Private Writings: Chapter #25 — Private Dancer

private writings by jennifer kileyPrivate Writings: Chapter #25 — Private Dancer
Written by Jennifer Kiley
Published Introduction & Chapter #1 On 19th March 2013
Published Early Tuesday AM
Posted On 10rd September 2013
WARNING: ADULT LANGUAGE AND CONTENT.
NOT SUITABLE FOR CHILDREN.

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

Crypticistic Synopsis:

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

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

Private Writings: Chapter #24 — Private Dancer

Tuesday 11th March 2008

Dear Annie,

What do I say to you about our first day of private therapy.

If you could imagine my waiting for you to come out to get me in the waiting room. My insides were flipping over. The chair could have floated out from underneath me, I was ascending to the ceiling so often. Then it came. Your hand gently resting on my shoulder. The electric current woke me from a trance. My ear buds were in. Music was high, playing ‘Everything I Do, I Do It For You.’ I’m sure you’re familiar with Bryan Adams.

You touched me. It was the first time. So unexpected but I didn’t flinch. Your hand felt so safe. No touch does from people. Why, then was it okay with you? Therapy began in a moment I never will forget.

I didn’t say anything. Just followed you to your office. It was exactly how my mind imagined it. There is a photograph in my head. Your office is exactly identical. I have been seeing the future again.

What did we talk about? I was in a daze. Being alone with you was overwhelming. After the long wait of wishing for just this day. It seemed like being inside of a dream I’ve been dreaming forever. You have been buried, living inside my mind. You are the one.

Explaining what I mean is beyond human words. It is buried in memories outside of time. A recurring sense of familiarity without any connection till now. It is of times past. Other lives. Reincarnation. Having been together before now. We knew and lived in other times together. What I am writing sounds certifiable to most. Look how people tease Shirley MacLaine. People believe but are embarrassed by believing in such seemingly bizarre, other dimensional phenomena. I do believe mostly, but have doubts when others question the strength of my beliefs.

I am so easily influenced. What I believe floats with the breeze and seems too easily changeable as is the direction of the wind. It is not because I don’t belief what I do belief, it’s my need to question everything. Which leaves me feeling confused, as though I stand on the solidness of quicksand most of the time.

Everything in life confuses me. In a moment I will believe in something being as real as anything can be. In a flash the connection is broken. Reality turns into a nightmare of chaotic brainwaves of disbelief. A crumbling of my reality into a collection of delusional thoughts, a puzzle where the pieces don’t fit together any way you try to make sense of them.

I lose track. Stop knowing what to believe. Testing anything becomes too frightening. The fear, is my reality is false, and my delusions are true. What does one do when thinking and feeling like the world is alien, which trips back and forth at will, no control from within me.

I think it is why I like fantasy. Watching movies. Reading books. Writing outrageous fiction. Creating cryptic poetry. The abstract is more acceptable. It can be whatever it wants to be. Change when it wants to. It is simply accepted. A true shape-shifter. Maybe I am one. Never the same. Always someone different.

Will you be able to help me. I need a complete internal make-over. Inside of me lives a very fucked up mess. Filled with fear. Wanting to love but retreating as soon as it feels too close. Reaching for it. Shutting down when it is given. I would say I am really screwed. The up part I let it be cut off. Most of the time I don’t feel up. When I do, it drives everyone crazy except me. I don’t live outside my body. I don’t notice the extreme agitation and rage. I become fixated and driven. I have no idea why I feel the way I do, except most of the moments when I am awake I chase after the muse to keep up. Exactly like Alice with her White Rabbit. I fall down the Rabbit Hole on a regular basis.

The Mad-Hatter is a really great friend, if one can be friends with someone as crazy as you are. Actually, maybe it is easier. Is there a direction we can take to relieve the pressure? The urges to want out of this world. Oh, yeah, the state of suicidal thinking is a regular visitor in my head. We are co-operating companions. I won’t let her harm me, she knows it is true, so the deal is, I let her exist as long as she lets me have my moments of being in my bliss or high, so I can write and create. She even helps sometimes find those hidden meanings and depth I find so elusive. She knows the secret passageways to memories. Knowledge one can’t find in the wide awake world. Too much bright light can hide the views of the darkness. The answers lie in the darkness. The ones I am seeking.

So what did we talk about. I asked you to tell me who you were. Not using those words. You told me you had a daughter in high school, ninth grade I believe. She wants to be an actor. The plays and musicals she’s been in, all were as the lead. See if my memory fails or leads me to the correct answers. Memory failure is common with me. To begin with, she played Maria in West Side Story. Let me think, she was Juliet in Shakespeare’s modernized production of my beloved ‘Romeo and Juliet.’ Marvelous play. Such an ending, an example of extremely bad timing all around for all those ending up dead. Quite a high number but not as severe as Hamlet.

Which brings me to Hamlet. Her school switched things up a bit on Elizabethan rules, had a lady playing a young man in the way of Hamlet. Your daughter was the lucky one to win the sweet role. The sheer fact at her age to succeed at doing a shortened version of Hamlet or any version is extremely difficult. But you told me she always received excellent write-ups in the local paper and school paper, on all her performances. Which makes me feel and think I would like to meet her someday. Make an attempt to write her the perfect part in one of my screenplays. We will discuss this. If she has aspirations toward being a professional actor, Scottie, my partner in life and career, is a director. We have our own production company, ‘Infinite Imaginations, Inc. III.’ If you would like and she agrees, we could arrange a screen test, see how she appears through the eye of the camera.

If you help to fix me, I would be overjoyed to help you with your daughters future in the world of film. It would, actually be my pleasure. You would know she’d be safe with Scottie watching out for her. And I’d write her an Oscar winning role. Not over-confident, am I?

This leads me right into my favorite part of writing to you. I love telling you about my work and particularly my latest script, ‘Brief Sacrifice.’ We left off with Carter pursuing a lead, following the trail of the Magic Silver Box without any seams and impossible to open. Carter needed the input of her three companions, Jasper, Jax, and James, her Savannah Cats. James’ specific psychic ability was the best way to sort things out but they must follow the trail of its origin.

The first destination was the Estate where Carter purchased her Treasure. Hopefully, they could provide information as to the origins or name of the deceased whose Estate was being sold. If Carter had that name, it could lead to other connections.

After arriving, they found the caretaker. He directed Carter to the lawyer’s office who managed the deceased estate. The firm was hired by Jackson Sharp, to take care of closing out the estate. They directed Carter to where she could locate him.

When she found Jackson Sharp, he invited her in, as though he was expecting her. After the amenities, he asked her and her companions to make themselves very comfortable, for he, Jackson Sharp had a story to tell them.

He started out his story as follows: “The deceased was the Leader of the Organization: The Friends of Nikola Tesla. He managed the Friends of Nikola Tesla since shortly after his, Tesla’s, death at a young age . He died penniless after creating amazing inventions. He worked for Edison, whom he had no affection for but was fortunate to have acquired the support of an extremely wealthy entrepreneur in Morgan and later joined by another wealthy benefactor.”

“Tesla was moving forward with his inventions until he came upon a way for everyone in the world to have free electricity by simply putting a specially devised pole in the ground. The best part is the power from these sources would not only make electricity free, it would eventually create absolutely no need for the use of fossil fuels. Oil that is, Texas gold.”

“Well, his wealthy benefactors did not want this invention to ever see the light of his invention. They buried him. Withdrew their financial support. No one was ever going to see his dream in action. It did sneak into the invention of the Tesla Electric Car, which is doing very well.”

“After Tesla’s death, the U.S. Government absconded with all his possessions where he was living, and hid them away. Did they get everything, though? I believed in Nikola Tesla, myself, once I heard the story from the old man who died. I’m sorry I cannot tell you his identity, it was my promise to never reveal his secret.

“Tesla was brilliant. Did anyone believe he would not have secret locations where he would hide his own secret inventions. Especially after all which had been stolen from him. He was sure to want to leave a legacy for the future where he hoped there would be those who would understand his genius and his amazing capabilities. I am privileged to those secrets. During the remaining years of his life, the old man, with a group of secret individuals of like minds, protected Nikola Tesla’s answers to the future of humankind.”

“These secrets are set to be passed down through generations until humankind is worthy of the powers Nikola Tesla put into his work and dreams. Even the powers of electricity free for all is well hidden away until the world can rid itself of the parasites who live off the energy of the masses. Who cast them aside as though they meant nothing. The .01% of the population are those parasites who are starving the world as they destroy the beauty in nature and make slaves of the majority of humankind. Their day will fall. They will disappear for good.”

“On that day, all the secrets will be revealed. Humankind will make a change. All will be new. The world will be recreated. This is Nikola Tesla’s dream and what Friends of Nikola Tesla are protecting until the time comes for his Dream to be put into full action.”

“All of this is contained in a special Silver Box filled with Magical abilities. This Magic has the capability to alter the world enough so that Change and Truth can be revealed. If I am not mistaken,” Jackson Stark said. “You are in possession of this Silver Box ?”

“Yes, that is correct, but how did you know?” Carter said.

“It was meant to belong to you. You were chosen. I will explain, but let us rest now. I will have arrangements made for you, Carter, and your companions to stay here for while. It’s just for your own protection.”

“What protection? Why do we need protection?”

“The contents of the Silver Box is being searched for as we speak. Many extremely dangerous people will not stop ever until it is found, those who have knowledge of it and those who are in possession of it, are all destroyed. What you hold in your possession is truly Magical, with powers you will find very difficult to understand. It is too soon to get into what it is. The time will be soon enough.”

“Now let me show you to your suite, where you can make your selves comfortable. I will prepare a delicious meal for everyone. Don’t worry Jasper, Jax and you, too, James. I know James, you are the Special One with all the psychic talents. It’s rare to find a cat who matches up with a companion who understands his ability. You can, can’t you, Carter! You have the Magic, also. That is partly why you were all chosen. But there you are. I am getting ahead of myself. I will leave now. Get comfortable. You will find snacks for all in the small refrigerator over against the wall, just over there. Now, I take my leave. Dinner will come shortly, I promise. I will ring you on the intercom. Rest. You will need it for what’s ahead.”

He disappeared. They did as he said and all rested.

And I will stop there. Leave you wanting more.

What a day. A dream comes true. Fear is rising. But telling you my tale of Magic calms me down.

I know I didn’t say anything about the group. What I would have to write would take away from the specialness of having you all to myself today. I don’t want to think about group anymore. I wish it would just end. Be done with it. The only reason I still go now is to see you. Now I can do that on my own. I will leave group at saying there is little I will miss. The past too many years have only been a disaster I should have ended long ago. But I know now, why I didn’t. It was meant for me to live through, till the day came I would meet you, Annie. Serendipity. Maybe. Sometimes what leads up to it can be extremely painful. I needed to learn what I didn’t need, to discover what I do need, and want. Enough from that lesson. Let it be over now. Enough!

Time to stop.

Until I see you next time.

Fondly and Gratefully, I sign off with much appreciation to you, Annie.

Always Want To Know You,

Madison

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

Dr. Annie Haskell’s Office as a Psychoanalyst

Somewhere In Time – John Barry

Forget-Me-Nots

Forget-Me-Nots

rain in garden giftrusting
written by madison taylor
monday 10th february 2008

trusting the newness
memories overturning
in graves their awakening

arms pull warmth to me
body’s touching silky skin
caressing gently my dreams

feeling hands inside
flesh responds in still silence
open wanting pleads let go

© madison taylor 2008

a matter of time --- artist katherine patrick

a matter of time — artist katherine patrick

Nothing Out There — Soundcloud — Soundtrack ‘Brief Sacrifice’

“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

Chateau de Rocher Art Gallery  999x752

Chateau de Rocher Art Gallery

play is not just play meryl streep

Private Writings: Chapter #24 — Tyranny Is Over-Time to Go Out and Play

private writings to a psychoanalyst (c) Jk 2013
Private Writings: Chapter #24 — Tyranny Is Over-Time to Go Out and Play
Written by Jennifer Kiley
Illustrated by j. kiley
Published Introduction & Chapter #1 On 19th March 2013
Published Early Tuesday AM
Published On 3rd September 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 #24 — Tyranny Is Over-Time to Go Out and Play

Tuesday 4th March 2008

Dear Annie,

I returned to group as though nothing had happened and continued my interaction with group members. My angry persona was alert to anyone who might make me feel uncomfortable or threatened. I, also, knew Annie was safe. She would be cautious and alert to the behavior of everyone. Nerves would be on edge. Her perceptions would be focused toward any negative acting out. The thought gave me a sense of safety and security.

My worries were not needed. Group was so relaxing, taking into consideration only weeks ago a member had tentatively been murdered. I believe the police are not calling it yet. No one is making any official determinations. I’m not so sure what is holding up what the cause was to Angie’s surprising demise.

It seemed all members of the group including Dr. Haskell, even Dr. George, have been questioned by the police. Dr. George is the person actually called in the local police station. Last Friday, they came to the mansion to meet with Scottie and me. Strange, though, after asking us both where we were at the time of the possible homicide, they separated us. A woman detective talked with me and a male detective went off somewhere with Scottie. It made no sense to me why they would talk to us separately. We weren’t suspect or witnesses. They asked all the questions I could imagine would be necessary. It worried me either one of us would be under suspicion.

These thoughts were running freely around in my mind like streams of consciousness waiting for a dam to stop them or a least slow them down. I tried deep breathing to calm myself. My mind just suddenly started picking up a sense of agitation. I felt the feeling inside my body what I feel prior to something falling down from the heavens, moments before all Hell rips open wide releasing the demons and chaos ensues. My accuracy was usually at 100%. Chicken Little, at this moment be running around manically, screaming: “The rapture is upon us. Prepare! Fire and stones with flowing lava are falling down from the sky. People are floating away. It is the End. All will be destroyed. Prepare for the Time to End.”

My mind was off on its destructive bent. I couldn’t speak. There was a knock at the door. It was loud and demanding entrance. You went to the door Annie. Before you reached it, the pounding became more persistent. It’s loudness didn’t hurry Annie’s movements. Opening the door, Annie was facing the male and female detectives who came to my place on Friday. Why were they here now?

Annie, you were so bold. After you opened the door, here is what I heard you say: “Why are you here? This is a private place, not somewhere the police should be invading. The people in this room have experienced enough trauma. This is a refuge from the world. It is meant to be sacrosanct. I am afraid we are in session. I will not allow you to disturb my clients here, in this manner. You will have to find a different place to meet with anyone in this room, including myself. I must ask you to leave. It is essential the group continue with their session. Thank you. I must close the door now.” And they backed away without one word uttered.

The door closed. Annie returned to her seat without a word. She looked at all our faces and seemed to stop longer on my face. She looked deeply into my eyes, causing me to slip into timelessness. My breathing stopped. My mind was flooding with a warmth filling up my body starting at my feet, the intensity level of heat increasing throughout my entire body. What were your eyes doing? Why were you looking into my eyes, Annie, making me feel like I was melting away into a state of invisibility? Were you making me disappear or were your eyes consuming me? The momentary feeling of fading away diminished slowly until it was gone and I returned back to a balance of wholeness.

The remainder of the time was devoted to talking about the group coming to an end. A majority felt it was time. Only two members weren’t certain they were ready to see it end. You relieved everyone’s anxiety quickly. You told us two new groups were being formed. The first group, you said you would run, but wouldn’t be starting for awhile. It would be to do therapy work on trauma, specifically child abuse, sexual and physical, but not ruling out other forms of trauma. The second group would be starting sooner and be a mixture of male and female, dealing with a variety of issues.

Annie, I was more curious about your group. Therapy for those who went through being abused. The members of your group, would fit me perfectly. It sounds exactly like what I need. Dealing with my childhood has never been something I have been able to talk about or even really remember very well. My memories are not terribly clear. I remember being abused but only in rare flashes filled with intense pain and sensations from sexual and physical brutality. My mind shuts down abruptly whenever any of these types of images come through. They’re like pornography with physical sensations of torture turned on.

One definite form of abuse to add to the list is being emotionally tortured. It occurred around crying, beatings and the strong need to apologize. The catalyst was doing something wrong, whether it was true or not. The necessity to beat me, followed by my tears and the sound of crying. The mere sound of crying set off a madness in the abuser. The beatings were already intense but the sound triggered a sadist, whose beatings became severe. What was happening or what was wrong with me. If the command to stop crying was not met immediately, the level of severity was increased and more force was applied. My flesh would develop welts. The clothing would be removed from the areas where the blows were struck. The commands were persistent. If my crying continued, so did the punishment.

I am not able to complete the memory. It blurs and what I need to remember is gone. Memory reminds me of icebergs and the Titanic. Most of what happened is under water. A nightmare of being surrounded by water. Feeling trapped. There is no moving forward and behind, the entire area is flooded. The nightmare filled the darkness with dreams of my childhood, when I was able to sleep. I stopped being able to sleep at night. Instead, I would fall asleep in classes all the time or stay home. I was sick often, so I stayed home and watched soap operas and napped. It was the only way to get any sleep. It got me hooked on soaps, plus I learned a lot but not necessarily what I needed to understand about my life or what was wrong with me. It was when I started thinking, all I wanted was to die and I thought I was going crazy. I had no understanding of why, only I wanted the reverse, not to die and not going crazy. What was going on in my mind was developing into a real conflict.

I think it’s why I like to make up stories about time travel. In the case of ‘Brief Sacrifice,’ it’s a way to discover the truth about what happened in the past. Issues unresolved, where lies have been told in the place of real honesty. I need to know what really happened. Not settle for a set story to cover the guilt of others complicit in the crimes committed. Going back in time, I will be able to discover the real not what has been told and my level of gullibility to accept the lies at first. I started becoming extremely suspicious. Didn’t trust anyone was telling the truth. Too many cover-ups exist. They need a huge light to shine down on the lies. Enough. An inventor developed something top secret. No one knows but Carter McLeod and her three Savannah cats, Jasper, Jax and James, are close to uncovering the secret of the most fantastic inventor, Nikola Tesla. The invention they are close to finding, will change lives forever. It isn’t free electricity for the entire world, his rich investors made sure to stop it from happening. Our U.S. government made the project disappear. Tesla lost his financial support. He ended up penniless when he died young. Once again the U.S. moved in and confiscated all his belongings. Everything disappeared, except except one item no one knew about. Tesla was brilliant the manner in which he hid the item. He didn’t want just anyone to discover it.

Keep thinking. What could be so powerful and mysterious, Nikola Tesla would go to such extremes to keep it so well hidden. And why Carter McLeod? Is she the one Tesla meant to find it? Was it all planned or originating in serendipity?

Something wicked this way follows. Beware of a thief in the dark.

Just how close is the McLeod Clan? It would be perfect symmetry if a member of Duncan McLeod’s clan could find the treasure. Duncan would be pleased.

Until next Time—Think Immortal!

Also, I need to think Annie. In a week, I will have my first official therapy sessions with you, Dr. Annie Haskell. I am excited but, also, anxious. Let it be a GREAT Session. And all future sessions be as good and Healing.

Fondly & Filled with Anticipation
Madison

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

Dr. Annie Haskell’s Office as a Psychoanalyst

Somewhere In Time – John Barry

rain in garden gif

Entering My Mind—But Gone Now
Written by Madison Taylor
Monday 3rd February 2008

Entering My Mind—But Gone Now
You entered my mind
The moment you entered my life.
It was an extraordinary afternoon,
No expectations.
Not a normal routine
For some time,
You were there,
A stranger,
Entering my life.
Beware of strangers offering kindness,
Lethal is their bite.
Like a vampire,
You sank your teeth in deep,
Leaving a taste of your essence
To absorb through my flesh.
Waking dreams in my sleep

I put my trust in you
The way to disaster
Going down quickly
Wanting something in you
You gave to me
With many restrictions
Never a warning
You’d crush me someday
Thought you would stay
Awhile—a long time
Everyone leaves
In life it’s a given
My senses know
Long before it happens

Great denial spews forth
In honest statements
Through misdirection
No support in action
Not a liar
Neither truthful be
Your truth is dead to me

Observing your movements
Across a blackened pavement
Of solid ground
Seeing only a stranger
Less familiar than expected
No urge strong or otherwise
To call out to you
Wanting you to see me
Seeing you
No need
No desire for acknowledgement
On either side
You for me or me for you
Is it I who wasn’t the person you knew
And you, who was always a stranger to me, too.

© madison taylor 2008

ethereal  matrix  by j. kiley © jennifer kiley

ethereal matrix by jk mccormack © jKm 2013

Foreigner — I Want to Know What Love Is [extended version]

“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

Havana Brown Cats  Madison and Scottie's kitties  1205x803

Havana Brown Cats Madison and Scottie’s kitties Toker and Mikey—I think the names are in the right order—they do look alike

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

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

play is not just play meryl streep

Motion Set At Confusion

Motion Set At Confusion
Written By Jennifer Kiley
Written On 9th August 2013
Post Created by Jk the secret keeper
Illustrated by j. kiley
Post Created Friday 9th August 2013
Posted on Saturday 10th August
POETRY OUT LOUD

Abstract Fluid Acrylic Art by Mark Chadwick 855x960

Abstract Fluid Acrylic Art by Mark Chadwick

Motion Set At Confusion
By Jennifer Kiley
9th August 2013

Motion set at confusion
Blurring the thinker
With muddled perceptions
Visions not thought
Before clouding
The mind with fog
Opening doors
With no key holes
Entering rooms
Hiding memories

In stubbornness to be right
Distortions are recalled
Jumbled up feelings
Planting false senses
No attachments involved
Realities not real
Start stalking the truth
Hunting down lies
Destruction invented in minds

Vacate my head
Decease planting false visions
Leave reality alone
It belongs only to one
Desist in tampering
Playing psychic doctor
Credentials exceed limits
In this territory

Strength must be found
Undoing the damage caused
Tampering with beliefs
Complicate insecurities
With lies to protect lies
Begin the game of sacrifice
Trampling a person’s sanity
Darkness is blind evil
Match up exceeds power
Challenge has been accepted
Lost by resignation

Finally know identity
Words never can touch one
Whose strength exceeds any power of influence
Traps were set and sprung
Tested theories so weak
Allowed to enter the psyche
Chancing potential damage
Rescued before lies were set in stone
Fooling is not within power
Don’t see identity
Beyond authority
Power’s expanse
Its scope reaches farther limits
Will never touch with weakness

Power has been rejuvenated
After experiment failed to take hold
Bait was wasted
Practice on the weak
Shame on demonic demonstrations
The craven need for power
For total control
Letting go of the need to hold tight
Freedom is so much more enticing and inviting
The soul when free gives more to the dreamer
Without dreams are the broken ones
Healing and will continue to grow and heal
A continuous process learned through accepting
The serendipity of life and releasing the stronghold of death

When death comes will float into the ether
Until then will freely live life
Accept identity
All of one
Share with those love and trust
Love that grows within
That surrounds with sweetness
And renewal
Animals are the renewal of all things
The universe is a playground
Being alive
Accepting imperfections
Stop trying to steal identity
No longer welcome
In this world
It is over
Go away
Join the harmful ones
Trying to steal the innocent in all of us
You are a member of that gang now
Going to leave on life’s journey
You are not invited

© jennifer kiley 2013

“To Create Is To Destroy.”
— Jennifer Kiley-Letters of Import

Flamme Abstrait de Couleurs par j. kiley  (c) jennifer-kiley-2013  968x863

Flamme Abstrait de Couleurs par j. kiley © jennifer kiley 2013

Didn’t Know My Own Strength — Whitney Houston

Quotation for Confusion:

“The things other people have put into my head, at any rate, do not fit together nicely, are often useless and ugly, are out of proportion with one another, are out of proportion with life as it really is outside my head.”
― Kurt Vonnegut, Breakfast of Champions

You Are Not Alone — Michael Jackson

Check Reality at the Door

private writings to a psychoanalyst (c) Jk 2013
Check Reality at the Door
Private Writings — The Story of Writing the Book
Private Writings to a Psychoanalyst
Written by Jennifer Kiley
Illustrated by j. kiley
Post Created 16th Tuesday July 2013
Posted On Tuesday 23rd July 2013 [I Was Born.]

Dear Fantasy & Imagination & Belief,

Now I Am Reborn Into Myself. As I Write This Book I Am Building My Life As I Am Building This Book. It Is An Adventure. It Is An Experiment I Am Taking To It’s Conclusion. At The End There Is A Screenplay That Is Waiting To Be Finished Once We See How This Turns Out. The Screenplay I Speak Of Has Been Completely Written. It Went Down With The Double Crash Of My Hard Drive. It Now Lives In My Head And Some Index Cards On A Screenwriting Program. The Ghosts Of That Screenplay Are Waiting Patiently. They Want To Know How Their Futures Are Going To Grow And Into What.

I Have Written Two Endings To That Screenplay. One: Is It Real? Two: Did Everything That Happen Really Happen? All Is A Secret. It Is All Opened Up To Any Possibilities Of Reality Or Fantasy. The Original Screenplay And Now This Book. An Adaptation Of A Manuscript That I Kept Diligent And Daily Entries. Now It Is Being Converted Into A Fiction With An Edge. No Restrictions Attached To This Creative Endeavor. There Is One Major Requirement: To Keep On Creating Where Ever It Leads. Into Darkness Or Into Light All Will Be Revealed. That Is A Guaranteed Eventuality.

madison taylor's study/library  640x480

Madison Taylor’s study-library with Toker and Mikey sleeping the soft-smooth settee.

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

It feels so near. Dr. George is losing it rather quickly…”
— Madison Taylor [Screenwriter: Brief Sacrifice due out end of 2008]

Dr. Annie Haskell's Psychoanalyst's Office

Dr. Annie Haskell’s Psychoanalyst’s Office

http://thesecretkeeper.net/2013/07/16/private-writings-mystery-clawed-open-18/

From the Book— Private Writings of a Psychoanalyst
Written by Jennifer Kiley

chateau de rocher  scottie andrews and madison taylor and their three cats toker-mikey and patrick live  824x552

Chateau de Rocher is where Scottie Andrews & Madison Taylor & their three cats Toker, Mikey & Patrick live.

A Project with Writing Letters/Poetry/Illustrations/Music/It is a Process of Writing through the Editing of a Manuscript and posting every Tuesday in the Early AM at the link for “the secret keeper” blog. It’s an Adventure. A Mystery. The Unfolding Story of the Screenplay, Brief Sacrifice, within a Collection of Letters. They are telling a story of a relationship being built within the secret writings of a client in a Therapy Group on the way to Self-Destruction.

English Garden at Chateau de Rocher estate  972x732

English Garden at Chateau de Rocher estate

The writer of the Letters, Madison Taylor, so badly wants the new therapist, Dr. Annie Haskell, who started monitoring the Group the same day Madison returned, after undergoing Cancer Treatments. She wants Annie, as she is referred to in Madison’s letters, to take her on as a client. Her present Therapist and Leader of the Therapy Group, Dr. George is on his way out of his mind and on his way to a future that is looking like it is heading into a territory in Hell.

family gathering place at chateau de rocher  792x667

family gathering place at chateau de rocher

The Screenplay Brief Sacrifice has already been made into a film, at the time this story takes place, it is in Post-Production. It was written by Madison Taylor. Her partner, Scottie Andrews, is the director. She is in the process of finishing edits and is under pressure to leave town fairly often. This is stressful for Madison who has great difficulty with being left alone for long stretches of time.

bedroom with perfect high windows lots of light. scottie and madison share this room with their cats mikey-toker-patrick

bedroom with perfect high windows lots of light. scottie and madison share this room with their cats mikey-toker-patrick

Madison does use the time efficiently. It gives her a great amount of time she uses to write and create her graphic paintings. When she writes, she focuses particularly on screenplays and poetry. This is all contained in the book. It will keep progressing. There is an undercurrent of a story, some of it true to Madison’s life and some of it is only a fantasy contained in the film, Brief Sacrifice, she worked on creating with Scottie.

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A set piece from Brief Sacrifice which Carter McLeod, the main character of the film, inherited her grandmother’s estate.

Carter’s grandmother provided for her well, with investments that would carry her through to be a full time writer for the entirety of her, a hopefully long life. The rest of her family got a write off of a check for 1,000 pounds a piece. Her grandmother felt they had not accomplished a thing in their lives, and expected an inheritance, but supporting her creative granddaughter, who actually expressed her genuine love for her, and lived with her, is why she received the bulk of her grandmother’s estate, including with it, the mansion and all of the extensive grounds.

Carter’s grandmother was a generous patron to the arts, and she prepared for her dying, making sure her granddaughter Carter would be well provided for when she was gone. While she was alive and after she died only a few years back, she always provided for Carter, the only relative she loved. So the pain was still closely present in Carter’s heart and she missed her grandmother Emma McLeod very much. The Savannah cats, Jasper, Jax and James, they both shared the three of them, of course, they were well provided for in the will. Carter was given their full custody. They loved each other, all of them.

The film contains this massive secret, that as the Letters are being written, a small amount of the film’s story is revealed, as told to Annie, about the character of Carter McLeod, her three Savannah cats, Jasper, Jax and James. Carter is a frustrated but great writer of literature, with a flavour of a touch of mystery blended with some psychological unraveling. Her major problem is, her books are going unnoticed by the Corporate Publishing Houses, who are only looking for trash to publish, that will make them millions, with as little investment in creativity as possible.

Carter must write, no matter the rejection notices, she believes in her creative talent but the frustration comes from the doubts these constant rejections bring to her self confidence. One can only build one’s self-esteem for just so long without feedback of a positive nature.

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Carter McLeod’s Study and library. A cozy space where many a mind-bending word had been entered into her laptop.

So she starts the beginning of the film, going out on adventures. Looking for something magical to inspire her. To keep her beliefs alive. One day she stumbles on an Estate Sale she thinks might be fun. Thinking, maybe she will come upon a treasure no one realizes they possess. Without fail, her mental projections are satisfied, when she comes upon a most unusual looking briefcase, of the old school kind. It looks rather beat up, as though it has been through a tumble or two. It intrigued Carter, especially after she picked it up and discovered its weight was surprisingly heavy. Also, when she tried to open it, not a give at all with the lock, which in all appearances looked like it would just pop right open. Well, from here you need to read from the archives and future letters to discover the mystery of the briefcase and just who was this Carter McLeod.

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James-a neutered male Savannah Cat lounging on his favorite throne of a sofa. He thinks he is a Prince with many fantasies of glorious adventures.

It contains a mystery that will blow a hole in the fabric of the world. Or at least bend minds to see a cleared focus of what exactly it is, this world we live in and how certain truths are concealed or covered continuously by the powers, the masters of the marionettes, that control everything that happens.

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Brief Sacrifice library- living room-fireplace-cozy for Jasper-Jax-James & Carter to hang together.

The mystery of the briefcase, hold a power that has been passed down through the history of time. What is real needs to be checked at the door and disbelief needs to be reexamined. — Jennifer Kiley – author of Private Writings to a Psychoanalyst

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Awesome lighted tree-house on the estate of Chateau de Rocher.

The tree was a place of escape for Madison. She liked to run away when she was a kid. Climbing trees were her favorite places to hide. Scottie had this built for Madison as their 10th Anniversary present. She wanted Madison to be able to escape whenever she felt the need to run. Scottie felt this would be a safe place for her to run to. She would know that Madison was safe.

So this is what this letter writing and poetry, illustrations and music is all about. It is an adventure and a growing process. Mine and yours, an adventure and growth I hope others might find some enjoyment, insight and awareness from, within or from without, that will bring a moment of escape through the music, illustrations, poetry and storytelling. Two stories intertwining into an intriguing manifestation and an escape from reality. Truths might be reveal what is not know or thought of before. Where this is headed, only the muse knows with any certainty and she isn’t revealing it all to me, in anyway. We will all find out when we arrive at any destination, what is going to happen or what will happen. So lets be surprised together. There is quite the tale to be told and mysteries to unfurl.

Until next time.

Fondly,
Madison Taylor

Somewhere In Time – John Barry

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

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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Genius or Madness?

Genius or Madness?
“Up/Down” Bipolar Disorder Documentary
Post Created by Jk the SK
Illustrated by j. kiley
Created May 12th 2013
Posted May 13th 2013

Original Transcript
6 November 2012
Genius or Madness?
Professor Glenn Wilson

“Great wits are sure to madness near allied, and thin partitions do their bounds divide” (John Dryden, 1681).
“There is no great genius without a tincture of madness” (Seneca, 1st Century A.D.).silver divider between paragraphs

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dali spider of the evening

silver divider between paragraphsMany great artists and scientists appear to have gone slightly mad following their lofty achievements. Isaac Newton was arguably the greatest physicist of all time, introducing the concept of gravity and making major advances in optics, mechanics and mathematics. He was also intensely suspicious and distrustful of others and in later life dabbled in alchemy and sought hidden messages in the Bible. Of course, alchemy was not thought a mad pursuit in Newton’s day and he could have been afflicted with mercury poisoning as a result of his experiments.silver divider between paragraphs
dali   the disintegration of the persistance of memory  1030x800

dali the disintegration of the persistance of memory

silver divider between paragraphsBeethoven and Van Gogh are also said to have gone progressively mad, though the reasons are equally debatable. Beethoven’s mania may have been due to alcoholism, syphilis, or lead poisoning (apart from his profound deafness, which would distress anyone, let alone a musician). There are theories that Van Gogh’s mood swings were caused by porphyria rather than bipolar disorder, that he lost his ear in a duel with Gauguin (claiming self-injury to maintain his friendship) and that his “suicide” was an accidental shooting by two boys playing cowboys (whom he also protected).silver divider between paragraphs
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van gogh starry night on the rhone

silver divider between paragraphsFor others, the genius and madness appear in parallel. Nikola Tesla was a brilliant applied scientist whose inventions rivaled those of Edison. He obtained around 300 patents in radio and electricity technologies, pioneering alternating current and hydroelectric power. However, he claimed to be in communication with other planets, to have invented “death rays” and suffered from bizarre compulsions.silver divider between paragraphs
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van gogh bridge

silver divider between paragraphsJohn Nash, the Nobel-winning mathematician who developed “game theory” for the social sciences also suffered paranoid delusions throughout his career. He was hospitalised involuntarily and had to feign sanity to be released. He still heard the voices but learned how to live with them and not to talk about them. “I wouldn’t have had such good scientific ideas if I had thought more normally” he said.silver divider between paragraphs
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van gogh starry night

silver divider between paragraphsSometimes it is a matter of chance or social milieu that determines whether an individual is deemed brilliant or crazy. To the Counter-Reformation Church leaders, Galileo was not necessarily mad (probably just heretical) but they clearly failed to appreciate his genius and subjected him to a lifetime of house arrest. In other times and places Picasso and Einstein might have been committed to an insane asylum rather than revered for their original thinking.silver divider between paragraphs
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moby dick – jackson pollock

silver divider between paragraphsMany lists of creative achievers throughout history have been compiled along with mental health symptoms and diagnostic categories retrospectively assigned to them. Unfortunately, these are mostly anecdotal, speculative and lacking in proper controls for comparison. Some have argued that the connection between genius and madness has been over-egged because of a few high-profile cases such as those described above.silver divider between paragraphs
virginia woolf by george charles beresford 1902

virginia woolf by george charles beresford 1902

silver divider between paragraphsThe best evidence in support of the genius-madness link comes from behaviour genetics. The close relatives of creative people are more likely to be schizophrenic and vice versa (psychotics having more creative relatives). Einstein, for example, had a son who was schizophrenic, while Bertrand Russell had many schizophrenic relatives. According to Simonton (1999), “creative hits and crazy misses” are mixed within many illustrious family pedigrees, including the Darwins, Galtons and Huxleys.silver divider between paragraphs
virginia woolf

virginia woolf

silver divider between paragraphsThe first degree relatives of creative people are actually more prone to mental disorders than creatives themselves. This is because actual illness (as opposed to its genetic predisposition) is likely to impede a creative career. The exception seems to be writers, who themselves show high rates of many behavioural disorders, including psychoses, mood disorders, substance abuse and suicide.silver divider between paragraphsvirginia-woolf 3silver divider between paragraphsCould the environment also be involved? Traumatic events in childhood and orphan status seem more common in those who make outstanding contributions to art and science. In a study of 700 high achievers, found that three-quarters had troubled childhoods, especially loss of a parent. The “school of hard knocks” could provide motivation and inspiration (Dickens and Chaplin come to mind here) while at the same time generating psychological disorder. However, this idea is opposite to the common-sense view that parental support and encouragement is beneficial to achievement, rather than maltreatment and deprivation. Indeed, the Goetzels found that wealth was more common in the backgrounds of famous people than poverty. And of course, pathology in the parents may be genetically transmitted to their children, thus accounting for some of the associations reported.silver divider between paragraphs
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Virginia Woolf

silver divider between paragraphsSimilar thought processes, such as unusual and grandiose ideas, together with a determination to promote them, seem to link genius and psychosis. Certain neurotransmitters and gene loci have been cited as common to both, including the male sex hormone testosterone, a gene relating to a growth factor involved in neural development and plasticity called neuregulin 1 (NRG1 and genes modulating dopamine transmission in the brain, e.g., DARPP-32.silver divider between paragraphs
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virginia woolf painting

silver divider between paragraphsUnconventional thinking is characteristic of a constitutional personality trait called Psychoticism (P). This has many facets, including tough-mindedness, lack of empathy, impulsiveness, risk-taking, adventure-seeking, bizarre thinking, and a refusal to adhere to social norms. High levels of P predispose to psychopathy and clinical psychosis, as well as to creativity, thus accounting for the overlap between them. A good deal of research over recent decades has supported this theory. A related trait is called schizotypy. An optimum number of indicators for this relates to creative achievement, rather than full-blown schizophrenia.silver divider between paragraphs
kurt cobain

kurt cobain

silver divider between paragraphsDopamine function (or dysfunction?) may account for the link between genius and madness. Dopamine is the chemical messenger in the meso-limbic and cortical areas of the brain concerned with approach, reward, positive mood and achievement-seeking. Genes that modulate dopamine levels are reported to affect novelty-seeking behaviour and to relate to Impulsivity and Psychoticism. Recreational drugs that are addictive and sometimes lead to delusions and hallucinations (e.g., amphetamine psychosis) tend to raise levels of dopamine in the brain. By contrast, anti-psychotic medications are usually dopamine antagonists (this being one of the reasons why compliance is difficult). Untreated schizophrenics have more D2 receptors in the striatum and lower D2 binding in the thalamus.silver divider between paragraphs
cobain - bipolar  659x446

kurt cobain – bipolar

silver divider between paragraphsGenius and psychotic are both inclined to loose associations (i.e., “thinking outside the box”). This can be observed as unusual responses on a word association test or in some of Salvador Dali’s surreal images (e.g., the Lobster-Telephone and the Mae West Lips Sofa). Such flexibility of thought seems to be increased by dopamine.silver divider between paragraphs
beethoven - bipolar  630x630

beethoven – bipolar

silver divider between paragraphsAnother description of the schizophrenic thinking style is that it tends to be over-inclusive, with the boundaries of relevance being set more broadly. To most people, an apple falling off a tree and the movement of planets in the solar system would appear to have nothing in common, but Newton was insightful enough to connect them under the grand unifying concept of “gravity.” Of course, not all such generalisations turn out to be that useful but many great scientific theories depend upon the ability to perceive improbable connections.silver divider between paragraphs
carrie fisher - bipolar 638x359

carrie fisher – bipolar

silver divider between paragraphsExactly how loose associations or over-inclusive thinking promote genius is unclear. If enough crazy ideas are generated, one or two might hit the target by chance alone. This approach is deliberately harnessed in “brainstorming” sessions which use random “flashcards” as a means of generating fresh ideas. Certainly, it is difficult to be creative operating within received wisdom and some of the greatest artists and composers were the “rebels” least shackled by the traditional rules of their art. However, the “shotgun” theory smacks slightly of “monkeys on typewriters”. (It would take a long time for them come up with the complete works of Shakespeare). Outstanding advances in science, like the theories of evolution and relativity, and great works of art, such as Wagner’s Ring Cycle, cannot be generated by chance alone. Profound imagination and high-level spatial intelligence is usually required in addition.silver divider between paragraphs
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bipolar behaviour

silver divider between paragraphsApplication to the point of “work addiction” is also often involved. Edison reckoned that genius was 1% inspiration and 99% perspiration.Most creative people are also the most productive. There is a positive correlation between quality and quantity of output, implying that each masterpiece is likely to be interspersed with much that is mediocre. (I do not ne)cessarily agree with this statement.)silver divider between paragraphs
marilyn monroe - bipolar 630x465

marilyn monroe – bipolar

silver divider between paragraphsThe human tendency to apophenia may be implicated in both creativity and madness. This refers to seeing meaningful patterns where they do not exist and it underlies superstition and hallucinations (e.g., seeing ghosts and hearing “voices”). This perceptual style has survival value because failing to spot a predator in the forest is a bigger (potentially fatal) mistake than seeing one where it does not exist. Exaggerated apophenia is characteristic of schizotypal individuals and is enhanced by dopamine.silver divider between paragraphs
ernest hemingway - bipolar 627x590

ernest hemingway – bipolar

silver divider between paragraphsAnother mental “illness” linked with creativity is bipolar mood disorder (previously called “manic-depressive psychosis”). This is characterised by extreme mood swings, occurring over a period of months, and it seems particularly to afflict artists, writers, musicians and comedians. Among highly talented people who appear to have suffered mood disorder are Peter Tchaikovsky, Robert Schumann, Vincent Van Gogh, Virginia Woolf, Spike Milligan, Paul Merton and Stephen Fry (who presented a TV documentary on bipolar disorder detailing his experiences).silver divider between paragraphs
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winston churchill – bipolar

silver divider between paragraphsGenetic analysis shows links between bipolar disorder and schizophrenia. Sufferers are often tortured souls, particularly when the “Black Dog” afflicts them, and their feelings may be tapped to give greater depth and sensitivity to their art. On the other hand, the “flight of ideas” experienced in the “manic” phase of the mood cycle can result in exceptional productivity. As with the trade-off between schizophrenia and genius, bipolar disorder balances troughs with peaks in a way that might account for its evolutionary survival. Treatments are available for bipolar disorder but there is a danger that, by smoothing mood, they could impede the creative forces.silver divider between paragraphs
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bipolar wheel

silver divider between paragraphsThen there are the autistic spectrum disorders (such as Asperger’s syndrome) in which a deficiency in social communication is sometimes accompanied by “savant” skills in fields like music, mathematics and spatial intelligence. In the film Rain Man (1988), Dustin Hoffman plays Raymond Babbitt an autistic whose exceptional memory is exploited by his brother to count cards in Las Vegas casinos. (This was loosely based on a real-life savant called Kim Peek, who may in fact have had a chromosome disorder). The artist Louis Wain, who became famous for his surrealistic cat paintings was hospitalised for schizophrenia, but others have argued he was actually autistic.silver divider between paragraphs
marilyn monroe poster 851x315

marilyn monroe poster

silver divider between paragraphsThese various “disorders” can all contribute to extraordinary contributions to art and science. Some tendency to psychotic traits seems to be beneficial (thus accounting for the maintenance of such genes) but too much makes the individual disorganised and is hence detrimental. It is notable that creative artists and writers have profiles similar to those of psychotic patients on clinical scales of the Minnesota Multiphasic Personality Inventory (MMPI) but are less extreme – in fact, roughly half-way between normal controls and full-blown schizophrenics.silver divider between paragraphs
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mel gibson – bipolar

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What is the mechanism whereby schizophrenic genes promote survival? The clue may be in the behaviour of bower birds, the males of which make colourful and elaborate constructions in order to attract a female (the Taj Mahals of the bird world). Creativity has also been shown to promote mating success in men, as measured by number of sex partners. Since there is no such connection for women, it is not surprising that men’s productivity in art and science exceeds that of women by around ten times.(I don’t believe this statement about men exceed women by around ten times in productivity in art and science—more like opportunity and the continued imbalance in availability and acknowledgment).silver divider between paragraphs
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medical cannabis for bipolar treatment

silver divider between paragraphsObviously, it does not do to be totally and permanently “away with the fairies”; some measure of control needs to be maintained. Consider James Joyce and his daughter Lucia, who was being treated by Carl Jung for schizophrenia in 1934. Joyce doubted she could be schizophrenic because her thought patterns were so similar to his own. Jung disagreed, comparing father and daughter to two people who had arrived at the bottom of a river. According to Jung, James had dived there, whereas Lucia had fallen in. silver divider between paragraphs
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marilyn monroe her famous selfish quote

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Genius and madness have much in common but there are also important differences between them. Mostly these are to do with intelligence, self-insight and contact with reality. Salvador Dali said: “There is only one difference between a madman and me. The madman thinks he is sane. I know that I am mad”. Certainly, Dali was eccentric, self-absorbed and grandiose with a flamboyant moustache and a manic stare. But he was also a skilled draftsman, who produced brilliant, imaginative artworks, which made him rich, famous and able to enjoy a life of luxury. He was not, therefore, totally mad. © Professor Glenn D Wilson 2012
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Genius or Madness? The Psychology of Creativity – Professor Glenn D. Wilson. The text is close to what is on the video but if you want to see it just click on this link.
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“Up/Down” Bipolar Disorder Documentary FULL MOVIE (2011)silver divider between paragraphsThis is a brilliantly made Documentary. Everyone who is Bipolar or knows someone who is or those in the Psychiatric profession and do counseling with anyone who is bipolar or anyone interested in bipolar and everyone who wants to have a knowledge of bipolar and find out what it is from what the myths are or how much people are misinformed about bipolar. A MUST SEE VIDEO. STOP THE STIGMA OF BIPOLAR AND ANY FORM OF MENTAL “ILLNESS” CREATIVITY.silver divider between paragraphs

Beethoven’s Ninth Symphonysilver divider between paragraphs
QUOTATIONS on GENIUS:

“There’s a fine line between genius and insanity. I have erased this line.” ― Oscar Levant

“Genius is nothing more nor less than childhood recaptured at will.” ― Charles Baudelaire, The Painter of Modern Life and Other Essays

“No great mind has ever existed without a touch of madness.” ― Aristotle

“I’m a misunderstood genius.”
“What’s misunderstood?”
“Nobody thinks I’m a genius.”
― Bill Watterson

“Any intelligent fool can make things bigger, more complex, and more violent. It takes a touch of genius — and a lot of courage to move in the opposite direction.” ― E.F. Schumacher

“The public is wonderfully tolerant. It forgives everything except genius.”
― Oscar Wilde, The Artist as Critic: Critical Writings of Oscar Wilde

“The true genius shudders at incompleteness — imperfection — and usually prefers silence to saying the something which is not everything that should be said.” ― Edgar Allan Poe, Marginaliasilver divider between paragraphs
QUOTATIONS on MADNESS:

“Sanity is a madness put to good uses.” ― George Santayana, Essential Santayana, The: Selected Writings

“So when you find yourself locked onto an unpleasant train of thought, heading for the places in your past where the screaming is unbearable, remember there’s always madness. Madness is the emergency exit.” ― Alan Moore, Batman: The Killing Joke

“Human madness is oftentimes a cunning and most feline thing. When you think it fled, it may have but become transfigured into some still subtler form.” ― Herman Melville, Moby-Dick

“I don’t possess these thoughts I have — they possess me. I don’t possess these feelings I have — They obsess me.” ― Ashly Lorenzana

“The thoughts written on the walls of madhouses by their inmates might be worth publicizing.” ― Georg Christoph Lichtenberg

“Men have called me mad; but the question is not 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 — from moods of mind exalted at the expense of the general intellect. They who dream by day are cognizant of many things which escape those who only dream by night. In their gray visions they obtain glimpses of eternity, and thrill, in waking, to find that they have been upon the verge of the great secret. In snatches, they learn something of the wisdom which is of good, and more of the mere knowledge which is of evil. They penetrate, however rudderless or compassless, into the vast ocean of the ‘light ineffable’.” ― Edgar Allan Poe, Eleonora silver divider between paragraphs
QUOTATIONS on BIPOLAR:

“I’m the girl who is lost in space, the girl who is disappearing always, forever fading away and receding farther and farther into the background. Just like the Cheshire cat, someday I will suddenly leave, but the artificial warmth of my smile, that phony, clownish curve, the kind you see on miserably sad people and villains in Disney movies, will remain behind as an ironic remnant. I am the girl you see in the photograph from some party someplace or some picnic in the park, the one who is in fact soon to be gone. When you look at the picture again, I want to assure you, I will no longer be there. I will be erased from history, like a traitor in the Soviet Union. Because with every day that goes by, I feel myself becoming more and more invisible…” ― Elizabeth Wurtzel, Prozac Nation

“There is a particular kind of pain, elation, loneliness, and terror involved in this kind of madness. When you’re high it’s tremendous. The ideas and feelings are fast and frequent like shooting stars, and you follow them until you find better and brighter ones. Shyness goes, the right words and gestures are suddenly there, the power to captivate others a felt certainty. There are interests found in uninteresting people. Sensuality is pervasive and the desire to seduce and be seduced irresistible. Feelings of ease, intensity, power, well-being, financial omnipotence, and euphoria pervade one’s marrow. But, somewhere, this changes. The fast ideas are far too fast, and there are far too many; overwhelming confusion replaces clarity. Memory goes. Humor and absorption on friends’ faces are replaced by fear and concern. Everything previously moving with the grain is now against– you are irritable, angry, frightened, uncontrollable, and enmeshed totally in the blackest caves of the mind. You never knew those caves were there. It will never end, for madness carves its own reality.” ― Kay Redfield Jamison, An Unquiet Mind: A Memoir of Moods and Madness

“Manic-depression distorts moods and thoughts, incites dreadful behaviors, destroys the basis of rational thought, and too often erodes the desire and will to live. It is an illness that is biological in its origins, yet one that feels psychological in the experience of it, an illness that is unique in conferring advantage and pleasure, yet one that brings in its wake almost unendurable suffering and, not infrequently, suicide.” ― Kay Redfield Jamison, An Unquiet Mind: A Memoir of Moods and Madness

“Compared to bipolar’s magic, reality seems a raw deal. It’s not just the boredom that makes recovery so difficult, it’s the slow dawning pain that comes with sanity – the realization of illnesss, the humiliating scenes, the blown money and friendships and confidence. Depression seems almost inevitable. The pendulum swings back from transcendence in shards, a bloody, dangerous mess. Crazy high is better than crazy low. So we gamble, dump the pills, and stick it to the control freaks and doctors. They don’t understand, we say. They just don’t get it. They’ll never be artists.” ― David Lovelace, Scattershot: My Bipolar Family

“Depression is a painfully slow, crashing death. Mania is the other extreme, a wild roller coaster run off its tracks, an eight ball of coke cut with speed. It’s fun and it’s frightening as hell. Some patients – bipolar type I – experience both extremes; other – bipolar type II – suffer depression almost exclusively. But the “mixed state,” the mercurial churning of both high and low, is the most dangerous, the most deadly. Suicide too often results from the impulsive nature and physical speed of psychotic mania coupled with depression’s paranoid self-loathing.” ― David Lovelace, Scattershot: My Bipolar Family

“Absurdity and anti—absurdity are the two poles of creative energy.” ― Karl Lagerfeld

“Except you cannot outrun insanity, anymore than you can outrun your own shadow.” ― Alyssa Reyans, Letters from a Bipolar Mother

“Clear your energy, honor your rhythm, live your vision ” ― George Denslow, Living Out of Darkness: A Personal Journey of Embracing the Bipolar Opportunitysilver divider between paragraphs

Private Writings: Chapter #8 — Visions of a Future

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

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

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

Tuesday, November 20th, 2007

Dear Annie

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Regards,
Madison

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

Somewhere In Time – John Barry

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Le Chateau de Rocher

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

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

QUOTATIONS from: Private Writings

“A Dream

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

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

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

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

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

QUOTATIONS of VISION

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

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

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

play is not just play meryl streep

The Secret Keeper Opened Up Two Years Ago

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

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

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

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

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

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

9.20.10 – 2:15 am – monday

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

<3 Love <3

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

Mozart – Lacrimosa

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

first star on the right — abstract digital art


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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s being here now that’s important. There’s no past and there’s no future. Time is a very misleading thing. All there is ever, is the now. We can gain experience from the past, but we can’t relive it; and we can hope for the future, but we don’t know if there is one.” ― George Harrison
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Private Writings: Chapter #7 — We Chose Life

private writings to a psychoanalyst (c) Jk 2013Private Writings: Chapter #7 — We Chose Life
Written by Jennifer Kiley
Illustrated by j. kiley
First Posting 03.19.13
Posted Weekly Early Tuesday Morning
Chapter #7 Posted 30th April 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 #7 — We Chose Life

Tuesday, November 13th, 2007

Dear Annie

I must bring this to your immediate attention. Last week, when I wrote to you in our usual letter, I included a poem. It was a raw and painful poem to write. I would really like to discuss some of it with you in this letter. I hope you don’t mind. It has been making me feel rather vulnerable, even though I haven’t sent you the letter yet. Someday, any day, might be when I do get brave enough and really write these letters with the direct expectation of mailing them to you or handing them to you in person. The second way would make me feel more assured that you received the letters personally and no one else touched them or might accidentally open them. I don’t think anyone at the counseling center would ever do something like that intentionally. But these are very private letters meant for your eyes only. Just thinking about discussing the poem I wrote is making me feel rather anxious. In fact, I feel like I am starting to have a panic attack. Let me take a Klonopin before we continue. After that I will post the poem and the paragraph that followed it. I want to discuss that along with the poem. I’ll be right back.

Here I am, back really quickly. It will only take about 15 minutes for the med to take effect. Well, here goes, this is the poem once again appearing in one of my letters I am writing to only you. If I ever give these letters to you, I must have your word that you will never ever show these to anyone else. No one must know what I am telling you. These have to be our secret. If you only knew how I feel inside.

How do I really feel about you Annie? Right now, I have no idea. Too afraid to go inside to find out what I truly feel. The whole of the world confounds me. It just makes me feel depressed. It just feels that I can’t hold onto the people I love. They just tend to die. It’s not like they’re even old. When you die in your twenties, I would call that dying “Forever Young.” Too many die FY. You’re not going to do that, are you Annie?

What do you think of my poem? If you read it now, how would you decipher it? I’ll play both of us. You go first, or should I? Let me pull out the first three lines. The writer, the lover, the thinker: isn’t something missing? Whose feeling anything? The lover is just sexual. You can do that without any feelings at all. The writer is mental but could be emotional with the words they are expressing. But I don’t think so. It’s cerebral. The thinker, existential separation anxiety filled with analytical theorizing until infinity gets exhausted.

Someone is missing. Someone who connects in a soulful way with people or animals. Who is that? Lets think about it. Send out feelings to find out who they are? You think a spiritualist. I thought I was one of those people. I believe in the spirit, the soul, the astral body, the separation from the physical. The soul is just carrying the weight of the body while its heart beats and air fills its lungs and the grey matter still is able to function to make the physical tissues of the body perform.

I was thinking tonight about Heaven Annie. As I made it up the stairs to bed and my cat always raced up the stairs before me. We play that game every night. I make believe I’m going to beat him tonight. It’s always the challenge. There’s no way in Hell that I can ever beat him. But he loves the game. You want to know his name? He goes by many. He has such a magnificent personality. We call him Sparky because he sparks like fireworks. It’s not his official name. That one is proper. We named him Higgins after the character in the great Broadway play Pygmalion. He responds to anything but Higgins and he rather prefers being called Sparky.

What the Hell are we talking about? Is it about making it through with some enjoyment and to try to forget about all the nightmares? Or are we suppose to face the nightmares? The soul tells me that we have to or we won’t make it. I have too many. How about you? What are your bad dreams? What tried to fuck you up? Any bad people in your dreams? You seem pretty together but anyone can put a mask on. Why do you suppose we all try to hide from everyone? We are all human. Our feelings fall somewhere into the human category. Are we afraid people will think we are crazy or too weird?

Back to the poem, the next three lines are pretty explosive. Feeling the fool for not hearing, the silence for not screaming and feelings trying to blow the whole thing wide open but being stopped somehow. What stopped me? You probably would like to know that. A good reason, how about one of the abusers threatened to kill me right at the moment I told him if he didn’t stop I would go to the police. Wrong thing to say to a nasty, mean pedophile. He tried to kill me but he stopped at just making me feel he was going to crush my head into stones like Stonehenge. He pulled back but not until he told me he would not only kill me but my whole family. Those other people who also abused me. For some reason I felt I needed to protect them. I didn’t care if he killed me. My life was ruined. They all in combination destroyed who I am. They crushed my life. I am dead. My spirit has been stolen from me. It’s like in Peter Pan, they stole my shadow, my reflection. I don’t have one any longer. I am invisible. That’s why no one can see me. Why I never get noticed except when someone wants to hurt me or make me feel more pain so that I really do want to be invisible. I just wanted to die.

The only reason I stayed alive was I loved my grandmother. The funny thing about it all, my grandma, she had an accident shortly after this and went into the hospital. She never went home again. I saw her once at the hospital. I climbed into her hospital bed with her. Under the oxygen tent, we hugged. I held her so close. Her arms used her strength, as much as she could and held me close. Then it was time to go. I gave a bunch of kisses to say goodbye to her. I didn’t know I would never see her alive again.

She died in protest. They wanted her to become one of the forgotten. She wasn’t going to let them do that to her. She told them that it was something she would never do, going to a nursing home. She stopped her breathing and her heart from beating. She left me behind. I stopped living when she stopped, too.

“The feelings trying to explode…Where was the awareness?” I was clueless on what or who to, if anyone, to talk to. I never talked to anyone back then. Words were not my companion when spoken out loud. Not something I even knew how to do. Didn’t know how. Had no practice. What would have been the right words to say anyway? I didn’t know them to say or to even write down on paper. I am only learning now how to connect my words with feeling.

“We say ‘Welcome to the surface.’ It should have been Welcome to the circus. “Now what needs to be done?” We need to find someone new that we can really talk to. Someone who will listen and really hear what we are saying. Not judge us. Try to understand. And not constantly criticize us and try to put us down. Diminish who we are. That’s been done all our life except in college. For some reason I mattered when I was in college. I felt important and wanted. The same happened when I was part of the Women’s Center when I lived in Connecticut. It’s not so much I want to feel important. I just want to feel like I matter. Everyone I think needs to feel important in some way.

“Releasing the energy ensnared for decades amongst twisted webs…” I have been so blocked. My thoughts and feelings didn’t have an outlet. And I didn’t know how to say the words. I was made my own prisoner eventually, out of fear. Demons possessed me with fear. All the demons from all the years of abuse and made to feel like I was nothing, a nobody that had no worth or purpose.

“The voice is seeking freedom but holding onto multiple secrets.” We have a central voice but we also have multiple voices. With all the alters, we have to listen to all their voices and all the needs they tell us that they have. It’s hard to keep track or remember. It is really confusing inside our head sometimes. But we were working with a woman therapist who had her moments of quality therapy but she had her problems. I have an obsessive alter who was in love with her and obsessed with her. Let’s call it quite dependent. We were attached. We needed her. She was the first therapist that figured out what was going on inside our head. She figured out the DID. I have to admit when she told us we has other personalities, it really freaked us out. Kind of went into shock and some heavy denial. No way could that be possible. She said the psychiatrist agreed with her after he tested me.

That was the big secret. We thought realizing we were Gay was enough of a shock but being MPD was more difficult. Coming out of that closet was worst. It took us a while before we could tell Scottie and we had been together for a long time at that point. Almost 15 years. When I found the courage to tell her, her reaction was: “Oh, I already knew.” I asked her why she didn’t tell me. “Because you needed to figure that out yourself.” Of course, she was right. It wasn’t easy. Like I usually do, I bought or borrowed every book I could find on the subject of MPD. I learned it all. Enough to get a degree.

There is so much more to discuss in this poem. I packed it with a great deal of exposure of my past. I need a break. I may try to answer more of the points in this letter or carry it over to the next letter.

It’s a list of some of the confusion that smashed into our life. It started when we were really little and didn’t stop. The abuse continued when we were adults. No was the word that meant nothing to anyone who wanted something from us. Our body betrayed us. We couldn’t stop anyone from forcing us. Some didn’t even realize they were forcing us but they were. If we shut down inside we became frozen. We couldn’t stop what was happening. This started when we were little and continued into our adult relationships. It was all on some degree of force. We weren’t there in our bodies. We left or went deep inside or floated on the ceiling until it was over.

It wasn’t consensual. It was a form of rape and abuse. We wanted love but not sex. We didn’t want to be sexually aroused because it would always end with us disappearing and our bodies would shut down. It was like turning the keys off in a car. The engine would stop running and so would we. Eventually we created an outside person, a human robot, who faked our life like a computer. She would accumulate data. And learned the expected behavior and that would be hos she would perform. We were safe inside while she was out there living a fake life as a fake person. A puppet represented us. She hid in plain sight. No one would find us with the puppet self having a controlled pattern of behavior, always asking questions to improve her performance do she wouldn’t be detected.

Our hiding place was discovered by this woman therapist. She saw through the facade. She was tricky and scary to us. She got to close. We started to care too much. She opened up the rawness in us. She made us need people. Specifically, she made us need her too desperately. We felt so close to her. But more like the fox in Le Petite Prince by Antoine de St. Exupery. She tamed part of our wildness. She made us want to be loved by her. Being loved and wanting to love in return puts such a control on you. I began to develop an overwhelming need for her. It was driving me mad. Everything started falling apart. My life felt out of control.

Our hiding place was revealed. There was no place to go except into madness and wanting to commit suicide. Suicide has always been a part of our life. It is a part of our breathing. It is always an alternative to the divine madness. We can escape that way any time we chose. But it is not an answer we can choose. Not with all that we are responsible for. Our life needs us to be in it. Everything has changed. We are learning to begin to live. We have found a purpose. It is delicate and sometimes difficult to balance but we are giving our new life all that we are able to give it. We know and are learning what we are able to do. We are able to write. We are able to be creative. Our artistic nature is starting to blossom. We are letting it be free. It likes that. It feels like are trusted to let the muse guide us. She always seems to be when we need her. We don’t push it. We let it be a natural flow. We like, no we love where we are now. It does have its difficulties with the mentally creative activities that bombard our brain. But we work hard on that more with our doc then with Mr. Xxx. He is about as helpful as a dead skeleton. His sense of warmth and communication I’d to tell stories that do not at all relate to what I am feeling or going through. He doesn’t help me at all except to give me reasons to escape my life. He lets me run away. I know I have my weaknesses but I need to find my life before I die or I kill myself because I can’t live with the confusion any longer or the depressions or rage.

I want to say that I am here and I want to stay alive. We want to be here. We choose life.

We fought through them trying to destroy us. They didn’t succeed. We are still alive. No matter how many battles. No matter how many nights we have to fight to make it alive til morning gets here. Therapy, knowing my psychoanalyst is there is so reassuring. It means at least one person is out there in our Universe that knows we are alive. That we exist. Being alive is a higher grade than just existing. The artist that lives inside of us makes it all matter. Otherwise, nothing else matters. If I didn’t have my art, my animals, the women I love and the men who are decent that I love. A good home and family who I love and who love me. The special people who know who they are. They are part of what make this life I live matter. But that involves some major time tripping. I am having visions of a future in my life, but I must be patient and wait for that time to happen. It is a good sign that I make it to that future. Others do not.

Here in 2007 I have you Annie. I am focusing on that. Your presence is beginning to mean something more to me than I even understand at this moment. We will see where that takes us.

Until next time.

Regards,
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.

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

rain in garden gif

Soul’s Awakening
By Madison Taylor
Written 11.11.07

Create
Give your soul an awakening
Listen quietly through the inspiring music
Enter the encouraging words
The ideas arise from their varied meanings
What is most on your mind
What is churning up your insides
Needing to be talked about
Preferably released from your mind
Where trapped are the feelings
That the thoughts are made of in the silence

Love is an all-consuming obsession
Filling the spaces in between
Every break of thought
To throw off the concentration
So many who feel love from inside their heart
They died or disappeared
Called away from their lives abruptly
You could say they had a calling
A calling not dealing with fairness
Or consideration for the pain
Created from their loss
Investing in vulnerability

Rips out the heart
Tears it like dogs with a pile
Of meaningless thrown away leftovers
The heart has been a left over piece of flesh
Shredded
Good for a treat
For a hungry mouth
But for love an empty plate

Starving the hungry for tenderness and love
Wanting to be held in a warm hug
Being caressed with a slow gentleness
Giving time to be caught up to the touch
Of a lover who wants to feel safe and secure
Willing to wait until you’re where the love making is
To be part of what is happening

Slowing down when the touching starts moving too fast
Needing a caress slow making you feel
They realize you are there
And want to be there
Part of making the love work
You want to be part of it
Participating in all the feelings of touch
Reaching all the plateaus
Together with your partner

Knowing your partner is with you
Wants to be with you
While you arrive at the high together
Coming down together slowly after
Feeling the rippling through your bodies together
Melting bodies drifting into relaxation
Followed by the wonders of secure arms
Drifting off together into the dream of sleep
Contented that a wish has found a way at last
To be realized.

© madison taylor 2007

candle flame flickering gif

labyrinth of a wandering wonderland

The labyrinth called “Wandering Wonderland.” It is where Madison, Scottie and their cats, Patrick, Mikey and Toker love to escape to

madison's woods of imagination where she takes long walks to reflect

Madison’s “woods of imagination” where she takes long walks to reflect. It starts just past the labyrinth

QUOTATIONS from: Private Writings

“A Dream

The beginning always starts out with a dream.
It is all a dream
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 LIVING:

“There is an ecstasy that marks the summit of life, and beyond which life cannot rise. And such is the paradox of living, this ecstasy comes when one is most alive, and it comes as a complete forgetfulness that one is alive. This ecstasy, this forgetfulness of living, comes to the artist, caught up and out of himself in a sheet of flame…” — Jack London

“There are two kinds of people. One kind…they congealed into their final selves…you can expect no more surprises from them…the other kind keep moving, changing… They are fluid. They keep moving forward and making new trysts with life, and the motion of it keeps them young. In my opinion, they are the only people who are still alive…” ― Gail Godwin

play is not just play meryl streep

Private Writings: Chapter #6 — Hidden Within

private writings to a psychoanalyst (c) Jk 2013
Private Writings: Chapter #6 — Hidden Within
Written by Jennifer Kiley
Illustrated by j. kiley
First Posting 03.19.13
Posted Early Tuesday Morning
Posted 23rd April 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 #6 — Hidden Within

Tuesday, November 6th 2007

Dear Annie,

In my letter this week, I want to tell you some important things you need to know about the relationship between myself and another member of the group. It came to me that it would make sense for you to get to know me through other members of the group. I speak of two groups, the one you and I meet with every Tuesday and there is the all important group that live inside my own head. Where to begin? I thought I would be talking to you about Angie today.

The way she acted in group today was just a bit dramatic. I try to be understanding. I know about suicide. If it isn’t in my daily or weekly vigil when I sit with my mind I wouldn’t understand why she gets so obsessed with it. Her’s is different than mine. I think through the process, always living through the sensations of dying. But mine is more like the third act of a Shakespeare play. Except Juliet wakes up in time.

Mr. Xxx plays directly into her manipulation. She is not the only member of the group that has suicide on their speed dial. I, sincerely, want to be more compassionate but when someone takes up all the group time continuously, leaving no room for anyone else to talk. It gets tiring to listen. Call it selfish. Well, it is. I talk to Mr. Xxx about it and he tells me I am being insensitive. Well, excuse me, but it is my therapy time, too. I’m not the only one who will tell you they feel abandoned and also have strong feelings and thoughts of suicide.

Mr. Xxx has his two favorites and fuck the rest of us. It puts a giant wedge between our therapist and all of us inside of me. We feel neglected and ignored and abandoned. It isn’t really cool if a therapist repeats the habits of one’s childhood caregivers. He’s great at fucking people up. But Fuck this. I decided I don’t want to think about group any more. Except to say that you need to rescue us. I will speak for myself. I am mentally creative. The other terms I reject. I know I am bipolar and have a list of other mentally creative ways of using my mind but I need to be rescued.

I need to find my soul. It got buried underneath an ocean of invisibly blocked tears. If I ever get to a place when I am able to cry when I allow myself to own my sadness, Noah better be ready to build another arc. You think Alice got washed away in Wonderland. My pool of tears far exceed the norm. Since I was a kid and the tears were made to stop, I feel ashamed when even the slightest hint that a tear is going to escape the corner of my eye. I freeze. I become so embarrassed. I am so afraid for anyone, even myself sometimes, if I should get caught crying.

I can only cry at death. It breaks me down. I am so vulnerable to only specific deaths. My doctor died a few years ago. She was younger than I am now. It was a shock to everyone who knew her. I use to see her every week. It was a particularly bad time emotionally and mentally. Every suicidal method of escape had to be hidden from me. That meant I had to see her every week to pick up my psyche meds. She was my supplier. I’d get my meds. We’d talk. I felt we were getting close. Then I would meet with my psychotherapist after I saw Anne. Yes, her name was Anne. That’s what makes your name so nice. I love the sound of it.

It is so difficult for me to trust anyone. It seems I am a curse to them. They just keep dying. And they are always so young and have full lives to live. We just don’t know when death is coming for us. A woman I loved deeply, died so suddenly. I never thought the pain would ever be bearable. I think it’s bearable because the feelings are in hiding. I am taking my chances with you. I want to be open with you. Call it a compulsion. Something echos in my head about you. A voice calls to me. It’s coming from inside of you. You want me to be connected to you. I’m not sure why but you want to get to know me. If that is true, I feel exactly the same way. The feeling is strong that we are meant to know each other. We are meant to get close. I think we will. Let’s just give it some time. When the moment is right, we’ll know it. It will be like fireworks. Everyone will notice.

One last thing I want to be perfectly clear, I am a lesbian and I have alters, other personalities. They all come with DID, dissociative identity disorder, and still I am blessed with bipolar, too. I go high. I go low. I change into different personalities, never knowing who might pop out. It is a curse and a blessing. I got the positive, the creative energy DNA. It gave me other blessings, also. I’ll save those for another time.

My most pronounced alter is Brad. He gets really protective. His rages scare the shit out of anyone at the other end of his outbursts. I promise he will respect you. I won’t let him get angry with you ever. He does listen to me most of the time. The abusers helped create them, the group. The first one born is Marnie. She was abused while we were just a baby, barely able to walk. Our bastard of a father abused her until we were a teenager. The last time was when he attacked us and we fought back but we don’t remember winning. We buried that memory for years.

Why do you have that effect on me. You have cast a spell on me. An Honesty spell. Ask me anything. I’d give you the truth. Maybe I better stop now. I told you far too much. This is going to kick back on me. I can feel the triggers ready to shot me full of regret. But I want you to get to know me. Next time we talk, it’s going to be about you. I want to get to know you. As much as you are willing to share. I know you shrinks don’t like to share much but I am someone you can trust. I would never abuse your trust.

I want to close this letter with a poem I wrote that I thought would be revealing. It is the first poem I have written since I started seeing Mr. Xxx, other than the one I wrote about Princess Diana after she was killed. I am trusting you not to laugh. It is rather primitive but also raw and revealing. I think getting to know you has inspired me to start to write again. It is scary for me to share this but I want you to read it. I’d like to know what you think of it. Keep in mind it has been a long time. I wrote this a few days ago. I will leave it at the end of the letter.

I don’t expect you to respond to my poem after you read it. It is only given to you so you will see what is going on inside of me. Something that may help you to understand a deeper part of who we are inside. Try not to be a critic. Instead look at the feelings and the pain of the betrayal that confused my whole life and created who I am or who we are. That almost kept us from staying alive. But we fought through their trying to destroy us. We wouldn’t let them. Even though they tried really hard to steal every part of us away so we wouldn’t even know who we were and who we are now. The last part of the poem, I am not entirely sure we know the answer to that, the who we are bit. Keep this in mind while you read it. What is contained in the poem is what I have been trying to work out now and have been working on since I started this trip as a teenager.

Don’t worry, I will tell you more as the weeks go by and we get to know you. We really do want you to know us. Somehow I think everyone wants someone important to them, to know who they are and to mean something special to them. You are one of those people to me. I want someday to be important to you as I am finding that you are becoming important to me. It makes life more meaningful somehow. To share your self with someone else. Someone you love and care about and to hope and have them care and love you back. It is a special feeling to share that with someone. It is happening inside of me with you. Someday, I would like it if you knew that about me. Someday, I hope you will.

Well, I better stop now or I will write more than I mean to write and say too much and scare you away. So, until our next moment of honesty I will say I care about you, even though I don’t know you well. You just give off something that makes a person want to care. Read my poem with an open mind and open heart. Good-bye for now.

Regards,
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.

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

rain in garden gif

“Who Am I?”
By Madison Taylor
Nov. 5th 2007

“Who am I
The writer
The lover
The thinker
Or the fool for not hearing
The silence for not screaming
The feelings trying to explode
Where was the awareness?
We say quietly
Welcome to the surface
Now what needs to be done?

Releasing the energy ensnared
For decades amongst twisted webs
The voice is seeking freedom
Holding onto multiple secrets
Of rape
Of abuse
Of wanting love
Of not wanting sex
Of not wanting sexual arousal
Of creating a world locking us inside our mind
Of leaving the outside one behind
Of living a fake life
Of a fake person
Of a puppet we sent out to represent
To hide in plain site
Where no one would find us
Or know our hiding place
We learned to be safe
That world no longer protects us
It has changed
We are learning
Beginning to live
Finding answers to questions
Finding our place
In a world we have a right
To live in
We are here
Wanting to be alive
We chose life.”

© madison taylor 2007

candle flame flickering gif

labyrinth of a wandering wonderland

Labyrinth of a wandering wonderland where Madison, Scottie and their cats, Mikey, Patrick and Toker, love to escape to

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

QUOTATION on SECRETS:

“And above all, watch with glittering eyes the whole world around you because the greatest secrets are always hidden in the most unlikely places. Those who don’t believe in magic will never find it.” ― Roald Dahl

play is not just play meryl streep