3D (GA's) Leviathan's tail

[...]
And when at last the prince of darkness, couch'd
In symbol of the great leviathan,
The dragon of the river floods of Nile,
Harden'd the heart of Pharaoh, scourged by all
Heaven's plagues, until it grew like adamant,
And led him to assay the ocean depths
And satisfy his lust on Israel there,
Vainly God moving in the pillar cloud
Smote with His glittering sword that monster's head,
And with the wreck of chariots and of arms
And horsemen overta'en in baleful rout
Cumber'd the waters and confused the shores.
All was in vain. Each desperate repulse
But seem'd to kindle fiercer subtler hate
In those infatuate spirits, till I have seen
The cheek of Michael alter with distress,
And all the hosts of heaven astonied stand,
As couriers in successive hours announced
Hell's endless crafts, each deadlier than the last.
[...]

Edward Henry Bickersteth, "Yesterday, To-day, and For Ever". (Book VI: The Empire of Darkness).

3D (GA's) Aquatic plant

I'm constantly on the two-fold disaster in Burma, trying to not post on that though, to avoid repetition. It's just that reminds me so closely to the dictatorship times in Argentina that I just can't take it off my mind. Many people "torn from their root like a water-plant in autumn"...

My heritage lost through disorder and famine,
My brothers and sisters flung eastward and westward,
My fields and gardens wrecked by the war,
My own flesh and blood become scum of the street,
I moan to my shadow like a lone-wandering wildgoose,
I am torn from my root like a water-plant in autumn:
I gaze at the moon, and my tears run down
For hearts, in five places, all sick with one wish.

Bai JuYi, "To my brothers and sisters adrift in troubled times".

3D (GA's) Midgarthormr

Sea without end. Fish without
end. Green enclosing cosmogonic serpent–
green serpent and green sea–
the earth encircled. The serpent’s mouth
bites its tail, though it comes from afar,
from the nether confine. The stern
ring pressing us is a tempest’s splendour,
reflections of reflections, shadow and murmur.
It is also the amphisbaena. Its many eyes gaze
eternally one upon another, in an absence
of horror. Each head grossly scents
the irons of war and its spoils.
It was dreamed in Iceland. The gaping seas
have witness it and trembled.
It will return with the cursed
ship armed with dead men’s nails.
Its inconceivable shadow will loom
high above the pale world on the day
of high wolves and splendid agony
of a twilight without name.
Its imaginary image darkens the air.
Toward dawn I saw it all in nightmare.

Jorge Luis Borges, "Midgarthormr".

Sculpture in the digital desert

[...]
“Stay a moment, Brother; plunder us of our passion;
Our day is short, but our beauty is eternal.”
Never have I found a place, or a season, without beauty.
Neither the sea, where the white stallions champ their bits and rear against their bridles,
Nor the Desert, bride of the Sun, which sits scornful, apart,
Like an unwooed princess, careless, indifferent.
She spreads her garments, wonderful beyond estimation,
And embroiders continually her mantle.
She is a queen, seated on a throne of gold
In the Hall of Silence.
She insists upon humility.
She insists upon meditation.
She insists that the soul be free.
[...]

Charles Erskine Scott Wood, "The poet in the desert".

Long stamens II

You are like a pale purple flower
In the blue spring dusk

You are like a yellow star
Budding and blowing
In an apricot sky
You are like the beauty
Of a voice
Remembered after death

You are like thin, white petals
Falling
And
Floating
Down
Upon the white stilled hushing
Of my soul.

Angelina Weld Grimke, "Evanescence"

At sixes and elevens

I wanted to modify the parameters of the image I was working on, and (without knowing why) used values of 6 and 11 all around. This is the abstract, however, I named it; mostly because it took a lot of time to render.  ;-)  Image and poem were thought for people who like math, then.  The poem was written by Binyon, a poet that I like very much.

Trefoil and Quatrefoil!
What shaped those destinied small silent leaves
Or numbered them under the soil?
I lift my dazzled sight
From grass to sky,
From humming and hot perfume
To scorching, quivering light,
Empty blue! — Why,
As I bury my face afresh
In a sunshot vivid gloom —
Minute infinity's mesh,
Where spearing side by side
Smooth stalk and furred uplift
Their luminous green secrets from the grass,
Tower to a bud and delicately divide —
Do I think of the things unthought
Before man was?

Bodiless Numbers!
When there was none to explore
Your winding labyrinths occult,
None to delve your ore
Of strange virtue, or do
Your magical business, you
Were there, never old nor new,
Veined in the world and alive: —
Before the Planets, Seven;
Before these fingers, Five!

You that are globed and single,
Crystal virgins, and you that part,
Melt, and again mingle!
We have hoisted sail in the night
On the oceans that you chart:
Dark winds carry us onward, on;
But you are there before us, silent Answers,
Beyond the bounds of the sun.
You body yourselves in the stars, inscrutable dancers,
Native where we are none.

O inhuman Numbers!
All things change and glide,
Corrupt and crumble, suffer wreck and decay,
But, obstinate dark Integrities, you abide,
And obey but them who obey.
All things else are dyed
In the colours of man's desire:
But you no bribe nor prayer
Avails to soften or sway.
Nothing of me you share,
Yet I cannot think you away.
And if I seek to escape you, still you are there
Stronger than caging pillars of iron
Not to be passed, in an air
Where human wish and word
Fall like a frozen bird.

Music asleep
In pulses of sound, in the waves!
Hidden runes rubbed bright!
Dizzy ladders of thought in the night!
Are you masters or slaves —
Subtlest of man's slaves, —
Shadowy Numbers?

In a vision I saw
Old vulture Time, feeding
On the flesh of the world; I saw
The home of our use undated —
Seasons of fruiting and seeding
Withered, and hunger and thirst
Dead, with all they fed on:
Till at last, when Time was sated,
Only you persisted,
Dædal Numbers, sole and same,
Invisible skeleton frame
Of the peopled earth we tread on —
Last, as first.

Because naught can avail
To wound or to tarnish you;
Because you are neither sold nor bought,
Because you have not the power to fail
But live beyond our furthest thought,
Strange Numbers, of infinite clue,
Beyond fear, beyond ruth,
You strengthen also me
To be in my own truth.

Robert Laurence Binyon, "Numbers".

Venus Foam

Again with a song by Héroes del Silencio. I just like the band and now they are playing again.

Off guard, close to my lips
harvest mouth, carnation breasts,
curves of honey, corner of voices
and knives of saliva.
I swam naked on your swell
now that the boat is sinking
and only you can save me.
And you doubt my doubts
of my rituals, of my ruins.
Between always and never
I swam naked on your swell
the foam of venus, the slender fruits
that wanted to milk
the dowser searching for water

Fiction is and will be
my own reality.

Artists of sin
I learned by heart
the geography of your
sugar and steel centre.
Venus foam,
I swam naked on your swell
immaterial perfume
shelter and beginning
the vertical howling
as an answer to your prodigies.

Fiction is and will be
my own reality.

With the unworn disguise
of diving into the ephemeral
fiction is and will be
the only reality.

Héroes del Silencio, "Venus Foam".
You can play the song here:

Abstract Nº 72

Sit in reverie, and watch the changing color of the waves that break upon the idle seashore of the mind.

Henry Longfellow.

Five leaves

The leaves of bamboo grass
All o'er the mount with silken
Rustles sound, yet
I dream of my darling,
For I am parted from her.

Kakinomoto no Asomi Hitomaro.

Piast

Tired today of 2D and thiking about matching poems, couldn't help to try my 3D extensions again. The image was generated after a very simple set of instructions, only spheres were used at the 3D renderer.
It was born hours ago, and as it looks like sort of a water monster, I named it Piast, like the irish beast.
The creature was generated by genetic algorithms, the background is fractal-generated and both interact, as the water demonstrate.
Image is widescreen 16:9.

Of monsters the Irish had, and still believe in, the Piast (Latin bestia), a huge dragon or serpent confined to lakes by St. Patrick till the day of judgment, but still occasionally seen in their waters. In old Fenian times, namely, the days of Finn and his companion knights, the Piasts, however, roamed the country, devouring men and women and cattle in large numbers, and some of the early heroes are recorded to have been swallowed alive by them and then to have hewed their way out of their entrails.

Joseph Dunn & P.J. Lennox, "The glories of Ireland".