Stones

The Daily Shoot:

Mike Clark

Photographs:

Comments:

Jabiz Raisdana

James Duncan Davidson

Jabiz Raisdana

Students of Zac Chase

Bryan (?)

Second recording:

Prezi:

Song lyrics, first recording:

Third recording:

Who is behind all this?

Not Sure...

Luna Frank-Fischer

A flower. It is said that white flowers represent purity, innocence. A white flower is truly a beautiful sight. While young, it is easy to find beauty in such simple things as a flower, the flowing of a river, a bird chirping on the branch of a tree, or the way the leaves change color in the fall. These are the years in which life is beautiful. Each and every day is a miracle. A small person in a large world filled with intrigue and wonder. But, like the life of a flower, this must all come to an end.

Nature dictates that man ages and grows old. It does not dictate how one comes to view this once-miraculous splendor. In this world, with age comes responsibility. Man is trained to be logical and dependable. The magic ceases to exist. The beauty fades too. And what of childhood innocence? Like the life of a flower, this must all come to an end. Wonder is replaced with cynicism. Time for fun and games is replaced with responsibility and practicality. Life is no longer magical; science explains the phenomena and wonder in the world, and the once-wild imagination is tamed and vanishes.

But man is not a hive mind. Members of the human race can refuse to conform. Perhaps life is not grim and dark. Perhaps the wonder and beauty still exists. Perhaps this flower is something that will never die. The world refuses such people though. In a world filled with jaded cynicism and nihilism, those who find beauty in the simpler things of life are viewed as strange, unusual. But even still, in a world of dark, black emotions and views – like black stones, perhaps that one white flower will bloom. But in time, that will also cease to be.

Flower.

Lovely and lively on the branch.

Abandon and forgotten on the ground.

Rocks.

Abandon and forgotten on the ground.

Love and hold the flower.

White flower, darkened rocks.

Flower came to rock,

As it has come its dead end.

White flower, darkened rocks.

Rocks held flower,

As it has earned a gift from up high.

The lives of rocks and flower,

Tell the story of the world.

Through their hidden vocal power.

She's lost and there is nothing anyone can do

Heart broke

Caught in hate smoke

In love's fire

Passion and lust fueled their every desire

But what are they now…?

Nothing because there was no foundation

A roof with no building to sit on

The relationship is over

She has fallen.

But she's a diamond in the ruff..

She is down not out

She will fight until the very end

She will shine through the pain

And smile through the depression.

She will tell everyone she feels nothing

When in all actuality she feels nothingness.

If she feels nothing it's because she is num

And her relationship with pain is mutual..

The darkness around her shall not cast any fouled marks

For she is the sun..

She will not whither away..

Even on a bed of pebbles...

Life is mistaken

Things are left out in order to

deny and preserve

As the rocks fill me with joy, my heart it consumes.

The lies and loneliness that i've created for myself.

That's why I am all alone, left behind, gone,

In my weakest level, i manifest myself to hate

Lavished with plain white memories

My yellow desire, filled with goals and gates

I know that I am different

But i will not change,

The color of my skin or the hatred in my heart

I know this life is difficult,

but a gonner is not what i desire.

Once time passes by, maybe one day i will be alive.

Sometimes I wonder how many stones there are in the world. When I was a child, I tried to count. I started in the driveway of my grandparent's house. They'd paid someone a lot of money to come and cover it with smooth pebbles and didn't like it when I disrupted the uniform spread by piling up the ones I'd already counted in one corner. But she was my grandmother and he was my grandfather so they had to commission my mother to stick her head out the window and shout, Sophie, stop moving the pebbles and get your butt inside! And so I would frown angrily, kick my pile until it blended in to the rest of the driveway, and stomp into the house, punishing my mother by storming loudly past her and up to my grandparents' room and turning on the TV. I don't watch television much anymore but whenever I do I can feel on my hands the dusty residue from carrying fistfuls of quarter-sized stones.

Beautiful,

colorful,

full of life.

It's journey starts at the seed,

grows until its moment of full life,

blooming,

spreading beauty to all around it.

Swaying in the wind,

attracting bees and butterflies.

And then its life ends

with it lifeless on the ground.

No memory left but the small seeds it left behind.

I have walked this unknown path for what seems likes days

unknown of what lies ahead of me but still unsure of what has been left behind me

This journey that I am on is strenuous

I have gotten to the end of my road

but something still beckons me forward

something unseen by my eyes but felt by my soul

something that has gotten me this far and now will not relinquish it's hold upon me

The gravel has worn down my shoes but I still move forward

now it becomes a sense of urgency

to find out what lies on the other side of the road...

just for me

The flower that lays amongst us

Oh how much we appreciate your life

You've brought us color

You've brought us life !

Oh Flower! we much appreciate you

You're touch is so soft

You're petals full of hue

We're your friends

Dont leave us now

Your love is much needed

Through the gloomy clouds

Oh Flower! You're so beautiful

Praises to you

The things that we do, the things that make us who we are, and the things that make us stand out most are the most important things in the world. A myriad number of problems are faced everyday and we continuously build off of each and every conflict we face. When we achieve this we become beautiful in the world. We become recognized for our hardships, our efforts, and out passion. Everlasting throughout the world, we are remember by those we inspired and continue to inspire. All things come to a end. And so does beauty. Our efforts, our dreams, our work, our endless imagination, and our on going imprints on the world, all eventually fade. Like the flower, we who make imprints on the world are recognized. Like stones, some are simply recognized as part of the whole crowd, not having a distinguishing feature. There are too many stones in our world. It is time for all of us to become the flower that we so ever dreamed of being. Even though one day we will fall from the stem of life, our features, our imprints on the world, our everlasting dreams, and all that we have done, will not be forgotten. This is the dream of life on Earth... to live to the fullest making the hugest differences and impacts on the world possible and then dying... hoping to be remembered and recognized throughout the world.

This picture represents so much in such a basic still image. In a picture I see the true meaning of a photo is the title, and I think that you found the right one for it. With this, going into deep thought, imagine yourself from a different perspective, for example an ant, this one path close to the grown creates another world for the viewer and inspecting every detail to create that new world though the lens of a camera. Good lighting, great quality, and over all good job!

Lonely I lay flat

Among dull gray stones

I want to go home

The oranges cringed back in to the bottom bowl. Each one trying to get to the bottom of the pile, away from the hand. They watched as one by one their comrades were swept away to the juicer. Soon the hand would come for every one of them no matter where they are in the pile...

When I was a girl

Being a fairy was my dream

I was always told I could be what I wanna be

So why is life so difficult being human?

I have yet to be a fairy

Where are my wings?

If I was a fairy I probably would be so beautiful

I wonder what it feels like to be beautiful…

I would be able to fly

Grant peoples wishes

Make people happy

I wonder what it feels like to be happy

…a happy fairy

I listen to the chords play as I dance along alone. I can almost imagine the other dancers joining my loneliness in synchronization. I want to show the world what I can do, I want to shine, I want to hear them clapping for me. Once they see how well I do, they'll be sorry for every time I was yelled at for twirling on tabletops or hopping across the street jumping as if I were a ballerina. If only I wasn't confined to this house, these people, and these things, I would show the world what I'm made of.

A single note is played and a unit of the millions begin to inch closer,hoping to catch the second.This is the power of music and the beauty of your photo.Thank you for giving he a complex new angle to look at.

I love this photo. The texture of the picture varies in many different way, I also get a lot of smells from this picture. The sidewalk reminds me of the smell of the air after it has rained in the summer and the air is humid and still. But then when I look over to the ground I get the smell of the summer air before it rains. Both smells make my body feel at ease, and they're very peaceful. When I think of these smells I often think of laying in the grass and letting the wind hit my face and my hair blowing back on the grass waiting for the rain to start. Or I think of sitting in the house and looking out of the window while it hits the cars and rolls off of my window fogging it up. I'm not a fan of the rain however these feelings that I get before and after a storm are when I am the happiest so to look at a photo and get the rush of all of those feelings speaks volumes to me. I think to others this is just a sidewalk but to me it's a memory, a feeling, and a story. This is a wonderful picture Great Job!

This path left me wondering...

left me thinking and waiting,

for you see when you walked down that path not to long ago you created a monster

you created something never seen before.

My life was changed every step you took, the further you went.

Every pebble i heard and every interaction with sole and cement you made...

my heart shrunk three times.

Since my heart is the size of my fist

by the time you got to the corner it practically...

evaporated...

vanished...

it was gone

You created a monster

Not knowing when you would come back...

You created a monster

Stopping on everything that came my way...

You!

shoving passed those that were in my way and not caring...

Created!

demolishing the thought of you ever returning

A!

but then that silent night laying in bed i heard something...

I heard that faint sound of sole and cement

and sole and pebbles...

Only getting closer I turned on the light...

looking out the window I saw...

And to make sure I wasn't dreaming I pinched myself...

as the nails dug into my skin and that pinch finally felt real

my heart grew three sizes that day...

you reached the door...

And you were the only one that could defeat this monster!

In the background, I hear a guitar playing. An acoustic one. Flipping through photos on Flickr, I come across this. Instantly this photo comes into my view. For this instrument to make a beautiful sound, it must be played in a gentle fashion, to produce a noise of repetition and this photo accurately expresses that repetition.

Beautiful, This picture was named symbiotic I think for a reason. To me it shows a way of life give back to life. The flower is a form of life a wonderful part of nature that gives back to life, another life as in the insect ( I can't identify) . A part of life that is so nice and painless but is still so meaningful. From the radiant color of water purple with the hits of green and yellow. To the flower feeding the helpless insect living out his days happy.

This picture reminds me of when my family is at a cook out in the summer, mind you this a African American family. Watermelons are one of our families favorite fruit. There's a Stereotype out that states that ALL African Americans love Water melons its true. Thanks for the picture. You did a fantastic job on the focus point, I can see which part of each slice is sweet and ripped. AMAZING!

Picture Perfect

Planetary combustion

That's how it was…

Our lips clashed hearts raced

Let us connect one more time.

If never again

Right now

In this moment.

Be mine

And I shall be yours

Let the walls fall around us

And have the earth non existent.

Let us be the balance between heaven and hell

Because what is Love but good and bad?

Is what we doing right

Cause

To hell with all the wrongs

Nothing ever goes our way..

Ssshh

60 seconds is all I ask for

One minute may not seem long but

Millions can die in that time after a nuclear explosion.

It may sound strange but that's what we are

The breaking of atoms

Just like the breaking of our hearts..

But lets fix it all for this one minute.

Close your eyes and count..

Choosing between clashing vibrancies, attention is reroute; from the color of the surrounding furnished environment, approaching an absolute losing of concentration; upon this a centrifugal directed gaze of the youthful figure collapses inward and quickly. An almost creeping from up above, a mimic of pseudo acoustics of the eerie floor board above, a prompted position of patience as if in a crouching lure, beckoning for vivid imaging of the mind to be well received by the audience. "Filled with movement today," is well fitting of the character snagged -- entrancing a question of her very characteristics. Who is this little monkey, lost to the inward rainfall of focus, standing in the geometric division of jungle floor?

When i see this picture i think of the many third world countries in the world that are laboring.

Third world countries in Africa, South America, China, India ect. who make less then a dollar a day working in these clothing industry. Sometimes it's not even adults working in those it's little girls and boys. It just makes me think sometimes about what i buy because the more of these companies you buy from the more they keep in business. But I don't want them to keep in business but if i stop buying from a lot of companies then they run out of business. If they run out of business then the people can't work and make more even if they're not making much. So it's like what do we really do? what can we do? I mean i buy from stores like AE and Old Navy but it makes you think where did these clothes come from.

The Daily Shoot

"is a simple daily routine to motivate and inspire you to practice your photography, and share your results!."

Our eyes can see a lot, do a lot and tell us a lot about the world, others and ourselves. Our eyes can deceive us and they can guide us. We can see things in our own way and we can use our eyes to fall into our dreams, hopes, and to fall in love.

We need every single one of our senses to live but we can live without them. Everyday i am thankful for having all the parts that God gave me. I am inspired by one of the coolest people i know, his name is Mike, he is blind. I look at him and the things he do and i am amazed, he does things that i cannot even do, he has no fear of doing things and he does let the fact that he is blind stop him from doing anything. He is funny and surprisingly strong :). He plays all sports and he play instruments as well. I have seen some pictures of him and his different first place medals from sports and pictures of him playing sports. He inspires me because if he can do those things and more and live life happy daily, then i know that i can do it as well, there is more things about mike that i want to discover and i want to know him more as a person and a friend. I WANT TO BE LIKE MIKE :).

Who knows?

Shifting forms of cloth,

Sweat dried blood,

Don't stain it.

A couple more pennies,

Three more than yesterday,

5,000 less than what I truly need.

Mindless chatter rings through my ears,

Who this will belong to, I don't know

Nobody ever knows.

Pass right by it,

Never really stopped to think.

Never held up the cloth and wondered,

What treatment was put into this?

Where is it from?

India, China, Africa?

A close of my eyes

And I could never imagine,

Could never truly see

The pain and effort made into my shirt.

Whether they cared, whether they didn't

Whether tears of pain were said that day,

Whether they didn't

Nobody truly knows.

Peace is something that we all need

try to get and spend our lives believing that we can

but peace is defined differently by every person.

A type of peace that defines all human kind is nothing more then prison.

this baby is the baby of the past the presnt and the future the man or women before sin the place and time when we coud do no wrong and everything is perfect its the only time where we might experience heaven on earth we are the angels to the adults

The baby that was not Noelle's blinked at her in a surprised way but did not move. Noelle leaned over the edge of the crib so that the railing pressed painfully against her ribcage, anger churning in her stomach. She wanted to inspect the thing as closely as possible without touching it, wanted to search for some imperfection, something that would tell her what the thing that pretended to be her baby really was. She recalled the baby dolls of her childhood, with plastic heads and limbs and fabric torsos, that she had pretended were her real children. Now it was the doll pretending, trying to fool her. She imagined pulling the little pink jumpsuit off this thing-that-was-not-Carrie and finding beige fabric.

Perhaps, she thought suddenly as the impostor gurgled and blinked again, this was still a real baby. Someone else’s Real Baby, complete with crying action, motherly affection sold separately.

The thing began to cry. She sneered at it, relishing the fact that unlike the rest of the impostors posing as her family, it could not tell her she was crazy, could not suggest that there had been lasting damage from the accident and she ought to go back to the hospital and talk to a neurologist. Could not run away if she approached it with a knife…

It wasn't Carrie. It had to go.

No Truth

Perfect Peace

No lies within this world

Because we already know.

Our eyes are open to the fiction,

fakes ,

facades,

fornicating in our brains to breed

A new found world that

has nothing to do with reality.

We see their reality and look into

Our normality and create a fatality

To these lies

It's time to finish them.

We all bond together because we are

Bound together by love and we cast out hate

Because we know love is stronger.

We know we can't be defeated [and]

The battle is not real because we have already won….

Of course there is no truth

I speak only in an imaginary language.

Nobody can understand because the world is filled with liars

Life loves nobody because love is unconditional

And everywhere in the world has a condition to live.

Peace is fiction

Because peace is perfect

There is no such thing as perfect

Because even perfection is a flaw in itself.

Perfect peace holds no truth.

Utter Chaos reveals all lies.

Peace,

We all need it in our lives, but can't seem to achieve that diversity and connection between us,

We try hard, we strive for that connection

That connection that builds that beautiful bond between us,

The one thing that brings us all together,

Not just as a group, but as a whole.

As one.

Why do we get so close, but never get to that level,

As though we were climbing a mountain for 47 days and 47 nights,

and falling down in the end.

We want it, we need it, lets try to achieve it.

Peace.

I feel as though, she has the life as a real person. She is loved and cherished by someone then when that person decides that they don't want to deal with her, or that they just need time, or that something or someone is more important she is forgotten. That is what happens to a lot of people in the world. People love and devote so much to one person, then whether it is suddenly or not, they just give up and move their attention and devotion to someone or something more important. It may not be fair; it may not be just, but it is a cycle. It is one of the cycles in life that happen, for no definite reason, except that they can. No matter how perfect the doll is, she will be passed along, to a younger sibling, a dumpster, or even perhaps, a small child in another country.

frozen

but not so much still

waiting

for just the right amount of will

thinking

of the perfect time to strike

melting

stone warmed by the daily light

I hoped that you would dance

your feet conveying

messages

free from doubt

alive with movement

unhindered

I hoped that you would dance

your body syncronizing

thoughts, feelings, bliss

silence

I hoped that you would dance

I cant never be hurt because I’m always in pain, I wrote

That’s when I threw the pen down as it land safely in the bind of my diary. This was it. This would be my last moment. The last piece of worthless old me, I could give to the world before I departed. I knew it would finally end this way but god why now. I thought he loved me, I thought I could make my dreams come true, I thought I was such a better friend. However, I wasn't any of that. Nevertheless, here I was my hand safely in the bin of water I place beside me on my living room floor. The box cutter held firmly in my grip. This was it. The final blow. My final goodbyes were done. My wrist submerges itself into the bin of cold water as I slowly aim my razor. He says he loves me, she said she was proud, they said they could trust me. Those were ALL lies. Therefore, I slit it with the flick of my right wrist. Not even knowing my eyes were closed. I stared at the bin now full of red. I reached for my cell phone as I dialed three numbers.

"911. What is you emergency?"

"I just killed myself. Please? Could you … please …. clean up the mess?"

I closed my phone shut and slid from my sitting spot on the floor to lying down quietly, as my inside escaped. God. Dying feels amazing. Now I can die. I can join them all. I turned slowly to the other dead bodies around me. My lover’s, my family’s, my friends’, all died. Of poison. I gave them.

"We'll all leave this place," I whispered.

"Together."

Before I slipped into a world of darkness.

Everything Disappears

Vanishes into another dimension

There is no time or space

no more mirrors, no more poles

just her and the music

and so she danced

Every problem diluted

every worry laid down

Every nightmare undone

Every mystery unraveled

Every mistake forgiven

and so she danced

With her ragged shirt

her stocking with a hole on the knee

her worn-out socks

she danced

laid out her heart

let go of the world she had been supporting on her back

she let lose

and so she danced

Everything is gone

every worry vanished

and so she danced

memories lost, and found again

time catching up with her

decisions hovering in her head

and so she danced

and so she danced

honest and pure

and so she danced

feet up

toes pointed

back straight

keep frame

arms in line

and so she danced

no longer a child

still not a woman

caught in the middle of time

and so she danced

she sang through her body

told a story with her gestures

so honest, so pure,

and so she danced

time caught up,

eventually...

40 summers passed her by,

kids came,

and went

love faded,

alone in her living room,

slumped on her recliner,

she dusted off her worn out socks,

and chose to dance,

to all of the memories,

the glory days,

and so she danced.....

and so she danced.....

I love the way this makes me think of my best friend. Kind of inexplicable, but it does. I love the way the nails have obviously not been manicured, even though they're painted and shiny, and how the light captures the toe hairs and rigid ends of her toenails. I love the grain of when the light fades, and skin tone on a black background. I love the position the foot is in because it's seemingly relaxed without being relaxed at all. The toes are pointed and "dangling" like she might be dancing. Toes are cute.

It only releases with a pencil

Pencil not pen , because at anytime i can erase what i choose to forget

the painful things i regret

I fear the pen because it leaves a stain

a permanent one ...

that reminds me of the scars on my heart , the scratched out memories

both and ugly sight that no matter how smudged smeared and scratched out they are

they still leave a mark.

So , the only time I'm at ease is when its not burning my soul with remorse

sadness or anger

The paper is the equivalent to the confession booth

taking in every truth that's inside of me

truths i sometimes meet for the first time in that moment

So im thankful for such simple resources

Getting me through each heartbreak

Each crisis

Each victory

Each hardship

Each beautiful day

Lying on my stomach I stare across the carpet

deep reds

bright yellows

soft creams

halting backs

blur across my slightly closed eyes

gentle music plays behind me

I roll over to feel the slightly scratchy fabric raking over my arm

a spot of yellow near my head

red emerging from my sides

a small black and red flower a few inches from my foot

the ceiling is plain

uninteresting

I roll again, balanced on one arm my body on its side

horizontal to the red carpet

it stretches before me like a field of poppies

slightly unbalanced I'm falling

reds flash across my eyes

as I close them, but I can still see the tint through my eyelids

I'm falling asleep

asleep on a poppy colored carpet

As night falls over a dynasty of great once great land called Egypt. The people stood around the great pyramids giving praise and asking for forgiveness to the Gods. The dry season has lasted over a 2 decades and has caused much famine in the land. Priests and merchants gathered together to ask for nourishment of their bodies and souls. As it was high noon, which is the peak of daylight. Everything which pitch black and a symphonic humming in deep tones covered the land and ears of the population. There wasn't even an ounce of nervy in the people of the most regal region in the world. The community joined in with the humming and after a few moments you could see sparks of the most golden of lights being emitted from their bodies. As the light became more powerful each man,woman, and child were given divinity and were then taken to the clouds.

I do believe the bike need wd40 like the other comment. But i kinda picture the rust as a badge and honor of all the bike has been through

its been through snow

its been through rain

its been through insanity

its been through sane

its been through your runaways

its been through your returns

for all its been through it rust it earns

Stemming from the branch, the machines begin to produce. Following the plans, the machines create, with some variability, the perfect apple. Pushing the moisture and crisp taste inside of the expandable shell is quite magical and mysterious. For all we see is the outside; we rarely appreciate that which is within. And as the apple is consumed by the user, the hard-work has sufficed and has completed its duty. Only once the crisp apple has left our body has it fully completed its job.

Feels like a sunset

or kinda like a warm orange flower resting against my skin

sweet serenity full and wide

I grab the spoon of your smile and dig into life

it's in these moments

where you and I forget ourselves

and breathe the ecstasy of golden silence

heaven has not been far after all

we just had to open our eyes and find it

sometimes my eyes fill with gray clouds

and i see the world through failures, disasters and emptiness

but it is your soft fingertips that lift my head to the direction

of the sun that has been shinning

glorious in a bright dress of yellow

i found the light in your simple "Hello"

in the way grass praise dances in the breeze

in the pleasure of tasting a delightful sandwich of melted cheese

and in how the sight of flowers resembling angels of peace

looking at your picture reminds me not to forget

that God hides beauty in ordinary places

it is easy to see how spoons and forks can feel like a sunset

My father would take a nap, and before that nap he would tell me to wake him up at seven o'clock for us to make dinner. In the meantime I would watch the weather channel until then. I know its weird but thats channel had a clock on it, and I would literally wait patiently until 6:59:59 to get up just so I could make my way up to the third floor and nudge the sleepiness out of my dad. Finally when he would wake up, he'd tell me to take everything out that was needed.. the pots, pans.. vegetables.. meat anything that was needed to make our scrumptious dinner. I'd do that then we would get to cooking. I loved making cheesesteaks with him, so that was usually up for the meal. I loved those days.. It inspired me up to this day to want to be a chef. In the Culinary Arts business.. that would get to be done everyday, and although it wouldn't necessarily be with my dad it'd be with people that I'm sure would be ready and willing to cook with me just so anxiously..

FEELS LIKE THE SUNSET.

click.

sometimes I wonder how many stones there are in the world.

i found the light in your simple “Hello”

in the way grass praise dances in the breeze

Choosing between clashing vibrancies

hoped that you would dance

at anytime i can erase what i choose to forget

I fear the pen because it leaves a stain

The lives of rocks and flower,

Tell the story of the world.

These are the years in which life is beautiful.

Each and every day a miracle.

A small person in a large world

filled with intrigue and wonder.

a warm orange flower resting against my skin

sweet serenity full and wide

I grab the spoon of your smile and dig

it’s in these moments

where you and I forget ourselves

and breathe the ecstasy of golden silence

heaven has not been far after all

we just had to open our eyes and find it

These are the years in which life is beautiful.

Each and every day a miracle.

A small person in a large world

filled with intrigue and wonder.

I don’t watch television much anymore

but whenever I do I can feel on my hands the dusty residue

from carrying fistfuls of quarter-sized stones.

lonely I lay flat

Among dull gray stones

I want to go home

we become beautiful in the world.

I wonder what it feels like to be beautiful…

click