View allAll Photos Tagged selfpotrait
Use this image without my permission is illegal. All Rights Reserved ste.t.©
(Dedicate one to the ladies...)
Now summertime's here babe, need somethin' to keep you cool
Ah now summertime's here babe, need somethin' to keep you cool
Better look out now though, Dave's got somethin' for you
Tell ya what it is
I'm your ice cream man, stop me when I'm passin' by
Oh my my, I'm your ice cream man, stop me when I'm passin' by
See now all my flavors are guaranteed to satisfy
Hold on a second baby
I got good lemonade, ah, dixie cups
All flavors and push ups too
I'm your ice cream man, baby, stop me when I'm passin' by
See now all my flavors are guaranteed to satisfy
Hold on, one more
Well, I'm usually passin' by just about eleven o'clock
Uh huh, I never stop, I'm usually passin' by, just around eleven o'clock
And if you let me cool you one time, you'll be my regular stop
All right boys
I got good lemonade, ah, dixie cups
All flavors and push ups too
I'm your ice cream man, stop me when I'm passin' by
See now all my flavors are guaranteed to satisfy
Yes I'm your ice cream man, stop me when I'm passin' by
I'm your ice cream man, stop me when I'm passin' by
They say all my flavors are guaranteed to satisfy
Ah, one time
I'm your ice cream man, stop me when I'm passin' by
I'm your ice cream man, stop me when I'm passin' by
They say all my flavors are guaranteed to satisfy
One time, boys
I'm your ice cream man
I'm your ice cream man
B-b-b-b-b-b-b-baby
Ah my, my, my
All my flavors are guaranteed to satis-uh-fy
Ow
Van Halen
ice cream man
Strobist Info:
SB-28 @ 1/8th Shot through umbrella camera left
SB-700 1/64th as kicker
Cactus V5 Triggers
Proyecto 52 autoretratos:
50/ 52
"Hay una pequeña y frágil belleza en la Frivolidad. Tal vez por su fugaz vida o simplemente por el hecho que todo deseamos paladearla en alguna oportunidad. "
Truman Capote
Los Perros Ladran
"Segundos más tarde el suelo comenzó a abrirse bajo su cuerpo, asustado intentó aferrarse a la pared rocosa del zulo, pero fue imposible. Todo se tornó arena fina y resbaladiza. Y caÃa, caÃa muy rápido, sin poder aferrarse a su propia vida. Y perdió la noción del tiempo, y cuando la caÃda frenó, se levantó como se levanta un minusválido que consigue andar de nuevo. Y cuando abrió los ojos, se dio cuenta de que estaba en un reloj de arena, y que cada grano era un recuerdo de su triste vida. Cada grano era un segundo que habÃa perdido con tonterÃas, y entonces comenzó a gritar, y cada vez se hundÃa más en sus años, en su vida."
***
"Seconds later, the ground began to open beneath him, scared he tried to cling to the rock face of the dungeon, but it was impossible."
Tanto el texto como la fotografÃa los he realizado yo. El texto pertenece a este post lalafireflies.blogspot.com.es/2013/06/time-arte.html
La obra simplemente se compone de un autorretrato en blanco y negro.
Saludos cordiales, Laura. Que tengan un gran dÃa.
There aren't any of pictures of me crying because I don't, really. I don't like to, and when I can't not cry, I tuck myself away somewhere people won't hear me.
You're supposed to document happiness, anger, sensuality, sexuality, extreme angst, and maybe sadness, but only with babies. Baby tears are acceptable. Babies can't take pictures of their own tears. Babies can't be accused of seeking attention from an unknown audience on the internet, so they're ok.
I was thinking about that, about how ridiculous it is that you can't express any sense of being discontent (especially photographically) without being seen as melodramatic.
This project is about me and today I was sad. Today I was sad and I cried and that was it. I could use a hug, but I'm not asking for one. I'm kind of wishing I had a restart button for the past few months, but I know I won't get one. It just is what it is....
And should anyone think that I'm doing this in some half-assed attempt at getting attention, they can go screw themselves.
But don't worry you are. Everyone is good enough. This picture is just portraying the times we forget and feel like nothing we do is good enough.
Lately I have really been into conceptual self-portraits. The only problem is a lot of my ideas come to me at the night, and I know if I don't take it then I will never get around to it. Hence, the crappy light with makes the colors look all weird. Either way I am very glad I took it anyway. :D
I wonder how many of u still remember me.
Sorry I looked tired there, no make up is like this :P
By the way photo taken last year, honeymoon in Korea.
So what about this year? Trust me, I'm a mother now, no more fancy photos! Lol
First, her tippet made of tulle,
easily lifted off her shoulders and laid
on the back of a wooden chair.
And her bonnet,
the bow undone with a light forward pull.
Then the long white dress, a more
complicated matter with mother-of-pearl
buttons down the back,
so tiny and numerous that it takes forever
before my hands can part the fabric,
like a swimmer's dividing water,
and slip inside.
You will want to know
that she was standing
by an open window in an upstairs bedroom,
motionless, a little wide-eyed,
looking out at the orchard below,
the white dress puddled at her feet
on the wide-board, hardwood floor.
The complexity of women's undergarments
in nineteenth-century America
is not to be waved off,
and I proceeded like a polar explorer
through clips, clasps, and moorings,
catches, straps, and whalebone stays,
sailing toward the iceberg of her nakedness.
Later, I wrote in a notebook
it was like riding a swan into the night,
but, of course, I cannot tell you everything -
the way she closed her eyes to the orchard,
how her hair tumbled free of its pins,
how there were sudden dashes
whenever we spoke.
What I can tell you is
it was terribly quiet in Amherst
that Sabbath afternoon,
nothing but a carriage passing the house,
a fly buzzing in a windowpane.
So I could plainly hear her inhale
when I undid the very top
hook-and-eye fastener of her corset
and I could hear her sigh when finally it was unloosed,
the way some readers sigh when they realize
that Hope has feathers,
that reason is a plank,
that life is a loaded gun
that looks right at you with a yellow eye.
Billy Collins
An Awesome trip to counquer two mountains, Merapi and Merbabu with Luarbiasa Foto Team
All Right Reserved © www.salehuddinlokman.com 2013
email : salehuddinlokman@yahoo.com
Buy My Artwork at Getty Images or you can contact me directly at salehuddinlokman@yahoo.com for details of pricing.
Wasn't liking this at first, until i flipped it......300 down, 65 to go......
Special Thanks to Joel for the sweet testimonial. Take some time to check out his creepy pictures :)
Uhhhm hey, that's me... and my trusty Canonet.
This is one of those situations where you look back and wonder what on earth you were thinking letting yourself go out like that.
Use this image without my permission is illegal. All Rights Reserved ste.t.©
Yeah, you know they're gonna bring it down now
They're gone wreck it down here
Something's come to rob me, and I can't get my head
I get nervous in the New York City Streets, where my legacy treads
I know I've been around standin' in the shadows, far from Humans with Guns,
But now It's too late, there's no escape, from what they have done
Come On!
I'm Going Deeper Underground
There's too much panic in this Town
I'm Going Deeper Underground
There's too much panic in this Town
I'm Going Deeper Underground
Well I got to go deeper, got to go much deeper, yeah
huh, hey
They're gonna wreck it down here
hey, yeah
They're gonna bring it down yah
Some people with a packet full of money, and an affel of hate
Take out pleasure in destruction of-eh everything, that they try to create
Somebody tell them why the zone man caan only tempering touch
Heaven Heaven where the badder mamma thinking chew, and now it's too much
I'm Goin' Deeper Underground
There's too much panic in this Town
I'm Goin' Deeper Underground
There's too much panic in this Town
I'm Goin' Deeper Underground
There's too much panic in this Town
I'm Goin', I'm Goin', I'm Goin' Deeper Underground
I'm Goin', I'm Goin', I'm Goin' Deeper Underground
I'm Goin', I'm Goin', I'm Goin' Deeper Underground
I'm Goin', I'm Goin', I'm Goin' Deeper Underground
Something's come to rob me, and I can't keep my head
I get nervous in the New York City Streets, where my legacy treads
I know I've been around standin' in the shadows, far from Humans with Guns,
But now It's too late, there's no escape, from what they have done
I'm Goin' Deeper Underground
There's too much panic in this Town
I'm Goin' Deeper Underground
I'm Goin' Deeper Underground
I'm goin' deeper underground, deeper yeah, I'm goin', I'm Goin', deeper
Jamiroquai
deeper underground
some more crazy stuff during crazy times . need ... more ...... sleep ......
.. should have done the outer circle smaller ......... zzzzz
This isn't about missing a guy or something. It's more like there's something missing and I have absolutely no idea what it is. In the last week or so all these old friends have come out of the woodwork who I thought were gone, and maybe that's made me realise how much I've missed them.
Tonight a friend said she wanted "the old Catherine back" and it irritated me because I listened to her talking for months about how her old friends were having a hard time accepting she'd changed, and I kept telling her it was ok and natural and she was bound to change. She managed to cope with how I changed over the summer, but now she's not. Ah well. Still love her.
118 days til I finish school. Putting it like that makes me feel like I might actually miss more people than I realised.
14/365
Nooooooooooooooo!!!!!!
Sometimes your thoughts turn around in your head. It is not pretty, but it happens.......
Use this image without my permission is illegal. All Rights Reserved ste.t.©
- Yeah, fuck you, too.
- Fuck me? Fuck you! Fuck you and this whole city and everyone in it.
Fuck the panhandlers, grubbing for money, and smiling at me behind my back.
Fuck squeegee men dirtying up the clean windshield of my car. Get a fucking job!
Fuck the Sikhs and the Pakistanis bombing down the avenues in decrepit cabs, curry steaming out their pores and stinking up my day. Terrorists in fucking training. Slow the fuck down!
Fuck the Chelsea boys with their waxed chests and pumped up biceps. Going down on each other in my parks and on my piers, jingling their dicks on my Channel 35.
Fuck the Korean grocers with their pyramids of overpriced fruit and their tulips and roses wrapped in plastic. Ten years in the country, still no speaky English?
Fuck the Russians in Brighton Beach. Mobster thugs sitting in cafés, sipping tea in little glasses, sugar cubes between their teeth. Wheelin' and dealin' and schemin'. Go back where you fucking came from!
Fuck the black-hatted Chassidim, strolling up and down 47th street in their dirty gabardine with their dandruff. Selling South African apartheid diamonds!
Fuck the Wall Street brokers. Self-styled masters of the universe. Michael Douglas, Gordon Gecko wannabe mother fuckers, figuring out new ways to rob hard working people blind. Send those Enron assholes to jail for fucking life! You think Bush and Cheney didn't know about that shit? Give me a fucking break! Tyco! Imclone! Adelphia! Worldcom!
Fuck the Puerto Ricans. 20 to a car, swelling up the welfare rolls, worst fuckin' parade in the city. And don't even get me started on the Dom-in-i-cans, because they make the Puerto Ricans look good.
Fuck the Bensonhurst Italians with their pomaded hair, their nylon warm-up suits, and their St. Anthony medallions. Swinging their, Jason Giambi, Louisville slugger, baseball bats, trying to audition for the Sopranos.
Fuck the Upper East Side wives with their Hermés scarves and their fifty-dollar Balducci artichokes. Overfed faces getting pulled and lifted and stretched, all taut and shiny. You're not fooling anybody, sweetheart!
Fuck the uptown brothers. They never pass the ball, they don't want to play defense, they take fives steps on every lay-up to the hoop. And then they want to turn around and blame everything on the white man. Slavery ended one hundred and thirty seven years ago. Move the fuck on!
Fuck the corrupt cops with their anus violating plungers and their 41 shots, standing behind a blue wall of silence. You betray our trust!
Fuck the priests who put their hands down some innocent child's pants. Fuck the church that protects them, delivering us into evil. And while you're at it, fuck JC! He got off easy! A day on the cross, a weekend in hell, and all the hallelujahs of the legioned angels for eternity! Try seven years in fuckin Otisville, Jay!
Fuck Osama bin Laden, al-Qaeda, and backward-ass, cave-dwelling, fundamentalist assholes everywhere. On the names of innocent thousands murdered, I pray you spend the rest of eternity with your seventy-two whores roasting in a jet-fueled fire in hell. You towel headed camel jockeys can kiss my royal, Irish ass!
Fuck Jacob Elinski, whining malcontent.
Fuck Francis Xavier Slaughtery, my best friend, judging me while he stares at my girlfriend's ass.
Fuck Naturel Rivera. I gave her my trust and she stabbed me in the back. Sold me up the river. Fucking bitch.
Fuck my father with his endless grief, standing behind that bar. Sipping on club soda, selling whiskey to firemen and cheering the Bronx Bombers.
Fuck this whole city and everyone in it. From the row houses of Astoria to the penthouses on Park Avenue. From the projects in the Bronx to the lofts in Soho. From the tenements in Alphabet City to the brownstones in Park slope to the split levels in Staten Island. Let an earthquake crumble it. Let the fires rage. Let it burn to fuckin ash then let the waters rise and submerge this whole, rat-infested place.
- No. No, fuck you, Montgomery Brogan. You had it all and then you threw it away, you dumb fuck!
from "25th hour"
(direct by spike lee, starring: Edward Norton, Philip Seymour Hoffman, Rosario Dawson)