rusty rocket


On a road trip a few years ago we came across this derailed train and went over to shoot pics. It was rusty and had been there quite a while, then one day my friend told me he drove past and it was all cleaned up and gone.

Shot on Kodak Elitechrome 160T, cross processed, using a Lomography Sprocket Rocket.

I Want You Back (Star-Lord Reader Insert)

Based on “I Want You Back” by Jackson 5

From the very start you knew Peter Quill was bad news. You knew everything he’d say to you would be a lie. You knew he would break your heart. But you also knew that you were naïve and unable to control the overpowering hope that maybe you’d be the one special enough to change his playboy-ish ways. After all, how could you not believe that the two of you had a future? He let you stay on the ship. He’d smile at you fondly when you entered a room, and he was forever playfully tousling your hair or sneaking up behind you to give you a flirtatious nip on the neck. And more importantly, he did these things to you and only you. Or so you thought. It was easy for a guy as charming as himself to trick you into thinking these simple little actions were signs of true love.

You hated yourself for being so foolish. Hair tousling and brief mouth to neck contact were hardly affectionate acts, and the way he so carefully avoided you when the others were around certainly should’ve been an immediate red flag. Dates were rare and normally consisted of nothing more than a trip to a bar or nighttime strolls whenever you ended up on a pretty planet. But the way he’d gently hold your hand or pull you close as he snaked his arm around your waist was enough to masquerade that his romantic gestures were more obligatory than anything else. But there were other things he’d do now and then that made it even more difficult to believe that you were nothing but a toy. He seemed to be actually interested in what you had to say as you answered the questions he’d ask you about yourself. He’d whisper soft compliments in your ear as you lay under the stars. He’d hold you every night after you let him fuck you in the most degrading of ways. And then one day it happened. The thing that you’d dreaded from the start of…whatever the two of you were.

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The crew of Apollo 9.  Left to right, are Russell L. Schweickart, lunar module pilot; David R. Scott, command module pilot; and James A. McDivitt, commander.
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We’re dinoflag-elated to meet you! Our Kelp Forest exhibit is still blooming with Akashiwo sanguinae phytoplankton. The Mountain Dew hue of the water is caused by trillions of single-celled algae—each one half the width of a human hair. These blooms have happened at the Aquarium before—in fact, a similar event nearly derailed the filming of Star Trek IV!

One of these ridiculously tiny rusty rocket-ships was photographed by our water quality specialists under a microscope. Every day, our collective of cool chemists characterizes the aquatic makeup of the Aquarium to keep our critters content. So far, this bloom is just a novelty inside our building—but in the wild, these blooms can create a sea foam that acts like a detergent to the water-proofing oils of bird feathers.

This beautiful bloom is a reminder to all of us human-scale beings that over 60% of the oxygen we breathe is produced by ocean organisms on the same scale—and smaller—as this particularly imposing phytoplankter. Green food dye for thought! 

Monday Blues

Rusty always hated Mondays. Well, everyone hated them really, but there was just something about them that sucked. Monday was her least busy day in an otherwise ‘okay’ schedule, but she still didn’t like it. Mostly because the classes that she had interfered with high tide, when the waves were the biggest and the best to ride. Being from the South, there weren’t many opportunities for her to surf out there, so she took every chance she got out here in California. Sometimes that meant breaking curfew so she could catch a few waves. 

Her next door neighbor, Johnny, had caught her on multiple occasions sneaking out of the hall well past curfew. He would tell her that it wasn’t right, and that she’d get in trouble, but Rusty never gave heed to his warnings, but simply brushed them off. She’d been doing this since she got to Berkeley, and she hadn’t been caught thus far. Why break the record? 

Even though he was a goody two shoes, he was smart and was top of the class in every class that they had together. Now Rusty wasn’t dumb in any sense of the word, she just found herself drifting off during class, missing some of the important things that she needed to know. to be honest, she would rather be out in the waves instead of nose deep in a text book about geology. 

Take now for example. Rusty was sitting at her desk, tapping a pen against her temple as she read, and reread a paragraph about something that was happening in the past. It was bad enough that she was sacrificing her time in the water to study, but she was studying History, a subject that she loathed. Her roommate, Margo, was off studying in the library, so it wasn’t like she could ask her for help. 

Looking up from the textbook, Rusty glanced at the open window and saw the ocean off in the distance. If this wasn’t finals, she’ be all over the idea of just ditching and splashing around. But school called. 

Slipping her hand under her text book, she pulled her headphones out and stood up. Rusty walked out of her dorm room, and walked the few feet to the one next to her and knocked on the door before opening it up. “Afternoon Johnny rocket!” Rusty said, plopping down onto his bed before crossing one leg over the other. “Would you be a life saver and help me out a little? I’m drowning in history, when I’d rather be drowning in warm sand and surfboard wax.” Her green blue eyes flicked up to look at him, and she gave him her best smile she could. “Pleaseee? I’ll buy you dinner?” She singsonged the compromise and wiggled her shoulders a little. “It’s a fair trade, I think."