hermione:

Rashida Jones photographed by Mike Piscitelli
hermione:

Rashida Jones photographed by Mike Piscitelli
hermione:

Rashida Jones photographed by Mike Piscitelli
hermione:

Rashida Jones photographed by Mike Piscitelli

hermione:

Rashida Jones photographed by Mike Piscitelli

Out there the forest was dark and soaking. Damp grounds of dirt and clay that sunk his boots into the black Earth. Howard marched in the wild thickness, his eyes bound in wet cloth and hands tied in cable. Other men followed him from all sides, pushed along by cold, metal barrels that dug deep against twisted backs. After a while, when the air had cooled, they stopped and he was pushed to his knees. The cloth was cut from his eyes and for the first time Howard saw the reaching of the Baobab trees. Thick, colored trunks that pushed high to thinning branches of loose leaves. Some men looked up, others to the wetness of the crushed grass. On opposite sides stood two men with paper masks, their heavy chests rising and falling like pumps. One drew out from the kneeling group a young girl with sunken cheeks, rearing her to the wet ground. Howard closed his eyes and imagined the snow that lay farther north now than he had ever been. Deep, carved precipices of alabaster rock and glowing caves where he had met the girl. He imagined opening his eyes to her blood steaming in the soil, but it was quiet now. His rolled his wrists and felt, then, the sudden sharp end of cable bound around his hands. He saw the frightened girl, her breathing labored. And the other men, their backs turned in talk. He brought his hands forward, passing them under his feet and walked with silent steps in the sinking Earth until he could hear their twisted tongues. Howard reared his hands up, pressing them together like a faith healer. 

leyefsviewfinder:

Downtown SJ in Widescreen.
By Paul E.


leyefsviewfinder:

Downtown SJ in Widescreen.
By Paul E.


leyefsviewfinder:

Downtown SJ in Widescreen.
By Paul E.


leyefsviewfinder:

Downtown SJ in Widescreen.
By Paul E.


leyefsviewfinder:

Downtown SJ in Widescreen.
By Paul E.


leyefsviewfinder:

Downtown SJ in Widescreen.
By Paul E.


leyefsviewfinder:

Downtown SJ in Widescreen.
By Paul E.


leyefsviewfinder:

Downtown SJ in Widescreen.
By Paul E.


leyefsviewfinder:

Downtown SJ in Widescreen.
By Paul E.


leyefsviewfinder:

Downtown SJ in Widescreen.
By Paul E.

leyefsviewfinder:

Downtown SJ in Widescreen.

By Paul E.

And with age, he looked back at the passing of life. A life wrought through the pangs of childhood, through warm winds that kicked loose Earth about the plains and wetlands. Where he had lived against the briny lots of standing water that rose in the hot nights of those burning, sightless dog days.  He looked, and mired in his sight was the visage of an incredible existence spent sunk in the effusive, wiry frame of Her.

ckck:

The Art of Roger Deakins.
ckck:

The Art of Roger Deakins.
ckck:

The Art of Roger Deakins.
ckck:

The Art of Roger Deakins.
ckck:

The Art of Roger Deakins.
ckck:

The Art of Roger Deakins.

Howard walked the lengths of the warehouse and kept his head lowered. 

Untitled

Howard found himself at the circus, with lights and sounds and tents of dark color. With a deepening feeling of malevolent, twisted anger and a searing fear that boiled the palms of his hands and knuckles white.   

This made the film for me. An effusive level of quandary I can’t even imagine. This made the film for me. An effusive level of quandary I can’t even imagine. This made the film for me. An effusive level of quandary I can’t even imagine. This made the film for me. An effusive level of quandary I can’t even imagine. This made the film for me. An effusive level of quandary I can’t even imagine. This made the film for me. An effusive level of quandary I can’t even imagine. This made the film for me. An effusive level of quandary I can’t even imagine. This made the film for me. An effusive level of quandary I can’t even imagine.

This made the film for me. An effusive level of quandary I can’t even imagine.

(via exodus8-2)

The next day brought bright clouds and razor sunlight that baked the black top and steamed the cool city air. Howard had been awake for sometime now and had watched, through the rising haze, the red sun lift from behind the hills. The building he worked was small and built from brick. Empty rooms and offices were abound and a thin hallway lead him to every door, though they were locked and their windows covered. His room was near the middle. Officially, he would chart patterns and trade what he thought was currency. Unofficially, he would watch the walls and talk aloud of different things.