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 Decisions1 year 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 Guttenfelder1 year 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 clockFairground5 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,
EscapeI dreamed a dream that could not be:Escape5 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
I saw God sacrificed for me.
I thought to do what will not stand:
To leave the strictures of this land.
If I were sure, I'd leave these things,
I'd free my soul and give it wings,
I'd trust in an eternity
Where love flows freer than the sea,
But people say it cannot be:
That God can have no love for me.
They lock me up with chains of sin,
Deny my hopes and shut me in.
Yet still I dream and still I see
My deepest held desires set free.
I know this wondrous God of love
Is smiling on me from above.
More than a dream, my vision is,
For truth is in this saviour's kiss.
His love is greater than their fear;
His holy tenderness more dear.
He cleans my feet, despite their rules
And makes his blood and tears his tools.
He rescues me and makes me clean:
Fit to be loved; fair to be seen.
The chains are torn; my spirit soars;
My captors stare with falling jaws.
I've broken ev'ry rule they've made
To follow on the path he laid.
Before their disbelieving eyes,
InnocenceA conversation interrupted:Innocence5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
When you did it, were you both . . .?
A sheepish look
Oh! I thought you were.
And I thought you were still,
I add inaudibly.
Am I alone on this island of innocence,
Where the white lily blooms
And the ocean caresses the sands
With childlike affection?
You ask why I am quiet,
But you cannot know
The sacred serenity of my silence
When you are no longer . . .
HildebrandsliedOld German:Hildebrandslied2 years ago in Historical More Like This
Ik gıhorta dat ſeggen
dat ſih urhettun ænon muotın •
hıltıbrant entı hadubrant untar herıun tuem •
ſunu fatarungo • ıro ſaro rıhtun •
garutun ſe ıro gudhamun • gurtun ſih • ıro • ſuert ana •
helıdoſ ubar rınga do ſie to dero hıltu rıtun •
hıltıbrant gımahalta herıbranteſ ſunu • her uuaſ heroro man
feraheſ frotoro • her fragen gıſtuont
fohem uuortum • ƿer ſin fater ƿarı
fıreo ın folche … •
eddo ƿelıhheſ cnuoſleſ du ſiſ •
ıbu du mı enan ſageſ ık mı de odre uuet
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 Nightmare2 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
A Stolen MomentCovered in graphite,A Stolen Moment4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Roam the page,
Tomorrow she will hold
if i hadn't had the drunk luck to meet youi’d have married every bedside witch from here to east dallasif i hadn't had the drunk luck to meet you9 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
i’d have glistened like a worm to their mescaline psalms
i’d have mired in sinuous wineskin, repentant spectra
i’d Om along in cooing groups, babble with freethinkers
all my endeavors would be gas station derelicts
all of my wrongs would be quasi-continuous
even the over-sought moon would protest
and i wouldn’t recognize one half of the universe
Falszywy aniolPatrze na ciebie utesknionym spojrzeniemFalszywy aniol4 years ago in Concrete Poetry More Like This
- na obraz z moich snów.
Wyglądasz tak samo jak w nich.
Twoje włosy lśnią słońcem,
igrają w nich promienie i blaski,
cząstka nieba w oczach, śmieje sie radośnie,
nieświadoma, jak bardzo mnie rani.
Ale nie masz skrzydeł, jak w moich snach,
brakuje ci aureoli i nie jesteś prawdziwym aniołem.
Jesteś tylko nieosiągalnym marzeniem,
oddalonym o setki wylanych łez.
Jesteś nożem w moim sercu,
pyłkiem w oku,
martwym motylem w brzuchu,
przy płomieniu świecy mojego życia.
Puppy Love~Puppy Love~2 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 Twins1 year 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
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.Demantoid3 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 naÔve 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.
Epicurean PoetryEpicurean Poetry, because her poetryEpicurean Poetry5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
should not be simply understood.
It should trip off the tongue
and trickle through the fingers,
splashing onto a kneecap
whence it slowly drips
down to the toes.
The gooey, opalescent trail
it leaves is reminiscent of
her childhood fingerpainting:
enthralling, without room
Epicurean Poetry, because her poetry
should simply not be understood.
Smauglock RPStranger: Bilbo walked slowly into the room. He searched for the dragon but couldn’t see Smaug anywhere. After a moment he slipped off his ring and turned his attention to the treasure. It was as he reached for a golden bracelet that he heard a voice from behind him.Smauglock RP2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
You: "Well thief, I smell you, I feel your air. Please, help yourself, there’s plenty and to spare." The voice had been deep, and gave one the terrible sensation of falling. Smaug had not even bothered to crack an eye open. He could tell there was someone here, in his lair, attempting the theft of his treasures. In earlier days the burglar would have been dead by now, but he’d had a long sleep in this mountain hall, and craved a little diversion. He would toy with the creature for now, then kill it.
Stranger: Bilbo froze and turned towards the voice, he hadn’t seen the dragon in the treasure but now was completely aware of Smaugs presence. “I…I don’t think I will take any. I think
APH/Avengers - World's Mightiest Heroes (Prologue)APH/Avengers - World's Mightiest Heroes (Prologue)2 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
To Be An Artist1: "Look at these paintings. They're just awful."To Be An Artist5 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,
dobranocw łóżku z najgorszym snem; do czego to doszłodobranoc3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
czemu mi się tak tu podoba, skoro wiem,
że prędzej czy później dołączę i do nich
jestem zabawką z pękniętym czołem
dziewczyną o lokach piaskowych
kochasz bawić się mną późno w nocy
tak ciemno, zbyt ciemno, by cokolwiek poczuć
kochanie, śpij już, ranek za minutę
nie mogę ruszyć się, ciało ciąży mi
obowiązkiem; patrzę w ciemność, nie widząc nic
a jednak twój śmiech, tych kilka głosek
dźwięczy wśród prześcieradeł
powiedz coś, zaśnij na wieki, odepchnij mnie
wśród pustki znajduję wyspy twego ciała
gorącem pulsujące pudełko wypełnione krwią
nie rozumiem, ale to nic, to nic
szepcesz coś bezgłośnie, mięśnie zginają się pod sobą
Teutoburg ForestThe legions of RomeTeutoburg Forest5 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
Spring and the Mysterious Case of New LeavesThose dizzying moments before the dawnSpring and the Mysterious Case of New Leaves1 year 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.
Resounding Echo - Chapter 1Resounding Echo - Chapter 13 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
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.