A Writer’s Diary: Virginia Woolf —Part #4

a writer's diary
Virginia Woolf – Part #4
Excerpts from Virginia Woolf
Created by Jennifer Kiley
Created 25th February 2014
Posted Sunday 23rd March 2014
A WRITER’S DIARY

Virginia Woolf 1

Virginia Woolf

A Writer’s Diary
Virginia Woolf – Part #4

January 20th, 1919,
Woolf at 36-years
9 days before
her 37th Birthday

If Virginia Woolf
at the age
of 50,

when she sits down
to build
her memoirs
out of
these books,

is unable
to make
a phrase
as it
should be
made,

I can
only condole
with her

and
remind her
of the existence
of the fireplace,

where she
has my leave
to burn
these pages

to so
many black
films
with red eyes
in them.

But how
I envy her
the task

I am
preparing
for her!

There is
none

I should
like

better.

Virginia Woolf's Monk's House Garden

Virginia Woolf’s Monk’s House Garden

virginia woolf 3

Virginia Woolf

Erik Satie: Gnossienne No. 1, 2, 3

A Writer’s Diary: Virginia Woolf — Part #2

a writer's diary
Virginia Woolf — Part #2
Excerpts from Virginia Woolf
Created by Jennifer Kiley
Created DATE 2014
Posted Sunday 9th March 2014
A WRITER’S DIARY

Virginia Woolf 1

Virginia Woolf

A Writer’s Diary 
Virginia Woolf – Part #2

Leonard Woolf
Virginia’s husband
Writes
In the introduction
To
A Writer’s Diary

The diary is too personal
To be published as a whole
During the lifetime
Of many people
Referred to in it.

It is
I think
Nearly always a mistake
To publish extracts
From diaries or letters

Particularly
If the omissions
Have to be made
In order to protect
The feelings
Or reputations
Of the living.

The omissions
Almost always distort
Or conceal
The true character
Of the diarist
Or letter-writer

And produce
Spiritually
What an Academy picture
Does materially

Smoothing out
The wrinkles
Warts
Frowns
And asperities.

At the best
And even unexpurgated
Diaries give a distorted
Or one-sided portrait
Of the writer

Because

As Virginia Woolf
Herself remarks

Somewhere
In these diaries

One gets
Into the habit
Of recording
One particular
Kind of mood

Irritation
Or misery,
Say

And of not
Writing one’s diary
When one is feeling
The opposite.

The portrait is
Therefore
From the start
Unbalanced

And
If someone
Then deliberately
Removes
Another characteristic

It may well
Become
A mere
Caricature.

— Leonard Woolf
[Virginia's Husband]

Virginia Woolf's Monk's House Garden

Virginia Woolf’s Monk’s House Garden

virginia woolf 3

Virginia Woolf

Erik Satie: Gnossienne No. 1, 2, 3

A Writer’s Diary: Virginia Woolf — Part #1

a writer's diary
Virginia Woolf – Part #1
Excerpts from Virginia Woolf
Created by Jennifer Kiley
Created 8th February 2014
Posted Sunday 2nd March 2014
A WRITER’S DIARY

Virginia Woolf 1

Virginia Woolf

A Writer’s Diary
Virginia Woolf – Part #1

Explaining
in Virginia Woolf’s words,
the major reasons why
it is an essential means
to learn writing
by keeping a writer’s diary.

It exercises your mind,
no censorship,
and someday
you can use
to create
your own
autobiography.

In “The Writer’s Diary,”
Virginia Woolf, herself,
wrote unedited,
free flow,
stream of consciousness
and is
quite intelligent.

In the opening,
some words
from Leonard Woolf,
Virginia Woolf’s husband.

I find
a real
understanding
of
Virginia Woolf.

I feel
as if I can
hear her voice
speaking
through
her words.

The excerpts
will be
an ongoing
presentation
of
Virginia
Woolf.

Virginia Woolf's Monk's House Garden

Virginia Woolf’s Monk’s House Garden

virginia woolf 3

Virginia Woolf

The Major Difference Between Professional And Amateur Writers

tell me a story
The Major Difference Between Professional And Amateur Writers
Speaker: John Truby
Notations by Jennifer Kiley
Created 17th December 2013
Posted Thursday 30th January 2014
TELL ME A STORY

The Major Difference Between Professional And Amateur Writers by John Truby

Not fearing the voices inside of you, you won’t fear the criticism outside of you.
That is being professional.

Fear of criticism is the biggest mark of an amateur. Amateurs do not want to take
criticism.

What you have in your script is laying yourself bare. So when someone is critical,
it feels the same as if they were telling you they don’t like you.

To become a great writer you have to listen to criticism.

“Not even a great writer can write the perfect script.”

Most people are not capable of giving constructive criticism. Giving your writing
to a family member is not a great idea. They will have trouble being honest. And
may not know what they are talking about.

Be open to outside criticism and that you are getting criticism from those who know
what they are talking about. They will tell you what is not working. This is helpful.
Then you know what to work on to make your writing better.

Writers should want to get constructive criticism which will improve their craft.

Highly recommend forming a writers group with some of the best writers you know.
Getting feedback from other writers, you know you are getting more accurate feedback
from under the surface because they know more about what you are doing than the
average person.

Notations by Jennifer Kiley

Private Writings: Chapter #44 — Secrets and Signs

private writings to a psychoanalyst (c) Jk 2013

Private Writings: Chapter #44 — Secrets and Signs

Written by Jennifer Kiley
Illustrated by j. kiley
Introduction & Chapter #1
Published on March 19th 2013
Published Early Tuesday AM
Posted 21st January 2014

WARNING: ADULT LANGUAGE AND CONTENT.

NOT SUITABLE FOR CHILDREN.
ALL CHARACTERS ARE FICTITIOUS.

ANYONE RESEMBLING ANYONE LIVING OR DEAD
IS PURELY COINCIDENTAL.

Crypticistic Synopsis:

private writings to dr. annie haskell,
psychoanalyst extraordinaire,
storytelling using letters, dreams, thoughts, poems, images,
music, art, scripts, psychotherapy, psychoanalysis,
inspirations, reflective comments, inner/outer workings
mind, soul, body, emotions, bipolar, mentally creative, interesting,
brain misfiring; abuse, crashes, near drownings,
hallucinations, heightened sexuality, time warps,
finding answers, unsolved mysteries, infatuations,
imagination, fantasy, discover self, soul, eternal serenity, bliss

see you down the rabbit hole.
namaste! madison taylor

Private Writings: Chapter #44 — Secrets and Signs

Tuesday 15th July 2008

Dear Annie,

I want to talk about my feelings for you. It never seems convenient for me to be open with you. What I feel, is something I don’t understand. No one ever taught me what love is. Love has been mixed up inside my head. It makes me feel I am bad for feeling love.

The truth. I was abused growing up. My family’s incest was sexual, sadistic and emotional abuse. Their white painted mansion was the playground for their sinder girl. Don’t know respect. She needs to learn she is nothing. A place I was the center of the abuse. That’s what I called home. I didn’t think of it that way. Not a place of love and nurturing for me. Every horrible experience I felt as a child happened in that place of horror. It wasn’t safe anywhere inside that house. Taking walks in the woods was dangerous. Our grounds were extensive. Someone seemed always to be watching me. Eventually they always found me. And I would be alone and vulnerable.

My father used me to get his friends to do him favors. I was their reward. They just took me away. One man, I remember someone calling him something official. Held a government position, and he was a child molester and rapist. That was dangerous. One of the times I was alone with him. He had started touching me. His hand felt like needles were piercing my skin. I wanted him to stop. My hand pushed his away. We even spoke out loud. “Please don’t touch me or I will tell.” A thought I had tried before without the threat of telling. Telling made it more dangerous. This brought on convincing threats of, “I’ll kill your family if you say a word.” His words were not a lie. He showed me by trying to kill me in that very moment. He stopped himself before he went to far but his eyes told me, he would kill them, and probably me too. No, he would definitely have me killed.

What could I do. Keep silent. No one ever talked about it. It felt like I was alone. No one else. It wasn’t happening to anyone else. They would feel I was worthless and contaminated. No one would care about me. No one does now. I will just leave everyone out of this. I am too embarrassed to say a word. Too ashamed.

I am living surrounded by abusers or the abused? Yes, I had another sibling who did not escape. He is locked up and catatonic now. The only time he is not catatonic is when all he can do is scream my name out that he wants to kill me. I am his betrayer. No idea why he thinks I betrayed him. All my life I have tried to protect him. It was all a secret. One day he blurted out, our oldest brother fucked him when he was little. I was fragile when he told me this. It made me freak out.

I turned to a female friend I had a crush on. She tried to help. But she had depressing news, to me it was. Why in that moment? Her boyfriend proposed to her. They were going to get married right away. It meant her moving away. I was struck by the deepest depression. She did move away after the wedding. Gone. I lost her. She was my first friend. She was the first person I told about the abuse. Not the whole nightmare. Just I had been abused. No one can handle the while thing. I can’t even handle it. Overload.

My friend was gone. I had no more focus. She kept me alive by being my friend. I loved her. She was the only person I could love. I thought she loved me enough to want to stay in my life. But she didn’t. My depression made me believe everything was over. I was despondent. I lost all reason to live. There was no one left to love. It was when I thought about my bottle of pills.

I sat on the edge of my bed. Taking the open bottle of pills, I poured out the content, a handful at a time. The darkness was pulling me deeper inside of it. The music was playing softly. Soon I would be asleep forever. Would my friend miss me if I were dead. The letter I wrote to her was about love. In the letter I wrote to my mother, I told her she finally got what she wanted. Me. Dead.

My head felt heavy as I lay down at the foot of my bed. All the pills were gone. Sleep felt like it was pulling me in. My mind was filled with the friend I loved. We were only teenagers. Who ends their life so early? Life was destroying me. Being alive without her was unthinkable, to painful, impossible. It was almost over. I was nearing the end of pain.

As you can see I am writing to you now. It was difficult but somehow I stopped the process from concluding. No one helped me back from that edge. I saved myself alone. No one ever knew. Just one more secret. My suicide attempt gave me the courage to seek out professional help. It was right after that night. I live with the thoughts of suicide too frequently. It runs through my mind and my life like a shadow of temptation. More the thinking about it then the doing now.

Lets change this up and take it to a totally different place. Back to my feelings about love. I know you know what love is. You make me feel it whenever I am around you. The words you say to me. I feel your love. No one has ever been as kind to me as you. What is important is I don’t know what I would do without you if you ever disappeared. It would crush me inside. I would want to die.

I see the words I use and wonder whether I can trust you not to be afraid of my feelings of love. If I told you I love you, would it make you want to run away? I fear the worse.

If you really knew what goes on inside of me, it’s the sound of confusion. Being bipolar for a long time has messed with my life. Awhile ago, I had a therapist and psychiatrist diagnose me with DID. It was a fucked up diagnosis I lived with for years. She even wanted me to name my alters and describe their characteristics. It was a curious perspective from which to think about myself. I really did split apart with the diagnosis. Was it thinking I had DID that caused the transformation? Or did I always have alters and worked through the phases and went through integration. I am not at all sure.

Sybill, the film with Sally Fields and Joanne Woodward, made me want her doctor. Being held and believed. To feel her arms around me and her eyes comforting me. This leads me to the truth. Truth is important to me. I don’t lie. There’s no sense to it. Simply put, I want you, Annie. To be like her doctor. If I could return to being a little girl again, with you. You could be the person who cared for me. It would feel more perfect then I could expect. It would make the world right for me. Is it possible for you to love me?

I better stop now. There is much more but I will save it for the next letter. Right now I am worried what I have already asked you in this letter. Is it going to make you feel angry or uncomfortable, or is it going to make you go away? Will you go away? Please don’t. I’m feeling a strong urge not to show you this letter. Maybe if I express myself in a poem and paint what I feel instead. It is more abstract. It may make more sense. Being understood is an obsession.

“Time for time and traveling with circuses must end. It is time to soar through the time barrier into all moments in the Universe.”

So, until I see you, I end with my favorite quote from the film Brief Sacrifice.

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

I end this letter in “the moment between seconds.”

Loving You Fondly,

Madison

@-;—

© madison taylor 2008

Bejin - Artist David Agenjo

Bejin – Artist David Agenjo

Somewhere In Time – John Barry

Bouquet of Roses and other Flowers - Artist Henri Fantin Latour

Bouquet of Roses and other Flowers – Artist Henri Fantin Latour

rain in garden gif

Shattered Love
By Madison Taylor
8th July 2008
Narrative Haiku

Shattered love breaks hearts
Are bleeding out on the ground
Why do I not cry?

Feelings have been crushed
Inside pain reflects harming
Take your hands off me

Skin feels bruises swell
Carving time on flesh burning
Memories remain

Giving birth no love
Start with hate never caring
Nurture not given

Meet an attraction
Is it love or sexual
Healing the inside

Touching with lightness
Need a gentle hand soothing
Trust is taming wild

One stroke of the hand
Is enough to begin love
Learning soft teaching

© madison taylor 2008

Illuminating Shadows - Artist Jk McCormack (c) JkM 2008

Illuminating Shadows – Artist Jk McCormack (c) JkM 2007

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

Le Chateau de Rocher

Le Chateau de Rocher

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

Medicalmarijuana red cross marijuana leaf black bgMedical Marijuana

Private Writings: Chapter #43 — They Say It’s Your Birthday

private writings to a psychoanalyst (c) Jk 2013

Private Writings: Chapter #43 — They Say It’s Your Birthday

Written by Jennifer Kiley
Illustrated by j. kiley
Introduction & Chapter #1
Published on March 19th 2013
Published Early Tuesday AM
Posted On Tuesday 14th January 2014

WARNING: ADULT LANGUAGE AND CONTENT.

NOT SUITABLE FOR CHILDREN.
ALL CHARACTERS ARE FICTITIOUS.

ANYONE RESEMBLING ANYONE LIVING OR DEAD
IS PURELY COINCIDENTAL.

Crypticistic Synopsis:

private writings to dr. annie haskell,
psychoanalyst extraordinaire,
storytelling using letters, dreams, thoughts, poems, images,
music, art, scripts, psychotherapy, psychoanalysis,
inspirations, reflective comments, inner/outer workings
mind, soul, body, emotions, bipolar, mentally creative, interesting,
brain misfiring; abuse, crashes, near drownings,
hallucinations, heightened sexuality, time warps,
finding answers, unsolved mysteries, infatuations,
imagination, fantasy, discover self, soul, eternal serenity, bliss

see you down the rabbit hole.
namaste! madison taylor

Private Writings: Chapter #43 — They Say It’s Your Birthday

Tuesday 8th July 2008

Dear Annie,

I want to teach Alison what love is. Safe, protective love, from women who are not abusers of any kind. We love Alison. Scottie as much as I do. It is so equal. Scottie may never have wanted children. When she met Alison, then thirteen, her heart opened. A teenager, whose history was sad and filled with pain. Being abandoned by a father who overdosed in her presence. Tried to get her to shot up with him. Alison’s mother died the same way, but earlier. Pure horse. Not cut properly. Way too rich and potent. The authorities were going to through her in a home overflowing with violence. The children of the damned whose souls were crushed out. Alison still has her’s. That is one fortunate gift not taken away or ever given.

Everyone needs and deserves to feel love surround them, to feel whole. When I was a kid I didn’t know love. It’s why I understand Alison as well as I do. I do not profess to say I even come close to understanding what’s really inside of her but I want to know if she ever wants to share. Learning about love is almost as fresh with me as it is with Alison. She will teach me more than I will ever be able to teach her, but it will be good for all of us to be a family, safe and secure for Alison, Scottie and me. It will feel good to be family in a legal sense.

We never adopted her before now. The laws prevented the adoption. Now Scottie, pulled strings and got a judge on her side. The three of us met privately in Judge Severin’s chamber. The paperwork had been filed. It was a matter of tidying up all loopholes. No one would be able to challenge the adoption on appeal or out of malicious homophobic prejudice.

Did I ever tell you Alison met me first. I was doing research in the Family Court for a script. Alison’s case was called before Judge Severin. It was a tragic situation about to become worse. No family came forward to claim her. No foster home wanted her. She was a runaway. Too young to be on her own, she was coaxed, more like forced, by a pimp to be his young protégé. He kidnapped her and was forcing her to take on this brutal John. Alison was trapped but intelligent. When she was alone with the brute in a hotel room, she set off such an alarm, every public servant seemed to show up. The police were among them. Everyone was arrested, including the pimp and the brute he was going to force upon Alison.

Here she was now, being arraigned on charges of prostitution. She pleaded not guilty. The Judge ordered her to be held until trial in the L.A. County Juvenile Facility. I had heard terrible stories about that place. I stood up and asked to speak. Judge Severin recognized me and gave me permission to state my case.

“I don’t think it is necessary to remand her to being imprisoned in such a cruel setting as the L.A.J.F.. Is there any alternative you would accept?”

“Short of finding a home, where someone will look after her and be sure she appears before this court for her hearing. No, I see no other recourse.” Judge Severin banged her gavel.

“One moment, please. Let me state for this court, I am willing to offer the home you suggest. And I will take the responsibility of seeing she appears before you when her next court date is set. Is that fair enough, your honour.”

I must have been pretty persuasive or the Judge was in a generous mood.

“You may take her home with you on the following conditions. You see she is safe. You take it upon yourself to promise to take good care of Ms. Alison Porter. You promise to read a brief I am going to share with you. I want you to know what kind of responsibility you are bringing into your life. If that is acceptable and after you read her history, you still want to take her home, then I will not stand in your way with any objections.”

Sure enough, I sat in the courtroom and read the material from the Judge. Alison was led away to a waiting area. Food and drink were provided her while she waited. It didn’t take long. I am a speed reader. Nothing in the brief scared me, as I suspected the Judge thought it would.

“I agree with all your demands, your honour. Please have someone take me to Alison and let me tell her the news. From there, if she is willing, I would like to get the girl home, in a safe environment for the first time in her life. And make her feel welcome in my home, which will be her home.”

The officer of the court led me to the room where Alison was waiting. She jumped up when she saw me enter. She wasn’t exactly hostile but she wasn’t trusting either at my offer. I tried talking to Alison, as we road to our home in Matthew, my black Honda CRV. Always named my cars. It makes me feel much safer if they have names.

“Alison, I think you will like where I live. It’s very large. You will have your own rooms. They will be in your control. If you don’t want someone in any of them, just say the magic words, ‘Go away, I want to be left alone.’ You are going to be living there, so you should treat it like home.”

“It isn’t going to be my home, so why should I act like it is?”

“Why don’t we wait to talk about this? Once we arrive, you may feel different. After you get settled and have a good meal, you may start to relax and see everything differently. No pressure, though. I can’t wait until you meet Scottie. We live together. Scottie is a woman, just in case the name might have made you think otherwise.”

“You’re lesbians?”

“Yes, actually. Quite the lesbians, we are.”

“Will that be a problem?” I asked.

“No, not at all.”

Alison’s voice sounded relieved. I thought, Annie, when I answered yes to the lesbian question, I wasn’t too sure how she was going to react. I was relieved by Alison’s reaction myself. It felt like the tension had escaped from inside of us both. But I hadn’t told Scottie yet, what had I done? I treat Alison like a puppy dog and now I am going to seek Scottie’s permission to keep her. There wasn’t anything else I could do. Yes, I could have texted her but not the same thing. With Scottie, it had to be in person. There was no time to think, I just knew I had to reach out to this innocent girl. Her life had been a tragedy up to this point. I read the Judge’s brief. It was enough to know I couldn’t walk away and I knew, somehow, Scottie would understand and feel the same.

With my childhood, Scottie learned how some children bearly survive their nightmares, especially when they are so real. She will understand my wanting to protect Alison. I felt so strong a need to rescue her, whether she wanted to be or knew she needed to be.

As I drove over the bridge to our drive, I saw Scottie out by the stream across from+ the side of the Chateau. She saw Matthew approaching and me driving but I don’t think she noticed the passenger. I pulled up to park in my usual place near the front door. Scottie ran up to greet me. After I got out, I hugged Scottie. As we held each other, the passenger door opened. Out came Alison, starring at the two of us. Scottie turned when she heard the car door close.

Alison stared at us both. It was not a stare of contempt but just the opposite. She broke out a small smile and in a low voice said, “Hi,” to Scottie.

“Hello back.” Scottie broke our hug and went to the other side of the car to greet this new young girl in our driveway. “Welcome.” Scottie took Alison’s hand and gave it a warm, firm shake. “Would anyone like to introduce us?”

I did the introductions and we all walked over to the front door and entered our home together. Alison didn’t know that then, nor did any of us. But it did happen. That was the first day of Alison coming to stay forever. Now we are officially able to adopt her. Already, she is our daughter in all the right ways and in other ways.

It is a good thing that we all officially become family. It will give Alison as well as myself a safer sense of security. I think Scottie loves the idea as much as the rest of us. We are going to be Alison’s mothers in writing, in all legalize. Happy Mother’s Day, Scottie, and a Happy Mother’s Day to myself.

I always wished when I was a kid that someone like me would come along and rescue me from my nightmare. Never did happen. But now I have Scottie and Alison. Our wonderful loving family. All ours. No one can pull us apart. We are all safe together. And the adoption happened on a very special day for Alison. It’s her birthday. Happy Birthday to you, Alison. Welcome to our whole family now.

Time for time and traveling with circuses must end. It is time to soar through the time barrier into all moments in the Universe.

So, until I see you, I will end with my favorite quote from the film “Brief Sacrifice.

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

For you, I will end this letter in “the moment between seconds.”

Love Fondly,

Madison

@-;—

© madison taylor 2008

happy-birthday-pw

Somewhere In Time – John Barry

Early Purple Orchids

Early Purple Orchids

rain in garden gif

Dreaming Memories
By Madison Taylor
8th July 2008
Dedicated to C.D.
A Very Special Friend
Touched with Words of Inspiration

Dreaming memories
Sweet sadness talking
Tears falling
Clouds darkening
Night approaching

Dreaming memories
Ones I want
Grass beneath us
Warm breeze
Sounds fading

Dreaming memories
Glowing flowers
Blue green yellow
Thorns vanished
Horns blasting

Dreaming memories
Wishing you were there
Haunted thoughts
Vanished shadows
Danger surrounded

Dreaming memories
Carousel horse
Uplifted to meet it
Alone riding
Stoned writing

Dreaming memories
Honesty revealed
Shadows dancing
Always younger
Going back there

Dreaming memories
Connection made
Distance possible
Stopping nothing
Waves crashing

Dreaming memories
Spying lying
Touching taking
Save a soul
Makes a Savior

© madison taylor 2008

Faces - by Jk McCormack (c) JkM 2014

Faces – by Jk McCormack (c) JkM 2014

“A Dream
The beginning always starts out
With a dream.
It is all a dream

In our own nightmares”
— Madison Taylor

Le Chateau de Rocher

Le Chateau de Rocher

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

Medicalmarijuana red cross marijuana leaf black bgMedical Marijuana

Why Most People Fail At Screenwriting

tell me a story

Why Most People Fail At Screenwriting
Notations by Jennifer Kiley
Created Post on 15th August 2013
Posted On Thursday 9th January 2014
TELL ME A STORY

Why Most People Fail At Screenwriting by John Truby

Plot has more techniques that must be mastered then all of the other writing skills that must be learned. You cannot develop the plot as you are writing along.

Be in that room alone. Writers need to be in it for the long haul. Need the right training. Writing alone. Facing rejection again and again until you get to that level where you are actually pretty good. Writing is the most complex craft in the world. You are getting rejected from people who don’t even know what you do.

Maintaining an openness in learning the craft. Professional writers have no ego. They are extremely well trained but open to learning more. Willingness to learn from anyone, anywhere. I know it is a good story. They might not get it but I know it is good.

How do I sell my script? I already know how to write a good script but I need to know how to sell it. 99% of writers don’t have the craft foundation when they finally meet someone who is a connection. I can never know enough how this craft works. The better you get, the higher you set the bar on your script. Every story is tough.  Notation by Jennifer Kiley

Anais Nin Speaking of June

a writer's word - day title sunday

Anais Nin Speaking of June
Created by Jk the secret keeper
Transposed by Jennifer Kiley
Illustrated by j. kiley
Created on Wednesday 18th December 2013
Posted on Sunday 22nd December 2013
A WRITER’S WORD

Anais Nin

Anais Nin

Anaïs Nin
Speaking of June

“Don’t think
that when
I talk
so much
about beauty
and poetry
in relation
to June

That I am
merely trying
to romanticize,

To make it all
appear innocent
and ideal.

I am
only trying
to describe
feelings
which
are not
simple
to describe.

For you
the sexual act
is everything.

But sometimes
the senses
can make
a great
deal
of the
mere touch
of a
hand.”

…Men
who knew me
made flippant
remarks
about wanting
to sleep
with me.

June
stopped them
in an
angry way

Which
revealed
her love
of me.

As
if
I
were
sacred.

Waterhouse NarcissusNarcissus – Artist John William Waterhouse

Private Writings: Chapter #38 — Dream Scribers

private writings to a psychoanalyst (c) Jk 2013

Private Writings: Chapter #38 — Dream Scribers

Written by Jennifer Kiley
Illustrated by j. kiley
Introduction & Chapter #1
Published on March 19th 2013
Published Early Tuesday AM
Posted On Tuesday 10th December 2013

WARNING: ADULT LANGUAGE AND CONTENT.

NOT SUITABLE FOR CHILDREN.
ALL CHARACTERS ARE FICTITIOUS.

ANYONE RESEMBLING ANYONE LIVING OR DEAD
IS PURELY COINCIDENTAL.

Crypticistic Synopsis:

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

see you down the rabbit hole.
namaste! madison taylor

cannabis wreathHAPPY HOLIDAYS FROM THE TAYLOR-ANDREWS CLAN

Private Writings: Chapter #38 — Dream Scribers

Tuesday 3rd June 2008

Dear Annie,

I want to go into what we talked about today, as close to the words we used as possible. It is a matter of my remembering accurately what we said & what I remember we said. To see how close I am to recalling what is real & imagined.

The first thing I did was read my last letter to you. It described something metaphysical happening, yet it was real sexually but it felt so spiritual. Our bodies blended into one. Scottie felt like me & I felt like I was her. How is that possible? It felt exactly the way I described it. When Scottie touched me I felt she was within my body touching outward. When I touched her skin it felt like my fingers were touching an angel. My hand passed through her flesh into spirit. Pure energy. If that makes any sense at all.

That sounds metaphysical to me, not on an intellectual level, but within the power of deeper magic.

I am going to try to write what I heard you say to me.

“Relax Madison. Close your eyes & follow my voice. Breathe deeply. Let the air fill your lungs. Let your lungs fill your entire body as though they were your body. Feel the air touch the furthest points of your extremities. Let your breathe cleanse throughout your entire body.”

“Feel the sensations of your breathe touching you. Let the air become the touch of Scottie’s hands. The touch is innocent. It is purity allowing your flesh to receive her gentle touch. All other sensations of touch are drifting away. They cannot harm you. Only Scottie’s hands & flesh are touching you.”

“Let all other thoughts & feelings from other people be released from your awareness. Let them float away from you. They are going far, far away, never to return. Only the touch of Scottie & the people you trust will be allowed into your awareness. The purity of touch will be from those you accept into your area of safety. All else will leave you, never to return. Your safe place belongs to you. No one may enter without your permission.”

“Breathe in. Don’t forget to breathe & then release the pain. Release the memories from the past. They may not want to let go easily. But push them far away. Make them move away from you. Release them. Let them go. Only feel the goodness of touch from Scottie & others with whom you trust & love.”

“Keep taking in deep breathes & feel Scottie near you. Feel Jonathan near you. Only those people you trust. Feel my hugs when we are comforting you & when we are saying goodbye at the end of a session. You have returned & you are back in my care. You are safe here with me. Only good people can come into this room to spend time with you here.”

“The one’s you want to release shall be banned. We will only talk about them but they will be allowed to enter in your safe place. If they try, they will be told to leave. They are not wanted here with you & me. Scottie can enter. Only people you want to enter can come into this space. They are the only ones who are welcome. Now breathe in some really deep breaths. Hold each one for the count of five & then release. Keep breathing in & release”

“When I start to count backwards from ten I want you to return slowly, to become more alert with each number.”

“Ten. It is time to start feeling your body centering in this room.”

“Nine. Feel your arms & legs coming back to your senses.

“Eight. Feel your back straightening out & feel the sensations traveling up your spine.”

“Seven. Feel the center of your abdomen awakening to your awareness.”

“Six. Feel the sensations of the center of all your deep sensual feelings awaken.”

“Five. Feel your chest expanding with air as you take in each breath.”

“Four. Feel your heart beating in your chest & warming your body.”

“Three. Feel your shoulders let go of the weight of the world. They are loosening up.”

“Two. Feel your facial muscles stretching in a smile. Open your mouth wide & stretch the muscles that surround your lips, nostrils & forehead.”

“One. Start to open your eyes slowly. As you open them, gradually open them to stretch out your forehead further. Take a nice deep breathe & release any residual tensions you may be feeling.”

Your relaxation exorcism really gets rid of the darkness. Any that may be lingering are chased away with your words. They feel your strength transporting from you into to me & through me. The evil is vanquished & I feel freer inside & all around me.

I feel the goodness of having Scottie around me & near. Making love with her was the freeing of my soul into pure heightened awareness and sensual & sexual energy, unblocked from the demons that held my senses captive.

We did all of this today but did not have time for the dream I had last night. I meant to tell you about it, but there was so much we both needed to say & do, there was no time. I will tell you now. It may not be as clear as it was when I first woke up from dreaming, but I will be as accurate as possible.

When I woke up early this morning, I realized I had the most disturbing dream. The location was at one of my parents stores. People were standing around inside this huge red building. The doors, which were the size of almost the whole front of the building, were wide open. I was floating above them all & wondering what these people were waiting for. It was then I realized, they were waiting for my father to bring the products these people wanted. In this case, it was computers. The odd thing was, they were expecting my parents to take care of them, like slaves. Suddenly, it came to me, the realization that my parents were never coming. A flash flooded by mind with an awareness they weren’t just not coming. I remembered in my dream, my parents both were dead.

A friend appeared a moment later from my childhood. A woman I was once in love with & extremely attracted to. I haven’t seen her in years. For some reason her parents’ penthouse was connected to the NYC store on Fifth Avenue & I had my own room there. In the room there were two older model TV sets.

The dream jumped back to the huge store. A party had developed. All the people that attended were from the elite of society, just like the people who were customers in the stores my family owned. I remember the one in NYC, from when I was a kid. All of them are dead now.

In the dream, I was flying above them. I felt like a snob but I was reacting to their snobbery. I began going around singing a lamentation which was on the more joyful side then sad. The authorities came to close up the NYC store. To lock it up for good. I became very angry and yelled at him that this place once belonged to my grandfather and had been in the family since the 1700s. In my mind it didn’t seem fair that this was being closed up and taken away from the rest of my family.

Somewhere inside of me, I, somehow, felt the family business should have been continued by someone in our family. I started having memories of the NYC store and saw it vanish before my eyes. That is when once again I would have the realization that my parents were dead.

The family business is gone now, bought up by a corporation. Our family home where we grew up in the suburbs is gone, too. It had been demolished after my mother’s death. All of my childhood that was solid has been lost. How do I feel about this??? I forced myself to wake up early. My dream had turned into a nightmare about dead people & the past. One thing, I think is important, I forgot to mention it. I kissed my friend & hugged her. It was good but also strangely awkward.

One last memory in the dream, was a body of water. A huge river or pond, that had a yacht club on the water’s edge. There were dinner settings & party settings. That’s when I woke up & the dream ended.

I have no clue what it means except that it is telling me my parents are dead & they left nothing behind. Everything that was them has vanished as though it never existed except the nightmares which fill my dreams on a regular basis.

Not a very romantic way to return from a place of dreams & love. I feel we should have stayed in Paris. If we didn’t have a life back here to return to, I think it would have happened. A life making dreams into films & giving people those fantasies to enjoy. Home is where the creativity happens. Those past places that live only in my nightmares, feel like they are just nightmares & have no connection to me. They are from someone else’s life. There only value now is to be what fuels my writings, poems & paintings.

From now on my past is just that, something that passed away into a zone of death along with the treacherous vampires who sucked at my soul but claimed only a portion of nothing. My blood & flesh weren’t free. Their flesh shall burn in the fires of their own self-created hell. The deeds of evil shall eat at their brains & consume their soulless putrid carcasses. The darkness will not redeem them but will weigh them down into the lowest levels of the dark. They will walk amongst the foulness of evil for eternity.

What makes these proclamations escape my mind to be written on this page? It is a messenger trying to console me. To be set free, I must know what is being separated from my past, that has haunted me through out my childhood & up until now. They are removed & with all care, be prevented from returning. It is not to say they won’t try to escape their capture, trying to cause the haunting again. But all precautions are being taken. Guardian angels give me protection. Safety surrounds me & keeps them away with their power. I know nothing is infallible. One must be diligent to watch for anything appearing negative or unusual. It will be dispersed as quickly as it is possible.

It is time to rest. Dream some good dreams. One’s that present clues to mysteries one is seeking answers to.

So, I will rest & let go of time for a while. Let the moments for rest reach inside of me.

It is time for the ending of this convoluted letter filled with some confusion. We will sort it out in our next session. Now it is the occasion for the moments of time to enter in.

One last thing I want to tell you before I close, I want to write to you or tell you in person, exactly what I feel about you. How you make me feel inside. You are really special to me. My feelings are getting stronger. But at this moment I don’t feel I have the energy to tell you the truth. Maybe I need to work up my courage first. So I will let my feelings become more clear before I go any further in expressing them out in the open. Time to bring this to an end for today.

Now for my closing line from “Brief Sacrifice.”

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

“The moment between seconds.”

For you, I will end this letter in “the moment between seconds.”

Love Fondly,

Madison

@>-;—

© madison taylor 2008

psychedelic light-streaming by mindmaster

Psychedelic Light-Streaming by Mindmaster

Somewhere In Time – John Barry

beautiful marijuana bud

rain in garden gif

In the Night Colors Flow In Black & White
Stream of Consciousness Poem
By Madison Taylor
3rd June 2008

WARNING GRAPHIC VIOLENCE IN POETIC FORM

In the night colors flow in black and white until the wilder dreams begin showing harm reaching out its hand to touch what does not belong near the hurt this hand implies it is a strangers hand meant to touch in secret parts that are hidden in the dark away from the light we will work out how to prevent the strangers who are friends with the authority figure who controls what is said or done any choices are made by him to destroy the will of the innocent and corrupt the beauty of the rosebud locked together waiting for the sun to open her up when the right moment is within calling out to see the surroundings if they are not safe what is the rosebud to do it is not safe it is time to run away into the woods to guard the secret of life and feelings sensations locked within the walls not meant for the ugly to awaken before the time has come the moon is out and snow is falling how can this be so especially since winter is not expected for two more seasons after the Indian corn has been harvested the colors released from their surprise hiding underneath the protective covering it keeps them virgins until the time to reveal has been reached when all is ready to be seen and ripened to perfection the color then will be ready to be seen and touched and chosen by the seers who see the beauty who do not want to steal away the innocence making the blood to flow revealing she is not born yet to the world hiding in dreams what has been taken before now in secret when no one was looking or protecting her safety from the perverse pedophiles hanging around waiting for the moment to strike out at the unknowing unsuspecting child with lack of knowledge to protect herself the parents do not want her to have the facts of sex fearing she will be sexual but instead raped over and over again and many times more before she is even able to speak the word rape it is a powerful and a dangerous act to survive for shame has now possessed the soul whose blood is broken with the bread which is the body crucified by strangers whose father knows them and consents to their taking his daughter and raping her so the father will feel satisfied and he does not have to break her in when it is his time to take a piece of her when he is ready to beat her until she gives in to his temptation and his wife turns a blind eye for she is as bad with her brutality beating the flesh till it bruises and bleeds like the insides have been opened up as well as if she had for her sexual attraction to her own daughter she is as sadistic as a masochistic surrenders her body for the whip to hit and the sores to swell up and the crying not to cease until the pain is more painful than the crying can cry for it had gone far beyond the acceptable a long time ago yet it continues as an expected ritual of ripping the flesh apart and when it comes time to ask for forgiveness the young child must kneel in supplication to the adult female once called the woman who gave forth this child from within her own body but for what purpose if not to be a slave to her every whim of wickedness let the abuse begin it is a bull fight to see who sticks her first each with their own kind of weapon to injure her body with shame and pain which grows over the years as the years grow the child into a child woman who has no idea who she is and what she is and what she should do with her life now that life has happened to her and she feels it is time to take life and call it over and cut open her veins or take a bottle of pills anyway to stop the noise in her head and the images of all the brutality her body has experienced in a silent witness environment but no one accepts anything happened they go about their lives thinking everything was just what happens in childhood beatings and rapes and starvation and using food to punish and using anything to punish and no praise for the achievements though these are how the child survives the torture and finds joy and lost in the words and music she finds around her to comfort her and help her make it through the silent pain no one else can hear except when she finds a therapist to spill her words out to but even she cannot stay for long no one seems to stay long those who she needs to help her heal now she is doing it on her own and she had found traitors and good ones who give her the support she needs and help her to heal in disguise they are in a costume that looks comforting but it is a lie and she must run from the lie to a truth she can understand and trust and she does find this truth and it is good and she will begin to heal now and she can write down her stories so she will someday be remembered when someone else needs saving and there is no one there to help her maybe her words will be what rescues the next child who finds they have fallen into her story and their way out is to read their story and her story from out of her bravery she found the words to release her story into the world it is the beginning again for her and those who find her story and are rescued and begin their life at the beginning the way the little girl has done with her words that rescued her too

© madison taylor 2008

Snake Disguised as a Dragon - Artist J.McCormack (c) JM 2007

Snake Disguised as a Dragon – Artist J.McCormack (c) JM 2007

Warm Winds [Theme for Madison & Scottie]

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

Patrick when he was five weeks. He is a Bengal kitten. Madison gave to Scottie as a present for her Birthday. As he grows he becomes devoted to her.

Patrick when he was five weeks. He is a Bengal kitten. Madison gave to Scottie as a present for her Birthday. As he grows he becomes devoted to her.

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

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

Le Chateau de Rocher

Le Chateau de Rocher

Madison and Scottie's bedroom

Madison and Scottie’s bedroom

Open White Kitchen

Open White Kitchen

play is not just play meryl streep

Medicalmarijuana red cross marijuana leaf black bgMedical Marijuana

Anaïs Nin in a Conversation with Henry Miller – Part One

a writer's word - day title sunday

Anaïs Nin
In a Conversation
With Henry Miller
Part One
Written by Anaïs Nin
Transposed/Edited by Jennifer Kiley
Illustrated by j. kiley
Post Created on Friday 29th November 2013
Posted On Sunday 01st December 2013
A WRITER’S WORD

Anais Nin

Anaïs Nin

Anaïs Nin
In a Conversation
With Henry Miller
Part One

“We have a common objective
Passion for truth.

I have been trying
to be honest,
day by day,
in the diary.

You are right
when you speak
of my honesty.
I make an effort.

At least.
It is feminine
to be oblique.

It is not trickery.

It is a fear
of being judged.

What we analyze,
will it die?

Will June die?

Will our feelings
die suddenly,
if you should
make a caricature
of them?

There is
a danger
in too much
knowledge.

You have
a passion
for absolute
knowledge.

You will
be hated
because
of this.

There are truths
human beings
can’t bear.


And sometimes
I do feel
your relentless
analysis
of June
leaves
something
out.

You go
about it
like
a surgeon
with
a scalpel.

And as
you cut,
you kill
what you
cut into.

What will
you do
after
you
exposed
all there is
to expose
about June?”

Waterhouse NarcissusNarcissus – Artist J.W. Waterhouse