Saturday, April 30, 2011
What does Barbie look like if she were a real person? For National Eating Disorder Awareness Week, high school student Galia Slayen decided to make a life-size Barbie, using the same proportion as the iconic doll:
Slayen brought the life-sized doll to the Today studios Monday to show off her handiwork. The Barbie stands about 6 feet tall with a 39" bust, 18" waist and 33" hips. She is made of wood, chicken wire and papier mache, and is dressed in a size 00 skirt that was a remnant from Slayen’s one-year bout with anorexia.
“I’m not blaming Barbie [for my illness] — she’s one small factor, an environmental factor,” Slayen said. “I’m blond and blue-eyed and I figured that was what I was supposed to look like. She was my idol. It impacted the way I looked at myself.”
The goal in creating Barbie’s likeness was to start conversation. “Talking about eating disorders is taboo to many people, and this made people talk about it,” Slayen said. “It’s a shocking image. A lot of people have seen it, and it’s started debates,” she said, particularly after she wrote about it for the Huffington Post. “Her proportions are not 100 percent correct, but her look is not invalid.”
Friday, April 29, 2011
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Monday, April 25, 2011
Sunday, April 24, 2011
Friday, April 22, 2011
Alessia selected “Making Rain” for Coming Together: Al Fresco, and I was honored when she gave “Making Rain” the lead position in the anthology.
To celebrate Earth Day, I'm offering “Making Rain” here, both as a celebration and as an enticement to read the other earthy selections in the Coming Together: Al Fresco e-book. All profits will benefit Conservation International.
Remember - eBooks are eco-friendly!
By Angela Caperton
Low clouds lay in the western sky, like black-fringed lashes above the glazed red eye of the setting sun. Someone else's rain, maybe Seminole's or Shawnee’s.
Jeremy Dale, Scientific Rainmaker, knelt in the dust-dry field and tried to remember how to pray. Beside him, his enormous gun pointed uselessly upward, the firearm’s salty shot spent noisily into merciless, clear skies.
He cursed fate's whim. This was the first time the gun had failed to make rain, just when he needed it most, all those Kansas dollars spent, Texas awash with floodwaters, and
Oklahoma dying in its worst drought since last month, a favorite lament among the crusty old men who hired him.
The folk of Hope Falls had abandoned Jeremy hours before, departed to town in their rattling Fords, raising lines of molten dust in the stillness of summer nightfall. He ached with failure and dread.
Something touched his shoulder and he jumped. He turned and half rose, his feet kicking up clouds. Beauty filled his vision.
“An Indian princess," he thought nonsensically.
Spirit in the wasteland, I greet you.
The red sunset turned her cheeks copper, ran like blood in the black veil of her hair. She wore a robe of white hide open in front. Her breasts were bare, small and dark-nippled, the triangle of black mystery inviting. His mouth turned dry as the fields.
She moved onto him, her hands like fever running into his open shirt, pulling him to her, insistent. Her breasts pressed against his chest as he caught her in his arms, lips locked on hers, tongues tangling in a flood of liquid fire. Her fingernails raked the tight muscles of his back, and any fear vanished, all doubt consumed by the heat of her body, the pulse of blood under her skin, and the vivid electricity of her touch turned his cock to iron.
The spirit is more handsome than I hoped. Sweet sacrifice.
Jeremy let her push him back into the warm caress of the baked land. The first drop of rain struck his forehead like a brand. She laughed and pulled at his belt, joyous. He would have denied her nothing, least of all what she wanted. He helped her remove his trousers.
When she saw his cock, she shivered, and the rain began to fall faster, big drops, making little rings in the red haze, then frosting the dust with darkness. Jeremy's shirt clung to him, one quickening drop at a time, and the rain thumped the woman's hide robe like the fevered beat of a drum. She took him in her hand, and knelt over him, her robe spread like wings. The storm beat a quickening rhythm.
She whispered words over his cock and took him into her hot mouth, suckling, flickering, her teeth restrained, her tongue a miracle.
Jeremy Dale remembered how to pray.
"I pray to the sky," his mind whirled, "because it is vaster than my knowing."
She washed the head with lips, teeth, and tongue, and then swung her hips over him, the hot leather of her robe sticky with rain.
The drums beat faster as she held him against the silken black V of her cunt, kissing his cock now with those wet, shrouded lips. She pinned him beneath her weight, light as the sky above the drinking land.
"I pray to the earth," he whispered to her, his fingers kneading her hips. "Because it sustains me."
He prays in strange words, she mused, but he knows. He is the one.
She rose and settled, just as the sun slipped beneath the rim of the earth, the sky weeping torrents, the drums numberless, deafening, and as he sheathed himself in her perfect heat, his cock nesting in the molten folds, she cast the robe aside. The rain beat hard, soaking him and turning the dust into thin, slippery mud.
To the hilt he slid into her, his cock deep in her divine flesh. She pulled him in, held him, possessed him.
He thrust up hard.
"Oh," she cried, as he filled her. Like a bolt, like a shaft of fire all the way up to her throat, the thrill of him washed her, flooded her. The spirit is magical, she sighed as he moved inside her womb and in her heart.
"I pray to desire," he groaned as he thrust. "I pray to love, because love makes the rain."
She screamed to the heavens.
Jeremy floated, awash on the slippery mud, the rain in his eyes blinding him, her hands hot on his chest, as she arched back and gripped him hard between her thighs, grinding, crazed, the sweet vise constricting as she came. Her head fell back, and she sang like the wind. The fevered pressure of her knees in his ribs dazed him, the pounding rain drowning him, and he came with her, the long pulsing spurts of it taking his breath as he spent himself with the rolling crush of the earth, into the sky.
The hardness of him deep inside her, the hot rush of his release, distant thunder, ecstasy cast like crystals against the sky.
He became the rain.
She became the rain.
Jeremy exhaled a panicked breath and woke alone in sticky heat. The drone of fresh-hatched mosquitoes buzzed in his head.
He stretched out in the stiffening mud, the earth alive beneath him.
"Thank you," he whispered. He breathed the sweet air of the morning, smelled the scent of life, and felt the pulse of the earth.
She opened her eyes and looked around at the sweaty, envious faces of the old women in the lodge. She shivered and smiled with her memory and listened to the torrential downpour. Who was he, where was he? "I love you," she murmured to the rain.
His heart swelled as he stood. He took up the useless gun and spoke to the endless expanse of sky, grateful for the rain, praying.
"I love you."
Thursday, April 21, 2011
via 333 Images