It Means Everything To MeWhat has touched me? What has gotten into my soul? What has made me laugh and made me cry or made me ponder? What has made tears come to my eyes and constrict my throat with emotion? What?More Like This
What makes me wonder? What makes my imagination soar? What inspires me?
The answers are below
Img 0549 by *MDDahlHyacinth in Mono by *Deb-e-ann
Empty Worship by *DigitalDistressCity Meltdown by *WTek79Flowing by ~RobyRidge
Sleep White Winter by *Luperkaliathe secret of the hanger by *scheinbarWinter Aquarel by *DimensionSeven
ToGeThEr by *k-i-mm-i-eFloating Mysteries by ~Dreaming-ThoughtsAdie's portrait by =Who-Is-Chill
100 by ~SmokeyredpepperMeridian by ~TrashinsLooking Down At Scott by =GreenEyedG0ddess
Snow on the foothills 3 by =kayaksailorTHE BAD STORYTELLER by *LEQUARKNessu Dorma by *Bibire
Grumpy by *TorkhelleDancing in the wind by =WhiteBooknew season by ~miss-gardener
WILD FLOWERS VI by ~mecengineerThe Souls Map Of The Future by *33MRimrock Sunset by =CharlieA-Photos
Sunrise in the forest by *gigi501225--The Real Polar Express by *dragon-fly-to-me+Geology Study+ by ~Valimar
Wanilianna for Secrets In Lace - Europe by ~fotomartinezMellow yellow by *FezzywigAsending Tones by *chrisntheboat
Thank-you by =1001GMandarin Duck by *DominikaAniolaI'm Going to Hell by ~ahermin
...king's landing panorama... by *roblfc1892:thumb366456182
DON'T BELIEVE EVERYTHING YOU THINK 21More Like This
The race against evolution dissolved. by ~skyline03 ps139 by ~Campo-Diaz
Talk me Out by ~WonderMilkyGirl Moving V by *veramente
Moscow Night Story by *inObrAS Till Tecken by *JabLab Talk me Out by ~WonderMilkyGirl
Tree+wall+field+frost1 by *Coigach Moscow Night Story by *inObrAS YBR V2 by *KizukiTamura
Balance by *Einsilbig YBR V1 by *KizukiTamura Plakatok 8 by ~Kaa-khan
YBR V1 by *KizukiTamura Plakatok 8 by ~Kaa-khan We are shadows to one another by *YourForgiveness
hORIZON (dE sOINS) CABOSSE by *TofstoFs We are shadows to one another by *YourForgiveness I'm Waking Up... by *Corvidae65
We Will All Turn To DustI've always admired Christiane's :iconscheinbar: journals! So well thought out and assembled. It must take her days to do each one, so I dedicate this journal to her!More Like This
All words (and quite a few images ) by Christiane--:iconscheinbar: The words were posted on several of her pieces and I just arranged them as they seemed to flow together into a nice poem
would you like to be
what would you like to be...?
I have a million ideas of characters, I'd like to be
Fortgegangen by *scheinbarRemains by *Art2mys
To be Another by *scheinbarI wasn't there! by ~peterle28on legs by *scheinbar
Interference by *BlauBeerKuchenin twodimensional space by *scheinbarBack From Germany by *KizukiTamura
how does it feel to live in this dimension?
Portrait of Juri by =MenoevilA girl and her dead tree by =MenoevilWhispering wind by =Menoevil
gitternetz zwischen hier und jetzt by *scheinbar:thumb396002496
Discussion 3 ~ The Validity of Abstraction“There is nothing worse than a sharp image of a fuzzy concept.”More Like This
- Ansel Adams
When photography was first created it was used primarily for portraits. It was not yet mobile and therefore could not yet be used in genres like landscape or journalism. Portrait painters at the time felt that photography was not legitimately artistic, and this spurred the "Pictorialist" photographic movement. In defense of their art, Pictorialists depicted subjects with soft visual effects and artistic poses. At the beginning of the twentieth century a man named Paul Strand countered the "Pictorialist" movement stating that it was too apologetic, and did not take advantage of the new medium.
Paul Strand was an American Modernist photographer leading the drive to establish photography as a valid form of fine art. However, he did not believe that all forms of photography held artistic value. His argument was based on the idea - central to modernist art, of 'trut
The Sensitivity of SeniorsTHE SENSITIVITY OF SENIORSMore Like This
This letter was sent to the Lions Bay School Principal's office in West Vancouver after the school had sponsored a luncheon for seniors.
An elderly lady received a new radio at the lunch as a door raffle prize and was writing to say thank you.
This story is a credit to all humankind and makes one feel there is still hope for us all !
Dear Lions Bay School :
God bless you for the beautiful radio I won at your recent Senior Citizens luncheon. I am 87 years old and live at the West Vancouver Home for the Aged.
All of my family has passed away so I am all alone.
I want to thank you for the kindness you have shown to a forgotten old lady. My roommate is 95 and has always had her own radio. She would never let me listen to it. She said it belonged to her long dead husband, and understandably, wanted to keep it safe.
The other day her radio fell off the ni
The FarmerThis one is thanks to Clive :icontaramara:More Like This
An old farmer went to the theatre.
When he was taking his seat a staff member asked him, 'what is that on your shoulder Sir?
The old chap replied, 'Oh, that's Chuck – my pet rooster - wherever I go, he goes!'
'Sorry Sir, was the reply. We don't allow any animals in the theatre.'
The old farmer went outside and stuffed the cockerel down his overalls. He then returned to the theatre and took his seat.
He was sat next to two old widows, named Mildred and Marge.
The show started and the rooster began to squirm, so he undid his fly so that Chucky could stick his head out see what was going on.
'Marge' whispered Mildred.
'What!' said Marge?
'I think the guy next to me is a pervert.'
'What makes you think so?' said Marge
'Well, he's undone his pants and got his thing out' whispered Mildred.
'Well don't worry about it' said Marge. 'Hell – at our age we've seen 'em all.'
'I thought so too' said Mildred 'but this bugger's eating my popcorn!'
My Dear Sons and DaughtersFall in love with everythingMore Like This
Fall in love with ideas: anarchy
and LaVeyan Satanism.
Fall in love with solitary back-packing
through Israel or Mexico.
Fall in love with gamma radiation
or tiger-taming, MMA cage fighting
or free-climbing the Rocky Mountains,
but do not fall in love
People will want you
for your similarities to one
or more of their parents;
they will want you
for the outline, the concept of you;
they will want you
because you want them –
they will not know
what they want.
People will take the bed you shared
and fuck other people
in the barely cooled indent
of your absent body
(they will also take your cat,
leaving you with scarred hands
and nothing for them to stroke).
They will promise to never leave you
and maybe they won’t,
but they will buckle you in with them
on the bipolar-coaster,
left flying off unfinished tracks,
and you will have to jump,
They will be perfect
except for little things –
answering their pho
..."Someday that's where we'll meet, at empty four-way intersections or on half-deserted streets, half drunk and twirling about ourselves to the sounds of sleepy violin sonatas. I'll kiss the taste of your cigarettes and promise never to waste my fervour on the mundane. We'll meet in Bedlam and Squalor, in churches adorned with the legend 'Ichabod,' scrawled above the double doors. We'll flee, laughing, from the suede-denim stormtroopers and call ourselves the Seeds of Moloch, the children who never chose and never quite made their way to the Inferno. For all our lust and hedonism, our burning tributes to the outlaw Pan, the underlying benevolence of knowing always leaves us smug and unsurprised among the philosophers.More Like This
The WordsIt started softly at first. Little words and instances, and small betrayals that left questions sticking in her mind like needles. Words that hit her skin like stones, leaving bruises that spread and scarred and left fear in their wake, words that kept her up at night.More Like This
Who I am? What am I doing here? And who are you?
The words start tumbling faster now, and come with twisted expressions of anger, bitterness, resentment and blame. It's taking her back to her childhood; the memories of disquiet and fear and always, always the blame. It's taking her back to the fear of speaking, the fear of being touched, ever. The fear of meeting someone's eyes. There is only anger around her. An atmosphere weighed down by secrets and the blush of blood rising into skin. And inside, nothing but emptiness and the echoes of something deeper, something that will never be undone.
There is a stranger asleep beside me. Someone I no longer understand, who no longer understands me. I am afraid of their