“Monsters exist, but they are too few in number to be truly dangerous. More dangerous are the common men, the functionaries ready to believe and to act without asking questions.”
― Primo Levi
(fort breendonk, willebroek, belgië)
*shot with nikon d700 and nikkor 70-200mm f/4 lens at various settings, edited through a veil of tears in lightroom cc and silver efex pro 2*
On Sunday, 14 June 2015, I launched my Project 365.
You can see all the images as they are posted to the mobile | mono | square album on my flickr account.
My plan, let’s see if I can stick to this, is to post a weekly update here each Sunday.
“I’m not so weird to me.” ― Haruki Murakami, The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle
We all
Every one of us, large or small, important or not, young and old, happy or depressed
We all
Have
Our space and place
Where’s yours?
*shot with nikon d700 and nikkor 70-200mm lens at various settings, edited in lightroom with cropping and punch filter, no animals were harmed in the creation of this post*
“We are not going in circles, we are going upwards. The path is a spiral; we have already climbed many steps.”
― Hermann Hesse
(for tech of the month: black and white, part of photo 101 rehab from lucile de godoy and perelincolors)
*shot with nikon d700 and nikkor 70-200mm f/4 lens and edited in lightroom cc with simple mono conversion and lens profile correction*
“artists are those who can evade the verbose” ― haruki murakami, kafka on the shore
Do you need, desire or crave a new challenge? Are you open to sharing your dark side? Then read on.
Do you have a dark side?
Or, think you may have one. Or indeed worry that you might have one. Or, for that matter, worry that you don’t and would like one? If so, join me here each week for dark | side | thursday.
Over a period of 52 weeks, I am writing a story. A dark story that will unfold as the weeks pass. Each Thursday, at 13:00 UTC, I will post a new chapter. Each chapter will be exactly 500 words long, and will be accompanied by a photograph. You can catch up on the story so far by clicking here on dark | side | thursday
Share your dark side?
I invite you to join me either by writing your own dark story, week by week, or, if that is too much, by dropping by, now and then, perhaps when the mood suits you or, perhaps, when it doesn’t, and by sharing a photograph, poem or a suitably dark piece of prose. To cross over to dark | side | thursday create your post, tag it dark side thursday and link to it by clicking on the dark | side | thursday badge below, where you can also find all the contributions so far. Or you can simply share your link in the comments section of my weekly post. And, should the mood take you, you can add the badge to your post.
dark | side | thursday | eight
The approaching footsteps were heavy, laboured. Her belly churned, ached, as she took a small step forward, his fingers had slipped away, he stood still, did not follow as she walked on.
She looked back, she saw, nothing, blackness, the void. She turned, walked toward the sound of the footsteps. Into the dark.
He had stepped back into the corridor. The key in his hand. It was time, he knew it, felt it. His eyes took in again the cold tiles lining the floor of the corridor, the deep cracks running along the ceiling. Gripping the key he moved forward.
There was a door at the end of the corridor, he knew that. It opened to the stairwell, that descended down to the street. Of course it did, hadn’t he been this way so many times before?
Only, the last time he had walked this way, it had been different, he remembered the pain, the sounds, the blackened branches of the trees. He could feel the scratches still on his back. Closing his eyes, screwing them tight, he willed those trees back into existence.
Nothing, cold tiles, cracked ceiling. No trees.
He reached the end of the corridor. Took the rusted metal doorknob in his hand and turned it.
She was alone in the dark, not even her fingers were visible. The key gripped tight in her fingers, she must not drop it. She turned and turned, no light, no sound, not even those footsteps. Beneath her feet, nothing. The darkness pressed against her face, sucked the breath from her lungs, pressed down on her chest, her belly. She fell, down into the dark void.
Her silent screams filled only her mind.
The door opened, the creaking of the rusted hinges filling the cold corridor with echoes of despair. He put the key into the pocket of his jacket, stepped through the door. The stairwell wound down into the dark, the bare bulbs in the ceiling at each level swinging, flickering, buzzing, as their lives approached an end. An odour engulfed him, the dense rotting smell of overcooked cabbage. He began to descend the stairwell, his hand gripping the cold railing, his steps tentative, reluctant. He heard cries, screams, children’s laughter, moans and groans of joy and fear, he heard people. But not her.
He reached the bottom of the stairwell. To his right through a row of filthy windows shapes shifted uneasily. The corridor ended in two filthy metal half glazed doors that opened onto a lobby. A row of mail boxes stood before him, their dark slits oozing with unwanted newspapers, demands for unpaid bills, neglect, despair, lost hopes of letters never received.
He stepped over broken bottles, dust and decay, pushed open the door to the street, crossed the uneven many times mended concrete path that approached the building. He looked up into the black roiling sky, the relentless rain, he turned to look back at the door though which he had passed.
And screamed and screamed.
The portal to dark | side | thursday opened on the twenty first day of may in the year twenty hundred and fifteen and will remain open for fifty two weeks.
eight | fiftytwo
Do you miss the Writing 201 Poetry course by the Daily Post? Then join this blogging challenge, Poetry 101 Rehab, that will provide your poetry fix!
How does it work?
For several weeks now, each Monday at 01:00 pm UTC, Mara Eastern has published a poetry prompt along with her response to it, you can see them all here. Last week Mara announced that she is taking a blogging hiatus this Summer to focus on her dissertation. I will serve as locum “poet in residence” at the clinic until her return – and hope that I don’t lose any of her patients! I will continue to publish a weekly prompt exactly as before.
You are invited to answer the prompt, twist it or ignore it; write a poem of your own or share a poem by another author.
I would love to hear about your inspiration, your creative process or other poetry related thoughts, but this is no way obligatory. Nothing is obligatory in this challenge, the idea is to get together, talk poetry and have fun!
How can you take part?
Anyone can participate, anytime you want. Publish your poetry post and add a link to it by clicking on the Poetry 101 Rehab badge below or share your link in a comment. Use the tag Poetry 101 Rehab, so we can find each other in the Reader.
I will act as your host, and I’ll be here for you to reply to your comments, read your verses, like and comment. While my blog is the starting point for the challenge, do visit fellow poets in the link-up and chat to them on their blogs!
This week’s prompt is HIATUS. My response below, a playful limerick, was inspired by Mara’s decision to take a hiatus. What will your take on the keyword HIATUS be? Blog about it in a poetry post and share your link below!
Hiatus
There was once a young scholar who lived in the East
Who decided it was time to face the beast
Swapping passionate blogging for dry dissertation
Imagine her consternation
When they all turned round and looked to the East
On Sunday, 14 June 2015, I launched my Project 365.
You can see all the images as they are posted to the mobile | mono | square album on my flickr account.
My plan, let’s see if I can stick to this, is to post a weekly update here each Sunday.
“break on through to the other side” – the doors
do you dare
open the door
or, are you
running?
(for wordpress weekly photo challenge – door)
(and for lucile’s photo 101 rehab)
*shot with nikon d700 and nikkor 70-200mm f/4 lens at 85mm, ISO200, 1/160s at f/6.3 and edited in lightroom cc, and analog efex pro 2 with wet plate filter number nine, break on through*
andy townend 