(Dec. 7th! Less than a month!)
Because even though we don't always agree on what makes a good photograph, I love her anyways.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
For my roommate...
...who I miss dearly and count down the days until she returns home from Germany.
(Dec. 7th! Less than a month!)
Because even though we don't always agree on what makes a good photograph, I love her anyways.
(Dec. 7th! Less than a month!)
Because even though we don't always agree on what makes a good photograph, I love her anyways.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
When the candle factory burnt down, it gave off a great stench of opium. The 20 some people in the vicinity ran into the church in an opium poisoned stupor, crying for sanctuary. Only once all said victims related similar hallucinations of bears on bikes with angel wings did the authorities suspect arson.
The fact that a flower shop unexpectedly closed down the next day was suspicious too. As it turned out, that shop supplied unusual amounts of poppies, even more poppies than it supplied roses, carnations and daisies combined.
Rumor spread through the city and soon it came to be suspected that the musty floral fragrance that you find in your grandma's closet, the one reminiscent of old potpourri, talcum powder and rotting cotton, was not just a standard scent of the elderly, but the tracings of secret hallucinogenic lives.
Soon after, it became known that the city, well renowned for it's unusual amount of supernatural occurrences and UFO sightings, was perhaps not a greenhouse of secrecy and the occult; but actually a populace regularly poisoned by opium.
It must have been a wondrous sigh the night the candle factory burnt down. The flame started in the wicking room, that quickly lit the rolls of beeswax covered wicks that spread to the wax room that slowly melted down the dyes until the liquid wax flooded out into work rooms. Clean up required more paint chippers than it did wrecking balls.
The fact that a flower shop unexpectedly closed down the next day was suspicious too. As it turned out, that shop supplied unusual amounts of poppies, even more poppies than it supplied roses, carnations and daisies combined.
Rumor spread through the city and soon it came to be suspected that the musty floral fragrance that you find in your grandma's closet, the one reminiscent of old potpourri, talcum powder and rotting cotton, was not just a standard scent of the elderly, but the tracings of secret hallucinogenic lives.
Soon after, it became known that the city, well renowned for it's unusual amount of supernatural occurrences and UFO sightings, was perhaps not a greenhouse of secrecy and the occult; but actually a populace regularly poisoned by opium.
It must have been a wondrous sigh the night the candle factory burnt down. The flame started in the wicking room, that quickly lit the rolls of beeswax covered wicks that spread to the wax room that slowly melted down the dyes until the liquid wax flooded out into work rooms. Clean up required more paint chippers than it did wrecking balls.
Sunday, March 9, 2008
Saturday, February 23, 2008
....
So I hardly ever check my flickr (www.flickr.com/photos/cendrii), where I post some of my photography, but I did tonight and found something unexpected.
On one of my old photos there was a comment that said:
On one of my old photos there was a comment that said:
 | WSJ Health Blog says: Nice shot. We used it to illustrate a post on our blog, with credit to you and a link back to this page. Thanks! If you're interested in our post, you can find it here: blogs.wsj.com/health/2008/02/11/rats-artificial-sweetener... So I click on the link and there comes up a page of the Wall Street Journal blog with MY photo on it. The WALL STREET JOURNAL used my picture!!  | Added 2 weeks ago | |
 | | | |
Saturday, February 16, 2008
Friday, December 28, 2007
Maybe the fact
that I have "Blogspot" added to the tool bar on my internet browser will remind me that I have one of these things.
Honestly I have not been writing at all.
If I write it tends to be Sunday sermon notes - and even those translate mostly into highly colored doodles.
Sometimes when I am by myself I start writing in my head.
The thing is - lately I'm not often by myself.
But right now I am cleaning my room.
I am by myself.
I started writing.
I realized today that I like flowers.
I have always liked flowers - not excessively, but just as much as any other person.
However I rarely go through the trouble of buying them for myself.
They are one of those useless beauties.
You collect them, you look at them, they die.
Eventually.
Does it not seem frivolous?
But then, it is a luxury worth having.
There was something pleasantly domestic about walking around the farmer's market with my mom, arms full of white and purple flowers.
There is something idyllic about it.
Perhaps even if you have no money to spend on any useless beauty, it is worth attempting to find a flower to display.
If for nothing else, at least for a moment you can imagine life is idyllic.
Honestly I have not been writing at all.
If I write it tends to be Sunday sermon notes - and even those translate mostly into highly colored doodles.
Sometimes when I am by myself I start writing in my head.
The thing is - lately I'm not often by myself.
But right now I am cleaning my room.
I am by myself.
I started writing.
I realized today that I like flowers.
I have always liked flowers - not excessively, but just as much as any other person.
However I rarely go through the trouble of buying them for myself.
They are one of those useless beauties.
You collect them, you look at them, they die.
Eventually.
Does it not seem frivolous?
But then, it is a luxury worth having.
There was something pleasantly domestic about walking around the farmer's market with my mom, arms full of white and purple flowers.
There is something idyllic about it.
Perhaps even if you have no money to spend on any useless beauty, it is worth attempting to find a flower to display.
If for nothing else, at least for a moment you can imagine life is idyllic.
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