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you see..i've had...many dreams...

many dreams that are more real than 'here'...and i hate reality for this...because it,very naturally, makes me feel insane.

you see, once upon a time, i was a-float-ing-away in an endless abyss, before i was awakend by a great a many voices sayin' to me, 'awake'....and....' look down below'...and there i saw a great bright glowing ball aflame o' fire. and i said,' eh, how dark it is down there!'

although it was all lit with fire, it was dark, and the voices told me i must go, and so did,.obey the one. this was..a many memories ago. but i remember, in dreaming or in wake-fullness i know. another place is not this. i know...space, very well, as my home.

so i spoke with the many voices and we all agreed (as we always have to) about a mission, to save, any a number of one planet.

i was unsure, afraid that i might not make it back home, but i had to...agree...for when the one voice speaks, it is All.

And so the voices of the multitude persuaded me and i had to go 'there' to this 'earth'...to save it...from..who knows what?

what a terrible fright:

who knew that darkness could look so bright?

so i awoke from my sleep and arrived in my mothers womb, and that darkness was more bright than the place i came from, with these senses, i hardly remember it...and so it is...all is forgotten...

i think i could have been around five years old when i dreamed this, and yet...i don't remember an exact age. it's just a memory that is more comforting to think of as a dream...

i forgot..and so..

carry on...

what was i saying? 

the earth needs saving. 

i don't know why i'm here. i just know that....

i saw this bright jewel gleaming and i knew...i could get lost there...thats why i was afraid..but i knew i had to come...here, and i knew i could get lost here...and i knew it was worth dying for.

and i want to fufill...a promise.

a promise that i may have even forgotten, but..i know in my heart.

the earth is alive

and we are raping her.

but we can save it, we can save her!!!

i want to be a PART of what i came here for, and the only thing i feel close to home is...something like 'here' this "waste place" so i have hung around and waited...because everything else has seemed less than worth while: "career, business, status, fame, talent...etc" all these things seem to be ...'kindle a'waiting to burn in the fire', to me....

i just want to be a part of the one great good.

and i've sumerized (?) that that

is only

LOVE

i have no great purpose, i have no great cause...

just

TO LOVE

 i hope i  can return 'home', 

wherever that is...

where i came from,

the place where words are spoken..without sound

and colour is like light both sound and taste.

i want to go home...

Can you help me get there?

I'm tired.

X

Love

oh, shit,

what i meant say is...

love is as strong as death

and it will make you die

over and over again,

until you really die.

and some say this

may be

peti mal?

whatever, i don't speak french

but i like it.

does that make sense?

it's up to you to understand what death really is

for all is nothing

and nothing is all

and everything is just a matter of perspective.

but 

I FUCKING LOVE YOU !!!

but i want to show you that,

not just write it.

I AM.

Kids Love For Animals ( Poem )

Children’s favorite shows are of animals
I have hours in a playlist that are laughable
Like a camera pecking rooster and fun monkeys
To a mom and a baby miniature donkeys

Videos of wild turkeys and charming geese
Ducks in water and chicks learning to speak
Dazzling ostrich and many free birds
Some you would not want to move towards

A large unique animal is the alligator
The total opposite of the caterpillar
Camels and alpacas are tall and exquisite
But they spit at you when you try to visit

There are also hornpout and catfish videos
and a painted box turtle that is really slow
Beautiful miniature horses and elegant ponies
Border collies herding sheep to earn their trophies

Little kids pig scramble is stunning to see
and a little fawn as precious as can be
Cow’s hair that needs braiding is fascinating
With the most assortment you’ve ever seen

Come to my view with me youtube channel
If the kids are being hard to handle
Just start it up and walk away
To get your housework done for the day

By : Doris Anne Beaulieu
At : https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLWSq_PMWxD9q2V0UVqzX50Y6Y2pDaKISv

Creating A Christmas Tree ( Poem )

Create designer Christmas tree
From squash, to bread, and fun cookies

Instructions made so easily
One from red hat society

Home from the heart season theme
Star wars made a holiday scene

Wonderland can be of little lambs
Making ornaments with your hands

Whatever your style or budget
Your personal touch can be tropic

Focal point of your home can be
Inspired by glamorous jewelry

We can help you get great ideas
With animals and birds all right here

My playlist has ribbons and streamers
A celebration for all dreamers

By; Doris Anne Beaulieu
At : https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLWSq_PMWxD9ozi9kFah-4L2le3b0_BY1P

http://www.evergig.com/artists/Radiohead

#NotYoutube #WatchAndTry #RequestYourFavor Site : www.evergig.com

Tractor Pulls ( Poem )

America’s passion tractor haul
Ford and Farmall want to take it all
Showcasing your tractor is never dull
Case give a strong performance call

See a smokey John Deere tractor
Unleash yourself in an Oliver
Massey Ferguson speeds uncovered
As International pulls with no effort

White’s power with high tractive force
As McCormick is running the course
Agricultural machinery Competition
Fun family oriented tractor pullin’

Opportunities may come and go
You all know it’s a successful show
So let’s go see all the videos
At my youtube playlist channel flow

By: Doris Anne Beaulieu
At: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLeDDBJWyV8iI_mO-Fnllc9jg4Xty_JcEJ

Hi Everyone! 

I'd like to share with you one of our new original songs. We're working on our first album, which will be out soon. Hope you like it :)

Facebook: www.facebook.com/anybodytheremusic

Twitter: @anybody__there

Love is All

 no thing:

simply the absense of

that which is:

hot

cold!

what of that?!

let us only speak of

what is:

love

for it

is

all

and Lord of us;

all songs

all stories

every sentiment

of all time

rippled through

and through eternity.

we also know

the absence

the no-

thing

the emptiness

the lack of

this all-

thing.

let us speak of that 

also

No sound

No light

No hope

All dark

Barren

Almost forgotten

and yet....

Love remembers us

as the light of the stars

amid the darkness!!

how the two are wed

and

one

now and forever-more

we cannot know

one without the other

how beautiful,

how lonely,

how thoughtful.

how perfectly created

we all are,

being.

just as we are...

All is Love.

William Blake - The Tyger

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright 
In the forests of the night, 
What immortal hand or eye 
Could frame thy fearful symmetry? 

In what distant deeps or skies 
Burnt the fire of thine eyes? 
On what wings dare he aspire? 
What the hand dare sieze the fire? 

And what shoulder, & what art. 
Could twist the sinews of thy heart? 
And when thy heart began to beat, 
What dread hand? & what dread feet? 

What the hammer? what the chain? 
In what furnace was thy brain? 
What the anvil? what dread grasp 
Dare its deadly terrors clasp? 

When the stars threw down their spears, 
And watered heaven with their tears, 
Did he smile his work to see? 
Did he who made the Lamb make thee? 

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright 
In the forests of the night, 
What immortal hand or eye 
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry? 

Rumi - Our Death is Our Wedding

Our death is our wedding with eternity.
What is the secret? "God is One."
The sunlight splits when entering the windows of the house.

This multiplicity exists in the cluster of grapes;
It is not in the juice made from the grapes.

For he who is living in the Light of God,
The death of the carnal soul is a blessing.

Regarding him, say neither bad nor good,
For he is gone beyond the good and the bad.

Fix your eyes on God and do not talk about what is invisible,
So that he may place another look in your eyes.

It is in the vision of the physical eyes
That no invisible or secret thing exists.

But when the eye is turned toward the Light of God
What thing could remain hidden under such a Light?

Although all lights emanate from the Divine Light
Don’t call all these lights "the Light of God";

It is the eternal light which is the Light of God,
The ephemeral light is an attribute of the body and the flesh.

…Oh God who gives the grace of vision!
The bird of vision is flying towards You with the wings of desire.

John Donne - Holy Sonnets X.

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee 
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so ; 
For those, whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow, 
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me. 
From rest and sleep, which but thy picture[s] be, 
Much pleasure, then from thee much more must flow, 
And soonest our best men with thee do go, 
Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery. 
Thou'rt slave to Fate, chance, kings, and desperate men, 
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell, 
And poppy, or charms can make us sleep as well, 
And better than thy stroke ;  why swell'st thou then ? 
One short sleep past, we wake eternally, 
And Death shall be no more ;  Death, thou shalt die. 

Dylan Thomas - And Death Shall Have no Dominion 

And death shall have no dominion.
Dead man naked they shall be one
With the man in the wind and the west moon; 
When their bones are picked clean and the clean bones gone,
They shall have stars at elbow and foot; 
Though they go mad they shall be sane,
Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again; 
Though lovers be lost love shall not; 
And death shall have no dominion.

And death shall have no dominion.
Under the windings of the sea
They lying long shall not die windily; 
Twisting on racks when sinews give way,
Strapped to a wheel, yet they shall not break; 
Faith in their hands shall snap in two,
And the unicorn evils run them through; 
Split all ends up they shan't crack; 
And death shall have no dominion.

And death shall have no dominion.
No more may gulls cry at their ears
Or waves break loud on the seashores; 
Where blew a flower may a flower no more
Lift its head to the blows of the rain; 
Though they be mad and dead as nails,
Heads of the characters hammer through daisies; 
Break in the sun till the sun breaks down,
And death shall have no dominion. 

The auditorium was vast, filled with hundreds of dark red-leathered seats spread throughout its entirety and a humongous wooden stage at the end of it, in the back of which a dark, red curtain was hiding the backstage of this world. The room was dimly lit and every sit had an occupant, stretching from young to old, men and women whom were talking among each other with great ease and light-heartedness about everyday activities, accomplishments and successes. Their speech was not loud and the aura felt easy and relaxing with an aftertaste of great ignorance and denial.

None of them knew why they were there, they were all anticipating a show…was it a single person, a band, a musical performance, a drama, an opera? None of them knew the answer but they all anticipated a spectacle, something reflecting the atmosphere of the room; light-hearted, relaxing and entertaining.

The curtain slightly moved and it captured the attention of everyone, dropping the auditorium into a dead silence, filled with anticipation and an undeniable sense of dread, as if the apparition might endanger the lives of those watching. To some extent, they were right to fear.

Truly, the fears were partly justified, because the person who walked on stage seemed like an apparition; part angel, part demon, black and white in colour and in mirror image, split down the middle. Dressed in a long coat that stretched to his knees, the man was the definition of duality. The left side of the coat was completely white, the right one pitch black. The trousers were in reverse order, the right leg was white and the left one black with fine shoes in mirror image colours. The attire was not the only thing which was tinted in such a way… so was the skin. The right hand was white with black fingernails and black veins which were pushing out beneath the skin, the other hand in opposite colouring.

The most striking thing about this man was his face. Mixture of black in white, going straight down the middle and what scared everyone the most was the fact that it seemed like this wasn't makeup. The right side of the face was white with half of the lips black, the whites of the eyes black, so were the eyelashes and eyebrows and all the wrinkles he made by every facial expression. The hair on the right half was black and everything was perfectly mirror imaged on the left side (so were the wrinkles; the wrinkles on the black half were white which was the biggest indicator that this wasn’t a mask or a façade).

He walked with a slight hunchback which was barely noticeable but not invisible, the eyes were menacing both because of their unique colouring but also for their coldness and vivid rationality. Combined with this was a permanent and perpetual smile which if you looked at it without noticing the eyes would seem a warm and comforting smile but in combination with the entirety of the face and posture seemed frightening and uncomfortable.

He walked to the front of the stage, calmly gazing the vast audience for what seemed an eternity but in fact was only a minute. The auditorium was so silent you could hear the echo of the man’s breath. Finally he moved, reaching into his right pocket and pulling out a white cigarette box, taking out one white cigarette. He lit it with a black lighter which produced pitch black fire, inhaled and then exhaled an angelically white smoke which quickly lifted to the roof of the auditorium.

“For what seems the day

Might be the night,

Your agonizing dread

Another’s pure delight,

Walking in shadows

Convinced to be in the light,

What you perceive to be the darkest Black

Might be the purest White.”

The voice was slightly raspy and deep, a strong baritone which echoed in the entire room. Just like everything about him, the voice held a dual nature; soothing and attractive but also menacing and terrifying. He took another smoke of the cigarette and continued to gaze into the public. There was an intense illusion happening, an undeniable feeling everyone felt but no one would admit; although he might be facing away from you, it would seem that every word and every gesture was intended solely for you and no one else. He looked into no one’s eyes but everyone felt his secondary stare (every member would swear to this) was intended for them and the entire spectacle was a lesson for them in particular. This filled the auditorium with a heavy feeling of guilt and shame but it felt distant, because it balanced out by the fact the man seemed harmless and, in fact, protective and good-willed, here to teach and help.

The man knew this very well, knew the reaction that he induced and was fully aware what the following talk would do to them all. That’s what he was there for, that’s why he is here. He took a few steps to his right, every step echoing with the sound of a giant sledgehammer hitting a brick wall, but followed by the feeling of relief and peace. Everything was dual about this man.

“Forgive them, Father, for they don’t know themselves. I am constantly amazed by the level of acceptance you have for the fog that engulfs your life and how falsely appreciative of it you are. Ignorance may be bliss from a certain perspective, but most of you take that much further and make it gospel. The Gospel of Ignorance.”

He sarcastically smirked but it was not a smile of cynicism, it was one of disappointment and frustration. “What is more blasphemous is that you convince yourselves and each other that this is the way it should be, that the fog is a permanent and perpetual one, one that doesn't go away and can never disappear. That is true, but not because the detailed duality of life between white and black is so webbed it will always remain gray but because you do nothing at attempting to understand it and map it, making it clearer and more precise. You accept the fog not because of its undying nature but because of fear, the fear of introspection, the fear of change, the fear of pain, the fear of knowing yourself.

Because it all begins with you. You are the microcosm of everything happening around you, you are the anger and confusion of this world, you are the problem you complain about, you are the love and salvation in every book you read, movie you see and song you hear, you are the war happening somewhere on this planet, you are the battlefield of the good and the evil. The dust this battlefield produces reaches high and fogs everything in sight, making all appear gray and indistinguishable from everything else. But you just aren’t looking close enough.”

He paused for another smoke and took a minute to view the gazes of the audience. All of them were silent and he read every mind. They were all convinced that he was speaking directly to them, making them confront themselves in front of everyone else. Good, he thought.

“Don’t get me wrong, the web is highly detailed and very complex, filled with hidden corridors, passages and canals. But none of it, at any point, is gray. The fog you witness is not there, it is only in your mind; it is there because you either are not wise enough to see, you purposefully ignore or deliberately deny seeing. For you, it is either white… or black… never gray… Within this understanding lays another path.”

He turned around and faced away from the audience which had the effect of amplifying the expectation and anxiety of the audience. “The full comprehension of one’s stance at what is good or evil for themselves also provides a deeper insight into other perspectives. Understanding yourself is like climbing a mountain; once you reach the top or come near it, once you elevate above the fog which lays below, nearer to the ground, you begin to see other mountain tops and you become conscious and understanding to what others see and how they perceive. You also fully comprehend how misguided and lost the views of those below are, the ones who are lost in the shadows. It is a bitter feeling when you hear the people in the fog shout and scream how pointless and impossible it is to climb to the top and how little is gained from it. And somehow those voices are the loudest and they echo in the mountains and the valleys, rocking those who are climbing to the top.”

The look he offered the audience was chilling and everyone felt this has to be meant for them in particular. Most of the people didn’t return the gaze, they lowered their heads or closed their eyes, some were pretending not to hear, others busying themselves with trivia, trying to ignore the orator. But there was no avoiding, no escaping, no way of running away or ignoring the spoken word, for he had somehow hypnotized them into listening. The power of the speaker was intense, undeniable and unavoidable. You didn’t only listen, you heard.

The man was aware of every thought in the room, of all their sins and profound secrets, they told him all without a single word but just by being and he knew how to make them confront the one thing they never wanted to see.

“You may change your address, abandon your friends and family, run away from your dreams and ambitions, deny your past and your mistakes but there is absolutely no way of preventing these thoughts from surfacing in your conscious, because no matter how hard you suppress them, I will bring them to light… run all you want, I am always in step with you.”

Shivers were felt like a wave hitting each individual in the auditorium. This was understood like a clear threat, a call to arms and a clear shout of retreat, all at the same time. But there was no running, no way of escaping or ignoring. What now?

“Why do you fear me? Why do strive to ignore me, throw me, hit me, kill me and destroy me? Why are you so intent on killing…yourself?”

He kneeled down and spoke more softly: “I am not here to hurt you; my mission is to elevate you above the animal which resides in you, above the everyday, the mundane and trivial. You were given a gift of consciousness, the universes way of helping you realize the immense beauty which lies all around you and within you, yet you so clearly want it gone and dead. It is clear just by looking down any street. All which is seen is the celebration and promotion of the animalistic, that which is holding you down and dragging you back into the nothingness. I know your history… it is filled with two examples; one accepting only the white, only the pure and “holy” and thus denying the flesh, preventing you from comprehending the world in its entirety. The other side is the world today, only in the black, the view of the animal; sex, drugs and rock n’ roll. In this world the soul inside you is robbed of its beauty by denying its existence. No extreme will help you climb to the top. The key is balance.”

He stood back upright and continued: “I am here to help. The harder you try to push me away, the harder I will push back. Or in your terms – Newton’s Third Law of Motion: For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. The realization of this will affect your motion, you either continue running in a circle, which over time will gain momentum and drive you to your own demise, or you start climbing to the top of your mountain, to the utmost potential which is you.”

He stopped for five seconds and then loudly proclaimed: “BEWARE OF FALSE PROPHETS! They come to you in sheep’s clothing but inwardly they are ravening wolves. Many among you are sure that you know precisely what I am talking about and many of you are quick to teach the lessons which you have not even begun to learn. There are many among you who would trade wisdom for dimes and there is a special treatment which will be imposed on those of you who deceive… it will be imposed by me. Hell is on earth and it will be me who shall make sure you feel it. You lead none but yourself, you follow no one but your mind, soul and heart, they are your only true teachers and whoever comes along proclaiming their divinity and higher understanding than yours, say to them: I will not let a blind man lead me. I seek salvation, not oblivion. I seek truth, not lies.”

The auditorium was dead silent and even those pretending to ignore before were now transfixed into starring at this black and white man. We sense truth when it is spoken, read or observed and this was undeniable. The message was as clear as day and the man knew it. He continued:

“I can be your best friend or your worst enemy and it is a decision made by you and you alone. My mission is clear; to make you in the image of the gods you worship. You can be made as such, but you have to want it. If you stray off the route and begin deceiving, lying, cheating, denying, killing, harming, wounding or betraying, it will be me who will shove you back onto the right road. In this, you have no choice. You will not escape yourself, the harder you bite, the more you yourself will feel the bite. Remember, even when I bite back, it is for your own good.”

He looked down and observed the wooden floor beneath him: “There is a bigger picture behind this, the one you won’t see in this version because you are limited by your senses. There is something so much bigger happening than what you can observe or comprehend and it is in no way meant for you to grasp it and understand it… even if you saw the picture behind, it would mean nothing to you because you just wouldn't understand it. You know what you are here to do… you are here to climb that mountain.”

He started retreating back, walking to the back of the stage to go behind the curtain. He was followed by no applause, not one sound; no one could make a noise even if they wanted to. But just before he disappeared behind the scenes, he turned back and whispered; a whisper which echoed and was heard clearer than a scream: “I am you.”

Woodsmen Day ( Poem)

Sport using handsaws
With a toothed edge blade
One or two handed sawing
On a woodsmen fair day

Traditional log rolling
Is a lumberjacks technique
Style used in river driving
The illustration is unique

Springboard tree is branchless
With live action you can’t beat
Platform board is dangerous
A risk if you compete

Block ax chopping
Is a loggers sport indeed
Hard on your back swinging
Be careful of your feet

Woodsmen day activities
Is part of the fair you see
I bring it all to my channel
Cause that’s the place to be

By: Doris Anne Beaulieu
At : https://www.youtube.com/user/Viewwithme2

Jonny Greenwood is in Marche / Italy!

www.thelakeradio.com

''What is this hole

That feeds on all

Good, strong and potent

And turns it into

Dead, weak and hollow?''

                The poet dropped his pen and walked to the window in his study room. Weakness had overtaken him and swallowed him and his desperate attempt to write it out, and thus eliminating it, was vain. The black hole in his soul was all he knew at this moment; place with no hope, no future, no love.

                What is the point? Life has turned out harder than he ever imagined, people far too hard to comprehend and relate to, love far too fleeting to trust and fight for. All the voices in his mind begged, fought and strived to tell him to give in, give up, let go and jump off the edge into a restful, eternal sleep where no pain resides. But it would be selfish…

                What about the people he loved? No, too vague… what about her? Would it not hurt her? Would she not suffer? Here the voices painted a picture with her as the main character and what a happy life she would lead without him in the frame; a life fulfilled, with a good husband, happy children and a sparkling future. He was filled with joy when he saw her smile, the sense of relief, fulfilment and happiness were there when her lips moved in a upward pose, when her eyes spoke more than all the words he ever wrote could. But the feeling of loneliness was undeniable, for he wanted to be there with her…to be her husband, to be her lover and life-long companion, to share the sense of happiness and fulfilment, the sparkling future, the beautiful children…

                The voices won. He started to believe them. Maybe she doesn’t need him…

                He sat down on his chair, his body weak and powerless, his head dark and gloomy, his soul on life support which was rapidly fleeting. He looked to the ceiling and let the voices destroy him, like an army charging a defenceless city, the soldiers killing everyone in their path and burning all the buildings in their way. The darkness grabbed him and wouldn’t let go. It felt like his body was giving in, preparing to shut off and rest after such an exhausting fight.

                Suddenly he heard steps in his tastefully decorated study, clear and determined steps walking around the liquor cabinet. He lowered his head the view the intruder and saw a sight most people would find terrifying but he grew accustomed to. A man was pouring himself a drink, a man mixed with only two colours; black and white. His black and white coat was split down the middle, going down his spine, the coat reaching to his knees. The left side was white, the right black, but his trousers were mirror-imaged; the right leg was white, the left one black. This mirroring was happening throughout the entirety of his attire and his skin. The shoes were mirror-imaged to his trousers, his hair split down the middle, the same way as his coat; the left side of the back of his head (he was facing away from the poet) was filled with semi-long black hair, the right side with black. The belt which was over the coat was mirror-imaged to the coat and thus became completely visible. His left hand was black with white fingernails and white veins protruding under his skin.

                The man finally faced the poet, revealing his mesmerizing face which was a puzzle of white and black pieces.  Left side of the face was white with black details; all the wrinkles which appeared by his facial mimicry possessed the opposite colour of his skin, so on the left side all the wrinkles were black. So were half of the lips split down the middle, the eyebrow, eyelashes and the whites of the eyes were black on the left side. The pupils were all white and perfectly reflected off the black surface. All of this was mirrored on the right side.

                Under the coat a shirt was visible, a shirt decorated with fine lacework (of course in black and white) and behind a coat a sword. He turned to the poet and smiled, revealing his black and white teeth, perfectly mirror imaged.

                “Oh hello, Maurits. I must be sleeping” the poet said softly, again dropping his head back and starring back at the ceiling.

                “Where else would I reside, if not for your head?” His voice was deep and slightly raspy, with a strange mixture of menace and comfort that coloured it. In his left hand he held a purely white cigarette which produced white smoke, in his right hand he had a clear glass challis filled with a black liquid. His posture was slightly hunchbacked but barely noticeable, his demeanour was witty, poetic and sarcastic but always straight-forward, like an old shaman who spoke only in riddles but sometimes revealed a clear and precise, wise message.

                “I’ve really fallen low now, haven’t I? All these thoughts are so damaging…”

                “They are only natural. For you, anyways… with your early childhood sense of abandonment and alienation, the sense of isolation due to your unique brain chemistry. Only natural, my dear Vlad.” He tipped his glass as a salute and drank a small amount of the pitch black liquid, followed by a smoke from the white cigarette.

                “My name is not Vlad, why do you keep referring to me as such?” The poets’ head never moved, remaining in the upward position, starring at the ceiling.

                “Oh just a personal joke, don’t mind it. You don’t really believe those voices.”

                The sudden jump from small talk to the main issue was expected from Maurits, he was never the one who would entertain you with trivial facts or satisfy your ignorance by exhibiting polite manners. The poets head dropped down and took a long stare at the black and white face which was here to resolve his traumas. It was true what he said, but still he wanted to enquire.

                “How so?”

                “Well you would have already jumped if you really lost all faith. The love you feel is still more powerful than the self-destruction your damaged self asks for. You know full well that she loves you. You needn’t any further proof.”

                “It’s true… then why? Why do these thoughts linger on? Is there no healing for this, no medicine, no way of killing the side of me which seeks to kill me?”

                The poet noticed the mirrored veins in the sides of the eyes, he saw them looking in him deep down inside to the core of his being. The feeling was just like everything else with this man; a mixture between dread and comfort, the sense of complete vulnerability, fear and acceptance.

                “It began as a form of self-protection, an attempt at self-preservation; distance became your sanctuary in which you resided for a long continuum of your young life. Your cynical view of connectivity and intimacy was protecting your from further shattering of the glass statue of your soul which couldn’t take another blow. In truth you weren’t cynical, just deeply wounded by bitter experiences which your sensitive self has a problem comprehending and accepting. The world in your mind is greater than the one you live in.”

                “That is not an answer to my question. Is there a way of mending these wounds?”

                Maurits smiled, revealing his black and white teeth, perfectly mirrored, deeply enticing and slightly terrifying. “You know full well what people deeply search for, every one of them. It’s evident that you do, you are a poet, for love’s sake. By the mere realization that you are the universe experiencing itself, the entirety of everything having an existential crisis, you already know what this being is guiding towards…the well of infinite inspiration, deep satisfaction and undeniable meaning. In the waters of this infinitum you not only heal, but prosper, grow and evolve.”

                The poets’ gaze was fixated on one point on the desk, not because of a particular quality or a point of interest on it, but because of the place in his mind and the deep thought he was engulfed in. He opened his mouth to speak but before a single sound came out of his throat, Maurits interfered:

                “Of course not, darling! You need conformation just like everyone else. Look… yes the love comes from you, its nest is in you, but you only have the seeds of it, the growth can only come from another human being. Just think about all these words which clarify complex emotions; jealousy, apathy, guilt, loneliness, empathy, affection, sympathy, acceptance… most of these words and emotions themselves would not exist if you were the only human on the planet! The doubts that surface in your damaged little mind are quite normal considering the past events, they are not indicators of troubles or a lack of connection, but a sign of how deep that affection, love, empathy, care and connectedness is and how much it means to you! Both!”

                “So…it’s not neediness? Is it not selfish?” The poets’ voice indicated vulnerability, the wounded child inside surfaced with the words and revealed the scars within. Maurits again smiled:

                “It would be if the need was stemmed in selfish desire. If you needed to hear the love expressed just for you to feel good about yourself or to gain some self-importance, then it would not only be needy but disgusting and blasphemously evil. You need to hear it in order to express it, it gives you allowance to say it. Complex it may sound but let me clarify.”

                He sat down near the window, gazing outside on the busy city below and far ahead. “You feel profoundly and deeply, you have allowed yourself to, you let her inside to see the true you because you feel deeply and profoundly enough to do so. Your artistic sense which stems from the sensitivity also wants to express it and it drives your inspiration and idea formation, your rational mind is working in synchrony with the emotional and thus producing intensely and expressing purely and honestly. You need to know it will be received because it is meant not for generality, but for one person, for her! The doubts have made you fear that the expression of your affection would drive her away, which is kind of the definition of stupidity, but never mind that. You are asking to confirm that your love can be expressed and you want to make sure it’s coming from both sides in equal measures.” He paused and turned to look the poet in the eyes, a childlike, happy smile on his face. “Quite normal.”

                The poet smiled slightly with a sense of relief but still a slight worry, which didn’t go unnoticed and Maurits did not leave it be. “Of course you fear loss, everyone does, the vulnerability of things, their mortality is the engine and fuel of intimacy. Knowing that both of you will die one day and knowing, in rational terms, that will be the end of love is the driving force of this profound feeling. Naturally it’s not the only thing, you share much in common and vibrate on a very similar if not often the same frequency, but the fact that you know you will die makes it holy. Life is only beautiful because of death. White is only bright because of black.”

                Maurits paused and smiled mischievously, like the grandfather who is about to reveal a grand secret to the young boy. His head lowered, looking at the ground, he approached the poet and said in a lower and quieter voice: “There is a way of making sure the love constantly grows... Keep discovering, keep exploring, keep experimenting and keep sharing, save no thought for yourself because there is nothing wrong with any of them, I can assure you of that in the larger scale, the scale you feel but can’t explain. Keep dwelling on philosophy and psychology, keep exploring art and the world, keep experimenting in lifestyle, keep enriching your senses in your everyday life and share every experience. You will not only feel vital in doing these things, but you will feel joyful and completely and utterly in love by sharing it with someone who understands and appreciates.” He whispered: “That’s the secret.”

I’m weeping tears of blood from my vagina

for the loss of my unfertilized egg.

It's been about five days since your passing on from this existence. I have gone through many emotions since hearing the news of your suicide. I have demons of depression myself. I have been taking medication for 20 years now. I have never once regretted that decision. What bothers me the most about your passing, is that you either couldn't or didn't want to find a lifeline. I sometimes think I would have rather you broke your sobriety, rather than to have you die with it, if that's what kept you from ending your life..... I keep wondering if any of the techniques that I use to deal with incredible sadness, would have worked with you. I know I need, crave, can't live without sunshine. It really does boost the serotonin level. I sometimes like to soak in a tub of sea-salts, lavender and chamomile oil. It helps to soak the toxins out of your body and allows you to numb out and relax for a minute. It stops the endless chatter in your head from thoughts of self demise and emptiness. I also like to drink a nice tea with a little sugar or honey, the caffeine helps to give me a little boost. I love the ocean and sometimes in my mind I like to visit the beach or look at pics I've taken of the beach. The constant flow of the waves in and out, in and out, is so refreshing and I pretend with the waves that when they go out, out goes my pain. When the waves come in, in comes health, newness and life. I would have liked to have been there for you, or would have liked that someone may have been there for you when you made your final decision. I know that when I have held the bottle, the pills, the knife, the gun, the ledge, whatever... I came very close to ending my life. Each time though, I would stop, breathe in deep, pray to the God of my understanding, listen for His voice, and ultimately in that moment find a sense of peace and warmth. It was as though God was holding me in His arms and saying to me, "not now Jean". I hear the words "you are not alone, I hear your pain, I will get you through this, have faith in Me and yourself". If you were my friend Mr. Williams, I would have not let you down. I would have run the sea-salt bath myself. I would have even jumped in and held you. I would have taken you by the hand and lead you outside away from the dark room with the blinds and curtains drawn. I would have made you that cup of tea and helped you drink it if you needed. I know you were tired, I know you had barely enough strength to breathe.....I am so sorry.  I will keep you alive in my heart Mr. Williams. Your work on this earth was so appreciated. You gave so many of us smiles, laughter, tears, joy, and even in your personal life, I hear you were a gentle and kind spirit. I have decided to let you go tonight. This week has been a real challenge for me personally. I am reminded of how life was for me and I am reminded of how life is for me now.  My heart aches for all of us who suffer from mental illness or bouts of depression. I pray for all of us to find peace here and now, not just in the afterlife....Rest In Peace Mr. Robin Williams.

YOU CLAIMED YET ANOTHER LIFE! I hate you. I abhor you. You suck the fucking life out of the most talented, sensitive, beautiful people. I kill you every day you son of a bitch. I did not let you kill me yesterday. I did not let you kill me today. I will not let you kill me tomorrow! I will take my medicine and live without having the "edge". I fought you for 35 years. I wanted to die, to kill the pain for 35 years. You lose you mother fucking son of a bitch. DEPRESSION IS A VERY REAL ILLNESS! Isn't it time we take the shame and the stigma away. Isn't it time we face what our physical and mental environment has done to us. Fake additives, fake colors, fake flavors, polluted water, polluted air, polluted oceans. We want to know why people are going off on each other? We want to know why we have mass murderers? We want to know why some of the most talented entertainers, intellectuals, philosophers are dying too fucking young?  We are being poisoned to death. Rest in peace Mr. Robin Williams and other millions of people who fight the fucking demon of depression till the day we die!

Wishing Witch

My Halloween screenplay is funny as can be
It’s funny how witchcraft is what we need to see

Brewing up trouble with all your classmates
The teacher will get angry, make no mistake

Crazy riddles from a child can be so scary
Being her classmate leaves you feeling wary

You may start a princess and end as a boar
As her riddles will leave you in an uproar

Will you return to normal after all this nonsense
Is the question that has everyone in suspense

You may not have believed in the paranormal
But you will start to see the proof is abysmal

Trick-or-treating can be more than a trick
As Jenny needs to get out of this fix

Laughter that gets you jumping off your seat
This screenplay is hilarious, that you’ll see

So if you’re looking for some trouble
To get you out of your bubble
Go to the site, quick and on the double

By: Doris Anne Beaulieu
At : http://youtu.be/XBmxebcXT0c