Private Writings: Chapter #26 — Wizardry of Id

private writings by jennifer kileyPrivate Writings: Chapter #26 — Wizardry of Id
Written by Jennifer Kiley
Illustrated by j. kiley
Published Introduction & Chapter #1 On 19th March 2013
Published Early Tuesday AM
Posted On 17th September 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, psychotherapy, 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 #26 — Wizardry of Id

Tuesday 18th March 2008

Dear Annie,

I have been feeling like I am close to the edge. Shortly, after leaving our session, remembering what we talked about triggered an awful reaction inside of me. My psyche is in a full blown depression. Talking about Dr. George, feeling like he was raping me, making me have to be in a room with him again. He forced me. If I didn’t I would have lost you before I even had a chance to find you. He had no right to dangle you as a piece of candy. I submit and get raped. I say no, I lose you. How is that acceptable for a therapist to repeat my abuse on me so I will get the attention I need so badly. Why did you let him do that? Now I feel suicidal. The darkness is surrounding me. It feels like the shadow creatures in “Ghost.” They are going to pull me into Hell. Any moment I am going to be forced to kill myself.

You should have stopped him. Never agreed to his terms. Just accepted me and told him to go fuck off. I didn’t deserve to be forced, when I already made it clear I didn’t want to do what he wanted. How should I feel? How can I react any differently? Now, I am having my doubts. Are you going to protect me from my nightmares? Keep them away from my dreams? I have imagined being with you, doing therapy the right way for so long. I never thought you would be part of terms from him in order for me to be with you. Should I be disappointed or feel lucky? I got my dream therapist. Or so it seems.

You did protect me in the closure session, but I shouldn’t have had to be there. It made me furious. I felt you held me inside your power. You threw up a protective shield. I felt it. But he was there, too close, so creepy. I couldn’t look at him. My skin crawled. He was looking at me firing off lies. Just like my shadow mother did many years ago.

When I was a teenager. She came to one of my sessions with my first therapist. In front of me, she spoke words coated with black tar. All lies. Professed she had no idea what I was talking about when I said I was tortured by her. She denied ever doing anything to me. At that point, I wasn’t about to tell her about my other abusers. It was sufficient to try to confront her with my therapist to protect me. In the last moments of her presence in my therapist’s office, I just lost it. I couldn’t stand hearing the lies for a minute longer. I fired off at her a list which grew in my head since I was little, of all the abuses she committed on my flesh, my mind, my emotions. I had to cut myself off. It was a painting without a canvas to record the truth. She shook her head in denial. Making it seem to my therapist I was making the whole tale up in my imagination.

After my therapist returned from escorting her back to the waiting area, she took a seat at her desk and looked at me. All I could say to her was I am not crazy. I wasn’t lying. Her response: “Your mother is crazy. Of course, I believe you. She was lying or had buried what she had done so deep, she believed her lies. It is quite possible if she had remembered her abusing you in the horrible way she did, it would literally drive her over the edge into complete madness. It is enough she is borderline, with one step inside of madness.”

Her words reassured me I was actually sane. She told me if I was going to “lose my mind,” it would have happened while I was doing all the LSD and smoking pot. I did have grand hallucinations and moments when I thought I had lost touch with reality. LSD really can make you feel paranoid. What the fuck I was thinking, doing hallucinogens. I put them into my body. I will stop short at doing mushrooms. They are a spiritual experience. I read the whole “Bhagavad Gita” while tripping. Whoa, that books takes you to such heights of deep awareness. I felt Bliss. True Bliss. That was a worthy experience.

Annie, writing to you or just writing has made me feel a bit better. Why do people fuck with other people’s minds and lives?

I think I am freaking a little because I told you today about my letters and poems. They have been my secret for so long. Revealing I wrote to you made me feel too vulnerable. You want me to bring them to my sessions and to read you some of what I write, especially the poems. You, also, liked I was telling you the story from my script for Scottie and my film “Brief Sacrifice.” The idea of a secret society guarding Nikola Tesla’s secrets. The thought of a perfect Utopia. If anyone could pull off setting up something so grand “Tesla” could. I didn’t tell you what is in the Silver Box. I am not sure I should reveal the secret. It would ruin the mystery of the film.

It is such a cool secret. I will give you a hint. “Anywhere is possible, as long as it has happened already, somewhere in time.”

Can you guess from this clue?

I think I will write my poem for you. See if I can shake the rest of these feelings of the shadows surrounding me. Wanting to do harm to me or wanting me to do harm to myself.

I want you to know I want to trust you. What you did with him, felt like a betrayal. You conspired to force me to give in against my will and better judgement. I am not sure it will be easy for me to get past it. We need to work on not forcing me into something I don’t want to do. When I say “No,” I need to be respected. Words meant nothing to my abusers, especially the words, “NO” and “STOP.”

I am going to close the letter portion here and continue on to write my feelings into a poem. Maybe, I will better express what is happening inside my mind and heart, I do have strong feelings building up and putting pressure on my psyche. You are my wizard now. You must help me understand myself. Why I am unable to let go of my feelings, what am I feeling, and what the hell drives me. The highest concern in my head is why I cannot enjoy anything that would bring pleasure to anyone else.

Wish me luck on writing a poem for you, Annie. If it is going to be my first, I want you to see inside of me.

I am signing out on my letter to you.

Fondly,
Madison

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

Dr. Annie Haskell’s Office as a Psychoanalyst

Somewhere In Time – John Barry

lily open pink purple mix

rain in garden gif

Of Highest Concern
By Madison Taylor
18th March 2008

Intruder thrusts knife
Pressure pierces deep in flesh
Sensations of pain spreading

Bleeding stills body
Force penetrates privacy
Ripping away self-control

Will overpowers
Trembling from intensity
Inner strength halts invasion

© madison taylor 2008

rookie wood  2013  artist paul wood

“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

bedroom perfect high windows light

play is not just play meryl streep

New Poetry Release: SEVEN DAYS OF ASHES ~Hymns to the Holocaust by Alan Patrick Traynor

the secret keeper:

Alan Patrick Traynor wrote a brilliant selection of poems in his new book Seven Days of Ashes. These are times to never forget ever. Alan Patrick takes you their by bravely visiting the past himself, experiencing the excruciation pain of the holocaust. Blood for ink, he etched on paper the words you will want to read and absorb into your own soul. Never must the message he brings through his words, ever be forgotten. Alan Patrick brings the truth to your minds, traveling back along the lines of his poems to places locked in its place, cemented in times always needing to be remembered. The memories are carried in his words so truthfully and feelingly. You will never be the same after you visit the past through the rawness of his words as he reveals the truth through his eyes. Jk the secret keeper

Originally posted on After Nyne:

Screen Shot 2013-08-09 at 14.15.11

SEVEN DAYS OF ASHES ~Hymns to the Holocaust is the latest collection from Irish poet Alan Patrick Traynor.

Traynor has travelled immensely throughout Europe and the United States for a good half of his life, and has gathered some extraordinary skills in how he breaks into the stark meter of suffering, with a music that will haunt his words and wounds deep into your deepest heart.

‘The book was initially inspired by watching a short video documentary about the Holocaust artist Felix Nussbaum, and then began a life of its own, that gave birth to a horrific poetic viewpoint like a timeless lens into the spirit of the Holocaust.  To me, it’s as if the poems were written from an eye-witness account from the dead victims’ says Traynor, deeply affected by his subject.

The seven poems are deep veridicous spears from the soul of the poet, and are…

View original 252 more words

Private Writings: Chapter #18 — Mystery Clawed Open

private writings to a psychoanalyst (c) Jk 2013
Private Writings: Chapter #18 — Mystery Clawed Open
Written by Jennifer Kiley
Illustrated by j. kiley
First Published March 19th 2013
Published Early Tuesday AM
Posted 16th July 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 #18 — Mystery Clawed Open

Tuesday, January 29th 2008

Dear Annie,

I have something really honest to confess to you. It is letting you inside my mind. Letting you know the real person. Thoughts were going through my mind; feelings were circulating of confusion shortly after meeting you. They were starting to absorb almost all of me. Rather obsessively. I’m not a dangerous stalker or anything. Just a touch more intense than most people. If I fixate on something and it feels right to me, I have to pursue getting close. It may sound strange but I seek you. That simple. Crazy as I may sound I want you desperately to be my new analyst. We connected to you so quickly. My feelings aren’t cluttered with romantic attraction; nothing sexual intended. Yes, I admit to being attracted to you but it is more a soul connection. There’s a familiarity between us. You must notice it. A feeling we have been together before we meant on October 2nd 2007. It feels spooky but I think that is okay.

Besides the attraction, I feel I could trust you enough to open up, be honest, not hold back what I have trouble dealing with. Lately, I have been becoming more and more withdrawn from the world. My agoraphobia is making me panic at the thought of leaving the house days before I know I have to. Hours before going out, I can barely breath. My body starts to shake. I would really like to talk privately to you. I feel you could help me. It would be an incentive if I knew I would be seeing you.

Time is coming close to my friend Kristina leaving the group and the state. You do remember she mentioned it at a group session a few weeks ago. She is the only person I feel safe with in that room besides you. I use to feel close, sort of, to Robin, but she has gotten rather negative whenever we talk, so I don’t like talking to her outside of group. We use to talk on the phone for way too long. I would shake after I got off the phone with her. It is the same way I felt with my sister a number of years ago. The last time I spoke to my sister, she made an excuse for my oldest brother. He started sexually abusing me when I was 10. He gave me a pornographic book and told me to read it. The funny touching started just before that. The book was disturbing. I under exaggerate. It was sexually graphic and violent. The parts that I read turned into snuff pornography. I didn’t understand it then but now I realize he was trying to intimidate me and I think he somehow thought the sick, perverted descriptions would somehow do something to me. If he even thought that shit would arouse me, he was nuts. It sickened me and freaked me out. To this day it still disturbs me. I never told anyone what was written in that book. Even writing to you privately and knowing I am not giving these letters to you, I can’t even bring myself to write down the words to describe the sickness on those pages. Just imagine the worst and then think even more disgusting.

Losing Kristina is going to be hard for me. I know once she leaves, even though we promise to write. It will eventually stop. Or slow down until we forget each other. What it feels like to connect. Now we talk practically every day on the phone. It is sometimes brief or can last longer. She just listens to me and doesn’t judge me. It is good to have a friend like her. Robin is so different. I dread when she calls. When I get a voice-mail it makes my mind protect me by forgetting to call her back. When I write an email saying I will call, I often forget. Why I am not getting the message my brain is sending, I do not know.

I think when Kristina leaves we should try texting and maybe through IM we could chat online. I heard of this new thing called Skype. You can actually see people while you talk or you can just talk or chat by writing. The best part of it is you are in the same time together. Kristina said she would try all these things. She isn’t really that familiar with the computer but I think she will learn. With practice it should become easier for her.

Before I end this letter, you know I like to tell you another teaser about our film Brief Sacrifice with the character Carter McLeod. I got to see some outtakes. It is looking sensational and Natalie Stephens is so strikingly beautiful. I have great fantasies about her. It would make you blush if I told you what they were.

The next phase after Carter buys the briefcase at the estate sale and brings it home. She tries to open it. Jasper, Jax and James, her huge Savannah cats all want to participate in the project. They are all over her and the coffee table while Carter tries first to jiggle the fastener. It won’t give. Then an idea comes to her. She starts feeling around the surface of the briefcase. It is rather smooth leather but well worn. Her hands move carefully, being sure to caress every inch of the surface. Her cats, especially James loved this process. He wanted to help by reaching out his right paw and placing it on the side of the briefcase. He rests it there, in that exact spot and refuses to move it. Well, Carter finds this rather curious. Is her cat being psychic or just wants her attention. Carter touches his right paw and tries to lift it. James won’t let her.

“What is it James? What has you so confounded?”

James starts to rub and dig with his paw. Carter watches him and thinks of Lassie. She loved Elizabeth Taylor as a child actress. Those movies were a thrill to her. “What is it young man? James please tell me what it is you are getting at.”

James is persistent about the spot his paw is now resting on firmly and determined not to move it.

“If you would just move your paw, I could check under it to see what you have discovered.” James obliges and moves his paw just a bit to one side of the spot. Now Jasper and Jax are becoming more curious. What did their brother figure out. Carter feels the spot. Her fingers feel carefully and how strange but she feels a slight difference in the texture of the leather either side of the spot when James had rested his paw. If she wasn’t mistaken she had felt a slight scar running across the leather of the briefcase. Like someone had carefully sealed a patch of extremely fine, thin leather. It occurred to her it was over something. A hole maybe, but it didn’t feel that way. There was something being hidden. Carter was sure of it. But how could she remove or open up the scar and pull back the leather patch?

“Well, boys, what should your Mum do next? Any suggestions.” All three of them pounced on the briefcase and began to scratch at the spot James had discovered. Carter let them continue. She was concerned they might mark up the briefcase but she was more interested in what was under that flap of leather, less about any damage her babies might do. It looked like they were making progress. A slight bit of leather started to peel away from the surface of the case. Jasper was having the most success. Jax was pulling back to watch his brother and James was rubbing up against his Mum, feeling rather satisfied he had pleased her with his brilliance at detection.

The patch was giving way. More was starting to peel back. Carter joined in with Jasper. Between the two of them they had almost pulled back the patch enough to get a glimpse of what was underneath. It looked like a combination of letters and numbers. The surface was barely visible but enough to see those numbers and letters were important to know. They were determined even if they had to work all night to finish uncovering them.

Morning had finally arrived. They had succeeded at their task in uncovering what appeared to be a combination of sorts. There were letters and numbers on the surface from under the patch. They were all mixed up together but not in any sensible order that Carter could see.

And that is it for today’s letter. Next time, we will think about whether we will reveal what the letters and numbers are. Do they spell out a word or words and are the numbers in some way a combination to a lock. If a lock, to what? Is curiosity sufficiently peaked?

This is fun, Annie, teasing you this way. I know you are not getting to appreciate my tale so far but maybe I will start to send my letters to you once we have established a working relationship.

It feels so near. Dr. George is losing it rather quickly. His brain is starting to unravel to a breaking point where has begun not making much sense for the past few weeks. The pressure is showing. How could he not know he is fucking up. I see a bad future for him. Lots of trouble coming his way. In what form, my crystal ball hasn’t revealed that to me yet.

Lastly, I just have one more thought about Kristina moving away. It just feels like whenever I get close to anyone, they always seem to disappear. It is becoming more than a regular occurrence not to mean something Karmically. What is all this loss supposed to teach me? What I learn is life is painful and getting close to people is dangerous for them and me. Life altering events surround getting to know anyone close enough to care, to feel attached and to love them. I wouldn’t stop doing it no matter the pain. If I find myself attracted to someone in whatever way it occurs, I know that I cannot turn away. When the feelings kicks in, the forces of nature become too irresistible. I feel a rush from the closeness. An impossible state of being to explain, really. Just feels incredibly intense.

My lesson for the day is to love when given the gift of a person entering your life, particularly if they are as wonderful as the people I have been given in my life. I would not give one of them up no matter the pain my heart feels and the tears that have been shed when losing them. My grandmother and Tosh were the most painful to lose. I feel them with me when I need them. I know they protect me. They guard me against the darkness, even when its haunting is severe and overwhelming. We will talk to you about the darkness some other time.

Remember what I share with you, Annie. I believe we are going to get to know you. It is in the Tarot cards, and the world placed us together. How can anyone resist the Fates. When they use their powers to shift the direction of the winds in order that we meet. In the exact moment, the exact place, we both entered on the same day, time and place. One does not fight a force so powerful. It is meant to be. So, now, we must act accordingly.

That is all I have for today. It seems to be enough for now.

Fondly,
Madison

ATTENTION ANNIE: At this moment I am not trying to be a coward, but I feel if I hold back now or never send this to you, I am freeing myself up to write whatever without censorship. On some future date, if trust grows, I will release my letters to you. What I write in honesty, I will keep confidential. On my honour, no others shall see these pages.
Regards,
Madison Taylor

Fantasy Sets for Film: BRIEF SACRIFICE with Lead Character CARTER MCLEOD. {played by BAFTA Nominated Actor NATALIE STEPHENS} Savannah Cats are Carter’s. Screenplay: MADISON TAYLOR. Director: SCOTTIE ANDREWS

brief sacrifice mansion-film set  723x458

film Brief Sacrifice mansion where main character Carter McLeod lives with her three Savannah cats, Jasper, Jax and James.

brief sacrifice library living room fireplace  970x546

film Brief Sacrifice library living room fireplace in mansion where Carter McLeod lives with her three Savannah cats, Jasper, Jax and James.

James-a neutered male Savannah Cat lounging on sofa  645x499

film Brief Sacrifice James is one of three neutered male Savannah Cats, Carter McLeod has as her companions. He is enjoying a good lounge on his favorite sofa.

Peter Illyich Tchaikovsky Francesca da Rimini, Op. 32 (Fedoseyev) 25 min.

Somewhere In Time – John Barry

rain in garden gif

Sounds of the Hunger
Written by Madison Taylor
January 28th 2008

Sounds of “the hunger”
— a sensual response.
Shadow & soul bring immortality
as they both sing.
And in rhyming harmonies
their story they bring.
Alive with words of tales
from bells that ring.
Of truth unfolding out
from the Green of Spring.
A new rebirth is offered
and received in welcoming arms.
Away — fly away
following the offering
of many things.
Off you go
upon the strength
of a passing butterflies
gliding wings.

© madison taylor 2008

candle flame flickering gif

Lakme (excerpt) Delibe

le chateau de rocher by j. kiley (c) jennifer kiley 2013   824x552

Le Chateau de Rocher is the home of Madison and Scottie & their three cats Mikey Toker & Patrick

english garden off the back marble patio  972x732

English garden off the back marble patio

bedroom perfect high windows lightScottie & Madison’s bedroom. Spacious & grand. The bed is usually shared
with their three cats Mikey, Toker & Patrick.

QUOTATIONS from Private Writings

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

“For that fine madness still he did retain,
Which rightly should possess a poet’s brain.”
~Michael Drayton~
(1563-1631)

“A therapeutic relationship is often more psycho-emotionally intimate than a marriage, or a romantic attachment. I know things about my patients that they would never dream of revealing to their spouses or families. Why is that? One word — trust. If you do not have a connection with a therapist, you cannot trust them. If you do not have trust, you will not expose yourself, and if you do not expose your innermost being, what good is the therapy?” — Anonymous

play is not just play meryl streep

“Diana” — The People’s Princess

a divider for post no. 5 love fav new one thinner

“Diana” — The People’s Princess
Written by Jennifer Kiley
Wednesday 10th July 2013
Illustrated by j. kiley
Movie trailer & Interview
Posted on Friday 12th July 2013
FILM FRIDAY
dedicated to roger ebert film friday

Diana Princess of Wales  1284x1612

Diana Princess of Wales

“A whole younger generation never experienced the shock of the news of Diana’s death. It is strange remembering how sensational her death was? 9/11 now being the biggest thing imaginable. Diana’s death existed before Twitter and Facebook, before social media made everything common knowledge instantaneously, when it was still possible to tell people, face-to-face, about important news.” [Edited from an Offensive Article being Dismissive of Princess Diana. The part above which is edited in its content, was the only salvageable decent material that existed in the complete article. Otherwise, the rest was complete TRASH.]

diana with blue gem and tiara

I was shocked by her death. I was up late and a news report broke into the show I was watching saying that Princess Diana had been in a car crash in Paris, France.

diana looking depressed

There was so much speculation and disbelief. It wasn’t possible. But I felt that it couldn’t happen that she would die. I held out hope in my state of shock. I woke up Shawn, my partner, and told her what had happened. She got up and watched the report coming in directly from Paris, just outside that tunnel.

diana

For all we knew Diana was still alive. She spoke. Why didn’t they take her right to the hospital? They waited so long. She needed blood transfusions.

diana_princess_of_wales lounging

I hoped and watched. Shawn went back to bed after a while but I watched and waited to hear the news that she was going to be alright. That news never came. The news that came put me into a further state of shock and a deep feeling of mourning.

Diana in Angola Landmine Halo Trust Photo by Tim Graham  1962x3109

Diana in Angola Landmine Halo Trust Photo by Tim Graham

I had loved Diana and admired her. The one thing that she did that amazed me the most was when she publicly touched and hugged someone with AIDS. Before that moment, people just were not doing that. After Diana showed everyone that it was alright, it made such a major difference to those who had AIDS. They had become the new lepers of our society.

Diana-and-the-boys

I think Diana brought a humanity into the world. She was beautiful. She loved her children. She surrendered her life to satisfy the ghoulish cravings of a media out of control. They were like hyenas seeking their prey. Her openness taught people they didn’t need to be perfect.

Diana--Princess-of--Wales-princess

The way the royals treated her is not forgotten. Charles may have won the hearts of his royals but he fucked Diana over. She was an innocent when he thrust her into his life and rebuffed her when he got his two heirs. He was awful to her.

First Look at Naomi Watts as Princess Diana  658x872

First Look at Naomi Watts as Princess Diana

Let’s face it, there are a great many people who haven’t forgotten what he did to her. His insensitivity and use of her as a baby breeder and rejecting her once he got what he wanted. He was a shit. He may be a good father now. But he threw out his sons beloved mother. He trashed her in public. Yes, it was a public battle but she didn’t deserve anything that the royal family put her through.

Hello Magazine: Naomi Shines in New Role of DIana  2684x2319

Hello Magazine: Naomi Shines in New Role of Diana

Diana’s death was a tragedy. The way she affected the world produced such positive energy. Her causes received attention. She may have had some emotional problems but if you had to live through what the Windsor’s put her through you would have some deep emotional issues to deal with. Plus she was hounded everywhere she went.

lady diana with sons william and harry young

I don’t like to be around people and if I have to, then only one or two at a time. Can you imagine being thrust into the middle of a mob scene of flashing light bulbs and insensitive hustlers wanting the best photo so they could earn the bucks off of Diana’s soul. The Native Americans believed that your soul was robbed if a photograph was taken of you. How many souls did Diana have and lose to stay alive as long as she did.

Lady Diana   640x953

Lady Diana

I believe on the night of her death she was killed, murdered by vultures who circled her until she was dead and they could pick from her carcass at long last. Photographers wanted to get death shots. How horrible is that to be that insensitive and inhuman. They stalked her to death. The people she chose to love fucked her over every way that they could for most of her life.

Naomi Watts and Naveen Andrews as doctor  642x832

Naomi Watts and Naveen Andrews as doctor 642×832

Even as a child she was left, abandoned by the people who professed they would love her. And Charles, he was the worst of all. He paraded her in front of the public as his Cinderella. Diana was being offered the Fairy Tale Dream every child wants. To be rescued by your Prince. She thought and believed Charles’s sincerity. He was going to be her Prince and love her, and they would live happily-ever-after.

Naomi Watts as Diana  978x1523

Naomi Watts as Diana

Well, Charles had his Camilla. How fucked up was that to be fucking around while casting off casual comments about, well, what exactly is love, after all. This film of “Diana” with Naomi Watts brings up my anger. And to write a story in the mainstream media that no one cares any longer. They won’t even remember.

Naomi Watts as Diana Running from Paparazzi

Naomi Watts as Diana Running from Paparazzi

Well, I am not most people and Diana is still alive in spirit for me. How callous can someone be to degrade her memory to say she is gone and who cares. Well, I do hope that people still remember. I know her sons William and Harry remember. They needed her there to love them and they needed to love her, also.

Naomi Watts and Naveen Andrews in Character in "Diana"  634x421

Naomi Watts and Naveen Andrews in Character in “Diana”

To cast away someone’s life so easily and turn to the celebrities of today as having any kind of importance in comparison to what Diana did for the world. She was trying to love everyone. To help stop Landmines. To help those who accidentally stepped on them and lost limbs and needed help to become whole again.

Naomi Watts as Princess Diana 854x1230

Naomi Watts as Princess Diana

Personally, I believe deep inside the theories that she was a hindrance to certain people and needed to be dealt with and it needed to be done quickly. She was too powerful and her presence in the world was something that had to be taken care of and it had to be done soon. I do not believe for one minute that they needed to take so long to get her to a hospital. Hours passed and they waited. WHY?

Naomi Watts as Princess Diana First Look   789x1116

Naomi Watts as Princess Diana First Look

When the news came out live to announce that Princess Diana was dead. I broke out in tears. I woke up my partner to tell her the awful news. She got up to sit with me. It was unbelievable that any of this was happening. I cried for weeks. I watched the funeral and listened to the service. I was so upset. I felt inconsolable. Tears rolled down my face. When I heard Elton John sing the song he originally wrote for Marilyn Monroe and adapted it for Diana, there was a certain symmetry to that as I think of it now.

Naomi Watts as Princess Diana First Official Still  789x1116

Naomi Watts as Princess Diana First Official Still

They both were hounded to death by the press and treated like shit by men who tried to use them and control them but because they were too much themselves and much more popular than the men they were with they were thrown away. They were also made to look mentally unstable when I would say in all reality it wasn’t instability but plain sensitivity and abandonment and being used. And the lies that were created and spread to make them appear less than the royalty they both truly were.

Naomi Watts as Princess Diana in Director Oliver Herschbergels "Diana"  632x412

Naomi Watts as Princess Diana in Director Oliver Herschbergels “Diana”

Marilyn and Diana both died under the strangest of circumstances. I do not believe either died necessarily. Their deaths were well planned and carried out according to plan. Now you will probably think I am just a bit over the edge on this one. But think about the world we live in. Think of all the evil that exists in this world. Evil just gets good PR.

Naomi Watts "Diana" Naveen Andrews getting into car  837x1143

Naomi Watts “Diana” Naveen Andrews getting into car

Goodness makes people think you are weak and they can do with you what they want because who are they going to believe. The Prince and heir to the throne or the Princess that only earned that title by marrying the Prince with all the power. Don’t doubt that the Royal Family has power and connections and can have anything accomplished if they order it to be so.

NaomiWatts "Diana" with Naveen Andrews   1211x674

Naomi Watts “Diana” with Naveen Andrews

The intrigue in this world and what we are told to what actually happens. I would say there are more lies told than any truth that we have ever heard. The truth is buried. What is represented is what those in power want us to hear. They make up the stories and they spread them all over the media so effectively that we believe what we hear are the facts, the truthful facts. There is no such thing. Look at what they are doing with Trayvon Martin’s murder.

Naomi Watts films "Diana"  879x1120

Naomi Watts films “Diana” 879×1120

The media and courtroom coverage and the way the case is being played out makes me sick that they are pushing the falsehood that Trayvon was the pretended villain here. When he was stalked by a bully who just wanted to kill Trayvon because George Zimmerman said: “They always get away with it.” He was out that night to prove his point with the intent of murdering Trayvon Martin so he could put down the black man and show what a hero he was. You don’t think that jury isn’t lapping that all up.

Naomi Watts with Naveen Andrews "Diana"  975x1188

Naomi Watts with Naveen Andrews “Diana”

Those in power make up the truth. Anything could have proven Princess Diana was murdered but the facts are twisted by those who want the story to go a certain way. What better way to cover your complicity then to go and retrieve her body. All the deaths of famous people who are young and so suddenly die are always so questionable.

Naomi Watts on set as Princess Diana walking with Naveen Andrews   975x1118

Naomi Watts on set as Princess Diana walking with Naveen Andrews

And most of the time the comeback is suicide or accidental death. How many times do we have to hear that as the claim of how they died? When are we going to stop believing it. Facts are controlled and twisted and fixed to show the results that the powers that be want as their conclusions.

Naomi Watts as Princess Di  640x360

Naomi Watts as Princess Di

So do you really think that Diana couldn’t have been saved if she were taken straight to the hospital? Why did they wait so long? Diana didn’t die accidentally any more than Marilyn did or that Marilyn committed suicide. It was the intent on those fateful evenings that both Diana and Marilyn died the way they did.

Naomi Watts as Princess Diana  1047x803

Naomi Watts as Princess Diana

It was good for all involved that it happened the way it did and the results of their deaths turn out in the final report to read the way they did. Due to accidental causes. Nothing could have been done to save them. BS. All was wrong about the way both of them died. They were where they were when they died because it was set up that way. You don’t know who you can trust. Anyone is suspect.

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Naomi Watts as Princess Diana getting out of car into paparazzi 734×1093

I hope some truth comes out in this film “Diana.” They are going to deal with a story that is not known by the public. Diana was involved with Dr. Hasnat Khan. And from the reports the relationship was extremely painful for Diana. Is that why she turned to Dodi? She wanted to play. To forget about who the world wanted her to be. To really let go and get away from her stalkers. What is it that makes someone draw the evil to her like a powerful magnet? They swallowed her up by it.

Naveen Andrews as Dr. Hasnat Khan in "Diana"  1600x1071

Naveen Andrews as Dr. Hasnat Khan in “Diana”

A fictional example is like the children did Sebastian in the Tennessee Williams play “Suddenly, Last Summer.” It starred Katherine Hepburn, Elizabeth Taylor and Montgomery Cliff in the film version. The children were starving and poor and Sebastian was Gay and wealthy. He would offer money to the children but they kept on wanting more. They started to chase Sebastian. He ran from them and they kept up the pursuit. He ended up at the top of a hill with no place to go. The children surrounded him. The nightmare ended by the children devouring him.

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Naomi Watts playing Princess Diana on her last night

That is what happened with Diana and that is what happened to Marilyn. Everyone wanted a piece of them. They hadn’t a chance to survive all those vultures. It was their destiny. They were murdered for their innocence, their generosity and their true spirit of life.

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Princess Diana in pale blue jacket

Diana’s funeral was given to her begrudgingly by the Crown. The people demanded it. It was an unusual spectacle but the people who truly loved Diana needed to say goodbye to what she once was and the memory she would become. She is not forgotten. No matter what the media says.

princess diana smiling dressed in black

Diana is the mother to the future King of England. And her grandchild is about to be born. If the baby hasn’t been born already. Oh, I do hope that the heir is named Alexandra. It’s a Girl. Diana would be pleased. I can feel her smiling now no matter what but I think a granddaughter would make her truly delighted.

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Princess Diana with quote from Antoine St. Exupery

I hope the film “Diana” with Naomi Watts and Naveen Andrews (“Lost” & “The English Patient”) will portray Princess Diana in a light that glows. If people really need to be reminded of who Diana really was, I hope they do her justice here. She was a blessing to the world that only knew her as their savior. The children she helped and the AIDS victims who felt like the untouchables until Diana came along and made them feel what a hug felt like again.

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Princess Diana practically a kid

That is what won me to Diana. When she showed the world they could have compassion for those in need. She wanted the ones who needed love to receive it. She wanted the broken to feel they were not forgotten. Her work wasn’t for photo opportunities. She had all that. She used her fame to help others be noticed and receive the help they needed.

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Princess Diana with baby William

She was killed to stop her from campaigning against Landmines, for loving a Muslim, for embarrassing the Crown. For just being more popular and noticed and cared about while the Crown was being rejected and people were beginning to talk about why the hell do we need a Monarchy anyway.

Princess Diana working on Landmine Project  950x1333

Princess Diana working on Landmine Project

She truly was the people’s Princess but not just of Great Britain but of the World. And I miss her.

Princess-Diana with tiara

I was so surprised when I saw the Movie Teaser Trailer. Naomi looks enough like her one can escape into the story of the film, I believe. It will be voyeuristic to see this private side of Diana’s life that people do not know anything about.

Princess+Diana

Once again we will be looking from behind the closed doors and peering into Diana’s inside world. I hope she doesn’t mind if we want to take another look. They are going to show the side where she goes all out for the Landmine cause.

princess-diana dates

I do hope it is a Great film and not something that is filled full with gossip. That would really bother me. I want more from seeing “Diana” than that. Written by Jennifer Kiley

Princess Diana unique images of a Diva  1000x807

Princess Diana unique images of a Diva


Definition of Diva in this instance: 1.to describe a person who exudes great style and personality with confidence and expresses their own style and not letting others influence who they are or want to be. 2. A person whose character makes them stands out from the rest.

princess-diana-hairstyles_3

Diana — Official Teaser Trailer 2013 [HD] Naomi Watts

princess-diana-hairstyle

Naomi Watts on playing Princess Diana

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“Diana” film on location in the Mediterranean

Princess Diana Funeral – Elton John – Candle In The Wind (Goodbye England’s Rose)

Princess Diana  709x709

Princess Diana

QUOTATION by MARCEL PROUST:

“People do not die for us immediately, but remain bathed in a sort of aura of life which bears no relation to true immortality but through which they continue to occupy our thoughts in the same way as when they were alive. It is as though they were traveling broad.” ― Marcel Proust

Princess Diana  792x594

Princess Diana

a divider for post no. 5 love fav new one thinner

Private Writings: Chapter #17 — Infatuation to Fantasy

private writings to a psychoanalyst (c) Jk 2013
Private Writings: Chapter #17 — Infatuation to Fantasy
Written by Jennifer Kiley
Illustrated by j. kiley
Intro and First Letter Published March 19th 2013
Published Early Tuesday AM
Posted 9th July 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 #17 — Infatuation to Fantasy

Tuesday, January 22nd, 2008

Dear Annie,

Tales of my history has been greatly exaggerated. Not really. I never talk about it. Once I made the mistake of making a list of sex partners. I do not include abusers, pedophiles. That wasn’t sex. It had nothing to do with sex. They were all about abuse, power and control. Overpowering a child, what the fuck is that. You really are showing your sexual prowess. Not really. More like your sexual impotency and powerlessness. There is nothing in me feeling empathy for a pedophile. They are are lower than the scum on scum of the scum of the earth.

I made the list. Don’t we all. If not on paper, at least in our heads. Mine, I needed to write down, otherwise, I would lose count. The length or number of partners is created by a mix of sexual abuse and bipolar hyper-sexuality. Which when I look back and compare behavior with symptoms I am aware of today, match up perfectly with a combination of complex-PTSD and Bipolar competing in a challenge. Results are, who can create the most havoc, do the most damage and instill the most shame.

I am a card carrying lesbian. It has nothing to do with my abuse, bipolar or not getting love from my mother, father or anyone in my family except one. So when sex officially starts for me, on the record, my earlier male sex partners, I promise this could be a long story, but right to the point, I will state, all turned out to be gay. It is funny if you think about it. My abusers were from both sexes, all qualify as pedophiles but I wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of considering or registering them as gay or lesbian. Being gay or lesbian is an honour. I would include in this group, transsexuals, bisexuals, asexuals, pansexuals, and even our friendly heterosexuals.

Excluded are homophobic-sexuals, fundamentalist-sexuals, evangelical-sexuals, westboro southern baptist-hatred-sexuals, tea bagger-sexuals, homophobic-homosexuals-in-the-closet-sexuals-who-hate-homosexuals & pass-laws-to-make- homosexuality-or-any-sexuality-illegal-hate-women’s-rights-sexuals, and chicken-shit-republicans-who-haven’t-the-guts-or-balls-to-stand-up-to-the-mother-fuckers. This may not cover all of them but touches on some of the basic haters of anything sexual. Ah, one more inclusive group, those-who-think & feel-they-have-the-rights-over-womens-bodies & can-do-what-they-want-including-mutilation-murder-&-honour-killing-mother-fuckers.

Now back to something pleasant. My first gay bar, I ran into a guy I went to college with and yes we did the euphemism of sleeping together. We had sex. We worked on the college paper. He was my top editor when I was editor-in-chief. Now, back to the present. Here comes the stupid question. “What are you doing here?” He laughed, with his shit eating grin. “Are you kidding?” was his reply. “The same thing you are.”

Now how stupid am I. We were both there. It was a gay and lesbian bar. Dancing and booze, drugs on the down-low. Pretty much everyone was stoned out of their fucking minds on weed, poppers, hallucinogens, anything available. It was floating around the room or outside, you could find clusters smoking grass or hash. Before crack, thank you very much. All we wanted was a safe place to enjoy our major attractions, the same sex.

My buddy from college talked with me a long time that night. Found out the strangest things in our conversation. Turned out, he slept with the same guy I called my toker smoker sex buddy. With him I had a basic arrangement. He supplied the music, the smoke, the place and I would supply the sex. Not knowing about the bipolar proclivity to hyper-sexuality back then, I would safely say now I fell deeply into the category of someone who was hyper-sexual. It may have been the wrong sex but it was a need I had to satisfy. Never liked it, but did it anyway. Felt nothing. That’s not totally honest. Once, when I had the top, I got a major surprise. That was the first and only time ever. When you’ve being raped that position isn’t something rapists use. When he is fucking you he wants to see the damage he is causing and the power he is wielding.

I need a good, no, a great psychoanalyst. You, Annie. Dr. George is not long for my world. When he’s gone, I need you. He needs to disappear. Gone. Cleansed from my brain. Then I start new with you. You need to come through for me. Please.

Maybe a change of subject is needed. I don’t want to think about him or his fucking prick. I want to talk about something else. Someone else. Alison. Her presence almost gave me a heart attack. What the fuck was he thinking springing her on the group. Don’t misunderstand. I want her there, Oh, most definitely. When she started talking, I could barely breath. My eyes were on her. Her voice, her hair, the colour of her eyes, so blue, every feature. I time traveled. Then those words she spoke. Nearly fell on the floor. She announced, “I am a lesbian.” At that very moment I fell in love. It’s not like she wasn’t looking at me with something special in her own eyes. I would swear she was flirting with me like she knew me.

What the fuck came over me. She’s so familiar. I know her. I’m sure of it. But my brain has amnesia. Why is she so fucking familiar? And another thing, I can’t seem to stop swearing. My anger is seething through every pore. I want to punch someone, I am so angry. I think it’s this film we’re working on. Scottie’s always away. I hate that.

I’m going to change the subject for a moment. I think it’s time to tell you the title of our film. I came up it one night. It just floated from my subconscious when I was talking with Scottie. I just said, “Stop! I got it. The film’s name is “Brief Sacrifice.” Tell me that isn’t cool, Scottie.” She liked it. Then she fell in love with the title. But, damn it, it’s taking Scottie away all the time now. There have been some weird problems. I think there’s a curse on the film. That damned briefcase.

You will never guess how the main character got it open. Before I tell you part of the secret, I think you need to know the main character’s name. I told you the title, I might as well fill you in on some other details, Her name, which I feel is quite brilliant of me and Scottie did help. In fact, she helped a lot. She said, she liked the name I decided on. After throwing out names I found online for hours. I found it. Her name is Carter McLeod. She’s British and simply divine. The films takes place in London, mostly, and a few other places. But not going there yet. Now isn’t that the coolest name. I see a future for her. Carter McLeod. I just love the sound of it. And now, I know you will want to know who’s playing Carter McLeod. Scottie decided on one of my favorite new British actors. Try to guess. I’ll give you a hint. She was nominated for a BAFTA for Best Actress in 2007. Yes, she was. She should have won. I think she was robbed. I can’t even remember who beat her. Let me put you out of your misery. My all time favorite actor right now. It’s Natalie Stephens. I just dream about her. Beautiful, androgynous and sexy. Knowing she is playing the character I wrote is such a satisfying feeling. It’s sure to draw a huge audience. But back to what’s going on with that damned briefcase.

There is a secret pocket hidden on the surface of the leather. Undetectable. But Carter just kept running her hands over the surface, feeling for anything unusual. It’s like she were psychic. She found a thin line, like an old scar. It didn’t happen right away. Finding it, you would think was the difficult part. No, it wasn’t. How to get underneath the surface of the skin of the case, that was a whole other nightmare. That’s for next time I write.

I gave you the character’s name, and told you who the actor is playing the part. She really is great. Whenever I was on the set during the filming, I couldn’t believe Scottie got her to sign the contract. But Scottie can charm anyone, she’s so gorgeous and radiant, such a subtle quiet charm. Plus Scottie Andrews has the director’s touch, and everyone knows it, and wants to work with her. She melts everybody who meets, female and male, but hands off, she’s mine. I’ll scratch anyone’s eyes out that try to come between us.

It just came to me. I must be losing my mind. I just realized who Alison is. Damned idiot, I am. She’s Alison Porter. She made at least two films with Scottie. She’s acted the words I’ve written. Oh, my god, how the hell could I forget who she is. She looks so much like Tosh. Like they were twins. You do know who Alison Porter is, right? No one breathed a word. I know they were recent films. My short term memory is too fucked up. The films haven’t been released yet. That’s why. Post-production. Scottie works on so many films. I can’t keep track. Even if I’m the one writing them. Once in her hands, I only check in when rewrites are needed. I do like some of the sets but not great about being around people. And when they’re famous, the crowds gather and that really freaks me out. Usually stay home and Skype or email the changes. Talk on Skype with Scottie all the time that way. Holy, shit. Alison Porter. I am in love with her.

You did know who Tosh was. Alison is so much like her. Tosh was a singer. She composed her own music. It was so poetic. The lyrics crushed your heart. Where she found that pain. I only knew her such a short time. I never mentioned why we met or how. At least, I don’t think I did. Scottie approached her about using some of her music in one of her films. I keep saying her films. I feel they are our films. If she didn’t have my story and words, there wouldn’t be a film. I digress. Sorry. Scottie contacted Tosh’s manager or one of her people did. But Scottie talked directly with Tosh. They hit it off. She liked Scottie’s films. Anyway, Scottie invited her to our home for dinner. Over champagne, tokes of smoke, and great Italian cuisine, we both fell in love with her. Now, don’t worry about Scottie. Tosh was someone special but I wasn’t going to ever leave Scottie for anyone, no matter what I felt. Tosh, though, she tore my heart out. I was so in love. It was so special. She didn’t want sex. She wanted to show me what love was. Scottie is shy and she loves me but it wasn’t the same thing.

How do I explain when you meet a soul mate that you’ve known through a hundred lifetimes. That was Tosh. Scottie and I are new in our life times. We debated in past lives. Like great philosophers who could never convince the other of their conclusions as being the one that had the right answers or at least, the most accurate of conclusions. We were philosophers together. Tosh was Sappho. She was the lover of women. She knew the melody, the poetry, how to tenderly touch inside your soul, without ever touching any part of your flesh. She respected my restrictions. Her sensitivity picked up my reluctance to have physical contact. Scottie, also, understood that restriction. We did make love, Scottie and I, but I always had to stop. It just freaked me out. Scottie promised she could accept that from me. She would never force me to do anything I didn’t want to do. It’s just that, I can’t do anything.

Tosh reached me in other ways. I wrote about her kiss. It was light as a butterfly on your naked skin. It didn’t threaten. It was as far away from forceful as one could find. She wrote music for me. I listen to it all the time. It is part of the memory that I have left of her.

I am tired. This is all I can write this week. I will add one thing. Seeing Alison makes me feel like there is promise for the future. Not everything is about loss.

Now you just have to stay on my side and help me heal. I need deep healing from someone who can reach inside of me the way your feelings do. I trust you Annie. Don’t ever go away.

That is all I have to give for now. Wow. How amazing is life.

Fondly,
Madison

ATTENTION ANNIE: At this moment I am not trying to be a coward, but I feel if I hold back now or never send this to you, I am freeing myself up to write whatever without censorship. On some future date, if trust grows, I will release my letters to you. What I write in honesty, I will keep confidential. On my honour, no others shall see these pages.
Regards,
Madison Taylor

Fantasy Sets for Film: BRIEF SACRIFICE with Lead Character CARTER MCLEOD. {played by BAFTA Nominated Actor NATALIE STEPHENS} Savannah Cats are Carter’s. Screenplay: MADISON TAYLOR. Director: SCOTTIE ANDREWS

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Brief Sacrifice mansion — film set

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Brief Sacrifice — rustic den film set

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Brief Sacrifice — Jasper — Jax & James in foreground — Savannah kittens when they were 4 weeks old – grown up in film

Somewhere In Time – John Barry

flowing liquid gold (1)it’s flowing liquid gold

4p a world in tree greena world in tree green

hands reaching out into rain

Infatuation To Fantasy
By Madison Taylor
January 21st 2008

A star sparkling in my presence
Heat and fire escape from her eyes
Wildness – courage and strength
Pour from her soul
Calling out to me
Noticing me as I notice her
Feeling her touch
Caressing softly-a feather’s down

A bird sits on my shoulder
Speaking her language
Whispering into my ear
Translating her messages
As she meant them for me
Such personal meanings
Making me blush
A hue of pale cardinal
The quickness of blood
Rushing the surface of my flesh
So secret in meaning
Attempts to comprehend the crypticism
Expressing my shyness
As she mimics my spirit

My hesitancy to approach
The newness inside of us
Though powerful in character
Certain reservations necessary
Need not rush
No need to overwhelm
Subtlety is more sensuous
Building to a slow crescendo
Oh-so much more enticing
The intrigue has time to grow
Developing in slow motion

Sensations growing inside
Building outward
Climbing higher
Touching the center
My body’s restrictions releasing
Allowing entrance to secrets
Releasing dreams
Creating meaning

My throat’s breathing
In shallow motions
Sounds effecting my senses
Opening the pathway
Wanting to scream
Holding back
Becoming too restrictive
Overtaking control
Release happens
Pleasure surrendered
Now falling backwards
Overcome by falling
Relaxation overwhelming
The awakened state slipping away
Morpheus calling out for dreams
Eyes close in the darkness
Unconsciousness drifting
Lifting floating body
Awareness liberated
Sleep thoroughly attained

© madison taylor 2008

candle flame flickering gif

le chateau de rocher by j. kiley (c) jennifer kiley 2013Le Chateau de Rocher is the home of Madison and Scottie and their three cats Mikey, Toker and Patrick

le chateau de rocher art gallery

Le Chateau de Rocher Art Gallery

QUOTATIONS from Private Writings

“A Dream

The beginning always starts out with a dream.
It is all a dream
And we are all players
In our own nightmares”
— Madison Taylor

“For that fine madness still he did retain,
Which rightly should possess a poet’s brain.”
~Michael Drayton~
(1563-1631)

“Who ever loved that loved not at first sight?”
Christopher Marlowe for “Hero and Leander”

“A therapeutic relationship is often more psycho-emotionally intimate than a marriage, or a romantic attachment. I know things about my patients that they would never dream of revealing to their spouses or families. Why is that? One word — trust. If you do not have a connection with a therapist, you cannot trust them. If you do not have trust, you will not expose yourself, and if you do not expose your innermost being, what good is the therapy?” — unknown but ask any great therapist

“Men have called me mad, but the question is not yet settled, whether madness is or is not the loftiest intelligence…whether much that is glorious–whether all that is profound–does not spring from disease of thought…” — Edgar Allan Poe

QUOTATIONS on INFATUATION:

“The world was collapsing, and the only thing that really mattered to me was that she was alive.” ― Rick Riordan, The Last Olympian

“Yes, I was infatuated with you: I am still. No one has ever heightened such a keen capacity of physical sensation in me. I cut you out because I couldn’t stand being a passing fancy. Before I give my body, I must give my thoughts, my mind, my dreams. And you weren’t having any of those.” ― Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

“Good night, good night! parting is such sweet sorrow,
That I shall say good night till it be morrow.”
― William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet

“I think it is all a matter of love; the more you love a memory the stronger and stranger it becomes” ― Vladimir Nabokov

“What she had realised was that love was that moment when your heart was about to burst.” ― Stieg Larsson, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo

“When you have seen as much of life as I have, you will not underestimate the power of obsessive love.” ― J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince

“I feel intensely about the physical form of the female body. The smooth caressing line of the breasts. Followed by all parts of a woman are so soft and touchable. The heights one can take the sensations when making love. With a therapist who is male, they do not have this form that causes desire to bloom. It is just plain out inappropriate behavior and throw in a touch of sexual harassment to boot. I don’t want to see any man’s junk unless it is on screen and only if it is actually quite lovely. But I do not want my analyst going anywhere near that subject matter unless I am talking about an abuser raping me. Enough said.” — Madison Taylor, Letters of Import: Infatuation To Fantasy 17

FIRST ART ACQUISITION OUTSIDE OF INHERITANCE

entering the soul connection

The Soul Connection

play is not just play meryl streep

Private Writings: Chapter #15 — Lost Memory Only Buried

private writings to a psychoanalyst (c) Jk 2013
Private Writings: Chapter #15 — Lost Memory Only Buried
Written by Jennifer Kiley
Illustrated by j. kiley
Music Video “Somewhere” by Jennifer Kiley
First Published March 19th 2013
Published Early Tuesday AM
Posted 25th June 2013
WARNING: ADULT LANGUAGE AND CONTENT.

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

Private Writings: Chapter #15: — Lost Memory Only Buried

Tuesday January 8th, 2008

Dear Annie,

You have finally returned. It is time to tell you why the separation from you hurts. It’s about someone who was the world to me. She haunts me. I feel her presence. I will never let her go, ever. Everyone wants me to put her behind me. I can’t. I don’t want to, ever. She’s my life. My soul. Our love is forever. It will never be over. I want you to understand why.

Her name is Tosh.

I want you to hear this Tosh, though I write it to Annie. Our feelings went beyond the explainable. During our time together, the ending, no one could have seen. It will stun and amaze you. It will bring on a deep sadness. Yet there is a joyful celebration in the emotions we shared. Two women, only knowing the other for such a short time. The intensity burned that strongly. I will tell you what I can so you will understand.

This is for you Tosh from all of me.

Understanding friendship. Tosh, you have such an open mind. I love it when we are together. You let me inside, which helps me to open up. It frightens me telling you about my fear. Yet it makes it easier. Don’t go away or yell at me or punish me for feeling real. That is something you don’t do. And you don’t get all weird about my saying I love you. You know what I mean. It means forever, I will be here for you.

As a child, closeness meant sex. It was going to happen. They would abuse me. Everyone around me. Learning to say no held no meaning. As an adult, I still don’t get heard when I say no. So it means the same thing now as it did when I was a child. I would say no and the abusers wouldn’t stop. I wasn’t allowed to refuse. No meant sexual abuse, brutal beatings or denial of food.

I dared to threaten one of the abusers by telling him if he didn’t stop I was going to tell. His response was an attempt to kill me. Next time he said he would kill my whole family. It’s ironic, my not telling saved the life of another abuser. He proved his words and attempted to run me into our version of Stonehenge. On our property there were these two great, mighty, stones that were on either side of the entrance-way. So easily, they would crush my body. He wanted them to smash into my head first. I was afraid I would die. He changed course a second before turning the vehicle away. He had his huge hand squeezing my throat as he pushed me out in line with the stones. I stood on the running board and looked into the evil, coal black eyes shooting death into me. He uttered his secret words, “No one must know. Ever. Not ever. Or you will die. All will die and you will be the cause.”

Quiet and small as a mouse, I never told. Not then. But as a teenager, that was the beginning of psychotherapy. First time I spoke with someone kind, I felt in shock. Someone listened. She heard the words I spoke out loud. No one died. But on that very day he saw me and he somehow knew. It was my younger brother, later, I trusted him to secrecy. He turned around and lost his mind. Without hesitation he delivered the secret to our parents and somehow the rapist, pedophile knew. With his coal dark eyes he shot hell’s fire through my veins. I never wanted the parents to ever know. They didn’t deserve to know me or what happened to me. By then, I had broken all emotional and familial bonds with them.

My friend Tosh knew my past. She supported my healing and gave me balance. Our friendship was equal. My friend helped me through the fear and inhibitions. Confusion got triggered and doubt overwhelmed me. Our feelings were so intense. It awakened a touch of madness that was in me. Delusions took over and I got lost and felt threatened. Thoughts ran through me that I would lose my friend or already had. The ultimate insecurity, I know. It wouldn’t happen but triggering tricked my mind into an alternate reality. It felt overwhelmingly real and the descent started into the darkness. It slowly crept in at first. This imaginary train arrived to take me away. At the end of the line, there was an announcement, “All passengers depart.”

There was only me. Alone. No one to talk to. I couldn’t. Feelings I couldn’t say out loud. I was stuck there with no way out. This was all in my head. An hallucination of grand proportion. I was going mad. Tosh found me. She knew somehow and rescued me. I felt I was safe with her. My friend was there. We were together. Our souls found their mates.

It wasn’t long after the safety we felt was threatened. We pretended we lived in our own private world. No one could touch us. She taught me about love and what it felt like to be touched. The love that touch could show me. The first time she touched her lips to mine, I felt their delicate caress, as though a butterfly had landed gently on my mouth. The sensation was soft and gentle. My lips melted into hers. We were no longer separate. The start of her body felt like the inside of mine. I never wanted that moment to stop. It was so absorbing and timeless. Never wanted that spell to break. But there was the world that surrounded us. There were people who didn’t want us to have those special moments.

Tosh was my angel. Guarding us from danger. It felt like I was doing that for her. I wanted her untouched by evil. The world I knew too well. I never wanted it to come near her. Not being a Goddess, I never had the power to block the darkness from entering my world. With Tosh being part of my world, it was impossible to prevent her being effected by that evil that followed me. When she was so close to me, it was impossible for it not to touch her.

One dark night, the evil arrived in full force. Out of nowhere and unexpected, it slammed right into us. My unconscious knew through my nightmares. Tosh and I shared the exact nightmares about death being close by, wanting to steal one of us. It was meant to be a violent death. Who had death chosen between us? It is obvious by my writing this letter that I was spared. Spared what? I ask you, what did I gain?

One night while we were out celebrating, we ran into him. The one with the coal dark eyes of the demon from my nightmares and my past. It wasn’t an accident that we met that night. He had been stalking me for years, unknown to me. Just waiting for that moment, he could steal from me, the life he promised long ago to take, if I ever spoke the truth. According to him, I ruined his life. Now, for him, at last, time had arrived for me to pay, to answer his Mephistophelean Agreement. Time had come for him to claim my soul.

I saw it in his hand, as he spoke his black lies. Tosh saw it also. She took hold of my left hand and squeezed it as hard as her strength allowed. My only sense was feeling the energy holding Tosh’s hand. I tried to erase from my mind any thought of this Demon of Darkness standing before us. In his mind, he was going to kill me. His final revenge for stealing my innocence. My life must be sacrificed to bring the ritual to its conclusion. The completion of his perverted fantasy of power over me, a false sense of grandiosity, he never actually possessed.

Tosh taught me that he hadn’t succeeded in stealing my innocence. I had escaped my body whenever he violated it. She was showing me where my innocence was hiding and teaching me how to set it free again. It was a slow process but I was starting to feel it awakening within me. Now that I was opening up again, I was not about to let this piece of shit try to take anything away from me ever again.

He came rushing toward me. The glistening blade in his hand reflected off the street lights. They barely lit the dark. The closer he came the braver I felt. Moments before I could feel him him slip the blade deep inside my flesh. Tosh pushed me to the ground. She stood strong in my place and faced his evil down. He plunged his blade directly into her flesh, deep into her body. She collapsed in seconds, like Tony in West Side Story, Tosh’s favorite movie musical. She collapsed on top of me. Blood pouring out from the severe wound in her stomach. I drew her into my arms. She lay across my lap. The Demon of Darkness abandoned us. Slithering into the night without a sound.

It was the final scene from West Side Story. People from inside the Gay Bar, slowly came out. They surrounded us. I felt the queerest urge to sing “Somewhere, there’s a place for us.” A strong sense in me felt Tosh’s soul preparing to leave her weakening body. She looked into my tear filled eyes. Even now, I felt her trying to take care of me. The word “Sorry” echoed in her mind. Out loud I whispered, “Please, don’t leave me, Tosh.”

People called for help. But there wasn’t any help needed. Tosh was leaving this place. My body leaned in as close as possible. Our lips touched in the magical kiss Tosh had taught me. Her lips caressed mine as I felt Tosh getting weaker. It was difficult for her to hold on. I wanted to be greedy and keep her here with me but I knew I had to let her go. She needed to hear my words, giving her permission.

“Please don’t leave me,” were the only words I could say. Digging deep inside, I pushed down what I wanted. Finally, I was able to tell her, “You can let go. I don’t want you to. I know you need to. I, also, know you won’t do it out of your stubbornness to take care of me. You can’t stay here for me. We will have to find a different way to touch. In my heart, you will be alive. In my mind, my body will be holding you. You will be kissing me. Everything about our being together, I will miss so much. Where you go, remember me. If there’s anyway you can stay around, I know you would be the one who could find it. I’m not letting you go. You will always be in my life. Never, ever, will I forget you. So when you leave it doesn’t mean we are separate or finished. We are meant to be together always, you and I. But now your body can’t be here any longer. Go, I am letting you go now. You must do the same. Please, remember me. Missing you is something I will do the rest of my life. More than you know or I even know. I love you. I will always love you. Never, will you be forgotten. In my writing and my art, I will keep you alive. And you will be part of me forever. Someday, I believe, we will meet as spirits. For now, you will just have to find a way to haunt me and guide me through this life. Goodbye, my friend, my lover, my soul, my life. Remember, I love you Tosh.”

I pulled her into my arms. The tears were falling down my cheeks. I wanted to scream my pain out loud. Her spirit had left. Her soul was free. Her body melted limp into my arms. I pressed it to me and rocked her. The sirens sounded in the distance. It was too late for help. But not the police, they had to find the Demon and take him down. But, I didn’t want to think of him. He was never going to be in my head again.

What I wanted was to feel Tosh. To sense her around me. Her body was lifeless but her spirit, even now, she was still with me. Knowing I wasn’t totally losing her, it gave me a short moment of reassurance. Suddenly, without warning, I went from shock into my grief. All those wonderful thoughts of her soul being with me slipped away. All I felt were waves of pain, overwhelming me physically. And my feelings were scattered and confused. Thinking had disappeared. Reason vanished. Just the intensity of losing my soul filled my entire being. I felt like Heathcliff in Wuthering Heights, when all he could do was shout out in rage to Cathy.

“…he cried, with frightful vehemence…may you not rest as long as I am living; you said I killed you—haunt me, then! The murdered do haunt their murderers, I believe. I know that ghosts have wandered on earth. Be with me always—take any form—drive me mad! only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you! Oh, God! it is unutterable! I cannot live without my life! I cannot live without my soul!”

I felt this way after the Demon murdered my love, my friend, my life, my soul. All I could do after her death was to scream. Falling to my knees and screaming became a common ritual. The pain penetrated to the deepest parts of me. Her loss cut into my heart more than I could bare. Eventually, I sensed my feelings were making those around me uncomfortable. According to the rules of grieving, there seems to be an appropriate time when one should have worked through all the stages of grief. Fuck the rules. What I have to say is I never live by the rules and never do anything according to when something should be accomplished. I move inside my own time or outside of time, not according to anyone else’s correctness.

Writing this may have been cathartic, but it has ripped apart a deep wound I don’t believe will ever heal. As Rose Kennedy stated, “It has been said, ‘time heals all wounds.’ I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens. But it is never gone.”

I hope this helps you to understand what I have survived.

Until next time.

Fondly But In Pain,
Madison

ATTENTION ANNIE: At this moment I am not trying to be a coward, but I feel if I hold back now or never send this to you, I am freeing myself up to write whatever without censorship. On some future date, if trust grows, I will release my letters to you. What I write in honesty, I will keep confidential. On my honour, no others shall see these pages.
Regards,
Madison Taylor

Somewhere In Time – John Barry

hands reaching out into rain

Pretending Is Not Just Play
Written by Madison Taylor
January 7th 2008

Pretending is not just play
Pretending takes you out and away
You become whomever you want
Whatever you want
There are no limitations
You can pretend to be sane
When the world inside you
Is ripped apart
Inside a bleeding heart
That never intends to heal

The pain has to be a smile
Pretending to be happy for awhile
Pretending away the madness
No one really can tell the truth
If they question or doubt
In their own minds
They won’t test you
It would mean testing
Their own sanity
No one wants to be insane
At least the sane think so
Do the insane feel the same
Or are they interchangeable

Don’t we pretend everyday
At who we are
It gives a sense of being
Pretending doesn’t change the reality
It just gives it meaning
Pretending does not make it not so
Only not pretending does that
Or not doing stops it all

© madison taylor 2008

candle flame flickering gif

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VSouEKEbVQ8#at=94
Tonight – West Side Story – Natalie Wood as Maria – Richard Beymer as Tony

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_A0fVWomF90
One Hand, One Heart – West Side Story – Natalie Wood as Maria – Richard Beymer as Tony

http://youtu.be/gFENEfKLEmg
Somewhere (West Side Story) — Marni Nixon for Natalie Wood — Private Writings: Chapter #15 — LOST MEMORY ONLY BURIED

le chateau de rocher by j. kiley (c) jennifer kiley 2013Home to Madison and Scottie and their three cats Mikey, Toker and Patrick

drawing-room  702x699 

QUOTATIONS from: Private Writings

“A Dream

The beginning always starts out with a dream.
It is all a dream
And we are all players
In our own nightmares”
— Madison Taylor

“For that fine madness still he did retain,
Which rightly should possess a poet’s brain.”
~Michael Drayton~
(1563-1631)

“Who ever loved that loved not at first sight?”
Christopher Marlowe for “Hero and Leander”

“A therapeutic relationship is often more psycho-emotionally intimate than a marriage, or a romantic attachment. I know things about my patients that they would never dream of revealing to their spouses or families. Why is that? One word — trust. If you do not have a connection with a therapist, you cannot trust them. If you do not have trust, you will not expose yourself, and if you do not expose your innermost being, what good is the therapy?” — unknown but ask any great therapist

“Men have called me mad, but the question is not yet settled, whether madness is or is not the loftiest intelligence…whether much that is glorious–whether all that is profound–does not spring from disease of thought…” — Edgar Allan Poe

QUOTATIONS on LOST MEMORY ONLY BURIED

“Miss someone until they come back, or until you come back, until their absence in your life becomes something to be avoided at all costs. Miss them until you don’t have to anymore, until you’re reunited in your favorite booth in your favorite restaurant ordering your favorite meal, miss them until it feels like you never left. Or miss them until you can’t anymore, until the things you miss are identified and cataloged as things and not a person, until you figure out that easy company and long talks and unblinking, all-knowing eye contact will find you again the way they found you the first time. Miss someone until you don’t.” ― Stephanie Georgopulus

“Little did I realise how much I would miss those ten minutes, those ten minutes in which I lived an entire lifetime.” ― Faraaz Kazi

“When someone you love dies, and you’re not expecting it, you don’t lose her all at once; you lose her in pieces over a long time – the way the mail stops coming, and her scent fades away from the pillows and even from the clothes in her closet and drawers. Gradually, you accumulate the parts of her that are gone. Just when the day comes – when there’s a particular missing part that overwhelms you with the feeling that she’s gone, forever – there comes another day, and another specifically missing part.” ― John Irving, A Prayer for Owen Meany

play is not just play meryl streep

“Stories We Tell”

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“Stories We Tell”
New Documentary by Sarah Polley
Post Created by Jk the secret keeper
Created June 9th 2013
Posted June 12th 2013
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sarah polley actor writer director shooting new documentary : stories we tell"  680x478

sarah polley actor writer director shooting new documentary: stories we tell”


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Stories We Tell: A post by Sarah Polley
August 29th, 2012
Documentary
Filmmaker Sarah Polley about her new film, Stories We Tell.

Today in Venice my latest film, Stories We Tell, will be screening for the first time. Until now, thanks to the extraordinary decency of many people – including some journalists who have known the story for years and kept it secret – I have been able to keep its contents under wraps.

Knowing that people will now write about the film itself as well as the story it is based on, I’d like to explain a bit of the process that lead to the making of the film and why I’d like the film to speak for itself. I realize that I’m not nearly accomplished enough to write this kind of blog without apology. The world is not waiting for my next film! But because I am hoping to not do any press or interviews about the film for its festival life, I do feel I owe an explanation to the journalists who have helped me keep this secret and been respectful of my process for some time.

Here is the story of how this film came to be, and why I hope people will write about the film itself and not only the story it is based on.

In 2007 I was on set in Montreal, shooting a scene for the film Mr. Nobody. I received a phone call from a friend warning me that a journalist had found out a piece of information about my life that I had kept a secret for a year. I got in touch with the journalist and begged him not to print the story. It was a story that I had kept secret from many people in my life including my father. It took some time and many tears to convince the journalist not to print the story within the week, but I left that conversation convinced that it was not a secret I could keep for long, and that if I wanted the people in my life and outside my life to know the story in my own words, I would have to take action.

I flew to Toronto that night to tell my father the news. He was not my biological father. This had been confirmed by a DNA test with a man I had met a year earlier. I had met my biological father almost by accident, though I had long suspected based on family jokes and rumours that my mother may have had an affair that led to my conception.

My father’s response to this staggering piece of news was extraordinary. He has always been a man who responds to things in unusual ways, for better or for worse. He was shocked, but not angry. His chief concern, almost immediately, was that my siblings and I not put any blame on my mother for her straying outside of their marriage. He was candid about his own lack of responsiveness towards her and how that may have led her to the point where she sought out the affection of another person. And then he began to write. And write and write and write.

He wrote the story of their marriage, her affair (which he put together from other people’s memories), and his relationship with me. He wrote about our need to tell stories.

My biological father, at my behest, had also begun writing the story of his relationship with my mother. He is a fine storyteller too and one of the most interesting people I’ve ever met. Each of us had a deep and growing need to tell the story, different parts of it, in different ways, with emphasis on different details, in a way that reflected our own experience and what was most important to us as we are now.

My siblings began telling the story to their friends. Journalists who heard the story from various sources began calling me and asking me to be interviewed about this discovery. Everyone who heard the story seemed to want to own it. Up until then many people had mused aloud to me that the story would make a great film. I disagreed. While it had huge relevance and emotional impact for the people close to it, I felt that this story was in fact quite common. I felt I had seen this film before. However, the process of watching a story take on a life of its own, mutate, and change in so many other people’s words fascinated me. And as the story was told, or perhaps because the story was told – it changed. So I decided to make a film about our need to tell stories, to own our stories, to understand them, and to have them heard.

Personal documentaries have always made me a bit squeamish. I’ve seen some brilliant ones, but they often push the boundaries of narcissism and can feel more like a form of therapy than actual filmmaking. (Though I could listen to anyone’s therapy session and be entertained, I think.)

I’m not claiming that my film lacks self involvement but what I wanted most was to examine the many versions of this story, how people held onto them, how they agreed and disagreed with each other, and how powerful and necessary creating narrative is for us to make sense of our bewildering lives. I wanted the story told in the words of everyone I could find who could speak about it. Whatever my own feelings are about the events that are outlined, about the many dynamic and complicated players or the stunning, vibrant woman my mother was, they are ephemeral, constantly out of my grasp, they change as the years pass. (I declined to use a “voice of God” first person voice over narration because it felt false, self involved, and besides the point.) But I found I could lose myself in the words of the people closest to me. I can feel and hear and see their histories, and I wanted to get lost, immerse myself in those words, and be a detective in my own life and family.

Anything I want to say myself about this part of my life is said in the film. It’s a search still, a search for meaning, truth, for whether there can ever be a truth. I have a lot of trepidation about doing interviews and being asked how I feel about it all. I worry about seeing my deepest feelings about my life taken out of context or shortened or made to fit into someone’s already written story. And I have spent five years deciding, frame by frame and word by word, how to tell this story in this film. I’d hate to see my inability to think before I speak wipe out years of work with one stupid comment that I haven’t thought through.

I have decided not to do any interviews about this film until the film is released theatrically and I hope that doesn’t offend, or that journalists who are assigned to cover the film understand this choice after seeing it. I’m sure it’s annoying to not have a new angle or a different quote than other journalists and I’m really sorry to create that problem for the people who decide to write about it. But I desperately want, at least while the film is on the festival circuit, to have people experience and write about the film before the story – or to experience the many stories that this story has become as opposed to just my version of it. It is, after all, why I made the film in the first place. It’s oblique I know. The film is much less oblique than this fearfully written blog. I’m trying to preserve as much of the experience of viewing it for the first time as I can for those who wish to see it, for better or for worse.

I learned so much along the way. I got to know my mother who died when I was 11 in a way that isn’t usually possible for people who lose parents young. I got to know so much about my family, about filmmaking, about trusting collaborators to keep making the movie when you need to just walk away for a time (for this I have to especially thank my editor Mike Munn, my DOP Iris Ng, Producer Anita Lee and Production Coordinator Kate Vollum, as well as others, who all kept on making the film while I hid in a corner for periods of time). I also learned that people can be more decent and ethical than you imagine. Several journalists, including Brian Johnson and Matthew Hays (and more recently Gabe Gonda, the arts editor at The Globe and Mail), have known this story for years. And while they very much wanted to print it, they all respected my wish to keep this story private until I was ready to tell it in my own words. I think arts journalists in Canada are made of good material generally. I’m so thankful to them for letting me have the space to explore this on my own, ask the questions I wanted to ask, and let this film come out into the world. I never could have made it if I hadn’t had that space and time.

Making this film was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. It took five years and tormented me. I didn’t want to make it, and I wanted to give up many times along the way, but I also didn’t want this story to be out there in the words of someone other than the many people who lived it. Now it will be written about in many other people’s words, and I’m finally at peace with that. With the inaccuracies, with the new insights that I may not have arrived at on my own, with the broken telephone that happens when “concentric circles of people,” as my biological father says, begin telling their own stories without experiencing the original versions. That is what the film is about anyway and after five long years I’m actually looking forward to its arrival in the world, and the inevitable mess that comes from a story being told and retold.
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“Stories We Tell”

There’s family, there’s history and then there’s the truth, but as Sarah Polley explores in her beautiful and uniquely moving documentary “Stories We Tell,” all of those terms carry different weight depending on the eye of the beholder. Begun as a project to investigate her own family background, “Stories We Tell” blossoms into a riveting portrait of a family still carrying secrets, heartache and accepted truths that sometimes fly in the face of reality. But Polley’s entire point is that one person’s “reality” is someone else’s “fiction” and her brilliant film almost deconstructs itself as it goes along, calling into question its own presentation of the “facts” yet never feeling academic, and always wholly emotional. It’s the rare documentary that we’d argue contains “spoilers” which aren’t just part of the narrative (though it’s more enjoyable if you’re in the dark a bit,) but the presentation itself. One of the most intelligent documentaries we’ve seen in quite some time, at times enlightening and profound, the film proves the simple truth that the “Stories We Tell” about our own lives can’t always be trusted.
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Sarah Polley Examines Her Own Family In Lovely, Fascinating ‘Stories We Tell’
Venice Review
by Oliver Lyttelton
August 29, 2012

Sarah Polley has a secret. It’s a secret that, remarkably, she kept under wraps to all but friends and family until the film screened at the Venice Film Festival this morning. It’s a secret that’s seemingly informed her two directorial efforts to date, “Away From Her” and “Take This Waltz,” and is the subject matter of her third film, and first documentary, “Stories We Tell.” And it’s a secret that’s led to her finest work as a director so far.

It’s also a secret that is so important to the film that it would be virtually impossible to discuss it without giving it away. So, while Polley has written about it online today, knowing it going in might theoretically hamper your enjoyment of the film, the spoiler-phobic should be warned that from here on out, we will be giving certain things away. Be assured that fans of Polley’s work to date will be delighted by a documentary that serves simultaneously as a gripping mystery, a moving record of a family and a fascinating investigation into the nature of truth, memory, and the documentary form itself.
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*SPOILERS AHEAD*

Made up of interviews and what initially appears to be archive home movie footage (in the manner of Jonathan Caouette’s “Tarnation”), the film begins as a portrait of the director’s actress mother Diana Polley, and of her marriage to Polley’s father Michael, which ended when Diana passed away from cancer when Sarah was eleven. To build up this picture, Polley has interviewed her father (who was also an actor for a time), her siblings, and her parents’ friends, who paint a picture of a vibrant, complicated woman in a relationship that was loving, but not entirely happy.
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stories we tell photo
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And then comes the secret. Her brothers and sisters had long joked that Sarah didn’t look much like her father, and when she turned 18, began to make enquiries, discovering that her mother may have had an affair with a co-star when she was in a play in Montreal around the time that Sarah was conceived. Polley is eventually intrigued enough to seek out Canadian producer Harry Gulkin (the Oscar-nominated “Lies My Father Told Me”), an old friend of her mother’s, to ask. In fact, Harry reveals that he was the one who had an affair with Diana, and suspects that he’s her father. In fact, having now met her, he’s sure of it.

On one hand, Polley tells this story as truthfully as is possible – through the words of those who it involves, or who were there for the aftermath, like her four siblings. Indeed, the bulk of the film’s narration comes from a lengthy essay her father wrote after the fact, read in his own dulcet tones (Polley shoots within the recording studio as he does so, charmingly showing her directing her father, and her own nervous energy, in the process). At the same time, by the very nature of the film, she’s editorializing, manipulating the narrative for maximum shock value, and shooting reconstructions of what initially looked like archive Super 8 footage, with actors playing her parents in their younger days, and the real-life participants playing themselves in more recent times.

But to her credit, Polley doesn’t just acknowledge these liberties, she makes them an intrinsic part of the film, to the extent that she openly questions her own motivations for making the documentary. She’s essentially encouraging the audience to ask questions about how possible it is to closely recreate and document the past, and whether a documentary can achieve those goals.

It’s fascinating stuff, doubly so because of the clear parallels with her previous directorial efforts. Her real story is reflected both in the late-in-life adultery in “Away From Her,” and the fallibility of monogamy, and the risks of not making the leap into the unknown of “Take This Waltz.” (Interestingly, her sister comments at one point that after discovering Sarah’s news, all three Polley daughters were soon divorced). She keeps herself mostly off screen, and yet the director is exposing just as much of herself as anyone.

Which makes it all sound quite high-minded, but the film’s plot, if you can call it that, grips like a thriller, and Polley takes care to introduce the participants as characters rather than as her relatives. And all of her “characters,” from wisecracking older brother Mark to the Albert Einstein-ish Harry to the quiet, repressed, impossibly generous Michael (the source of much of the film’s emotion) are hugely entertaining, and are simply a pleasure to spend time with.

There are some issues. Shying away from introducing her interviewees clearly at the beginning means that even by the end, you’re sometimes struggling to work out how they relate to one another. And the film drags in its conclusion, stacking multiple endings on top of one another. They all contain good material, but one does start to shift a little in the seat. But for the most part, it’s a film that tickles both the brain and the heart, and by some distance Polley’s most consistent, and best, work as a director to date. [A-]
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A Clip from Sarah Polley’s documentary on “Stories We Tell”

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Private Writings: Chapter #8 — Visions of a Future

private writings to a psychoanalyst (c) Jk 2013
Private Writings: Chapter #8 — Visions of a Future
Written by Jennifer Kiley
Illustrated by j. kiley
First Posting 03.19.13
Posted Weekly Early Tuesday Morning
Chapter #8 Posted 7th May 2013
WARNING: ADULT LANGUAGE AND CONTENT.
NOT SUITABLE FOR CHILDREN.

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

Letters of Import: Visions of a Future — Chapter #8

Tuesday, November 20th, 2007

Dear Annie

It was your first solo flight today Annie. That was the most excellent group. The best group I have ever attended. My bias is being put aside and my words are honest and direct. You brightened up that group session. Everyone spoke without having to be coaxed out of any shells. No one was hiding. The quiet ones who regularly sit there and Mr. Xxx has to be the one who says what they can’t say. Not that he really makes one want to open up or gives them a chance too. You made everyone feel your enthusiasm, even though the subject was a rough one. Talking about not wanting to be touched or barely being able to let your spouses or mates try to kiss you. Forget about sex or making love; you really brought out the toughest subject.

I know you didn’t open the session with that in mind. Lisa wanted to talk about her partner. Being a lesbian myself, it is hard to believe that being sexually abused by men when you are a child would effect so strongly an intimate relationship with another woman. You would think that would be safe. In my case, I had such mixed signals. My mother was a sadist. My grandmother, the gentlest woman I have ever known. Everything about her was soft and tender. I never felt anything threatening about her. She was pure love and generosity with me. There were no doubts with her. She loved me up until she died and even then she visited me all the time from the other side. Many dreams we would sit together with her sitting in a chair on her home’s porch and my head resting on her lap. She would always just stroke my hair. She was so tender and I felt so bonded with her. It was like she never died, I got to visit with her more often after she died than when she was alive.

I wanted her to live forever. It never entered my mind she would die. She told me that it would happen. I didn’t believe her. I told her No! That would never happen. I wanted her to always be with me. But I was so wrong. She did die. It was only a short time after that conversation. She was gone.

Her dying wasn’t my first contact with death. A five year old boy drowned. He lived across the street from our family. He was so sweet. Everyone in our neighborhood loved him. He was a little angel, so sweet and innocent. The other child with him, when it happened, left him alone, dead or drowning in the water, while he ran home and didn’t tell anyone what had happened. The search was awful. Everyone was frantic. The whole neighborhood that loved him went out on the search. It brought down a great sadness over everyone after he was found.

Nothing could be done. It was too long. Could the other boy have saved him if he ran for help? No one could answer that question. It did eventually come out about what happened. The whole truth, they were in a place that was dangerous even for adults. The little boy tried to balance as he walked across a narrow crossing and fell into the deep water new the waterfalls. Neither boy knew how to swim. The other boy didn’t want to get into trouble. Children were forbidden to go this place by the pond. When asked if he had seen this boy that drowned, he lied and told everyone No when asked.

Somehow his conscience ate at him enough to break his silence. He told the truth after hours had passed. But it was way to late. It was over. The little five year old boy was way past drowning. Shock and blaming the boy who was alive followed him around for a longtime. That boy wasn’t trusted by the people of our neighborhood. Most people were very judgmental of his entire family. They were crude and socially unacceptable and most of all they never went to church. Ours was a God fearing group except them and one other family that everyone thought were Communists. It was all rather ridiculous. It was so devastating to the boys family, especially his mother. I felt bad for them. I wasn’t that old myself and I loved the little boy who drowned. He was like a little angel. It was all very sad.

My grandmother dying, though, was a different kind of devastation. She was my protector and the only person I could communicate with. We created a special alphabet. It was secret. We could write and no one could read what we sent to the other. She was my only physical contact that was good touch. Everyone else abused me, either sexually or through physical beatings. Which was worst? Both, they overlapped in their sexual abusive nature. Subliminally, it could all be traced back to sexual submission. Whippings. Beatings. Rapes. Forced touches. Kidnapping. Bondage. Child pornography. None of these were by any choice that I made. It was all against my will.

I was a sex slave and exposed to all kinds of physical and sexual brutality, including the denial of nourishment. The greatest pain was being denied the right to express any emotions or sounds. In particular, I was beaten harder if I uttered any sound. The worst sound, that I could make and that received the worst of the punishment, was to cry. I was forbidden to cry. Crying brought out the worst wrath of the Shadow Mother. She would whip me or hit me with all sorts of objects until I would stop crying. I was filled with tears. I needed to cry. It was part of my nature to cry. I cried all the time. But she hated it. She was determined to drive it out of me. She worked on this mission for many years until she found success. My grandmother’s death was her day of success. That was the day I was told not to cry for the last time. As I wad holding my grandfather’s hand, after having just returned from looking into the coffin at what was once the warm body of my loving grandmother. I kissed her cold forehead. She wasn’t there.

My grandfather’s hands were warm. We needed contact but my uncle was a mean bastard. He helped my mother to kill her. He put his hand on my shoulder and squeezed it like a clamp and told me not to cry and added that I was upsetting my grandfather. My grandfather was crying with me. But I listened to him. He was just echoing the rant I’d heard from his sister, the Shadow Mother, throughout my bruised childhood. I stopped crying and I did not cry after that moment ever, with this one exception, unless someone I loved deeply died suddenly. Then I would lose control. But if I just want to cry I cannot do it. The tears are trapped. What will release them naturally, I just don’t know. I’ve tried for year. Doing therapy since I was 19 years old has not been able to breakdown that barrier. Would you, Annie, like to have a go at it. Do you think you can find the secret passage inside of me where the barrier has the door closed, locked and barricaded?

The gentleness in your voice carries an echo of a hypnotic ability. I feel that you could coax someone who is so closed off from her feelings, like I am. I need someone sensitive but emotionally strong and gentle to draw out the one who holds onto the tears so tightly. I really want you to be the one who breaks through my barriers. I know they are built very strong and they are extremely thick. Behind the wall, it is dark and scary. We want to be released from where the Shadow Mother has us locked up. She holds the key. So, only someone who can perform magical and mystical feats will be able to break through and cause the blockade to crumble down and set me free. I need magic. White magic with a great deal of power.

A great many curses of the Black Arts have been cast on me. Their demons keep me closely guarded. Trust me, when I tell you that it is not madness talking. This is all quite real. The demons haunt me almost constantly. They torture me with lies. They try their damnedest to confuse my mind so that I will doubt my reality. At times, I know that what I perceive as real is false. I know when they are trying to trick me but I can’t stop it from effecting me. They take over my mind. I fight it so I still have a glimpse of the truth. It takes so much strength to not feel madness trying to take over.

I must rest. How I will be able to trust you with all of this information and hope you do not think we are certifiably mad, stark raving loony. We are not crazy. We couldn’t be more sane. But right now we need sleep. We’ll write more again soon.

You did a fantastic job being a great psychotherapist today. I can see the future and I see you helping me. I feel you are the one I need right now. You are perfect you may be a novice but you have a strong connection to the soul. Your spirit has a great power. That is one of the things we need as a weapon. That is all for right now. I must rest.

Regards,
Madison

Ps. The force is strong in you. That is good until next week.

Somewhere In Time – John Barry

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Le Chateau de Rocher

le chateau de rocher by j. kiley (c) jennifer kiley 2013   824x552

Le Chateau de Rocher is the home of Madison and Scottie & their three cats Mikey Toker & Patrick

QUOTATIONS from: Private Writings

“A Dream

The beginning always starts out with a dream.
It is all a dream
And we are all players
In our own nightmares”
— Madison Taylor

“For that fine madness still he did retain,
Which rightly should possess a poet’s brain.”
~Michael Drayton~
(1563-1631)

“Who ever loved that loved not at first sight?”
Christopher Marlowe for “Hero and Leander”

“A therapeutic relationship is often more psycho-emotionally intimate than a marriage, or a romantic attachment. I know things about my patients that they would never dream of revealing to their spouses or families. Why is that? One word — trust. If you do not have a connection with a therapist, you cannot trust them. If you do not have trust, you will not expose yourself, and if you do not expose your innermost being, what good is the therapy?” — unknown but ask any great therapist

“Men have called me mad, but the question is not yet settled, whether madness is or is not the loftiest intelligence…whether much that is glorious–whether all that is profound–does not spring from disease of thought…” — Edgar Allan Poe

QUOTATIONS of VISION

“If I paint a wild horse, you might not see the horse… but surely you will see the wildness!” ― Pablo Picasso

“The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious. It is the source of all true art and all science. He to whom this emotion is a stranger, who can no longer pause to wonder and stand rapt in awe, is as good as dead: his eyes are closed.” ― Albert Einstein

“Writing is…. being able to take something whole and fiercely alive that exists inside you in some unknowable combination of thought, feeling, physicality, and spirit, and to then store it like a genie in tense, tiny black symbols on a calm white page. If the wrong reader comes across the words, they will remain just words. But for the right readers, your vision blooms off the page and is absorbed into their minds like smoke, where it will re-form, whole and alive, fully adapted to its new environment.” ― Mary Gaitskill

play is not just play meryl streep

The Secret Keeper Opened Up Two Years Ago

The Secret Keeper Opened Up Two Years Ago
WordPress Sent Me A Notification Moments Ago
Written by Jennifer Kiley
Created & Posted 05.06.13

Love has no other desire but to fulfill itself
Was Posted On May 6th 2011

moon watching over all --- artist unknown 5.6.13 it was two years ago today

moon watching over all — artist unknown 5.6.13 it was two years ago today

Love has no other desire but to fulfill itself
by jen kiley “the secret keeper”
Posted May 6th 2011

This is an excerpt from a manuscript that I started writing while I was seeing M. who I felt was the best psychotherapist I ever worked with. She is my inspiration and muse. The stages that it is in now are more like a patchwork quilt of writings from notebooks and poems and letters and emails and role playing screenplays that I have written and continue to write everyday. I choose this blog site as a place where I can be open and honest with my thoughts and feelings and be the real person that I am in all the multiple facets of my psyche. I am hoping I will be able to post open and honest writings that help me develop and release what has and is happening in my life. Truth is what I am seeking and the revealing of secrets and recalling of memories are only some of what I want to express here on this blog. Hopefully, it will not all be serious. My new therapist wants me to laugh more and encourages me to watch shows and films that do just that, make me laugh. Modern Family and The Big Bang Theory are the best shows at creating that overwhelming feeling in me to feel hysterically silly and to laugh so hard I can barely catch my breath. I leave you to read what I am sharing. Be kind. I am new to this kind of truthful exposure.

9.20.10 – 2:15 am – monday

Reality…love…animals first…people…therapist before other people but S.O… my bird… my main kitties…fur…petting…loving…trusting…wanting love…wanting attention… petting…my bird sharing my meals…nothing better than that…sharing my juice… climbing all over me…getting up on my hand…sitting and resting on my shoulders or stomach for hours…nothing like it…sleeping with me while I write or work on the computer…hanging out together…my little buddy…my bird…my beautiful multi-colored protector…the most wonderful creature in the whole world…I feel that way about her …and I feel special ways about my special kitties too…snuggling with them…sleeping with them at night or when they sleep in my lap or draped over my arms in my chair …I love the feeling…I live for the moments…I live for those moments when M. smiles at me and tells me I am a good person and that I did good… when we looked into each others eyes when she was trying to get me to reach the child inside me…we both tried to get me there but it is a long distance inside to that place…

<3 Love <3

Love has no other desire but to fulfill itself
But if your love and must needs have desires,
Let these be your desires:
To melt and be like a running brook
That sings its melody to the night.
To know the pain of too much tenderness.
To be wounded by your own understanding of love;
And to bleed willingly and joyfully.
To wake at dawn with a winged heart
And give thanks for another day of loving;
To rest at the noon hour and meditate love’s ecstasy;
To return home at eventide with gratitude;
And then to sleep with a prayer
For the beloved in your heart
And a song of praise upon your lips.
~ by Kahlil Gibran ~

Mozart – Lacrimosa

the 9th – the day I found out that M. was leaving, no longer to be my therapist. I found out later during our last session we would not be able to have any contact at all with each other for two years.

I dedicate the first post on “all is one” to M. (It didn’t take me long to change her name to “the secret keeper” and she is all mine to do with what I feel she needs to do.) She taught me that we are all connected no matter where we are in our lives. She is gone now – left abruptly from my life. It has caused me a great deal of pain and continues to do so. I love this woman more than can ever be expressed in words. Even Kahlil Gibran only comes slightly close to how I feel. We did some intense work together unearthing some of the memories of the abuse from my childhood and we tried to confront the issues that I am going through today. I am now seeing a new therapist that M. chose for me. She is quite good but I miss M. terribly and my psychological issues are only compounded by the loss of her in my life and in our therapeutic relationship. I stay connected to her through my writing. She continues to be my inspiration and my muse and I write to her in my notebooks to enter into my manuscript everyday and every night. She is there with me in those moments. It was because of her that I returned to my writing and she also brought me back to my roots in meditation. When she left I pulled back from meditating and certain music because it strongly reminded me of her and the level of pain and depression and suicidal thoughts I had were too difficult to experience in all of their intensity. She abandoned me. I miss her hugs; her voice; the way her eyes looked into mine; her gentleness; her understanding; her peacefulness and calmness and most of all her love. She is connected to my soul. I will love her always and forever.

This is just the beginning of writing here. If someone passes through and should happen to read any of what I have written I will tell you that there will be more and the depth I intend to fathom shall hopefully be expressive, thoughtful and revealing in honesty.

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I add to what I wrote over two years ago, that I feel that I have followed the path that I stated back then and try to bring honesty and feelings to what is post on “the secret keeper.” I, also, try to have fun when there is a need for that. There is always a need to laugh and to cry. The first is laughing and I do that as often as possible. The second, crying, I still haven’t found the door that allows me to open it and the tears to be released. Only when something traumatizing occurs do I lose control of what holds back the tears. The Shadow Mother, the name I give my birth mother who is gone now, is the one who put my child in that prison many years ago when I was a defenseless child. I couldn’t fight her. Instead I would apologize to her and beg her forgiveness for punishing me. She forced that child to go to the deepest darkest dungeon inside my unconscious where there is no light for her to find her way out.

Those who have experienced or are experiencing brutality, remember and remind yourself that you didn’t do anything to deserve this kind of horrendous treatment. You need healing with the right person or people. I have been fortunate to have met different people in my life that have tried to help me. I feel, though, that I am very close to people in my life who are giving me a great deal of help with their love and support. It helps when you are surrounded by love and understanding. Love is so very important in everyone’s life. I feel that in my life now.

Writing “the secret keeper” has expanded my world and I feel so lucky to have met the people who I found through this world. One could say it is a very magical and mystical world where the unknown and impossible is knowable and possible.

I wondered why my muse wanted to watch movie trailers. She was stalling me until the announcement came through from WordPress, otherwise, I would never have realized the two year anniversary. I suppose I should send out a thank-you to “M” for leading me into the world of blogging. Honestly, I had another blog that I did for a short time. It was the oddest thing. I found myself on WordPress. I do not even remember why and the next thing I knew I had signed up to write a blog. My reaction: “I DID WHAT?” I was wondering what was I thinking about when I did that. I don’t know anything about writing a blog. I let it sit. Then one day I started to write. I wasn’t really myself when I was doing that blog so I gradually diminished its place in my life and that is when I realized I needed to create what eventually became “the secret keeper” but once was called “all is one” — that was named that for my meditative self but not who really needed this blog to be hers. I needed the healer and the to be healed to be what this blog was for and about. “the secret keeper” is for those who have secrets they need to reveal or for those who need a place to open up and have their secrets kept just that “secret.” Some secrets need to be shouted out loud and others need to be shared in a quiet way. The “evil” doers need to be exposed, those in pain need to know they are not alone.

I want to be able to write about any content that needs to be discussed. Hopefully, I have been doing that over the past two years, more being in the last year plus several months. I have made a commitment to myself to post something everyday. So far I have been doing that for awhile now. Doing a post a day has been good for me. It keeps my mind focused and for those who follow me and that I follow, it has been an experience to keep connected with all of you.

I keep growing and learning something all the time. One, that there is not enough time in one day for everything, but you try to fit it all in but find it exhausting and close to impossible but I am not saying it isn’t attempted. We are still learning about that one.

Did my muse or I find anything interesting in the movie trailers? Well, there is a movie with Robert De Niro, Diane Keaton and Susan Sarandon are in that is out now. The Big Wedding and I remember seeing Tom Cruise in one that is rather spooky and takes place in the future. No humans left on Earth as far as I can tell. Oblivion. Then some scary, creepy crap in between. The devil wants a baby. Probably Zombies. I wasn’t playing close attention. In fact, think I was eating cereal at the time. Put “The Big Wedding” trailer on again and it looks funny. Well, the trailer makes me laugh. Oh, the next trailer I do remember now. The movie titled: MUD has feeling of STAND BY ME but more law involved. Stars Matthew McConaughey & Reese Witherspoon and two great kid actors. Roku has some of the wildest choices of channels.

Thank you all for following and hope you find something here that you want to read, listen to, like, or have a comment you’d like to make, or just follow in your own quiet way. Anyway that you like, you are welcome. by Jennifer Kiley j.kiley jk the secret keeper jk the SK
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first star on the right --- abstract digital art

first star on the right — abstract digital art


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Metallica — Nothing Else Matters
(One of Several Videos I Posted In My First Month as “the secret keeper” Two Years Ago)
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QUOTATIONS on PAST:

“Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards.” ― Søren Kierkegaard

“You realize that our mistrust of the future makes it hard to give up the past.” ― Chuck Palahniuk, Survivor

“The past is never where you think you left it.” ― Katherine Anne Porter

“Yesterday is gone. Tomorrow has not yet come. We have only today. Let us begin.” ― Mother Teresa

“When we are tired, we are attacked by ideas we conquered long ago.” ― Friedrich Nietzsche

“It’s being here now that’s important. There’s no past and there’s no future. Time is a very misleading thing. All there is ever, is the now. We can gain experience from the past, but we can’t relive it; and we can hope for the future, but we don’t know if there is one.” ― George Harrison
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“Here’s Looking At You Kid”

“Here’s Looking At You Kid.”
Film: Casablanca
Starring Humphrey Bogart & Ingrid Bergman
Playing Roles of Rick Blaine & Ilsa Lund
Created by jk the secret keeper
Posted 04.28.13

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Casablanca: Rick Blaine & Ilsa Lund "Here's Looking At You Kid."  1024x768

Casablanca: Rick Blaine & Ilsa Lund “Here’s Looking At You Kid.”

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Rick: Last night we said a great many things. You said I was to do the thinking for both of us. Well, I’ve done a lot of it since then, and it all adds up to one thing: you’re getting on that plane with Victor where you belong.

Ilsa: But, Richard, no, I… I…

Rick: Now, you’ve got to listen to me! You have any idea what you’d have to look forward to if you stayed here? Nine chances out of ten, we’d both wind up in a concentration camp. Isn’t that true, Louie?

Captain Renault: I’m afraid Major Strasser would insist.

Ilsa: You’re saying this only to make me go.

Rick: I’m saying it because it’s true. Inside of us, we both know you belong with Victor. You’re part of his work, the thing that keeps him going. If that plane leaves the ground and you’re not with him, you’ll regret it. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow, but soon and for the rest of your life.

Ilsa: But what about us?

Rick: We’ll always have Paris. We didn’t have, we, we lost it until you came to Casablanca. We got it back last night.

Ilsa: When I said I would never leave you.

Rick: And you never will. But I’ve got a job to do, too. Where I’m going, you can’t follow. What I’ve got to do, you can’t be any part of. Ilsa, I’m no good at being noble, but it doesn’t take much to see that the problems of three little people don’t amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world. Someday you’ll understand that.

[Ilsa lowers her head and begins to cry]

Rick: Now, now…

[Rick gently places his hand under her chin and raises it so their eyes meet]

Rick: Here’s looking at you kid.

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casablanca 1947 680x1915

casablanca 1947

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casablanca: rick blaine & ilsa lund in paris cafe 680×540

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casablanca: rick hanging out with sam

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casablanca: ilsa role played by ingrid berman

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FILM REVIEW of CASABLANCA

“Here’s looking at you kid.”

There are so many memorable lines and scenes in the film “Casablanca.”
Casablanca (1942) Directed by Michael Curtiz: Starring Humphrey Bogart as Rick Blaine; Ingrid Bergman as Ilsa Lund; Peter Lorre as Ugarte; Claude Raines as Louie (Head of Police/Rick’s Friend); Paul Henreid as Victor Laszlo; Sydney Greenstreet as Ferrari, proprietor of the night club The Blue Parrot.

Just one of the fifty films a studio would make each year back in the day. Casablanca was just one of those films thrown into that collection. Who knew it would spring forth and become the success that it is. Today, it is considered one of the top romantic films of all time.

Won for Best Picture 1942 Oscar. One of the most universally admired films ever made. On most lists of the greatest films of all times. Even people who don’t like old films or black and white films love Casablanca. Roger Ebert said he doesn’t think he’s heard of any negative reviews of this film ever. All the characters are all good except the Nazis. Vichy are the French who collaborate with the Nazis.

Rick’s Cafe Americain in Casablanca in French Morocco, where everyone went for entertainment or to hang out for a drink or to go to the back room where there is gambling going on. Here, in Casablanca, some may obtain exit visas but others may wait and wait and wait. At the beginning of the film, you find out that some couriers were killed in the desert and robbed of exit visas. Officials wanting to see a man’s papers, causes the man to freak out, his papers are not in order, so he runs and is shot and killed because he didn’t halt when ordered to. Life is meaningless.

When Louie, the head of the police, is asked by Major Strasser, what is being done about the murder of the couriers, his answer is: “We’ve rounded up the usual suspects.” No one likes Nazis and the head of the Nazis in this movie doesn’t make them any more popular and maybe makes them even less popular. The Marseillaise is the present day French National Anthem. Remember that when you watch Casablanca.

Ugarte shows up and talks to Rick. Wants to have a drink with Rick but as a rule he doesn’t drink with any of the guests of his night club. Ugarte likes to brag to Rick. He just is looking for Rick’s approval but knows that Rick despises him but he is the only person that Ugarte trusts. Rick does finally seem impressed with him. You’ll have to watch the movie to find out why.

Ferrari wants Rick’s place. He is always trying to buy it. It’s the best place in town. Sasha hangs out there and is sort of Rick’s girl friend and is a bit of an alcoholic. It’s understandable she wants to drink the times are during the 2nd World War and it is making everyone edgy and the French are being ruled by the Germans.

Louie and Rick get involved in a conversation and Louie asks why Rick came to such a God Forsaken place like Casablanca. Rick’s a smart ass and says: “It’s for the water.” But, of course, it is a desert. Rick’s is permitted to stay open because he just doesn’t want to get involved. But he has in his hands something that a lot of people are looking for but no one has any idea what that is. Louie tells Rick there is a famous patriot of the war headed for Casablanca. A member of the Gestapo, Major Strasser, is expected at the club. He is a thoroughly disagreeable Nazis but then what Nazi isn’t. That I may say often.

A major happening occurs at Rick’s but he reassures everyone to settle down and get back into enjoying themselves. Rick actually sits down with the Nazis. The Nazis make mention about invading New York. Rick warns them about staying away from certain sections of New York. They may not be safe. They start in talking about Victor Lazslo being on his way. Rick assuring them that he doesn’t plan on getting involved.

Victor Laszlo and Ilsa Lund eventually show up as expected and walk through the cafe and take a seat in the night club. Expect that many will be approaching Victor fairly often because of his importance and how nervous they make the Nazis. Ilsa starts asking about the piano player and who owns the Night Club. Louie tells her it is a man named Rick. Major Strasser is introduced and acts like the ass that he is. Starts applying his power over Laszlo.

It is evident that Ilsa and Victor are close but at this time we know nothing of their relationship other then they are traveling together. Victor leaves her at table to meet a man at the bar and finds out about Ugarte.

Ilsa wants to speak to the piano player. His name is Sam and she asks him to play some of the old songs. There is a sadness between Sam regarding Rick. She wants him to play a the song “As Time Goes By.” Sam sings the song for her. Out comes Rick telling Sam he’s not suppose to play that song. Rick sees Ilsa sitting at her table. The last time Rick saw Ilsa was in Paris when the Germans marched in to take over the city. He was unnerved seeing her again. He was so not himself that he actually had a drink with all at the table breaking his precedent of not drinking with guests of the night club The Americain.

Later back in his rooms, Rick has a bottle, and tells Sam he is not planning on going to bed. He thinks Ilsa is going to show up. Sam isn’t going to leave his boss alone. He starts getting maudlin. “Of all the gin joints in all the world, she walks into mine.” He wants Sam to play “As Time Goes By.” Sam doesn’t want to open the wounds.

Flashback: Paris with Rick and Ilsa driving around in a convertible. then down by the Seine. In the hotel drinking champagne. “Who are you really and what were you before and what did you think?” Ricks asks. Ilsa’s response: “We said no questions.” All the best lines in these scenes. So many to write down and remember. She reveals an answer without the question. Watch the movie to find out what she told Rick.

Outside, newspapers are being passed around. The Germans are coming I believe are the headlines and what they are saying in French over the microphones. There is a lot of action going on out in the streets.

The most famous line is spoken by Rick toasting champagne with Sam and Ilsa: “Here’s looking at you kid.” Everything is falling apart. “Where were you ten years ago?” Rick said he was looking for a job. For some reason there is a price on Rick’s head but no one knows why. It’s time for everyone to leave Paris. Their suppose to meet at the train station from where they will be leaving. Ilsa loves him so much and the war, she hates that in just the opposite emotion. She thinks that they will be taken apart. “Kiss me as if it is the last time.”

It’s raining at the train station. With three minutes until last train leaves. No Ilsa but Sam and Rick are waiting. There is a note from the Hotel. Fade Out Paris Train Station as you watch the rain wash the ink off of the note in Rick’s hand.

Fade In: Rick’s Rooms enter Ilsa. She wants to talk to him, to tell him a story. It’s about a girl who meets a man, a very courageous man. She looked up to him. She thought it was love. Who did she leave him for? Laszlo or others in between?

Victor and Ilsa meet Strasser at Police station. Strasser guarantees Laszlo will never receive an exit visa. His only way to leave is to be a traitor to his people. Do you really think he is the type of man to be a traitor. Nazis have no sense of integrity so they do not understand an enigma like Victor Laszlo. An important person to their leaving has been reported to be dead.

Rick visits The Blue Parrot and talks with Ferrari, who wants the letters of transit. He tells Rick he thinks he knows where the letters are. Rick purposely left his club so the police would have a chance to ransack it. Louie’s men were impressively destructive at Rick’s Place in order to win points with Major Strasser. Louie blows with the wind. He is with the Vichy. The Vichy being the French who go along and reluctantly support the French. The French who are loyal to their own country feel betrayed by the Vichy.

A young woman comes to Rick to plead for some help. She will have to sleep with Louie if her husband doesn’t win enough money so they can afford a visa. If they use only the money they have there would be nothing left. Louise fully expects her to have sex with him if the money isn’t won. Louie sees that the young woman and Rick are being obvious about conspiring. They are all in the backroom where the gambling goes on. Louie is an odd duck. Louie accuses Rick of being a rank sentimentalist.

Victor has a visit with Rick. The Underground tell Victor all sorts of very impressive things about activities that Rick was involved in during the war.

In Rick’s Cafe, the Nazis are singing about the Fatherland. It is so despicable to the French in the club that they have a singing competition. Guess who wins. Strasser is not very satisfied. He tells Louie to find an excuse to close Rick’s. He tells Rick the reason is because he is shocked that gambling is going on in his club.

Strasser just keeps getting creepier. Threatens Ilsa.

Later Ilsa and Victor speak about the letters of transit and what Rick said about asking his wife why he won’t give up the letters.

Ilsa goes to Rick’s rooms and tries to get letters from him. She wants to tell him what really happened in Paris. The feelings between them, have they been buried or are they gone? The truth comes out. She had no hope that Victor was alive when she was in Paris with Rick.

Victor and Rick talk. They are not that far apart in what they believe.

Louie and Rick talk about letters. Louie doesn’t like Strasser.

Approaching the final few scenes of the film. Cafe Americain is still closed by order of the Prefect of Police. Ferrari has taken over the Cafe. Louie thinks he is at Cafe to arrest Laszlo but Rick surprises him and makes him call the airport to tell them that there is to be no trouble about two letters of transit. Everything is building up to the excitement of what is all going to culminate in some of the biggest surprises yet in the film.

Best closing scenes in any movie and best closing lines. Memorable til the final line.

For the rest of the film and to fill in all the spaces that I have left out, you will need to find a copy of this film on DVD or streaming from online or whatever source you are able to find to watch the whole thing and to see how it ends. It is a thoroughly amazing film to watch. It seems the perfect film in detail, dialogue, scenes, settings, storyline, acting and durability. It has all the perfect elements and the best acting. Filled with sentiment and sacrifice. I first saw this film when I was in my 20s. It was such a surprise that I did not see it when I was a kid. It is understandable for older children and a fascinating film for all adults.

The following videos do have SPOILERS so watch them if you have seen the film already or if you don’t mind seeing scenes before seeing the film. I am sure a great many of you have watched this film. But if you haven’t, it should be on everyone’s’ film list as a must see. The sheer acting alone and the love story and the screenplay is brilliant. The cast is to die for. Humphrey Bogart, Ingrid Bergman play the leads. They are two of the finest actors of all times. Worthy of anyone’s time to find out how great they are in Casablanca. No one had any idea what a remarkable film this was going to turn out to be. The special benefit if this film is you get to hate the Nazis and you get to curse them out without impunity. It has the most classic lines of almost any film ever made. Enjoy the videos and seriously consider locating this film if you haven’t seen it and find it so you can watch it again. “Here’s Looking At You Kid.” jk the SK

Tribute To Casablanca
Filled With Spoilers

Casablanca La Marseillaise

All About the Film “Casablanca”

The relationship between Rick and Ilsa was filled with Desire. I am going to write a poem about Desire in my new form of Haiku. I refer to it as X-treme Haiku. I use an altered form of Haiku with the onji (lines) in the 5 – 7 – 7. I do as few or as many verses as I feel will tell the story that I am writing. Sometimes the story will more often be a touch abstract and other times it may be a philosophical exploration, or a story that may have the appearance of something that may b close in resemblance to a fable. With X-treme Haiku I want to allow myself the freedom to write about what I want but to also include restriction which will encourage restraint on my part so that I will write more concisely with the use of fewer words that will contain an understanding and a discipline toward accuracy. I have been using this style of X-treme Haiku for a short while now and find it makes me more disciplined. It involves research and a greater understanding of the words I use. Being precise about definitions of the language I am using. There is a cleanness to the design. The other rules are for myself and they include the use of words. I do not or try not to repeat a word within the same verse or if possible within the same poem unless absolutely necessary. I like mystery in my poems so I do have the tendency to be a touch cryptic and/or abstract. I like analyzing what it is I am writing about. I am honest about whatever it is I have chosen to write about. I believe in going into the depths of what I mean in what I write. Truth is essential. Directness is essential. Abstraction is often essential. I believe in creating a puzzle that must be deciphered. I do not often hand out the simplicity of a matter. A specific reason for that is when I am writing I am also trying to interpret and examine in depth what subject is I am writing on and usually for the purpose of trying to understand what is within or what it is about that I am writing. Now to the poem.

x-treme haiku: "desire" by j. kiley © jennifer kiley 2013  823x6441

x-treme haiku: “desire” by j. kiley © jennifer kiley 2013

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Play It, Sam — As Time Goes By

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QUOTATIONS on FILM & DESIRE:

FILM:

“The whole of life is just like watching a film. Only it’s as though you always get in ten minutes after the big picture has started, and no-one will tell you the plot, so you have to work it out all yourself from the clues.” ― Terry Pratchett, Moving Pictures

“It starts so young, and I’m angry about that. The garbage we’re taught. About love, about what’s “romantic.” Look at so many of the so-called romantic figures in books and movies. Do we ever stop and think how many of them would cause serious and drastic unhappiness after The End? Why are sick and dangerous personality types so often shown a passionate and tragic and something to be longed for when those are the very ones you should run for your life from? Think about it. Heathcliff. Romeo. Don Juan. Jay Gatsby. Rochester. Mr. Darcy. From the rigid control freak in The Sound of Music to all the bad boys some woman goes running to the airport to catch in the last minute of every romantic comedy. She should let him leave. Your time is so valuable, and look at these guys–depressive and moody and violent and immature and self-centered. And what about the big daddy of them all, Prince Charming? What was his secret life? We dont know anything about him, other then he looks good and comes to the rescue.” ― Deb Caletti, The Secret Life of Prince Charming

“Only the gentle are ever really strong.” ― James Dean

“Certain things leave you in your life and certain things stay with you. And that’s why we’re all interested in movies- those ones that make you feel, you still think about. Because it gave you such an emotional response, it’s actually part of your emotional make-up, in a way.” ― Tim Burton, Burton on Burton

“Ezekiel 25:17. “The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the inequities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men. Blessed is he who, in the name of charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the valley of the darkness. For he is truly his brother’s keeper and the finder of lost children. And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who attempt to poison and destroy my brothers. And you will know I am the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon you.” I been sayin’ that shit for years. And if you ever heard it, it meant your ass. I never really questioned what it meant. I thought it was just a cold-blooded thing to say to a motherfucker before you popped a cap in his ass. But I saw some shit this mornin’ made me think twice. Now I’m thinkin’: it could mean you’re the evil man. And I’m the righteous man. And Mr. .45 here, he’s the shepherd protecting my righteous ass in the valley of darkness. Or it could be you’re the righteous man and I’m the shepherd and it’s the world that’s evil and selfish. I’d like that. But that shit ain’t the truth. The truth is you’re the weak. And I’m the tyranny of evil men. But I’m tryin, Ringo. I’m tryin’ real hard to be the shepherd. — he became the shepherd instead of the vengeance.” ― Quentin Tarantino

“A good movie can take you out of your dull funk and the hopelessness that so often goes with slipping into a theatre; a good movie can make you feel alive again, in contact, not just lost in another city. Good movies make you care, make you believe in possibilities again. If somewhere in the Hollywood-entertainment world someone has managed to break through with something that speaks to you, then it isn’t all corruption. The movie doesn’t have to be great; it can be stupid and empty and you can still have the joy of a good performance, or the joy in just a good line. An actor’s scowl, a small subversive gesture, a dirty remark that someone tosses off with a mock-innocent face, and the world makes a little bit of sense. Sitting there alone or painfully alone because those with you do not react as you do, you know there must be others perhaps in this very theatre or in this city, surely in other theatres in other cities, now, in the past or future, who react as you do. And because movies are the most total and encompassing art form we have, these reactions can seem the most personal and, maybe the most important, imaginable. The romance of movies is not just in those stories and those people on the screen but in the adolescent dream of meeting others who feel as you do about what you’ve seen. You do meet them, of course, and you know each other at once because you talk less about good movies than about what you love in bad movies.” ― Pauline Kael, For Keeps: 30 Years at the Movies

“Books and movies, they are not mere entertainment. They sustain me and help me cope with my real life.” ― Arlaina Tibensky

DESIRE:

“Do not spoil what you have by desiring what you have not; remember that what you now have was once among the things you only hoped for.” ― Epicurus

“Things are sweeter when they’re lost. I know–because once I wanted something and got it. It was the only thing I ever wanted badly, Dot, and when I got it it turned to dust in my hand.” ― F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Beautiful and Damned

“There are two tragedies in life. One is to lose your heart’s desire. The other is to gain it.” ― George Bernard Shaw, Man and Superman

“She leaned forward and caught at his hand, pressing it between her own. The touch was like white fire through his veins. He could not feel her skin only the cloth of her gloves, and yet it did not matter. You kindled me, heap of ashes that I am, into fire. He had wondered once why love was always phrased in terms of burning. The conflagration in his own veins, now, gave the answer.” ― Cassandra Clare, Clockwork Princess

“Desiring another person is perhaps the most risky endeavor of all. As soon as you want somebody—really want him—it is as though you have taken a surgical needle and sutured your happiness to the skin of that person, so that any separation will now cause a lacerating injury.” ― Elizabeth Gilbert, Committed: A Skeptic Makes Peace with Marriage

“I desire to be with you. I miss you. I feel lonely when I can’t see you. I am obsessed with you, fascinated by you, infatuated with you. I hunger for your taste, your smell, the feel of your soul touching mine.” ― Jack Llawayllynn, Indulgence

“Profound desire, true desire is the desire to be close to someone.” ― Paulo Coelho, Eleven Minutes
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