Art is limitless
Art is pure
Art is life

Strum a few cords
Hum a melody
Sing from the soul,
That is Art

Paint agony
Sketch misery
Carve beauty
Sculpt time
That is Art

Move to the rhythm
Twirl to the lyrics
Float with notes
That is Art

Capture a scene
Freeze the moment
Time frozen by the lens
That is Art

Breathing each day
Hiding all night
Laughing the pain away
Crying the joyous moment
That is life
And that too is Art

Have you had a dream that felt realer than reality itself?
Anything that you touched or touched you felt so surreal?
Somebody calls you, you may not know who but you hear it clear and true.
The steps we've taken in the paths of our lives are echoed in the realm where fears lie and all we can see is our own consciousness,
And the path I've followed 'til now would have kept me from falling so deep into this current darkness.
The darkness that is depression, the monster that stays throughout all, even our sleep.
A majority of people have seen this pitch-black inkling in some form,
And I believe it shouldn't be feared as it is but I've got no control over how bad things can get.
It would be silly to say "I'm okay" because that's a lie we hear every day -
But here I am, dying so slowly, but so surely that it's quite disturbing;
Being able to see yourself become nothing more than a hollow shell as you let it eat away at you.
So all we can do is sleep.
Try for dreams. Instead of nightmares.
Yet, no matter how hard we may try, there's always that thought of sleeping an eternity away.
*Sleep until you can't wake up.
For dreaming is your final stop

The first step towards learning from your mistake
Is accepting that you've made a mistake
Be bold enough to admit your mistakes
And smart enough to learn from them

She ran red lipstick over
her fingertips before she
ripped out my heart
to give it colour,
she put it back, mind you,
I can't say she broke it,
I can't even say she ripped it out,
it was involuntary,
I gave it to her,
and the thought of
rejection made me
take it back,
an unfinished
cigarette put back in the pack
when lit later, nothing tastes the same,
bitter almost,
she set fire to it
and ran from the smoke,
she came back once it all settled,
and all that's left is ash,
I'm always caught saying
"Sorry this my last one"
but I'd let her smoke me empty,
my heart is still red and the lipstick
has worn,
and that's what made me realize
she's the one

Over the course of 64 years (and still), I have encountered so many women (including my still lovely ex-wife) in person and in writing who struggle with their looks. It seems to be an eternal theme that crosses generations. So, I decided to write this humble piece in reply.
There are some who would say I can’t write about women’s feelings because I am a man. A patronizing old, white man. I note their objecions, but I disagree. I believe humanity always trumps gender.
We live in an artificial culture created and controlled by advertisers. Not only do they sell us stuff, they convince us that we need it. Women are perfect targets for them.
So they have created impossible standards for women to live up to. You must always look like you are 25, young and thin. They tell you this is the key to being desired, even loved. As it’s impossible to be young and thin forever, they just happen to have the products that will “help” you. They want your minds so they can profit by manipulating them. They do a great job of it.
So the key to loving your bodies and yourselves is to take back your minds. This is difficult. You are bombarded with a barrage of words and images that say you are not good enough. If only you were younger, thinner, shaped like Barbie, not greying, had longer legs, bigger *******, wore a size 2, you would be happy, and — of course — men would desire you. You would never be traded in for a younger, sleeker model. So many insecurities to exploit.
But consider the difference between beauty and Beauty. Beauty is human, individual and eternal; beauty is abstract, mass and reliant on current tastes.
I have known many women of all shapes, sizes and ages who were Beautiful. That Beauty was expressed from their hearts through their faces and eyes. They radiated it. It was not dependent on my or any other man’s approval. It just was. So I know this can be done.
Fashion changes so there will always be new things to sell. To the current ad masters, the Gibson girls of the late 19th century would now be called fat. Sell them a diet plan and gym membership. The angular loveliness of the Venus de Milo too cold and boyish. Sell her cosmetics and plastic surgery. Mona Lisa, a dumpy Italian girl. So many things to sell her.
And then there is that intense desire to please men that begins with daddy. I often hear its echo even in the strident voices of the most ardent feminists. The advertisers trade on that. That’s deep. That’s very hard to overcome. That’s both an individual and a cultural problem.
But many women never seem to consider that a great many men aren’t dumb enough to buy the 25 and thin forever image and don’t really demand to be constantly pleased. They might actually be looking for intelligence, heart, affection and respect instead of a perfect ***. Not all, often not the young, but many.
At some point, you have to say no and mean it. You are not your age, dress size, cup size or waist size. Those are just outward manifestations of the true you. If someone rejects you on the basis of such ephemeralities, you are better off without them. You have to take control of your soul. No one can give you that except yourself. You have to live with yourself just as men have to live with themselves. Again, humanity trumps gender.
I unabashedly love women. They have been one of the great delights of my life. I love the difficulties and the differences. What a woefully dreary world it would be if men and women were they same. So, it pains me to see so many women in so much pain.
You are, first of all, a person and that is worth insisting upon. Insist. Demand. Escape, if necessary. Be the only you you can ever truly be. Then you will feel pretty. And you will be as pretty as you feel.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5dbshnvztGA

  ~mce

Love is a language which the deaf can hear
And the dumb can speak
It is a language which can melt the coldest of hearts
And open every closed door of the soul
Unfortunately,presently the world is so obsessed with hatred
That it has forgotten to speak the language of love