please don’t leave me on Flickr.
A lot of people in my class really liked this image and I guess I do too… this feels so heavily referenced now that I look at it but it felt so spontaneous at the time?
image, part of a series of experiments.
If something doesn’t make money, no one is interested. Everything is for sale. Emotions are sold. Sex is sold. Everything is sex. Cars, women, clothes, your face, your hands, your shoes! Look at the ads, at television. My emotions aren’t for sale. My thoughts can’t be bought. They’re mine. I don’t want movies that sell me something. I don’t want to be told how to feel.
While my early adventures on social sites were exciting and novel, increasingly, my time spent on these services is starting to feel like a lot of wasted time. Like a virus slowly invading its victim, social media has methodically started to consume every hour of my day. Morning coffees, lunchtime breaks, time before bed, was once cordoned off for books, or even just quiet moments of reflection.
Miss Africa USA 2014 contestants
" The Miss Africa USA Pageant is grooming a new generation of African women leaders to impact their communities in Africa, America and the rest of the world.
The Pageant enables African girls in America to shine the spotlight on Africa, tell their stories to the world, inspire one another, build self esteem, and feel beautiful inside and out. This pageant is like no other, the delegates are very intelligent young women from some of the most respected educational institutions in North America, with careers spanning from the Sciences to the Arts, some in Medical School or Pharmacy School, others are upcoming Journalists or Human Rights Activists and more. “
To vote and find out more visit: http://missafricausa.org/
sweet lord id love on all of them
I love making sushi. It is my one talent. Behind that sushi bar, I am somebody. Although Im not where exactly I want to be right now, I know sushi will take me places in life.
One day in the early 1920s, a young Ernest Hemingway rushed along the streets of Paris seeking shelter from a downpour. He soon came upon a warm cafe on the Place St.-Michel and ducked inside. After hanging his rain jacket, Hemingway ordered a café au lait, pulled out a notepad and pencil from his pocket and began writing. Before long he had fallen into a trancelike state, oblivious to his surroundings as he penned a story that would later become the first chapter of his memoir, “A Moveable Feast.” If Hemingway were alive in 2014, he might not have finished what he started writing that day. Realistically, he probably wouldn’t have even put a pen to paper. Instead, he might have ducked into the cafe, pulled out his smartphone and proceeded to waste an entire afternoon on social media.