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#spurge
jillraggett · 2 days
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Plant of the Day
Wednesday 27 March 2024
These clumps of the newly emerging foliage of Euphorbia × pasteurii 'John Phillips' (spurge) were creating a great contrast with the finely textured grasses. From late spring into summer honey-scented, yellow-green flowers will be produced.
Jill Raggett
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girlfriendline · 4 months
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best connor in the league, spurge knows
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tblueger · 1 year
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she was real to ME
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blogbirdfeather · 2 months
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Mediterranean Spurge - Trovisco-macho (Euphorbia characias)
Sintra/Portugal (11/01/2024)
[Nikon P900; 50mm with flash; 1/30s; F6,3; 140 ISO]
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flowerishness · 1 year
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Euphorbia characias (var. wulfenii) (Mediterranean spurge)
Green flowers
Flowering plants evolved about 140 million years ago but for the first forty million, they weren’t particularly colorful. Their basic contract with insects was the same, you help us with seed production and we’ll give you food (pollen and nectar) in return. But then the bees evolved and, all of sudden, flowering plants became a lot more beautiful. This is because bees have much better color vision than most insects. Bees are sometimes described as wasps that became strictly vegetarian.
Maybe, the Mediterranean spurge didn’t get the memo - it has green flowers! All true petals developed from conventional leaves anyway but this spurge seems to have got stuck, half way through the process. What appear to be green, cuplike petals are just highly specialized leaves (bracts) but bees are still attracted to it’s flowers. In addition to almost full-color vision, bees are very good with edges, and they can see this flower’s shape just fine.
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The spurge emerges
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iavenjqasdf · 7 months
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Mech Pilot Story, part 1
All the girlies losing their shit over emaciated overstimulated barely-human mech pilots sparked something in me, so I'm back in the game. Let me know what you think, it's only gonna get worse (>:3c) from here.
Part 2 here!
INITIALIZING…
Every morning at exactly 0500, your consciousness respawns in a standing closet slash debridement chamber, usually the same one memory claims you entered 7 hours ago. A pilot’s downtime¹ consists of automated scans to check the repair state of its vessel’s various components, automatically dismantling those damaged beyond operational parameters, and grafting on replacements. Lengthier installations may require maintenance of consciousness for real-time feedback², but if a contract goes well and no major injuries are sustained, this is the only time you’re free to not think.
The sleep timer expires.
Released from the amniotic haze of stabilizing compounds, a sheet of plastic catches you, a hole stamped out of the facial region as a momentary blast of volcanic air seals the rest tight against your vessel. Despite the lingering narcotics, the process is painful, but the sight of undressed vessels is known to disturb the entry-levels, and allowing one to dress itself costs time which is money which is waste which is unacceptable. So they shrink-wrap you like an old cassette as you stumble back into the fray.
You are Antrum-Class Drone Pilot, designator V1C.
They’re letting you eat with the grounds again this season. A well-meaning reformist exec³ argued that the morale boost from pseudosocialization would increase uptime enough to offset the inefficiency of analog consumables. This pitch initially failed to wow the rest of the c-suite; the verdict was only recently appealed, after a self-automated virus scan on another ship ended up cutting their workforce by 80%⁴.
A pilot⁵ program was quickly implemented, but the compulsory executive recycling has long since taken place, organs refurbished and shuffled back into the wider supply, carcass dumped like any other unusable meat.
Mess hall. Daylight settings. Futuristic holo-steam trays⁶. A jingle over the comms reminds you that you're family and are loved. The food isn’t good and it never was, it’s just a pretense; if they have to keep treating you like them, they’ll let us keep a bit of our digestive system⁷. It’s equalizing; those who can’t afford the time off to manually consume usually have the whole thing pulled by the start of year two, the convenience fee adding another five to their metacontract.
Vessel 1-C finds an open seat and begins ingestion. It seemingly pulls from a different animation pool than the grounds; they exhibit group behaviors, conversing and gesturing and otherwise wallowing in the bounty of inefficiency they don't know they're immersed in. V1C opens jaw places matter in mouth closes jaw swallows repeats staring dead ahead all the while. You talk and eat out of the same hole; what sort of cruel joke is it that you're only allowed to do both at once?
Entering the galley automatically starts the countdown, and every second past the allotted 10 minutes is extraneous wear and will be docked from your pay. So eat quick like a good little soldier, then it’s back down the hall, side stairwell because the elevator’s been under a ransomware attack for months now⁸, fifth deck, past the armory⁹, until you arrive at the mech bays. A ground’s still hosing down the cockpits with disinfectant, chemical runoff oozing sickly green through the machines’ cracks and the floor grates and into the resanitizing pool from which he pumps.
V1C cannot afford to pay him any mind as it approaches the waste chute and pukes, wiping marbled ichor and carbpaste from its segmented lips with a sealed hand before the shrink wrap is removed and sent down to the incinerators too. Any foreign material inside the body is a vector for contamination; viruses of both analog and digital varieties will nucleate in the organic mass rotting in the dead end of your intestine and it only gets worse the further along it gets so you have to remove it as soon as you’re unpresentable.
It's a simple fact of science that no amount of politically-correct advocacy can change; you get what you need more directly from working in the machine, no need for archaic standards like calories.
Is it out of your system? Good. Bow your head¹⁰ as the needle clicks into the port on the back of your neck. A delicious cocktail of sedatives, psychotropics, yoga mat chemicals floods your neurons, dosed according to a constantly fluctuating formula using inputs pushed from the biometric harvesters they’d implanted with the regularity of streetlights along your body’s major transitways. Grounds only know a taste of this, their ration of coffee and antidepressants a childlike imitation of the shit they pump into you before each mission, like artificial blood, or embalming fluid.
Ice in your arteries, trying to claw its way out, but the limb’s grasp on your nape remains measured, pincer grip lifting you over the catwalk into your assigned cockpit. The seat flexes like a ladder of snakes, contouring to your precisely specced vessel, safety harnesses slither from their ports, crisscrossing your chest and sinking into your skin¹¹ to secure you in the cockpit and maintain telemetry.
You are now clocked in and ready to get to work.
Your vessel’s sensations and warning signs are an even lower priority now as consciousness rising along the network of nerve plugins until it refocuses over a black void, a crude low-poly approximation of your ship and its immediate surroundings floating in the center of your vision, basic textures mapped onto vectors snapping to and fro. The vendor came in cheap by using generations-old imaging datasets; some swear by the minimal interface, wear it as a badge of pride when they win battles against a better-equipped foe.
A fellow pilot you’d done orientation with, a timid but kind boy before all those attributes got rerolled, was bisected by something from the blind spot that comprises the viewport’s back, not realizing he could change his viewpoint without repositioning his whole body. Human error, the trickiest kind of bug to fix. No recyclables were found.
The generative text is tricky to parse in its specifics (is that the name of the celestial body or the hostile faction? What’s the difference, anyway?), but the briefing suggests a fairly routine mission. CONTACT, CLEAR and SECURE are all bolded and occupy the same areas of the verbal heatmap as always.
Don’t get bogged down in formalities; you’re here to go somewhere, kill everything that objects to your presence, then wait among the freshly-reclassified combatants' corpses to be collected at the end of your shift. If you finish early, you’re free to engage low-power mode, repurposing the viewport to watch old cartoons or microtransact new skins for yourself using your premium currency salary.
There's not much else to do in that static image, wireframe behemoth idling among piles of jagged geometry.
¹   Taken offline for scheduled maintenance
²   Relax your muscles. Squeeze. Too hard; regulatory dysfunction added to error log, running reinstallation wizard…
³   The first and currently last ex-pilot on the board
⁴   The cleanup took months, and most of the biomass wasn’t even recyclable.
⁵ Ha!
⁶   Blue LEDs
⁷   Use it or lose it!
⁸   The elevator’s been under a ransomware attack for months now, but it hasn’t been noticed in an official capacity yet, so it’s not broken
⁹   They keep legs and other exotic limbs there too
¹⁰  Keep your hair cropped near-bald for minimal interference
¹¹  Permeable, like the seal of a medicine vial
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Today's Haiku with Picture 570
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Geometry
I wonder if you master it
Spurge
幾何学を
極めたるかな
トウダイグサ
(2023.04.18)
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Succulents Part 8--Portulaca, Euphorbia, and Spergularia
Succulents are a wide variety of plants, spanning multiple orders. Some have succulent leaves while others have succulent stems. Cactuses are succulents, but not all succulents are cactuses. Defining what exactly makes a succulent is a little tricky. For example, cabbage leaves are considered by some to be succulent, but tulip and onion leaves apparently aren't.
All photos mine. Unedited except for the fourth one down on the left, which was taken in RAW format and edited from there to bring out the colour while maintaining the contrast of light and shadow.
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There are Portulaca cultivars that are popular in gardens as annuals. But the weed known as purslane (second photo down on the right) is a Portulaca species with a nearly global native range. It's edible (has a mild salty taste), makes a nice ground cover in my opinion, and is unfairly maligned.
But don't mistake it for Euphorbia (spurge)! Because that is poisonous. Some cultivars look rather nice in the garden, though. One tell is that Euphorbia species will leek a milky sap if you cut it whereas purslane will not.
Spergularia (sea spurrey, sand spurrey, etc.) have very tiny pink flowers that you might notice if you look down on the grass from time to time if your city doesn't use pesticides. They are edible but I haven't tried them.
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dansnaturepictures · 22 days
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06/03/2024-Silver-sided Sector spider, post sunset sky, blossom and Collared Dove today, Great Crested Grebe and Canada Geese at Lakeside Country Park, Mediterranean Gulls at Hayling Island and sky at Testwood Lakes in recent days and phone photos of spurge at Winchester Cathedral and beautiful frosted red deadnettle this morning. Peregrine, Sparrowhawk, Wren, Great Tit and hyacinth were great to see in Winchester too with Cetti's Warbler heard by the River Itchen.
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crudlynaturephotos · 10 months
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girlfriendline · 4 months
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what if i actually cried at kirill taking middsy and spurge out for russian food
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tblueger · 11 months
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who let this toddler on the ice !!!!!!
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blogbirdfeather · 4 months
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Mediterranean Spurge - Trovisco-macho (Euphorbia characias)
Sintra/Portugal (23/11/2023)
[Nikon D850; AF 105mm Micro-Nikkor F2,8 with Circular Flash Nissin  MF 18; 1/250s; F16; 400 ISO]
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drhoz · 11 months
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#1958 - Euphorbia glauca - Shore Spurge
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It was growing right next to the Mirror Bush. I’m glad @purrdence​ spotted it because if she’d left it a few more years it might be very difficult to find. New Zealand’s only native Euphorbia, which is surprising since the genus has a worldwide distribution and a huge number of species - over 2000.
AKA sea spurge, waiu-atua, waiū-o-Kahukura, and sand milkweed.  Named for thin powdery bloom on the leaves, and Euphorbus, a Greek physician who served King Juba of Numidia in 12BC. Juba suppsedly named a cactus to honour of Euphorbus (rather unlikely to be a cactus in that part of the world - most likely one of the spiny, cactus-like Spurges) and later Linnaeus named the entire genus after the physician.
A perennial herb with multiple erect stems up to 1m tall, and underground rhizomes. Each flower, produced from October to February, is surrounded by a deep red cup-like structure with purple glands. Fruit, as here, occur from December to May. As with other Euphorbia, the sap a corrosive milky juice. 
Endemic to New Zealand and the Chatham Island, growing on coastal cliffs, banks and talus slopes, sand dunes and rocky lakeshore scarps.
Cattle, sheep, pigs and possums are threats throughout the species range, mainly through browsing and trampling. Competition from taller weedy plants is significant. Coastal development such as road widening, and erosion, are further threats to most populations. Some populations on the West Coast of the South Island appear to have succumbed to a fungal disease.
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Treehouse Gardens
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