The Singing Ringing Tree is a musical sculpture in Lancashire, England. It is made of galvanized steel pipes that produce a dischordant choral sound that simultaneously resonates a range of several octaves whenever the wind blows through. Source
EXCELLENT. We’ll need at least sixteen more. And can you equip them with vuvuzelas?
….Why did we, as a race, do this? This is DEFINITELY going to summon something down from the void beyond the stars to feed upon us all.
Why are we so sure that this void-dwelling horror is coming to eat us, tho? Prey drawing in a predator with vocalizations is not usually how things work. (Granted, most preys are less stupid than humans, but the point stands.)
It’s more likely that the Singing Ringing Tree is going to accidentally function as a transgalactic mating call, a siren song that resonates into the void and draws some monstrous alien leviathan from the abyss between stars to copulate with the Earth, hoping our planet will sire a vicious clutch of discordant-voiced offspring to unleash upon the stars.
Ossë is a fish, I can understand his confusion, but thou?
Oh, my maker, left but not forgotten! How can you ask such things? Have you no more pride as a maia once of Aulë?
Aulë is father of the dwarves, lord of smiths… even his elf devotees wear beards! And are we not fashioned as mammals? Are we not beloved of wolves?
Why are YOU proud to be as hairless as mewling babe?
No need to be so dramatic, brother.
My ‘Aulëndil pride’, as it were’, comes from my love of crafting, smithing and the things he taught – not his looks. While the hair is… nostalgic, it is nothing I would wish to wear on my own fàna.
I have a fierce appriceation of beauty, which is why I pride myself in being as hairless and smooth as a gem or a well-sculpted marble statue.
Beauty in itself is a great tool. It gains the trust of the children faster, which makes it quite a lot easier to manipulate and decieve them.
I work with contrasts, dear brother. Our orcs are percieved as ugly and barbaric by the ‘good children of Ilùvatar’, our lands are dark and barren, Arien’s light never reaches us… And in a land filled with only wonderous, magnificent shadows, I am the only ‘Light’. They believe me to be their saviour – Someone kind enough to spare them, for surely someone this beautiful could never be evil.
It is like making them fear the things they love – the things they
trust. Making them fear the sky, the stars and their beloved, filthy
Moon.
The look on their faces when they realize that the thing they thought would save them is their true doom is the reason I am proud to be, as you put it, ‘as hairless as a mewling babe’.
Don’t me dramatic he says!
While tossing his locks and comparing himself to the sun in a darkened land!
Oh little brother, you are delightful.
Someday, the irony of shaping your life’s aesthetic around a storybook’s perception of good and evil will reach you. Maybe then you’ll grow some hair on your balls and they’ll stop mistaking you for a elfin child.
Don’t you patronize me, you big lump!
….. *sigh*
Forgive my outburst, brother – I have admittedly been rather tense as of late. Some of my servants, or our servants supposedly, haven’t exactly been easy to handle lately.
As for the hair on my balls… I have found that the people I take to my bed quite enjoy the fact that they do not have to bring shears in order to be able to find my entrance.
I imagine your lovers would have to bring all kinds of tools, and furthermore make sure that they don’t get stuck in that shrubbery you call ‘chest’.
Is that so? I imagine it would be easy to find even on a dark night amidst thick overgrowth– what with you lighting the way so generously for everyone.
…And I’ve had no complaints. Keeps them warm in winter, I say. Though if you’re comparing it to a shrubbery it sounds to me like you are in dire need of educating.
Let me know if you ever want to put your hands on a real Aulendur.
Ossë is a fish, I can understand his confusion, but thou?
Oh, my maker, left but not forgotten! How can you ask such things? Have you no more pride as a maia once of Aulë?
Aulë is father of the dwarves, lord of smiths… even his elf devotees wear beards! And are we not fashioned as mammals? Are we not beloved of wolves?
Why are YOU proud to be as hairless as mewling babe?
No need to be so dramatic, brother.
My ‘Aulëndil pride’, as it were’, comes from my love of crafting, smithing and the things he taught – not his looks. While the hair is… nostalgic, it is nothing I would wish to wear on my own fàna.
I have a fierce appriceation of beauty, which is why I pride myself in being as hairless and smooth as a gem or a well-sculpted marble statue.
Beauty in itself is a great tool. It gains the trust of the children faster, which makes it quite a lot easier to manipulate and decieve them.
I work with contrasts, dear brother. Our orcs are percieved as ugly and barbaric by the ‘good children of Ilùvatar’, our lands are dark and barren, Arien’s light never reaches us… And in a land filled with only wonderous, magnificent shadows, I am the only ‘Light’. They believe me to be their saviour – Someone kind enough to spare them, for surely someone this beautiful could never be evil.
It is like making them fear the things they love – the things they
trust. Making them fear the sky, the stars and their beloved, filthy
Moon.
The look on their faces when they realize that the thing they thought would save them is their true doom is the reason I am proud to be, as you put it, ‘as hairless as a mewling babe’.
Don’t me dramatic he says!
While tossing his locks and comparing himself to the sun in a darkened land!
Oh little brother, you are delightful.
Someday, the irony of shaping your life’s aesthetic around a storybook’s perception of good and evil will reach you. Maybe then you’ll grow some hair on your balls and they’ll stop mistaking you for a elfin child.
When the ages of the world unfolded in the darkness, and time opened like a flower, I was there watching, learning what was to come.
I told you I saw one brother usurp another; the line of the second son taking the place of the first in the succession of kings. You stormed into court and put a sword to your brother’s neck; he denied any such plot, and I was branded a liar. But in the end, was it not his sons that bore the crown?
I told you the continent would be overtaken by the race of Men. You brought your armies and your dreams of new kingdoms over the sea, but when you arrived, found that Men were weak and harmless to you. Again, you point your finger: “Liar!” But in the coming ages, Men spread from shore to shore; their kingdoms eclipse your ancient strongholds, and all your kin are drawn away to the sea like ghosts. Was I wrong?
And I told the race of Men: fear death. Why shouldn’t they? For death is unknown even to the Valar. Fear death, for it is final, opaque. Fear death because Eru built the world on uneven ground, its blocks quarried from inequality, misery and injustice. Why should His afterlife, if there is one, be any different? Eru promised you the elves would be reborn, yet who, of all speaking peoples, has ever returned from Mandos? Only a mortal man… and myself.
Tell me: have you ever been given cause to believe God loves you?
When have I ever lied to you?
To: My Dearest Cousin From: Your Favorite Fish
– You are always so generous with your creative talents, so it only seemed appropriate to equally dedicate myself to creating this portrait of you.
Nothing I could have done would have prepared me for this
MisbehavingMaiar: Tumblr Archive 