Mannered
36 creative works found
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Chinese & Amsterdam Storeys
by Maxwell Edward“Good afternoon Gentlemen. Our delicious Chinese restaurant serves some of the greatest Chinese delicacies. Can I take your orders?” J…
“Good afternoon Gentlemen. Our delicious Chinese restaurant serves some of the greatest Chinese delicacies. Can I take your orders?” Jermaine takes charge as usual. “I imagine you can sir. Well my friend will have special fried rice and I will have special sweet n sour chicken. Could you make sure it’s especially sweet n sour though? Thanks sir.” People love to eat Chinese. More often the meals though…for the appetisers may prove too fattening over time. Neville and Jermaine have definitely had their share of fattening up over time. Neville is said to eat more Chinese than most Chinese and as for Jermaine, he probably eats more of most things than most people. “Jerry, don’t you think it’s strange how he mentioned they serve some of the greatest Chinese delicacies?” Jermaine who finds nothing short of highly unusual strange, makes a joke from anything less of great importance. “_Why_? What did you expect in a Chinese Restaurant, Indian food?” Neville who hears these jokes more often than not (but still not in appreciation of them) seems to always be misunderstood. “No, I mean, we’re not Chinese. I can’t see anyone in here that is Chinese…In fact I would say that the only Chinese this restaurant ever sees is on the plates. So, they could get away with telling us that this restaurant actually serves the greatest Chinese delicacies. Why would they not?” Jermaine’s opinion always went back to philosophy. “Some wise advice I have for you Nev. Never question the Chinese.” Something about the way the duo talked, it was utter enjoyment. The puns continuously employed emphasised it. A certain kind of pleasure whenever they accompanied one another was unleashed. “Oh Jerry, you got to hear about what happened to my cousin. _You’ll never believe it_…So Ben was in Amsterdam for some time, on holiday or something. Well on the last week he jumped off the top of a three-storey apartment balcony.” Jermaine who believes most things reasonable, but also hesitates in jumping to conclusions always feels obliged to question the situation. “Why the hell would anyone do something like that?” Neville started blushing. He was never as outgoing as Jermaine, even being questioned made him feel slightly insecure. “Well Jerry, you know my cousin Benjamin. No one questions him.” A certain kind of tension was building somewhere between Nevilles growing timidity and Jermaine’s pursuing nerves. “I think anyone thinking about jumping off the third storey of an apartment should be prepared to answer a lot of questions.” There was an uncomfortable short-lived silence between the duos. Neville thought of it as his responsibility to protect his cousin’s reputation, yet his loyalty had previously shown to lead to misdemeanours. Neville decided to break his loyalty for what his reason was telling him was sensibility. “Yeah Jermaine, agreed. Benjamin sure must be a moron hey. Oh, which reminds me, did I tell you he is going to become a lawyer?” The Chinese waiter had brought back the dishes. This is possibly the fastest time a waiter had brought out dishes (which were supposed to be quality cuisines). Then again, Jermaine and his friends always had their doubts about Chinese restaurants. Over their many meals they had discussed many things ranging from the health issues to the political and economic consequences of the different restaurant franchises. The Chinese waiter did not talk this time. He had a chilling frown cast upon his face. Perhaps he had heard their talking? Perhaps it was just the all-round atmosphere of working in such a demanding service. Jermaine and Neville dug into their meals, each choosing their pick of chop sticks and spoon respectively although ironically not in quite a disorderly manner. It was only lucky that Neville chose a spoon for the fried rice to prevent any more mess (if more mess were possible). “So Nev, back to the story; now that you tell me Mr. Benjamin wants to be a lawyer…that makes much more sense; their all lying bastards. This is one big story to you in order to gain your sympathy or something. It can’t really be explained, except that he is behind it all…” “Not true. I saw his bandages and cuts and sores; everything. That can’t really be faked.” “I’m sure for a lawyer, anything can be faked. Any kind of falsehood can be created and unleashed by those guys!” “No seriously. Okay here’s the story, he said he went to a party. He got pretty drunk knowing it was his last week. Who knows maybe he even did…goddamn man it’s Amsterdam! I don’t have to mention the possibilities, their limitless! Anything could have happened. Well anyway, he woke up and that is when the nurse told him what had been reported to her.” “You know what this sounds like? Chinese whispers. She said this; he said that, you say this…” Sceptical Jermaine could never let any possibility go. “Okay whatever, whatever.” Neville had enough. This sort-of-debate had turned into a sort-of-argument. It was time for him to try and change the mannerism of things “Hey Jerry, this kind of talking is probably not good for eating, let’s just eat okay. I mean just the other day I saw the scars and bleeding…well you know.” Eating continued. Polite (enough) slurping of Chinese tea and rice among other things died down the sound of thought. Than Jermaine continued speaking, but not where they left off. “Hey Nev, I’ll be back in a minute. Just have to convenience myself!” Neville sat there. Five minutes boring his intellect- no one to talk to! Jermaine returned. Back to his meal; back to messy eating and the hope of more polite interesting talk. Before Neville had seen it, Jermaine had finished the rest of his special sweet n sour. “Hey Neville, are you still feeling hungry at all?” Before Neville had a chance to reply Jermaine had beckoned the waiter over and ordered “Special Chinese fortune cookies”. The cookies came in no time at all again. It made it seem like there was surely something efficiently magical about this restaurant. “Hey Nev, can you tell me about this story a bit more. So would you get this, I actually heard about a story similar to his; actually two stories, exactly like his…they both sort of were like these crazy stories where these things happened to guys in…well Chinese restaurants actually!” Neville was only half listening, except the information was still unconsciously processing into his mind. He opened his fortune cookie. “No I do not believe it! Coincidences of such do not occur! Madness unleashed!” Neville started shaking intensely, trembling, his usual steady figure rumbling in what looked like fear; his skin pale and pupils dilating and goose bumps on his skin forming. Than he shoved his hands over his head and continued his fearful actions half-hidden by the table. Jermaine grabbed the little slice of Chinese paper, it must be not so fortunate whatever the fortune be he thought! “You will suffer falling three-storeys tonight. Do not question the Chinese” They both sat there; Jermaine seemingly doing and thinking nothing except watching the actions of Neville. Neville with his behaviour turning more and more intense and shocking as seconds progressed and turned into minutes. “Neville!” Neville took no notice, for a moment, to only a moment later reply, “What? Don’t you fucking get this? Can’t you see what’s happening?” Jermaine looked at his watch. Five minutes. Long enough…longer would be dangerous perhaps. “My good friend Neville. I have a confession. I put that note in your cracker…it’s to teach you a lesson really. But it’s also quite a cracker now too to think of it! You should have seen the look on your face! And my friend, I’ll tell you the moral of the story…Question anything with suspicion, even the Chinese, otherwise who knows what will be unleashed!”
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André’s creation: eclectic pleasures
by Maxwell EdwardBlack and white keys, saxophone, guitar, everywhere. The music has much more magnificence than can be tried to be explained through words…
Black and white keys, saxophone, guitar, everywhere. The music has much more magnificence than can be tried to be explained through words. This jazzy rendezvous has always been André’s favourite ear-food. He just loves the way its beauty, splendour, radiance is ‘unleashed’. André stares at the canvas for over a dozen times. Here he is staring at the blank space which is future marvel…or was it to be past marvel? Had he missed his chance, missed the boat which would have sailed to sentimental stardom? He refuses to collaborate more than a sentence for any one idea. Any idea that deserves a sentence must deserve no doubt. Any canvas is only worth the greatest ideas. Two André’s exist; though only one at any one time. The withdrawn analytical front, designed for most occasions. On rare occasions the other character may appear, the intensive, massively determined André who acts on impulses. Impulsive André must be begged out. A Pandora’s Box of surprises, his job will at least never cease to astonish. “Dearest André, Through years have you befriended my son Louis, so therefore I am offering an opportunity to benefit both of our interests (with intent towards your gain). Litton inc., my company has stepped up towards mainstream success. We require visual arts for our newly bought edifice. I understand you have been painting for the eight years since high school. To your discretion I would like to require a painting; just one will suffice. I would like something vibrant and colourful, yet deep and meaningful; Contemporise to your own vision. Much thanks, Dr. Raymond Fonck.” The commissioned paper lies stuck on the wall. André has read it. Now it is time for the future. It has been too long sitting around (or rather bouncing around); too get too much productivity from anything. Someone once said to him that anything is good experience. True perhaps, although he prefers productivity, especially in a time of intensity such as this; three days left until confrontation. His vigilant eyes stroll around the room, searching for advice. He is not bored, nor has he painters block, for such a term does not exist and will not ever for him. His eyes strike the clock. The clock glares 5:48 pm back. What a disgusting fierce look it has. Not 5:45, nor 6:00 and only one uncomfortable minute in-between. For at this time these uncomforting three digits add to the frustration in the actual time. “Aw!” André suddenly realizes the importance of the time. It is the one factor which never seems to be on his side but actually encourages his total progress. It is an epiphany like that of a mother to the newborn. André decides to let his hands take / control. They are the secret key, (sometimes the gatekeepers of unleashing impulsive André) His dominant left one picks up the brush (over time it has made up for its fault of statistically losing him seven years). His right hand decides to lose cognition. It dips itself into a little puddle of Sangria oil paint muck. Than it flies onto the near-centre of the canvas, smeared diagonally. His left hand takes initiative once again, waving lines of smudge to and fro. Right hand brings more paint to its destination. Myrtle, Indigo, Olive, Magnolia…and no, not that…Yes, yes, even black! (Well seal brown to be precise). All of these contextually beautiful colours unleashed! There are no thoughts in André’s mind now. This is impulsive André now; organised thought is of little importance! That colour is important here. This colour is unimportant there. A few lines of any colour are important right here or there, but perhaps a darker colour is better. More negative space up and down the edges. Shape is forming. Lines are bolding. Complete non-representational form is diminishing. Visualizations; the visualized images in mind are being…unloaded bit by bit. It is coming about. What is it though? No one knows. If anybody could guess it definitely would not be André. André knows he has the power to bring out the reality in it though. In a seemingly paradox situation he must not connect to reality at the moment though. Now, after these hours of painting, André is in the painting. He would not know it has been hours besides the constant glare of the illuminating digital clock staring from across the room; it unconsciously processes its recognition into André. The phone screams out, ‘br-ring, br-ring!’ Like the other external matter it creeps into André, until finally its screams become too annoying to ignore. It’s too late now…impulsive André has vanished; his conventional counterpart has replaced him. The phone persists though. André decides to take it (typical for his returned mannerism). He dives across the room horizontally attacking the corner where that nuisance phone lies. ‘Aw, aw, aw, aw!’ A tube of paint has squirt from underneath his stomach. Agonising that his material friend can be so painful at times (like any of his life long friends). He picks up the phone; only the tone. He has missed whatever, whoever it was. Once again, missing the boat… Now thought and all that comes with it has returned. Why now out of all times possible? There is only sadness, misery, all this escalated from these small miniscule misfortunes; all has turned to turmoil! What can one do, when feeling like crawling into a hole? His secret minor disorders such as his claustrophobia would prevent him from crawling into that hole, even if he had one. At the moment everything feels like one big hole. Not surprisingly André’s eyes begin doing the only thing they know to do in times of unrest; wander. It is impossible to ignore what is there; it has been there all along, yet has never been seen. It is beautiful! It is splendour! It is radiance!! It is interrupted by another scream of ‘br-ring br-ring’. André picks up the damn phone. Without contemplation he whispers, “Sir, madam, I’m very terribly busy, could you perhaps call back sometime?” A deep sophisticated voice replies, “Raymond Fonck, André. Listen, I need to know about the progress of the painting. How is it going; ready to sell on Friday?” Many emotions garner at the speed of light inside André allows these emotions to clash inside of him. The painting; it is beautiful, splendour, radiance! How could he give it away now, after an indescribable series of emotional contributions? It is something that has not been attempted before; yet it is new but the expression of old. It is everything, at the moment, hopefully containing more interpretive inoculations for the future. It is a subject, of just some time, yet it contains a collaboration of detail separated from time. It is…once again interrupted by screams, this time of another sort; the infuriating talking of man. “André. Are you there?” Feelings of great rebellion sweep André off his feet. He knows how he will revolutionize his life, because after all; this painting has revolutionized his thought already. “Mister Fonck. I am so sorry. Some things have come over me…a type of sickness…although I am sure you are not aware of this mad syndrome I am suffering due to it. Well to the point, I must say I will not be supplying you with your wanted artwork. Thank you for your understanding. Hopefully we can collaborate something in future.” André hangs the phone up without replies, without a stated understanding from the mister Fonck. Without even the knowledge of acceptance or approval from the mister Fonck…it does not matter. All that matters is this new painting, this contemporised vision. It is everything. Most importantly of all, it is…unleashed!
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Photography by Leena Hedman
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Table Manners
by ENaLuNot sure where to put ’ Just Farted’ as of yet, probably beside ’ Drenched / in Expensive French Perfume That Will Make You Gag’ now that …
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Oil, acrylic and pastel on canvas / 1.2×1 metres portrait of a curvaceous nude woman
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I expect no love from you and therefore know that disappointment will not tread it’s heavy foot upon my heart. Understanding Alison Acrylics, ink and pigment.
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Bull Elk with his tonge stuck out.
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A friendly farmer near his cow pasture… All artwork is © Rhonda L. Hall, All Rights Reserved. You may not use, replicate, manipulate, redistribute, or modify this image without my express consent.
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Good manners! A subject, like sex, on which I can speak with absolutely no authority. The font is Ballpark Weiner by Mickey Rossi Available from dafont.com
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Oil, acrylic and pastel on canvas 2005 / 1×0.8 metres nude self portrait with pink tiger lillies
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Just a quick wee Joke :O)
by adgrayJust goes to show, manners aren’t always everything!!! :O) During one of her daily classes, a teacher trying to teach good manner…
Just goes to show, manners aren’t always everything!!! :O) During one of her daily classes, a teacher trying to teach good manners, asked her students the following question: ‘Michael, if you were on a date having dinner with a nice young lady, how would you tell her that you have to go to the bathroom?’ Michael said, ‘Just a minute I have to go pee.’ The teacher responded by saying, ‘That would be rude and impolite.’ then turned to another student / ‘What about you Sherman, how would you say it?’ Sherman said, ‘I am sorry, but I really need to go to the bathroom. I’ll be right back.’ ‘That’s better, but it’s still not very nice to say the word bathroom at the dinner table.’ / the teacher then asked a third student ‘And you, little Edward, can you use your brain for once and show us your good manners?’ / ‘I would say: Darling, may I please be excused for a moment? I have to shake hands with a very dear friend of mine, whom I hope to introduce you to after dinner.’ The teacher fainted…
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My thoughts on using photo manipulation
by Jo O'BrienSee here for a recent heated discussion RE photoshoping of google images…
See here for a recent heated discussion RE photoshoping of google images. I try to think in terms of how I would feel if someone used one of my photoshop-free images, tweaked it and put it back up as their own. Personally I would be wrapped and honoured if someone used my work to create something new, but I would just feel used if they didn’t really make anything new out of it and slapped a filter or two on it and then called it their own. It’s a matter of how much time and energy I put into creating the image against how little time and energy the modifier put in. I’d feel a bit ripped off. I think it’s good manners to ask for permission to use someone’s work, however I strongly believe the orignial artist has an obligation to set their terms before the modifying artist begins doing their thing. It’s a matter for the two artists to decide upon. For example, if someone said “I’m learning how to use photoshop, do you mind if I muck around with your photos” I’d say go ahead. But then I’d also feel oblidged to discuss whether they want to onsell the finished product and give a sense of what I would be happy and unhappy with. I am very very open to collaborating and sharing of work but I do think people have to give credit where credit is due and not take advantage of the hard work of somebody else. It is difficult to actually set a strict guideline or rule on this because it poses questions such as “How changed is changed enough” which can only be answered by the individual. I hope these reasons shed some light on my headspace. I would play with someones image and display it and say “look at what I learned how to do” but I would credit the original artists and I would not sell the new piece without permission. The example above was based on what I would do if the artist was an unknown and I was using a google image- in that case, yet again I would display my talents and say ‘check this out’ but without permission I would not sell it. I do not use photoshop and if I did learn how to use it I doubt I would sell my photoshoped work. I am almost certainly in the minority when I say this- but I see photo editing as one form of art and photo taking as another. Often the 2 cross paths but I can also see them as mutually exclusive talents. I don’t particularly want to be known as a creative and talented photo editor or manipulator so I wouldn’t sell edited work even if it were 100% my own. But that’s just me.
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It’s that character Cedar the Eagle Owl again showing how badly he was brought up by his adopted Mum, Andy Hughes, the falconer at Dunrobin Castle in Scotland
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I caught this female cardinal with a sunflower seed shell hanging from her beak. “Napkin please, waiter!” she could be chirping in bird talk!
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Politeness
by Kate SmithMy tram home is full of polite people. Except for the ones who talk so loud on their phones and rarely say anything worth eavesdroppin…
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Custom made wagon, for those whom truly love their toys. A friend of mine in Arizona, John Shope, hand makes every bike sold at SSinister Choppers. Radio Flyer, is quite BAD-ASS and will fly with 125HP custom / V-Twin. It sits low and fast enough to tear your lips off. Makes a great cigarette lighter as well. All yours for $57,000.00, US. (don’t worry, I can get at least 20% off), Hurry while supplies last. cannon5D / 28-105 / 1250 iso / no flash / -1 ex
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I managed to squeeze this in as I was walking past. I love the expressions on the men’s faces. Date Picture Taken: 28/1/2007 / Camera: Canon EOS 350D / Lens: Canon EF-S 17-85mm f/4-5.6 IS USM Please view my other photographs from Thailand.
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RED BUBBLE....THANK YOU FOR THE MODIFICATIONS
by Thomas Josiah ChappelleTHIS IS BETTER THAN GOOD…IT IS GREAT…...IT IS SO MUCH EASIER THAT YOU HAVE ‘SLICED’ THE GREAT PIE IN THIS MANNER…WITH RESPECTFUL AP…
THIS IS BETTER THAN GOOD…IT IS GREAT…...IT IS SO MUCH EASIER THAT YOU HAVE ‘SLICED’ THE GREAT PIE IN THIS MANNER…WITH RESPECTFUL APPRECIATION….PROUD TO BE A RED BUBBLER
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Mild Mannered
by FenderheadOh well
Oh well
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NOW WERE REALLY CRUISING THE ALLEYWAYS. YOU MIGHT EVEN CUT ACROSS SOMEBODY’S WALK WAY. SEEMS FAIRLY SIMPLE, AND ANYONE WITH SOME MANNERS AND A LITTLE DECORUM IS GOING TO CLOSE THE GATE BEHIND THEM, RIGHT? WRONG. VERY WRONG. ONE, DON’T EVER BE TRESPASSING ON ANOTHER PERSON’S DOMAIN. TWO, ONCE THAT GATE IS CLOSED BEHIND YOU, HOW IN THE F==K ARE GOING TO GET OUT. THREE, YOU REALLY DON’T HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT’S BEHIND DOOR NO.3. DOG. CRAZED WOMAN WITH A FOUR/FIFTHS. HOW ABOUT 43 HUNGRY CATS. POLICE? OR MAYBE YOU DECIDED TO CROSS OVER ON GANG CONTROLLED TURF. OOPS.
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Bad Mannered Gorilla
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That which we call a rose foul fowl language…hit and duck smells the same.
by montdragonDear Journal: / Expletive vulgarities are much antiquated sounding like dry slivers of breaking wind; you hear them and sadly read them he…
Dear Journal: / Expletive vulgarities are much antiquated sounding like dry slivers of breaking wind; you hear them and sadly read them here and there, with limp impact by inarticulate particulate matter of flatulent chatter chattering chatterers. Fucking more like a quack quacking of fucking shit bags gagging over their giggle, just haranguing for a cheap bang bang of chirp, more humorously uttered udders milked by the sexes out of context, guys’ sound very dildo macho and girls just sound like silly cows. / Me thinks the Bard could screw with expletive vulgarities in a very Shakespearian way to strut the stuff upon a stage to shut the fuck up guffawing audiences. Pray yea knaves of both sexes conjugate conjugal mind intercourse, exploded like dry and dead whoring whores not worth the sweat to get the shaft up and rub it gently, why be gentle ram it and jam jamming betwixt the furry bush best to finger fingering the bush than to speak of such intimacies less intimate than explicative…oh howl from cheek to cheek jowl dropping….nay nay just bad manners…and so two star crossed lovers: / Julie Captivating: / ‘Tis but thy name that is my enemy; / Thou art thyself, though not a Vagina. / What’s Vagina? it is nor hand, nor foot, / Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part / Belonging to a man. O, be some other name! / What’s in a name? that which we call a fuck / By any other name would smell as sweet; / So Fuckhead would, were he not Fuckhead call’d, / Retain that dear perfection which he owes / Without that title. Fuckhead, doff thy name, / And for that name which is no part of thee / Take all myself. / I am not a prude and expletive vulgarities in context are very effective in relationship to the subject matter like pornography, standup comedy delivered in toilets, people with low self esteem articulating their lack of esteem and juvenile children testing their rite of passage. Fortunately most but not all see and hear how inane expletive vulgarities can and are immature…yup free speech is freedom when spoken elegantly to the best of one’s ability to engage in dialogue or express their heart mind and soul…I is still trying because I is ignorant. Like I said I am not a prude and usually not offended with expletive vulgarities in context but the profuse use of expletives does get nauseating when used gratuitously and thoughtlessly….WTF anyway…I can smile and even laugh at and with expletive vulgarities in context sometimes, but thoughtless ejaculations are just that ejaculations. / My humble apologies to the Bard, perhaps the greatest writer of them all, elegant with the fledging English language of his time…English now the New Latin to the world, embracing loaned borrowed words inventing new words the strength and vivacity, the joy de vivre of English. / Shit I feel so much fucking better having gotten that fucking piece of shit off my chest and out of my mind….just an earwig load of fucking shit screwing with my fucking brain….hum context.
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