“Coming Back to Life” – David Gilmour

Transformation
Sunday 16th February 2014
<3 <3 <3

Blue Morpho Butterfly Adult Emerging from Chrysalis

Blue Morpho Butterfly Adult Emerging from Chrysalis

Coming Back To Life
Singer/Guitar David Gilmour

A Song Filled with Magical Passion
A Help In Releasing the Darkness

Innocence Abandoned - Artist MTaylor (c) jKm 2008

Innocence Abandoned  (c) jkm 2014

Coming Back To Life

By David Gilmour

Created by Jennifer Kiley

Post 5th July 2014

DAVID GILMOUR TEARS AT HIS SOUL
TO SHOW US THE SOUND OF TRUTH
HIS WORDS RIP OPEN THE PAIN
RELEASE THE DARKNESS
HIS GUITAR TEARS OUT THE EVIL

WHAT WAS ATTACKING
NOW IT SHOULD BE BANISHED

David Gilmour - Coming Back To Life

Coming Back To Life
By David Gilmour

Where were you when I was burned and broken
While the days slipped by from my window watching
Where were you when I was hurt and helpless
Because the things you say and the things you do surround me
While you were hanging yourself on someone else’s words
Dying to believe in what you heard
I was staring straight into the shining sun

Lost in thought and lost in time
While the seeds of life and the seeds of change were planted
Outside the rain fell dark and slow
While I pondered on this dangerous but irresistible pastime
I took a heavenly ride through our silence
I knew the moment had arrived
For killing the past and coming back to life

I took a heavenly ride through our silence
I knew the waiting had begun
And headed straight..into the shining sun

Perceptually Intangible Motion - Jennifer Kiley 2014

Perceptually Intangible Motion  (c) jkm 2014

“I Am One of the Searchers”

a writer's word polished or raw

“I Am One of the Searchers”

By James Kavanaugh

Post by Jennifer Kiley

Posted on Sunday 15th June 2014

water ocean gif

sun rays into forest“I Am One of the Searchers”  There are, I believe, millions of us. We are not unhappy, but neither are we really content. We continue to explore life, hoping to uncover its ultimate secret. We continue to explore ourselves, hoping to understand. We like to walk along the beach, we are drawn by the ocean, taken by its power, its unceasing motion, its mystery and unspeakable beauty. We like forests and mountains, deserts and hidden rivers, and the lonely cities as well. Our sadness is as much a part of our lives as is our laughter. To share our sadness with one we love is perhaps as great a joy as we can know. Unless it be to share our laughter.

sunrise in the mountainsWe searchers are ambitious only for life itself, for everything beautiful it can provide.Most of all we love and want to be loved. We want to live in a relationship that will not impede our wandering, not prevent our search, nor lock us in prison walls; that will take us for what little we have to give. We do not want to have to prove ourselves to another or compete for love.

river thru rock walls  by cocoaaaaa

For wanderers, dreamers, and lovers,

for lonely men and women

who dare to ask from life everything

good and beautiful. It is for those who

are too gentle to live among wolves.

— James Kavanaugh

[There Are Men Too Gentle To Live Among Wolves]

rain on window in the city gif

*       *       *             *             *

Private Writings #65 – “I Said Hello You Said Goodbye”

private writings a novel of true fantasy by jennifer kiley [shawn's 2d blue name]

“I Said Hello You Said Goodbye”
Private Writings #65
Written by Jennifer Kiley
Post Tuesday 10th June 2014

WARNING: ADULT LANGUAGE AND CONTENT
Not Suitable For Children.

ALL CHARACTERS ARE FICTITIOUS.
Anyone Resembling Anyone Living or Dead
Is Purely Coincidental.

Crypticistic Synopsis:

private writings to dr. annie haskell psychoanalyst

I am the storyteller using imagination fantasy feelings & thoughts

to discover self soul eternal serenity & bliss

but to most importantly tell the best tale ever after upon a time.

see you down the rabbit hole.

Private Writings: Chapter #65. “I Said Hello You Said Goodbye”

Tuesday 2nd December 2008

Dear Annie,

Tell me what it is to be sexually attracted to someone whether you are a lesbian or straight. I feel so fucked up and suicidal right now and overwhelmed with anxiety. Confusion fills my mind. I need to draw from something sane to stabilize myself.

Something wants to take over my body or thoughts. It could be the voice I feel is coming from a ghost.

There has also been something very bizarre occurrences of objects moving, sudden winds, books fall off shelves, rather more like books being thrown off bookshelves and desks by invisible forces. The aberration has been very angry today and quite destructive. It’s either a ghost or my telekinetic energy mad as hell and sending out tremendous amounts from a negative energy flow, causing waves of the power to move objects and send them sailing.

It is odd but I have no feelings. I’ve shut them down. I may be trying to escape but I can’t. My life won’t leave me alone. It demands attention. It doesn’t like being all fucked up. My life is always with me no matter where I try to escape or into what insane state of mind that I produce. All the shit will still be here facing me down. There’s far too much pressure for me to handle safely. I have cracked in many vulnerable places. They feel like they could blow my mind away at any moment in & outside of time. I believe the rest of what is “me” would disappear with it.

For a quick moment, I would like to profess or confess, I HATE MY FAMILY, the part that tried destroying me. The pedophiles who forced me into experiencing their perverse needs and desires. They satisfied them on me. Stealing my innocence inside of their perversions. Presently, my gut feels like they have cut my insides open in order to watch me fall out & splatter over everything & everywhere. It is the most disgusting display of gross intentions.

I am Humpty Dumpty & no matter how hard I have tried, No One Seems To Be Able To Succeed In Putting Me Back Together Again. Nor Will They Ever, I Feel. Hope feels lost amongst the ruins of my once intricately commanding mind. I have failed or haven’t succeeded beating them back enough, far away from my center of being. Their corruption has infected me & I haven’t found there is a cure for the poisons they possess.

If I could have the dream life I wished for, not much would change. I love my new family. I never see the old one. The grandparents I love are gone. My grandmother is with me, inside every part of me, especially my heart & soul. She lifts me up into the sky to soar while I dream. When I am awake, my Muse & my grandmother are quite the pair when they work on me together. Sparks fly out of my fingers as I type on the keyboard. As the words appear on the page, I can see the flames licking the screen & feel their warmth caressing the meaning from out of the free flowing air around us. It is quite mystical & pixelated when those two are involved.

What I don’t understand is why was I born if life were only here to crush me? I feel my chest taking in air & the pain engulfs me. Something punches my body while I sleep. It feels like I lose every battle on any night they’re out to batter me. Who “they” are, I would conjecture they are “EVIL” & belong to the deepest Blackness where demons hide out in the Dark. I was born Good & it has always been necessary to try to destroy that strong element inside of me. But I am a fighter with a strength coming from the Unknown, which seems to want me to win the battle. All of the Battles, even if it feels like I have already lost & resigned.

Can’t wait to see your face looking back at me. I need to see your eyes. They give me strength & kindness. I need to be close to you & want you to hold me. Make me a promise, never to let me go.

Time for Group Therapy. We are talking about what we Feel is Real Today. What the Fuck is Real? It doesn’t exist. Reality. It is what is the Illusion. Fantasy & Imagination Are the True World while We Are Awake. HELL is where We Live when We Trip through Our Own Private Dreams. The Theory that the World Is Watching Is Only A Way To Jerk the Trolls of Nightmares Around into Believing in the Fake Reality. The One that Is Presented to Us through the Faux Media. It Is All A Manipulated Illusionary Perception We Are Meant To Believe In.

I will leave that last thought with you to Ponder. Maybe she [Me] has lost her mind somewhere in the swamp of Hell & Fire.

Don’t worry I am still here somewhere inside of my own mind.

Will write more soon.

Just How Many More Days Do I Have To Count Until I Am Released From My Own Private Prison?

Love Fondly,

Madison

@>-;–

© Madison Taylor 2008

“I think writing really helps you heal yourself. I think if you write long enough, you will be a healthy person. That is, if you write what you need to write, as opposed to what will make money, or what will make fame.“ — Alice Walker

Somewhere In Time – Composer John Barry

5 photo of white rose with red framed in blue

“A Dream
The beginning always starts out
With a dream.
It is all a dream
In our own nightmares”
— Madison Taylor

negative of le chateau de rocher by j. kiley (c) jennifer kiley 2013Le Chateau de Rocher – Home to Madison & Scottie
Their Cats & daughter Alison. She has her own place on the estate

play is not just play meryl streep“Pretending is not just play.
Pretending is imagined possibility”
— Meryl Streep

Medicalmarijuana red cross marijuana leaf black bgMedical Marijuana

Private Writings: Chapter #29 — The Party’s Over

private writings to a psychoanalyst (c) Jk 2013Private Writings: Chapter #29 — The Party’s Over
Written by Jennifer Kiley
Illustrated by j. kiley
Published Introduction & Chapter #1
On 19th March 2013
Published Early Tuesday AM
Posted On 8th October 2013

WARNING: ADULT LANGUAGE AND CONTENT.
NOT SUITABLE FOR CHILDREN.

ALL CHARACTERS ARE FICTITIOUS.
ANYONE RESEMBLING ANYONE LIVING OR DEAD
IS PURELY COINCIDENTAL.

Crypticistic Synopsis:

I am writing to Dr. Annie Haskell. My form of storytelling is through
letters containing dreams, thoughts, poems, music, describing my script
“Brief Sacrifice,” already made into a film but not yet released, psycho-
therapy, inspirations, reflective comments, the inner workings of the mind,
soul, body, emotions, and bipolar. I prefer mentally creative, interesting, or
having a brain misfiring. Included in the mix are childhood abuse, car crashes,
near drownings, drugs [the illegal kind at present], hallucinations, hypersexuality,
time warps, finding answers to unsolved mysteries, infatuation, imagination, fantasy,

and a need to discover my bliss.
See you inside.
Namaste! Madison Taylor

Private Writings: Chapter #29 — The Party’s Over
Tuesday 8th April 2008

Dear Annie,

It feels so strange when something once so important deteriorates into something so destructive. The Women’s Group met for the last time today and I am relieved. It needed to stop a long time ago. Instead, Dr. George allowed it to drift into a critical mass, causing everyone to be exposed to a dangerous situation he had no idea how to handle.

When it first began, it had positive benefits. For me, I was drawn out into the outside world. I think Dr. George, originally, had the right idea. A women’s group for those suffering from PTSD and a variety of other conditions. The group was to be a safe haven for those who had no other source to help them. It was doing okay until the good doctor began losing his sense of stability. His mind seemed to be slipping into a state of self-aggrandizement. He lost control of the behavior of a certain woman he felt attracted to. It was with Angie, there came the greatest exception.

When she began to be extremely critical of other members of the group. I seemed to top her list. Dr. George allowed her freedom and the support for the foul things she would say to us. Her prejudices toward the women from different backgrounds, especially Deborah, who is black, Israh, who is Muslim, and myself, with a triple threat of being a lesbian, living with another woman, and being Jewish. I converted to practicing Judaism a long time ago. It was while I was seeing my first therapist, Rachel. I was an impressionable teenager, she was Jewish and I felt a strong bond with her. I wanted to be just like her. That is when I decided to change my religious beliefs to hers. I continue to celebrate the traditions of Judaism but have since realized no organized religion allows me to have a free flowing spiritual base.

Angie hated our differences, and took great pleasure in criticizing us, using all her stereotypes of our preferred life style and cultures. Being called Queer and Dyke as words don’t bother me, but when there is hate behind those words, they become offensive slurs. It does become degrading and emotionally harming. It caused me to flashback onto the verbal abuse I heard when I was a kid in school. The bullies were severe with their use of language to undermine the confidence of all of us, who already felt so insecure from lack of support from our families, Those families, who gave us zero time to listen to what we had to say about what we were going through. And speaking for myself only, my family was also participating in abusing me.

Group was supposed to be a safe place to work on healing from all the poison so many people spewed out at us in the outside world. We were all supposed to be safe in our therapy group. Angie stole that away from us, and Dr. George did not lift his voice to protect us. Privately, he was even worse. He would defend Angie to me and then accuse me of being insensitive. That I didn’t try hard enough to understand what Angie was going through. What she was going through was to act like a bully and to continue our abuse in a supposedly safe environment.

She is now the dead and murdered group member, and Dr. George is being charged with her murder. Now if that is not irony, nothing is. She has brought another life down with her dying. It seems like she will never really go away. You told us, Dr. George tried to commit suicide while in his jail cell. He was under 24/7 suicide watch but still managed an attempt on his own life. The judge is to determine, some time today, whether he is able to stand trial. There was talk of moving him to a psychiatric hospital, in a ward that would be locked down. Wherever he was, he was to remain on suicide watch.

I remember when I lost my therapist, the one before Dr. George. She was a significant loss to me. I really thought she understood me, but when I reflect back now, I wonder. I feel she misunderstood me and made me feel crazy for needing her. I felt like there was something wrong with me because of how I felt toward her. It felt like I was a bit obsessed but if I think about my feelings now, I would say they were pretty normal for the kind of relationship we had. She had a strong control over me. When I wanted to talk about my feelings for her, she would always shut me down. And on the other side, I felt how she was so delicate and tender with me. One moment I would feel safe with her and then a moment later, she would make me feel like I was crazy.

Therapists have this way of confusing me, using mixed feelings, always their damned mixed feelings. I mean, who do you go to when you need to talk about your therapist? I admit it now, I was in love with her. At the time, I had no idea. I didn’t know I was attracted to women at the time. It’s called denial on an elevated level. No way was I attracted to women. I was but I wasn’t admitting it to myself or out loud to anyone. I should have known when I was in Kindergarten. I smiled a lot at my therapist. She made my heart so happy when I looked at her. I felt a magnetic pull inside whenever her eyes met mine. The blue intensity just melted me away.

Most of my female teachers made me feel nervous, in a good way, but a shy way. I liked them a lot. But I didn’t understand what I was feeling. No one told me there was such a thing as being attracted to someone of the same sex. I didn’t know there was such a thing. The church I went to always talked about a man and a woman getting together inside a marriage. I did leave that church when I realized my favorite person was a bigot. It was always that way with white, straight, Christians back then. Now some Christians have gotten the message to accept all as equal. We all have a right to express our life the way we feel it. We don’t have to deny who we are even if we aren’t part of the “Norm.”

Now that I have wandered away from the point I wanted to make in my letter, Annie, let me get back. What I wanted to tell you about is the therapist before Dr. George, Jamie, instead I floated back to my first therapist. I held back my feelings from Jamie. I wanted to tell her how I felt but I knew if I did it would bring an abrupt end to our working together. I knew she would not be able to handle how I felt. I was in love with her but I knew I had no chance of my feelings ever being accepted or reciprocated. If I told Jamie, I knew she would abruptly terminate our association.

Each week I would go to both my sessions. We talked about Scottie and my inability to handle being sexually intimate. Making love was pretty intense when Scottie and I first got together, It probably helped I was stoned and drank at the time. My fear would be buried and I was good at seduction. Writing poetry allowed me to express my feelings. There were no problems with my touching Scottie and she could touch me but if it went any further than my making love to her, meaning if she wanted to reciprocate, I would respond at first but then the strangest thing would happen. All my feelings, emotional and physical, would shut down completely. I believe I left my body. Something else took possession of both my body and mind. My emotions turned cold as the ghost that haunted me. Nothing could bring me back.

I use to think if I just faked getting through it, everything would be alright. This was the PTSD. My mind and body would flip back to anyone of the multiple times I was sexually abused. It would become those who abused me who were there, that took me out of time. They stole my ability to respond by forcing me to respond when the abuse was happening. Before I knew what my body was doing. It was not connected to choice but force and rape. Now when I make love, it starts out with the high of someone turned on and develops so wonderfully but then comes the transformation and flashbacks. The abusers take over and all goes sideways, becomes wrong and I must take my leave, not by choice but out of necessity to save myself from being re-abused.

Stopping is not something I’ve ever learned how to do. Nothing stopped the abusers so how does one stop something, where one moment it feels so right and the next it has deteriorated into a nightmare. All shuts down that is good and what is there in its place is the memories of abuse coming back to life. The delusions feel real, what is happening takes hold, destroys everything good, leaves me and the person I love confused, probably wondering what just happened. I can’t tell them, they have become someone I cannot trust. In that moment the trust has disappeared. Spoiled by what the abusers created inside of me, what has been left behind to live in me, waiting to destroy anything close to trust or love when it comes into my life.

I need to move away from this subject. It’s time to escape into a world of fantasies and dreams. “Brief Sacrifice” is how I do that. I write fantasies of the way I want things to be. I can create those worlds in my screenplays. They get to become real when they are transformed into films. Scottie creates the transformation for me. What I write becomes real for a time. Then I write another story to be made into the next film. Writing and enjoying my stories up on the screen is the best of both my worlds, words and film, the magic of creation coming alive.

In “Brief Sacrifice,” I create a magical world where anything is possible. There are good guys in white hats always pursued by the bad guys in black hats. A metaphorical way of differentiating. My good guys are always being pursued but hopefully by the end they will achieve their goals. The black hats will meet their demise. It is my way of getting even with those bastards who tried to destroy me. They may get away with part of their plan in reality but I get them back in my fantasies. The black hats are always destroyed in some fashion that give all who perceive this destruction a great deal of satisfaction. A feeling of well done.

In “Brief Sacrifice,” nothing is different, it is just figuring out how the white hats will achieve the ultimate discovery of Truth and keep it safe. The black hats, of course, are going to make every effort to stop the Good from ever seeing fruition. It is usually the 1% versus the 99%. In my stories the 99% always win. The Utopia, or whatever it is meant to be accomplished, finds a way to get around the attacks, of the always to be frustrated, in “Brief Sacrifice” it is the Tea Dome Soldiers, going under the heading for the secret organization called “GEUSS.”

“Brief Sacrifice” takes us on a journey through the ever reaching dimensions of Time and pierces the inconceivable threads of time by way of Magic, Miracles and the Mystical. Friends of Nikola Tesla know there is a secret created by the Master himself. In possession of the conduit of Magic, Miracles and the Mystical is Carter McLeod. In the Silver Box lies the answer. It is almost time for the Silver Box to open. Jonathan Sharp, the new head of the Friends of Nikola Tesla, holds the knowledge of what will make the Silver Box open. He is not aware he holds this power, yet, so he must learn first before he discovers it.

All are waiting for the right time. The old man was presented with the Silver Box directly from the hands of Nikola Tesla, a year before he died. Tesla knew he had to pass on his secrets. The old man was chosen because he was Tesla’s friend from his childhood back in Croatia. After they both immigrated to the States, the Colonies, they lost track of the other. But later on in Tesla’s life they had a surprise meeting. It came out of nowhere. But it was actually meant to happen. Nikola knew where to find his friend. He had kept track of him for his entire life. He could see from the start, the old man would play an important part in his future. And he did.

Tesla knew his life’s end was near. Arrangements had been made to run into his old friend. When they met, Tesla gave the old man the brief case with instructions never to open it. He, also, told him to protect it with his life and to seek others he trusted to help him with this task. Someday, he said, what he held would be the new dawning of humankind. It may not be in his friend’s future but someday, it would either save humankind or destroy it. His warning was to “Never Let This Brief Case Fall into the Hands of the Wealthy. They Will Want to See It Destroyed.” Tesla, also, gave him an envelope which contained further instructions. It was to form the group the Friends of Nikola Tesla. He was to tell them some of the details to hold in secret. Those who were members were to pass on down from generation to generation the secret details, until what was contained in the Silver Box was actualized.

“The contents of the Silver Box will save humankind.”

This message is what has been passed down. It is up to Jackson Sharp and Carter McLeod to carry out the destiny of Nikola Tesla. The Magical, Miracle and Mystical future will be revealed once what is in the Silver Box is activated.

This is all I will tell you today. Curious thing about the Silver Box. What it is? Have you any idea?

From the heavy to the heavier or light or is it Light? All will be revealed in its proper time.

Too much. Have I said too much? It isn’t good to keep some secrets and essential to keep others.

Hold on, there’s a news report coming onto the TV about Dr. George’s case. The judge saw him in court. Her decision, because of his attempted suicide, she ordered Dr. George to be remanded into the custody of the local Psychiatric Hospital. To be put on 24/7 observation. My thought are it will be in a padded cell, just to be sure. Why the hell do you suppose he tried to kill himself? It appears he really has lost it. Do you suppose he really is guilty and can’t deal with knowing what he did?

We will talk about this all when we meet in our next session. No group to interfere or to fuck up my feelings before I see you. That would actually be a relief. I can concentrate on what I want us to talk about and what I wrote in this letter. There will be a poem which follows.

Fondly,

Madison

Annie Haskell --- Madison Tayler's Psychoanalyst's Office

Dr. Annie Haskell’s Office as a Psychoanalyst

Somewhere In Time – John Barry

pansies maybe

rain in garden gifMade of Clouds
By Madison Taylor
8th April 2008

Pulling true love
Out of an invisible dream
Once the past was cruel
With moments of explosive highs
Now fading like the sun entering night
An image exists fading fast
Once upon a truth but never real

Wandering into a woods
Climbing a tree memories
Pretending to sit high
Riding through a living fantasy
A great height falling
No fear or a sudden awakening
The ground is made of clouds

© madison taylor 2008

abstraction p420 artist tehos tehos

Abstraction p420 Artist Tehos Tehos

“A Dream
The beginning always starts out
With a dream.
It is all a dream
In our own nightmares”
— Madison Taylor

Patrick is our Bengal cat in tree. He loves Scotties. They are buddies.   1612x1212

Patrick-our Bengal cat up in his tree-Scottie’s buddy

 

Havana Brown Kitten  Madison and Scottie's kitten One of the Two   800x600

Havana Brown Kitten Madison & Scottie’s. This cutie is Toker. He has a twin brother Mikey

dream home 2

play is not just play meryl streep

Private Writings: Chapter #28 — Death on the Veranda

private writings to a psychoanalyst (c) Jk 2013

Private Writings: Chapter #28 – –Death on the Veranda
Written by Jennifer Kiley
Published Introduction & Chapter #1
On 19th March 2013
Published Early Tuesday AM
Posted On 1st October 2013
Dedicated to Julie Andrews. Always Wished She Were My Mother.
Happy Birthday! 1st October 1935 Day J.A. Blessed This World. Saved My Life.

WARNING: ADULT LANGUAGE AND CONTENT.
NOT SUITABLE FOR CHILDREN.

ALL CHARACTERS ARE FICTITIOUS.
ANYONE RESEMBLING ANYONE LIVING OR DEAD
IS PURELY COINCIDENTAL.

Crypticistic Synopsis:

I am writing to Dr. Annie Haskell. My form of storytelling is through
letters containing dreams, thoughts, poems, music, describing my script
“Brief Sacrifice,” already made into a film but not yet released, psycho-
therapy, inspirations, reflective comments, the inner workings of the mind,
soul, body, emotions, and bipolar. I prefer mentally creative, interesting, or
having a brain misfiring. Included in the mix are childhood abuse, car crashes,
near drownings, drugs [the illegal kind at present], hallucinations, hypersexuality,
time warps, finding answers to unsolved mysteries, infatuation, imagination, fantasy,

and a need to discover my bliss.
See you inside.
Namaste! Madison Taylor

Private Writings: — Chapter #28: Death on the Veranda

Tuesday 1st April 2008

Dear Annie,

That was some announcement you made in group. I was stunned and couldn’t react in our session or in group today. I thought it being April Fool’s Day you were joking. First you tell us group had one more meeting, the last being next Tuesday followed by our session. Then to top that off, came the shock of the decade. The police declared Angie’s death a homicide. They arrested Dr. George. He has been charge with her murder. They feel the evidence is pretty airtight. The only thing you didn’t say was the cause of death.

A murder, I thought so all along, but Dr. George. Why would he throw away everything for her? It doesn’t sound right to me. She was not a very nice person. He must have been threatened to make him kill her. Not trying to blame the victim, but why are the police being so quiet about it all. Not a clue to go on. Curious mind wants to know. It’s driving slowly by a crash scene. You don’t want to see the gore but you do want to know what happened. Everyone does, unless they have a total lack of curiosity.

I hope he didn’t do it and a good lawyer gets him off. My feelings aside, he doesn’t deserve prison for putting up with her for ten years. We both started seeing him about the same time. He seemed alright back then, but deteriorated slowly since then. Retiring would have been one way to go, but murder. To be taken out by killing someone. That’s going a bit too far, indubitably.

I don’t mean to take this so lightly, but it is April Fool’s, remember. It all seems like a dream someone sat on and all the cream filling went smush! Should I really be serious? Angie died. I don’t miss her. Don’t even say I should, just little. Never. Not ever. She stuck me every week with her sarcasm and fucked up sense of propriety. Homophobia, she took to an extreme. She was twisted. Perverse. Jealous, I have someone who loves me. Couldn’t stand anyone being happy, if she wasn’t. I know she was definitely pissed off at the whole fucking world, like it owed her something.

Well, I do not miss her. Maybe sorry she was murdered. That part is terrible. It hurts her kids. I remember what I said when we all first heard about it, I said her kids would have a better life. But I am sure they are hurting now. It creeps me out thinking about it.

You mentioned in group, at the close, there is another group forming soon. It would be a selected group. More specific but you didn’t say how specific. I should have asked you in session but it slipped my mind. Feeling depressed for the past several days needed more attention.

Everything felt so lost. The more I felt myself slipping away from the real world, the deeper the pain was cutting into my flesh. Wanting to make myself hurt with physical pain was my only distraction from wanting to kill myself. Wanting to die was so powerful. A voice was speaking to me, “how do you think your friends and Scottie and your animals feel if you died by killing yourself.” It is my animals and Scottie who keep me around. And the friend who spoke those words, she, also, keeps me alive. I couldn’t hurt any of them, not in taking my own life. I have no control over feeling depressed. It is build into the misfiring of my brain.

Being bipolar gives me such highs. I write the sharpest dialogue and scenes are filled with life. When I’m depressed, I find a way of using those moments to be creative, also. But the pain courses through my blood, wanting to burst through like a gusher. The pressure in my head, to scream out the need to beat myself, to make myself bleed. Depression is so difficult to talk about, everyone backs away from it. They don’t get it. The worse things a person can do to a person who is feeling this way is to tell them to “Snap Out of It,” or “Get Over It, ” and the best, “What Do You Have to be Depressed About? You’ve got a great life.”

Depression has nothing to do with what you have or how much money in your bank account. You could be the wealthiest person in the world. Depression doesn’t acknowledge the means of one’s life. Graduating college Head of the Dean’s List, head of your class, editor of the college paper, that isn’t recognized when you want to kill yourself. Being nominated for an Oscar, absolutely nothing in it stops depression. When Depression wants to grab ahold of you, pull you down or push you closer and closer to the edge, nothing will stop it but trying to refocus its’ intentions. It feels an entity onto itself, with more power then I have inside of me to fight it.

I have won all the battles so far, but they are not through with me. Probably never will be. It is my battle to have two prominent sides to my bipolar. I am just so excited when I am excited because I am not depressed. There is a catch. Being high on life when bipolar can spin you too far to the upper end. You can get too high. Once again, the possibilities of losing control.

I want to switch over to a quick look into “Brief Sacrifice.” I have one piece for you this week from the script. There is a secret organization trying to locate the Friends of Nikola Tesla. They want to destroy them. They know something is changing. They know Carter McLeod is in possession of the Silver Box, and that it holds magical powers. They want to retrieve this and the person who holds it. Their anagram is GEUSS. Pronounced as the word “Guess.” I will tell you in my next letter about the initials and what the anagram means.

We should really talk about what I wrote and the poem I know I am going to write after I finish this letter.

It makes me feel so happy your being in my life.

Fondly,

Madison

Annie Haskell --- Madison Tayler's Psychoanalyst's Office

Dr. Annie Haskell’s Office as a Psychoanalyst

<em>Somewhere In Time – John Barry</em>

calla_lily_bunch

Calla Lily Bunch

rain in garden gif

Screaming Death
Written by Madison Taylor
1st April 2008

Screaming death
Life ending
Beginning
Dying

Living has too many endings
Once there
Disappearing
Into invisible air

Pain fills the heart
Exploding like fireworks
Shooting stars
Covering the sky

Blood spurting
From dying flesh
Taken out
By the enemy

All is stolen
Dreams
Memories
Not yet lived

Just gone
All is gone
Ripped apart
Stolen away from love

© madison taylor 2008

Reflecting Abstract Artist --- Jaison Cianelli

Reflecting — Abstract Art — Artist — Jaison Cianelli

“A Dream
The beginning always starts out
With a dream.
It is all a dream
In our own nightmares”
— Madison Taylor

Patrick is our Bengal cat in tree. He loves Scotties. They are buddies.   1612x1212 Patrick-our Bengal cat up in his tree-Scottie’s buddy

Havana Brown Kitten  Madison and Scottie's kitten One of the Two   800x600

Havana Brown Kitten Madison & Scottie’s. This cutie is Toker. He has a twin brother Mikey

English Country Gardens Chateau de Rocher framed

English Country Gardens Chateau de Rocher

play is not just play meryl streep

Poetry Out Loud: Change

poetry out loud - day title saturdayChange
Written by Jennifer Kiley
Illustrated by j. kiley
Post Created Friday 13th September 2013
Posted Saturday 14th 2013
POETRY OUT LOUD

la fleur bleu d'artiste by j. kiley (c) jennifer kiley 2013

la fleur bleu d’artiste by j. kiley (c) jennifer kiley 2013

Change
Written by Jennifer Kiley
Thursday 12th September 2013

Change makes life magic
Wandering wild through the mind
Freeing crust covering dreams

Expectations gone
Stretch universe past limits
Liberation wide open

Art is creative
Rescued ideas in thoughts
No depth created not art

© jennifer kiley 2013

flowing time by yaroslava

Flowing Time by Yaroslava

Cant U Feel the Change — David Guetta

Flowers Song and Poetry

Flowers Song and a Poem
Post Created by Jennifer Kiley
Poem Written by Henry David Thoreau
Created Thursday 29th August 2013
Posted Saturday 31th August 2013
Poetry Out Loud

Dedicated to a Special Friend Who Has Met the Trials of Life Head On

flowers yellow white pinkish with green background of leaves for niamh

Friendship

I think awhile of Love, and while I think,
Love is to me a world,
Sole meat and sweetest drink,
And close connecting link
Tween heaven and earth.

I only know it is, not how or why,
My greatest happiness;
However hard I try,
Not if I were to die,
Can I explain.

I fain would ask my friend how it can be,
But when the time arrives,
Then Love is more lovely
Than anything to me,
And so I’m dumb.

For if the truth were known, Love cannot speak,
But only thinks and does;
Though surely out ’twill leak
Without the help of Greek,
Or any tongue.

A man may love the truth and practise it,
Beauty he may admire,
And goodness not omit,
As much as may befit
To reverence.

But only when these three together meet,
As they always incline,
And make one soul the seat,
And favorite retreat,
Of loveliness;

When under kindred shape, like loves and hates
And a kindred nature,
Proclaim us to be mates,
Exposed to equal fates
Eternally;

And each may other help, and service do,
Drawing Love’s bands more tight,
Service he ne’er shall rue
While one and one make two,
And two are one;

In such case only doth man fully prove
Fully as man can do,
What power there is in Love
His inmost soul to move
Resistlessly.

______

Two sturdy oaks I mean, which side by side,
Withstand the winter’s storm,
And spite of wind and tide,
Grow up the meadow’s pride,
For both are strong

Above they barely touch, but undermined
Down to their deepest source,
Admiring you shall find
Their roots are intertwined
Insep’rably.

Henry David Thoreau

lady butterfly painted green back ground

Easy To Be — Prospecta featuring Lila Goldie

http://russelrayphotos2.com/2013/08/30/top-10-reasons-for-adopting-a-dog-from-second-chance-dog-rescue/ If you want to rescue a dog check this site out.

The Writer Speaks

tell me a story

The Writer Speaks
Interview With William Goldman
Notations by Jennifer Kiley
Created 15th August 2013
Posted Thursday 22nd August 2013
TELL ME A STORY

The Writer Speaks — William Goldman

William-Goldman-Quote life is pain

William Goldman talks about writing screenplays, writing and his life. Truly inspirational and great stories.

princess bride

William Goldman is an American novelist, playwright, and screenwriter. He came to prominence in the 1950s as a novelist, before turning to writing for film. He wrote Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, The Princess Bride and twenty more.

Princess Bride Characters

Princess Bride Characters

When he was a kid his father committed suicide and he was the one who found his father’s body.

Princess Bride

Princess Bride

He showed no signs of talent of writing. When he was in college he would submit his writing anonymously. Those who decided what would be published said of his anonymous writing, “We can’t publish this Shit.” He kept getting rejection slips. He sent out a short story and got it back the next day, so he was once again disappointed but when he opened it up, to his surprise his story was accepted.

paul_newman harper

Great interview. If you are a writer, I would say it is a must to listen to this. Good stories. He never thought he would make it as a writer. He wrote No Way To Treat A Lady. It was written around the time of the Boston Strangler. He had a theory of what if there were two and one was jealous of the other. He wanted to write a book about this. That was this book.

misery screenplay  william goldman

Now it came time to learn how to write a screenplay. He had no idea how to write one. He found a book which showed him how to write a screenplay. One look and he thought, I cannot write a screenplay in the style that screenplays are to be written. He wrote the book Flowers for Algernon that eventually became the film ‘Charlie’ with Cliff Robertson playing the lead. It won him an Oscar. He fired William Goldman from writing the screen adaptation for his book.

misery  james caan

Misery with James Caan

There are no rules. If I wrote Butch Cassidy today, they wouldn’t make it today. If Clint Eastwood made it, then maybe it would be made. They don’t make the movies the way they made them when films were really good on a regular basis. Studios freak at how much it cost to produce a film today.

butch-and-sundance-poster
A film getting made today doesn’t depend on whether the script and story is great, not enough. Does the movie open the first weekend and do good? That’s what’s important to the studios. Tom Cruise use to get an all clear but he doesn’t even do it anymore. He use to but no more.

Butch_Cassidy_und_Sundance_Kid redford newman

Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid with Robert Redford and Paul Newman


The rest I will let you hear for yourself. What I jotted down are only notes that give you an idea of what William Goldman talks about in the interview. It is fascinating. Exceptional to find this kind of interview.

all the presidents men  redford hoffman

All the Presidents Men with Robert Redford & Dustin Hoffman

QUOTATION from PRINCESS BRIDE: [anyone who has seen Princess Bride would never forget this quote.]

My name is Inigo Mantoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die.” Spoken by Mandy Patinkin so many times. If the drinking game were being played everyone would be drunk long before the end of the film.

Private Writings: Chapter #22 — Outraged Fortune

private writings to a psychoanalyst (c) Jk 2013
Private Writings: Chapter #22 — Outraged Fortune
Written by Jennifer Kiley
Illustrated by j. kiley
Published Introduction & Chapter #1 On 19th March 2013
Published Early Tuesday AM
Posted On 20th August 2013
WARNING: ADULT LANGUAGE AND CONTENT.
NOT SUITABLE FOR CHILDREN.

ALL CHARACTERS ARE FICTITIOUS.
ANYONE RESEMBLING ANYONE LIVING OR DEAD
IS PURELY COINCIDENTAL.

Private Writings: Chapter #22 — Outraged Fortune

Tuesday 19th February 2008

Annie,

You would be proud of me today, Annie. I finally stood up to Dr. George in a once-and-for-all confrontation. I told him off during our private session. The usual mood of unrest was between us. But today the hostility seemed more heightened. The session started almost immediately with animosity. I spoke honestly about my feelings regarding a specific group member who I felt had been treating me with contempt and judgement. She’d made it impossible for me to feel safe and supported in the group especially by Dr. George.

Other members of the group were contemptuous toward me, also, with two exceptions. Kristina was one women who supports me and the other woman is you, Annie. I must tell you, I am so grateful to you for standing by me, helping me feel some sense of security. Well, for some time in our private sessions, whenever I was honest about how a group member made me feel, he would say I was being critical and always come to their defense, without any words of support for me. Not even to say I’d made good observations, maybe we should talk about why I felt that way. What specifically is it they do that bothers me. Instead he would tell me my reality was imaginary. He told me my feelings were inappropriate and I was overreacting. What I thought was happening wasn’t remotely close to accurate. He accused me of delusional, irrational thinking.

Well, I tried to be reasonable and told him specifics of a particular day. I was exacting in detail of what was said and how. I held nothing back. My angry persona was fed up with my therapist’s bullshit and let him have it full force. I told him this group member was racist, homophobic, classist and her language was disgraceful, calling lesbians and gay men, derogatory terms, and with black people, she used the ”N” word. People who didn’t have her wealth, they were beneath her and didn’t deserve to live. I am holding back and being rather kind describing her language and the way she thought about and acted toward others.

He told me I was cruel and used unimaginable criticisms. That was enough for me. All those years of therapy holding back the anger sent my angry persona flying into an extremely powerful rage, telling Dr. George to go fuck himself. It didn’t matter it was Angie who was the center of the emotional storm setting off the rage and the insulting behavior of Dr. George. She was dead and possibly murdered, but delicacy, when it concerned Angie, meant nothing to me. For years Angie had been treating me like shit. Mourning her loss did not fit when I felt such loathing for her. Yes. I knew her children didn’t deserve the pain, but maybe they were lucky to be out from under her influence. Please don’t feel I went too far saying those words. Enduring this monster from Hell for too many years, has been an act of punishment for the entire group.

Dr. George couldn’t stop himself. A sign he was losing his professionalism completely. He repeated his words, I was cruel and unfeeling, calling me the monster. I lost it. My limit had been reached of what I would take from him. My angry persona went into a blinding rage and did something we hadn’t done since we were young. We pushed our body out of our chair, crossed to his office door, opened it and walked through it. With the greatest of forward motion, using all our strength, we slammed his door as hard as our strength would allow, sending an echoing of splintering wood throughout the clinic. I preceded to walk vigorously through the halls proceeded to the Clinic exit, leaving the building swiftly, knowing I had no intention of returning.

You will hear about my indiscretion, I am sure and it will be a biased version told by my ex-fucked-up doctor. I hear his words now saying I was disrespectful of him and of Angie’s memory. I tell you the truth, Annie. Angie was a terrible person. No one liked her, she was intimidating. Dr. George will tell everyone at the morning meeting I am having a mental meltdown, adding I said horrible things about Angie, I am crazy, unbalanced, delusional, irrational, a touch mad or crazy, whichever you prefer. I am none of these. Dr. George is the one who fits this description. Standing up for myself, I would say I am a complicated and have lived a rather colourful and traumatizing life,and someone who needs the assistance of psychotherapy to help me through the mix up, fucked up feelings crashing around in my brain.

I am depressed half the time and so fucking moody, anxious, suicidal on a regular basis but then the opposite. I float high and creativity floods my mind. Time stops. I move through space alone. The Universe is mine. It’s a grand and bloody good high. A no drug zone.

What a liberating experience, finally standing up to Dr. George. He’s been draining my soul of energy from the start. I had to find the force in myself to get past his influence. I know you’re thinking or I’m projecting thoughts onto you, ‘Why did I stay with him?’ Fear. Fear of finding the truth. Would I lose control. Go over the edge if I entered the real world. I felt I needed the familiarity of being destroyed by someone in authority. Dr. George was the perfect fit.

Started with my parents, family and abusers rolled into a perfect trauma circle, followed by bosses, but then came college and I thought I was released. College was an experience outside of time. I was stoned most of my waking hours. I even had an affair with the husband of one of my professors. I didn’t want to have sex with him. I hate sex. I hate it more with men. I didn’t want sex with him. It’s part of what is wrong with me. In college, I met my first real love. A woman of high intelligence and a sense of humour I couldn’t resist. Her opening comment to me, something so simple: “Do you have the notes for the last Western Civ class?” I turned around to see whose face went with the voice, the sensual sound that woke me from my fog. “Why, yes I do.”

“Did you study for the test?” Her next question. Of course, I had. I was one of those students who were always prepared and didn’t have to make an effort or more like didn’t want to make an effort because it all came too easily for me. It fucks you up, you know, to be that way. You miss out on the connection to what you’re learning. Now I concentrate and dig into what I want to learn. Now, I want to understand.

After we got to know each other, she told me, honestly, she thought I was a snob before she first approached me. Me. I’m an extremely shy introvert, yes, but not a snob. More afraid to talk students. Chose to hang out with professors, instead. They were easier to talk to. Once this female student and I got to know one another, we became inseparable. A growing friendship we could acknowledge but nothing more that was between us. It would have been too much for both of us. But love did happen. The lover came out in both of us during a stoned and wine induced high. My response to her saying we needed some guys to have sex was and I quote: “Why do we need men?”

It was the night I drove out some demons temporarily. Love happened there. It was the highest high. So, that was what was missing, I was/am a lesbian. Now, don’t misunderstand. It isn’t that easy. She left for another college, the transfer went through a short time later. I went into a deep depression. Dropped acid. Wanted to kill myself and my life suddenly took a totally new fork in the pathway to my future.

Now, before I close this letter out, I want to mention something about ‘Brief Sacrifice.’ Carter, through the clues, had found the passage on page 62, in the book ‘Somewhere In Time,’ that James, one of her three Savannah cats, the other two were Jasper and Jax, had led her to. This week James points out further information to break the code to open the leather briefcase. There is a number dial on the front of the briefcase on the flap locking it shut. There were, also, instructions on what to read in ‘Somewhere In Time.’ A certain passage was necessary to help understand the meaning for opening the briefcase. The meaning regards what’s contained inside what is inside the briefcase. The double inside meaning is there is a triple layer to penetrate to get to the contents. Once the contents are revealed, the real mystery will begin.

The passage is a long mantra needing to be memorized after being read and repeated until its effects transport you. It is self-explanatory. Carter opens up ‘Somewhere In Time’ looking for what the clue wants her to find. It, also, states once the passage is discovered it needs to be altered according to what the contents in the inside of the inside secret reveals. Those contents will explain what the alteration should be. For now it is just necessary to locate the passage, read it, write it down and then memorize it completely as if it were your life mantra for meditation.

The passage is found on page 95 and reads as follows: “[Some parts I will omit because of length but will include those which make sense of what is being said in Richard Collier’s mind.] It’s Thursday, November 19, 1896. You’re lying on your bed in Room 527, eyes closed. The sun has gone down and it’s dark out. Night is falling on this Thursday at the Hotel del Coronado: Thursday, November 19, 1896. The lights are being turned on in the hotel now. The light fixtures are for both gas and electricity but the gas is not used…”

“…At this moment, every room is heated by a fireplace. This room, 527, is being heated by a fireplace. At this moment in the darkness of this Thursday, November 19, 1896, a fire is burning in the hearth across from you; crackling softly, sending waves of heat into the room, illuminating it with firelight…”

“…Elise McKenna is in the hotel at this very moment; perhaps in the theatre checking some detail of her production…scheduled for tomorrow night…So, too, is her manager, William Fawcett Robinson. So, too, her acting company. All their rooms are being heated by fireplaces; as is this room, Room 527, on the late afternoon of Thursday, November 19, 1896…”

“You’re lying quietly, at peace, your eyes closed, in this room in 1896, November 19, 1896…Soon you will get up and leave the room and find Elise McKenna. Soon you will open your eyes on this dark afternoon in November 1896 and walk into the corridor and go downstairs and find Elise McKenna. She is in the hotel now. At this very moment. Because it is November 19, 1896. November 19, 1896.”
(And so on, for another twenty pages,)

Richard Collier’s thoughts: ‘I’m thinking more and more of the fact that, in going back, I am to be the cause of the tragedy which fills this face; I have her photograph in front of me on the writing table. Have I a right to do this to her? I know I have already done it. Yet, there again, increasingly, I sense a variable factor in the past as well as in the future. I don’t know why I feel it but I do. A feeling that I have a choice of not going back if I wish. I feel this intensely.’

“What do you suppose this means, James, Jasper. What about you, Jax? Wouldn’t you go back if you had the chance. He, obviously, is drawn to her. She wouldn’t have appeared to him before she dies if she didn’t want the experience. Right? But what is all this saying to us? Are we somehow going to find something to do with time travel in all this mystery? What if it is? What would we do with it? Well, actually, there are many things I would like to discover. There are many mysteries that have never been solved or resolved in an honest way. If someone went to the past, they could watch as history unfolds. Secrets hidden away. Never solved deaths. It all intrigues me. I know there are a list of mysteries. To find out the real truth. Hmm. How many lies have we been given in place of the truth.”

“Let’s try those numbers and letters you figured out James. I want to see if they work. What’s inside and inside what is inside of this briefcase, has me going mad. Come on, guys, first number is 7. [Carter rolls the dial to the 7.] The next number is 49. [Carter rolls the next dial around to 49.] What is next James? The number is 3. [Carter repeats the motion to 3.] Next up is a letter. What is it, please. The letter is ‘J’ capitalized. [Carter goes to the next set of dials and takes the first one to the letter ‘J.’] Next letter is a capital ‘E.’ [Carter takes the dial to the capital ‘E.’] What is the last letter, James? We are almost there. The letter is the capital letter ‘N.’ [Carter slowly roles the dial delicately, so no error is made. She stops when the capital ‘N’ comes up.] Okay, guys, here is what we have been working towards. Are you three ready to find out if we did it right? Or more excited that we did and we are about to open this leather beauty and discover the hidden treasure. Okay, slide the lever over. Please release the lock. Just please let’s hear a click and release.”

Carter slid the lever to the left and in a split second the sound of silence, listening. Did it click? “YES!!! Boys, the lock opened. Flip the flap over and open the briefcase, right now.” The flap gracefully fell back over to the other side of the briefcase and the mouth opened. The insides were opened. Now time to look inside. Carter and James, Jasper and Jax all gathered round. Carter pulled back the opening and reached inside to bring out the contents. In her hand she held a sleek silver case 3 inches high, 7 inches wide, and 5 inches deep. Placing it gently on the coffee table, Carter and her boys just stared at what lay before them. It glistened. The silver was shiny like a highly polished magic mirror. Everything in the room reflected off of its surface.

What to do next. How were they going to open this silver box? There were no seams. No lock. The surface was totally smooth, as though it was melded into its shape. It was light, Carter told her babies. “Whatever it contains holds some powerful magic. I am sure it is hollow and something is hidden within that holds great power. Look at the clues. We will find a way inside. We will learn the mystery of this mini-monolith of unyielding precious silver. We look to you James. You probably already know what we are looking at. You are looking through it into its mystery. You know. I can tell. It is in your glistening eyes. When ever you are ready, James.”

Carter smiled. They made a huge pile in Carter’s lap for a group hug of fur and flesh blending in warmth and love, sprinkled with a sliver of curiosity.

And so ends the tale today.

At least, I have my storytelling to escape into, Annie. Murder. Rejection. Madness. Scottie is back but is sleeping right now. I haven’t talked to her yet about Dr. George. She will laugh, I am certain. Her relief will shine all over her face. Ideas of ways to rid me of Dr. George have been circling her mind almost from the day I walked into his office. I stopped writing for a time after I started seeing him. He really sucked the soul right out of me. So does his supervisor, Dr. Reagan, my psychiatrist. She either enjoys conflict or she has no idea what she is talking about. I’ve always wondered about all those multiple degrees on the walls of professionals. They are paper without a story. Written up shortly after someone offers up proof they did their dissertations and a certain number of hours treating patients at a crazy institute. The keepers are the crazy ones and the inmates are their captors.

I hope you are not like any of the others I’ve seen. They fucked with my mind. Some I fell in love with or had crushes on. It was those who thought they would bond and then rip my heart out by leaving before my time was up for needing them. It all sucks but I am afraid I am addicted to the process. It is my faith or belief system. Looking inside to see the bigger picture. The universe or Goddess or the Matrix is connected through the insides of us all. We know or try to find out the secrets or a clue that might help make dying and our soul leaving us not such a terrifying thought. We know it is an eventual experience. Is it really our soul to begin with or to end with?

Until next time. I miss you. I need you to take care of me for a while. Guide me in a direction that points to a better place to live inside myself. You are what I have and need now.

Fondly & Needing You,
Madison

Sets & Animals for Film: Brief Sacrifice with Lead Character CARTER MCLEOD. [Portrayed by BAFTA Nominated Actor NATALIE STEPHENS] Savannah Cats are Carter’s. Screenplay: MADISON TAYLOR. Director: SCOTTIE ANDREWS Production Co.: INFINITE IMAGINATIONS, INC. [TRIPLE III] {Madison Taylor & Scottie Andrews Formed Their Production Co. 10 year ago in 1997.}

'Brief Sacrifice' English Garden 734x492

‘Brief Sacrifice’ English Garden

Brief Sacrifice film Savannah cats---Jasper & Jax when 10 week old kittens

Brief Sacrifice film Savannah cats—Jasper & Jax when 10 week old kittens

'Brief Sacrifice' Film Set Library 626x626

‘Brief Sacrifice’ Film Set Library

Every Detail in the Two Story Living Room Is Done with Precision from the Crown Moldings to the Carvings on the Fireplace  800x600

Every Detail in the Two Story Living Room Is Done with Precision from the Crown Moldings to the Carvings on the Fireplace

Edelweiss   674x587

Edelweiss

Annie Haskell --- Madison Tayler's Psychoanalyst's Office

Dr. Annie Haskell’s Office as a Psychoanalyst

Somewhere In Time – John Barry

rain in garden gif
Deeper Clarity
Written by Madison Taylor
Monday 19th February 2008

Deeper clarity
Opens my eyes so I might see
The world I live in
How it surrounds and grounds
Further inside of me
Where I cannot touch the way it feels
The numbness cuts out the things not so real
What I love seems to feel lost
Disconnected from the center
Wandering blindly in search of meaning

Invisible sight beyond clarity
Lead me to the obscurity of lose
Where is the understanding?
What holds a world together?
Appearing as a disintegrating edifice
Of unrecognizable signs of life
Meaning is lost
Unable to grasp a hold of security
Drowning from lack of contact
It disappears

With it I follow into invisibility
The universe is disappearing
Usually stated ‘before my eyes’
But without feeling
The touch of anything
Makes transparent
All physical reality
No senses to perceive a truth
No truth to acknowledge existence
Lost in the desert of sand and wind

Nothing recognizable
Blown away with the last breath
Dreams are forgotten
Did they ever exist?
Or were they made up and destroyed
All in one instant
Never established as possible
Or real
Just pretend as children do
The sky is blue

As for a reflection of the ocean
Why then is the ocean blue?
But from a reflection from the sky
They echo each other’s reality
Which makes me think
We are all mirrors reflected images
Repetitions of all existence
Bringing the conclusion
We all are one
In a reflection of a continuous one

And what gives the one meaning?
Isn’t a connection to something
What gives something meaning?
Are we all a dream
In one mind
Played out on a stage
Of an imaginary universe?
Does this bring clarity
Or more confusion?
Where is the understanding?

Where is the meaning?
What is the purpose of it all?
Why are we here? Now?
Or at any time?
Slipping into the dark hole
The proverbial black hole
Where darkness takes hold
Sight isn’t necessary
Nothing there to be seen
Holding a physical dimension

A magnetic union
A force powerful enough
To pull you away from reality
And higher ground
Losing the controls
Battling is futile
Surrender is necessary
Tripping over boulders of truth
Gripping hold of anything solid
While the quicksand pulls at you

Trapping you without warning
All the meaning is evaporating
Clarity is lost in a mind shut down
Bipolar twisting as a tornado
The magnetic force failing
Depression is in full control
Must go with its commands
Fighting is resistance inside out
No strength remains
The power is drained

Where once there was joy
Now there sits despair
No one cares to be scared
It is buried too deep to remove
The mind is on its own
It has no power here
To analyze a solution
Surrendering on one’s own terms
Nothing acceptable but waiting
Lasting till the emotional storm passes

Eventually-level ground returns
Back to self with reality in place
Black holes out of reach
From sucking the soul
Right out of the body
Whole again
Sane again
Resurfacing to regularly scheduled channels
Illusions escape my memory
Realness of truth restored.

© madison taylor 2008

Messed Mindscape  808x608

Messed Mindscape

“A Dream
The beginning always starts out with a dream.
It is all a dream
In our own nightmares”
— Madison Taylor

english garden off the back marble patio  972x732

English garden off the back marble patio

Patrick when he was five weeks. He is a Bengal kitten. Madison gave to Scottie as a present for her Birthday. As he grows he becomes devoted to her.

Patrick when he was five weeks. He is a Bengal kitten. Madison gave to Scottie as a present for her Birthday. As he grows he becomes devoted to her.

Patrick is our Bengal cat in tree. He loves Scotties. They are buddies.   1612x1212

Patrick is our Bengal cat in tree. It is protected area. Patrick cannot leave property from there. He loves Scottie. They are buddies.

Living Room Ope Wide with Windows

Living Room Open Wide with Windows

Chateau de Rocher Art Gallery  999x752

Chateau de Rocher Art Gallery

Dreams of Elysium by Ann Marie Bone  Scottie gave this painting as a present to Madison for your Birthday. She had fallen in love with the colours and the dreamlike state she would transcned into when she meditated while gazing into it  900x669

Dreams of Elysium by Ann Marie Bone Scottie gave this painting as a present to Madison for her Birthday. She had fallen in love with the colours and the dreamlike state she would transcend into when she meditated while gazing into it.

Bedroom Madison and Scottie Share with High Windows --- Great During Thunderstorms & Rain

Bedroom Madison and Scottie Share with High Windows — Great During Thunderstorms & Rain

Glass Ceiling  3977x2848

Glass Ceiling

play is not just play meryl streep

Tales of Mystery and Imagination

Tales of Mystery and Imagination
Written by Edgar Allan Poe
Post Created by Jk the secret keeper
Illustrated by j. kiley
Post Created Friday 16th August 2013
Posted On Saturday 17th August 2013
POETRY OUT LOUD

FluidPainting65 --- Artist Mark Chadwick  792x895

FluidPainting65 — Artist Mark Chadwick

“Dreams are reality at its most profound.”
— Eugene Ionesco

Tales of Mystery and Imagination
by Edgar Allan Poe

For my own part, I have never had a thought
Which I could not set down in words
With even more distinctness that which I conceived it.
There is however a class of fancies of exquisite delicacy
Which are not thoughts and to which as yet
I have found it absolutely impossible to adapt to language.
These fancies arise in the soul,
Alas how rarely, only at epochs
Of most intense tranquility
When the bodily and mental health are in perfection.
And those mere points of time
When the confines of the waking world
Blend with the world of dreams.
And so I captured this fancy
Where all that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

A Flutist Call To Dream --- Artist Josephine Wall   772x582

A Flutist Call To Dreamer — Artist Josephine Wall

A Dream Within A Dream — Alan Parsons Project
Tales of Mystery and Imagination — Recitation by Orson Welles