View allAll Photos Tagged undead
The rain finally abated a bit today and I walked down through our neighborhood to see a house all done up for Halloween. The light leaks were a fun test. I need to work on improving my focus. While I did actually take my tripod this time I didn’t use a remote or a timer and the slight movement of me pressing the shutter and my rush to snap photos before it rained again gave me a bit of an issue with getting crisp shots. This was a fun exercise though and the wet road gave some nice reflections.
Hollywood Undead performing at the O2 Academy Bournemouth 25.04.19.
More and licensing at www.charlieraven.com
A bit of a work in progress this one, I have an idea, but wanted to do some test shots to make sure it all works. I was very happy with how these look so I can now proceed :)
I was out and about, stalking to night. Lots of pictures to come!
You can...STAKE your life on it!
Read about this night at sophielynne1.blogspot.com/2012/11/a-night-of-sophie-vampi...
Another trio of Living Dead Dolls- this time it's some of my favorite deranged-looking lil' kids... The zombies and the like...
(left to right) Jeepers, a Club Mez Exclusive... Haemon, from Series 19... and Penny, also a Club Mez Exclusive.
A brilliant (and super-creepy) cosplay of undead characters from the game, "Skyrim."
As this picture wasn't taken under the best of conditions (in the Marriott's lobby in a crowded area), I did a lot of post-processing (selective darkening, lots of masking, and Topaz Adjust's "Dark - Ghostly" filter) to match, on my side of things, the killer job these two cosplayers did.
UPDATE: This photo (and six others) was used in an on-line article: Science Fiction is Not Fiction.
Run, hide, block all entrances. Get a weapon if possible. Do not hesitate. Nothing can stop the walking death...
I attended Mickey's Not So Scary Halloween party and met up with the group from Pixelmania on this night. While shooting the Haunted Mansion sequence, one of the undead ballroom dancers decided that I must be eaten and just kept coming closer and closer. I really wish I'd had a wider lense on given what I got in the frames following this but this one wasn't so bad in the end.
This is absolutely my favorite parade at the Magic Kingdom ever year now.
Carnival of Horrors Presents....the Undead Dragon. Once these guardians soared the skies and were feared far and wide. Cast down in fairy tale of valiant knights all but a few remain.
Tried a special treatment on a rl photography.
Original and Post processed pics here
www.picoodle.com/view.php?img=/2/5/4/mailee974/f_BeforeAf...
Esta es mi interpretación de un personaje de mi amigo colombiano Andres Guturo. Aproveché para ponerle nombre porque me hacia acordar al DR. Fred de Maniac Mansion. Enjoy!
My interpretation of a character created by my Colombian friend Andres Guturo. I named it after Dr. Fred from Maniac Mansion. Enjoy!
Aqui la version original / Original version here:
It's not just zombie humans you need to worry about now - UNDEAD LEAVES! FALLING FROM TREES! IN THE PARK! BEWARE OF ZOMBIE FOLIAGE!
Stickers available here - www.redbubble.com/people/sevenhundred/t-shirts/6171284-1-...
As a preface, I want to say a few things...
First, the image is a photo. A photo of two drawings of characters I sketched many years ago for D&D play. I used Photoshop to clear much of the considerable paper grain obscuring the faces (because of the way I took the photo, with sunlight raking the surface), cut out the characters, and added a stone background (that looks like rough brown paper to me).
Second, "Undead In Wonderland" is a long narrative poem. It's a sonnet sequence - another in my SF Sonnets series (which includes fantasy, which this may be classified as).
Third, presented here on flickr are chapters one through three of an unfinished piece. I've started on chapter four and have pages of notes and lines for upcoming chapters, but who knows whether I'll ever get myself to write them... Therefore, if you dislike reading incomplete works, stop now.
Fourth and last, "Undead In Wonderland" may be offensive to some. It contains (or will contain):
(1) expletives of the worst kind;
(2) raw (even crude) sexual language and imagery; and
(3) what may be regarded as unflattering allusions to emotionally-charged topics, particularly religious ones.
So if any of that is something you'd rather not be exposed to, stop now.
Oh, I'll add one more thing. "Undead In Wonderland" is written in a loose appearance of a mystery. However, unlike true mystery literature, it does not provide the reader with all of the clues that would allow a reader to figure out the mystery before the end of the work, nor is it intended to do that. Although the reader may pick up on certain things that can foretell some future turn-of-events in the plot, there is no coherent network of clues throughout the work for the reader to solve the whole mystery. The narrative style is intended to be a narrative written in the voice of one of the principal characters. And this is as good a place as any to remind you that "Undead In Wonderland" is written in that character's voice, not mine. All values, views and opinions are his, and do not necessarily reflect my own.
Got it?
Okay then. For those of you who wish to continue, let's begin...
UNDEAD IN WONDERLAND
A Sonnet Sequence
It is impossible that anything so natural, so necessary, and so universal as death,
should ever have been designed by Providence as an evil to mankind.
~Jonathan Swift
Where I am not understood, it shall be concluded
that something very useful and profound is couched underneath
~Jonathan Swift
I. I Die in the Train
I have now lost my barrier between me and death...
~Jonathan Swift
May you live all the days of your life.
~Jonathan Swift
...a face of grim canals and bags... To start
with death’s to give the end away, you'd say
perhaps... But no, it's just the middle. See... apart
from dying, things were going well... The pay
was good - a break from all those other jobs.
Those little gnashing doorways chew me up.
The clients want a tough guy, brutal slobs
so used to beating wrong from right their cup
a jo at Rosie's Rhythm Lunch is all
that keeps them going. And they do that shit
for scale... Go figure... No, this wasn't brawl-
related work, but something more legit.
My client paid me well to use my wit...
that sharpened every time my lip got split...
Now....no one holds a candle to the wind
expecting it to burn... That isn't how
the world works. No, but when its rules are thinned
enough by things the world would disavow -
by forces I don't like to think about -
you can't “expect”... That's how I died - but yet
can tell you all about it. See, without
a cause-effect to go on, every threat
has got to be an instinct thing to deal
with, not the way you've always done it - that
will get you killed. Then maybe worse. Get real
that real's a lot more freakish where you're at.
But now we're back to what I started out
to say... You might as well just shelve that doubt.
So there I was, a dead man in a train.
I piled my moping niceties and got
to work. The Spanish friar, Brother Brain,
who'd died a long, long time ago, was shot
again. It didn't faze him. There were more
important things to occupy our minds:
like fable drowning in the rain... the lore
of shamrock tramp Paquito once he finds
a third attention span - when two were odd
enough... black Crisco (well, they don't make white
tar)... cattle in the clearing... a dead facade...
brassieres... and yes, weird words you now recite...
It's better that you don't “expect” in such
a world as this. You won't go mad... as much...
See, each of those expressions is a clue
that seeps though every shred of reason. We
were busy figuring their meaning, too
engrossed to know that logic disagreed...
The train sat on a lake-shore, engine heaved
aside, its steam cloud's twin reflection just
as real as the original. Relieved
the train had stabilized, we then discussed
our options. Walking hard toward Spindle Town -
the destination on our ticket stubs -
we'd left the train to hoof it. Some ways down
the lakeside rails, we found an ace of clubs.
The playing card, I mean. A shamrock, kind
of. Close enough. Our plan was realigned...
II. Dead Reckoning
It is useless to attempt to reason a man out of a thing he was never reasoned into
~Jonathan Swift
Vision is the art of seeing things invisible
~Jonathan Swift
The worse you were at reading clues, the more
the clues were false ones. That's the way it worked
there. Get off-track, and chances are that you're
on some weird bunny trail where you're so jerked
around you can't be sure which way is up.
Or down. I mean just that. Assumptions changed
things there to match what you perceived. And yup,
you could be lost forever, real deranged,
pursuing what you thought instead of what's
external. Brother Brain explained it to
me, otherwise I might still be there...nuts...
We helped each other keep our bearings true.
Hopped up on hope's a nasty thing, I'd say.
Your premise, false, and that's just where you stay.
"Don't exorcise your options, friends." We whipped
around to see the tramp Paquito, shamrock
bouquets and all, a step behind us, stripped
and... um... excited. "He's alive - a cock
needs flowing blood to do that," Brother Brain
observed, a little sadness in his face.
I felt the shock of realization. "Plain
to see," I quipped, and pictured girls in lace.
The lakeside tracks were long behind us. We
now stood on red-brown tanbark under ash -
a slope of green stamp chasms where debris
gave added color... It's the gift of trash.
Paquito seemed attentive everywhere,
though it was us he pinned down with his stare.
"Our options, pal, are fine," I said a tad
too tersely. Inbred spoilage, these fits.
Too many cases bringing out the bad-
ass attitude in me. Though when it hits,
I have a callous understanding of
it. Something positive, at least. "It's all
a point of view," I heard Paquito shove
at us. Opinionated bastard. "Call
for backup. See? It's point of view. You can't
do anything except through one of them."
His cigarette bobbed up and down. This rant
rolled out with it between his lips. "I am!"
Okay. The shamrock tramp. Now what? I looked
at Brother Brain. "It's can't," he muttered, hooked...
"It's what?" I asked, annoyed that Brother Brain
was just as cryptic as the tramp. "It's with
a K. Hmm? Kant." Philosopher. This train
of thought would get us somewhere. Maybe myth
aligns with theorists here. "Good one," I,
with admiration, said to him. He grinned.
Gave me the finger, too. Heh. What a guy.
I liked him. Smart, too. "Death is not the end,"
he wryly told me once. That's funny. He's
not known as Brother Brain for nothing. So!
I'll skip the part where we worked out, from these
new clues, the next act in this crazy show.
My friar friend was priceless on the next
leg of this case. My guide for the perplexed...
III. The Jesus of Cheeses
I've always believed no matter how many shots I miss, I'm going to make the next one
~Jonathan Swift
Blessed is he who expects nothing, for he shall never be disappointed
~Jonathan Swift
In that world, clues were really tips, the way
a PI sees them. Most of them, at least.
The magic there gave hints. Do well, and they
would flow like pissing at an all-beer feast.
That's real relief. Screw up a little, and
the flow gets pinched. A pain. Screw up a lot?
The flow becomes a gusher - but they send
you places no one comes back from. It's not
a pleasant thought... to think you're pissing, but
it's only in your head... I touched on that
before. So anyway, we made the cut
and found a clearing, cows and all. "Let's chat."
The Brother said that to a cow. "Okay,"
it mooed. "So start. The milkman's on his way."
The cows, bizarrely, all had... well... their tits
were all in bras. Brassieres. Another clue.
That's three, though shamrock tramp Paquito's bit
about those three attention spans seemed too
damned weak. We'll see that tramp again, I think...
And "three" is no coincidence. I felt
a rising yeast. I figured, with this link,
my client's bread was in my money belt,
or would be soon. The friar and the cow
were heavy into conversation when
a guy I took to be the milkman now
arrived. I thought, well... here we go again...
Paquito was the milkman. Now with long
hair, middle eastern robes, and no stiff dong...
In fact, the milkman looked a bit like you
know who... He got right down to business, quite
the natural at taking off those huge
brassieres. The cows, immodest, seemed all right
with this accustomed intimacy. We
were offered cheeses made from these girls' milk,
but, being dead, we said we'd have to leave
the cheese to those who could digest. "So silk
pursuits from sows' dead ears, eh?" That was what
the milkman said to us, a little smile
beneath his mustache. Brain and I both got
the pun. "You have the time? Come sit awhile..."
The Brother sat, but I walked off to think
things through. And damn! I could've used a drink...
I often wondered why the two of us,
when dead, were still ourselves. When others died,
they changed into a hunger-driven mass
of rotting flesh. No mind left. And denied
digestion, eating meant they swell up till
they burst, I have to add. Our minds kept Brain
and me from that - we didn't eat. Our will
was left intact. But why? Hmm. Then again,
since eating was what kept a body fueled,
and we kept going anyway, what else
but magic was behind it all? I tooled
around with this - and then I heard the cows...
Their mooing sounded agitated. "I
did not!" "But - yes, you did..." "I say you lie!!!"
TO BE CONTINUED...
© Keith Ward 2007
Click here for more about this series, SF Sonnets.