«Surf-O-Rama»
View allAll Photos Tagged twanger
For me, anyway, the name of this flower, Galadia, almost sounds like a friendly greeting, especially when made with an Australian twang! So I thought I'd give the title a bit of a twanging too. Have a lovely weekend, my friends ... :-))
........ and im ready for a Barn Dance come Saturday Night ............
Rooster hits the washboard and people just got to smile
Blinky thumps the gut bass and solos for a while
Poor Boy twangs the rhythm out on his kalamazoo
And Willy goes into a dance and doubles on kazoo
Macro Mondays
Theme: Sound
Size : Less than 3x3 inches
The subject is guitar strings.
Have to get my old guitar out of storage for this week's theme.
Only light source is natural sunlight through the glass doors.
Many thanks for your visit, comments and faves ...it is always appreciated..
HMM
Why, he could charm the scales right off a snake (said with a Texas twang).
(?) Red-shouldered hawk (Buteo lineatus) on a foggy morning in McGovern Centennial Gardens. Hermann Park. Houston, Texas.
I have never seen Gerry interested in the Banjo before. This Banjo hangs in our living room. It belonged to my Father in Law. I do not play but it is a nice reminder of him. Soon I plan to hang my brothers Bass Guitar up somewhere.
Happy Teddy Bear Tuesday
A color that hangs lanterns
on bare twigs
or flames the bushfire sky
with ripeness close to red,
it zings and swigs the air
like twanging banjo notes
on bluest blue, its head
held high - it pings
up on the ledge
of spectral ecstasy,
evangelistic hue ......
That's orange !
Margrit
Top To Bottom - Denna
Hair - Doux - Victoria (New at Level)
Head: Genus Project - Strange W002
Skin: Nar - Brienne (Bom)
Brows: SB - JuliaWater Small (Bom)
Lipstick: Velour - Lolita
Necklace: NaaNaa's - Sama
Top: Ascend - Quin (New FaMeshed)
Instrument: BAMSE - Twang - Fawn RARE (NEW Arcade)
Bracelets: Eudora 3D - Lilac
Pose: Denden
www.youtube.com/watch?v=HxG-BYtVVuE
"I dream upon the opposing lights of the hour,
Preventing shadow until the moon prevail;
I dream upon the nighthawks peopling heaven,
Or plunging headlong with fierce twang afar;
And on the bat's mute antics, who would seem
Dimly to have made out my secret place,
Only to lose it when he pirouettes,
On the last swallow's sweep; and on the rasp
In the abyss of odor and rustle at my back,
That, silenced by my advent, finds once more,
After an interval, his instrument,
And tries once--twice--and thrice if I be there;
And on the worn book of old-golden song
I brought not here to read, it seems, but hold
And freshen in this air of withering sweetness;
But on the memor of one absent, most,
For whom these lines when they shall greet her eye."
Robert Frost
Spent a lot of time in my twenties living in Boughton. It's about a mile from the city centre but has a village feel to it, as do a lot of the suburbs in Chester.
It still has a green grocers, a bakery and and a couple of butchers, the one I used has recently changed hands after the retirement of Mr. Philip Salt esq. but they still do a version of the Chester Roll which is like a cross between a sausage roll and a Cornish pasty.
For such a small city the accents differ wildly and I can instantly tell where someone was brought up. There is a 'Boughton twang,' the 'Saltney inflection,' and the recent influx of media types, TV presenters, celeb chefs and actors to Hoole, now known locally as Notting Hoole has changed the accent there beyond recognition.
Blacon and the Lache are often grouped together with similar accents but most Cestrians can tell the difference through colloquial phrases. Further out you get a kind of regional RP in Vicars Cross, Upton and Christleton.
I decided to post a series of three shots of this species, because, in one of the other shots, the lilac-pink crest on the back of their head is more visible, and, in the profile photo, you have a general view of the spotted plumage, which I think is lovely. This one is my favorite, because it was vocalizing and showing a little of the crest.
An interesting text about the species:
"Spotted bowerbirds have a diverse range of vocalisations. Typical calls include loud, harsh churrings and other notes, as well as the complex vocal mimicry characteristic of grey bowerbirds. Spotted bowerbirds are accomplished vocal mimics and have been known to simulate the calls of many birds as well as other sounds.
When approached by humans or other potential threats, males at bowers and females at nests often mimic the calls of predatory birds such as the wedge-tailed eagle, blue-winged kookaburra, grey-crowned babbler, grey butcherbird, pied butcherbird, australian magpie, australian raven, apostlebird and honeyeater, among others.
Other sounds mimicked include large herbivores moving through scrub or over fallen branches, the twang of fence wire, wood chopping, the crack of stock whip and the whistling flight of crested pigeons."
Text from Wikipedia
Cunnamulla, Queensland, Australia
Playing around with the macro lens I loved the depth of field that looking down the neck of Frank's guitar gave. Looking at it in the thumbnail makes me think it's moving. Is that an optical illusion? Perhaps it's just me :)
Not Enough
Not Enough Words
...letters
....expressions
....sentences
Can ever express what you mean to me
Not Enough Ink
...paper
....lines
....columns
Can ever express what you mean to me
Not Enough Feelings
...emotions
...sensations
...senses
Can ever express what you mean to me
Not Enough Colors
...shades
...gradations
...strokes
Can ever express what you mean to me
Not Enough Songs
...tones
...twangs
...vibes
Can ever express what you mean to me
I Simply Love You
Luthier Stephen Frith dedicated this guitar to Paul Gregory.
www.flickr.com/photos/154997760@N04/52569488067/in/datepo...
Brightly-colored small shrike, reminiscent of Long-tailed Shrike in overall coloration. Black mask, rufous flanks and back, clean white throat, and small size make it distinctive within its range. Prefers open areas, often in dry regions, with scattered vegetation. Often perches up on exposed snags, fenceposts, or telephone lines. Song is a messy jumble of musical warbles, harsh churrs, and sharp twanging notes. Calls include a harsh “jhiir.” (eBird)
--------------
An uncommon visitor to Oman (and probably the whole of Arabia). We made a special stop at the park to find this bird and ended up following it from tree to tree in an. effort to get a good look.
Here is the link to our Arabian Peninsula birding trip: ebird.org/tripreport/431495
Mirbat Public Park, Dhofar, Oman. November 2025.
Rockjumper Birding Tours.
"Pluck your magic Twanger Froggy."
----------------------------- JESUS ✝️ SAVES-------------------------------
SALVATION THROUGH FAITH IN JESUS CHRIST - ALONE!
12 Salvation is found in no one else, for there is no other name under heaven given to men by which we must be saved."
❤️❤️ IT'S ALL JESUS AND NONE OF OURSELVES! ❤️❤️
16 I am not ashamed of the gospel, because it is the power of God for the SALVATION of everyone WHO BELIEVES: first for the Jew, then for the Gentile. 17 For in the gospel a RIGHTEOUSNESS FROM GOD IS REVEALED, a righteousness that is by FAITH FROM FIRST TO LAST, just as it is written: "THE RIGHTEOUS WILL LIVE BY FAITH." (Romans 1:16-17)
16 KNOW that a man is NOT justified by observing the law, but by FAITH IN JESUS CHRIST. So we, too, have put our faith in Christ Jesus that we may be JUSTIFIED BY FAITH in CHRIST and NOT by observing the law, BECAUSE BY OBSERVING THE LAW NO ONE WILL BE JUSTIFIED. (Galatians 2:16)
1. Now, brothers, I want to remind you of the gospel I preached to you, which you received and on which you have taken your stand. 2. BY THIS GOSPEL YOU ARE SAVED, if you hold firmly to the word I preached to you. Otherwise, you have believed in vain.
3. For what I received I passed on to you as of first importance: that Christ died for our sins according to the Scriptures, 4. that he was buried, that he was raised on the third day according to the Scriptures, 5. and that he appeared to Peter, and then to the Twelve. 6. After that, he appeared to more than five hundred of the brothers at the same time, most of whom are still living, though some have fallen asleep. 7. Then he appeared to James, then to all the apostles, 8. and last of all he appeared to me also, as to one abnormally born.
9. For I am the least of the apostles and do not even deserve to be called an apostle, because I persecuted the church of God. 10. But by the grace of God I am what I am, and his grace to me was not without effect. No, I worked harder than all of them--yet not I, but the grace of God that was with me. 11. Whether, then, it was I or they, this is what we preach, and this is what you believed. (1 Corinthians 15:1-11)
7. Therefore Jesus said again, "I tell you the truth, I am the gate for the sheep. 8. All who ever came before me were thieves and robbers, but the sheep did not listen to them. 9. I am the gate; whoever enters through me WILL BE SAVED. He will come in and go out, and find pasture. 10. The thief comes only to STEAL and KILL and DESTROY; I have come that they may have LIFE, and have it to the FULL. (John 10:7-10)
Jesus came to bring spiritual LIFE to the spiritually dead and set the captives FREE! FREE from RELIGION, ERROR and outright LIES, so WE might serve THE LIVING GOD! In SPIRIT and in TRUTH!
So you'll KNOW, and not think you're to bad for God to love. The Christian LIFE isn't about how good WE are, because NONE of us are! It's about how GOOD JESUS IS! Because JESUS LOVES US, so much he died in our place and took the punishment for all of our sins on himself. The wages of sin is DEATH, and Jesus died that death for YOU and I. The good news is there no more punishment for sin left, we were and are all born forgive as a result of the crucifixion of God himself on the cross that took away the sins of the whole world. All we have to do is believe it, and put your Faith in the finished work of Jesus Christ. That my friends is REAL UNCONDITIONAL LOVE! YOU ARE LOVED. ❤️ ✝️ ❤️
For the best Biblical teaching in the last 2 centuries! Please listen to and down load these FREE audio files that were created with YOU in mind. It's ALL FREE, if you like it, please share it with others. ❤️
archive.org/details/PeopleToPeopleByBobGeorgeFREE-ARCHIVE...
CLICK ON THE LETTER "L" TO ENLARGE.
My THANK'S in advance to all who fave and/or comment on my photos I very much appreciate it! ❤️
© All Rights reserved no publication or copying without permission from the author.
I wasn’t doing anything suspicious. Just a grown adult in my natural habitat, standing in front of the fridge at an unreasonable hour, conducting important snack research.
The lighting was dramatic. The choices were few. My focus was intense.
That’s when she showed up behind me with the silent confidence of someone about to commit emotional crimes.
No warning.
No negotiation.
Just the twang of a bowstring and the sudden realization that Cupid apparently works freelance now.
Next thing I know, I’ve been love-sniped in the most disrespectful location possible. Didn’t even get to grab the snacks. Now I’m standing there, pierced by romance, questioning my life choices and why Valentine’s Day has combat mechanics.
She says it’s “symbolic.”
I say it’s assault with affectionate intent.
Anyway, if I start acting soft, poetic, or offering to share my fries… you know why.
Pray for me. And my dignity.
And now a word from our sponsor - These boxers are new from Deadwool and you can pick them up at Cupids Fault. Snacks not included.
Same picture as '' seeing is believing'' only cropped slightly....and a slight twang of lowered contrast, I think!
Anybody remember Andy's Gang in the 1950s starring Andy Devine? Froggy lived in a grandfather's clock and would appear in a cloud of smoke at Devine's intonation. Man, it was so long ago but I was just watching an old video clip of Andy Devine and it brought back some memories. Frankly, my memories don't go back much further than that show but still made me laugh.
This bull frog was photographed at Bubbling Ponds Preserve near Sedona, AZ
This photograph/image is copyrighted and may not be used in any way without my permission. If you would like to use it, please contact me via Flickr mail.
Thanks for visiting and for your faves and comments.
Hi Everyone,
The July issue of FOCUS Magazine is here! We have inspiring articles featuring Thomaz Blackburn and Janjii Rugani. Also, we celebrate 10 years of Creations Park with Barbie Alchemi and her group! Belen interviews Grumbachr Graymark, and Siobhin Shippe “fotobombs” Eve Petlyakov! Lastly, we welcome Mara OHanlon-Twang who is now our shopping editor! Enjoy!
Also featured are the winners of the FOCUS Photo Contest! If you missed them, you get to see them here!
Angela Thespian ♥
When stormtroopers aren't out fighting for the Empire or doing their peacekeeping thing they like to relax by playing some heavy metal guitar and do a bit of headbanging.
Power to the riff.
Hamadryas feronia, the blue cracker or variable cracker, is a species of cracker butterfly in the family Nymphalidae. It is found in the southern parts of North America and southwards to Brazil.
The butterflies are commonly known as Crackers due to the ability of the males of several species to produce a sound similar to the crackling of bacon in a frying pan. The sound is produced as the butterflies take off, and is made by twanging a pair of spiny rods at the tip of the abdomen against bristles on the anal claspers. Only males can produce the sound, but both sexes can detect it - their wings have tiny hollow cells covered in membranes that vibrate in response to sound, and stimulate nerve endings. The purpose of the sound is not known. (Wikipedia)
Reserva Jorupe, Ecuador. January 2010.
At some point during the spring of 1976, my mother’s parents left their lifelong home in the West Midlands and followed us down to Cornwall. Moving here is a thing that lots of people like to do once their working lives are over you see. Grandad had reached the age of 65 and retired from running the removals business that had seen him travel to every corner of the land, occasionally popping up on our doorstep if his latest mission brought him within "stopping for tea" range. I was only ten years old so I don’t remember much about the big move to Cornwall, other than my mother's semi-permanent state of angst throughout the episode. We’d only arrived in Falmouth ourselves a few months earlier, my father keen to mess around in boats and reconnect with his Westcountry childhood as he was. What has never left me though is my grandparents’ admirable gift for linguistically mangling the lexicon of Cornish place names. Everywhere seemed to be mispronounced or simply misread. I still can’t drive through the village of Ponsanooth without hearing Grandad saying “Portasnoot” in his broad Warwickshire twang all those years ago. Ten years later my Great Auntie Joan joined her sister and brother-in-law by leaving the same West Midland town and moving down to Mylor Bridge; or “Milo” as she called it. During a visit a couple of years before her move we went on a day trip to Mevagissey, where she added “Nebuchadnezzar” to the map in a leap of vocabulary that was so abstract that it almost deserved applause.
Quite how my Great Aunt managed to juxtapose the name of a picturesque (or picture-skew as she might have called it) fishing village with an ancient Babylonian king who may or may not have burned Solomon’s temple to the ground and who may or may not have gone mad and spent seven years living on a diet of grass, we’ll never know. Maybe she was thinking of enormous vats of champagne instead, but whatever led her to the extra syllable and the rearrangement and replacement of various vowels and consonants is something she took with her in the Easter of 2007, just a week short of her ninety-third birthday; the last of her generation in the family to leave us. Mevagissey seems so much easier to say, but for me it will always be Nebuchadnezzar. All these years later she remains forever the uncrowned queen of barely tenuous malapropisms to the rest of us.
Another thing I was struggling to understand was exactly what Lee and I were doing here. But I’d stridently chosen the locations for the previous outing so it only seemed fair to go with the flow this time around. I’d been here only once since that 1984 visit, and that was just to park on the edge of town before taking part in a muddily festive Christmas running race at the nearby Heligan Estate. You may have noticed from my feed that I don’t generally aim for towns when it’s time for a bit of creative abandonment. I prefer to shy away from people, whether there’s a pandemic on or not, and I’m not awfully keen on photographing scenes where there is evidence of humanity. Rows of pretty cottages or harbours filled with colourful boats don’t really send the juices racing through these veins – although I do of course allow myself to be drawn towards something isolated and preferably old, such as the remains of a long since abandoned tin mine, a bridge, a pier (well Clevedon pier anyway) or a lighthouse. Ah yes, that was why we were here; there was a lighthouse at the entrance to the harbour. Still, I was concerned – there might be a trawler moored up beside it, or even worse a car parked under it.
In the event I needn’t have worried, although it became immediately clear that a race was on to capture the sunlight on the side of the lighthouse before it disappeared behind the cliff to the west of the village. We really need to plan these trips a bit more carefully you know. But to make things easy for a change, there was only one composition to be had. Admittedly we’d need to crop out the ghost of the lone angler in the bright red coat on the quay later (unless he was prepared to stand absolutely still for long periods of time), but it took no longer than five minutes from the moment of our arrival to capture as pleasing an image as I’m ever likely to get from here. The sun clung doggedly to the blue sky and kept clear of the gathering clouds to give us just enough time to capture the moment. Little more than an hour later we were heading for the pub, just about crossing Truro before the rush hour swung into action. Usually we take our cameras with us to review our efforts over a pint, but this time we didn’t bother, going equipped with a pair of books that will help us to plot our adventures through Iceland next September – including taking photos of churches. I forgot to mention churches in the previous paragraph – also on the list of permitted structures, as long as they’re sufficiently remote of course. We’ve found a couple on the map that we missed last time. Please feel free to share any you think we may have overlooked - we're shameless about standing on the shoulders of giants after all.
I’m sure there are lots of you who would come to Nebuchadnezzar and pick out glorious images in the picture-skew alleys and opes. You’d capture wondrous reflections of the fishing boats at rest in the harbour, because it’s what ticks your boxes and you’re good at it. But it’s not for me. I’m happy to have shot Nebuchadnezzar’s lighthouse on a sunny December afternoon, but I’m ready to move on now. For once I am looking at a location I won’t be seeking to race towards again. Give me the wilderness every time.
I think this is the final shot I’ll post before Christmas lands upon us and a few days of miasmic festive stupor pass by in the blink of an eye. So for now I’ll wish you all the compliments of the season, whether for you it’s a season or not. I hope you have a good one, and that Santa brings you that new lens you’ve been eyeing up on the online megastore.
Macro Monday theme - Music. This is my daughter's guitar, had to dust it off before I captured it... I like how it looks like I have just strummed the strings!
Hope that the sun shone on you guys today - it was beautiful here in Herfordshire :)
© Ben Heine || Facebook || Twitter || www.benheine.com
_______________________________________________
For more information about my art: info@benheine.com
_______________________________________________
Waiting
A poem by Robert Frost
What things for dream there are when specter-like,
Moving amond tall haycocks lightly piled,
I enter alone upon the stubbled filed,
From which the laborers' voices late have died,
And in the antiphony of afterglow
And rising full moon, sit me down
Upon the full moon's side of the first haycock
And lose myself amid so many alike.
I dream upon the opposing lights of the hour,
Preventing shadow until the moon prevail;
I dream upon the nighthawks peopling heaven,
Or plunging headlong with fierce twang afar;
And on the bat's mute antics, who would seem
Dimly to have made out my secret place,
Only to lose it when he pirouettes,
On the last swallow's sweep; and on the rasp
In the abyss of odor and rustle at my back,
That, silenced by my advent, finds once more,
After an interval, his instrument,
And tries once--twice--and thrice if I be there;
And on the worn book of old-golden song
I brought not here to read, it seems, but hold
And freshen in this air of withering sweetness;
But on the memor of one absent, most,
For whom these lines when they shall greet her eye.
------------------
The poem appeared on www.americanpoems.com/
Amazingly enough, my picture of the day, was my last picture of the day!
What attracted me to this car was all the rivets AND the bare aluminum. The owner said that was original. While chatting with him, I initially thought he was Australian...he had kind of a twang in his accent. But he said, "nah, I'm not a criminal!" I have a feeling that his accent gets that question a lot. Someone else asked while I was taking pictures.
It turns out he's from near Manchester but he's been in the US for longer than he lived in Britain. So maybe he picked up that twang here.
He also said that he drives his car to shows (no trailer), but has to take backroads since he keeps it under 40mph. I'm guessing he may run into random flocks of sheep when he does that, but I didn't ask. 😁 IYKYK
Finally, for you pixel peepers, and I know who you are, check out the bumper sticker to the right of the yellow license plate. Guffaw!
Chicago British Car Festival
Harper College
Palatine, Illinois 42.084097,-88.073710
September 7, 2025
COPYRIGHT 2025 by Jim Frazier All Rights Reserved. This may NOT be used for ANY reason without written consent from Jim Frazier. 20250907cz7-8307-2500
32/365
Sometimes you don't know what you're going to see in a photo, it can be a nice surprise. couldn't see the spider.
I began to feel that this city somehow was
barging into focus, tottering on the verge of the three-dimensional. It was black-and-white, as befits something emerging from literature, or winter; aristocratic, darkish, cold, dimly lit, with twangs of Vivaldi and Cherubini in the background, with Bellini/Tiepolo/Titian-draped female bodies for clouds. /J.Brodsky/
Стало казаться, что город понемногу вползает в фокус. Он был черно-белым, как и пристало выходцу из литературы или зимы; аристократический, темноватый, холодный, плохо освещенный, где слышен струнный гул Вивальди и Керубини на заднем плане, где вместо облаков женская плоть в драпировках от Беллини / Тьеполо / Тициана.
Tartan is a fantastic material. Stepping into the second room at the Inverness Castle experience I was immediately struck by the vivid tall figure back lit by the window behind. With a deer antler sticking out of her headress I wasn't sure if this was more Vivienne Westwood or flickr member Caroline Claye's style of portrait and I'm surprised I haven't seen a similarly attired person in the Tartan Army at the World Cup yet. Perhaps, if Scotland make it to the final.......... Anyway, there was an interactive display that allowed you to create your own tartan. The fact I couldn't get the hang of how to pick the different elements of a tartan is displayed in my final design, on screen, to the left of the central figure. Anyhow, so inspired, after I left the castle I ambled down the street and popped into Chisholm's Kiltmakers where a swanky young man in trews with an American twang enquired if he could help me. It seemed I had some idea I should get a kilt...again. I last had one 50 years ago, but inexplicably my body is not the same shape it used to be then. So, a new kilt and a jacket: I didn't need brogues, sporran, hose, sgain dubh, etc, as I still had those. But Mr MacSwanky told me, ball park, a kilt, hand made, would cost me about £ 1000 and similarly, a jacket £700. And then I remembered I still had to pay for my car service before I headed home before my nethers needed measuring
Dance of the Cavalry
Xin Qiji
Though drunk, we lit the lamp to see the glaive;
Sober, we heard the horns from tent to tent.
Under the flags, beef grilled
Was eaten by our warriors brave
And martial airs were played by fifty instruments:
‘T was an autumn maneuver in the field.
On gallant steed,
Running full speed,
We’d shoot with twanging bows
Recovering the lost land for the sovereign,
‘Tis everlasting fame that we would win.
But alas! White hair grows!
Chapter 12
It was another late night pouring over images; deleting, cataloging, organizing, choosing submissions - 'the workflow'. I hate the workflow. It was 3 am and I'd been fighting to stay awake for a while now. I was about to call it quits for the night, when I heard a soft melody drifting, somewhere in the background. From the flat next-door? And a faint yet pugnent smell of... what was that?... incense? massage oil and sweat?? Perfume?
Then... over my shoulder, the sound of a whisper I couldn't make out. I turned. "Sally! What... how did... what happened to you? Where were you..."
"You know", she said. It was her voice, but with an eerie, far away tone I'd never heard before. "I've been here" she continued, "right here".
"What... what do you mean? I... I don't understand" I stammered.
"Silly, silly, boy" she giggled. "I'm not real" she said. "You know that, right?"
"But... but I... we... our photos... our sessions..." my head began to spin.
"Il-eona!" she replied.
"What? I... "
"Il-eona... iliwa. Weikeu... weiku. Dangis-i gaya" I heard her say, her voice changing to a slightly higher pitch, and taking on a hypnotic, melodic twang"
"I don't und..." I said, as the music grew louder and louder - drowning out my voice... my thoughts. The music. An oddly familiar tune. Where had I heard it before??
Chapter 13
My head still spinning, I closed my eyes tightly. The music... the sounds and smells... so familiar. But how?
And where was I? I was in my flat, looking through shots from earlier in the week... wasn’t I?? I felt a hand on my upper arm... a gentle shake and “Weikeueob! Wake up!” in that same musical, hypnotic, woman’s voice. And in a short, curt but sweet broken English “time to go now.”
I opened my eyes and tried to focus them in the smokey, dimly lit room. There - my clothes, lying crumpled in the corner. A snuffed out candle, burnt low. A tattered, heavy, velvety-red curtain covering a small window, hazy wisps of light peaking around the edges to bathe the dusty air. A table cluttered with incense, an empty absinthe bottle, oils, small drinking glasses one of them stained with lip stick, some scattered powders and substances I didn’t recognize, a thin red veil covering jars of some mysterious, exotic substances. A ledge with a small lamp, a crystal vase and some ornaments and knickknacks... a few Halloween decorations scattered throughout. I looked up, into the beautifully large, dark eyes or the oriental-looking girl standing over me. “S... Sally?” I said, in my confusion. “Yes, me Sally” she said, showing her smile. “We have fun, but you... too much. Too much fun - no good. Too much no good. You understand? Only little fun.” she said, gesturing with her thumb and forefinger. “Umm... I...” was all I managed, grasping to make sense of something that, at least to me, made none at all. Remember, I told myself. Remember. I closed my eyes again trying to remember and relive, to make sense of the past days.
When I opened my eyes again I was someplace different. A bed. Crisp white sheets. Everything is so white. There’s something...in my arm. An I.V. A hospital. I’m in a hospital bed. There’s a voice “Doctor - come quick. He’s conscious”. A tall, thin man rushed into the room, dressed all in white. “I... where am I?” I ask. “You’re at College Hospital” he said. “Can you tell us what happened to you? Some passer-byes found you, in the streets, delirious, wearing clothes obviously not yours. They brought you here. Do you remember anything? Anything at all??”
Remember. “Sally” I said softly. “Sally” I whispered, as I closed my eyes... for the last time.
------------
First - apologies. I started this as a 365. But when I added the story, it began to write itself... including the ending. Thanks to those who took the time to view the images and read the text.
The story is a tribute to 2 great creative artists: Tim Burton and Edgar Allan Poe.
In the spirit of Halloween, and if you have time, I hope you’ll watch a Tim Burton movie and get lost in his magical world of crazy but relate-able characters. Or that you’ll read a story from the genius imagination of Poe, or read about his mysterious death (of which the ending of this series is based).
Edgar Allen Poe died this month (October 7th) in 1849. He was found delirious in the streets of Baltimore, taken to hospital, and never regained coherency (or perhaps only briefly) before his death. How he spent his last five days, how he came to be in such a state, why he wasn’t wearing his own clothes, his cryptic calling out for “Reynolds” during the night, and even the cause of his death, remains a mystery and source of much speculation and theory, even to this day.
******* Happy Halloween everyone! *********
P.S. - sorry for running behind (it’s been a busy time, and a challenge just to get the daily image posted). I will catch up viewing everyone photos and comments soon!
One of my favorite dive bars is the Blue Room Lounge in Garberville. It's a friendly local watering hole where a man can go to forget, even if he ends up remembering too much. It's an establishment where the bartenders sit down at the bar and join the drinking crowd at the end of their shift, and return to tending bar eight hours later, albeit a little more wobbily. It's the kind of place where they let the patrons sleep with their heads on the bar to recover from long bouts of nonstop drinking. Throw in the subdued twang of the country music on the juke box, and you have the perfect spot to sit and stare comatose into a cocktail for a spell.
Happy Slider's Sunday everyone
Garberville CA