk on the killer phones with the glass between them -- she's not going to go all MIDNIGHT EXPRESS on my ass, and smash her fine bad girl flesh all "bring it" into said glass.
Not that that wouldn't work for me, Samantha always has that "peek a boo" try not to look action going on -- she gets lot's of attention -- clearly to much of the wrong kind given the situation she's all making soup in.
Like I said, she's only there a few weeks.
I was going to bring her some magazines, but forgot to hit the corner market -- actually I did hit it, but just had cash for smokes, and a pair of Malts -- I know, it's not a good buzz -- and true, a bit hard on the colon -- but it's the Colt, baby), not great planning I know.
However, I did look around the crash box on my way out the door, and scrounged up a few catalogs, and some coupons.
I found this instruction manual for the coffee maker I got from her at Christmas, she's always making awful coffee, and I brought her a freak dirty book I was all into last year, "Dark Debauchery" or something along that Jack bird line (I tore the cover off for a deal I was making, so it's all looking like I don't know... a book about spy high-Jinks, or some action like that).
So I was going build that debauchery machine.
Have to run.
Durant "perhaps play the harmonica" Hapke
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So Durant, good to see you haven't been knocked off and found in a dim alley, 'cuz some big hard-up dude with a stick wanted your smokes more than you did.
I have to ask, you know.
When you're not frequently the pokey to check up on pasty sad, soon to be ex-con Jill bird Sam, and you're not in the corner juke joint downing some half-cold malts and bogarting a filterless self-rolled toke with ashes hanging an inch out... or partying with a couple curves at the same time with the tunes turned up to not annoy, yet annoying the neighbors, what the heck do you do for a living?
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I've so enjoyed this work, just as I have Durant's others over the years here and at the old SketchUp forum! I'd like to know if there is some place, on the web, where Durant's unique images (or is it unique subjects?) are all collected? If not, there should be.
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Brothers, and Sisters,
I've stumbled into old age files -- a true collaboration.
Durant "in the background" Hapke
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Tiger Top Todd,
Bring the insight, my brother, bring it hot, and smoking.
So, on that, your brain photo of said DH life is quite right on, right on -- a pie slice, thin but tasty, but no hand rolled for me (other then raw fish), I'm all a Camels shorts robot.
Coffee: Black -- Drinks: Neat -- Smokes: Short -- and Stakes: Blue.
Regarding my vanes? That tap of commerce?
It's a bit complex, and evolving, but it's kind of a disappointment management deal.
I woke up once, and found this lame student in the mirror -- the dude was working a con, and everything scared him.
He could make money, but didn't know how to spend it, and just as strange, could not conceive of the value of "now."
One day, while waiting for "what comes next," he "accidently" and without warning, channeled a bit of the outer collective, and wrote an odd theorem on one of those subscription cards that always fall out from between the pages of Playboy -- he had a neat stack of said cards in the bathroom, in a drawer he kept his tooth paste in.
How he happened to have that card at hand?
A women on the card had caught his eye while he was foam grinding his molars before heading off to class, a women sporting green panties and a garter belt -- the kind of women, he would never date, talk to, or even meet.
So he's got a pen in his hand and this sad Jack bird smart lame dude, all worried about his GPA, his blemishes, his car, his hair, his shoes, watch, he writes on this Playboy prescription card the first meaningful thought he'd ever had:
Reality (God) = 00, and 00 = 2.
He read this over and over for the next twenty odd hours. Thought about it, and where it came from -- had he read it? -- heard it? -- dreamt it?
He knew it had meaning, but it all escaped him.
As best he could, he pondered the swell of the women in greens intimidating rack -- the way the straps of her push up laced over her soft shoulders -- the subtle cleft they rendered in that creamy white skin...
Yeah, baby, 00 = 2.
Then I showed up and kicked his lame "insecurity feeder top" ass out of the apartment, I kicked him out of school, and I took the Playboy prescription card with his formula; I know what it means.
So, in short, I slam dance life for a living, brother, and try and remember not to be lame.
Durant "AC" Hapke
PS -- I see a women in green, you can be Jack bird sure I'm buying her a drink -- that's how double zed rolls.
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Brothers, and Sisters,
Not to attach an endless hose of "done this" back on the pipe, but here's a last funk jobber of the mechanism I thought I would share.
I may have mentioned it before, but I built this model while under the influence of Charmed -- yeah, the television show (and a log with bourbon)
That one sister gets all "I have to retire here." However, one of the others is all in the gym, and I'd invite her to my crash crib most sandwich gladly.
And, while I might have reported this a bit back in the day, let me continue with this truth:
I have a hand crank pencil sharpener here (like back in school, it fills with soft dirty shavings), and I'm trusting we'd get around to a point where sister three could work it. Take that handle, and grind it.
Here's a bit of lotion to help you get a nicer grip. Now grind, and sharpen.
Now, the eraser end.
That's it. Turn it. And don't be shy, just bring it!
Push the point, and light a Camel.
Smoking is bad, but oh, just an occasional is no worse then pumping petrol into your ride.
So bring a lighter.
Durant "car wash coupon" Hapke
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I've no idea "D"
What you are saying
I am hoping you do
And not just mouth splayingYour images are killer
Yet I've seen them before
Have you got a collection
I would like more, more, more -
Well D - I'm speechless. So deep. And so deep in pencil sharpener metaphors too. Did MaryAnn from Gilligan's Island help you through adolescence too, or was that before your time?
Love that SNAP art. Wish I had an artistic bone in my body. My son would say "it's tight". I just say my belt is tight.
If there's ever again a SketchUp conference - you sir - I will help pay your ticket. You'll have to give a presentation on your artwork though, and your inspirations.
Tiger Top.
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Brothers, and Sisters,
Bite a big bug and feel the timeless double "Z."
Yeah, that's what it's all about.
My first new construction in a good long long while, but what the heck it's in spired by H.I.M. -- The band so kicks it.
His Infernal Majesty -- yeah, baby, that's the action I built this corps grinder to.
Bring it, and eat a big sandwich.
The moral? Go get some.
Be it.
Be it.
Be the funk.
Be the earl of funk land.
Enjoy a nice bun sandwich, and don't forget to work it.
Durant "flying the flag of victory over darkness" Hapke
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Brothers, and Sisters,
Jack bird turned this hack hog on it's bottom noggin, came up a bit of a worlds fair kind of action.
So I say.
So, Mr. Solo, I was once in a party mode in your neck of the woods.
Great bar food in the big "D," and, brother, like the spice of Dune, the beer did flow.
I was all about hooking with this long lost friend who was an art student at Southern Methenfedimines University, I think something like the "Bob Hope I was on television once theater" or some action, and he got me all turned onto the local fair.
We got some oyster poor boys at a place called the S&D Oyster bar, and I will tell you this, that was the best sandwich I have ever gobbled -- by far, and I've been to New Orleans (that party city is a bit over rated in my book and a lot of grays hide there, the locals know all about this -- kind of like traitors I think).
Now there where nice simple girls walking that campus that said friend referred to as "bowes heads," I thought this was a little Bo Peep kind of a deal, but whatever the case the company was fine, and very fine.
Somehow or another we got to working the city all this way and that, and ended up at the big Mosquito Rodeo, I think it was, and pulled beer from a plastic mug, and put that funky Copenhagen in our lips and gums...
Head rushing?
Like rushing to the can to leak big fluid lung pipe on some rodeo clowns dung crusted jumbo yellow shoes.
I still have a scar.
Durant "I'm tobacco putty" Hapke
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u re crazy lool,
but sometimes u make me droll,
ur imagination isn t to poor,
u should be an aviator,maybe in a day ....
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Durant,
Your language reminds me of Allen Ginsberg or William Burroughs. -
B&S,
CC.
DH
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Nice as ice!
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