Introspection


Still not feeling well, though I did go to work today.

Everything feels magnified: problems seem bigger, happy thoughts seem more shiny, everything will turn on a dime, though.

Full Moon. Oh yeah. Slap a Full Moon on anything and for me it acts like a big magnifying glass…for better or worse. Add that it’s in the sign of Cancer I definitely feel more sensitive, a little raw.

That’s all I got.

That and I’m about to kill a certain overactive teenage boy-cat.

Talk amongst yourselves. Move along, kiddies…nothing to see here today. Nothing but that crazy woman about to let out a blood-curdling scream…again.

© 2011 D. Kessler

The whole jump-on-the-bandwagon, me-too-me-too mind-set of New Year’s Resolutions not only puts me off a bit, it downright pisses the hell outta me. I know the whole thing is intended to motivate, get you to re-evaluate your life situation, optimize your view on the future, but for me it just does the opposite. I get all, “Oh yeah? WTF & fuck you!” about it…even though I am the one setting the goals. Does that seem just a little fucked up to you? Anyone??

I have issues with conformity and authority, I’ll grant you that. But this whole “I resolve to…” thing just makes me want to clam up, tune out and shut down. It gives me anxiety and, in turn, anger at the source of that anxiety. Fuck anything that adds more stress to my life! I don’t need it! Yes, I know I should go to the gym. Yes, I know I should write every day. Yes, I fucking know that there are five million and twenty-three things that I need to get my shit in order!

I want to lose weight.

I want to save money.

I want to get this blog back up and running.

I want to throw out most of the stuff in my apartment.

I want to read that pile of books in my bedroom that keeps getting taller and taller.

I want to get my style back.

I want to get over my social anxiety issues.

I want to eat better.

I want to fix my relationship.

I want to get my ass to France (…and Spain!)

I want to have a job that I like and feel okay with.

I want to I want to I want to I want to I want to I want to…

This could go on forever and ever. *sigh*

Setting resolutions for all this shit is just another way to stress myself out because there is no way in hell that I will accomplish them…any of it. Call me a pessimist, a defeatist…whatever. I’m being realistic. And if I can’t do all of it and do it perfectly, then what’s the fucking point?

Yes, I know. Pick only a few of the ones that are most important to you and just work on those. Baby steps. One day at a time. You can always add more later as you accomplish your goals…blahblahblah. At this point in my life EVERYTHING feels urgent. Every single one of those things listed above and more cry out for me to do them and do them yesterday, last week, last month, last YEAR. I feel a snowball effect bearing down on me with a thunderous rumble of DOOM…and it’s all I can do to get out of the way.

So with that, dear Reader, I will leave you. There’s a Bloody Mary with my name on it somewhere this Bright Sunshine-y New Year’s Day, I assure you…and it’s not going to drink itself.

“I made no resolutions for the New Year. The habit of making plans, of criticizing, sanctioning and molding my life, is too much of a daily event for me.” ~Anaïs Nin

Sunrise Over Barcelona

© 2011 D. Kessler

So you see, there’s been no action over here for quite a while…like months. Part of that was due to some weirdness with my ‘puter (see previous post), part was because I no longer have wi-fi access anywhere in my apartment, and part (most?) was because I was Just Plain Lazy. Tired and Uninspired. Had a serious case of Writer’s Block. Ok ok…I Just Plain Suck.

HOWEVER…as part of the Jump On The Bandwagon Program (also known as the New Year’s Resolution Brainstorm, version 20.10), I plan to…I endeavor to…I’m gonna TRY to…?  Whatever. Let’s just say there’s going to be a flurry of activity over here…well, at least compared to what’s been going on here in the past few (many!) months. It’ll be starting out as a small flurry…an occasional dust devil, if you will…nothing big enough to lift a farmhouse out of Kansas over the rainbow…but it will be SOMETHING.  And that’s the important part.  Writing SOMETHING…anything…getting back in the swing of things.   

Ya’ll should bear with me, though…I might have forgotten how to ride this bike just like I forgot how to drive a car.  We won’t be poppin’ wheelies or yellin’ “Look, Ma! No hands!” right away. And we may even be a bit all over the place, wobbling back and forth from one side of the road to the other, sampling a plethora of topics as they flit though my mind (like they always do. Focus? What’s focus? I swear sometimes I…Oh! Wow, look at that! SHINEY!! Wheeee!)

Uh…Where was I?  Oh yeah. Topics. Bunches of them. Some fun, some we’ll have to try to make fun, some angry, some just there…but then again, this IS Dy’s Mind’s Eye.  It’s just observations from my reality. So, welcome back to my reality, Everyone.  And welcome back to Me!  It will feel good to breathe again, I think.  Because that’s what writing is in my world: Life’s Breath.  And I’m back from the grave, Baybee!  Oh yeah!

As I apparently blew off my writing/blogging for the month of January…with the exception of two posts…it was with trepidation that I meandered over to the NaBloPoMo site in search of a new badge for February for the right-side column of my blog’s front page.  Does it make a mockery of the whole idea if I, with my happy little badge declaring that “I write every day!”, don’t fulfill the task?  I mean, you all see that little thing in the corner and go, ‘Yeah, right, Dy.  Sure you’re going to post everyday.  Uh-huh. Ok. Whatever you say.  You know we came by here a number of days last month and you were nowhere to be found.  Totally incognito, kaput, vaporized…just plain GONE.”

*sigh*

Yes, that’s true.  But then there’s the idea that if I stick that badge in the corner that maybe it’ll help nudge me in that direction, sort of a way to guilt me into it, as it were.  Not that I don’t want to write something everyday, it’s just that it seems so hard lately to do so.  I don’t have the helpful external prodding from the media blitz that preceded the election, I don’t have the hours of nothing to do that I did before I re-joined the workforce, I don’t have the brain energy to get wrapped up in some trivial thing and make it a big thing and I certainly don’t seem to have the words free-flowing out my fingertips. 

Not to say that I don’t have the words still stewing and swirling around my brain…they just seem to be having a hard time finding the correct corridor to the exit. 

See, the words that are romping around my head seem be different than the previous ones.  Additionally, they have stifled the cool creative words, the words that really want to/need to get out and about, the words that are interesting and create stories and opinions and observations worth reading.  The non-cool words…aka the Bully Words…sprout from things like financial concerns and getting my living space livable and PMS and general non-happenings that bug me in Real Life…things that are best left in a private journal or hashed out with one’s psychiatrist.  These Bully Words loiter around the hallways of my brain, blocking the exits for the Creative Words…and they apparently think this is a riot.  I imagine them calling out in their best Nelson voice, “Haw-haw!  Look at the freaky-artsy-fartsies trying to get out!  Haw-haw! What a bunch of idiots!  Haw-haw!”  Which, of course, makes the neurotic Creative Words forget all their Coolness and they mill about trying to look cool and pretend that they’re waiting for other Cool Creative Words to hang out with…which means that they never really get out, do they?

Well. We’re. Not. Having. Any of it!  Apparently the geekiest of the Creative Words made it out somehow…or else how do you explain this bizarre metaphor of a story?

So.  February’s topic at NaBloPoMo is WANT…and I WANT to beat those Bully Words to a pulp and get those Cool Creative Words flowing again.  If ya’ll have any ideas on how to get that done, by all means, toss ’em my way!  In the meantime, it is my full intention to plop some shit on this shingle everyday this month…hopefully some of it will be worth reading.

See ya tomorrow…one way or the other…

© 2009 D. Kessler

Ever sit on a public transportation vehicle in a city and actually watch everything go by, the people get on and off?  I mean really.  I can’t say that I even do it anymore.  Me…watcher of people and inanimate objects…I have succumbed.  To The All Powerful iPod.  Bow down and be saved, be counted, be ridiculed by those Poor Souls that Don’t Know.  Just plug in, tune out and become One.

Now, once upon a time, way back in the day…oh, 18 or 19 years ago…I had a car.  I loved my car, or so I thought.  It was Japanese, had power locks & windows, including a sun roof, leather seats, four doors and a nice stereo. I kept it clean, no one was allowed to smoke in my car, and it allowed me what I thought was the ultimate freedom to move about wherever I wanted, whenever I wanted.  ‘Course, I was chained to it by a monthly car payment and insurance payments and maintenance costs, but having grown up in some not so large cities in Arizona and California, where there really was no public transportation to speak of, I didn’t really know any other way.  That is, until the car “went away”.  Why it went away is a story for another day as it involves all sorts of unpleasant memories that I don’t like to share with just everybody right off the bat.  But it doesn’t matter why the car “went away”…it just did…and then I discovered public transportation.  And I therefore also discovered my city, for real.  There is no way I would fully have gotten to know my city in the way I do now if I had sat behind the wheel day after day in gridlock on the freeways, thoroughfares and downtown one-ways…cursing as I did so. No frakin‘ way.  Uh-uh.

Joe Metro at 4th Ave & Pine St, Feb 07Let me just explain that Seattle’s public transportation…King Co Metro…is still,  for the most part, a bus system.  Despite numerous ballot initiatives, campaigns and the voters repeatedly speaking aloud in favor of various superior modes of pub transit, we still have “the bus”…or as we call it here, “Joe Metro”.  There’s this rumor…and even some media pictures of construction…of a light-rail system being built in some parts of the city, but I just don’t see how that is even really a viable thing for those of us that both work and live in the city.  Oh, it’ll be great for the suburban commuters…if you can pry their cold grey knuckles off the wheel of their SUVs…and maybe even for some of the neighborhoods that aren’t quite suburbs but are too stretched out from the core of the city to really get addicted to Joe Metro.  But can someone tell me how a train, running on the surface with all the cars, SUVs, Metro buses etc, is such a great thing worthy of my undying love and tax dollars?  I just don’t get it.  But I digress…as usual.

So, about getting to know your/my city:  With the bus, you get time to look around, to come into contact…sometimes too close of contact!…with others that dwell in your city.  People like you, people no frakin’ way anywhere close to like you, people that you could eventually become or that you used to be.  Not to mention the things you discover walking to/from any bus stop…I bet you didn’t even know that shop was there all this time, did you!

I started blathering about this topic of pub transit because today I actually got off my ass and went out of the house…or more accurately,my apartment.  Yes…I got out of my pajamas (no, I’m not in a basement…most Seattle inner city apartment buildings don’t really have basements…but yes, I’m back in my pee-jays now!) and I got all gussied up in skirt and jacket…looking like the Corporate Whore I used to be…so I could be presentable at my interview on the 43rd floor downtown.  This means that I got to ride Joe Metro for about 15 minutes there, and 15 minutes back.  But what I didn’t realize, is that I totally forgot about what I used to love riding the bus for:  people watching, city watching.  I forgot until I got home and took off my boots with an *oof!* and sat down with a *sigh* to write earlier today.  Nothin’…I got nothin’.  I always used to have somethin’ to say after a bus ride, be it a rant, a funny thing that happened type story, or a poem about one of the riders or the cityscape outside the window as we bounced along.  What the…?

Ah-haah…The All Powerful iPod.  I had Theivery Corporation and Zero 7 and Nitin Sawhney playing the whole time and didn’t even look around me to see what characters there were with me today.  Of course, maybe it’s because none of my fellow Joe-Metroers at that time of day were interesting enough to grab my attention.  Maybe my mind was on the interview looming on my horizon.  Maybe, but I doubt it.  Now that I think about it, I did notice a few persons on the bus as I walked past them as I debarked at my stop…but they all had white wires coming out of their ears…fellow Worshipers of the All Powerful iPod…and they weren’t paying any attention to anyone either…

So, what, in order to satisfy my NaBlo assignment today (and just barely under the wire), am I thankful for?  What is this rambling post all about?  Two things:  

  1. I must say I am both thankful for and saddened by the iPod.  I love my music, I love my games, I love my various shows I can watch on it.  But at what cost to our humanity, our awareness of and interaction with our neighbors?
  2. And I am both thankful and saddened by my old friend Joe Metro.  My reliable (usually) ride, my entertaining and sometimes thought provoking bubble bouncing down the Seattle city streets.  But, sadly, we should have our Monorail or a subway system by now, don’tchya think?  I think. I know. 

© 2008 D. Kessler

So, I was scouring around the blogosphere, trying to come up with some ideas about what I am thankful for…you know, for the NaBlo topic this month.  Well, there are a lot of things out there to blather about, let me tell you. Oh, but you already know that, I’m sure.  I mean, if you’re like me and read other blogs and the news and the gossip and the…well, everything that is sustenance for the Cyber-Crack Addict…then it’s not a matter of finding something to write about, but rather to decide on the one thing to write about today, this very minute.  Maybe I’m just too ADHD to settle down to one topic, but it can be very hard for me sometimes to just tune out all the other things, or stop in the middle of a paragraph too look something up and quickly return to the task at hand, only to find out half an hour later that I am now reading something totally different than intended or logging on to one of my many favorite time-wasting sites that are the bane of my authoring existence.

Like just now.  Here I am, just typing away nothing in a probably transparent attempt at stalling.  I have to write, I even have an “assignment” of sorts (if you want to consider the NaBlo topic an assignment), but gosh darn it if I didn’t get up to reheat a slice of pizza and came back to my ‘puter to wait for it and here we go again.  I just pulled up Margaret and Helen to get caught up on the haps over there  (there was a troll invasion the other day…very disturbing, yet entertaining how it played out…) and…well, you can’t write anything really when you know that in two and a half minutes the toaster oven is going to pop and then you’re going to have to use your fingers for daintily shoving crusty carbs and gooey cheesey heaven between your lips and opening a coke and…well, not typing, right?  So, here it is half and hour later and I realize that I forgot all about my dinner and my unfinished blatherings and the open window with the rain outside (it is December in Seattle, after all) and  the meowling boy-cat outside and…well, just about everything. 

So, there I have it. My answer on what to write about today, this minute.  It isn’t a grand old thing such as world peace or a roof over my head or any “ta-dah!” epiphany .  Nope.  It’s just this:  I am thankful for Margaret and Helen, for Helen Philpot of Austin Texas, for her almost 83 years, her self-described “sailor mouth”, her breath of fresh air, her humor and her outrage.  She’s earned the right to say whatever she wants and boy am I glad she does!  And lately she’s gotten Margaret to post along with her, giving a kind of big-picture/home-front-picture format to the blog.  Margaret is incognito for a few days due to holiday travel, but I look forward to her return.  I gotta get my Gramma Helen and Aunt Margaret fix as often a they’ll post!

There.  That’s that.  And now I have slice of pizza and a coke to attend to, if you don’t mind…

© 2008 D. Kessler

a-beer-in-a-glass So I really need to get back on a “normal” schedule again.  Easier said than done.  Here I am at 4:42 am and still not asleep…this is my problem.  And it’s not even like am up writing a storm of slog…I’m the Queen of Procrastination…I just, I dunno.

Being out of work, I sleep late, then stay up late, and then sleep later, then before you know it I’m getting up at 6:00 pm everyday and going to bed around 8:00 am.  My “evening” is now, 4:30 am, not pm.  Very backwards, yes…for most people…but I find this very easy, even correct in a way.  I always have been a night person, but this is getting ridiculous if you look at it from a practical point of view.  It’s  very hard to get errands done, for one thing.  It cuts even deeper into my already becoming non-existent social life…you know, when your friends work during the day and sleep at night it’s not so easy to connect in person…there becomes a lag-time with phone-tag, and texting and emails. 

A certain friend of mine keeps insisting that this is not good for me and I need to get back on a “normal” schedule and insists that I’ll become depressed.  However, she also thrives on days off spent in any activity that gets her out of her apartment…shopping, a park, something.  I’m not like that, never have been.  To me, days off are for laziness and sometimes for cleaning your apartment.  Do those things that require you to be outside your apartment on your lunch hour or after work…on days where you already have been dealing with people all day.  I think she, more than any other reason, just really wants me to come out and do things with her, not necessarily because it’s something good for me.

Maybe my Taurus-ness is manifesting itself more than it did 10 years ago (arbitrary #).   I really have no desire to go Downtown “shopping” if I haven’t a wad of cash to blow.  Otherwise I’m just looking at stuff someone else wants to buy and having to deal with morons on the sidewalk.  I much rather hang out at home, watch movies, read, do internet stuff.cigarette

But this day-sleeping thing…I guess I just feel guilty as this is not how we were all brought up and maybe I really should try to see the sun sometimes.  That will mean me staying up for over 24 hours at this point, I think.  Instead of going to bed at 8:00 or 9:00 am, I’ll have to tough it out and keep going through the afternoon and evening.  Hmm…not looking forward to it.  But, yes,  I’ll have to do it soon enough if/when I ever get an interview for that sought-after employment.

Now for that cigarette…a nasty habit that I pick up when I’m not working…

© 2008 D. Kessler

As I’ve said, I’m tired.  The negativity of the mudslinging has sapped my energy and I now turn to a very different topic today.  Hallowe’en.

Hallowe’en is an important holiday for me and it’s roots are in the Celtic pagan New Year, Samhain.  (My mother and father were actually married on Hallowe’en, though neither of them were pagans…Interesting…).  Since I am, as I said, tired, I will post something from another site that puts it in a historical and understandable perspective, as I just can’t seem to deal with being La Professora today:

Samhain marks one of the two great doorways of the Celtic year, for the Celts divided the year into two seasons: the light and the dark, at Beltane on May 1st and Samhain on November 1st. Some believe that Samhain was the more important festival, marking the beginning of a whole new cycle, just as the Celtic day began at night. For it was understood that in dark silence comes whisperings of new beginnings, the stirring of the seed below the ground. Whereas Beltane welcomes in the summer with joyous celebrations at dawn, the most magically potent time of this festival is November Eve, the night of October 31st, known today of course, as Halloween.

Samhain (Scots Gaelic: Samhuinn) literally means “summer’s end.” In Scotland and Ireland, Halloween is known as Oíche Shamhna, while in Wales it is Nos Calan Gaeaf, the eve of the winter’s calend, or first. With the rise of Christianity, Samhain was changed to Hallowmas, or All Saints’ Day, to commemorate the souls of the blessed dead who had been canonized that year, so the night before became popularly known as Halloween, All Hallows Eve, or Hollantide. November 2nd became All Souls Day, when prayers were to be offered to the souls of all who the departed and those who were waiting in Purgatory for entry into Heaven. Throughout the centuries, pagan and Christian beliefs intertwine in a gallimaufry of celebrations from Oct 31st through November 5th, all of which appear both to challenge the ascendancy of the dark and to revel in its mystery.

In the country year, Samhain marked the first day of winter, when the herders led the cattle and sheep down from their summer hillside pastures to the shelter of stable and byre. The hay that would feed them during the winter must be stored in sturdy thatched ricks, tied down securely against storms. Those destined for the table were slaughtered, after being ritually devoted to the gods in pagan times. All the harvest must be gathered in — barley, oats, wheat, turnips, and apples — for come November, the faeries would blast every growing plant with their breath, blighting any nuts and berries remaining on the hedgerows. Peat and wood for winter fires were stacked high by the hearth. It was a joyous time of family reunion, when all members of the household worked together baking, salting meat, and making preserves for the winter feasts to come. The endless horizons of summer gave way to a warm, dim and often smoky room; the symphony of summer sounds was replaced by a counterpoint of voices, young and old, human and animal.

In early Ireland, people gathered at the ritual centers of the tribes, for Samhain was the principal calendar feast of the year. The greatest assembly was the ‘Feast of Tara,’ focusing on the royal seat of the High King as the heart of the sacred land, the point of conception for the new year. In every household throughout the country, hearth-fires were extinguished. All waited for the Druids to light the new fire of the year — not at Tara, but at Tlachtga, a hill twelve miles to the north-west. It marked the burial-place of Tlachtga, daughter of the great druid Mogh Ruith, who may once have been a goddess in her own right in a former age.

At at all the turning points of the Celtic year, the gods drew near to Earth at Samhain, so many sacrifices and gifts were offered up in thanksgiving for the harvest. Personal prayers in the form of objects symbolizing the wishes of supplicants or ailments to be healed were cast into the fire, and at the end of the ceremonies, brands were lit from the great fire of Tara to re-kindle all the home fires of the tribe, as at Beltane. As they received the flame that marked this time of beginnings, people surely felt a sense of the kindling of new dreams, projects and hopes for the year to come.

The Samhain fires continued to blaze down the centuries. In the 1860s the Halloween bonfires were still so popular in Scotland that one traveler reported seeing thirty fires lighting up the hillsides all on one night, each surrounded by rings of dancing figures, a practice which continued up to the first World War. Young people and servants lit brands from the fire and ran around the fields and hedges of house and farm, while community leaders surrounded parish boundaries with a magic circle of light. Afterwards, ashes from the fires were sprinkled over the fields to protect them during the winter months — and of course, they also improved the soil. The bonfire provided an island of light within the oncoming tide of winter darkness, keeping away cold, discomfort, and evil spirits long before electricity illumined our nights. When the last flame sank down, it was time to run as fast as you could for home, raising the cry, “The black sow without a tail take the hindmost!”

Even today, bonfires light up the skies in many parts of the British Isles and Ireland at this season, although in many areas of Britain their significance has been co-opted by Guy Fawkes Day, which falls on November 5th, and commemorates an unsuccessful attempt to blow up the English Houses of Parliament in the 17th century. In one Devonshire village, the extraordinary sight of both men and women running through the streets with blazing tar barrels on their backs can still be seen! Whatever the reason, there will probably always be a human need to make fires against the winter’s dark.

Samhain was [and is still amongst certain circles, pun intended] a significant time for divination, perhaps even more so than May or Midsummer’s Eve, because this was the chief of the three Spirit Nights. Divination customs and games frequently featured apples and nuts from the recent harvest, and candles played an important part in adding atmosphere to the mysteries. In Scotland, a child born at Samhain was said to be gifted with an dà shealladh, “The Two Sights” commonly known as “second sight,” or clairvoyance.”

Now, as a person of Northern French decent, I feel a strong tie to all things Celtic.  Many think of Celtic in terms of only Irish or Scottish or some such faction of peoples from the British Isles.  But the fact is that the Normans, whom invaded Britain near a thousand years ago were from the Continent…and from the area known in Roman times as Northern Gaul…the area now known as France.  So, it completely makes sense that I would eventually lean this way in my spiritual meanderings,

Add to this the fact that my maternal grandfather is Mexican and I have a deep affiity to the Latin community.  Hallowe’en falls during the Mexican version of the holiday, Los Dios de los Muertos (the Days of the Dead).  The origins of Los Dios de los Muertos also have their roots in a pagan celebration:

The Day of the Dead celebrations in Mexico can be traced back to the indigenous peoples such as the Olmec, Zapotec, Mixtec, Mexican, Aztec, Maya, P’urhépecha, and Totonac. Rituals celebrating the deaths of ancestors have been observed by these civilizations perhaps for as long as 2500–3000 years.[1] In the pre-Hispanic era, it was common to keep skulls as trophies and display them during the rituals to symbolize death and rebirth.

The festival that became the modern Day of the Dead fell in the ninth month of the Aztec calendar, about the beginning of August, and was celebrated for an entire month. The festivities were dedicated to the goddess Mictecacihuatl,[2] known as the “Lady of the Dead,” corresponding to the modern Catrina.

In most regions of Mexico, November 1st honors deceased children and infants where as deceased adults are honored on November 2nd. This is indicated by generally referring to November 1st mainly as “Día de los Inocentes” (Day of the Innocents) but also as “Día de los Angelitos” (Day of the Little Angels) and November 2nd as “Día de los Muertos” or “Día de los Difuntos” (Day of the Dead).”

So, is it any wonder that I have such an interest in this holiday? 

I really don’t have much else to say…as I said, I’m tired.  But tonight I will not be out with the hoople-heads making a spectacle and mockery.  I will be at home, with my good friends, drinking and indulging in a not-so-pagan guilty pleasure…horror flicks. 

Oh, yeah…and somewhere during our own version of festivities we will raise our glasses and toast those that have come before us, or that are no longer with us, especially and including my little brother John Dmitri, mo’ Gran’mere Lucienne and mi Abuelo Mauricio.

 Johno @ B&O 082402 (crop) Lucienne Blanche Albert Petite Reyes c late 1940s Mauricio Lara Reyes c 1940s

Blessings…

When someone writes a song, with or without words, and says it’s for you, about you or inspired by you…you wonder:  What was/is this person thinking about while writing/playing this song?

Is it happiness, sadness, blissful melancholy?  What?

And what warrants your worthiness to have such a thing written about you?  It really puts one on the spot…

But whatever your initial reaction and/or feelings that come with this announcement, with it must come an inherent ego-boost.  Apparently, you got inside this other person’s head so much that, for whatever reason, they have completely altered the musical history of their being as an artist.  That’s a biggie, I think.  Love you or hate you, this emotional THING would not have ever existed exactly as it is without your influence.  You may not have created it, but you moved the forces that did.  In a way, it makes you just a little bit immortal.  Immortal in the way the Girl with the Pearl Earring is immortal.  Immortal in the way that each and every one of Picasso’s, Renoir’s, Goya’s or any other great artist’s model becomes immortal.  Just because those that hear this song may never ever see what your mortal flesh looks like…well, that doesn’t even enter into the equation.  They will HEAR what the artist felt, they will FEEL what the artist heard.

You have become, just one tiny bit, part of and closer to the Infinite…more than your were ever before…whether you feel like you deserve to or not.

Your 15 minutes just got a major hit on the website of the Universe.

And, honestly…it can feel DAMN good!

© 2008 D. Kessler

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