Wednesday, August 31, 2005

morning saunter

Actually I should have said 'morning ride to work' but some days I just don't feel like hurrying up or striding through the crowds, but just taking it easy and enjoying the unequalled experience of strolling in a leisure gait among the busy head-in-chest bagel-munching colorful people...

Today's highlights:
- in the bus taking me to work this morning there was a young cave man, homeless-looking, barefoot, toenails as black and as long as a polar night, bushy wiry Tarzan-looking hair, Methuselahic beard, probably sweet home of all parasites sucking human misery dry and reeking of dumpster no. 5. I placed myself strategically next to an open window, ever wondering where do such people go?! Do they have any idea of their own whereabouts? I always remember in such circumstances what my mom told me once about a dog she saw frequently while going to work. It got up the tram always at the same station, curled under a seat and got off at always the same destination. And I am thinking, what does a better sewer make? How is the subway station at the University better than the one at the train station? Well, while I was pondering of the theory and principles of begging and being homeless, the troglodyte changed his location, and with him the empty 3-feet wide circle around him. The lady whose chair served as a prop for the smelly dervish was innocently unaware of the stinkbomb behind her. And then, suddenly the wind probably changed. Her head started to tilt (probably her nose too) and she cast a detached look over her shoulder then turned her eyes back front. After a second or two she jerked her head back at him, with a horrified disdainful look (I wonder if she was scared of his appearance or only appaled by the stench) Anyway, she looked ready to scold harshly the social faux pas of not bathing in the morning and emanating fumes of brimstone and hell. After a short while of piercing looks which encountered a totally impervious cave boy, she dignifiedly thrust her head back and... did not get up. Her offended nose was probably overcome by her tired behind.

- finally off the bus, everybody happy and allowing their lungs to run at full capacity again. I slalom slowly through the masses and head to the office. Next to a church a guy is making the sign of the cross.. three times, like most of the people (which reminds me once that once I was standing in the bus next to a gypsy woman who was probably also saying some prayer, and she kept making the sign of the cross for about 5 minutes, until she was probably 1 mile away from the church. I was keenly expecting the next one, only one bus stop away, to see if the story was to repeat, but the reverence moment of the day was probably over, so she sourly made one single cross while staring blankly out on the window). Anyway, coming back to this guy, I noticed for most people it's an automatism, see a church, cross 3 times... as you feel like it: half crosses, shyly insinuating, wide ones, from shoulder to shoulder and down to the middle dan tien, in the solar plexus. This guy I saw made the first one quite ok, with slight veneration, the second one was a bit distracted and the third one gloriously ended in scratching his crotch. Amen!

- still smiling after this one, i headed to the centre of the University Square and one old white-haired Santa-looking man carrying a basket full of bagels tempted me "Come, young lady, I spent all night baking them, come get bagels for your morning coffee!". And still smiling, I answered the dumbest thing I could ever think of: "No, thank you, I don't drink coffee any more!" . I honest to god hope he did not hear me :(

Monday, August 29, 2005

messing up creation

violet


As I just mentioned, I found a new love, photo-editing programmes. First I started off with Picasa, courtesy of Google, which I used for small retouches of light, brightness, color saturation, untill I accidentally discovered the effects altering the very essence of a picture. After Picasa, I recently upgraded, but since I don't have the patience to learn from a tutorial, I am still groping blindly.. like it happened for this photo above. If I were to redo it, I couldn't, because from one mistake into another, I accidentally got here. It's like I am working on a blank moulage, with no idea what the result will be, but vaguely resembling the original - me!... wow.. that sounds .. demiurgical 0_0 .

and the photo looks now... manga-like :( But it was a photo, honest! and I do have a nose!!

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blaupunkt


this is the climax of my blaupunkt period :))
after several other attempts - which can be seen in the previous post - this macro represents the peak (so far) of the blue dot on (almost) monochromatic background.

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eye's age

ok, no need for nasty comments, i know it looks bad. Believe it or not, this is exactly how I meant it to be.. well, a little bit more life-like frosty, but I'm still an apprentice

the eye of the beholder



I find nothing special in being fascinated with eyes. Most people are, I guess. "Mirrors of the soul" they call them. How can anyone not be sucked into the depths of the windows looking back on the innermost corners of someone? Looking someone in the eye is like retracing the visual component that triggers that brain to "see" you. Not planning to go into the physiology of the eye and the tricky qualities of human vision (at least not right now, since i have suddenly lost any mood of writing), this is only to reveal the versatility of the iris under the almighty PS




But what I really enjoy are the reflections! Who is that figure there? Who took the photo? What was in front of you? Extremely good Agatha Christie material - I distinctly remember, although it was more than 10 years ago, a scene from Twin Peaks when special agent Dale Cooper discovers in Laura's pupil on a recording a reflection of a motorcycle belonging to *gasp* James!




Why are there so many eye colors? After the fascination of the deep black ones, looking like wormwholes sucking light and anything else inside, the most beautiful and various I find to be the blue ones.. probably because I am so darn common-sighted that my favorite color is, as it is the case for over 70% of the people, blue.


What colors the eyes is actually melanin , substance of a brownish shade. Eyes with very little melanin reflect light in a different way - that is, producing color blue. There is actually no blue pigmentation in the eye, it's the same phenomenon that causes the sky to be blue.

Saturday, August 27, 2005


evenin' fluff 2


evenin' fluff


shine on me! .. and dry out my tent!! if possible on the inside too.


and up he went


going up!


the morning after. ... the storm


drowned crab


the multiple uses of PHP


trespassing on the seagull's turf


summer house, with patio, garage and a view to the harbor


sail no more


Gavroche


same dam, 10 feet to the left


pe dig in 2 Mai


cu vedere la epava


today's forecast: do not stay in the tents, do not stand on the beach, do not use umbrellas, and .. hide!


hmmm.. something smells fishy... yeap, just as i expected.. it's the sea...


anachronism

moon watch

good moon rising

..ex machina

people!!!!

morning sky

Bathing at dawn


.. or trying to escape a terrible hungover :)

Saturday, August 13, 2005

Thursday, August 11, 2005



Icons on sale, old books, old man kneeling and young man rushing past.

Tuesday, August 09, 2005

From the series "Spare a thought", this is no. 2... comments coming up soon (as soon as i finish the damn translation...)

Wednesday, August 03, 2005

Spare a thought?


There is always something strangely uncanny about a beggar... So many feelings towards misery - the repulsion in front of the vile ones, the tearful pity for old ones, the annoyed 'get lost' sneer to little dirty brats coming for the third time to ask for a dime or a slice of pizza, the indifference to those who are obviously pulling your leg while dragging theirs.. I find myself revolted when a 10-year old gypsy comes running from behind, spanks me and grabs the bottle of mineral water from my hand, moved to tears when I see an old man kneeling and holding out a dirty furcap (feeling which is sharply emphasized by the fact that I don't have my camera with me).

Some years ago, I had a certain path from college to the bus station.. Every day, from morn to dusk, in front of theater Nottara there was a 15-year-old girl. Always barefoot, never dressed with anything thicker than a t-shirt, seeming to ignore everybody, holding a cardboard someone must have stuck in her hands under severe threats never to put it down, the cardboard telling her (most likely not true) story about an ill mother and 2 younger brothers, she just sat there, on the ground, leaning on the wall between the Golden Falcon jewelry shop and Simeza art gallery, eternally crying and sobbing... (to be honest, I also felt my eyes welling up whenever I passed the gallery because of the sheer ugliness of the modern artists' visions shamelessly on display). I found it intreaguing that she kept crying all the time.., even in my most aquatic nights, when my eyes were oozing tears for hours on end, at some point the salty streams would simply dry out! I even suspected some .. tear-incentive action, such as.. onion :) . Once I saw her sharing a sandwich someone must have given her with a stray pup, just as skinny as she was... this image tickled painfully some nerve and I decided with a friend to gather some old clothes of ours and give them to her. A few days later after this decision, I was coming back home late in the evening from my Spanish classes with my nose barely coming out of the wool scarf, I stumble accross the same girlie, nicely dressed, tall boots, high heels, plaid wool skirt... and I am left bouche bee and frog-eyed staring after her... never again am I falling for young beggars....

to be continued... I've got plenty of material lurking around in dark corners