DIY nug jar to keep that shit and to keep pinchers from pinchin’. The recipe is as follows:
1) get some photo realistic animal stickers, ideally weird ones
2) get some talk bubble stickers
3) slap that shit on a jar and call it a day
“♫ ♪_hello_mumble_ grumble_whistle_♪ ♫” by Ute Via Flickr: Kokey, my Lilac Crowned Amazon parrot is very happy now, he has his favorite jug back which just arrived from the house where he has not been back to in 2 years ((: This jug is his microphone and amplifier, he talks into it and it comes back to him louder and deeper in sound (((:
The spring stays on in the water of the gift. In the spring the rock dwells, and in the rock dwells the dark slumber of the earth, which receives the rain and dew of the sky. In the water of the spring dwells the marriage of sky and earth. It stays in the wine given by the fruit of the vine, the fruit in which the earth’s nourishment and the sky’s sun are betrothed to one another. In the gift of water, in the gift of wine, sky and earth dwell. But the gift of the outpouring is what makes the jug a jug. In the jugness of the jug, sky and earth dwell. The gift of the pouring out is drink for mortals. It quenches their thirst. It refreshes their leisure. It enlivens their conviviality. But the jug’s gift is at times also given for consecration. If the pouring is for consecration, then it does not still a thirst. It stills and elevates the celebration of the feast. The gift of the pouring now is neither given in an inn nor is the poured gift a drink for mortals. The outpouring is the libation poured out for the immortal gods. The gift of the outpouring as libation is the authentic gift. In giving the consecrated libation, the pouring jug occurs as the giving gift. The consecrated libation is what our word for a strong outpouring flow, “gush,” really designates: gift and sacrifice. “Gush,” Middle English guschen> gosshen—cf. German Guss> jjiessen—is the Greek cheein, the Indoeuropean ghu. It means to offer in sacrifice.
Earth is the building bearer, nourishing with its fruits, tending water and rock, plant and animal.
When we say earth, we are already thinking of the other three along with it by way of the simple oneness of the four.
The sky is the sun’s path, the course of the moon, the glitter of the stars, the year’s seasons, the light and dusk of day, the gloom and glow of night, the clemency and inclemency of the weather, the drifting clouds and blue depth of the ether.
When we say sky, we are already thinking of the other three along with it by way of the simple oneness of the four.
The divinities are the beckoning messengers of the godhead. Out of the hidden sway of the divinities the god emerges as what he is, which removes him from any comparison with beings that are present. When we speak of the divinities, we are already thinking of the other three along with them by way of the simple oneness of the four.
The mortals are human beings. They are called mortals because they can die. To die means to be capable of death as death. Only man dies. The animal perishes. It has death neither ahead of itself nor behind it. Death is the shrine of Nothing, that is, of that which in every respect is never something that merely exists, but which nevertheless presences, even as the mystery of Being itself. As the shrine of Nothing, death harbors within itself the presenting of Being. As the shrine of Nothing, death is the shelter of Being. We now call mortals mortals—not because their earthly life comes to an end, but because they are capable of death as death. Mortals are who they are, as mortals, present in the shelter of Being. They are the presencing relation to Being as Being.
When we say mortals, we are then thinking of the other three along with them by way of the simple oneness of the four.
Earth and sky, divinities and mortals—being at one with one another of their own accord—belong together by way of the simpleness of the united fourfold.
“The Thing” from Poetry, Language and Thought by Heid-EGG-er