The New Street Photographer's ManifestoFebruary 7, 2013/by techgnotic
Street photographer Henri Cartier-Bresson called it the “decisive moment”— the captured instant when all the photograph’s elements come together to tell a story in a way a text narrative of thousands of words could never begin to. It is what hooks people, both practitioners and advocate-devotees, on the art form. It is uniquely completely immersive in life— step out into the streets— in which the moment of artistic epiphany can never be guessed at until it suddenly happens. When it is properly mastered, it is as pure as the dawn of each new day, as true as the living organism of a teeming street scene catching a breath as one.
It's no easy task to pull a book together for publication and "The New Street Pho
Strawberries in the WinterMy momma once said that it was impossible-Strawberries in the Winter2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
That trying to grow strawberries
In a room that murdered light
Was like telling a girl to live without love
Or demanding a fish to breathe midair.
Still, a week later
A pot of dirt found its home
On a desk in that room,
Daring to flirt with the color green.
Everyday a lamp was hit,
Life support was turned on,
And Thoreau was born to fight.
I told myself,
No more would the fat guy need surgery
Just to blend into an ocean of hypocrites
That would tide in and out of his “in security”.
No more would the nerd girl
Need tights that cut her once living legs
Because the boy she’s been watching
Only likes ladies that cost him a dollar,
Possibly fifty cents more
For something he can tell his friends.
No more would the emo boy
Take out wet stained knives
Because people don’t understand that once
A loved one has their face smashed
-Broken against a pavement-
It’s a little bit harder to feel your heart
And all you want is a si
Mold Greg was cleaning behind his toilet on a Friday when a voice came from within the wall.Mold3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
"Hey!" the voice said. "Look, I give, all right? I'm coming out!" Greg watched as a stream of black-and-white goo poured out of a crack near where he'd been scrubbing. It smelled of mildew, and, when enough of it came out, formed itself into the shape of a man.
"What are you?" Greg asked, looking up at its globby face.
"I'm the mold that lived behind your toilet," it said, "and I'm here to be your friend."
"Because I didn't develop self-awareness without reason, and you're a loser who cleans his bathroom on a Friday. Get your keys; we're going to the park."
Greg drove. They went to the basketball courts and the mold won in one-on-one against Greg. Twice.
"You need to exercise more," it said. "
Here Is No WhyHere Is No Why2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
The bus was late. In the four switches Ben had made so far, he had come to accept lateness as an unavoidable part of this mode of travel. The first three times, he had been irritated. Now, at a little after eleven at night, he really didn’t care. If the bus was at least running, he would be happy. Working air conditioning was a bonus. Timeliness was asking too much.
He wished he could call Mae again, even though he had just talked to her half an hour ago. It had been a little over two weeks since he had seen his fiancée, and hearing her voice helped ease his frustration. But it was late, and she had gone to bed. She would still answer, he knew, and talk as long as he needed, but he didn’t want to keep her up.
Instead, Ben just sat at the little station, staring almost listlessly into his paper coffee cup. He let his mind wander. Of all places, it went to the station’s seating arrangements.
The orange plastic chair wasn’t particularly comfortable, but
Why I Laughed at His FuneralWas dull, as funeralsWhy I Laughed at His Funeral2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
It was nothing I could help, the sound of it
left me. And in the moving crowd of black
around collars and scarves and
the formless grays of our town
, bowel movement of black,
broken by a laugh, then two, then
a whole cascade. Who is to say
I wasn’t mad from knowing the truth
or wanting to, not knowing enough?
Bobby Sweethouse died
throwing himself off the school roof.
His mother was the first to collect his remains,
ashamed almost to see
all the mess her boy had made.
Many of my friends had said,
he deserved this for being a queer,
or something along those lines, I’m sure
they could pull whatever they wanted
from a long checklist of things to say,
or spit, or hurl. Words, after all, like these
are pre-prepared, ahead of time.
It wasn’t his fault for being outted.
Or born here, where the cruel earth fought
to make flowers shoot from the ground
only to be crushed by the lightning of words,
sneers, and stares.
I’d like to think he wasn
Why Spirit Day Is Not EnoughPrefaceWhy Spirit Day Is Not Enough3 years ago in Editorial More Like This
This essay was written in October of 2010 after DeviantART released this article supporting the Spirit Day movement to bring awareness to LGBT bullying.
I wrote it because there were so many comments on the official article that were defaming to one group or another that I felt the true issue had been lost in the rhetoric. The point of Spirit Day is to show solidarity and compassion for your fellow human beings. Not gay or straight or ill or handicapped - those categories don't matter. We're just humans, each flawed and each perfect. Spirit Day was an attempt to remind us of that.
I was confronted with two major arguments to this editorial in the original posting. One was that singling out LGBT suicides meant that I was putting more importance on that group than any other. For the purpose of the article, I suppose that's true. Spirit Day focused on LGBT issues, so the article (
Shallow WaterIt was just a little kiddie pool in the backyard, unlovely pink-and-yellow plastic under the hot summer sun. But on those nights when Mom came home from the swing shift tired and met Daddy sitting in the kitchen angry, it was Amy’s only sanctuary.Shallow Water2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
She wasn’t a sound sleeper. Her parents still talked about how it had taken her infant self six months to sleep more than two or three hours at a time. During the school year, when her life was full of classes and friends and sports, it was easier to drop off, but summer nights were always more difficult. They were hotter, for one thing, and the long, indolent, inactive days often left her feeling too tired to sleep.
But mostly, it was because her parents had their arguments at night, right when Mom got back from the station. Daddy would send Amy to bed -- or at least her room, to pretend to sleep -- hours before. Then he would wait, sitting at the kitchen table and facing the door like a judge, hands folded in front of him
For Some Reason I Think HomeHe staggered to the ruins, soaked with sweat. Blood dripped into his eyes in crimson rivulets. It was over. He was home now. Fatigue and nostalgia meshed together in a haze of memories and reality. The thick clouds above him blurring and molding together into a dreary gray sky matched his mood.For Some Reason I Think Home1 year ago in Sketches More Like This
How long had it been since he had seen this place: Weeks, months, ages? He ran his hand over the remains of a house wall. The craggy mortar and soft moss beneath his fingers seemed strange. Had this been his home? The toppled chimney behind him was growing a wild garden in the fireplace. Was this really home?
It had been a long journey, there and back again. He had fought and even loved it at times. He had the scars to prove it. He squeezed his arm tighter. More blood seeped through his fingers. The last battle that plagued him was finally over. Disapproval was the only thing that had spared him. The dense air popped his ears, muffling everything but his thoughts.
He ground his teeth at the memo
lost.Wandering,lost.2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
waiting for your voice to
reach out for mine.
Fingertips of satin,
caressing the confines of my
whispering a thousand constellations to my waning sanity.
Promises upon promises,
mosaic labyrinths etched into mutilated
Trembling lips — July's blasphemous sun
lingering above December's intangible moon,
and these looking-glass limbs scream for your
tongue to shatter me into one million
Rose eyelashes; iron thorns and liquid petals
flutter open to the dull luster of our
and in the end, your nebula fades away
in the disintegrating morning, just like my [heart] broken
001. beginnings.Beginnings are vague things. Quite often you can't pin them down to one event you have to trawl back further and further through foggy past, peeling apart what ifs and untangling strands of memories.001. beginnings.3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Eventually one has to go all the way back to the start of the universe, and that's a question even the experts have to shrug their shoulders at. It's not like you can plug it into a calculator and come out with a balanced algorithm. At least, not yet.
But it is true that sometimes you can fasten down an occurrence or a moment or even just a single breath, like sticking a thumbtack through a dead butterfly, and label it as a 'beginning' in your mind. Identifying that one moment makes us feel secure, like maybe it was destined to happen instead of just being a random sequence of events that fed off each other and tripped over each other and eventually fell like dominoes to the unlikely conclusion.
Cvusscha Mistbane has pinned down a moment. Of course she knows that there are plenty of
an exercise in giving upI don’t know what I’m doing in this place.an exercise in giving up9 months ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
My bones ache to take me away – to take me anywhere but here. But my heart remembers this place and its beat is racing, pumping blood into the far corners of my body, making my limbs too heavy to move. But I want to leave so badly, with every part of my being, but the one. My heart still belongs here…even after all these years.
I don’t remember the last time I saw your face.
But I can tell you that I still hear your voice in my dreams. In the deepest of sleeps, you’re still alive inside of me, deep within the folds of my heart, the dark spaces of my imagination. You’re alive there, even though I know nothing of where you are in reality. I know nothing of you anymore. Maybe that’s for the better. Maybe. Maybe.
I can’t recall the first time that I heard time will make it better.
But I do know that my mom repeats it to me every Saturday when I go to visit her in that old house that’s fu
Scary Movie Shugo Chara FanfictionScary Movie6 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
Amu is watching a scary movie when Ikuto decides to drop by. Will Amu send him away, or will she be so scared she'll ask him to stay? Basically Amuto fluff.
Amu sat shivering in her living room. The only light in the whole house was coming from the flickering television set in front of her. A discarded bowl of popcorn lay untouched on the table in front of her. She was sitting on the couch covered by a blanket, and hugging a pillow.
Her parents and Ami were gone, and she was home all alone. So why did she decided to watch this movie? Of all the movies on earth she just had to pick this one, didnt she?
A girl screamed in the movie, and Amu screamed along with them, burying her head into the pillow on the couch as if it could make her forget the scene she just saw.
Someone laughed behind Amu and she automatically straightened up in fright and threw the first thing she got her hands on at them.
Ouch, a pillo
Could you love me? Chapter 3"You were going to force me, John. You were going to make me love you. How were you expecting a person to react to that? You don't get it, do you? I'm the slave and you're the master. I'm the thing that is almost human but at the same time I'm not. I can't shake the feeling that I would die without you. I love you, master. I love you, John." Karkat took in a deep breath. He was never going to be that person that he was before again. He loved John and he needed to stay true to himself. What was left of it anyway.Could you love me? Chapter 32 years ago in Romance More Like This
John didn't know how to react. He was doing more harm than good and it was paining Karkat. " I love you too. I was going to force you but I didn't want you to even think about saying no to me. The thing that you don't get is that, I'm not even human. I'm a fucking vampire. I have my own instincts. Karkat you have to understand that I would die without you too. I don't care if I'm your master and you're the slave because to me, your just Karkat and I'm John." There was a t
Story commission: Rini-tanPandora was a duchess but you would never expect such a fact by the way the townspeople treated her. She was not royalty but her father had been closely bonded with the king until his death long ago.Story commission: Rini-tan2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
The townspeople however thought of her as a bad omen, a walking nightmare. Bad luck followed wherever she went and they knew she was hiding something from them, something dire but they could never prove it.
Pandora sat on a bench, the citizens of the town walking swiftly by her. The ones with shops set up eyed her angrily and worryingly. She sighed and pulled her rosy hair to the front of her chest and began to stroke it in a tense habit.
She knew bad luck followed her but it was something that she had no power over. It was a curse set upon her for a bad deed that she had done as a child. It was a secret she kept locked inside of her mind, never wishing to let it out for the world to know.
She was not as innocent as people assumed her to be. They assumed she was just bad luck, which
Jenga Is a Dangerous GameJenga Is a Dangerous Game2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Oh, please don't use words like "forever" and "always".
I get a little dizzy when you say them,
And my careful, precarious stack of hopes could fall down at any minute.
Though I don't and do wish you wouldn't,
You build it up, nourish it, make it grow
Each time you are kind to me.
Add a block for every smile.
Cause my heart to fly, my soul to sing;
Make me want to dance with you until the music ends...
But please, don't use words like "forever".
My tower is too tall, and I can't afford
To let it collapse on me, too.
StreamThis is a cliche. I'm running, I'm bounding, I can't look back. The lumbering thing that chases me through a forest of gnarled black trees, around an indoor track the tone of Lovecraft's unnameable color out of space, between towering skyscrapers that twist unnaturally and gleam both in the harsh burn of the sun and the gentle glow of the moon--it grows closer, ever closer, and I can feel its icy breath at my back like a violent gust of wind, tearing at me, pushing me forwards. But none of this is odd. The strangeness lies in the fact that I am self-aware. I have not once in my life had a lucid dream. Why now? Why--Stream3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Awake. Thank god. But I can remember it, goddammit. I can remember it. I never remember my dreams. This place is getting to me. I never should've come. I never should've agreed to take that risk, to allow the expedition--and what could've inspired me to follow, to tag along where I had no business being?!
It doesn't matter now. I'm going to die here, die alone. I haven't be
Shugo Chara- Sick Day 6Amu caught her breath and sat with her knees up to her chest. She leaned her head back on her bedroom door and stared at the ceiling, worried. "Ikuto isn't getting better " she thought, resting her chin on her bare knees. Tears began to well up from inside of her and she sniffled softly as the forming tears got bigger. Before they could spill over, she heard her mother walk into the house and put all the groceries on the table so she lifted her head and looked towards the bottom of the stairs. She blinked away her tears and then rubbed the remaining water droplets on to her sleeves before standing up and proceeding down the stairs. She walked into the kitchen silently while her mother was putting all the groceries away, staring at her while she walked around the room. Midori turned towards the doorway and saw her daughter standing there and she walked over to her after closing the cabinet doors. She knelt down to her daughter's height and felt her forehead with anticipation. "Amu&Shugo Chara- Sick Day 65 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
Religion and Computers 2005Religion and Computers 200510 years ago in Humor More Like This
Christianity is Linux
Countless versions exist, with most of them sharing common ideals. Founded on the principle that any person can modify the code in any way they see fit and present it as a competing product. This has resulted in countless distributions vying for space on hard disks. In the West, there has been a drive to reduce the effort needed to install Linux in order to increase its user base. Derived from Unix. Not as popular in English-speaking countries as the developers would like, but spreading fast in the developing world. The decision by American and Canadian Linux distributors to allow homosexuals to contribute to the source code has caused uproar among traditionalists. They insist that while Linus Torvald loves homosexuals, there's no way in hell he'd want them to go anywhere near the source code.
Judaism is Unix
Disciples of Unix can often be seen with large beards. Hard to understand and sometimes eccentric, the followers of this operating system claim
Could you love me? Chapter 5Karkat couldn’t help the tears that started to pour from his eyes. Talk about being a sap but it did fit the emotional moment. “I love you. I love you. I love you.” Karkat said over and over in a mantra of words.Could you love me? Chapter 52 years ago in Drama More Like This
John didn’t understand why Karkat was crying and took it as he did something wrong. “Karkat..?” He whispered. It was like Karkat was on some other world because he didn’t respond. John heard all the ‘I love you’ but why was Karkat crying? “Hey Karkat.” John raised his hand to Karkat’s face and started to thumb tears away.
“I’m sorry. John. God, I must look so stupid. I just.” Karkat sniffled. His words came out at the speed of light. It sounded nasally and it was hard to understand. He just didn’t want to mess it up. “I’m happy. I love you.” Karkat tried to explain but felt silly. He was being so emotional but that was just how he always had been. As far as he knew
My RainbowShugo Chara FanfictionMy Rainbow6 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
An accident occurs leaving Amu blind. She's stuck in the hospital for the time being. She's getting visited by someone who won't tell her their name, and then finally Ikuto comes to see her. Amuto AmuxIkuto One-Shot!
I sat there, on the thin mattress of the bed and waited. I didnt know what to do. What could someone like me do? They told me theyd be here at one oclock, and it was now... Well, I had no idea what time it was. I felt like Id been waiting a long time. But thats all I do. Wait.
Ohayou! Someone called cheerfully.
Huh? Whos there? Yaya, is that you? I asked uncertainly. It sounded peppy and cheerful like Yaya, but how was I supposed to know for sure?
H-hai, Yaya concurred. Amu-chi... She sounded sad. I wanted to hear her be happy. Even more than that, I wanted to see her smile. Ow! Rima-tan!
The Broken WallMilo woke up one morning in a different bed than the one he had gone to sleep in. Even so, the bed he was in now was still his own. He looked up at the ceiling and saw patterns there that he had never seen before and yet he knew they would be there. Sunlight slanted through the window in a line different from what he had expected.The Broken Wall4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
He spent the rest of the late morning wandering through the house. It was full of knick-knacks from places he was sure he had been. Every thing that he found there was his. Every thing that he found there was new to him.
In a daze, he sat down at the kitchen table. His mind was running, but it was buzzing, too. He couldn't keep his thoughts straight or even pick them out of the eternal hum. It was as if his mind was deliberately keeping him from thinking too much.
Outside he found a garden, full of plants he loved. Down a path he found a bench around a huge oak tree. He suddenly had a vague memory of having planted it, but that could not be possible. He sat d
The TimesI was printed on the evening of November 27th, 2008, just as the weather was turning from chilly to cold. I was tomorrow's news. At the moment I came off the press, I told the future. I knew things before the rest of the world; it was wonderful. I knew what my purpose was: to inform as many people as possible about the world's happenings.The Times2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
As I was put to bed, bound against my brothers and sisters, I dreamt of being passed around a construction site, making sure all the workers were aware of which sports team triumphed, and which celebrity was getting a divorce. I dreamt that corporate peons debated over politics, and the state of the economy and which policies would be most effective in fixing the existing problems. I slept contently, snuggled warm in the middle of a stack, ready to be shipped out the next day and sold to whoever wanted me.
The next morning was cold and blustery. I was so excited about being sold that I allowed the wind to ruffle my pages, since I couldn't move on my o
Even Striders Feel It - Chap. IEveryone knew the name "Dave Strider" in Houston, Texas. He was the town heart-breaker, infamous for his one-night stands. Yet despite his reputation, ladies and dudes alike fell for him, thinking they were special, that they were "The One." Without exception, all of them soon realized that they had thought wrong; they were just like the others.Even Striders Feel It - Chap. I2 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
Well, almost without exception
Dave Strider shoved his key into the lock on the apartment door. He struggled with it, grumbling, until it finally clicked and the door swung open. He stumbled into the dark entrance-hallway and called "Hey, I'm home." He felt the wall for the switch and flipped it, bathing the short corridor in harsh orange light from the flickering bulb.
Dave removed his shades with a tired sigh and sauntered out into the living room. He looked around and turned on a couple more lights before collapsing into the couch. He turned the T.V. on and lazily scrolled through the channels, not really paying attention to
As Are Moth-Eaten Clothes Jack says I’ve always got to carry around this machine, big as a TV, with loopy wires coming out of it and wriggling around in my stomach. Sometimes if I’m tired he carries it, or sets it on some wheeler, but most days I’ve got it settled in the crook of my arm or against my hip. It’s hard to play football with the other kids when I’ve got to hold it, and can’t drop it neither. Jack says I oughta be grateful I can run around at all.As Are Moth-Eaten Clothes1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
It’s not too heavy, the machine, it’s just a box with some gooey slush in it and a place on top that flashes numbers in red. Jack checks the numbers every sixty minutes, on the dot, even at night when I’m asleep. He’s awful smart. He says the numbers are my blood pressure and glucose and oxygen and stuff, and there’s one number that’s the estimation numeration of months I’m still functional, and I don’t understand any of it. I