Polls are now closed in California, Washington, Hawaii, those parts of North Dakota on Mountain Time, and those parts of Idaho and Oregon that are on Pacific Time.
My original tumble post was here. This is art by N. Dofline. The caption reads:
In life, Deborah had been a quiet girl with low self-esteem. But as a work of art, she became a celebrity and was eventually bought by a private collector for $600,000.
Source: g.e-hentai.org
My original tumblr post was here. This is a promotional poster for the 1969 horror movie Nightmare in Wax. Original text:
PEOPLE PUPPETS … IN COLOR!
1969.
My original tumblr post was here. Source: twitter.com/
My original tumblr post was here. Original text:
Scene from “The Experiment – Part 1″ – The petrification process of Chris
——————————–
I leapt up and stepped back a few feet again. It was a truly surreal sight. From the navel up, Chris looked just like he always had: a tan, athletic bodybuilder, as animated and talkative as usual. But from the waist down he was a silent, immobile white statue of himself. The process kept moving inexorably upward, past his hips and into the muscles of his torso. The individual plates of abdominal muscle crackled as they solidified. It was even working its way up into his arms. His big hands, resting upon the thick vein-lined iliac crests, were like those of Michelangelo’s David,: strong and large and infinitely detailed. I watched with even more fascination as the wide tips of his marble fingers fused to the petrified rock of his angular hips. Soon his arms were made of stone up to about the middle of his taut veiny forearms, about the same height that the process had reached in his torso. It seemed as if the statueness were leaking upwards as I watched, as if it was a liquid whose very strangeness allowed it to defy gravity.
“Uh, yeah! Yeah, Chris, I’m listening to you,” I stammered.
“Well, good. ‘Cause you know I’m doing this for your benefit.” He cleared his throat. I thought absently that it might be the last time he’d have to clear it for a while. “So, how do I look?” he asked.
“Well…” I walked quickly around him, checking out his vitrified figure from the back. Now his muscular butt was a pair of sculpted hillocks of marble. Even the dimples in the sides of the glutes were frozen and gloriously preserved as art. The transformation flowed up his spine. One by one each vertebrae became an alabaster bump. They were dimly visible in the deep crevasse between the thick yet intricate musculature of his back as big lats hardened into polished stone curves, rendering his upper torso as a magnificent V-shaped wedge of marble.
“Chris, you’re fucking gorgeous. You look amazing. It’s like you were meant to be a statue,” I blurted. Now it was my turn to clear my throat. “I mean, I just gotta be honest. If you’d only let me put you on display somewhere, man…”
“Uh, uh! We discussed all that shit before. Two hours tops. I’d wag my finger at ya for trying to change our deal. But, well… it’s made out of rock now.”
I walked back around to my place by the recording equipment, a few feet in front of him. I watched his dark nipples turn into round white pebbles poking from the growing smooth marbled expanse of his pectorals. Chris had been transformed half-way up his chest even as we shot the breeze.
“But anyway, keep talkin’, Chris. Tell us what you feel.” I grabbed the video camera to go in for a tight close-up of the statue’s perfect marble feet. Then I scanned up and down his whole figure slowly before returning to the wide shot. “I want to get every detail, ‘cause you said you only wanted to do this once!”
“Uhh!… My face is starting… to stiffen… muscles tightening. My… my lips are getting numb and… harder and harder to move. But I can still feel everything… my whole body, even more than before. It’s amazing, it’s…” He paused, breathed, his half-petrified chest seeming to hitch. “My chest is closing up, I …” Chris’s voice trailed off into a long hoarse cough as his upper pecs and throat grew fixed in stone. There was a rattling hiss of hair as he blew out his last breath, the final warm moisture from his solidified lungs. But his whitening lips continued to move, obediently describing his every sensation.
He had to know he wasn’t making any sound, yet he continued his patter silently, for the camera perhaps. With earlier practice, I could lip-read his slowly-moving mouth: comments about feeling his heart not beating. He mouthed how he felt some fear, but was otherwise fine, perhaps better than ever…
Solemnly, I backed away as his wide muscular deltoids and the smooth curve of his trapezoids and thick neck turned glossy white, turned completely into stone. The color faded from his face, now so stiff and rigid that only his lips slowly moved.
“You can stop now, Chris,” I said. “Just smile for me.”
Somehow he heard me with his numbing ears. Chris left his silent mouth hang open and forced the hardening stone it had become into a gaping smile of arousal. His face was now a rigid white mask. His moussed hair congealed into a solid mass of white fibers, an intricate carving of marble tufts. Then the crackling sound of the process stopped.
The floor panel darkened and the hum faded to silence.
I gaped.
(via statuegarden)
