A Series of DecisionsIn its methodology, photography can be reduced to a series of decisions which determine the exact characteristics of each photo. When conducting street photography, in particular, the opportunity to make these decisions is limited. The process begins slowly, with lots of time allowed for selecting gear, setting the camera, and so on. It then advances to a fast stage with little time for the photographer to react—the actual moment when the photograph is taken. This is followed by another slow stage after the decisive moment in which the photo can be edited and processed.A Series of Decisions2 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
This decision-making process can be broken down in order to minimize the decisions that must be made during the fleeting decisive moment. This, in turn, allows the photographer more time to make the two key decisions that remain in that moment: composition and timing.
Before You Shoot: Gear Selection
The first decision the photographer must make is which camera and lenses to take out of the bag. Gear select
North Korea by David GuttenfelderHow about some inspiration from David Guttenfelder?North Korea by David Guttenfelder2 years ago in Editorial More Like This
David Guttenfelder has visited this secretive country many times. These photographs show what he was allowed to see. Take advantage of his extravagantly organized approach to form. His compositions are simple almost to the point of being cliche. Organized almost so well as the country struggles to appear. There is a sadness vivid in most of them, and although portraits of individuals often succeed to express it (like in the last photograph of this selection showing a Pyongyang Central Press Agency worker by a window), the feeling of loneliness oozes strongest from collective scenes of masses of heads and bodies. The photographer's vision turns our eyes to what beautiful there is to find there but, intentionally or not, never fails to rip my guts out.
Fairground The clockFairground6 years ago in Concrete Poetry More Like This
is a ferris wheel,
lifting me up
all the little things
a quarter to,
I cannot jump.
I am too far
until the hour strikes
and I tumble,
The Source of Fear (Slenderman Fanfic) - Chapter 1Newly fallen leaves lay on the muddy ground. There was no wind to disturb them, so they stayed dormant for the time being. The sodden bark of the trees peeled slightly from yesterday’s rain, revealing the shiny light-colored wood beneath. A light mist hung in the air while the warm, smoky scent of a distant fireplace tainted it. And the cold of early autumn kept the birds and other wildlife tucked in their nests, quiet and calm. Everything seemed so peaceful. But…I know…the world is still a cruel place.The Source of Fear (Slenderman Fanfic) - Chapter 12 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
On account of the events that took place earlier this year, about mid spring, I now live in a big house, alone at seventeen. I shouldn’t have needed to worry about living on my own for another full year, but that decision was stolen from me by the man I used to call ‘Dad’. He didn’t kick me out, oh no, that’s something I actually would have preferred over what he really did. A little thing the police like to call a
Becoming MatureMaturity: I realized popularity was stupid.Becoming Mature4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Living NightmareI was woken up by the sound of thunder; the loud cracking noise caused me to flinch. Sitting up, I let out a small groan, my entire body ached. I looked around; I had no idea where I was. I cringed again as another crack of thunder ricocheted outside. The rain then began pattering against the roof of the building.Living Nightmare3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
I took a moment to look at the things in the small room that I was in. Directly in front of me was a desk which had an unlit candle on it, an empty glass bottle and pieces of paper that had been scattered all over it. Hanging on the wall above the desk, was a portrait of an elderly man. On either side of me were bookshelves; one of which was completely full, the other had only a few books on it, the rest had fallen off onto the floor because the shelves had broken. Everything in the room was covered in thick layer of dust and cobwebs.
I decided that I should try and stand up. As I started putting weight on my legs, pain instantly shot through them. It was like I was get
Spring and the Mysterious Case of New LeavesThose dizzying moments before the dawnSpring and the Mysterious Case of New Leaves2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
when I stretch and sigh; I dream of you.
I vow to forget, lock my heart up in my sleep
I turn over a new leaf, I turn over -
and here you are again!
Your hands in my hair, your nose at my temple -
and when you exhale my name
and my poor heart cringes under the strain of love,
I turn over, turn over a new leaf, and dream of you.
Teutoburg ForestThe legions of RomeTeutoburg Forest6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
their banners waving
to the north they came
across the great Rhine
with their honor held high
the sound of their feet
came down through
the hollows of the forest
and fell upon
the ears of Arminius
gathering his Germanic tribes together
in expectation of battle
they laid out their plan
they set their trap
and the marching horde
with red banners fluttering
came to conquer these tribes
these lands were to be Rome's own
where their peace could be inforced
by the sword and the whip
the Legions kept up their march
the cadence sounding out
to the ears of Arminius' men
until Rome marched into the arms
of the German trap
and the battle ensued
clashing sword to clashing sword
screams ringing out through
as the butchery raged on
and the blood flowed
thick and red
into the floor of the forest
there to forever
feed the roots of the old trees
that witnessed this terrible carnage
until finally the sounds of the dying
Off TopicIt takes twelve minutesOff Topic4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
to assemble sixteen desks
in a perfect circle.
Or as perfect as I can get it.
Then it takes another hour
for the first stragglers to wander in, seating themselves.
The professor always arrives seven
minutes before class begins.
He sits on the left side
while discourse flows easily among
the discordant voices.
The exchange rate on ideas
is ten seconds of silence for a halting opinion,
unsure of itself,
but backed up with a quoted passage
from page one twenty-three, read aloud then cut off -
contradicted by a second opinion.
The first voice breathes easy;
the spotlight eyes are elsewhere.
In the midst of interrupt,
the professor bends one knee
up to his chair, fixing
the loose knot of an old pair of loafers.
He ties a new knot without looking,
caught up in the dialogue
of his charges and finishes tightening
the strings as he raises his voice,
steering the dialouge back
to the topic at hand.
My worn pair of red
and white double-knotted Sketch
The Source of Fear-Chapter 2***The Source of Fear-Chapter 22 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
With half-closed eyes and her head low, she put her hands in her pockets and started back in the direction she came from. I tried getting her attention by purposely disturbing a few leaves. She was supposed to investigate the noise so I could get on with my routine. Instead she ignores my ploy and walks away.
How dare she? As the girl continued, avoiding stepping on the many scattered leaves, I wonder if I should simply cut her off and end this now. She would deserve it after being, in a sense, rude. However, the manner in which she walked showed she wasn’t in the mood right now. Hmph. Very well. I will simply watch and wait for now. Should she return I will deal her then, but this looks to be a bad time.
She seems to have enough on her mind already.
“Rowan! Where the hell have you been?”
“Sorry, Ms. Glenn,” I say as I step through the doors of the
Teatr zyciaJesteś wspaniałą aktorką.Teatr zycia4 years ago in Concrete Poetry More Like This
Tak doskonale grasz swoją role
niewinnej, w tym teatrze życia.
Niepotrzebna ci maska.
Gdy kłamiesz, wciąż masz
odbicie niezmąconego spokoju na twarzy.
Tylko ten uśmiech:
Tylko to spojrzenie:
Niepotrzebne ci stroje, fryzury.
Swoim wyglądem cały czas przypominasz
Tak jak ona masz marmurową twarz:
Tak jak ona zawsze
i serce masz z waty.
Niepotrzebna ci rola.
I tak jej nie zagrasz,
bedziesz kim tylko chcesz.
Dano ci scenariusz,
miałaś mnie kochać;
nie przeczytałaś go.
Dano ci słowa,
A ty grałaś swoje przedstawienie.
Związywałaś ludziom oczy,
prowadziłaś przez labirynt
twoich kłamstw i kretactw.
Human NatureIt is just human nature to hate and to cryHuman Nature5 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
It is just human nature to want to fly
It is just human nature to hate what’s not the same
It is just human nature to want money and fame
It is just human nature to be driven by greed
It is just human nature to do good deeds
It is just human nature to get into fights
It is just human nature to argue and bite
It is just human nature to love your OCs
It is just human nature to forget to say please
It is just human nature to make others do what you like
It is just human nature to say “I’m sorry, alright?”
It is just human nature to really mean it
It is just human nature to want forgiveness
It is just human nature to make stereotypes
It is just human nature to bash what you don’t like
It is also human nature to say “that’s okay.
“It’s your own opinion, so have a good day”
It’s just human nature to be kind and nice
Just like its human nature to get into fights
It’s human na
DemantoidNobody in the streets cared when a blonde passed amongst them. Not his less-than-warm looking attire for the harsh temperature, or his appearance.Demantoid4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
He was just another somebody else. Their world continued on, with or without him in it. But his, his world stopped when he was no longer with him.
He continued on his journey, a perfect stem of pale purple flower in his grasp.
The young lady had been curious. Most others had chosen other brighter colours for their loves. Pink. Or red. Not the almost white, pale purple.
He scoffed lightly. The number of suicides because of relationship problems increased every year. For all he knew, they could be the ones brought back in the body bags the next year.
Love? He doubted that.
or perhaps he was just another part of them. Who was he to judge when he, too, had loved and lost?
He had been too naïve when he thought that they could be together for eternity.
His train of thought was abruptly cut when a flash of demantoid crossed his sight.
APH/Avengers - World's Mightiest Heroes (Prologue)APH/Avengers - World's Mightiest Heroes (Prologue)3 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
A billowing wind began to brew, ruffling the fine strands of the dark hair upon the man’s head as he stared over the rooftops of the small country town. His heart was beating erratically as he thought of his impossible task ahead. A weapon, cold and heavy, was clutched tightly in his hand, his knuckles white. He was terrified, shaking from head to toe.
‘Get a move on, you bastard!’ a voice in his ear bellowed and, cringing from the pain, he wrenched the ear-piece away and threw it to the ground.
His palms were sweaty and the weapon was slipping from his grasp. Taking a shuddery breath, he leapt off the hill and trundled down, sliding with the upmost finesse. Hair flying this way and that, a few tears of fear fell down his cheeks.
Landing with a satisfying, quiet thump, the man quickly ran to his destination: a remote cottage on the outskirts of the village. Its walls were cracked and covered in vines, its windows dusted and grimed. The garden was overgrown with
The Ballad of MulanThe sound of weaving, woman's chore--The Ballad of Mulan5 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
Mulan weaves on before the door.
But now the shuttle's noise is drowned
By Daughter Mulan's sighing sound.
"Who, my girl, is in your thought?
What memory has your mind caught?"
"No one is in Mulan's thought,
No memory has Mulan caught.
The night before, I saw the post
The Khan sent out to build his host.
In scrolls of twelve did they proclaim
The characters of Father's name.
But Father has no eldest son,
And Brother's not the eldest one.
So I shall buy a saddled horse
To take his place among the force."
Now to the East for valiant steed!
Now to the West for saddle's need!
Now to the South to take the reins!
Now to the North, the whip remains!
At dawn she bids her kin farewell,
At night she camps by Yellow swells.
No cries from family find her ears,
The Yellow River's flow is all she hears.
At dawn she leaves the Yellow waves,
At night those mounts of black she braves.
No cries from family find her ears,
The neigh of foreign horse is all she hears.
Puppy Love~Puppy Love~3 years ago in Profiles More Like This
Pluto, yes Pluto was sitting outside the Phantomhive home. Sebastian would not come and play with him. Pluto sighed. Not much was on his mind, Well there is one person. That person he loved, but that person was human. No wait the person wasn't human. Maybe it could work.
Pluto set out to town that night. Sebastian and the others wouldn't notice him gone, so he left. The stars were bright, the moon was full. Pluto sniffed the air. Then he could hear that tune. The person he loved tune. He turned the corner to see him. Pluto ran to him.
"Pluto?" The man holding a music box asked him. Pluto jumped on him, It was Drocell. "What is it boy" he asked. Pluto looked into his purple eyes. Drocell looked into his red ones.
Pluto jumped up and down. He tried to show him that he loved him. Pluto even gave him a flower. Drocell moved his head to the side, Pluto sighed and grabbed Drocell's face and put his lips to his. He let him go after a moment of silence.
"So then I thought to myself, I thin
The Curious and Peculiar Tale of the Simonov TwinsThe Curious and Peculiarly Tragic Tale of the Simonov TwinsThe Curious and Peculiar Tale of the Simonov Twins2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
I have done most of my post-doctorate work alongside Dean Eroslide as he ran Harry Loaine School for Boys. It was a tiny little establishment, set up in a series of pathways and cottages that made up the dormitories and the 'holistic' and 'traditional', designed to accommodate Dean Eroslide's philosophy of natural living: 'clean and untouched life energy regulates all chakras and promotes a positive educational environment'. Needless to say, Harry Loaine School for Boys was a parent's last resort, when everything from Cognitive Behavioral Therapy to Interventions and to Involuntary Hospitalization was never enough. The Dean had no degree of any sort other than a few licenses for Chakra healing and Reiki, so the entirety of the upkeep of the facility remained on the shoulders of these desperate parents--and of course the government kickbacks the School received for keeping me as a full time Child Psychologist
John's BioJohn:John's Bio3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Standing at nearly eight feet and weighing more than 600lbs, is the heart like never seen before. Willing to help in any way, and showing the utmost kindness. With all that power and strength he has he can still give a gentle hug.
His heart is just as big as he is. Always concerning himself with others more than himself and remaining humble.
At eight years old John was finally diagnosed with Gigantism. It was being caused by a benign tumor in his brain, in the pituitary gland. But other than that he was a normal child. Played with his cousins and was even hyper. But the excess growth was causing John pain, and other health problems were accompanying it. So Don, his father, did a daring surgery to remove the tumor that nearly cost John his life. And Don wasn't able to remove all of the tumor in the first surgery, so John kept growing. When he was older the tumor finally was removed. But John was already far above the normal height for his age.
And after the surgery John's persona
Too YoungLazily my head rests on your shoulderToo Young7 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
Your arms keeping me safe from the cold
Music blaring in the other room
I just need a moment to rest
As I trace hearts on your chest.
Slipping off the couch
You drop to one knee Don't
A small box in hand
Resounding Echo - Chapter 1Resounding Echo - Chapter 14 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
The silence in the temple was deafening. No sound was heard in the deserted hallways and not even the chirping of birds filled the gardens. It was just before sunrise, and the usually crowded yards were empty. Neither the priests nor the people who came to seek the gods' blessings were up yet. Not even any of the many refugees who sought sanctuary there was to be seen this early in the morning.
A sigh broke through the silence. On the roof overlooking one of the temple yards sat a young woman. She was the only one up, and she sat so still that no one would have noticed her, even if she hadn't been.
Selissa shifted slightly. She had been sitting there for hours already, and her back was starting to get stiff. She knew that the priests would reprimand her for sitting out all night, just like they always did, but she couldn't bring herself to care.
A cold wind blew through the yard and made Selissa's long, black hair fall into her face. She absentmindedly led a hand to her fac
To Be An Artist1: "Look at these paintings. They're just awful."To Be An Artist6 years ago in Emotional More Like This
2: "That's their vision as an artist. Don't hate, my friend."
1: "Oh I know about being an artist. I know how to draw."
2: "Being able to draw doesn't make you an artist."
2: "You gotta feel it.
You gotta taste it, know it, eat it, breathe it, see it, LIVE it.
You gotta shudder as the colors pour from your veins.
You gotta scrape at the canvas just to understand your vision.
You can't eat - you gotta STARVE!
You gotta lose a loaf of bread for some tubes of paint and fall asleep at your canvas still dressed in yo paint splattered apron.
You gotta get F's because you were too busy daydreaming about what your next project will be.
You gotta get writer's block.
You gotta get artist's block.
You gotta get blocks of your blocks then get blocked some more.
You gotta get drained of inspiration for years then explode with something amazing.
You gotta scramble to the nearest object just to put it down somewhere.
You gotta spray, shake,
Wolyn 1943.Dym wielki spalonej wsi.Wolyn 1943.2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Cała setka .. ludzi pomordowanych.
Ubolewa nad nimi,
Matka Boska - Królowa Polski.
Widząc swe dziecię - załamana.
Cierpi bo dziś nikt nie pamięta.
Kto dziś powie;
"Jeśli miałbym urodzić się znów,
To tylko we Lwowie"?
Ludzie nie pamiętają,
Że Polska nie kończy się,
Na Bugu czy Sanie.
Ale ja pamiętam,
I przypominać będę.