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The Greek historian Herodotus wrote that "Egypt was the gift of the Nile". Silt deposits from the Nile made the surrounding land fertile because the river overflowed its banks annually. The Ancient Egyptians cultivated and traded wheat, flax and other crops around the Nile.
The Nile is a major north-flowing river in North Africa, generally regarded as the longest river in the world and has long been used to transport goods along its length.
While most Egyptians still live in the Nile valley, the 1970 completion of the Aswan High Dam ended the summer floods and their renewal of the fertile soil, fundamentally changing farming practices.
Willie Nelson wrote "Crazy". One night he needed to pay a bar tab, so he sold the rights to Patsy Cline's manage for fifty dollars. She made millions from it and he didn't get a cent.
Continuation of the series.
As I wrote under the previous photo, now I put some photos taken during the Equality Parade.
I am very grateful to the nice people who allowed themselves to be photographed.
As I plunged into the crowd, I noticed this wonderful girl.
A colorful, rainbow flag and well-matched glasses. The most important, however, is a great smile and openness to other people, which creates a friendly atmosphere.
“Life' wrote a friend of mine, 'is a public performance on the violin, in which you must learn the instrument as you go along.”
~ E.M. Forster, A Room with a View
When even silence has color.
Colorful autumn twilight.
Natalia Mayorova wrote a text for us. It contains interesting thoughts that I like, a description of Nature that I feel. And this series of photographs will be a clear illustration of these words.
“Nature is the most powerful source of energy, a true, natural beauty that nourishes, feeds, gives birth. And creates.
There are people, urban, who do not love nature, do not understand its essence, do not feel its energy. These are people who do not hear themselves, do not respect their origins, and therefore deny their essence.
To love nature is like loving parents. The call in the Lion King was: “Remember! Remember who you are! ” This cartoon is about the connection with nature, with ancestors, with the genus. Matryoshka includes other nesting dolls. We include our past. To love or not to love is not a matter of taste. This is a health issue.
People accustomed to the metropolis are packed in plastic. Seeing a living environment, they are lost, afraid, hiding. They are watered with mosquito repellent, put on raincoats, cut down trees. Left alone with nature, they fear its open spaces. And all because they understand: they are not great.
Pride is leaving. Arrogance. Greed. In the face of the elements you understand your true significance. You are small, feeble, trembling. And this is not bad.
Nature is the best trainer in the world. We go to courses, to a psychotherapist, ask questions. We answer them. But there is no base. Without having worked at the first, natural level, one cannot understand oneself, one does not become integral. Do not build the tenth floor without knowing the ground.
Going to nature, you go to fears. To pain. To longing. To the difficulties. But leaving the forest, leaving fields, mountains, you change roles, take off masks. You breathe with your chest. You breathe in your body. You’re finally living. ”
You wrote a romance, slow danced
Your way into my hands before I knew
You found my deepest weakness
Couldn't keep a secret that it was you!
Hey Sweet Swankie Talker!!
Swank is waiting for You:
More info, music and photos:
Über allen Gipfeln
Ist Ruh,
In allen Wipfeln
Spürest du
Kaum einen Hauch;
Die Vögelein schweigen im Walde.
Warte nur, balde
Ruhest du auch.
Up there all summits
are still.
In all the tree-tops
you will
feel but the dew.
The birds in the forest stopped talking.
Soon, done with walking,
you shall rest, too.
In 1780 Goethe wrote this poem in this wooden cabin.
In 1831, six month before he died, he visited this place for a last time.
www.goethezeitportal.de/index.php?id=2366
wrote that terrific testimonial for me !Thank you my dear friend ! I've been honoured as well as spoilt ! :))
They met in a small cabin behind the dunes of the sea
Riding the raw sea storms as warm as can be
He wrote for her poems in brandy dark ink
While she slept sated by the ember’s of their fire
A lilting arabesque line to the letters of his love
He fell as she rose; his night mostly her day
She read when she awoke
Bright fingers trembling the parchment
He slept now in the perfume folds of her cast off gowns
Dreaming of her reading his willow down words
With the power to take them far, far away
To a dawn valley of Italy
A hidden village abandoned in an age of eternal May
Or so some would say
Barefoot they crossed the wayward river course
Her step sinking soft in the cool silt flow
That slowly covered the she forms he’d once carved
Returning now wetly and with such sweet ache to the stone
Up the aqua dawn stair
Under tunnels of rosemary bloom
Over clover bed treads
To a roofless room where dawn clouds washed the last stars away
A meadow bed damp with the sweetest of dew
Embrace of the water song
Deeper kisses to the awakening dove shudder coo
So warm the glow burst light
That surrounded their delight
All woven with the shimmer sighs
Only the dream weavers can sing
Then limb twining slumber stolen in the sate
‘Til sun stab shafts awoke them
Rising above the crumble brick line so fine
Her bright flare eyes smiling
Back into the channels of time
Remembering all those archetype echoes
With womb tender bling
The last page lilted down
To the sea cabin floor
With the sound of him stretching so warmly awake
For a few hours they mingled
Their waking time thus shared
Beach walks all bundled
And hot chocolate breaks
Build up the fire
Retreat under covers
For here the sea storm rises
All over again
I wrote to you each and every day of those two years of your absence and hoped that somehow you would hear my voice along your travels. I never sent the letters, but every morning I would imagine the words you would say to me in response. I tried to picture the way you would laugh at the things I hadn't meant to say and sigh when I begged for your return. But each frame of memory was corrupted with the thought that wherever your heart took you at that moment, you were recklessly unaware of how much we needed you, and how you carelessly left behind everyone who believed in you with nothing left in their broken hearts but empty hope.
It's been far too long now.
35mm, edited? weird.
Don't forget to add my favorite model and best friend/creative genius Madison Young as a contact!
Click the picture please and view it large.
Here is another oldie and the caption I wrote at the time of RP.net:
While exploring the remains of the old Boston and Maine Hillsboro Branch one late summer day I was quite surprised to find this sitting seemingly in someone's backyard. Near milepost 27 (from Nashua) scuttled away on a siding this 1953 EMD product rests on former home rails. In a past life she was the Boston & Maine #1228 and then was renumbered by Guilford to #1423 before being retired.
She is owned by the Milford-Bennington railroad which until 2010 regularly ran rock trains between South Lyndeborough, NH and Milford for Granite State Concrete. A dispute with Pan Am in 2010 prohibited the MBRX from running since the southern three miles between Wilton (end of their state owned line) and Milford is over Pan Am trackage rights. The MBRX's sole running unit is a former CN SW900, and it doesn't appear 1423 has turned a wheel in some time. No trains have regularly plied the rails in Greenfield since 2005 when the Wilton-Scenic Railroad closed shop after a brief three year revival of the line for tourist service. The last regular freight movements were in the early 1980s when Guilford abandoned service to the last remaining customer at the far end of the line, Monadnock Paper in Bennington, NH.
The rails, however, are safely in the ownership of the state of New Hampshire ready should the opportunity to resume rail service ever arise. The building beyond that looks like a home is actually a daycare center in the heavily modified former B&M freight house. I must say though, if I was a kid at that place I wouldn't care much for the playground outside when something so much more fascinating was at hand to climb on, don't you agree?
Update: I returned here in 2021 and the daycare center is gone and the property is weedgrown and appears to be a private home. Tge locomotive has been moved to a secure spot inside the quarry in South Lyndeborough and is on the process of a volunteer based restoration.
Greenfield, New Hampshire
Friday September 19, 2008
for me may 8th 1986 was particularly memorable... it was the day i had my first "date" with v... when i met v at the wedding a few weeks before , i knew that i was interviewing back in dallas on may 9th... so i asked v out to dinner on the night of may 8th... and she accepted...
that day on my drive up in my pos plymouth turismo i listened to prince tapes all the way from austin... i called v as soon as i got to the beautiful harvey hotel... i said hello to harvey as i checked into my room for the night... v gave me directions to the bar where we would meet... minutes later the sky opened up... and the rain poured down... i went out to my car... switched on the radio... then a song i didn't particularly love omd's "if you leave" blasted out...
i met her at the bar... v was beautiful... really not so different from today... my heart just melted... we went out to her little honda prelude... where she promptly pulled out a tiny hammer and held it threateningly as she joked that she was armed... from that point on we giggled the rest of the night... we went to a tex-mex cafe on knox-henderson... had a few margaritas... laughed like we were insane... and shared fajitas... i know at some point food was thrown... i had never had so much fun at dinner... i knew i was in love... i know v felt it too... but she was in a relationship... and i am a gentleman... so our night ended with v dropping me off at my car... and the rain poured down again in buckets... and as i got in my car and turned the key, omd blasted from the radio again... v wore anne klein perfume in those days... and it hung on my clothes... made it feel like she was still there... i hoped it would never fade... as soon as i got to my hotel, i wrote v a long letter... i wanted to tell her we had to be together... that it was right... i didn't... that gentleman thing... and that anne klein... it was intoxicating... i maybe managed a couple of hours of sleep that night...
the next day, i was hungover and even wore my wayfarers during a large chunk of the interview... i never expected to get an offer... then at the end of the interview, they asked me to name my price... i thought i was aiming high when i gave them my number... they didn't even blink an eye... (yep that still bothers me!!)... in another month, i was living in dallas... and for the next year, when v&i would meet up for a quick dinner or a drink... the skies would darken and the rain would fall... floods... and i loved that woman... and her anne klein that made me smile for hours afterward... and i wrote her twice a week... and that damn song... every time i'd see the woman i would love for the rest of my life...
..mail ..Wanda wrote she had never trained a horse as good as Rhafntinna. She said usually lunging takes her about a week. She done all three events with Rhafntina within 1 1/2 hours
The next day Wanda worked with her for 2 hours, she ground drove her after lungeing her with no problem, and then got on her and rode her for 10 minutes, Rhafntina walked
around like she had been rode many times before.
A gathering (group? gaggle? horde?) of silos.
Manitoba, Canada
I wrote a blog post about this trip in February/March 2022. If you'd like to see some behinds the scene shots, video and read some stories about how I shot these images, take a look.
I love photographing on the Canadian Prairies and I've been travelling there to do so since 2013. If you'd like to see my other Prairie images, feel free to take a look at the album.
Where would we be without a simple thing like a pen? - The first people to invent the pen as a basic tool to write were the ancient Egyptians. - On May 25, 1827, Romanian inventor Petrache Poenaru received patent from the French government for a fountain pen which had a barrel made from a large swan quill. In America in 1848, Azel Storrs Lyman got a patent for a fountain pen with “method of supplying ink to pens from a reservoir in the handle.
bigger-->>-->>View On Black
it came it came !! I wrote it !! I wrote it !!!! I can't believe it !!
if wasn’t in my pjs and with the plate in my mouth id shoot right now but there's no way I'm shooting right now! So I'm posting this outtake.
I was gonna post the right photo from the 3 of these I've posted but then decided on this one I think the pose is allot more confident and I like how I posted that first photo of me blurred and where I've come to
I wish I had what I wrote in English but I don’t and I think it will be a while till I translate it. But I really felt my grandmother here with me helping me and I even cried while writing it I just feel like " this is it" and I've only used 1 paragraph from what I've written in the past 4 days, I just sat and blurred it all out. Just felt amazing like I said when it comes to me it comes and when it doesn’t it doesn’t… and ill shit up now
Contrary to what I believed and wrote, I still have some photographs to upload from the last time I was in Venice, in late February 2016.
In theory, I was there for a three–day business trip and seminar. We were quartered at the Hilton Hotel on Giudecca Island where we stayed and had all–day sessions and meetings and assorted conferences. However, I was not really concerned by all that activity, and taking advantage of the fact that at least three or four sessions were going on at the same time in various conference rooms, I sneaked out with my camera and a couple of lenses to walk alone along the magnificent and blissfully deserted streets of Venice.
It was late February, the Carnival was over and the tourist season hadn’t really begun. It was coldish, damp and mostly cloudy, sometimes rainy, with a rare glimpse of sunshine... but man, what a glorious time I had!
Sometime soon, once this pandemic affair is over, I will have to go again, but this time with my wife, as it will be twice more enjoyable that way.
Many small back streets in Venice end like this: at a canal.
This is an original song I wrote, played and recorded straight to my camera. It is an impromtu performance that took only ten minutes in it's entirety. I have now made a slide show from my photographs over the original video which was hurriedly positioned and “focused” out of my bedroom window ; 0) The slide show, however, took many hours!! I am still teaching myself how to do this and discovering that I had to reformat a lot of my photos in a different programme because they were not all standard size and some of the original video was showing through was an additional challenge … : 0) I have left the original recording of my vocals and music because I was totally absorbed in the moment and anyone who knows the “method” of my writing will know that my songs are written with the same stream of consciousness as my poems and stories. Stream of consciousness, in my opinion and experience, is a contradiction in terms as it actually flows from my subconscious. It cannot therefore be recreated without losing the essence of that spontaneity.
“The essence of pleasure is spontaneity.”
- Germaine Greer
I HAD NO DOUBTS
In the early morning rain
I wished upon a rainbow
I wished that you were here
to wipe away my tears
to free me from my fears
In the early morning shadows
I pray that you will find me
in the green and grassy meadows
where you lay with me my dear
when you made our love so clear
I had no doubts then baby
no everything seemed so real
why didn't you tell me then baby
it was just a dream
and this is all we had
In the early morning sunlight
the ground was soft with dew
I pined for love and gladness
I mourned for loss of you
I don't know what to do
I had no doubts then darling
back when everything seemed so real
but if it was just a pipe dream sweetheart
I'd rather have this dream than none at all
then I'd rather have this dream than none at all.
- AP – © Copyrighted material. All rights reserved. All components of this video including lyrics, music and images are entirely the intellectual property of the author. Please do not copy or download.
Ted Hughes, Poet Laureate, wrote this poem after seeing a picture of six friends, who all died in the First World War, taken at these falls .
Six Young Men
The celluloid of a photograph holds them well -
Six young men, familiar to their friends.
Four decades that have faded and ochre-tinged
This photograph have not wrinkled the faces or the hands.
Though their cocked hats are not now fashionable,
Their shoes shine. One imparts an intimate smile,
One chews a grass, one lowers his eyes, bashful,
One is ridiculous with cocky pride -
Six months after this picture they were all dead.
All are trimmed for a Sunday jaunt. I know
That bilberried bank, that thick tree, that black wall,
Which are there yet and not changed. From where these sit
You hear the water of seven streams fall
To the roarer in the bottom, and through all
The leafy valley a rumouring of air go.
Pictured here, their expressions listen yet,
And still that valley has not changed its sound
Though their faces are four decades under the ground.
This one was shot in an attack and lay
Calling in the wire, then this one, his best friend,
Went out to bring him in and was shot too;
And this one, the very moment he was warned
From potting at tin-cans in no-man's land,
Fell back dead with his rifle-sights shot away.
The rest, nobody knows what they came to,
But come to the worst they must have done, and held it
Closer than their hope; all were killed.
Here see a man's photograph,
The locket of a smile, turned overnight
Into the hospital of his mangled last
Agony and hours; see bundled in it
His mightier-than-a-man dead bulk and weight:
And on this one place which keeps him alive
(In his Sunday best) see fall war's worst
Thinkable flash and rending, onto his smile
Forty years rotting into soil.
That man's not more alive whom you confront
And shake by the hand, see hale, hear speak loud,
Than any of these six celluloid smiles are,
Nor prehistoric or, fabulous beast more dead;
No thought so vivid as their smoking-blood:
To regard this photograph might well dement,
Such contradictory permanent horrors here
Smile from the single exposure and shoulder out
One's own body from its instant and heat.
Ted Hughes
I would have liked to have been able to include all the falls in the shot ,but it was very busy and the intent of my shot required no one to be sat drinking beer in it . Shall have to have another go another day .
The more times I read this the more I understand ... the picture is painted with no need of the actual ... if you need the picture on first read ,then read again and I,m sure you will understand.
As I wrote in a previous post, the beauty of a forest in the mist is something incomparable, but recognize the shapes of the trees in the forest is even more exciting. Like an old friend this huge beach is "returned" to me even I wasn't sure about his position. This is a tree that I have photographed in 2015 during my first WS in Spain and I "met" him again but this time in the mid of an unforgettable misty morning.
Special Thanks to Gitzo for the support!
For Prints WS and Instruction please visit my website www.enricofossati.it
X As I wrote in a previous post our visit to the Cap Tourmente National Wildlife Area in Quebec province was very disappointing. We had gone to the nature reserve specifically to see the Snow Geese but the only people who could get close to the Geese were people paying to shoot them. As compensation at least we had an opportunity to enjoy the autumn colour on the cliffs that surround the Cap Tourmente.
I usually take a deep breath when opening the guardian news page for the first time each morning expecting some bad news from somewhere. So it was nice to click on this morning and find something positive. Thank you Alabama for starting my day with a smile. If my American contacts think I am just a political nerd, the British TV and press have given the Alabama senate race more coverage than any state election I can ever remember. It was such a strange election at least by our standards; it made a good news story
THANKS FOR YOUR VISIT AND FOR TAKING THE TIME TO WRITE A COMMENT IT’S MUCH APPRECIATED AND SO MUCH MORE INTRESTING THAN JUST GIVING A FAVE
MAN RAY WROTE... HE WANTS HIS IDEAS BACK!
Well recognized as a photographer, surrealist, DADAist, Man Ray's coup de gras was a series of black & gray abstractions known as RAYOGRAPH's which were composed without the use of a camera, simply by placing objects on sensitized paper in a dark room, and exposing them briefly to a single ray of light.
Created for the 15th Weekly Contest on Man Ray!
Theme: Daisies. All contestants work with one original photo which can be viewed here:www.flickr.com/groups/man-ray/discuss/72157600717801991/
Wrote a post today on my blog, really venting but also answering a question I get asked a lot.
I get asked often, ''Where is a good store to get this'' and I ask where have you been...It is always the same small group of stores. Boring!
Those stores are great but nowadays in SL, there are a lot more with amazing quality product and are so under-rated in my eyes.
editorialclarity.com/2013/05/05/some-under-rated-stores/
BROADEN YOUR HORIZONS!
#AbFav_PINK_ACCENTS_
Again somebody wrote to me how, on a stressful day, they open my latest upload, they feel uplifted and positive... the world becomes a better place... I'm only quoting.
Wow, that is achieving my goal! All I want...
I am happy! ¡Olé!'
Fuchsia flowers, some of the last from the garden, the were dangling precariously in the strong wind… I took pity on them lol.
So delicate and pretty and in a lovely colour-combinations!
From a dark pink to a dusky pink.
Fuchsia is a genus of flowering plants that consists mostly of shrubs or small trees.
The first, Fuchsia triphylla, was discovered on the Caribbean island of Hispaniola (present day Dominican Republic and Haiti) in 1703 by the French Minim monk and botanist, Charles Plumier.
He named the new genus after the renowned German botanist Leonhart Fuchs.
The Fuchsia flower has four long, slender sepals and four shorter, broader petals; in many species the sepals are bright red and the petals purple (colours that attract the hummingbirds that pollinate them), but the colours can vary from white to dark red, purple-blue, and orange...
Thank you for your time and comments, greatly 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
PINK, Fuchsia, flower, sepals, petals, studio, colour, square, black-background, Hasselblad, Zeiss, "Magda indigo"
Well I wrote your name in the sand
And watched the waves take it away
I think a piece of my heart went with it
And it's all right
Just a simple one from tonight, nothing special. The sunset was gorgeous at the lake though this evening so I had to capture it.
I'll upload more tomorrow. Now, time to go get a slurpie at 7/11 :)
Have a good night everyone!
We nearly lost Flynn this week. I wrote last week that we were getting worried that due to his probable middle/inner ear infection causing the poor lad to feel dizzy, sick & be in pain, it was hard to get him to eat or drink. I took him to the vet first thing Monday & she agreed Flynn should be put on a drip for the day, so he could get extra fluids & they'd give him pain meds & start antibiotics, now we were pretty confident we knew what the issue was. Just as I was about to leave, she asked about taking bloods - as a precaution & I said OK. We both thought likely nothing remarkable would show up, as his bloods less than a week earlier had been alright. I thought I'd be picking Flynn up that evening.
However, I got a call soon after & it turned out Flynn's kidney values were now absolutely dire - he was close to death. The vet's only "good" news was that she believed Flynn effectively had an acute kidney injury, due to dehydration brought on by his ear problem & that sort of thing can sometimes be corrected. Ultimately, Flynn was in the vets from Monday until Friday afternoon. His kidney function HAS improved a good amount but numbers are still quite a lot higher than they were prior to this. The vets felt they'd done all they could & besides Flynn, who had been remarkably good, was starting to show signs of stress & wanted out.
We can't really know how much longer Flynn has sadly but just the fact that he's survived this long & made it back home is a miracle. I keep looking at him & wanting to cry with relief. Dogs who go into acute kidney failure have around a 40-60% chance of survival & Flynn's a senior (had his 12th birthday while in the vets this Tues), with one kidney, which had pre-existing issues. It's possible Flynn's kidney will heal itself a little more, or at least stabilise & we can keep him relatively OK for a while... or it could sadly be that too much damage was done & now off the drip, he could worsen fairly fast. There's no way to tell, so we'll take each day as it comes & hope for the best. For now, Flynn's very glad to be home (& I am unbelievably glad for that too!) & he's holding steady. His ear seems to be improving on antibiotics, he's eating some food, drinking plenty & Flynn's acting more himself than this time last week, so that's all good. This pic was taken today, Sunday, while he enjoyed some time in the garden.
(I've included what everyone said - well, highlights from them- including Niobe's, who had to leave before she could post what she would say, and notes from the letter Fallon wrote Laz. I also added Artika and Cata's internals, because they pay tribute to Laz - and I'll miss that guy. This RP impacted me harder than any other, and this funeral was one of the most beautiful things of all time. What a fantastic story.)
EAMON CALE:
"I hope... we will do more than mourn this man tonight. I ask that we pay tribute to a lad who was, indeed, larger than life, and far better than this city deserved. For all his... bluster and blow..." He smiles then, melancholy but gentle. "He was a rarity in this day and age, a man who still believed in compassion, in the protection of those who could not protect themselves, in fairness, equality." Eamon Cale's dark eyes linger on each face in turn. "Laz believed in making the world a better place than which he'd found it. Ye can look to his civil efforts to improve Midian's standard of living, his tireless work toward a common cause--that no one, regardless of race, creed, faith or genetics deserves to be locked away by the world, and forgotten here on this island with no chance nor opportunity to improve their lot. He showed others how to find their fecking bootstraps and draw themselves up again."
Eamon Cale's voice quiets again. "But 'tis as Captain of the Watch, guardian of this church, that -I- will remember Laz best. He came to this church, -drawn- here, he said, by a feeling that defied all logic... drawn to a Church and a faith that was not his own. And over the course of our friendship--over many a whiskey where he'd tell me I was mad for half the things I did... or punch me for the same--" He smiles briefly and resists the urge to run his palm over his jaw. "He came to share his belief with me, that God had spared him thus far, because his work was not yet done." Eamon Cale searches their faces. "Redemption," he says softly. "And a chance to be the good man that had been inside him all along. 'Twas this man who became my friend..." His voice catches, quiet now and hoarse. "A far better friend than I will ever deserve. He saved my life, in more ways than one. He defied the Legion for this parish, and for his family, the Pride. He gave me an incredible gift..." He pauses, jaw working. "And stood beside me as brother on the best day of my life." …
Eamon Cale looks to the door at the front of the church. If he tries, he can still see Laz standing there, back to the door, watching over the Mass. That damned cigar poking from the corner of his cocky grin. "'I have fought the good fight,' the Bible says." His gaze comes to rest on those gathered to say goodbye. "And so he did. 'I have finished my course. I have kept the faith.' He did all this and more. And so I say goodnight, ye mad bastard, with no doubt of God's words when ye stand before him." His vision blurs. He doesn't care. "'Well done, good and faithful servant. Lay down your burden. And welcome home.'"
ALRIC BRAVIN:
“…But Lazarus Lowenstark was my friend. Midian, it is said, is a den of evil, a gathering place of the wicked, and a neverending hole of darkness - or those were the first words I ever heard uttered of this place before I arrived. Laz was a light in that darkness. Someone who saw the evil, understood it, and yet, managed to stay good. Even managed to find good in those of us who might think that we were swallowed whole by the cesspool."
"He saw that good in me. When I arrived to this place, I will not lie, the darkness drew me. The promise of anonymity and a cessation to the boredom that I suffered from. I was not a good man. Still do not believe that I am, but Laz was one of a small number of people who told me differently, and perhaps performed the impossible. He made me believe it. It was something he was capable of doing - to show people that they were not their circumstances." He paused, taking another deep breath. "He taught me that sometimes you can't fight destiny. You can't fight fate putting you where you're supposed to be, but how you get there, and what you do when you get there, that's up to you… Laz was - is, one of the greatest men I've ever known, and I will never forget him. He protected my family, stood by my side when I needed someone to slap some sense into me, and became the godfather of my children. I couldn't ask for a better friend. And I know that there are people here who feel the same way. Laz will not be forgotten - the deeds that he has done and the lives that he has touched will ensure that he will live on forever. And though he and I may not end up in the same place, I consider it my greatest pleasure to have known this man for the short time - a blink of an eye, really - that I did." He returned his attention down to the casket, and bowed his head. He was fighting hard not to let the tears that wanted so desperately to form fall. "Rest well, Laz, you've earned it. Eternity awaits you. Enjoy it."
SISTER D:
"There is not much I can say about Laz that has not been said already... True also that I did not know him as well as most, and that will remain one of the biggest regrets of my life." She closed her eyes against their faces, "However, but for the Grace of God and the man we honor tonight, I would not be standing in front of you. The thing that I'll always remember about Laz is his ability to make anything better: a sad or...akward... moment fixed with a word, even up till his final breath, he was trying to console us; many of the city's problems fixed, with the help of his friends, with one of his inovations;" the teen took a deep breath, "a fight won through his skill, wit, and many strengths." Slowly, she opened her eyes... this wasn't right... not quite, she turned to the casket, that was who she needed to talk to, "Laz... I'm so sorry, sorry we didn't get to know eachother as well as we'd have liked, that we didn't get Pop Tarts, Lucky Charms, and cartoons, mostly... sorry that-- that I was up on the roof last week, and sorry these are so smushed." She choked on the last word and set a small, blue box down near the foot of the casket as she turned away. Those close could recognize the framilar Pop Tart brand logo. With that she hurried back to her seat, the napkin back at her dirty eyes.
GUIN FOUROUX:
"Laz and I," she finally says, softly. "We had our moments. The first word I think of when I think of him is 'opinionated.' But the second... well, the third. The second would be 'stubborn.' " She laughs, quick and soft, and glances at the casket. "But the third would probably be 'hero.' "She pauses for a moment, all hint of a tease leaving her voice and posture. "I grew to know Laz during the worst time of my life. And I remember standing, just about right here, when he managed to get a laugh out of me when no one else could. I don't think he knew how much that meant to me. How much it had felt, until that moment, that I wouldn't be able to laugh again, and what a weight he'd lifted…” She smooths a hand along her skirt, then lifts her hand to brush her rosay as she exhales. "Laz also never approved much of anything I did. The people I counted as friends. And he took every opportunity to tell me so. He -also- took every opportunity to defend me, whether through a barb or cutting comment, a laugh or a threat. I always knew he would be at my side if I needed him. And despite all his disapproval... he never missed an opportunity to tell me how much he trusted and respected me, either."
ELISE CAPALINI:
Elise Capalini looks at the coffin before her and then those assembled. "I tried to write something three different times before coming here tonight, and every time I failed," she says. "I think it was only after spending time with Bianca, in the cloister and the house she shared with Laz that I understood what had really been lost here." She looks to the hat retrieved from that house, and gently touches its brim.. "For me, Laz returned part of my family. I met him in this very church--asked him to do a job for me. I thought that would be the end of it--but... He became a brother to me, a protector of the Pride." She draws in a breath, throat gone tight and vision blurry again. "Laz held my hand through the darkest hours I have known in this city. He never flinched, not even in the end." Her hand flattens against the top of the casket. "We'll watch over your girl for you, Laz, until you two can hook back up. I told you--I told you..." There was too much else, she thought; too much to say and no proper words. She moves back to her place near Bianca.
RAVI KARU:
"Lazarus Lowenstark restored my faith in humanity." she paused, for a moment, and brushed the back of a hand over her cheek. "I want to impress how exact, and literal that statement is. Before coming to Midian, the only side of humans I had known was at best a dirty glance, a harsh word, and at worse, outright hatred and murder. When I came here, I met humans that seemed to care for hybrids, that seemed to be able to tolerate us, such as Father Eamon, but I still did not trust them, would not turn my back on them.. it was Lazarus who changed that, who taught me that humans were not all like those I had encountered before, that some, perhaps even most, would live and let live, and even do more. Lazarus Lowenstark helped me learn to trust humans, for the first time in my life.
LINDSAY NOONAN:
"We've all said good things about Laz, but my friend deserves to know I miss him. I genuinely respected him, even loved him. I can't say that about many humans, if you knew my past...She shrugged "...this isn't about me. Lazarus was truly Midian's hero, more than most will even know. Not just in the fight, but in trying to keep us all alive day to day as well. In time we'll see what we've lost here, but all I know is my sister has lost a beloved mate, and I've lost a dear friend. He and I often disagreed, but we were truly friends. I have laid my life on the line for him, and him for me. We worked side by side but I give him the credit for the brains to make it all work." Looks to the casket and smiles "I love you Laz, and I'm gonna miss you a lot. I won't let you or BB down though. Rest easy, you've earned it.
DAMIAN RIGAUD:
Damian Rigaud points with his gloved hand at the casket “The man I knew enjoyed what he did.. and it showed in his work and in his life. He lived and worked passionately and he shared his opinions and his mind the same way…” he smiles wider “Whether you agreed with him or even wanted to hear his thoughts on a particular subject or not.. “ says with a slight chuckle. Damian Rigaud straightens… his gaze settling on the crowd “You here that know me… know that I am not given to displays of emotion… or tortured ramblings about the pain of life and its unfairness… “ he points without looking at the casket “Neither did this man… Lazarus lived as he wished… worked in the field he wished.. took the pleasures that he wished… and *I* believe he even died in the manner he wished.” He says with determined tone at the end.“He died in the defense of the people of this church, a task he volunteered for and preformed in the manner he did everything he put his mind to… with excellence.” He says his voice confident and even. “This man that I call friend did not consider this a chore… or a vain effort.. I will not hear his wisdom debated in my presence.. “ he says with a hard edge to his voice. He looks again at the casket “Grieve as you will for the passing of a man, that stood straight and did not waver, that made no excuse for his way of life or the way he lived it….I send him on his way with my deepest respect…” he says his voice quieter.
BIANCA BENDER:
Bianca Bender she'd speak her voice quiet but strong now echoing against the old stone walls reaching all ears, "I lost the one thing that had meaning to me a week ago. I would have gone with him, if he'd but asked me to. But he wouldn't have done that...he asked me to go on...to be strong for him. I've been trying. It's difficult, he was my lover, my best-friend and my all. I've got to let him go, but for now I'm going to remember him. My..." takes a breath and swallows hard. Finally - finally after this long week she'd speak his name, "...Laz. With his impish grin that could melt me at a glance, that loved me unconditionally for all my faults he saw me as more...always more...he challenged me...every day we were together."
Bianca Bender takes another deep breath eyes sliding close briefly before opening still remaining dry, "You all shared parts of his life, work, friendship, family...." would glance in turn towards each of those that fell into each category the last landing on Alric, Fallon and the girls after passing over Elise. "He loved you all, so much. You all brought joy, pain, and challenge into his life every day." smiles softly, "I know because I had to help deal with some of the knots left behind." smiles softly and she'd turn then resting both hands against the coffin.
Bianca Bender now speaking just for him she'd break lightly the tears falling peacefully from her eyes as she continues, "I love you Laz, given time, I'd hope I would have eventually carried your name proudly as my own. We won't have those moments now, but the moments we did share, I'll cherish. Even your jokes, that I didn't always understand. I've got to go back to our home...soon...I tried earlier this week...I got you your tux you always looked so good in...you still do I'm sure..." smooths a hand over the coffin as if to smooth his tie again, "I will love you always...forever, and if I do find comfort again...the love won't be half of what I feel for you at this moment and always. Go in peace...I don't understand right now...but one day."
ARTIKA:
Artika Muliaina sits quietly now, her eyes forward and face appropriately somber... perhaps thinking of the waste of losing a useful and reliable tool, albeit one whose mind required the utmost care on her part, for such he was, at least in her mind. If she were to rise and speak, she would tell them that the man was not a fool. High praise coming from Artika. But she does not, instead glancing at Cata once more, her expression thoughtful.
CATABOLIS PLUTONIAN:
Catabolis Plutonian watches the cat quietly, for a second, but otherwise his gaze is locked on the coffin. The idea of life ending seemed almost merciful. He had done terrible things, ugly deeds that would not easily be forgiven. To be at the funeral of a man who had stood for something other than himself consumed him, made him wonder what he'd been wasting this cursed existence on. Not altruism - that alone was certain.
FALLON:
Thank you, for what you meant to Alric. You were more than a friend to him, and I'd hoped so much that you'd have become the same for me. I'd hoped you'd be the father of my next child.I know, it's a terrible time to make jokes, but at moments like these, it's either laugh or cry, and I do so hate crying in public. I will make sure Rose knows your face. Your name. What you did for her. That you held her, and kept her safe when I couldn't, and when I thought the world was crashing around us. You earned a place in my heart that night. A mother never forgets moments like those…Knowing you, I know the old saying, Good men must die, but death cannot kill their names, is true.
PORTIA:
Portia Kass exhaled and began her silent thoughts, hoping somehow or other that Laz could hear them "Laz... I wasn't kidding... wasn't just quoting when I said I'd miss you most of all. I don't think I realized exactly how important you were until it was... too late. I can promise you... that I will never take something like that for granted ever again. Thank you for believing in me, thank you for giving me a chance to loosen up and grow up, I'm only sorry I didn't do it sooner. From the very first moment we met, you had my respect and you always will. I love you dearly, I will always consider you my friend, and I will do my best to try and be as good and strong as you were, as much as I know I can be. You'll always be with me, the voice in the back of my head. I'm glad it's yours. Thank you... for everything."
NIOBE:
"It went like that the rest of the time I knew him. Laz was a man with a lot of ideas, and he loved working with other people who also had a lot of ideas. He had a passion to make Midian City a better place to live, not by changing the people who live here, not by enforcing his will on the place, but by the ignoble, simple things that Science - and he was a man to capitalize it - could fix. Clean water. Reliable power. Better technology for the Medical Center. Sustainable food supplies. And getting the subway opened between here and the mainland. Some of those we got done while Laz was with us. Most of them we're still working on. He poured heart and soul into the League, and I'm happy to say that just yesterday, Mayor Rigaud deeded us space for our new lab, which will be named the Lazarus Lawrence Lowenstark Labs. He was one for alliteration. So were his parents, apparently…Laz was good at looking at a situation and saying, ‘What can I do to help?’ and then doing it. More than that, though, he had the ability to look at someone, see something good in them, and nurture it until that good thing grew into something life changing for the person. He did it to me. I'm sure I'm not the only one."
CRAZY STRIPPER GRIEFER:
PrimalChaos Frostbite: Everybody fucky fucky...
I wrote a little sketching program that allows for more complex, dynamic brushes than I could put together in Photoshop. It works ok, but doesn't have an eraser tool yet.
This comprised entirely of technical diagrams and scientific illustrations. you can see them better in original www.flickr.com/photos/memoryradio/4352596722/sizes/o/
J.K. Rowling once wrote "No story lives unless someone wants to listen."
Thinking the same applies to our images, as it can be said "No image lives unless someone wants to view it."
Nobody wrote 'em like Mickey Spillane, and if you don't like the gratuitous violence, the McCarthyistic anti-Commie red-hating red-baiting and the blatant sexism, tough cookies, sister--go peddle your sob-story to the pablum-puking lefties! And, while the title of the piece is a tip of the fedora to his Mike Hammer character--and while that's the character everyone in the world identifies him with--the first book of his I read was "Day of the Guns" in 1965, when it fit right in with the James Bond craze and The Man From U.N.C.L.E., and it and the other three Tiger Mann books are still my all-time favorites. Not that the Mike Hammers and all the others, right up to "Something's Down There" weren't great. And, Mick, if you're listening up there in that big New York City in the Sky, it wasn't good garbage--it was the best garbage ever written. Anybody says otherwise, even if it's a gorgeous broad and she's standing there naked and creamy white and making those bedroom eyes, is asking for a .45 slug in the belly . And if there was any justice in the world, Colt's Patent Firearms would've put out a "Mickey Spillane Commemorative Edition M1911A1" to let 'em have it with!
(PS: Despite expert opinion to the contrary at the 60sglam groups--and they ARE experts, make no mistake--I am STILL convinced that the cover illustration on "Day of the Guns" is a still of June Palmer from "Danger Girl". Even on my actual copy of the book I can't make out details of the facial features well enough for a positive ID, but it IS the same hairstyle and the same gun)
I wrote a short blog post on my afternoon of shooting building abstracts: brianevansphoto.com/2022/01/04/an-afternoon-of-building-a...
Nino Ananiashvili
Born in Tbilisi, Georgia, Nino Ananiashvili became a champion ice skater at the age of ten, before entering the State Choreographic School of Georgia. She continued her training at the Bolshoi Choreographic School under the famous teacher Natalia Zolotova. “Today she is the classical ballet’s undeniable superstar”, - wrote Clive Barnes in “NY Post”.
Nino Ananiashvili has the unprecedented four highest awards of the international ballet competitions:
- Gold Medal of 10th Varna (Bulgaria) competition, 1980 (junior group);
- Grand Prix of 4th Moscow competition, 1981 (junior group);
- Gold Medal of 5th Moscow competition, 1985 (senior group);
- Grand Prix of 3rd Jackson (USA) competition, 1986 (senior group).
In 1981 Ms. Ananiashvili joined the Bolshoi Theatre as a ballerina. She is the prima ballerina of the Company now. For all those years she has been coached by the legendary Russian dancers, Raissa Struchkova and Marina Semyonova, for the roles of Swanilda in Coppelia; Odette/Odile in Swan Lake (which she has performed for the first time with the Bolshoi Ballet in Hamburg at the age of seventeen; the performance was followed by the 30 minutes ovation); Aurora in The Sleeping Beauty; title roles in Giselle, Romeo and Juliet (original production of L. Lavrovsky and Y. Grigorovich version), Raymonda; Kitri in Don Quixote; Medora in Le Corsaire; Clara in The Nutcracker (Y. Grigorovich version); Nikia in La Bayadere; Eleonore in Kermesse in Bruges of A. Bournonville; Rita in The Golden Age; leading roles in Les Sylphides, Paquita, Pas de Quatre, Le Spectre de la Rose etc. The title role in the Bolshoi Theatre’s production of the opera-ballet Mlada by N. Rimsky-Korsakov was created for her.
The superb technique, virtuosity, exquisite and refined style, flowing movements and rear dramatic talent of Ms. Ananiashvili quickly turned her into the most sought after ballerina of the present times.
Unique place in the ballet world has given to Nino Ananiashvili the possibility to enlarge her theatrical and artistic perceptions, by performing the masterpieces of the Western choreography with almost all of the great companies of Europe and North America. In a historic engagement with the New York City Ballet (1988) Ms. Ananiashvili was the first guest ballerina to appear in G. Balanchine’s Raymonda Variations, Symphony in C and Apollo followed by the rapturous reception of the audiences and the critics.
Ms. Ananiashvili frequently guested with the Royal Ballet, where since 1990 she has performed the role of Princess Rose in K. MacMillan’s Prince of the Pagodas; Lise in F. Ashton’s La Fille Mal Gardee; title roles in Romeo and Juliet of K. MacMillan; Cinderella of F. Ashton and Firebird by M. Fokine; Sugar Plum Fairy in The Nutcracker of P. Wright among others.
Nino Ananiashvili became the first Russian ballerina to be invited by the Royal Danish Ballet to Copenhagen to perform the title role in La Sylphide, Terezina in Napoli and Flower Festival in Genzano pas de deux (all by A. Bournonville) as well as other ballets.
Ms. Ananiashvili had been a regular guest with the Mariinsky (formerly Kirov) Ballet, where she premiered the revival of the legendary production of L. Lavrovsky’s Romeo and Juliet, and had performed Don Quixote, Swan Lake and The Sleeping Beauty among others.
Since 1993 Nino Ananiashvili has been the principal dancer of the American Ballet Theatre, performing at the Metropolitan Opera House Swan Lake, La Sylphide, Don Quixote; N. Makarova’s version of La Bayadere; K. MacMillan’s Sleeping Beauty, Romeo and Juliet and Manon; Merry Widow of R. Hynd; Cinderella and The Snow Maiden (the title role was created for her) of B. Stevenson; Medora in Le Corsaire, works of G. Balanchine, A. Tudor, M. Morris etc.
‘Nino Ananiashvili’s Odette/Odile allowed us to gauge the sweep and breadth of her sovereign, if not to say, monumental interpretation of the role. It is the purity and authenticity with which Ms. Ananiashvili epitomizes the Great Russian school. She dances her Odette/Odile, which is such a colossal creation, in a direct line of succession from the Great Russian ballerinas of the past”, - wrote L. Kaplan after her New York performance in “Ballet Review”.
Nino Ananiashvili also guested with the Royal Swedish Ballet, Norwegian National Ballet, National Ballet of Portugal, National Ballet of Finland, Bavarian National Ballet, Grand Ballet de Monte Carlo, Birmingham Royal Ballet, Boston Ballet, Tokyo Ballet, etc. Together with the artistic director of the Royal Danish Ballet, Frank Andersen, she has created the touring group, consisting of the best dancers from Russia, France, Denmark and USA, which has performed successfully in Moscow, St. Petersburg, Copenhagen, Paris, Dallas, Tokyo, Osaka and other cities of Japan.
In 1996 - 2003 Nino Ananiashvili premiered at the Bolshoi Theatre V. Vasiliev’s production of Giselle; Charms of Mannerism, Dreams about Japan and Leah of Alexei Ratmansky; Mozartiana, Symphony in C of George Balanchine; Don Quixote of Alexei Fadeyechev; Pharaoh’s Daughter of Pierre Lacotte; Green and Opus X of Stanton Welch.
Ms. Ananiashvili is the People’s Artist of Russia and Georgia.
She became the first ballerina to be awarded the National Prize of Russia “Triumph” for outstanding achievements in Fine Arts and State Prize of Georgia for outstanding contribution to Georgian culture. In 2001 Nino Ananiashvili became the recipient of the highest Russian State Award “Order for the outstanding services to the Fatherland”.
In 1997 American Biography Institute awarded Nino Ananiashvili the title of “Women of the Year”.
In 2002 N. Ananiashvili was named a Dance Magazine 2002 Awardee, receiving the most prestigious annual dance prize of the USA.
Nino Ananiashvili is the People’s Artist of Georgia and Russia,
She has been Artistic Director of the State Ballet of Georgia since September of 2004.
I wrote about this here www.bloggingbaby.com/2006/03/22/breastfeeding-on-the-road... (that's the handicapped stall door in front of me)
'All the night her dream
Passes by my bed
Undeniable and all she said
She wrote the letter'
Raw shot taken with ReShade & Fraps.
Thanks to Loverdag for the help.
Waterfall historian Jim Bob Tinsley wrote about Dismal Falls..."One of the most foreboding places in the Southern Appalachian Mountains is Dismal Creek in Transylvania County, an ominous area of cliffs, caves and crevices in the misty heights of the Tennessee Ridge near Owens Gap. The portion of the creek that includes Dismal Falls drops from 4000 feet above sea level to 3000 feet in less than a mile. The massive pour-over falls, including the lower connected cascades is over 200 feet high. Only the most experienced hikers should attempt to visit the spectacular but treacherous area. The horrendous drop has claimed the lives of numerous people over the years." Today I hiked across northern sections of Panthertown in Owens Gap at the Flat Creek Watershed, and also sections of the Dismal Falls Trail. Today was my third visit down Forest Road 4882 to Flat Creek and my fourth visit on the Dismal Trail. I made this photo at one of my favorites of the numerous stream crossings on the Trail. Panthertown holds many legends and myths, and some even believe the Dismal Falls Trail is haunted and have had paranormal experiences here. (White eyed witch of Dismal Holler www.reddit.com/r/BackwoodsCreepy/comments/7jbvnf/the_whit...). I hope you can sense the enchanted feel of the landscape from the photo.
Here's another oldie and the caption I wrote at the time for RP:
A yard crew with a single Alaska Railroad GP40-2 shoves a load of pipe into a brand new industrial spur in South Anchorage. The spur is over 1500 feet long and connects via a south facing switch that branches off the north end of the runaround track tucked in just south of CP1072 off the Coastal Siding. It was constructed through fallow swamp land by Balfour Beatty and is the culmination of a dream of Unique Machine’s founder to have direct on site rail service. Unique Machine is a veteran home grown Alaska Company that became part of the giant Sumitomo Corp. in 2004. They are a long time ARR customer receiving pipe loads from the lower 48 via rail barge service.
Historically these pipe loads were unloaded at the ARR's transload yard in downtown and trucked to Unique's mid-town site for threading and final prep before delivery to the oil and gas fields statewide. Unique's growing business necessitated a move to a new and larger facility that was specifically situated to permit direct rail access. This little train is being shoved down to end of track to be placed on display for Unique's grand opening celebration the following day.
It is very rewarding to see a new spur built in this modern era specifically for carload freight business, and seems to be a tiny reversal of the trend that finds abandoned spurs leading through the trees to truck served warehouses littered across Anchorage (and every other American city). However, in an odd twist to this story, some 18 months later Unique has yet to receive a revenue load at their facility and continues to partake of ARR's transload services. Someday this will change, but for now the train you see here is the only one ever to traverse this trackage.
**Addendum: to the best of my knowledge other than this train there has never been anything on this spur in the more than dozen years since I shot this!
Anchorage, Alaska
Sunday June 28, 2009
I wrote in the past about this precious commodity, time, something that we don’t have the ability to get back once it’s gone. Time tends to fly by and like a river it always flows forward, never backwards. Alas, this resource tends to be in a very limited supply, and I try to make the most of it, spending time with loved ones, family and friends, an activity which Covid made a tad more challenging for some.
At times, I find myself rushing around, but there is so much more to life than increasing speed. Sometimes it is best to slow down or just stop, slowly rediscovering things we thought we lost our passion for. Too many of us, unless you are a landscape gardener, are shut in our offices staring hours on end at monitor screens or attending endless Zoom meetings. I try and exercise outdoors whenever I can and the long exposure technique has this great quality of slowing things down allowing time to chat to other photographers or just watch the colours of sunset deepen.
“Time is a created thing. To say ‘I don’t have time’, is like saying, I don’t want to” (L. Tzu).