View allAll Photos Tagged hell
The spirit of Guns'n'Roses is alive and well in Sydney. This is The Hell City Glamours backstage at the Gaelic Club.
While riding his undead steed made from the corpses of the first horses in Eden, Eligos is unstoppable!
Tom and Carole at the Hell's Gate turnaround on Hell's Revenge, high above Moab, Utah. (c) 2013 Tom Kelly
Detail from 'The Fall of the Rebel Angels'.
The Jeroen Bossche Art Centre, housed in what was formerly the New St James church since 2007. The church was built 1905, the third one on the site, it was designed by Jan Stuyt and Jos Cuypers.
Temperatures at lower elevations in Interior Alaska may fall to 45 below zero again tonight, according to the National Weather Service. Cold weather is expected to persist through midweek, with a slight warming trend beginning Thursday.....
The history of Dublin's Hell-Fire Club, Rathfarnham. Overlooking Dublin city from the south west, at an altitude of 383m (1264ft), is a foreboding ruined hunting lodge, marked on Ordnance Survey maps as the 'Hell-Fire Club'. Current urban lore insists on telling us that it was - and still is - a site commonly used for the practice of 'Satanism' and other occult activities, and that the Devil himself made a brief appearance there at some unspecified time in the past. In a story similar to the one attached to Loftus Hall (a haunted house on the Hook Peninsula), a mysterious stranger seeks shelter on a stormy night, and a card game ensues. A member of the household drops a card, and sees that below the table, the otherwise affable and charming visitor has a cloven hoof. His or her screams made the Devil 'aware of her discovery, and he at once vanished in a thunder-clap leaving a brimstone smell behind him' (Seymour and Neligan).
Lucky Hell.
Taboo Barcelona Burlesque Nights.
21st December 2013,
Sala Apolo,
Barcelona.
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Fotos para el Web Magazine The Concert in Concert (www.theconcertinconcert.com/) Kreator + Arch Enemy + Hell + Drone - La Riviera - Madrid - 29/11/14
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A late afternoon Amtrak Regional Train heads across the "Little Hell Gate" trestle en route to NY Penn Station.
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This is what I imagine office hell to be like. You walk in every day, feeling like you are one of hundreds of other rats working all around you. The words rat race get a whole new dimension in this building. Please avoid this in your life for the sake of your sanity! ;-)
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On the banks of the Snake River in Hells Canyon, SE Washington. Photographed on April 26, 2015 for Worldwide Pinhole Photography Day using a Voightlander 116 roll film camera converted to a pinhole. The film is expired mystery 616 film exposed at 12 ISO. The pinhole is 0.5mm diameter, I had it set at about a 135mm focal length which gave me f/270. Semi-Stand developed in Adonal (Rodinal) 1-100 for 1 hour.
What on gods earth can you say? Strange, odd and rather disturbing?
Fun mind you that is for sure the art on display really caught my eyes, it may not be what I call worth the cash it cost to make and display. But it works when people interact with it, the young lady was taking a picture of her friend, so I snapped her with all this stuff behind her.
The Fuc King Hell Neon sign was nice, but the black and white large scale use of the letter F U C and K also draw the eye. To cap it off a hanging skeleton, made from what seemed like red and white sticky tape (as you do). Creative? not sure, but oddball stuff and distracting.
All in all I liked this as there is just so much going on, I just cropped off the bottom as I cut her shoes off the image by a fraction sadly, if I had not done that I would have the full frame image here. Next time get it all perfectly in frame grrrrrr
Taken in Newcaste Baltic Art Gallery once again.
I start work very near it in a week or so, cannot wait to go in there every few days for people spotting. There are plenty new additions to the place since I last went, including Jesus doing sex acts! nice. Grab the headlines as usual.
The Upload to Flickr has made it look a little odd it has to be said, not very detailed and clear anymore, was a lot sharper.
I'll admit it. Sometimes I send off for those glossy magazines and brochures of exotic places just so I can see everywhere I could be and everywhere I'm not. At first, it was a little bit masochistic. I'd flip through those arid deserts and humid jungles and crowded, jumbled streets and I'd compare. Those bleak landscapes to my almost bleaker suburbia. I'd look at all the places I wanted desperately to be at tht moment. I let the longing, sweet and bitter, well up in me until I had my car keys in hand and aa.com at my fingertips. I'd find myself looking up into the blue cloudless skies and imagined myself soaring though them to there, somewhere, anywhere but here. I let the desire to escape overwhelm the destination. I wanted to travel for so many of the wrong reasons.
But I've figured out the problem. When I looked at those pictures, I was seeing nothing more than impossibilities. I look at them now, or at least try to, and see the possibilities in them. I spread those same distant photographs out on my bedspread. But now my fingers don't stroke the glossy fingers, but the broad elephant leaves of the jungle. I nestle myself deep into the roots of the ancient gods of the jungle and let them wrap their arms around me so tight, a mother's embrace that's held so much life within it's grasp before, so many before me and so many after. And those gnarled hands that twist and entertwine above me, protectng and loving, until I'm underwater in this emerald world. And I lay back and watch that kalediscope sky above me, those shifting shades and shapes of green that shake and shimmer in the windy summer day and I feel the kalediscope world beneath me, the dying leaves and sprouts pushing up around me, the life that springs from death and the death that springs from life, a melding of the very worst and best forces of nature until the two are nearly indistinguishable. A howler monkey cries off in the distant. The ants go marching two-by-two carrying the cookie-cutter crumbs of the gods on their backs, but they'll bring the giants tumbling down and the fierce cry of the howler will fall silent all through the patience of jigsaw teeth. This world will rebuild and destroy itself in ture without the touch of human hands. And it makes me feel so large and so small. But my size doesn't matter. My name, my face, my history doesn't matter. My very essence loses some essential worth. Because none of it matters when I am apart of it all and all is apart of me.
So when I take those glossy magazines in my hands and run my fingers down the faraway lands. I'm not merely escaping where I am, but I'm bringing a bit of that jungle with me. The shadow tread of a panther that prowls in my step. Or that fierce game of predator and prey in my eyes. Or maybe new eyes all together. Because when I am in those distant forests, its very life is in me. I am so much greater than the sum of my parts. And even the ebb and flow of suburbia can't shake that from my bones.
From the ReStore in Lawrence, KS - and as I have now developed a "thing" for wooden handled hammers the last few years - it came home with me
Markings are a bit hard to see - but you do have several images to chose from. Logo in form of
- HELLER (HORSE) Made in USA -
with the Made in USA in smaller letters and USA under "Made in". Horse logo totally obscured by a rusty patch
Going all in on this - puller the head, now soaking in veneffr. Will prime/paint. Handle has some splits - glued in some 1/4" dowels and hope to stabilize. Will sand and probably seal. Did not get a look at bottom of handle yet to see if there is a weight mark
Wedge is an "S" shape and will be reset, I filed off about 1/4 -3/8" of the top of the handle to get some newer wood involved.