Private Moments #49: Too High On Love

private moments in paintings & poetry
Too High On Love
Private Moments #49
Poem by Jennifer Kiley
Painting by Jk McCormack
Post Created 7th February 2014
Posted On Monday 17th February 2014
PRIVATE MOMENTS: PAINTINGS & POETRY

Private Writings: Chapter #49 — Got To Get You Into My Life

'safely dangerous' by madison taylor (c) mtaylor 2008

‘Safely Dangerous’ by Madison Taylor (c) MTaylor 2008

hands reaching out into rain

Too High On Love
by Madison Taylor
8th July 2008

Too high on love
Go smashing
Feel the pounding

Trusting hearts
Drawing closer
Time expanding

Arms covering
Warmth spiraling
Blood arousing

Bodies combining
Spirits crying
High waves surging

Minds touching
Mouths whispering
Fires smoldering

Out of minds
Fantasies flying
Not disturbing

Curiosity soaring
Censors flat-lining
Eliminates controlling

Flesh melting
Skin glowing
Bliss achieving

Too high on love
Climb higher
Depths are expanding

Awaiting the closing

© MTaylor 2008

candle flame flickering gif

Maze

garden waterfall private gazebo overgrown 4pmip&p

“Doorway to a Place of Enchantment”

* * * * * * *

“Creating is having the courage
to allow the seer into the private
moments of our imaginative lives.”
— JkM the secret keeper
aka Jennifer Kiley McCormack

* * * * * * *

I Believe

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA
I Believe
Written by Jennifer Kiley
Painting by Jk McCormack
Created 11th January 2014
Posted Saturday 11th January 2014
POETRY IN TONE

I Believe
By Jennifer Kiley
11th January 2014

I believe.
I believe in you.
I believe in art.
I believe in love.
I believe in imagination.
I don’t so much believe in reality.

I am more into fantasy.
What one imagines
Becomes real.

Yet,
Isn’t imagination
Something we create
From out of our dreams
And fantasies?

You are real
But also feel
Like the best part
Of my imagi-nation.

You give me
Such gifts
In your words.
Stating their reality.

If all becomes
A dream,
One after the other,
Or always
Was a dream,
And we continue on
Through our dream world.

Who decides
When to
Change it?

Loving to create.
Imagining something tangible
In my mind
And placing it
Before me.

Trusting others
To share it.
To be kind.

Trusting myself
To know
When it is complete,
Or when it is time again

Something new
Might be created.
The creating is
Not known
Until complete

And even then
May continue on
Into a new form.

Creating.
Knowing
When the time
Is now.

Keeping
The sense of the real
Alive
And
Remembered.

The fine line
Ravels on
Its own.

I think the pain
We feel
Are memories
Of being opened up
To waking nightmares.

To torturers
Who find
A weakness
In the flesh
And leave
A lasting
Memory.

One
Of those
Memories
That last too long
Beyond forever.

The side that feeds
Creativity,
Is the Muse,
Who becomes
The filter,
Deciphering
What to let through
And at what place
In time
For something
To be revealed.

In your own
Special way,
You have helped
Giving guidance
Touching down into
A safe landing.

The veil
Is being lifted
The sight
Of a vision
Streaming
Through the mesh

When it finds
A receptive being
To listen,
Hear, see,
Absorb, interpret,
Recreate in their own vision
And express it freely,
As it wants to appear.

It guides us
Somewhere
Within the mind.

Sleep is calling.
In sleep
We meet many
New things,
New happenings.
Ways of communicating
Within states of mind
Not in our control.

When asleep,
Don’t we give away
Our control?

Trust sleep?
Trusting sleep,
Is that safe?

What does
Sleep do
To any of us?

Do we know
Where we go
And can anything
We dream
Take us away
From our life?

A curious response.
Will read after I wake up.
Love to know what I write
After I am awake again.

© JkM 2014

love leaning - artist jk mccormack (c) JkM 2014

Love’s Ripple Dreaming – Artist Jk McCormack (c) JkM 2014

Shall I Compare Thee to a Summer’s Day

poetry out loud - day title saturday
Shall I Compare Thee to a Summer’s Day
Shakespeare – Sonnet XVIII
Video Discovered by j. kiley
Post Created on Saturday 16th November 2013
Posted On Saturday 23rd November
Happy Birthday Gran Emily 133 yrs b. 23rd November 1880
POETRY OUT LOUD

Sonnet XVIII – Shakespeare – Shall I Compare Thee to a Summer’s Day

SONNET XVIII

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm’d;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm’d;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander’st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou growest:
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this and this gives life to thee.

Blooming Blue Flowers for Emily with Love

Blooming Blue Flowers for Emily with Love Jk

Poetry Out Loud: Funeral Blues — Four Weddings & a Funeral

poetry out loud - day title saturday
Funeral Blues
W.H. Auden
from: Four Weddings and a Funeral
Post Created by Jk the secret keeper
Post Created on Saturday 2nd November 2013
Posted On Saturday 9th November 2013
Poetry Out Loud

Funeral Blues – W.H. Auden – Four Weddings & a Funeral

Funeral Blues

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 wood;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

© W H Auden. All rights reserved
No Copyright Infringement Intended

Private Writings: Chapter #33 — They Shoot Movies, Don’t They?

private writings to a psychoanalyst (c) Jk 2013

Private Writings — Chapter #33: They Shoot Movies, Don’t They?

Written by Jennifer Kiley
Illustrated by j. kiley
Introduction & Chapter #1
Published on March 19th 2013
Published Early Tuesday AM
Posted 5th November 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:

private writings to dr. annie haskell, psychoanalyst extraordinaire,
my choice in form of storytelling is using letters with dreams, thoughts, poems, images,
music, art, describing my scripts, recent one ‘brief sacrifice,’ film is waiting for release,
psychotherapy, psychoanalysis, inspirations, reflective comments, the inner & outer workings
of the mind, soul, body, emotions, and bipolar—prefer mentally creative, or interesting,
or a brain misfiring; in the mix are abuse, crashes, near drownings, illegal drugs presently,
hallucinations, hypersexuality, time warps, finding answers to unsolved mysteries, infatuations,
imagination, fantasy, the never ending need to discover my self, my soul, my eternal serenity, my bliss

see you down the rabbit hole.
namaste! madison taylor

Private Writings — Chapter #33: They Shoot Movies, Don’t They?

Tuesday, 29th April 2008

Dear Annie,

You want to know how I met Hunter Marx. It was one of Scottie’s wild industry parties. Anyone who was anyone was invited. And our casting director was asked to invite potential actors of both sexes, who might be right for the roles in my new screenplay. This was back on 2000. I wasn’t wary of this party. In fact, I welcomed it.

It was when I first saw Hunter. She was sitting motionless across the room. I watched her for a while. She was strikingly sensual. Her mystique resonated with me. My feelings told me she was different. I believed in my first impression, which I felt was positive. I trusted it. I was greatly mistaken. Now she haunts me. She gets inside my mind. What once I thought was the beginning, of something special turned into a nightmare. The feelings of closeness we shared disappeared. She was a mirage. What I felt existed was smoke and mirrors, signifying nothing.

I was working on the script tonight and now, the pages are filled with memories of times spent with Hunter. If she could only know what she did to my life, what she made me feel. I cannot believe she wanted me to be so tortured. Coming back into our lives, knowing how she ended it. When I listen to what was our song “Come What May,” from Moulin Rouge. The line that kills me, “I will love you til my dying day.” I still feel her arms holding me. Her eyes looking into mine, mine searching deeper into hers. I missed her so much, simply because I loved her, even after she deserted me.

I was nearly destroyed until I realized exactly what she had done. I was used by her and what I felt meant nothing to her. Her desires were to get close to Scottie and I gave her my blessing to steal everything that was mine. From the beginning, her mind was set on the role. Seducing me, the gullible writer, would convince Scottie to give Hunter Marx the part. Scottie was the wise one, she didn’t want Hunter. Because of me, she did get the lead in our film, anyway. That was her goal, at any cost, She never wanted me, my friendship, my love, but a role I created and the bitch is it made her. Now she gets anything she wants. She fucked with me to get my character that I created. It made her famous and what she is today. A bitch who gets what’s coming to her.

And now she is back. Scottie cast her in my new screenplay, “Touch of the Spirit.” I begged Scottie not to cast Hunter. She just didn’t understand back then or now, why I didn’t want her near either one of us, then or now. Poison, not blood ran in her veins, and a touch of evil lingered around her soul.

Scottie knew I had a crush on Hunter. I was always flirting with the women in our films. Nothing meant to go anywhere. It fed my muse. But with Hunter, the strength of the feelings she brought up inside me, I never expected her to have such a magnetic draw on me. I think I became a touch obsessed, which scared the shit out of me. My attractions didn’t bother Scottie. She knew I was innocent. Scottie always worried I would be hurt but she knew they were an inspiration for my muse. My muse loved the feelings the flirtations created, even if they were innocent with no intent on action. Hunter didn’t understand the rules. She was relentless with her intentions and they were not honest.

A strong physical attraction developed with Hunter. Stronger than anything I had felt in a long time. It was in early 2001, when Scottie finally decided she was going to cast Hunter Marx for their first film together. Hunter’s first major film as the lead. It was still an innocent enough time in the world before the impending insanity that descended and overwhelmed the world.

I did have someone to turn to when I needed to talk outside of therapy. Jonathan Stephens was my long-distance friend. We started chatting years before that time. It was primitive compared to having Skype now, which we both converted to. Chat rooms were weird and I never felt really comfortable using them. But after finding Jonathan, it became okay. With Skype, though, we can hear each other’s voice. Jonathan lives in Paris and has a flat in London. An artist by trade, doing mostly painting, but occasionally, enjoys writing, jumping around in various areas, from poetry to prose, to opinion commentary. It all supplements his income, to that of being an internationally known artist with a strong following. Exhibitions, selling his work on both sides of the Atlantic, Collectors follow him around the world. And then those who buy his art because they love his work and to have the pure pleasure of hanging a painting of Jonathan Stephens on their walls. Those are the people he absolutely adores. Yes, he makes a good living from the collectors, but to them he is not an artist but an investment. If he could, he would refuse them any pieces of his work.

I love what Jonathan paints. His art is predominantly in Abstract, which is my favorite style. My favorite artists after Jonathan are Jackson Pollock, Kandinsky, Vincent van Gogh and a great Monet. Claude, of course. I must say I use to get Monet mixed up with Manet, not because of their art but their names being so similar. I was young and more naive then.

Jonathan knows every detail about Hunter. All the excruciating pain she caused me to feel and the whys. I even told him how she seduced me and made me hide my feelings for her in front of other people. Also, my hidden pleasure, mixed together with confusion, huge amounts of emotional anguish, and her convincing me I was delusional. That I had imagined everything that went on between us. She denied we ever had a relationship. That is why Scottie thought I made the whole thing up about Hunter using me.

Jonathan was the only person who knew the truth. How my soul was filled with joy from the kindness and love Hunter showed me. I felt it was real. It only demonstrated to me the evil content of Hunter’s soul. The treachery and manipulation that surfaced after it was over. Her coldness set in and froze me out. All I could feel was total loss and abandonment. I told every minute detail to Jonathan. My witness to what Hunter did and how it made me feel crazy. The Bipolar mood swings flying me higher and lower. Her presence in my life practically destroyed everything inside of me.

This was the beginning, when the agoraphobia made its strategic hit and thoroughly immobilized my life. Between Scottie, Jonathan and a therapist I saw for a short time. A long story, but the short version, she couldn’t handle the combination of pot and lesbians and a gay man all at one time. She had some kind of cleansing conversions during the therapy sessions. Plus she had to make house calls. It freaked her out being in a lesbian couple’s house all alone. She may have thought or felt being around us lesbians and Jonathan’s gay image on a computer screen was far too contagious. We paid her a small fortune, so it wasn’t the money. Well, after her, there entered Dr. George. We all know how that turned out. Of course, at first, I thought he had an open mind and was a relatively good Psychotherapist. He got me out of the house again, sort of, I would, at least, go to his office.

Tomorrow is Scottie’s wild cast party, before heading over the France. I am still really nervous about the flying. But, at least, I got some of my anxiety out on paper about Hunter. Our first head to head will be at the party. Oh, give me strength. I don’t ever watch her films. I would close my eyes during her scenes in my screenplay. I, so, did not want to see her. I don’t know what I am going to do if I react badly to seeing her near Scottie. And what if she tries to say anything to me? What then?

I promise I will behave and bring this letter to you next week, our last session before flying to Paris. It is going to be hard to go, more because I’ll miss you. I know we are going to be doing Skype sessions and you will make sure I have all the scheduled appointment times for the whole month I am away. That is a really long time. I will write to you. It will center me. And I finally will be in the same city as Jonathan. You may wonder why we have never met in person before now. I will explain that when I see you next week.

I am exhausted and need to stop, Writing about Hunter has really messed with my brain.

Thank you for listening and being there. I already miss you.

I will keep you in the loop in the new film and I promise to catch you up more on “Brief Sacrifice” in my next letter. Too much is going on right now to think about it. I will leave you a quote from my last letter to hold you.

“Time can be folded and joined with all elements in all places as the one ultimate moment when time is all at once. In this place everything happens on a continual loop following into a continuum of time forever into infinity. In the “Silver Box,” there is contained the ability to draw time into itself and create the perfect infinite moment.”

I will end this letter in the moment of now.

Fondly,
Madison

© madison taylor 2008

Finale Moulin Rouge I Will Love You Til Our Dying Day

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

Dr. Annie Haskell’s Office as a Psychoanalyst

Somewhere In Time – John Barry

red_flower_garden poppy field sunrise  pwRed Flower Poppy Field at Sunrise

rain in garden gif

Heart Break
Thrice Haiku
By Madison Taylor
6th May 2008

Heart break broke in two
Repairs are like Frankenstein’s
Stitching strings will pass on death

Electric circuits
Strikes lightning’s power preferred
Surging force toward love’s purpose

Awakens beauty
Life less in silence ending
Kissing’s spark brings breathes return

© madison taylor 2008

the red dragon black fire abstract robert-r  pwThe Red Dragon — Artist Robert R.

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

jonathan stephens imaginary framedJonathan Stephens is Madison Taylor’s friend in Paris, France. 1st time meeting. Skype.

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

actresses-with-long-hair-hairstyle frenchHunter Marx [taken 7 years ago in 2001 year Hunter & Madison met]

play is not just play meryl streep

Poetry Out Loud: And Now You’re Mine

poetry out loud - day title saturday

And Now You’re Mine
Sonnet LXXX
Written by Pablo Neruda
Poetry Reading found by Jennifer Kiley
Post Created Saturday 19th October 2013
Posted on Saturday 2nd November 2013
Poetry Out Loud

And Now You’re Mine — Pablo Neruda

And Now You’re Mine
Sonnet LXXX

And now you’re mine. Rest with your dream in my dream.
Love and pain and work should all sleep, now.
The night turns on its invisible wheels,
and you are pure beside me as a sleeping amber.

No one else, Love, will sleep in my dreams. You will go,
we will go together, over the waters of time.
No one else will travel through the shadows with me,
only you, evergreen, ever sun, ever moon.

Your hands have already opened their delicate fists
and let their soft drifting signs drop away; your eyes closed like two gray
wings, and I move

after, following the folding water you carry, that carries
me away. The night, the world, the wind spin out their destiny.
Without you, I am your dream, only that, and that is all.

Pablo Neruda

Tonight I Can Write The Saddest Lines

poetry out loud - day title saturday
Tonight I Can Write The Saddest Lines
Written by Pablo Neruda
Post Created by Jk the secret keeper
Post Created on Friday 18th October 2013
Posted On Saturday 19th October 2013
Poetry Out Loud

Tonight I Can Write The Saddest Lines” by Pablo Neruda [read by Andy Garcia / Music from: "Il Postino]

Tonight I Can Write the Saddest Lines
Pablo Neruda

Write, for example,’The night is shattered
and the blue stars shiver in the distance.’

The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

Through nights like this one I held her in my arms
I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.

She loved me, and sometimes I loved her too.
How could one not have loved her great still eyes.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.

To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.

What does it matter that my love could not keep her.
The night is shattered and she is not with me.

This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.
My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

My sight searches for her as though to go to her.
My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.

The same night whitening the same trees.
We, of that time, are no longer the same.

I no longer love her, that’s certain, but how I loved her.
My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.

Another’s. She will be another’s. Like my kisses before.
Her VOICE (!!!). Her bright body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, that’s certain, but maybe I love her.
Love is so short, forgetting is so long.

Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms
my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer
and these the last verses that I write for her.

The Wednesday Poetry Corner with Dr. Mary Annie AV

the secret keeper:

“Do not stand at my grave and weep, I am not there – I do not sleep. I am the thousand winds that blow…” Mary Frye [1932] One of my favorite poems. Dr. Mary Annie A.V. did a lovely & meaningful presentation on death & life. Meeting the end of one and entering the beginning another. Which is which? It is the ultimate Question. Tagore states in this post “…When one dies one lives.” I wonder myself if this is true. We all know death is in front of our time here. No one is ever really told when, even if one is gravely ill, the time is not given to us in an exact moment. Some say they feel it approaching. It is a grand philosophical question, poets, artists, writers, songs, express death, love, life, probably the most popular content of most art, these three subjects, but death is the one that haunts us the most. Reading this post has opened my mind to thinking about it in a poetic & philosophical way. It is something feared & expected & needs someday to be faced, in some manner or maybe not for some people. Is it better to be surprised or to be the poet and examine it through divine words of comfort & see it as an uplifting end to pain & a beginning of life as we all are meant to experience it fully. Great post. Love that you brought Mary Annie A.V. to us Niamh Clune. She has a very unique way of expressing such a delicate subject to many. Her choices in poetry and poets are so familiar to me. I feel all will enjoy & find a comfort in reading all that she has offered to us. by Jk the secret keeper Jennifer Kiley ps. Two poets I didn’t mention that Mary Annie A.V. writes about are Emily Dickinson and Sylvia Plath, who, also, write about death. “Dying / Is an art, / like everything else. / I do it exceptionally well. / I do it so it feels like hell. / I do it so it feels real. / I guess you could say I’ve a call./

Originally posted on Plum Tree Books Blog:

It is with great pleasure that I introduce a wonderful new Indian voice to our Wednesday Corner. Dr. Mary Annie A.V. writes with depth and passion about the subject of Death ~ a subject that has long-fascinated poets and philosophers throughout history. Thank you Mary for being our guest on the plum tree today and for sharing your profound thoughts on a subject that is often not spoken of.

Speculating…

By Mary Annie A.V.

My earliest memories are those of reciting Mother Goose’s Nursery rhymes, which perhaps influenced me to write my first prize winning poem ‘My brother’, at the age of five. However, I guess it is in the Psalms of the Bible that I by-hearted, that I found my sense of language, rhythm and the sheer magic of words. I have always been fascinated by life, death and eternity. The mystery of life and death and eternity makes…

View original 435 more words

Happy Birthday, John Lennon 9th October

remembering memories day any as happens

Happy Birthday, John Lennon 9th October
Post Created by Jk the secret keeper
Remembered by Jennifer Kiley, Jk the secret keeper, j. kiley
Illustrated by j. kiley
Post Created on Thursday 10th October 2013
Posted On Wednesday 9th October 2013
JOHN LENNON’S BIRTHDAY

Remember Memories

This is strictly music, posters, images, an interview
of John & Yoko with Dick Cavett [great!!!], quotations.
Enjoy. Happy Birthday John, 10/09/13, Love Jennifer

Tiger orchid #14 Robert Mapplethorp

Tiger orchid #14 Robert Mapplethorp

i-dream-my-painting-and-i-paint-my-dream van gogh

accidentally on purpose

writers4peacecs1

Tiger orchid #14 Robert Mapplethorp

Tiger orchid #14 Robert Mapplethorp

not comfort ignorance

life death poster

karmasutra fate fucks u

“Reality leaves a lot to the imagination.”
― John Lennon

Beatles–In My Life

keep calm write something

john lennon facing

john lennon quote on weird

in dreams

imagine maya angelou

happiness john lennon

fuck ur world fuck ur orders

fuck  definition get over it

John Lennon — Stand By Me

“Sometimes it’s not enough to know what things mean,
sometimes you have to know what things don’t mean.” ― Bob Dylan

freedom nature is illegal

free ur mind  john lennon

dragon shadow and thought

dichotomies poster

John Lennon — Woman

daydream wandering

david lynch narrowing of imagination

da vinci quote everything connects

dancing not hear music  nietzsche

John Lennon — Mind Games

crazy not a competition

crazy keeps me sane

bill hicks evolution

belive in magic

To “River”
I Dedicate This Song to My New Little Boy “River.”
He is 3 weeks old & a Dark Grey Tabby Kitten.
Born on the 19th September 2013 shortly before Midnight.

John Lennon — Beautiful Boy

artists are dangerous issued  by joe mccarthy 50s

accidentally on purpose

John Lennon on Dick Cavett [entire show] September 11, 1971 [HD]

I Include This Photo in My Tribute to John
Lennon & Dedicate It to Julie with Love. Jk

Sound-of-Music-maria closeup during singing of edelweiss melts me inside

write beautifully inside mind must be terrible place poster

typewriter-once-upon-a-time1

find-your-voice-flair-set

dragon-writer

calla lily bouquet framed

John Lennon-Imagine

rookie wood  2013  artist paul wood

bedroom perfect high windows light

fire works by matt the samurai.gif

fire works by matt the samurai.gif

gif balls in a maze little blue balls

gif matt_the_samurai_sparkles_Natural GIF

John Lennon — Watching the Wheels

throughout life soul mate poster

candle-flame-gif

moving water gif

hand letting go of golden flecks gif

seasawing elephant gif

Blended Nature by Alex Fitch   706x506

Blended Nature by Alex Fitch

mirror_cat-500x500

John Lennon — Give Peace A Chance

title black background  the words

4p dragon-blue john lennon quote

4p enchanted green walking bridge

meditating on rock overlooking flowing river gif

John Lennon — Power To the People

blue fantasy ---anonymous  1920x1200

blue fantasy —anonymous

neil-gaiman-book-author-quote

neil-gaiman-quotes-even nothing cannot last forever

carter pic for trisha

John Lennon — Starting Over

4p a world in tree green

entering the soul connection

4p beautiful sunset glorious

hands reaching out into rain

candle flame flickering gif

John Lennon — Jealous Guy

field_of_daisies

surreal green planet under water  by rolan gonzalez  812x512

surreal green planet under water by rolan gonzalez

a flower of many colours-this is for you

erotic flowers and an exotically colourful butterfly

The Beatles — And I Love Her

soul mates filled with yellow rays of sun

candle flame w hand gif

The Beatles — If I Fell

4p if the goddes were a kittie irridescent kitten

depression twisted japanese maple

garden purple flowers

The Beatles — Michelle

garden did you know

van gogh starry night variation

the anatomy of a cover - cover - artist masloski carmen 3800x3500

the anatomy of a cover – cover – artist masloski carmen

The Beatles — You’ve Got to Hide Your Love Away

(1) Butterfly Elegant-Yorkshire rose

(1) abstract-streak-lightning

Quite Busy --- abstract digital art 864x540

Quite Busy — abstract digital art

critical thinker by j. kiley 820x419

critical thinker by j. kiley

The Beatles — Norwegian Wood

abstract purple digital art by j. kiley © jennifer kiley 2013

abstract purple digital art by j. kiley © jennifer kiley 2013

angel oak tree charleston sc

life from death created by j. kiley

life from death created by j. kiley

unconscious reflections by j. kiley © jennifer kileycreated by j. kiley (c) jennifer kiley 2013

The Beatles — Hey, Jude

life death poster

create u r a creator poster

abiotic by yani ioannou

abiotic by yani ioannou

shattered time - unknown artist

shattered time – unknown artist

The Beatles — The Long and Winding Road

hesse tree

i wish i could

autumn tree gif

silver ball by sl8r.co

silver ball by sl8r.co

sea cloud sunset by j.kiley © jennifer kileycreated by j. kiley (c) jennifer kiley 2013

The Beatles — Across the Universe

music gives soul plato

snowing by pinstriped briefs

snowing by pinstriped briefs

(1) book letters flying dark backround

couleurs du ciel par j. kiley © jennifer kiley 2013created by j. kiley (c) jennifer kiley 2013

running stream gif

water dripping gig

The Beatles — Let It Be

dancing music nietzsche gif

hands reaching out into rain

artists are dangerous issued  by joe mccarthy 50s

to feel infinite

The Beatles — While My Guitar Gentle Weeps

john lennon quote poster

john and yoko

happy mouse

candle-flame-gif

candle-flame-gif

les bougies qui dirigent les jeunes voyageurs d'âme

les bougies qui dirigent les jeunes voyageurs d’âme

john lennon by stephen anderson

John Lennon  Peace Shine On

John Lennon Peace Shine On

John Lennon Oct.9th, 19 Dec. 8th, 19

John Lennon
Oct.9th, 19
Dec. 8th, 19

The Beatles — Strawberry Fields

living inside of bubbles with flowers they burst and reality touches your soul

living inside of bubbles with flowers they burst and reality touches your soul

bubbling darkness gif

bubbling darkness gif

white unicorn phantom limb by odani motohiko (1)

john lennon by stephen anderson

(1) yoko one  its alright imaginepeace

John Lennon — Oh, Yoko

trees and night sky fireflies and polka-tumblr

trees and night sky fireflies and polka-tumblr

The Beatles — All You Need Is Love

fall island (1)

love friendship white flower

colorful_abstract_effect_of_glass_and_shards dragon

light dark crystal (1)

love friendship flowers (1)

tears are words

Sadness (1)

spiritual dove (1)

APTOPIX Germany Zoo Panther

N/A

The Beatles — Lucy In the Sky with Diamonds

alice begin at the beginning 1

may day flowers for christa

spiritual pathway

jacaranda tree abstract 1

John Lennon — Mother

Below Is the Surrogate Mother
I Always Dreamed I Would Find Someday

julie w. baby emma

watch over you

true friends forever

write-your-own-story

The Beatles — When I’m 64?

symbols of faith 2

genius madness aristotle

writing calvin-and-hobbes-on-writing

john-and-yoko

John Lennon — Oh, My Love

a friendly little one just exercising fire breathing

a friendly little one just exercising fire breathing

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

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

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

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

Crypticistic Synopsis:

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

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

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

Dear Annie,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fondly,

Madison

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

Dr. Annie Haskell’s Office as a Psychoanalyst

Somewhere In Time – John Barry

pansies maybe

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

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

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

© madison taylor 2008

abstraction p420 artist tehos tehos

Abstraction p420 Artist Tehos Tehos

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

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

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

 

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

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

dream home 2

play is not just play meryl streep