She was swallowed up and trapped in her lion hair and no amount of coaxing would get her to leave her harem of waves. She clawed at love and it mounted her with deadly precision leaving bloodless teeth marks from an unrequited union. Her regulating temperature from now would be cold stares with a little bitter twist of “fuck off leave me alone” dialogue for those that dared to sweep back her tendrils. Leave her to be in the numbness of her foolishness and seclusion for you have no scissors that would give her any pleasure. She has her own iron shears to cut away the words that branded her once lioness heart with LOVE. Inside her emulsion of castellan curls her crying is muffled and shuffled to the end of the caring line. Trapped is not such a bad happening when your body grows over your groaning wounds of love. / / / / © K S Hardy 2009
mixed media on paper 8.5×11”
The pact can be oral or written. An oral pact is made by means of invocations, conjurations, or rituals to attract the demon; once the conjurer thinks the demon is present, he/she asks for the wanted favour and offers his/her soul in exchange, and no evidence is left of the pact; but according to some witch trials and inquisitions that were performed, even the oral pact left evidence, namely the diabolical mark, an indelible mark where the marked person had been touched by the devil to seal the pact. The mark could be used as a proof to determine that the pact was made. It was also believed that on the spot where the mark was left, the marked person could feel no pain. A written pact consists in the same forms of attracting the demon, but includes a written act, usually signed with the conjurer’s blood (although sometimes was also alleged that the whole act had to be written with blood, meanwhile some demonologists defended the idea of using red ink instead of blood and others suggested the use of animal blood instead of human blood). Forms of these include contracts or simply signing your name into Satan’s Red Book. Musicians The idea of “selling your soul for instrumental mastery/fame” has occurred several times within music usually in guitar dominated genres and more specifically in pre-World War II rural Blues. Bluesmans’ crossroads, located in Tchula Junction, Mississippi, is said to be the universal meeting grounds for such exchange. It was said that in your twenty-seventh year the devil would come to collect his property. Niccolò Paganini, Italian violinist, who may not have started the rumour but played along with it. Giuseppe Tartini, Venetian violinist and composer, who believed that his Devil’s Trill Sonata was inspired by the Devil’s appearance before him in a dream. Tommy Johnson, blues musician Robert Johnson, blues musician, who some people claimed he met with Satan at the crossroads and signed over his soul to play the blues and gain mastery of the guitar. Needless to say as I am past 27 and still can’t play the bloody thing, I never made a pact with the devil some might disagree :-) the guitar has it’s own Story I went down to the crossroads, fell down on my knees. / I went down to the crossroads, fell down on my knees. / Asked the lord above for mercy, save me if you please. I went down to the crossroads, tried to flag a ride. / I went down to the crossroads, tried to flag a ride. / Nobody seemed to know me, everybody passed me by. Im going down to rosedale, take my rider by my side. / Im going down to rosedale, take my rider by my side. / You can still barrelhouse, baby, on the riverside. You can run, you can run, tell my friend-boy willie brown. / You can run, you can run, tell my friend-boy willie brown. / And Im standing at the crossroads, believe Im sinking down. Love ‘N’ Laughter Kriss ♥ Featured Many Thanks to the hosts TheYellowFury / and / Ushna Sardar Featured many thanks to the Host artisandelimage Featured / in (Pun intended) Outside The Box many thanks to the hosts / David Howarth / and / Parmi Featured Many Thanks to the hosts Cassidy JK / and / RubyJo
I wrote this a few months ago after banging my head with my fists for answers to unanswerable questions (well, unanswerable, at least from the outside in). / This was my reminder to myself to just STOP. / Look inside. / Breathe. / Rememeber… / you already know everything there is to know – we all do… / the hardest part is the remembering to remember.
This image is part of a 21 piece exhibition based on Domestic Violence, specifically Emotional Abuse. It was done as a senior thesis and has since been used as an educational tool by the local Domestic Violence Shelters in my area.
Satire on anger management and pent-up emotions
LILITH’S LAMENT When my time is done / And they add up my sum / Of minutes, moments and deeds / I know my story will show / How I let my love grow / And reached out and grabbed / Life by the balls / I’ve lived a lifetime of love / In a minute / And I’ve tasted Eden / In one single kiss / I put my hand on the heart / Of a moment / And in an instant my life / Spun on a dime / Know I won’t take this magic / For granted / We can only go forwards / Not backwards / Now that we’ve drunk from / Love’s cup sublime. / © AmandaGWright 2009. This image is the “kick-off” to a new series I am creating entitled “Shameless” celebrating those fearless women who embrace life, fully and completely, women who know themselves truly and who are comfortable in their own skin. Watercolor & acrylic on 140lb watercolor paper. / © AmandaGWright 2009.
Inspiration came from the Jury Summons I received in the mail today.
The test of faith becomes too much
A collaboration with CLiPiCs (Kriss). Thanks Kriss for all the time and effort you put into the post processing work of this photo to make my vision come to life, your endurance and skill deserves a standing ovation / —-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—- / Last week: I stared at the obviously fractured forearm, and the probable fractured wrist. I had already noticed the purpling bruise on her upper arm. I smiled and talked to her calmly as I felt her hand to check for other injuries. / “How’d it happen?” I asked. / “I fell out of bed”, she said. / I raised my eyebrows, “really“? / “Yes, he bought silk sheets and I slid right off”, she said with a forced smile. / I explained that she needed x-rays of her arm, wrist, and hand. I checked her over and didn’t see any other bruises or suspicious areas. / I looked her in her eyes and quietly asked, “did someone do this to you?” / She answered “no”, but couldn’t hold my gaze. / And she kept saying no. / So I handed her the number to the local Women’s Shelter and encouraged her to use it if needed. There wasn’t much I could do if she, as an adult, was not ready to admit to it. The next day I saw the other side of a similar situation. I was removing the staples from the laceration on his wrist. / “Suicide attempt?” I asked. / The tears welled up in his eyes and he nodded his head. “I broke my number one rule, I hit a woman, my wife in fact”. / I felt my eyebrows rise again as I looked at him. / “I hurt her bad”, he said. Then he told me the story that they both were drinking and an argument started that seemed to go on forever. “She wouldn’t stop“, he said. He kind of remembered picking up a beer bottle and hitting her with it. He sort of remembered slitting his wrist. He does remember the police wrestling him to the ground. / He had spent the last week in a psychiatric center. He was remorseful and kept promising it would never happen again. I’m not sure if he was trying to convince me or himself. / I wished him luck. / Later, I found out his wife was being seen across the hall by one of the doctors, she had a fractured arm, black eyes, and other injuries. There are Women’s Shelters scattered all over the United States. They keep their locations secret for the safety of the women and children that seek refuge there. Often they help the women start over by assisting them in obtaining an apartment, and providing counseling for the both the women and the children. In fact, the next time you are thinking about donating clothes or furniture or household items or money to a charity- check with your local womens shelter- they are often desperate for donations. The local police should be able to provide a contact telephone number. BTW- men can be the victim, instead of the abuser. Take note of these toll free 1-800 numbers in the United States (if anyone wants to post free numbers in their own countries, please do) 1-800- 552-7096 Abuse/Neglect Hotline / 1-800-799-7233 Domestic Violence Hotline / 1-800-838-8238 Family Violence Hotline / 1-800-843-5678 Missing/Neglected Children / 1-800-786-2929 National Runaway Switchboard / 1-800-656-4673 Rape/Sexual Assault Hotline / 1-800-SUICIDE Suicide Crisis Hotline / 1-800-999-9999 Youth Crisis Helpline Camera: Canon 20D / Photo taken: July 11, 2009 / Photo posted: November 22, 2009
INSPIRED BY ALL THE HATE MONGERING AND FANATICAL HYPOCRITES OF THE WORLD!
Dry Caryons on GSM Paper. Intentionally done in a curde style..
Daleks on LSD….whatever next!
Just a colorful T-design based on Pantone color swatches, TV test cards, abstract art & performance graphs -with a subtle bit of politics thrown in: “Color Bar” was the policy introduced by the Victorian British in India, banning native Inidans from entering British clubs. Ultimately their snobbery & racism only tarnished the “Jewel in the Crown”, and sped up the fall of the British Raj in India. :http://www.addthis.com/bookmark.php
Digital Imaging/ Photo Manipulation
A lyrical poem about the kind of girl who always seems to know a bit too much.
This gallery is an exhibition based on Domestic Violence, specifically Emotional Abuse. It was done as a senior thesis and has since been used as an educational tool by the local Domestic Violence Shelters in my area.
This image is part of a 21 piece exhibition based on Domestic Violence, specifically Emotional Abuse. It was done as a senior thesis and has since been used as an educational tool by the local Domestic Violence Shelters in my area.
Digital Imaging; This piece is apart of a 21 piece exhibition titled “Damaged But Not Dead”...a show geared toward Domestic Violence, specifically Emotional Abuse.
This group is for the creative and healthy expression of anger though art and writing in all their forms. Violence in word or image will not be permitted.
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