Wildering

2012-01-21T14:10:00.001-08:00

2012-01-01T09:20:00.001-08:00

Ladies & Gentlemen of the Free Ocean,

Would you like to be part of Kook 3? Launching early Summer 2012, this is a call for all submissions to hit our shelf by March 31st. Surfing is the emulsifier, the ingredients can be as diverse as it gets. Loose theme this time is Hobo Shoestring...

2011-12-29T12:18:00.001-08:00

One more

2011-12-29T11:55:00.001-08:00

2011-12-28T07:34:00.001-08:00

Finished, for Aradia

2011-12-26T13:46:00.001-08:00

Happy boxing day

2011-12-26T05:52:00.001-08:00

Happy Christmas

2011-12-24T03:34:00.001-08:00

2011-12-22T11:38:00.001-08:00

2011-12-22T11:36:00.001-08:00

Heartwood Thrall (flightless birds)
For Oliver Banks

The wyke rests its wildness
Sleep now, beast, sleep
For we dance in the dawn
Deep in the heartwood
Morning light comes strafing
Parting the ancient oaks
Landslides under urchin paws
New pages in the book of stone
That fiend with giant hands
Who smacks eternal lips
Groans a query:
How long can this last?
Place of endless past
Vast nothingness space
Tree roots to the edge
And beast face behind
With fearsome breath
Salt in the whiskers
Fire torching the groves
Burning to the brine
The beck calling out:
We are clinging to you
You are our one hope
(But in cracked paving
Plants grow thick and free
Infinite capacity
Of this tranquil land
This rock and sand
This mist-wrapped sea,
To heal)
From beast cliff a bird keens
The peel rends
Stitches in the cloth of time
A final, futile roar appends:
This is richer than gold
The horizon lifts
The beck boils
Trees wrap the shoreline bends
Falling from the cliff,
Falling fast
Flightless, unflying, not trying to soar but resigned to the crunch of the floor
Tight with trappings
The last question unheard
Flightless bird

Stills by Ollie Banks

2011-12-22T11:30:00.001-08:00

2011-12-06T02:54:00.000-08:00

The Isiqalo Foundation (UK) supports educational and health awareness initiatives in South Africa focusing on HIV awareness and skills creation

The Isiqalo foundation aims to:

Fund programs in the disadvantaged community of the township of Masiphumelele in the Western Cape that facilitate and promote the empowerment and development of children and young adults

Donate to Isiqalo this week

http://www.isiqalo.org

2011-11-15T03:03:00.000-08:00

Murmuration from Sophie Windsor Clive on Vimeo.

How she is feeling at the end. That's why we are here people.

2011-11-08T08:07:00.000-08:00

Temp delay in kook sending as I moved house, apologies. All ordered kooks now winging their way cross country...

2011-10-19T00:40:00.001-07:00

2011-10-16T12:45:00.001-07:00

Note 12

There was a time when I saw you
In the smoky corners of
Crazy slap rhythm bars
Emerging from the haze
Sashaying between
Groups of fixated men
Like a haze licked dream
And you laugh then, and now
As but the beautiful can
We started to exchange
Glances
Stolen looks across crowded floors
And the doors, Gracey,
The doors we had to open
Just to talk
You shied at my suggestions
And cried unashamedly
When they died
I took you in my arms
and smiled inapproriately at the sky
We moved through the years
The bars became smokier
It was harder to breathe
That stale air
Peacock feathers and cards
The faces always changing
And Gracey laughing at time
The lines, the lines we had to swallow just to ride
You were my prayer, my dream
The luck I had to spend a second at your side
Decades trickled by
All has changed but the notes of fickle laughter
High, clear invitations
To a beautifully private joke
The bars are paved beneath a road, that crazy strip
Over-written
And the laughing days are rarer still
Like a fill was leavened
The cup drunk
All those years of tipping arms, swallowing, exhaling
I find you here, at times, looking out over the busy road
Looking at the past, I think
Then I call to you:
You are not the caged bird, the cage is in your brain
And the corners of your mouth go up, knowing, uncaring
Just plain stubborn in the face of it

I stand alone at the road and watch the cars race by
I do not cry, for you would not approve
Hell runs in the grooves of life
But the heaven we held is ours.

2011-10-10T14:06:00.001-07:00

"Life appears: a complex dampness, destined to an intricate future and charged with secret virtues, capable of challenge and creation. A kind of precarious slime, of surface mildew, in which a ferment is already working. A turbulent, spasmodic sap, a presage and expectation of a new way of being, breaking with mineral perpetuity and boldly exchanging it for the doubtful privilege of being able to tremble, decay, and multiply."

Roger Caillois, The Writing of Stones

2011-10-08T03:56:00.001-07:00

High tide falling
Blue upon blue upon blue
Twisting
Wave after ceaseless
Wave pours through
Stumbles
Across shallow sand
crunch of shells
Where sea greets land
Under orange-footed gulls
Under paved grey sky
Whose clouds announce:
This I'm a slave to
And proud
Proud to crave
This where I'll live,
Where I'll be
where I'll die
This is what saves me,
How I survive.
This is the sum
Of a life near free
Another day wasted
On ripples,
A place to be,
Another one before
The sundown
A few more steps,
A last ride;
Frown replaced
The motion of water,
Grace
Another tide.

2011-10-07T02:43:00.000-07:00

3 x chapbooks currently in production, excerpted from 'A Dictionary of 26 Nothings.' This is my first short story collection, written on the road in America and Russia.

2011-10-04T05:41:00.001-07:00

Jse

2011-09-19T15:51:00.001-07:00

Thickets

High up
Far away and flying now
Suspended by the finest rope
And a truckload, a barrier reef
A world-sized sack of hope
Gossamer threads we weave
To decorate a life
To achieve a semblance of fact;
I did this, I am that

I was this, I had that
A galaxy of riddles, a mountain of tat
A million silent stories
We gather and hoard
And board ourselves in with
Thin logic, fat ambition

Cold across the marsh
The marching frost, the feverish dusk
And a promise in your air
'we'll be flying, on'
And we will, in those quiet songs
Of unknown length and night
I'd beg to gain a tenth
Of your gravity
your height

We could say: we were this,
We had that
Or, better still
We are this, we are that

High, far away and flying now
Thin the air
And beneath us,
Between seams of cloud
And fathomless air
A field of glass shards
And a thief that
Steals our dreams
Even as he reads our cards
We were this, we did that
We were this, we did that

2011-09-06T15:50:00.001-07:00

2/3, one dinged simmons, bruised hand, grazed ass, missed appointments, barefaced lies, sets on the horizon out from my grandma's beach hut, for sale sign on the bluff from a folding tunnel where no tunnel should be, screaming rainstorm painting the brown sea white, time passing, passing time. Rare waves of home...

2011-09-05T23:52:00.001-07:00

Wind Direction (WDIR): SSW ( 200 deg true )
Wind Speed (WSPD): 29.9 kts
Wave Height (WVHT): 9.2 ft
Average Period (APD): 6

2011-09-05T00:49:00.001-07:00

Gale warning with dangerous seas. Small craft advisory. Use extreme caution. Large short period wind waves.
Seas: SSW 3.4 to 4.4 meters at 7 sec.
Winds: SW 34 to 46 knots

2011-09-02T02:32:00.000-07:00

Mat made by Paul Gross, da fins from Graeme Webster. Best photos locked in the vault... classic summer bank holiday.

2011-08-26T04:55:00.001-07:00

Graffiti in a moto shitter, on the road north

2011-08-15T11:50:00.001-07:00

Fickle little rivermouths
Box of flys

Apologies for any delayed kooks... London has been a riot

2011-08-11T02:36:00.000-07:00

Some of my words are featured on Around Stighlorgan, check it out

2011-07-22T01:14:00.000-07:00

I'm walking in mountains for a week... All ordered KooKs posted, normal service resumes next Thursday.

2011-07-17T13:41:00.001-07:00

2011-07-15T04:26:00.000-07:00

pictures by A Rowse

KooK2

Features

*Van Barista by Finley Wallace

*Last Dance of the Newt by Oliver Banks & Mark Dickinson

*Bookbinding with Sarah J-K

*UK mat-riding by Gray Webster

*How to get Barreled on your Street by Cyrus Sutton

*Photographs of top secret Oregon surfing locations by (?)

*Tales of a 1980 pendo-wibulator by Steve & Cher Pendarvis

*The Birth of Cool by Sam Bleakley

*What Grinds My Gears by John Isaac

And further gold from over 90 contributors. Delivered worldwide. Re-use the envelope.

2011-07-15T01:29:00.001-07:00

Gratitude board gets an outing... A deer on the beach, swell still holding in there

2011-07-14T14:10:00.001-07:00

Home, as good as it gets

2011-07-12T01:56:00.000-07:00

These hustlers read the kook... do you?

2011-07-11T12:10:00.000-07:00

temporary kook1 supply problem... normal service will resume in T-2 days. All KooK2 orders now dispatched...

Free delivered KooK2 for whoever can come up with the best definition of KooK...

2011-07-11T02:30:00.001-07:00

Daily kook drop using epic farm ruck sack courtesy of Jason @ Makr Carry Goods

makr.com

2011-07-05T10:18:00.001-07:00

*illustration by Andrew Kidman

There’s One There Bigger Than a Submarine

By Andrew Kidman

“The horses figured it out,” said Paul Leon. “I mean, how would you know there was fresh water down there in those rock pools?”

We sat up in the scrub looking for movement on the surface of the ocean. The sun had finally fucked off, literally drowning on the horizon, its heat snuffed out by the mother of us all.

For me it was the best hour of the day, for a moment I could see straight. As the coolness of the sea swept over us, the muted purple hues faded up into the first star and off into outer space.

The beer was cold enough - “mad-man’s soup” they called it. Two swigs and I was half pissed. The days’ sun had drawn every molecule of moisture out of me.

“Now what was that you were saying Paul Leon?” I gabbed.

Paul Leon pointed down to the limestone rock pools that edged their way into the sea.

“There’s fresh water down there in those tide pools. Underground wells that seep up and leave fresh water in the holes. The drovers used to take their horses down there back in the day to cool off, the horses walked over to the tide pools and started drinking from the wells. It was a godsend. Whoever would have thought there was fresh water down there?” he reiterated.

Paul Leon pointed towards a lifting swell. “There’s one, you see that?” he said in his monotone drawl.

“Wow,” I said somewhat more enthusiastically, “you weren’t kidding.”

We’d come down to watch the salmon run. Paul Leon had predicted we’d see a White if we came down on dusk. And sure enough, there it was: a submarine trawling through a school of salmon and busting them up.

“Geez, they move,” I said.

“Yeah,” said Paul Leon. “Now you know why we’re not so fussed about going for the late.”

“Yeah,” I said. It made me nervous just sitting in the sand dunes. “Jesus, will you look at the size of that bastard!”

The White hooked a u-turn and blazed through the school again, fish and shit flying everywhere.

And then it was all over: just a pale green sea, gently calming down and putting itself to sleep as a blanket of wind began to puff from the land.

“It’ll be on again tomorrow,” Paul Leon said as he rose to his feet. “Let’s make a run to the pub. I need a few more, it’s been another dry one.”

Whilst his name sounded French, he didn’t much look nor act as such. He stomach-butted open the back door of the pub and made his entrance. Frenchy they called him, a name that couldn’t have been further from the truth. Paul Leon found his place at the bar.

“What’ll it be Frenchy?” said the bar lady as she wiped the bench in front of us.

“Two of you, take away,” said Paul Leon. “I’ve got a nice quiet retreat on the back of my truck. I’ve just had the curtains done in teal.”

The bar lady scoffed and turned her back.

I tried to drift in unnoticed, but no one was buying it. “Who’s you’re new girlfriend Frenchy?” said one of the sun-cured faces at the end of the bar. “You showing off the waves again Frenchy? You know how much we love to share our waves around.”

Paul Leon looked up and smiled, “Fuck you, Scrub Rabbit. Aren’t you from Tasmania?”

The locals at the bar acknowledged the sledging with wry smirks and eyes to the Scrub Rabbit, before drifting back to more important musings.

I’d been introduced and ignored, so I looked around. The bar was a shrine to the White and its hunter. Bent hooks, jaws and photographs of young fisherman standing next to bloodied monsters twice their age. Record catches and records broken - all taken from the surrounding sea. I’d heard all the stories from down here. I’d heard so many it wasn’t worth talking about. Not that I could stop myself from thinking about it. I had pretty much kissed the sand when I’d hit the beach earlier in the day.

Paul Leon had taken me out to the fabled left that broke a mile and a half out to sea. It was a sight to be seen, a natural wonder of the world: sweeping blue groundswells lifting on the shallow shelf, plumes of white cascading over dark blue caverns that flawlessly peeled into a giant breeding canyon.

“Best not to think about what’s underneath you,” Paul Leon advised as we’d paddled over the canyon on the way out. That said I’d spent the entire surf constricted by fear. He knew it too.

“Did you see that?” he’d quipped, “Oh, it’s nothing.” He wasn’t fazed at all.

“I guess you get used to it,” I’d said to him.

“Get used to what?” he replied, “Chicks fallin’ all over ya? I can’t help it if I’m a good looking Aussie bloke with a French name.”

As I paddled back out after each wave I felt sick. I’d wondered if a human could feel anymore vulnerable? Then the hysteria had set in, (that was always a good feeling) a cocktail of anxiety and reverie. I looked around and realised I was sitting in the line-up alone. Paul Leon had caught his last wave. No doubt the bastard had laughed his way to shore at my expense.

Paul Leon’s voice woke me from my cranial wanderings at the bar.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Oh, just thinking about today,” I replied.

“Good waves eh!” he said.

“Yeah, probably the best ever.”

“Ya know you’re sitting in Digby’s chair,” said Paul Leon. “Digby Stevenson. He got taken down here some fifteen years ago now. That was his chair. See his name’s still there,” he said as he motioned to the space directly in front of where I was sitting.

I looked down at the bar. “DIGBY” had been carved into the wood with a penknife. Around his name other folk had celebrated his life with drunken drawings and words. Someone had surrounded the collage with the jaws of a White.

“That’s ultimate respect,” said Paul Leon, “ultimate respect is the Great White Shark. Humans aren’t humbled by too much, but they sure is humbled by the White.”

“I think you might be right about that Paul Leon.”

“I know I’m right about it. I’ve been livin’ and surfin’ in this desert me whole life. Now let’s get the fuck out of this shithole, before they lock us in with the blow-ins.”

Note from the Author - (The title of the story was taken from the song Shark Fin Blues by The Drones)

*The story 'There's One There Bigger Than a Submarine.' published in KooK2, with illustration to accompany. Both illustration and words are by Andrew, who recently created 'Lost in The Ether.'

Please visit his website for more information

2011-07-04T11:14:00.001-07:00

*All ordered KooKs were dispatched this morning. Thankyou very much to all those people that support the KooK by buying it. We are an entirely independent publication and rely on the support of our readers.

2011-06-30T02:01:00.000-07:00

Ash Grunwald reads The KooK! In France no less... photo courtesy Fingers Malone

2011-06-30T01:57:00.001-07:00

Kook2 - not just for grommets

2011-06-20T03:13:00.000-07:00

****KOOK 2!****

The first 100 K2s = numbered and signed

All KooK2 orders placed now will be dispatched from July 1st.

We hope you enjoy it...

A MASSIVE THANKYOU to all the 90+ people that contributed

2011-06-17T03:19:00.000-07:00

Too many KooKs spoil the broth

K2 Launch Date 01/07/11

Launch party September - details to follow

*****What is the KooK?******

*24-page Independent Surfing Newspaper

*Pink Newsprint

*UK-printed paper from sustainable forests

*No paid advertising

*Almost 90 Global Contributors

*Available worldwide to your door, July 1st

2011-05-28T04:59:00.001-07:00

Lovely day in Norfolk, michael's Mackie

2011-05-28T04:56:00.001-07:00

whitespiritarts.com
Da's studio

2011-05-20T11:11:00.000-07:00

K2 on the press...

2011-05-16T02:36:00.000-07:00

From here on in:

http://www.danielcrockett.co.uk/blog/

2011-05-15T03:02:00.001-07:00

2011-05-09T15:24:00.001-07:00

Fat hen

2011-04-28T12:21:00.001-07:00

Tall dance the poppies

Abscond abscond you vagabond rat
but leave me that gunny and the tall straw hat
Sell you the pastry and the cannonball tat
and the skipping ropes and the old goose-fat
Take you the bowery and that bovine cat
Leave the peacock feather pinched from my cap

Depart depart oh rotten fiend you
And stir up the soup and obsidian stew
The stairs are broken and the roof is not new
And the maggoty offal is turning to blue
The silence between us it grows as it grew
Tall dance the poppies on this heart you slew

Begone begone you wiley judge old
With your whiskers and whispering voice in the cold
Gather the terrapins and the housepig bold
And cast them out, for the seller got sold
For I taught you a lesson, but it was I who got told
Now you'll dance and laugh at the night till it folds

We'll laugh at the beauty, the sadness, the hate
We'll laugh at our laughing, the darkness negate
The sand will slip through our fingers at a terrible rate
For I was the rod and you the bait
And I'll catch you walking, in some woman's gait
Catch your memory wandering - that is my fate

2011-04-27T07:17:00.001-07:00

Made it - london/cornwall!

2011-04-12T06:25:00.001-07:00

Mudrats

We bonded over dirty kettles
and an abscence of lingerie
The bleeding abscess left by now
Deserted
Withering the passing time
With blue flames
of passion
Another blueblack night
Passing
Another purer dawn
Like glugging at devotion
Without folding down
the straw

Just one//
infinite trysts
Yet the potion tastes
sweeter still
This invisible pill
we all
Seek to swallow

A strange and hybrid notion
Cross-eyed, hare lip kicking
Indefatigably hollow
And the brink
ain't
much
to
tip
So come
Slip with me beneath the nettles
Our bodies stung to bits

There is no map for this
The guidelines bleached out
Like the chalk of some forgotten game
The players long passed, their same fires
cold
Their bodies dust,
Their bones old

2011-04-04T07:37:00.000-07:00

50watts

2011-03-31T04:21:00.001-07:00

Just Beautiful

2011-03-23T03:20:00.001-07:00

http://www.slowcoast.co.uk/soundslides/

2011-03-18T13:13:00.001-07:00

2011-03-17T16:29:00.000-07:00

http://cgi.ebay.co.uk/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?ViewItem&item=160559216667#ht_1941wt_932

solid gold people power

2011-03-16T03:36:00.000-07:00

I had the very great pleasure of going to this last night. It's on until Saturday and is full of goodness...

2011-03-11T05:00:00.000-08:00

i-am-bull.com

2011-03-04T10:22:00.000-08:00

KooK 2 spreads are in... stay tuned

2011-03-03T01:52:00.000-08:00

Shannon and the band of freqs up in the scene with Snoop

2011-02-28T07:10:00.001-08:00

February Feathers

Eyes seeking forlorn sun as we fall apart
Forsaken February, would you strip for me?
Let your feathers tumble about your waist, your heart?
We could climb a ladder, solder the grey sky shut
Or write a letter whilst the light laps our lives
And scuffle, and smooch
From your nest, how does the feather fall?
Do you tap about the ties?
There is no doubt a wall about this month
And the red dog howls in the alley and the night presses in on the day
A wall about my mouth and the feather gone
Would you dance with me, February, beneath the forlorn sun?
Would you kick your heels and point your feet, destroy the rhythm; incandescent
The ladder tumbles through the gathering cloud
At last free, the light moves out beyond reason or reach;
Luminescent
There is a cage about this month it seems
And the night suffocates our dreams, the red dog roars loud in the street
There is a pall on this month
And the seams, the seams at any time may split
Would you hold me, February, or hold the ladder at least?
Inside we sit, wonder at the beginnings and ends of our time
The rise and rise of a tide; the feather hovers, floats
And the red dog wails in the alley, the night beats on the doors of the day
There is a muzzle about my throat whilst
The street screams contempt at the lovers, the living
There is a fever in this month, a perilous gladness
And it dances its jig before the lonely eyes of March
(Or the sadness of April, the destruction of May)
There is brutal honesty to these spectres, certainty always a guess
Throw a cloak about us, February, beneath your wings we undress

(the fox lies silent, the blind man may not see the grey skies;
the light is wild and violent, where it falls upon your eyes)

2011-02-28T07:04:00.001-08:00

A brace for Monday

2011-02-23T12:41:00.000-08:00

could it be. Wait, no. That IS Johnson. (image by clive symm)

2011-02-23T01:23:00.001-08:00

One of my oldest friends on this green earth and former bandmate in the almighty Endorphin, Matt Adams, has released a new album under the name Julius Way. Entitled 'The Slow Death of Julius Way,' it is built with layer on layer of emotion. Dreamwalking folk at its finest. First-listen highlights for me include 'The Dawn' and 'Enemy' but the album is loaded with good tracks. This is independent music worth supporting. If you dig it, please post a link on your blog or site.

Listen to the slow death of julius way

2011-02-22T15:43:00.000-08:00

2011-02-22T07:09:00.001-08:00

[15:07:52] Michael Crockett: I'd try cornwall first, and see how your arse is feeling.

My dad's response to my plan to cycle to Burma

2011-02-17T01:57:00.000-08:00

Comporta

I am become grampus

World weary

Heaped with storks

That nest upon me

Immobile

Paralysed by ancient age

The sage who learned nothing

Gazing brokenly after a single day

A Single Day

A life ago, two, three?

When we drove on instinct; reckless, free

Planted an orange tree we bought from a street market

Now it bears fruit, sags heavy in the afterglow of spring

You used to sing, the boughs straining with vitality

And After, always after, once the laughter fades

The storks take wing, I dream the tree -

gnarled and old as you, as me

2011-02-16T14:01:00.001-08:00

2011-02-15T15:04:00.000-08:00

Go west

2011-02-14T01:35:00.001-08:00

Rob and Richard are organising this, should be classic

2011-02-08T03:34:00.000-08:00

For people that ordered a kook in the last ten days, thankyou very much and apologies for the delay in posting them out. Normal service will resume tomorrow.

2011-02-07T16:15:00.001-08:00

That's 15 foot

2011-01-31T13:36:00.001-08:00

Ola Portugal

2011-01-26T10:36:00.001-08:00

new site

2011-01-19T10:02:00.001-08:00

Cheikh Lo

2011-01-07T13:57:00.000-08:00

Open publication

Paper Sky, Blue Moon

Poems by

Daniel Crockett

*limited edition chapbook coming soon

2011-01-03T08:27:00.001-08:00

Nick with Steve's board, good things cooking in Cornwall

2011-01-01T09:21:00.000-08:00

*DC by AC West Penwith, dawn of the decade

2011-01-01T08:55:00.001-08:00

2010-12-25T06:34:00.001-08:00

Still dredging on the push!

Brrr

2010-12-24T06:15:00.001-08:00

NONOEA (no-one on, near or even aware of it), home almost doing its rare spinning lefts. Baltic.

KooK 2 approaching the finish line. So many incredible contributions, trying to house them all in 24 pages. It's coming soon...

Thankyou to all those people that got the first kook. Hope you enjoyed it as much as we did.

Happy Christmas!

2010-12-06T07:33:00.001-08:00

soma

2010-11-29T08:26:00.000-08:00

2010-11-24T02:10:00.000-08:00

Getting kook2 ready for press... EXTENded deadline to 30th November for all you slackers out there!

2010-11-11T06:41:00.000-08:00

Van Dyke was wrong. "They turned out to be porpoises," he said. "And they pushed me all the way in to shore." The porpoises were unavailable.

2010-11-08T12:52:00.000-08:00

Down a familiar path to a place of quiet dreams where the best of memories linger

2010-11-08T03:02:00.001-08:00

2010-11-04T10:46:00.000-07:00

Whalesong

I boom-mumble I bass-blow

I hull-heavy I big/slow

I boat bump I limpet-skin

I soft-sink I sky-swim

I sea-search I salt-swallow

I bone-backed I fluke-follow

I gulf-cross I listen-talk

I moon-map I wave-walk

I tail-turn I time-keep

I ship-wreck I song-seek

I blue-blood I grumble-sing

I fish-heart I dream king

Sophie Stephenson-Wright

2010-11-03T07:10:00.000-07:00

333 posts... Keep those KooK subs coming. November 15th Deadline This one is gonna be fat!

2010-11-02T08:08:00.000-07:00

2010-11-02T03:42:00.000-07:00

If you haven't already

http://www.andrewkidman.com/

2010-10-28T16:31:00.000-07:00

A trunkful of beautiful things unearthed. Photo collages illuminated by Neil. KooK contributions are Epic - makes it worth doing all this stuff hearing from so many great people the world wide!

2010-10-26T06:15:00.000-07:00

2010-10-24T06:11:00.000-07:00

2010-10-23T05:43:00.000-07:00

2010-10-22T05:26:00.001-07:00

Incredible triptych done the worst disservice. Didn't catch the name of the photog, but incredible. I can see why words are a bit pale next to this kind of thing, but:

We Need Writing

for the kook

2010-10-18T04:26:00.000-07:00

Submission deadline 15th November. Thankyou for all subs so far.

2010-10-16T01:44:00.000-07:00

Protest

2010-10-12T02:57:00.000-07:00

October 14th

Gather outside the Japanese Embassy

101-104 Piccadilly

London W1J 7JT

Between 12.00 PM and 2.00 PM

worldwide peaceful and lawful protest of the annual dolphin slaughter in Japan, as depicted in the the Academy Award winning documentary The Cove and the Animal Planet series Blood Dolphins. The Japanese government issues 23,000 permits annually to coastal communities to kill dolphins of several species. A few are sold, at great profit, to aquariums and swim-with-dolphins programs around the world. The captive dolphin industry subsidizes the slaughter. The majority of the pod is then slaughtered for meat. But the meat is contaminated with outrageous amounts of mercury and other pollutants, exceeding the Japanese government’s own health limits. This is a human rights issue as much as an animal welfare issue.

Demonstrations will be going on throughout the world in front of Japanese embassies and consulates on October 14th. Please join your fellow environmentalists and animal activists in protesting the hunts and urging Japan to switch to more sustainable and benign methods of profit, such as eco-tourism and dolphin-watching cruises (ironically becoming more popular in Japan every year).

2010-10-10T20:11:00.001-07:00