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There are times when size most definitely matters...
Another entry from my photo recycling project. (cont.)
This small feeder is set apart from the other feeders, closer to a large holly bush to offer additional shelter, if needed.
This feeder holds sunflower meats, lucky them, and is of course, for the smaller birds. The Chickadees, Nuthatches and Tufted Titmice love this feeder but they are way too fast for me.
Yes, even the "larger" small birds are enjoying this feeder, like this female House Finch who actually hung there a few seconds to eat several of the seeds, and long enough for me to grab this shot.
Not as clear as I'd like since it's so small and far away, but it was nice to see the small birds using a feeder set aside just for them.
not Rich...not Poor...not a Preacher, nor a Teacher...not a poet or a prophet... whomever you may be... just Live Life the Best you can...& at the end of the day, you will SEE the only thing that really matters is the LOve in your Heart, and the Kindness & Compassion you shared and Gave Freely to Others ~
This weekend was set aside for the pursuit of ambition. I decided it perfectly plausible that I can change my entire life by sending out a few beautifully and wittily worded emails to choice and influential recipients in the art and literature worlds. They will see a ‘Flickr of something’ in me and hurriedly write back, begging for a meeting. So, I set about finding said influential recipients….. and I didn’t get much further.
During these, so called ‘weekends of ambition’ the first thing to do is to keep the Writers & Artists Yearbook 2010 firmly closed.
After half an hour leafing through it I had decided that it was probably simpler to have the creative part of my brain lobotomised so that I no longer feel any artistic yearnings. The chapter about the best lobotomy surgeon to consult is conveniently at the back of the book after you have looked through the rest and become thoroughly despondent.
The submission parameters are terrifying:
“Non-fiction German women’s issues only”
“Cricket themed poetry only, submit only via handwritten cricket pads”
“True stories of abused childhoods and violent erotica only, no cookbooks”
“Work must be printed, bound in hardback with dust jacket, already published and with a booker prize imminent.”
I hold the Sunday papers largely responsible for my extreme frustration; they feed me hope over my muesli. There will be, without fail two or three articles in the magazines telling you about an artist/singer/writer’s path to success. I always pore over this kind of article as though I am reading a treasure map, ‘Where is it, where is it?’ No, not the ‘X marks the spot’ but the oh so precious and only important bit where they tell you exactly how they made the transition from sitting in the corner of a greasy spoon ‘being creative and wishing’ to being signed up with some hot shot publisher, agent or gallery.
Guardian Weekend just the other day told of Carmen Herrera, an artist who became a success at the age of 94. We hear how she found her artistic direction, how her work was rejected from countless galleries, how she painted every day for hours, blah, blah, blah, cut to the chase….
‘After those first paintings were bought in 2004, word spread quickly and other pieces were sold. I was in shock for days. Now I have pieces in collections all over the world.’
Oh for god’s sake! Where was this work on display? I thought you said no one would show it. Who bought the pieces? How did word spread? Did you have an agent? How did you get an agent?! What the f**K?!!!!
So after burning The Writers and Artists Yearbook 2010, punching the bed 50 times and failing to send a single email to anybody of any importance I decided instead to go out.
Don’t whatever you do go into a branch of Hollister on one of your down days.
Remember that feeling at school when the popular, attractive kids made you feel like you had intruded on their private members club and tainted it with ugliness when you entered the common room? Want to relive it? Go to Hollister.
The California originated store’s signature interior look is ‘darkness’ and the desired atmosphere; a feeling of unwelcome intrusion on some kind of frat party.
I manage to get in without bashing my shins on the invisible vintage furniture but fail to avoid breaking through the middle of a gaggle of plaid shirted, pouty lipped girls and boys all busily flirting – the main part of their job description.
In fact this ploy works, they simultaneously intimidate whilst creating envy and longing in the oh so plain and uninteresting clientele. We all wish we could be in a world where the next opportunity to flirt by the denim cut offs is all that matters, and because of that feeling we buy 10 pairs of denim cut offs, convinced that they must be infused with this superficial magic.
Their cunning low light ploy is obvious, if you moan about the fact that you can’t see anything then you are too old to be in there. Similar to the blindfolding of racehorses as they go into the stalls it is also less stressful to fork out 50 quid on a t shirt if you can’t actually see it. I’m not sure why they actually have changing rooms as I could get changed in the corner of the shop without anyone seeing me and the only way I was actually able to judge how I looked when I did finally get into the equally dim changing room was by the disdainful sneer of the girl manning it. That must mean these jeans look bloody amazing! I’m having them!
I imagine a sight to behold at the end of the day when the shop shuts. 50 part-time models stagger out of the front doors blinking like pit ponies. They stumble home blue toed in flip flops with white sticks clacking, a long line, each holding onto the pubic mound surfing waistband of the model in front.
This is definately the best 16M I've seen so far. The kind owner asked me to take some pics of his car and therefore even paid our train tickets to Nottingham.
This 16M is based on the design of Valentino Rossis customised 16M:
magazine.ferrari.com/blog/2011/03/fast-designs/
Sadly the owner decided trying to sell his 16M and replace it with a 458 Spider. This is where I'd like to hear your opinion, what do you think should the owner keep his pretty unique 16M or should he swap it for a 458 Spider?
Also take a look at his old car: www.flickr.com/photos/46724328@N07/5003592279/in/photostream
Between those two 16M's he used to have an F50 as well :O
Yesterday, I decided to go up to Santa Barbara for the afternoon and into the evening. As I was looking for signs and seascapes, it dawned on me that Santa Barbara is scrollie heaven! No matter what happens, one must stop and enjoy the scrollies...
。
They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and particularly when it comes to art, Well I think this is crap, a big blue cockerel in Trafalgar Square to me, isn't art. It's a very popular piece though and drawers tourists and their cameras (and me...) from near by, maybe I'm not looking at it quite right.
Trafalgar Square, London
Thanks for taking the time to look, your comments are greatly appreciated.
Every time I walked past Arturo Di Modica (1941-2021)’s Charging Bull at Bowling Green, there were dozens of tourists swarming around the animal’s head to have their picture taken. Some people ignored the bull’s head and concentrated on the other end, usually cradling the taurine family jewels...
No matter who they follow
No matter where they lead
No matter how they judge us
I'll be everyone you need
No matter if the sun don't shine
Or if the skies are blue
No matter what the end is
My life began with you
Boyzone is making me all nostalgic ... their songs take me back to my school days when I'd listen to FM 100's 2-hour long english music based programme every night like crazies. Those were some days!
Beautiful!
Oh and the water splashed look amazing when viewed large :)
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Part of my vintage Japan stationery/printed matter collection; NFS.
I've had both for a long time - finally scanned tonight so I could put in archival storage.
I saw this lady selling colorful balloons,when we were caught in a traffic jam.When she came to know ,she is being clicked and is the center of attention,happily smiled and posed confidently(though not facing the camera)..soon,we had to move on.So missed few more good photographs,but glad to get this one.. :-)
Nothing else matters
Does anything else truly matter?
Rules, conditions and constraints, Implications and impositions, the weight of price or value...
Did you carve your life from the stone of your will,
Or did you let it be shaped by hands not your own?
by me
Photography and file processing; LC Nevermind(Luis Campillo) Artistic direction, MUAH, props, caption and model; Lis Xia
Gear; Nikon D2h & Voigtlander Color Skopar 20mm F3.5 SLII, 1600 ISO
Its all about scale. The Pantheon is huge. This shot was taken from under the portico of the Pantheon and really shows its size.
The square in front of the Pantheon is my absolute favorite. So romantic. When I saw that couple, I knew I had to grab a shot. There was not much light so I went with a severe underexposure and processed the crap out of it.
Really must be seen on black. Go ahead, hit "L". I dare you.
Happy Slider Sunday!
Here are a couple of Black Lives Matter murals in downtown Raleigh that were created after the death of George Floyd. These can be found on South Wilmington Street in Raleigh, NC.
treasuresoftraveling.com/black-lives-matter-murals-raleigh/
#TreasuresOfTraveling #NorthCarolina #NC #CityOfOaks #Raleigh #CityOfRaleigh #EndRacismNow #BlackLivesMatter #BLM #Mural #ArtWork #StreetArt #Art #Paintings #RDU #TravelNC #TravelRaleigh #WallMurals #WorldTraveler #TravelBlogger #TravelPhotography #GlobeTrotter #PassportStamps #TravelTheWorld #TourThePlanet #TheGlobeWanderer #TravelGram #Wanderlust #GuysWhoTravel #GayTraveler
=Some Years Ago. The Moth Cave=
"You mean to tell me you've never had a birthday party?" Drury asked incredulously. He lowered the auto-parts catalogue, and stepped away from his desk, his face smeared with axel grease from his latest back-firing Mothmobile.
Julian shrugged passively. "My parents were Jehovah Witnesses. They didn't believe in material possessions or celebrations, or, holidays for that matter."
"Right, well, we're fixing that!" Drury declared, patting him on the back enthusiastically.
"That's... Not necessary," Julian protested.
"Nonsense," Drury scoffed. "You're a Misfit. And the Misfits, know how to party."
~-~
The party in question, took place at Crazy Quilt's, the nightclub owned by Paul Dekker, the Misfits' eccentric tailor who ran a series of profitable (albeit morally dubious) ventures on the side under the guise of the bar's namesake.
"Hmph, well, it's not quite the Gotham Royal," Morty Drake stated, turning his nose up at the venue, as the young waiter guided the party to their seats.
"Yeah, well, when you pay off your debts, you can pick the venue... You know you don't need a pheasant pantry, right?" Len Fiasco rolled his eyes.
"A life without luxury is a life not worth living my uptight friend," Drake educated him.
"It's fine. Really," Day assured the pair, as the trio sat down at a corner booth. Drury, Chuck and Blake were already sat down, each wearing paper crowns on their heads. Drake and Fiasco were now looking over the drinks menus.
"Here: happy birthday, Jules, I baked you a banana cake. It's even got dates!" Drury grinned, as he handed him a neatly wrapped parcel. Blake, was already stifling a laugh, to Julian's confusion who looked down at the loaf and frowned.
"I appreciate the... gesture, but I don't like dates," he stated glumly.
"Pfffft! What are you doing calling yourself the fucking Calendar Man then," Blake chortled, as he raised his hand, and smacked Day's buttocks.
"Ah. A joke, I see."
"Here, drinks are on me! I'll have a Porn Star Martini; Sex on the Beach for the pencil," Blake pulled the waiter close, a goofy grin on his face.
"Drury, you have to try this whiskey," Drake spoke, ensuring that Blake would not order on his behalf too. "A Macallan for the boy and I, good man. 72 years, if you could be so kind."
"We're on a budget," Drury blushed..
"There's no such thing as a "budget" when you're celebrating," Drake toasted.
"Château du Blanc, please," Day asked politely.
"I, uh, I'll have a creme soda," Chuck said.
With the waiter out of earshot, Fiasco leaned in. "What the hell is a 'Sex on the Beach?'" he scowled.
"Course, you wouldn't know," Blake teased. "That's a joke, put down the steak knife. It's a cocktail, man. Jeez."
While the two bickered, Chuck saw his chance. "Here. Happy birthday," Chuck smiled as he passed a red and white present over to Julian.
"Thank you, Charlie. I.... take it Garfield couldn't make it?" Day presumed.
"Ah, no. No. He has that thing with Sionis; Black Mask. Guy's a real up and comer. Looking for muscle. Thought it could be a pretty good gig for us," Drury explained.
"Sionis? That lowly drug lord in the narrows?" Drake pondered.
"You didn't say he was a drug dealer, Dru," Chuck stated, a little wary of it.
"This is what I never understood..." Julian rolled his eyes. "Why do you even entertain the notion of dealing with these... mobsters. You would think, that after Bressi-"
"Hey," Drury snapped. "Tony Bressi was a two-bit gangster who thought he was better than me and the other capes. Sionis isn't like that. He's got a mask. He's got a gimmick. This is good for us! We finally have a freak on the high table, and it'd be stupid not to capitalise on that. It's good business: Gar, Len and I had that arrangement with Twag and Falcone way back, and that was solid!"
"I heard Falcone had Twag whacked," Len noted.
"That... doesn't matter. It's all good news guys, honest!"
==The Gotham Royal==
East Hallway: Floor 24
Time until Detonation: 46 minutes
Drury and Chuck led the way; followed by Sharpe, Flannegan and Joey. Lastly, Gar walked slowly behind them. Needham and Mayo had taken the party guests in the opposite direction, and even with the bomb still in play, Gar's mind began to wander.
Intuitively, Drury picked up on this behaviour, and halted the group's progression. "What is it?" he asked, as he walked over to his friend.
Gar, kicked the ground. "It's nothing, I-"
"Uh, hello! Fearless Bomb, anyone?" Sharpe waved at the pair impatiently.
"I... I gotta go back for Jenna," Gar decided.
"You... What-?" Drury stammered, but it was no use; Gar had already turned back in the direction of the second group
"Uh, no, you don't," Sharpe chased after him. "Half an hour ago, she thought you were going to propose, and instead, you gave her a fucking homework assignment. This is real shit we're in, Lynns. Whatever happened to bros before -"
"You know, it's a wonder more people don't shoot you in the head," Rigger shook his head in disbelief.
"Most people miss," Sharpe winked cheekily.
Though his mind was made up, this gave Gar pause. "I didn't- She- She didn't actually think I was gonna propose, right?"
"Go," Chuck assured him. "We'll go on ahead. Just, uh, send her our best."
"Their best," Flannegan corrected him. "I don't know the broad."
As Gar departed, Drury's comms device began buzzing with static. Already agitated, he put his finger to his ear, and cursed loudly. "Blake, I swear to god-"
"Now, now. Let's not bring Him into this. This mess is all yours," a cold voice cut him off.
"Julian..." Drury said in shock, turning to Chuck, his face pale.
"Julian-?" Chuck stammered. "How did you get this frequency?" he wondered.
"I took the earpieces from Thomas and the Ten-Eyed Man. They're unharmed, don't worry. They're much more useful to me alive, after all."
As he spoke, a horrifying thought entered Chuck's mind. "Wait, if you've got their comms, that means-"
"I'm afraid so. For what it's worth, it seemed like a very good pla-"
Chuck ripped his earpiece out, tossed it to the ground and crushed it with his heel. In turn, the other Misfits did the same. "Actually, I think I might just put mine in my pocket," Joey reasoned. "Might be handy later."
"Right. Yeah... Probably shouldn't have smashed mine," Chuck admitted.
"Probably not, no... Guys, I hate to be the pessimist here, but... what now?" Joey wondered. "Jules knows we're coming."
"Gar could be walking straight into an ambush..." Drury shook his head.
"And we're all gonna be huffing crazy gas if you don't stop Day. You three need to get in that penthouse, we'll back up Lynns," Flannegan stated, gesturing at Sharpe. "Besides. I owe Krill a rematch," Flannegan smirked, as he and Sharpe strutted off.
As they prepared their next move, a fist chapped on the bathroom door opposite them. "Hello? Is it safe to come out yet?" Booker's nasally voice called out.
Chuck, Joey and Drury each looked at one another. "No."
==East Stairwell: Floor 19==
By the time Gar had caught up to them, Needham had already taken the grumbling ensemble of party guests down three flights of stairs; L-Ron was lagging behind, pushed forward by a rather high spirited Mayo; Franco was muttering obscenities to anyone who would listen (namely, Jenna, Rosso and Gaige) and the Great White Shark was whistling sea shanties.
"Jenna! Jenna!" Gar called out.
"What does that bacon-faced prick want now?" Franco whispered to Rosso.
"Hey, Eric, can you give us a minute?" Gar halted the group.
"Sure," Needham shrugged. "Let's keep moving, people," he ordered.
"Gar? What's wrong?" Jenna's brow furrowed. "Are you alright?"
Gar twiddled his thumbs, avoiding her eye-line. "No. I mean, I am, but listen; I know all this is crazy. You went to this party, I dunno, to escape the craziness of our lives. And instead there's a calendar killer, and a really irritating Brit. It's mad. But it's more bearable, I think, I hope, if we face it... Face it..."
"What is it, Gar?" she smiled expectantly.
His eyes bulged as he noticed a familiar figure take aim at him. "Duck!"
Before Jenna could react, Gar had pushed her to the ground, as a purple, ice-cold polka dot soared overhead, where he and Jenna had been standing just moments before: Krill, had found them.
"'Ello, lads. Heard ya were looking for me," he smirked, as he hurled a second dot at the stunned party guests; one Needham halted with a well-aimed web.
"Into the hallway!" Needham ordered the crowd, as he pushed White through the fire door.
Gar helped Jenna to her feet, and took a defensive stance against Krill. "Go with them," he instructed her, as he gestured half heartedly to Franco. "I got this," he added, thoroughly unsure of himself.
"Sure you do," Krill chuckled dismissively. "Sure you- Ow!"
Gar's brow furrowed; A white baton had struck Krill on the side of his head. Sharpe, was sliding down the banister towards them, while Flannegan followed along on foot.
"You... shouldn't have been able to hit me," Krill rubbed the fresh bump on his head.
"I'm full of surprises!" Sharpe grinned as he knocked Krill through the fire door with a flying kick: Despite Gar's best efforts, the fight had carried over into the hallway. Needham and Mayo had pushed most of the guests onwards, but Franco's ensemble had elected to stay behind and watch the fight.
"Away from the guests, you moron!" Gar snapped at Sharpe.
"Oops?" Sharpe apologised with mild sincerity.
Meanwhile, Flannegan was throwing scattered, furious punches at Krill, with none of them finding their mark; With every punch the Misfits threw his way, Krill simply redirected the blow to hit one of their own; Gar aimed an uppercut at Krill, and struck Flannegan instead; Sharpe aimed his leg at Krill's groin and instead incapacitated Gar; Flannegan attempted to headbutt Krill, and instead collided with a brick wall; it was a disaster.
In a last ditch effort, Gar unhooked an incendiary grenade from his belt, and tossed it at Krill, who diverted the explosive towards a charging Flannegan; as the resultant explosion knocked him down, the disruptor slid out of Flannegan's grip. Not appreciating what the device really was, Krill kicked it aside and let out an amused chuckle. He knelt beside Flannegan, and peeled a familiar, buzzsaw-like dot off of his suit. "Now," he smirked at Flannegan. "Am I the only one having an intense case of deja vu right now?" he joked.
Gaige, glanced back at the fight, and against his better judgement, broke away from the crowd.
Puzzled, Franco clutched the Physician's arm. "What are you doing? This is exactly what we wanted," he smiled. "Let that calendar creep and his goons have their fun, when they're done, we can have Gotham- you and-"
Gaige nudged past him, and stomped off in Krill's direction, Walker's words ringing in his head.
"Where are you going-? Physician!" Franco protested. "Ah, fuck this!" he exclaimed, thrusting his fist through the plaster on the nearby wall. "Physician, what are you doing?!" he panicked, chasing after him.
Ignoring Franco's tantrum, the 'Physician' calmly picked the disruptor up from off the ground and latched it onto Krill's back.
"What the- Who the fuck are you-?!" Krill exclaimed nervously, desperately trying to remove the now chirping device from off his person.
"Physician!" Franco snapped defiantly.
"I'm not The Physician, son," The man warned. "I'm The Doctor."
"Doctor! Doctor who?" Krill protested, now fruitlessly trying to open a portal.
The Doctor smiled, pulled off his ascot, and wrapped it around his head. Then, he reached into his pocket, pulled out a replacement gold tie, and tied it around his neck. "Doctor Gaige, you polka dotted prick," he announced as he pulled his fist back, and launched it at Krill's face.
"Oh." Krill stumbled backwards; blood trickling down his face. "So... so does anyone actually stay in prison these days, or is it just a fucking bed and breakfast?"
"Holy crap, Gaige?! Aw, man, Drury's gonna freak out!" Sharpe exclaimed. Having already put the pieces together himself, Gar simply glanced at him, and shook his head.
"Hey, Dickhead," a gruff voice called up at Krill, and before he could react, Flannegan's own fist had collided with Krill's jaw.
Intent to join the winning team and hoping to get back in Jenna's good graces, Franco smirked at his date and advanced forward. He picked up a discarded suitcase and threw it against Krill's back. 'Y'know, something chivalrous. Romantic, even.' That notion soon dissipated as Krill turned back, scowled, and drop kicked him across the hallway with damning ease.
"Tsk, tsk. Naughty Davey. Naughty. Leave the fighting to the professionals," he tutted.
As Franco reached for his pistol, Krill shot a pink dot at him, striking him in the side. Franco peeled back his dinner jacket, and scowled at the fresh, deep gash the dot's ridged edge had left.
"Davey!" Jenna screamed.
As she motioned to help him, however, she suddenly found herself unable to move, as though she had been rooted to the spot. Rosso stared back at her, and marched over to Franco in her stead, placing a hand over his wound and pressing down. Hard.
The two of them locked eyes for a moment, and in that instant, they resolved to fix this the only way they knew how: Franco reached into his bloodstained jacket and retrieved his phone; his final attempt to get control of the situation and of Gaige and Jenna. "Hello? This the Mothkiller?" he asked in a hushed tone into the receiver. His answer, was the heavy breathing of a longtime smoker. That confirmed it.
Franco cleared his throat, and continued. "I... I think I have some information you might be interested in."
~-~
The Misfits now knew what they had to do: Without his portals, Krill was just another C-Lister with a gimmick. And those, they knew how to deal with.
As his desperation grew, Krill kept frantically ripping the dots off his suit, and hurling them at the pair, one after another; Gar ducked; Gaige blocked them; Flannegan took two to the chest but kept moving; Sharpe leapt over them one after the other.
And then, Krill looked down at his costume: He'd ran out of dots. Flannegan grabbed him by the scruff of his neck, and flung him against the far window; glass shattering as he made impact. He reached for a shard of broken glass, pulled Sharpe towards him, and held the shard close to his throat.
"Go on then!" he warned the Misfits. "Bring it on, you dicks! You think I won't kill this prick? I killed Manga Khan! And guess what, I liked him! He didn't hit me in the head with a fucking billy club neither."
"Hem-hem," a tinny voice called out.
Krill's eyes darted feverishly towards the approaching figure. "They really don't pay me enough for this," he gasped. "Alright, Johnny Five, what have you got?"
L-Ron, bowed his metal head. "Excuse me, but you did not kill Lord Manga."
"Eh-?" Krill's mouth twitched.
"Lord Manga, isn't dead," L-Ron restated. "Lord Manga is an energy being. Essentially formless. And you, took the head off of his favourite armour."
A cloud of pink mist erupted through the broken window frame, wrapped itself around Krill's face, and pulled him and Sharpe through the open window.
"No!" Gar cried, as he ran over to the broken windowsill. "I can't- I-"
He paused. "I don't believe it."
Krill and Sharpe had landed on the cloth awning above the hotel lobby, and though they were both worse for wear, they were breathing: Sharpe's powers had saved them both.
==Sionis Penthouse: Floor 48==
"Abner? Abner, come in. Krill!" Day bellowed down his comms device. No answer.
"See," Blake chuckled. "That's the one thing you need to know about the Misfits, pal-"
"I know everything there is to know about the Misfits," Day snapped at him.
"It's that, we may be assholes, but we're persistent assholes."
"I- I don't think I'm an asshole," Ten stated.
Day's lip curled; his head rocked from side to side, and it looked like he might throw up. Then his body stiffened. "Noted," he said softly.
==Jumbo Carson's Apartment==
"WHAT?!" Carson bellowed, flipping over a table in blinded rage. "Walker's back in Gotham? Why the hell did no one tell me that?!"
"Dad, calm down," Bridget pleaded, placing a hand on his shoulder. He shrugged it off.
"No!" he dismissed her, tossing the Christmas tree onto its' side. "Who does Day think he is? Trying to cut me out of the action? Me?! How dare he! The Royal's like ten minutes away! We could've coordinated! I could've been there! I approached him: me! But no, he's too good for me! First, he denies me, then he bosses me around, and now he won't even give me the time of day! Fuck him!"
Carson set the phone down, and took a deep ragged breath.
"He's dead, Bridget," he growled. "That bald little prick is dead. What about it, Hayden? Fancy a trip out?"
The pirate, nodded excitedly. "Silly little red man throwing quite the fit.
Silly little red man, hasn't thought it through a bit.
So you take the silly little man, all dressed in black and red
And you grab the red man by the throat and you cut off his head."