Empress 01/26/2012
 
She had heard of a great sage in a faraway land and had become fascinated with his teachings.

A wise person, a wise country—remains low like the Ocean and all streams flow to it.
Good and bad fortune lean on each other. Who knows the ultimate end?--
and so the master leads by example, does not impose his will. 
He illuminates, he does not dazzle.
All water flows back to become the Ocean.

When she became Ruler of the Empire, a mighty empire, she thought of the words he had written--
be parent, not possessor, concerned with benefit, not obedience.

She reigned for many years and the nation thrived.
Her people came into their own. With compassion for each other, they were free to find and follow their own paths— 
as their Empress followed The Way.



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               Empress     Mike Heywood



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The ghost of Gennifer Blackwood awoke at the sounds of human activity on the first floor of the mansion she had dwelled in since meeting a tragic, grisly end there decades earlier. Evening in Feliciana Parish was setting in a rich blue.
The spirit floated down to the high-ceilinged, richly appointed foyer and observed as a young man emerged from the breezeway toting a suitcase and bag. He was humming happily, excited at arriving at his new home. 
Gennifer smiled a ghostly smile; She would change that. As she had done to several families before—she would drive him out with a nerve shattering, spectral assault.
She sprang into view directly in front of him.
"You are warned," she cried in a terrifying howl, "Leave this place or you will meet your doom!"
The man stopped cold and looked at her. A moment passed, then another.
"Uh, hi," he said, only slightly nonplussed, "My name is Brad. I just bought the place. Moved here from Philly for my job, you know. And you are...?"
The ghost of Gennifer Blackwood was stunned, uncertain how to respond. She shrieked even louder,
"I am your nightmare!! Run while you still caaaaannnnnn!!"
"Look, I think we got off on the wrong foot," replied Brad. "Let's start over. Have dinner with me. A charming, beautiful woman keeping me company my first night here would be a dream come true! What do you say?"
The spirit was at a loss. Distant, faded memories stirred. Had he called her beautiful? She looked at him closely. He had a friendly, earnest smile on his face.
He spoke again. "I hope I'm not being too forward. I didn't mean to creep you out or anything."
Gennifer stuttered quizzically, "You?—creep ME out?"
He continued, "I know it's short notice but it would mean a lot to me. You live around here, I take it?"
"This is my home," she answered, "I haunt the living while spending eternity in the prison of my own circumstance."
"Wow!" said Brad, "Tough day job! I'm in banking myself, so I know how that goes."
They dined that night. Brad on egg salad—Gennifer on the protoplasm of feelings long buried.
They grew to love each other, though he admitted to her later that he fell for her the moment he laid eyes on her.
They spent the years of Brad's life in the mansion. And when he died, he rose up to her side—and they passed over the threshold together.
Shortly after, a young family moved into the mansion. They spent many peaceful years there.




                       Written Content     G.A.M.   cc
                       Portrait Of Gen     Joe Klune
  



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First Kiss 01/22/2012
 
The most romantic moment of my life? Easy. Hands down—the day I got married.
When the clergyman said, "I now pronounce you..."
We kissed; And the preacher and family and friends disappeared. We entered a universe all our own.
Whatever one's view on the institution of marriage—holy act  or ecclesiastical con game of the ages, or somewhere inbetween—there is something to taking that vow before the eyes of the world.
That universe of ours we created with that first kiss—since then we've had our moments—ups and downs, loud and quiet, joyful and sad--
there's been some very good times--
but through it all, we have lived exclusively in that universe. 
Never leaving it, even for a second.



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                 First Kiss     Alexey Rumyantsev


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Kaetee loves dancing, gymnastics, science and baseball.
Her parents marvel at how bright and focused she is.
She is growing up at a time when the film industry will be returning more to actual human stunt work, partly for the sake of the art--
in addition with continuing to discover how the combining of CGI and real-life stunts has a stunning potential.
The industry—with its incredible history of thrilling victories—and horrifying failures--
is destined to discover that one of the greatest stunt performers of all time--
is on her way.



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                       Headshot     Photoeuphoria



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Old Man Rex 01/17/2012
 
"Hey! You two get out of my yard! And stay out!!
Darn kids."



               Written Content     G.A.M.  cc
                T     Leonello Calvetti


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Founding Father 01/16/2012
 



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                  Stream    Julian Liu
 
Colleagues 01/15/2012
 
"Holy Toner! You mean Jerry's been passed out since the office party?!!
His family must be worried sick! Have the police been looking for him?!
Is he alright?!! We'd better try and bring him around!!!! Geeeeezzz!!!!!!"
"Nah, he's fine. We'll wake him up in February when he has to start working on the Poughkeepsie report." 
"Oh. Ok."



                      Written Content     G.A.M.   cc
                      Home For The Holidays     Julia Pivovarova



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A-List 01/12/2012
 
I knew she was perfect for the part in my next picture. I also knew it was going to be a tough sell; I was right.
I went through the regular channels but in addition, I tried sending a direct message telling her it was a risky role but could be glorious.
I received a message back.
"I might be interested. Talk to my agent," it said.
I pitched her reps and I think the strength of the story and my own track record, perhaps, persuaded them. I left them the script, which turned out to be only a few spot rewrites away from finished. I couldn't have asked for much more.
I took the liberty of again using my source to send a direct message.
"This could be great," I said.
She replied. "I read the script. I liked it. Talk to my agent."
I could feel the deal coming together. We started going through the usual processes.
I thought I might as well take a little chance, since my messages didn't seem to be upsetting her. I sent another.
"So, just between you and me—what's your bottom line on the final figure? I can match what you got for your last picture, including the percentage. Do we have a deal?"
I breathed a sigh of relief when she replied, "I won't write LOL but I do like your brass! I think things will work out. Talk to my agent."
I knew I was in.
We did the picture and it turned out great. I had wanted to tell this story for a long time and people liked it—felt something worthwhile from it. It was what you would call a triumph all around.
During the year after the movie was done, I came to feel something, too. I realized it was something more than just being dazzled by an amazing presence.
I thought it might not be a bad tack to let her know that I was going to try and talk her into marrying me. I said we'd defy the norm and stay together forever.
"Should I talk to your agent?" I asked her as lightheartedly as I could—even though I think I was only halfway kidding.
She smiled that beautiful, warm, famous smile.
 "You should," she said, "Tell him I'm going to be needing some time off."
Any triumphs I had before—paled in comparison.




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                     Knockout In Black And Red    Marin Conic




                                                                         
 
 
Ok, the Immortal Spirit thing.
Is there this essence of personality, as some metaphysicists describe it, that is the core of our being? An energy, not physical, that is without end?
These spirits animate eternity, are experiencing eternity, are part of the weave of the creation of eternity.
Individual yet infinitely blended—all ultimately part of the same thing, after all.
Pulsing in and out as physical beings. When not physical—what? Non-being, non-living or maybe more so—meditating backstage, waiting for the tap on the shoulder?
How many are there, really? A gazillion, a trillion, 20 or 30? At the very core of the mystery—1? 
Is non-being then just the Essence resting peacefully, couched in Forever—amid the clouds, or in a garden, or whatever sublime surroundings—taking in the beauty and the serenity?
That sounds nice. Here's hoping that's it.
Sure could, well, not live with that.




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                           Bubbles In Sky    Maxborovkov



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Vanessa Kane hit the floor hard, stunned by the uppercut that the mysterious, evil figure known as Kryigula had managed to deliver from an off balance position. Their furious battle had raged for almost a full minute and Vanessa felt she was gaining a slight advantage when the murderous madman had managed to lash out right on the mark.
Still, she did not acknowledge the pain, did not hesitate for a moment. She landed near her pistol that had been knocked out of her hand several moments before--
Kryigula had scored the first move when Kane entered the dark, empty club that had been sealed off by the police as a crime scene. Two nights earlier, Benny the Mouse had been knifed to death as he made his way through the crowd in a desperate bid to escape someone out to intercept the delivery of The Cobalt Medallion. But not before he may have found a clever hiding place to stash the coveted object, assuming he had it with him right then. It had remained undiscovered and was an item that Vanessa's gruff director had made clear was to be retrieved—no matter what the cost.
The secret agent's instincts told her The Medallion was somewhere in that club and Kryigula would go there to try and find it. Or perhaps he already knew where it was; Had Benny contacted him before meeting The Reaper? The agency had scanned the regular call logs and found nothing significant. But it was entirely possible the high-priced mule was using an über-hybrid DSST device. No cell of any kind was found on the body—unusual. Had it been lifted by the assassin? Who was willing to go against Kryigula? Had this determined third party already found and taken the lethal prize? 
All unknowns.
The plan was to wait and see if the egomaniacal Kryigula would risk making a move. The agency would give it three days—then, reluctantly but out of necessity, override the local law and tear the building apart piece by piece.
 It happened on the third night. Vanessa had surreptitiously watched the evildoer all evening at his favorite theatre, then stealthily followed him as he made his way in the late hour to the fateful arena; But the seasoned master criminal had detected her presence. He waited in the shadows, clipped her wrist with the forward handle of his tactical machine pistol, kicked her behind the knee and swung the weapon around to riddle her with bullets. Only a savage kick to the groin had saved her—and his weapon too had went flying. The battle was on. 
He staggered back but simultaneously lobbed a stun grenade at her with the skill of a soldier. Vanessa's speed was astounding. She flung herself behind some tables, hands clamped over her ears. The exothermic reaction set some plastic decorative curtains, which contained only a modicum of flame retardant additives, on fire. The blaze instantly raced into full bloom.
Vanessa mused for a second about what the police were going to make of their crime scene being burnt to the ground. 
She jumped up and rushed the highly skilled madman.The deadly hand-to-hand continued until she had been knocked down--
There, her gun. She rolled, grabbed and came up in a crouch with one leg stretched out—in the time it would take a bolt of lightning to strike.
Kryigula had already grabbed his machine pistol off the floor, bringing it up to bear. It was at that moment that Kane saw clearly hanging around her opponent's neck what she thought she had glimpsed during the fistfight—The Medallion, flashing a gold light—a threat that could cost a million lives.
Vanessa's marksmanship was legendary at the agency—an agency so secret it didn't even have an acronym. She would have time for one shot. 

The next night her still gruff director, although mightily pleased with the recovery of The Cobalt Medallion, told the secret agent that a week off in the Riviera was out of the question; She could have three days.
Vanessa Kane smiled to herself. The old softie, she thought.




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                          Agent    Robert Byron




 
Shots Of Silver™ 2012 Shots Of Silver™ 2012