Ex
117 creative works found
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For those people who are having trouble letting go of, and getting over, the past. / . / Personally, I say…Laugh and let it go! / . / Laughter fixes EVERYTHING…well for me anyway!
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Rhythm UK Magazine - First Assignment - Mike Bordin Ex Faith No More and now playing with Ozzy Osbourne.
by Paul Louis VillaniWhat was supposed to be a half hour interview and 20 minute photo shoot with Mike Bordin at the Rod Laver Arena, turned into a 7 hour mus…
What was supposed to be a half hour interview and 20 minute photo shoot with Mike Bordin at the Rod Laver Arena, turned into a 7 hour musical feast! / I got to see the Prince of Darkness himself, Ozzy Osbourne rehearse with his band for tonights show, had dinner with the band and had my camera taken over by Zakk Wylde who wanted to show me his photographic skills!! :D / / Gushing fan ahead!! ;p! / / ...and now for a picture taken by Zakk Wilde!! / / / / hehehe!! :D / / Huge thanks must go to Phil Ascot (Editor), Steve (Band Manager) and Vince Medina-Sanna, who without him, this would not have been possible, love ya Bro!
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Inspired by Sarah’s nickers. Hi hon. Maybe this can be the companion piece – of sorts ,) Thanks Shayne the right title too.
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She is ugly, she is beautiful, / She is good, she is evil, / He hates her, he misses her. Digital mixed media / Copyright © LiorG 2008 Add Lior Goldenberg to your watchlist
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Model Stock: Morf-Stock :http://morf-stock.deviantart.com Textures: / Mine / Blood-Stock: http://blood-stock.deviantart.com / Parablev: http://parablev.deviantart.com
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I’m sending you my love, / no need to send it back. / You still have my heart / and my life is in a wreck. Memories fill my mind and / my arms ache to hold you tight. / I can’t get past yesterday / when you were all mine. Have you stopped loving me / or did you just give up? / Is there the slightest chance / that you could take me back? / If you’ve searched your heart / and you want to be set free, / I’ll try and understand / no matter how it hurts. / I want you to be happy, / you deserve that much. Just don’t send back my love, / it’s all yours to keep. / And if you ever need some one, / I hope you’ll call on me. (Reatha Crow) / Great matching gift: / / More Photos: /
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Sanguis Ex Machina translates from latin as “Blood From The Machine” / soft charcoal, white pastel and red pastel Me and my scars. When I say I have bipolar, I mean it. I have attempted suicide many times and self-harmed more than that. It is not something I am ashamed of, nor am I at all proud. I have looked at self-harm, and looked and looked, trying to understand it. And I have come to the conclusion that for myself, I cannot. It is irrational. It is a manifestation of the illness. It makes no sense to me. It becomes a desire, an end unto itself. I have been in many ways completely normal – lucid, rational. Smart. And yet within this is the continual overriding desire to cut myself. My mind will not leave it alone but tears at it and fills it as if it were an act of need or of succour.It has nothing to do with attention – as you can see, almost all my scars would be invisible were I to wear a longsleeve shirt. Which is what I always did. But not any more. So why? There is NO ANSWER. This is one of the things about the reality of mental illness – looking for causality often cannot succeed. It is merely that something somewhere is not working as it might in this person’s head. Something wrong, something gone, out into the soft and never ending night. Some baffling and sad aspect of humanity.
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The summit of Mt Hood is illuminated by the last light of day as I capture this image from the shores of Timothy lake. This is the largest of the 5 lakes on the Clackamas river system with 1500 acres and 4 campgrounds. The lake is full of Kokanee salmon, brown and rainbow trout. / check out more shots taken from this locale / Here
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When taking this picture the guy standing behind me said Dang that Wart Hog Looks like my Ex Wife so I used his saying for my title ….This Animal is so ugly it is cute ! Thank you for looking …...
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www.willpursell.com
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‘Blood from the machine.’ these are my scars. i have a great many i suppose. / When I say I have bipolar, I mean it. I have attempted suicide many times and self-harmed more than that. It is not something I am ashamed of, nor am I at all proud. I have looked at self-harm, and looked and looked, trying to understand it. And I have come to the conclusion that for myself, I cannot. It is irrational. It is a manifestation of the illness. It makes no sense to me. It becomes a desire, an end unto itself. I have been in many ways completely normal – lucid, rational. Smart. And yet within this is the continual overriding desire to cut myself. My mind will not leave it alone but tears at it and fills it as if it were an act of need or of succour.It has nothing to do with attention – as you can see, almost all my scars would be invisible were I to wear a longsleeve shirt. Which is what I always did. But not any more. / They whispered in my ears and I listened. They kept me awake and sometimes it would sound exactly as if dogs were barking by my ear, and my name hissed over and over to me as I began to doubt. Never acquiesced never ever gave in and began to believe in the hardness of breathy hallucination only that I was worth nothing a fever of trickery swimming through think stinking mud holding pain like it’s a gun or a talisman or a glyph. All of this mass mutilation of reality hit my senses one by one blow upon blow the shitty student house I was in was stripped away. Happened quickly, I know that is true, but it felt slow All this a swamp a stamp a landfall a whirlpool the ground giving way fall the fall the FALL the most real vertigo. The moments all of it blazed branded into my brain. / And then black and it just went on and on there was no respite no total separation no coma of numbness the cancer of self hatred eating growing through every break and twist in the real. The dark inside stretching forever into the distance and I was blind with fear I knew that any more and any longer I would never come back. / Nothing within that mass swinging tumult could take me away from the pain of the moment that I was in THERE WAS NO RESPITE immolation the only constant pain loathing purified rarefied. / It was mixed state in extremis I could feel it crashing into abjection sobbing before whirling and flying back up and this was where fear began and slowly took over. I accelerated into full mania knew that was where I was going but as I raced into it my memory stopped. Five or ten or twenty minutes later I came falling down and everything in the room in the house was smashed I had no MEMORY from each. New cuts my wrists ripped open blood pouring from them and from the opened veins in my elbows. / It KEPT GOING. I couldn’t stop had let Cerberus from the leash and all three heads were nuzzling my brain. Up into a blackout pure and down into despair and desperation and for the first time mortal fear, terror of death at the hands of me as memory-less puppet, the mannequin marionette unknown. Not my hands, someone and something else another me trying to kill me. / This is when I knew terror. I knew that if I did not stop I would do it. Never come down cut my throat but get it RIGHT. I didn’t know what I WAS as I went up into it. A rotation at intervals of twenty minutes fear crossing my heart squirming in my gut white pale with it went to look in the mirror face covered in blood I could see in the broken shards. No memory, just the knowledge that I wanted to die and was capable of doing it. No understanding of whom I was or what I would do. Clarity slipped a tiny splinter but pure and real and I found the phone and went back to hospital. Voluntary and afraid. That was the last time only in the sense of the completion of its extremity. It took me four more years before I stopped drinking and finally tried in my heart’s core in my heart of hearts to heal. / But that was the key. The epiphany. The Answer; that there really was none. / Whatever redemption I have found it is driven by that fear and that terrible knowledge. And by will. By WILL. / I will never give up the responsibility of sanity is MINE as much as I can choose I will choose will force it shredding strength as it returns and returns and returns, exhausting inevitable, seasons of pain I will NEVER stop fighting. At the edge, at the corner of Nietzsche’s Abyss, there is only really death. Post script. Still here. Sober for eight years. Paint for pain, write for release. Sing for absolution. / To me there is no meaning to life other than that which we give it; that we apply to it. We INVEST meaning into our lives with our time, with our efforts and with our love. And there is no succour in madness. I have inscribed on my cigarette case “tempus fugit. Memento mori.” / “Time flies. Remember you will die.” / paul. / /
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«Letter to my ex»
by micmacMy thoughts or my first life / are pictures of fire-camps / summers that last forever / in our teenaged heads Ridiculous existentia…
I wrote this many years after my divorce in 1980,the most unbearable souvenirs,that day i created it was my ex-husband birthday.I didn’t talk to him for ages,you understand why i guess.I almost died …i will never foget the anger and brutalities ….Thanks
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One in a series of digital photograms / from my “Lifeform”project
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abstract art
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Its an attempt to portray Britney Spears recent experience as if she were telling it. Beyond the shadows of the paparazzi is a trail of blurred images representing the consuming of her soul. The globe above her head is a symbol of her connection with the world as a celebrity and the burden she carries as it turns. She is portrayed dull and lifeless as lightening green strings attached to her and the paparazzi lead to her ex husband Kevin. He is the pupeteer in her life. The flames represent his anger and the green mist his jealousy of her status. Above his shoulders are their children locked away from Britney.
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It’s one of a kind. I built it myself.. It’s what I call a real sporty model. / - Elvis
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digital shooting
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digital shooting
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Now I know ... I think.
by Craig ShillingtonI rang the Dr today and found out what it is ….. it’s called: Bronchiolitis – Interstitial Lung Disease. From what I am reading at the …
I rang the Dr today and found out what it is ….. it’s called: Bronchiolitis – Interstitial Lung Disease. From what I am reading at the moment about it ….. it’s not good :( I can only hope it is a mis-diagnosis really, the visit to the specialist will confirm or dismiss this I guess. I guess (even though it’s too late) it is time to give up the fags eh. I need to get as much info on this as I can, see what my quality of life is going to be like now. It sorta makes sense in a way, I have been ill on and off now for 2 years … and had a bad time with similar symptoms a year ago. This last 8 weeks has been bad though, not only have I been sick with this … I have an ex gf here in WA who feels she has a right to continue to take for me. Those that know me well (especially those that have known me through that relationship and it’s awful ending, and even those that have known me since she left) will understand I strive for honesty. She is lying to those around her to drum up support. / . / Kim, you will certainly understand that. Already she is saying I was in constant contact with you, which as far as I can remember I only contacted you once during my relationship with her … and that was regarding our divorce. and at that stage I only got your Answering machine, so you rang me back. Right? The only other time I can remember contact with you is the day She and I broke up, when you rang me. / . / I don’t mind putting this public because it is the truth and not the reality she seems to want those around her thinking. And even though this upsets me … in reality … none of that has anything to do with her rights to her share of the profits I now make in selling my house. I don’t understand her even bringing those (she has mentioned other unrelated things to do with the relationship breakup) things up when they are so far removed from the legalities of profit sharing in the sale of the houses. The end of the relationship has nothing to do with what I do or don’t owe her. I think at this point her only defense in showing me why she should have such and such a share in the profits … is to belittle me in anyway she can. If this goes to court, the Judge will laugh at her and say What on Earth has that got to do with why we are here? I guess it just shows her character. Again, those who have been by my side through this, will fully understand what I am say. YES … there is two sides to every story and yes, there were things I did I should have done different. But that works both ways and apart from focusing on what I think is fair in this case regarding what she has already taken from me and what she is now wanting to take, I don’t think I have belittled her in ways not associated with that. I stand by what I feel, she is greedy and dishonest to herself. She really doesn’t have a moral strand of DNA in her body and I can’t wait for her to be out of my life forever. Sorry …. needed that vent so badly. :( And in case anyone cares …. the poems I post in my Journal …. the love I felt and the hurts …. they are all about her. Is that a dishonest person?
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July 25, 2008 in Edmonton. Supporting Canadian troops during Capital Ex at Northlands.
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During the Red Friday show.
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Ex GIrl Friend; My Hand... (accurately presented , colour corrected, in high resolution.)
by pauldrobertsonUS$3.42–US$91.20
Taking the time learning software is – well gotta think of it like nny other kind of learning i guess… / though… there was the block I had last year… / after an horrific eviscerating humitliation diguising itself as a relationship, I couldn’t paint for three months – see the piece Ms Poli and also for the STORY about the… girl…. Kissing Miss Poli I ended up hacking a role playing game on my PC – to the point where I made an utterly convincing version of myself, and my best friend. And my cat. I was not using a modelling editor I was working in in pure code and then just running the game again and again to see what the characters looked like. / 60, 80 hours a week. more. i don’t even know what languages I was using. No idea. / Very weird. I am at heart, somewhere disguised by the er biceps and er so forth – truly, deeply, passionately… a NERD… oh yes, a dungeons and dragon playing, computer building hacker. I just fit all the artist sterotypes and, apart from the former, none of the nerdy freak ones. / When I was trying to find the texture files to get the right kind of coat to match the cat that I so adored. I FINALLY thought – dude. this may wel be insane. SO – I took the time to learn some more photoshop stuff and used my digital 12 meg cam PROPERLY, allowing me to upload a full 12 meg image of this piece. I suppose I should delete the other one but I can’t… the comment mean too much to me. Ex-girlfriend, my hand is the link. This is the heart of that text: / I did it on the train to university when I was in second year, around 1998, I think. I love this piece. It is definitively unusual. I invented the face though it looks like one of my ex girlfriends, Sarah Mennie. I should track her down, though I believe she lives in Adelaide now. She was the most beautiful girl I have ever seen. Anywhere. She was an alcoholic, and more mad than I was. There was something utterly gentle about her, and she loved me so hard, so deeply. I remember when I was coming down from a manic drinking bender and I was having an intense anxiety attack (two of the LEAST descriptive words in the english language – when you are having an anxiety attack you are convinced you are dying. It is one of the most horrible things that I have ever gone through, an unstoppable avalnache of fear – anyway:) - And she held me so tightly and started crying too. I know she loved me, perhaps more than anyone else in my life. I didn’t catch her beauty in this piece, but there is something of her in the eyes, some doomed gentleness. Ah well. I cheated on her. I was manic and 21. I was a bastard. I am sorry, yes. Sorrowful, yes. Oh, Sarah, I still think of you. I hope you are ok, I hope that you have lived. That you have stopped drinking. That you are happy. Whew. Now to see if my lame poverty indueced sucky dasl will hold out for the upload. Thank you, thank you all… your comments help me and give me hope in hell (I am presently in the one day a week of respite I manage to carve from the week. Has been a fortnight of torture this time though. Yeh. I have this day. I do. Paul
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pinkyjain In The Small (17 ft.) Trailer pinkyjain Lived For 11 Years With her Ex Husband Jim
by pinkyjainUS$3.42–US$91.20
This is the kitchen area of the one room trailer, the bed is at the other end. During the day it folds up into a couch. Not sure of the year here, either late 80’s or early 90’s. Thats my natural hair color b4 i started messing with it. This is the table where i created 4 of my books, (one i finished later after the divorce in my studio, i have 6 books so far, still working on the Insect book, & others). The Vampire series was born at this table, in 1991. As were “Asil”, my book of short stories & poems, the illustrated book of Animals, Birds, Etc. from the Bible, a couple other illustrated books for Animals (the illustrations are scattered throughout my gallery), & the Insect Orchestra. i think i finished the Insect book here, & while in my studio a publisher really liked the illustrations, they were just the Insect portraits of them with their instruments, & she said it needed a story. So i wrote the story & am still (kind of ashamed of this, i’m such a procrastinator on this book) 8 years later trying to finish the illustrations
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