The Known and the Unknown – #2 Excerpts from the Essay “Fail Safe” Written by Debbie Millman Post by Jennifer Kiley Post Sunday 27th July 2014 The Essay titled “Fail Safe” Taken From Anthology Look Both Ways: Illustrated Essays on the Intersection of Life and Design
Debbie Millman is an Artist Strategist & Interviewer
“Fail Safe” The Essay-Explores Existential Skills-Living With Uncertainty-Embracing The Unfamiliar-Allowing For Not Knowing-Cultivating What John Keats Famously Termed “Negative Capability”
The Known and the Unknown – #2
I dreamed of being
an artist and a writer,
but inasmuch as I knew
what I wanted,
I felt compelled
to consider what
my economic future.
what my best friend
once referred to as
“the whole wide world,”
it was prudent
I told myself
it was more
sensible to aspire
that I could
have it all.
Virginia Woolf – Part #15
Excerpts from Virginia Woolf
Created by Jennifer Kiley
Created 24th March 2014
Posted Sunday 8th June 2014
A WRITER’S DIARY
A Writer’s Diary Virginia Woolf – Part #15
December 29th, 1940
Virginia Woolf at 58 yrs.
of the art
like a wasp
if the blossom
as it did
to the cliffs.
on the edge.
in the wet.
of old age
I feel it.
* * * * * * *
3 Months later on 28th March 1941 Virginia Woolf filled her coat pockets with
Stones, walked into the River Ouse near her home in Sussex and drowned herself.
Headlines stated she had disappeared but it was suspected she was dead. Three
weeks after she committed suicide by drowning, she was found. Leonard Woolf
had her cremated. Virginia Woolf’s ashes were buried under the intertwined Elm
Trees, nicknamed “Virginia and Leonard” by them, at Monk’s House, their Summer
Home. Both their homes in London had been destroyed by bombs during World
War II. Leonard Woolf, Virginia’s husband, was devastated. She left a note for
him and one for her sister Vanessa Bell. There was a huge outpouring from
friends, family, acquaintances, strangers, fans and admirers who were send-
ing their condolences. It was a shock to all, the loss of Virginia Woolf.
At the bottom of post I will leave a copy of the suicide note
Virginia Woolf wrote for her husband Leonard Woolf.
These are the last passages from Virginia Woolf’s A Writer’s Diary, BUT ONLY TEMPORARILY.
I will be presenting further excerpts
from Virginia Woolf’s A Writer’s Diary in the near future.
Thank You For Following Her Brilliant Words as her Gift to All of Us.
THANK YOU VIRGINIA WOOLF FOR BEING SO GENEROUS.
WE HAVE YOUR GIFTS TO LEARN FROM & WE ARE ABLE
TO ABSORB FROM THE DEPTH OF YOUR KNOWLEDGE, YOUR
BRILLIANCE & YOUR SENSITIVITY. I KNOW I AM GRATEFUL
TO HAVE FOUND YOU. YOU ARE IMPORTANT TO ME. I FEEL
THE PAIN YOU SUFFERED & HOPE YOU HAVE FOUND PEACE.
Virginia Woolf’s Monk’s House Garden
Erik Satie: Gnossienne No. 1, 2, 3
* * * * * * *
Virginia Woolf’s Handwritten Suicide Note to Her Husband Leonard
A Painful & Poignant Farewell [28th March 1941]
Dearest, I feel certain that I am going mad again. I feel we can’t go through another of those terrible times. And I shan’t recover this time. I begin to hear voices, and I can’t concentrate. So I am doing what seems the best thing to do. You have given me the greatest possible happiness. You have been in every way all that anyone could be. I don’t think two people could have been happier ’til this terrible disease came. I can’t fight any longer. I know that I am spoiling your life, that without me you could work. And you will I know. You see I can’t even write this properly. I can’t read. What I want to say is I owe all the happiness of my life to you. You have been entirely patient with me and incredibly good. I want to say that—everybody knows it. If anybody could have saved me it would have been you. Everything has gone from me but the certainty of your goodness. I can’t go on spoiling your life any longer. I don’t think two people could have been happier than we have been. V.
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.
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
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.
Dr. Annie Haskell’s Office as a Psychoanalyst
<em>Somewhere In Time – John Barry</em>
Calla Lily Bunch
Written by Madison Taylor
1st April 2008
Living has too many endings
Into invisible air
Pain fills the heart
Exploding like fireworks
Covering the sky
From dying flesh
By the enemy
All is stolen
Not yet lived
All is gone
Stolen away from love