View allAll Photos Tagged DISINTEGRATION
Here's a shot I got of Caitlin after my day's 365 photo. I absolutely love how this photograph turned out.
Armed with Neuro-disruptor cannon and 2x Soulstorm missiles. "KISS MY BONES!!"
The cockpit skull was directly inspired by the brilliant bridge design on Mark Sandlin's Asmodeus
Commentary.
Such strange piles of grotesque stonework, as here at Sharp Tor, are typical of many granite hill-tops on Dartmoor.
Caused by the chemical and physical weathering of joints in the granite, over millions of years, this weathering reduces once solid igneous rock to crumbling piles of disjointed stones.
It is as if rain in these joints disintegrates some of the minerals like Quartz, Feldspar and Biotite producing broken down substances in white, grey, brown and pink.
Ice, freezing in the joints, expands and wrenches the rock apart, leaving irregular piles of rock known as Tors.
These can appear weird on a bright day, but emerging out of a dark, misty moorland they can take on an “other worldly” vision.
Disintegration: 30 years today (yesterday). This was the best thing that could happen to The Cure and not exactly the best that could happen to their record label, after the success of "Kiss Kiss Kiss". Songs with two minute instrumental intros?
Every time you get too much (spot)lights, consider going back to a nice sweet shadowed place where you can detoxify and create what you really like. Just as Robert Smith did back in 1989. Maybe the Cure's best album ever. Ok, I don't like to celebrate "days" but May 2nd should be the International Disintegration Day, not only the 500 year anniversary of Leonardo Da Vinci's death...
Beautiful text and picture credits: Not mine...
This series started 24th March 2011 in Germany when I came across a collection of discarded clothes. Local building work on the wasteland location resulted in the disappearance of the first set of clothing. The series restarted in May 2013 in Cumbria, when I discovered a lost pink t-shirt on a temporary car-park. Regular visits to the site allowed me to make more photographs, with the series concluding on July 2nd 2014.
Brutally edited; the images track the gradual disintegration and destruction of lost clothing/fabrics. A narrative initially concerned with loss, oppression, abandonment, desolation and ruin; slowly raised other issues connected to mortality, lifespan and dehumanization by authority and the perpetual fight for self-governance. The series concluded with the continuing process of reclamation with suggestions in regards to the struggle for humanity and the freedom of the individual spirit.
If you think you can rock a tan-grey style with a cyberpunkish theme, shoot me an FM and try out for Vepr.
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Vepr® Relics - MKX2 "Lertain" Scout Sniper Railgun
I'm done.
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Ammunition :
> Standard - .31CL Tungsten Projectiles
Magazine : 5 rnd
Range : Medium-High
Rate of fire : N/A
Firing modes : Semi Auto
Death is an art with Vepr Industries. Watch your enemy die amongst a crowd of dancing flame or watch them be fried in a swirl of electric bolts. Watch the fleshy body disintegrate harmoniously into fifty million equally sized blood red pieces and sweep right into the wind. That... is the beauty of Vepr.
The Lertain
The Lertain is a suppressed sniper railgun designed by Vepr Relics. Somewhat modular but very adaptable, with tons of rails for many attachment combinations. It has a rather low recoil for a Vepr sniper rifle, but is also not as powerful (on par with sniper rifles from other corporations).
The suppressor makes it perfect for stealthy missions. The optic has a 1x-10x zoom w/ night vision and infrared systems, and an integrated sight for close encounters.
It uses the standard Vepr rotary hammer. To get the rifle loaded, the circular hammer gets cocked back, and the round gets electronically loaded.
It fires compressed tungsten projectiles covered in a plasma that will erupt into flames upon exiting the railgun - setting fire to the target, if not killing it (which almost never happens, we can assure you.)
As a Vepr weapon, it shoots projectiles at a high velocity and on fire. Always. Guaranteed.
Power. Fire. Accuracy. Lertain - Only from Vepr Relics.
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Creds and Deds:
-Beck and D-PMG - shaded rails
-Banger - AFG inspiration
-The Doctor - WA2K flash hiders used for gripping on the grip
"Suddenly, all your history's ablaze
Try to breathe, as the world disintegrates
Just like autumn leaves, we're in for change
Holding tenderly to what remains
And all your memories, are as precious as gold
And all the honey, and the fire which you stole
Have you running through all your red-cheeked days
Shaking loose these souls, from their sacred hiding space
Hold your heart courageously
as we walk into this dark place
Stand, steadfast erect and see
that love is the province of the brave
Pushed under this expanse of bursting stars
Let this burning brightly illuminate the where we are
In this hollow that lovers' voices occupy
Let it follow that we let it free, let it fly
Breaking open the walls of this cage
Intoxicated, oh so amazed
Much like falcons tumbling from the heights at play
Conjoined, talons engaged
Hold these hearts courageously
as we walk into this dark place
Stand, steadfast beside me and see
that love is the province of the brave"
- "Province" by TV On The Radio
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Its October. Autumn is upon us. I'm about to turn 30. Everthing in my life seems to have been going through changes this last year. Sometimes it was hard, lonely and sad, but mostly it was exciting and transformational. I feel stronger, clearer, wiser, more curious, more alive, than ever before in my life. Bring on the next decade, I think I'm ready.
A couple of days after my birthday I am taking a trip to where the leaves change more spectacularly than anywhere else on earth, back to the University of Virginia, my "alma mater". This will be the first time I go to visit since I dropped out in 1997. Ten years have passed, and all that goes with that. I look forward to seeing this place and that part of my history through the looking-glass of who I am today.
Autumn is here. Change is coming.
"When complications increase, the desire for essentials increases too. The unending cycle of crises that began with the First World War has formed a kind of person, one who has lived through strange and terrible things and in whom there is an observable shrinkage of prejudices, a casting off of disappointing ideologies, an ability to live with many kinds of madness, and an immense desire for certain durable human goods—truth, for instance; freedom; wisdom. I don’t think I am exaggerating; there is plenty of evidence for this. Disintegration? Well, yes. Much is disintegrating, but we are experiencing also an odd kind of refining process. And this has been going on for a long time."
- Saul Bellow, “The Nobel Lecture,” There Is Simply Too Much to Think About (2015)
Bembridge harbour - IMG_4758
From a recent trip to the far east, well the far east of the isle of wight, and bembridge in particular (title from the fabulous Art title generator website)
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©2013 Jason Swain, All Rights Reserved
This image is not available for use on websites, blogs or other media without the explicit written permission of the photographer.
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Links to facebook and twitter can be found on my flickr profile
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With the weather forecaster's 'full blue' forecast rapidly disintegrating into broken cloud I was glad I made it out early!
With the ECML shut between Doncaster and York for the next three weekends to allow for the renewal of Shaftholme Jn, services are diverted.
Services can take a number of diversionary routes, but VTEC opted for a limited service via the West Riding, Leeds and Micklefield.
Selected MkIV services were diverted, although the majority utilised the HST fleet, here the first 'drag' of the day heads north: 1F05 Doncaster - Edinburgh, with 67024 leading 91107 'Skyfall' and rake BN16, tailed by 82222.
The combo can be seen passing Ulleskelf a few minutes behind time.
Another of the photographs of some dead tulips I took in my Mother's garden last May. I love the rich colours and the textures of the withered petals, and the way the droplets caught the light.
Texture layers: Old Paper by Ghostbones and OldPhotoTexture4 by malchik1 @ malchik1-stock.deviantart.com/art/Old-Grunge-Photo-Textur...
Marty : Ah, Jesus Christ, Doc. Jesus Christ, Doc, you disintegrated Einstein.
Doc : Calm down, Marty, I didn't disintegrate anything. The molecular structure of Einstein and the car are completely intact.
Marty : Then where the hell are they?
Doc : The appropriate question is, when the hell are they. Einstein
has just become the world's first time traveler. I sent him into the future. One minute into the future to be exact.
Hello folks I'm back today and I'm happy to do another collab with Jacob Customs who is a big fan of Back to the future. We decided to do a series of pic with the Delorean and here we go ! This is the scene where Doc tries his Delorean.
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Please comment !!!
Original picture by me
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Alex THELEGOFAN | Jacob Customs98 | My shop | Instagram
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A sliding door disintegrates at the old Thistle Mill in Ilchester, Md. I think this was the first one I've seen where pieces of the door are just flaking away, like rusty leaves off a tree.
But as it turns out, the door won't get a chance to rust into oblivion: The mill was demolished this past summer.
(DSCN8022Goat&GiraffeLightlingsDisintegratingFlickr031023)
They are Lightling characters which up until now have disintegrated on Earth where they have been for about 30 minutes. I'm thinking my Lightlings may have more adventures if I allow them up to four different places where they live for half an hour rather than just one. That would mean, for example, they could live in Oregon, Arizona, New York and Montana, and have more adventures than just half an hour in Oregon. I haven't actually decided yet, but I'm leaning toward what I just gave as an example.
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"My thin white border is not so much a frame as a defense against Flickr's all dark background"
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Explore Mar 1, 2010 #44
Mahogany seeds are fascinating! The size of an orange, they fall from this very tall (up to 75' high) massive tree with a great thud and rest there for weeks. Then they begin opening, one outer segment breaking free, then another and another. The brown tightly-packed seeds stay together at first. Then the wind blows them apart and the seeds scatter across the ground.
Weeks later, all that is left is the broken outer segments and as yet unseen tiny shoots that will hopefully grow into massive, beautiful shade trees here in South Florida.
The wood of mahogany is one of the most valuable cabinet woods of any tree. West Indies mahogany was the original mahogany shipped back to Europe beginning in the 16th century. (Today most mahogany wood comes from S. macrophylla, Honduras mahogany, a larger tree widespread in Central and South American tropical forests.) The wood of mahogany is hard and reddish in color. Chippendale and Hepplewhite cabinets made from mahogany in the mid-1700's are worth small fortunes today.
Swietenia mahogani, Mahogany, West Indies Mahogany, Spanish Mahogany, Madeira Redwood
Biscayne Park, FL
A forgotten façade, eroded by time and matter, where shadows cling like ghosts of an erased architecture. The gridded windows capture an external world that seems more real than the structure itself. Behind the glass, light sneaks in, revealing a perspective that may no longer exist—a frozen illusion within the reflection.
But what commands attention is the anomaly carved into the wall. An absurd mechanism, a dissident cogwheel whose core—a smooth, unfathomable sphere—reflects a fractured reality. The eye of a forgotten machine? A breach into another dimension? Everything around it disintegrates—matter cracks, retracts, vanishes. Order is torn apart, giving way to the unexplained.
Further away, another geometric protrusion defies the logic of the construction. As if concrete and wood were nothing more than illusions, remnants of a world slowly being absorbed by a shifting digital entity.
There is something very compelling about the architecture of rural America. Character and stories just seem to ooze from these places and I hope to capture part of that history with my camera.
Shot Notes: 7-frame HDR and lots of fun in post. I always find subjects like this so inviting to do strong processing edits on, I hope you enjoy it too! ;-)))
By 9.30 am the caps are melting. Grow overnight in the deep spaces between elements in a free fig tree stump.
The sculpture is only 4 cm large .
right upper arm : You can imagine that arm shooting a disintegrating
Newtonian beam .
Left upper Arm : Triple saw made from vintage brass clock gear .
Top Arm : Made from Mysterious yellow amber .
bottom arm : a single magnetic wheel for an alternative transport and stability .
Beholder's floats/hover above the ground . They are known to be obsessively Tyrannic .
Made by Daniel Proulx A.K.A : CatherinetteRings , Steampunk jewelry designer and sculptor
This sculpture is currently on display for the Oxford Steampunk Exhibition .
BEHOLDER WRITTING COMPETITION STORIES :
1ST PLACE WINNER:
A Light in the Darkness
by Will Steed
Hastings looked down the tunnel into the darkness. He looked down at his feet. The pools of filth lay stagnant on the ground at the edges, while a stream of foulness trickled down the middle. His shoes would have make do on their own. Some yards further into the tunnel, he found a twisted piece of iron left off to the side. He knew he was in the right place. The maker's mark on the iron matched the ones taken from the smith's yard near the docks.
Still further down the tunnel, there was a branch. One would lead to the lower reaches, the other further south, towards the houses on Merchant's Row. The criminal element of the lower reaches were prime candidates for the theft of scrap iron, but something tickled at the back of Hastings' brain. His intuition told him there was a connection between the theft of the scrap iron and rumors of an alliance between technologists and the guild of merchants, but there was nothing to prove it, or even to suggest that it was more than the hunch of a detective on probation.
Hastings listened carefully. Over the rumble of the train passing above, he could hear a deep rhythmic sound coming from the tunnel that lead towards Merchant's Row. He walked cautiously down the tunnel, avoiding the splashing of walking in puddles of Ada-knew-what.
As he progressed, the rhythm grew louder and resolved itself to human voices, chanting, and the flicker of torches bounced off the wall. A cult? he thought to himself. That would be the third one this year. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a metal flask, holding it firmly in his hand. As he approached the source of the chanting and flickering, he unlatched a metal cylinder from the beltloop that held his coat.
Before he made his presence known, he stopped to listen. The chanting was in Latin - Laudamus te, deo omnifacente, adjuta nobis, dea technologistorum. Of course it was in Latin, he thought. Latin is the language of the Roman church, why not of other gods? This cult originator had apparently done his research on cultistry. The chanters had dark robes, chalk designs on the floor, and a brass altar. Upon the altar, the mystic theme was broken by a pile of scrap metal. Among the lead and iron piping lay a large vicegrip, a dangerously oversized blunderbuss and a rotary sawblade.
Hastings drew attention to himself by flicking the lever on the side of the metal cylinder. The snapping of a spring and the sliding of metal against metal drew the attention of two cultists, who broke from the circle of robed enchanters and advanced on him. With his truncheon extended, he let the robed chanters reach him. The chanting from the other cultists changed, growing louder as he faced the fighters: venite, surmitte nobis monstrum mechanicum. The swinging truncheon caught one cultist on the knee, his scream loud enough to be heard over the chant, which grew louder with each repetition. A blow from the second cultist knocked him to the floor, his truncheon rolling out of reach, lying halfway into the chalk circle on the floor.
The lead cultist, with a thick gold chain hanging around his neck, drew forth a glass orb and placed it on the altar as the chanting stopped, leaving a ringing in Hastings' ears, and only the screaming of the injured cultist rang through the tunnel. The cultist who had punched Hastings pulled him up by his coat-front. Hastings shook the flask in his left hand and flicked the lid off it. A smell even fouler than the stench of the effluent in the tunnels rose into the cultist's nose. The grip on his coat slackened as the cultist collapsed to the floor in a stupor.
Covering the flask once more, Hastings returned his focus to the other cultists. The torches had blown out while his attention was distracted, and the tunnel was lit by the golden glow of the orb on the altar. The light was growing fast, and Hastings and the cultists were forced to cover their eyes.
When the light cleared the pile of scrap on the altar had gone. Instead, a metal creature was suspended in mid air above the altar. A large eye in the middle surveyed the room suspiciously while metallic tentacles moved around it. The sight of metal moving like flesh made Hastings' own flesh crawl. Most of the cultists looked as shocked and sickened as Hastings, backing away towards the walls, but the lead cultist held his ground.
'Behold! I bring you forth from the divine workshop' he declaimed. 'I bind you to this place, leaving only to do my bidding! I hold you here under my power until I see fit to remove you to the place from which you came.'
The metal creature regarded the room carefully, floating in silence. Its eye turned to the chalk markings on the floor. It floated to the edge of the circle, where Hastings' truncheon lay across the line on the floor. The eye shifted its gaze back to face the lead cultist, whose eyes had grown wide. The cultist looked at Hastings.
'What have you done?' he demanded of Hastings. 'You've given it its freedom. We have no control over it.'
Hastings knelt on the floor, looking dumbly at the metallic creature, which beheld the scene before it. The creature floated out of the chalk circle, leaving directly over the gap made by the truncheon. The eye beheld Hastings once more, dipping softly, before floating back up the tunnel towards the surface of the city.
The lead cultist fled after it, declaming in Latin. After they had both gone out of sight, there was the scream of spinning metal, the scream of suffering man and the sickening sound of death. A golden light flashed, and the screaming stopped.
Now in the dark, Hastings drew out a small box with a crank on it. After a short winding, a light glowed in the darkness. The whimpering sound of the remaining cultists turned to gratitude, and Hastings led the cultist merchants slowly back to the surface.
In a foggy alleyway, a light yellow glow grew. A scream pierced the night, and then there was silence.
rippled waves
of acidic browns
bring corroded waste
compound
arriving to shore
a darkened residue
purity of the sands
slowly drowned
disintegrating
all the blight that binds
consuming it
with decrepitude and decay
reflecting memories
gone forevermore;
yet in your eyes
the beauty remains.
Explore #215 November 21, 2012
Copyright © 2012 Tomitheos Picture / Poetry - All Rights Reserved
Erosion is the process by which soil and rock are removed from the Earth's surface by natural processes such as wind or water flow, and then deposited in other locations. .