The Moon


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We have one of these beautiful objects up in our kitchen:
This made me think immediately of Bridget Riley




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Wolf Moon tonight innit

The Wolf Moon​

The January full moon is often called the Wolf Moon, according to the Old Farmer's Almanac, which may date back to Native American tribes and early Colonial times when wolves would howl outside villages.

According to the Ontario Native Literacy Project, the Ojibwe (or Aanishnabeg) peoples called it Mnido Giizis, the Spirit Moon, marking a time of prayer and contemplation. Among the Cree peoples it was sometimes called Opawahcikanasis, the Frost Exploding Moon — for the sound of trees crackling from the winter frost common in many parts of Canada.

The Māori of New Zealand measured lunar months between new moons, so the full moon of January falls in the middle of the month called Hui-tanguru, or "The foot of Rūhī (a summer star) now rests upon the earth." Rūhī refers to a star in Scorpio, near Antares. During the austral summer Scorpio tends to be below the horizon until after midnight.

In China, the full moon will fall in the 12th month of the traditional lunar calendar, Làyuè, or "Preserved Month" which refers to preserving foods for the spring festivals.



thread death

Astrophil and Stella 31: With how sad steps, O Moon, thou climb'st the skies​

With how sad steps, O Moon, thou climb'st the skies!
How silently, and with how wan a face!
What, may it be that even in heav'nly place
That busy archer his sharp arrows tries!
Sure, if that long-with love-acquainted eyes
Can judge of love, thou feel'st a lover's case,
I read it in thy looks; thy languish'd grace
To me, that feel the like, thy state descries.
Then, ev'n of fellowship, O Moon, tell me,
Is constant love deem'd there but want of wit?
Are beauties there as proud as here they be?
Do they above love to be lov'd, and yet
Those lovers scorn whom that love doth possess?
Do they call virtue there ungratefulness?


thread death

Sad Steps​

Groping back to bed after a piss
I part thick curtains, and am startled by
The rapid clouds, the moon’s cleanliness.

Four o’clock: wedge-shadowed gardens lie
Under a cavernous, a wind-picked sky.
There’s something laughable about this,

The way the moon dashes through clouds that blow
Loosely as cannon-smoke to stand apart
(Stone-coloured light sharpening the roofs below)

High and preposterous and separate—
Lozenge of love! Medallion of art!
O wolves of memory! Immensements! No,

One shivers slightly, looking up there.
The hardness and the brightness and the plain
Far-reaching singleness of that wide stare

Is a reminder of the strength and pain
Of being young; that it can’t come again,
But is for others undiminished somewhere.


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A less poetic citation from Strabo

Celtiberians and their neighbours on the north offer sacrifice to a nameless god at the seasons of the full moon, by night, in front of the doors of their houses, and whole households dance in chorus and keep it up all night.

Rrrrrrave on


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A lost Greek source from 330BC, re-used later in Roman writing, of night people walking on the darkside in British pre-conquest rites

They say that the moon, as viewed from the island, appears to be but a little distance from the earth and to have on it prominences, lile those of the earth, which are visible to the eye. The account is also given that the god visits every nineteen years the period in which the return of the stars to the same place in the heavens is accomplished