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Haruki Murakami's— "On Seeing the 100% Perfect Girl One Beautiful April Morning" #💕☔#🌿☁
...
One beautiful April morning, in search of a cup of coffee to start the day, the boy was walking from west to east, while the girl, intending to send a special-delivery letter, was walking from east to west, but along the same narrow street in the Harajuku neighborhood of Tokyo. They passed each other in the very center of the street. The faintest gleam of their lost memories glimmered for the briefest moment in their hearts. Each felt a rumbling in their chest. And they knew:
She is the 100% perfect girl for me.
He is the 100% perfect boy for me.
But the glow of their memories was far too weak, and their thoughts no longer had the clarity of fouteen years earlier. Without a word, they passed each other, disappearing into the crowd. Forever.
A sad story, don’t you think?
Yes, that’s it, that is what I should have said to her. .
.
Source: Gravitytrope | On Seeing the 100% Perfect Girl One Beautiful April Morning — Haruki Murakami
Haruki Murakami's— "On Seeing the 100% Perfect Girl One Beautiful April Morning" #💕☔#🌿☁
...
One beautiful April morning, in search of a cup of coffee to start the day, the boy was walking from west to east, while the girl, intending to send a special-delivery letter, was walking from east to west, but along the same narrow street in the Harajuku neighborhood of Tokyo. They passed each other in the very center of the street. The faintest gleam of their lost memories glimmered for the briefest moment in their hearts. Each felt a rumbling in their chest. And they knew:
She is the 100% perfect girl for me.
He is the 100% perfect boy for me.
But the glow of their memories was far too weak, and their thoughts no longer had the clarity of fouteen years earlier. Without a word, they passed each other, disappearing into the crowd. Forever.
A sad story, don’t you think?
Yes, that’s it, that is what I should have said to her. .
.
Source: Gravitytrope | On Seeing the 100% Perfect Girl One Beautiful April Morning — Haruki Murakami
the perks of being in a big city, is the crazy reflections and shadows you can get in different times of the day
15 October 2013: One of those nights our chase took us to Finland. That's the moon in the background by the way!
"His old life lay behind in the mists, dark adventure lay in front."
— J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings
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A clump of snow trapped at last light - Downieville, CA - Shot on Kodak Ektar 100 35mm Film - Minolta X-570 / Rokkor 50mm f1.4
The Gong
A bell says shallo to new life in Aarhus. The Gong is a tubular bell that is part of the art decorations and it has an arm, which new parents can activate from the maternity ward at the Aarhus University Hospital at the other end of town when a child is born.
The bell has been cast in bronze and is 25 feet long, 2.5 feet wide and weighs close to 3 tons, which makes it the largest of its kind in the world. The work of art is located almost as a centerpiece in Dokk1 hanging above the media ramp, the large inner stairway connecting level 1 and 2.
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Der Gong
Det Gong läutet wenn ein neuer Bewohner in Aarhus geboren wird; er ist mit einem Klöppel versehen, den frisch gebackene Eltern von der Geburtsstation des Aarhuser Universitätskrankenhauses aus aktivieren können, wenn ihr Kind das Licht der Welt erblicht hat.
Das Kunstwerk "Gong" besteht aus einer Rohr-Glocke, die Teil der künstlerischen Ausgestaltung des Dokk1 ist. Die aus Bronze bestehende Glocke hat eine Länge von 7,5 m, einen Durchmesser von 80 cm und wiegt ca. 3 Tonnen. Damit ist sie die größte Glocke ihrer Art. Mit seiner Platzierung unmittelbar an der großen Treppe verbindet das Kunstwerk das Niveau 1 und 2 des Gebäudes und hat somit eine zentrale Position.
artist:DAX
PHOTOGRAPHOHOLIC
I born to capture |
(C) DAX ☆
All rights reserved!
Unauthorised use prohibited!
“Standing on the snow-covered plain, as if in a pasture amid the hills, I cut my way first through a foot of snow, and then a foot of ice, and open a window under my feet, where, kneeling to drink, I look down into the quiet parlour of the fishes, pervaded by a softened light as through a window of ground glass, with its bright sanded floor the same as in summer; there a perennial waveless serenity reigns as in the amber twilight sky, corresponding to the cool and even temperament of the inhabitants.
Heaven is under our feet as well as over our heads.”
— Walden (1854) by Henry David Thoreau
(Chapter 16: The Pond in Winter)
I have memories that refuse to be swallowed by time's shadow.
The simple joy of laughter and sudden pain of shock
The oft' hidden love and silence's pensive thoughts.
And the ones yet to come...that you may yet shape.
But in moments like this, when my heart is a drum line of its own, I fear you can see them too.
|| And tomorrow I'm off to Santiago, Chile! Photos to come, to be sure! ||
“In the morning I bathe my intellect in the stupendous and cosmogonal philosophy of the Bhagavad gita, since whose composition years of the gods have elapsed, and in comparison with which our modern world and its literature seem puny and trivial; and I doubt if that philosophy is not to be referred to a previous state of existence, so remote is its sublimity from our conceptions.
I lay down the book and go to my well for water, and lo! there I meet the servant of the Bramin, priest of Brahma and Vishnu and Indra, who still sits in his temple on the Ganges reading the Vedas, or dwells at the root of a tree with his crust and water jug. I meet his servant come to draw water for his master, and our buckets as it were grate together in the same well. The pure Walden water is mingled with the sacred water of the Ganges.”
― Henry David Thoreau, Walden: Or, Life in the Woods
“Sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing directions. You change direction but the sandstorm chases you. You turn again, but the storm adjusts. Over and over you play this out, like some ominous dance with death just before dawn.
Why? Because this storm isn't something that blew in from far away, something that has nothing to do with you. This storm is you. Something inside of you. So all you can do is give in to it, step right inside the storm, closing your eyes and plugging up your ears so the sand doesn't get in, and walk through it, step by step. There's no sun there, no moon, no direction, no sense of time. Just fine white sand swirling up into the sky like pulverized bones. That's the kind of sandstorm you need to imagine.
And you really will have to make it through that violent, metaphysical, symbolic storm. No matter how metaphysical or symbolic it might be, make no mistake about it: it will cut through flesh like a thousand razor blades. People will bleed there, and you will bleed too. Hot, red blood. You'll catch that blood in your hands, your own blood and the blood of others.
And once the storm is over you won't remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won't even be sure, in fact, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm you won't be the same person who walked in. That's what this storm's all about.”
― Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore
Converted an image of passing storm clouds to B&W. I thought that B&W would make the storm clouds more omnious.
Used one of the storm cloud images and the BW_Sampler9 image from the bonus files.
Bonifacio Global City, Taguig Philippines
© Rein Catabay Photography | www.facebook.com/pages/Rein-Catabay-Photography/145453864...
#cityscape #urbanlandscape #nightphotography #philippineskyline #chasinglight #landscapephotographynotforthelazy #practicemakesperfect #practicepamore