mantle of desire Take my heart and set it free, Carried forward by the waves Nowhere left to run, navigators' son, Chasing rainbows all my days
(Iron Maiden - Ghost Of Navigator)
waving goodbye Overdone and poorly executed. Don't know why I uploaded it, frankly.
Easter's coming Friendly neighborhood priest. This photograph was taken for an Easter Project which I'm working on with my cousin. It probably has nothing special, though I admire this person (I don't know him too well, actually). Guess he would be profoundly disappointed if I explained to him just how debatable/relative the God issue is.
Red. Just another macro shot. Is it too dark?
Unfortunately the photo project for the TSL is not going as good as I would have liked, I can't find inspiration and often feel discouraged, it is like I have some sort of mental block
I will produce some photos, though I doubt I'll be content with them.
This is a video I saw in an older TL thread, so for many of you it might not be new, however I see no harm in increasing the potential exposure of this astoundingly well made video, even if let's say only 1 new person sees it.
Nostalgic factor: off the scale Chill-down-your-spine factor : off the fucking scale
Recently I've started wandering around my hometown, the main idea being a want to immortalize a darker look of it
Mures River bank, "far"
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"there"
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"misery"
You just stood there screaming Fearing no one was listening to you They say the empty can rattles the most The sound of your voice must soothe you Hearing only what you want to hear And knowing only what you've heard You you're smothered in tragedy You're out to save the world
These times are sent to try mens souls But somethings wrong with all you see You, you'll take it on all yourself Remember, misery loves company
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"break"
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"far,2" There was a fresh breeze Strange peace Tranquility And there was the sun
It was even able to warm me up No longer an enemy The sight passed me by, as pictures running Playing to a sweet roundabout
Then the might of a boat The art in its misery Its baroque shams Its gone inlays
Its arcane ornaments Its lone gaze Its ancient memories Its wars lost
Splendid As Venice has never been As the moon won't ever be Just like the sea
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"urban speed"
every once in a while, take a brief moment, to stop and contemplate
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"distances"
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"feeble"
Lost in the storming of the north someone warm up his own beloved a feeble flower of the north
Two frozen hearts sleep in the dust bonded by time in tears and rust in the darkest hall of winter lust
Effectively my first photo of a genre I'm looking into Lack of experience shows, and it's far from perfect, however the most important issue is that I'm learning
Did it in a rush actually, I just consider it a teaser of greater things to come. ----------------------------------------- I just got a CANON EOS 400 D aka Digital Rebel XTi !!!!111 -----------------------------------------
I'm on my father's computer (mine is broken) and I'm currently waiting for nature to show it's youth, so I can go out there and Macro properly with my new equipment.
Worst part is that I have no PhotoShop (and not even an ice cube's chance in Hell of installing it and actually expecting it to work on this Pentium III 256 SDRAM 32MB video card piece of shit)
I had a dream - of the wide open prairie. I had a dream - of the the pale morning sky. I had a dream - that we flew on golden wings. And we were the same - just the same - you and I
Older shot, found in one of my 5187432 photo folders. Edited in PS (slightly). Taken in Romania, of course.
I started the 'school' to obtain my driver's license(dunno the exact English term, is "drivers' school" ok?). Should take about three or four more weeks. Cake.
My girlfriend and I are getting along absolutely amazing, she keeps me very happy, very calm and generally at peace with myself. Keeps me away from depressions also.
My trouble with the law continues still, it shows signs of clearing up soon (a few months). The consequences will not be harsh at all it seems (no c. record). Please don't ask what it's about.
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I was a little hesitant to post this, but if there are any English majors of w/e (as I'm sure there must be, Team Liquid never fails to deliver), I would like some criticism for a little poem of mine. Other people can criticize at will, I will quite appreciate it. I'm sure most of you speak better English than me anyway, because it is not my first language.
As a personal comment, I would like to just say that there seems to be nothing anymore to lean our faith against, except our own selves. But 'human' in general is a complex, and more importantly flawed concept. Cheers to all of you
Issa
Below of the sky which darkens in tar Where seared earth meets no wish of life, anymore Where putrid angels lay slew, in gross gore A wanderer draws near, from afar, Where the sky darkens in tar.
The scarlet of sunsets is long since gone The gold of autumn blackened, and burnt Silently since, all but memories are done Where black crows ascend, in death-croaking spar Towards the sky which darkens in tar.
And so he nears, black robe unable to hide The namelessness within its dark hood, black eyes Charred and forgotten, sight of limbs in unison strides Seeking a mere phantom's reflection, not far From skies which darken in tar.
Lost trekker under black clouds full of lead Lost are his dreams, into blistered hands of the dead Lost does he stare at black gravestones raised tall On his old cradle, now cemetery of brothers who fall, From skies which darken in tar.
As deep thunder engulfs the dismantling lie As candid death pours recklessly onto life, without cry Devoting sweltering demons wisdom upon the urge Of obscure night to approach, to devour and purge The nomad is bent to his knees by sleep-wielding surge.
Grave, grinding Sleep, unholy brother of Death, Heard abysmal cries of its quarry, secluded in the tomb Of all the kindred's oppressing, impassable womb Quietly the man begins to falter, cannot hush now any farther. Soundless, death-bound whispers come across, Pagan holding dearly his corroded, ancient cross.
Eerie, creeping form, voice of blackening bellows Voice of the fetid, unhealed human souls, Tone bearing the flurry of the ocean in its fury; Quietly the man begins to falter, cannot hush now any further. Loudly, death-bound shouting comes across, Pagan holding dearly his corroded, ancient cross.
Bar his cross is broken, calling is in vain Calling words of Truth, useless calling of Thy name... Issa, oh Issa... The sky is forever dark, we are our bane.
