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:Escape6 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:Innocence6 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 . . .
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 you10 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
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.
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.
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
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
Becoming MatureMaturity: I realized popularity was stupid.Becoming Mature4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Off TopicIt takes twelve minutesOff Topic3 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 (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 11 year 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
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.
LonelinessYou say I'm "loved"?Loneliness3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
The Source of Fear-Chapter 2***The Source of Fear-Chapter 21 year 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
Almal Hoor Maar Niemand LuisterEk sit hierAlmal Hoor Maar Niemand Luister7 years ago in Surrealism More Like This
soos soveel kere vantevoor;
vingers blou van die koue,
siel verniel maar bly behoue.
Aleen sit ek hier
en dink aan alles wat ek nie wil hoor.
Was dit dalk van korte duur
sou ek my leuens kon glo.
Soms sit ek hier dink
oor al die onregverdighede.
Soms raak ek die pad byster
wanneer ek eerder na my hart luister;
dis dan wanneer my donkerder kant vir my wink,
(daardie deel van my klou vas aan my verlede.)
Eendag sal ek nog daarin verdrink.
Om gevoelloos te wees, klink soveel beter.
Geen woorde kan uitbeeld
hoe ek werklik voel.
Van nou af sal ek eerder fluister;
almal hoor maar niemand luister.
Die middele heilig die doel.
En my pyn bly nog steeds verdeeld
vir dit wat ek nie meer mag voel;
vir dit word ek nog steeds veroordeel.
He only dates broken girls.I will destroy you. I willHe only dates broken girls.3 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
make you love me
without even trying;
you’ll love the scabs
on my knees, the bruises
under my eyes, my
singed hair. You will love
the rush of holding
my hand as we cross
the bridge; you’ll feel
like a hero each time
I don’t jump. You will buy
me chocolates, the most
expensive, to guilt me
into eating. You will buy
me seeds instead of flowers,
to give me a reason to
get up in the morning. You
will make me dependent,
even as I feed your white
knight complex. I will destroy
myself, and so you,
and you will know why storms are named after people.
Bloodlust -Prologue-Bloodlust -Prologue-4 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
Author's warning: There are some aspects of this story that to those who are religious and/or deep in the belief of Christianity, may find offensive or sacrilegious. I would like to state that the things written in this story are not my real life beliefs or opinions and that they are purely for the plot of the story and the universe the story takes place in. If I offend anyone, I deeply apologize as that is not my intent for this story. Unfortunately, all I can do is humbly ask that you respect my creative rights and, if you're bothered enough by this story, that you simply don't continue reading it. Thank you and enjoy the story!
Prologue: Son of The Devil
Heaven and Hell. Polar opposites, with the only similarity between the two being that both realms house the soul's of Earth's deceased. For hundreds of years, these places were thought to represent good and evil. Theres Heaven, which is supposed to be a place of
I hate youI hate you4 years ago in Songs & Lyrics More Like This
I hate you so much,I don't know why we keep in touch
you said that I'm the only one for you,but your actions showed that this is ain't true
My heart sucked dry,and dont ask me why,becuase you know the reason is you
I'll just sit here by the wall,and watch you die all alone
you always knew but you didn't want to say
now look on the mess you have done, tomorrow i'll be gone
nothing left to fix or break, can't decide whats true or fake
I just wanted you to resurrect me,but instead you broke me to a million pieces
should I run or should I wait,Should I hold or should I break
I'm just trying to revive from all those scars you gave me
I tried to break out from this emotional prison but without any luck, I've failed again
you mislead me,deceived me,
always lie and tricked me
I bought it like a fool,
now I know how cruel you are
all you leave is pain and scars...
the 'd' wordwhen i was seven years old, my mother, tear-streaksthe 'd' word2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
drying on her cheeks, fingered her wedding band
and told me, “love hurts, sweetie,
that’s how you know it’s a good love.”
two days later, my father came back home.
he was missing his wedding ring
and when he left again,
he left a handprint on my mother’s cheek
that she carried with her even after the bruise was gone.
i grew up without a father influence in my mother’s world
and without a mother influence in my dad’s.
neither of them got remarried.
they had found each other and that was enough.
they had found each other and that was too much.
i grew up a thin string attaching one man and one woman
together in a way arguments and resentment could never snap.
they met in restaurant parking lots and in the bleachers
of my soccer games the way soldiers meet on battle fields,
trading me across the asphalt and steel like a
deadly weapon, a bullet hurdled back and forth.
he took me out to ball games b