Yesterday, the Pilot appeared live with John Hyatt, Ted Chippington and the Nightingales at the New Continental, Preston.
Saturday 28 May 2011
The Pilot's first live gig!
Yesterday, the Pilot appeared live with John Hyatt, Ted Chippington and the Nightingales at the New Continental, Preston.
Thursday 26 May 2011
The Pilot of Bee Patrol Flight Log Entry 110525
The Pilot has sent a whole new set of communications of the contents of his Flight Log.
This is the second of special transmissions for the Pilot of Bee Patrol Flight Log. These are not part of his exciting adventure episodes which continue on Youtube on the Hyattmovies channel.
This communication describes a very special day but, as the entries to the Flight Log are undated, it is impossible to say when this recording was made, except to repeat the words of the Pilot, "There is no past, there is no future, there is only the Now".
This is the second of special transmissions for the Pilot of Bee Patrol Flight Log. These are not part of his exciting adventure episodes which continue on Youtube on the Hyattmovies channel.
This communication describes a very special day but, as the entries to the Flight Log are undated, it is impossible to say when this recording was made, except to repeat the words of the Pilot, "There is no past, there is no future, there is only the Now".
Monday 23 May 2011
Extract from The Pilot's Log 4
A River Ran Through It
Through the revolving doors, the foyer had a river running through it. Rich red, patterned carpet ended in a metal strip and polished tiles lead to the central feature of a model sailing ship some four metres long by four high. Beyond that there was a small rail like on a ship. Over this rail, you could see the coy carp circling in the eddies. The river water was clear and flowed seemingly backwards to a forty-metre waterfall at the top of which was a rocky outcrop with a small pagoda in the trees.
“Come on with you,” she said, running into the trees and to the right of the falls.
That was the last I saw of her like that.
Through the revolving doors, the foyer had a river running through it. Rich red, patterned carpet ended in a metal strip and polished tiles lead to the central feature of a model sailing ship some four metres long by four high. Beyond that there was a small rail like on a ship. Over this rail, you could see the coy carp circling in the eddies. The river water was clear and flowed seemingly backwards to a forty-metre waterfall at the top of which was a rocky outcrop with a small pagoda in the trees.
“Come on with you,” she said, running into the trees and to the right of the falls.
That was the last I saw of her like that.
The Pilot of Bee Patrol Flight Log Entry 110523
The Pilot has sent a whole new set of communications of the contents of his Flight Log.
This is the first of special transmissions for the Pilot of Bee Patrol Flight Log and not part of his exciting adventure episodes. Thank you, Pilot! These will give us a wonderful, behind-the-scenes view of things through your eyes and ears.
View this communication:
This is the first of special transmissions for the Pilot of Bee Patrol Flight Log and not part of his exciting adventure episodes. Thank you, Pilot! These will give us a wonderful, behind-the-scenes view of things through your eyes and ears.
View this communication:
Saturday 14 May 2011
A Different Perspective on the Log
˙ɹǝdɐd ǝןqısıʌuı uo pǝʇuıɹd sɐʍ ʇı sɐ ǝuıןǝɟıן ǝןƃuıs ɐ ʇnq pǝɥsıuıɟ ʇou sɐʍ ʇɔɐ ʇsɐן sıɥʇ ʎןuıɐʇɹǝɔ ˙ɐɹʇsǝɥɔɹo ǝnןq ǝɥʇ ǝpısʇno ǝɹǝɥʍǝɯos suǝʌɐǝɥ ʎɯɹoʇs ǝɥʇ pǝɹǝʇuǝ ʎǝɥʇ sɐ ʎpoןǝɯ ɐ ƃuıs oʇ ǝsoɥɔ ʎǝɥʇ ɹǝɥʇǝƃoʇ ƃuıʎɐʇs puɐ spuɐɥ ɹıǝɥʇ pǝdıʍ ʎǝɥʇ suıʞdɐu dn ƃuıʞɔıd ˙ǝןqɐǝɯɹǝd osןɐ sɐʍ ɹǝppɐן ǝɥʇ ʇɐɥʇ ǝsıןɐǝɹ oʇ ʇuǝɯoɯ ɐ ƃuıʞɐʇ 'pǝɹnʇsǝƃ puɐ pǝsnɯ spoƃ puɐsnoɥʇ ǝɥʇ ˙ʇı uʍop uɐɹ puɐ pǝʌɐʍ 'sǝɔuǝnbǝsuoɔ ǝɥʇ ɟo ʇɥƃnoɥʇ ou ɥʇıʍ 'oƃuıɯɐןɟ ɐ sǝʇnuıɯ uı ɹǝʌǝʍoɥ ˙ʇsɐoʇ ɟo ǝpɐɯ ʎuoɥdɯʎs ɐ osןɐ puɐ ǝʞɐɟ ɐ ǝɔuo ʇɐ ǝɹǝʍ sƃuıɥʇ sɐ ɯǝןqoɹd ɐ sɐʍ ǝɹǝɥʇ ˙pǝɹɐǝddɐ pɐɥ ɹǝppɐן snouıɯnן ɐɹʇxǝ uɐ ˙ɹɐןnɔɹıɔ puɐ sɯǝʇs uo ʍou ǝɹǝʍ pǝɹɐdǝɹdun puɐ uʍouʞun ǝɥʇ ʇnq ɹǝƃuoן ǝɹǝʍ sdǝʇs uʍouʞ ǝɥʇ ˙sןɐʇǝd uɐʇ ɟo ʇןınq ɥʇuıɹʎqɐן ɐ ɥʇıʍ pǝuɹǝʇʇɐd ɹǝdɯnɾ ʞuıd pǝuɹǝʇʇɐd ɐ ǝɹoʍ ɥɔɐǝ puɐ poƃ ɹɐןnɔıʇɹɐd ɐ oʇuı pǝƃuɐɥɔ ןןɐ pɐɥ ʎǝɥʇ ˙pǝʇɐdıɔıʇɹɐd ǝuoʎɹǝʌǝ ʇɐɥʇ ʎɹɐssǝɔǝu sɐʍ ʇı 'uıɐƃɐ ƃuıʇןǝɯ sɐʍ ǝɹnʇɔǝʇıɥɔɹɐ pɹɐɥ ǝsoɥʍ 'ɹɐq ןǝʇoɥ ǝɥʇ ʇɐ ʞɔɐq
˙sןןɐqʍous puɐ ʇsoɹɟ ǝʞɐɟ ɟo ɹɐןןoɔ ןןnɟ ɐ oʇuı pǝƃuɐɥɔ puɐ pǝןƃuıɯɯoɔ sǝןqqnq ƃuıןɹıʍs ɟo ʎuoɥdoɔɐɔ ǝןqɐuıƃɐɯıun uɐ sǝʇnuıɯ uıɥʇıʍ ˙uı pǝdɯnɾ 'ɹǝʇɐʍ ɟo ǝpɐɯ sɐʍ ʇǝןnʌıɹ ǝɥʇ ƃuıʞuıɥʇ 'uoɯןɐs ƃuıןʞuıʍʇ ǝןƃuıs ɐ uǝɥʍ sʞןɐʇs uo ǝɹǝʍ puɐ ʍǝɹƃ sǝʎǝ ’sɹǝןןǝʌɐɹʇ ɹǝɥʇo ǝɥʇ ˙ɹǝʎoɟ ǝɥʇ ƃuıןןǝʍs puɐ ƃuıpןoɟun ǝɹǝʍ suoısuǝɯıp ǝsoɥʍ ʇǝןnʌıɹ-ɯnɔ-ǝnssıʇ ɐ oʇ ƃuıʇuıod ʎq pǝıןdǝɹ puɐ pǝɥƃnɐן oɥʍ sɹǝƃuıɟ ƃuıןɹıʍs ǝʇıɹnoʌɐɟ ɹıǝɥʇ pǝןʞɔıʇ puɐ pǝʍoqןǝ 'pǝıqqoן uǝɥʇ sʞuıɹp ɹıǝɥʇ pǝʞɔǝɥɔ ʎǝɥʇ ǝןıɥʍ ןןıʇs ǝɹǝʍ ʎǝɥʇ ˙pǝʌɹǝs ǝɹǝʍ sʇsǝnƃ uɐɯnɥ ƃuınƃɹɐ '(ǝɹnʇɐu ɹıǝɥʇ uı sɐʍ ʇı) ʎsou ʇnq ǝןdɯıs ǝɥʇ puɐ pǝɹɐǝddɐ ʍous ɟo sǝʞɐןɟ ɥʇıʍ pǝʇsnɹɔuǝ sןooʇsɹɐq pǝsıɐɹ puɐ sǝssɐןƃ 'ɹǝǝq uǝɥʇ
˙ƃuıɹǝʇʇnןds puɐ ƃuıƃuɐɥɔ ǝɔıoʌ snouoɥdʎןod puɐ ʎɯɐǝɹp 'ʞɔıɥʇ sʇı 'spuɐʍ puɐ ןooʍ ǝʇıɥʍ ɟo pɹɐzzıןq ɐ pǝɥʇoɹɟ puɐ pǝpuɐdxǝ sıɥʇ 'ʇxǝu ˙ʎʞs ǝɥʇ uı ɥʇnoɯ ƃuıʇɐʇnɯ ɔıʇsɐןd uɐdpɐǝp ɐ ɯoɹɟ ǝɯɐɔ ɥɔıɥʍ spɹoʍ oʇ ǝɯıʇ uı punoɹɐ ƃuıʇɟıɥs ʎןʇǝınb 'ǝuıן ʇɥƃıɐɹʇs ǝuo uı ɹǝɥʇǝƃoʇ sǝʌןǝsɯǝɥʇ pןǝɥ 'sןıssoɟ uo ǝsoɥʇ ǝʞıן suɹǝʇʇɐd ɟo ǝpɐɯ puɐ dǝǝp ǝɹǝʍ sʇuıɹdɹǝƃuıɟ ǝsoɥʍ 'sɹǝƃuıɟ ǝןqɹɐɯ snoɯɹouǝ uǝʇ :uıɐƃɐ pǝƃuɐɥɔ oıɹɐuǝɔs ǝɥʇ ʇuɐʇsuı ʇɐɥʇ uı
Yours sincerely and with best wishes
B.L.Z.Bubb
˙sןןɐqʍous puɐ ʇsoɹɟ ǝʞɐɟ ɟo ɹɐןןoɔ ןןnɟ ɐ oʇuı pǝƃuɐɥɔ puɐ pǝןƃuıɯɯoɔ sǝןqqnq ƃuıןɹıʍs ɟo ʎuoɥdoɔɐɔ ǝןqɐuıƃɐɯıun uɐ sǝʇnuıɯ uıɥʇıʍ ˙uı pǝdɯnɾ 'ɹǝʇɐʍ ɟo ǝpɐɯ sɐʍ ʇǝןnʌıɹ ǝɥʇ ƃuıʞuıɥʇ 'uoɯןɐs ƃuıןʞuıʍʇ ǝןƃuıs ɐ uǝɥʍ sʞןɐʇs uo ǝɹǝʍ puɐ ʍǝɹƃ sǝʎǝ ’sɹǝןןǝʌɐɹʇ ɹǝɥʇo ǝɥʇ ˙ɹǝʎoɟ ǝɥʇ ƃuıןןǝʍs puɐ ƃuıpןoɟun ǝɹǝʍ suoısuǝɯıp ǝsoɥʍ ʇǝןnʌıɹ-ɯnɔ-ǝnssıʇ ɐ oʇ ƃuıʇuıod ʎq pǝıןdǝɹ puɐ pǝɥƃnɐן oɥʍ sɹǝƃuıɟ ƃuıןɹıʍs ǝʇıɹnoʌɐɟ ɹıǝɥʇ pǝןʞɔıʇ puɐ pǝʍoqןǝ 'pǝıqqoן uǝɥʇ sʞuıɹp ɹıǝɥʇ pǝʞɔǝɥɔ ʎǝɥʇ ǝןıɥʍ ןןıʇs ǝɹǝʍ ʎǝɥʇ ˙pǝʌɹǝs ǝɹǝʍ sʇsǝnƃ uɐɯnɥ ƃuınƃɹɐ '(ǝɹnʇɐu ɹıǝɥʇ uı sɐʍ ʇı) ʎsou ʇnq ǝןdɯıs ǝɥʇ puɐ pǝɹɐǝddɐ ʍous ɟo sǝʞɐןɟ ɥʇıʍ pǝʇsnɹɔuǝ sןooʇsɹɐq pǝsıɐɹ puɐ sǝssɐןƃ 'ɹǝǝq uǝɥʇ
˙ƃuıɹǝʇʇnןds puɐ ƃuıƃuɐɥɔ ǝɔıoʌ snouoɥdʎןod puɐ ʎɯɐǝɹp 'ʞɔıɥʇ sʇı 'spuɐʍ puɐ ןooʍ ǝʇıɥʍ ɟo pɹɐzzıןq ɐ pǝɥʇoɹɟ puɐ pǝpuɐdxǝ sıɥʇ 'ʇxǝu ˙ʎʞs ǝɥʇ uı ɥʇnoɯ ƃuıʇɐʇnɯ ɔıʇsɐןd uɐdpɐǝp ɐ ɯoɹɟ ǝɯɐɔ ɥɔıɥʍ spɹoʍ oʇ ǝɯıʇ uı punoɹɐ ƃuıʇɟıɥs ʎןʇǝınb 'ǝuıן ʇɥƃıɐɹʇs ǝuo uı ɹǝɥʇǝƃoʇ sǝʌןǝsɯǝɥʇ pןǝɥ 'sןıssoɟ uo ǝsoɥʇ ǝʞıן suɹǝʇʇɐd ɟo ǝpɐɯ puɐ dǝǝp ǝɹǝʍ sʇuıɹdɹǝƃuıɟ ǝsoɥʍ 'sɹǝƃuıɟ ǝןqɹɐɯ snoɯɹouǝ uǝʇ :uıɐƃɐ pǝƃuɐɥɔ oıɹɐuǝɔs ǝɥʇ ʇuɐʇsuı ʇɐɥʇ uı
Yours sincerely and with best wishes
B.L.Z.Bubb
An alternative version of extract 3 - by Tara Nive
Friday night and the Bruins were out drinking, so Tara sneaked onto their laptop and came up with an alternative version of Extract 3 from the Flight Log of The Pilot of Bee Patrol (see previous post) using almost the same words!
Enjoy, beelievers!
An alternative version of extract 3 - by Tara Nive
Within there was an ladder into bubbling, frothing water in which plastic sky-blue salmon swirled in their thousands. They were enormous, but checking and choosing their moment to enter the storm.
The guests participated at once, drinking and laughing, their voices commingling as if in a symphony, and thinking it was an extra lifeline. But within ten minutes there was an problem as time shifted back and the travellers spluttered. In minutes they had quietly melted into fossil-encrusted flakes of permeable pink tissue. This swirled and swelled like snow but grew into a twinkling blizzard whose white architecture was unimaginable: steps built of human mouths, elbows and noses, and eyes and hands on stalks. Hands served fake petals from which appeared stems of hard, frosted glass bubbles with a wool finish. In an instant the architecture was stayed and held together by a beer. This expanded into an orchestra of barstools.
As the next simple but also arguably necessary scenario unfolded, ten luminous flamingos made out of single paper napkins drank water in the dream-lobby-cum-bar of the nature hotel. They wore tan patterned jumpers and with no thought of the as yet invisible consequences they wandered about the foyer. They mused, gestured, waved, pointed and tickled each other while mutating and taking any fingerprints of their favourite moments - which replied when they thought the pattern had changed .
Others, more deadpan, realised things had already changed, ate toast and wore full collars and glasses and sang deep one-line melodies while they raised, wiped and placed down balls of marble words.
They were all unprepared for the nature of the last act when a particularly heavenly cacophony of rivulets ran down and around a changing single finger-god who held on to a printed melody. It was still there somewhere in the labyrinth when everyone known had gone. Certainly things were no longer in a straight line: dimensions were polyphonous and circular, though it was still snowing thickly outside...
Tara
Enjoy, beelievers!
An alternative version of extract 3 - by Tara Nive
Within there was an ladder into bubbling, frothing water in which plastic sky-blue salmon swirled in their thousands. They were enormous, but checking and choosing their moment to enter the storm.
The guests participated at once, drinking and laughing, their voices commingling as if in a symphony, and thinking it was an extra lifeline. But within ten minutes there was an problem as time shifted back and the travellers spluttered. In minutes they had quietly melted into fossil-encrusted flakes of permeable pink tissue. This swirled and swelled like snow but grew into a twinkling blizzard whose white architecture was unimaginable: steps built of human mouths, elbows and noses, and eyes and hands on stalks. Hands served fake petals from which appeared stems of hard, frosted glass bubbles with a wool finish. In an instant the architecture was stayed and held together by a beer. This expanded into an orchestra of barstools.
As the next simple but also arguably necessary scenario unfolded, ten luminous flamingos made out of single paper napkins drank water in the dream-lobby-cum-bar of the nature hotel. They wore tan patterned jumpers and with no thought of the as yet invisible consequences they wandered about the foyer. They mused, gestured, waved, pointed and tickled each other while mutating and taking any fingerprints of their favourite moments - which replied when they thought the pattern had changed .
Others, more deadpan, realised things had already changed, ate toast and wore full collars and glasses and sang deep one-line melodies while they raised, wiped and placed down balls of marble words.
They were all unprepared for the nature of the last act when a particularly heavenly cacophony of rivulets ran down and around a changing single finger-god who held on to a printed melody. It was still there somewhere in the labyrinth when everyone known had gone. Certainly things were no longer in a straight line: dimensions were polyphonous and circular, though it was still snowing thickly outside...
Tara
Tuesday 10 May 2011
Voice from the Other Side?
Piloteer B.L.Z.Bubb has picked up what might be a message from the other side whilst watching the new Episode of The Pilot's adventure. Is it a communication or just noise or both? What do you think? B. needs your help with this one!
Extract from The Pilot's Log 3
The Pattern Jumpers.
It was snowing outside.
After checking in, I met her, at the foyer-cum-bar of the Hard Water Hotel.
She pointed out at the blizzard and into the thick of a growing storm. Her finger singled out one particular flake that swirled within the thousands: “I like that one,” she said in a deadpan voice but with a twinkling eye, “that’s my favourite!”
I spluttered. Bubbles of fake beer froth tickled my nose for an instant.
Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I put the drink down. Fingerprints melted on frosted glass. Rivulets ran stalks down into the paper napkin. Around the stem the sky-blue printed tissue of the petal collar expanded and made the words, ‘Hard Water Hotel’, swell into extra dimensions.
She shifted on the tan plastic barstool and placed one pink elbow on the luminous fossil-encrusted marble. She waved a circular gesture with an invisible wand into the white, salmon and flamingo architecture of the lobby.
“We are all guests. We are all travellers. Choosing when to stay and when to go will be the last great human problem,” she said.
“And who will serve? And who will build? Once all have gone, the scenario is unimaginable,” I replied from a dream thought.
“The consequences are enormous but not everyone can go. It is arguable that there aren’t consequences any longer, as we have known them, for those that will go. In the act of pattern jumping, they become permeable and mutate. They participate in a conmingling singularity.”
“My God, what shall we do? What have we done?”
“We have changed the nature of ‘we’!”
“No, we have realised the nature of ‘we’.
“Things will unfold.”
“One step at a time.”
“Moments in a line.”
“So be it!”
“Here’s to us,” she said and we raised glasses in a toast and laughed for a full ten minutes.
Then, we were quiet for ten minutes more.
“Moments in a line…” I said, musing, “… it is no longer a straight line.”
“But the line is still there somewhere in the pattern, like a simple melody in a symphony.”
“It might be necessary to hold onto that melody. It’s the ball of wool into the labyrinth. It will be a lifeline: a ladder from the deep to the heavens through the cacophony.”
“Polyphony, certainly.”
“The orchestra prepares?”
“Let us go.”
“In?”
“In!”
“One moment, then, I’ll finish my beer.”
It was snowing outside.
After checking in, I met her, at the foyer-cum-bar of the Hard Water Hotel.
She pointed out at the blizzard and into the thick of a growing storm. Her finger singled out one particular flake that swirled within the thousands: “I like that one,” she said in a deadpan voice but with a twinkling eye, “that’s my favourite!”
I spluttered. Bubbles of fake beer froth tickled my nose for an instant.
Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I put the drink down. Fingerprints melted on frosted glass. Rivulets ran stalks down into the paper napkin. Around the stem the sky-blue printed tissue of the petal collar expanded and made the words, ‘Hard Water Hotel’, swell into extra dimensions.
She shifted on the tan plastic barstool and placed one pink elbow on the luminous fossil-encrusted marble. She waved a circular gesture with an invisible wand into the white, salmon and flamingo architecture of the lobby.
“We are all guests. We are all travellers. Choosing when to stay and when to go will be the last great human problem,” she said.
“And who will serve? And who will build? Once all have gone, the scenario is unimaginable,” I replied from a dream thought.
“The consequences are enormous but not everyone can go. It is arguable that there aren’t consequences any longer, as we have known them, for those that will go. In the act of pattern jumping, they become permeable and mutate. They participate in a conmingling singularity.”
“My God, what shall we do? What have we done?”
“We have changed the nature of ‘we’!”
“No, we have realised the nature of ‘we’.
“Things will unfold.”
“One step at a time.”
“Moments in a line.”
“So be it!”
“Here’s to us,” she said and we raised glasses in a toast and laughed for a full ten minutes.
Then, we were quiet for ten minutes more.
“Moments in a line…” I said, musing, “… it is no longer a straight line.”
“But the line is still there somewhere in the pattern, like a simple melody in a symphony.”
“It might be necessary to hold onto that melody. It’s the ball of wool into the labyrinth. It will be a lifeline: a ladder from the deep to the heavens through the cacophony.”
“Polyphony, certainly.”
“The orchestra prepares?”
“Let us go.”
“In?”
“In!”
“One moment, then, I’ll finish my beer.”
Sunday 8 May 2011
New Episode of the Pilot posted today on Hyattmovies
The Pilot of Bee Patrol: Series 2 - Episode 8 is now live on YouTube.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mrUopCCk11Y&feature=mfu_in_order&list=UL
Enjoy!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mrUopCCk11Y&feature=mfu_in_order&list=UL
Enjoy!
Support Helen Beebee!
The British Philosophical Association Director, Helen Beebee, has said recently:
“Philosophy has been taught in universities for over 900 years. It addresses questions that continue to be central to our understanding of the world and our place within it. The core aim of any self-respecting university should be the pursuit of knowledge; but philosophy is unique in addressing the question of what knowledge itself is.”
Arguing against the closure of Philosophy at Greenwich University, Beebee contends that the subject should be available as widely as possible:
“The new universities [...] play a vital role in this. They have broad access to parts of the community where the appeal of the ‘old’ universities is very limited; moreover, philosophy is a subject that can be studied from a wide variety of educational backgrounds.”
want to support Helen Beebee? Go to:
http://www.gopetition.com/petitions/support-london-metropolitan-university.html
“Philosophy has been taught in universities for over 900 years. It addresses questions that continue to be central to our understanding of the world and our place within it. The core aim of any self-respecting university should be the pursuit of knowledge; but philosophy is unique in addressing the question of what knowledge itself is.”
Arguing against the closure of Philosophy at Greenwich University, Beebee contends that the subject should be available as widely as possible:
“The new universities [...] play a vital role in this. They have broad access to parts of the community where the appeal of the ‘old’ universities is very limited; moreover, philosophy is a subject that can be studied from a wide variety of educational backgrounds.”
want to support Helen Beebee? Go to:
http://www.gopetition.com/petitions/support-london-metropolitan-university.html
On the Transporter-Room Floor: 2 Bee or not 2 Be
Here is a rejected movie, 'To bee or not to Be', that was to be Episode 2 of The Pilot of Bee Patrol. I made the decision that the Pilot movies would not be led by my music. At the same moment, I created the Hyattmovies channel on Youtube to keep my movie movies seperate from my music video movies. This was the moment when I made the decision to really try and do something new with the Pilot: to try and make something special. Before this, I had made the one little movie which only became Episode 1 once I had made Episode 2. It had been a Pilot itself. Now it was the first Episode! Now I was committing to a series and had to remake the past and imagine and dream futures in the Now. However, there is nothing wrong with this rejected episode - it is just another possible journey that the Pilot didn't take. It is appropriate that this rarity, left behind on the floor of the Transporter, should be shown here on the Flight Log for the Piloteers, Beesearchers, and Crew. Enjoy!
Saturday 7 May 2011
B.L.Z.Bubb Learning the Waggledance
This is a video from the family vault of Piloteer Bee L. Zee Bubb. Here we can see Bee's first attempts at the Pilot's famous Waggledance. Keep on practicing, Bee! Internet sources report the Waggledance is becoming popular in Pakistan.
Pilot Spotted in France
Piloteer Candy Ballard managed to capture a snap of the Pilot as he nestled during a training session in a French garden. Thanks for the send, Candy! Beautiful camerawork - really shows the design of that fantastic ship!
Contributions to the Flight Log should be sent to Hyattartandlife@googlemail.com
Script: The Pilot of Bee Patrol: Series 1 - Episode 4
Pilot’s Address
(A little in the style of a true king, The Pilot makes an annual address. It is like casting a stone into a deep pool. Many gather and a silence falls in the Storiverse to hear it…)
“Yeah, I am the Pilot of Bee Patrol.
“Long journey!
“No past, no future, there’s only the Now.
“That’s how you get through – there’s only Now.
(Background sound falls silent for the Pilot’s Address to the conscious and yet-to-be-conscious beings of the Storiverse…)
“Men and Women of Imagination!
“Let the story out!
“Men and Women of Imagination!
“Plus or minus, what is it you’ve got to lose?
“Nothing to lose!
“The stone is in the plum.
“The plum is in the stone
“Men and Women of Imagination!
“Let it out!
“Men and Women of Imagination!
“Let me out!
“There is no past, there is no future, there is only the Now.
“That’s how you get through it”.
(His sweet words create a growing broadcast honeycomb.)
(fade)
Now watch the movie:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bgTWslRSkl4&feature=related
(A little in the style of a true king, The Pilot makes an annual address. It is like casting a stone into a deep pool. Many gather and a silence falls in the Storiverse to hear it…)
“Yeah, I am the Pilot of Bee Patrol.
“Long journey!
“No past, no future, there’s only the Now.
“That’s how you get through – there’s only Now.
(Background sound falls silent for the Pilot’s Address to the conscious and yet-to-be-conscious beings of the Storiverse…)
“Men and Women of Imagination!
“Let the story out!
“Men and Women of Imagination!
“Plus or minus, what is it you’ve got to lose?
“Nothing to lose!
“The stone is in the plum.
“The plum is in the stone
“Men and Women of Imagination!
“Let it out!
“Men and Women of Imagination!
“Let me out!
“There is no past, there is no future, there is only the Now.
“That’s how you get through it”.
(His sweet words create a growing broadcast honeycomb.)
(fade)
Now watch the movie:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bgTWslRSkl4&feature=related
Friday 6 May 2011
Droning On
Piloteer Anna V. Lactic has been out patroling today and has made this video, 'Droning On'. It is a remake of the classic family movie, 'Beethoven'.
On any Patrol, the Devil is in the Detail.
This photo-booth image has been sent in by Piloteer, Bee L. Zee Bubb. Thanks, Bee! I have been out on nights like that when you are positively magnetic.
Script: The Pilot of Bee Patrol: Series 1 - Episode 3
The Scream
(Sometimes the interminable length of his journey can get to The Pilot of Bee Patrol, especially when he wakes up in a fire-fight to find that something has written the word ‘Bee’ in the condensation of his window. This sends him into a seemingly endless scream like a figure from a Munch painting. He has been trained to use his voice in very special ways. He begins to ruminate on his life and nature as a wave-formed instrument of pure music…)
“Yeah, I am the Pilot of Bee Patrol.
“Long journey!
“No past, no future, there’s only the Now.
“That’s how you get through – there’s only Now.
“My bones drummed the bass.
“My muscles bore a rhythm.
“Melodies on veins.
“A tambourine my skin.
“When I was born, an instrument was fashioned.
“When I was one, a tuning fork walked the world.
“When I was two, I played a merry tune.
“When I was three, the world played me.
“Now I am older, I have been through many hands.
“I’ve played one-night stands.
“Had fans.
“Sang city songs
“Books’ songs.
“Wrung songs.
“Political songs.
“But now I sing the song that I am.
“The tune I was born to be”.
(His scream has become silent, he calms.)
(fade)
Now see the movie:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fm6D0SHnbkc&feature=related
(Sometimes the interminable length of his journey can get to The Pilot of Bee Patrol, especially when he wakes up in a fire-fight to find that something has written the word ‘Bee’ in the condensation of his window. This sends him into a seemingly endless scream like a figure from a Munch painting. He has been trained to use his voice in very special ways. He begins to ruminate on his life and nature as a wave-formed instrument of pure music…)
“Yeah, I am the Pilot of Bee Patrol.
“Long journey!
“No past, no future, there’s only the Now.
“That’s how you get through – there’s only Now.
“My bones drummed the bass.
“My muscles bore a rhythm.
“Melodies on veins.
“A tambourine my skin.
“When I was born, an instrument was fashioned.
“When I was one, a tuning fork walked the world.
“When I was two, I played a merry tune.
“When I was three, the world played me.
“Now I am older, I have been through many hands.
“I’ve played one-night stands.
“Had fans.
“Sang city songs
“Books’ songs.
“Wrung songs.
“Political songs.
“But now I sing the song that I am.
“The tune I was born to be”.
(His scream has become silent, he calms.)
(fade)
Now see the movie:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fm6D0SHnbkc&feature=related
Thursday 5 May 2011
Home Video
Piloteer Anna V. Lactic has sent in her BBC TV video of homeworld buzziness. Thanks, Anna! This is great to watch on long journeys.
Wednesday 4 May 2011
Eucatastrophe!
Piloteer Paula Atkinson's photo of the Pilot. Paula spotted the Pilot of Bee Patrol when by a happy accident he landed in a tree! Thanks for the send Paula.
Contributions to the Pilot of Bee Patrol Flight Log should be sent to hyattartandlife@googlemail.com
Please note, no wmv files.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)