There's only so much you could do,
Don't go against your own limit,
Doesn't push yourself, don't overdo,
Your wellbeing is more important.
Your wellbeing is more important.

~A.d |14 Feb 2015

“The Silicon Tower of Babel”
The over utilization of technology, its abuse, is unweaving humanity at the seams. Human health, sanity, and spirituality are under attack. The boom of accessibility over technology has increasingly subtracted from the frequency of face to face human interaction as well as human interaction with nature. The result is a declining emotional and psychological health and a ******* of spiritual values. Each individual who values holistic health should limit the time he or she spends using technology that isolates them to less than twenty-four hours in a week. They should make more purposeful efforts toward interacting with nature daily and for periods of at least an hour at a time. Lastly, these individuals should labor to replace reclusive technologies with modes of technology that encourage face to face and group social interaction such as movies, Skype, etc.
Self-limitation of the use of isolating technology will begin to correct the twisting of our spiritual values and the social and physiological damage that has been caused by the overuse and abuse of technology. In James T. Bradley’s review of Joel Garreau’s book discussion of radical evolution, called “Odysseans of the twenty first century”, Bradley quotes Garreau when he says that technology will result in human transcendence. In “Odysseans” it is said that “The nature of transcendence will depend upon the character of that which is being transcended—that is, human nature.”  James. T Bradley, scholar and author of this peer reviewed journal says that “When we’re talking about transhumanism, we’re talking about transcending human nature. . .  One notion of transcendence is that you touch the face of God. Another version of transcendence is that you become God.”  This is a very blatant ******* of the roles of God and man. When the created believes it can attain the greatness of its creator, and reach excellence and greatness on par with its God, it has completely reversed the essence of spirituality. This results in the ability to justify the “moral evolution of humankind” according to Odysseans. And this “moral evolution” often results in “holy wars”. In “Man in the age of technology” by Umberto Galimberti of Milan, Italy, written for the Journal of Analytical Psychology in 2009, technology is revealed to be “no longer merely a tool for man’s use but the environment in which man undergoes modifications.” Man is no longer using technology. Man is no longer affecting and manipulating technology to subdue our environments. Technology is using, affecting, and manipulating the populace; it is subduing humankind into an altered psychological and spiritual state.
Technology, in a sense, becomes the spirituality or the populace. It replaces nature and the pure, technologically undefiled creation as the medium by which the common man attempts to reach the creator. The common man begins to believe in himself as the effector of his Godliness. Here there is logical disconnect. People come to believe that what they create can connect them to the being that created nature. They put aside nature and forget that it is an extension of the artist that created it. Technology removes man from nature (which would otherwise force an undeniable belief in a creator) and becomes a spiritual bypass. “According to “The Only Way Out Is Through: The Peril of Spiritual Bypass” by Cashwell, Bentley, and Yarborough, in a January 2007 issue of Counseling and Values, a scholarly and peer reviewed psychology journal, “Spiritual bypass occurs when a person attempts to heal psychological wounds at the spiritual level only and avoids the important (albeit often difficult and painful) work at the other levels, including the cognitive, physical, emotional, and interpersonal. When this occurs, spiritual practice is not integrated into the practical realm of the psyche and, as a result, personal development is less sophisticated than the spiritual practice (Welwood, 2000). Although researchers have not yet determined the prevalence of spiritual bypass, it is considered to be a common problem among those pursuing a spiritual path (Cashwell, Myers, & Shurts, 2004; Welwood, 1983). Common problems emerging from spiritual bypass include compulsive goodness, repression of undesirable or painful emotions, spiritual narcissism, extreme external locus of control, spiritual obsession or addiction, blind faith in charismatic leaders, abdication of personal responsibility, and social isolation.”  Reverting back to frequent indulgence in nature can begin to remedy these detrimental spiritual, social, and physiological effects.  If people as individuals would choose to daily spend at least an hour alone in nature, they would be healthier individuals overall.
  Technology is often viewed as social because of its informative qualities, but this is not the case when technologies make the message itself, and not the person behind the message, the focus.  To be information oriented is to forsake or inhibit social interaction.  Overuse of technology is less of an issue to human health if it is being overused in its truly social forms. Truly social forms of technology such as Skype and movies viewed in public and group settings are beneficial to societal and personal health. According to a peer-reviewed study conducted by John B. Nezlek, the amount and quality of one’s social interactions has a direct relationship to how positively one feels about one’s self. Individual happiness is supported by social activity.
Abuse of technology is a problem because it results in spiritual *******.  It points humanity toward believing that it can, by its own power, become like God.  Abuse of technology inclines humanity to believe that human thoughts are just as high as the thoughts of God. It is the silicon equivalent of the Tower of Babel.  It builds humanity up unto itself to become idols. In extreme cases overuse of technology may lead to such megalomania that some of humanity may come to believe that humanity is God.  Technology is a spiritual bypass, a cop-out to dealing with human inability and depravity. The misuse of technology results in emotional and psychological damage. It desensitizes and untethers the mind from the self. It causes identity crises. Corruption of technology from its innately neutral state into something that negatively affects the human race results in hollow social interactions, reclusion, inappropriate social responses, and inability to understand social dynamics efficiently.
It may appear to some that technology cannot be the cause of a large-scale social interrupt because technology is largely social. However, the nature of technology as a whole is primarily two things: It is informational; it is for use of entertainment. Informational technology changes the focus of interaction from the messenger to the message. Entertainment technology is, as a majority, of a reclusive nature.
Readers may be inclined to believe that nature is not foundational to spirituality and has little effect on one’s spiritual journey, it is best to look through history. Religions since the beginning of time have either focused on nature or incorporated nature into their beliefs. Animists believe that everything in nature has a spirit. Native American Indians like the Cherokee believe that nature is to be used but respected. They believe that nature is a gift from the Great Spirit; that earth is the source of life and all life owes respect to the earth. Christians believe that it is the handiwork of God, and a gift, to be subdued and used to support the growth and multiplication, the prosperity and abundance of the human race.
In a society that has lost touch with its natural surroundings it is sure that some believe that nature has little effect on health, as plenty of people live lives surrounded by cities and skyscrapers, never to set foot in a forest or on red clay and claim perfect health. However, even in the states of the least contact possible with nature, nature has an effect on human health. The amount of sunlight one is exposed to is a direct factor in the production of vitamin D. Vitamin D deficiency has been determined to be linked to an increased likelihood of contracting heart disease, and is a dominant factor in the onset of clinical depression. Nature has such a drastic effect on human health that the lack of changing season and sunlight can drive individuals to not only depression, but also suicide. This is demonstrated clearly when Alaska residents, who spend half a year at a time with little to no sunlight demonstrate a rate of suicide and clinical depression diagnoses remarkably higher than the national average.
Dependence on technology is engrained in our society, and to some the proposed solution may not seem feasible. They find the idea of so drastically limiting technology use imposing. They do not feel that they can occupy their time instead with a daily hour of indulgence in nature. For these individuals, try limiting isolating technology use to 72 hours a week, and indulging in nature only three times a week for thirty minutes. Feel free to choose reclusive technology over social technologies sometimes, but do not let technology dominate your life. Make conscious efforts to engage in regular social interactions for extended periods of time instead of playing Skyrim or Minecraft. Watch a movie with your family or Skype your friends. Use technology responsibly.
To remedy the effects of the abuse of technology and the isolations of humanity from nature, individuals should limit their reclusive technology use to 24 hours in a week’s time, indulge in nature for an hour daily, and choose to prefer truly social technologies over reclusive technologies as often as possible. In doing so, individuals will foster their own holistic health. They will build and strengthen face-to-face relationships. They will, untwist, reconstruct and rejuvenate their spirituality. They will be less likely to contract emotional or social disorders and will treat those they may already struggle with.  So seek your own health and wellbeing. Live long and prosper.

Ramblings about things I like and things I don’t

(because I have the time to write and I have been asking myself what I really like or want.)

I dislike

things about the modern society sometimes -- like how some people are trapped by their self imposed sense of success driven by their greed and selfishness since they only seems to look out for the wellbeing of themselves. There seems to be something disturbing about the city somehow though I cannot point it out exactly what that makes me feel uncomfortable but perhaps it is the perfect street and buildings all over like a factory manner.

I like

places without the perfect street and buildings and I want to have an adventure and live like going to Cambodia and India to learn about their culture and help some kids there. There I will be rich in experience and purpose and laugh at how sometimes I take things for granted or my own self imposed narrow point of view about the world at large.

I dislike

stereotyping and how human judge people based on external stuff like looks, race or background but I suspect it is our nature as humans to put things into label like marketing or something. Placing labels on someone's appearance or race or anything else alone ***** and stereotypes are disgusting. Take some time to look beyond the surface -- labels are meant for can soup. There is no point having a beautiful façade on the surface but empty in the inside.

I like

beautiful minds, people that are comfortable with themselves despite their imperfection and people being who they are despite it may goes against the norms of society and I think gays are bold (though I am not gay or something), they defeat their insecurities and conquer their inner demons on how people look at them.

I dislike

how cheesy pop music is at times and prefer words that touch me and lyrics that mean more than just about ******, stupid heartbreak or explicit things.

I like

words that make give me inner hope and a will to continue to walk or beautifully written and something that inspire or I can relate to. Perhaps occasionally books that make my heart break a little with a rush of emotion -- even it is somebody's tale or not true but I love the passion of it all.

I like

art. Art that have a story and meaning behind them and not just random models on the cover of the magazines with too much makeup and too much photoshop with the focus on just looks alone.

I like

to take photos of random things and the simple beautiful around us that many of us fail to see and honest heart to heart conversation with a few close friends in a homely environment instead of a big crowd of acquaintance.

I dislike

how some people cannot seem to understand something unless you push it right in their faces, when someone is only nice to me when they need something or just keep up with the appearance which is stupid.

I dislike

each other's' masks and the need to decipher the feelings beyond the masks without being told what it is specifically, people with ******* up beliefs of what is right and wrong and those who can be easily manipulated and people that manipulate them for their own benefit.

I like

beautifully hand crafted items and non factory made stuff. They are one of a kind yet sometimes I can be a walking contradiction and I do like man-made things because once in a while it gives an artificial glint of happiness and if you lost it or break it, you can always have a new one.

I dislike this world.
I like this world.

I want to live in a world with things that bring me a simple glimpse of joy and perhaps that is all I wish to ask for.

Concerned,
my wellbeing doesn’t come into it
neither does my wife’s;
but worried I am,
for my children’s future,
my children children’s future
and for my great, great grandchildren too.

I listen with horror,
I watch and shudder,
I read and feel misery;
when the wind blows,
because time enough at last,( or is it?),
I gaze at the old man in the cave,
with a little peace and quiet,
will it be shelter skelter?
Are we in quarantine?
Chosen?
For a new place, alas, Babylon
with perhaps Dr Strange Love?

Maybe there is no soul
within the man,
unless the balanced man became unbalanced,
what reason has a man got,
(even if he’s people are suffering from punishment),
To justify such actions?
Perhaps Pak Pong-ju is not a man,
Could he be God’s apprentice
God’s messenger
God’s terminator,
to emulate ***** and Gomorrah or Pompeii?

Why should we shoot the messenger?

If this is the case
then truly I should be concerned,
my wellbeing doesn’t come into it
neither does my wife’s;
but worried I am,
for my children’s future,
my children children’s future
and for my great, great grandchildren too.

This star dust would burst
without patience;
This time also love is kindness.

Walking and saying
Things our wellbeing
The soul needing love possessions
Have absolutely no meaning

Playing and praying
Overstaying and Under-paying
Rising sun and Symphonic searching

" Is this the way it is?" Tis the season

But the tightness no business like
searching business
  She is combined and mixed like a song
fully lined both with keynotes somehow
we declined
The feeling that you cannot breathe
or  trust both of us
 we can  bearly **** it all in
My music playing just click my belt buckle
Will start to begin

The soul is not a crime or just a rhyme
I barely cannot breathe
I am in a chuckle, you see his
smile raising up his dimple

Ms. Thumbelina cobblestone
narrow-minded street your
in the tightrope symphonic beat

But its dark outside your ringlets
Waved him on got excitedly mesmerized
His Goblet of wine she curls up in
his body heat brilliantly dazzled
The sky to your dreams he is
reaching your
soft side skin
whats actually within
our souls

So  hooked into your ride not to slide
better grades and goals
The awesomeness symphonic hatter
Victorian divineness
Her paper cut out hearts as real
as they come
The Eastside Symphonic tip of his
Heavenly Bliss private Quarters
What becomes of the broken hearted
Heads or dimes not landing on her stone
Floor heart
The Duke of all trades of the hat he's smart

Cool running ******
Addictions to the mind so fanatic
What a good soul sometimes
He overexaggerates about
love and fate darkness drives him demonic
What are you kidding me
She doesn't rest her heart on his
soul for the burning desires of food
for thought
She keeps piling his poems like any sport
He's her everything she learns to be taught

Searching lips pricing
Red bloodshot eyes of crying onions
She is so fierce controlling
Musically like a Tiger roaring
He is like a design of graphics tattoo
The earring piecing the sweetest taboo

More soul searching
She's the snake purse
to his snake eyes fancy,
he took a ride
Upper-false teeth
The upper west side
have some prideThe dark side
became her thing
The wildflower not to stand to
bloom and bang like her band

Westside sounds came deep
his pride and joy like a parade
and wickedly dark his charade

It was  sneaking up on her backside
And the other side was just hiding
and smiling
She definitely saw the light lamp post how
the smells came stronger the darkness of desire
she was famished not to have vanished

Feeling like a *** roast love continued
She had a gift for her lover, not the
toast who would brag to boost
Two ****** British what
divine glasses at a cost
The symphonic soul
captured them like the
Dark-Knight of words
Symphonic sounds came
hearing names
soulful hummingbirds buzz-net

And there weren't any more
words there was silence
Eating shepherds pie table was set

Taking over another soul that's a lie
just like magic searching for a love
so long ago became tragic
You need more perseverance
Her true love gave her
an incredible sixth sense
of deliverance
The top seat at the concert
classical wicked taste of music
candescent erotically sonic

She had this certain quality
He was a symphonic love bounty
Her lips moved so fitting fantastically
The flower shops caught her eye
She couldn't sense what was real or a lie
The fast pace of the people all worked up.
What a soulful smell music sounds
she faintly known

To her ear wanted to hear only him shown

Besides the faintly illuminated
shapes evergreens were
heartily trimmed
She stood out bright as the ground
She was turning gray losing reality
not to be found or heard
So soulful her lips speak
she was walking with her head up
in the air fancy dancey
How those men could speak.
You could smell all the ethnic
flavors of foods
She felt the search for something
of a Saint, she was trying to
hard to be good
What a Haydn, his wife
was the mad hair driving

Miss Daisy soul of hers crazy curled
inside her book
She's the lady-like curler
How he played through her hair
Hunchback of Notre Dame who was to blame?
How his eyes wondered playing
and observing
But she was holding his stare

like a womanizer and his eyes flew
what a haunting moon
But Samatha the harp shady tree
He said, my fair lady,
He's stringing something together

What! creepypasta but sometimes her powers were weak
The symphonic love potent every other week

Some Gothic man symphonic music started
Playing Rossini Opera he could stand on his head.
She was pinned to his eyes
Pinterest such interest
she was all bloomed like a fly

By witches, flower came he passed her and he knew exactly who she was as is but wait not his?
The pleading the beg humbug far from her tunes of the ladybug

Razzamatazz all body of Jazz jitterbug
He winked she-devil
summoned him on
What a binding spell
She wiped the sweat off her face
She was beautiful with pale
porcelain skin
So alluring walking
with her parasol

a few months ago,
you asked me: "What is love?"
As you can see,
it had taken me a long time to understand the question myself,
but I think I've finally come up with an answer.
Unfortunately,
the English language
has only one word to describe something that has limitless interpretations.
In Greek,
there are three words for the three basic types of love.
Eros;
lust.
This type of love
is when you find yourself doodling their name
on the inside of your history textbook,
dotting the I's with hearts
as if you are 13 again and you were just asked on your first date.
You chose that textbook
because it will be the only place no one would ever think to look.
You think about everything you would be far too shy to say or act in person,
making out in the back of a movie theatre
not caring who would walk past,
sneaking off away from your friends just to have two measly moments of what you both call "peace."
Most often,
this type of love is encased in "I love you"
only to obtain a certain goal.
Virginty,
a picture,
or even just one more night
of having them in your arms.
Eros is not authentic,
it is emphemeral.
Phileo;
Brotherly Love.
The friend you would drop anything for in a heartbeat to make sure of their wellbeing,
but also the neighbor you see from time to time watering their garden.
They ask you
to tend to their garden while they are away,
and you do it
even though you've never spoken more than a paragraph to the man
because it is what you believe is right.
This type of love is the devotion of time and energy without any promise of compensation in return,
purely out of the good of heart.
Phileo lasts as long as the people do.
The final type of love
is Agape;
unconditional love.
In religion,
we are guided
or pushed
towards showing this type of love towards the diety.
Yet, very rarely
it is shown towards a human being.
Unconditional love
is the ability to say so much with only uttering a single word.
I have experienced this love,
it is great pain
and great sadness
but the feelings of pain will never leave my lips
in case they are transferred to the person i wish to have the least pain.
This kind of love
is when it is not only enough that you think about them every waking moment but every slumber-filled one as well. You have hung up your needs at the front door along with the key to your heart and devoted yourself entirely to them,
even if they don't reciprocate.
They have been adopted by your body and taken the form of a vital *****.
If you do not
pay absolute attention
to them at all times
you will run into many problems.
You need to keep them running smoothly in order to stay alive and healthy,
because without them you are nothing.
You are a sorry sack of bones with a beating heart with no purpose.
Unconditional love is taking all the lessons you have ever learned
all the rights and wrongs you have finally learned the difference between and throwing them out the window.
It is the thin line between sanity and insanity,
heaven and hell,
and safety and danger.
You walk the rope
from building to building
without the promise of a net.
Unconditional love
is authentic,
but not emphemeral.
((Love *****, don't do it.))

Take it to Glasnevin,
and write IHS on the stone.  
That's what I'll be saying,
IHS with the voice in my mind.  
After Michaelmas is gone,
IHS, pleadingly, a lamb of God,
and a little after, exaltingly,
from a rooftop garden in the city centre,
where I can plant flowers.

i've just realized
i am a little too hungry
for the world's delicious hidden things
to sit here idly still
waiting upon those who watch over me
to figure out i'm not a figurine
to handle with care and
twirl on pedestals for the eyes of family friends
as though accomplishments
are only made of paper and years' hardships
and "look, dear, she did it!"s that
only bring bile to my lips
not proud smiles like i plaster
as though i'm only yours, nothing more

can you feel the furnace in my roots
lapping at the scraps of solitude
and fanciful imaginings that i throw
to sate the beast begging for death
of your dominion over my wellbeing
i don't want to be safe right now, love
i want to feel the rain on my face
and have permanence taper
until all that's left of me
is lived experience, no paper trails
and accolades that gather dust and wither.

Can I write you a love song
I’ll sing it softy in your ear all night long
Blow gently without words on my saxophone
Diamond and Pearls behind the throne
A beautiful ensemble meant for only you
As I give credence too
Take my hand
Cross this journey with me as I sing about faraway lands
Past Egypt pyramids shifting Morocco sands
Lay back my love, allow your mind to silently drift
Feel the enchantment of my piano keys as it spiritual uplifts

I’ll sing love songs of old
A cappella chorus echoed from deep within my enlighten soul
I’ll sing to you about the blues, society’s injustice, and elements of darken storms
Keep your heart warm, while playing my French Horn
Enrapture foretold from this dedicated symphonic poem
A music sheet of percussion, woodwind, brass, keyboard, and strings
Harmony carrying the mind away as the joy of coming spring
I’ll hum your favorite beats, can you feel the crescendo now
Fiddle from the heart by the sweat of one’s brow

Submerge your cerebral cortex, lose yourself in the sultry tunes
Harp sounds bathe of light kissed from the illuminating moon
Destiny overcasts in the lyrics
Fate floating stratospheric
Karma of others handled in the eyes of satiric
Opera, I give you so grand in its grace
French Creole dialect murmured among silk and lace
Sounds of my flute resonant to face
Allowing my Cello sounds to thoroughly embrace

Can I write you a love song
Body and soul serenading soprano to keep you standing strong
My guitar stringing your philosophies along
An equal equation, one plus one equals two
Emotions, feelings, sentiments, its tenor expressed only for you
No compass to my heart, my seasonal love found in hidden melodies
Trombone guiding back and forth breathless as it please

Orchestra sounds
Ascending minds, bodies, souls, pass the opening clouds, divine and profound
The last note sung by me as we gradually come down
Beautiful music embraced, needs never to make a sound
Shh, close your eyes
Meditate on the music for a little while

Hush sweet baby don’t say a word
My heart softly tweets to a mockingbird
If that mockingbird don’t sing
Can I write you a love song created only for your being
As minds are sightseeing
Hearts fleeing
Timpani drums guaranteeing
Entwined of our divine wellbeing
Emotions freeing
Crooning of bodies heard as the day is long
Can I write you a love song

Working in an office with a lot of girls mainly
Suddenly it was that time of year again... Christmas
And the Office party it was looming
As I went toward the pub where we were having our gathering I was feeling nicely laid back and relaxed
Primarily because I'd just been to another pub beforehand and had a few quick scoops/ drinks
Now I was bolstered, all pumped up, I was like a Boxer ready to step into the Ring.

Our pub it was festooned with decorations, lovely colours and glittery things
They were hanging out of the ceiling and stuck on every wall
Above our table a big jovial Santa Claus
Looked down, beaming at us all
As I sat down one of the girls asked rather suspiciously "Where were you?"
Holding up my alibi, a little shopping bag with some items in it
I told her, lying beautifully of course,  that I had to go down the shop to get some things.
As I sat there I noticed the atmosphere was a bit subdued, people weren't talking much
I said to myself, this... this won't do
So I took it on myself to take the lead, I'd be the one to spread some Christmas cheer
So suddenly I blurted out "Wh..Wh..What does Santa say... after drinking a bottle of *** ?
"I don't know" they all said, "what does he say".
I paused a moment for dramatic effect...then I hit them with the punchline...he says "Yo ** **!"
They all looked at me blankly
You don't get it, Yo ** ** and a bottle of *** is the famous pirate song from Treasure Island
Santa's catchphrase is **!**!**!
He drinks the *** and suddenly it's Yo! **!**! (Jeez I thought, I got to explain my own jokes)
Still there not impressed, one shakes her head, another raises her eyes to the heavens, another comments "A silly joke"
But really I don't care, I say to them
I suppose you don't want to hear my Snowman joke then
"O Go on", they say, "get it over with"
It's a bit risque I warned them
What do you call a Snowman... standing outside the window of a Brothel ?
"A hot Frosty", someone said
No! ... The Abominable Snowman.

I say to myself, well at least I tried, I made an effort
I done my bit, now I can sit here quietly for the rest of the evening
Some of the girls have now started to talk amongst themselves
One girl sitting right next to me who I hadn't spoken to in awhile
She suddenly inquires after my wellbeing, she asks"How are you?"
I tell her O! You know me, I'm just... just hanging on in there, yea! just hanging on to the Ledge of Life by my fingertips trying not to look down at all the crocodiles circling below
"Things aren't that bad, are they?" she says a little concerned
I smile and say Well I might be exaggerating there... a little bit
She smiles and offers "You're a real Drama Queen".

Suddenly one of the girls announces that she's done an evening course during the Autumn, she's done Bellydancing of all things
I thought we'll have to get her to give us a demonstration later on (but not before dinner LoL)
This girl then starts asking everyone did they do any courses and what their hobbies were
Finally she comes to me and I say Well I've been making some music on this little keyboard I have, yea! I've been playing...I've been playing around with my *****
(this gets some laughs)
I go on, Actually I've been writing a song
"Writing a Song!" says one of the girls really impressed, "we know you write stories, now you're writing songs, my! you are talented.  What's it about, your song ?"
I tell her it's about a girlfriend whose... well she's a bit of a Goldigger,
Then I smile, I have a great title for it, I call it (I pause for a moment then I say proudly), I call it...Octopus of Love.
"Octopus of Love!!" says one of them dismissively, "what kind of name is that for a song.  There should be a Society for Prevention of Cruelty to songs"
I ignore her and then suddenly launch into a verse of the song

     She said she was a dove
     But she's my Octopus of Love
     A hundred hands in search of one thing
          only
     Yea! My wallet, my Pride and glory.

     When she whispers in my ear
     Her fingertips they tiptoe across my rear
           and into my back pocket  
      O! She's my Octopus of Love
      She"s not at all what I dreamed of.

     When I hold her in my arms
     She sets off all my alarms
     She tells these great big whopping lies
     Man! She's got a finger in all my pies.

    She said she loves me dearly
    Visiting the most expensive shops
    Buying the most expensive gear
    I say, could you not make it more cheaply instead,

  O! She's got me in her grasp
   Her tentacles they hold me fast
   Then she asks what's all the fuss
   And she's so innocent looking
   Man! She's a lovely Octopus.

"I wouldn't be giving up the day job just yet" says one of the girls,
"That's funny" says another
Then someone ups and says "Tell us another one of your little stories",
"A good one, this time!" adds another
"Yea! A good one! We need a good laugh" says another,
I feel a bit slighted by this for some reason, the way they say it, their attitude
It's like their making light of my Art, my labours, my great works
Like their just bits of fluff for their titillation
So suddenly my mood it darkens and my voice it takes on this ominous ring and then I say a little threateningly
"So you want to hear a good one, do you!"
With this I smile and then say menacingly"I'll give you a good one"
Then I look at them slowly one by one
And it's almost like I've gone into this trance state, switched into ghostly mode
A distant remote look comes into my eyes
It's like I'm looking through them into the far distance somewhere...  
And then suddenly I intone real solemn like and with great gravitas
"The Great American Novel!"

"What's that?", asks one of the girls
Now most of the girls are married Moms with kids
They wouldn't have gone to college, they would have gone straight into work after school
So they probably wouldn't have known about English literature and  the Classics and all that high brow kind of stuff
Their only exposure to literature would probably be the so called Chicklit books down their local supermarket,
So I say to them 'You never heard of the Great American Novel'
"No!" says one of the girls, "what is it?"
Well, I start to explain, it's like the Holy Grail for all writers, novel writers anyway
How can I explain...how can I put it... The Great American Novel...
It's like this amazing fantastic legendary mythical beast of such great beauty and magnificence
That roams free and unfettered on the literary plains of a writer's imagination,
Many an author on his death bed admits, "I seen it once, I had it in my sights...had it in my grasp but I let it get away". They then turn their heads away and cry bitter tears of regret...
Or...or it's like... it's like this Great Mountain
that's no one's ever been able to climb
It stands there defiantly, supreme in its isolation, it's peak glistening in the sunlight or shimmering in the moonlight
Unreachable, unattainable... unconquerable
(I'm really on a roll now, I'm waxing lyrical and there's no stopping me)
The Great American Novel...it's like... y'know it's like that old fairytale, what was it called
Was it Snow White. No! Snow White had the dwarves in it
What was the other one?
One of the girls whose always been a bit negative, she suddenly says rather unhelpfully
"It wasn't Pinocchio was it?"
Of course I get her reference, when Pinocchio would tell tall tales his nose would grow longer
Then I point to her and say rather surprisingly "That's it!! Sleeping Beauty!" Remember Sleeping Beauty
The King and Queen have a beautiful baby daughter
At the christening all the good fairies come and bestow Blessings on the child
She'll be the most beautiful
She'll be warm and kind and generous
She'll have a lovely heart
She'll be so wise and so artistic...
Then suddenly who should arrive but the Wicked Fairy
She wasn't even invited to the ceremony and she's really angry
She storms into the Palace right up to the child
Then she says "When this Beauty, this Child grows up she will have an accident"
It's like The Great American Novel is the Beauty, the Child
And it's like she's saying "This Beauty no one shall have, no one shall ever write The Great American Novel"
And of course, when the child grows up she's so wonderful and so amazing
But then she has this accident and falls into this strange deep deep sleep
And everyone in the castle too, they also fall asleep,
And suddenly this big thicket of dense thorns springs up around the castle so no one can enter it
Many a brave young man having heard of the Great Beauty behind the Wall of Thorns
They valiantly try to get to her but are invariably driven back by the thorns
Alas! They fail and gradually the story of the Great Beauty passes into legend.....
That is till one day, a Knight appears, a Knight so noble and pure of heart
The moment the blade of his sword touches the Wall of Thorns
A path opens up right through the thorns leading to the castle
He finds everybody there fast asleep
He climbs the Tower and finds in her chamber this incredible Beauty sleeping
He is so taken with her that he must kiss her on her lips
In that moment her eyes they open and she smiles a radiant smile. And the whole world awakens again, comes alive.

I look around at all the girls, their all a bit spellbound by my story (at least I like to think)
I go on 'It's like I was walking in my mind one evening, seeking some inspiration
And then I just turn a corner and there he is, in all his glorious splendour
Remember your Greek myths, the fabulous white winged horse... Pegasus... this beautiful mythical beast
Just there drinking at a pool right in front of me,
So quietly I sneak up on him and then suddenly I jump up onto his back
He rears up and then spreads his mighty wings
And starts to rise way above the earth
My eyes they are suddenly opened, and I see what I had not seen before....
I look at the girls but then just as before, a strange dark look comes over my face and I say
" I'm really afraid but I think, I think I've done it
I think I've nailed it
Yea! ... I think I've written The Great American Novel.

I go on 'Yknow  whenever a new book comes out the Critics, they all wonder
Will this be the One, will this at last be The Great American Novel
Of course, their always disappointed, the candidates they all fall short
It was a good try but...but not quite
A valiant effort, maybe next time
In the Critics Room one of them will be given my book to read
Slowly as he reads, his eyes will grow wider
And his jaw will start to drop in awe
When he finishes he'll sit there in his chair stunned, almost like he's been shellshocked
Then he'll rise unsteadily  with his finger pointing at the book
He'll be stuttering and stammering
"What's wrong!", people will inquire of him
He'll look at them in a mad crazy way
"My eyes... my eyes they've seen it" he'll say
"Seen what?" they'll ask
"It...it... it's The Great American Novel.
They'll all stand up and gather around the Book
Suddenly someone will grab a pair of binoculars and look up at The Great, the Holy Mountain
And there on the top, on the summit
There'll be a lone figure standing with his little Irish flag
"Truly he is the One", they'll say, "and a feckin' Irishman, wouldn't you know".

"So what's it about then", asks one of the girls interrupting my flow
What!', I say
"The Novel! What's it about"
I look at her and then I smile and say rather mysteriously 'Well, that's another story isn't it'.
"Wait a minute", says the girl whose usually very negative, "so the valiant Knight with the noble heart, that's supposed to be you is it ?
I raise my hands innocently as if to say what can I do
"O! I think I'm going to be sick", she says. Then she continues "Where did you get the time to write a Novel anyway. All the time we thought you were working you were probably just there daydreaming over in the corner".
"It's not very long", I say to her "my story".
"How long is it ?", she asks curiously
"Actually it's only about ten or eleven pages".
"What! Ten or eleven pages!!!", she says jumping on this with exaggerated disgust, "that's not a Novel, it might be a short story but it's certainly not a Novel. For it to be a Novel it has to be several hundred pages long ".
I tell her But 'I didn't need a few hundred pages just ten or eleven was enough, it's all there, the whole thing'.
"But it's not a Novel", she maintains
I answer, it's the spirit of the thing that matters, the Spirit!
She then gathers herself and I can feel an offensive coming
"I don't want to rain on your Parade", she begins, "but One you're not American, Two it's not even a Novel, and Third if it's anything like your song I for one won't be holding my breath".
I look at her a bit crestfallen and then I say
"You really like to burst my balloon don't you" , then I say, "I'm reminded of the classic lines of W.B.Yeats the great Irish poet
And then I declaim theatrically
"And Great Art... beaten down".

Anyway now the spotlight moves away from me, the girls start talking among themselves
"Let's leave him to his delusions", one says and now our meals are starting to arrive, I'm forgotten about for awhile.
For some reason the word "Parade' has stuck in my mind
And the pub has suddenly grown more boisterous, some people are singing and blowing whistles (those paper things that roll out and then roll back in again) their throwing streamers and confetti about
Suddenly I'm reminded of those old ticker tape parades they used to have over in New York when they'd be celebrating something or someone
All the faces looking out the windows of the skyscrapers and all the streamers cascading down, and the cheering crowds
And up on a big Podium there standing, the President himself.
I look up at the wall at Santa Claus smiling back at me
And I say to myself "Hello Mister President"
I can see him welcoming me up onto the podium, then with his hands he quietens the  crowds... and then...then he speaks
"Fellow Americans, we've waited a long time for this day
Many thought I'm sure that it would never come but some...some still dared to believe Yea! That one day a man would appear and that a Book would be born"
(holding up the Book) I give you the Book
It may be a slim volume
But don't let that fool you
Sometimes good things come in small packages...
Yes! I give you the Book,
The Great American Novel!!!
And I give you... the Man (motioning to me)
"He told it like no one else could, he said it like no one else could say it
Let the bells ring out across the land, in every city and town...in celebration"
So sitting there I raised my glass to Santa Claus smiling on the wall
And said quietly and secretly to myself
"Here's to you Mr. President, Merry Christmas!

Sixty dollar insurance i'll pay
for the chance to talk to someone
sixty dollars sixty dollars
take it put it back take it away need to again
sixty dollars I owe you three sets of twenty
one, two, three neat little thin stack I removed
from the Atm from a skinny mouth slit
slot and walked over and smiled and said
I'd like to reinstate my well being fee?
it is sixty dollars it says it's so easy to feel better
what a comfort. Okay sign here, it was so informal
sign here send us an email proving it was you
Shoot well that would be kind of a nice fraud
an anonymous someone paying for the chance
I might not feel well. Okay sounds great thank you
so much I really appreciate it.
Mom says well are you going to go
use it you paid for it might as well use it?
Yeah she's right I don't want to waste
it away or waste money I better find time to fit it in
when I can go I go I will feel much better financially
too if I just go.

In my late teens I would wonder
What is The Purpose of Life?
What should I Value?
What is truly Good?

But now at sixty six it seems so clear:
Life per se is what matters.
The wonderment
Of selves
That know they are selves.
Of sentience married with intelligence.
The miracle we call Life.

At nineteen I said
That the First Priority
Was Survival.
I wrote a thing called “The Bedrock”
To grow this theme.
And what was it that had to survive?
It was living beings
Nurtured by Mother Nature.

I am a “Lifist”
If you will:
Cherishing all that lives.
Humanist Plus
And more than Conservation.
Health and Wellbeing
For The Common Good.
A touch of Socialism
And Equal “Opps”.
I coined the word “Positivism”
To sum it all up.

Is this all poetry?
Maybe not.
But the greatest poem lies all around us:
The very world and universe
In which we live.

Paul Butters

© PB 18\2\2019.

In a wayward adventure in curiosity —
lured away from savvy of cooler judgment,  
he oversteps the bounds of reality 
into a state of altered awareness.

Overwhelmed by a rapid beginning
of a buzzing sensation — The Rush;
emanating from deep inside him, 
surging along the veins streaming 

euphoria through cells of his entire body:  
inside the body, with warm pleasure waves
flushing over the by now tingling skin
soughing off all unpleasant feelings.

Mouth numbed, limbs heavy, and eyeballs 
rolling back from hitherto an unimaginable
state of bliss, he savours the calm explosions
of the pulsating bubbles in his head.

A magical moment of sheer ******* 
rapture—that ends in a lasting sedation—
during which he's dazed with wonderment
while covered by a cozy blanket of content.

He falls in love with the insidious drug.
And he begins to relish its sweet fruition
in a seemly pattern of use that is put
in the shade to protect his best interests.

A stake in normalcy that seeks to confine
his usage of the opioid to a social occasion.
But soon enough he drifts towards a regular
recreational use; indulging on weekends,

floating, flying, and soaring in wonderful
ripples of pure delight, feeling very mellow
and satisfied, in an illusionary paradise of
forgetfulness where nothing hurts any more.

Bit by bit as time goes by his body builds up
a tolerance for the sedative, prompting his
intake of higher and more frequent doses
to feel as well as to sustain the desired effect.

This occurs because his body attempts to
adapt to the presence of the drug by quickly
breaking it up and purging it out of the system,
thus making it less potent as it was before.

At this stage of his drug abuse he's still able to
control whether to use the stuff or not, where
and when to use it, without stress. He could
also abstain from the opioid fairly responsibly.

But at the limits of his body's flexible response
to the dangerous substance, he begins to suffer
from its unpleasant side-effects that show up
a short period of time following his last use.

The pleasurable, but short-term, therapeutic
effects of the hard drug are now being
overshadowed by several of its undesirable
withdrawal symptoms that manifest as:

fatigue, irritability, cold chills/sweat, itchy skin,
muscle spasms and tremors, body ache, and
stomach cramps among others, with an
increase in his body's cravings for the opioid.

The onset of these torturous side-effects of
the stimulant marks the beginning of his body's
physical dependence on it, as he now relies
on the drug to fend off the terrible affliction.

He has bitten at the bait of pleasure oblivious
of the hook beneath it. The once casual user,
who had thought he could quit the habit at will
without stress, has advanced to problematic use.

The drug has become an integral part of a daily
routine that is gradually heading towards chaos.
Regardless, he's still able to go to work and
take care of his day to day responsibilities.

In time, a new sickness begins to fester inside
him: the opioid is tightening its grip on him,
as his body's physical dependence on it
is now generating his addiction to the drug.

This psychological dependence on the drug
has set in with anxiety disorder accompanied
by emotional and behavioural problems:
the duo classic signs of a progressive disorder.

The drug has become something he needs
to sleep or to fully wake up. His sleeping
pattern has also been altered; up at night
and intermittently dozing off during the day.

As dosage of the narcotic rises, so does
the torture of the painful lows and other
symptoms of addiction, making his cravings
for the sedative increasely more intense.

As it is, he's needs several hits of the drug to
make it through the day. All at once he wants
to use! He begins to look forward to using.
He would ingest the drug in risky situations

such as, while at the wheels of his car or
working at his job; always desperate to avoid
withdrawal symptoms as well as to revel in
the bliss of the drug's comforting warmth.

At times he'd skip work 'chasing the dragon':
pursuing the out-of-reach elation levels of
his initial euphoric high, swinging between
feelings of mediocrity and that of ecstasy.

Always, his body would afterwards crash
below baseline, barely able to cater for his
daily needs. The habit has long ceased
to be the fun that it was intended to be.

Like a vicious cycle the relief from the opioid,
which is not justified by external reality,
is being obtained at the cost of the
worsening addiction and a spike in distress

whenever his body is low on the drug.
The more he indulges on the sedative
to calm his racing mind, the more
its comfort zone seems to be desired.

Disoriented in the rigours of his vice,
he strays in the abyss of drug addiction:
a dark, weary place where priority disorder 
is dictated by events outside of his control.

It is this corrupted impulse control that
causes his sick obsession with the narcotic,
rendering him unfit to articulate rational
thoughts: a chronic brain disorder.

In this harmful shift away from reality,  
utmost in his mind is the insidious drug:
over and above his job, his goals, family,
love, friends, hobbies and personal hygiene.

Oddly enough the foremost essentials of life
like water, food, and sleep are also not spared.
He could be ill and he won't care.
No other thoughts can cohabit in his world.

Emotionally invested in his fantasy world,
the toxic substance has kindled in him
an inner turmoil — setting off an overriding
feeling of emptiness that aches in his heart.

The habit much harder to lose than it was
to find: an ongoing effort to wean himself off
the drug is being crushed by a dysphoric mood
and a sickly feeling that intensify in severity.

These horrifying withdrawal symptoms
are a result of the sedative's induced
alterations in the biochemistry of his
brain's system of reward and punishment.

Instead of a mild, blissful flow of the brain's
happy hormones, as is experienced while
one is indulging in a tasty food, on receiving
a great news, or while engaged in any other

kinds of novelty that fill us with a delicious
pleasure, the opioid whose chemical structure
is similar to that of the natural chemical
messengers of the brain, Happy Hormones,

by mimicking these primary drivers of the
brain's reward system the psychoactive 
drug sends a false signal of euphoria to
the complex *****, triggering an instant

and fast secretion of an abnormally large
amount of the 'feel-good hormones', that
begin to surge along its pleasure pathways
overwhelming the reward centre of the brain.

It is this huge outpouring of happy hormones
in the region that elicites in him a sudden
burst of energy, a pleasant state of mild
drowsiness, mental alertness, relaxation, ...

This already intense, euphoric effect of the
opioid is further amplified by the drug's
blocking of the pain partways of the reward
system, thus dulling his emotions and worries

by eliminating any feeling of sorrow, regret,
guilt, fear, or loneliness. Upon intake of the
mood-altering drug, he would feel warm when
cold, calm when angry, bright when grumpy,

filled when hungry and happy when irritable,
with almost a total refrain from the tendency
to view anything in bad light. This dramatic
result makes every normal thing look better

and brings forth a deep sense of satisfaction
as though all his needs have been met.
However, this almost perfectly desirable 
body and mind experience is an artificial

feeling that only lasts a few hours at most.
When the drug's effects wear off, because
the brain, which has come to rely on the steady
supply of happy hormones, cannot adjust

all at once, it gets stuck in overdrive which
results in the withdrawal symptoms. It is so
because his brain, whose system of reward
and punishment has been tampered with,

seeks to counteract and accomodate for
the sweet thrills of the drug's euphoric high,
by secreting much less happy hormones while
the foodgate of pain hormones is thrown open.

Just like a huge surge of happy hormones
elicits unnatural levels of euphorical pleasure,
a spike in flow of pain hormones produce
in him the torturous withdrawal symptoms.

These unwanted side-effects whose rise and
fall are subject to drug levels in the system,
is the debt he has to pay for the supreme
bliss that is relished during his opioid highs.

It is all about his brain seeking to maintain
Homeostasis: a normal, healthy body function.
Once he's able to amerce with penance due,
he'll feel good again with no need for the drug.

Another flip side of the illicit habit is that over
time, the regular surge in happy hormones
disrupts the resilience of the reward region
of the brain, causing physical changes that

have drastically reduced his brain's ability
to produce the 'pleasure juices', or respond
to any stimulus other than the one being
triggered by the psychoactive substance.

This is clearly seen in his lost of interest in
activities that he once enjoyed, since his brain
suffers from lack of happy hormones which
influence one's capacity to be in a good mood.

Because the narcotic has also disrupted
activities in the control region of the brain,
his whole thought pattern, perspective and
behaviour, all radically change along with it.

It is this reprogramming of his brain that has
altered the interior reality of his mind, in ways
that result in him going into 'survival mode'
in the absence of the drug during a withdrawal.

While in this irritable, aggressive and erratic
state, he would forego anything and everything
to obtain the narcotic because he's thinking
of his drug use the same way an individual 

who is parched with thirst thinks of water.
This desperation in seeking out the drug as
a vital lifeline is due to his compromised brain
'thinking' it needs it as a matter of survival.

A habit he had maintained at the outset
because it made him feel extremely good
has tuned against him, quite often, coercing
him to use for the avoidance of pain.

The sedative as dear and painful to him
as an imbecilic child is to its mother,  
he continues on the foreboding route 
for which he has no power of deviation.

Despairing in the clutches of addiction,
the drugs traumatize him, they infuse
toxins into his spine, and he wouldn't
know whether he's coming or going.

He's kept on saying to himself, 'I'm going
to quit for good after using one last time.'
But that remains to be seen as the drug
goes on dulling his inner light day by day.

In a downward spiral that stuns those 
acquainted with him, he loses his job,
his car is repoed, and he's evicted from
a nice home that had been stripped bare.

Drowning in unpaid bills and desperately
in debt having blown an entire life-savings
on the drug, the loss of everything and a few
remaining friends leaves him fatally devastated.

The dangerous drug has evoked a negative
ripple that is felt throughout all that he's
part of. An awful realization that settles in
with cold clarity, eliciting a lurch of dismay

over his dire ignorance about the drug
which has led to the ugly entrapment.
In deep, sorrowful thoughts consumed
with self-loathing he puts a curse upon

the day he first laid eyes on the hard drug.
With the best resolve he's able to muster,
driven by exasperation to kick the habit,
he strives to make his will like stone —

a facade that is soon razed by his urgent need
for the ****** to stave off withdrawal. With a
burden of guilt and shame that can't be faced
he retreats into the haze of his own misery.

With more problems and stresses than ever
he plunges from troubled life to no life,
completely losing touch with reality as the
disorder assumes a more dangerous form.

His fixation on the ****** has taken a turn for
the worst. Besides his strong cravings for it
to ward off withdrawal as well as to experience
its euphoric high again, it has become more

crucial than ever for him to keep his emotions
constantly desensitised to life, by numbing
the agony of living to ease the passage of
day with purchased relief from the sedative.

Locked in this highly destructive pattern
of drug use, he would stop at nothing
to feed the habit: he would cheat, steal,
lie or betray no matter who to get his 'fix'.

Like the spreading of cancer in the body,  
his affliction has metastasized way 
beyond him, chipping away at the sense
of wellbeing of everyone around him.

As frequent and ready targets for theft
his family have to always watch out for him,
in a resentful relations in which they never
could feel at easy with him around their home.

Wallets, jewellery, gadgets, or any other
easy to carry household valuables, that are
not safely locked away, will go missing.
For days at a time he, too, will vanish.

He'd eventually return like the 'prodigal son'.
Always, he's found the door open after
prolonged periods of avoiding home, even
on occasions when he'd been kicked out.

In the many months gone since losing his
source of livelihood, he's been pushed
into a number of rehabilitation facilities,
but as yet has failed to clean up his act.

He's also been in and out of rehab thrice
following hospital discharges for drug
overdose. On the last occasion, he was
found passed out in the family's bathtub.

Timely arrival of the paramedics had saved
his life. Notwithstanding, a nagging urge
to 'use' continues to feed and reinforce
the habit after each discharge from rehab.

It's been most upsetting to the parents
who have had to watch him visibly change
before their eyes: from a good, healthy
son, who had always had his act together,

to as it is, a thin, patchy-skinned loner with
a baffled demeanour — who buries his head
in low self-esteem to conceal the frequent
dilated and glassy pupils from mutual gaze.

Nothing points more to the helplessness 
of the family's plight than having to finally
admit to their little, or no influence, over
the ravages of the stigmatized disorder.

A harrowing experience for a household
whose life-savings, along with compassion
for him, have completely been exhausted
with no more tears remaining to shed.

The hurting family at the end of its tether
confronts him with an ultimatum:
to get his life in order or face the music.
Coldly, they all watch him leave home.

His descent into the final stages of rock-
bottom has been swift. He starts by crashing
on fellow addicts' couches and floors,
but soon his welcome quickly wears out.

Now among the ranks of the homeless the
hobo would wake up feeling sick, and his day
would consist of shoplifting, petty thefts,
begging, and struggling to find others ways

to obtain money in order to feed the habit.
At nights, even on stormy ones, the rough
sleeper would crash wherever there's shelter,
never worrying about waking up the next day.

A hellish existence on the street that has
provoked a string of run-ins with the law. 
Nabbed stealing on ill-fated occasions,
he's manhandled in a most indecent way.

Tired, hungry and sick, the erstwhile ray of
hope, who once had a strong sense of self,
is currently a nervous wreck who envisages
life through the lens of opioid stupor.

Much beyond his ability to ask for help, 
his hurting family proceed to rescue him.
Under the humbling load of drug addiction
he staggers into another rehab facility.

But the often slippery climb to recovery
is never easy. It's yet another chance for him
to submit to a slow and delicate therapy on
his brain, whose structure and functions are

badly impacted by years-long use of the drug.
The healing process is a labour of discipline
and commitment, coupled with patience
in order to allow the brain to adapt back

toward normalcy by gradually regenerating
and rebalancing itself. In a gruelling task he's
expected to learn to care for a body that
now must struggle to work in a different way.

Desiring to put their lives back together many
druggies have been able to crawl their way out
of the murky shadow — a big chunk of them
through the guiding light of structured help.

Amongst them were 'walking corpses' whom
possessed by their 'enough is enough', were
enabled to find the inner fire vitally needed
to rekindle the cold embers of self-image.

There's the fella cast adrift feeling wholly
disconnected from self and the world.
He's mourning the loss of a vital lifeline
that has always helped him cope with life.

He had been through it many times before,
the fatigue, stomach cramps, aches, itchy skin, ...
But, he's in the early stages of withdrawal when
cravings for the narcotic are at their worst.

This initial withdrawal agony is the biggest
hurdle any addict has to overcome in the often
stop-start journey to recovery. If he could
somehow find the courage to suffer through it,

the fierce and ceaseless cravings for the drug
would be considerably reduced, making
them easier for him to deal with. Eventually,
they will dissipate the longer he stays sober.

He's being offered a way out of his captivity,
but he's unable to embrace the opportunity
with open arms because the addiction,
which convinces him the only option available

is to indulge on the drug, is blocking him from
seeing the available escape route. It has shut
off his ability to get up on the inside to face
the seeming overwhelming barriers to sobriety.

Like one in the grip of Stockholm Syndrome,
he has developed a type of trauma bonding
with the treacherous drug: the more it hurts
him, the more his irrational affection for it.

With his consciousness constantly revolving
around the insidious substance, he just
can't imagine a chronic user like him
being sober and happy again without it.

That being the case, he fails to see any point
in struggling to remain sober when in such
times he's beset by an awful illness attended
by a serious depression that is no help.

Regardless of the wreckage of his past,
everything that is dear to him plus the very
essence of life on the line, he's left convinced
that giving up the destructive habit would

mean endless suffering and feeling deprived
for the rest of his already sad existence.
More than any other reasons, he just
won't quit because he's powerless to resist.

In default of any dreams of ever recouping
losses that are manifestly out of reach,
the drug with a firm grip on him serves 
as a buffer to keep his ugly reality at bay.

All that he wants is to return to the 'loving
arms' of the opioid, very much aware that
the feeling of the drug's high now that he's
in pain can be one of the best things ever.

But even so, as tempting as the desire to jump
the healing process may be, he's bitterly
mindful of the horrors of street life that
loom upon him with such frightening aspect.

Savagely trapped with no good choices he
slips into a real fear of relapse. In anguish
withdrawal and cravings plague him daily,
and they won't allow him a moment's peace.

Utterly incapable of rising from the ashes 
to hold it all together—no hope—
nothing to hope for—everything out 
of focus—mind spiraling out of control.

In a fit of extreme anxiety the now rampaging
urge to 'use' prods him, closer and closer,
to the brink of a nervous breakdown. Suddenly,
his need for a 'hit' becomes most vital as.

Sweating profusely and trembling all over
with fear clutching a pilfered smartphone,
forgetful of future suffering the rehab
jumper hurries along the forbidden path.

All alone with the merciless companion: 
nowhere to go and no one to turn to. 
Wretchedly wretched in additive agony
the ****** fades away into nothingness.








AUTHOR'S NOTE


The Abyss Of Drug Addiction is written in 112 non-rhyming quatrains.

The rendition is a poignant story depicting the sad existence of many drug users. The verse uncovers and illuminates, step by step, the different stages of drug addiction and the mental processes of the unable to function drug users.

The paramount aim of the work is to shed some light on the sinister shadow of drug addiction: to unveil to all and sundry, especially teenagers and the youths, the hazards of drug abuse and the vicious downward spiral that can be caused by it. 

Just as the euphoric experience of all kinds of hard drugs differ significantly, so are their withdrawal symptoms. Despite their seeming surface unrelatedness, whichever hard drug it may be, the creation of an illegal and dangerous dependency in users is a common denominator.

[The Rush is described as a feeling very much like a heightened and prolonged ****** ******. A great relieve of tension. It is mostly felt when ****** or any of it's derivatives opioids/opiates is administered intravenously].

In quite a disturbing hyperbole a ****** addict described the drug's EUPHORIC RUSH as follows:
"Take the best (******) ****** you've ever had, multipy it a billion and you're still no where near it... "

Dear Readers,

Tomorrow  (10th of September 2016) is a day called Suicide Awareness Day.  And I believe it is nothing to be ashamed about. Every 40 seconds, someone is dying because another person did not speak up. This needs to stop.

There are truly beautiful souls out there that are suffering and battling with their thoughts and minds EVERY SINGLE DAY.  And I'm not putting it light. I mean EVERY SINGLE WAKING MOMENT OF EVERY SINGLE DAY.The stigma that revolves around suicide , depression and mental health in general needs to permanently dissolve.

It is PERFECTLY OKAY(to talk about your mental illness and/or your struggles...it is not at all healthy to keep heavy struggles within yourself. There are people out there that truly care and that truly want to help...and I know that seems like a lie when you are in a very dark place and that is EXACTLYwhy people need to start speaking about depression and suicide almost as if you are talking about having a cup of coffee. "I'm having a cup of coffee" can be said easily and without any fear, and that is how people who are suffering from ANY MENTAL ILLNESSESshould be made to feel.

We deserve to feel SAFE, SUPPORTED,  LOVED , APPRECIATED , UNDERSTOOD. We do not deserve to feel *MISUNDERSTOOD, UNAPPRECIATED. * And we do not deserve to be looked at or treated as parasites. People with mental illnesses have emotions too, and perhaps too many. People with mental illnesses deserve extra understanding, care and love.

So please, do not be afraid to speak up. Speak to your loved ones; a simple
"Are you okay? I just want you to know I love you and appreciate you" could save someone's life.

- Crimsyy♡

#health #wellbeing #mind #suicideawareness #awareness

Ps: **Please repost this if you agree and to show support to those suffering from depression. I promise it won't ruin your profile. Thankyou so much.

bespeckled, blotched & blokey
feminine in aspects
only little ****** hair patches
two chins,
or rather a sloped one
the front evenly declining to the middle of the throat
a gradual ***** from the tip, for juices to run if his manner and situation allowed him to be as casual and sloppy as his laziness chose,

torso without form, so there was no curvature on the buttocks or the fly region.
a mass
a blob of bulges on spindly legs

he leans on the wall
stubby in hand he balks
(he means jovial but unintentionally he vocalises mockery)
at the suggestion that the Pies will do better
& that Eddie is a clever man due for thanks, who has done his club well (apparently a straight Aussie arrow tried and true!)

the man ***** his head back & cackles
(the trebly popping bubbles of a gala crackle outwards as the man cackles)
& decides his arms need a rest,
(a long day of up and down they have had indeed, they deserve respect, or rest (or a benching))
  so he places his beer down
on a sloped surface,
& therefore it slips down….

he sees it plummeting, he stretches toward it's tragic trajectory,
…..but he is too slow
it smashes
on his foot (the shards) the beer bottle it transfigures,
and the shards they impart their misery on his toes.  
The shards they intrude on his relaxed state of wellbeing, they intrude on the security sanctioned within the casual footwear of a man at a barbecue; taking it easy.
he swears and hops, reaching in indignation for his bleeding toes
he holds the wound cursing; resisting the impulse to begin convulsive throws
(an oscar worthy performance from a usually suburbaly urbane individual)

the moisture feels degrading
(as it would within a man's pants)
the pain from the cuts it is worsened
by the smirking gazes of others about

he hobbles, disregarding his thong in the wreckage of the scene

off to retrieve a band aid
to mend his ego
and his foot
simultaneously

I had death on my mind before
but this was different
Depression wanted more
My demons belligerent

My mind on this endeavour
Mixed logic in and its making more sense than ever
There is absolutely nothing after death
A thousand thoughts but one last breath.

On life I no longer wish to cling
But death ends everything
Thought or feeling
Or the process of healing

You don't hear or speak lies
You don't feel the pain behind cries
You don't see it in their eyes
You don't feel how time flies
You don't know if towards your wellbeing or demise

You don't have a mood
You don't feel good
You don't mind opinions skewed
You don't care how you're viewed

You don't feel bad
You don't feel sad
You don't feel the loss for what you had
You don't feel love from your mom and dad

You don't get to care for what you hold dear
You don't get to be brave or cower in fear
You don't get to wipe a happy or sad tear
You don't get to chastise or cheer
You don't get to choose, you just disappear

You don't get a choice in the matter
You don't get to worry about the after
You don't get the need for a break, a breather
You don't get regret for dying either...

Heart frozen,
Mind broken,
Soul stolen,
Agony in the open,
A life suffering for others.

Unbearable fear,
Scared every day,
Scared every month,
Every year,
Scared every second of my worthless existence,
Scared for other peoples wellbeing,
Scared of losing those that I hold dear,
Scared of being left alone for the rest of my years,
Sat in my cell of darkness,
Drowning in my own tears.

Chained up,
Locked away,
Kept in the dark,
Self esteem torn apart,
On fire!
Burning in my prison,
Starving flames adding to this pain,
This is how I feel,
This is my daily torture,
And I am my own executioner.

My reflection provokes me,
Chokes me,
I'm ugly!
Which ******* invented the mirror?!
I might as well be dead,
What could Emz possibly see in me?
I know what I see,
And sometimes I want to gouge my own eyes out,
I'm a freak and I can't stand it!
I sentenced myself to a miserable life because I dispise myself,
Only Emily can keep me alive,
She's the only one that can breathe life into me,
She's the only one that can set me free,
Please! Please help me!!
Set me free from this prison of self loathing!
I hate it more than I hate myself.

Marriage
Is for
Neural Wellbeing
Of the
Human World.
  
www.kolumn.in

We’re quick to blame those that break our hearts,
Railing against lovers for our misfortunes,
Consigning them to hell and so forth,

When in reality,
Our oft exhausted and defeated transgressors
Serve merely as the catalyst for the internal destruction that follows

For no one impacts your emotional wellbeing as much as you,
And you birth your demons, your pain,
After ‘us’ is no more,
There is just you and your head,
An entity far more dangerous than any borne of flesh and blood

Do not judge those that hurt you,
For they are as foolish and human as you,
And remember that though
Love may linger and torment,
It is a reminder of what your heart can do,
When it’s met its match

Accept this
And another
Amazing adventure
Awaits you
Aboard an
Alternative alphabet
Ark

Begin believing
Building a barge
And a bridge
To beauty
In the blooming back yard
Of your brain
I bid you

Climb!
This creation
My careless challenge
To charge
Chivalrously
into cosmic chaos

I dare you!
Devote yourself
to dream
dizzy, delusional
dazzling deep deceptions
of dormant demons

Elevate!
Ego
Exciting emancipation
To encompass eternity
Everlasting ecstasy
Escape
With ethereal
Energy
Emitted from
Evasive effervescence
Of Eden

Fly!
Feel the fantastic fires
The fury in the furnace
Fed and fortified by
Fantasy
Forming, freeing
Freaks
Flamboyant figures
And flittering fairies

Glow!
Give me a grin
A gaze
A gift of gorgeous
Glimpses of golden gardens
With glaciers of
Gargantuan greatness

Hesitate!
No!
Hesitate not!
Hurry, make haste
Take no heed
Of heaven nor hell
Hear my heatbeat
My heart
Hear it!
Do not hinder it
With your head

Indulge!
I invite you
I insist
Insinuating
Irresistible improprieties
Idolatry
Impertinence
Improvised imperfections
On thin ice

Jest!
Play the joker
Squeeze it, juice it
Just don’t be the joke
Be a jazz piece
Juggle tones
In life’s jive
Juggle life

Kneel!
Know thy mistress
Know that she is knowledge
Knock on her door
Her knickers
Until your knuckles bleed
And know
That knowledge will keep you

Linger!
Let the longing of your *****
Linger a little
Allow your lust
To lift you
Illuminate you
Let you levitate
In liquid lucidity
Leaving the low lands
Of the ludicrous living

Move!
Make magic
Moving
Me
More
Make me
Mimic
Magnificence
Make me move

Now!
Need me
Nothing else
Near
Nobody
Now need me
Naked

Orchestrate!
Organize an ouverture
Of ******* oblivion
Obsess over the opening
Obsess, occupy
The opening
Oh!

Ponder!
Pick me
Place me
Put me on a pedestal
Paint me
Plate me with precious
Platinum
For preservation
Of perfect passion
For posterity

Que?
Always question
Quaint sequences
Faint frequencies
Question the questioners
And the questions they ask
Pourqui?

Rapture!
Rip the ropes
Riddled with regrets
Ravish and ****
Reality
Ransake inner rooms
For real rushes
Always risk
Ruin
For a rendezvous
With risk

Slither!
Slip secretly
into the streams
Below the surface
Sheets
Of my sanity
Slowly,
Softly,
Like a sword
Into sheath
Of satin
Or suede
No sound
Surely,
Just surrender!

Talk!
Tell me tales
Of tangible treasures
Of talents and truth
Trust me
Let me take charge
And take you on a tour
of the tower  

Use!
The ultimate utterance
“us”
Unconditionally
Under Utopian skies

Venture!
Vivify the visions
Of voluminous vaults
With velvetine varnish

Want!
To
Walk with me
Into wondrous worlds
Where wishes
Are washed in waves
Of
Wellbeing
Of
Wonders
Walk with me

eXcite!
Exaggerate extraordinary
Expertise in
Extravagant
Exhuberance

Yell!
Your
Youth
And youthful yearning
Out beyond your years
Yell yeah!

Zoom in!
Our zone
Of zen
Becomes a breeze
And a cold fizz drink
To create a buzz

Life was amazing. Boats will fly causing mass transportation. Sometimes I think exclusively until I erupt through word Bothered, enlightened, and hungry watching gay cinema eating bananas but not ripe until next time I hate myself for liking weird cinema,  Striking matches without touching myself when hearing groans from my basement which come apart from the throat. Knocks, bangs, and poottitangs among our findings in  timely minute fashion.  The weather will forever be surpising under a burnt out hookers muffintop. Mashed feces under but over kinfolk of a studious wellbeing transcendence, stupendous sacred.

The morning light shines through the blinds
My eyes squint shut trying to stop the pain.
Head pounding, throbbing, sharp pins and needles
Memory gone, complete darkness.
What happened last night?
I don't dare ask my friends for fear of what they might bring to light.
I remember the sips of tequila on my tongue,
I can still taste it.
Dancing all night long,
Then it's all black.
I cannot remember when I left the bar,
Or how I got home.
What I did in those few hours,
I cannot remember.
I look in the bathroom mirror and see a cut on my forehead.
How did that get there?
Sure, I had a long, painful relationship with alcohol in the past.
I was a lightweight learning her limits,
And some of my worst memories involved alcohol consumption.
I used alcohol as a coping mechanism but it only made my problems worse.
No matter how hard I tried,
I still could not figure out how I injured myself.
Tears rush down my face in frustration.
Drinking was no longer fun.
I was no longer proud of who I was.
The tequila taste in my mouth making me gag in disgust,
Disgust with myself.
No longer would I let alcohol continue to destroy my life.
Sobriety is hard but my memory and wellbeing is more important than being intoxicated.

~ sdr

Once, when I was just a little girl,
I think it was my ankle,
I hurt it one way or another-
Kids will be kids, they say-
So I told my Daddy.
Well the best advice he had was,
“Just hurt something else- it’ll hurt less that way.”
It was never an injury
In their eyes
Unless it was a
Bleeder.

Once, when I was just a little girl,
Mommy was soo sad after having
Her little baby boys-
They call it ‘postpartum depression’
But I’ve always considered it regret and
Even now,
I still wonder,
If they ever wanted me.
I guess that’s the damage inflicted
By knowing that your siblings
Were all mistakes.

Once, when I was just a little girl,
Mommy would get these
Horrible headaches
So I choose silence-
I choose silence a long time ago-
And I haven’t found my voice since.

Once, when I was just a little girl,
Mommy and Daddy turned our house
Into a war zone-
Coming home was like an active tour of duty.
Two super powers constantly at ends-
Well, as you can imagine,
There was collateral damage,
And I can still see it in my brother’s eyes
Whenever Mommy raises her voice
Or a door slams a little too hard.

Once, when I was just a little girl,
I read a poem at school
About killing myself.
It’s funny that some other kids mom
Cared more than mine
For my wellbeing.
Because I still sport battle scars
And they’ve asked
And still did nothing
Even when I lied
Right to their faces.

Well, Once, when I was just a little girl,
My big brother died
And so did everything good
In the world.

She expressed again
what others have known..
the ironing chore found
quietly calming
bringing sometimes
bliss to a day..
What is behind this
smoothing of wrinkles
which serves such
wellbeing and peace..?
Perhaps we find here
in striking resemblance
an old story..
night becomes day
martha becomes mary
as our wrinkles
are pressed..
With thanks to Bette
her example and sevice
and for this new
ironingboard parable...!

The Samurai sword cuts
Through my soul
Each syllable marking a
Swathe through my heart.

Those words
Couched in wellbeing,
laced with malice.

Careless
You seek to heal your pain
By inflicting another.

Fear
For the loss.
Control of another your comfort.
Destroy my heart then oh wise one.
Try if you will,
But remember,
I know!

Your words may hurt but
I am strong
They will not destroy.
I have decreed it so!
Within this lies my strength.

I will not surrender
Nor flee
But  fly.

Beware your weapon yielding
That you cut not your own soul
In two
Beware.

you are scared of recovery, of course you are
your mind tells you that if you get better
the people that feed you attention will leave
don't let that stunt you

at the end of the day, all you have is yourself
nobody else, just you. That seems scary now, doesn't it?
because right now, you are part of a battle between your mind
your heart, your soul, and your wellbeing

take the fear, and the strength you use to battle yourself
use it to battle the demons that crawl through the cracks in your puzzled head
take that burning self-loathing, take it and use it to pull yourself out
away from the black holes in your mind. Your mind, an unsolved puzzle, fix it

the burn marks and the rotting teeth and the scratches on your arm
the protuding ribs and the bruised limbs and the tearful eyes
they do not define you, they are not what makes you the person you are
they will never define you unless you allow them to, and you won't

the fire in your heart that has kept you here until now, and the fight you just can't give up
for the moments you find yourself lost in a daydream of the times ahead when you have esccaped
let those carry you onwards, let the everlasting fires burn brighter than before, and fight
fight harder than you ever have, because this battle will be hard but it can be won

What of exactly is a friendship lost?
Over minute trifles so easily tossed?
Or one that disbands in the cataract of Time?
Something worth pain and blood? Which is absolute and wonderful?
And so, too, can it be asked,
To which man is authority given,
Of such astute austerity endowed,
The man to pass such judgment in good faith and conscience,
Is none other than the crowd.
But, irrelevancies, I totter!
The worst is to be discussed,
For far beyond the scope of reason,
Have these travesties been concussed.
For here, I give to you the corpse of this bond,
This once turgid child of innocence
So, perhaps, its unadulterated substance may quickly manifest
Yet, I pray, I hope, I wonder, its marred and tattered mien profess
The noxious tonic it did consume,
Of ancient spleen and venomous ardor,
To rend its former pulchritude, to hands of untouched fury placed,
It suffered the most insufferable fate to befall upon any beast:
To reanimate, to thrive, to live once more,
In the hands of a tyrant and aimlessly exist
Necrotic at its very core.
This beast, this creature of hated stock,
Was my burden, my cross, to bear,
One, I weep to recollect, of part and parcel of my own flock.
But, I did this, I bore this, along with many others,
In spite of righted timbers,
In spite of rationale,
In spite of my fiber and moral code, that kept us forcibly constrained
For the sake of you, authority
For the sake of tranquil minds
I stood obstinate at the lineaments, between those contrasting foes,
In the self-imposed, childish Purgatory,
Completely indisposed.
Between the shining, gleaming face of holiness, and precipice of spite
For manner of serenity and cowardice perpetual,
Confronted this creature, I did not,
For the sake of you, dear authority, for the sake of stable place.
Children we were, yes, but no less severe the gravity,
For the winnowing of unity, at the yoke of caprice, is to blame.
A real friendship will endure, endure through the boreal,
Endure through the malice, the vitriol,
Will breathe new and longing appetite for breadth, for universality,
Of which all parts must maintain accountability.
It must stand resolute no matter how formidable the ballast,
It must be calm, objective, and outlast the harrowing feelings change may accompany,
Will sacrifice and encourage wellbeing,
It must imbue recollection, a past so beautiful,
Be a comfort in the presence of shame and humility,
Its essence, a friend itself.
But I can no longer pay, at the cost of sanity,
I can no longer give what little remnant humanity to forge another bond,
One made of dead and long-forgotten parts,
I can not, I will not,
I am sick, I am weary for all of the injustices I have done
To watch as the seed of hatred continues to bloom,
The veil of falsehood walk without shame,
To see her stride of perverting intent, tainting the world with touch,
Is a miserable folly to me,
A crime which I let permit,
A coward I was to not stop this, to not lay this matter to rest,
No,
My beleaguered hands put this evil in the ground, and left it to the tides of fate,
It grew, beyond my capture, beyond my strength to control,
Into this horrid ****, this miserable plant,
Which, still!, it grows sans disannul
To take responsibility to this, on me, I cannot err
But, naturally, none to the plant, it seems,
And this is only fair.

core of intention:

              laughter. peace.

core of contentment:
          
             love. laughter. peace. creativity. freedom.

core of love:

            love.

core of life:

            laughter. peace. freedom. wellbeing. love. creativity. kindness.

core of modernity:

           gross domestic product.

I never spotted perfect with 7 many years, that may be, until eventually I just rode by having a snowstorm in Cheyenne, Wy piles. Neither of the two does That i of course bear in mind just how the results in difference in autumn for the east coast Cheap Fitflop Malaysia, and the way they will appear like fire flames lunging on the sky inside tones of persimmon, cardamom, peridot, wine red and rust. However not too long ago experienced this and much more by going to typically the Baltimore Booklet Pageant the day with Sept . 28, 2003. Even while I can look at using an superb meal inside the Renaissance Resort dismissing the actual have or use the handyroom I really performed at "Writing Entertaining Imagination," it absolutely was the seasons which often discussed in my opinion. Both these incidents-the excellent skiing conditions together with the results in changing-reminded us just how much I have got bad a pageantry with the gardening seasons. Simply because got time consuming relaxed excursion across the states, I thought overall regarding basically the la position for the third 20 a long time seems to have distracted myself towards swapping times. On the other hand, I don't know once this may possibly helped me to recognize an alternative growing months inside my living. We are in front of the imminent diminished my favorite ultimate surviving mother or father. Purchased, grow older Eighty three, who have serious osteoarthritis and rheumatoid arthritis, has worsened since I discovered her during the past year. Surprisingly, I would not think sadness, but a resignation, a feeling that this is part of the life never-ending cycle. Just like the music, "Everything will have to improve.Inch That is the totally different problem at the time We displaced our momma. I used to be now 100 % unprepared in the event that my favorite the mother was killed of your sudden cardiac event in December Just one, 1993 that we seemed some fury, nearly an important rail alongside God. How could You? Ways dare You operate the following women, exactly who I was really acknowledging has been my base, that carried us on the inside of your girlfriend, whose quite fingers moves We spotted mimicked around my own? This era ended up being to grow to be some tips i afterwards discovered for the reason that darkest winter season about wellbeing. Looking back, It is my opinion my very own problem was in fact a natural part of just what usually symbolizes have an effect on the original parent, in particular the momma. Those are the basic items, we all, just as novelists, will need to draw in our writing--the shifting months people day-to-day lives, people letters, on their trips and how many of our character types deal with these folks. As soon as the Baltimore Arrange Festival, I ended with Detroit. Even though presently there, When i had dad out from her brand-new residence-a nursing jobs home-to obtain a milkshake in Carl's junior, and even though moving him as part of his motorized wheel chair, I just sensed for instance the father or mother. I have been don't annoyed on the subject of his particular becoming people, his particular frailties, his own failings, (that have been far more obvious due to the fact my own maternal dna fatality.) Freezing imagined her to help you check out heat of the sun at her tissue-like pores and skin, whereby you could possibly begin to see the azure problematic veins. I actually sunken myself 100 % inside decisive moment. We've been experiencing the natural light. Irrelevant of the calling I'd received from my personal hometown, Detroit, concerning how ugly it is about Pop, "He's in that brand-new turmoil," or "that innovative crisis"-I wasn't extended irritated. Within the connected with a original public individual, To begin with . to help you reframe the matter. In contrast to contemplating my personal daddy's slower loss of life simply because Cheap Fitflop Shoes, "Isn't doing it awful the way in which become old in addition to die?In . here are currently being how a the seasons in everyday life transform. As a writer, we regularly come up with from the conclusion, "What however, if ...In I absolutely point out, can you imagine we all reframe a lot of the issues of joining the dinner generation-dealing along with children/grandchildren/elderly parents? Imagine this is often a festivity?

I really saw my best father's temper carry because instructed her just how blessed the guy would have been to now have some sons who have checked available for your ex boyfriend, not to mention three little girls. Exactly how skilled he's being a Ebony mankind, to get little children who may have prepared your partner's everyday living much better, for money, when you virtually all started. I really came across all the treatment inside brothers' face when i suggested it for the health care they've got brought to during the throughout the last 90 years many years, which includes settling your ex within a elderly care facility historically month, although it is often in opposition to my favorite daddy's choices, however was basically just for his / her better great. It struck me. My own inlaws and I are currently all the seniors. What's more, as an author, Now i'm currently a teacher-the little come to others meant for guidance.

We're trustworthy to give in the experiences as a result of preceding years to a new generation on the way, as being a people today, lived through, which describes why I think it is vital for american to write down our own articles. Sadly ,, for African-Americans, a great deal the historical past was initially damaged or lost as, though there was basically your dental customs, plenty of people still did not publish its testimonies documented on daily news. As a general penning tactic, When i came across a pattern. On paper, some remarkable summer often connote a trending up get out of hand in our characters' activities. As an example, typically the characters just fall in love, get a household, have a very the baby, and grab special deals. They are simply happy. Paradoxically, a new figurative fall and winter typically reflect some sort of volitile manner, which can be known as the "inciting occurrence,Within in a very report. Someone don't likes you and also results in one. A friend or relative dies out of the blue. Or simply a cherished one is definitely the sorry victim in mindless abuse. The smoothness becomes sorry. For a quick blizzard hard to bear a person's tidy daily life, typically the character's world is usually thrown away about stabilize. This can be the center with trouvaille. Loaded to listen about how exactly good your own character's a lot more. Imagination is centered on bother.

Now perhaps even the appropriate lifetime really ought to get hold of worried to keep your readers changing web pages. Concurrently, even though Fitflop Sale Online, It looks like that him and i ought to learn to look at the excellent of these downhill spirals and rehearse it inside our writing. Even while a lot of these awful instances are actually everything that compel you on, we have to reveal typically the advantage in this, much too. It really is usually while in the "symbolic" winter season that the character's mettle will likely be subjected to testing, and also reader will find out what they're constructed from. As a writer, you would possibly consult, so how exactly does the transform and also be because of this specific wintry year or so? May he / she range from sceptical to be able to optimists? Mistrustful in order to trusting? Mean to be able to non-profit (for example Scrooge)? The character could also read the undo of menstrual cycles. Sarcastically, equally winter time means loss of life, (like. loss of life from a connection, departure of our own children's, loss individuals illusions,) there is also a some part resurrection within this end scenario. Hard usually is when we experience a disaster, i am plopped level on our supports, occasionally essentially, and forced, (whether or not from much of our could,) to think. Exactly what privacy or maybe nutrition will the identity identify subsequently? In particular, presently, Simply put i gaze at how my mummy might be born-again again and again at a frosty working day when I drink a common tumbler connected with broth, that is certainly one of your ex lots of ways connected with taking care of.

Currently I'm wondering. Just what remembrances might your dads continue winter time bring in myself? Might it be the love on the good anecdote or perhaps her story-telling potential he given to if you ask me? I don't know. Nonetheless I understand. In the midst of daily life, we are now throughout demise, to be able people we will have to adapt to those exceptional, wonderful events that make up each of our humanity. In the end, mainly because Ruben Irving was concluded her epic saga around the world Depending on Garp, Inch ... business people are station incidents.In . Copyright (d) 2008 Dark-colored Butterfly Marketing
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We were in this small cafe on our morning
   tea break
Me and some of my work colleagues
Someone inquired after my wellbeing
How I was
I motioned with my hand as if to say 'So, so"
Then I said
"I'm still a bit shaky"
'Why", they said, "what happened to you ?"
I answered "I was in a car crash last night"
"What!!!", they all said really concerned, "you shouldn't have come to work today, you should have stayed at home... you might be in
  shock!"
Then I said 'It was only a dream'. I went on "Yea, I dreamt I was in a car
  crash
I was driving down this terrible winding
   mountain road
Like something you'd get over in Italy
It was like a spiral staircase, going round and
   round
All these terrible bends
And the car it's getting faster and I know I'm
   starting to lose control
So for a moment I look down trying to figure
   out the controls
But suddenly when I look up again we've
   overshot a Bend
And We're heading straight into a wall
It's like everything goes into slow motion
You know there's no avoiding it
You can only brace yourself for the impact
And then BAM!! POW**!!! .....
And then I can't remember what happened
   after that.
Maybe I became unconscious"....then looking
   at them all around the table I said
"Maybe I'm still unconscious, maybe I'm just dreaming you guys sitting here
   right now
Maybe the dreamworld is the real world
And the real world but a dream...(tapping my finger on the table) a solid dream"
Then I took a sip of my coffee and said
"One thing...the coffee tastes nicer over on
  this side".