robertmgoldstein.com/

The mirror no longer lies — it simply stopped caring. Where there was fire, there is now ash that remembers the shape of the flames. I wear this face like a costume I can never take off, painted over wrinkles that tell stories I never asked to carry. Where living and fading became the same thing, slow and without witnesses, where each dawn the hammer of a sentencing judge strikes and never absolves.

Others may have made peace with time — and I respect that silence, whatever it hides. But I cannot pretend something that does not exist inside me. This grief is mine alone, selfish and unapologetic, a pain I carry without the ability to disguise it or make it more bearable to look at. Age is not wisdom dressed in silver — it is a slow erasure, a dimming of the light I once was so certain would never go out. I look back and the road behind is longer than the road ahead, and somewhere in that arithmetic lives a darkness I have learned to call by name. The unmade.

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

Der Spiegel lügt nicht mehr — er hat lediglich aufgehört, sich zu kümmern. Wo einst Feuer war, liegt nun Asche, die sich noch an die Form der Flammen erinnert. Dieses Gesicht trage ich wie ein Kostüm, das sich niemals ablegen lässt, übermalt von Falten, die Geschichten erzählen, um die ich nie gebeten habe. Dort, wo Leben und Verblassen zu ein und demselben wurden, langsam und ohne Zeugen, wo mit jedem Morgen der Hammer eines urteilenden Richters niedergeht und niemals freispricht.

Andere mögen mit der Zeit Frieden geschlossen haben — und ich respektiere dieses Schweigen, was immer es verbergen mag. Doch ich kann nicht vortäuschen, was in mir nicht existiert. Diese Trauer gehört ausschließlich mir, eigensinnig und ohne jede Entschuldigung, ein Schmerz, den ich weder verbergen noch erträglicher gestalten kann. Alter ist keine in Silber gekleidete Weisheit — es ist ein langsames Auslöschen, ein Verblassen jenes Lichts, von dem ich einst sicher war, dass es niemals erlöschen würde. Ich blicke zurück, und der Weg hinter mir ist länger als der Weg vor mir, und irgendwo in dieser Arithmetik lebt eine Dunkelheit, die ich gelernt habe, beim Namen zu nennen. The unmade

Trash talk, trolling, and existential angst. With a healthy dose of denial about sleep deprivation. As usual.

Ritzville, Washington

Two figures sit motionless on a splintered bench, backs to the camera, facing a body of water that reflects none of the light. The sky above them churns with a thick, oppressive mass of clouds, less of a storm, more a reckoning. The distant town across the water appears frozen, its palm trees stiff against the windless void, as if bracing for something that’s not weather but consequence.

There’s no conversation between the seated pair. No movement. Just the kind of silence that comes after decisions have been made and before outcomes arrive. The monochrome palette strips away warmth, leaving only the stark geometry of despair and stillness. It’s not clear whether they’re watching the end of something or waiting for it to begin.

This is not a peaceful scene. It’s a quiet surrender.

My latest photography is now available for purchase at crsimages.pixels.com/, featuring prints, framed art, and more from my curated collections.

Reading through this article about the benefits of Machine Learning,

www.datacamp.com/blog/what-is-machine-learning

I've learned that Machine Learning (ML) is a branch of artificial intelligence (AI) enabling AI to imitate the way that humans learn, gradually improving it's accuracy.

The following statement particularly caught my attention in the article:

'In the 21st century, data is the new oil, and machine learning is the engine that powers this data-driven world. It is a critical technology in today's digital age, and its importance cannot be overstated.'

I have also learned throughout the article the many ways machine learning is beneficial for me personally: it helps me to see what I'd like to see, shows me what I'd like to buy, listens to me, tracks my behaviour and feeds my mind it's daily dose of information.

And from there I can see the benefits of me being in a perfectly round digital world with all my favourite things and thoughts circulating around me, I just need make sure that no one will ever come close to me with their strange worlds and disturbing opinions, unless they want to see my existential fear being properly activated...

To be fair with the article, it does mention one actual benefit to humanity; it states that machine learning is used widely in health care. Google's DeepMind Health for example is working with doctors to build machine learning models to detect diseases earlier and improve patient care. And I would like to think that there are many other areas as well where the application of ML is implemented by goodwill and in faith of a better future for us, not driven by greed, power or any other sinister agendas.

I believe regardless of what is the original intent of creating a tool/machine/algorithm, once created, you will have the moral choice to use it and aim towards what's right, or to use it and aim towards what's wrong, or don't even care at all, just use the tool and see what happens, in any ways, there is always a price to pay.

We've yet to see what is the ultimate price to pay for releasing and so desperately trying to finalize an 'all knowing' machine god above us, and I can only hope that while we are still in control, human goodwill will always outweigh human greed, and we can still remain to be compassionate individual human beings seeing each other in the warm light of the sun, and not turning into some cold numbers on a blue screen as part of a soulless database.

...

I do understand the importance of science and economics, but I don't want to live in a 'data-driven' world...

I want to live in a love-driven world.

If only machines could 'deep learn' love, and mass generate it into the world... that I could call Progress.

Image taken at Bikás Park Underground Station, Budapest, Hungary.

Fomaton MG 131 24x30cm in Moersch SE5

A + B + H2O = 40+35+1000

Lith Ω - 1 min

Kentmere 400@800 in Ilford Microphen 1+0

📷 Holga 120GN

Alberto Giacometti was one of the most important sculptors of the 20th century. His work was particularly influenced by artistic styles such as Cubism and Surrealism. Philosophical questions about the human condition, as well as existential and phenomenological debates played a significant role in his work. Around 1935 he gave up on his Surrealistic influences in order to pursue a more deepened analysis of figurative compositions.

Between 1938 and 1944 Giacometti's sculptures had a maximum height of seven centimeters (2.75 inches).[7] Their small size reflected the actual distance between the artist's position and his model. In this context he self-critically stated: "But wanting to create from memory what I had seen, to my terror the sculptures became smaller and smaller". After World War II, Giacometti created his most famous sculptures: his extremely tall and slender figurines. These sculptures were subject to his individual viewing experience—between an imaginary yet real, a tangible yet inaccessible space.

A colossal structure stands like the skeletal remains of an ancient leviathan, reaching for a sky that has forgotten the sun. This massive web of steel and concrete isn't just a building; it's a testament to lost glory, a relic of a time before the endless twilight consumed the world. The dome looms above, its open framework allowing the melancholy of the clouds to seep through like an insidious poison, an open cage that has trapped the city beneath.

Below, the city struggles in vain. The ruby-red neon sign, "MOULIN ROUGE," burns with the desperate glow of a dying star—a fleeting reminder of forgotten pleasures in a world of inescapable gloom. Each light is a plea for life, easily swallowed by the deep, ravenous shadows that gather beneath the towering structure. It's a place where time has frozen, and the only constant is the crushing weight of existential despair, as if the steel cage itself is a vessel carrying the sorrows of a thousand generations.

Ho realizzato questo scatto perchè non capivo.

Riguardo il risultato e mi crea angoscia.

L’angoscia sperimentata a livello emotivo finisce per risultare paralizzante. Può farci sentire ansiosi, impauriti, e minacciati senza ragione. Può essere caratterizzata da un senso di vuoto esistenziale, o farci sentire un peso che rende difficile respirare.

I took this shot because I didn't understand.

I look back at the result and it makes me anxious.

The anguish experienced on an emotional level ends up being paralyzing. It can make us feel anxious, afraid, and unnecessarily threatened. It can be characterized by a sense of existential emptiness, or make us feel a weight that makes it difficult to breathe

Many thanks for your views, faves and supportive comments. These are always very much appreciated.

you can see other works in :

www.paolopaccagnella.com

- No Unauthorized Use.

Absolutely no permission is granted in any form, fashion or way, digital or otherwise, to use my images on blogs, personal or professional websites or any other media form without my direct written permission.

This includes Pinterest, FaceBook,Tumblr, Reddit or other websites where one's images are circulated without the photographer's knowledge or permission.

If you recognize yourself in a photo of this gallery, you certainly weren't what I was photographing, if you don't want it to be published let me know and the photo, perhaps, will be removed.

P. Paccagnella. [ph.p.ph.©] TdS Pd Italy

Promethéus, "colui che riflette prima"; è un personaggio della mitologia greca.

Prometeo rubò il fuoco agli dei per darlo al genere umano e la sua azione, che avvenne in antitesi a Zeus ed è posta ai primordi dell'umanità, rappresenta l'origine della condizione esistenziale umana.

Eng

Prometheus, "he who reflects first"; is a character in Greek mythology.

Prometheus stole fire from the gods to give it to mankind and his action, which occurred in antithesis to Zeus and is placed at the beginning of humanity, represents the origin of the human existential condition.

...just a real photography...

No artificial intelligence, no computer graphics...

Many thanks dear friends for your views, faves and supportive comments. These are always very much appreciated.

you can see other works in

www.paolopaccagnella.com

ph.p.ph.© All Rights Reserved

- No Unauthorized Use.

Absolutely no permission is granted in any form, fashion or way, digital or otherwise, to use my images on blogs, personal or professional websites or any other media form without my direct written permission.

[ph.p.ph.©] TdS Pd Italy EU

Viewed best in a light box.

We become older

and are put out to pasture..................

we lose our beauty,

creases, folds, wrinkles cover the young innocence and smoothness

of our younger hedonistic days.

our mind slow downs

we think of the naivety of our youth

and how directionless they seem

the painful existential angst: to ponder our obsolescence, the passage of time brings on...................

that there isnt enough time to accomplish what we believe we should have or still can.

fear anxiety paralyzes many of us.

mistakes are not acceptable

the clock our worst enemy.

the hell that demonizes us.

Near Bantry.........

IRELAND

Photography’s new conscience

linktr.ee/GlennLosack

linktr.ee/GlennLosack

glosack.wixsite.com/tbws

eN-genes

Now more than ever you can be like a tree unaging In the mind,

with its diseased shadow squeezing a grave, squeezing me:

China bones and tendons in various degrees of separation,

floods and droughts ruining my heart now cold, eyes closed

over beliefs that held my life together, lying exposed, nameless

quaint fragments sitting below the mutilation of a sunrise.

I’m sporting an existential dark gray outfit with an elegance

to be the envy of Tiffany. And a prayer hiding beneath every curse.

On a stage without curtains publishing my fury in a fury of words.

With flowers dried to amber in one hand and a blade in the other,

into the flesh of trees; I convert this energy and this body’s hunger.

I’m an annotator; suffering is difficult to depict and I need paper.

So there it is, words gathering like birds on an empty clothesline,

hinting at implications in a blur of thoughts and old forgotten creeds.

Hear me out: “Let’s leave footprints deep as the ocean. Try it. Seriously.

One spring out of every century”. The edge of time makes a sound

and the music runs through the kitchen, through my bloodstream,

breaking the glasses as I cut onions, as I cut you out of everything.

June 20-2018-18.00

fat jon & styrofoam - Generic Genes

youtu.be/Z4tuzcSzWZw

"but as you wait, i heard that there's a way to save some

collect everything that connects to the bass drum

we'll take a journey and venture back at a later date

no need to worry now, everything was saved to tape

control the medium, listen when the people speak

note the elements, even if they're incomplete

as it filters through..don't interrupt the code

no need to look around. there'll always be enough to load"

Tern occupying marker buoy, fellfoot, river Leven, Windermere, South Lakeland, Cumbria.

I was listening to "Marooned" by Pink Floyd while working on this image. One thing kind of led to another. An adult beverage may have been involved.

Here's the inspiration.

www.youtube.com/results?search_query=marooned+pink+floyd

Image imagined in MidJourney AI and finished with Topaz Studio 2.0 and Lightroom Classic.

Never mind that the video is black and white, the audio is silent, and the screen flickers like a bad horror movie. Rules say "bolts or other items without the matching socket will be removed"—but what about perfectly fitting connections that refuse to work?

This SCART-to-RCA adapter is a shining example of deception—it plugs in smoothly, yet the signals inside are having an existential crisis. The video signal screams in RGB, but the TV only understands composite, leaving us with a washed-out mess. The audio sits quietly, confused and alone, wondering why it wasn’t invited to the party.

But hey, it fits, so it stays! Even if it means your movie looks like a ghost story filmed in 1925.

Location: Visit Nature's Sillywood in Second Life

❤ AMADEA SET by Thalia Heckroth

For Meshbody Legacy, Legacy Perky, Legacy Perky Petite, Legacy Pinup x Bombshell, LaraX, PetiteX, eBody Reborn, Momma.

Get yours here at: Thalia Heckroth in-world store

Marketplace: AMADEA SET FATPACK or SEPARATE COLORS

- Thalia Heckroth FB page

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- Thalia Heckroth Flickr Group

In the cradle of spring, where life begins anew,

Blossoms unfurl, in the softest hues of dew.

The sun whispers warmth, the earth sighs in relief,

As life dances forth, from each bud and leaf.

Yet, in this rebirth, a silent echo we find,

Of cycles unending, of the most existential kind.

For each petal that blooms, must one day fall,

And the greenest of branches, in winter, stand tall.

Spring's breath is sweet, but carries a truth,

That life is a moment, fleeting and uncouth.

In the heart of each flower, lies the seed of demise,

And in the joy of birth, the shadow of goodbyes.

But fear not the end, for in death, life is sown,

And from the darkest of soils, new light is shown.

So let spring's feelings, of life and of death,

Teach us to cherish, each heartbeat, each breath.

Die Hoffnung hängt an Schläuchen - Hope hangs on tubes.

The formal challenge: how to express an existential feeling or a cardinal virtue in our times with means of photography,

A lone kayaker, dressed like Indiana Jones’s quieter cousin, glides across a grayscale lake with the intensity of someone who just discovered poetry. The water sparkles. The trees whisper. And somewhere, a Spotify playlist called “Soul Search Vibes” is playing.

This image is a masterclass in pretending you’re the main character while doing cardio.

My latest photography is now available for purchase at crsimages.pixels.com/, featuring prints, framed art, and more from my curated collections.

For him, the existential question of God, experienced as an invincible question, is evidence enough of the presence and reality of God. “When all our mind is aglow with the eternal ques- tion like a face in gazing on a mighty blaze, we are not moved to ask: Where is God?” No, in that context we ask “Where are we?” and are moved to confess that “God is more plausible than our own selves.”

-Approaching God, The Way of Abraham Joshua Heschel, John C. Merkle

It was just standing there at the end of a parking lot. Silent, filled with an inherent presence.

The difference between objective reality and inherent existence is that the former refers to the fact that things exist, while the latter refers to a particular interpretation or understanding of how things exist.

My existential experience just occurred and was unattainable through effort or some accumulation of knowledge.

Presence is the field of attention in which objects arise, and thanks to which the objective appears.

Chinon Infrafocus 35F-MA

Kodak ColorPlus 200

It has been fundamentally a psychological and existential journey.

Roger Ballen

Peace now!

witch hazel, 'Wisley Supreme', sarah p duke gardens, duke university, durham, north carolina

The Scream is an art composition created by Norwegian artist Edvard Munch in 1893. The Norwegian name of the piece is Skrik ('Scream'), and the German title under which it was first exhibited is Der Schrei der Natur ('The Scream of Nature'). The agonized face in the painting has become one of the most iconic images in art, seen as representing a profound experience of existential dread related to the human condition. Munch's work, including The Scream, had a formative influence on the Expressionist movement.

Munch recalled that he had been out for a walk at sunset when suddenly the setting sun's light turned the clouds "a blood red". He sensed an "infinite scream passing through nature". Scholars have located the spot along a fjord path overlooking Oslo and have suggested various explanations for the unnaturally orange sky, ranging from the effects of a volcanic eruption to a psychological reaction by Munch to his sister's commitment at a nearby lunatic asylum.

Munch created two versions in paint and two in pastels, as well as a lithograph stone from which several prints survive. Both painted versions have been stolen from public museums, but since recovered. In 2012, one of the pastel versions commanded the highest nominal price paid for an artwork at a public auction at that time.

Demanding and difficult are closely related terms, but there is a fine distinction between the two. Exploring what distinguishes the merely difficult from the demanding will help us find the edge of our awareness where the aesthetic plunges down into existential depth...

Analyzing a piece of music according to all the intricacies of musicology is certainly more difficult than simply to sit back and listen with wholehearted enjoyment; yet, to listen deeply is more demanding than to analyze the structure. Analyzing takes knowledge and skill; true listening takes all of you. It might not seem difficult to give ourselves to the rapture of beauty. Yet, out of it emerges a Presence, a Voice, name it as you wish, that goes beyond aesthetics and makes existential demands; “You must change...”

-A Listening Heart-the Spirituallity of Sacred Sensuousness, Brother David Steindl-Rast

Just playing with trying to enhance the 'eye'.

Photography is wonderful because it captures things that we may not see. In the case of this photo when I was taking it I only saw some light haze coming up from the bottom of the frame.

I tilted the camera to try and eliminate most of it and took the image. When I checked the result I noticed the light halo that looks kind of like an eye. Which I think turns it into an existential artwork rather than just a star snap.

I recently finished reading a very interesting collection of short stories entitled Save Me Stranger, by Erika Krouse. The stories are pretty wild and go in all different directions with quite a large variety of main characters and settings. Many really made me think more deeply about life situations and reality.

In any case, the collection starts out with the following quote from Anaïs Nin:

"Stories are the only enchantment possible, for when we begin to see our suffering as a story, we are saved."

I've been thinking about that quite a bit and I immediately start thinking about how when you are going through a traumatic incident, it is sometimes helpful to picture yourself removed from your body, as if seeing it all from an existential distance.

How will we understand and tell our own stories with this huge change in history...this turmoil, these atrocities currently happening in our names. And, of course, the "winners" are the ones who get to write those stories but none of us are winning here. Some of us may be lucky to survive but that's about all. What we've all collectively lost is immeasurable, whether we write it down or not.

**All photos are copyrighted**

"Many of us seem to carry time, all its weight,

into the present, see it not, call it our fate…”

-- William J. Jr. Atfield

"The flowers stand out against their background of rock and coral-red sand with what I can only describe as an existential assertion of life; they are almost audible."

Edward Abbey, Desert Solitaire 1968

Frosts are due this week, and I suspect the last of the fall flowers will succumb for another season.

Technology marks 100% of the device's energy, while I experience the emptiness of depression or, rather, disdain toward society.

And yet, the digital display and the biological body co-exist in the exact same instant. Being present does not necessarily mean being happy, active, or aligned with the outside world. It means inhabiting one's own weight, one's own flesh, and one's own dissent, without filters.

Sick transit

Stubborn ghosts, shy to the point of evaporation, propelled by the merciless invasion of light to their inescapable fate, a lamentable state of affairs comfortingly derided by the remnant of the red jeans alone.

*

Shortest curve

We wonder what kind of desperate determination can drive this existential march from nothing to nowhere in the midst of such painfully vivid clarity?

//These words suggested by the inscrutable links of friendship serve to add Janos Kepes’s personal verbal articulation to Richard Wohlfart’s photographs, a single if relevant item of an infinite set of possible resonances.//

No matter how far you wander, and how alone you feel, sometimes a simple call home is all you need to cure what ails ya.

Image created in MidJourney AI and finished with Topaz Studio 2.0 and Lightroom Classic.

potsdamer platz, between towers, he walks the edge of what remains visible.

(while Jo is just sleeping)

the stairs end in light. she stands at the edge of it. the wall points at her. she does not notice.

(40/365) For macro mondays theme "holes", This is a donut hole, about 0.7" wide. What's on the other side? A chocolate iced donut, of course. This does beg the existential question "what happens to the hole when you eat the donut?" You don't eat the hole, so does it still exist? Something to ponder (over a bottle of tequila, probably).

"In restless dreams, I walked alone."

--Paul Simon

Image imagined in MidJourney AI and finished with Topaz Studio 2.0 and Lightroom Classic.

An existential moment is loosely defined as the moment when you become aware of your existence, or how insignificant you are in the big scheme of things. My moment came on a multi day hiking trip in the wilderness of Northern California. But this moment can occur anywhere and at anytime--sometimes when things look the bleakest. I wonder if you can have more than one moment in your life?

Location: an insignificant part of my mind.

Image imagined in MidJourney AI and finished with Topaz Studio 2.0 and Lightroom Classic.

Location:

With the company’s market share hovering near 50% throughout the 1960s, General Motors executives feared a potential government breakup. This existential threat influenced a number of corporate decisions at the time, including downplaying racing and street performance. This included the edict limiting “intermediates” and Pony cars to engines under 400 cubic inches. For 1970, however, that rule was rescinded.

With Clean Air Act regulations looming the following year, however, the policy change had a short-lived effect. It did create such unencumbered behemoths as the 455-ci Buick GSX Stage 1, Oldsmobile 442 and Pontiac GTO in 1970. Chevrolet’s top-shelf 427-ci engine received a longer stroke to become the 454. It was available in mild RPO LS5 or wild LS6 versions. The LS6 used solid lifters and forged internals, and made 450 horsepower.

Requiring the Z15 SS 454 option at $503.45, the $263.30 LS6 package with $221.80 M22 4-speed manual added $988.55 to the base Chevelle price of $2,809. All-in, an LS6 Chevelle was pushing $5,000, which was Corvette territory at the time.

In its December 1969 issue, Motor Trend tested such a Chevelle against two other muscle cars, a Plymouth Road Runner 440 Six Pack and a Ford Torino Cobra 429. The Chevy was the clear winner, doing 0–60 mph in 6.0 seconds and running the quarter mile in 13.8, over a half-second better than the others. (Hot Rod got even better results: 13.44 seconds at an amazing 108.17 mph.) The Chevelle delivered more than just straight-line speed, as Motor Trend noted: “Nurtured by the evolution of the Z28, the Chevelles, even the big ones, dart like whippets through the tightest turns. It was certainly the strongest — the most super — of the three.”

'now the stars, they are all angled wrong...

and the sun and the moon refuse to burn

but i remember a message in a demon's hand

dread the passage of jesus for he does not return...'

Nick Cave and The Dirty Three

Fomaton MG 131 24x30cm in Moersch SE5

A + B + H2O = 40+35+1000

Lith Ω - 1 min

Kentmere 400@800 in Ilford Microphen 1+0

📷 Holga 120GN

I always enjoyed photographing animals: not necessarily the really wild ones, but one's I could identify with and have a conversation with, such as sheep, goats and cows. Of course it's essential to get up close and personal and Nettie here, reminded me that she doesn't really tolerate visitors invading her space by jabbing one very pointy, sharp horn hard into my side. I knew it was time to move on. Perhaps I'm over confident, but............

In the green heart of Glen Nevis, where the river curled like silver ribbon through the heather, there lived a thoughtful Highland cow named Nettie. Nettie wasn’t just any coo — she was an eco-coo. While her herd spent their days munching, mooing, and minding their own cud, Nettie spent hers worrying about methane.

You see, Nettie had heard the walkers passing through the glen muttering about “climate change” and “cow emissions.” She didn’t fully understand the science, but she did understand one thing: her farts were apparently famous for all the wrong reasons.

So, Nettie took matters into her own hooves. She watched her diet carefully, nibbling only the lush, green grass by the riverbank — the kind that didn’t bubble her belly quite so much. Still, every now and then, she couldn’t resist a crunchy thistle or a bitter dock leaf. One mouthful, and burrrrp! The echoes bounced off Ben Nevis itself.

One breezy afternoon, as Nettie was meditating on her methane, a small figure appeared down the glen. It was a young activist named Greta, armed with a clipboard, a megaphone, a flag, and boundless enthusiasm.

“Hello, beautiful cow!” Greta chirped. “I’m here to talk to you about sustainability!”

Nettie blinked. Sustainability she could get behind. But Greta didn’t stop there. She crept closer and closer, trying to get the perfect selfie with Scotland’s most eco-conscious cow.

Unfortunately, Greta got too close. Nettie, feeling her personal space invaded, gave a warning shuffle. Greta didn’t notice — she was too busy adjusting her megaphone and waving her Palestine flag at some Chinese tourists in a passing tour bus

And so, with the serenity of a creature at peace with her digestive destiny, Nettie turned, sighed deeply, and sat down.

There was a noise — a long, trumpeting sound, and unmistakably bovine as the megaphone sjipped inside the cow's rear and a rush of high pressure warm air echoed through the glen, rattled the rocks, and sent a flock of startled grouse skyward. Greta’s megaphone took the brunt of it, amplifying the event into something that might have registered on the Richter scale.

When the air finally cleared, Nettie looked back over her shoulder with calm satisfaction. Greta, covered in thistle fluff and existential humility, scribbled something on her clipboard:

“Lesson learned: nature always speaks louder.”

From that day on, Nettie was known far and wide as the Highland Coo who cared for the planet — and wasn’t afraid to make a statement when necessary.

And in Glen Nevis, whenever the wind carried a faint, grassy pfffft across the hills, the locals just smiled and said,

“Ah, that’ll be Nettie = the Glen Nevis Monster— saving the world again.”