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Online Sketch My Photo


online sketch my photo
    online
  • on-line: on a regular route of a railroad or bus or airline system; "on-line industries"
  • With processing of data carried out simultaneously with its production
  • on-line(a): being in progress now; "on-line editorial projects"
  • While so connected or under computer control
  • In or into operation or existence
  • on-line: connected to a computer network or accessible by computer; "an on-line database"
    sketch
  • a brief literary description
  • Give a brief account or general outline of
  • Perform (a gesture) with one's hands or body
  • preliminary drawing for later elaboration; "he made several studies before starting to paint"
  • Make a rough drawing of
  • make a sketch of; "sketch the building"
    photo
  • A photograph
  • photograph: a representation of a person or scene in the form of a print or transparent slide; recorded by a camera on light-sensitive material
  • PHOTO was the name of an American photographic magazine geared towards men. It was published monthly by the Official Magazine Corporation beginning in June 1952.
  • A photo finish
  • Photo is a French magazine about photography, published monthly by Hachette Filipacchi Medias. It is mostly focused on artistic aspects of photography rather than technical aspects. The editorial line is mostly oriented toward fashion and nude photography.

sick of pounding the same key on my political piano (memories of a dead friend)
sick of pounding the same key on my political piano (memories of a dead friend)
Two days ago, I found out that an old friend of mine died in Chicago. It happened last March, and he died from head injuries sustained from an accident caused by a seizure. Ken Hunt (who later became known as Sketch) was part of a circle of friends of mine in Aberdeen, Washington in 1989 (a circle that included my future wife too.) I fell out of touch with Ken after that year, but I have lots of great memories of those days most of which consist of the usual adolescent stupidity: drinking, smoking, causing trouble, listening to awful music, dabbling in the occult, staying out late, whining about life with all the authenticity that white, middle class kids can muster, etc. Ken and I got along fine, but our interests and tastes were pretty far apart. His musical tastes (quiet, folksy, underground stuff and weird, offbeat pop) really rubbed against my aesthetic that--at the time--consisted of large doses of Pink Floyd and loud, angry guitar-laden stuff. I remember once riding along with him in his car listening to the cassette tape of Grace Jones music that he had put in his car stereo. After a while I could take no more and I asked him, "Ken, do you really like this shit or is it some kind of joke?" Of course, this was one of those carefully calculated trick questions posed not so much to get a real answer but to take a swipe at his musical tastes. And even though neither answer was the right one, Ken managed to say the one thing that would throw me off just the same. Without missing a beat, he very seriously said, "It's a little bit of both." Ken and I did have one thing in common: we both wanted to get out of Aberdeen. My wife and I moved to Bellingham, a small city near the Canadian border, and through mutual friends, I heard that Ken had moved to Seattle, then Texas and elsewhere pursuing his education. He published some books of his own poetry, taught English, played in various bands, participated in poetry slams, worked as a journalist, was politically active in left-wing causes, promoted gay and gender awareness issues and more. Over the years, Ken became quite a powerful poet. Some of his poetry is really amazing. (I deeply regret that it took his death for me to discover this fact.) As one of his obits puts it, he was a "forceful and vibrant young poet... known coast to coast in American slam poetry." Judging from the quantity of reactions his death prompted across various Internet discussion forums and the several memorials to him planned in various locations, it seems that Ken was something of a minor celebrity to a subculture that many of us wouldn't give a second thought to. He was a featured performer at the annual gay-themed festivals Feast of Fools Cabaret and Homolatte in Chicago. Finding out that Ken performed music and poetry in front of audiences was no surprise. In fact, I was in the audience of his first show... so to speak. Late in the summer of 1989, Ken talked me and a few others into driving to Seattle with him where he was planning to perform some music in front of an audience for the first time. He wanted some friends there for support. We weren't really sure what to expect, but we ended up in the auditorium of a soup kitchen which looked like a high school gymnasium filled with long tables. While Ken sat up on a nearby stage hunched over his guitar that was plugged into a little amp, we watched with dawning bewilderment as hundreds of homeless people--men, women and children--filed in with trays of food and looked for a seat. Ken strummed his way cautiously through 5 or 6 songs, singing in a voice that seemed muffled by both the poor quality microphone and a painfully thick wall of self-consciousness. Nobody in the place was paying any attention to him except those of us who had come with him. He was visibly nervous, but he stuck with it and did what he had come to do. One of the songs he played was Tracy Chapman's "Fast Car." Before he played it, he said to the crowd, "This song is certainly a lot closer to some of your experiences than mine." That was an understatement. Ken was the son of a doctor and lived in the nicer part of Aberdeen (often referred to by the locals as "snob hill") in a beautiful home and never wanted for anything. After his performance at the soup kitchen, I was a little resentful about what he'd done. I felt that he had used this auditorium full of homeless people as a captive audience to play out some kind of fantasy of being a folk singer. It just seemed wrong and dishonest to me. But it wasn't. I had no idea back then the depths of his sincerity in doing what he had done. In reading about him now, I believe that his intentions had been good, that he had wanted to entertain that room full of homeless people. Maybe it had been misguided or naive, but after all these years, I now think it was a sincere gesture. I'm not going to be disingenuous and say I miss Ken. As I said, we fell ou
Day 32 a blank Notebook full of fun
Day 32   a blank Notebook full of fun
I have decided today that I'll share some more bits of FRE with ya all. I have many many sketch books full of little drawings, projects, architecture, letters, notes of meetings, ideas, serious stuff, emotional stuff...those notebooks are my life! where-ever I go, whenever I go somewhere...I'll always make sure I have got my notebook and a black marker. LOVE IT. I love looking at my old notebooks and exploring what my thoughts were, what activities i had...to reflect on where I was and where I'm at. It is a great way to be conscious of my own personal growth. I own 8 boxes of personal stuff, stored at my dad's place. One of those boxes consists of mainly notebooks. I miss them. That's why I'll start putting some of my doodles online. Now I can always find them again. This page are some thoughts I have for the students4humanity website. The great thing is...you all probably don't understand a thing about those drawings....I do! Do you carry a notebook with you? I gave one to each of my 80 students!

online sketch my photo
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