From fairytale princess gowns to feathery mini-dresses, bold skinny trouser looks and showgirl sequins, Bridal Fashion Week had something for brides of every size, shape and style inclination.

White reigned, as did classic silhouettes to please the most traditional bride. For everybody else, there were splashes of color, plenty of fluttery floral applique and sparkle, sparkle, sparkle.

Highlights from the Spring 2017 collections:

CHRISTIAN SIRIANO FOR KLEINFELD

After a smaller, capsule collection for the famed bridal shop, Siriano teamed with Kleinfeld again on a broader range.

His show stopper was a pricey pink ombre ball gown with a sweetheart neckline and skinny straps. As an evening wear designer, Siriano said bridal was a natural fit. He created in a range of sizes up to 24 or 26 — and a range of price points from about $3,500 to about $19,000.

Noting most dresses can be modified, he showed a lot of sleeves. There were long lacy ones on a column gown and a structured, off-the-shoulder pair in satin, embellished with tulle and strings of pearl.

One of his mermaid gowns included cascading ruffles. He used four tiers of ruffle at the bottom of a white, tailored suit jacket with matching boot-cut trousers.

Siriano also offered a range of hem lengths, from well above the knee in an appliqued mini to a fitted tea length with an ornate high neck and dramatic train.

In a backstage interview, Siriano said he's enjoying his first full push into bridal with the 27 pieces for Kleinfeld after focusing most of the time on evening.

"But the customer is so different," he said. "There's not as many rules. You can get away with trying new things, doing new things. It's a little fantasy dream world."

And what will Siriano wear when he weds his longtime boyfriend, Brad Walsh, at their Connecticut house this summer?

"I don't know. Literally we've got nothing," Siriano laughed.

INES DI SANTO

This was a **** runway dominated by sheers holding lots of floral creations in place. Romance meets sensuality is how the Toronto-based designer likes it.

While many of her looks were fit for royalty, complete with extra-long trains, she also ventured into over-the-top. An ultra-short hem with just one long lace sleeve had tulle skirting that skimmed the floor in back and leggings mismatched with floral embellishment, offering the appearance of one bare and one covered.

Spring itself was her inspiration this time around.

"The flowers, the garden, the beautiful trees, the sky, the sun," Di Santo said in an interview.

There were other vibes, in a sleeveless illusion Palazzo romper, for instance, with an encrusted bodice and dramatic detachable bell sleeves.

"I went very soft, romantic. You can see through the layers of the lace, the legs, the tulle," she said.

Like other designers, Di Santo included fit-and-flare looks along with sheaths, A-line silhouettes, halter necks and princess ball gowns.

Her backs and necklines were often illusion style, offering a barely there appearance. She included open bolero jackets for brides looking for a little cover, along with detachable skirt options for those who want to change up the outfit for the reception.

At the core of any bridal collection, Di Santo said, is how the dress speaks to budding love in marriage.

"It's so important," she said. "You can live without many things but you cannot live without love."



OSCAR DE LA RENTA

Designer Peter Copping is making his mark gradually at the storied Oscar de la Renta label, with a mind toward both preserving his predecessor's legacy and modernizing the label in his own way. In his bridal collection, Copping included some looser shapes — not everything was cinched tightly at the waist, princess-style — and even some short bridal gowns.

"I was thinking of the different women who are brides and the different ways women can get married," Copping said in a post-show interview, "because it's not always the same rules or traditions that people are looking for. So I think it's important within the collection to have a good cross-section of dresses, some short, some big columns, a real mix of fabrics."

Indeed, some of the gowns featured the sumptuous, extravagant embroidery for which the house is justly famous, and others featured much subtler embroidery for a more modern look.

"I think it was really just having a complete range of dresses," Copping said. The most striking were two short numbers, a nod to the popularity (and danceability) of shorter lengths, even if you can afford the big princess gown. "Yes I think it's popular," Copping said of the shorter length, "and I also think it's very relevant for rehearsal dinners, where a woman can still feel bridal the night before."

A highlight of the de la Renta bridal show is always the impeccably attired little children modeling flower-girl designs. "Having children here reflects what a real wedding is," said Copping.

And then there was Barbie.

Guests were sent home with the de la Renta Barbie doll, wearing a strapless white lacy column gown with a light blue tulle overskirt — something blue, of course. And in case you were wondering, under the skirt were some teetering white heels. No flats for this miniature bride.



REEM ACRA

For a bride looking to be just a bit daring, visible boning in corseting lent a uniqueness to some of Acra's fitted bodices.

There was an abundance of drama in ultra-long trains and encrusted sheer overlays. And Acra, too, offered a variety of sleeve options, including a web design on a snug pair that ended just above the elbow. The design, almost twig-like, was carried through to the rest of the full-skirted look.

Many of her dress tops were molded at the chest, bustier style, while she played with the lower halves. And some of her silhouettes fit tightly across the rear, sprouting trains where some brides may not feel entirely comfortable sporting one.

Acra put a twist on other trains, creating them to detach and also be used as veils. And she went for laced-up backs, both high and plunging, on some dresses.

In an interview, she called the collection "very airy, very light." Indeed, the stage lights during her show shone right through some of her dresses.

For the edgier bride, one who might appreciate the James Bond music Acra used for her show, she offered an unusual embroidered illusion gown adorned with pearls, white jewel stones and metal grommets.

Today's brides, she said, "have to have fun," adding: "She can't stress out about her wedding. Enjoy the ride and be the bride!"



MONIQUE LHUILLIER

There were lingerie-inspired elements here, too, with a touch of color in rose, pistachio, antique ivory and caramel. There were pops of fuchsia in bloom applique fitting for the outdoor garden where she staged her show.

Lhuillier decorated some organza gowns with hand-painted floral designs in asymmetrical layered tulle and silk organza. Deep necklines were prominent, with simple slip dresses offered along with bohemian gowns of lace and sheer skirts. Lhuillier also used corset bodices paired with cascading tulle skirts.

The collection felt like a chic romp, complete with high slits for a run through nature.

"My woman this season is in love and care free," Lhuillier said in an interview. "A little bohemian but just carefree."

The only clear trend in bridal these days, she said, is the need for designers to present more options.

"My core bride is somebody who loves femininity, she loves tradition but with a modern twist. And she wants something interesting with a lot of details," Lhuillier said.

There's definitely more fashion involved than when she began in bridal 20 years ago.

"One of the main reasons I got into the bridal business was when I was a bride in 1994, looking for a gown, I thought the options were so limited, and there was not a lot of fashion ideas," Lhuillier said.

Her bride doesn't want to be weighed down, however.

"She wants to look effortless," Lhuillier said. "But she wants to feel **** on her wedding day."

Are we all romantics on our wedding day?

"For me it's a really happy business," Lhuillier said. "We all are romantics deep down inside."



Associated Press writer Jocelyn Noveck contributed to this report.Read more at:www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-melbourne | www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-perth

[Intro: Quavo]
****, man. Brrrrtttttt
Hello?
What the hell you mean Ma? I ain't did ****!
****!

[Hook: Quavo]
Feds hit the spot man I ain't saying nothin
They came around about 5 o' clock this morning (12!)
They telling me I'm copping contraband from informants
Channel 2, Fox 5, I'm America's most wanted! (Ooh!)
Hot boy, hot boy, hot boy, hot boy, hot boy
Hot boy, hot boy, hot boy, hot boy, hot boy
Feds hit the spot say I'm copping from informants
Channel 2, Fox 5, I'm America's most wanted! (Ooh!)

[Verse 1: Quavo]
Yeah, yeah, Quavo
I pick up my **** and then hit the door (Oh ****! **** 12!)
Surrounding my house and they kick the door (Boom! Boom!)
"Don't move, get on the floor!" I hit the window and fell on the curb
I'm trying to get up and take off, the officer speared me, like Goldberg
Say "Where were you 3 o clock on the dot?" "My Momma's house" "You a ******* liar"
Have you heard about your new worker? (Nah) Know I put him in your circle
I witnessed you purchase the pound (nuh uh)
I witnessed you purchase the brown (no you didn't)
I witnessed you purchase the white (no!)
Say goodnight down the road for a long flight

[Hook]

[Verse 2: Takeoff]
Hot Boy like Silkk the Shocker, pull up on your blocka with the Waka Flocka
Momma hit me on my cellular told me that Quavo got caught by the coppers (****!)
They say they've been investigating and Migo gang we connected with the mobsters (Huh?)
Can't talk to you ****** my lawyer talk. **** the prosecutor Mr. Marcus
****! Lookin out of my window, I see a black truck and it's empty
Walk to the door check the peephole (what that is man?)
Then I start hearing a noise and it makes me paranoid (****!)
Thinking what the **** is going on? (What the ****?)
All of these tools like it's Autozone
If I get caught I ain't coming home (No!)

[Hook]

[Verse 3: Offset]
Offset!
They said that I sold to informants
I told them I just got off touring
They circle my house like an orbit (****!)
He telling me he gon extort me (huh?)
50% of my income, unfortunately he not gon get none
Life sentence or freedom so pick one
**** ***** you trying the wrong one (**** *****)
Quavo call my phone, his spot got raided it just got kicked in
We all met up in the Westin
Who know what the **** going on it ain't making sense (who know?)
The police talking they got evidence
I told you ****** bout serving them Mexicans (I told you ******!)
****! There go 12 (****!)
I picked up my **** and I moved out the residence

[Hook]

Another shift, another day, Another buck to spend or save
A million riders, maybe more, delivered to their office door
Or maybe warehouse maybe store.
Or church or shul or city school, right on time as a rule.

Clickety, clackety, clickety, clee,
I am New York, the City’s me
Come let me ride you on my knee
From Coney Isle to Pelham Bay
From Bronx to Queens eight times a day.

Ride my trains, New Yorkers do
And you’ll learn a thing or two
About the City up above, the one some hate, the one some love.
On the street they work like elves
Down below they’re just themselves.

Through summer’s heat they still submerge,
Tempers held (though always on the verge),
They push, they shove – just like above –
The crowds will jostle, then finally merge.

Downtown to work and then back to sleep
They travel just like farm-herded sheep.
In through this gate and out the other,
Give up a seat to a child and mother,
Just don’t sit too close to that unruly creep!

With these crowds huddled near
Just ride my trains with open ear,
There’s lots of tales for you to hear.


Dis stop is 86th Street, change for da numbah 4 and 5 trains.  Dis is a Brooklyn Bridge bound Numbah 6 Train.   77th Street is next.  Watch out da closin dowahs.


     I’m Doctor Z, Doctor Z are me
     I’ll fix your face or the visit’s free.
     Plastic surgery, nips and tucks
     You’ll be looking like a million bucks.

     Looka those pitchas, ain’t they hot?
     You’ll look good, too, like as not!
     Just call my numbah, free of toll
     Why should you look like an ugly troll?

     You’ll be lookin good like a rapster
     Folks start stealing your tunes on Napster
     Guys’ll love ya, dig your face
     Why keep lookin like sucha disgrace?

     Call me up, you’re glad you did
     Ugly skin you’ll soon be rid.
     Amex, Visa, Mastercard,
     Payment plans that ain’t so hard.

     So don’t forget, pick up that phone
     Soon’s you get yourself back home.
     I’ll have you looking good, one, two three
     Or else my name ain’t Doctor Z.


Dis stop is 77th Street, 68th Street Huntah College is next. Yer ona Brooklyn Bridge bound Numbah 6 Train.  Watch out da closin dowahs.


     It was a limo, now it’s the train;
     Tomorrow’s sunshine, but now it’s rain.
     The market’s mine, for taking and giving
     It’s the way I earn my living.

     Today’s losses, last week’s gain.
     A day of pleasure, months of pain.
     We sold the puts and bought the calls;
     We loaded up on each and all.

     I’ve seen it all, from Fear to Greed,
     Good motivators, they are, both.
     The fundamentals I try to heed
     Run your gains and avoid big loss.

     Rates are down, I bought the banks
     For easy credit, they should give thanks.
     Goldman, Citi, even Chase
     Why are they still in their malaise?

     “The techs are drek,” I heard him say
     But bought more of them, anyway.
     I rode the bull, I’ll tame the bear
     I’ll scream and curse and pull my hair.

     So why continue though I’m such a ****?
     I’ll cut my loss if I find honest work.



Dis is 68th Street Huntah College, 59th Street is next. Yer ona Brooklyn Bridge bound Numbah 6 Train.  Watch out da closin dowahs.


     He rides the train from near to far,
     In and out of every car.
     “Batchries, batchries, tres por un dolar!”
     Some folks buy them, most do not,
     Are they stolen, are they hot?
     “Batchries, batchries, tres por un dolar!”

     Who would by them, even a buck?
     What’re the odds they’re dead as a duck?
     “Batchries, batchries, tres por un dolar!”
     Why not the Lotto, try your luck,
     Or are you gonna be this guy’s schmuck?
     “Batchries, batchries, tres por un dolar!”


Dis is 59th Street, change for de 4 and 5 Express and for de N and de R, use yer Metrocard at sixty toid street for da F train.  51st Street is next. Dis is a Brooklyn Bridge bound Numbah 6 Train.  Watch out da closin dowahs.


     “Dat guy kips ****** wit me, Wass he
     tink, I got time for dat ****?  Man, I
     got my wuk to do, I ain gona put
     up with him
     no more.”

          “I don’t know what to tell this dude. Like,
          I really dig him but
          ***?  No way.  And
          He’s getting all too smoochie face.”

     “Right on, bro, slap dat fool up
     side his head, he leave you lone.”

          “Whoa, send him my way.  When’s the last
          time I got laid?  I’m way ready.”

          “Oh, Suzie,..”


Dis is fifty foist Street, 42nd Street Grand Central is next. Yer ona Brooklyn Bridge bound Numbah 6 Train.  Watch out da closin doors.



     Abogados es su amigos, do you believe the sign?
     Are they really a friend of mine?
     Find your lawyer on the train
     He’ll sue if the docs ***** up your brain.

     Pick a lawyer from this ad
     (I’m sure that you’ll be really glad)
     You’ll get a lawyer for your suit,
     Mean and nasty, not so cute.

     Call to live in this great nation
     1-800-IMMIGRATION.
     Or if your bills got you in a rut
     1-800-BANK-RUPT.

     We’re just three guys from Flatbush, Queens
     Who’ll sue that ******* out of his jeans.
     Mama’s proud when she rides this train
     To see my sign making so much rain.

     No SEC no corporations
     We can’t find the United Nations.
     Just give us torts and auto wrecks
     And clients with braces on their necks.

     Hurting when you do your chores?
     There’s money in that back of yours.
     Let us be your friend in courts
     Call 1-800-SUE 4 TORTS.


Dis is 42nd Street, Grand Central, change for the 4, 5 and 7 trains. Dis is a Brooklyn Bridge bound Numbah 6 Train.  Toity toid is next.  Watch out da closin doors.


They say there’s sev’ral million a day
From out in the ‘burbs, they pass this way.
Most come to work, some for to play
They all want to talk, with little to say.

Bumping and shoving, knocking folks down
A million people running around.
The hustle, the bustle the noise that’s so loud
Get me far from this madding crowd.

“We can be shopping instead of just stopping
And onto the next outbound train we go hopping.
Hey, it’s a feel that that guy’s a-copping!”

They want gourmet food, from steaks down to greens
Or neckties and suits, or casual jeans,
It’s not simply newspapers and magazines
For old people, young people, even for teens.


Yer ona Brooklyn Bridge bound Numbah 6 Train.  Dis is Thoidy toid Street, twenty eight is next.  Watch out da closin doors.


     “So what’s the backup plan if
     He doesn’t get into Trevor Day?
     I know your
     heart’s set on it, but we’ve only
     got so many strings we
     can pull, and we can’t donate a
     ******* building.”

           “Hooda believed me if I tolja the Mets
          would sail tru and the Yanks get dere
          by da skinna dere nuts?
          I doan believe it myself.  Allya
          Gotta do is keep O’Neil playin hoit
          And keep Jeter off his game an
          We’ll killum.

               “My sistah tell me she be yo *****.  I tellya I cut you up if you
                ****** wid her, I be yo ***** and donchu fuggedit.”

     “I wish you wouldn’t talk like that.
     And we can just **** good and
     Well find some more strings to pull!”

          “Big fuggin chance.  Wadder ya’ smokin?”

               “Yo sitah she ain my *****, you be my *****.  I doan be ******
                wid yo sistah.  You tell her she doan be goin round tellin folks
                dat ****.”


Yer ona Brooklyn Bridge bound Numbah 6 Train.  Dis is Twenty eight Street, twenty toid is next.  Watch out da closin dowahs.


     Do you speak Russian, French or Greek,
     We’ll assimilate you in a week.
     If Chinese is your native tongue
     You’ll speak good English from day one.

     Morning, noon, evening classes
     Part or full time, lads and lasses.
     You’ll be sounding like the masses
     With word and phrase that won’t abash us.

     Language is our stock in trade
     For us it’s how our living’s made.
     We’ll put you in a class tonight
     Soon your English’ll be out of sight.

     If you’re from Japan or Spain
     Basque or Polish, even Dane,
     Our courses put you in the main
     Stream without any need for pain.

     We’ll teach you all the latest idioms
     You’ll be speaking with perfidium.
     We’ll give you lots of proper grammar
     Traded for that sickle and hammer.

     Are you Italian, Deutsch or Swiss?
     With our classes you can’t miss
     The homogeneous amalgamation
     Of this sanitized Starbucks nation.


Dis is Twenty toid Street, 14th Street Union Square is next. Yer ona Brooklyn Bridge bound Numbah 6 Train.  Watch out da closin doors.


     “Ladies and Gentlemen, I hate to bother you
     But things are bleak of late.
     I had a job and housing, too
     Before my little quirk of fate.”

     “There came a day, not long ago,
     When to my job I came.
     They handed me a pink slip, though,
     And ev’n misspelled my name.”

     “We’ve got three kids, my wife and me.
     We’re bringing them up right.
     They’re still in school from eight to three
     With homework every night.”

     “I won’t let them see me begging here,
     They think I go to work.
     Still to that job I held so dear
     Until fate’s awful quirk.”

     “So help us now, a little, please
     A quarter, dime (or dollar still better),
     It’ll go so far to help to ease
     The chill of this cold winter weather.”

     “I’ll walk the car now, hat in hand
     I do so hope you understand
     I’m really a proud, hard working man
     Whose life just slipped out of its plan.”

     “I thank you, you’ve all been oh so grand.”


Yer ona Brooklyn Bridge bound Numbah 6 Train.  Dis is 14th Street, Union Square, change for da 4 and 5 Express, the N and the R.   Astor Place is next.  Watch out da closin doors.


     The hours are long, the pay’s no good
     I’m far from home and neighborhood.
     All day I work at Astor Place
     With sunshine never on my face.
     Candy bar a dollar, a soda more
     A magazine’s a decent score.
     Selling papers was the game
     But at two bits the Post’s to blame
     For adding hours to my long day.
     All the more work to save
     Tuition for that son of mine: that tall,
     Strong, handsome, American son


Dis is a Brooklyn Bridge bound Numbah 6 Train.  Yer at Astah Place, Bleekah Street is next.  Watch out da closin doors.


     Summer subway’s always hot, AC’s busted, like as not
     Tracks are bumpy, springs are shot ‘tween the cars they’re smoking
     ***.

     To catch the car you gotta run they squeeze you in with everyone
     Just hope no body’s got a gun 'cause getting there is half the fun.

     Packed in this car we’re awful tight seems this way both day and
     night.
     And then some guys will start a fight.  Subway ride’s a real delight.

     Danger! Keep out! Rodenticide! I read while waiting for a ride.
     This is a warning I have to chide:  
     I’m very likely to walk downtown, but I’d never do it Underground.

     Took the Downtown by mistake.  Please, conductor, hit the brake!
     Got an uptown date to make, God only knows how long I’ll take.


Yer ona Brooklyn Bridge bound Numbah 6 Train.  Dis is Bleekah Street, Spring Street is next.  Watch out da closin doors.


     The trains come through the station here,
     The racket’s music to my ear.
  &nbs

Some days you have the ability,
others on a shopping spree.
Dressing clean, ultra supreme.

To live is just a dream that only you can see with binoculars.
I live in our own aura, the World and I. Where we can kickback, sleek the ruffles out of our curtains.
With blood sleeking down the glass window pane, the beginning of a crystal clear scheme
with crimson stains.
A passing by expert, I have yet to earn what removed hastes to which I should come to a slower pace.
Push you into my fool, a clown to a stalemate.
Copping everything on a shopping spree, my feet don’t touch the ground, they elevate.

Now I’m trying to jam using these hands, but one grips at fear.
I don’t have time for tainted misused feelings.

I have to make them squeal for me. Hide in the bushes, they want to be seen with me. Using correct of muscle, I hold me. Carrying all these packages, I’m the one you want.

Astonishingly! This poetry analogy is partially of a prodigy poet! It is of his endearment and endeavorment in our great Government that desecrated, medicated, sedated and segregated him. Doped! Desperately copping and hoping he made it! To add, no dad! An artistically rad-lad through the bad, the glad, the sad and mad. This destiny of a poet is also of apologies, felonies, formalities, legalities and theories.

Furthermore it’s of mournful and scornful-laughter! Capture and rapture, dreamingly and seemingly, chapter after chapter... Pondering and wondering is there a happily ever after? This destiny of a poet is heavenly,  randomly and religiously, tellingly of lots of many thoughts! Some adventuresome, awesome, burdensome, fearsome and gruesome! Some loathsome, lonesome and wholesome!

Some of dreams, schemes and many themes! Some deemed and seemed differently, discriminately, indecently or racially true, from some views. Some askew and blue! Some of clues, of Jews, of taboo, tattoos and voodoo! This destiny of a poet; stunningly who could’ve and would’ve thought once, twice or thrice of this price? Of the cheers and peers, the jeers, the leers,
the tears and weary years... Therefore I say, some artist’s

clever art may create, dictate, relate and translate similar-thriller craftsmanship with negative, positive or relative penmanship. However, typically some probably will publicly criticize as a travesty. Some will harmonize, some will publicize or socialize, some will disrespect as imperfect, some will neglect, some will respect as perfect! Hark! I remark; brethren, children and women keep and upkeep that

creative spark! For in the dark or as you embark. Literally, morality and reality is in my poetry and story. Expect excellent, brilliant, decadent, resilient talent and testaments! Basically on final note! I positively devote, quote and wrote these eccentrically optimistic, rhetoric and theoretic poetically lyrical rhyming notes. Finally and bluntly, do not negatively amend, bend, pretend or transcend this end. Amen...

The White Race
           &
The Black Base
In-fighting Nut-Case
Wearing kits & killing kins
Tracer bullets leave no trace!
Ak's & Ra's
Customized & hand made
Just Like Burger-king
Have it your way!
And this war is brought to you by
Your's Truly,
The infamous
NRA!
Cops shooting innocent by-standers on the block,
Innocent by-standers then copping Bump-stocks,
Dropping scores to make it count,
Odd murders 2 even out!
******'s posted atop rooftops,
Legislations to make him stop.
A "Mentally Challenged" Caucasian man who had gone AWOL?
Suddenly reappears like an Automatic A-hole
Posted @ the Hotel
Planning to **** wholesale
To get the maximum reward
Also to get closer to God,
Bodies 4 trophies
& Their Head's as his awards!
In the midst of all this
Another white supremacist
With absolutely no
Motor-skills
To run us over
& Cause massive kills
At Town Halls
Movie theaters and even at the Shopping mall
A Muslim nut-job
Planning blow-jobs
A darker American
A lighter Puerto Rican,
Or even a white broad,
Always someone@ur service
To start a brawl,
To ***** some skin
& Make it crawl,
To raise u up
Then Watch you fall.
Wild fires burning bodies bare
Of All colors,
From well done to medium rare,
White House to Gitmo
Water boarding & a bit more,
Laid back extreme sports!
**** 4 tats here,
Cliques & Gangs here
Bricks in the bag here
Clipped to the back rear,
**** yes No *** hair,
Shotguns no cab fare,
Tariffs on imports
Nuns & Nymphos
Hoes before bro's
Turning friend's into foes.
Deserted mill workers,
Over dosing on pill sherbets
Gettin' high 2 get by
Laugh hard then start to cry,
Suicides to feel Alive,
Straight up living
Just to curl up & die,
What a way to go
Get buried to touch the sKy!

The top-secret nature of Allison Williams‘ wedding made it all the more special.

“One of the most special things about the wedding was that it was actually very personal and very private,” the “Girls” star gushed at the premiere of Forevermark’s new film, “It’s a Long Journey to Become the One” on Wednesday night.

Williams, who wed College Humor co-founder Ricky Van Veen in September, kept guests in the dark regarding the actual locale of the star-studded affair, even setting up a decoy site to lure the paparazzi away from the actual ceremony at the Brush Creek Ranch in Saratoga, Wyoming.

“It was something that mattered to me in a sense of just wanting it to feel really intimate, and to feel like an experience that we shared as a family and with our closest friends,” said Williams, 27. “I feel really happy about the fact that it was exactly that.”

After father Brian Williams walked Allison down the aisle, Tom Hanks officiated as the couple said their “I do’s” in front of pals including Lena Dunham, Katy Perry andSeth Meyers.

“It’s an emotional day and people were free to feel whatever emotions they were feeling,” the newly married actress said.

Williams shared a few snaps of her wedding on Instagram, including a stunning shot of her custom-made Oscar de la Renta gown.

“Peter [Copping, de la Renta’s creative director] grew up being around horses and ranches and immediately understood the aesthetic I was going to be in,” Williams explained of the design process. “It came together kind of organically.”

Though Williams let the designers work their magic, she did have a special request.

“I wanted sleeves because I’m always cold.”

read more:www.marieaustralia.com/plus-size-formal-dresses

www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses

there was this one time
that my family and I were
on food-stamps because my
wife was pregnant, and on Medicaid
because I got laid off,
because I was trying
to go back to college,
so that I could get a
piece of paper
that said I was smart
even though I used
crutches to walk.

because a piece
of paper is more
believable than
your eyes or
my mouth.

and, we were starving
so I used my mouth
to convince someone
in a tie that I really had
a disability, and a need
to eat.

that person, and his tie
asked me how long I’d
been disabled, so I
told ‘em…since 1975
is that long enough?

there was this one time
that my wife was pregnant,
and on Medicaid, and I bet
we were on food-stamps too,
and the babies that were alive
in her belly died.

so, I did the only thing
I could think of to do,
I got a tattoo, because
I wanted to carry some
part of them with me
forever, and have  some
part of something that I
could show you too.


there was this one time
that I worked a job
that was stuffed and
funded by grandmas
and grandpas, by
mommas and daddies;
by people that had done
the best that they knew
how to do.
and I would go see them,
check on them, making
sure that they were safe,
warm, and away from harm.

that job is the best job I ever had,
and we’re fighting funding cuts
because people think that these
folks somehow aren’t worth it;
that they somehow are facilitating
a drug or alcohol problem, or a
******* new tattoo.

there was this one time
that I was disgusted by all
the hate-mongering, lion-killing
veteran-suicideing, poor man hating,
cop-killing, killer-copping, Jesus-weaponizing
and just wanted to be a human
surrounded by other humans
and have those other humans
care about me while I promised
to care about them.

there was this one time.
and, it was a long ****
time ago.
*

©P&ZPublications; 2015
-JBClaywell

Because the sun is coming up, and I still haven’t slept,
They call me crazy. But I’m not, I promise you
-Not in a destructive way. I hope that’s alright.
And I can’t see the technicolor clouds from my window,
But maybe that’s for the best. I’d only be identifying
Images of you floating by in the shape shifting aurora.
False dawn passes, its greyish-blue hue
And fresh scent of rain giving me a second,
Third, fourth (and so on) wind, almost as much as the caffeine.
And I waited all night to talk to you,
But you never came. You said you would, though
It was silly of me to think that you would show;
That’s me: silly. But you like me that way.
And with my words failing on a pendulum locket,
Copping like they’re coping with the treasonist panic,
Backstabbing, hair-grabbing, pinching; biting; mother-spiting.
Falling through with mad devices, a lost prolific parody of
Gasping fools, so desperately grasping to the notion of an ending
That they insist is only the beginning to something greater.
I put a sign up in my window: Prozac and papal blessing- 2 bucks a pop.

[page 1] I'm a narcissist. I'm self-aggrandizing. I'm self-centered. I'm selfish. I'm ungrateful. I'm ugly. I'm emaciated. I'm neither here nor there. I'm almost androgynous. I'm awake at odd times. I'm asleep too often. I'm always on something. I'm always off-the-wagon. I'm incomprehensible. I'm rarely belligerent. I'm out of control. I'm out of cigarettes. I'm awful with money. I'm awful with your money. I'm spending all your money. I'm smoking all your ****. I'm not coming out today. I'm trying for tomorrow. I'm not really trying. I'm really sorry. I'm always sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm sorry. I'm not letting that get out-of-hand too. I'm lying to myself. I'm trying to catch myself, dozed-off. I'm trying to convince myself I'm better. I'm convincing a lot of people I'm better. I'm better. I'm lying to 

[page 2] myself. I'm trying to catch myself, dozed-off. I'm trying to catch myself, before I fall into another loop of mundane infinities. I'm often repeating myself. I'm okay with repeating myself. I'm pretty sure you've heard me say this before. I'm saying it again, anyway. I'm so glad you'd listen. I'm so glad you still call on Sundays, and some Thursdays. I'm working this Thursday. I'm sorry. I'm dreaming of breaking hearts. I'm the one breaking my heart. I'm heavy-hearted, but barely broken. I'm buried in a journal of mine, from 2009. I'm disgusted by its contents. I'm not that person anymore. I'm not capable of describing the totality of my purpose with sentences, so blank-yet-still-slovenly as: "I have no other motivation for anything. I just love, want, and respect you." I'm not okay with having meant

[page 3] those words sincerely, and without even the tip of a tongue grazing the closest part to the teeth, of the inner cheek. I'm disappointed in my past selves. I'm motivated by my mission to make memories of them. I'm not letting them take that away from me.  I'm not angry. I'm better. I'm trying to catch myself, dozed-off, in the big-leather-recliner. I'm just wondering what time you all left last night. I'm not sure of when I passed out exactly. I'm not as embarrassed as I should be. I'm making it part of my routine. I'm not sure Dad would like that, though. I'm, either way, etching my own aphorisms into the infrastructure of the eternity. I'm attempting prose. I'm, admittedly, copping-out. I'm lying to myself. I'm trying to catch Myself, not paying attention to Itself. I'm failing, up to this point. I'm

[page 4] aware of my "exacerbating the issues." I'm aware this means I "don't want to get better." I'm a lot more aware of what I want, than you've been. I'm unable to catch myself, dozed-off, tranquil-for-once. I'm decided upon a signal of my impending arrival. I'm banging pots and pans, on the stoop, outside. I'm only a few minutes late. I'm not sure it'll make "a huge difference." (I'm sure it won't make any difference.) I'm finished, arguing about it. I'm proud. I'm light-footed, but proud. I'm lucky, beyond only the extent of my imagination's furthest limit. I'm in-flight, towards that boundary, searching for clues. I'm too close to the sun, considering my wax wings. I'm falling. I'm trying to catch

[page 5] myself, nose-dove. I'm amazed by the enormity of the earth below me. I'm running out of air underneath me. I'm evolving my opinions on God. I'm looking up at another-Icarus-ending. I'm staring down, at Salvation Incarnate. I'm calculating the time it'd take. I'm not-trustworthy. I'm awake. I'm not strong enough. I'm wide-awake. I'm not gonna survive this. I'm sick of being awoken by That Unmistakable Whistle. I'm out-of-breath. I'm all-out-of-breath. I'm lost in my lungs, and the Earth only grows. I'm telling lies to myself. I'm sure, I'll catch myself. I'm the only help I'm gonna get. I'm content now, in freefall. I'm watching the wax melt, onto my face. I'm wiping the wax off my face, while I laugh.

[page 6] I'm holding my own forearms, in a tight circle, tangential to my shoulders, too small to cradle a falling seagull, and motioning, as if I mean to help myself catch myself.

they go shuffling by
heads down
gazes locked on the ground
some even wear a frown,
as they go shuffling by.
rain or shine
they trudge through the daily grind
just like me and mine,
they go shuffling by.
plugged in
turned on
and copping out,
they go shuffling by.
this mental enslavement
to lines of pavement
leaves me wondering
why?
why do they go shuffling by?
not a glance at the sky,
or a friendly passerby
who might stop to say,
"HI."
while they go shuffling by.

Ink
blots
impossible
knots
testing the limits of
a circular drive
one hand on the wheel
the other copping a feel
of his passenger mate
dutifully nursing her neonate
foot goes down
to apply the break
fracturing fingers
is what it will take
to lessen
the voice
avoid
the slade
move
the mountain
tell me, don't floaters
eventually get flushed?

Walking in the Spirit, copping
a feel
of the flesh.

I can feel my addiction,
Begin to eat away at reality,
As I try to sleep away the night,
Knowing I'm copping at 8 am.

I know a needle in my arm,
Isn't the same as happiness,
But I don't know how to sleep at night,
Unless I'm heavily medicated.

I'm swimming in an ocean of blood,
Mixed with the ever present ******,
Or is it morphine this time?

I've been swimming for so long,
But I've never seen the shore.
And I can feel my tourniquet,
Tied to my wrist like an anchor.

Maybe I'll dose a little too much,
And spare myself the agony of detox.
But ****, mom would die,
If I didn't make it home.

I guess it wouldn't matter,
I'd have that dark abyss.
But there's one thing I know,
It's certainly ****** I'd miss.

they are treating goodes like ****, just because he speaks up for himself

you see people tell him off or call him monkey or anything else like that

and he is copping that much flack,

why does anyone do something like that to a great player like him

he is better than any player that has ever strapped on a boot

and it would be a shame to have him leave the game like this

i know they are just using biff, and they think it’s alright

but Goodes is the best player that has ever played for the mighty swans

i love the swans like it’s my life, and i love life

you see i will party with no man who hates Adam Goodes

the fiucken racist ****** they are, i don’t want to get fought over that

because i like people being nice to one another

cheer cheer Adam Goodes is the best

he can put the other teams right to the test

he will lift up his ****** banner high

right to the centre of the sky

what are the odds of Goodes getting treated right

by those stupid Melbourne ites

lift up your banner so high

and shake down the thunder from the sky


sydney sydney sydney

goodesy goodesy goodesy

why are people racist *****

i haven’t any idea, no why get ******

please treat Goodes with respect

because his origin founded this land

and let his loyal hand stand high

onward to victory

Ask me when the tune is in order
Simple, mutual and narcissistically pronounced
Pouts we saved, become a rule of thumb
Voices to remember you, a host of inclination, found?

Intuition found your shoe...
Bared and staring at the name of infinite share
We collect a need to us, like the song we woo
The blessing of another muse, is only where...?

Places and faces of direction, an estimate
Of since, we are the clarity of espousal
Sight unseen, the question of vice, has come irate?
Is anger to term the naked, the future of valediction?

A band with hands on the other side
Of commencement, to wish in unseemly did
The character we approve, is but a decisive flight
Of fancy, that has the stone of heed, for a friend

Honor among thieves, or adage of a copping plea?
The tooth we sought, for a dalliance that has the tears
A bird of paradise, that calmly advances on the sake, seen
And heard, with a repose that ventures far, as you near...

Mal was the Harlem ******* instigating patriotic F.B.I. raids,
as X was unashamed for copping a white bunky mate's razor blades
the top-quality-razor-sharp kind that a well-behaved criminal trades
in a prison yard with pants-draggin' homies wearing gangsta shades
******* U.A. white money in a sallyport of Wenatchee-apple tirades

Asking life to meet half way,
  you always lag behind

The focus on the things you lack,
  not the gold you mine

All compromise and copping out,
  your table left half bare

The brass ring distant and remote,
—your reach too short to dare

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2017)

Suddenly, his henchmen are copping out to crimes.
And many just states, it just was a matter of time.
Criminals don't fall by the waste side without taking another down.

Admit, confidence and convicted you must believe this is getting the redheaded clown attention.
Only shocked must be his supporters.

The fake news and fake justice have done it job.
And there is more to come.

And the only one looking dumb?
Is the redheaded clown.
Who must be flabbergasted?

Who refuses to face the truth?
When in the end all the evidence will lead to who knows who?