Leliathomas
1 member found
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Lelia Thomas
Australia
31 creative works found
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“But wait. I’ll break-scratch out through the side. And don’t you think I can’t, ‘cause I am six pounds of dynamite…”—From the South San Gabriel song of the same name. Lelia Katherine Thomas / leliathomas@gmail.com OR @leliathomas / www.leliathomas.com —-—- This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution Noncommercial Share Alike license. You are free to ‘remix’ it under noncommercial terms. For more information about remixing my work, visit this page on my website.
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Hola. :)
by Lelia ThomasHi, I’m Lelia. :) I’m 19…20, this month…and am an American-born girl living in Melbourne, attending uni here. I love Australia, and I…
Hi, I’m Lelia. :) I’m 19…20, this month…and am an American-born girl living in Melbourne, attending uni here. I love Australia, and I love Melbourne. Thought I’d check this site out and use it as another branch of my own website, which can be found at http://www.leliathomas.com. I’m also on deviantART for those who might be interested: http://leliathomas.deviantart.com. I work in many mediums, and I write frequently, both creatively and in a journal, on my website. Hope to get to know some great Aussies through here. :) Drop me a line if you’re interested.
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Faded Stars and Stripes
by Lelia ThomasThe stars flash white amid royal blue, / As snowy lines bend to the breeze; / Dancing, curling, rippling red blood lines– / The crisp snap o…
The stars flash white amid royal blue, / As snowy lines bend to the breeze; / Dancing, curling, rippling red blood lines– / The crisp snap of cloth while riding high. The teachings and trust are deeply rooted, / As all the children stand tall and proud; / Hand on heart, eyes cast upward: liberty drips from little lips– / The haunting echo of words in a one-room schoolhouse. The guards have them lined up now; the roar of planes above, / As the innocent are made suspect and filled with fear; / Patting, rummaging, questioning to demonstrate control– / The price of rights for temporary security. The McCarthyism’s quiet; replaced by a patriotic act against themselves, / As a robotic, airbrushed man reads the morning headlines; / Hands on mouth, eyes closed tightly, ears deaf and dull– / The Whiskey Rebellion was the least of their worries. The stars are yellow against slate grey, / As faded lines wilt in still air; / Drooping, wrinkling, dying blood lines– / The dead silence of a flag at half mast. A whisper is left / And carried on the wind, / To fly with dandelion seeds– / To be forgotten and faded in the distance. Details / The government is merely a servant–merely a temporary servant; it cannot be its prerogative to determine what is right and what is wrong, and decide who is a patriot and who isn’t. Its function is to obey orders, not originate them.—Mark Twain
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Taken in 2004 in Tennessee. Lelia Katherine Thomas / leliathomas@gmail.com OR Twitter @leliathomas / www.leliathomas.com —-—- Want a free, high quality copy of this? Download it via BitTorrent. —-—- This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution Non-Commercial Share Alike license. You are free to ‘remix’ it under noncommercial terms. For more information about remixing my work, visit this page on my website.
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Psyched. :D
by Lelia ThomasMy photo manipulation Free (see the
My photo manipulation Free (see the making of slideshow) has made the short list! Wish me luck. It would mean so much to me to have any of my work make it into a gallery, but even more so that piece, as it symbolized so much for me in that month of my life, and it is still describing the changes and the freedoms I am coming into at this point in my adulthood. Any piece of mine hanging somewhere would be meaningful, but that piece, of them all, would mean something deeply personal. Whee!
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Another sunset photograph taken in 2004 at the lake near my home in Tennessee. Lelia Katherine Thomas / leliathomas@gmail.com OR Twitter @leliathomas / www.leliathomas.com —-—- Want a copy of this? Download it via BitTorrent. —-—- This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution Non-Commercial Share Alike license. You are free to ‘remix’ it under noncommercial terms. For more information about remixing my work, visit this page on my website.
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Sometimes it’s good to just sit back and let serenity take over. Tennessee, 2004. Lelia Katherine Thomas / leliathomas@gmail.com OR Twitter @leliathomas / www.leliathomas.com —-—- Want a free, high quality copy of this? Download it via BitTorrent.> —-—- This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution Non-Commercial Share Alike license. You are free to ‘remix’ it under noncommercial terms. For more information about remixing my work, visit this page on my website.
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“Art in Me” by Jars of Clay / Images on the sidewalk speak of a dream’s descent / Washed away by storms to graves of cynical lament / Dirty canvases to call my own / Protest limericks carved by the old pay phone In your picture book I’m trying hard to see / Turning endless pages of this tragedy / Sculpting every move you compose a symphony / You plead to everyone, “See the art in me” Broken stained-glass windows, the fragments ramble on / Tales of broken souls, an eternity’s been won / As critics scorn the thoughts and works of mortal man / My eyes are drawn to you in awe once again And in your picture book I’m trying hard to see / Turning endless pages of this tragedy / Sculpting every move you compose a symphony / You plead to everyone, “See the art in me” And in your picture book I’m trying hard to see / Turning endless pages of this tragedy / Sculpting every move you compose a symphony / You plead to everyone, “See the art in me.” Self-portrait from 2004. Lelia Katherine Thomas / leliathomas@gmail.com OR Twitter @leliathomas / www.leliathomas.com —-—- Want a free, high quality copy of this? Download it via BitTorrent. —-—- This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution Non-Commercial Share Alike license. You are free to ‘remix’ it under noncommercial terms. For more information about remixing my work, visit this page on my website.
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LIVE
by Lelia ThomasMixed media piece. Charcoal drawing and digital art. “Bird Sanctuary” by Robert Service (Poet) / Between the cliff-rise and the beach / A slip of emerald I own; / With fig and olive, almond, peach, / cherry and plum-tree overgrown; / Glad-watered by a crystal spring / That carols through the silver night, / And populous with birds who sing / Gay madrigals for my delight. Some merchants fain would buy my land / To build a stately pleasure dome. / Poor fools! they cannot understand / how pricelessly it is my home! / So luminous with living wings, / So musical with feathered joy . . . / Not for all pleasure fortune brings, / Would I such ecstasy destroy. A thousand birds are in my grove, / Melodious from morn to night; / My fruit trees are their treasure trove, / Their happiness is my delight. / And through the sweet and shining days / They know their lover and their friend; / So I will shield in peace and praise / My innocents unto the end. Lelia Katherine Thomas / leliathomas@gmail.com OR Twitter @leliathomas / www.leliathomas.com —-—- Want a free, high quality copy of this? Download it via BitTorrent. —-—- This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution Non-Commercial Share Alike license. You are free to ‘remix’ it under noncommercial terms. For more information about remixing my work, visit this page on my website.
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This series of photographs was taken in 2004. I happened to be down by the lake with an old friend when one of my neighbor’s dogs, Buddy, came dashing our way and headed straight for the water. There’s something nice about seeing dogs happy and carefree. Lelia Katherine Thomas / leliathomas@gmail.com OR Twitter @leliathomas / www.leliathomas.com —-—- Want a free, high quality copy of this? Download it via BitTorrent. —-—- This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution Non-Commercial Share Alike license. You are free to ‘remix’ it under noncommercial terms. For more information about remixing my work, visit this page on my website.
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When the Rain Fell
by Lelia ThomasRain fell in the January cold, / / Rushed up on her defenses in the night. / / And gates bent beneath the weight / / Of flooding…
Rain fell in the January cold, / / Rushed up on her defenses in the night. / / And gates bent beneath the weight / / Of flooding words and waves of fact—/ / And it was far too late. / / There’s dry earth beneath her skin now / / That no flooding water will sate, / / She’s burned up with bitterness and painful anger, / / Tired of her silence beneath the roaring thunder. Rain fell down to chill and soak her through, / / Pooled around her ankles / / And swallowed up the tears / / Of hurricane anguish and currents of lies. / / And it’s been too many years / / To have prayed enough that her knees are raw / / From all the kneeling to a God who never hears. / / She’s weary from battles and won’t go to war. / / There’s nothing left to scream, nothing to say, / / Nothing left to do but swim away. Details / No abuse is too small. In the U.S., it is Sexual Assault Awareness Month, but I recommend, no matter the country you’re residing in or the month that you read this, be aware. All advertising money made on my website this month was donated to RAINN.
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“There are three classes of people: those who see. Those who see when they are shown. Those who do not see.” –Leonardo da Vinci Morten and the suitcase at sea, with a lonesome barge traveling about at the edge of this flat earth of ours. Lelia Katherine Thomas / leliathomas@gmail.com OR Twitter @leliathomas / www.leliathomas.com —-—- This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution Noncommercial Share Alike license. You are free to ‘remix’ it under noncommercial terms. For more information about remixing my work, visit this page on my website.
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Blue Light
by Lelia ThomasTurns out being mentally well is like winning the lottery, except you don’t get to buy a ticket for this game. You’re either normal, or y…
Turns out being mentally well is like winning the lottery, except you don’t get to buy a ticket for this game. You’re either normal, or you’re not, and the definitions of such a concept change over time. Some people are crazy for a while. Some people are crazy forever. Some people who you think should be locked up are called productive citizens. What is normal anymore? What was ever normal? How do you know you’re sane? Isn’t part of being insane the denial of insanity? Maybe we’re all a little crazy. Maybe it’s just a matter of to what degree. Maybe I am crazy. Am I crazy? The blue light is flashing amid the black. I don’t have to look at my watch. I know it’s around three in the morning. My eyes have closed only briefly. I’ve stared at the ceiling for hours. I don’t have to check my mobile. I already know who it is. I know it’s her. I know the numbers that will be there, right by her name. I can see them. The slanted back of the seven, the curves of the threes, the endless knot that it is the eight. I see it all. She called. She wants to talk. I want to talk, but I know better. I don’t need to get up and talk, because I know that light actually isn’t flashing. It’s just what I want to see. My doctor is calling these hallucinations part of the stress, part of the temporary insanity that my mind is putting me through after the accident. I just call it hell. He says it’s weird that I see things, that people only usually report voices, that there are usually only flashbacks and nightmares. But what is normal? They don’t know everything yet. And I am a guinea pig, a part of the great continuing studies. I wish the light would stop flashing. Sometimes I wonder. What is real? Is it just my mind willing me to see that blue in the night, or is it happening—somewhere? Not here, maybe. Not in this room where my body is lying—where I think my body is lying—maybe somewhere else. But where? The pill bottle is on my nightstand, right beside the blinking-non-blinking phone. I let two rest in my palm until they melt. Wonder what’s in them. Names of things I can’t pronounce, probably. Tested on mice I’ll never meet. Trial studied on people who are never spoken to. I’m supposed to trust this. The blue light is not flashing. Telling myself this, does not make it stop. I bring the pills to my lips, reach for my glass of water. But I want to believe it is blinking. My hand drops to my lap. What is normal? What is real?
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Fourteen photos were used in this photo manipulation, and it took seven hours to create. With this piece, I wanted to create something elegant but also meaningful. There are connections between all things in our lives. Our parents and ancestors connect us to other people. Our regions, schools, clubs, workplaces and even Internet groups connect us to others. Life connects us to one world, death to another. One day, we will be dust. We are connected, rooted, to these and many other parts of our existence. Lelia Katherine Thomas / leliathomas@gmail.com OR Twitter @leliathomas / www.leliathomas.com —-—- This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution Noncommercial Share Alike license. You are free to ‘remix’ it under noncommercial terms. For more information about remixing my work, visit this page on my website.
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My partner, Andrew Eastgate. :) Lelia Katherine Thomas / leliathomas@gmail.com OR Twitter @leliathomas / www.leliathomas.com —-—- This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution Noncommercial Share Alike license. You are free to ‘remix’ it under noncommercial terms. For more information about remixing my work, visit this page on my website.
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Taken in 2005 on an unmarked road in Lynchburg, Tennessee, just about 40 minutes past the Jack Daniel’s Distillery. Lelia Katherine Thomas / leliathomas@gmail.com OR Twitter @leliathomas / www.leliathomas.com —-—- This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution Noncommercial Share Alike license. You are free to ‘remix’ it under noncommercial terms. For more information about remixing my work, visit this page on my website.
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Managed to rope two of my friends, Greg and Kavita, into modeling for this series of photographs. If you enjoy this picture, consider checking out the others in the series. Lelia Katherine Thomas / leliathomas@gmail.com OR Twitter @leliathomas / www.leliathomas.com —-—- This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution Noncommercial Share Alike license. You are free to ‘remix’ it under noncommercial terms. For more information about remixing my work, visit this page on my website.
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Who says perfection equals beauty? Lelia Katherine Thomas / leliathomas@gmail.com OR Twitter @leliathomas / www.leliathomas.com —-—- This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution Noncommercial Share Alike license. You are free to ‘remix’ it under noncommercial terms. For more information about remixing my work, visit this page on my website.
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My friend Kavita, puckered up like a fish, on Glenferrie Road, in Victoria, Australia. Lelia Katherine Thomas / leliathomas@gmail.com OR Twitter @leliathomas / www.leliathomas.com —-—- This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution Noncommercial Share Alike license. You are free to ‘remix’ it under noncommercial terms. For more information about remixing my work, visit this page on my website.
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It seems you’re never far from either. Lelia Katherine Thomas / leliathomas@gmail.com OR Twitter @leliathomas / www.leliathomas.com —-—- This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution Noncommercial Share Alike license. You are free to ‘remix’ it under noncommercial terms. For more information about remixing my work, visit this page on my website.
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No one knew that they were jealous of one another. Lelia Katherine Thomas / leliathomas@gmail.com OR Twitter @leliathomas / www.leliathomas.com —-—- This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution Noncommercial Share Alike license. You are free to ‘remix’ it under noncommercial terms. For more information about remixing my work, visit this page on my website.
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Driftwood
by Lelia ThomasI will be good to you, Fisherman. / Take me in, dry me off; / Make me into what I wish I was. / I can be something beautiful.
This piece is about finding love and recognition of worth. I used the imagery of driftwood, as it is something that many people overlook as just ugly, warped debris that the ocean has washed ashore. Others, however, realize its great potential. The Fisherman, like the Driftwood, is an outcast in our world. He does not feel at home on land, but he is lonely, and it is the only place where there is company. The Driftwood speaks to him, and asks him to accept it and make it into something beautiful, to see its potential; in return, the Driftwood will be good to the Fisherman and provide him with much-needed company at sea. In a way, this poem is about two outcasts finding one another and seeing in the other what so many before have missed. Lelia Katherine Thomas / leliathomas@gmail.com / www.leliathomas.com —-—- This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution Non-Commercial Share Alike license. You are free to ‘remix’ it under noncommercial terms. For more information about remixing my work, visit this page on my website.
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I shot some people.
by Lelia Thomashttp://www.leliathomas.com/2008/05/26/the-gardener-my-first-short-film/...
http://www.leliathomas.com/2008/05/26/the-gardener-my-first-short-film/ What’d you expect? ;)
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I always miss warm days during winter! Lelia Katherine Thomas / leliathomas@gmail.com OR Twitter @leliathomas / www.leliathomas.com —-—- This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution Noncommercial Share Alike license. You are free to ‘remix’ it under noncommercial terms. For more information about remixing my work, visit this page on my website.
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