P1XELS

The living history of iPhoneography, iphonic art, and mobile photography. 28,000 images served.

September 28, 2016
by Knox Bronson
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Lisa Peters ~ After the fire

Lisa Peters ~ After the fire
Lisa Peters ~ After the fire
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September 28, 2016
by Knox Bronson
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Lisa Peters ~ Digital mosaic for a modern world

Lisa Peters ~ Digital mosaic for a modern world
Lisa Peters ~ Digital mosaic for a modern world
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September 28, 2016
by Knox Bronson
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Rino Rossi ~ ride ride

Rino Rossi ~ ride ride
Rino Rossi ~ ride ride
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September 28, 2016
by Knox Bronson
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Rino Rossi ~ built to spill

Rino Rossi ~ built to spill
Rino Rossi ~ built to spill
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September 28, 2016
by Knox Bronson
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Rino Rossi ~ report from the heart

Rino Rossi ~ report from the heart
Rino Rossi ~ report from the heart
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September 28, 2016
by Knox Bronson
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Rino Rossi ~ angst

Rino Rossi ~ angst
Rino Rossi ~ angst
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September 28, 2016
by Knox Bronson
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Rino Rossi ~ Licorice

Rino Rossi ~ Licorice
Rino Rossi ~ Licorice
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September 27, 2016
by Knox Bronson
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Aldo Pacheco ~ Aldo Pacheco ~ When all is lost and everyone has left you, I will be here, waiting for you

Aldo Pacheco ~ When all is lost and everyone has left you, I will be here, waiting for you
Aldo Pacheco ~ When all is lost and everyone has left you, I will be here, waiting for you

Four of the images used in this picture are from Lisa Peters and two from Aldo, who put them all together.

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September 27, 2016
by Knox Bronson
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Clint Cline ~ Inventions:::

From the augur's tale,
From the augur’s tale,

 

As time inherits our wounds,
As time inherits our wounds,

 

We find our way,
We find our way,

 

Only in the Spirit, Holy;
Only in the Spirit, Holy;

 

Knowing.
Knowing.

 

Inventions:::

From the augur’s tale,
As time inherits our wounds,
We find our way
Only in the Spirit, Holy;
Knowing.

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September 27, 2016
by Knox Bronson
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{daily pic} Barbara duBois ~ Pisces Full Moon Rising

Barbara duBois ~ Pisces Full Moon Rising
Barbara duBois ~ Pisces Full Moon Rising

The dead bird, color of a bruise,
and smaller than an eye
swollen shut,
is king among omens.
 
Who can blame the ants for feasting?
 
Let him cast the first crumb.
 
~
 
We once tended the oracles.
 
Now we rely on a photograph
 
a fingerprint
a hand we never saw
 
coming.
 
~
 
A man draws a chalk outline
first in his mind
 
around nothing
 
then around the body
of another man.
 
He does this without thinking.
 
~
 
What can I do about the white room I left
behind? What can I do about the great stones
 
I walk among now? What can I do
 
but sing.
 
Even a small cut can sing all day.
 
~
 
There are entire nights
 
                                I would take back.
 
Nostalgia is a thin moon,
                                                              disappearing
 
into a sky like cold,
                                         unfeeling iron.
 
~
 
I dreamed
 
you were a drowned man, crown
of phosphorescent, seaweed in your hair,
 
water in your shoes. I woke up desperate
 
for air.
 
~
 
In another dream, I was a field
 
and you combed through me
searching for something
 
you only thought you had lost.
 
~
 
What have we left at the altar of sorrow?
 
What blessed thing will we leave tomorrow?

—Omens by Cecilia Llompart


Crow by Sasha Siem

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