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atenytom's photographs have an almost nostalgia-like quality due to the finish, which seem to convey happy memories and moments. The bright colours and good composition of his photos are great.
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Mizzymarvel87's sculptures are beautifully crafted and intriguingly abstract.
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|More Journal Entries|
Love Has Found A Home In This Heart (i)As soon as I first laid eyes on her, I could tell she was falling apart.Love Has Found A Home In This Heart (i) by CupofCharlie
I was in my local Starbucks, waiting for my regular lunchtime coffee to be prepared, considering my long list of objectives to complete by the end of the day, when out of the corner of my eye I spied her across the room. She was sat in the corner of the shop, almost entirely hidden from view behind a conveniently placed pillar. She was huddled over a book, both hands clasped tightly around it, as if holding on for dear life. I found her instantaneously intriguing, partly because she was not one of the regulars that I always saw inhabit this particular Starbucks, but mainly because she just looked so worn down. She looked as though the world had chewed her up and spat her out. She was trying to hold herself together, but I could tell that she was losing this battle. She stood out against the calming atmosphere of the coffee house. She was a visual juxtaposition, like a streak of red paint thrown violently against a
obsidian she was almost ten. i think it was her birthday when it happened.obsidian by alternativemeanings
or maybe she was already ten.
she was young either way. i was too. innocent. fragile.
he took her from me, an afternoon
in the summer. or was it winter?
i think i did too.
We Made the Morning NewsI saw them on the subway yesterday;We Made the Morning News by adeline-renee
bombs—in pairs, alone, jumbled in the mix of winter coats,
their red and blue veins creeping slyly up their throats
and tangling around their fingers.
They were reading books and talking to friends
and laughing. I smiled at one, she stared back.
That was when I felt the ticking against my ribs,
a vibration curling tight between my lungs.
The cadence quickened when we pulled out of Union Square,
it shook my fingertips and rattled my femur.
Tore against my skin, crawled down my spine
and slithered further and further out.
The poor conductor could never have known.