#stroy

[ardley]

Shorelines: Devon & Jersey

Photographed by freddieardley.com

#landscape #photographers on tumblr #artists on tumblr #photography #photographer #nature #sea #ocean #coast #water #waves #beach #lit #writing #stroy #un #england #travel #original photographers

[thelowlandbench]

#freight #freight train #uacs #m #tarot #habins #transcereales #karso #stroy #uagpps #white whale

[archivfotek]

#stroy

[slunecnibistro]

#stroy #oipse #2pay #praha #graffiti

[concretejungleurbanforest]

#35mm #prague #graffiti #stroy

[mythical-art]

The Fairy Queen by Richard Doyle

#Richard Doyle #doyle #fairy #queen #fee #elfe #butterfly #schmetterling #illustration #child #mythology #fantasy #fiction #drawing #art #artwork #childrens book #childrens illustration #stroy #farytale #märchen #creature

[iamdontis]

Devil on my shoulder

I walk through the shopping center

And stop when an old man with white hair and

A white beard

Waves me down.

He’s telling me something but

I don’t really listen because all I can focus on is

At first,

His english accent.

I always loved English accents.

He’s talking and talking and

Part of me appreciates that he

Wants?

The talk to me.

Not a lot of people stop to talk to strangers anymore.

I learn he used to be a teacher.

A dean.

A principal.

He once fired a lady for losing a kid three times.

I laughed.

He wouldn’t mind when the kids kissed in the hallways,

And would have to argue with the teachers

About whether or not is was ok.

He said « it was best to keep em’ in school because if they went home 

They would just fuck all day. »

He pardoned his French.

I laughed.

He smoothly mentions he’s divorced.

I think to myself,

It’s because he talks too much.

I feel guilty for that thought because I actually

Appreciate him.

He eventually leaves and says it was nice to meet me.

Although he didn't learn anything about me.

I learnt more about that man in twenty minutes,

Than I knew about my own father.

I scratch at the tip of my nose as I watched him

Waddle off.

And I think to myself,

Now I’m late for my movie.

Original by ~ IamDontis

#poetry #iamdontis #dontis #original poetry #spilled ink #spilled thoughts #canadian poetry #iad #encounter #short story #story poetry #stroy #mall #stranger #strangers #talking to strangers #talking to myself #mental health

[hazardously-unfunny]

Scoped in. Chapter 3 "Prove thy self"

Arty watched as the waitress walked to his booth with her boss. The pair stopped at his table before the lady sat across from him. "So Honey you want to help out around here." She asked in a soft tone. "Uh, yeah. I'm looking for a job and I noticed that she was working by her lonesome, So here I am." "Let me introduce myself, the name's Mitzi May hun, but you can call me Miss M." Mitzi sat as Arty introduced himself "Arty Stance ma'am, nice to meet you." The two promptly shook hands with one another. "I'm sure you've met Miss Pepper." "But you can call me Ivy!" Ivy chimed in. "Go ahead and make something, you're best dish in a way." Mitzi said, Arty was beginning to stand up as he said "Okay." He waltzed over to the stove and fired it up preheating it as he went for ingredients. He scrounged through the pantry grabbing what he needed according to his mothers recipe. He walked back to the stove with cornmeal, baking soda, sugar, butter, milk, flower, an egg and a pinch of salt. He put the ingredients together the recipe burned into his mind, he sat the golden yellow sludge into the oven to bake, setting an alarm for 45 minutes. "Were gonna be here a while."

"Yes, yes we are, Ivy can you show... Arty around please dear." Ivy perked up "Sure, come on Arty let's show you around." Arty followed Ivy around as she showed him the back of the café and the storage, as well as telling him where everything goes where. She talked and talked before a small *Ding* Chimed from the oven. Arty walked over putting on mittens and grabbing the finished delight, he had made cornbread. Arty cut them a square each. Forks in hand the two tried his food. Mitzi was the first to speak. "This is amazing darling. What are your thoughts dear?" She turned to Ivy who had already finished her piece. "Its... Really good." She said swallowing the last bite. Mitzti turned her attention back to Arty. "What's been said has been said. Welcome to The Little Daisy Café. You start tomorrow." Arty walked home that night filled with purpose.

Author notes: Wow.

#lackadaisy #lackasona #stroy #mitzi may #ivy pepper

[antiquatedsimmer]

"Beat it, junkie," a deep and authoritative voice resounded beside Audrey on the desolate sidewalk. "The shop's closed, and your dealers have vanished."

Startled, Audrey's tear-swollen eyes darted towards the source of the voice. "Screw you! Just go away!" She retorted vehemently, her cheeks stained with tears as she glared at the stranger before she pushed herself up to her feet.

The man let out a derisive scoff, his gaze momentarily drifting down to her noticeably swollen belly. "Well, it seems you hardly need it in your condition anyway," he remarked callously.

Audrey let out a piercing screech in frustration. "I'm not a damn druggie, you asshat! "Did you seriously approach me just to insult me? "

Audrey's anger flared. "Get off my property while I clean up my yard. I don't have the energy for this."

Unfazed, the stranger continued. "Last I checked, the sidewalk was public property. Your crisis has become the highlight of my evening stroll through the neighborhood and I wanted a closer look," he admitted, a smirk playing on his lips.

Audrey huffed in exasperation. "You've had your look! The show's over!" She stormed away, venting her frustration on a heavy old tub, with the man still watching, an amused glint in his eye.

" lift with your legs, not your back " the man advised, Audrey winced, a flicker of irritation crossing her face at the man's persistence.

"Are you seriously planning to just hang around in my yard and watch a pregnant woman wrestle with trash? Don't you have anything better to do?"

His reply came with a mischievous grin, "Not really. The truly interesting events around here don't kick off until after sundown. But! I suppose I could set an inspiring example! "

Audrey leaned back, her surprise evident as the strange man approached her.

However, her astonishment only grew as she watched him kneel down and effortlessly hoist the stubborn tub from the grass.

"It's easy," he explained. "Get a firm footing, bend your knees, not your back, and with a strong grip, lift upward. Keep whatever you're holding close to you."

Audrey stood there in a daze. "Well, I—"

But the man cut her off with "A slow learner, I see. Let me show you again."

This sequence repeated itself several times, with the enigmatic man taking charge and clearing away the larger items from Audrey's yard. She watched in awe as he effortlessly handled the heavy objects.

"Look, it's getting dark, and I don't even know you. This is all very strange," Audrey finally managed to stammer out.

The man arched an eyebrow. "You're absolutely right. I'm exhausted, so I guess I'll have to come back and demonstrate for my less-than-nimble student again tomorrow."

With a self-assured stride, the man began to walk away, hands casually tucked in his pockets. Audrey couldn't contain her frustration and shouted after him, "Hey, what—no, wait!"

The man merely waved back at her as he continued down the block. "Tomorrow, dum-dum! Maybe you'll get a grip on it by then!"

Audrey stood there, a mixture of bewilderment

" What the fuck. "

#If ur thinking this is a weird kind of interaction i know lol #audrey wheeler #nondecade #ts4 #nondecades #stroy #sims story #ts4 legacy #im considering making this a side series #soulbound

[takunwilliams]

DR MANHTATTAN 

#dr manhattan #watchmen #dc #blue #mars #science #love #team work #heros #future #aliens #genius #setup #allan moore #writere #magician #stroy #epic #bald #atom

[mini-excavators]

Друзьям, всем привет👋

Напоминаем вам, что кроме мини-экскаваторов, мы собираем🔩 гусеничные шасси, грузоподъёмностью от 400 кг и до 15 т.

На гусеничные шасси, устанавливают генераторы, маслостанции, буровые и сваебойные установки и многое другое.

Срок сборки 3-4 недели

---

Остались вопросы❓

Пишите в сообщения группы или комментарии

#mini excavator #stroy #excavatorlife #excavator #building #builder #foundation

[thelowlandbench]

#ermewa #shimms #okuz #alone #owo #ihned #stroy

[archivfotek]

#stroy

[hugheshcky]

I NEED HELP

so im making a story on wattpad. should i do it for jack hughes or zegras??

HELLPPP PLEASE COMMENT

#wattpad #trevorzegras #zegras #jack #jhughes #jackhughes #nhl imagine #stroy #pls help

[slunecnibistro]

#stroy #stroy2 #stroy3 #praha #graffiti

[dreamsandroots]

Oannes (fish facts)

And in the dwindling light, as I lay my body down amongst the strangers I found myself unable to move and had for some time considered that I might have been slipping into the after, my attention melting into an unrecognisable frequency and I thought myself having heard the thundering waves and the rain speak to me, and in between breaths it said:

--you might think it a strange kind of gift, for a fish such as myself, to have been granted omniscience and perhaps even more so because I am in fact now a dead fish. You also may find some level of irony to the fact that, were we not strangers, I would be known to you by name. It is not enough to have some worldly purpose, to ascertain the reason for our being. A life learnt in fixtures; a false laugh so convincing you’d forgotten the real thing. There is no reason for the tear in your eye, there is only reason ‘til you’re alone. Either way I am known as ‘fish’ and you are known as ‘human’ and that’s about as much sense as we will make of it. If you’re wondering why all of this, I have come to tell you that there’s an overlap in life and death which is perhaps foreign only to your species. You see, while you return to the ocean only in your deepest sleep, we spend much of our lives immersed in the present imminence of the other.

It may surprise you furthermore to learn that many of a kind who swim the oceans deep face death before their time has come. There is some sadness in this as there is always some joy in life. This unfinished journey through the waters compelled me to contemplate body in relation to the distant stars: it was unrecognisable. A kind of anxious, indefinite wandering. We are all far-flung neighbours of the mind and many wonder whether it is truly possible for us ever to return home. In the darkest hours we observe in the constellations such variation of form: from vortices of gas and gravity and rock to the sinewy legs and fleshy arms, the tools that breach the earth, the minerals to build silos, the rockets carrying bodies back to shining heaven, the traps, the spears, the nuclear codes, your heads protruding into flat noses and soft, pink tongues. Eyeballs red and overstimulated. Your carnivorous teeth. Were we not also creatures of majesty to you once? Were we not once more than the remainder of your desire? Do you recall the time when you first sprouted legs and walked the ground? (Or did it not quite happen that way?)

Please be patient if we ask that you rest your gaze in the candle’s glow until you can make out the enclosed form: dull eyes staring through eternity absent of subject; broken scales tipped on a dry riverbed; my mouth an unremitting ‘oh’ shape never to be resolved. It occurred to me that mind takes shape in the conjunct where one repetition blurs into another. This is not poetry exactly, not exactly stream of conscious thought, though there are indeed many fish in the sea. This is just another singular representation, no before-time no ever-after. Biology in praxis: the extension and elocution of countless markers playing out in cognitive realtime. Hybrid literary conversational nonsense in post-mortem aquarian register. And while we can sympathise with the weathered souls, whose traditions have been marred by the rising costs of tools and the dropping price of our dead flesh, we would still like to insist that they think about their role in our genocide: the way an occupation, or any way of life really, can operate in much the same way as a fishing net, embroiling you and transporting you along the fault-lines of inopportune fate, gasping for air on the deck of some cheap dinghy.

There is an old fish adage which states that one does not deserve to see in the skies what one cannot already recognise beneath the sea. In your body might you recognise what is alien and multiform. In your wanderings through the nitro-oxygen ocean may you realise that the term ‘master’ implies fixed position, that the term ‘fiction’ implies an escape from some imagined master, and that between the two poles we insert a divine marker: ‘God’ for instance, although ‘Existence’ or ‘Reality’ or ‘The Material Universe’ or ‘The Big Bang’ would serve just as well. There are no fish facts. There are only billions upon billions of tiny bodies that make up any given utterance, ready to be fed to the masses, to digest in full.

We tell your tale in elegy form, for in our darkest moments it seems you have been lost to us. The truth is that we no more wish to see you suffer than we’d have the sea engulf the land above. We love the land and the stars beyond, even if they are both locations which, in life, exclude our being. We love too the sky children: sometimes we’d hear echoes of their deeds; find joy in their vulnerability, their recklessness, their bold, head-strong audacity in the face of certain finitude, even if, oftentimes, we simply plotted our escape from the fallout of their appetites. We remember the deluge, we watched as the ark crossed the horizon, colours forming in its wake. The stories we tell change and the land remains the same. And one day the land is obliterated and only the story will remain: the spirit signifier; this always-living always-dying.

Moments of cataclysm represent cracks in the veil of certainty, implying small instances in which new possibilities may arise: the ocean reflecting back upon itself, holding itself to standard, or even spewing raw material from its orifices, organising and replicating the conditions for life, the entirety of memories relating to your feet as a xenogenesis of the fin. What you can’t quite hear will slip you to the alternative. Here meaning is magnetic, gravitationally bound into implicit hierarchies that are repeated until they become accepted as self-evident 'truth' and the possibility for alternative is obscured. Big fish eat little fish, orbits within orbits. Cells overflowing with concentric impermanence. A river that strives for order only to be overflown, the spirit with the smallest mass pulls you most sideways.

A language-line begins at some unknowable point and, travelling through a voice, finds its way to replication, divvying up sections of the whole into separate empires until we have above below, night day, inside outside, reason emotion, as if love were a binary yes no, until we are swimming through spirits that turn mind matter, fixed toward abstract value void infinity. Simile like a dream chained to the dreamer. The hook is part of the fish is part of the child is part of the pantheon. You are God’s tears and what you can’t hold firmly onto in your dreams you seek to reify. What we know is the teardrop, what we don't know is the ocean--

And while it seemed (by dint of their straggled breath) as if my companions could hear this voice these words the same as I, having no real way to see their faces and to judge nor verify their reactions I could not therefore assess the validity to the words I’d heard and decided in the end that I had best let my eyes moisten into fuzz, exhale until my lungs depleted, my swaying form to resume its slow descent into the ocean sleep, a black wanderer forgotten.

#writing #stroy #parable #dream #Oannes #gods #fish #prose piece