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altered by me into a quasi-studio-style shot
Forgive the amateur, but I do like it.
original: flickr.com/photos/dragonhide/111632410/
Tim McKee is the "Best Chef: Midwest" award from the James Beard Foundation in 2009.
Here in Provence with his friends.
Verifikasi Lapangan oleh Tim Teknis UPRBN (Unit Pengelola Reformasi Birokrasi Nasional) di BATAN pada 26 Oktober 2011. Lensa: Canon EF-S 18-135mm f/3.5-5.6 IS.
Sublime Light of Fortune at Vox Populi:
images based on the foreclosed buildings and arrested building constructions of Las Vegas using the conventions of 19th century American landscape painting.
Tim Farmer cranks on the comealong near Cemetary Pit. I installed a winch within days of this long afternoon. Years later, I got one of the Hamilton County Rescue trucks stuck at this exact same spot.
Sweeper Bass, Tim Gant - Stillwater, OK
Check them out here:
noisetrade.com/sweeper/sweeper-ep
Stobist Info:
MK910 in a DIY "Saber" Strip CR, Reflector CL, SB910/Umbrella CL behind subject
Ticking away the moments that make up a dull day
You fritter and waste the hours in an off hand way
Kicking around on a piece of ground in your home town
Waiting for someone or something to show you the way
Tired of lying in the sunshine staying home to watch the rain
You are young and life is long and there is time to kill today
And then one day you find ten years have got behind you
No one told you when to run, you missed the starting gun
And you run and you run to catch up with the sun, but its sinking
And racing around to come up behind you again
The sun is the same in the relative way, but youre older
Shorter of breath and one day closer to death
Every year is getting shorter, never seem to find the time
Plans that either come to naught or half a page of scribbled lines
Hanging on in quiet desperation is the english way
The time is gone, the song is over, thought Id something more to say
Home, home again
I like to be here when I can
And when I come home cold and tired
Its good to warm my bones beside the fire
Far away across the field
The tolling of the iron bell
Calls the faithful to their knees
To hear the softly spoken magic spells.
Pink Floyd - Time