This week, show us a photo of whatever you’d like, but make sure it’s saturated. It can be black and white, a single color, a few hues, or a complete rainbow riot; just make sure it’s rich and powerful. Let’s turn the comments into an instant mood-booster!
“‘…who is the founder of the database in the PeaceKeeper Corps?’…
“‘The database is a unique algorithm created by Xu Bin. …’
“‘Is he some kind of charlatan?’
“‘Xu Bin is also known as Youde. He was once the clerk of the National Treasury. He has an incredible memory and he was one of the first officials that was transferred to the Peacekeeper Corps. … He is absurd and ridiculous. He never associates himself with others or the outside world. He focused only on mathematics. He said that only numbers can reveal the truth in this world…’
“‘Can all the things you said prove that you have a clear view of Xu Bin? Can the achievements and opinions on a person that are passed from one to another show the true colors of the man? Can the comments of others show the true colors of the man? Can the later generations get his true color right by guessing through his biography with the historical data or by conjecturing his face through a painter? When it boils down to it, everything depends on how the audience wants to see it and how the writer wants to write it.’
“‘Xu Bin is low-key and introverted by nature. He never expresses himself through poetry. So, we can’t find much information about him.’
“‘Poems that were written are just the thoughts and feelings for one fleeting moment. Will you be able to guess the motives and reasons behind a person’s story through a few isolated words and phrases?…'”
Cited: The Longest Day in Chang’an, Directed by Cao Dun. Written by: Paw Studio. episode 14.
photograph Metadata: Nikon D750 f/8 1/13s 38mm 400 ISO
“… The unpardonable sin of the supreme power is that it is supreme. I do not curse you for being cruel. I do not curse you (though I might) for being kind. I curse you for being safe! You sit in your chairs of stone, and have never come down from them. You are the seven angels of heaven, and you have had no troubles. Oh, I could forgive you everything, you that rule all mankind, if I could feel for once that you had suffered for one hour a real agony such as I—” Syme sprang to his feet, shaking from head to foot. “I see everything,” he cried, “everything that there is. Why does each thing on the earth war against each other thing? Why does each small thing in the world have to fight against the world itself? Why does a fly have to fight the whole universe? Why does a dandelion have to fight the whole universe? For the same reason that I had to be alone in the dreadful Council of the Days. So that each thing that obeys law may have the glory and isolation of the anarchist. So that each man fighting for order may be as brave and good a man as the dynamiter. So that the real lie of Satan may be flung back in the face of this blasphemer, so that by tears and torture we may earn the right to say to this man, ‘You lie!’ No agonies can be too great to buy the right to say to this accuser, ‘We also have suffered.’ “It is not true that we have never been broken. We have been broken upon the wheel. It is not true that we have never descended from these thrones. We have descended into hell. We were complaining of unforgettable miseries even at the very moment when this man entered insolently to accuse us of happiness. I repel the slander; we have not been happy. I can answer for every one of the great guards of Law whom he has accused. At least—” He had turned his eyes so as to see suddenly the great face of Sunday, which wore a strange smile. “Have you,” he cried in a dreadful voice, “have you ever suffered?” As he gazed, the great face grew to an awful size, grew larger than the colossal mask of Memnon, which had made him scream as a child. It grew larger and larger, filling the whole sky; then everything went black. Only in the blackness before it entirely destroyed his brain he seemed to hear a distant voice saying a commonplace text that he had heard somewhere, “Can ye drink of the cup that I drink of?”
cited: G.K. Chesterton, The Man Who Was Thursday (The Project Gutenberg Ebook)
Note: “This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online at www.gutenberg.org.”
Photograph created with Nikon D750 f/89 1/40s 68mm 400 ISO and edited with Capture One 20