This album's name is dedicated to my favourite game of all time Elder Scrolls Online and race of all time, The Argonians (reptile humanoids). There's a story for you to read below about some of them towards the bottom.

What does Ku Vastei mean? Read below

By Lights-the-Way, Mystic of the Mages Guild

It is hard to describe the culture of my people. Often my tongue stumbles as I try to explain, but it is my hope that ink and quill will give me time enough to gather my thoughts. And perhaps, though such writing, I will finally connect the parts of me that now feel so divided; my homeland of Murkmire and my new life within the Mages Guild.

These journals are to become my ku-vastei. And, as I write that, I can think of no better topic to begin with.

Ku-vastei roughly translates to "the catalyst of needed change," though such a direct translation in no way does justice to the original meaning. Another translation could be "that which creates the needed pathway for change to occur" or even "the spark which ignites the flame which must come into being."

Perhaps a more direct analysis should be first presented. Ku-vastei is a noun, a thing or person. Vastei directly translates to change, an important part of my culture. Ku is harder to speak of. It is that which leads to change, though not that which creates change. An important role, as stagnation is a fate worse than death.

Take a boulder which sits atop a cliff, teetering in place. It must fall eventually. The ku-vastei does not push the boulder off the cliff; rather, it picks the pebble which holds the rock in place. And so it falls, not by a push, but by a pathway cleared.

Ku-vastei is revered, just as change itself is revered, for to look back at what was means to stumble as you move forward. Sometimes, a little push in the right direction is all someone needs to remember such wisdom. Other times, they may need to be shoved.

-------------------------------------

The Gee-Rusleel Tribe

by Emmanubeth Hurrent, the Wayfarers' Society of Wayrest

I've had the privilege to speak to two different Miredancer elders now, and I've learned a great deal from both of these conversations. The "Gee-Rusleel," as they call themselves, are among the most introspective Argonians I've met in my travels. They also tend to be the most pleasant. For all their reclusiveness and wariness, I've never met a people more willing to share a meal or a game of Shells and Stones. They are skilled crafters, with a particular knack for working with Hist amber and egg shells. They are also peerless navigators, guiding their flat-bottom boats effortlessly through the swamp, master weavers, and skilled cartographers.

The most defining characteristic of the Miredancer tribe, however, is piety. This deep reverence for the Hist has earned them the right to name a "Sap-Speaker" for countless generations.

According to the elders I spoke with, the Sap-Speaker is the Hist's direct intermediary. (This is, of course, subject to debate. Many tribes boast unique methods of communion with the Hist. But as far as I have seen, the Miredancers make the most compelling case for the methods they use.) Sap-Speakers often go into seclusion for days or even weeks on end, venturing either down into the roots or high into the canopy of leaves in the uppermost branches. Here, they commune with the Hist. Indeed, the word that one of the elders used was "journey."

These journeys into the Hist tax the Sap-Speakers, but are thoroughly private affairs. After days by themselves, the Sap-Speakers emerge to hide away with old books, scrolls, and tablets. I asked after the purpose of these periods of seclusion, and this is what the elders told me. "The Sap-Speaker enters the embrace of the Hist to learn from the great tree," one elder said. "While in close contact with the roots and branches, the Sap-Speaker receives visions and other forms of communication that neither you nor I would understand."

The other elder continued. "Even the Sap-Speaker finds some of what is shown to be mystifying and confusing. I have heard that a Sap-Speaker is treated to ancient metaphors, arcane secrets, and visions that make little sense to creatures so far removed from sap and pulp." Apparently, the second period of seclusion allows the Sap-Speaker time to reflect on what he or she was shown, as well as time to consult with the ancient writings of Sap-Speakers who came before. After a suitable period of study and reflection, the Sap-Speaker emerges to reveal the Hist's will to the tribe.

I attempted to get more information about what happens while the Sap-Speaker meditates among the roots or branches, but I'm not sure the elders knew much more. They did tell me that the only nourishment the Sap-Speaker receives during these periods of seclusion is provided by the Hist itself in the form of sap, leaves, and the otherwise forbidden fruit of the tree.

There is a price to pay for the gift of Hist communion, however. Ingesting large quantities of Hist sap is a dangerous affair, even for Argonians. Sap-Speakers routinely suffer the effects of sap-poisoning, including "gold tongue" (permanent change of mouth pigmentation to a golden hue), unbidden hallucinations, "bark-scale" (thickening and darkening of surface scales), and other maladies they were reticent to talk about. The current Sap-Speaker, Thumarz, was in seclusion during my visit to the tribal village. I hope to meet him someday. If he's half as wise as the elders I interacted with, I'd no doubt learn a great deal from him.

Despite their deeply religious nature, the Miredancers also seem to have an obsession with games of all types. They are particularly fond of the games Nine-Shells and Shells and Stones, as well as sports such as the popular "teeba-hatsei" (also known as "hip and tail ball.") In addition to lovingly explaining their own games, they wanted to know everything I could tell them about the games we play back in Wayrest. I must admit, their enthusiasm was quite infectious! And I found it highly amusing to watch them try to re-create Deceiver's Bones from the vague description I provided.

The Miredancers are also inveterate gamblers, but they often forget to collect their winnings. Unlike the games of men and mer, Miredancer competitions appear to be completely devoid of malice or injured pride. Victory and defeat seem more like afterthoughts than objectives, due in no small part to their phlegmatic disposition. As in most things, their focus is strictly on the moment—the now. It pains me to leave their village, but I still have many more tribes to study. I doubt any of them will be as fascinating or as friendly as the Miredancers.

["the tribe is not currently in the game but in the world of the game"]

Being a transvestite is not always an easy thing to live with but does have pleasing aspects such as joy, exhilaration and adventure to counter the more fearful and troublesome concerns that inevitably accompany the desire to dress up and appear as one’s opposite gender.

For many of us who engage in transvestism we place ourselves in a difficult position which usually results in having a secret life or as many people have accused me of ‘living a lie’. Many partners, family members and friends can react negatively to the discovery of one’s transvestism and the phrases such as ‘liar’ and ‘breaking trust’ are expressed. It can be devastating for all concerned not just transvestites.

There is a popular perception that transvestites are involved in a sordid activity or we are seen as freaks and perverts and are rarely respected for who we are. We are more likely to be ridiculed or labelled as mentally ill. The most common response is we are homosexual and just want sex with men.

Ii think so called normal life has more sordid activities and real perversions occurring which should be far more unpalatable by wider society than a transvestite enjoying a gentle pastime such as cross-dressing. We are vilified for our liking to appear as the opposite gender, it is almost more acceptable to be a wife beater or a violent alcoholic but to dress up as the opposite gender…’Outrageous! Disgusting! Perverts!’ One can almost here the sniggers and sly looks ‘He likes to wear a dress and put on make-up, likes to think he’s a woman…snigger…’

I feel transvestism has a long way to go before any kind of widespread acceptance becomes the norm. I also feel maybe we don’t help such perceptions by our own actions and responses as we are in the majority very secretive about our desire to cross-dress. I hold myself guilty of such unhelpful attitudes to wider acceptance. I admit I am fearful, indeed terrified that people will find out I am a transvestite and that it will bring upset and disturbance upon my family and friends. I maybe active as Helene on-line but I try my best to make sure nobody in my real life knows I am a transvestite. I actually feel queasy at the prospect they may find out. I’m not good at all for trying to bring acceptance, I’m frightened in a selfish way. So much for my commitment to the cause.

I can still recall how as a teenager I would shake with nerves at the prospect of anyone finding out I wanted to dress as a girl and to act like one. This became worse as I grew older. I did endeavour to suppress and ignore my transvestite nature and for over twenty years I had no involvement with it at all physically. I say physically because in my head it never diminished, I would be consumed at times with the desire to dress as a woman, I badly wanted to do it. I would force myself to squash such thoughts and try and get on with being a man.

I now realise I wasted a lot of my life by these actions and I have huge regret at the fact I squandered so many experiences and self fulfilment. Having said that , I did end up with a life I really enjoyed as a man. Not because I was a man per se, but because I was sharing my life with a person I adored and we had a family I love dearly. I also ended up in a career I really enjoy. All was perfect apart from transvestite side which was locked away inside a personal jail desperate to break free. I began to fear I may destroy my entire life if I gave into the desire to cross-dress so suppressed them as fast as they surfaced.

In the mid 1990s I was covering the war in the Balkans and ended up, through stupidity, in a situation that looked like the end would not be too long in coming. I was stuck on a hillside in the freezing winter cold as an intense firefight between the opposing forces had broken out. My colleagues and myself became introspective as we contemplated our last hours. This was it, I was going to depart the world age 35. I found myself, somewhat surprisingly as I became aware of it, smiling wryly. I was actually thinking I would die and would never know what it was like as an adult male to have dressed up as a woman and set free my inner dream of spending time as a (part time) female. I had only my few teenage efforts at cross-dressing to cling to.

At some point someone in the group started to admit to their big life secret and this was followed by another colleague admitting to his. The admissions began to pour out and some were quite heavy indeed, things people had feared to admit previously. Inevitably all eyes turned to me to confess my secret. I admitted openly amongst the noise of the ongoing battle that I was desperate to spend time dressing up and acting as a woman, I really wanted to be a female now and again that I was a transvestite and in my head adored the idea of casting off my masculine self and taking on a female persona for a few hours.

I can recall there was no reaction to my confession, in fact one colleague said in a disappointed tone ’Is that it?’ That’s you big secret?’, they were totally underwhelmed and thought it was not even worth the grief I had given myself over the years. There was no judgement shown at all by my admission was a transvestite. We were rescued in the end by a UN patrol to whom I will be forever grateful as they took a big risk to save us. Before they arrived I resolved if I survived I would become a practicing transvestite and actually cross-dress for real rather in my head.

My problem, which has two sides to it, is I am a person who loves debate, analysing things and discussing things as I am curious by nature. I am frequently accused of over analysing my transvestism but those who say that fail to understand me and interpret my narratives in the wrong way. I thrive on all of this discussion and questioning, I enjoy it and I am aware now that it has on occasion generated some quite hostile attitudes towards me. Mainly because I like to talk about sexuality and how one should act like a woman towards men to sell the illusion they are female. It’s a long way from sexual intimacy, just performing in the persona is how I see it. I have stated many times I am a frustrated actor and enjoy it and I do like female impersonation when it is done well. I am attracted to the acting side of creating a female illusion. I love the whole prospect that no-one thinks I am a man when they see Helene. If they think I am a woman then that is such a reward. I am thrilled if a man desires me as a woman, I find it exciting. It’s not a sexual excitement, it’s a vanity and ego response. I love the thrill my illusion may have worked.

For example if I was kissed by a man when I am portraying myself as a woman then that is not me being homosexual, that is me acting the part of a woman, it’s about making my female alter-ego seem real as a woman by playing her as a woman not a a man, it’s not about wanting a kiss from a man as I am not attracted to men. I think many transvestites wrestle with this but if you are keen to enjoy being a woman and have people believe you are female you need to act the part convincingly rather than highlight you may not be how you appear to be.

So…back on track, I returned to the UK, and vowed I would not cross-dress before I told my wife and family I was a transvestite. This was a bit of an issue for me because I knew if I was going to cross-dress as a woman I wanted to do it properly and go the whole way. This meant would need to shave my legs, chest and arms, reshape and thin out my eyebrows into more feminine shape. I wanted to wear make-up properly, I wanted a good wig and I wanted to paint my nails, wear nice dresses and skirts and high heel shoes, I wanted the whole one hundred percent male to female transformation. I could not possibly hide such physical changes from my wife. She would see it as I am very hairy all over my body (very dismaying to me) and my family would notice my new eyebrow shape as I had thick bushy shapeless eyebrows.

I’ve said it before I am not a brave person. I am weak and lack confidence so it was easier said than done telling my wife I was a closeted transvestite. It me over five years to finally summon up the nerve to tell her and when I did I wish I had not. The upset I caused her by my admission nearly broke my heart, her world collapsed and I was accused of not being who I said I was and I was living a lie. There was a lot of dismay and hurt followed by anger. What kept me going was by now it was too late, I had confessed my transvestite side existed but I deeply believed we had a strong enough relationship to survive my admission.

Fortunately we did. Having caused such upset to those I cherish dearly and realising they did not like the idea of me dressing as a woman at all I decided I would try to minimise it’s effects upon them. Selfishly though, I was now more determined to go through with my cross-dressing. I have however severely restricted the number of times I cross-dress so it never causes them further upset and I feel truly fortunate they tolerate my need.

Five months after my confession I bought a dress, a pair of high heel court shoes, a pair of knickers, a bra, silicone breast forms and a blonde wig and bottle of nail varnish. I took a long bath and completely shaved off all my body hair. I then plucked my eyebrows, covered myself in moisturiser and immediately got the shakes and my head started to spin. I knew I was at a point in my life where for me it was all about to change, I felt emotional in away I don’t usually feel. For me I had reached a point of no return.

And so it was. On a cold November afternoon in the year 2000 I stood in front of the mirror in a warm bathroom and began to apply foundation make-up to my face. I had no idea how this was going to work out, the woman within me was about to break free.

The next phase would probably be

one of those hellishly intense

introspective nightmares.

Santa Chiara is a religious complex in Naples, Italy, that includes the Church of Santa Chiara, a monastery, tombs and an archeological museum. The Basilica church of Santa Chiara faces Via Benedetto Croce, which is the easternmost leg of Via Spaccanapoli. The church facade of Santa Chiara is diagonally across from the church of Gesù Nuovo.

The double monastic complex was built in 1313–1340 by Queen Sancha of Majorca and her husband King Robert of Naples, who is also buried in the complex. The original church was in traditional Provençal-Gothic style, but was decorated in the 17th century in Baroque style by Domenico Antonio Vaccaro. After the edifice was partially destroyed by a fire after the Allied bombings during World War II, it was brought back to the alleged original state by a disputed restoration, which was completed in 1953.

Famous is the cloister of the Clarisses, transformed in 1742 by Domenico Antonio Vaccaro with the unique addition of majolica tiles in Rococò style. The brash color floral decoration makes this cloister, with octagonal columns in pergola-like structure, likely unique and would seem to clash with the introspective world of cloistered nuns. The cloister arcades are also decorated by frescoes, now much degraded. (Wikipedia)

Rudolf Stingel conceived this exhibition especially for Palazzo Grassi. Given the utmost freedom of execution, Stingel has completely transformed the museum, filling the entire space with an oriental carpet. Moving beyond the idea of two-dimensionality that is conventionally associated with painting, the exhibition aims to subvert the usual spatial relationship between a painting and viewer.

The carpet evokes the thousand-year history of Venice, the ‘Most Serene Republic’, but also recalls the Middle-European culture so loved by the artist; for example, we are reminded of Sigmund Freud’s early twentieth-century Viennese study. This reference undoubtedly provides a key to interpreting this installation: on entering the ‘labyrinth’, an all-encompassing feeling and sensorial experience transport us towards the transcendence of the Ego, by means of its removal and its ghosts. The nearly thirty paintings exhibited suggest presences that are ‘buried’ in memory, and removed experiences that thrive again. The architectural space becomes an introspective and projective space, silent and welcoming, suitable for meditation: but Stingel’s work alters our visual and spatial perception of it, suggesting a new, rarified and suspenseful atmosphere in which the silver, white and black of the paintings stands out like so many other ‘openings’ on Venice, in an another dimension.

From the Palazzo Grassi website

I'm back in New York for the summer and I couldn't be happier! :)

(Despite the fact that I look kind of depressed in this haha. We'll go with....introspective.)

©2011 Susan Ogden-All Rights Reserved Images Thruthelookingglass

....and now, for something completely different.........i have nothing to say about this shot...tonight i am introspective....in a good way.

HAPPY HUMP DAY!

bigger

Today I am rebelling in my own small way - doing this, when I should be working. I need to get some ideas out of my head before I turn it to the tasks of this day's hackery.

We went to a wedding on the weekend. In a church. One of those participatory, call-and-response churches. We, the audience, were called upon repeatedly to say things to the effect that The Lord Jesus, as the manifestation of God's love on earth, is all powerful. Etc. etc.

Of course I went along with this, as I always do. Because it was not my event, or my day, or in any way about me. But after the 12th or 13th passionate reassurance to what I assume must be the world's most insecure all-powerful deity... I stopped even moving my lips along with everyone else. I literally could not continue uttering this tripe. And the whole thing sent me off into a whirlwind of introspective questioning.

Why is it okay for someone else to force their religion on me? I know, I know... it's only words. But words are powerful. And I couldn't help wondering (in the depths of my selfishness) how our Christian hosts would have felt if they'd been forced to repeatedly utter statements to the effect that, "God is not a being, just an idea. A construct of humankind. And organized religion has a terrible history of serving as an evil evil force across the lands."

I guess I'm just a little tired of people assuming. I mean... the fact that I'm an atheist doesn't mean I have no beliefs of my own... or that I am any less offended by being required to spout others' dogma than a Christian might be, if forced to recite great paeans to Satan. Or, for that matter, to my personal gods, the trees.

Why is it okay to ram Christianity down everyone's throats?

A person whom I otherwise respect greatly recently "explained" that it's because we live in a Christian country. Um... really? We do? Hmm. I guess I must have missed that. I thought Canada was a nation where we respect one another, and - since almost all of us come from somewhere else - a nation where we are free to practice our respective religions, provided no one gets hurt in the process.

For the record, I am not anti-Christian. I am not even anti-organized religion. I guess what I'm on about could be called a kind of religious chauvanism. I will never stand up and yell about it in public. But I might just utter a polite "no thank you" the next time I'm told to participate in something that I absolutely do not believe in.

gussied up. i liked it on the magenta side.

i do my make up in photoshop.

actually i do most of my home repairs and house cleaning in photoshop too.

maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Retrospect/32/54/23

The image presents a cyborg figure, seemingly female, in a meditative or introspective pose. Here's a breakdown of the details:

Prompt:

* **Pose:** The cyborg is crouched or kneeling, with its legs folded and arms resting on its knees. The head is bowed slightly downward, suggesting contemplation or rest.

* **Appearance:** The figure's design blends human-like features with mechanical components. The skin appears smooth and almost porcelain-like, while the body is intricately laced with wires, tubes, and glowing elements that suggest internal machinery and a power source.

* **Mechanical Details:** The most striking mechanical features are the lightbulb-like structures integrated into the body, one on the chest and another near the knee. They emit a warm, yellowish light, contrasting with the cool tones of the cyborg's body. Wires and metallic components are visible throughout, especially around the joints and head, giving the impression of a complex internal network. The head appears to have small metallic protrusions or connectors.

* **Setting:** The backdrop is entirely black, drawing all attention to the cyborg. The figure appears to be on a dark, slightly reflective surface, possibly wet or metallic, that adds to the overall futuristic and somewhat mysterious ambiance. The subtle reflections of light around the figure enhance the depth and three-dimensionality of the image.

* **Mood:** The image evokes a sense of quiet contemplation, solitude, and perhaps even a hint of melancholy. The combination of the human-like pose with the mechanical details creates a tension between the organic and artificial, raising questions about consciousness, identity, and the relationship between humans and technology.

Calm waters at sunset on Portra film. Kyiv, Oct 2023

In the stillness of a fleeting moment, a gaze meets its reflection — not quite aligned, not quite whole. The blurred hand reaches out as if to bridge the distance between what is seen and what is felt, between presence and absence. In the soft grayscale of memory, the eyes remain sharp, piercing, and real — holding onto a truth that words cannot contain.

A single frame can hold an entire story. This fine art black and white portrait captures a raw moment of reflection — the child’s eyes searching, questioning, holding emotion in silence. The mirrored reflection deepens the storytelling, pulling the viewer between presence and memory, reality and dream. Shot in dramatic monochrome, this moody portrait blends fine art photography with emotional truth, inviting connection, interpretation, and dialogue.

5 minute exposure during sunrise

#AbFav_DECEMBER

#AbFav_PHOTOSTORY

A Franz LISZT: CHRISTMAS-TREE SUITE.

Part 4 www.youtube.com/watch?v=1ek5Hz1Lb90

If, like me, you ears are tired of having all the pop Christmas music being rammed down your ears, but you still need beautiful sound caressing you, then, here you go!

Franz Liszt is a fine alternative.

Franz Liszt seems the last person who would write charming Christmas music.

Virtuoso fireworks, desperate passion and the smell of hell-fire was more his line.

But by 1881 he’d turned 70, and become a mild and introspective clergyman.

His music had become gentle, as this Christmas-tree Suite shows.

In the Autumn he went to stay in a modest hotel in Rome, where his grand-daughter Daniela kept him company.

On Christmas day he played the Suite for her and a few guests.

I have shoots where they give me things to photograph and never want it back, that means I can do my free photography when I have time, and after that, it goes to the charity shop.

Sprinkle a bit of festive angle-dust around you, you'll feel great!

I wish you all the very best, and thanx for all your kind words, time, comments and faves.

Very much appreciated. M, (*_*)

For more: www.indigo2photography.com

IT IS STRICTLY FORBIDDEN (BY LAW!!!) TO USE ANY OF MY image or TEXT on websites, blogs or any other media without my explicit permission. © All rights reserved

decorations, glitter, sparkling, trees, Christmas, studio, square, black-background, colour, "conceptual Art", "Nikon D7000", "magda indigo"

looking up the empty carriage from a low vantage point

This work is about Hong Kong and essentially an introspective examination of a phenomenon that I experienced during my stay in the vertical alpha city. By capturing urban and suburban places, I tried to explore the intriguing shifts in my spatial perception.

I will upload a small selection of photographs from the series here on Flickr.

As for the complete series, I was able to publish it as a limited edition photo book.

If you are interested, you can buy it here for 20,- €: www.buchhaltung-verlag.de/invisiblehorizons.html

Itajubá, MG

2004

or Even Know Notice

silent noise -

- antiaesthetic anaesthetic

Black White.

Up Down.

Left Right.

East West.

Call them as you want.

Here are my opposite poles.

Santa Chiara is a religious complex in Naples, Italy, that includes the Church of Santa Chiara, a monastery, tombs and an archeological museum. The Basilica church of Santa Chiara faces Via Benedetto Croce, which is the easternmost leg of Via Spaccanapoli. The church facade of Santa Chiara is diagonally across from the church of Gesù Nuovo.

The double monastic complex was built in 1313–1340 by Queen Sancha of Majorca and her husband King Robert of Naples, who is also buried in the complex. The original church was in traditional Provençal-Gothic style, but was decorated in the 17th century in Baroque style by Domenico Antonio Vaccaro. After the edifice was partially destroyed by a fire after the Allied bombings during World War II, it was brought back to the alleged original state by a disputed restoration, which was completed in 1953.

Famous is the cloister of the Clarisses, transformed in 1742 by Domenico Antonio Vaccaro with the unique addition of majolica tiles in Rococò style. The brash color floral decoration makes this cloister, with octagonal columns in pergola-like structure, likely unique and would seem to clash with the introspective world of cloistered nuns. The cloister arcades are also decorated by frescoes, now much degraded. (Wikipedia)

This was a series of placards I created sometime during my sophomore year in college. I find it interesting to note how fixated I was on death, violence, and suicidal issues.

Many Natural Born Killers references throughout. Very ominous, but mostly harmless, pseudo-introspective bullshit. Enjoy.

Being introspective isn't a bad thing. It's good to be thoughtful for a moment.

In other news. I now have over 10,000 fans on Facebook! Wow!

Hygge

I sometimes wonder, if I had been born with XX chromosomes instead of XY, would I still have this desire to "dress?" You know what I mean--a bit over the top, more makeup and jewelry, more prone to dresses, etc.

I'm just glad I am what I am :)

Come, woo me, woo me; for now I am in holiday humor and like enough to consent.

The Gehry Partners-designed apartment and townhouse complex known as Prospect Place, immediately south of the power station.

Jumping spider in an introspective moment

And there will be no more lies

Autorretrato en un dia de mierda.

Somehow, this young woman looks older than her years. One wonders if people from years gone by, who lived with death in a much more visceral way than we doing now (most of us), experienced life in a slightly different, more intense, more introspective way than we do now. Certainly I imagine some did.