View allAll Photos Tagged disarray
momosl.blogspot.jp/2014/11/princess.html
Kawaii project!! Nov 15~
Violent Seduction - Chou
Lovely Disarray - Iilumi Eye Shadows & Blush Set
This was taken at the corner of Amsterdam and 102nd Street, in front of the Ranch Deli. I didn't pay any attention when I first walked past it, because I was concentrating on the photo that you see here .... but I walked down the same street last night, on my way to dinner at the same sushi restaurant a few blocks further south ... and noticed (a) that I had previously recorded the wrong street crossing, which probably disrupted civilization and threw the Greek government into a state of total disarray, and (b) I had neglected to indicate the full name of the restaurant/deli located on this street corner. And now, as you can see from the photo above, you've even got their phone number ...
I'm going to characterize these two as a "couple," even though there may be more enthusiasm on the part of the young woman than there is on the part of her companion. But who can tell ...
*********************************
This is the continuation of a photo-project that I began in the summer of 2008 (which you can see in this Flickr set), and continued throughout 2009-2014 (as shown in this Flickr set, this Flickr set, this Flickr set, this Flickr set, this Flickr set)), this Flickr set)), and this Flickr set)): a random collection of "interesting" people in a broad stretch of the Upper West Side of Manhattan -- between 72nd Street and 104th Street, especially along Broadway and Amsterdam Avenue. These are the people in my neighborhood, aka "peeps in the 'hood."
As I indicated when I first started this project six years ago, I don't like to intrude on people's privacy, so I normally use a zoom telephoto lens in order to photograph them while they're still 50-100 feet away from me; but that means I have to continue focusing my attention on the people and activities half a block away, rather than on what's right in front of me. Sometimes I find an empty bench on a busy street corner, and just sit quietly for an hour, watching people hustling past on the other side of the street; they're almost always so busy listening to their iPod, or talking on their cellphone, or daydreaming about something, that they never look up and see me aiming my camera in their direction.
I've also learned that, in many cases, the opportunities for an interesting picture are very fleeting -- literally a matter of a couple of seconds, before the person(s) in question move on, turn away, or stop doing whatever was interesting. So I've learned to keep my camera switched on, and not worry so much about zooming in for a perfectly-framed picture ... after all, once the digital image is uploaded to my computer, it's pretty trivial to crop out the parts unrelated to the main subject. Indeed, some of my most interesting photos have been so-called "hip shots," where I don't even bother to raise the camera up to my eye; I just keep the zoom lens set to the maximum wide-angle aperture, point in the general direction of the subject, and take several shots. As long as I can keep the shutter speed fairly high (which sometimes requires a fairly high ISO setting), I can usually get some fairly crisp shots -- even if the subject is walking in one direction, and I'm walking in the other direction, while I'm snapping the photos.
With only a few exceptions, I've generally avoided photographing bums, drunks, crazies, and homeless people. There are plenty of them around, and they would certainly create some dramatic pictures; but they generally don't want to be photographed, and I don't want to feel like I'm taking advantage of them. There have been a few opportunities to take some "sympathetic" pictures of such people, which might inspire others to reach out and help them. This is one example, and here is another example.
The other thing I've noticed, while carrying on this project for the past six years, is that while there are lots of interesting people to photograph, there are far, far, far more people who are not so interesting. They're probably fine people, and they might even be more interesting than the ones I've photographed ... unfortunately, there was just nothing memorable about them. They're all part of this big, crowded city; but for better or worse, there are an awful lot that you won't see in these Flickr sets of mine...
“He’s focused on something—or someone—over her shoulder.
The harmonious warbling of the rainforest morphs into organized disarray, as if a primitive maestro has thrown conducting to the wind and let Mother Nature take over. Birds trill a warning as the breeze rustles the plant life. Wings flutter overhead. A crescendo of stridulation changes tempo, the insects seemingly performing a sonata as the rhythm shifts yet again.
“What—who is it?” Summer asks in a strained whisper.
His gaze lands on her, his brows furrowing. “The Forsaken.”
― Laura Kreitzer, Burning Falls
There's a story behind every leaf. There's an explanation for why it grows where it grows when it grows. It's just a really complicated explanation with a million factors, like the openings in the surrounding canopy that allow light to sneak in, the age of the surrounding trees, the nutrients in the soil, the surrounding fauna, the weather, etc. Somehow it all adds up and makes a leaf on a tree. Maybe my worldview is influenced too much by my math classes from school, but I am confident that if you take into account all the variables, there is some complicated formula that we can generate that will spit out the tree in front of me. My little human brain just can't do the math on its own, so it feels mysterious.
This type of mystery presents opportunities for discovery in nature. I love making these small discoveries with my camera. I am drawn to photos that display this mystery and hint at the loosely ordered chaos that suggests that underneath all of the disarray there is some semblance of structure. Not a neat and tidy structure, but something. With this image here, I was captivated by the chaotic mess of colorful beech leaves. They remind me of the photos I have seen of synchronous fireflies down in the Smokies. I tried to "tame" the madness of nature by framing the mess of yellow leaves with a tidy group of vertical tree trunks.
(+2 in comments)
A few nights ago I had a dream I cannot remember.
I woke up screaming, with my face buried in my pillow, and stomach tied in knots.
And after what felt like hours later I finally drifted into an uneasy sleep. It's funny how something unreal can instantly turn you back into a child, afraid of the monster lurking beneath her bed.
Perhaps it's a good thing I don't remember that monster.
issuu.com/fashiontellersl/docs/fth-dreamsmaycome_final
Models: VeronicaLynn Parx & Sabbian Paine
Photographers: Pierre Webb
Pose: SPONSOR KATINK by AnneMarit Jarvinen.
Style:
VeronicaLynn- Headpiece: AZOURY - Ishtar
Accessories: 7mad;Ravens- The Bug Man Arms
Eyes: Negaposi creepy eyes - RAVEN B (edited)
Skin: Fallen Gods- DRACO Moonlight
Make-up: Madrid Solo- March 2014 Group Gift Unisex- Born Again
7mad;Ravens- Black Wash Tattoo-Face
Sabbian- Mask: SPONSOR Clavv.
Accessories: 7mad;Ravens- The Bug Man Arms
Eyes: Negaposi creepy eyes - RAVEN B
Skin: Nivaro - Baptiste Fantasy Skin - Grey Tribal
Make- Up: Lovely Disarray- I'm no Priest: Face Paint
+Nuuna+ Zion tattoo/ +Nuuna+ Zion eyeliner tattoo/ +Nuuna+ Meta Black
THANK YOU to our sponsors: Katink Poses and ClavV
Explore the dream world:
issuu.com/fashiontellersl/docs/fth-dreamsmaycome_final
<3
Sitting waiting for hummingbirds, who never came, I occupied my mind with the zinnias and other flowers in our little garden. I liked the disarray of lines and shadows and lack of focus I noticed in front of me.
Adjectives 101 group, dissonant
We're Here - clutter, litter, mess, and muddle
Group Description
It's about clutter, disarray, confusion, derangement, disorder, hodgepodge, huddle, jumble, litter, mess, muddle, rummage, scramble, shuffle, tumble, untidiness, pig sty.
Plus 2 in comments.
I've had these balloons up way too long with plans of getting a picture. I finally got around to it and thought the idea worked for the We're Here theme. Of course, when I get back on Flickr I get computer problems. Last time my computer crashed and I lost a lot of work. This time I had a corrupt graphics card driver and problems with my mouse and keyboard. Now my photos don't look the same in Photoshop as they do in Lightroom. It's like something is telling me to stop taking photos...
The Flaneur With A Camera borrowed the title from Neil Young's "Too Far Gone." He made the photograph with the same Nikon F2 Photomic and 85mm Nikkor combo that he's had since high school and some Kodak Double X cinema film. This partially demolished building and couch are now gone. Even solitary artmaking is a collaboration.
Only 200 meters northwest of the very popular (and my personal favorite) Bayon temple, is the Baphoun temple. At one time it was the tallest monument in Angkor, but fell into disarray for centuries.
In the 1960s restorations efforts commenced by taking apart 300,000 sandstone blocks and putting them back together. It has been called the “world’s largest jigsaw puzzle.” The project was interrupted for over two decades as a result of the Cambodian civil war and restarted in the mid-1990s. It was finally completed in 2011 and just in time for my visit in 2012.
Happy Travels!
One more photo in the comment section.
All Rights Reserved. Photos and Text ©Sam Antonio Photography 2012
Pennhurst Asylum was built in 1908 as a state school for the mentally and physically disabled. The Spring City, Chester County, Pennsylvania property covered 120 acres with many different buildings, many connected through a series of underground tunnels. The original name was "Pennhurst Home for the Feeble Minded and Epileptic" before it became known as the "Pennhurst State School". A 1968 report by NBC television entitled "Suffer The Little Children" brought forth evidence of abuse, neglect, and overcrowding at the institution. After many lawsuits, including the landmark May 1974 case "Halderman v. Pennhurst State School ", Pennhurst was finally forced to close its doors in 1986. Pennhurst fell into complete disarray and ruin with scrappers looting buildings for what they could sell and vandals spray painting just about every surface they could find.
There have been attempts to stabilize some of the buildings, primarily the roofs, to keep the buildings in a state of "arrested decay" so they don't become more ruined by the elements, and several of the more dangerous buildings have been demolished. There is a movement to build a museum that features the history of not only Pennhurst but also mental care in the United States, so that we never return to that state of affairs again. The property owners now offer a haunted house during the Halloween season, Paranormal tours, and Photography tours. Tour money goes towards the stabilization of the buildings and the formation of the museum.
Nikon ZF with Nikkor Z 14-30mm F4.5 lens @ 14mm. F4.5, ISO 100. Oben tripod with an Arca-Swiss C1 cube 3-way geared head.
Once functional. Lost usefulness. Neglected. Time passes by. Gains maritime beauty in the artful eye.
Armed with secret intelligence warning of an impending sneak attack by Klingon military forces, the USS Abaddon leaves her hidden asteroid base circling Rigel to lead a Federation fleet in defense of Sherman's Planet. As the Klingons launch their assault the Abaddon decloaks and opens fire with heavy phasers on two L-24 battleships. They are quickly turned to slag. Outmatched by the dreadnought's superior armor and firepower the Klingon formation falls into disarray. By the end of the engagement the Abaddon has destroyed or severely damaged twenty Klingon warships, almost single handedly winning the battle. It would be many months before any Klingon ships dared cross the border into the disputed territories near Rigel. Sherman's Planet was saved.
This scene features my 1/1000 scale USS Abaddon dreadnought, 1/650 scale Klingon D-7 battlecruiser, and 1/350 scale USS Enterprise heavy cruiser plastic models.
Compagnie ACIDU
NAGEUSES SUR BITUME
Cinq femmes en quête de synchronisation
Cinq nageuses synchronisées. Cinq femmes. « Interdites de piscine », elles se retrouvent à la rue et dans la rue, pour manifester leur désarroi, leur colère et leur désir ; sans piscine et sans eau, elles continuent d’avancer, de vivre… Nage ou crève ! Elles s’adaptent, s’inventent un monde afin de nager sur le bitume, dans une piscine remplie d’air, la rue ; aux côtés d’autres nageurs en eaux troubles, les spectateurs.
Company ACIDU
SWIMMERS ON BITUMEN
Five women in search of synchronization
Five synchronized swimmers. Five women. "Forbidden swimming pool", they find themselves in the street and in the street, to show their disarray, their anger and their desire; Without swimming pool and without water, they continue to advance, to live ... Swim or die! They adapt, invent a world in order to swim on the bitumen, in a pool filled with air, the street; Alongside other swimmers in troubled waters, the spectators.
Acidu Unternehmen
Schwimmer auf ASPHALT
Fünf Frauen auf der Suche für die Synchronisation
Fünf Synchronschwimmer . Fünf Frauen. „Forbidden Pool“, finden sie sich auf der Straße und auf der Straße ihre Bestürzung, Wut und den Wunsch zu zeigen; kein Pool und kein Wasser, sie weiterhin nach vorne zu bewegen, zu leben oder sterben ... Swim! Sie passen, erfinden eine Welt auf dem Asphalt schwimmen in einem Pool mit Luft gefüllt ist, die Straße; neben anderen Schwimmern in trüben Gewässern, Zuschauer.
Stepping up and away and round and down till the day goes away and no sound is found but the undying hush of words in disarray.
**Trigger Warning** This chapter includes mildly gruesome details involving an accident and PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder).
After making sure Vincent was really asleep and as comfortable as possible, Aiden gently stood from the bed and tried to decide the best course of action. He knew he should just head back to the port but he found himself concerned for Vincent's sake. He stood there, staring at the sleeping figure of the captain as he warred with himself to make a decision. Finally, he decided it was best if he stayed. So finding the chaise on the opposite wall near the foot of the bed, Aiden curled up and got as comfortable as he could. To be honest, he was pretty tired from this evening's events. However, as Vincent slept nearby, Aiden found he couldn't sleep as his thoughts were consumed by Vincent and all the mystery around him.
The next morning, there was the sound of a quiet bump and slight movement of something quietly scraping across the floor. Aiden could feel himself starting to wake up but he didn't want to. He felt so comfortable! He shifted slightly, feeling the warmth of the sun upon his head and shoulders and it felt so nice. However, upon hearing a door quietly close, his eyes finally opened and he felt a little disorientated. It was really bright and he struggled to focus around him.
As Aiden shifted, he groaned softly to himself as his neck tensed from sleeping as he had on the chaise. Blinking, he looked around the room and his eyes began to adjust to the light which was when last night started to come back to him. He felt nervous. What did Vincent think of him staying here without permission? This could even cost him his job!
Aiden moved from the reclined position and began to sit up, swinging his feet down to the floorboards. He slid his hand up along the back of his neck, massaging with a yawn as he began to wake up more. As he did, he heard the sound of a door opening to his left. He glanced over and was surprised by what he saw, his eyes widening.
Vincent was standing there looking as shocked as he was, still dressed in his leather pants and black blouse with his hair in slight disarray and standing as if he was in pain. But what shocked Aiden was seeing both of Vincent's eyes open and uncovered for the first time. Aiden had seen the scar last night, but now he was seeing what lay underneath.
Whereas Vincent's left eye was a unique shade of blue that Aiden loved and reminded him of the sea, his right eye was oddly discolored an off-white and lightly veiny, the iris drained of color, and where his pupil would be looked to be a red mark which lined up with the scar on his brow and cheek as he stared straight ahead at Aiden.
Vincent, seeing the look of shock upon Aiden's face, licked his lips and quickly averted his gaze before he saw that disgust he was so accustomed to seeing. He wasn't sure if he could handle seeing it in Aiden's eyes right now. He quickly walked to his luggage and hastily grabbed out a fresh pair of pants before ducking back into the restroom before Aiden could say or do anything.
Taken aback by how quickly all that just happened, Aiden stared at the closed door. Okay, that was unexpected. He wasn't sure what to think. It was not a pretty sight to see, certainly, but in truth Aiden didn't find himself put off by it. He'd just been surprised. But...what had happened?
Behind the closed door, Vincent began to strip down out of his clothes, silently cursing and scolding himself for making the mistake of not bringing the eyepatch with him. He hated the looks. He hated the disgust. Above all, he hated the pity. Once he'd changed out of his clothes, he set them aside and began to pull up the fresh pair of pants. That was much more comfortable. Sighing to himself, he unbraided his hair and ran his fingers through it and stared at himself in the small mirror, steeling himself so he could get through whatever was about to happen.
When Vincent emerged once again, he saw Aiden still seated on the chaise. Still not looking directly at Aiden, feeling afraid of what he'd see in his gorgeous eyes, he looked off to the side and began to approach. Feeling uncharacteristically nervous, he brought his hand up and began to toy with his hair and gave a soft clearing of his throat.
"I wanted to say thank you for...for your assistance last night in helping me find my way home. I am fine now."
Aiden had watched as Vincent approached. He'd expected Vincent to be stoic and professional about the whole thing but instead Vincent appeared so vulnerable. His body posture spoke volumes to the younger man.
Honestly, Aiden was bursting with questions! As he gazed at Vincent's face, he replied, "I couldn't have just left you there like that. I didn't mean to impose, but I was concerned and wanted to make sure you were alright this morning." Vincent rotated his head on his neck, willing the tension to release a bit more as he continued to avoid looking at Aiden. "I appreciate it, but I'm fine, thank you, Aiden. There's no need to be concerned."
Vincent turned away from Aiden and began to head towards the kitchen area of his flat. "Would you like some coffee before you go?" he asked, wishing Aiden would decline and leave and pretend like this whole thing hadn't happened.
Aiden bit his lower lip, then decided it was now or never. "Would you tell me what happened?" he asked in a gentle pleading tone. He watched Vincent's shoulders hunch slightly and noticed his head gazing down as he hugged himself. He could tell Vincent was warring with himself, which is exactly what was happening.
Vincent liked Aiden despite his initial uncertainty about the guy, but he didn't want to tell him more than he needed to know. He didn't like people getting close. Sure, he trusted Damien but Damien had been there for years and walked this journey with Vincent whereas he only knew Aiden for just a month. But somehow, he could feel his wall breaking down just a touch more. "What is there to say, Aiden? It was just an accident. It's not a pleasant story; kind of gruesome. You don't really want to hear it. Please trust me."
"But it will help me understand you better," Aiden replied, turning more on the chaise as he gazed at the back of Vincent's head. "I really do want to know. Please, Vincent?"
The moment his name left Aiden's lips, Vincent felt an odd warmth spread through his chest as his eyes closed. In the midst of his depressing, painful memories, the sound of the younger man's voice speaking his name to him seemed to ease the tension somehow. Slowly, he lowered his arms and turned to look at Aiden; finally looking right at him. He could see that concern and sincerity in those gorgeous eyes. There was no pity or disgust there. He saw Aiden's lips curve into a soft, encouraging smile where one of his dimples started peeking just a tiny bit.
"Has...has Damien told you anything?"
"Nothing, I swear."
Vincent looked away from Aiden and walked towards the window, folding his arms over his bare chest as he gazed out the window and beside the chaise. For a moment, he looked like he may not speak after all. Yet he gave a soft sigh and began to explain, choosing what to say with care.
"It was a little over three years ago," he began. "Leon's Claw was in port a few towns away from here and we were getting ready to depart." Vincent moved away from the window and began to slowly pace as he continued, hands coming up and running through his hair. "It was like any other day loading up cargo. I was standing on deck going over the ledger and doing the final count when it happened." Vincent took a deep breath then let it out as he let himself just...talk. "We were transporting a load of gunpowder and the box must have had some residue because there was an explosion. It was...a freak accident. We figured that one of the embers must have escaped the boilers and caught one of the crates as it was being lowered into the ship."
Aiden's eyes widened at the information before grimacing. "Oh no," he murmured. Vincent nodded, still pacing slowly as he forced himself to keep talking. "When the crates exploded, some of the thin metal shrapnel lodged itself into my eye." Vincent's hand came up to cover his right eye, the memory of the excruciating pain of the burning metal piercing his skull coming back. "I don't remember a whole lot, but I vaguely remember hearing Damien screaming my name and this... white hot, blinding pain radiating from my face." Vincent swallowed hard, pausing before the fireplace and placing his hands on the mantle. "I was told afterwards that I'd fallen to the ground right in the path of the falling mast. The explosion has broken it in half. He'd rushed to push me out of the way just in time but it landed on him instead; specifically his left upper arm."
Behind him, Aiden stared at his back with wide eyes and felt horror as he listened to the terrorizing story. "So that’s why Damien has a mechanical arm?" he inquired. Vincent's fingers clenched the mantle as he nodded, staring down at the empty fireplace. Biting his lower lip, he inhaled deeply through his nose below slowly letting it out before replying regretfully, "There was no saving it. He saved my life but lost his arm in the process. So I had it replaced for him."
Aiden licked his lips and brought his forearms to his knees as he leaned forward slightly, staring down at the floorboards as he processed everything. Damien was a prideful man who loved to boast; especially about himself. He sure knew how to tell a story, too! He'd saved Vincent's life and received a beautiful and powerful mechanical arm, a gift from his best friend. Aiden knew Damien was quite proud of it. He figured Damien would see it as proof of his heroism yet had never even mentioned it.
"I didn't realize- I'm sorry for my ignorance," he began before Vincent shook his head and cut him off. "Don't be," he responded quietly. "We agreed not to speak of it unless necessary for my sake. He knows I don't want or like the attention."
"I understa-"
"No, you don't!"
The cutting response was sharp and so unexpected it made Aiden jump! Vincent was hunched over the fireplace slightly, fingers curled and his fingernails scraping against the mantel. His body was tense as he clenched his teeth and inhaled deeply through his nose. "You don't know what it's like, Aiden! No one does and they NEVER will!" As his voice raised, he turned and began storming his way past Aiden, blindly pacing as he unleashed his pent up frustrations.
"Men never look me in the eyes anymore! Women whisper behind their fans and avoid my gaze at formal events and hope I won't look their way! I'm a fucking MONSTER! Even mothers on the street clutch their childr-" He cut himself off abruptly as he stood there facing Aiden, lips pressed together as his hands clenched into tight fists at his sides. Aiden watched as Vincent's eyes flicked to the picture frame he'd kept beside his bed. A moment later in silence, Vincent turned and sat down on the edge of his bed facing away from Aiden, hunching forward with his forearms pressed to his knees. A moment later, his shoulders began to tremble as he pressed his face into his hands.
Aiden sat there for a long moment, eyes wide as he stared at Vincent from where he sat. He was stunned! It took him a moment to realize that Vincent was crying. Vincent looked so defeated as he sat there with his shoulders shaking as he silently sobbed. Aiden felt so lost as to what to say or do to this poor man who was so traumatized by his past. There had to be more to this than just the accident.
"Vincent, I'm so sorry. You're right, I don't know what it is like. But you are NOT a monster."
"Yes I am!"
"No, you're not. You are a good man."
"A good man would have been here in time! Fucking Hell! A good man would have not even left them in the first place! HOW AM I A GOOD MAN?!"
As Vincent broke into silent sobs once again, Aiden's gaze wandered towards the small picture frame of Vincent and the pregnant woman. An ominous feeling washed over him as he remembered hearing how bad the plague had hit the capital three years ago which was around the time of Vincent's accident. Was it possible that an injured, stranded Vincent couldn't get home to his wife and child in time?
Vincent was so sure that Aiden was going to think he was absolutely pathetic! If he hadn't lost the respect of his engineer before, he sure as bloody Hell did now! He tried to stop crying but he found now that he'd begun that he couldn't stop! Vincent felt the bed shift on his left, feeling embarrassed as he realized Aiden was sitting beside him on the bed.
It was about a minute later and Vincent's tears began to slow. He gave a sniff and wiped at his nose, feeling utterly embarrassed. He was about to apologize when he heard Aiden's soft voice pipe up beside him, "You know, I think you look quite dashing even without the eyepatch."
Vincent blinked in surprise, his teary eyes turning to look at Aiden. What was THAT supposed to mean?! "Y-you think I look dashing?" Vincent's cheeks blossomed in a rosy color as he glanced away in embarrassment. "I'm not dashing!" he exclaimed. "I'm not like...like...Damien! Damien is dashing. Me? Nuh uh!"
"Damien? Are you serious? He's like a damn peacock! 'Oh look at me! I'm so pretty! Worship me and my dashing good looks!'"
Vincent stared with wide eyes, lips parted in surprise as he witnessed Aiden imitating Damien with quite the accuracy; even going as far as to imitate his cocky smirk! And very suddenly and without warning, Vincent doubled over with laughter! Five seconds later, he caught himself and immediately stopped. He covered his mouth with his hands, eyes wide in surprise as he stared at Aiden with an embarrassed blush coloring his cheeks! Aiden suddenly beamed, his dimples on full display as he placed his hand on Vincent's shoulder and said, "So you DO know how to laugh after all!" He chuckled and smirked slightly. "Don't worry, Captain, I won't tell anyone."
Vincent blinked and then started to laugh again, lowering his hands as he wrapped them around his own abdomen. "Oh God, Aiden! The Hell am I gonna do with you?!" he asked even as he chuckled and wiped away the tears from his eyes. Aiden simply gave a small smile and lowered his hands to his lap. "Let's start with that coffee. No pressure to talk. Only when you're ready, IF you're ready. Okay?"
Vincent gazed at him, surprise and uncertainty filling him at once. No pressure? No need to talk? Just coffee? Really? A slight smile tugged at the corner of Vincent's lips and he gave a small nod. "Okay."
For a long moment, the men sat side by side and gazed into each other's eyes. Vincent had been so afraid that he'd see disgust in Aiden's gorgeous blue eyes. Instead, he saw only acceptance. Vincent smiled a little more and then stood from the bed, wiping his eyes free of tears. Somehow, Aiden made it better just by being here. How did that kid manage to break his wall down like that?! There was just something about Aiden...
Aiden allowed his gaze to follow Vincent's retreating figure. As it did, his eyes wandered a bit and took in the sight of how his rear was hugged just the right way by his pants. Not wanting to be caught dead staring at THAT, his gaze shifted quickly and settled on Vincent's elaborate and beautiful Celtic-style raven tattoo. He found he admired how it curved around his slender body. Catching how Vincent's tattoo dipped down below his belt line of his pants, a small little smirk grew on Aiden's lips. As he bit his lower lip, he couldn't help but wonder...how far down DID that tattoo go?
Next Part:
www.flickr.com/photos/153660805@N05/51040325757/in/datepo...
To read the rest of the story, here's the album link: www.flickr.com/photos/153660805@N05/albums/72157717075565127
***Please note this is a BOY LOVE (BL/yaoi/gay) series. It is a slow burn and rated PG13!***
***
**Special thank you to Vin Raven-Mysterious for collaborating with me on this series and co-starring as The Captain!
~
DISCORD SERVER: That's right! The Captain and the Engineer has a Discord Server! If you would like to join and chat with other crewmates and see what's new and happening before it gets posted to Flickr, click the link!
***NEW!!!!***
The Captain and the Engineer now has a FACEBOOK PAGE! Please come Like, Follow, and join the crew! Thank you so much for all your support!
FACEBOOK PAGE:
Poem.
Last snows of spring.
The misty peak of
Stob Coire nan Lochan,
pre-cursor to Bidean nam Bian, 1,150 metres,
hidden from view.
Rugged, raw, rocky valleys,
Raging, tumbling, plunging burns
dive down to the superlative Glencoe, below.
This place gloriously throws the senses into disarray.
This 420 million-year-old remnant of
a supervolcano subsidence caldera,
grabs the heart, mind and soul.
It is magnificent beyond my feeble words.
B&O 7402, a now-rare SD35, sits at the B&O museum in less-than-stellar shape. You can make out the Chessie logo on the nose, and colors under the numberboards.
The bedroom was cluttered with old tires, doors, canning jars, baseboard heaters, hoses and other detritus. I did not realize at the time I shot this photo that a jacket was discarded on the floor by the bed along with a shirt and pants on the bed. I wonder what the person who shed their clothes here was wearing when they left!
I never know what the train numbers are anymore but it’s 4.20pm and old Queensland Rail EMU set 34, trailing 38 has just arrived at Brisbane’s Shorncliffe terminus on a train from Cleveland on the south side and will head back only to Manly on the same line.
I was strolling around taking a few shots of these sets which are being withdrawn because of the entry into service of the new NGR fleet and realised there was enough room at the far end of the platform to stand and get a shot of the city end of the train in the sun. What I hadn’t checked was the scheduled departure time nor had I realised that the driver who brought the train in would not take it out again, so waiting for him to nonchalantly walk down the other end as a sign to get down that end for the shot before departure was not going to happen. As it turns out the turnaround times are so tight, 4 minutes in fact that the drivers flip over to return on the next train so they have enough time to go to the loo, powder their face or whatever.
Anyway, I always find out the hard way that I am well out of the knowledge loop these days. As I eventually walked to the other end of the platform and was about 10 metres from the front of the train the whistle (I guess make that klaxon) blew and poor tired old 38/34 set, even after nearly 40 years on the go showed a clean pair of wheels (ha ha) and left in a trail of “rubber” and dust! The next two trains were new NGR sets....hardly inspiring when you are shooting for the last of the oldies.
One day the last EMU* set will hurriedly depart into the sunset for the last time to meet its demise but perhaps not for a while. More recent troubles have arisen on our suburban trains as newer units are removed from service and schedules in thrown into disarray owing to .....mould. Seems our climate reversal from drought to lots of humidity and rain has caused an upsurge of mould growth in the new NGR trains’ air-conditioners in particular, which smells and is allegedly having some health impacts and they are having to be withdrawn more frequently for cleaning.
On another note, slow work has commenced on a restoration of the heritage Shorncliffe station. It was supposed to have been underway for some time but apart from some hoardings and a temporary ticket office and train crew room etc., little restoration has been done. An asbestos roof that has to be replaced is an initial project. Apparently also, preliminary works have turned up some very historic artefacts under the old building and these have had to be removed carefully also.
* All trains have some alpha or numeric code to designate their class. Just so happens that in Queensland, the Electric Multiple Units were given the classification of EMU.
Queensland Rail, Shorncliffe, Brisbane.
The National Museum of Cambodia in Phnom Penh is Cambodia's largest museum of cultural history and is the country's leading historical and archaeological museum.
The museum houses one of the world's largest collections of Khmer art, including sculptural, ceramics, bronzes, and ethnographic objects. Its collection includes over 14,000 items, from prehistoric times to periods before, during and after the Khmer Empire, which at its height stretched from Thailand, across present-day Cambodia, to southern Vietnam.
The National Museum of Cambodia is located on Street 13 in central Phnom Penh, to the north of the Royal Palace and on the west side of Veal Preah Man square. The visitors' entrance to the compound is at the corner of Streets 13 and 178. The Royal University of Fine Arts is located on the west side of the museum. The museum is under the authority of the Cambodian Ministry of Culture and Fine Arts. The museum buildings, inspired by Khmer temple architecture, were constructed between 1917 and 1924, the museum was officially inaugurated in 1920, and it was renovated in 1968.
George Groslier (1887–1945), historian, curator and author was the motivating force behind much of the revival of interest in traditional Cambodian arts and crafts, and it was he who designed this building that is today ‘traditional Khmer’ architecture. It is perhaps better described as a building enlarged from Cambodian temple prototypes seen on ancient bas-reliefs and reinterpreted through colonial eyes to meet the museum-size requirements.
The foundation stone for the new museum was laid on 15 August 1917. Some two-and-a-half years later, the completed museum was inaugurated during Khmer New Year on 13 April 1920 in the presence of H.M King Sisowath, François-Marius Baudoin, Résident-supérieur, and M. Groslier, director of Cambodian Arts, and Conservator of the museum.
The original design of the building was slightly altered in 1924 with extensions that added wings at either end of the eastern façade that made the building even more imposing.
Control of the National Museum and Arts Administration was ceded by the French to the Cambodians on 9 August 1951 and following Independence in 1953, the then Musée National de Phnom Penh was the subject of bilateral accords. In 1966 Chea Thay Seng was the first Cambodian Director of the Museum and Dean of the newly created Department of Archaeology at the Royal University of Fine Arts. This university that form its foundation as the Ecole des Arts Cambodgiens in 1920 was intimately linked with students, artisans and teachers who worked to preserve Cambodian cultural traditions, can still be found to the rear of the museum.
During Khmer Rouge regime of 1975-79—devastated all aspects of Cambodian life including the cultural realm. The Museum, along with the rest of Phnom Penh, was evacuated and abandoned. The Museum, closed between 1975 and 1979, and was found in disrepair, its roof rotten and home to a vast colony of bats, the garden overgrown, and the collection in disarray, many objects damaged or stolen. The Museum was quickly tidied up and reopened to the public on April 13, 1979. However, many of the Museum's employees had lost their lives during the Khmer Rouge regime.
German bunker - Utah beach - Normandy, France
Utah Beach - Normandy, France.
Utah beach is the codename for the westernmost of the 5 Allied landing zones during D-day. It is the only beach on the Cotentin peninsula and closest to the vital harbour city of Cherbourg. Together with Omaha beach it is the sector where the American forces were disembarked. The amphibious assault, primarily by the US 4th Infantry Division and 70th Tank Battalion, was supported by airborne landings of the 82nd and 101st Airborne Division. These Airborne troops were dropped on the Cotentin penisula.
In stark contrast with Omaha beach where the landing turned into a near disaster with most of the troops pinned down for hours with heavy losses in both men and material the landings at Utah went relatively smooth. This does not mean the GI's came ashore unopposed: some 200 casualties were suffered by the 4th division.
One of the factors that contributed to this success was that the preliminary bombing of the target areas here was accurate and the German forces - in contrast with what happened at Omaha beach - were in disarray at H-hour, 06:30, when the first wave of 20 landing craft approached the beach. The GI's of the 2nd Battalion, 8th Infantry landed on Uncle Red and Tare Green sectors. What they didn't know initially was that pushed to the south by strong currents they landed some 1.8 kilometres south of their designated landing spot!
Brigadier General Theodore Roosevelt, Jr. was the first high ranking officer that landed and , not discouraged by the dviation, he decided to "start the war from right here". He ordered further landings to be re-routed. As it was this was a good decision because the Americans landed on a relative weak spot in the German defenses. Only one "Widerstandsnest" (WN5) opposed them and it was severely affected by the preliminary bombardments. It took the GI's about an hour to clear the defenses. Today the remains of this German widestandsnest can still be seen and are partly incorporated into the Utah beach museum. Well worth a visit.
After the succesful landings the real difficulties started because of the inundated areas behind the beach and the increasing German resistance which lead to weeks of fighting on the Cotentin peninsula.
On the Photo:
German type R 667 bunker on the coastal road just behind Utah beach. Part of the "Atlantic wall" .
Tonemapped using three (handheld) shots made with a Fuji X-Pro3 and Fujinon 23mm f/2 lens, augustus 2020.
A set of photo's with notes of Utah Beach and the Cotentin peninsula with the Airborne sectors.
Here's the complete set of photo's made on Pointe du Hoc over the past years
My Omaha beach photo's with several viewpoints, panorama shots and notes on the fighting
These are my photo's and notes of the British and Canadian sectors: Gold, Juno and Sword.
Amid the disarray of Vulcan's forge, Venus leans into the embrace of her lover, Mars, who is transfixed by her alluring gaze. Caught up in his attraction to the aggressively seductive goddess, Mars is no longer able to carry out his military exploits. Venus removes his helmet, while mischievous putti cavort with his sword and shield.
In the 1600s, the subject of Venus disarming her lover Mars was understood as an allegory of Peace. Peter Paul Rubens and Jan Brueghel the Elder's interpretation of the subject, however, emphasizes the fragility of peace. Weapons production continues in the background at the burning fires of Vulcan's hearth, signaling that love's conquest of war may be only temporary.
Rubens and Brueghel, who were close colleagues, collaborated on at least twenty-five paintings. This painting displays each virtuoso's talents: Rubens's robust figural style and Brueghel's intricate still life details. The luminous figure of Venus, the reflective quality of the weapons and armor, and the tactile quality of the lush painting testify to their skill.
Polaroid SLR 680 SE/Polaroid Color 600
With her working from home, Beth Ann’s closet is constantly open and in disarray. We’re working on it.
Only 200 meters northwest of the very popular (and my personal favorite) Bayon temple, is the Baphoun temple. At one time it was the tallest monument in Angkor, but fell into disarray for centuries.
In the 1960s restoration efforts commenced by taking apart 300,000 sandstone blocks and putting them back together. It has been called the “world’s largest jigsaw puzzle.” The project was interrupted for over two decades as a result of the Cambodian civil war and restarted in the mid-1990s. It was finally completed in 2011 and just in time for my visit in 2012.
I had to do some “restoration” of my own for this photograph. This is a single shot RAW exposure in which I exposed for the sky. I knew with my Canon 5D Mark II with its full frame sensor and 21 mega-pixels of resolution I could recover some detail in the shadows.
So here is the entrance to the temple Baphoun in all its “restored” glory.
Happy Travels!
One more photo in the comment section.
All Rights Reserved. Photos and Text ©Sam Antonio Photography 2012
A porch swing, Chrysler PT Cruiser, and Dodge Caliber are in disarray at the end of Connell Avenue, where Mounts Creek ravaged the Dutch Bottom area of Connellsville the previous night on August 28, 2016. Many homes in the area had to be bought out, condemned, and torn down. Rebuilding was not allowed due to it being a flood plain.
Probably the third in what has become a regular event. The traditional 1st May demonstration, supported by most of the leftish groups in Kreuzberg, Berlin, which is usually followed by street parties and events, breaks down into an orgy of violence. While the peaceful part of the left settles down to enjoy itself, a small group of "Autonomen" breaks the window of a drinks supermarket and distributes the spoils amongst the populace. The police, who are present in huge numbers, feels the need to step in and deploys with all the kit they have. The Autonomen fall back and pass through, the plaza where the street party is taking place. The first stones are thrown, the party dissolves in disarray and the remnants are assembled into provisional barricades. Tear gas is fired to break up the Autonomen and the water cannon moves up from the side streets where they were parked and begins to systematically hit protestors. I would have taken it more seriously if it had not been clear that the whole thing was degenerating into a ritual where both sides knew their role. In this light and with the growing "riot-tourism" which takes place, one can only see disaffected young men expressing typical violence beneath the guise of political action. I was using an F5 and an F4 with 80-200, 60, 28, 20mm lenses, Fuji 400@800asa. Certainly got the adrenaline going!
Every house has someone waiting for the world to end in small moments as we blink before a dying universe. We all face a life full of ghosts that will visit us at night and in the face of it we turn lights on. The happy moments are paused by horror. Thoughts like daggers using us as pincushions. How easy it could be to give into despair. The sun will rise and it's a good reminder that we can love in the face of it all because that's the coil of life. A beautiful disarray of the living minor in the face of those who have passed.
PS: I don't know. This is rambling.
I don't know where I took this photo, but it was likely in Iowa.
Made more tasty for you with one of my homemade textures
Explore #309
Processed by: mavenimagery Labs Inc. Los Angeles, California.
HDR PROCESSED with IRET (Iris Range Enhancement Technology)
IRET (Iris Range Enhancement Technology and MavenFilters are products of mavenimagery Labs Innovation)
Copyright 2012 by mavenimagery Labs Inc. All rights reserved.
This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed. For private, editorial or commercial use contact mavenimagery
. Maven's note: The building in the image is not the actual "Hold Up House' in the story. This image is only to dramatize the story. The real Hold Up House has been demolished by the EU's Human Rights and Life Standards Treaty and Romanian Authority.
missed part I?
Click here: www.flickr.com/photos/maven_imagery/5814633295/
www.flickr.com/photos/maven_imagery/5807780562/
Scar Face reaches down behind the desk and raises his both hands in the air, two plastic cups in one hand a bottle in the other hand as if holding trophies of some kind of championship. Carefully, he places one of the cups in front of me. "Care for a Russian?" he says, still that sinister glint in his eyes.
"No, I'm fine." I decline.
"I insist," insists Scar Face. "It's Russia's best...well, beside Komunizm."
I look at the bottle of Putinka Vodka, then, lock eyes with Scar Face."Communism is as dead as a door nail," I say, and suddenly, regretting it for not being more original.As dead as a door nail? Good one, Maven! Then, for damage control, as if this soulles son of whore cares much or less about metapfors, I add quickly,"So will you before your time. Here is Some Statistics: A glass of alcohol kills about 1000-2000 brain cells, which we know will not be regenerated--"
"No craazy science pleaze," Interrupts Scar Face, raising a hand."For relaxing..and good for fatigue, no?". He pours into boths cups, takes his and holds it in the air, waiting for me to pick up mine.
I do.Why not? A cup won't...
Some minutes, hours or 'who cares?' time later:
"Come," I only hear a voice. "I will show you something," I follow the voice, entering the doorless door I saw earlier. The Putinka is kicking in and the twilight filtering in through gaps in the walls and the battered wall paints which looks like Rorschach pale ink blotches. The furious spring wind is hurling itself against the Hold Up House, howling and whisling, causing the roof tiles to push against one another with a repetative,bang!bang!bang! On the gritty floor, among the feathers, dust and grit a threadbare army-surplus blanket speckled with mold lies crumpled against the wall catches my eye; the litter of empty beer cans, half-smoked cigars, rotten cabbage or lettuce, crushed tomotoes under the appalling counter do not explain the strong stench that shoots up through my nostrils and into the nether unknown regions of my brains, but tells me it's quite nearer than before. I can see some ferocious activity has disturbed the an inch thick dust and grit. And that something that is not an old army blanket, though I wish it was, lies disarrayed, half in, half out of a dark, irregular pool of tacky liquid. As delirious flies hover and settle upon the dark pool, I feel the acrid taste of the Vodka coming back from my stomach as I watch the copper color mongrel, much like the one I saw and almost ran over earlier today (or yesterday),gets his teeth into the knuckle of meat and bone protroding from a white dirty sneaker, which is a Nike or Adidas, holds between its front paws.
"That a leg?" I ask as I follow the voice.
Scar Face stops and shoots a glance and says off handedly. "Yez, it iz." And all I'm thinking is this: Wouldna be awesome if I'd taken a shot of this wild moment?
"Her name is Galina," went on Scar Face. "Or at least, that is what she said her name was. No papers, no passport. Was caught in the streets of Budapest. Illigal immigrant from Russia.Charged with prostutition and drug possession,"
"She dead?" I ask stupidly, drunkenly.
Scar Face waves a hand in the air as if to say D'ugh! Guaranteed one hundred per cent: Dead as door nail. But instead he says,"AIDS, TB...STD, who knows?"
The Vodka and whatever I took with it now kicks in mercilessly. I feel weightless. I want to float through the weak, miserable roof and disappear into the thin air. Forget that I ever witnessed, seen a place like this or been to one. But I can't. My feet feels heavy as if embedded into the cement. I'm walking over slippery and gooey grounds. I must witness. All of it. The scrawnugly dog is the same three-legged dog that welcomed me at the curve; that sealed the moment where I would lose my soul to the Devil, if there was such a thing; where I become someone else: indifferent, selfish and, yes, soulless. But the damn mongrel was not three-legged. One of his rear legs was broken and in time has gotten so thin, the damn mongrel has no choice but to tug it underneath its torso when walked. The scrawnugly mongrel is chewing on Galina's foot while making every effort to extract the foot from the Nike or Adidas sneaker to a more private nook so that would be no disturbance as it feasts on the precious find.
This visual feast of this beast; abundance, profusion: an unprecedented feast of corruption, gargantuan in scale that cannot be measured.
The naked ancient bulbs flicker and a thunder clamour stomps on the roof and as we turned, facing a four hundred feet corridor, the bulbs were off and on like every second or so.
Will continue...
Words, slangs and 'coined words' Definitions:
scrawnugly:scraw·ny + Ugly= scrawnugly (origin: maven)
scrawny; exceptionally thin and slight or meager in body or size
When you were born, beloved, was your soul
New made by God to match your body's flower,
And were they both at one same precious hour
Sent forth from heaven as a perfect whole?
Or had your soul since dim creation burned,
A star in some still region of the sky,
That leaping earthward, left its place on high
And to your little new-born body yearned?
No words can tell in what celestial hour
God made your soul and gave it mortal birth,
Nor in the disarray of all the stars
Is any place so sweet that such a flower
Might linger there until thro' heaven's bars,
It heard God's voice that bade it down to earth.
~Sara Teasdale
I don't usually add poems/quotes that are this long to my images, but this has so much worth to me, and is such an exceedingly beautiful poem I couldn't help but read it over and over again.
Lately my 3 year old daughter has been asking a lot of questions about where she was when my husband and I got married. When I try to explain to her that we hadn't made her yet, she wasn't born, she gets very perplexed and it spawns a whole new set of questions about where she was before she was born.
I've found myself repeatedly meditating on theses same questions in order to give her an answer. And my conclusion is, I don't have an answer. What a beautiful mystery God has set out for us.
So, this one is dedicated to my beautiful Dakota. May your curiosity never flee from you my love <3
Laundry and storage building. It may seem uninteresting, but hey-- at least it's more calming to the mind than my previous KPPC building photos with descriptions like, "violent patient ward."
[Lens: AI'd Nikkor-N 35mm f/1.4 ☢️]
Magika: Pretty Hair
Schadenfreude: Kinder Horns
Negaposi: Elfin Eyes
KanoYa: Velvet Bow
Lovely Disarray: Thick Liner - Liquid Latex (Group Gift)
Repulse: Bloody Tears
Supernatural: Scorpion Top (Bikers Choice Fair)
Pixels: DemonBaby Gloves
Roots (Now Red Mint): 00O10002 Dress
Artificial Hallucination: Latex Skirty
Erratic: Fishnets Wide
Dilly Dolls: Danielle Boots