Express and Shout

Prince of Persia is an upcoming film directed by Mike Newell and starring Jake Gyllenhaal as Prince Dastan, Gemma Arterton as Tamina, Ben Kingsley as Nizam and Alfred Molina Sheik Amar. Is to be released on May 28, 2010 (USA).


Based on the video game set in Medieval Persia, the story an adventurous prince who teams up with a rival princess to stop an angry ruler from unleashing a standstorm that could destroy the world. Which is why after the prince was tricked by a dying Vizier to unleash the Sands of Time that turns out to destroy the kingdom and transforms it populace into ferocious demons. In his effort to save his own kingdom and redeem his fatal mistake, it's up to the prince and the princess to return the sands to the hourglass by using a Dagger of Time, which also gives him a limited control over the flow of time.

A good photograph is knowing where to stand.


A great photograph is one that fully expresses what one feels, in the deepest sense, about what is being photographed.


A photograph is usually looked at - seldom looked into.


A true photograph need not be explained, nor can it be contained in words.


Dodging and burning are steps to take care of mistakes God made in establishing tonal relationships.


I tried to keep both arts alive, but the camera won. I found that while the camera does not express the soul, perhaps a photograph can!


In my mind's eye, I visualize how a particular... sight and feeling will appear on a print. If it excites me, there is a good chance it will make a good photograph. It is an intuitive sense, an ability that comes from a lot of practice.


In wisdom gathered over time I have found that every experience is a form of exploration.


It is horrifying that we have to fight our own government to save the environment.


It is my intention to present - through the medium of photography - intuitive observations of the natural world which may have meaning to the spectators.


Landscape photography is the supreme test of the photographer - and often the supreme disappointment.


Millions of men have lived to fight, build palaces and boundaries, shape destinies and societies; but the compelling force of all times has been the force of originality and creation profoundly affecting the roots of human spirit.


Myths and creeds are heroic struggles to comprehend the truth in the world.


No man has the right to dictate what other men should perceive, create or produce, but all should be encouraged to reveal themselves, their perceptions and emotions, and to build confidence in the creative spirit.


Not everybody trusts paintings but people believe photographs.


Photography is more than a medium for factual communication of ideas. It is a creative art.


Photography, as a powerful medium of expression and communications, offers an infinite variety of perception, interpretation and execution.


Some photographers take reality... and impose the domination of their own thought and spirit. Others come before reality more tenderly and a photograph to them is an instrument of love and revelation.


Sometimes I do get to places just when God's ready to have somebody click the shutter.


The negative is comparable to the composer's score and the print to its performance. Each performance differs in subtle ways.


The negative is the equivalent of the composer's score, and the print the performance.


The only things in my life that compatibly exists with this grand universe are the creative works of the human spirit.


There are always two people in every picture: the photographer and the viewer.


There are no rules for good photographs, there are only good photographs.


There are worlds of experience beyond the world of the aggressive man, beyond history, and beyond science. The moods and qualities of nature and the revelations of great art are equally difficult to define; we can grasp them only in the depths of our perceptive spirit.


There is nothing worse than a sharp image of a fuzzy concept.


These people live again in print as intensely as when their images were captured on old dry plates of sixty years ago... I am walking in their alleys, standing in their rooms and sheds and workshops, looking in and out of their windows. Any they in turn seem to be aware of me.


To photograph truthfully and effectively is to see beneath the surfaces and record the qualities of nature and humanity which live or are latent in all things.


Twelve significant photographs in any one year is a good crop.


We must remember that a photograph can hold just as much as we put into it, and no one has ever approached the full possibilities of the medium.


When I'm ready to make a photograph, I think I quite obviously see in my minds eye something that is not literally there in the true meaning of the word. I'm interested in something which is built up from within, rather than just extracted from without.


When words become unclear, I shall focus with photographs. When images become inadequate, I shall be content with silence.


Yosemite Valley, to me, is always a sunrise, a glitter of green and golden wonder in a vast edifice of stone and space.


You don't take a photograph, you make it.

Armored is an upcoming American crime thriller film directed by Nimród Antal and starring Matt Dilon, Jean Reno and Laurence Fishburne. Is set to be released December 04, 2009 Friday this week.


Plot of the film:
Ty Hackett (Culumbos Short) is a young armored car guard. When he has difficulties making ends meet, the veteran guards convince him to join them in emptying a truck of its $42 million cargo. Conflict arises when the guards shoot a cop (Milo Ventimiglia) and Ty insists on helping him. A standoff ensues, with Ty locked in the armored car with the cop and the money.

Avatar is an upcoming 3-D science fiction movies directed by James Cameron, to be released on December 16, 2009 by 20th Fox Century. The film is Lightstorm Entertainment latest project, and focuses on an epic conflict on a far-away world called Pandora, where humans and the native species of Pandora, the Na'vi, engage in war over the planet's resources and existence. The film is released in 2-D and 3-D formats, along with an IMAX 3D in selected theathers.

by Candace Carteen, Portland, Oregon


By the time I was ten, I was totally ashamed of my father. All my
friends called him names: Quasi-Moto, hunchback, monster, little
Frankenstein, the crooked little man with the crooked little cane. At
first it hurt when they called him those things, but soon I found myself
agreeing with them. He was ugly, and I knew it!

My father was born with something called parastremmatic dwarfism.

The disease made him stop growing when he was about thirteen and caused
his body to twist and turn into a grotesque shape. It wasn't too bad
when he was a kid. I saw pictures of him when he was about my age. He
was a little short but quite good-looking. Even when he met my mother
and married her when he was nineteen, he still looked pretty normal. He
was still short and walked with a slight limp, but he was able to do
just about anything. Mother said, "He even used to be a great dancer."

Soon after my birth, things started getting worse. Another genetic
disorder took over, and his left foot started turning out, almost
backward. His head and neck shifted over to the right; his neck became
rigid and he had to look over his left shoulder a bit. His right arm
curled in and up, and his index finger almost touched his elbow. His
spine warped to look something like a big, old roller coaster and it
caused his torso to lie sideways instead of straight up and down like a
normal person. His walk became slow, awkward, and deliberate. He had to
almost drag his left foot as he used his deformed right arm to balance
his gait.

I hated to be seen with him. Everyone stared. They seemed to pity me. I
knew he must have done something really bad to have God hate him that
much.

By the time I was seventeen, I was blaming all my problems on my father.
I didn't have the right boyfriends because of him. I didn't drive the
right car because of him. I wasn't pretty enough because of him. I
didn't have the right jobs because of him. I wasn't happy because of
him.

Anything that was wrong with me, or my life, was because of him. If my
father had been good-looking like Jane's father, or successful like
Paul's father, or worldly like Terry's father, I would be perfect! I
knew that for sure.

The night of my senior prom came, and Father had to place one more nail
in my coffin; he had volunteered to be one of the chaperons at the
dance. My heart just sank when he told me. I stormed into my room,
slammed the door, threw myself on the bed, and cried.

"Three more weeks and I'll be out of here!" I screamed into my pillow.
"Three more weeks and I will have graduated and be moving away to
college." I sat up and took a deep breath. "God, please make my father
go away and leave me alone. He keeps sticking his big nose in everything
I do. Just make him disappear, so that I can have a good time at the
dance."

I got dressed, my date picked me up, and we went to the prom. Father
followed in his car behind us. When we arrived, Father seemed to vanish
into the pink chiffon drapes that hung everywhere in the auditorium. I
thanked God that He had heard my prayer. At least now I could have some
fun.

Midway through the dance, Father came out from behind the drapes and
decided to embarrass me again. He started dancing with my girlfriends.
One by one, he took their hand and led them to the dance floor. He then
clumsily moved them in circles as the band played. Now I tried to vanish
into the drapes.

After Jane had danced with him, she headed my way.

Oh, no! I thought. She's going to tell me he stomped on her foot or
something.
"Grace," she called, "you have the greatest father."
My face fell. "What?"
She smiled at me and grabbed my shoulders. "Your father's just the best.
He's funny, kind, and always finds the time to be where you need him. I
wish my father was more like that."

For one of the first times in my life, I couldn't talk. Her words
confused me.
"What do you mean?" I asked her.

Jane looked at me really strangely. "What do you mean, what do I mean?
Your father's wonderful. I remember when we were kids, and I'd sleep
over at your house. He'd always come into your room, sit down in the
chair between the twin beds, and read us a book. I'm not sure my father
can even read," she sighed, and then smiled. "Thanks for sharing him."

Then, Jane ran off to dance with her boyfriend.
I stood there in silence.

A few minutes later, Paul came to stand beside me.
"He's sure having a lot of fun."
"What? Who? Who is having a lot of fun?" I asked.
"Your father. He's having a ball."
"Yeah. I guess." I didn't know what else to say.
"You know, he's always been there," Paul said. "I remember when you and
I were on the mixed-doubles soccer team. He tried out as the coach, but
he couldn't run up and down the field, remember? So they picked Jackie's
father instead. That didn't stop him. He showed up for every game and
did whatever needed to be done. He was the team's biggest fan. I think
he's the reason we won so many games. Without him, it just would have
been Jackie's father running up and down the field yelling at us. Your
father made it fun. I wish my father had been able to show up to at
least one of our games. He was always too busy."
Paul's girlfriend came out of the restroom, and he went to her side,
leaving me once again speechless.

My boyfriend came back with two glasses of punch and handed me one.
"Well, what do you think of my father?" I asked out of the blue.
Terry looked surprised. "I like him. I always have."
"Then why did you call him names when we were kids?"
"I don't know. Because he was different, and I was a dumb kid."
"When did you stop calling him names?" I asked, trying to search my own
memory.

Terry didn't even have to think about the answer. "The day he sat down
with me outside by the pool and held me while I cried about my mother
and father's divorce. No one else would let me talk about it. I was
hurting inside, and he could feel it. He cried with me that day. I
thought you knew."

I looked at Terry and a tear rolled down my cheek as long-forgotten
memories started cascading into my consciousness.

When I was three, my puppy got killed by another dog, and my father was
there to hold me and teach me what happens when the pets we love die.
When I was five, my father took me to my first day of school. I was so
scared. So was he. We cried and held each other that first day. The next
day he became teacher's helper. When I was eight, I just couldn't do
math. Father sat down with me night after night, and we worked on math
problems until math became easy for me. When I was ten, my father bought
me a brand-new bike. When it was stolen, because I didn't lock it up
like I was taught to do, my father gave me jobs to do around the house
so I could make enough money to purchase another one. When I was
thirteen and my first love broke up with me, my father was there to yell
at, to blame, and to cry with. When I was fifteen and I got to be in the
honor society, my father was there to see me get the accolade. Now, when
I was seventeen, he put up with me no matter how nasty I became or how
high my hormones raged.

As I looked at my father dancing gaily with my friends, a big toothy
grin on his face, I suddenly saw him differently. The handicaps weren't
his, they were mine! I had spent a great deal of my life hating the man
who loved me. I had hated the exterior that I saw, and I had ignored the
interior that contained his God-given heart. I suddenly felt very
ashamed.

I asked Terry to take me home, too overcome with feelings to remain.

On graduation day, at my Christian high school, my name was called, and
I stood behind the podium as the valedictorian of my class. As I looked
out over the people in the audience, my gaze rested on my father in the
front row sitting next to my mother. He sat there, in his one and only,
specially made suit, holding my mother's hand and smiling.

Overcome with emotions, my prepared speech was to become a landmark in
my life.

"Today I stand here as an honor student, able to graduate with a 4.0
average. Yes, I was in the honor society for three years and was elected
class president for the last two years. I led our school to championship
in the debate club, and yes, I even won a full scholarship to Kenton
State University so that I can continue to study physics and someday
become a college professor.

"What I'm here to tell you today, fellow graduates, is that I didn't do
it alone. God was there, and I had a whole bunch of friends, teachers,
and counselors who helped. Up until three weeks ago, I thought they were
the only ones I would be thanking this evening. If I had thanked just
them, I would have been leaving out the most important person in my
life. My father."

I looked down at my father and at the look of complete shock that
covered his face.

I stepped out from behind the podium and motioned for my father to join
me onstage. He made his way slowly, awkwardly, and deliberately. He had
to drag his left foot up the stairs as he used his deformed right arm to
balance his gait. As he stood next to me at the podium, I took his
small, crippled hand in mine and held it tight.

"Sometimes we only see the silhouette of the people around us," I said.
"For years I was as shallow as the silhouettes I saw. For almost my
entire life, I saw my father as someone to make fun of, someone to
blame, and someone to be ashamed of. He wasn't perfect, like the
fathers my friends had.

"Well, fellow graduates, what I found out three weeks ago is that while
I was envying my friends' fathers, my friends were envying mine. That
realization hit me hard and made me look at who I was and what I had
become. I was brought up to pray to God and hold high principles for
others and myself. What I've done most of my life is read between the
lines of the Good Book so I could justify my hatred."

Then, I turned to look my father in the face.

"Father, I owe you a big apology. I based my love for you on what I saw
and not what I felt. I forgot to look at the one part of you that meant
the most, the big, big heart God gave you. As I move out of high school
and into life, I want you to know I could not have had a better father.
You were always there for me, and no matter how badly I hurt you, you
still showed up. Thank you!"
I took off my mortar board and placed it on his head, moving the tassel
just so.
"You are the reason I am standing here today. You deserve this honor,
not me."

And as the audience applauded and cried with us, I felt God's light
shining down upon me as I embraced my father more warmly than I ever had
before, tears unashamedly falling down both our faces.

For the first time, I saw my father through God's eyes, and I felt
honored to be seen with him.

"Be glad that LOVE came to live for a moment in your life"

GODBLESS!!!

Kamikazee is a rock band from the Philippines composed of Jay Contreras (lead vocalist), Jomal Linao (guitars/back-up vocals), Led Zeppelin Tuyay (guitars), Jason "Puto" Astete (bass) and Allan "Bords" Burdeos (drums).

The band is compose of five members who met in college at the College of Fine Arts of University of the Philippines Diliman.