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  • Some of you guys know I am a carpenter. However mainly framing and renovations and finishing. I bought my first house within the year ( our dream on a acreage), and I promised my wife a new kitchen table. So I took on the project of cutting down some trees on the property and make my first log piece. It was a enjoyable experience and learnt some do's and don't's for next time. This is the final phase of it constructed. I am still waiting on it drying more completely as it was green wood for most of it. Its still looks great and super strong and it's not even finished yet. Final final phase will be some sanding and filling small cracks and a oil finish of some sort. I have not decided on what oil finish I am going with yet. I am however excited to see it actually completed. It took me about a week start to finish with my time after work which isn't that bad in my mind. All with hand tools. Pulling the bark a large draw knife. Milling the logs with a chainsaw (okay not REALLY a hand tool), a hand plainer, a drill and saw. Each leg (Aspen wood) has its own unique feature of "cat face" (the black design on the leg), which I pointed all outwards. The border is was a Spruce, and the core is Cherry. I cut the Spruce into 4 quarter logs, so its is still rounded on the bottom.

    excuse the sightly spotty pictures... Lighting wasn't that good and my phone did what it could

  • Awesome job Cpl., looks cool

  • I write poetry and short comedic stories.

    Poem 1 - ‘untitled’

    it must be said i want to see you
    smoking a cigarette and talking about nothing
    about what you did and who you saw
    and sometimes smiling and sometimes
    not
    but looking lovely like
    flowers on a sill
    it should be said i want you always
    on grey winters when my
    face is stained by wind or rain
    or tears
    and the sky is black with smoke
    from dirty factories and distant
    shapes of men in overalls
    lead like ants over the horizon
    and i am missing you
    and i think of you a lot
    in stark hours marked by the
    ticking tock of ancient clocks
    and the world seems so heavy in
    those moments
    but distance will not be
    the death of us
    and it must be said
    i have been missing you all my life
    and i wait for you still.


    Poem 2 - Excerpt of a Diary Found in a Train Station WC
    When you saw me you thought me maudlin
    and hopelessly boring,
    Five pints deep at the Ritz
    Grasping my shoulder, you spit-
    'You never smile and I've had enough of it!'
    'Oh, but my soft-eyed darling', I coo
    'Don't make a scene, the band are staring at you!'
    Back when life wasn't so terribly dull,
    about three or four hours ago
    When life seemed rich and full of adventure
    like the trip to the chip-shop
    In a silent car ride south
    Then back home
    To sit in front of the telly
    Catching a repeat of
    Love's young dream
    There, bedazzling
    On the television screen

    But what is life
    and what does it mean?
    And can we please watch a show
    we haven't yet seen?

    Poem 4 - Mauberley mon amour

    Capitan Novello, best orator of London
    found himself undone by unseemly articles
    in the evening post
    Capitan Novello, friend and mentor once
    in those old, unspoken ways
    driven half-mad by the Boche on the Somme
    Capitan Novello, undone
    spoke thus to me:

    After the attack
    I saw the green grass turn yellow
    Sprout wild flowers red green blue
    Out of shell-holes
    Out of bleached bones
    These moments lost
    Like memories
    Like rain

    I hadn’t seen him since Catalonia
    I was in Paris then.
    out of step with the decade
    tired of Parisian patter
    and Chateau Neuf de Turpentine
    men “in the Dorian Mood”
    lay supine reading Voltaire
    what a shame then, that they
    had nothing between the ears.

    m’amour Novello,
    ever undone
    how I missed him then
    and now
    with graying hair
    and trembling hands at tea set
    how my youth vanished
    not in flame or smoke
    not by rifle nor sabre
    not by Franco
    nor in film
    but the youth squandered
    ever inebriate
    ever un misanthrope sans espoir
    as the old men in factory-side pubs sing:

    With each passing day,
    Youth slips away
    Like memories, like rain.

  • To further continue my previous post, I've actually put together a collection of 10 poems that I'm aiming to get published. Sent some to some small-scale competitions and magazine publications, and in my free time, I sometimes perform them at open-mic nights at pubs and whatnot. You can read it here:
    https://www.wattpad.com/story/177773143-the-radio-only-plays-love-songs
    It forms a semi-autobiographical tale of a failed writer, growing old and dying, looking back at the failed opportunities and painful moments of his life, supposed to be in equal parts humourous and melancholy. Lot of First World War inspiration, as well as the post-20's Modernists and latter social-realist movement of the 50's.

  • Whoa, excellent work!

    One question - When/If published, what will this entail? Possibly added to a global book? I assume then royalties? I guess that is three questions.. Derp.

    Anyways again, great work. Good luck on getting it published!

  • Another passion of mine
    -Getting stuck in deep snow in the mountains :D

  • edited March 1

    @"Cpl. Vos" said:

    Another passion of mine
    -Getting stuck in deep snow in the mountains :D

    i Love Snow <3

    https://plus.google.com/b/106623869024070679948/photos/photo/106623869024070679948/6663472487918870050

  • edited March 3

    Gotta get your self a pair of ski skins and touring bindings! Looks good though! @"PFC Wassili"

    Ive done my fair share of touring. Nothing like it that's for sure. No resort riding will ever compare. Love it


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