View allAll Photos Tagged BLACKOUT
After a huge storm, building site in the streets of chiang rai left alone in the dark, being randomly unfolded by car lights
Title: “Blackout”
3:00 AM.
South London.
A quiet residential street, still and fog-wrapped.
Two women stood motionless in the garden behind a detached house.
All black. All silent.
Dana wore:
•Black skin-tight leggings
•Completely black sneakers
•An tight-fitting denim jacket with the collar slightly open
•Black leather gloves
•A tight black balaclava that revealed only her sharp, focused eyes
Her figure was agile, dangerous, and composed.
Celine wore:
•Tight blue jeans
•Black flat boots
•A tight black bomber leather jacket, zipped, collar slightly open
•Black leather gloves
•A tight black balaclava like Dana’s, pulled perfectly in place
She stood tall, professional, eyes scanning the street like a machine.
Dana dropped to her knee at the glass patio door. Crowbar in hand.
“Three seconds,” she whispered.
Crack.
The lock gave way, clean and quiet. They slipped inside like a shadow cutting through silence.
The house was dark. A cold kind of quiet. The smell of furniture wax and old perfume hung in the air. They moved with total control.
Celine knelt at the hallway wall, took a small knife from her jacket sleeve, and cut the phone cable in one swift motion. Her gloves never made a sound.
Dana opened the bathroom door — empty. Then the guest room — nothing. Her nod said it all.
Down the hallway: the bedroom door.
It creaked as they opened it.
Inside: A woman in her seventies, asleep. Perfect hair. Clean linens. Her room was old-fashioned, soft-lit by a bedside lamp. A jewelry box rested on the nightstand.
She stirred.
Dana lunged, one knee on the bed. Her black leather glove sealed over the old woman’s mouth like steel.
“Make a fucking noise,” she hissed. “I dare you.”
The woman’s eyes were wide with panic, her body frozen in fear.
Celine moved fast. At the dresser. Flipped boxes. Rummaged through drawers. Plastic pearls, fake gold, worthless junk.
Then she reached lower — behind the bottom drawer — and pulled out a thick bundle of cash, rubber-banded, clean notes.
“Got it,” she said coldly.
She turned, walked toward Dana, and held up the bundle like a trophy.
In the dim light, her silhouette looked like a ghost with money in her hands.
Dana looked down at the woman under her grip.
“You thought this was gonna save you, huh?” she whispered. “Old, rich, and stupid.”
The woman whimpered. Dana slapped her across the face — once, hard, her gloved hand leaving a print of silence and power.
“You’re not walking out of this.”
Dana pulled her mask up just enough to show her face.
“Take a good look.”
Then her hands locked around the old woman’s throat.
No drama. No noise. Just pressure. Leather on skin. A fight that lasted seconds.
The woman twitched, then sagged into stillness — mouth open, eyes glassy.
Blanket pulled tight. Life gone.
Dana stood up calmly. Adjusted the hem of her denim jacket.
Celine zipped her bomber jacket a little higher, tucking the cash away.
“She’s gone?”
Dana nodded. “No loose ends.”
Celine walked to the window, peeked through the curtain. Street still dead.
They exited the house silently. Back garden. Through the fog.
The black BMW sat two blocks away. No plates. Engine cold.
Dana lit a cigarette, the flame glowing briefly through the mist. She handed one to Celine.
“You know what I love about posh old women?” Dana exhaled, smoke trailing from her balaclava.
“They don’t fight back,” Celine said, laughing softly as she slid into the passenger seat.
They drove off slowly.
Two black silhouettes fading into the London night — cold, calm, and cruel.
I originally planned to go into New York City to photograph counterfeit Louis Vuitton bags. I wanted to blog about the frequent sightings of Coach, Burberry, and Louis Vuitton handbags at CVS. In my naivety, I used to believe all the bags were authentic. However, I believe now that while the majority of the Coach and Burberry bags were real, the clear majority of Louis Vuitton fashions were counterfeit. My suspicions were confirmed upon my numerous conversations with customers about their handbags. Many of them would mention they "fell off the truck" at Canal Street when I commented about their pretty handbags. In fact, the only confirmation of an authentic Louis Vuitton fashion was from a man who had a Vuitton wallet. When I asked him about the plethora of counterfeits running around, he also mentioned Canal Street. He has seen the counterfeits himself and they look absolutely authentic. I, too, had to see these gorgeous counterfeits. Thus, began an excursion to Canal Street to start my Blackout Day!
Paul accompanied me on this excursion to the City. We were supposed to have lunch with our friend Peter, but he was unavailable and would soon disappear into a cellular void. We headed into NYC via the Newport/Pavonia PATH station and then hopped out on Christopher Street only to hop into a subway to take us to Chinatown and into the heart of mystery.
We noticed alot of scenes like this on Canal Street. Hordes of people would gather around in a small circle while a Chinese merchant would quickly lift up a tarp covering a table in order to reveal the counterfeit merchandise beneath; all the while, the merchant would nervously glance up and around the sidewalk area. Presumably they were looking for cops, but maybe they were just looking for suspicious activity counter to their own. The merchant in this picture quickly closed up shop and sent the customers away after he caught me taking pictures of his business.
Paul and I continued to walk along Canal Street observing the suspicious activities of the day. Merchants would often not even have the counterfeit merchandise underneath the tarp. They would just have a paper with pictures of all the products with them. After a customer chose a product, the merchant would then retrieve the fake Vuitton bag. I found it extremely difficult to photograph a bag because there weren't any around! I was also afraid that merchants would try to seize my camera or break my legs if they caught me taking pictures of them.
I walked into a store and saw this woman clutching a Vuitton bag. My eyes immediately lit up and I asked her (in spanish) if I could photograph her bag. I finally had a photo of a Vuitton bag! Her companion insisted that it was a real bag when I asked about its authenticity. I'm not sure whether to believe him or not. Later in the day, I would continue to ask people if I could photograph their Vuitton bags, only to receive strange looks in return. I would end up just photographing their bags without their permission.
We then made a quick stop at City Hall to photograph the infrastructure in order to "examine" its vulnerabilities and weaknesses. After I took this photo, the officer of the USMS SDNY (United States Marshal Service - Southern District of New York) who is pointing on the left, walked up to me and ordered me to stop photographing government property. I burned with rage as I wished again for a hidden camera. After this encounter, we went to Union Square for a drink at the Heartland brewery. We both had their Indiana Pale Ale, which was pretty good. Paul and I planned to head over to the Williamsburg section of Brooklyn for a drink, then head back here to buy a gallon of beer to take home. Little did we know what was in store for us on the subway to Brooklyn.
This is the subway car I was trapped in for over an hour. This L-line subway left the 1st Avenue station and was heading over to Brooklyn when at about 4:20 the subway stopped and the lights went off. The crew reassured us that it was just the subway line and that things we were going to start moving very soon. However, it was soon apparent we weren't going anywhere, and the problem was probably larger than we expected. After all, where were the cops and fire department to help us? The man in the forefront of this photograph pointed this out. The chickens on the train grew restless as the air got really fucking thick and the temperature must've been around 100 degrees inside the car. People from the cars in front of us began an exodus to the back of the train - it was a light trickle of people at first and then it became quite obvious that people were trying to leave. Some gangbangers in the back of our car climbed out onto the catwalk and disappeared into the darkness. Eventually everyone realized this subway train had to be evacuated. Oh boy!
The procession to the back of the train was slow and aggravating. Apparently only the front and the back of the train had doors open to the catwalk. So we made a run for the back of the train and encountered a mass of humanity in the second to last car, where there was an opening. It was even hotter inside this car than the car we were stuck in because there were so many people jammed together trying to get out. We were all penned in and sharing bodyheat and it was nasty. People in the car started losing their nerves and tried prying other doors open and yelling for people to push and get out of the way. Quite scary. Eventually we all got out onto the catwalk.
The catwalk was narrow and dirty to the max. I refused to touch anything except the girl in front of me ;) Paul would later emerge out of the train station with hands that were black as night. I felt like I was in the Temple of Doom. The tunnel was pitch black, save for a few flashlights of the engine company that was there to assist us. The catwalk would go from narrow to extremely narrow without warning and there were multiple "dirty" obstacles in the way. I luckily used my LCD screen on my camera to help light my way (which unfortunately used the battery power I wish I had later in the night). I tried to shut my camera off for a second to conserve the battery, but I found myself horribly frightened at negotiating the catwalk in pitch black darkness.
After emerging from the darkness back onto the surface, we headed back to Union Square (and we'd be back again!). It was amazing to see all the throngs of people walking uptown on the avenue. It was like thousands of salmon pushing upstream to spawnsville. Cars tried to wrest back control of the streets with intermittent success, but the humans put up fierce resistance. Eventually, the machines were allowed one lane, and pedestrians controlled the rest of the avenue.
We marched onto Times Square, where there were thousands of more people milling around. It was so strange to see the place without electricity. This Square is notorious for light pollution that makes the night seem like the afternoon. John Stossel from ABC's 20/20 was there to work the crowd and report about the courageous self-control the humans have displayed in not looting and actually helping other people out. At this point in time, I was fully expecting a riot come nightfall.
Paul and I decided to check out the Ferry to see if it was a viable means to return to New Jersey. However, it was quite a mess. The lines had to be at least 10 blocks long with no movement in sight. Another pedestrian we talked to said that she had been on line for half an hour and didn't move anywhere - and she even cut the line! So, with that in mind, our next alternative was to walk to the Lincoln tunnel and see if we could walk the tunnel to New Jersey. Who would've thought that it would come to this!?
When we reached the tunnel, it was apparent that there would be no walking, and apparently very limited driving inside the tunnel. Floods of buses came through the tunnel and into New York. Probably every bus in the region came to lend a hand. They lined the streets for blocks and people would walk up to the bus driver's window and ask where the bus was heading. If the destination was suitable, the pedestrians would hop on in. What convenience! We had an opportunity to exit New York and take a bus to Hoboken. Fortunately, we burned that bridge and opted to wait for nightfall and the possibility of social unrest.
There was an obscene number of people sprawled on the ground at the makeshift refugee camp aka Madison Square Garden. I do not know what they were waiting for, but there were alot of them to negotiate through. At this point, we began to scour for food. New York City's resources were being rapidly depleted, we had to get our share. Many bodegas and deli's were closed. Some ingenious entrepreneurs moved all of their perishable foodstuffs and drinks outside onto the sidewalk. The Happy Blackout Day streetfair had begun!
Even more ingenious storeowners parked cars on vertically on the sidewalk with their headlights beaming into this store. One deli that we inexplicably frequented numerous times yesterday had a jeep parked on the sidewalk with its high-beams shining inside. They really ripped us off price-wise, but hey, you pay for the atmosphere.
Radios also played a critical part in hearing about news from the outside world. On more than one occasion, Paul and I would stop to listen in on Julia Poppa of 10/10 WINS The news was never good, but the communal experience of sharing a radio with fellow transient peoples on a pitch black street was comforting.
Sometime during the night, we eventually made our way back to Union Square a third time. We were drawn by the hint of light and the loud sound of rhythmic drum beats. There was a huge orgy of dancing and merriment in the square. The closest thing I can relate it to is the Zion rave scene in the Matrix Reloaded. This place was off the wall - it was a huge celebration of societal goodwill. At this point in time, Paul and I were resting up - Paul bought a 6-pack of Beck's and we eagerly took long swigs in front of the Po-Po! It was a great place to have some beers, eat some Pirate's booty and take in the atmosphere. There would be no rioting tonight, just alot of orgies. After Union Square, we dropped by Washington Square and saw the same festivities being led by NYU frat boys.
Paul and I wandered around for a long time in the dark and kept walking in circles. Eventually we made our way to the Christopher Street station to take the Path home - as usual, there were police officers outside it. However, Paul wanted to go to Battery Park and take the ferry back from there. I relented - I wanted to extend the experience too, but not as long as it would eventually turn out. We first dropped by this park on the Hudson river and watched the Jersey City skyline while drinking beer and sitting on the grass like hippies.
Then there was this hour long trek to Battery Park only to find out the ferry wasn't operating. I think Paul lost his cool here, but he'll really lose it in Hoboken! After a cabbie offered to take us to Newark for $40 (then $30), we found a cool cabbie that would take us back to Christopher Street station for whatever price we found fit. This cabbie was actually heading to Jersey himself since he was low on gas - I hope he found some. Anyway, we finally got on the Path and opted to get off in Hoboken. What a mistake! We anticipated that the car garage would be closed at this hour (1AM) and it would be easier for Jason to pick us up from here. However, Jason wasn't able to pick us up, and Paul's dad would be able to...in Newark. So we went back into the station, waited a little longer in the sweatbox (the entire station was being run on by generator) and finally Paul talked to a PATH employee and found out there would be no more trains coming into Hoboken because the train signals were not working. We got off the last train in Hoboken! Ahhh! Prudence and Expediency were on our side at last when NJ Transit offered to take us and 3 other people to Newark Penn Station, for free! Hooray for NJ Transit! They were the super happy ending to this 15 hour journey of mystery and excitement!
This is my favorite picture of the evening; it was snapped while we were aimlessly wandering the city. In the afternoon I was at unease because I was having negative fantasies about the origins of this event. I felt much more at peace during the dark evening. Yesterday I logged the most miles in a day for my feet, and yet I enjoyed every moment of it. Maybe it was because I will never experience another day like this again. I will never be able to see the stars from the middle of New York City like I did that night. I will never again be able to be in the middle of the financial district, and look up to see the only illumination comes from the moon. What a beautiful sight that was.
There were also some less metaphysical achievements accomplished yesterday. When is the next time I will be able to take a public leak in Battery Park, Greenwich village, Financial District, and some other place in lower Manhattan? I also probably won't be able to walk in the middle of an unlit street while drinking a beer again. Everyone had free reign of the city yesterday, and everyone had a good time at it. Oh yeah, we also saw Jay-Z leave a bar ;)
Title: “Blackout”
3:00 AM.
South London.
A quiet residential street, still and fog-wrapped.
Two women stood motionless in the garden behind a detached house.
All black. All silent.
Dana wore:
•Black skin-tight leggings
•Completely black sneakers
•An tight-fitting denim jacket with the collar slightly open
•Black leather gloves
•A tight black balaclava that revealed only her sharp, focused eyes
Her figure was agile, dangerous, and composed.
Celine wore:
•Tight blue jeans
•Black flat boots
•A tight black bomber leather jacket, zipped, collar slightly open
•Black leather gloves
•A tight black balaclava like Dana’s, pulled perfectly in place
She stood tall, professional, eyes scanning the street like a machine.
Dana dropped to her knee at the glass patio door. Crowbar in hand.
“Three seconds,” she whispered.
Crack.
The lock gave way, clean and quiet. They slipped inside like a shadow cutting through silence.
The house was dark. A cold kind of quiet. The smell of furniture wax and old perfume hung in the air. They moved with total control.
Celine knelt at the hallway wall, took a small knife from her jacket sleeve, and cut the phone cable in one swift motion. Her gloves never made a sound.
Dana opened the bathroom door — empty. Then the guest room — nothing. Her nod said it all.
Down the hallway: the bedroom door.
It creaked as they opened it.
Inside: A woman in her seventies, asleep. Perfect hair. Clean linens. Her room was old-fashioned, soft-lit by a bedside lamp. A jewelry box rested on the nightstand.
She stirred.
Dana lunged, one knee on the bed. Her black leather glove sealed over the old woman’s mouth like steel.
“Make a fucking noise,” she hissed. “I dare you.”
The woman’s eyes were wide with panic, her body frozen in fear.
Celine moved fast. At the dresser. Flipped boxes. Rummaged through drawers. Plastic pearls, fake gold, worthless junk.
Then she reached lower — behind the bottom drawer — and pulled out a thick bundle of cash, rubber-banded, clean notes.
“Got it,” she said coldly.
She turned, walked toward Dana, and held up the bundle like a trophy.
In the dim light, her silhouette looked like a ghost with money in her hands.
Dana looked down at the woman under her grip.
“You thought this was gonna save you, huh?” she whispered. “Old, rich, and stupid.”
The woman whimpered. Dana slapped her across the face — once, hard, her gloved hand leaving a print of silence and power.
“You’re not walking out of this.”
Dana pulled her mask up just enough to show her face.
“Take a good look.”
Then her hands locked around the old woman’s throat.
No drama. No noise. Just pressure. Leather on skin. A fight that lasted seconds.
The woman twitched, then sagged into stillness — mouth open, eyes glassy.
Blanket pulled tight. Life gone.
Dana stood up calmly. Adjusted the hem of her denim jacket.
Celine zipped her bomber jacket a little higher, tucking the cash away.
“She’s gone?”
Dana nodded. “No loose ends.”
Celine walked to the window, peeked through the curtain. Street still dead.
They exited the house silently. Back garden. Through the fog.
The black BMW sat two blocks away. No plates. Engine cold.
Dana lit a cigarette, the flame glowing briefly through the mist. She handed one to Celine.
“You know what I love about posh old women?” Dana exhaled, smoke trailing from her balaclava.
“They don’t fight back,” Celine said, laughing softly as she slid into the passenger seat.
They drove off slowly.
Two black silhouettes fading into the London night — cold, calm, and cruel.
transformers.wikia.com/wiki/Blackout_(Movie)
Still a comin'. I need help, because i'm unsure of some of designs, so please tell me how I can improve them!
O que fazer durante um apagão?? Brincar com fogo!!
Todas as imagens foram feitas com efeitos de luz de vela.
CRIANÇAS! NÃO REPITAM ISSO EM CASA!
Os nomes: o meu, da minha irmã e do meu irmão.
What to do during a blackout? Play with fire!
All images were made with the candlelight.
CHILDREN! DO NOT REPEAT THIS AT HOME!
The names: me, my sister and my brother.
Apagão/Blackout:
Português: www.bbc.co.uk/portuguese/noticias/2009/11/091111_apagao_d...
Run through Google translate:
Eleftherotypia Sunday, Sunday 12 April 2009
Poetry with words from newspaper
USER Xanthaki
A newspaper page black! With the marker has passed securities, captions, phrases. Not entirely, though. Draws few words, as few survivors in a bombing. They make up a poem!
Indeed, the poem, beginning, middle and end. With message and meaning. Manual Klion Austin, eikosiexachronou American Web designer and kartounista from Ohio. Both are great and the success of efimeridopoiimaton, a great publishing house «Harper Collins» (ownership of the media tycoon Rupert Merntoch) decided to publish a book!
«All this began with a classic white page syndrome», he tells us himself Klion Austin. «Finishing college and trying desperately to become a writer of short stories. I tried, but failed spectacularly. Meanwhile my wife was working in a neighborhood and someone stole the constant correspondence and papers of the office. Therefore decided to carry on the tradition in our home so I was daily confronted with a pile of leaves. So one day I tried to write I looked beside me. Tell me the missing words and a far away my surplus million words! I took therefore a pen and began to play ...».
The effect of right now! The «Newspaper Blackout Poems», named as the works of postaristikan on the www.austincleon.com and spread from mouth to mouth and from screen to screen, with Klion to be a memorable author. Not bad progress for a type 9 am to 5 pm working as web designer in college in Texas.
Writing or painter?
- But here arises a question: When newspapers are degraded and builds his poems, the Klion feel more graphic or visual artist?
«Personally, I believe that I am a writer who plans», answered. «My poems are a combination of poetry and graphic art. Words to discover space and orders in such a way so that the viewer make sense ».
- The simple poems reminiscent chaikou. He loves the Japanese art?
«The love, why form a complete picture by only 17 syllables. Restrictions may ultimately contribute to the freedom of an artist, because of offering a solid structure to work. And my poems are subject to restrictions: Each newspaper article contains a number of words and through them and I only have to choose it would build a clear picture in my head ».
- By nevertheless revealed in the book version. And not by a random house, but the giant «Harper Collins». How did it happen?
- «It happened because the strains of Harper Collins subsequently searching for new voices. They found, therefore, my job, I liked the agreement ended. Always thought that the "Newspaper Blackout Poems" read fine on the screen, but the card will make sparks! As for the book, includes 150 completely new poems. Plus some "historical" information, plus instructions for readers to create their own efimeridopoiimata ».
Participate in several competitions organized by the Klion. «Readers are amazing to me», says. They like my method, and reanimate them too then make their own poems. When I see, I double ».
- And he has been none, that «clouds» the «sacred» articles?
«As far as I understand the world seen the film as something ephemeral, yesterday's newspapers go to recycling. They love to markadoraki to transform the newspaper into something more permanent. It is also a form of recycling, you say! ».
- To end the conversation: This is perhaps the future of newspapers?
«What I know is that when creating a poem from a newspaper article find a story that is myself. So when do we all read newspapers: looking for stories to express. So, I think is the future of the entire script and not just newspapers ».
- So the fight against newspapers, the Internet, which supports;
«No one! Both have their usefulness and will survive in some way ».
TLG black ones are overpriced, I have more silver ones coming anyway, why not? Modded these rims with steel wool. Looks fantastic. Hell, I can't find an angle where this car doesn't look good.
A partir de demain, je ferai relâche.
Même si on s'adaptait à tout,
je n'aime pas que l'on m'impose quelque chose d'autant que cette chose n'est pas forcément des plus utiles.
Il faut évoluer, certes.
Mais pas à n'importe quel prix
et dans l'irrespect total de ceux qui payent et qui font vivre les imposeurs.
Alors même si cela n'aboutissait pas à grand chose, une voix pour dire :
- "J'existe ! vous me devez considération et respect"
ce n'est peut-être pas inutile en soi !
Joyeuses Fêtes à tous !
El gobierno venezolano dice que no es dictatorial, que hay libertad de expresión... pero cierran canales, o los toman para sus propios fines y prohíben la transmisión de las noticias que no les convienen.
Are you or do you know of a teacher or student who has used Newspaper Blackout Poems in the classroom? Are you a writer using them in your writing group or creative writing workshop?
If so, please share your experience in these blog comments or e-mail me. I’m looking for lesson plans, results, testimonials, photos, videos, or even a few simple sentences about how you went about teaching them, what the response was, etc.
I would like to be given a choice over the new Flickr layout and feel that this is the only remaining way to protest and express my views. I will miss you all over the next week. See you soon.
© 2014 Nicola Riley
Today we had a pretty big rainstorm in Toronto and received about a months rain in a day. I was stuck in traffic for most of the evening. Despite the power going out, it was really nice to be home. My mom and I dug out the flashlights, candles, and radio just for the occasion.
This colossal Leader Scale Blackout stands a whopping 12 inches tall. He's a commissioned piece, part of a set w/ Scorponok. I started with a nice 1:48th scale CH-53E Model kit, and a bunch of random parts and figures, and LOTS of styrene. Most of his armor panels were either built by scratch and/or custom cut from "left-over" parts from the model. I used movie stills, game art, CGIs, and concept art for my inspiration. Blackout has articulation at his head (ball joint) ratcheting and swiveling upper arms/shoulders, elbows (with working hydraulics) ball jointed wrists, 2-point articulated fingers, ratcheting hips, 2 more ratcheting knee style breaks in his legs, swivel at upper and lower leg, swivel at ankle, and each foot is composed of 3 independently posable toes, keeping a firm flat stance in any pose. Blackout's custom build head has 2 bright LED lights which route to an easily accessible battery and on/off switch behind his right arm. Also built a "blade" weapon attachment that pops in to replace either hand.
Painted his robot bits in various shades of metals, golds, coppers...and his copter parts in a nice dull military navy blue-gray. Added lots of weathering details and rust effects.
I blackout so I can’t dream. But I still see you sneaking, through my weary head.
I suffer from a drought of medicine to dull self-doubt, I just want to drown you out.
This colossal Leader Scale Blackout stands a whopping 12 inches tall. He's a commissioned piece, part of a set w/ Scorponok. I started with a nice 1:48th scale CH-53E Model kit, and a bunch of random parts and figures, and LOTS of styrene. Most of his armor panels were either built by scratch and/or custom cut from "left-over" parts from the model. I used movie stills, game art, CGIs, and concept art for my inspiration. Blackout has articulation at his head (ball joint) ratcheting and swiveling upper arms/shoulders, elbows (with working hydraulics) ball jointed wrists, 2-point articulated fingers, ratcheting hips, 2 more ratcheting knee style breaks in his legs, swivel at upper and lower leg, swivel at ankle, and each foot is composed of 3 independently posable toes, keeping a firm flat stance in any pose. Blackout's custom build head has 2 bright LED lights which route to an easily accessible battery and on/off switch behind his right arm. Also built a "blade" weapon attachment that pops in to replace either hand.
Painted his robot bits in various shades of metals, golds, coppers...and his copter parts in a nice dull military navy blue-gray. Added lots of weathering details and rust effects.
FINALLY finished this mother, unless you full-view, you aren't doing it justice, I re-created the bars from scratch and it was a labor-intensive cover, considering that's all I really did to it haha
Last week I had a new velux window fitted in the home office which meant I also needed new blinds. I opted for blackout blinds which are going to be perfect for the summer as this room gets really hot, so the blinds will help keep it cool.
It's also been a godsend this past week as I've suffered from a migraine attack (see last pic) so I have been able to plunge the office into darkness during the day which has helped.
Blackout, Transformers Photographer: A.Z.Production Cosplay Photography (www.facebook.com/azproductioncosp) Cosplayer: Lady Parda (www.facebook.com/Lady-Parda-1531537050447608/)
The Blackout
Kerrang Tour 2010
3rd February '10
02 Academy, Newcastle
View & Read more on my new BLOG
All Time Low blog and photographs to come tonight!
My newest custom repaint - The Decepticon blackout. Taken here with top/backlight to show his glowing eyes...
Blackout regulations were imposed on 1 September 1939, before the declaration of war.
These required that all windows and doors should be covered at night with suitable material such as heavy curtains, cardboard or paint, to prevent the escape of any glimmer of light that might aid enemy aircraft. The Government ensured that the necessary materials were available.
External lights such as street lights were switched off, or dimmed and shielded to deflect light downward. Essential lights such as traffic lights and vehicle headlights were fitted with slotted covers to deflect their beams downwards to the ground.
Oa!! wow hoy diia de amm PaRtY Ea Ea Ea hoho y azii
Jum! iiO Hooho azzuh nu mMzZ! QiiErOo Ir De PuTiiRoOL qOmO DiiRiiA
BrAShaNa!! hAHahA
Anyway ZiigUe eL EzPeCiaaL aHorA cOn BLACKOUT ERA
ii VaA pARaa Tito Gomez alias ©BRITNEY SPEARS
XamAqUu eReS ZHUpEr!!! hehe
BeNOo Me Voe amm viiene GIMME MORE
zOorry honeyz zZi Nu paso ezZ qE pzz
andOo arRegLaNndoO LoO DeE mii TeZziizZ y aZzi
BeEnNOo XamaqiiTUzZ LoOzZ amOo!!!!
hehe mm
saludos a mis
B-G-F-
Braian-(Braiana Trepadora)
Caliztho-(Caliztho Ahujeradora)
Dani Suarez-( Daniel Tijeras)
Magic Dreamer Creation(Nacho i ya!)
βεεπσ - ( βεεπσ Triko)
Sergio Centeno-(Sergio eleeqqtroozzerCh)
Kervinrojas- (Kervin Amigo)
MarcCox.
Mr.Carls
Martyn Bustos
Kervin
Cesar
EvilClown
hOtline
Caliizthoo
Tito Gomez
Naxho
Stranger Soldier
los adoro xamaqitus!!!!!!!!!!!
SI KIERES SER PARTE DE MIS B-G-F DEJA TU
NOMBRE Y COMO ES KE TE KIERES LLAMAR SALE?
HAHA
Los amow xamacos!!!
See Yaaa!!!
Day 153 // Y4 // 29.07.2011
Project Soulpancake Week 26: Blackout Poet and The Teleidoscope Week 39: Words.
This challenge was pretty damn rad. See the comments for my rather lengthy, rambly poem (the last stanza is my favourite, fo' sho'!).
Last day at Centre Parcs, then back to the real world: my kittens, morris dancing and photo editing. Phew-eee.