Flowers Song and Poetry

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

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

flowers yellow white pinkish with green background of leaves for niamh

Friendship

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

______

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

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

Henry David Thoreau

lady butterfly painted green back ground

Easy To Be — Prospecta featuring Lila Goldie

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

Sometimes You Just Feel Invisible

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Sometimes You Just Feel Invisible
Written by Jennifer Kiley
Illustrations of Family Companion Animals
Photographs by Shawn MacKenzie
Post Created Wednesday 17th July 2013
Posted On Saturday 20th July 2013
X-Treme Haiku Saturday

Schroeder-the Jekyll & Hyde of Cats-kisses & snuggles switching instantaneously to bites & growls. And then there's Saki-our Amazon Parrot-my protector-she bites me when she thinks I am in danger. OUCH!!! One of her satisfactions is when she imitates Snoopy on his Sopwith Camel dive-bombing The Red Baron-in this instance replace TRB with Shawn-cannot get near me when Saki is sitting on my shoulder or near me in anyway. A true love/hate relationship with Shawn who gives her peanut treats whenever Saki asks. Now look at the love between S & S. It is a labour of love. In this photograph, Saki has only just started to fly over to us. Her life before us was trauma filled & neglect. Loved Shawn first but switched over to me. Now we are symbiotic & copacetic & share everything-Food & Love & Snuggles & I get a Heroic Protector who sleeps/sits on me when I write or doing anything at all. A Love Note for My Two Favorite Cuddlers.  1280x960

Schroeder-the Jekyll & Hyde of Cats-kisses & snuggles switching instantaneously to bites & growls. And then there’s Saki-our Amazon Parrot-my protector-she bites me when she thinks I am in danger. OUCH!!! One of her satisfactions is when she imitates Snoopy on his Sopwith Camel dive-bombing The Red Baron-in this instance replace TRB with Shawn-cannot get near me when Saki is sitting on my shoulder or near me in anyway. A true love/hate relationship with Shawn-who gives her peanut treats whenever Saki asks. Now look at the love between S & S. It is a labour of love. In this photograph-Saki has only just started to fly over to us. Her life before us was trauma filled & neglect. Loved Shawn first but switched over to me. Now we are symbiotic & copacetic. We share everything-Food-Love & Snuggles. I get an Heroic Protector who sleeps/eats/sits/snuggles/dances on me when I write or do anything. A Love Note for My Two Favorite Cuddlers. Kisses-Jk [One of Their Two Mums] ps. I am not Invisible to them. They need me as I need them & want me in their lives.

Sometimes You Just Feel Invisible
By Jennifer Kiley
17th July 2013

Sometimes you just feel
Invisible no sight no
Depth of shape no dimensions

Vision forward moves
Past forgotten locked in lost
Memories committed done

Frozen locked in time
Tripping tricking psyche deep
Confusion delusions thoughts

Trapping murderers
Vanquish shadows’ reflection
Innocence stolen destroyed

Perversion alive
Evil plans continue then
New images prevailing

Subconscious nightmares
Dreams retold when awakened
Bulldozers crashing breaking

Home protects safe place
Breathe panic out with symptoms
Expand light growing healing

© Jk 2013

Lakme-Delibes: Flower Duet — Joan Sutherland
Combining Art With Love
— Music Video — All Digital Art Created by Jennifer Kiley

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Noble In Reason

a divider for post no. 5 love fav new one

Noble In Reason
Post Created by Jk the secret keeper
Collage by j. kiley
Post Created 2nd Tuesday July 2013
Posted 3rd Wednesday July 2013

hamlet-noble in reason

Aria from Diva – Wilhelmenia Wiggins Fernandez

Fernandez sings the aria “Ebben? Ne andrò lontana“, from Act I of Catalani’s opera “La Wally.” Catalani died at 39. The piece is a haunting reverie on the theme of traveling alone and far from home.

This performance plays a prominent role in the 1981 French romantic thriller, “Diva” – and is an excerpt from the DVD. Roger Ebert, film critic for the Chicago Sun Times, rates the movie 5 stars out of 5.

The opera, based on a German novel, tells of a wild, headstrong Swiss mountain girl who loves one local huntsman and is loved by another. Eventually she wins her true love, the pair embraces high in the Alps, an avalanche entombs the hero and she leaps after him to her snowy death.

QUOTATIONS on REASON:

“Before you, Bella, my life was like a moonless night. Very dark, but there were stars, points of light and reason. …And then you shot across my sky like a meteor. Suddenly everything was on fire; there was brilliancy, there was beauty. When you were gone, when the meteor had fallen over the horizon, everything went black. Nothing had changed, but my eyes were blinded by the light. I couldn’t see the stars anymore. And there was no more reason, for anything.” ― Stephenie Meyer, New Moon

“Your reason and your passion are the rudder and the sails of your seafaring soul.

For reason, ruling alone, is a force confining; and passion, unattended, is a flame that burns to its own destruction.

Therefore let your soul exalt your reason to the height of passion, that it may sing;

And let it direct your passion with reason, that your passion may live through its own
daily resurrection, and like the phoenix rise above its own ashes.

And since you are a breath in God’s sphere, and a leaf in God’s forest, you too should rest in reason and move in passion.” ― Khalil Gibran, The Prophet

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Private Writings: Chapter #16 — Aggravating Behavior

private writings to a psychoanalyst (c) Jk 2013
Private Writings: Chapter #16 — Aggravating Behavior
Written by Jennifer Kiley
Illustrated by j. kiley
First Published March 19th 2013
Published Early Tuesday AM
Posted 2nd 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 #16 — Aggravating Behavior

Tuesday January 15th, 2008

Dear Annie,

I think Annie, I know why I wrote such an emotionally intense letter last week. It is Amelie. Her joining the therapy group last week really disarmed me. There was no notice or warning of a new member starting the first of the year. Our glorious leader, Dr. George, yes, I am using his given name, fuck Mr. Xxx, he deserves to be identified. He failed to ask whether we wanted someone new.

Seems the Doctor wants full control or he would have mentioned her and not made the decision on his own. This group has full rights to decide if someone joins at any time. Writing this is not to complain about Amelie. She mesmerizes me. It is Dr. George’s lack of inquiry with us. To late, it’s done. Not appropriately, but déjà fait. He bloody displeases me, not Alison.

Amelie triggers memories of Tosh. Their resemblance is beyond uncanny. And her boldness is refreshing. No hesitation to proclaim herself a lesbian. But I saw her depth of attraction and knew. Sensed it in her gaze when her eyes caught mine, in a timeless moment. Her eyes were steady. All I knew was the feeling from Amelie felt as though Tosh’s eyes were loving me. The time portal opened to the past.

Who is Amelie? Where did she come from? And why now? The pressure is building up inside of me. Not sure I’m handling it well. I feel like my world is about to explode. Flashing on Tosh’s murder. Getting attached to you. Not knowing if I will lose you if this all crash and burns. Now Amelie, a ghost, a practical joke, Dr. George, the bastard, is fucking with me. He knows what Tosh looks like, and magically Amelie springs up.

I’m sure you’ve notices the group is in disaster mode. Dying and almost dead as Jacob Marley’s Ghost. It’s in a retrograde of self-destruction. Hold it together, Annie, please, just long enough, or it will disintegrate by the hand of Machiavelli, himself, Dr. George. Maybe it should self-destruct. Solves one major problem. Poof! Dr. George disappears. So does everyone else in this miserable group. Exceptions are Amelie and Kristina. Soon, I will tell you about Kristina. Right now, I’m just waiting for Mount Vesuvius to erupt. That would be Brad, my totally rad alter. He’s not afraid of anyone. Plus he promised me Dr. George is going down. Soon. The time is near.

He sucks as a analyst. He’s not deserving of the honour of calling him a psychoanalyst or doctor. What a joke. He’s so out of touch, I don’t think he knows he’s treating clients. But, it’s his job to listen. Instead, he monopolizes a session by telling his own stories. It’s negligence and even worse, his stories are sexually perverse, going into detail about gay male sex. Please do not misunderstand, I am not homophobic. That’s not it, it’s that he tells these stories to me, when we are alone. I am a lesbian client, I emphasize, and an abuse survivor . His other clients, some share similar backgrounds. I, certainly, have no desire to hear about balls, or a man’s prick. Who the fuck wants to hear that kind of bull shit.

His sense of protocol is fucking aggravating. It’s inappropriate. Clearly sexual harassment, he thrusts upon female sexual abuse survivors. Having my analyst compound his ignorance with the subject at all is disgusting and depraved. The only appropriate time would be if I were talking about an abuser raping me. Enough with the perverse humour. Dr. George’s list of disgusting behavior grows longer, probably unlike his dick. It’s not my thing. Being raped by pricks do not make lesbians appreciate the existence of dicks, nor do they fantasize hearing about them or seeing them. Does he forget or not understand that element of our experiences?

I just need to end my therapy with him completely. His relationship with me is a travesty. He’s outrageous, obnoxious and destructive in our private sessions. Plainly, he is just a disappointment. He doesn’t even pretend any longer not to support me. He sides with his pets in the group, particularly Angie, who gets on my last nerve. I dread seeing them both. And God forbid I should question her intentions or prejudices or anyone elses.

In a private session, only recently, when I accused Angie, his precious fucking pet snake of being a homophobe and racist, he came down on me, accusing me of being cruel and unfeeling. His evil seethed through his teeth as he tried destroying me with his words. Turning me in on myself, made me out to be the insensitive one. Every fiber and muscle in my body struggled with my mind, trying to walk out in the middle of his vicious outbreak of rage, but instead stillness set in. His verbal abuse caused such extreme fright, I became catatonic.

That was the final time I ever intend to allow him to rape my mind again. Next time, instead of facing me down, he will meet Brad, in his fully engaged rage. Dr. George will finally be laid out. Don’t worry, no one is going to do violence. But I would definitely make a grand exit, quite Gloria Swanson, but with a male flair and the burst of a fiery rage. And it truly would be the last one. You will know it and you will hear it, when it is over.

A word of encouragement from you, Annie, would help push me over that line to find my courage. His condescension in our private sessions should be enough. But I am too insecure to terminate without feeling support to catch me. An abusive relationship has gradually been created with him and I did not stop it when I realized what was happening. I let it take over my world. He makes me feel like the abusers did. I float on the ceiling to escape him and become powerless.

It always bothered me that he reminded me of an abuser. He used transference in place of accepting his role in creating my feelings of insecurity and making me feel I wasn’t seeing what I felt as being accurate. He was being abusive, constantly undermining my sense of identity and confidence. My belief in trusting my own feelings. My writing came to almost a stand still after starting to see him. My soul felt strangled. My muse abandoned me for an indefinite length of time. I fell into the deepest depression. Started having increasingly stronger panic and anxiety attacks and the depression led to feeling suicidal most of the time. How many times I felt so close to the edge, were far too many.

Just the thought that the next day I would have to see him freaked me out. I would start to shake and found it hard to breathe. He would rationalize it by saying I was afraid of therapy and what disturbing memories might come up. Bull shit. He is such a fuck head and liar. He wanted to have power over me. Sound familiar, it is exactly what abusers do to the children they abuse. Win their confidence and then slowly undermine their sense of self as an independent person, until the abuser can do anything they want with their prize possessions. Does he get his kicks having power over his clients, controlling them and how they feel inside. Making them want to kill themselves. Life and death. What an ultimate power trip.

Somehow, Scottie broke through the barrier.It was built up high and strong to protect myself. She fought with me to see reality. That I was having delusional thinking. For years she has driven me insane with her persistent urges to get me to stop seeing him. Deep inside I knew she was trying to protect me, but I was too frightened to walk away. I felt too crazy and feared leaving him would cause me to completely lose my mind. Talk about control or confusion. What was I letting him do to me? What was I doing to myself staying with him? Fear is my only excuse or reason. Terror. I was too terrified to live or to leave. Life was too frightening. I trembled at the thought of being part of the world. Going out. Being around people. Pure panic.

Now I want to make him disappear and group to end. Working with you, Annie, would be a great alternative. There is only one thing that would be fucked up if this all collapsed, which it will. Amelie, if it all ends, she would be gone. How will I be able to get to know her. There has got to be a way to make some kind of personal connection before it happens. Everything will crumble when I confront him. Not sure exactly when and how I’m going to do it. But it will happen and I’ve got to be lethal.

I don’t want Amelie to go away. It may seem odd. I met her last week, I’ve seen her twice. Yet, there is an intense need to know her. Jennie Fields, a character I love from the John Irving book, The World According to Garp, says this two word phrase. It cracks me up. She would look someone straight in the eyes and seriously state, “It’s lust.” As simple as that. “It’s lust.” I am in lust with Amelie. It’s a really strong attraction. Not something I have any way of explaining but say I am attracted to her.

Well, fuck it if I am. Amelie rocks my world at this very moment. Nothing wrong with those feelings. But, seriously, it feels more meaningful than an orgasmic connection. She reminds me of Tosh. I can’t let that go. There is something between us. I’m not letting her walk into my life so fucking briefly and not have a say as she walks back out again.

Don’t you think she’s awesome. She has me awestruck. I am numb in the brain. My feelings are all muttled around her. I can’t think or speak in a complete sentence without tangling up the words. You noticed that, I’m sure. It’s embarrassing, especially in front of that group from the vicious circle.

We need to figure this all out. I need your help, Annie. Please, let me assure you, do not worry about Scottie. She understands my bipolar. I have attractions but I can’t do anything about them. In due time, I will explain what Scottie fully knows about me. I don’t share with many this secret. That’s why Scottie trusts me.

Before I end my letter, I want to remind you of the secret from a few letters ago. Lets end this letter on a mysterious but still high note. It involves Scottie’s new film. Mine, too. Still working on finalizing the title. I don’t know what the problem is with making a decision. I liked my choice but can’t tell you yet. Maybe next time I’ll have a go.

But that’s not what I want to tell you. I, actually, want to tell you a bit more about the film. I’d like to sound it out on you further. See if it sounds like a good script. Would love the feedback. How about if I write a touch about it each week. A sneak preview when I remember. That would benefit me too. I would hear what it is that I have created. Bounce it off of you. Maybe I will feel more confident about my work.

In review, I remember telling you the lead character is a novelist, the character’s name, I will tell in a future letter. She is quite the brilliant writer. What else did I tell you. I lost it. Sorry. That’s all I remember from the other letter. Have a terrible memory, even for what I write.

Well, let me continue. She is a literary novelist, mixed with a touch of the psychological element and a dabble of mystery. Her problem is she can’t find a publisher. Just finds rejection notices in her mailbox but doesn’t give up. She keeps sending out her novels. She’s accumulated several manuscripts already. If it weren’t for the Estate her Grandmother left her after she died, our author wouldn’t be able to afford the luxury of being a full time writer. The wonderful home she lives in, with her three babies, was her grandmother’s home. You’ll meet the babies later. She spent many weeks there, every summer, when growing up. It was her favorite place on the planet.

One weekend, she goes to an Estate Sale. While rummaging around, she finds a briefcase. It’s an old leather one with a broken lock, jammed shut, with no way to look inside. She made the decision, it looked mysterious. Her thought was, it would be a great place to store her latest manuscript. She purchased it, not even sure she will ever be able to open it, ever. But she thought, if she was unsuccessful, it would make a great decoration, plus an uncanny inspiration for her writing room. It would add to the old English decor. But, she was certain, being quite a stubborn woman herself, she wouldn’t give up without a real attempt to break it open. It wasn’t her intention to give up trying that easily.

After returning home from a long drive, once in the house, she placed her new find on the dining room table while she went to feed the cats. The three, of them, practically knocked her down, when she came in the front door. Once Jasper, Jax and James were fed, the three young neutered male Savannah cats, spotted like leopards, enormous in size, all settled down in the family room. Snuggling, each in their special place, taking up most of the stuffed, soft, velvet sofa. They waiting for their Mum, while she fixed herself a quick bite to eat, for her own early dinner.

She was hurrying. Her curiosity wanted to get cracking on breaking inside her new acquisition. It may be old, but it was heavy, and definitely felt the weight of being filled with something, maybe a treasure of unknown value, so she fantasized. “Why would someone just abandon this briefcase? It gave off the vibe of containing something of value”

The answer would be found out soon enough. Carrying the briefcase under her left arm, and a plate, with a simple meal of salad and cheese, in her right hand, she joined her babies, Jasper, Jax and James, in the family room. She got cozy, finding her spot on the sofa, snuggling amongst her soft, sweet babies.

She studied the briefcase on the coffee table as she ate, and shared treats with her brood. Her imagination began to wander. It filled up with all sorts of magical imagery. What would she find? What should she wish for? Money or something more imaginative?

That’s where I’ll end it for this week. I want to keep you wondering.

Until next time.

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

Somewhere In Time – John Barry

rain in garden gif

Reaching Out
Written by Madison Taylor
January 14th 2008

Reaching out a hand with a flower in it
Is not verging upon hysteria waiting for a sign
Has life frightened away wanting tenderness
Or the fragile one who is patiently waiting
Will a response be returned in recognition
Of a genuine gesture of love and friendship
Or does the heart identify with one of those characters
Wanting and needing attention who will be lost without it
In the wilderness of lost dreams and nightmares
Forever wandering wondering what was missed
What path was it meant to take but turned the other way

Reaching for the stars shining high up in the darkness
The farthest thing away from reaching a heart desired
Turning around and going deep inside the soul
There is where the heart will find a resting place
Part of all in the world have turned away
Losing all sense of day or night or play
Talk for a moment about all the dreams
Seeking them takes the mind away from finding them
They are before the eyes right here inside the soul
Inside of every thought and feeling the heart possesses
Out there is only the illusion of what will not be found

© madison taylor 2008

candle flame flickering gif

CREAM: WHITE ROOM — Theme Song #16 For Private Writings: Chapter #16 — Aggravating Behavior

le chateau de rocher by j. kiley (c) jennifer kiley 2013   824x552Le Chateau de Rocher is the home of Madison and Scottie & their three cats Mikey, Toker and Patrick

the white room  768x776

The White Room

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 AGGRAVATING BEHAVIOR:

“Never hide things from hardcore thinkers. They get more aggravated, more provoked by confusion than the most painful truths.” ― Criss Jami

“He is being nibbled to death by ducks. –More Later, Less the Same” ― James Tate, Selected Poems

“I suppose an analyst not getting that you are the client and he should be listening to you, not telling his own stories and being sexually perverse talking about gay sex with a lesbian who has not desire to hear about balls, and not the kind you find being tossed about on a playground, but the kind that go with the package of junk men have. Don’t misunderstand, a cliche, but one of my best friends is a gay male. This is aggravating and if I thought about, it also borders on inappropriate behavior and sexual harassment. Michael Fassbender can show his junk. It is actually quite lovely, but I don’t want my analyst going anywhere near that subject unless I am talking about an abuser raping me. Enough said.” — Madison Taylor, Letters of Import: Aggravating Behavior 16

“I suppose I have found it easier to identify with the characters who verge upon hysteria, who were frightened of life, who were desperate to reach out to another person. But these seemingly fragile people are the strong people really.” — Tennessee Williams

“When you reach for the stars, you are reaching for the farthest thing out there. When you reach deep into yourself, it is the same thing, but in the opposite direction. If you reach in both directions, you will have spanned the universe.” — ― Vera Nazarian

play is not just play meryl streep

Love, Marilyn

take one 2
Love, Marilyn
Pulp Fiction Quote: Ezekiel 25:15 Finder of Lost Children
Post created by Jk the secret keeper
Written by Jennifer Kiley
Post created June 28th 2013
Posted June 29th 2013

I watched two brilliant films last night which I am going to try the miracle of correlating them together and establish a cohesive reason why I feel they are in some way connected to the other. Some or none may see the sense of this post but there you have it.

marilyn-monroe-1

Marilyn Monroe

I saw a brilliant documentary last night on my laptop. It was on HBOGO.com. “Love, Marilyn.” Do I need to state her whole name? I will just in case. The documentary was about and infused with Marilyn Monroe, the fiction and the real person. It was brilliant. Marilyn Monroe was constantly writing down notes of thoughts she had. Poems she created. On any surface she could find. She wrote some very amazing ideas and her words were spoken in this documentary by many famous actors from the present in a montage interspersed with images and clips from her life and her films. People from her life spoke about her in great detail. It was strikingly and beautifully done.

Love, Marilyn – Documentary Trailer (2013)

As the film progressed, it brought back clearly into my mind, a theory I have had for a long time, that someone murdered her. She did not overdose on pills by taking them herself. She had a whole new life planned for herself. After the studios did an all out campaign to try to destroy her career, she was set up to take the fall for The Misfits, her last completed film, for being behind schedule and over budget, when in actuality, the director, John Huston was given the money to use for gambling.

Love, Marilyn — Official Trailer About Movie

But that couldn’t be known. So, instead, John and others concocted a story and turned around blaming Marilyn for a drug problem and needed time to recover. Then her last film, she was fired from that for questionable reasons and she was made to look like she was impossible to work with and everything bad they could possibly say about her they threw out into the atmosphere. Well, their smear campaign was backfiring. Marilyn decided to fight back.

Marilyn-Monroe 2

Marilyn did develop her own production company and produce her own films. She had structured the plans and pulled in the people who would help her make this happen. But when she was married to Arthur Miller he said she had to choose between it or him. She broke up her production company.

bi-marilyn-monroe-selfish-quote

But in her last letter she felt she was in the best part of her life and was looking forward to her new world opening up before her. Now does this sound like someone who would kill them self a few days later.

She was actually happy. She looked great, More beautiful and confident then ever. She was brilliant. If you are someone interested in Marilyn Monroe, you should definitely watch this. I have always loved Marilyn, and I do remember exactly where I was and what I was doing when I heard about her death. It was in 1962 August 5th at the age of 36. I was a kid so the following thought did not occur to me until much later in my life.

Marilyn-Monroe---Rock-Hudson----1962

Marilyn-Monroe—Rock-Hudson—-1962

I think the mob killed her and wanted to make it look like the Kennedy brothers did it. Or they wanted to punish the Kennedy’s for abandoning their supposed promises which their father Joe made. Instead Robert, as the Attorney General for his brother Jack’s Administration, was going after the Mob really hard. He wanted to bring them down. Well, the Mob wasn’t going to take their betrayal or their threats. They felt they helped get John Kennedy elected. They had to show the Kennedy’s what would happen if they didn’t back off. So they killed Marilyn because Bobby and Jack were involved with her. To show how serious they were at stopping them. When that didn’t work, they assassinated President John Kennedy in Dallas the following year. That is my theory. I am dead serious and sticking to it. There was no lone gun man and Jack Ruby, a member of the mob, killed Lee Harvey Oswald to keep him quiet. No trial. No investigation. The Warren Report was full of sh#t.

pulp fiction 2 poster all in

Pulp Fiction: A film that shows you a sampling of what the Mob does to people who betray them. Though I love this film, it is down right violent, humourous, yes, and also told in such an unstructured fashion.

pulp fictio poster with ulma thurman

Pulp Fiction is in and out of time. In the past, where people who are dead, suddenly are alive and the last scene in the film, there are two men, one of which was already killed earlier, walking out of a diner in tacky shorts and t-shirts. Nothing these two would ever be caught dead in. They are wearing these sh#tty looking clothes because one of them, who was waving his gun about in the car while telling a story, accidentally blows the brains out of the guy in the back seat. Obviously, he is dead but that really isn’t relevant.

Pulp Fiction Movie Trailer

The following is the famous quote from Pulp Fiction that misquotes completely from Ezekiel 23:15. Parts of it are there in the bible but I prefer this version. And if you listen to the videos that follow below, you will hear the character played by Samuel L. Jackson stating this quote with full power behind him. It is quite alarming what follows.

Don’t forget what brought them to this reckoning in the first place. It was to retrieve a special certain briefcase for Marsellus Wallace. The people they are visiting have stolen it. What is in that briefcase? Everyone has their opinion. My theory, it is the soul of Marsellus Wallace. When the case is opened a golden light shines out from within. What else comes to mind besides the light of a soul. It reminds me of the film  Indiana Jones and the Ark of the Covenant. It took those fracking Nazis right out of their skin and melted them down. If that is a spoiler then you are way too young to be reading this or just not an Indie Fan. The same is true for Pulp Fiction, it has been around forever. The quote is so familiar to those who have seen the film.

pulp fiction briefcase  good shot with echo of light with jv

Briefcase in Good Shot with Echo of Light

One of the most memorable moments, other than the scene with the adrenaline needle a mile long and a certain chest that needs an injection. If these are SPOILERS I don’t know what to say except forget everything I just wrote. They are both great films but Pulp Fiction is VIOLENT in a disturbing way. Some would say the ending to The Ark of the Covenant was pretty disturbing, also. But more GROSS than disturbing.

marilyn-monroe 3

She went through foster care. She was almost smothered to death at two of the foster homes and almost raped at age nine. She was abused her whole childhood and life. Also, she was suffering from PTSD. Marilyn had some symptoms similar to manic depression but not certain if she was bipolar. There isn’t enough information to make that decision accurately. She wanted to be loved but started to believe it wasn’t possible. She wanted to be seen as who she was, a brilliant woman, who read extensively, was passionate and highly intelligent. She created Marilyn Monroe. That is not who she was and is. Marilyn was a persona that was a fiction. “No one knew her, not even Marilyn,” as Lee Strasberg stated. He was her acting coach and an actor himself, who curiously enough played a Jewish mobster in “The Godfather” films.

Scott Feinberg Interviews Marilyn Monroe’s Best Friend Amy Greene

This is an amazing interview with so many wonderful and honest stories about Marilyn Monroe. The last statement will tell you what her friend felt happened at the end. Listen to it all. It will hold your attention til the end. I am not saying I agree with her conclusion, however much I would like to. I still think something wasn’t right about the ending of Marilyn Monroe’s life. I don’t feel she had anything to do with what caused her own death.

Now for the Famous Quote from Pulp Fiction: (I, also, watched this film last night with Love, Marilyn.)

“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 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 would attempt to poison and destroy My brothers. And you will know My name is the Lord when I lay My vengeance upon thee.” —From “Pulp Fiction” from Ezekiel 25:17

Ezekiel 25:17 – Pulp Fiction – Movie CLIP (1994) HD

Pulp Fiction Best Quotes

 

Pursuit of the Spirit

colours multi psychedelic divider for posts new

Pursuit of the Spirit
Created by j. kiley
Post Created June 10th 2013
Posted June 23th 2013

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pursuit of the spirit by j. kiley © jennifer kiley 2013

Elton John — Candle In the Wind 1997 (Princess Diana)

QUOTATIONS on IMMORTALITY:

“I’m wishing he could see that music lives. Forever. That it’s stronger than death. Stronger than time. And that its strength holds you together when nothing else can.” ― Jennifer Donnelly, Revolution

“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

“One lives in the hope of becoming a memory.” ― Antonio Porchia

“To live in hearts we leave behind is not to die.” ― Thomas Campbell

“If a man can bridge the gap between life and death, if he can live after he’s died, then maybe he was a great man. Immortality is the only true success.” ― James Dean

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

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Funeral Blues

a divider for posts no 2Funeral Blues
W.H. Auden
Post Created by Jk the secret keeper
Post Created June 16th 2013
Posted June 20th 2013
a divider for posts no 2

a magical forest landscape reflected in water sprinkled in faery dust 684x394

a magical forest landscape reflected in water sprinkled in faery dust

a divider for posts no 2Funeral Blues
W.H. Auden

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He is Dead.
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.a divider for posts no 2

Funeral Blues — W.H. Audena divider for posts no 2John Hannah, playing Matthew, reads WH Auden’s poem “Funeral Blues.” The poem was first published by Auden in 1936 and became famous after it was featured in the film “Four Weddings and a Funeral.”a divider for posts no 2

Amy Winehouse — Back To Blacka divider for posts no 2Amy Winehouse’s death had a profound effect on me. Not only did she die on my birthday but I discovered the real her after her death, not before. She has a remarkable voice and talent. Life came down upon her and destroyed her. Her attempts and struggles with holding back death ended in a scream of not wanting or feeling ready to let go but death took her on July 23rd 2011. She was alone when she died. Where was everyone to protect her and to keep her alive? You are loved and missed Amy Winehouse. Will Love her Always and Her Music Will Go On.a divider for posts no 2

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dark clouds with light coming through from above

a divider for posts no 2QUOTATIONS on ELEGY:

“Every angel is terrifying.”
― Rainer Maria Rilke
Duino Elegies

“I felt a Funeral, in my Brain,
And Mourners to and fro
Kept treading – treading – till it seemed
That Sense was breaking through –

And when they all were seated,
A Service, like a Drum –
Kept beating – beating – till I thought
My Mind was going numb –

And then I heard them lift a Box
And creak across my Soul
With those same Boots of Lead, again,
Then Space – began to toll,

As all the Heavens were a Bell,
And Being, but an Ear,
And I, and Silence, some strange Race
Wrecked, solitary, here –

And then a Plank in Reason, broke,
And I dropped down, and down –
And hit a World, at every plunge,
And Finished knowing – then –”
― Emily Dickinson
The Complete Poems

“Loneliness Ends With Love” ― Al Lerner

“but at the Lychgate we may all pass our own conduct and our own judgments under a searching review. It is not given to human beings, happily for them, for otherwise life would be intolerable, to foresee or to predict to any large extent the unfolding course of events. In one phase men seem to have been right, in another they seem to have been wrong. Then again, a few years later, when the perspective of time has lengthened, all stands in a different setting. There is a new proportion. There is another scale of values. History with its flickering lamp stumbles along the trail of the past, trying to reconstruct its scenes, to revive its echoes, and kindle with pale gleams the passion of former days. What is the worth of all this? The only guide to a man is his conscience; the only shield to his memory is the rectitude and sincerity of his actions. It is very imprudent to walk through life without this shield, because we are so often mocked by the failure of our hopes and the upsetting of our calculations; but with this shield, however the fates may play, we march always in the ranks of honor.”
― Winston Churchill

“We pass and leave you lying. No need for rhetoric, for funeral music, for melancholy bugle-calls. No need for tears now, no need for regret.
We took our risk with you; you died and we live. We take your noble gift, salute for the last time those lines of pitiable crosses, those solitary mounds, those unknown graves, and turn to live our lives out as we may.
Which of us were fortunate–who can tell? For you there is silence and cold twilight drooping in awful desolation over those motionless lands. For us sunlight and the sound of women’s voices, song and hope and laughter, despair, gaiety, love–life.
Lost terrible silent comrades, we, who might have died, salute you.” ― Richard Aldington, Roads To Glory

“The splendors of the firmament of time
May be eclipsed, but are extinguished not;
Like stars to their appointed height they climb
And death is a low mist which cannot blot
The brightness it may veil.”
― Percy Bysshe Shelley
The Major Worksa divider for posts no 2

“The Words” a film about a writer

a divider for posts no 2
“The Words”
A Film About a Writer
Post Written by Jennifer Kiley
Illustrated by j. kiley
Trailer of “The Words” with Bradley Cooper
Created June 18th 2013
Posted June 19th 2013

POSTER 1the words poster

Movie Synopsis

Starring Bradley Cooper, Jeremy Irons, Dennis Quaid, Olivia Wilde and Zoë Saldana, the layered romantic drama The Words follows young writer Rory Jansen who finally achieves long sought after literary success after publishing the next great American novel. There’s only one catch – he didn’t write it. As the past comes back to haunt him and his literary star continues to rise, Jansen is forced to confront the steep price that must be paid for stealing another man’s work, and for placing ambition and success above life’s most fundamental three words.

the words poster 1

The Word —- Official Trailer [HD] with Bradley Cooper (2012)

the words bradley and zoe saldana on couch

THE WORDS

SYNOPSIS:
After a couple of demoralising rejections, young writer Rory Jansen (Bradley Cooper) finally achieves long sought literary success with his latest novel and enjoys the change from poverty to glittering awards, in the company of his beautiful and adoring wife Dora (Zoe Saldana). The fact that he didn’t write it only becomes problematic when an old man (Jeremy Irons) in Central Park sits next to him on a bench and tells him the sad but true story behind the manuscript.

Review by Louise Keller:
The Words is a gripping film that plays mercilessly with the mind as it explores the precipice that divides the world of real life and fiction. Directors Brian Klugman and Lee Sternthal have written a wonderful screenplay in which three stories are skilfully interwoven to deliver a rich and satisfying film that questions integrity above all else. A successful author, an old man and a university graduate are the key players in this intriguing story with themes about choices, truths and deceits and whose elements of drama, mystery and romance are played out in beguiling fashion. There are struggles, choices, highs and lows and the inevitable consequences.

The film’s structure is interesting in that there is a story within a story and yet another story within. It is credit to the screenwriters that the transition from one to the other is seamless; we are never confused or unsure as to which story is which. The narrative begins in the present with the acclaim of lauded author Clay Hammond (Dennis Quaid, excellent), who is reading excerpts of his latest book The Words to a receptive audience.

the word dennis quaid and olivia wilde

We are then taken into the world of Hammond’s fictional character, a struggling writer named Rory (Bradley Cooper at his best) who is eager to make his mark. His wife Dora (Zoe Saldana, lovely) believes in him even though Rory is infected by self-doubt. It is on their honeymoon when Dora buys Rory an old briefcase, that fate plays its hand. When Rory finds the anonymous manuscript hidden in the briefcase, he devours the words of the story, wishing that he had written them himself. It starts innocently enough – he wants his fingers to feel the impact of the words as he retypes them…. The essence of the story, set in war-time Paris resonates to such an extent, he accepts a deal with the devil – and claims it as his own work.

the words past candle on table

Just like Ralph Fiennes in Quiz Show (1994) who cheats his way to success, so too does Rory, as his novel The Window Tears is acclaimed. Cooper is physically reminiscent of Fiennes and ably conveys the journey of the ambitious writer whose love affair with words challenges his moral compass. But it is Jeremy Irons, impeccably cast as the old man, who steals the film, bring real pathos. Irons is devastatingly good and he imparts the pain and anger of a stranger taking ownership of an integral part of his life involving the people who matter most. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up in the scene when The Old Man approaches Rory in the park, sits on the bench beside him and as he feeds the birds, tells some home truths.

the words bradley and jeremy in green house garden

Then, with Iron’s rich, distinctive voice as narrator, The Old Man’s story is subsequently told in flashback: a young man (Ben Barnes) falls in love with beautiful French girl Celia (Nora Arnezeder) in 1940s Paris. Devoured by the pain of the events that transpire, the young man types the manuscript when he is at his most vulnerable: it represents the essence of who he is.

Klugman and Sternthal play with time frames most effectively and by the time we return to the present in which the aspiring writer grad student (Olivia Wilde) flirts outrageously with Hammond, it is clear that real life and fiction have become inexorably intertwined beyond redemption. Or has it? This is top drawer story telling for those who like their films to challenge the mind as well as the heart. My kind of film.

Remember, Remember — Dario Marianelli (V for Vendetta)

COMMENT FROM Jk the secret keeper: “Here is the following note I left for my partner in an email I am about to send her. She gets up when I am sound asleep. And she is sleeping now. It will tell you that I am so taken by what I have found out about this film that I am so desperate and patient at the same time. I feel like I am going to lose my mind from the excitement. I should add that I recently had surgery and I haven’t been able to drive for a whole month. Now I don’t think one can forget after just a month of not doing it but it is a new car and I have actually only driven it a few times since we got it. It is my partner’s car. Soon to be mine. I have named him “Andrew.” I like naming my cars. Last one was named “Annie” long before I named the character in my book. Annie is a significant name in my life that goes back into my childhood. Very personal. Anyway, here is the note. In caps. Not shouting. Just for emphasis. It is also multi-coloured so I need to put it on a framed poster. Here it is:

they have the words poster by j. kiley  855x1602

they have the words poster by j. kiley written by Jk…m

QUOTATIONS on STEALING:

“Man is not, by nature, deserving of all that he wants. When we think that we are automatically entitled to something, that is when we start walking all over others to get it.” ― Criss Jami

“Steal not this book for fear of shame
For on it is the owners name
And when you die the Lord will say
Where is the book you stole away
And when you say you do not know
The Lord will say go down below.”
― L.M. Montgomery, Emily of New Moon

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Private Writings: Chapter #14 — Thirst of the Soul

private writings to a psychoanalyst (c) Jk 2013Private Writings: Chapter #14 — Thirst of the Soul
Written by Jennifer Kiley
Illustrated by j. kiley
First Published March 19th 2013
Published Early Tuesday AM
Posted 18th June 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 #14 — Thirst of the Soul

Tuesday, January 1st, 2008
New Year’s Day

Dear Annie,

I didn’t realize how much you effected me. Not seeing you for two weeks has felt unbearable, Missing you, I expected. But not this strongly. It feels awful. I’m beginning to feel depressed. Scottie is away. She’s coming back tonight. Working on our film, my screenplay, her directing. My part is finished but it needed some extra touches editing. The director decisions for final cut were mandatory. It’s going to be a great film. Story is being kept hush-hush but it is about a writer who finds a briefcase filled with money. She has written an excellent book that keeps getting rejected. Publishers turn her work away and market trending shit from people that will bring in the millions and last a month. She’s losing her confidence. Now, she has this money. Has no idea who it belongs to and isn’t sure what to do. What would most people do in these circumstances? That is where the film goes into the realm of the strange and dangerous.

Films, screenplays and writing are my first love. I keep my writing edge with poetry. It helps me work through my feelings. And clears away the pain. I’ll write a poem for you. When you become my analyst I’ll show it to you. I’ll put it with this letter. My feelings for you need an outlet and don’t want to scare you away. My nature is filled with an intense passion. Feelings overwhelm me. I try to put them into my art. I am a bit afraid for you to know my feelings for you. Let me explain.

This therapist who treated me made what I felt into something that was ugly and that love is bad, which makes me feel innately bad. All my life my feelings have been corrupted and this fucking therapist totally fucked me up more. Now I don’t trust anyone with how I feel. Not even myself.

I hope you will understand me. Nothing is wrong with feeling love or attraction for another person. It is part of everyone’s nature. Like loving animals for me. They communicate realness. Humans don’t. I think what I feel is good. Sharing joy and happiness should be ok. Somehow it has become perverse. My abusers destroyed those feelings in me. One would expect better to come from a psychotherapist.

You, I feel I can trust. No fears. You’re open. You don’t turn away from nightmares. You don’t seem to be afraid of love..

I believe that love and sex are two separate sources of energy. They can be expressed separately. They don’t need the other to exist. Love and sex are different energies. Sex is a momentary release of a physical reaction. Love is all intensive and can fill you up continually.

When someone tells you they love you, it creates a wonderful feeling or it should. What I am trying to say is your absence makes me feel more intensely. I miss having contact with you. I feel agitated without you around. I get overwhelmed with pain, physical and emotional, when I can’t be near you. It feels kind of maddening. I think I am becoming rather attached. It’s a real problem. It is difficult to think about you. I know it will be alright once you return. Just need to be patient.

If we work together, maybe someday, then I will be able to tell you this in person. It’s like looking at the sun without a filter, it burns out your sight. Am I too sensitive or open. It feels like we crash together like magnets that have been turned up to full power? I just don’t understand.

I will have to write more about this in future letters. Maybe, I will find some answers.

See you again SOON. No more writing. Can’t think. Too confusing.

Happy New Year Annie.

Fondly & 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

a flower of many colours-this is for you

a flower of many colours-this is for you

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Thirst of the Soul
By Madison Taylor
December 27th 2007

Sorrow.
Broken hearts.
Rawness.
Burning tears.
Dark holes for escape.
Understanding.
Listener to listen.
Take the edge off without useless drugs.
Soothing sounds of trust
Comforting support.
Taking the burden away.

Relief.
Release.
Clearness of mind to hold onto.
Offering.
Will lift up spirit.
Always in the wings.
Great lift off.
Flying.
Soaring above the clouds.
Above the storm.

Love offered freely.
Never going away.
Vent the rage.
Explode.
Cry tears of pain.
No burning.
Tears of water
To feed the thirst of the soul.
Water the trees.
The flowers.
The love awaits.
Given freely.
Arms waiting to hold.
Embrace a heart so raw.
Love with softness and warmth.
Remember time does not count.
It is all relative.
Come when ready.
Arrival time open.
Love Always.

© madison taylor 2007

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Cris Williamson — Song of the Soul Much More — Chapter #14

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

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

family gathering place and hangout

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Madison’s study/library

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Front foyer and staircase

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Cinema & Multi-media room

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 MISS YOU SO MUCH MORE:

“If the portraits of our absent friends are pleasant to us, which renew our memory of them and relieve our regret for their absence by a false and empty consolation, how much more pleasant are letters which bring us the written characters of the absent friend.” ― Héloïse d’Argenteuil, The Letters of Abélard and Héloïse

“It was going to be a long, dark night but not quite as dark as it was in the abyss of his heart where there was nothing but hollowness, yet it felt heavy, almost as if someone still resided there.” ― Faraaz Kazi

“Do you know what the mathematical expression is for longing? … The negative numbers. The formalization of the feeling that you are missing something.” ― Peter Høeg, Smilla’s Sense of Snow

“Do you think everybody misses somebody? I believe, sometimes, that the whole world has an aching heart.” ― Kate DiCamillo, Because of Winn-Dixie

play is not just play meryl streep

Private Writings: Chapter #13 — Miss Seeing You-Difficult

private writings to a psychoanalyst (c) Jk 2013
Private Writings: Chapter #13 — Miss Seeing You-Difficult
Written by Jennifer Kiley
Illustrated by j. kiley
First Published March 19th 2013
Published Early Tuesday AM
Posted 11th June 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 #13: Miss Seeing You-Difficult

Tuesday  December 25th, 2007
Christmas Day

Dear Annie,

Not seeing you today was so painfully difficult. I realize it is Christmas day and you are with your family and I am, of course, with mine. Our furry kitties, Patrick, Toker and Little Sparky and our feathery Amazon Parrot, V Woolf. At present, we are all spread out together in the family room. Scottie is looking for a great book to read for the holiday week. She likes to choose a special book every year. She starts it out and when her voice begins to crack, it becomes my turn. I love this part. When I was in school, I prided myself on being able to read without a mistake or tripping over a word for the greatest length of anyone in my class. It was a feat that I still hold the record to. It’s a good habit to have if you ever have to do a book reading. Which as you may know, I do fairly often. More locally, then in the past, when I use to travel all over the states and sometimes even over in Europe, particularly in England.

I know this is suppose to be a joyful time of the year. Scottie and I have a good time together. We have a special Christmas Eve dinner, which was delicious last night, and there are always leftovers. We started the Christmas Eve feast our first Christmas together, before we were actually together. But that story is for another time. Something has been running through my mind, which I cannot talk about in therapy, private or group, but I need to get it out of my system. It has to do with crying. All the films we watch at Christmas should make me tear up or cry, especially at the end of Alastair Sims’s Scrooge, A Christmas Carol. His is the all time best film on Dicken’s story. I’ve watched it every year since I was a child. That is what I want to talk about. When I was a child, I remember I would swallow my tears in the lump that formed in my throat. I was too afraid to cry or for anyone to see the tears in my eyes. I better explain why. It is not a pleasant story.

I don’t cry. It is something I cannot do. Only when something so traumatic happens can I cry and then I can’t seem to stop. Everything sets me off. But only in private can I show my tears. I shut down completely around everyone, even Scottie, and during a sad film where crying is completely acceptable behavior. As I said, Tiny Tim always gives me a lump in my throat. It is my body trying to protect me by holding back the tears. It’s probably because I really want to scream. There is so much rage pent up inside of me. I want to let go of it but I’m afraid.

It’s shame. I am ashamed of my tears. There is a really good reason. When I was really young I use to cry all the time. It really drove my mother insane. My brothers would tease me and call me a cry baby. I hate that term. It made me cry even more. My mother use to tell my brothers to leave me alone. She left me alone to. But then suddenly, I must have reached a certain age when my mother didn’t find it acceptable any longer for me to cry. She flipped out and became some dark creature and mean as Hell. It started. She turned into a Demon. When ever she found me alone, she turned on me, like some cornered animal and started to beat me, all the while screaming at me. I became terrified and of course I would start to cry. This made her even more angry. Her seeing the tears in my eyes and falling down my cheeks enraged her. That’s when I discovered that tears were dangerous. They ignited a full blown rage in my mother. That was when I started thinking of her as evil and in therapy I came up with the name for her of The Shadow Mother. That’s what I called her in my mind. I cannot use the other word alone. It disturbs me.

My tears from that point on caused me to be physically, emotionally, psychologically, sexually and spiritually abused in the most vicious ways imaginable. The depth of abuse crossed the lines of any kind of abuse in ones childhood. The Shadow Mother wasn’t my only abuser but the things she did to me were so harsh. One would not expect a mother to do these things to their young child. Now that I am older and understand more I can describe what she did to me. She was into bondage and dominance mixed in with sadomasochism. In her beatings there were not any safe words to make it stop. That’s when I felt it brought the abuse into a questionably sexual realm with The Shadow Mother. The word No and Stop in her mind meant to keep abusing. Crying only doubled and tripled the intensity of the beatings. She started out by striking me through my clothing at first but as the frequency of the abuse increased eventually she would not get enough satisfaction with striking cloth, she wanted to beat my body on my flesh where she could see the effect of her brutality. She wanted to see the bruises and the tears in my skin. She used various weapons. Usually what ever was near at hand but she had a favorite switch taken from the branches of a tree from our yard that she liked the most.

Silence and no movement were the only things when combined that worked to stop her. I needed to be dead or show the appearance of someone dead for the abuse to stop. Maybe not technically but physically without sound or motion. That was the first part. When that was over there was one more phase to the abuse. It wasn’t over until I, the child and one abused, went to her closed bedroom door and groveled at the door with The Shadow Mother inside. She was always dead silent. I was always on my knees pleading with her to forgive me. I had to ask my abuser to forgive me. I’d ask her multiple times to forgive me. I was trained well into being submissive but even with all the pleading there was no forgiveness. Not ever. The door never opened. There was never a sound made from inside those walls behind that damned door. I was left there till oblivion escorted me away. Memory blanked from that point on. Rewind tape and repeat performance at a future but unknown time. Just her performance was the only thing that was repeated over and over again in all its brutality and my submission and pleas for forgiveness were echoed in those halls and bedrooms.

I am sorry that I am telling you this now but Christmas is about family and I have no family. I left them all behind when I became brave enough and my first therapist managed to convince me I needed to leave that place of unbalanced confusion, madness and inequity. There are no blood family I want anything to do with except a niece and her family. We are close and keep in touch but I have never met her. My agoraphobia has prevented us getting together. Her family want to meet Scottie and me. It’s just I have a terrible time being around people. I relate to them from a distance, through cyberspace. With the few exceptions. Physical contact is not something I am very good at except with my animals and Scottie. I do group and private therapy but do not relate well in my private sessions. As far as group goes, I can handle the people in group as long as it’s in a therapy room. Now, it seems to be developing into something impossible and uncomfortable to handle. If you weren’t there Annie, I wouldn’t return. Your entering my life when you did has saved me. I hope in the near future you will come to my rescue even further. You becoming my psychoanalyst is my Christmas wish and those wishes always should be answered.

Merry Christmas Annie. And thank you for entering my life when you did. It means more to me than I am able to express to you in person at the moment. Oh, by the way, Scottie finally settled on her choice of books to read over the holidays. It’s Evelyn Waugh’s “Brideshead Revisited.” We loved the series and have watched it several times. I seem to recall that the opening line of the series was spoken by Charles Rider, played by the actor Jeremy Irons (one had no idea of who he was at the time in the states) saying off camera, “I knew Sebastian by sight long before I met him. That was unavoidable for, from his first week, he was the most conspicuous man of his year by reason of his beauty, which was arresting, and his eccentricities of behaviour, which seemed to know no bounds… I was struck less by his looks than by the fact that he was carrying a large teddy-bear”.” It should be fun hearing Sebastian talk about his teddy bear Aloysius, “If it could only be like this always – always summer, always alone, the fruit always ripe and Aloysius in a good temper…” Love both of these lines but I wish the second one could be true most of the time. I, also, love all the adventures Sebastian had with Charles at Cambridge together. Then there is Sebastian’s family, the mother was almost impossible to take to heart and overly pompous in her religiosity and the same of brother Bridie, what a bore.

It was easy to love Sebastian’s sisters Cordelia and Julia, and spending time at Brideshead, the Flyte homestead, that was mostly marvelous in the beginning. And Sebastian’s father was a free spirit, who was accepting and had found love away from England in Italy, away from his wife and the mother of his children. When all starts going wrong, that I don’t like. Sebastian is my favorite and I don’t like that Waugh gives him such a bad turn. It should still be exciting to have Scottie reading to us as I rest my head in her lap and stretch out the rest of my body on the sofa with a throw over me, our cats Patrick, Toker and Sparky curled up on top of the sofa with us, and a fire roaring in the fireplace. Quite the romantic and cozy scene. Add to that some Schubert or Rachmaninoff playing in the background or Michael Hoppe and the sweetness of the spiritually uplifting flute and the peaceful serenity the music induces inside one’s soul.

I’d say thanks for listening. In a way you are, at least in my head. Annie, that does help me make it through, believing that you are there for me. Maybe after this letter you might not want to deal with someone who has been so damaged. It isn’t easy to be around that shit I wrote about. It’s in my psyche and I hate having to remember. I don’t often. My defense mechanisms are like iron vaults. They lock up the darkness as best they can but there is always the sneakiness of memories. They don’t like being trapped in any containment. They have no idea they are so destructive to me. All they want is their freedom. Being creative helps to release them in a way that I have more control over them but one doesn’t have control over one’s nightmares unfortunately. They sneak out through all those symbols in the unconscious, thank you Carl Jung, that collective unconscious that manifests its self by bringing back the dead to haunt me, so that I will be forced to remember, even if it is in code. Eventually, the code is broken and the symbols are understood. They must be. It is the only way to work things out and be rid of their hold on me. Out, out damned nightmares. I may joke but I want my dignity back and my honour and innocence.

Annie, this is what you would have to look forward to if you decide to accept the challenge to be my analyst. I so hope you will. Please don’t turn away from me now. I can feel my insecurities are already starting to grow. There is nobody I am able to turn to who will help me. I’ve tried so many therapists and analysts. I need help. There isn’t much time. My strength is weakening. I feel suicidal so often. Holding back the dam from breaking just won’t work much longer. With all my heart, I am asking you sincerely to please help me.

Sorry for such intensity. I am not able to help myself. It is part of who I am. All I want to say now in finishing this letter is to wish you a great holiday vacation. I hope it’s wonderful spending time with your family. I look forward to seeing you after the first of the year. It will be hard to make it through that long. I will work on being creative. My new screenplay needs working on for Scottie to begin setting up her method of attack. She’s beginning casting after the New Year. The casting department at the studio have lined up actors for auditions after the holidays. So I am under pressure to have something decent for them to read in their try-outs. Plus I want to work are some of my computer art. That should capture my full attention.

I look forward to seeing you the second Tuesday of the New Year. Bye for now. Next week is New Year’s Day. I hope I haven’t totally freaked you out as much as I have myself. “Like madness is the glory of this life.” — Shakespeare-The Timon of Athens

Quite 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

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

Madison Tayler’s Fantasy of Annie Haskell’s Office as a Psychoanalyst.

Somewhere In Time – John Barry

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No Healing But Time
By Madison Taylor
Dec. 23th, 2007

No healing but time.
Even that is a projected hallucination.
Feeling a hold on what is real.
Moments creep in and change things up.
Waiting for time to pass so the pain will stop.
Losing control.
Not able to control the intensity
hurting the flesh
corrupting the instrument of the mind
controls the dam from overflowing.
Tear everything apart
to stop the insanity of waiting
from circling the brain.
The madness takes over
rips it all apart so it becomes bearable.
Eventually, the torture subsides
is replaced with a more acceptable level.
The waiting feels less maddening
the feelings brought down
to a more manageable level.
But the waiting still exists.
The pain remains.
The intensity is spread out
to a bearable diversion of acceptance.
There still exists time between the madness
and the satisfaction
the pain will be subdued
to a reasonable state bearable
to only the divinely mad.
Losing control sometimes
is the only acceptable answer
to certain situations.
Healing needs to be done
only in a way that allows
for all possibilities of acceptance.

© madison taylor 2007

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Queen — Who Wants To Live ForeverChapter #13

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

family gathering place and hangout

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Madison’s study/library

scottie's study library

Scottie’s study library

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Front foyer and staircase

QUOTATIONS on MISSING YOU-DIFFICULT

“I like to see people reunited, maybe that’s a silly thing, but what can I say, I like to see people run to each other, I like the kissing and the crying, I like the impatience, the stories that the mouth can’t tell fast enough, the ears that aren’t big enough, the eyes that can’t take in all of the change, I like the hugging, the bringing together, the end of missing someone.” ― Jonathan Safran Foer, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close

“I had my chance.’ He said it, retiring from a lifetime of wanting. ‘I had my chance, and sometimes in life, there are no second chances. You look at what you have, not what you miss, and you move forward.” ― Jamie Ford, Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet

“All I can think about is what she must be doing, and how I wish she were still here.” ― Pittacus Lore, I Am Number Four

“Tamani smiled softly and lifted a hand to her face, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and letting his thumb rest on her cheek. ‘Trust me, it’s no picnic missing you. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.” ― Aprilynne Pike, Spells

“He tried to tell me week after week to accept things as they were and move on with my life. But if there was one man who had put his life on hold to wait for something or someone, it was him.” ― Cecelia Ahern, A Place Called Here

“Didn’t I say I’d always be your same stars? If you get to missing me, just look up.” ― Anne Rivers Siddons, Fault Lines

“Usually time alters and affects everything, but when someone you love dies time cannot change that, no amount of time will ever change that, so time stops having any meaning.” ― Rosamund Lupton, Sister

“I won’t let you have it. I won’t give you this moment. I won’t let you fill up this valuable organ…I own it. I won’t do it. I can’t think, I won’t think about it.” ― Coco J. Ginger

“…there remained a strange formality between them, and her pleasure in his presence felt too much like missing him had felt during the last week.” ― Robin McKinley, Pegasus

play is not just play meryl streep