May 2014 – Yogic

The astute and observant amongst you (by law of averages there’s bound to be at least some) will be aware that since January I have been suffering from vague and mysterious pains and generalised agonies, in and around my hip. This has led to thoughts of DIY amputations or the acquisition of slightly lethal quantities of painkillers. In the last month my strange and nebulous bodily torments have fallen under the purview of a physiotherapist, who now valiantly quests to sort out my gammy hip once and for all. He has, however, been extremely reluctant to use advanced military cybernetics as a solution. (What can I say? He’s a traditionalist.)

So as you read this I will be, in all likelihood, barely clothed, sprawled out on a massage table being subjected to the eye-watering agony of “treatment.” Last time, when I asked what he was doing his response could be summarised as “Oh, I’m just poking your tendons so hard that the connective tissue starts to dissolve.” I shall count myself lucky if I can stand once he is finished, and doubly lucky if I can manage walk properly afterwards. But as the old saying goes: “You can’t make an omelette without pain so intense that it makes your nerves melt and your bones howl.” (This is a lie, that is not how the old saying goes.)

This (as always) tenuous segue leads us to this month’s Pictonaut Challenge and the grotesque flexibility of Yogic.

I found this particular image on tumblr. So prevalent and scattered is its presence that an actual, proper attribution of its source has proved quite difficult to find. To be frank (I am not Frank) I’m quite surprised I’ve had so much with attribution thus far. But I digress most horribly and most foully. (Category 3 digression-crime; 5 years; iso-cubes.) This image has an “air” to it; An air of upbeat indomitably. It’s the kind of image which makes you want to climb the highest mountain you can find just so you can scream “COME AT ME BRO!” into the cold, empty and infinite firmament of the heavens. With the raw power of existence thrumming through you veins and making you feel your very body is made of thunder and dragon’s breath.

James Clayton – Third one, not a charm

Tapdancing Lexicon – Inexplicable

The Rogue Verbumancer – Day of the Leap