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About Me Premium Member Shadow Deviant Michaeldavitt Drew MaGilicutty54/Male/United States Recent Activity Deviant for 10 Months
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Silent Murmurs of the heART


From distance shores

and around the block

oar your boat accross the horizon

while you still....

hear that

Tic Talk

SUBLIMARE

[French sublimer, from Latin sublimare]

1;} to elevate or exalt especially in dignity or honor

2;} to render finer (as in purity or excellence)

3;} to convert (something inferior) into something of
higher worth


Please click an image to see more from these great Artists

"Isolated Gesture"

In days of old, an "Isolated Gesture" could command life or death with a thumb inside the Colosseum


Attraction, reaction, a smile, a tear, an umbilical tether that held flesh together.

The body tells no lies. A person's lips may murmur falsities, but eyes often give words away and show true intent.

If someone surprises us, our hand covers our heart in hopes to keep it there, to feel the beat, to know we are still alive.

Hugs let us know comfort and solace, even if times are grim.

Sometimes we are just looking for that shoulder to moisten with tears. A wave, a smile, a gesture of any sort often brightens grim days and initiate a pay-it-forward routine.

One smile can turn into one million, if each and every one is repaid.

An Isolated Gesture.. its' consumate effect..... what will you give in return


Gratitude to *Shards-of-Shame, *bear48, vividlight, Micdt, and all others here for their contributive gestures of kindness...

Blessings to carpenters of enlightenment, take down the borne crosses.. we need wood for the fire

8 0 8

808

This is taken at the Minnesota State Public School for Dependent and Neglected Children at Owatonna, Minnesota.

The State Public School will be a State Primary School where the children, until they can be adopted or indentured, can be educated morally and mentally, and also taught habits of industry.

Emphasis on Discipline and Useful Labor

Order, usefulness and discipline will be stressed, as well as obedience and efficiency. Gentle and loving measures will be advocated, but the value of drill, discipline and labor can never be underestimated.

It is believed labor, no matter how dreary the task, or how paltry the remuneration, is good for the children. Each child, no matter the age, should be a part of some worth-while, demanding activity each day.

A Self-Sustaining Institution

At the height of its existence, the school housed 500 children in 16 cottages. Other buildings included a nursery, hospital, school, gymnasium, laundry, and superintendent and employee residences. The school had its own power plant, greenhouse, icehouse, cemetery, and complete farm operation with cows, horses, swine and chickens, making it virtually self-sufficient.

Ralph Pomeroy- Wabasha MN / Ward of the State - 1927-1933 (see below)

My husband was at the orphanage in Owatonna after his mother died and for unknown reasons at least 4 of his siblings went there, too.

He and his brothers George and Robert, and sister Vivian were the middle children of the family and two younger brothers were adopted by relatives. The two eldest girls were Fern, who got married and Helen, who lived with a family in town there in Owatonna.
Sadly, there is only one of the children of Frank Pomeroy and Grace Curtis still living.

The storie Ralph told me of his youth are precious to me and I want to pass them on. We traveled through Owatonna in the mid 1980's when it was being used in a different manner than Ralph remembered, although he printed out all the areas he remembered, like the infirmary where he had his tonsils out, the apple orchard where the kids would sneak an extra one in and bake it on the radiator.

He remembered the matrons by name, some with happy memories and some not. He would tell about how on Sundays a lady would come to play the piano and sing hymns, and what a beautiful person she was.

He was a natural athlete and would perform tumbling and acrobatic tricks for the people who would come out to pick a child.

He would recall how all the kids would help polish the wooden floors with rags scooting about on their hands and knees. He told of a coach and how they would have swimming indoors in the pool.


Most prominent, though, was always the loneliness he felt and longing for his mother. His wish, when he had time to daydream, was that he could become a bird and fly away.

After reaching the age of 11 or 12, a couple took him as a foster child to basically be a farmhand.
In their care he was starved and beaten, so badly that his cries were heard by neighbors and he was rescued and returned to the orphananage once again.

Later, he was placed in the care of foster parents from the small town of Hayfield MN.
He was now 13 and had spent 6 or 7 years in state care. The couple he spent the rest of his youth gave him love and encouragement. He gave them 9 grandchildren who all have fond memories.

There were 10,635 of them between 1886 and 1945. Kids orphaned or abandoned or abused and sent to Owatonna, Minnesota, home of the Minnesota State Public School for Dependent and Neglected Children.

For some, it was a circle of hell; for others, a safe haven.

Many children who were never placed, died here.

Image by JAZZHEAD

JAZZHEAD

Here find a fellow native of ...

"The Land of Enchantment" New Mexico

*Jazzhead / Leroy Aragon

When you are drawn to a Mystical Shaman it is the calling of your soul to remember.. and awaken your connection to the earth and its mysteries. as well as the lure of the light..the passion present in the universe.

*Jazzhead is a Mystical Shaman with alchemical magic for transforming energies and creating anew. It is the vibrant creativity and deep connection with mother earth and father sky. The four directions.

The winds, the air, the water,the fire, all the elements of the earth and sky come together for ancient alchemy through his third eye.. his lens.

Please give consideration to these revelations and hear his music with thine eyes

I love the idea of "hearing" something while viewing a work of art. There must be something emotionally stirring within when the senses become engaged...

"I remember a time I was viewing some clay pots of which had different size holes and the holes had a characteristic of air being release through the holes and with each one it seemed different sounds were visible." : : Jazzhead : :

StoLen sOuls

Please see these delicate captures

StoLen sOuls

In a single flash
part of them was
torn asunder and
held here in taunt tether
for but a brief instant for your reflection


What does the mirror hold for your attention?

Random Favourites

Hanging On for Life

Caleb is back at home with his Family.

While still recovering, he is glad to be back at home with Mom, Dad and Brother.

He was gone so long - he says "everything looks smaller". My guess, he grew up a lot during his time away.

Have you seen the sky today ?

Have you seen the sky today
shreaking down
incarnate hunger with claws
unfolded from a prayer
maybe claiming, clawing against
that injustice that drops into the shadow
of a twisted mind.



They found another body on the west mesa today.. the count stands at 13 in the stained sand


This post is related to the ongoing investigation of a serial killer in Albuquerqe.

As investigators continue their search for more bodies –and the identities of those they already uncovered, the tips keep coming in.

Detectives with the Albuquerque Police Department have set up a tip line for callers with information about the serial killer or his victims, which now number at 13. Calls are being taken 24 hours a day at 1-877-SOLV-APD.

The calls are logged into a data bank where they can be cross-referenced. This will allow detectives to detect trends such as names that appear more than once.

Earlier this week, it was announced that an FBI profiler will be examining the case in order to develop a profile of the perpetrator. An agent from the FBI Behavioral Analysis Unit in Quantico, Virginia may come to Albuquerque or the necessary files will be sent to the profiler in Virginia.

The number of the Tip Line is 1-877-765-8273. If you have any information relating to this investigation, please call.

if 6 were 9 . .. ... ... . .

Nick And The Candlestick


I am a miner. The light burns blue.
Waxy stalactites
Drip and thicken, tears

The earthen womb

Exudes from its dead boredom.
Black bat airs

Wrap me, raggy shawls,
Cold homicides.
They weld to me like plums.

Old cave of calcium
Icicles, old echoer.
Even the newts are white,

Those holy Joes.
And the fish, the fish----
Christ! They are panes of ice,

A vice of knives,
A piranha
Religion, drinking

Its first communion out of my live toes.
The candle
Gulps and recovers its small altitude,

Its yellows hearten.
O love, how did you get here?
O embryo

Remembering, even in sleep,
Your crossed position.
The blood blooms clean

In you, ruby.
The pain
You wake to is not yours.

Love, love,
I have hung our cave with roses.
With soft rugs----

The last of Victoriana.
Let the stars
Plummet to their dark address,

Let the mercuric
Atoms that cripple drip
Into the terrible well,

You are the one
Solid the spaces lean on, envious.
You are the baby in the barn.


by Sylvia Plath



Summer's Almost Gone

Summer's almost gone
Almost gone
Yeah, it's almost gone
Where will we be
When the summer's gone?

Morning found us calmly unaware
Noon burn gold into our hair
At night, we swim the lapis sea
When summer's gone
Where will we be
Where will we be
Where will we be

Summer's almost gone
We had some good times
But they're gone
The winter's comin' on
Summer's almost gone

Jim Morrison

THROUGH A LENS DARKLY

Our Last Time Together

The rain was falling harder now and the window was fogging up

The street whizzing by gave me comfort as the tears started streaming

Next to me she was glaring at the road ahead of us with an angry expression on her face

I glanced at her, out of the corner of my eye

and I noticed that even though old age had taken it's tole on her weary face,
she was even more beautiful now than before

I turned to her not really thinking
she noticed this and slightly turned her head toward me "What, what are you staring at?"

"I'm sorry mom, I never ment to hurt you", "I love you"

With these words said she turned her head to look at me with worried eyes.

"I love you too hun."
Giving her a weak smile I turned my head back to my side window

just in time to see the truck colliding with my car door,
As everything went black i heard her scream my name over
and over but it now faded as did the life within me.


jaybird666

The story for all tomorrow's yesterdays

Nocturne: The Angels

You might say the streets flow sweetly through the night.
The lights are dim so the secret will be kept,
the secret known by the men who come and go,
for they’re all in on the secret
and why break it up in a thousand pieces
when it’s so sweet to hold it close,
and share it only with the one chosen person.
If, at a given moment, everyone would say
with one word what he is thinking,
the six letters of DESIRE would form an enormous luminous scar,
a constellation more ancient, more dazzling than any other.
And that constellation would be like a burning sex
in the deep body of night,
like the Gemini, for the first time in their lives,
looking each other in the eyes and embracing forever.

Suddenly the river of the street is filled with thirsty creatures;
they walk, they pause, they move on.
They excange glances, they dare to smile,
they form unpredictable couples…

There are nooks and benches in the shadows,
riverbanks of dense indefinable shapes,
sudden empty spaces of blinding light
and doors that open at the slightest touch.

For a moment, the river of the street is deserted.
Then it seems to replenish itself,
eager to start again.
It is paralyzed, mute, gasping moment,
like a heart between two spasms.

But a new throbbing, a new pulsebeat
launches new thirsty creatures on the river of the street.
They cross, crisscross, fly up.
They glide along the ground.
They swim standing up, so miraculously
no one would ever say they’re not really walking.

They are angels.
They have come down to earth
on invisible ladders.
They come from the sea that is the mirror of the sky
on ships of smoke and shadow,
they come to fuse and be confused with men,
to surrender their foreheads to the thighs of women,
to let other hands anxiously touch their bodies
and let other bodies search for their bodies till they’re found,
like the closing lips of a single mouth,
they come to exhaust their mouths, so long inactive,
to set free their tongues of fire,
to sing the songs, to swear, to say all the bad words
in which men have concentrated the ancient mysteries
of flesh, blood and desire.
They have assumed names that are divinely simple.
They call themselves Dick or John, Marvin or Louis.
Only by their beauty are they distinguishable from men.
They walk, they pause, they move on.
They exchange glances, they dare to smile.
They form unpredictable couples.

They smile maliciously going up in the elevators of hotels,
where leisurely vertical flight is still practices.
There are celestial marks on their naked bodies:
blue signs, blue stars and letters.
They let themselves fall into beds, they sink into pillows
that make them think they’re still in the clouds.
But they close their eyes to surrender to the pleasures of their mysterious incarnation,
and when they sleep, they dream not of angels but of men.

by Xavier Villaurrutia

Maybe you won't either

Katie Shearer died at 3:12 a.m. on Sunday. She wore a sweat-drenched shirt. And her mother held her, kissed her, and took a small cloth and soaked up one last tear that ran down Katie's cheek.

Katie, 24, was a Trail Blazers fan. She also had malignant melanoma, and I wrote a column about her that ran on Christmas Day. She'd spent two years in pain. She'd had surgeries to remove the lymph nodes in her groin, and another to remove a piece of her intestine, and tumors were carved out of her body.

She'd had radiation treatment, and immunotherapy, and been part of an unsuccessful clinical trial. In the last few weeks her abdomen had become so rife with tumors that it was rock hard. And so, on Christmas Day, she didn't wish for an iPod, or jewelry as a gift, but just one more good day to spend with family, friends. And, also, she wanted to see the Blazers play.

She got that wish.

More on that in a minute.

First, understand, Anna Shearer raised five children as a single mother. When the children were younger, she'd wake up in her water bed in the morning and sometimes find that all of them, and the family dog, too, had crawled in the bed with her in the middle of the night.

Late Saturday, too weak to walk, barely able to talk, unable even to reach up and put her arm around her younger brother's neck, Katie asked to be carried her to mother's bed. In her final night, she wanted to not only be at home, but to go where kids feel safest, and I don't think there's any one of us that couldn't relate to that.

"A lot of people don't get a chance to say 'goodbye' you know," her mother, an intensive-care unit nurse, said Sunday. "We got a good thing in having a chance to spend some final time with her.

"I didn't have a cop knocking on our door in the middle of the night."

Still, night came for Katie.

A few hours earlier, the Blazers disposed of the Golden State Warriors, 113-100. During the game, I spoke several times to Katie's family, and Blazers personnel asked me for updates every time we passed in the arena halls. Two Blazers executives cried when I shared an email in which Katie's mother wrote: "If I could just get her in my arms and rock her one more time, I would."

After the game, Blazers general manager Kevin Pritchard informed the team that Katie was still fighting hard, but that it didn't look good. And coach Nate McMillan, who had another victory and his All-Star Brandon Roy back in the line-up, began his post-game address to the media not with talk about pick-and-rolls or zone defense or the victory, but with solemn talk about Katie.

Said McMillan: "She knew this was coming but she's not doing well and we just want to say that we are thinking about her tonight."

The Blazers gave Katie one of the best nights in her last two years on Christmas. She had two tickets to the team's holiday game against Dallas, and when the front office learned she'd have to choose among family members for that final game of her life, they stepped in and made sure everyone could go.

She sat courtside. The game officials summoned her to their dressing room where they presented her with a referee's whistle. After the game, she was escorted to the Blazers' locker room, where she met the players and executives, and she was embarrassed when her family announced Katie had a crush on Rudy Fernandez.

Rudy Fernandez was Katie's favorite player.Katie called it, "an amazing night."

You read about her in this newspaper, and she made you think. I received more than 1,000 emails and telephone messages about Katie. One gentleman said he'd interrupted the opening of presents and read the column aloud to his children on Christmas morning. Another man promised to quit smoking, and re-evaluate his life. One woman who read about Katie left a telephone message in which she just sobbed into the phone.

Katie sat in her mother's dining room on Christmas Eve and blew me away by saying she was at peace with her death because she'd lived a full life. She was the oldest sibling and so she was more concerned with her brothers and sisters --- the ones she'd helped get to bed at night and off to school in the morning --- than she was her own well being.

In fact, Katie woke Saturday morning at 6 a.m., her final full day alive, and mumbled to her mom, "We've got to get the kids off to school."

We're talking about a young woman who graduated from Portland State with honors last month. She should be hanging her diploma today on the wall of a new apartment, starting a career, and thinking about maybe someday having her own children. But instead, she's dead.

Katie left us with lessons. And the hope here is that we don't ever forget them.

We're mortal. So live deep, and dare to know. Think of your life, and not your death, as the destination.

Katie said she'd considered having the Latin phrase "Memento Mori" (Translated: Remember you're mortal) tattooed on her wrist last month, but then reconsidered because she wanted to be cremated, "and that just seems like a waste of money."

May we all tattoo the phrase on our brains today.

Katie's life ends up the stuff of a Longfellow poem.

In "A Psalm of Life" Longfellow wrote: "Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal." He wrote about fleeting time, and the basic human challenge involved in waking up each day further evolved than the previous.

Katie evolved by the minute, see. She knew she was dying. So when doctors gave her a week to live and told her in mid-December there was nothing else they could do, she didn't mope, or feel sorry for herself. She perked up. Then, she gathered her family in her final few weeks, and said goodbye, and wished not for a miracle cure, but for the precious time she had left to be filled with life.

She went sky diving with her sisters and friends. When doctors told her she had only days to live, she got in her car against medical advice and drove herself downtown to see the Nutcracker holiday performance. She read books she'd always wanted to read. She visited with people. She woke up on that final Christmas, ate food, spent time with family, then put on red and black and headed to the Rose Garden to cheer for her team.

She laughed. She loved. She lived.

Katie's mom, Anna said, "Katie's known for a long time that she's not going to make it. A lot of the stuff she did, she did for me.

"I felt like she was the adult. She's had an acceptance I've never had."

The Blazers beat the Warriors on Saturday. On Sunday morning, they boarded a plane, thinking about their game in Chicago. And in between, Anna sat in bed with Katie, holding her close, counting heartbeats and listening to her daughter breathe.

"Who else but a mother could do that," Anna said.

You should know, in the final few days, Katie wore one of those popular "I love Rudy" T-shirts until the thing was so soaked with her sweat, and stuck to her skin, that it had to be peeled off her body.

I will never think about those T-shirts ever again without also thinking of Katie. And I will never forget what she wanted to teach us, either.

Maybe you won't either.


John Canzano - The Oregonian

What would you do if you knew you had a week to live?

Most of us trudge through life looking more critically at what we haven’t accomplished than what we have, at what might not happen instead of what is happening right now. What a way to live life. I know, I’ve done it. Katie’s story reminded me that the present is really what it’s all about. Each moment is full of joy, if we embrace it. Instead, we regret the past and fear the future. In the meantime, we miss what’s happening right now.

If you knew in this moment that the next moment would be the end of your life, what would you do? Would you be worried about the economic uncertainty in the world? Would you treat people with more respect? Would you laugh until your ribs hurt? Would you revel in all you have done in your life? Would you by happy or sad? Would you just be in that moment?

What would you do with this moment if you knew you it was your last?

Why wait?

rhetorical semantics

What was once just a rhetorical illustration used to demonstrate the futility of out-of-touch theological debates is now a exciting science experiment you can conduct in your very own home!
What you will need:

pencil and paper
one pin
a large number of angels
Note: Seraphim and cherubim are most desirable, but almost any angels will do. The garden Anaheim variety of angel should be avoided.
One copy of "The Song That Doesn't End (Extended Version)"
Instructions: Insert the pin upright into a sturdy surface, such as a pin cushion or Styrofoam block. Begin playing "The Song That Doesn't End (Extended Version)" and instruct the angels to step onto the pin and begin dancing. Count each angel, stopping only when no more angels can dance on the pin, and remembering to make sure all of the angels are dancing on the pin and not just hovering above it, so as to avoid a potential source of error. Repeat several times, removing all angels from the pin after each trial. From these trials, determine the average number of angels that can dance on the head of a pin.

Additional Exercises:

Procure a copy of Maurice Durufle's "Ubi Caritas et Amor" and repeat the experiment. Discuss the effect that music religious in nature has on your results.
Does the type of dancing affect the number of angels who can dance? Experiment with such dancing styles as the foxtrot, the Electric Slide, and the clueless male arm flail.
Discuss possible sources of error, such as pin imbalance, drunken angels who keep falling off of the pin's head, or angels who won't dance if they don't know the song.

Next week: Does a watched pot ever boil?

Visitors

North Pacific Gyre

Journal Entry: Fri Nov 20, 2009, 10:32 AM


The massive, deep currents of the oceans create five gigantic permanent whirlpools. Two in the north and south Atlantic, two in the north and south Pacific, and one in the Indian Ocean.

You may never come within a thousand miles of any of these gigantic gyres. But they could already be affecting your health in the most disturbing way.

Actually, the gyres aren't the problem. Plastic is the problem.

-----------------------------------------------------------
Minimal use...maximum problem
-----------------------------------------------------------

For centuries, sailors have avoided the North Pacific Gyre, an area of about 10 million square miles. Sailors call it the "doldrums" because an immense high-pressure system combines with powerful currents to make travel slow going.

Captain Charles Moore, an ocean researcher, has a more colorful term for the gyre. He calls it "a toilet that won't flush."

About 12 years ago, Moore sailed straight through the gyre and found something appalling. As he neared the center he came across more and more plastic objects bobbing on the ocean's surface, all slowly drawn to the center of the whirlpool.

Even more disturbing was what he saw just below the water's surface: a ceaseless flow of small bits of plastic.

Moore dubbed this vast "microplastic" debris field the Pacific Garbage Patch. Scientists estimate that it's roughly the size of Texas, Minnesota, Connecticut, Maryland, and California, combined.

That's staggering. But even more disturbing: This patch is constantly growing -- as are similar patches in the other four gyres.

Every year, the world produces about 100 million tons of "minimal use" plastic, such as soda bottles, ink pens, and Styrofoam cups. One use and they're discarded. Many of those items end up in streams and rivers, and are eventually washed out to sea. Over time, ocean waves, storms, and sunlight break the plastic down into confetti- sized, microplastic bits.

And into the five swirling gyres they go.

-----------------------------------------------------------
Climbing the food chain
-----------------------------------------------------------

If these garbage patches were only unsightly, that would be bad enough. But birds and marine animals eat the plastic bits, mistaking them for food. According to a Surfrider Foundation report, microplastic ingestion is responsible for the deaths of more than a million seabirds yearly, as well as thousands of fish and marine mammals.

And this is where it becomes not only a moral and environmental nightmare, but it begins to affect our health.

Toxins from decomposing plastic are ingested at the lowest level of the marine food chain. >From there, these poisons work their way up to larger fish, which are eaten by humans. The long-range effects are unknown, but little by little it adds to our toxic load.

In the years since the Pacific Garbage Patch was discovered, environmental scientists have been studying the problem, trying to figure out how to clean these unflushable toilets. It's daunting. We've been pumping plastics into the oceans for decades. You have to wonder if we're up to the task of reversing all those years of pollution.

I recently read about a microchip that can be attached to a leaf on a field crop. The chip senses when the plant needs watering and sends a text message to the farmer's cell phone. "Hey! Water me!" If we can make plants send text messages, you would think we'd be able to clean up the garbage patches in our oceans before they do us all in.

You can find more information about efforts to reverse ocean microplastic pollution at [link]

Journal Design by =DruidWu

PS Brushes: ~wyckedBrush ~Darkresources ~Shad0w-GFX
  • Mood: Love
  • Listening to: to you,.... can you hear me too ?
  • Reading: The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream.
  • Watching: Silly Putty pictures the kids make
  • Playing: Seriously for the Fun of IT
  • Eating: cake b4 it's 2 late
  • Drinking: Good for the soul they say.. as it eats it away
Skin by =DruidWu (modified by *Michaeldavitt)

Devious Info

  • Current Residence: New Mexico - usa
  • deviantWEAR sizing preference: Medium cool
  • Print preference: Large or Close Invicta - Blowzy red vixens fight for a quick jump.
  • Interests: Route 66 Rodders / Ballooning / Fie Fi Pho Togin'
  • Favourite movie: Jules & Jim , The Diving Bell and the Butterfly. Amelie, Pretty Dirty Things,The Tin Drum
  • Favourite band or musician: United States of America-Love Song for the Dead Che'
  • Favourite genre of music: Blues, Jazz & Silent Sighs of Shiva Sleeping
  • Favourite artist: Chet Baker / Bunky Green / Tom Rapp -Pearls before the Swine, Leonard Cohen
  • Favourite poet or writer: Doc Humes -MEN DIE / Jerzy Kosinski -Painted Bird, Wallace Stevens
  • Favourite photographer: Helmut Newton .Toni Fressel . Sally Mann . Aneta Kowalczy . Ansel Adams
  • Favourite style of art: Visual - why have Braille at the Drive up?
  • Operating System: McMac
  • MP3 player of choice: Our nano whoart in Nano hail nano full of song & podcast away the stone nano is with me and thee
  • Shell of choice: Conch resonant cavity of the shell, amplifies capillaries of the ear,it's you.you hear..listen
  • Wallpaper of choice: Greek Anaglypta of Hurstman Four
  • Skin of choice: INVISCATED Imperative & past participle
  • Favourite game: 11 nis - a lot of racket betweened the quietest strangers
  • Favourite gaming platform: Deadman's Chess- win everytime
  • Favourite cartoon character: Clutch Cargo (Syncro-Vox) -Jonny Quest & Hadji
  • Personal Quote: "Tell the people to pray" Edward John Smith, April 15, 1912, Captain of the RMS Titanic
  • Tools of the Trade: cry steel & rust

To The Dogs or Whoever

Do I Have To Dance All Night

I’m Forty-One, the moon is full,
you make love very well.
You touch me like I touch myself,
I like you Mademoiselle.
You’re so fresh and you’re so new,
I do enjoy you, Miss.
There’s nothing I would rather do
than move around just like this

But do I have to dance all night?
But do I have to dance all night?
Ooh tell me, Bird of Paradise,
do I have to dance all night?

You never really have to tell me what
you really think of me – alright.
Let’s say I’m doing fine,
but do I have to dance all night?

Do I have to dance all night? …

I learned this step a while ago.
I had to practice it while everybody slept.
I waited half my life for you, you know,
I didn’t even think that you’d accept.
And here you are before me in the flesh
saying “Yes, yes, yes!”

But do I have to dance all night? …

I learned this step a while ago …

But do I have to dance all night? ...

~ Leonard Cohen




I Can't Help Myself

I steal a glance at you, and save it up for later
You see what I've come to ? I should really know better

But I can't help my self, help myself, I'm lost in you

I lie awake at night, to savour every moment I've stolen
I'm hoping that you might, know where this is going

And the funny part is I feel no guilt and no shame
I guess where there's no action there's no blame
And if I had an ounce of sense left I'd keep it that way too
And I think of you, I think of me
And remember what will be will be
And I'm looking forward to the day
When I don't have to feel this way.

But I can't help my self, help myself, I'm lost in you

I'm so lost, I can't help myself

~ Julia Fordham

Caged Bird

Silly I know, I thought my undying belief
Could hold you up where you belong
Amoung the coverted and favored
And the shinning strong

Maybe these arms, although loyal and through and through
Faltered for a single moment
Beneath the heavy burden of proof
And the look at me, look at me
But no-one was looking were they?

I know know why the caged bird sings
Sing, sing, sing, sings

I think we can, be forgiven for thinking
With every golden gift that's given
Come the trials and tribulations
For the learning

I know why the caged bird sings

Sings like an angel
Sings for a life, but living isn't easy
Sings of freedom
Sings

I know why the caged bird sings
And it's not what you're thinking
I know why the caged bird sings
Sing, sing, sing, sings

~Julia Fordham


Le petit Prince

On ne sait pas qui il est
On ne sait pas d'où il vient
Il est né avec la rosée du matin
Une rose entre ses mains
Voyageur de l'infini
Jeune Prince de la lumière
Tu connaissais tous les secrets de la nuit
Les chemins de l'univers

[Refrain:]
J'attendrai ton retour
Jusqu'à la fin des jours
J'attendrai ton retour
[ Find more Lyrics on [link] ]
Ma splendeur d'amour

Il est venu sur la terre
Et n'a vu qu'un grand désert
Quelques fleurs sauvages,
Un renard argenté et un poète égaré
Il s'ennuyait bien souvent
De sa rose de ses volcans
Il a demandé au serpent son ami
De le ramener chez lui
[au Refrain]

J'attendrai ton retour
Jusqu'à la fin des jours
J'attendrai ton retour
Prince don de l'amour

~ Gérard Lenorman

The Little Prince Lyrics translation

We don't know who he is
We don't know from where he is
He borned with the morning's dew
a rose in his hands
Traveller of the infinite
Young prince of light
You knew all the secrets of the Night
the paths of the universe

[Refrain:]
i will wait you to return
until the end of days
i will wait you to return
My splendor Love

he came on earth
and saw only a big desert
some savage flowers
a silver fox and a lost poet
he used to think alot
at his rose, at his volcanos
he asked to his serpent friend
to take it back home

i will wait you to return
until the end of days
i will wait you to return
Little Prince of Love

~ Gérard Lenorman


To The Dogs or Whoever

Deep in the belly of a whale I found her
Down with the deep blue jail around her
Running her hands through the ribs of the dark
Florence and Calamity and Joan of Arc

I love the way she looks in her underwear
I lose my page, then the plot, then the book, then I swear
She makes the most of her time by loving me plenty
She knows there’ll come a day when we won’t be getting any

The stain of the sepia the butcher Crimea
Through the wreck of a brass band I thought I could see her
In a cakewalk she came through the dead and the lame
Just a little bird floating on a hurricane

I was flat on my back with my feet in the thorns
I was in between the apples and the chloroform
She came to me often
I was sure I was dying
It was always hard to tell if she was laughing or crying

I thought I heard somebody calling
In the dark I thought I heard somebody call

~ Josh Ritter


“I Was In The House When The House Burned Down”.


I had the shit till it all got smoked
I kept the promise till the vow got broke
I had to drink from the lovin' cup
I stood on the banks till the river rose up
I saw the bride in her wedding gown
I was in the house when the house burned down

I may be old and I may be bent
But I had the money till it all got spent
I had the money till they made me pay
Then I had the sense to be on my way
I had to stay in the underground
I was in the house when the house burned down

I was in the house when the house burned down
I met the man with the thorny crown
I helped Him carry his cross through town
I was in the house when the house burned down

I had the shit till it all got smoked
I kept the promise till the vow got broke
I had to drink from the lovin' cup
I stood on the banks till the river rose up
I saw the bride in her wedding gown
I was in the house when the house burned down

~Warren Zevon


“For My Next Trick I’ll Need a Volunteer”

I can saw a woman in two
But you won't want to look in the box when I do
I can make love disappear
For my next trick I'll need a volunteer

I can pull a rabbit out of a hat
I can pull it out but I can't put it back
I can make love disappear
For my next trick I'll need a volunteer

It's lonely up here
When the tricks have been played
And the spotlights have faded
And the plans that we made
Have fallen apart
It's lonely as hell
And there's no magic spell
For a broken heart

You can put me in chains and I will escape
Better not wait up 'cause I might be late
I can make love disappear
For my next trick I'll need a volunteer
It's lonely up here
When the tricks have been played
And the spotlights have faded
And the plans that we made
Have fallen apart
It's lonely as hell
And there's no magic spell
For a broken heart

I can saw a woman in two
But you won't want to look in the box when I do
I can make love disappear
For my next trick I'll need a volunteer

~Warren Zevon

Okkervil River

Down by Okkervil River slow silent thick and black,
I stared into the water, and the water it stared back.

The night it fell from tangles of the branches on the shore
as it had on Okkervil River before.

Down by Okkervil River's cigarettes and rusty tires,
we made ourselves an altar, we lit our nightly fires.

And the smoke lay thick and smothered all the skunk cabbage and vines where Gods were born and Gods lay down to die.

With your hand inside my pocket, you whispered in my ear.
We have come from ugliness to find some refuge here.

With this bracken for a blanket, where these limbs stick out like bones,
we have found a place where we can be alone.

And I tried to tell you, as I kissed your hard dry lips,
all the things I dreamed about. I touched your bone white hips.

Far away our parents slept in while we watched our fire burn.
They dreamed of nothing and got nothing in return.

And the water slipped on slowly past our bodies in the weeds,
pulling plastic wrap and razors on its current through the reeds
.
Then I woke up one cold morning, felt an absence at my back,
and I searched and stared but only the river stared back.

M Ward


Tickets to Waterfalls

I bought you tickets for the waterfalls
and you poured away all the change

Trained your bicycle to dance
told it tales of window boxes and people with locks
While you filed away the time
and lost the place in the river

Couldn't do anything about the days
But I helped with some of the nights
You worked my blisters to the bone
playing songs of tiny men and bridges in wine
While you led the time astray
and lost your head in the rainbow

You never saw anything glittering
but you had to melt it down
I made you rivers all run dry
soaked them up with train timetables and carpets of lies
And I listened to your smile
and found my place in the morning

~ Jack Bruce

The Ballad of Tommy and Chet

When Tommy Emmanuel was 11, he wrote a letter to his guitar idol. "Dear Mr. Atkins, I'm a big fan, and I play guitar, too." He was the fourth of six children, part of a struggling family band in Australia called The Midget Surfaris.

Tommy set his sights high. He made country guitarist Chet Atkins his role model.

Weeks later, he came home to a surprise. ``Put your bags down, Tommy, and go in your room,'' his mother told him. ``There's something on your bed.''

It was a brown package with American stamps on it. Heart pounding, he ripped open the envelope. Inside was a signed photo of Chet Atkins and a hand-written note.

"Dear Tommy, Many thanks for your kind note. I didn't realize that anybody in Australia knew me. I was so thrilled. Give my regards to your family, Chet Atkins " Neither guitarist could have known that someday they would be like family, too.

Tommy's dad, a former coal miner, took the clan on the road when Tommy was just 6. He did so after the family band was a hit on an Australian television show.

They bought two cars, which they slept in. Often, they'd make only enough for a dinner of rice and powdered milk.

Tommy first heard Atkins on the radio in 1962. Even at age 7, he recognized the quality of his playing, its exquisite tone and feel.

His records were hard to find in Australia. But when he was 10, someone gave him ``The Best of Chet Atkins.''

When he opened the album, he saw pictures that explained things. He could see that Atkins played his distinctive finger style with a thumb pick. That was much easier than producing the "boomchick" bass line with a flat pick, as Emmanuel had been doing, while playing melody with the other three fingers.

Soon after his father's death in 1966, the government made the kids stop touring and go to school. They moved to a town west of Sydney.

That's when he received Atkins' letter, which set him on fire. He joined a band called The Trailblazers and played weekend gigs. He also ran a lawn mowing service, taught guitar and manned a shop, all while attending school. Otherwise, he spent every free minute studying Atkins' records.

When he was 17, a friend recorded him playing in a lounge. Unknown to Tommy, he sent the tape to Atkins.

And the legendary guitarist wrote back.

Tommy's a fantastic player. I was impressed with his tape. I hope he comes to America so we can meet up.

Two years later, in 1974, Emmanuel moved to Sydney to work as a studio musician. He landed a recording gig on his first day; from then on, he was never without work, he said in a phone interview last week. No one in Sydney played like he did, in a style influenced by Atkins and Merle Travis.

No one else had his free-spirited attitude.

``I could come up with suggestions that were nine times out of ten more appropriate for the track than what was written,'' he said. ``Not a lot of people have that fearless approach.

``I played out of the sheer love and joy of it.''

He kept scrutinizing Atkins' records. He was bewitched by Atkins' ability to play an entire melody in harmonic overtones, producing bell-like notes. He tried and tried, but couldn't decipher the riddle.

Then, one night, he had a dream. There was a spotlit stage. Atkins walked out wearing a tuxedo and carrying his Gretsch guitar. He sat on a stool and began to play. In his dream, Emmanuel watched Atkins' hands play harmonic overtones. The next morning, he could play them, too.

``The secret,'' he said, ``was unlocked.''

In 1980, he made the pilgrimage to Nashville. Emmanuel checked into a Holiday Inn and got Atkins on the phone.

``Oh, hi, Tommy. I've got your tape,'' he said. ``I've just been playing it. Come on down.''

When he arrived, Atkins asked him if he wanted to pick a little. Emmanuel played for the big man, who then joined in. They jammed for hours.

``When you listen to his music, you feel like you know him. And you do know him. His personality and everything about him is in his music,'' Emmanuel recalled.

``Playing together, it was just like a hand in a glove.''

Back in Australia, Emmanuel recorded with various artists, from Eric Clapton to Stevie Wonder, and began to make his own albums.

In 1993, while preparing for his album ``The Journey,'' he put in a call to Atkins, who immediately recalled their first meeting. ``Remember the day we played...,'' Atkins began.

Emmanuel mentioned his album, and Atkins offered to play on a track. So he went to Nashville and recorded Atkins playing ``Villa Anita.''

Four years later, Atkins played on Emmanuel's album ``Midnight Drive.'' The next year, Columbia Records suggested the two produce an album.

Emmanuel stayed at Atkins' home, where they recorded in his home studio.

``I learned from him that it's important to nail the melody right and play it with the right feeling.''

Two tracks were particularly special to Emmanuel, ``Mr. Guitar,'' his homage to Atkins; and Atkins' tune, ``Smokey Mountain Lullaby,'' which they recorded in one take.

``He had been diagnosed with a brain tumor and had little energy left. We had to nail it in one go.''

That was the last track Atkins recorded for his final album.

``He is, without a doubt, one of the greatest guitarists on the planet,'' Atkins wrote about Emmanuel for the liner notes, ``and working with him on this project was one of my most exciting musical journeys.''

From then on, the two were tight, speaking often. Emmanuel learned how much they had in common, both raised so poor and loving people and music so much.

``The thing about Chet is, whether you were the waiter or the postman or the president, he treated everyone the same. I have to say, I learned more about being a good person from him, than the music.''

In 1999, Atkins named Emmanuel a Certified Guitar Player, honoring him as among the world's greatest fingerstyle guitarists. Only four musicians were so awarded by Atkins.

As Atkins grew more ill, Emmanuel was among the few invited to stay at his home. Emmanuel stopped by in mid-June of this year, and found the 77-year-old Atkins in a wheelchair.

``We spent a good hour together. Before I left, I reached out and put my hand on his cheek. I told him how much I loved him, and how much I needed him in my life. And how I would always honor him.''

Atkins reached up and touched Emmanuel, too. ``There's real affection here,'' he said.

Two hours after he left, Emmanuel got a call from Atkins' nurse. ``Mr. Atkins cried when you left,'' she told him.

On June 30, Atkins died.

Emmanuel was in Cardiff, Wales, and about to go on stage when his cell phone rang. ``I went into my dressing room. I was trying not to cry too much.

``I had this sense: I'm going to go out there and play my heart out.''

He played ``Mr. Guitar,'' and told the audience a giant had just fallen. The crowd was with him.

``And my sorrow turned to joy.''

During the three-hour drive home to London, he put on their duo album, ``The Day Finger Pickers Took Over the World,'' and played it over and over. That's when the tears came.

``I was never that close to my father. Chet was like the father I never had, and I was like the son he never had.''

He couldn't go to the funeral, though Atkins' wife made him an honorary pallbearer. The Emmanuels were moving that week and he was needed.

Emmanuel hasn't come to terms with Atkins' death.

But the other night, he had a dream.

Chet Atkins came walking up beside him, looking young and fit. ``I'm feeling so great,'' he said. ``Everything's good.''

He walked so fast, Emmanuel couldn't keep up. He left him in the dust.

Even in death, his beloved mentor was still ahead of the pack.

And Emmanuel, and all the other guitarists, forever left behind.

by Teresa Annas
THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT

Hear Tommy Play here:
[link]

Stories from my youth

Autumn always provided mixed feelings for me ...back in the early 60s growing up in Michigan meant the fallen colors would be swept to the curb and ignited with plumes of grey black smoke curling to the heavens.

The smell wasn't all that unpleasant in a diluted form.

These huge mounds of golden crisp foliage made for easy fodder for a seven year old's imagination.

We molded gigantic forts in which sorties from opposite street corners were carried out, coupled with the cries of raiding banshees.

Sometimes the raiding parties would be captured by pirates that lay in wait to ambush them; completely covered… buried by the leaves to conceal their presence as territorial defenders.

Yet I still feel a spike of sorrow every fall. Even though now the burning is banned. There are no raiding parties down the streets or in the cul-de-sacs. Imagination is something of purchase now, obsolete with handheld video games, time parceled out through indoors scores.

That sudden lapse after Mrs. O'Neil backed the vinyl wood-sided station wagon out the driveway, after Tommy Parker’s mom's bridge party and Tommy could not be called in for one last supper.

And then the wind moved the leaves way.




Michaeldavitt

Something Said Before

It is the time you have spent with your rose that makes your rose so important."
~ The Little Prince by
French aviator Antoine de Saint-Exupéry It's not so much the thing, as the caring for it.


There is no greater gift to an insecure leader that quite matches a vague enemy who can be used to whip up fear and hatred among the population. -Paul Rusesabagina, humanitarian (b. 1954)


Donner: Wanna dance?
Jet Girl: I don't know how.
Donner: It's okay, I brought the condoms!

Tank Girl: Look, it's been swell, but the swelling's gone down.

Kesslee: Eight, Eight, the burning eight. Between Sunday and Monday there lies a day so dark it will devastate.

Tank Girl: Look, if you want to torture me, spank me, lick me, do it. But if this poetry shit continues, shoot me now, please.

Tank Girl: You gotta think about it like the first time you got laid. You gotta go: "Daddy, are you sure this is right?"

~Tank Girl is a British comic created by Jamie Hewlett and Alan Martin. Originally drawn by Jamie Hewlett. As the name suggests, the titular character Tank Girl drives a tank, which is also her home. She undertakes a series of missions for a nebulous organization before making a serious mistake and being declared an outlaw for her sexual inclinations and her substance abuse.


They asked for a written note from my doctor when I flu-away from work ..

But he was loath to publish it for me
Left me sitting by the docked pay
~ Michaeldavitt

“God favors Big Battalions.”
~Napoleon

Writing is like prostitution. First you do it for love, and then for a few close friends, and then for money.
-Moliere

When Tikhon came to her, Mary was sitting on the sofa in her room, holding the weeping Mademoiselle Bourienne in her arms and gently stroking her hair. One thing I thank god for is that I did not kill that man, said Pierre.
- Leo Tolstoy - War and Peace

We all know that art is not truth. Art is a lie that makes us realize the truth.
-Pablo Picasso

It is the spectator, and not life, that art really mirrors.
-Oscar Wilde

Gravitation cannot be held responsible for people falling in love.
-Albert Einstein


Men always want to be a woman`s first love - women like to be a man`s last romance.
-Oscar Wilde

A man in love is not complete until he is married. Then he is finished.
-Zsa Zsa Gabor


In art as in love, instinct is enough.
-Anatole France

Never bend your head. Hold it high.
Look the world straight in the eye.
~~Helen Keller

Everybody is ignorant, only on different subjects.
*Will Rogers*

The trouble with life in the fast lane is that you get to the other end in an awful hurry
*James Dean*

Those who abandon their dreams will discourage yours.

Sadness is but a wall between two gardens.
*Kahlil Gibran*

The best way to have the last word is to apologize.

"I sometimes think my head is so large because it is so full of dreams."
*Joseph Merrick* / Elephant Man

A few years later, the weight of that misshapen head would asphyxiate him in his sleep. Not many men are crushed quite so literally by the immensity of their own dreams.

"if you see a Bomb Technican running, try to keep up with him"

*3 Fingered Charlie Hanson* - Unexploded Ordnance Section / Ordnance Examiners from the Royal Army Service Corps-RAOC


"People are like stained-glass windows.
They sparkle and shine when the sun is out, but when the darkness sets in, their true beauty is revealed only if there is light from within. "
* Elizabeth Kubler-Ross*

The pursuit of the artist is always to deepen the mystery.
* Francis Bacon *

Tears:

The hydraulic force by which masculine will-power is defeated by feminine hydro-Power
*Gordon Kaufmann* (1888-1949) was an English born American architect mostly known for his work on the Hoover Dam

“Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world; indeed, it’s the only thing that ever has.”
*Margaret Mead*


Thought for the day:

It may be that your sole purpose in life is simply to serve as a warning to others....
*Mrs. Fanny May Salter*, a lighthouse keeper in the U.S. Coast Guard Service

"One of the greatest joys in life is watching light."
*Richard Avedon*

Too many people go through life running from something that isn't after them.
*Dr. Richard Kimble*

"The bird constructs a nest; the spider, a cobweb; the man, the friendship."
*William Blake*


“Life is a dance towards God…and the dance is not so graceful as we might want. While we glide and swing our practiced sway, God crowds our feet, bumps out toes, and scuffs our shoes. So we learn to dance with the One who made us. And it is a difficult dance to learn, because its steps are foreign…..there is nothing I am missing. I have everything I was supposed to have to experience the magnitude of this story, to dance with God.”

Donald Miller’s -“Through Painted Deserts”,


We come to love not by finding a perfect person, but by learning to see an imperfect person perfectly.
*Sam Keen*

"The spaces between your fingers were created so that another's could fill them"

About Foresight

Confucus said, "If a man take no thought about what is distant, he will find sorrow near at hand"

The Analects of Confucus(Book 15, Chapter 11)


"Getting over a painful experience is much like crossing monkey bars. You have to let go at some point in order to move forward.”
*Cheetah*

“Everyone who enjoys, thinks that the principal thing to the tree is the fruit, but in point of fact, the principal thing to it, is the seed. -- Herein lies the difference between them that create and them that enjoy.”
*Friedrich Nietzsche*

"Sometimes one pays most for the things one gets for nothing."
*Albert Enstein*

A human being is a part of a whole, called by us _universe_, a part limited in time and space. He experiences himself, his thoughts and feelings as something separated from the rest... a kind of optical delusion of his consciousness. This delusion is a kind of prison for us, restricting us to our personal desires and to affection for a few persons nearest to us. Our task must be to free ourselves from this prison by widening our circle of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature in its beauty."
*Albert Enstein*

"...one of the strongest motives that lead men to art and science is escape from everyday life with its painful crudity and hopeless dreariness, from the fetters of one's own ever-shifting desires. A finely tempered nature longs to escape from the personal life into the world of objective perception and thought."
*Albert Enstein*

"Not everything that counts can be counted, and not everything that can be counted counts." (Sign hanging in Einstein's office at Princeton)

Comments


:iconveinsofmercury:
Thanks for your support! I appreciate it :)

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Prints for sale at my website here [link]
:iconscarlettletters:
Thanks for the views and faves. Enjoy your weekend!

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An Irishman has an abiding sense of tragedy that sustains him through temporary bouts of joy.
:iconmichaeldavitt:
welcome

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Regards,


Michaeldavitt ; }
:iconmichaeldavitt:
Thank you kind sir... I only want the best

I bite my thumb, but I do not bite my thumb at you!

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Regards,


Michaeldavitt ; }
:icon100kt-tape:
Thanks for the fave! :)

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Lead if you think you can, follow if you need to. Just get the hell out of my way while you decide.
:iconfuriousennui:
Thank ye kindly for the favourites!
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