#ans in photos it can look the same as the orange. but its there!!! if ya squint.

[istherewifiinhell]

But wifi, how many times are you gonna make the same cake?? Well. Its different this time. I'll use a different pan, theres gonna be layers, not quadrants... whole new thing.

SO THE THING IS, we had an accident at the mutant turtle cake factory. YIPPEE [explodes]

[ID from alt: 1. A bundt cake in orange, blue purple and red, from above. The top of the cake is uneven and torn. The different colours form almost concentric blobs. 2. The bottom of the cake pan, with the top of the cake that broke off. Its mostly orange and blue. 3. The cake with a neon green glaze. 4. A slice of cake, the colours are wild swirl. END ID]

So anyway. Happy late 4 weekiversy, and/or early one monthiversy for the mutant mayhem trailer. However you prefer to count.

[bbrandy2002]

My Love

My Love Chapter One

A/N: This is a WIP I have held onto since August and never wanted to post it. I was fearful that it was going to be so different (series wise) and the subject matter a little too difficult to read for some. The first few chapters are heavily angsty, but, it does get easier. Just know that if you are on my perma tag list, I do not expect you to read this (I never do with my others, as well), it won’t be for everyone and there will be no hard feelings on my part.

Chapter Warning: Sexual Content, but, I consider it mild and not racy.

The cellphone on Liam’s desk pinged with another message from Riley. He didn’t have to read it to know what she wanted, it would be the same message she sent to him an hour ago and the hours before that: I’m ready, My King.  

The last thing he wanted was to be stuck in his office until midnight, working on a mountain of proposals and negotiations, when her six week check up had given her the all clear earlier in the day.  She was making it practically unbearable on him with the tantalizing pictures of her bare skin that left little to the imagination. Revealing photos of her savory, voluptuous breast and those red lacy crotchless panties he loves, hidden under a silky robe. Six weeks was an eternity without the intimacy he so craved with her and that pile of paperwork would  have to wait until morning.

If he was finished with her by then.

Making love for Liam and Riley was one of the foundations to their nearly one year of marriage. It’s a demonstration of their hunger, their passion and  unwavering devotion to one another. It's more than just sex or having a need met...its carnal, its physical, its liberating, and the deepest form of their absolute love. A fact that has been true since their first time in the hedge maze before his coronation, and every instance since.

The act itself for them is as necessary as the air that fills their lungs or the blood that courses through their veins. They needes to join as one body, as one flesh, because she was his life and he was her soul.

Liam shuffled the papers together that were scattered in front of him, straightening them as quickly as he could and tossed them in a folder. He stood from his desk, turned off the lamp, adjusted himself from the engorgement that had returned again and raced out of his office. 

He entered his darkened quarters and made his way quietly up the stairs, loosening his tie as he walked softly across the marbled floor, mindful of the sound of each footstep. As much as he wanted to peek in on his infant daughter -- who was sleeping soundly in the nursery across from their bedroom -- the fear of her waking at this very moment was much greater.

The door was just slightly ajar and he could see the flickers of red and orange hues from the fireplace illuminating the bedroom with a small portion of its shimmering light escaping into the hallway. His hand nudged the door open and he walked inside. Hiis heart beat increased steadier and heavier with each second.

Within Liam was a literal craving that only she could satisfy. A flame that only Riley herself could ignite and extinguish at her will.  He recalled a time when his father told him she would never be good for him because his love for her made him weak, however, it was her love for him that made him stronger, more exuberant, a better man and king. 

As he stepped further inside, he was taken aback by the tiny flickers of candles that resonated from every available solid surface, adding further to the ambiance set by the glow of the fireplace. In all of its beauty, nothing compared to the sight of the woman leaning against the poster of their bed, wearing a red, see-through chemise and a sultry grin; her brown eyes beckoned her husband to come closer. 

Liam slipped off his wing tipped shoes with only his feet, slinging them away as he eagerly approached her. “My Love."

Using her backside to push herself away from the wooden poster -- her pupils already fully dilated and lust blown -- she shivered with anticipation of his every touch and his lips on hers. “My King."

He tugged on his loosened tie, pulling it through his collar and wound a portion of each end around his hands. When he finally reached her, Riley’s fragrance lingered in the air and casts an intoxicating spell that he couldn't help but relish in. 

“You...you look...insatiable." Liam tossed the tie, still wound around each hand, over her head and moved it down to her waist. He bit his lip as he used the tie to heave her flush against him. 

Riley began loosening the buttons of his shirt. “I missed you today." A flirty look danced across her face.

Liam arched his back, savoring each tender kiss she plantes from the newly exposed parts of his flesh. “Let me show you just how much I missed you."

Tossing his tie onto the bed, they each make quick work of the others clothing until nothing but bare skin and flesh remained between them. 

As the candlelight flickered and glowed across their naked forms, their eyes gaze at one another, entranced by the beauty and radiant heat that drew them together.

His fingertips graze slowly across her slender shoulders and down to her delicate, silky hands. He turns one of her hands over and traces a heart into the palm. “I love you, Riley." Liam moved lower to crest both of his hands on her rounded hips.

Liam pulled her closer, feeling the fullness of her breast pressed against his pounding chest while her stiff rosy nipples dancing gingerly on him.

Her hands reaches through his arms and around his waist, swaying to a melody only they could hear -- slow and rhythmic, yearning and craving. Their faces nestled affectionately, enjoying the warmth of flesh and desire. He nuzzled into her neck, his lips brushing gently against her sentient skin, nipping and suckling, leaving behind wet trails of his affection. Sweeping across her jaw, tenderly, he sought and found her lips, devouring them and caressing her supple tongue; she was as desperate for him as he is for her.

Hearts raced, eyes pleaded, sexual swells awakened.

Their physical dance rapidly becames more sensual as legs weaken slightly and hips sink and grind passionately together. Tongue’s continued to consume one another as both Liam and Riley find the most sensitive treasures of the other. His large docile fingers became moistened with the extraction of her pleasure, while her small hand stroked and kneaded his hardened and eager shaft. 

Riley’s head fell back, wincing and moaning his name in pure ecstasy, “Liam...Liam!” Her body tensed as heat and vigor began to surge throughout, causing him to delve more intently, igniting his increasing desperation and hunger. He pulled her snug against him, one strong arm giving her balance and the other ushering her to the brink of rapture and euphoria.

‘Let go, my love," his smokey voice whispered against her flushed cheek as Riley’s face buried into his broadened chest, gripping the solid muscles of his biceps. When the first cries of her pleasure are released, Liam lifted her chin from his chest so that he could see her soft, brown eyes dance and roll. “Yes, my love, let go for me."

With a feeble whimper, she let go, falling breathlessly into his arms.

Her lust blown orbs soon meet his anxious blue ones, both prepared for the final act: the one in which his body and her body unite as one, taking complete and total possession of the other.

“I need you now, Ri."

“Then take me, Liam."

He lifted her up swiftly. Riley’s legs wrapped firmly around him; her throbbing center aching to accept him.

Liam found her succulent lips again as he spun her around, his hands twisting at the back of her hair, locked in a passionate kiss.

Placing one knee on the edge of the bed, he eased her down; her legs falling open when his hips nudge between them. 

It had been over six weeks since he felt her -- since the warmth of her core gripped and coated him so tightly.

As his hips rested snuggly between her legs, he reaches down, grippes his hardened shaft and aligned himself with her. Liam looked down on the face of his wife, a soft sheen of moisture and heat radiating from it. She could not be more beautiful or sensual as she was in that very moment; no one would ever take this woman’s place in his life. 

She nodded with an earnest pleading and without any sense of hesitation, he thrust himself into her. Over and over again he entered into her, driving further and more vigorously each time. 

“Ahh, Liam, yes!"

Her moans and wails drove him to the edge of no return and he increased the intensity of his thrusts knowing she is close too.

As small beads of sweat collectrd along the defined lines of his back muscles, he gripped both of her wrist that are wrapped tightly around his shoulders and pinned her arms above her head. 

Lifting himself up, he now had the levity to plunge even deeper. Riley’s body began to writhe under him and he can sense she is ready to burst. Both of their legs began to tense and an increasing charge of passion and electricity begin to surge. Every part of their bodies started to quake and tingle. Liam gripped her wrists even tighter, feeling her walls flutter around his cock. 

He can now release himself.

“Riley!”

With one more forceful drive, he spilled himself into her. “Riley!”

He continued his surge, winding down slower and slower, until he has emptied himself completely.

Liam rested his head on Riley’s shoulder, both of them still reeling from the pleasurable high they just experience.

He turned his head so that his mouth can graze at her ear, still slightly breathless, “I love you.”

Riley nuzzled her cheeks against his mouth, then turned her head to face him, placing a gentle kiss on his lips. “I love you too, Liam...I always have...”

“Ans I always will, my love," he finished, kissing her once more.

After cleaning up, they return to the bed they have shared for almost a year and as is routine, she will lay on her right side. He would kiss into her silky, brown hair, and wrap his arms tightly around her. Within minutes, they both driftes off together into a blissful and loving sleep.

The sound of a baby’s cry at 2:30, wakes Liam from his slumber. Wiping the sleep from his eyes, he peeks over at Riley, who is still laying on her right side, resting. Knowing she must be exhausted from so many sleepless nights, he rubs his hands over his face and rises from their bed. With Riley breastfeeding, he decided he would get the baby and bring her to their room so she doesn’t have to get up.

“Daddy’s coming baby," he whispers when he walks into the nursery, still slightly groggy from his lack of sleep.

“Hey, Ellie, my girl’, his voice always soft and soothing, lifts his fussy baby from her crib and carries her to the changing table. He sifts through diapers and loosens the buttons on her sleeper, thankful that there were no surprises inside. After changing his daughter, who is expressing her desire to feed, he kisses the top of her downey covered head and walks back into his bedroom.

Bouncing his little girl softly, he sits back down on his side of the bed, and turns his lamp on. “Shhh, its okay, princess, there’s momma”.

“Riley”, he whispers in her direction, still bouncing and soothing Ellie’s little cries.

He waits a moment, surprised she hasn’t yet stirred from the baby’s noises.

“Riley”, he calls again, “my love, Ellie’s ready for her feeding...aren’t you my girl”. 

Liam shift’s the baby into the crook of one arm and reaches over to his wife with the other. “Riley, Love, we need you to get up”, he taps on her exposed arm.

“Sweetheart?”, he begins to nudge at her a little more deeply.

When she doesn’t move, his heart starts to race, unsure if she is just completely exhausted, having complained about it more and more the past few days, or if its something more. 

He grabs her arm and rolls her onto her back, “Riley, are you...okay?”

“OH GOD!”, he yells, adjusting pillows on the bed to make a barrier so that he could lay Ellie down.

He climbs over her in a complete panicky state and begins to shake Riley, whose normal olive toned face is pale white; her body limp with each movement.

He leans over and places his ear on her chest, begging and pleading for any sign of air entering or movement.

When nothing is heard, he pushes an emergency button that is on the corner of each of their night tables, alerting the guards to the distress.

Placing his trembling hands on her chest, he begins compressions, not exactly sure of what he was doing, but, desperate to try anything, “Please breathe, my love...take a breath, damn it”. 

Continuing to compress, stop momentarily to administer two quick breaths, “Where the fuck are the guards at!”.

Time stood completely still, almost playing in slow motion. Each passing second was an agonizing terror for him.

Still working steadfastly and focused, he was unaware of the hoards of guards that sprang up on him, jolting him from his concentration.

“Please help her, she...she’s not breathing...Riley…” he trailed breathlessly, grief stricken and sobbing as he moved out of the way to allow the guards, who were medically trained, to take over. 

Bastien appeared out of the corner of his eye and Liam stumbled over to him, clutching and clawing at his head guards shirt, “Bastien...you have to help her...please bring her back...I can’t...I can’t..”.

“It’s okay, your majesty”, he gripped onto Liam, trying to calm his erratic behavior, “I will have a life flight crew brought in right away”. Bastien held onto Liam and walked him to his side of the bed, where Ellie was still crying and inched him down beside her.

Liam watched with uncertainty as the guards removed Riley from the bed and placed her on the floor to get a more solid surface to perform CPR. In that moment, he felt dizzy and nauseous, impatient for her to wake up and flash that bright smile that makes him weak in the knees. 

He remembers the first time he saw that smile...New York. On a whirlwind bachelor party thrown by his friends, he crept up on her while she was taking their order. After tapping her on the shoulder, attempting to take his seat, there it was. Not only that bright smile, but, those alluring, spirited, brown eyes; he was hers before she ever muttered a word to him.

If Liam wasn’t already captivated by her beauty, perhaps her giving, spunky, throw caution to the wind, personality would have been plenty sufficient in his eyes. She is ready for any challenge, any risk; even one that included placing her life on hold to follow a prince to a country she had never heard of in hopes of getting to know him better. He loved her from the moment she tagged him in that maze following the Masquerade Ball; over time that loved increased a million times over.

Liam was torn from his thoughts, when Miss Talbert, the Queen’s personal assistant, stepped up to him offering to care for Ellie, having been summoned by Bastien.  Still in a fog, he lifted his infant daughter from the bed, kissing her cheek, “Mommy’s going to be fine, sweet pea. I’ll come and get you in a little while”.  He handed Ellie off and quickly rounded to the opposite side of the bed, where his wife was still being assisted; more guards entering to aid in her recovery.

“Bastien, where the hell is the life flight?”.

“ETA is two minutes, your majesty”.

“That’s two fucking minutes too long...I want them here now, that’s an order!”

“Yes, sir”.

[lesindispensablesparis]

Heimat - Review du pull U-boat

Texte : Marcos Eliades Photos : Thomas M.

Le mot allemand « Heimat » fait partie de ceux qui perdent leur puissance une fois traduit. Difficilement transposable, il désigne à la fois une patrie, un lieu familier, un sentiment d’appartenance ou de bien-être. Des éléments qui rassurent, en somme.

Pourquoi choisit-on de porter une marque de vêtements plutôt qu’une autre ? Cette question, je me la pose fréquemment. Je pense qu’un élément de r��ponse réside d’abord dans le vêtement intrinsèquement, sa fonctionnalité et son design. Vient ensuite l’histoire de la marque concernée. Lorsque j’ai parlé du sentiment d’Einfühlung, il était clair que ma quête d’un sentiment d’appartenance vestimentaire prenait racine.

La marque allemande Heimat prend le pari de transposer ce sentiment dans ses vêtements en maille d’inspiration marine. Chaussettes, écharpes mais surtout pulls, voici leur mythique « U-boat » col roulé couleur vert sapin.

Décryptage.

The German word Heimat is one of those words that loses it's real meaning once translated. Even in German it is difficult to put its meaning into words. Heimat evokes the feeling of a homeland, a familiar place, a feeling of belonging or wellbeing in short comforting elements. Why does one chose to wear a brand of clothing rather than another? I frequently ask myself that question. I think that one element of the answer would be to first consider the garment intrinsically, its functionality and its design.

Then comes the history of the brand in question. When I wrote about the feeling of Einfuhlung in my Valstar piece, it was clear that my quest for my sense of clothing was taking root.

The German brand Heimat manages to transpose this feeling into its sailor inspired knitwear. Hats, Scarfs but especially Sweaters, here is our take on their now legendary "U Boat" Turtleneck in Forest Green.

Let’s have a closer look.

Une histoire de fils

Parfois, les mots valent mieux qu’un bon dessin. C’est pourquoi nous avons interrogé Christian Hofmann, le fondateur d’Heimat.

Comment et quand Heimat a-t-il vu le jour ?

Heimat a été créé en 2016 après une carrière de 11 ans chez Ralph Lauren où mon dernier poste était celui de directeur du merchandising Europe pour Polo et RRL.

Toute ma vie, j'ai voulu lancer ma propre marque de mode. Faire les choses comme je le souhaite et mettre mon empreinte sur un projet créatif.

Le mot Heimat est une expression allemande sans traduction. Heimat est un endroit où l'on se sent le plus à l'aise, un endroit qui évoque un sentiment d'appartenance ou de sécurité. Parfois, Heimat peut être simplement le sentiment déclenché par une odeur ou un moment de calme que vous ressentez en faisant ce que vous aimez faire. Par exemple, le sentiment qu'éprouve un surfeur lorsqu'il est dans l'océan ou un alpiniste lorsqu'il atteint le sommet. Le but de nos vêtements est de déclencher cette même sensation de Heimat. Nous voulons que les gens se sentent en sécurité dans nos vêtements et qu'ils se sentent chez eux où qu'ils aillent.

D'où tirez-vous votre inspiration ?

Nos vêtements sont universels, mais nous sommes fiers de l'héritage et du savoir-faire allemand. L'Allemagne est connue dans le monde entier pour son ingénierie de haut niveau et sa grande qualité, et c'est ce qui caractérise les produits Heimat.

J'aime les choses simples, faites dans un but précis et dépourvues de toute caractéristique inutile. C'est pourquoi beaucoup d'inspirations proviennent des vêtements de travail traditionnels ou des vêtements militaires.

Mes principales inspirations sont les sports en plein air ou le surf, la randonnée ou simplement la moto.

Que trouve-t-on dans un vêtement en tricot que l'on ne trouve pas ailleurs ?

Nous utilisons la meilleure laine, ce qui se répercute sur la qualité de nos produits. Vous pouvez porter nos pulls ou nos bonnets pendant des années et la laine ne bouloche pas et ne se troue pas, ce qui est un avantage par rapport aux autres matériaux utilisés traditionnellement.

La coupe est adaptée au tricot lourd. Elle est bien ajustée au corps lorsque vous la mettez pour la première fois, mais après quelques ports, elle s'assouplit et s'adapte parfaitement à la forme de votre corps, comme un jeans tout frais.

Regardez les détails de finition parfaits de nos vêtements, les poignets, l'ourlet ou la couronne de nos bonnets, qui garantie qu'ils ne collent pas à votre tête.

Grâce à notre chaîne d'approvisionnement, nous sommes une entreprise très durable. Le peu d'empreinte carbone que nous créons est compensé par des projets de CO2 au Brésil et en Afrique. Nous sommes une petite équipe et nos fournisseurs et clients B2B sont des partenaires/amis, pas seulement des clients, s'ils font bien, nous faisons bien. Nous voulons nous amuser et rester fidèles à nous-mêmes.

Quelle est la prochaine étape pour Heimat ?

Tout récemment, nous avons ajouté de nouvelles chaussettes (« Die Wandersocke ») faites de la même laine vierge que nos pulls. Nous avons quelques nouveaux articles en préparation et nous avons travaillé sur des mérinos de qualité fantastique qui complèteront vraiment notre assortiment. Nous ne voulons pas continuer à ajouter des catégories, sauf si nous pensons que cela convient à la marque et est conforme à notre philosophie.

Merci Christian !

A story about threads

Sometimes words are better than a well-drawn picture. This is why we interviewed Christian Hofmann, the founder of Heimat.

How and when did Heimat come to exist?

Heimat was started in 2016 after an 11-year career at Ralph Lauren where my last position held was Director of Merchandising Europe for Polo and RRL.

My whole life I wanted to start my own fashion brand. Do things the way I want them to be done and put my stamp on a creative project.

The Word Heimat is a German phrase with no translation. Heimat is a place where you feel the most comfortable, a place that evokes a sense of belonging or security. Sometimes Heimat can be just the feeling that's triggered by a smell or moment of calm you get whilst you do what you love doing. For example, the feeling a surfer has when he in the ocean or a mountaineer when he reaches the peak. The aim of our clothes is to trigger that same Heimat feeling. We want people to feel safe and secure in our garments and feel at home wherever they might be going.

Where do you draw your inspiration from?

Our clothes are universal but we are proud of the German heritage and craftmanship. Germany is known for high-level engineering and great quality all over the world and that’s what Heimat products are about.

I love things that are simple and made for a purpose and are stripped of any unnecessary design features. Hence why a lot of inspirations come from traditional workwear or military garments.

My main inspirations are the outdoors and lifestyle sports like surfing, hiking, or just riding your motorbike but in the end anything

What do you find in a knitwear garment you don't find elsewhere?

We use the best wool which pays back in the quality of our products. You can wear our sweaters or hats for years and the wool will not pill or rip, which is an advantage against other traditionally used materials.

The fit is tailored to the heavy knitting. It will fit tight to the body when you first put it on but after a couple of wear's it softens up and perfectly adjusts to your body shape, similar to a fresh pair of jeans.

Have a look at the perfect finishing details of our garments, the cuffs, hem, or the crown of our hats, which ensures it does not stick up on your head.

Due to our supply chain we are a very sustainable business. The little carbon footprint we create is off set with CO2 projects in Brazil and Africa. We are a small team and our suppliers and B2B clients are partners/friends not just customers, if they do well we do well. We want to have fun and feel positive about what we are doing.

What is the next step for Heimat ?

Just recently we added some beautiful new socks (Die Wandersocke) made of the same virgin wool as our Sweaters. We have some great new items in the pipeline and we’ve worked on some fantastic quality merino which really will complement our assortment. We don't want to keep adding categories unless we feel it is right for the brand and is in line with our ethos.

Thanks Christian!

Un col roulé pour palier le froid mais pas l’allure

Chaque hiver, je pars à la recherche du pull parfait. Chaque hiver, le constat est le même : il n’existe de pull parfait que pour une situation donnée. J’ai découvert Heimat il y a un an, au détour d’une publication Instagram de Beige Habilleur. Je n’avais jamais vraiment vu ou touché un pull tricoté de cette manière* aussi serré et rugueux.

Le col roulé n’est pas pour tout le monde. Ou plutôt, il y a un col roulé pour tous les cous. Prenons celui d’Heimat : il est monté à la main, se roule et se déroule efficacement à la hauteur souhaitée. S’il fait trop froid : déroulage. S’il fait plus chaud : roulage. Même constat pour les poignets. Ce côté versatile m’a tout de suite plu.

Le pull est fabriqué en Allemagne, les manches et le col sont remaillés à la main. Composé de laine vierge à 100%, le pull pèse son poids, c’est une grosse maille. Il convient toutefois de prendre sa taille habituelle, sachant que le tricot se détendra au fil des ports successifs. Un pull qui vit !

Un col roulé qui me fait – à juste titre – penser aux submariners de l’armée américaine. La force d’Heimat est de proposer un classique du vestiaire masculin tout en adaptant le fit et en proposant différentes couleurs. Ce modèle est disponible en bleu, jaune, écru, noir ou orange.

Ce vert sapin prend magnifiquement la lumière et illumine une tenue. Un pull que j’ai pu tester en ville comme à la montagne et qui s’intègre parfaitement dans ces deux habitats.

Nous vous conseillons de porter ce pull avec des chukka boots en chromexcel comme ici – modèle de Crown Northampton, review à venir – un jeans selvedge Superstitch (lire notre article ici), et un pardessus polyvalent réversible comme celui proposé par L’Impermeabile disponible chez The Coolest Man You Know (lire notre article ici).

Un grand classique

Finalement, Heimat propose un grand classique du vestiaire masculin. Robuste et simple à la fois, le « U-boat » col roulé me durera certainement une vie et me fera sentir à la maison à chaque enfilage.

*point de tricot en côtes perlées

A turtleneck to cope with cold weather and remain stylish

Every winter, I go in search of the perfect sweater. Every winter, the I come to the same conclusion: there is a perfect sweater only for a given situation. I discovered Heimat a year ago, through an Instagram post by Beige Habilleur. I had never really seen or touched a turtleneck knitted this intricate way*, tight and rugged.

The turtleneck – or rollneck for our fellow English readers – is not for everyone. Or rather, there's a turtleneck for every neck. Take Heimat's: it is hand finished, rolls up and unrolls efficiently to the desired height. If it is too cold: unroll it. If it is warmer: roll it up. Same goes for the cuffs. I was conquered by this versatility right away.

The sweater is made in Germany. The sleeves and collar are attached by hand. Made of 100% virgin wool, the sweater is heavy. Nevertheless, it is advisable for you to choose your usual size, knowing the knitting will loosen a bit and make for a perfect fit along wears. A sweater that lives!

A turtleneck that makes me – fittingly – think of the submariners worn by American GIs. Heimat's strength is to offer a classic men's wardrobe while adapting the fit and offering different colors. This model is available in blue, yellow, ecru, black or orange.

This forest green beautifully illuminates an outfit. A sweater that I have been able to wear in the city as well as in the countryside, fitting perfectly in both habitats.

We recommend wearing this sweater with chromexcel chukka boots, fitted here – a Crown Northampton model, review coming soon – a selvedge pair of jeans from Superstitch and a reversible versatile overcoat like the one offered by L'Impermeabile and available at The Coolest Man You Know.

A great classic

Eventually, Heimat offers a wardrobe staple every man should own. One every man should own and care for. Robust and simple at the same time, the Heimat U-boat turtleneck will certainly last me a lifetime and make me feel at home every time I wear it.

*mostly with half cardigan stitch, in french we call it “côtes perlées”

[hannahjohnsonfmp2]

David Frutos Egea

David is more known for winning in the fungi and plant category of the 2019 Nature Photographer of the year awards. All of the photographs below are from different photo series that he has created of nature. I like his range of different pieces, he constantly finds new ways to capture nature at its most raw form. I think it’s amazing that he’s able to capture nature in so many different ways and in no way is one series like the other and to be able to constantly be inspired by the same subject matter and want to find new ways to capture its beauty is fascinating. In most of his nature as well as his fine art photography he uses a long exposure to create the images. 

‘The Fall Is Coming’

I really love images like this to me there is a sense of serene relaxation ans calmness. The way the trees look in this image create a portal effect making it seem like it goes to another world which instills hope in the viewer and I really want to see if I can recreate this in my nature series. Due to the worm’s eye view the trees seem larger than life and because of the angle they seem to bend over almost looking back down at you as if they were as curious of you as you are of them.

‘The Fairie’s World V’

The first thing that captures my eye in this image is the bright orange and green leaves and moss covering the floor, these colours are complementary and work together really well. The second thing I notice are the trees, to me they look like hands reaching out from the ground into the fog continuously growing in search of something. Yet we are not to know what they’re looking for by the title it may seem as if the fairies are there to help protect and grow these hands as they move towards their goal. However again this is just my interpretation of the image, the photographer may have a totally different perspective.

‘When The Autumn is Coming’

One of the reasons I like this image is it’s shot from a low angle as if we are sitting in this field and this tree is all we can see in the current circumstances. The fog adds to the ambience and the colour scheme of purples and pinks makes us think that this is early morning. With these things in mind I think the image has a sense of calm curiosity and an acceptance of freedom gained by being out here in the nothingness. 

[possibly-meaningless]

Dailies - France

19.06.19

I feel myself travelled through by something flammable, down the mouth, but not ignited. I remember knowing that I was drilling my eyes next to her plate, and hearing only what I allowed myself to hear. “The desire to be needed?” I did the dishes like a murderer washes their hands, put up the laundry like a sociopath smiles. In the morning, the sky is gray and I cannot read.  

20.06.19

An especially specific thing to do with a three year interval, participate in a study. I’m healthy enough that hospitals are a fascination. I ask about the make of the machines, and what work in the unit is like, about the roof gardens and the validity of measuring BMI. When I wrote about being picked up from a hospital by Akira Touya, I did not know how to say it. Now I am different than fourteen, and could tell you how these rooms are made, and look up who might be allowed to pick me up at all. 

It was misty too that freshman year, I remember it more like myself than anything else from that time. Funny that, once again and exactly, I ordered the salmon, and noticed the drum flourish of the MRI scan, turned at the incongruous smell of the hallway cafeteria. I suppose this just means that I am still myself, in a way separate from the certainties I have and how I feel, that my eyes and senses are still the same as those that worried on the dirty floors of our Bingham suite. Or at least that they are enough like all human eyes that not much would have changed anyway. 

Le musée par contre, c’est différent. On peut y aller pour pleurer. Je rejoins Millet sous le ciel et je déborde d’amour, mais j'oublierai les noms des impressionnistes, comme d’habitude.

21.06.19

I am preparing myself to go home, weighing the luggage of my person. I am practicing retorts to catcalls in my own language. I will leave the house on Sundays. I have stopped paying attention to New Haven. There is a transitory phase. 

22.06.19

Retourner est comme une obligation. J’échange mes inventions du livre comme une exercise. Thumb the blue house of New Haven between the cracks of my phone. Je sens le pli de l’inquiétude dans mon sourcil, et je sais que ma prose en anglais est longue comme du français, l’as toujours été. Je retourne vers les femmes-mères de ma vie, les femmes-famille qui se marient, et laisse derrière moi les ébauches de mes femmes-amour.

23.06.19

I wonder how long I will last being happy to be home. With some grit, until the end. Right now, I have no reason to doubt it. Our candles match the pool chairs, the avocado the grapefruit salad, the water the sky. Children on the plane ask a million good questions, my mother reminisces that that is exactly how I was, I hope that is how I have remained. I look at my cat and think no wonder the Egyptians worshipped you, perfect thing, little piece of god, scarab-sniffer. I’m glad to be back.

24.06.19

Ça commence bien avec Marie. Maman me regarde dans mon costume masculin depuis le fauteuil et ne sourit pas. Elle veut bien, je fais ce que je veux, mais elle ne sourit pas. Marie me demande si je suis “entièrement lesbienne.”

25.06.19

Getting home and dropping into the pool is the kind of thing maharaja’s son does. I take the long way home. Eating fruit here is so much better. I forget my mosquito bites. The women on the metro are, god. Something about it. I smell the air deeply. I think how I would hold Eda’s face if she were here sitting on the banquette next to me, I grip the head of my hat, the woman’s bag on her lap looks like a stomach, I talk about Adrian’s sectioned jaw, Marie’s friend is studying to be a nurse, bonne maman is the eldest child who did not run away she said of earrings “there are things you have to get used to. I got used to my husband, thank God.” 

26.06.19

The weather is an occasion for us all to wear sweat. Some things get especially sticky, like the kitchen table, and my computer charger. Everyday utilities gain the properties of an oven. We migrate out of our beds and into the ground for the night. I feel I deserve to live only in the morning, when the air is cool and clear like the first bite from a fruit. 

27.06.19

Une brise clémente détend le cimetière du Père Lachaise. Comme les corbeaux je pends mon cou le bec ouvert, et je me crois intime avec les morts. Je verse la larme d’une femme dont le mari et la fille sont morts il y a cent cinquante ans. Les sépulcres sont C.A.P. Faire corps avec l’histoire plutôt que le présent est quelque chose que je dois aux BDs en partie. Adèle Blanc Sec, Corto le faisaient, et leurs auteurs... un cimetière n’est jamais une mauvaise idée, �� New Haven non plus, certains coins se recoupent avec celui de la Côte-Saint-André, ca se sent à leur odeur. Un vent clément détend le cimetière du Père Lachaise.

28.06.19

Paris drunk is not the same as New York drunk is not the same as Paris drunk is not the same as New Haven drunk. New Haven drunk has the weight of all my questions in it: whose weight do I want on mine, what kind of love will I accept? Paris drunk has all my answers: not yours, not yours. Even if you are very polite, and you scout out mines on a ship of 26 for the government « secret defense » you are getting off here and I am not giving you my Facebook contact. 

29.06.19

Grotte musée, j’en fais l’usage convenu, les yeux humainement levées dans la pénombre, je somnole dans l’abri indéniable. Et en le pensant je m’écorche sur les mots d’hier, peur très peur de l’arrogance. But what of it? If I were a man, I would have no qualms in seeing myself like Picasso saw himself, megalithic, and right, the figure-man in his cave. 

Une nostalgie infinie pour la main sur le bois, sur l’os, les salles de cinéma où on s’enfouit, la poussière et le sable, le geste comme l’insecte, l’artiste qui pense, et comme tout au final se ressemble un peu, toujours.

30.06.19

Punition pour ne pas avoir écrit: un rêve qui me détruit. 

01.07.19

Compliqué de décrire ce que c’est de parler à quelqu’un derrière un clavier. Grey et moi parlons dans un monde baignée de leur odeur orange, un soleil américain, le ton de la voix surgit des détails du textes, et du choix des mots. Je ris tout haut, oui je vous jure. Et avec Claire c’est l’argent, le violet, c’est une voix qui est comme grave même si je la sais aiguë. 

Je peins n’importe comment, mais je peins.

02.07.19

Si je rate, j’écrirai 

03.07.19

The idea I have of the metro north when I am away from it is just of a yellow line zipping down a glittering sea. Not much of that is true to what you see (red seats and yellow floors, complications regarding what you are eating or will eat, and who will take you where and how) but of the experience that is it: I am zipping down on an eyeless snake, and the light is always golden. 

04.07.19

I haven’t found a way to describe this sky that isn’t electric blue. The air from the window feels like a classroom fan blowing on just some of the leg, someone across the street it seems is eating at a table alone, in an apartment being painted auburn, but I cannot see clearly through the balcony. I keep getting these feelings, dredged up like photographs of a childhood moment, and that way of seeing the world seems so much less complacent than how I currently see it. Not that I am unhappy now, or inattentive, but perhaps feeling for children is more, stronger, stringent and my mind has mellowed to a hum. Feel strongly, think right. Feel strongly. 

05.07.19

You got up too late again. You eat like you’re choking and there’s something missing from your movements but licking the spoon of jam clean is the same as many times before bitter on exactly the same parts of your tongue, and reminds you what awakeness can be.

At the section of light before the airplane door all the colors are bouncing out: the raspberry pink of a woman’s dress, the orange chitin of the plane, the misalignment of the pilot’s teeth. Baldwin’s words are still in my head, categoric.

We pass by clouds that look sculpted by a frantic hand which still had in its terrorized tendons, all of herds crossing a path, broccoli and cloaked monks, a monstrous overgrowth of cotton on the stem, the photo-perfect disposition in ranges of mountains as if for a family photo, all of these, behemoths in flight, animals the size of maps, on which you find your way from the relief, shielding your eyes, and in this, smaller yet, I think of Claire’s Leviathans coming often to this playground, so tiny that they would need to shine like pin-prick mirrors to be seen at all. 

06.07.19

Il fait gris ce matin. Poppy doit être en train de flipper. Je rythme des sabots au pas est quelque chose auquel on n’est plus habitué. Si je voulais l’écrire il faudrait le décrire plutôt que d’avoir confiance de le trouver dans un esprit ka-pok ka-pok ka-pok. On s’extirpe d’une région sonore à l’autre, oiseaux, grillons, cloche d’église. Je partage le hamac avec deux mouches et au final je vais quand même choper un coup de soleil.

Moment cinématique de la soirée: je m’éloigne de la fête pour regarder l’horizon violet hors du terrain de lumière. Le DJ, fils du propriétaire, pas clairement fille ou garçon au premier coup d’œil, est assis et nous regarde comme le personnage principal fumant, le misanthrope magnifique. 

La grande tente a attrapé un frelon. Tout le long du repas on le trouve toujours là, changée à peine de coin. J’y vois un mauvais augure, chiante que je suis.

07.07.19

Fantasy maps tend to be like bowls: a valley of the known hugged into certainty by mountains. I was seated, slouched and film-able, in monoliths 

The gravel driveway, too, was a circle of light. Darkness waited at the gate, knowing itself to be charming, and did not speak to me. 

The fact I was well dressed matters. All that femininity can be, staring like only jaded men who know they are of adventure’s mettle, out the lip of this great shivering bowl. 

08.07.19

Mon impression de la Poyat est comme rayée. Je sens les choses une fois (l’eau de la piscine qui monte au nez, le hall de la maison en odeur de béton et de carrelage, les pages de livres pour enfants qui s’affinent et jaunissent comme la peau d’un rat âgé) puis, plus rien. La musique de mon telephone est une petite voix microscopique sur ma couverture. Les personnes âgées parlent de la maladie comme de plans de vacance. Mes cheveux sont rêches, je ferme les yeux et je vois une forêt noire aux troncs nus et propres. 

09.07.19

I’d like to think all of us do this, go up to the attic to sit on the side of the bed and look at Stephane, photo paper stare phasing through our own which traces smile-crinkled eyes and heavy eyebrows, a fringe which would certainly have disappeared by now. I wonder if that is what cuts through my mother’s mind: what he would have looked like now, where he would hang in the house instead of like a funeral mask on a wall of the attic, what it would have looked like to see his face next to ours rather than in them. 

10.07.19

La lune est à Demi dans le ciel poudré, je trimballe avec moi une boîte chantante, le chat est là, mais je me teins les mains comme un ancêtre avec des baies mauves. Le ciel n’as jamais été le nôtre, nous n’avons fait que grouiller dessous, heurtés toujours par les mêmes choses: l’eau, l’odeur de viande cuite, la capacité à peindre nos corps, à se sentir être là. On s’entoure de nos créations dans un jardin en perpétuelle construction, mais le ciel n’as jamais été le nôtre. 

11.07.19

Le soleil me cuit lentement, et miroite à grandes volées sur la plaine. La peau rougit comme une question posée, répond du doigt pressé comme un photon sur la rétine. 

12.07.19

Media is the perfect litmus test for maturity. I watched Breaking Bad having honestly no idea how to follow, what meant what, what was real and what was fanciful, how adults act in hospitals, at work, at home... now I’m an inside interpreter, more or less, I’m keeping track of the script. It’s funny to see Adrien make these assessments, I have no way to tell if they correlate to understanding. It’s like when we trap a wasp under a glass and he asks “do you think it knows it’s under glass?” and I tell him there’s no real way for us to know: our best bets would either be observations of its anatomical function, or tested behavioral response, but the proof that it can conceptualize as we do, that we will never have. 

13.07.19

There’s a cat in heat outside. I have my period. I told my grandmother that no one I was sleeping with had the ability to make me pregnant. I say to Max and Adrian “that’s why it’s easy to substitute the idea of entropy for the idea of death, and life for what goes against entropy.” I wear the bathing suit that hides my body the most. I wear a white dress and a pad. I tell them “wait, I’m going to change my mood.” I don’t want to fold napkins with you old women. I want to write about religion and autonomy and women who are in love and make the case for complexity and the risk in having a conscious mind. I’m wrong in thinking these activities preclude one another. I try to think through clamorous music. I want to hit myself to accompany the fact that I cannot be a student of every subject. I want to stay up and write. I will likely fall asleep.

14.07.19

Il n’y a que le quatorze juillet où l’on se surprend à être dehors en robe d’été alors qu’il a commencé à faire réellement frais. Le vent est aussi inutile que les foulards que l’on se pose sur les jambes. Le chat passe, oui gris. Et le feu d’artifice on l’a déjà vu. Ce qu’on remarque peu c’est le rouge attrapé par le ventre du nuage, et la lune qui nous regarde, la nuit qui fuit volontiers à nos yeux tous les soirs, et nous qui si rarement nous éloignons de nos propres lumières.

15.07.19

On s'arrête au long de la ligne, une excroissance routière où les camionneurs passent leurs vies. Petit royaume tout de même, j’y trouve l’abandonné (un terrain de basket), l’explorable (échelle de la station service), l’histoire (coquilles d'oeufs durs, rib blanchi) et une colline d’où tout voir. Les champs, comme toute surface vue de si près, restent infinis. Ils sont disponibles pour s’y perdre, même si ça ne se fait plus beaucoup. Et moi, mon humeur j’en veux bien: je chante comme jamais. 

16.07.19

I refuse to tear the weeds out of fear they might be saplings. The stem is too tender not to feel like murder. So it is perhaps with my crying teenage self, who I let possess me, out of fear she had not lived as she deserves. 

17.07.19

Lever les yeux dans le métro pour voir les yeux d’un acteur se baisser. Toucher pleinement l’arme flic à Opera. Cette ville que je croyais me scruter à présent c’est moi qui la tourne, mes yeux sur la foule qui danse, et moi dedans. C’est avec Jack que j’y danse, c’est mon visage qui s’ouvre sur la porte de la pharmacie. J’ai la dépose d’un gamin et du lévrier sur la scène, le regard qui ne se rompt pas. Les miroirs, j’y suis, je porte un costume d’esprit. La ville, c’est moi qui l’aime. Je suis acteur, j’ai vue sur la scène. 

18.07.19

It’s late, and I’m making use of a moment of outsider eyes I’m being granted by rereading my own writing, my site’s curation. I test my mouth, considered cutting into my tongue to speak more slowly, comment on deep voices, try on a beard. I lean into the mirror and try “I’m gonna fucking kill you.” I draw looks on and off my face. I wonder if I will ever be depressed again (which would mean I have learned nothing). I consider feelings had weeks ago, picking them up and examining them. I dreaded going back, now I dread going home. I wonder if I can be depressed again. I can do things like love Jesse, although not quite the same. I suppose it’s up to me.

19.07.19

The man in Saint Eustache I suppose he is praying, knee-leaning, alone-eveninged, humbly day-rumpled. He is as serious, as husky as the nave-drawn lights, gold folding on skinny shadow. He sighs, or at least it is as if he does. He has as much to say as the church’s Igor, the Latin mass, but as incense he says none of it. 

When I pray, because I do pray in holy-water-sampling, pretty-moved, starwards-gazed and history-guessing, it is not for the lovely waitress and the kir, not for my mother counting change, my grandmother and her therapist, the piss and cracker on the street, the fire set to oil or the motorcycle-kicking kid, the woman stroller-helped over over the fence. It is for nothing if my own wonderment, if for the light itself.

20.07.19

The day I leave the weather is unbearably pleasant. The wind is the kind you personify on the mosaics of a villa-home, passing low to bless the living. You are the kind of hand awoken by a clean damp cloth. And the day I go home, the shower-fawn is still there yes, her color has changed with the towel behind the tile. Storm coming like an undertow. 

21.07.19

The more I think of it, I haven’t landed in America, idea of itself as a loud city and wide upset nature, America thing, but home, my home in a different kind of air to breathe. I’ve returned to the place I named myself, the place that saw me different, the beast I saw insane across the valley and touched of my own knowledge-less hand. America has kept a piece of me in it, more than the other way around, more perhaps than good old continent. 

Through the windows of the Whitney the world itself is diegetic. Circle ‘round or stare through, the wind is installed for now, I placed this tarp just here, ordered the leaves and printed the sky. Can you tell what it is I wanted to make? What the making of it was like? Take care how you look at it, or you’ll be missing out. 

I want to be with you, lullaby-flat, baby-funny, rub-the-face. There’s no shame, no shame at all, when tenderness is in the game— if the note is soft and so is your skin, why in the world should it matter what we listen to, what we look like? We’re children, monkeys, old ladies with Alzheimer all at once, we paw and glance and try the world in our hand— hold me won’t you? It just seems it’d make sense.  

22.07.19

Everyone in my part of the train is sleeping. The Paleocene outdoors barely watches us go. A strange world is better than one I should get. Storms are uncertainty I’ve come to adore. I’ll go get the mattress, I’ll call up a friend, eat something untimely from the fridge or the table. We are hacking through tropics up to alien machines, weirder and weird but delightful.