#seamanly

[athoughtfullyautomaticcollection]

Stream of Consciousness - 8/10 - Ship Shape

A favorite term among the older seamen of my acquaintance was “A calm Sea, Never a good sailor made.” There are at least a dozen variations on this saying, and everyone from Teddy Roosevelt to his cousin Franklin gets quoted as saying it.  Sailors have a penchant for friendly competition. And the seamanly way to settle a dispute like this is to use a pool! We all contribute to a pool, and the…

[imagek]

Greeting Card - Manageable Seamanly, Artsy dotted, blurry, gradient and shaky dark gray, dark sea green and white smoke paint hovering over plain wall

Abstract designs challenge traditional notions of representation, inviting viewers to appreciate art in a more imaginative and non-literal manner. Abstract designs are artistic compositions that prioritize the use of shapes, lines, colors, and forms divorced from their representational or real-world references. Abstract art is a diverse and innovative artistic movement that prioritizes non-representational and non-figurative forms. Art allows you to explore and express their creativity beyond the constraints of depicting recognizable objects or scenes.

Manageable Seamanly, Greeting Card.

Order available in @Redbubble

[frenchy-and-the-sea]

“Find the Word” Tag Game

This is a few days late but thank you @antique-symbolism!

Unfortunately, I couldn’t find any of the given words in my WIPs (they’re mostly short and mostly already posted) so I usurped the previous one and went with feeling(s)! From yet another WIP about Alex sorting out her feelings for the pretty little tag-along they picked up on the trip.

“Captain,” she had said when she was upright, with a polite lowering of her eyes. The motion scattered the shadows of her long, long lashes across the curve of her cheek, and Alex had been forced to admit that she was not, in fact, doing a seamanly sort of appraisal after all. She had given a little nod in return, and then, after a moment of hesitation, had presented her worn-through hose with a lopsided little grin.

“I hope you don’t mind a bit of company.”

Adelina hadn’t, of course — or at least, she hadn’t been willing to admit it — and thus Alex found herself reclined against the leeward rail, mending in her lap, hiding in the shadow of the mizzenmast with Adelina’s shoulder resting scant inches from her own. 

And it wasn’t distracting, really. Alex was too aware of her appetites and too used to grinding her feelings to powder beneath her heels to let something as simple as proximity sway her attention. But there was a certain draw that Adelina had, a certain light and gravity that filled her periphery like a lantern jostling dangerously close to the edge of its peg. She kept finding her head turned just slightly away from her darning to watch Adelina’s hands fumble, to listen to her swear violently under her breath where she thought Alex couldn’t hear. She had a lovely little temper simmering just under the surface; it was everything Alex could do not to try teasing her just to coax a little more out.

Tagging: @thereluctantinquisitor, @rufinagertrude, @bladeverbena, @leothelionsaysgrrrr, and anyone else who’d like to give it a whirl!

Your words are wait, choice, time and grace!

[strawberrybouvine]

HADAL ENANTIOMORPHOUS RATIONAL EXPIABLE SINGLE-ENTRY ARCHDUCAL PLUMATE RAVASHING EXPULSIVE SEAMANLY EPIGAMIC NATURAL TRIPHTHONGAL FEARSOME ORGANISM RECESSIONAL YOUNGISH OBTRUSIVE UNHURRIE

I'm losing my mind over this ask amdjkdjkwjsoa

[romeljay]

processing final Making it my own

It was now time to put some identity to my work.

i knew that i wanted to expand on it but i wasnt quite sure which route i wanted to take it.

after doing some online sleuthing i fell down the deep hole that is reddit and came across a sub reddit dedicated to meme-ing this exact logo.

but just like all memes, they have and expiry date. and lets just say that this meme was long but dead in the meme community. Knowing this i decided on commemorating this long “dead meme”  by stating exactly what it is...

with the ever so helpful resource page on the processing website, i found the mousePressed input. 

so now with a click and hold of the mouse button, it would display my second lot of text giving a more interactive experience to this work.

the trail effect seemed like the natural next step into making this work my own. 

again referring to the processing website i found the input for keypressed, adding it to my existing code so now with the hold of any key on the keyboard, youd get a satisfying trail effect.

combing all elements together, and you get a seamanly random outcome dependent on the users input.    

trail created by holding down any key on key board

void() setup {

if (keyPressed == true){ image(img, 480, 180); } // Display at full opacity  float dx = (mouseX-img.width) - offset;  offset += dx * easing;   

void() draw{

if (keyPressed == false){ image(img, 480, 180); } // Display at full opacity  float dx = (mouseX-img.width) - offset;  offset += dx * easing;  

“DEAD MEME” will appear when user clicks/holds down the mouse bottom

fill(#C0C0C0); font = loadFont("Futura-Bold-48.vlw"); textFont(font,17); if (mousePressed == true) text("M E M E", xpos-38, ypos-39);

fill(255,255,255); font = loadFont("Verdana-BoldItalic-48.vlw"); textFont(font,50); if (mousePressed == true) text("DEAD", xpos-79, ypos-66);

fill(mouseX,mouseY,height,height); font = loadFont("Verdana-BoldItalic-48.vlw"); textFont(font,50); if (mousePressed == true) text("DEAD", xpos-79, ypos-66);

to create a boarder around the “DEAD” & “DVD” text i simply wrote another line of code with the text being solid black to help separate the text as to make it readable while trail affect is in use

fill(255,255,255);  font = loadFont("Verdana-BoldItalic-48.vlw");  textFont(font,50);  if (mousePressed == true)  text("DEAD", xpos-79, ypos-66);

 fill(mouseX,mouseY,height,height);  font = loadFont("Verdana-BoldItalic-48.vlw");  textFont(font,50);  if (mousePressed == true)  text("DEAD", xpos-79, ypos-66);

fill(255,255,255);  font = loadFont("Verdana-BoldItalic-48.vlw");  textFont(font,50);  if (mousePressed == false)  text("DVD", xpos-60, ypos-66);

  fill(mouseX,mouseY,height,height);  font = loadFont("Verdana-BoldItalic-48.vlw");  textFont(font,50);  if (mousePressed == false)  text("DVD", xpos-60, ypos-66);

[readbookywooks]

ABOUT noon I stopped at the captain's door with some cooling drinks and medicines. He was lying very much as we had left him, only a little higher, and he seemed both weak and excited. "Jim," he said, "you're the only one here that's worth anything, and you know I've been always good to you. Never a month but I've given you a silver fourpenny for yourself. And now you see, mate, I'm pretty low, and deserted by all; and Jim, you'll bring me one noggin of rum, now, won't you, matey?" "The doctor - " I began. But he broke in cursing the doctor, in a feeble voice but heartily. "Doctors is all swabs," he said; "and that doctor there, why, what do he know about seafaring men? I been in places hot as pitch, and mates dropping round with Yellow Jack, and the blessed land a-heaving like the sea with earthquakes - what to the doctor know of lands like that? - and I lived on rum, I tell you. It's been meat and drink, and man and wife, to me; and if I'm not to have my rum now I'm a poor old hulk on a lee shore, my blood'll be on you, Jim, and that doctor swab"; and he ran on again for a while with curses. "Look, Jim, how my fingers fidges," he continued in the pleading tone. "I can't keep 'em still, not I. I haven't had a drop this blessed day. That doctor's a fool, I tell you. If I don't have a drain o' rum, Jim, I'll have the horrors; I seen some on 'em already. I seen old Flint in the corner there, behind you; as plain as print, I seen him; and if I get the horrors, I'm a man that has lived rough, and I'll raise Cain. Your doctor hisself said one glass wouldn't hurt me. I'll give you a golden guinea for a noggin, Jim." He was growing more and more excited, and this alarmed me for my father, who was very low that day and needed quiet; besides, I was reassured by the doctor's words, now quoted to me, and rather offended by the offer of a bribe. "I want none of your money," said I, "but what you owe my father. I'll get you one glass, and no more." When I brought it to him, he seized it greedily and drank it out. "Aye, aye," said he, "that's some better, sure enough. And now, matey, did that doctor say how long I was to lie here in this old berth?" "A week at least," said I. "Thunder!" he cried. "A week! I can't do that; they'd have the black spot on me by then. The lubbers is going about to get the wind of me this blessed moment; lubbers as couldn't keep what they got, and want to nail what is another's. Is that seamanly behaviour, now, I want to know? But I'm a saving soul. I never wasted good money of mine, nor lost it neither; and I'll trick 'em again. I'm not afraid on 'em. I'll shake out another reef, matey, and daddle 'em again." As he was thus speaking, he had risen from bed with great difficulty, holding to my shoulder with a grip that almost made me cry out, and moving his legs like so much dead weight. His words, spirited as they were in meaning, contrasted sadly with the weakness of the voice in which they were uttered. He paused when he had got into a sitting position on the edge. "That doctor's done me," he murmured. "My ears is singing. Lay me back." Before I could do much to help him he had fallen back again to his former place, where he lay for a while silent. "Jim," he said at length, "you saw that seafaring man today?" "Black Dog?" I asked. "Ah! Black Dog," says he. "HE'S a bad un; but there's worse that put him on. Now, if I can't get away nohow, and they tip me the black spot, mind you, it's my old sea-chest they're after; you get on a horse - you can, can't you? Well, then, you get on a horse, and go to-well, yes, I will! - to that eternal doctor swab, and tell him to pipe all hands - magistrates and sich - and he'll lay 'em aboard at the Admiral Benbow - all old Flint's crew, man and boy, all on 'em that's left. I was first mate, I was, old Flint's first mate, and I'm the on'y one as knows the place. He gave it me at Savannah, when he lay a-dying, like as if I was to now, you see. But you won't peach unless they get the black spot on me, or unless you see that Black Dog again or a seafaring man with one leg, Jim - him above all." "But what is the black spot, captain?" I asked. "That's a summons, mate. I'll tell you if they get that. But you keep your weather-eye open, Jim, and I'll share with you equals, upon my honour." He wandered a little longer, his voice growing weaker; but soon after I had given him his medicine, which he took like a child, with the remark, "If ever a seaman wanted drugs, it's me," he fell at last into a heavy, swoon-like sleep, in which I left him. What I should have done had all gone well I do not know. Probably I should have told the whole story to the doctor, for I was in mortal fear lest the captain should repent of his confessions and make an end of me. But as things fell out, my poor father died quite suddenly that evening, which put all other matters on one side. Our natural distress, the visits of the neighbours, the arranging of the funeral, and all the work of the inn to be carried on in the meanwhile kept me so busy that I had scarcely time to think of the captain, far less to be afraid of him. He got downstairs next morning, to be sure, and had his meals as usual, though he ate little and had more, I am afraid, than his usual supply of rum, for he helped himself out of the bar, scowling and blowing through his nose, and no one dared to cross him. On the night before the funeral he was as drunk as ever; and it was shocking, in that house of mourning, to hear him singing away at his ugly old sea-song; but weak as he was, we were all in the fear of death for him, and the doctor was suddenly taken up with a case many miles away and was never near the house after my father's death. I have said the captain was weak, and indeed he seemed rather to grow weaker than regain his strength. He clambered up and down stairs, and went from the parlour to the bar and back again, and sometimes put his nose out of doors to smell the sea, holding on to the walls as he went for support and breathing hard and fast like a man on a steep mountain. He never particularly addressed me, and it is my belief he had as good as forgotten his confidences; but his temper was more flighty, and allowing for his bodily weakness, more violent than ever. He had an alarming way now when he was drunk of drawing his cutlass and laying it bare before him on the table. But with all that, he minded people less and seemed shut up in his own thoughts and rather wandering. Once, for instance, to our extreme wonder, he piped up to a different air, a king of country love-song that he must have learned in his youth before he had begun to follow the sea. So things passed until, the day after the funeral, and about three o'clock of a bitter, foggy, frosty afternoon, I was standing at the door for a moment, full of sad thoughts about my father, when I saw someone drawing slowly near along the road. He was plainly blind, for he tapped before him with a stick and wore a great green shade over his eyes and nose; and he was hunched, as if with age or weakness, and wore a huge old tattered sea-cloak with a hood that made him appear positively deformed. I never saw in my life a more dreadful-looking figure. He stopped a little from the inn, and raising his voice in an odd sing-song, addressed the air in front of him, "Will any kind friend inform a poor blind man, who has lost the precious sight of his eyes in the gracious defence of his native country, England - and God bless King George! - where or in what part of this country he may now be?" "You are at the Admiral Benbow, Black Hill Cove, my good man," said I. "I hear a voice," said he, "a young voice. Will you give me your hand, my kind young friend, and lead me in?" I held out my hand, and the horrible, soft-spoken, eyeless creature gripped it in a moment like a vise. I was so much startled that I struggled to withdraw, but the blind man pulled me close up to him with a single action of his arm. "Now, boy," he said, "take me in to the captain." "Sir," said I, "upon my word I dare not." "Oh," he sneered, "that's it! Take me in straight or I'll break your arm." And he gave it, as he spoke, a wrench that made me cry out. "Sir," said I, "it is for yourself I mean. The captain is not what he used to be. He sits with a drawn cutlass. Another gentleman - " "Come, now, march," interrupted he; and I never heard a voice so cruel, and cold, and ugly as that blind man's. It cowed me more than the pain, and I began to obey him at once, walking straight in at the door and towards the parlour, where our sick old buccaneer was sitting, dazed with rum. The blind man clung close to me, holding me in one iron fist and leaning almost more of his weight on me than I could carry. "Lead me straight up to him, and when I'm in view, cry out, 'Here's a friend for you, Bill.' If you don't, I'll do this," and with that he gave me a twitch that I thought would have made me faint. Between this and that, I was so utterly terrified of the blind beggar that I forgot my terror of the captain, and as I opened the parlour door, cried out the words he had ordered in a trembling voice. The poor captain raised his eyes, and at one look the rum went out of him and left him staring sober. The expression of his face was not so much of terror as of mortal sickness. He made a movement to rise, but I do not believe he had enough force left in his body. "Now, Bill, sit where you are," said the beggar. "If I can't see, I can hear a finger stirring. Business is business. Hold out your left hand. Boy, take his left hand by the wrist and bring it near to my right." We both obeyed him to the letter, and I saw him pass something from the hollow of the hand that held his stick into the palm of the captain's, which closed upon it instantly. "And now that's done," said the blind man; and at the words he suddenly left hold of me, and with incredible accuracy and nimbleness, skipped out of the parlour and into the road, where, as I still stood motionless, I could hear his stick go tap-tap-tapping into the distance. It was some time before either I or the captain seemed to gather our senses, but at length, and about at the same moment, I released his wrist, which I was still holding, and he drew in his hand and looked sharply into the palm. "Ten o'clock!" he cried. "Six hours. We'll do them yet," and he sprang to his feet. Even as he did so, he reeled, put his hand to his throat, stood swaying for a moment, and then, with a peculiar sound, fell from his whole height face foremost to the floor. I ran to him at once, calling to my mother. But haste was all in vain. The captain had been struck dead by thundering apoplexy. It is a curious thing to understand, for I had certainly never liked the man, though of late I had begun to pity him, but as soon as I saw that he was dead, I burst into a flood of tears. It was the second death I had known, and the sorrow of the first was still fresh in my heart.

[readbookywooks]

WE made our best speed across the strip of wood that now divided us from the stockade, and at every step we took the voices of the buccaneers rang nearer. Soon we could hear their footfalls as they ran and the cracking of the branches as they breasted across a bit of thicket. I began to see we should have a brush for it in earnest and looked to my priming. "Captain," said I, "Trelawney is the dead shot. Give him your gun; his own is useless." They exchanged guns, and Trelawney, silent and cool as he had been since the beginning of the bustle, hung a moment on his heel to see that all was fit for service. At the same time, observing Gray to be unarmed, I handed him my cutlass. It did all our hearts good to see him spit in his hand, knit his brows, and make the blade sing through the air. It was plain from every line of his body that our new hand was worth his salt. Forty paces farther we came to the edge of the wood and saw the stockade in front of us. We struck the enclosure about the middle of the south side, and almost at the same time, seven mutineers - Job Anderson, the boatswain, at their head - appeared in full cry at the southwestern corner. They paused as if taken aback, and before they recovered, not only the squire and I, but Hunter and Joyce from the block house, had time to fire. The four shots came in rather a scattering volley, but they did the business: one of the enemy actually fell, and the rest, without hesitation, turned and plunged into the trees. After reloading, we walked down the outside of the palisade to see to the fallen enemy. He was stone dead - shot through the heart. We began to rejoice over our good success when just at that moment a pistol cracked in the bush, a ball whistled close past my ear, and poor Tom Redruth stumbled and fell his length on the ground. Both the squire and I returned the shot, but as we had nothing to aim at, it is probable we only wasted powder. Then we reloaded and turned our attention to poor Tom. The captain and Gray were already examining him, and I saw with half an eye that all was over. I believe the readiness of our return volley had scattered the mutineers once more, for we were suffered without further molestation to get the poor old gamekeeper hoisted over the stockade and carried, groaning and bleeding, into the log-house. Poor old fellow, he had not uttered one word of surprise, complaint, fear, or even acquiescence from the very beginning of our troubles till now, when we had laid him down in the log-house to die. He had lain like a Trojan behind his mattress in the gallery; he had followed every order silently, doggedly, and well; he was the oldest of our party by a score of years; and now, sullen, old, serviceable servant, it was he that was to die. The squire dropped down beside him on his knees and kissed his hand, crying like a child. "Be I going, doctor?" he asked. "Tom, my man," said I, "you're going home." "I wish I had had a lick at them with the gun first," he replied. "Tom," said the squire, "say you forgive me, won't you?" "Would that be respectful like, from me to you, squire?" was the answer. "Howsoever, so be it, amen!" After a little while of silence, he said he thought somebody might read a prayer. "It's the custom, sir," he added apologetically. And not long after, without another word, he passed away. In the meantime the captain, whom I had observed to be wonderfully swollen about the chest and pockets, had turned out a great many various stores - the British colours, a Bible, a coil of stoutish rope, pen, ink, the log-book, and pounds of tobacco. He had found a longish fir-tree lying felled and trimmed in the enclosure, and with the help of Hunter he had set it up at the corner of the log-house where the trunks crossed and made an angle. Then, climbing on the roof, he had with his own hand bent and run up the colours. This seemed mightily to relieve him. He re-entered the log-house and set about counting up the stores as if nothing else existed. But he had an eye on Tom's passage for all that, and as soon as all was over, came forward with another flag and reverently spread it on the body. "Don't you take on, sir," he said, shaking the squire's hand. "All's well with him; no fear for a hand that's been shot down in his duty to captain and owner. It mayn't be good divinity, but it's a fact." Then he pulled me aside. "Dr. Livesey," he said, "in how many weeks do you and squire expect the consort?" I told him it was a question not of weeks but of months, that if we were not back by the end of August Blandly was to send to find us, but neither sooner nor later. "You can calculate for yourself," I said. "Why, yes," returned the captain, scratching his head; "and making a large allowance, sir, for all the gifts of Providence, I should say we were pretty close hauled." "How do you mean?" I asked. "It's a pity, sir, we lost that second load. That's what I mean," replied the captain. "As for powder and shot, we'll do. But the rations are short, very short-so short, Dr. Livesey, that we're perhaps as well without that extra mouth." And he pointed to the dead body under the flag. Just then, with a roar and a whistle, a round-shot passed high above the roof of the log-house and plumped far beyond us in the wood. "Oho!" said the captain. "Blaze away! You've little enough powder already, my lads." At the second trial, the aim was better, and the ball descended inside the stockade, scattering a cloud of sand but doing no further damage. "Captain," said the squire, "the house is quite invisible from the ship. It must be the flag they are aiming at. Would it not be wiser to take it in?" "Strike my colours!" cried the captain. "No, sir, not I"; and as soon as he had said the words, I think we all agreed with him. For it was not only a piece of stout, seamanly, good feeling; it was good policy besides and showed our enemies that we despised their cannonade. All through the evening they kept thundering away. Ball after ball flew over or fell short or kicked up the sand in the enclosure, but they had to fire so high that the shot fell dead and buried itself in the soft sand. We had no ricochet to fear, and though one popped in through the roof of the log-house and out again through the floor, we soon got used to that sort of horse-play and minded it no more than cricket. "There is one good thing about all this," observed the captain; "the wood in front of us is likely clear. The ebb has made a good while; our stores should be uncovered. Volunteers to go and bring in pork. Gray and hunter were the first to come forward. Well armed, they stole out of the stockade, but it proved a useless mission. The mutineers were bolder than we fancied or they put more trust in Israel's gunnery. For four or five of them were busy carrying off our stores and wading out with them to one of the gigs that lay close by, pulling an oar or so to hold her steady against the current. Silver was in the stern-sheets in command; and every man of them was now provided with a musket from some secret magazine of their own. The captain sat down to his log, and here is the beginning of the entry: "Alexander Smollett, master; David Livesey, ship's doctor; Abraham Gray, carpenter's mate; John Trelawney, owner; John Hunter and Richard Joyce, owner's servants, landsmen - being all that is left faithful of the ship's company - with stores for ten days at short rations, came ashore this day and flew British colours on the log-house in Treasure Island. Thomas Redruth, owner's servant, landsman, shot by the mutineers; James Hawkins, cabin-boy-" And at the same time, I was wondering over poor Jim Hawkins' fate. A hail on the land side. "Somebody hailing us," said Hunter, who was on guard. "Doctor! Squire! Captain! Hullo, Hunter, is that you?" came the cries. And I ran to the door in time to see Jim Hawkins, safe and sound, come climbing over the stockade.