View allAll Photos Tagged Humiliated
"People will #hurt you,God will #heal you. People will #humiliate you,God will #magnify you. People will #judge you,God will #justify you. Have #Faith"...Download at ibibleverses.christianpost.com/?p=117415
#Jesus #bible
**Before commenting, know that I really am a happy person overall.I just wanted the poem to capture the mood of the picture.**
Demons
Restless sleep
Figures from past and present
Haunt my dreams
Previous actions
Humiliations
Fear
Stalk me to the core.
My souls runs
As the specters tear at my eyes
Trying to blind me to the future yet unseen
My biggest fear.
People I’ve hurt,
Live to hurt me as I hurt them
People I loved
Now become shapeless forms
Or bipeds with no face
No wall stops them
No pleas will slow them.
Vengeance is all they live for
They want blood
My blood
They don’t want to kill me.
No, my soul is already dead
They want to take me apart
Piece by piece
So I can hear my own blood curdling screams.
I have asked for forgiveness
Of those I hurt
And granted forgiveness
Of those who hurt me
But that doesn’t matter here.
Not in this realm.
This foul place
Where darkness rules and
Where the powers of the night
Hide the light from my soul
Keep me from ever knowing peace
I have never forgiven myself
I’ve never let it go.
So now
These skeletons
Not of my closet
But of my dreams
Pounce on every opportunity
To destroy my last vestiges
Of humanity I have left.
Awake I eat to forget
While at night they eat me alive
Crumb by delicious crumb
Until one day they devour
Everything I am
Everything I have left to offer.
Then only the rage
The hate
And fury
Will control who I am
And the person I was once
Will only be a distant memory
No longer having a place
In this corrupted vessel
A mockery of a human body
My spirit’s light now out.
Ten year work anniversary!
I have been writing this blog since the week before our wedding in August 2008. Then on to changing jobs, a stint in the arsehole of the world, Kazakhstan, losing that job, then the trials and tribulations of a getting permanent job.
I worked at the box factory for best part of five months, working with Jools' sister as my boss.
Then came the fallow times, going to the job centre to sign on, the humiliation of explaining on a weekly basis how I had looked for work so I would receive the next back of fifty quid a week.
And then-on day, I saw an add for a job that combined quality, engineering and documentation. I went through the list of requirements and I knew then if ever a job was made for me, then this was it.
I applied, got an interview, did OK, and was told to wait a week for news.
Two hours later they called back, I had the job if I wanted.
I did.
A temporary job turned permanent, and then the company went through tough times, we had to justify our existence on a daily basis.
But, in time, fortunes turned, we got new projects, we ramped up the department going from me and my boss, Philip, to last count over a hundred. Probably lots more.
I got a new job, did poorly, did well. Travelled, then, last year, it all went Pete Tong. But, I heard about my current position, applied and got it.
So here I am, celebrating only the second job I have lasted a decade in. The other was in the RAF. So, not done bad.
In these ten years I have met and worked with many fabulous people, many going on to be my friends.
And there are others. Well, we all light up a room with our personalities, some when we walk in, some when we walk out. I hope they see me as the latter.
In normal times I would be going to Denmark on Monday for a celebration with my colleagues. A day workshop extended into an evening event at some nice restaurant or another. But not now, not in this reality. Normal might come later.
Instead we are virtually housebond, locked down tight, only allowed out once a day for exercise and other times for shopping. Or it depends on how you read the guidance. Anyway, how to celebrate the day?
By going on an orchid hunt, of course.
What else?
It was to be a bright but breezy day, but near to sunrise the wind would drop some, so no time to lose. We get up, have a coffee and then Jools drops me off at the NT place on the cliffs, though it is all locked up with as many warning signs as those on the Falklands warning about mines. And the entrance is monitored.
So be warned.
I was.
Jools speeds away, leaving me to gather my thoughts and clamber down to see if the remote colonies of Early Spiders had returned.
Overlooking the port I found two rosettes, including one with a spike that was just about to open. Nearly, but not quite.
I walk on, scanning left and right until I see what I was looking for: a small yellowing rosette with a spike, and on the top was a single open flower.
Orchid goodness.
Around were two more, one open, the other not. I get shots.
Further along I find two more, then as I scramble down the cliff, another plant, this one the most glorious deep maroon colours, all covered in dew that make it look like it was coated in diamonds.
I take a lot of shots.
Before the cliff road turns inland, I find two more spikes, I snap those too, but was happy enough I had found more than enough, for now, so that the rest of the walk would be for exercise and general botany and photography.
I walk up the cliff road, the bed on an inclined plane railway that was constructed to help build the new eastern harbour arm, cutting a shelf into the face of the famous cliffs for only a few years use. And has been abandoned for 110 years or so, but the ten metre wide shelf, trackbed or road has been there ever since, and is a fairly gentle slope on which I could try to limit the strain on my back.
I went this way to check out different habitats in the hope of spotting something new, but really see very little of interest, and my back was making a big deal about how much it ached. I was passed just before the gate at the top by a jogger, the first person I had seen since Jools had dropped me off. Strange times indeed.
I make it to the top, and see Jools approaching. She had parked the car in the village and came to meet me on my walk, then we would walk back to the car together before driving down the hill to home.
Instead of walking along the cliffs, we took the wartime road set back a bit, which runs from the top of Langdon Hole to South Foreland lighthouse.
We see little of interest, as the road has been resurfaced since last year, and the swathes of Scarlet Pimpernel were nowhere to be seen.
A few joggers passed us with a safe distance between us, we walked back towards home, past the lighthouse, then through the scrub woodland to the path that crosses the last big field before we enter the village.
Then, across Reach Road, to the car park and into the car.
All by five past nine in the morning.
The neighbors were getting bitchy about our Friday night music. We decided a little public humiliation was in order.
God bless masking tape!
This is dedicated to the Principal of my Elelmentary school, and to a boy from my 2nd grade class that he humiliated in front of the class for not knowing the difference between left and right. A lesson that seems simple as adults, but not always to children. Humiliation should never be used in a classroom as a teaching method, and seeing it used at the young age of 7 has stuck with me.
This tape came on the drawer glides for the pull out trays in our kitchen. Seeing the tape brought this idea to mind instantly, so I carefully peeled the tape off and saved it!
"In January 1945, thousands of humiliated people stand naked in a shower room at the Flossenburg concentration camp in Germany. The end is near. Numerous people have been killed here with the pesticide Zyklon B. The group of exhausted prisoners moves restlessly. One of them is Nena Schlesinger, a 15-year-old Polish Jew.
Suddenly nervous Nazi soldiers rush into the gas chamber and order the people into the train cars.
"I didn't dare to rejoice then, because I knew there could be something worse", says Schlesinger, now Nena Kafka, 67 years later in Helsinki.
From Flossenburg, the prisoners were transferred to the Bergen-Belsen camp, where the humiliation worsened.
"Being stretched out in a kneeling position, with bricks in hand at head height, was a new form of punishment that was used more and more strictly."
When she came to Bergen-Belsen, the young girl had already lived in two different concentration camps for four years. Her job was to take care of the yarn factory's huge machine. Her strength was running out and she weighed less than 40 kilos, but she was not allowed to show weakness. She knew the punishment was often death.
The only thing the prisoners could discuss was whether they had managed to get a piece of bread in addition to their daily cup of broth.
"Nothing was normal, neither the feelings nor the thoughts. Mechanical combat from moment to moment. One of the harshest forms of torture was standing with your hands up for several ten minutes. The hands quickly went numb, which meant death."
Anne Frank was brought to the same camp and died there in March 1945, just a couple of months before liberation.
"I can't describe the feeling of liberation in words," Kafka recalls on May 15, 1945. Then the Germans commanding the prisoners got down and rushed towards the forest. The British announced over the loudspeakers that they had come to free the prisoners.
A new life in Finland
With the help of the Red Cross, Nene Kafka ended up in Helsinki via Sweden.
"For some reason I remembered my uncle's address in Helsinki and wrote to him from Sweden. He came to pick me up to live with him."
In Helsinki, Kafka devoured life and wanted to forget the past.
"I wanted something to happen all the time. My new friends and I went out a lot."
Later, she married a Finnish man, Faivel Kafka. They had two daughters.
In the 1990s, film director Steven Spielberg received a video interview from Kafka about her experiences, among other things as background material for Schindler's List.
"Despite everything, I have lived a happy life. Of course, I've been depressed, and I didn't have the strength to start the economics studies I dreamed of. At that time, there was no information about therapies. I have received one sedative in my life."
Text from 2012 by Maria Pöyskö in Suomen Kuvalehti.
After being publicly humiliated by Shannon Young for not posting any further installments of Gongfujian. I have come back with a rebuttle.
You cannot insult me and get away with it. Remember this Young.
if, following those humiliating losses against north melbourne and collingwood, you had told nathan brown that richmond would be two points clear in the eight after the game against the bulldogs in round 5, he would have looked a lot happier than this.
still it was a devastating end to a game which the tigers could and should have won.
(here is one for the list : if the experienced joel bowden had not been left out of the team by that prat terry wallace it would not have happened.)
Me. Do people even see the hint of painted toes in this photo? Are people paying attention to my ultra feminine self? Ugh.
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.
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#footfetish #transmilf #curvy #cougar #transcougar #footmodel #transmodel #SugarBaby #hijrah #transsexual #genderfluid #nailsonfleek #instanails #transgender #transpride #SoccerMom #wife #bride #wifey #secretary #sissy #sissygirl
Me.
.
.
.
#footfetish #transmilf #curvy #cougar #transcougar #footmodel #transmodel #SugarBaby #hijrah #transsexual #genderfluid #nailsonfleek #instanails #transgender #transpride #SoccerMom #wife #bride #wifey #secretary #sissy #sissygirl
Nobody knew I masqueraded as a woman and went to bars to pickup men. My girlfriend caught me walking down the street dressed as a woman. There I stood, in little black dress, in front of a busy restaurant, confronted by my girlfriend. I was humiliated as she pointed out my hot pink pedicure and toe ring visible through the black pantyhose I was wearing with my high heeled sandals. She was freaked out how I had deep cleavage and great legs. Ugh.
soft girl
bimbo
For a blog I am working on.
When I started this journey I never thought I would loose my past so completely.
I became a woman.
It's important to me to put 100% off my energy into claiming the power of the feminine by adhering to the feminine gender. Now, I state plainly, for the record: I am an airhead, no lie, an attractive unintelligent woman who loves clothes and shoes. I am sooooo on board with my women's subordinate status that it's scary. I am compliant and submissive because that is what my job requires. I am perfectly fine standing in the shadow of a man as long as I look cute and can do my nails.
I am a model. It's a thing. Don't judge.
My coworkers and I do what we can to look and feel our best. The girls helped me see I am a soft girl and being a model brought forward my hotness with a polished new hyper feminine identity. I'm a girl. A girly girl. Like, work only requires a plain mani, but my coworkers decided I should really go above and beyond in my femininity with the coffin nails look and I have had at least 1 1/2 inch fingernails since. So swish and perfect for my girly style. I'm such a follower and don't have to make my own style decisions lately. Why think when you're getting waxed and long pink glittery fingernails attached?
When work made me model exclusively strappy heels or wedges because of my soft and girly feet, the girls took that decision and we extended it to my personal life. I won't go anywhere without wearing pantyhose, short dresses or skirts showcasing my toned feminine legs and sky high heels that show off my foot model pedicure with toe rings and ankle bracelets on display. I've got nice feet.
In my work success is partiay determined by maintaining a romantic relationship with a man, and I found my sexuality can be used to maintain the relationship. My work uses sexual objectification of women and I am a willing cog in that machine. I have no choice. I have a contract. I'm just a woman. I use my assets to make a living. I'm just a girl, what difference can I make.
Even while grocery shopping I'm fully made up. Men are nice to a pretty woman. They help me, hold doors open, carry my groceries, and I just bat my eyelashes, bend my leg at the knee and bite my lip. I see them checking out my seamed stockings or staring at my bosom or watch my butt wiggle as I walk heel toe heel toe down the magazine isle in my 5 inch spikes and pink leather mini.
Oh em gee I had to go to home depot one day after work, wearing a sheer diaphanous red dress and strappy Manolo Blahnik's, red lipstick, red nails, silk stockings, dressed to the nines, and every man there wanted to help and I didn't have to do a thing. I sat at the front on a bench with my legs crossed, clicked through my social media, refreshed my lipstick and just looked pretty.
The girls and I are all like that. A fem pack of fashion conscious women in the city. I am a part of it. I fit in. I certainly look the part now.
The girls helped me discover that pinks and their various hues are definitely my color, like, I am totes a fem woman so I should breathe it in. I have pink heels, pink skirts, pink jewelry, pink lipstick, pink nails and pink nose ring. I am a pink girl. Also I am one of the bimbo girls. A high heeled glorfied secretary with sexy legs oozing sexiness with my plump pink lips and low cut dress in the office, walking around in designer pumps looking gorgeous, organizing racks of nylons, smiling at the men coz they can't keep their eyes off me.
After modeling? I will be hawt a buxom beautician doing hair and gossiping with long designer nails in a coral frock with heavy makeup, a pierced nose and tongue, dangly earrings, bangle bracelets, kissable pink lips, deep cleavage in my sundress, shapely legs in sheer nude pantyhose with shocking hot pink toenails showing from my strappy heeled sandals drawing admiring glances from men wherever I go. Me. I'm cool with that. It's why I became a woman. I am living my dream to have transformed from man to basically a painted up Barbie. I get to dress up and play with makeup and shoes.
forced femme force feminization femdom
And sell a little pantyhose in the process.
Nobody knew I masqueraded as a woman and went to bars to pickup men. My girlfriend caught me walking down the street dressed as a woman. There I stood, in little black dress, in front of a busy restaurant, confronted by my girlfriend. I was humiliated as she pointed out my hot pink pedicure and toe ring visible through the black pantyhose I was wearing with my high heeled sandals. She was freaked out how I had deep cleavage and great legs. Ugh.
soft girl
bimbo
When I started this journey I never thought I would loose my past so completely.
It's important to me to put 100% off my energy into claiming the power of the feminine by adhering to the feminine gender. Now, I state plainly: I am an airhead, no lie, an attractive unintelligent woman. I am sooooo on board with my women's subordinate status that it's scary. I am compliant and submissive because that is what my job requires. I am a model. It's a thing. Don't judge.
My coworkers and I do what we can to look and feel our best. The girls helped me see I am a soft girl and being a model brought forward my hotness with a polished new hyper feminine identity. I'm a girl. A girly girl. Like, work only requires a plain mani, but my coworkers decided I should really go for the coffin nails look and I have had at least 1 1/2 inch fingernails since. So swish and perfect for my girly style. I'm such a follower and don't have to make my own style decisions lately. Why think when you've got pink and glittery fingernails?
When work made me model exclusively strappy heels or wedges because of my soft and girly feet, the girls took that decision and we extended it to my personal life so I won't go any where without wearing pantyhose, short dresses or skirts showcasing my toned feminine legs and sky high heels that show off my foot model pedicure with toe rings and ankle bracelets on display.
In my work success is partiay determined by maintaining a romantic relationship with a man, and I found my sexuality can be used to maintain the relationship. My work uses sexual objectification of women and I am a willing cog in that machine. I have no choice. I have a contract. I'm just a woman. I use my assets to make a living. I'm just a girl, what difference can I make.
Even while grocery shopping I'm fully made up. Men are nice to a pretty woman. They help me, hold doors open, carry my groceries, and I just bat my eyelashes, bend my leg at the knee and bite my lip. I see them checking out my legs or staring at my bosom or watch my butt wiggle as I walk heel toe heel toe down the magazine isle in my 5 inch spikes.
Oh em gee I had to go to home depot one day after work, wearing a sheer diaphanous red dress and strappy Manolo Blahnik's, red lipstick, red nails, silk stockings, dressed to the nines, and every man there wanted to help and I didn't have to do a thing. I sat at the front on a bench with my legs crossed, clicked through my social media, refreshed my lipstick and just looked pretty.
The girls and I are all like that. A fem pack of fashion conscious women in the city. I am a part of it. I fit in. I certainly look the part now.
The girls helped me discover that pinks and their various hues are definitely my color, like, I am totes a fem woman so I should breathe it in. I am just one of the bimbo girls.
Transgender bride
Sissy bride
Transsexual wife
Sissy wife
Trans Sissy
Housewife
June cleaver
1950s vintage housewife
House husband
Sissy husband
Black men love my transsexual sissy sexy secretary housewife curvy trans self. My pretty feet and toes turn them on. When I caress them with my long painted fingernails they love it. Indian men from India love me also. Especially when I wear a burka burqa.
The humiliation of shampoo AND conditioner was softened by a sweet potato treat on a towel on the couch.
The Armistice Clearing at Compiègne:
Kaelble Z6V2A Tractor / Truck (probably belonging to Reichbahn) towing a railcar on a Culemeyer trailer (looks like the 24-wheeler version).
The tractor is known as a 'Prime Mover' in military transport terms.
German WWII, Kaelble Z6V2A Heavy Tractor / Truck: Prime Mover:
Used to tow the heavy trailers for transporting the heavy tanks like the Tiger I and Tiger II. They were also used for the transportation of other military equipment, including artilllery, armour, even submarines.
There is reason to believe that some of them were used in the little-known operation to transport a small fleet of U-boats 2,000 miles overland from the port of Kiel to the Romanian port of Costanta on the Black Sea, arriving in May 1942, to engage Russian naval and merchant vessels. The remaining subs were isolated when Romania switched sides in 1944. Remains of the 3 remaining scuttled subs were located off the coast of Turkey in 2008.
www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/1577456/Adolf-Hitlers-...
+ + + + + + + + + +
The railway carriage 2419D belonging to the Compagnie des wagons lits traditionally known as the 'Armistice Wagon'.
It was requisitioned by the army in 1918 and the Armistice was signed therein.
In 1921 it was taken to the Invalides where it remained for 6 years. It was then installed in the Armistice Glade in a shelter financed by Mr. A. Fleming in 1927.
In June 1940 it was removed to Berlin to be exhibited, then disappeared.
A protester stands on a drawing of Kader Molla as an expression of humiliating him.
Bangladeshi people gather for a protest demanding death penalty for Jamaat-e-Islami leader Abdul Quader Mollah in Chittagong Press Club.
The leader of Bangladesh's largest Islamic party was Tuesday convicted and sentenced to life in prison in a series of killings during the country's 1971 independence war.
Press Club,Chittagong.
Part of Saul Gray-Hildenbrand's ArtPrize entry, 101 Ways to Humiliate a Man - hosted at the UICA in downtown Grand Rapids.
2016/03/05(sat)
MALAYSIAS MILITARY DEATH METAL
HUMILIATION JAPAN INVASION 2016 OSAKA
at SOCORE FACTORY
HUMILIATION
DISTURD
SEX MESSIAH
SECOND TO NONE
The paradox of the photo derives from the strange position of the legs. The first child, a young boy of romany ethnicity lost his hope in earning money or food. He leans over a fence with his feet cross accepting his miserable situation. At the same time, a young romany girl beggs for food. She lifts her feet and raises her head over the fence to see the marvel of capitalism. The shot was taken during a wedding in Romania and i had just a few seconds to make the it.
Daniel Andrei is a Romanian student at the University of Law and Public Administration. "I am in my terminal year. My final essay is about integrity and transparency in the public sector, the way to a good administration in Romania. I found out about the contest searching information about the sessions of the European Parlament. I am pleased to see that the European Parlament develops this kind of programs. My number one hobby is photography and i also work as a professional event photographer".
In the meantime Humayun after years of humiliation in exile had regrouped his forces and with the help of Persia invaded India, defeated Sikandar Khan Suri and re-ascended the throne of Delhi in 1555 AD. Sher Shah Suri had built the Sher Mandal in 1541 AD as a pleasure resort which Humayun after retaking Delhi converted into a library. Humayun however fell to this death while climbing down it's very steps in 1556 AD leaving the 13 year old Jalaluddin urf Akbar in his stead. At that time Akbar was in the western reaches of India and his guardian Bairam Khan hid the news of Humayun's death from the public to prepare Akbar for succession. Hemu a hindu general previously under the command of Adil Shah Suri seized the opportunity and marched from Bengal towards Delhi with a huge army. Such was the fear of Hemu who had never lost a single war of the 22 he fought, that he received almost no opposition and reached Delhi without having to fight a single battle where after a short fight that he won, he coronated himself Samrat Hemchandra Vikramaditya. Hemu was the last hindu king to sit on Delhi's throne. Bairam Khan, Akbar's guardian met Hemu in the second battle of Panipat in Nov 1556 where despite Hemu's larger army, a fatal shot in his eye resulted in his defeat. Hemu owing to his track record of having never lost a battle except the last one in which he died is referred to as the Napolean of Medieval India. Had he won that battle the shape and nature of present day India would have been totally different
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