The Solarium

In reply to the ill-informed caption that went with this:

You do realize that secondhand smoke may increase heart disease risk by as much as 60%, right? (Since smoking bans in some cities, hospital admissions for heart attacks—the leading cause of death in men and women—have decreased by an average of 17%.) And you know that it has connections to Sudden Infant Death Syndrome, right? That it is probably part of the reason childhood asthma is as bad as it is? That it increases the risk of lung cancer for the general population (not just smokers, for whom it increases the risk—of course—significantly)?

I get wanting to retain your rights—you have every right to blacken your lungs—but the rest of us should have the right to try to maintain our health and not be subjected to something so dangerous that so easily can be removed from areas. To smoke in public, around others, is like pointing a loaded gun at people. It’s just the bullet hits later, more subtly; you never see the carnage. Others do.

Have a care and keep educated, please.

ameagansample:

No #smoking in the #parks in #NYC … #bullshit (Taken with instagram)

“HOW DEALS ARE MADE” by Solar
He leaned across the table and grabbed her hand, roughly pressed his fingers down between her knuckles. He invaded her personal space, because until the job was done, she belonged to him, to the Company. Her space was not her own, not with ten million riding on her.

For a moment, she was drawn forward, anticipating a whispered secret, even if she knew his secrets were ones she’s didn’t wish to hear.

“No later than the fifth,” he warned in soft tones. His breath smelled of red wine. “If the shipment is late… Trust that I’ll be in touch again.”

——-

reclusive-genius:

jerzee55

black-and-white:

Photographer Magda Berny

“LOST AT SEA” by Solar

He would come again. She had to believe that. What other option was there?

Holding onto this little fragment of faith, she returned to the beach every day; to wait, to watch, to listen. The seals barked below, bobbing long necks, butting whiskered snouts, sliding across rocks like oversized snakes. None of them shed its skin, though. None of them stood on two unsure legs. None of them became a man. Her selkie was lost at sea.

“PLAYING THE GAME” by Solar

She couldn’t be sure when the game first began, but she didn’t want to stop playing. After all, it was when she played the game that she felt most alive.

He always started by taking away her eyesight, by wrapping his tie around her head and securing it with a double knot he’d learned years ago. Without sight, every other sense was heightened, so that she knew he smelled of the old, lacquered wood of the lecture hall, books and his sweet-scented cologne. He tasted of coffee and cold wind, and he sounded like sin, personified. She thought she might love him, but that wasn’t supposed to be part of the game.

Did he play this game with the other girls? she wondered. One day, she’d have to remove the blindfold and find out.

But not yet. Not yet.

Love this picture. Came up with a quick rough draft of a poem for it.

——-

“THAT SECRET I KEEP” by Solar

I met you over Elmer’s Glue,
Beneath a banner of the alphabet,
Among crayons red, green, blue,
In a world free of regret.

We grew up together,
In secret clubs forged at recess;
Birds of a feather
In matching yellow dress.

I dated a boy and had my first awkward kiss,
By which everything fell apart;
To shine light on feelings I tried so hard to dismiss,
But knew deep down in my heart.

I tell you secrets, whisper stories in your ear,
About places we’ll go, people we’ll meet,
In some distant future yet unclear,
Where the world stretches out beneath our feet.

But one secret I still keep buried deep
For fear that truth might be our end
And render me alone to weep and weep
My secret is this: I love you as more than a friend.