tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8717422632162723322024-03-14T09:16:29.740-07:00Mad Aggregator"So FACEBOOK puts a mark on Cain, lest anyone should kill him at sight. Cain then leaves FACEBOOK'S presence and settles in the land of Nod, east of Eden."T.R. Hummerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12113264848463596680noreply@blogger.comBlogger108125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-871742263216272332.post-57789651090960328902009-07-20T01:19:00.001-07:002009-08-06T21:01:24.025-07:00Re-Runs of the Apocalypse (8)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmq9sRcGuExAM6Qo-tckD7U-Rajmy1CGwTc-5Ny1dBeffHqrQMA5vm9y9sKsLnpdodvRboboxDPLLV3TtBiydhE_yZpqKOuutaVEEFhkKDdHKHP955HoiLnjEI6mHL46NRyv6SIw8oX8A3/s1600-h/rising_smoke.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmq9sRcGuExAM6Qo-tckD7U-Rajmy1CGwTc-5Ny1dBeffHqrQMA5vm9y9sKsLnpdodvRboboxDPLLV3TtBiydhE_yZpqKOuutaVEEFhkKDdHKHP955HoiLnjEI6mHL46NRyv6SIw8oX8A3/s400/rising_smoke.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5367067055176466578" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><blockquote style="clear: both;"><p><span style="font-size:78%;"><a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://www.bing.com/images/search?q=smoke&go=&form=QBIR&qs=n#focal=6fc16bcae6132cb6f72e27a29a387c0b&furl=http%3A%2F%2Fgraphics.stanford.edu%2F%7Ehenrik%2Fimages%2Fimgs%2Frising_smoke.jpg">rising smoke</a></span></p></blockquote></div><blockquote style="clear: both;"><p>One last morning under the pergola we discussed what had happened in the godhead's crucible, but the berries distracted us, we lost the thread, you touched my hand, and we were smoke.</p></blockquote>T.R. Hummerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12113264848463596680noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-871742263216272332.post-29371746454012574182009-07-20T00:55:00.001-07:002009-07-20T00:56:25.612-07:00Re-Runs of the Apocalypse (7)<p style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/_csY2_xK2HtY/SmQjCB_Y2cI/AAAAAAAAcW4/d5OoOd5lTGk/s800/couple.jpg" class="image-link"><img class="linked-to-original" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/_csY2_xK2HtY/SmQjBZ_fzNI/AAAAAAAAcWw/CyTXK6RsEdo/s800/couple-thumb.jpg" style="margin: 0pt auto 10px; text-align: center; display: block;" width="321" height="399" /></a><span style="font-size:78%;"><a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://www.usefilm.com/image/163183.html">Emil Schildt</a></span></p><blockquote style="clear: both;"><p>It was never natural, not cosmic rays unspooling, epic failure of photosynthesis. The lovers were fuse and timer, thrusting seconds home.</p></blockquote>T.R. Hummerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12113264848463596680noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-871742263216272332.post-47647947467243010922009-07-20T00:28:00.001-07:002009-07-20T00:30:15.070-07:00Re-Runs of the Apocalypse (6)<p style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_csY2_xK2HtY/SmQcnmnvQFI/AAAAAAAAcWY/Xwvl_oRxo4Y/s800/FieldofDreams1.jpg" class="image-link"><img class="linked-to-original" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_csY2_xK2HtY/SmQcnPGp2NI/AAAAAAAAcWQ/UcvfmrQ_AeM/s800/FieldofDreams1-thumb.jpg" style="margin: 0pt auto 10px; text-align: center; display: block;" width="380" height="564" /></a><span style="font-size:78%;"><a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://www.jasondemarte.com/portfolio/utopic.php?7">Jason DeMarte</a></span></p><blockquote style="clear: both;"><p>It was natural. Rivers divorced seas under the aegis of ending, tectonic plates shattered against apartment walls, all evolving closure.</p></blockquote><p style="clear: both;"></p><p style="clear: both;"></p>T.R. Hummerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12113264848463596680noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-871742263216272332.post-15940973718162764652009-07-19T22:07:00.001-07:002009-07-19T22:08:11.025-07:00Re-Runs of the Apocalypse (5)<p style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/_csY2_xK2HtY/SmP7haEqf6I/AAAAAAAAcVY/gaANofalQsA/s800/Bridge.jpg" class="image-link"><img class="linked-to-original" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_csY2_xK2HtY/SmP7hO2OENI/AAAAAAAAcVQ/RbrIq3v9U0U/s800/Bridge-thumb.jpg" style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; display: inline; float: right;" align="right" width="380" height="285" /></a></p><div style="text-align: center;"><blockquote style="clear: both; font-style: italic;"><p><span style="font-size:78%;"><a href="http://bloodypuppy.com/">link</a></span></p></blockquote></div><blockquote style="clear: both;"><p>It was not human. The bridges into the city were empty at midnight, the trains were silenced, bars dark: one great godflash, and lights out.</p></blockquote><p style="clear: both;"></p>T.R. Hummerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12113264848463596680noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-871742263216272332.post-70366627759687342142009-07-19T21:39:00.001-07:002009-07-19T21:40:38.735-07:00Re-Runs of the Apocalypse (4)<div style="text-align: center;"><a class="image-link" href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/_csY2_xK2HtY/SmP1DrbmypI/AAAAAAAAcU4/Sw96wf4hADo/s800/GalleryOne_3.jpg"><img class="linked-to-original" height="403" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/_csY2_xK2HtY/SmP1DNvHFaI/AAAAAAAAcUw/0a_CfyEL3FQ/s800/GalleryOne_3-thumb.jpg" style="display: block; margin: 0pt auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="289" /></a><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><i><a href="http://www.neuroculture.org/GalleryOne_3.html">F. Gillette, Cerebrum/Cerebellum Reducere, 2006</a></i></span><br />
</div><div style="clear: both;"> <br />
It was human. A double knot in the double helix hardwired them not to fate but inevitable accident: one molecule awry, everything collapses.</div><div style="clear: both;"></div>T.R. Hummerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12113264848463596680noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-871742263216272332.post-45688090240571240182009-07-19T16:24:00.001-07:002009-07-19T16:26:16.878-07:00Re-runs of the Apocalypse (3)<p style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/_csY2_xK2HtY/SmOrPalstGI/AAAAAAAAcTI/eE0eqVAVXgw/s800/CityofShadows.jpg" class="image-link"><img class="linked-to-original" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/_csY2_xK2HtY/SmOrOlNC5MI/AAAAAAAAcTA/Hz0l2hix5wU/s800/CityofShadows-thumb.jpg" style="margin: 0pt auto 10px; text-align: center; display: block;" width="380" height="364" /></a><span style="font-size:78%;"><a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://artfromtheoutskirts.today.com/2008/08/28/a-picture-in-words-city-of-shadows-series-1992-1994/">Alexy Titarenko</a></span></p><blockquote style="clear: both;"><p>It was no one's. A destroying wave passed through Being, positron to pulsar, invisible, unknown to them as they removed each other's skin.</p></blockquote><p style="clear: both;"><u><br /><br /></u></p>T.R. Hummerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12113264848463596680noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-871742263216272332.post-70237511810039411552009-07-19T16:05:00.001-07:002009-07-19T16:06:28.184-07:00Re-Runs of the Apocalypse (2)<p style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/_csY2_xK2HtY/SmOmsy7ykfI/AAAAAAAAcSo/dXlIz5pqo6s/s800/a-voice-from-the-grave1.jpg" class="image-link"><img class="linked-to-original" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/_csY2_xK2HtY/SmOmsWngVkI/AAAAAAAAcSg/ejzSTuWhg9U/s800/a-voice-from-the-grave1-thumb.jpg" style="margin: 0pt auto 10px; text-align: center; display: block;" width="380" height="495" /></a><span style="font-size:78%;"><a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://fractalontology.wordpress.com/2008/07/22/laruelle/">a voice from the grave</a></span><u><br /></u></p><p style="clear: both;"><u><br /></u></p><blockquote style="clear: both;"><p>It was not theirs. The boundaries betrayed them. Out of the core of their argument a shape arose, arsenical whirlwind, last word. </p></blockquote>T.R. Hummerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12113264848463596680noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-871742263216272332.post-76783863447773751982009-07-19T15:43:00.001-07:002009-07-19T15:44:07.318-07:00Re-Runs of the Apocalypse (1)<p style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/_csY2_xK2HtY/SmOhiY2CAiI/AAAAAAAAcSI/88TEnNiIJr4/s800/skeletonsDM060207_228x304.jpg" class="image-link"><img class="linked-to-original" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/_csY2_xK2HtY/SmOhiGYoorI/AAAAAAAAcSA/fP5nKX83zbE/s800/skeletonsDM060207_228x304-thumb.jpg" style="margin: 0pt auto 10px; text-align: center; display: block;" width="228" height="304" /></a><span style="font-size:78%;"><a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-434454/Locked-eternal-embrace.html;jsessionid=BE7F0423853E20801DE3BEE43F68A53F">skeleton lovers</a></span></p><blockquote style="clear: both;"><p>It was theirs. They stood by the water at dusk, lovers scarred by the violence of their alchemy, transmuting the darkness at the skyline.</p></blockquote>T.R. Hummerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12113264848463596680noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-871742263216272332.post-46408992845717302472009-07-17T23:44:00.001-07:002009-07-17T23:44:53.601-07:00Biography of Eros (7)<p style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/_csY2_xK2HtY/SmFvPAfqrqI/AAAAAAAAcNM/7UsHeRMBp9M/s800/hypnos-thanatos.jpg" class="image-link"><img class="linked-to-original" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_csY2_xK2HtY/SmFvOSIvCFI/AAAAAAAAcNE/Whu1ViWX54o/s800/hypnos-thanatos-thumb.jpg" style="margin: 0pt auto 10px; text-align: center; display: block;" width="380" height="296" /></a><span style="font-size:78%;"><a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://s301.photobucket.com/albums/nn75/miaokuancha/hypnos-thanatos.jpg">John William Waterhouse</a></span></p><blockquote style="clear: both;"><p>Entropy, etiolation, emptiness: Nothing left but the bed, and the lovers on the bed, and the galaxy surrounding them, dark matter ascendant.</p></blockquote>T.R. Hummerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12113264848463596680noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-871742263216272332.post-67556366995606591132009-07-17T22:28:00.001-07:002009-07-17T22:29:00.175-07:00Biography of Eros (6)<p style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_csY2_xK2HtY/SmFddz4ZbSI/AAAAAAAAcMs/lTAu8jEWdcg/s800/Schildt.jpg" class="image-link"><img class="linked-to-original" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/_csY2_xK2HtY/SmFddktbsJI/AAAAAAAAcMk/RnpuDewxJVs/s800/Schildt-thumb.jpg" style="margin: 0pt auto 10px; text-align: center; display: block;" width="380" height="455" /></a><span style="font-size:78%;"><a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://www.emilschildt.com/KILL%20-%20nightmaree.htm">Emil Schildt</a></span></p><blockquote style="clear: both;"><p>Inside the penumbra there was no dying--death, yes, always, but no motion except the back and forth of the body, the thrust, and the scream.</p></blockquote><p style="clear: both;"></p>T.R. Hummerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12113264848463596680noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-871742263216272332.post-54745340236212132052009-07-17T22:13:00.001-07:002009-07-17T22:13:49.583-07:00Biography of Eros (5)<p style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/_csY2_xK2HtY/SmFZ7veNPVI/AAAAAAAAcMM/_mctDw0mUPE/s800/UnderworldBookplate.jpg" class="image-link"><img class="linked-to-original" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/_csY2_xK2HtY/SmFZ7T7RLPI/AAAAAAAAcME/P763_nFwLJw/s800/UnderworldBookplate-thumb.jpg" style="margin: 0pt auto 10px; text-align: center; display: block;" width="354" height="499" /></a><span style="font-size:78%;"><a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://bibliodyssey.blogspot.com/2009/07/speechless.html">BibliOdyssey</a></span></p><blockquote style="clear: both;"><p>In the dream words were absence. An empty book had contained all truth but for one false letter. He, or was it she, read the other's shadow.</p></blockquote><p style="clear: both;"></p>T.R. Hummerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12113264848463596680noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-871742263216272332.post-64505051266196140292009-07-17T21:56:00.001-07:002009-07-17T21:56:59.856-07:00Biography of Eros (4)<p style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/_csY2_xK2HtY/SmFV7_yOL1I/AAAAAAAAcLs/qF6OTuR3b9o/s800/lovers.jpg" class="image-link"><img class="linked-to-original" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_csY2_xK2HtY/SmFV7mVKOJI/AAAAAAAAcLk/-C2fGyRpMgc/s800/lovers-thumb.jpg" style="margin: 0pt auto 10px; text-align: center; display: block;" width="380" height="263" /></a><span style="font-size:78%;"><a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://www.ibiblio.org/wm/paint/auth/blake/lovers.jpg">William Blake</a></span></p><blockquote style="clear: both;"><p>They knew it was insanity, and accepted it, but differently. One thought: madness, endlessly. The other thought: madness, finally.</p></blockquote><p style="clear: both;"></p>T.R. Hummerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12113264848463596680noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-871742263216272332.post-78466679863588022442009-07-17T21:44:00.001-07:002009-07-17T21:46:05.541-07:00Biography of Eros (3)<p style="clear: both;"><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_csY2_xK2HtY/SmFTFTb_KhI/AAAAAAAAcLM/5O1h88orN7E/s800/murderersback.jpg" class="image-link"><img class="linked-to-original" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/_csY2_xK2HtY/SmFTFGABHkI/AAAAAAAAcLE/xNkjp-wXU-g/s800/murderersback-thumb.jpg" style="margin: 0pt auto 10px; text-align: center; display: block;" width="380" height="386" /></a></p><blockquote style="clear: both;"><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:78%;"><a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://i7.photobucket.com/albums/y296/imomus/more/murderersback.jpg">link</a></span><br /></p><p>They wore raptor masks. One used a small flexible whip. Its marks were radiant traces of ichor. Thus the walls of the sanctum were broken.</p></blockquote><p style="clear: both;"></p>T.R. Hummerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12113264848463596680noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-871742263216272332.post-67902022047093235792009-07-17T21:17:00.001-07:002009-07-17T21:48:01.257-07:00Biography of Eros (2)<p style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/_csY2_xK2HtY/SmFM8mubg3I/AAAAAAAAcKs/ZG4wKkp3OGM/s800/Double.jpg" class="image-link"><img class="linked-to-original" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/_csY2_xK2HtY/SmFM8SWYtbI/AAAAAAAAcKk/p-hmClpjyJ4/s800/Double-thumb.jpg" style="margin: 0pt auto 10px; text-align: center; display: block;" width="380" height="254" /></a><span style="font-size:78%;"><a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://photo.net/photos/gans">Vlad Gansovsky</a></span></p><blockquote style="clear: both;"><p>Sleeping, one of them moaned. It was the dream of the interpenetration of souls. Death is in everything, crystalline arsenic dissolved in alcohol.</p></blockquote><p style="clear: both;"></p>T.R. Hummerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12113264848463596680noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-871742263216272332.post-27109168874762315932009-07-17T18:31:00.001-07:002009-07-17T21:47:40.373-07:00Biography of Eros (1)<p style="clear: both;"><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/_csY2_xK2HtY/SmEmCDvBuCI/AAAAAAAAcKM/rzICyVrVEAs/s800/eros.jpg" class="image-link"><img class="linked-to-original" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_csY2_xK2HtY/SmEmBvH6WpI/AAAAAAAAcKE/BjSQ_xz-ZfU/s800/eros-thumb.jpg" style="margin: 0pt auto 10px; text-align: center; display: block;" width="369" height="570" /></a></p><blockquote style="clear: both;"><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:78%;"><a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://wildatheartblog.blogspot.com/2009_03_01_archive.html">link</a></span><br /></p><p>The witnessing of things in the mind. But what mind? The lovers lay on the bed, handcuffed, saying Please, and just for a moment he knew.</p></blockquote><p style="clear: both;"></p>T.R. Hummerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12113264848463596680noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-871742263216272332.post-15805534825742068172009-06-28T15:31:00.001-07:002009-06-28T15:37:10.066-07:00Assimilation (7)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqkm1YEzq8uuSEWlVk1F3Bk7kklWflMumi4OK3z1GvSEjuSOc3FII0j6tH1ZWVpsT1KNTRATj9cL-LDzFHMEz_l1Wk1pEjwsIrJ8rJ08UjH_b-LRnVAo10zSqPDKKxOVwKr_PfF4CEytXA/s1600-h/weathered-red-door.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqkm1YEzq8uuSEWlVk1F3Bk7kklWflMumi4OK3z1GvSEjuSOc3FII0j6tH1ZWVpsT1KNTRATj9cL-LDzFHMEz_l1Wk1pEjwsIrJ8rJ08UjH_b-LRnVAo10zSqPDKKxOVwKr_PfF4CEytXA/s320/weathered-red-door.jpg" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Georgia, fantasy;font-size:16px;"><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.mccullagh.org/photo/1ds-14/weathered-red-door"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Declan McCullagh</span></span></i></a></div><div><br /></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">He now remembers the path forgotten all his life: it leads to a ruined door through which everything vanishes, even the key that opens it.</span></span>T.R. Hummerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12113264848463596680noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-871742263216272332.post-19990946406766988772009-06-27T22:27:00.001-07:002009-06-27T22:31:36.664-07:00Assimilation (6)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYf0_Re8DPIIpwOLxQlQnfCysErQ0W0nU5hyYJgigFOyml-7EWymg9bPtI1SfOI78rlE7SmRSll5cvaQ44PUOxdPgblytTuq3ap9iisdZWbvlwlroK4asVjQASAU3Ugw7jLNz1MhnY0KVx/s1600-h/Walking+Through+Walls.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYf0_Re8DPIIpwOLxQlQnfCysErQ0W0nU5hyYJgigFOyml-7EWymg9bPtI1SfOI78rlE7SmRSll5cvaQ44PUOxdPgblytTuq3ap9iisdZWbvlwlroK4asVjQASAU3Ugw7jLNz1MhnY0KVx/s400/Walking+Through+Walls.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5352246686839306786" /></a><i><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small; "><a href="http://sirocco.blogsome.com/2006/08/03/walking-through-walls/">sirocco</a></span></div></i><blockquote style="clear: both"><p>Human emotion reduced him; every passion wore off a layer of skin, every rage took a subsection of organ. Eroded, he walked through walls.</p></blockquote><p style="clear: both"></p>T.R. Hummerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12113264848463596680noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-871742263216272332.post-60153777196432107892009-06-27T16:39:00.001-07:002009-06-27T16:45:09.338-07:00Assimilation (5)<i><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:x-small;"><a href="http://media.photobucket.com/image/broken%20piano/bincabonca/BANDS%20and%20MUSIC/keys.jpg">bincabonca</a></span></div></i><blockquote style="clear: both"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLpOXCCKOg1sXRd3LPnu3FX_hVs-0pwbjAQ3IYRz6OxDHjGVWVmPyv4hJPTD0889CHzdruPxUeHSwr7e_5Bz594JN56KigESrfQhVUVZaLLC0MCArBBd9OvNVc8OutSuFhKsd2sEYSVU6E/s400/keys.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5352156366357734530" /><p>Part of him was lost,two fingers from the right hand. His music suffered. When he played the piano, there was a shadow in the treble, a deadness.</p></blockquote><p style="clear: both"><br /></p>T.R. Hummerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12113264848463596680noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-871742263216272332.post-35432358208587284732009-06-27T14:33:00.001-07:002009-06-27T14:35:12.374-07:00Assimilation (4)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglfhXP8F9GXYR4YjeuiQW6f3DlNCYR4EqzgLpJ1VSit1FM0XyIF6p7aWfQ5sBF02RsWcd5bW7hOiNZ1wJUgWPS0WjqCbYZIIKmZwUhkXXk1dAYNzKRhvc4xeRTF6acgnCCJVBkCHPADI3l/s1600-h/shiseido09.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 265px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglfhXP8F9GXYR4YjeuiQW6f3DlNCYR4EqzgLpJ1VSit1FM0XyIF6p7aWfQ5sBF02RsWcd5bW7hOiNZ1wJUgWPS0WjqCbYZIIKmZwUhkXXk1dAYNzKRhvc4xeRTF6acgnCCJVBkCHPADI3l/s400/shiseido09.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5352123889302762114" /></a><i><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small; "><a href="http://www.chiharu-shiota.com/work09b.html">Chiharu Shiota</a></span></div></i><blockquote style="clear: both"><p>The walls of the house have thickened, the rooms grown smaller; the foyer is just the size of a mailbox, and he gropes there for his bills.</p></blockquote><p style="clear: both"> </p>T.R. Hummerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12113264848463596680noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-871742263216272332.post-19306738485437272132009-06-27T12:41:00.001-07:002009-06-27T12:42:31.242-07:00Assimilation (3)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0R4Uf-z_KfbqXMP3-Z9KSJ3xYKQOuMge-Yu97bmfzkXiTqP_WzqZTnmiOdkV8gbOjXGxfvJ24LrggzD5xbBJXLq44BA8wLzjbMgNyYFTIsVLIV8BjH6xHnDasQrd5iFu7Fg1FRWxGlLQh/s1600-h/JavierMarin.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0R4Uf-z_KfbqXMP3-Z9KSJ3xYKQOuMge-Yu97bmfzkXiTqP_WzqZTnmiOdkV8gbOjXGxfvJ24LrggzD5xbBJXLq44BA8wLzjbMgNyYFTIsVLIV8BjH6xHnDasQrd5iFu7Fg1FRWxGlLQh/s400/JavierMarin.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5352094937476925618" /></a><i><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small; "><a href="http://strangemessenger.web-log.nl/strangemessenger/2009/06/javier-marn.html">Javier Marin</a></span></div></i><blockquote style="clear: both"><p>What he touched penetrated skin and clung, but he did not want to release the pen, sofa, wallet: they defined him as the boundaries faded.</p></blockquote><p style="clear: both"> </p>T.R. Hummerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12113264848463596680noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-871742263216272332.post-79013274038472674182009-06-27T11:47:00.001-07:002009-06-27T11:50:15.277-07:00Assimilation (2)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYvMDvO3K2gxUbOTuVyPTxoMvr3uEzUREiZBCIDzpVeISRDm2hkRI8XskwAHqIR_RBSM6H5JMt8q33tUBV6O8CZemXeG2UUyJK1_jrdLd_gfbwB8hWWJUR2Tl2eZwmJIj7rKHeNCzJl4zr/s1600-h/JakeLongstreth2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 397px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYvMDvO3K2gxUbOTuVyPTxoMvr3uEzUREiZBCIDzpVeISRDm2hkRI8XskwAHqIR_RBSM6H5JMt8q33tUBV6O8CZemXeG2UUyJK1_jrdLd_gfbwB8hWWJUR2Tl2eZwmJIj7rKHeNCzJl4zr/s400/JakeLongstreth2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5352081201101433330" /></a><i><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small; "><a href="http://www.jakelongstreth.com/">Jake Longstreth</a></span></div></i><blockquote style="clear: both"><p>Lovers had become landscape--the woman he knew that ancient summer was lost in a hedgerow, flowering, leaving, framing what could be seen.</p></blockquote>T.R. Hummerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12113264848463596680noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-871742263216272332.post-5899712337545085832009-06-27T00:03:00.001-07:002009-06-27T00:08:48.207-07:00Assimilation (1)<blockquote style="clear: both;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span> </blockquote><div style="clear: both;"><a class="image-link" href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/_csY2_xK2HtY/SkXEKWt1K_I/AAAAAAAAZtU/392xcWPzWOo/s800/1.jpg"><img align="left" class="linked-to-original" height="309" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_csY2_xK2HtY/SkXEKFvsxJI/AAAAAAAAZtM/1NxbQ2Jl-cQ/s800/1-thumb.jpg" style="display: inline; float: left; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-top: 0px;" width="377" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #999999; font-family: Georgia; line-height: 22px;"><span class="tags" style="color: #999999;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="http://butdoesitfloat.com/filter/bas-princen" style="color: black; text-decoration: none;"></a></span></span></span></div><div style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #999999; font-family: Georgia; line-height: 22px;"><span class="tags" style="color: #999999;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="http://draft.blogger.com/goog_1246086245701"><i>bas princen</i></a></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="http://draft.blogger.com/goog_1246086245701"><i>, </i></a></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="http://butdoesitfloat.com/39141"><i>photography</i></a></span></span> </span></div><div style="clear: both;"><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Georgia; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px; line-height: 22px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="clear: both;">Even his fingerprints vanished. His skin smoothed like river stone; his grip on the world diminished. He was sliding someplace frictionless.</div>T.R. Hummerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12113264848463596680noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-871742263216272332.post-18801090723187948472009-06-25T11:52:00.001-07:002009-06-25T11:54:21.826-07:00Observatory (8)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvCpmiWoZTiXTh9gEY5189NB_Vvdp10zkiUQOF1GnH5queRIxm65VF9f_X39oCCwSR6BUBBSIDiv1xu3EteDtEE0wYEAVNT_kr09736H0s9w1rrCouWP7qwRh7ERS3-tZrbVJHDQJpqk5Z/s1600-h/lovers.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 293px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvCpmiWoZTiXTh9gEY5189NB_Vvdp10zkiUQOF1GnH5queRIxm65VF9f_X39oCCwSR6BUBBSIDiv1xu3EteDtEE0wYEAVNT_kr09736H0s9w1rrCouWP7qwRh7ERS3-tZrbVJHDQJpqk5Z/s400/lovers.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5351340347876779794" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/aknacer/2812137648/"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">aknacer</span></i></a></div><blockquote style="clear: both"><p>Over great distance, the mechanism flattens what it reveals: dark matter, an arc of stars, under an arch of oak limbs the lovers, made one.</p></blockquote>T.R. Hummerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12113264848463596680noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-871742263216272332.post-54437613085730888972009-06-25T10:15:00.000-07:002009-06-25T10:16:05.176-07:00Observatory (7)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUqz46sKQdFwCm_gXnYtxNo3RkXiHvsISzhmEgHy8YJmSMK1fJ94mqhw3pP4OiE3_vQUYcWMoV0wsHvMKVrgi7hIaNYW5NzLeUD2TgCyKa6ioQWgmWbULzHSHSGaUPObYMJ_O6QW-jnbfN/s1600-h/soap-bubble.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUqz46sKQdFwCm_gXnYtxNo3RkXiHvsISzhmEgHy8YJmSMK1fJ94mqhw3pP4OiE3_vQUYcWMoV0wsHvMKVrgi7hIaNYW5NzLeUD2TgCyKa6ioQWgmWbULzHSHSGaUPObYMJ_O6QW-jnbfN/s320/soap-bubble.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:Georgia, -webkit-fantasy;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><a href="http://twilit.wordpress.com/2008/03/15/bubbles-and-interference/">soap bubble</a></span></i></span></span></div><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 16px;font-family:Georgia, fantasy;font-size:13px;">Light gathers in the perfect lens. Its restlessness is such that it cannot remain there, even in perfection: it moves to clarify or destroy.</span>T.R. Hummerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12113264848463596680noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-871742263216272332.post-41270073822648476732009-06-24T23:40:00.001-07:002009-06-24T23:43:19.981-07:00Observatory (6)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbxnFh8JoECKrRQj2KrHolTNms-D2_nGwCL8yZbshctFmKT75qp3pcFy8duCengRmnbKajZrKPtS4a5cAA3em3XjTalrJ40jCqpPpHRNirKlG8M2SWW2gUNn0-UiqthObtuv98xyUmxxpZ/s1600-h/Vision.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbxnFh8JoECKrRQj2KrHolTNms-D2_nGwCL8yZbshctFmKT75qp3pcFy8duCengRmnbKajZrKPtS4a5cAA3em3XjTalrJ40jCqpPpHRNirKlG8M2SWW2gUNn0-UiqthObtuv98xyUmxxpZ/s400/Vision.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5351151761959554498" /></a><i><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.redbubble.com/people/marketseq/art/1644404-2-vision-versevisions-art-acts-26-19"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Mark Lawrence</span></a></div></i><blockquote style="clear: both"><p>Two lenses moved randomly in her mind until they fell into the right relation. She saw him clearly then, and cursed the perfection of focus.</p></blockquote><p style="clear: both"> </p>T.R. Hummerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12113264848463596680noreply@blogger.com0