Black Sapphire's blog: "If you don't laugh, you'll cry"

This guy is amazing. These are all done on the pavement with chalk. Amazing!!!!

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People are actually walking around the hole

This is the correct angle to look at it

This is the wrong angle, but shows you how he does it.

My dear friend Rain posted this on My Space and I thought I'd share it with you lovely people: 1 Money isn't made out of paper, it's made out of cotton.. 2. The Declaration of Independence was written on hemp (marijuana) paper 3. The dot over the letter i is called a "tittle". 4. A raisin dropped in a glass of fresh champagne will bounce up and down continuously from the bottom of the glass to the top. 5. Susan Lucci is the daughter of Phyllis Diller. 6. 40% of McDonald's profits come from the sales of Happy Meals. 7. 315 entries in Webster's 1996 Dictionary were misspelled. 8. The 'spot' on 7UP comes from its inventor, who had red eyes. He was albino. 9. On average, 12 newborns will be given to the wrong parents, daily. 10. Warren Beatty and Shirley MacLaine are brother and sister. 11. Chocolate affects a dog's heart and nervous system; a few ounces will kill a small sized dog. 12. Orcas (killer whales) kill sharks by torpedoing up into the shark's stomach from underneath, causing the shark to explode. 13. Most lipstick contains fish scales (eeww) 14. Donald Duck comics were banned from Finland because he doesn't wear pants. 15. Ketchup was sold in the 1830's as medicine. 16. Upper and lower case letters are named 'upper'and 'lower' because in the time when all original print had to be set in individual letters, the upper case' letters were stored in the case on top of the case that stored the smaller, 'lower case'letters. 17. Leonardo DA Vinci could write with one hand and draw with the other at the same time hence, multi-tasking was invented. 18. Because metal was scarce, the Oscars given out during World War II were made of wood. 19. There are no clocks in Las Vegas gambling casinos. 20. The name Wendy was made up for the book Peter Pan; there was never a recorded Wendy before! 21. There are no words in the dictionary that rhyme with: orange, purple, and silver! 22. Leonardo Da Vinci invented scissors. Also, it took him 10 years to paint Mona Lisa's lips. 23. A tiny amount of liquor on a scorpion will make it instantly go mad and sting itself to death. 24. The mask used by Michael Myers in the original "Halloween" was a Captain Kirk's mask painted white. 25. If you have three quarters, four dimes, and four pennies, you have $1.19 You also have the largest amount of money in coins without being able to make change for a dollar (good to know.) 26. By raising your legs slowly and lying on your back, you can't sink in quicksand (and you thought this list was completely useless.) 27. The phrase "rule of thumb" is derived from an old English law, which stated that you couldn't beat your wife with anything wider than your thumb. 28. The first product Motorola started to develop was a record player for automobiles. At that time, the most known player on the market was the Victrola, so they called themselves Motorola. 29. Celery has negative calories! It takes more calories to eat a piece of celery than the celery has in it to begin with. It's the same with apples! 30. Chewing gum while peeling onions will keep you from crying! 31. The glue on Israeli postage stamps is certified kosher.. 32. Guinness Book of Records holds the record for being the book most often stolen from Public Libraries. 33. Astronauts are not allowed to eat beans before they go into space because passing wind in a space suit damages it. I NEED TO REMEMBER THIS! 34. George Carlin said it best about Martha Stewart: "Boy, I feel a lot safer now that she's behind bars. O. J. Simpson and Kobe Bryant are still walking around; Osama Bin Laden too, but they take the ONE woman in America willing to cook, clean, and work in the yard, and they haul her fanny off to jail."

So me and my friend Eme (Mimi Bee) were just discussing he facts of life. You know: Life's a bitch and then you die, so why spend it doing things you hate? Why can't you find a career or occupation that you love? You spend at least 50% of your awake hours working. Why waste your living days doing things you don't enjoy, make you miserable or generally leve you feeling like each day has been a waste of your precious life? I'm not saying we should all quit our jobs and do nothing all day. People have to work, else the earth wouldn't run. What I mean is, I believe there is a place for everyone. Take my friend Doug for instance: He works for the Transport department of our local Government and he LOVES his job. He loves talking about it and sharing useful information. He's proud that he knows most of the city's bus routes by heart. And good on him! He's found his little niche in the world. Why can't the rest of us? Now my job, is not really that bad. I've had a lot worse. The pay's good, the holiday's good and the general morale isn't bad either. But I am not happy. I simply just don't want to be here. It doesn't feel right and I feel like I'm missing out on something. I'm a writer, an arist, a musician, I don't belong in a lab. I want to use my natural deity-given talents, as I believe we are given them for a reason. They are the link to our rightful place in this world. They help us discover who we are and where we belong. Eme is currently studying for her qualifications as a healer with the dream of making it her profession. So she's engorging herself in herbalism, crystals and chakras. She dreams of running her own business some day. Maybe I could join her. She seems interested in including the Wicca and witch side of things into the potential business. It's something I'd love to do. I could run a website with online seminars and information pages, maybe even an e-commerce section. I'd love that. I'd love for James to just be able to quit his job and write his books professionally. It's what his soul wants to do. It makes him happy. If all of that failed I'd love to write songs for people, just because I love to do it and I'm quite good with lyrics. I'd love to write a tv series and have several ideas for some. I'd love to be a novelist, because writing is my greatest joy and my best gift. I also love photography. I see beauty in so many things and I want to capture it, whether it's a flower or a telegraph pole. This is who I am. The problem is, when you're 16 or 17 you are forced to choose a path to follow, either career or an area of education. So, without really knowing what you want from life you pick a path and you stick to it. You get a job or you go to College. Either way you end up in a career of some description and because of the way the world of employment works, with qualifications and experience dominating the hiring decisions, you're stuck with it. Then in your mid-twenties you're maturing and you finally work out who you are, where you belong and what you want from life. But you're stuck in this other path and you're too scared to jump off and try the new 'riskier' option because you're too afraid that it'll fail and you'll end up without any path at all. It's easy to say: "take a risk, live life to the full, make that jump, follow your heart." But for the realists of us, we know that there are bills, Mortgages or rent to be paid. For some of us, there are children to consider. It's a nice dream, it really is. It's all dependant on whether you're willing to take the risk. But there are many who say that for any true dream, the risk and the gamble is the price you have to pay for it. And that if it's truly what you want, if it's your true passion, then it is worth the risk. Sigh. All I know is that I feel like I am only in this job day to day because I have to be. If I had the choice, if money was no object, I wouldn't be here. I'm not saying that if I had the choice I wouldn't work, I'm just saying I wouldn't choose this. I'd choose the writing, or running the Spiritual Healing company with Eme. I'd run a website to help people with depression, or for bi-curious people who need help and advice. I'd do something I care about, something I feel passionately about. I look around me every day and I see people passionate about their jobs and if not passionate, they are totally dedicated to it. People who take their careers so seriously it takes over from their home life. I am just not wired that way. Not about my work. I work because I have to. It's just who I am. It doesn't mean I'm lazy, it doesn't mean I don't care about my work, I do! It just means that my priorities are different. My family and my loved ones are my priorities. Finding a way to express myself and to just be myself, doing what I feel I was born to do. That's my priority. A couple of years ago my sister slipped into a coma after her undiagnosed ME (chronic fatigue syndrome) got the better of her. I dropped everything to travel up there to be with her, my brother-in-law and my nieces. For a week she was unconcious, the doctors seemed convinced that she wouldn't wake up. But I knew differently. I knew she as still in there somewhere and that when she was ready she would come out of it. Much to the shock of the entire ICU staff, she woke up and was off all life support within 24 hours of them taking her off the drugs. But during that week, that felt like months, I learned just how much my family meant to me and that I really didn't give a shit whether work had blown up in my absence. It was not my priority. They could have threatened to fire me, I would still not have left them. Sometimes I wish I had a job that I did feel completely passionate about and was totally dedicated to. Like, for example, the people who work in film. Have you seen the documentaries on the Lord Of The Rings or King Kong DVDs? The people who work for Weta (Peter Jackson's effects, props company in new Zealand) are incredible. They are some of the most talented, creative people on the planet. There are artists, model-makers, computer special effects, lighting effects, prop-designers, costume design, crafts-workers, editors, film crew, the lot of them are completely dedicated to the job. They are so passionate that they spend days on end without rest just to get one tiny little thing perfect. The detail they work to, the hours they put in, the effort, the thought and care they take with their work is commendable. I watch those documentaries in awe and part of me is envious. I wish I could be so passionate about my job. And the thing is is, I know I could be, if only I had the right one. But do I have the guts to make that leap? Is there too much at risk? Is it worth the risk anyway to reap the rewards? It's easy to tell someone to just "go for it!'. But in all honesty, how many of us would follow our own advice?

Billie was out with a plan this morning. Her stride had purpose to it as she marched down the high street past all the shops and stores she passed every other day. Yet this morning they all seemed new and mysterious as though one of them might hold the elusive answer to her quest. Her gaze even lingered slightly longer on the windows of the brightly coloured trendy places where all the cool kids shopped. But she soon moved on again. The answer definitely wasn't in there. She wasn't quite sure what made her turn down the little alley. Maybe it was the way the sun passed straight over it, leaving it dark and mysterious. Maybe it was the old fashioned phone-box sitting at the corner. Or maybe it was they way her eyes were drawn to the broken cobbles lining the ground. The alley looked like it belonged in the Victorian times. It was bleak and primitive and yet somehow comforting to her. But whatever it was that lured into the damp-smelling street, it was forgotten as Billie wandered further from the busy, bustling noise of the High Street. This place seemed to have no sound. No breeze. No birds flew overhead. It was almost like she had stepped out of time itself. Very soon she found herself staring into the window of a quaint little shop window with no sign or name on the door. She cupped a hand over her eyes and peered into the gloom within, but could make out only dim shapes and shadows. "Can I help you, my dear?" Billie jumped in shock, her heart leaping in her chest and her tummy bubbling butterflies. She didn't know why but she felt like she'd just been caught stealing candy, like a naughty little child. She hadn't even heard the old man come out of the shop. She opened her mouth to reply, but found herself staring at him in astonishment. He was small and stooped, like any old man should be, and yet there was a sparkle in the gentleman's blue eyes that held her gaze. He wore brown trousers and shoes with suspenders and a dark brown cardigan over a pale green shirt. It was like he'd been plucked out of a story book. Such a perfect little old man. She found herself returning the smile he offered warmly and sincerely. "I'm looking for something." she said, suddenly remembering that he had asked her a question. "Oh, well you must come inside and see if I have anything you'd like." he said enthusiastically. In any other situation, Billie would have kindly thanked him and left. But instead she smiled and moved forward as he motioned to the doorway. He pushed the door open, which creaked on its ancient hinges in an alarming manner. Why didn't the door make such a racket when he came outside? she wondered to herself. As Billie stepped into the room beyond she was immediately greeted by the odor of old dust, like the smell of really old books: decaying paper and old tobacco. She found it oddly welcoming. As the old man follwed her into the shop she caught a whif of his scent. He smelt of pipe smoke and humbugs, just like her Grandfather. There was something about the smell of pipe tobacco that always made her feel comfortable. "Now, my dear, what sort of thing are you looking for?" the old man rattled beside her in his croaky yet mellow tones. "I'm..." she trailed off to gaze around the store. It reminded her slightly of the shop in the old cartoon "Mr Ben". Or rather it was the life-like version of what she imagined the animated costume shop would look like. It was full of racks and rack of clothes, old and new, bright and dark, of every style, fashion and time period you could think of. Some looked like they belonged in Shakespeare plays, other like they were pantomine clothes. Other looked like the clothes they wore in the sixties or seventies. "Yes my dear?" promped the old man, patiently. She turned and smiled apologetically. "Sorry. I am looking for a disguise." she said simply. "A disguise? What kind of a disguise?" he asked thoughtfully, looking around the shop as though searching for some inspiration. "One so that no one would recongise me." "I see." he said stroking his chin. "And don't wou want people to recognise you, dear?" Bille stopped for a moment, trying to pull together he explanation properly. "People don't like me. If I wear a disguise they won't recognise me. So they might like me." she explained. The old man regarded her uncertainly. "That is a strange reason to want a disguise." he said, sounding surprised. She turned to look at him questioningly. "Why do you say that?" "Well, dear, if people like you when you wear the disguise, surely it is the disguise they like. They do not truly like you." Billie stopped and thought about this for a moment. "I do see what you mean. But I am so lonely. I'd rather have friends who only like the disguise I wear, than no friends at all." The old man shrugged sadly. "Very well my dear. Now then let's see what we have..." Billie tried on lots of clothes and costumes. She tried on a sixties mini-skirt, a mediaeval dress, a mermade costume and one that made her look like a cowgirl. She even did her hair up in lots of different styles and played with the stage make-up the old man offered her. But nothing looked right. "It's just not convincing." she wailed, sagging her shoulder and dropping onto a small stool. The leather trousers and basque she wore creaked painfully. "And it's really uncomfortable." she added. "Hmmm. Yes I'm afraid people would see straight through these disguises." the old man agreed. He looked down at the girl's sad face and took pity on her. He sat down on a stool beside her and took her hand. "Tell me, dear, why is it you think people don't like you?" Billie sighed deeply. "It is beause I am sad." she replied. "Sad, my dear?" "Yes. I am always unhappy and miserable. Sometimes I feel so sad I don't want to be alive anymore. Sometimes I get angry for no good reason and sometimes I start crying when there is nothing to cause it all!" she explained waving her hand in the air dramatically. She lowered he hand again, deflatingly. "People don't like that." She summised, her voice soft and weak. The old man looked sadly at her for a moment and then an idea came to him. "Wait here, my dear, I have just the thing!" she leapt to his feet in a manner most energetic for a man of his age and disappeared into a room in the back of the shop. He appeared again a few moments later carrying a small red box. "Here you are! Try that on for size!" he said enthusiastically, shoving the box into her hands. She regarded it curiously for a few seconds then slid the lid off. "What is it?" she asked, hoping not to sound ignorant. She wasn't quite sure what she was looking at. "Try it on. I'm sure it's your size." he said excitedly. "She picked it up carefully and placed it on her face, which instantly lit up like a sunbeam." "It fits! It fits!" the man clapped his hands together in delight. "How does it look?" she asked uncertainly. "It's perfect. No one would ever know it wasn't real." Billie got up and went over to the mirror in the corner of the room and studied her face carefully. The old man was right. The new disguise was perfectly convincing and you couldn't even tell it was a fake. "It's exactly what I wanted. This will work for sure!" she exclaimed to the old man who beamed at her. "You better make sure you wear at all times, and don't let it slip, else people will see that it's not real." he instructed her. She nodded urgently. "Oh yes. I must wear it in public all the time." she agreed. "How much is it?" she asked, reaching for her purse. "Nothing to you, my dear. I only ask, that should you ever come back and visit me, that you take it off so that I may see the real you." Billie smiled warmly and gave the old man a tender kiss on the cheek. "You are a true friend." she told him. "Yes." he replied. "True friends don't need to see the disguise. They like you for your true self." he added wisely. With that, Billie thanked the old man again and left the shop, ready to show the whole world her new Smile.

Darkness can have a strange effect on the mind. It can make you crazy, playing on your worst fears taking you to the brink of despair until you feel like your insides are tearing themselves apart and you're helpless..so helpless. For Darkness represents all our fears. Darkness is the symbol and the mask that blinds us, it is the Vail that keeps us from that comfortable place of enlightenment. The very word enlightenment is so coincidence, oh no. Everything in this world seeks a state of stability, a place of comfort. And for us, for the human race as we are, we seek knowledge. We seek understanding and clarity. We seek enlightenment for enlightenment takes us to that place of comfort, that place where we have knowledge. For if we have knowledge, we have power. But without knowledge? We are lost and helpless, we are blind and confused, full of despair. We are in the dark. The true nature of Darkness here reveals itself. In Darkness lies our fear. In Darkness..lies the unknown. But is it all in the mind? Are all our fears a figment of our collective imaginations, manifested in the monsters under the bed? Are the monsters more likely a skeleton in the closet? Or are they real? The mind is a powerful force after all. Are the monsters just shadows of ourselves, cast from light and forged from Darkness itself. Maybe. But maybe somewhere along the way the darkness took form, became solid and grew a knowledge of its' own. Maybe the monster under the bed is real after all and the knowledge we hold so dear to us is the very tool of darkness. Does our knowledge cloud our minds? Do we tell ourselves that the shadows are just shadows? Do we assure each other that the monsters are all in the mind, that they cannot be real? And if so, has darkness itself turned inside out? What is shadow if no more than darkness created by light? So what is our knowledge, if not lies..forged by darkness? We are turned in on ourselves, and on each other. The light burns coldly now. Wherever we stand we cast a shadow, and only when light surrounds us are we safe. We are never safe from the dark. It's there, in each and every one of us. Doubt. Suspicion. Fear. And sometimes, the safest place to be..is in Darkness.