Sexy Ugly Feminine Feet
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We moved further to the south to reach the left overs from a City.
Jeremy saw a crashed copter and wanted to look inside.I told him i will stay away from it cause got a bad feeling.Stubborn as he is he walks closer....
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"I Stay Away"
Yeah, I want to travel south this year
Aaah, Woah, Woah
Won't prevent safe passage here
Why you act crazy
Not an act maybe
So close a lady
Shifty eyes shady
Yeah, hey Yeah, tears that soak
A callous heart
Why you act frightened
I am enlightened
Your weakness builds me
So someday you'll see
I stay away
Why you act crazy
Not an act maybe
So close a lady
Shifty eyes shady
Song and Lyrics by Alice in Chains
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Hope you will all have a wonderful day my dear friends and followers 💕 ✌♫
A special thank you for
Vladimir Manyukhin💕
He could see it all in his mind - his escape.
He'd pack a few things. Commune with the cat. Sit waiting in the dark till the wife got home... and then just tell her, flat out.
There would be no drama. No conflict. No fighting. He would just tell her, flat out, "I'm leaving." And that would be the end of that.
She would be stunned. Would stand in the light from the hall in her pink waitress uniform... apron greasy... hair damp, frizzing out around the edges... staring at him... uncomprehending. Maybe she would shake her head. Or raise one hand to the fake gold locket at her throat. Or, with both hands, clutch at her apron.
He could see her hands... red, raw, big boned... calloused from all her long years of drudgery. Remembered those hands on his fevered forehead... on his arm... on his chest... clawing at his back. Remembered all the times she had cared for him... nursed him... seeing him through his illness. And supporting him. Working evenings at the diner, and extra shifts, and cleaning houses on the side... while he stayed home, finding himself, surfing the Internet, playing with his camera.
"Why don't you ever take pictures of me?" she asked him once, shyly.
He was kind enough to not say "Because you're unattractive." But she knew from the way he looked at her.
She had seen whom and what he did choose to photograph. Models. Long lean sexy women. On billboards, on bus shelter ads, in magazines.
He didn't care that someone else had done the real work - acquiring the models, setting up the shots... getting the look and the lighting and the tones and everything else just right.
He didn't care. When he shot them himself, they became his property. And there on his computer screen, when he downloaded the images, they were undeniably and absolutely "his" girls... His because he'd taken them - stolen them, captured them for his own private use, his own enjoyment.
The wife, by comparison, was old, soft, lumpy... sinewy in all the wrong places. He pictured her standing there, her face in shadow, speechless... stunned... as he pushed past her, out the door with his little overnight bag.
He wouldn't ask for anything. She could keep the rented apartment, the black and white TV, the second-hand furniture... even the computer. He had his discs, his photographs, his girls... right there in the hard-sided cloth overnight bag.
He had cash, too. He'd been socking away his "allowance" for months... and had enough, he thought, to buy his own computer.
He really hadn't thought about how he would support himself, or even where he'd go, although... in his mind... he saw himself living in a penthouse apartment with big shiny skylights and see-through curtains and a panoramic view of the river. He pictured the girls from his computer discs with him... lounging on leather couches... bubbling in the bath.
He sat in the dark, clutched the overnight bag, stroked it gently, smiling to himself, waiting for the sound of her feet on the stairs, her key in the door... fantasizing. Pictured the wife from the back... her broad hips... her blue-veined legs... her nurse shoes. Pictured her doubled with grief, receding from him as he made his escape.
And then she was home.
He sat up, alert.
He could hear her fumbling in her purse for her keys.
He held the overnight bag and lined up the words inside his mouth: "I'm leaving."
The door opened and the wife walked in. Weary. Preoccupied. She walked right past him in the darkened living room, didn't even see him sitting there.
He heard her in the bathroom, running water. Brushing her teeth. Flushing the toilet.
Then he heard the squeak of springs as she lowered herself into bed.
"Honey?" she called from the bedroom. "Are you coming to bed? It's late."
In the livingroom he closed his eyes, breathed deeply, hugged the overnight bag to his chest.
"Yes," he called back to the wife. "I'm coming. Just a minute." And he rose from the couch.
And before he went to bed, he slid the overnight bag back into its secret place at the very back of the closet. With his discs. With his girls. With his freedom; his escape.
Golden Spangled French Marans: Poule de Marans Cockerel
(I think...)
This grumpy-looking, handsome boy is the only one of about eight young cockerels left to fend for themselves in the hills, about three years ago.
We can only assume that some lovely person dumped the young cockerels as they had no need of them...Such callous behaviour, I feel, and completely unnecessary! Poor wee souls!
We have been trying to coax him into my friends’ farm where they keep hens and geese. Maybe, one day, he will join the gang.
South Carrick Hills
SW Scotland
“Je suis venu comme orphelin
Riche de mes seuls yeux tranquilles
Vers les hommes des grandes villes
Ils ne m'ont pas trouvé malin...”
Gaspard - Georges Moustaki
Nate Smith- Wreckage
I don’t mean to be guarded, I don’t mean to be rude
I don’t mean to just shut you out, it’s just what I’ve been used to
My heart got calloused, I don’t wanna make that excuse
It’s hard but you’re worth it, I just wanna be good for you
I’m a little damaged, but damn you saw the good
When everyone saw baggage, you loved when no one could
Laying in this bed beside you, I don’t have to hide away
You see all the wreckage, and it wrecks me that you stay
When I get lost in my own head, you always tell me the truth
And girl you find me right where I am, you’re the one thing I can’t lose
Baby you’re my hero, I ain’t scared to say that out loud
You’re teaching me to trust again, erasing all my doubts, yeah
I’m a little damaged, but damn you saw the good
When everyone saw baggage, you loved when no one could
Laying in this bed beside you, I don’t have to hide away
You see all the wreckage, and it wrecks me that you stay
You put all the shattered pieces back together, made them better
You saw what I could be through all the pain
I’m a little damaged, but damn you saw the good
When everyone saw baggage, you loved when no one could
Laying in this bed beside you, I don’t have to hide away
You see all the wreckage, yeah
You see all the wreckage, and it wrecks me that you stay
And it wrecks me that you stay
Taken at Naturally Naughty
maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Coast%20of%20Passion/5/221/21
[..::CuCa Designs::..] Blah!
www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZAklFbEx9Ow
Fearless riders of the gale,
In your bleak eyes is the memory
Of sinking ships:
Desire, unsatisfied,
Droops from your wings.
You lie at dusk
In the sea’s ebbing cradles,
Unresponsive to its mood;
Or hover and swoop,
Snatching your food and rising again,
Greedy,
Unthinking.
You veer and steer your callous course,
Unloved of other birds;
And in your soulless cry
Is the mocking echo
Of woman’s weeping in the night.
(Leonora Speyer)
Strip me down
to my bones,
and tell me
that you love me
It can be a lie,
I just need
to hear those words
Rub your calloused fingertips
across my milky skin
until I disintegrate
C R E D I T S
▷ Lingerie - Vanilla Bae - Gina Lingerie @ FrouFrou Comes with a Strip menu in 4 steps, I'm sure your Partner's will have fun with it ;-)
▷ Shoes & Stockings - Breathe - Ayane Heels @ Gacha Garden Visit it before it's close down on the 28.th February
▷ Hair - Magika - 01 - Thread
▷ Skin - DeeTaleZ for LeLutka Heads "Hettie" Nordic & Nordic Freckles Maitreya Body applier
▷ Head - Lelutka - Greer
~ Home Sickness ~ Poem by me ~ 03.27.2015 - 06.04.2015
I don't understand cold souls and their relentless need,
The ever-empty longing they fill with vampire greed;
The wasted energy to feed a black hole,
In an elusive quest to find a complete whole.
In their endless hunts to sully new prey,
To suck warm life (fresh blood every day);
They crave a warm passion they silently yearn for,
Yet trade it for cold heat they're willing to burn for.
... Still...
In their callous naïve arrogance they miss an obvious irony,
Home lives in your own core, the hearth inside you and me.
+++++++++++++++++
Snapshot_202_205_215_220 HermitsTrailMerge7
"The Great Spirit is in all things, is in the air we breathe. The Great Spirit is our Father, but the Earth is our Mother. She nourishes us; that which we put into the ground, She returns to us....
Give us hearts to understand;
Never to take from creation's beauty more than we give;
never to destroy wantonly for the furtherance of greed;
Never to deny to give our hands for the building of earth's beauty;
never to take from her what we cannot use.
Give us hearts to understand
That to destroy earth's music is to create confusion;
that to wreck her appearance is to blind us to beauty;
That to callously pollute her fragrance is to make a house of stench;
that as we care for her she will care for us.
We have forgotten who we are.
We have sought only our own security.
We have exploited simply for our own ends.
We have distorted our knowledge.
We have abused our power.
Great Spirit, whose dry lands thirst,
Help us to find the way to refresh your lands.
Great Spirit, whose waters are choked with debris and pollution,
help us to find the way to cleanse your waters.
Great Spirit, whose beautiful earth grows ugly with misuse,
help us to find the way to restore beauty to your handiwork.
Great Spirit, whose creatures are being destroyed,
help us to find a way to replenish them.
Great Spirit, whose gifts to us are being lost in selfishness and corruption,
help us to find the way to restore our humanity.
Oh, Great Spirit, whose voice I hear in the wind,
whose breath gives life to the world, hear me;
I need your strength and wisdom. May I walk in Beauty."
The White Canvas Gallery presents an open challenge to enable you to stand united for peace. Lets disown the mindless violence around us and lets DO something about it as artists.
You can always tag yourself as well if you feel like participating!
Rules of the challenge (go to this link): www.flickr.com/photos/goodcross/28068142260/in/dateposted/
*Birth* 'Scar' Eye Textures [IncludesGlimmer Eyes]
Fantastically calloused eye Iris textures. Gives one an otheworldly, been through rough times vibe. [Addon for Glimmer Eyes]. You can choose whether to apply to the texture, material, or both.
Deep into the soul,
So cold, cracked, callous like ice –
Frozen grin to grin
One finds fascinating forms and detail in the icy walls of Cloudland Canyon. If you stare at them long enough, they may even stare back at you... Wishing everyone a wonderful day ahead. Thanks or the kind comments and favs. They are much appreciated!
denty-fender dusthood
The Dented Canyon-duster typically lives in the arid regions of the western United States and Canada, Look for their dust plumes along country roads far from pavement. Canyon dusters are compatible with callous fingered shovel-pushers and the Henry’s wrench buster.
Nesting pairs make their homes in secluded dead-end forest roads. Mature Canyon Dusters can be found hiding near the famous Anheuser Busch feeding on Michelob and lime buds. Occasionally they will settle for a lite-bud, but only when company is coming over. During hockey season look for Canadian Canyon-dusters scurrying on frozen ponds before sharing a dozen ice cold Kokanee. Cheers!
Happy Truck Thursday!
If you want more like this, go over to St. George's Place in the albums.
Do not copy or repost my photos to other websites or blogs. Do not repost my text. Photos and pictures copyright 2016.
Some people are just plain hard to love. This was originally shot in color but I made a last minute conversion to black and white to meet the contest rules. I will probably post the other version later.
Thanks to Liandra Garbuckle for showing up with the perfect look and facial expression for the shot. I shot at the lovely Elvion sim using poses made in AnyPose and a car from Consignment.
I so enjoyed costuming as the callous sophisticate! Really! I am not like that. Ask anyone!
Walking barefoot on the shore
Toes disappearing under the sand
Shells adding to the decor
Wave or wind sculpting the land.
My feet hesitate to mar
The untouched masterpiece..
- Lynn Reket
This was taken on our 12 km barefoot walk along the shores of PEI on our vacation last month. It was hard not to think of the desert when spying such a vast space of pure sand. We avoided disrupting beautiful sculpted scenes like this one. Sometimes we moved closer to the shore to get some relief from the warm, soft sand to walk on wet sand that just made our feet sink each step we took. It was a marvelous experience and the sand was the best pumice stone ever for the well developed callouses on my feet.
by John Cordeaux Delpiaz | "Feel all the things. Feel the hard things. The inexplicable things, the things that make you disavow humanity’s capacity for redemption. Feel all the maddening paradoxes. Feel overwhelmed, crazy. Feel uncertain. Feel angry. Feel afraid. Feel powerless. Feel frozen. And then... FOCUS. Pick up your pen. Pick up your paintbrush. Pick up your damn chin. Put your two calloused hands on the turntables, in the clay, on the strings. Get behind the camera. Look for that pinprick of light. Look for the truth (yes, it is a thing—it still exists.) Focus on that light. Enlarge it. Reveal the fierce urgency of now. Reveal how shattered we are, how capable of being repaired. But don’t lament the break. Nothing new would be built if things were never broken. A wise man once said: there’s a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in. Get after that light. This is your assignment."
Found this "handsome" fellow enjoying a sip of water in Kenya. Notice how Warthogs get down on their knees as needed to get a bit closer to food or water.
The common warthog is a wild member of the pig family found in grassland, savanna, and woodland in sub-Saharan Africa, northern Kenya, Somalia, and eastern Ethiopia.
The warthog is a tough, sturdy animal. Males weigh more than females, but both are distinguished by disproportionately large heads and “warts” — thick protective pads that appear on both sides of the head. Their large tusks are unusual: the two upper tusks emerge from the sides of the snout to form a semicircle; the lower tusks, at the base of the uppers, are worn to a sharp-cutting edge.
Sparse bristles cover their body, and longer bristles form a mane from the top of the head down the spine to the middle of the back. Their long tail ends with a tuft of bristles. Warthogs characteristically carry their tails upright when they run, the tuft waving like a tiny flag.
Although they can excavate, warthogs normally use holes dug by other animals, like aardvarks. They sleep and rest in holes. The shelter holes provide is important for their thermoregulation — having neither fur nor fat, this species lacks both protection from the sun and insulation from cold. Sometimes, they will fill the holes with grass for warmth.
This species takes feeding seriously. They have developed an interesting practice of kneeling on their calloused, hairy, padded knees to eat short grass. They will also use their snouts and tusks to dig for bulbs, tubers, and roots during the dry season. During the wet season, they may eat earthworms and other small invertebrates.
Warthogs live in family groups composed of a female and her young. Sometimes, two families, often of related females, will join together. Males normally live alone, only joining these groups to mate.
Before giving birth to a new litter, the female will chase away the litter she has been raising and goes into isolation. These abandoned juveniles may join up with another solitary female for a short time before they go out on their own. The female suckles the new litter, and each piglet has its own teat, suckling exclusively from it. Even if a piglet dies, the others do not suckle from the available teat. As such, litter sizes are usually confined to four young because females only have four teats.
(Nikon, 100-400/5.6 @ 400 mm, 1/1600 @ f/5.6, ISO 1100, processed to taste)
The forest would speak to me, but it knows not what to say, as it’s truth is too deep, too pained and intense. It loves me and leaves me, when I want it to stay. I am pale and lost without it’s soft touch, it’s caress might be death, it’s loss just as much. It is my muse, my meditation, my life and my strength. I would love to hate it, but it touches my core, like then, like now and before, it has opened my doors.
From the day I first saw it, I knew its true nature, what it was and that I would die by it’s beautiful hand. I fought it, I dodged it, found ways not to be there, in the hope I might never engage. Yet life has its course and its challenges to meet, and I found myself wondering deep in the woods, lost, without compassion or sleep. It tricked me to love it, then cut me down where I stood.
Now it teases and goads, and laughs at my pain. It is not malicious or callous, it has nothing to gain. It has tangled my roots and my tears pour like rain. I would beg it again and again to let me be free, but it is a cold mistress, and I am just one of its harvested souls. I would give it all that it wants, but it is in its nature to spurn fools once they love.
Yet a forest is a beautiful thing, it lies quiet all winter, then brings life in the spring. And when I am recycled, it will use me to grow. Yes, I am not only joined by the roots, it has taken my core. The forest is one with my soul and life can be empty when it will speak no more. It looks past me and through me, it just passes by. So I look into the pool and by its light I know, I am me no more, I am a part of the forest, for now and forever, I have broken my walls, opened my doors. I have heeded the call, I am one with the forest and will fight it no more..
PS - When the muse is upon me, I don't edit or polish, I just try to get the words in the right order as they occur. I think this is about how one might live according to rules and the expectations of others - forgetting to honor who we truly are.
From "The Book That Dreams"
© G P F for All images and text, please do not use without my express permission.
War destroys people's ability to think rationally and can make them selfish, callous and ruthless.
Innocent people are oppressed, killed, suffered and left in despair in the midst of displays of power.
Ukrainian children are crying.
STOP WAR !!! MAKE PEACE !!!
" Voices, in my head again
Trapped in a war inside my own skin
They're pulling me under
Go
I've swallowed myself but the fever remains
I'm numb to the pleasure but still feel the pain
If I showed you my soul would you cover your eyes?
If I told you the truth would you dare me to lie?
I keep it all inside because I know the man is everything but kind
Voices in my head again
Baiting me in a war I can't win
I can hear them now
Trapped in a game inside my own skin
And I don't know myself anymore
They're pulling me under
Voices, voices
As I walk through this valley of shadows and death
I curse not the "wicked", I praise not the "blessed"
If I told you the truth, you'd beg me to change
If fear were a currency, you'd own the bank
Voices, In my head again
Baiting me in a war I can't win
I can hear them now
Trapped in a game inside my own skin
And I don't know myself anymore
They're pulling me under
Voices
I don't want to live
So calloused and frozen
Ugly and hopeless
I don't want to live forever
I just want to live right now
You can't take me from me
Voices in my head again
Head again
Voices in my head again
Baiting me in a war I can't win
I can hear them now
Trapped in a game inside my own skin
And I don't know myself anymore
They're pulling me under
Voices
(They're pulling me under)
Voices
They're pulling me under
Voices, voices
I keep it all inside because I know the man is everything but kind
I keep it all inside because I know the man is everything but kind ... "
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On a very cold day somewhere in the swiss mountains. It was one of those days you look back on with gratitude and joy. This winter day was probably the most beautiful of the year, and the snowiest too. There was over a meter of snow, making it almost impossible to move. On top of that, the bitter cold got to me as soon as I stood still for a moment and took my camera out of my backpack. The camera itself felt incredibly cold, and the battery quickly ran out. But all of that was secondary that day, because the snow-covered mountains before me, in their majestic beauty, compensated me more than words could ever express. I simply stood there in awe.
The return journey, however, was very strenuous, and by the time I reached the car, I was completely frozen. I couldn't really warm up properly until I got home that evening, I was so chilled. But once again, it had been more than worth spending this unforgettable day out in the wilderness.
Has the world become so callous and cold? I asked myself this recently because there is so much bad news. Yes, some of them are almost unbearable. They are full of hate, violence and destruction that I wonder what that is about and what happens next on our blue planet? I don't know and I actually don't want to know because I can't change it. But what I can change is my little world in which I live with my fellow human beings, my loved ones and with the unique nature with its magnificent and intelligent animals. Let us take care of the creatures and the wonderful nature and precious life, which is so valuable despite all the sad events in the world.
We have learned to fly the air like birds and swim the sea like fish, but we have not learned the simple art of living together as brothers.
- Martin Luther King
Forgiveness is not always easy. At times, it feels more painful than the wound we suffered, to forgive the one that inflicted it. And yet, there is no peace without forgiveness.
- Marianne Williamson
Frozen Planet II
Summer is upon us early and with a vengeance this year.As if Nature is taking revenge for our callousness and mindless exploitation of her over the years.It is only the first week of April and already day temperatures are soaring to 40 degrees C in Pune.The countryside is dry,dusty and ugly.How I long for the magical Monsoons to arrive when everything turns lush and green and beautiful again and the weather is cool and pleasant.
Dylan had to depart the chase a little early and I wasn't able to make any ground on this train until West of Tamora. The next town over is Utica, where I called off the chase to help a friend in need. Just like a callous, I showed up just as the hard work was done. I'll let Dylan tell the rest of the story.
Imagen creativa. Tratamiento digital sobre base fotográfica propia. Tratamientos, Photosoph y Filter Folge. Gracias de antemano por vuestros comentarios, award, favoritos, invitaciones a grupo y la elección para galerías; perdonad que quizás no pueda responder individualmente. Todos los derechos reservados. Uso de imágenes IA, Nigthcafe.
created for challenge 183 THE CHRYSANTHEMUMS
Escena: Elisa saw that he was a very big man. Although his hair and beard were graying, he did not look old. His worn black suit was wrinkled and spotted with grease. The laughter had disappeared from his face and eyes the moment his laughing voice ceased. His eyes were dark, and they were full of the brooding that gets in the eyes of teamsters and of sailors. The calloused hands he rested on the wire fence were cracked, and every crack was a black line. He took off his battered hat.
# aka "save me from myself again"
# it's been quite a while, but I process things differently, obsessively, et al., or so a few brilliant minds have informed me (& much more, of course), and I recognized and had already self-analyzed, reaching the same conclusions. Lyrics from Losing My Religion come to mind, the opening: "Oh, life is bigger, It's bigger than you, and you are not me, the lengths that I will go to." Emotional processing is obviously unique to each individual, an anguished sea of endless variations. I've sensed and directly experienced criticism of me and my emotions.... although I still have no idea what the point was. To offer hostility to the grief-stricken is callous, vapid, and utterly incompressible personally. Ok. I've encountered the feelings of people passing away, but this was/is unique. Despite the fact that I sought out objective assistance, I'll have a mere moment of memory, a small seemingly innocuous find, et al., and the day is utterly transformed. I don't know how, when, or if this changes... I thought to try Flickr for catharsis of a sort. So, thank you. Prost.
nulla rivela un uomo tanto quanto le sue mani, e una donna tanto quanto la sua bocca.
paul brulat, pensieri, 1919
--
A reverie to say the least,
a darkness perpetrated by beliefs.
I envision the entrance, a cold whistle screams adventure.
Entering the mouth of the beast, my calloused hands, my fragile tips,
brushing against the ceiling, caressing and corrupting the structure,
disappearing deeper from destruction.
This grimace upon the face, this terror protruding within the gut,
an agony to be replaced,
once escaped, courage will flourish.
Expanding the vessel,
vomiting to emptiness, given room to proceed,
phosphorescent hues exploding through my dreams.
Reaching the cusp, I gather my strength,
placed upon my scalp, a diadem to show defeat,
unworthy, fruitless scavengers, left to retreat.
Broken, a shattered age, misguided and abused, nothing to lose.
Words ring true, guidance for those envious of power,
wake from endless lies,
enter into an abyss, never to return,
abandoned dark tunnel.
Read chapter 26, just below, first.
I suppose we should have put 2 and 2 together, but I am mathematically challenged, and Mr. Zoom was still a little woozy from his fall onto the sidewalk....
Demi wanted to go inside and BUY this outfit. Mr. Zoom calls this kind of outfit....challenging, but he wanted to buy it for her.
Really we both did. But let's be honest. Let's be politically incorrect.
Demi
Has
No
Torso
It's not something we talk about. But surely she must know.
Mr. Z and I shrugged and followed her inside.
She was devastated...I mean DEVASTATED when the salesclerk told Demi there was nothing she could do for her until she found her other half.
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eBody - Ebody Reborn body
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b>Loki - Knife Play GACHA available now at the The Arcade event!
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Other items used...
Head: Lelutka - Briannon
Ears: ^^Swallow^^ - PIXIE Gauged S for lel Evo X Ears (f)
Earrings: Minuit - Kiara Earrings
Eyelashes: Void + Minttea - Demure Lashes
Hair: Monso - Reze
The Idea is That People Should Look A Certain Way in the Face of Tragedy
Thomas Hoepker/Magnum Photos/Harry Ransom Center
During the 9/11 attacks in NYC, Magnum photographer Thomas Hoepker shot what is perhaps the most controversial image created that day: a photo that appears to show a group of young people casually enjoying themselves while the World Trade Center burns in the background. Hoepker kept the image under wraps for four years and then caused quite a stir after publishing it in a 2006 book. Columnist Frank Rich wrote in the New York Times that “The young people in Mr. Hoepker’s photo aren’t necessarily callous. They’re just American.”
Three days after Rich’s column in the NYT, The Slate published an email from Walter Sipser, a Brooklyn artist and the man on the right hand side of the photo. Sipser had harsh words for both Hoepker and Rich:
We were in a profound state of shock and disbelief, like everyone else we encountered that day. Thomas Hoepker did not ask permission to photograph us nor did he make any attempt to ascertain our state of mind before concluding five years later that, “It’s possible they lost people and cared, but they were not stirred by it.” Had Hoepker walked fifty feet over to introduce himself he would have discovered a bunch of New Yorkers in the middle of an animated discussion about what had just happened. He instead chose to publish the photograph that allowed him to draw the conclusions he wished to draw, conclusions that also led Frank Rich to write, “The young people in Mr. Hoepker’s photo aren’t necessarily callous. They’re just American.” A more honest conclusion might start by acknowledging just how easily a photograph can be manipulated, especially in the advancement of one’s own biases or in the service of one’s own career.
Photographer Colin Pantall wrote a blog on this issue and how we look at images with expectations:
"The idea is that one should look a certain way in the face of tragedy, part of the simplistic narrative that is expected of people when they are part of a photograph – a simplistic narrative that does not have an equivalence in writing. Here it is easy to explain the contrast between the glorious sky and the casual dress, the trappings of the picnic and the relaxed poses. These are all allowed to happen, but when it comes to a photograph, God forbid if anybody is caught doing anything that lies outside a very narrow band of expected responses.
petapixel.com/2024/07/12/thomas-hoepker-who-shot-9-11s-mo...
* Working Towards a Better World
What is absurd and monstrous about war is that men who have no personal quarrel should be trained to murder one another in cold blood. - Aldous Huxley
Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better. It's not. -
Dr. Seuss
Force is all-conquering, but its victories are short-lived. - Abraham Lincoln
I destroy my enemies when I make them my friends. - Abraham Lincoln
In war, truth is the first casualty. - Aeschylus
War means blind obedience, unthinking stupidity, brutish callousness, wanton destruction, and irresponsible murder. - Alexander Berkman
War is organized murder and torture against our brothers. - Alfred Adler
Today the real test of power is not the capacity to make war but the capacity to prevent it. -
Anne O’Hare McCormick
Make wars unprofitable and you make them impossible. -
A. Philip Randolph
Do not ever say that the desire to "do good" by force is a good motive. Neither power-lust nor stupidity are good motives. - Ayn Rand
War is the unfolding of miscalculations. -
Barbara Tuchman
War does not determine who is right, only who is left. -
Bertrand Russell
Peace is constructed, not fought for. - Brent Davis
Thank you for your kind visit. Have a wonderful and beautiful day! xo❤️
“thought bout a dog, or a cat..
Or maybe some wild life
my ventricles are calloused,
I need to trust a set of eyes”
Luxury of Hysteria by Tim Rogers
It has been a year since my beautiful companion Ash died.
After a week of bruising from things closer to home, on top of the fires, I really miss her so much.
Those soulful eyes that were only for me,
that communicated absolute trust and unconditional love and comfort when it was most needed. The coat of a poodle is curly and like wool and it is the most wonderful feeling to run your hands through it.
The eye-roller is nagging me to get another dog. I feel sick every time I think about it. I suppose I’ll come round. I could do with just one set of eyes to hold my gaze.
.......callous, or perhaps a burr on the trunk of an oak tree growing beside the lake. The left branch of the trunk is curiously hollowed out as you may tell by the sunlight shining through it onto a couple of leaves. It is still,however, supporting a substantial weight of wood above it !
812_0273-1
Copycat tryna cop my manner
Watch your back when you can't watch mine
Copycat tryna cop my glamor
Why so sad, bunny? Can't have mine
Call me calloused, call me cold
You're italic, I'm in bold
Call me cocky, watch your tone
You better love me, 'cause you're just a clone
www.youtube.com/watch?v=SRPmanfgkMY
IC PIC of Neith Petrova and Caph Kuzmina
"Stop Pollution!"
The beauty of our world is disappearing under a mountain of plastic and waste. The landscapes of our beautiful planet are being ruined by man's callous disregard.
I have chosen this cause as it is very close to my heart. I belong to an association in real life that works to preserve the Earth from the uncontrolled abandonment of waste that has become a great danger for us and for our animal friends. More importantly, the needed responsibility to leave a clean world for our future generations.
Please allow me to present you with a visual representation of this cause and describe how the pieces of the ensemble would relate. MR SL ♛ Italy wears a long plastic bag as a cape over his clothing portraying how this plastic material smothers us. The hands are free and support the Earth in an outward position depicting the need to protect what is our beautiful planet. This is where we ALL live. We MUST respect it or we will lose it.
Style Credits:
● Hair: Modulus - Lent Hair
● Jacket: [ GUILTY ] JACKER
● Pants: [LOB] MATT
● Plastic Cloak: FAKEICON / hamis cape
● Shoes: CULT CARNAGE
● Beard: [MAGNIFICENT] CIRCLE GOATEE
● Pose: Beras Animation
With such a tragic and sad time for New Zealand with the unbelievably cruel, hateful and callous terror attack in the peaceful city of Christchurch, I felt like sharing this image from one of our many amazing beaches to remind us how precious life is. New Zealand will recover stronger from this terrible incident with its amazing people and beautiful natural environment. Love is what keep us together.
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If you wanna be cynical, which I'm never shy about being, Buffalo kinda blows dick nowadays. The locals have rebuilt EMDs that look bad enough to make your momma cry, it's an endless sea of modern GE power on the mains, basically all of the signals and landmarks are gone, and we don't have anywhere near the amount of action we grew used to over the years. While that's a very callous way to look at the railroading in the city, no matter how bored you are with this place, BCT never fails to be absolutely fantastic. You have endless choices of where to shoot from among the remains of an art deco masterpiece. I have lots more to do here and I think it's time I take care of this.
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oh yeah this is Y331 with it's usual garbage up front
As the setting sun skillfully tap dances on portions of a dilapidated barn, glimpses of its past service are recognized through the broken siding. In a circle of older men, heavily calloused hands, gradual loss of hearing, strong arms and a quiet spirit are all subtle hints of an old farmer.
He's the Avenging Angel for all the doormats that have had dirt, mud, slime, slush and any other unpleasant deposits you stepped in callously rubbed in their face.
He's here to even the score.
Words of caution.....step over not on him or you may live, or maybe not, to regret it.
Happy Shocktober
We came across this amazing sight on our way back to Kolkata from Bhuvaneshwar.This was on the national highway connecting Kolkata to southern India.What risks common Indians take while commuting in their everyday lives.It is a picture of the problems of over-population,poverty,lawlessness and callous attitude which rule everyday life in India.I am proud to be Indian but we cannot shut our eyes to the problems ailing our country.It was only after I downloaded the photo that I spotted that there is even a lady in a green saree in there!!
On a deserted farm place, faint tracks hint at a former busy life centered around this deteriorating barn. Wrinkles lining a face, calloused hands and haltingly recalled memories are often the faint tracks in an older person that suggest they lived an active life during a time in America long gone.
The sun blazes high, an unyielding force bearing down on man and beast alike.
This is no stage, no performance. This is life—raw, unpolished, and unbreakable.
And as he walks, he carries the quiet pride of a man who knows who he is and what he’s made of.
Sweat trickles down his neck, glistening across his chest and shoulders like a second skin, carving trails over muscles hardened by labor, by the grit of the land that demands respect.
Each bead reflects the sun’s fire, a testament to the heat and the grind of the day.
His tank clings to him, soaked with the proof of a man who doesn’t back down, not from the sun, not from the toil.
His boots crunch against the dry earth, steady and sure, as if he carries not just his own weight, but the burdens of generations before him.
The leather reins in his calloused hand speak of trust—between him and the horse that follows, loyal and steady.
His loyal horse walks beside him, steady and silent, a partner in the long, rugged road they’ve traveled together. There’s trust here—unspoken, unbroken.
The leather of his belt creaks as he shifts the bag in his hand, the weight as familiar as the land beneath his boots.
The brim of his hat shades his eyes, but it can’t hide the fire in them—a determination forged under endless skies and burning suns.
The air is thick with the smell of hay, dirt, and the distant memory of rain, but he breathes it in deeply, unflinching. This is his world—a place where strength is earned, not given, and the land tests the measure of a man.
All he needed now was a good shag to end his shit day.
(I added the last line just to see if anyone actually reads this crap.. hahaha. yeeehaw!!!!)
As soon as young Long-eared Owls are old enough to clamber and flap they leave the nest. This is an anti-predator response because if they all stayed in the nest a predator would undoubtedly take the lot, but if they are dispersed they have a chance of surviving. These two owlets were huddled together but there was a third about 10m away in a different tree. The wing feathers in owls seem to develop quickly and they can flap a few metres even when they are young and fluffy. This explains why seemingly helpless young move from tree to tree on a daily basis. As dusk approaches the young make a begging call which birders know as the "squeaky gate" call. Here are two youngsters calling almost simultaneously www.xeno-canto.org/653960 If food is scarce and the young are hungry they sometimes call in the middle of the day too. And one final thing: Unusually owls commence incubation on laying the first egg, and eggs take a couple of days to produce, so a full clutch can take several days to produce. Most birds wait for a full clutch before incubation begins which means the young hatch simultaneously. But in owls the young hatch asynchronously so there is quite a size difference between them, even visible between these two. This strategy helps rear the maximum number of young when the food supply is unpredictable. Their vole prey undergo cycles of abundance and scarcity and so is unpredictable for the owls. The biggest owlet takes food until it is replete, then the next largest feeds. This seems callous but it is better than all of the chicks starving through insufficient food. And in a good season with plenty of food then all the brood may survive to fledging.
I didn't realise -
The song “All Along the Watchtower,” which was released by Bob Dylan on his 1967 album, John Wesley Harding.
Dylan’s original version of the track showcases the song’s inherent drama and dread. In the lyrics, Dylan tells the surreal story of the joker and the thief. The two share perspectives about the dire world and its perils, from losing out on natural resources after the rich have taken them to the understanding of what life really is or really can be with the right perspective.
Indeed, the song seems to tell us, there is no room for callous consumerism. Rather, life is to be understood as a poetic sacrifice. Time is both our gift and the axe man ready to take us out of it.
Jimi Hendrix is widely considered the best electric guitar player ever. When he covered Dylan’s “All Along the Watchtower,” in many ways, music has never been the same. His rendition appeared on the LP Electric Ladyland with the Jimi Hendrix Experience. And that version was released just six months after Dylan’s original hit shelves.
Hendrix’s version became a Top 20 hit in 1968 and it received a Grammy Hall of Fame award in 2001.
I prefer the Hendrix version.
Hintertux, Austria.
The Square of Kyiv Intellectuals is one of the most creative sights of the capital. The main feature of the park is bronze bird sculptures, each of which identifies a certain image of representatives of the intelligentsia.
Kyiv sculptor Konstantin Skritutsky depicted the urban intellectual in the form of a bronze kingfisher - a bird that stands on a concrete pedestal with a cane under its wing, bowing its head. It would be happy to fly away to warmer lands, but it has become so accustomed to it that cannot do this - it’s a shame...
“As for me, this image best symbolizes the Kyiv intelligentsia. By its nature, the kingfisher is a very shy bird - it constantly hides its head under its wing, as if it were ashamed of everything that happens around. With my work I want to show that from the general callousness and inertia, the Kyiv intelligentsia has become an endangered species, which is time to be included in the Red Book. But the intelligentsia exists, and it should actively manifest itself in all public affairs. This is a kind of friendly cartoon that should make the intellectual think," - the sculptor is convinced.
Сквер київських інтелігентів – одна з найкреативніших столичних пам'яток. Головна особливість парку – скульптури бронзових птахів, кожен із яких ототожнює певний образ представників інтелігенції.
Київський скульптор Костянтин Скритуцький зобразив міського інтелігента у вигляді бронзового зимородка — птаха, який стоїть на бетонному постаменті з тростиною під крилом, схиливши голову. Він би й радий полетіти в теплі краї, та так прижився, що не може цього зробити — соромно...
"Як на мене, то цей образ найкраще символізує київську інтелігенцію. За своїм характером зимородок дуже сором'язлива пташка — постійно ховає голову під крило, ніби їй соромно за все, що відбувається довкола. Своєю роботою я хочу показати, що від загальної бездушності та інертності київська інтелігенція стала вимираючим видом, який час занести до Червоної книги. Але інтелігенція є, і вона має себе активно проявляти у всіх суспільних справах. Це свого роду дружній шарж, який має змусити інтелігента замислитись”, - переконаний скульптор.
У сквері розмістилися Сова, Ворон, Зимородок та Горобець. Автор хотів показати, що інтелігенція на сьогоднішній день є видом, що вимирає. Так, скульптура Зимородка символізує сумлінного та скромного інтелігента. Сова (символ знань) відображає образ киян, зайнятих науковою діяльністю. Скульптура Ворона – це людина, яка має розважливість і виваженість. Образ інтелігента, що прагне до свободи, виражає Горобець, що сидить на клітці зі зламаними прутами.
Requiring an extra-long runway, an American White Pelican struggles to get airborne on Horsepen Bayou.
Unlike their more tolerant Brown Pelican kinfolk, American White Pelicans are overly suspicious and rarely give strangers benefit of the doubt. As soon as my kayak cleared a point and the foursome came into view, they abandoned their low perches and began crisscrossing the water, slowly angling away from me. Though they stopped briefly to pose with a Great Egret (previous post), as the light breeze pushed me in their direction, they fidgeted nervously and took flight while I was still some 40 yards distant. But contrary to their reputation for callousness, as a gesture of kindness they launched almost directly for my position, crossing my bow as they gained altitude and beelined south toward Galveston if not Cuba or beyond.
On a small farm, an old windmill stands tall, its weathered blades catching the summer breeze and turning slowly beneath a sky tinged by sunset. For a group of adult siblings and their families, this familiar sight greets them each time they turn onto the gravel driveway of the house where they grew up.
My own family in southwestern Minnesota once filled a white farmhouse much like this, all eight of us crowded together. It may have been cramped, yet the atmosphere was safe and caring.
Mom’s lilting call would ring out at the end of long summer days, summoning us in for supper just as we finished the barn chores. One of us, sunburned and clad in overalls, would run out to the fields to fetch our older brother and Dad, who were transforming bare land into fertile ground.
Dad’s calloused hands taught us the value of honest work through his example more than words. Though he never went beyond eighth grade, he shaped not just our lives, but the lives of dozens of his grandchildren with a steady influence and a humble wisdom.
As the years passed, we siblings returned to the farm a couple of times each year, coming from all corners of Minnesota and beyond. These reunions were not just a duty, but a deep-rooted tradition. They came from watching our parents honor and care for their own parents, setting an example that became our beckoning silent siren song.
Each of us built our own families on the foundation our parents gave of hard work and integrity. We found success in different fields, yet every homecoming was a chance to quietly heal, to share safe connections and to find the courage to keep going in the face of difficulties, knowing that things would turn out okay.
But as time went on, those visits took on a different feel. Dad moved more slowly, his once-powerful frame now slightly bent as he made one last check of the old machinery. His tone, though changed only subtly, spoke of closing down and the possibility of moving to town. He was quietly accepting the end of his lifelong romance with the land.
Mom began to forget small things, though her smile remained as warm as ever, filling the kitchen with comfort. Sometimes she’d still make our favorite dish, but it would taste a little different when she left out an ingredient.
The house itself seemed smaller, the paint more faded, the roof showing its age. Grass grew up through the cracks in the sidewalk.
We’d gather around the worn dining table where so many lessons had been learned, our conversations flowing with updates on careers and stories about the grandchildren. Yet our eyes often drifted toward the two people who shaped our lives, wondering how many more times we’d all be together in that old farmhouse.
Outside, the windmill creaked and turned, marking time by the edge of the home that would forever hold our childhood memories.
(Photographed in Isanti County, MN)
~ While the sea is so cold
We leave the toys on the shelf
Try to kiss through the snow
And as the callous grow, the mild remain in here alone
If the cuts should fall from the air would the lines still hang somehow?
Could the walls regain in pride after all has dared to transpire?
Here in this severance were calmly incomplete ~
♪Antimatter - Wide awake in the concrete asylum♪
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© Copyright by Floriana Thor 2013-2015