View allAll Photos Tagged Addictive
One of the most addictive cameras I've had. Once you put your eyes inside the viewfinder, you can't help shoot pictures. This 50mm f:1.7 is a killer, focus ring is like butter and when you fire the shutter : what a sexy sound! It sounds almost like a Leica R… (No doubt Minolta and Leica worked together at that time)
Tricky but addictive, nice to be able to do something pretty in the kitchen sink! Not my best droplet shot [IMHO] but it reached #221 on Explore! Thank you for your interest and kind comments!
Flickr …. it can be addictive! Searching through just a fraction of the interesting historic and of course inspiring images can take an age (or maybe a good way to spend a wet morning).
Anyway, a week or two ago I chanced upon the work of Professeur Filature whose images of old mills both in the UK and abroad are utterly fascinating. One such image is that of the London Silk Mill in Leek Staffordshire.
By coincidence, I had planned to travel through the town quite recently and thought I’d have a look to see the exact spot where the photo had been taken.
Naturally, I couldn’t resist the opportunity to have a go myself, but hopefully to feature the little corner pub as the main subject rather than copy Professeur Filature’s take of the mill.
Formerly a Marstons pub, it was re-opened in 2014. I didn’t have time to venture inside, but a little research shows that it specialises in beers that are unusual for the area, and the house beer (Earl Grey Bitter) is brewed by the Whim micro brewery of Hartington in Derbyshire.
Maybe next time I’ll be able to pop in for a pint!
The ebb and flow of the tide made these nice swirls during a sunset at Nanven. The ten stop would probably have been too long an exposure so I opted to close down the aperture and bung on the polariser. It was just long enough to catch the movement. I would love to get a 4 stop or maybe better a decent 6 stop filter. Recommendations on that one welcome please :) Addictive to watch and to shoot. Have fun everyone :)
17-40, polariser.
Exposure: 3.2
Aperture: f/22.0
Focal Length: 24 mm
ISO Speed: 50
Exposure Bias: -1/3 EV
Chronicles of lifting Light :
Tales from The Poet and the Peasant
There is a certain daring “edge” in acting out a role playing game on a partner(s) in public, especially if (in our case) one favors pickpocketing.
It’s a certain adrenaline thrill, both addictive and desirable, that increases up until the “mark” is relived of one or more of her dangling valuables. Whether its carried out with a simple bump, a lift conveyed while, say dancing, or a squeeze play maneuvered with a second player, it all creates and holds a level of excitement most thrilling in its nature, quite erotic within its scope.
This Chronicle contains short essays on pickpocketing games played solely within our group over the past few years.
These were games only, done with full knowledge and consent of all the players ( with a couple of exceptions where the parties involved were not informed of the actual happenings until sometime after the fact.)
Any articles of jewelry lifted were returned to their original owners, albeit sometimes those owners at first thought the jewelry being returned had just simply fallen away.
The actual facts have been stretched, padded and enhanced, due primarily to the significant detail that I rather like those in my immediate circle, and in order to keep them liking me, have agreed to “put meat on the bone” so to speak, when putting pen to paper.
This journal is far from complete, and additional stories will be added as they are played out.
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The “Poet and the Peasant” Is a little backwater pub owned by Brian’s Aunt and Uncle. It’s a laid back place, music (mostly canned) , the usual caste of regulars ,Including us, and a generous section of ales and other “demon” drink.
The pub is housed in an ancient old building with all sorts of old Victorian era objects, found and given a home in the pub’s numerous nooks and crannies. Including the skull of poor Erik. Erik was a 17th century poet and balladeer who supposedly was beheaded for making several torrid lyrics about a certain Saxon king. His grinning skull sits high up in a shelf along a balustrade, usually with a cigar clamped in his jaws. Couldn’t tell how many times someone who had more than his fill of drink has tried to light it for the poor blighter. The pub is a regular howl around Halloween, thanks to Erik, who has obtained quite a degree of notability, despite being dead for all these long years.
Basically, Erik aside, the “Poet and the Peasant” is a great place to hang out and make plans with a pint in hand.
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Opening Act
Atonement
We were heading to a small resort that we once had stayed at for a wedding and reception. It was Just “Ginny” and I on a 4 day escape from reality. We were passing through one of the small towns on the way, when Ginny spotted a dress shoppe, with several mannequins wearing evening frocks. She had to stop, we had a function the next month and she had “nothing to wear”( Liar I thought grinning).
We went inside and on a “gently worn” rack she pulled out this long string sleeved satin number and tried it on. The young clerk said it was patterned after the one in the movie atonement ( which neither of us had seen) but its rich deep green( Irish green the clerk called it, which I really had no idea was a colour) really set off Ginny’s long copper hair, and I liked the way her hair laid down her bare backside.
We arrived at the resort in early afternoon and claimed our suite( paid for by an anniversary gift) and set out to explore the place. The resort was packed, and we found out that there were 2 evening wedding receptions taking place on Saturday. An Idea began to take seed and as we walked I found a way to bring it into conversation.
Ginny had brought her rhinestones ( see Album Chronicles of lifting Light, B) for a bit of date roleplay in our suite some chosen evening of our stay. I suggested that she should give her gown and the rhinestones a try in public. Where she asked? I than laid out my game plan and a smile crept across her face, lit up by the sun poking through the trees on the wooded path we had been walking. Ginny liked to dress up, and I used that trump card to my advantage.
At around 5pm I slipped into the larger of the two receptions (crashed if you like) and wondering over to the bar I got a drink and waited, nursing it. I was reasonably presentable in a suit jacket, slacks, silk shirt and satin tie. As I waited I found myself pretty much unnoticed, which was a far cry from what Ginny encountered when she cautiously entered about fifteen minutes later, green gown swirling, rhinestones all a glitter. It didn’t take long for the sharks to start circling. One lad started a conversation, and I watched her squirm a little, before putting my drink down and coming to my damsel’s rescue. I had to literally peel the bloke away from her. We went onto the dance floor, pretending like we had never met. As we danced through several songs I could tell by the look in Ginny’s eyes that she was feeling the same fire within that I was. Ready for part 2 ? I asked, she got a surprised look in her eyes, and began to check herself, uh uh I said, not till we leave. We went out together; I spied the bloke watching us from a table, and smirked to meself over his look of frustration.
Outside we started to walk along the promenade, joining along with several other ladies, charming in their in gowns and frills, with their tuxedoed escorts, escapees all of us from the receptions. Ginny felt exceptionally good as, with my arm around her, she cuddled into my side while we walked some distance. But our bliss was not long, when Ginny , looking back, said there was a hotel security cop heading our way. Damn I thought, pinched for crashing the reception.
The rent-a-cop came up to us, and placing a firm grip upon my shoulder(or tried, I was a good foot taller, where do they find these blokes?) talked directly to Ginny. Everything alright then Miss, he questioned Ginny, trying to sound professional, and he almost pulled it off, except he squeaked on the word Miss.
Why yes, officer Ginny said, pouring on the charm( which is a quite frightful weapon in her capable hands), thank you for your lovely concern, but why do you ask? I received a report that this man may have been bothering you, Ma’am he said , no squeaks this time. He looked at me, I just grinned back at him, waiting for Ginny to belt it out of the park. She smiled, her green eyes brite, and laying a hand on the “officers” chin, told him how adorable his concern was for her safety, but her husband and she made sure he saw her ring, is really not that much of a bother most of the time. Husband he started, than stopped, caught his embarrassment nicely, then tried to save it, but Miss, I heard you had lost a necklace.
Whatever reaction he had hoped by saying this, it was not the one he got. Oh that, she said, the clasp broke, so my husband took it for safe keeping, really, where would I have put it, and she stepped back and let him look her over for evidence of supporting her statement. Game, Set and Match, I smirked to myself!
With the way she looked in that satin gown, and her charm at full output, no mere mortal male would have been able to stand a chance. Well, he choked out, all’s good then isit, and releasing my shoulder; he turned heel, and walked off hurriedly, like a scolded puppy with its tail between its legs. Ginny giggled, well played I told her, well played. And, again with my arm around her and Ginny cuddling in, we continued our stroll, with Ginny letting out the occasional chortal of laughter over the whole incident.
We reached an overlook over the lake, where a pair of swans was meandering about. A young lady in a long white dress with a glittering bracelet around one wrist, was walking along the path that edged along the lake. The swans were near her, reminding me of a tele commercial I had seen long ago ( If anyone else remembers it please leave a comment).
Ginny caught me looking, wanna do the path luv, she whispered with in a most beguiling manner. We did so, and eventually found a rather isolated little nook behind a hedge grow. Here I will have to leave to the readers imagination what transpired there, for the only witnesses were the two of us, and a rather surprised chippy who crawled out of his hole for a gander…
On our way back we once again stopped at the overlook. Time to tally up I said. Ginny smiled and opening her purse pulled out a scrap of paper. She showed it to me, on it was written the word necklace. Lucky guess, did you feel me take it I asked. Of course she lied; I could have done it better. Wanna bet I teased. Maybe someday we’ll see she responded. Now the way the game worked was that I pretended to be a light fingered jewel thief, with my eyes on the lady in green’s jewels. It was my objective to lift a piece of Ginny’s jewellery some point in the evening..
Ginny agreed to it on the condition that beforehand she would write down a piece of jewellery on a piece of paper, if it matched the piece I had lifted, than I could decide what we would do the next evening, if not, she would decide. So later, as we had a few drinks in a nearby pub ( still dressed in “costume”) I (the winner) outlined the plans for the next evening.
So the following evening, after a rather nice feast by the fireplace in the resorts great room, we found ourselves once again in a bar ( this time the resorts lounge). I was wearing the same suit, and had Ginny’s purloined necklace in my jacket pocket. Ginny was wearing a black satin blouse, ¾ sleeved, with long white and blacked stripped skirt. She wore her gold jewellery, and her long hair was up, held by rhinestone clips. At one point she excused herself to the loo, and when she returned took the chair next to me, and started to come on to me. I played along and after a few drinks, and dances, she led me out to the lobby.
Making way outside to the long wooden walkaway of the promenade, we began our way along it. Finding an isolated bench, we began to make out, as if we were strangers who had just met. After a long (glorious) while, we stood( wobbly) and made our way down to the lake, and continued our light petting.
At one point Ginny stopped, and looking me in the eye, said, well sir, its been fun, but id better go. Immediately I patted my pocket, the necklace was gone. Naughty I said, distracting me on the bench hussy, I teased. Her eyes got a gleam, follow me she said. We retraced our steps, hand in hand, and she led me to the the bench, and then surprisingly passed it. We regained the lobby, and she stopped by a corner, where a larger fern like plant sat in a rather big ceramic pot. Reaching in, she pulled out the necklace. Very good I said, never felt you take it.
So, I win then, she smirked. Yes I agreed, I had guessed wrong by thinking she had picked my pocket on the bench. So let’s go an collect me winnings then, sir, she ordered me, her eyes large and hungry. As we made our way I tried to get her to tell me when she had lifted the necklace, but she just placed a secret little smile on her lips, and remained silent on the subject….
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Act 2
Squeeze Play
Anyone who has taken the bother to riffle through my earlier Chronicles of Lifting Light, knows I have a twin sister who at times past has been my foil to practice upon. Well, I will leave it up to you to decide who the foil was in this tale.
We were all hanging out at the pub (“Poet and the Peasant” of course) one evening, the four of us, being the silly selves that mid- twenties youth are prone to being, especially when alcohol is involved.
We were trying to drink away the memories of what our previous week of work had given us, and were well on our way to meeting that objective, when a song from the band Cold Play come on. Ginny had asked my sister who it was, and instead of answering right away, she gave something a bit of thought, then my sister started smirking. Cold Play, like squeeze Play , remember “Ginny?”
Both Girls just started giggling, “Brian” just got a sullen look at the memory, and I, I just reflected…..
In our University years, my sister worked part time for a company that raised funds for charities, like OXFAM, etc. Among the various types of events were a couple of “Black Tie” affairs that I enjoyed because it gave Brian and I the chance to escort my Sister and Ginny ( the girls ever beautiful in fancy dress) to attend them.
Now, my sister had this co-worker,”Shiela”, who was absolute vinegar to my sister’s honey, hell, she was vinegar to any pretty female’s honey! She was a squawker, a squealer, and a backstabbing slag, in other words, not a very nice girl atoll. She was also was twice divorced from wealthy young scions who could not spot a gold digger for the life of them until they had been broadsided along the head with her gilded shovel.
During one warm late Autumn we were attending one of the Charity Dances being held in the big city proper. They had a pair of bands lined up, one kind of a Disco’ish throwback, and for later, a proper one that played a more romantic beat, one that called for slow dancing. The Girls were more into the Disco then we males were( a feeling that affected most of us in attendance) and the floor was flooded with a gaggle of swishing dresses and gowns dancing and swirling around to the frantic beat of the music, all performed with swirling lights in the darkened, smog filled dance floor, while the guys just sat around enjoying the show being put on.
As Brian and I watched the provocative females on the floor dancing, we noticed that our girls were slowly moving out amongst the throng of pretty dancers, rather than maintaining one area. Soon they had moved next to “Shiela”, who was dancing with this cousin of hers. Now I found this surprising, because Sis and Ginny had been throwing daggers with their eyes at “Shiela” all evening. She had been sitting with her wealthy new boyfriend, who was always bending to her demands, as evidenced by the expensive new finery she was sporting, which really had gotten a certain Twins goat. So it was with some puzzlement that when her cousin took a breather, Ginny and my twin slipped in to take her place, moving in rhythm with the now quite intoxicated “Shiela”.
Sis was facing “Shiela” and Ginny was behind her, all three of them gyrating their arms, hands and most of their other body parts in motion, up down and all around each other , so close at times that you would have had an effort at squeezing a hand between them.
What’s that pair up to now? Brain questioned me, as if I had a hand in it, I just shook my head, knowing only that I wanted to be in the middle of that sandwich instead of “Shiela”, but as it turned out, good thing I wasn’t.
We watched as the long song went on, with its deep bass beat that almost sounded like it had been lifted from some horror flick. Ginny and Sis continued to revolve, twist and swirl around the guileless “Shiela” as their colourfully brite (slinky) dresses shimmered in a most provocative fashion, bathed as they were caught by the dimly lit, smoke filled, dance floors blue strobes. A few times “Shiela” seemed to lose her footing, and fell against my Sister, who I thought took it surprisingly well as she gently steadied her foe.
Then the song ended, and all three girls laughed and giggled, actually hugged one another. I heard Brian letting out an chiding snort, I , well I was still just mesmerized by the whole act. Ginny and My Sister than walked the slightly dizzy “Shiela” back to her table, even going so far as to help her set down, before turning and heading back to our table. Both of them wearing chuff grins like the kittens that had eaten the canary.
Wotcher?, said Brian questioning their look. Oh God I thought, knowing the answer, for I had been watching “Shiela” as the girls had left and approached. My sister, looking around, held out her hand and opened her fist. There, all balled up and glittering, was the expensive diamond pendent of the set of matching diamonds that “Shiela” had been flaunting about to everyone all evening.
Brian Jumped all over the two, giving them quite the bollocking, “games we played on each other was one thing, but what you pair had done was wade into some very dangerous waters indeed”! So what’s next I chimed in, and by the looks on their heavily made-up faces realized the silly twits hadn’t thought of that end. We hastily discussed the matter, knowing that time was anything but on our sides. Finally Brian took it from my admonished(seemingly) twin, and marching it up to the disc jockey, had him make an announcement describing what his “sister” had found in the loo.
“Shiela”, whom we all had been watching, let out a shriek as her hands flew groping to her chest in fruitless examination, jumped up and immediately claimed it, or tried to as the Jocky had a little bit of fun with it first. “Shiela” and her haplessly star struck Beau, were so hopping mad at the Jocky, they pretty much gave no thought as to how the pretty thing actually had been lost in the first place. This was a lucky break for a couple of girls, who still sat their smugly smiling, as Brian tried in vain to continue scolding them. Me, I just looked at the twittering pair, wondering, pondering thoughts of me own.
Now it wasn’t until a couple of years later on the night my sister made the remark about the cold play song that the girls felt comfortable talking a bit more about the incident .And before Brian could listen without tabooing the subject. And it was then that I learnt how the pair of them had managed to take the diamonds from “Shiela”
It turned out the two had had no real plan, just that they had been discussing “Shiela” between themselves and had been debating over how fun it would be to knock her down a peg or so. One of the scenarios presented was to have her be given the shock of losing a piece of her expensive jewelry, and they even discussed bringing me into the fold, but thought better of it.
Although I am not sure if I would have taken them up on it, but since then I have thought out different ways I would have approached the problem, both by myself, and with the girls help. Although I wouldn’t have tried for the necklace, I figured her ring or bracelet would not have been beyond my scope of achievement. Although, with the girls help…….
Anyway they finally decided to try it themselves, after all how hard could it be to take, say a cocktail ring from “Shiela’s” sweaty finger as she was dancing away on the crowded floor?
They decided to join in the dance and get close to “Shiela” and if an opportunity arose, my sister was to signal Ginny by rubbing a finger alongside her nose to bump against “Shiela”, pushing the hapless B… into me devious twin. It was Ginny who came up with the name “squeeze play”, because I once had grasped and squeezed her from behind, removing her ring in the process.
Now “Shiela” was wearing what I guess is called an A-line gown, where her front was totally covered by the gowns shiny material, no gloves, just sweat glistened skin. As they moved in on “Shiela” Ginny took position behind, while Sis took the front, and at one point laid a hand upon “Shiela’s” shoulder, “Shiela” did likewise as they swayed to the deep rhythmic beats. Sis tried to grasp “Shiela’s” free hand, the one where she was wearing a diamond cocktail ring, but she kept missing. In the process she realized that the hand she had placed on her victims shoulder was almost touching the thick gold chain of her nemesis’s necklace, which held the diamond pendent that was bouncing about.
Looking “Shiela” directly in the eyes she began to work the necklace along as they danced, until her fingers felt the clasp. It was lobster clasp, similar to one my sister had on the emerald necklace Brian had given her. Sis gave it an exploratory push, and it surprisingly opened under her fingers. Startled at what had happened, she forgot the signal, and nodded to Ginny, who plowed into the hapless “Shiela’s” backside, as my sister felt “Shiela” fall against her. She whisked off the necklace with one hand, while steading the giggling “Shiela” with her other. Backing away she placed both hands behind her back as “Shiela” turned to receive Ginny’s apologies. Sis balled up the chain in one hand, holding it tightly closed for the remainder of the dance. They helped “Shiela” back to her table, my Sister placing the fist holding the necklace alongside her victims back as they helped guide the still giggling “Shiela” to a seat.
Walking away, my Sister thought that it had been almost scary how easily it had been to open the clasp and pluck off the necklace. It shouldn’t have been, she kept telling herself, but she knew it was, for she had the evidence in her hand, and she was not even close to ever being a professional about such things. My twin has said that afterwards that it had given her a lot of perturbed thoughts when wearing any good jewelry of hers in public, (particularly her emeralds with the Lobster clasp) and finds herself on occasion still doing spot checks whenever she has been brushed by someone. But then, I think we all do on occasion, knowing the kind of games we like to play.
So as one can see, overall ,this is a rather touchy subject to tackle. But there was no denying that Sis (and Ginny I suspect) were proud of their accomplishment at the time. It was almost like my twin was trying to impress upon me that I was not the only one with light fingers. A subject that, trust me, has been, and will continue to be explored down a sometimes crooked “garden” path.
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Anyone who has read Chronicles B knows that Ginny and Brian both received the upcommence for the manner in which they had gotten my sisters got at the wedding reception. But as for me, she waited a bit, biding her time, for like the proverbial elephant( which she has a bit of a collection) my twin does not forget.
Upcoming :
And revenge is a dish best served cold.
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In Appraisal
I do highly encourage anyone who has read my chronicles,( or looked at the clips below) and on the off-chance may actually have been entertained by them, and would like me to divulge more of our tomfooleries , to please leave behind a comment expressing that point.
Thank You
Food for thought:
Jewelry lifting Clips
www.youtube.com/watch?v=HAZdjhNVjxk&authuser=0
www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ls8rw2V1QCU&authuser=0
www.youtube.com/watch?v=4RbLiI9ZFQ8&authuser=0
www.youtube.com/watch?v=9XZ8s-R9vl4
www.youtube.com/watch?v=ofodSjKQ_-8
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Courtesy of Chatwick University Archives
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DISCLAIMER
All rights and copyrights observed by Chatwick University, Its contributors, associates and Agents
The purpose of these chronological photos and accompanying stories, articles is to educate, teach, instruct, and generally increase the awareness level of the general public as to the nature and intent of the underlying criminal elements that have historically plagued humankind.
No Part of this can reprinted, duplicated, or copied be without the express written permission and approval of Chatwick University.
These photos and stories are works of fiction. Any resemblance to people, living or deceased, is purely coincidental.
As with any work of fiction or fantasy the purpose is for entertainment and/or educational purposes only, and should never be attempted in real life.
We accept no responsibility for any events occurring outside this website.
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Insanely addictive & simple treat. Blogged:
sweetapolita.com/2011/02/butterscotch-peanut-butter-marsh...
Nicotine is the addictive drug in tobacco smoke that causes smokers to continue to smoke. Addicted smokers need enough nicotine over a day to ‘feel normal’ – to satisfy cravings or control their mood. How much nicotine a smoker needs determines how much smoke they are likely to inhale, no matter what type of cigarette they smoke.
Along with nicotine, smokers inhale about 7,000 other chemicals in cigarette smoke. Many of these chemicals come from burning tobacco leaf. Some of these compounds are chemically active and trigger profound and damaging changes in the body.
Tobacco smoke contains over 60 known cancer-causing chemicals. Smoking harms nearly every organ in the body, causing many diseases and reducing health in general.
**QUIT SMOKING**
One nation
under God
has turned into
one nation under the influence
of one drug
Television, the drug of the Nation
Breeding ignorance and feeding radiation
T.V., it
satellite links
our United States of Unconsciousness
Apathetic therapeutic and extremely addictive
The methadone metronome pumping out
150 channels 24 hours a day
you can flip through all of them
and still there's nothing worth watching
T.V. is the reason why less than 10 per cent of our
Nation reads books daily
Why most people think Central Amerika
means Kansas
Socialism means unamerican
and Apartheid is a new headache remedy
absorbed in it's world it's so hard to find us
It shapes our mind the most
maybe the mother of our Nation
should remind us
that we're sitting too close to...
Television, the drug of the Nation
Breeding ignorance and feeding radiation
T.V. is the stomping ground for political candidates
Where bears in the woods
are chased by Grecian Formula'd
bald eagles
T.V. is mechanized politic's
remote control over the masses
co-sponsored by environmentally safe gases
watch for the PBS special
It's the perpetuation of the two party system
where image takes precedence over wisdom
Where sound bite politics are served to
the fastfood culture
Where straight teeth in your mouth
are more important than the words
that come out of it
Race baiting is the way to get selected
Willie Horton or
Will he not get elected on...
Television, the drug of the Nation
Breeding ignorance and feeding radiation
T.V., is it the reflector or the director ?
Does it imitate us
or do we imitate it
because a child watches 1500 murders before he's
twelve years old and we wonder why we've created
a Jason generation that learns to laugh
rather than to abhor the horror
T.V. is the place where
armchair generals and quarterbacks can
experience first hand
the excitement of warfare
as the theme song is sung in the background
Sugar sweet sitcoms
that leave us with a bad actor taste while
pop stars metamorphosize into soda pop stars
You saw the video
You heard the soundtrack
Well now go buy the soft drink
Well, the onla cola that I support
would be a union C.O.L.A.(Cost Of Living Allowance)
On television
Television, the drug of the Nation
Breeding ignorance and feeding radiation
Back again, "New and improved"
We return to our irregularly programmed schedule
hidden cleverly between heavy breasted
beer and car commercials
CNNESPNABCTNT but mostly B.S.
Where oxymoronic language like
"virtually spotless", "fresh frozen"
"light yet filling" and "military intelligence"
have become standard
T.V. is the place where phrases are redefined
like "recession" to "necessary downturn"
"Crude oil" on a beach to "mousse"
"Civilian death" to "collateral damages"
and being killed by your own Army
is now called "friendly fire"
T.V. is the place where the pursuit
of happiness has become the pursuit of
trivia
Where toothpaste and cars have become
sex objects
Where imagination is sucked out of children
by a cathode ray nipple
T.V. is the only wet nurse
that would create a cripple
Television, the drug of the Nation
Breeding ignorance and feeding radiation
After I went to starbucks one day, I was left with that thing I have put on my mouth.
When I saw myself in the mirror I simply loved how it looked.
In my back I put one of my favorite blankets :)) because the photo was in my room and it was to noisy to leave it that way.
I also love how my eyes turned out. Don't you? :D
A Friend and former neighbor brought us a holiday gift. Trust me this isn't Nana's old Chex Mix. This stuff is way addictive and delicious.
Photograph 1000 :)
This photograph was taken in the summer of 1978. Two years later my mom would pass away after a tough battle with brain cancer. She was a month shy of being a mere 53 years of age. 53......that is so young.
Mom also smoked cigarettes from the time she was 15. This addictive and destructive habit partially contributed to her death. Like most things in life, this was her choice to smoke. Dad did too. In fact, I cannot recall any adults from my youth that did not smoke. It was just the norm.
Mom was simply a amazing human being. Like so many women back then, she was a stay at home mom. She raised five children while dad went to work and provided the necessities that a large family needed. A good home, plenty of food on the table and clothes on our back.
It is my observation that mom had the tougher job. Raising five kids is not easy. My brother Lon was five years older than me. Laird was one year younger than me and Lane and Lisa, the twins, were five years younger than Laird.
Mom took us through all of our childhood sicknesses. We all shared the mumps, chicken pox and the measles. I can recall all of us spotted up with the chicken pox---at the same time. Mom cared for each of us and probably got very little sleep over several days.
Mom told me once that she had always wanted to be a nurse, but the large family had made this dream just that---a dream. She nevertheless practiced medicine on us all from time to time.
We all played with reckless abandon except my older brother Lon. He was the smart kid. He read books, designed gardens, made scale houses out of balsa wood for school projects. Playing with others outside was not his thing. I remember him joining in and playing bridge with the adults from time to time. Who does that when they're under 18 years of age?
Laird and I did normal kids things. We played with all the other neighbor kids. We played tackle football, sandlot baseball and sometime basketball. We rode our high handled bikes with the long banana seats and tried popping willies, or at least I tried. I always crashed. Our bikes had baseballs cards attached with clothes pins on the back tires for sound effects! We swam in the bay, climbed trees, built underground forts, built tree houses, had rock and fir cone fights, played army with toy guns, had miniature wood made hydroplane races in the summer, shot BB guns, played pranks on neighbors and had all out water ballon wars. Kick-the-can, tag, hide and go seek, red rover-red rover, king of the hill and other made up games were a part of the daily. We got plenty of scrapes and bruises along the way, but man----it was all so much fun. Mom joined in and played all of the time if we were near our house.
The rain never stopped us either. Mom would bundle us up and we went outside and found something to do. The ditches used to run pretty hard in our forested cul-de-sac. Laird and I would use large walnut half shells and put matchbook covers over them. We sealed them on with hot wax and used toothpicks to make mini sails. Now we had our little boats. All the kids would race them in the ditches. We made small bets for penny Bazooka bubble gum or licorice. So much fun!
Mom used to refer over 19" black and white TV as, "the stupid box" or "boob tube". Nothing can ever be accomplished watched it. She is right. To this day, I seldom watch a lot of television. Mom said that a better use of time was to go out and play outside or read books. I did plenty of both. The Hardy Boys, Jules Verne and Sherlock Holmes books kept me on the edge of my seat most of the time.
Laird and I were encouraged to collect things. Stamps, coins, matchbooks, the paper lids from glass milk containers and baseball cards were all sought after. Laird and I got into plenty of fights over found items!
The twins, Lane and Lisa were little, but they tagged around with us and got into miniature mischief. Lisa was a good athlete, very determined. When she was about 12 years of age, she caught a long bomb from me while playing football and broke hose nose diving for the catch. The car bumper did not get injured. Two days later, she had school photos. Priceless!
I feel sorry for todays children. They do not play outside very much. Computer games, phones and the like dominate their attention. As a result, kids are obese and they develop other health issues. So sad!
Adventure. I always wanted adventure!
Still do.
I could go on and on about my mom. She was such a loving person and a doer. She worked for the Blood Mobile for over twenty years. She started golf leagues for kids at two gold courses. If kids could not afford clubs, she found people to donate their old sets. She never seemed to slow down.
Mom was a gourmet cook. There wasn't any meal that she couldn't put together. She organized neighborhood people, young and old and we would walk from house to house singing Christmas songs. She had a lovely full voice and her eyes sparkled at this time of the year. Our tree was always adorned with elaborate hand made ornaments.
At any rate, mom passed aways in 1980, just two days after Christmas. I get sentimental during this time of the year and simply miss her every day. I will talk about my dad in another post.
Always remember to give kindness to others.
Happy Holidays all!
Warning: this car may be addictive.
•It's still tiny, smaller, even, than the current model. Specifically, 3.2 inches shorter, an inche narrower, riding on a wheelbase 0.6 of an inch shorter. It is, Mazda says, "the most compact body size" in the model's history.
•The interior, already a tight fit, gets more so by design. Mazda says it has "a snug-feeling cockpit." because "that enables concentration on driving."
•It'll avoid odd-ball drivetrains. Mazda describes "direct-injection gasoline engines" (that's normal today) and conventional-sounding six-speed manual transmission. A mock-up of the chassis shows a four-cylinder engine.
•It's quite a bit lighter -- about 220 pounds -- because cutting weight is a key piece of Mazda's Skyactiv design philosophy.
•It'll get better mileage. Mazda hasn't said how much better, but improved mpg is another Skyactiv imperative.
•It will give rise to an Abarth Fiat two-seater. No timing on that one.
I vaguely remember someone warning me that texture overlays are addictive, so.........., bitten by the bug, I feverishly browsed Flickr today for some more textures, only to find there were soooooo many fascinating ones.
Hard to decide which ones to use, I was inspired to make this portrait by mixing textures together from different artists, beginning with this bright metal plaque from: bcommeberenice, then this amazing decorative piece from brandis78, thirdly adding a plain patio brick by Telzey and finishing off with a homemade frame from Ghostbones
Well they're certainly inspiring creators, so thank you all for making these great textures available!
Here is my original image of the beautiful, young Ranielle, a girl from our local, impoverished community. I always said she was a Princess!
NB! - To appreciate this portrait and the textures used, I recommend viewing the BIGGER version.
It is for me. I can't stop eating cherries (I may stop at the end of season). They look nice, they taste nice. A packed bowl of health.
It is addictive to climb up there and take pictures. Climbing while sailing is much easier but it's shaking more and to be honest I don't feel too save while I'm up. And than there's the fiddling with the camera and the lenscap and hold onto the shrouds and look around and worry abut the sun and err, well, at least it's not boring. All pictures clickable.
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Ich denke, man kann süchtig danach werden, Bilder aus den Wanten heraus zu machen. Das Hochklettern während des Segelns ist deutlich leichter, aber es wackelt natürlich und man macht sich dann ja doch so seine Gedanken. Und dann muss man noch mit der Kamera rum sortieren und den Objektivdeckel irgendwie verstauen und kucken wo man hinsegelt und wo die Sonne steht und mit der dritten Hand hält man sich an den Seilen fest und hofft, dass keine plötzliche Kursänderung kommt.... Trotzdem macht's irgendwie Spaß :o) Alle Bilder sind wieder anklickbar.
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WHEN A MAN DIES WITHIN
Gazing down at the familiar lines of the white cigarette packet that he clasped in his right hand, eyes crumpled up a little against the invasive brightness of the crisp early Spring morning light, David could not help but manage a slightly wry smile at the warning sign printed in bold lettering just under the lip of the flip open top.
'Smoking can kill', a rather beautifully graphic small colour photograph emblazoned upon the rear cover as he momentarily flipped the pack over in his hand, depicting the aftermath of years of carnage within the confines of one addicts mouth.
David thumbed the roof of his own mouth with his right hand, still gripping the cigarette between his index and third second finger as he tapped his upper front teeth and ascertained that they were correctly in situ. Placing the cigarette into the moist confines of his mouth he drew on the tiny object, sucking in a stream of gloriously addictive chemicals infused and entwined with beautiful harmony, Benzine, Formaldehyde, acetone and ammonia blended with arsenic, hydrogen cyanide and tar, what a sumptuous concoction to calm the nerves and brace a man at the beginning of yet another fast paced day in the rat race commuter zone of the city.
At his feet lay a collection of discarded nicotine butts, enjoyed to the very last, the filters bent and crushed upon impact with the floor, dropped from height and stabbed with the under sole of David's perfectly shiny and bulled up black Italian leather designer shoes. Back arched against the wooden window plinth of the shuttered backstreet printing house, David stood resplendent in his city garb, clothed for combat with the corporate crew, two piece Saville row tailored suit and silk shirt capped by a loud and vibrant hand stitched mauve tie, Armani belt with silver buckle that glistened in the morning sunlight and neatly cropped mousy brown hair, his face closely shaven and bathed in musky oils that renewed and reinvigorated those dying skin cells that every man of a certain age fights a daily battle with.
Ten minutes from the office, a freshly brewed caramel macchiato with extra topping in his left hand, from one of the many Starbucks seemingly on every corner of every street in each and every major city of the Western world these days. Placing his lips over the tiny flow hole of the white plastic cap placed securely over the drinks cup, emblazoned with vibrant corporate motifs and one of those dinky little brown corrugated slip on hand grips to prevent inadvertent burns to ones hand, he drank a gulp of the tasty beverage, which had cooled down considerably during the smoking of his fifth cigarette in twenty minutes.
First the cooling flavour of the whipped synthetic cream atop of the drink entered his mouth, seducing the papillae and taste receptor cells situated in the upper surface of his tongue and soft palate, followed by the warmth and delicate caramel flavour of the luke warm coffee which flowed smoothly through his mouth and into the welcome of his stomach. The cup drained, David placed it with his left hand back onto the wooden window plinth, dusty from the city debris, building works and fallout of daily life as the army of workers passed by in their droves.
Placing the empty packet of Malboro cigarettes onto the plinth to his right, he pushed his arched back off the railing and pulled the base fronts of his jacket down, dabbing both sides with his hands to smooth any creases. The boss was always fastidious about the appearance of his staff, reprimands dished out with daily monotony to all and sundry caught with shirts not tucked in or shoes not polished to within an inch of their lives. David considered that it must have been the military influence on his distant past that had left it's mark on a man who seemed never to have had a moments fun in his sad little life.
For a few moments, David glanced at the passers by, dreary faces, fixed stares, down turned lips on the way to a myriad of workplaces across the length and breadth of the city of opportunity, the city of dreams, a young fresh faced whiz kid with a Kensington accent and carefully orchestrated streaked hair passed by, cell phone to right ear, barking words of a conversation that he wanted everyone else to hear and be impressed by. Share dealing, money making, subservient recipient on the other end of the line fawning to his vocal commands as he blended into the oncoming flow of people like a tiny prop forward felled by the advancing scrum in a rugby match.
An itsy bitsy size zero sauntered past, tiny footsteps barely registering upon the cement paving slabs as her minuscule form and painfully gaunt features stared at the array of people queuing for the coffee shop, and a black dude with iPod earpiece tapping out a tinny drum and bass beat of some obscure and soon to disband through apathy band, slunk past with a hip induced swagger and ill fitting jeans with an arse that virtually dragging on the ground. David raised his left arm, pulling back the jacket and shirt sleeves to reveal the big Omega watch face that showed nine in the morning. Time to begin another day just like any other. Only this was a very different day in the heart of the city, one that would not go unnoticed.
Right hand reaching inwards towards the inner breast pocket of his jacket, David's palm settled around the handle of the small black Beretta PX4 sub compact handgun that he'd easily purchased for a few hundred pounds from a friend of a friend who had contacts in the know and spurious advertisements on Ebay where decommissioned weaponry could be 'Easily converted for authenticity of the collector'.
The weapon of divine retribution felt so cool to the touch falling to his right side as he twisted his head and neck to flex the muscles which audibly crunched. Moving forwards into the jostling crowds, David said good morning to an oncoming gent with a pin striped uniform and look of bewilderment as the three inch barrel met his gaze and a single bullet was expelled through the air into his temple. Before the hapless first victim had fallen, David was continuing without a missing stride, through a side alleyway as screams erupted from shocked passers by now long behind him. Tunnel vision, eyes searching as the victims streamed across his line of view, David pivoted around, barrel following the head of a white uniformed restaurant worker, Chinese descent as he scampered from one fire exit door to another across the alleyway, another two shots flying with consummate grace and balletic energy into the unwilling flesh of the mans skull.
In the doorway, a second man, thick set, holding a tray of freshly basted chickens in his hands, stood frozen to the spot, eyes staring straight at David's. David raised a left index finger to his mouth, pursing his lips as if to tell the man to keep quiet, before moving onwards into the opening streets before him. Five more bullets covetted the air as three more victims fell like human dominoes, a pretty young twenty something woman with ocean blue eyes and mismatched dark eyebrows to her over dyed blonde hair, a jogger with the passing scent of sweaty testosterone as droplets glistened and leapt in all directions from his muscle packed running torso, and an out of sorts punk with shocking pink hair, thick black eyeliner just like his dear old grandmother probably still applies and elephant bone ear graffiti, who screamed like a stuck pig as the bullet pierced his upper torso causing him to spin on his feet before falling to the ground clutching the entry wound as his final breaths spurted out.
Moving out into the main drag, a road away from his place of work for the last twenty odd years, David peppered the passers by with random shells that dazed and grazed, finishing off two more bodies that lay writhing in blood on the unforgiving concrete floor, before aiming at a single mother leaning over the grey plastic and chromed metal handles of her child buggy in which nestled her two year old brat, outside a confectioners store just yards from his workplace.
The woman straightened up and stared back at David with a terrified expression, frozen to the spot like an animal caught in the headlights of an oncoming vehicle. The child screamed, more for the taste of chocolate treats than any understanding of the perilous situation his mother now faced as David tilted his head to the left, gazing into the woman's terrified brown eyes before raising his pistol towards her head and pulling the trigger, which clicked to signify that the thirteen bullet magazine had reached it's conclusion. She would have died, he would have killed her, the brat too, if not for the limitations of the tiny hand gun and the necessity of both time and haste. He smiled and waved the pistol as if to tell her to run, whilst reaching into his pocket and retrieving a second loaded magazine which slipped effortlessly within the gun handle with a satisfying clunk once in place.
Chaos behind him, David stood before the giant glass and polished chromed entrance doors to Smyth and sons near Piccadilly circus. “Your future in our hands” read the experted sign printed black words etched across the tops of the entrance as David smiled and entered, despatching the security guard with a single shot as he reached the brass elevators at the rear of the lobby, pressed the white plastic button and entered before allowing the arriving occupants to make their exit.
A momentary decision allowed the pretty Asian girl in the short red skirt clutching a blue file close to her chest, a vending machine repair guy in uniform with his identification badge hanging from his neck lanyard and a spectacled lady with mousy brown hair and a look on her face suggesting that she had never had a days fun in her entire life, to walk away with their lives. A calmness swept over David's mind as he thumbed the elevator button, floor thirteen, and the location of his tiny desk amongst the hordes of likewise crammed into the cattle shed confines for so many years of his working life prior to his dismissal just one week earlier. Thought's of how humiliated he had felt being outshone by Philips and Robertson's presentations, the new kids on the block with savage intent, delusions of grandeur and such a youthful appetite to establish a name for themselves at any cost to those who they deemed as rivals.
A life's work down the pan, hopes and dreams, aspirations of greater heights, a home and family life with the trappings of contentment brushed aside like the trinkets on his desk as he was ordered to gather up his belongings and never darken the doorstep of the building in which he had spent twenty years of late night's building portfolio's, protecting assets, courting the key clients, kissing corporate ass and being treated like something that the boss had stepped in and did not much care for.
All for nothing, as the elevator door pinged, coming to an abrupt halt with David's stomach taking nano seconds to catch up with the forces of gravity. Bright lights, the hubbub of office life, startled faces as he walked through the centre pathway, a mind so focussed on what he was about to do that everything seemed to haze and move into slow motion. Gun raised, seeking out the perpetrators of his personal demise, David shot Anthony Phillips between the eyes, the body slumping to the ground as he turned and hit a terrified Bill Robertson who had tried in vane to make a bid for the fire exit door before succumbing to two rounds that blasted through his neck and face. David continued, sniping as he walked purposeful strides, not a care in the world for those he took down, no rhyme nor reasoning behind each kill, just the anger at his peers for standing by and watching his demise, the inner turmoil and self loathing, the feelings of betrayal as he lined up the two instigators of his downfall within the gun sight and fired twice into each cowering carcass, limbs flailing wildly as the desks shunted sideways and a nest of important documents flew into the air like doves of peace given their ultimate freedom.
And up ahead the door to Robert Smyth's office, the great man himself standing in the doorway with a look of bewilderment on his fat little face as he turned and reached for the internal phone located on his solid oak captain's table behind him. David pushed onwards, entering behind his ex boss, loosing off a bullet into his back, Smyth instinctively reaching for the wound with his right hand whilst dropping the phone and slumping into his dark wood and green leather captains chair, adrenalin coursing through his veins as he looked up at David's blank expression and sinister eyes. David raised the gun sure and slow, blank expression, a fearsome stare as he fired two more rounds into Smyth's body before turning around to view the carnage in the office behind him. Cowering bodies, some heading for the exits like stampeding cattle, treading on fellow workmates who had fallen in the crush, the sounds of Police sirens in different parts of the city heading ever closer.
All went eerily quite for a few seconds as David thought about the life he once had, red and tearful eyes staring up and around the tiny dimensions of the room in which he had spent so many wasted years of subserviance and tedium, the room of his very aspirations that was never to be. A slight smile forming upon his lips, the pain of his demise, the realisation of some of the dreadful deeds that he had done this very morning now beginning to dawn upon a troubled conscience as he placed the barrel of the Beretta into the warm confines of his mouth, sweaty fingers wriggling and writhing on the hot to the touch metal trigger.
After a brief pause of quiet reflection and thoughts of his own wife and family, he aimed the barrel low and flat in his mouth and without further hessitation managed two single shots which severed his spinal column at the point it met with the base of his skull, before his body hit the ground, a spray of bone fragments, brain matter and blood splattering the desk and contents behind him as he fell. Life can change in an instant, the mind can become blurred with rage and humiliation, for you can push a man just so far before he snaps, in whatever way he feels appropriate. The Understanding, contemplation, empathy that we feel or that indeed we do not, matter little when the human brain reacts to a given situation. And in the cold light of day, you can take anything away from a man except the belief he has in his own inner self and his pride, because without them, he dies within and truly has nothing left to live for......
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Written March 28th/29th 2011
Photograph taken at 07:50am on June 2nd 2011 in Carnaby Street, Central London, England.
Nikon D300 35mm 1/250s f/8.0 iso200
Nikkor AF-S 18-70mm f/3.5-5.4G. UV filter
This is outside the boat club building.
This would almost as good as Xavier's new photographic studio...
Pro's
- Main boat room is a big open space about 30 ft by 30ft
- Changing rooms, kitchen & storage area in addition
- Riverside location so great view of the river & sunsets etc
Cons
- No heating
- Full of bloody boats
- Access path is often flooded in winter (thigh deep water on occasions)
- River floods occasionally - almost half way up to the door handle here in extreme years
- No cash left on premises (how can I afford more toys)
In retrospect perhaps not the best studio after all. (Out-take in comments)
TRP - 100 Words: Word #3 - Addictive (Face down shots are becoming addictive.... during the week I often say to myself - That'll be a great FDT location. Kinda sad really)
FGR - Dream Studio & FDT
In 2016, Angel Muse was described as a vibrant, sensual and addictive fragrance, adding a new dimension to the angel universe. If that was not enough, each bottle was claimed to evoke the Mugler galaxy as the juice was encapsulated in an out of the world cosmic pebble. If you are still with me, Mugler branded Peter Witt tram 1880 was recorded heading along Via Luigi Settembrini with a Milan ATM Line 5 service.
All images on this site are exclusive property and may not be copied, downloaded, reproduced, transmitted, manipulated or used in any way without expressed written permission of the photographer. All rights reserved – Copyright Don Gatehouse