Down on the South side a
tube ride away,
out in the Borough
where some people stay and
some people say,
it's a nice place, a
well-lit place, a somewhere
to sit and deep think place.

but

there's another side, a ride back in time
when the streets were caked in
horse **** and grime and the urchins
searching for somewhere to stay,
some nicer place
on a much nicer day.

And the Stew houses
but no stew inside,
known to children and
no place to hide,
Goose, oh goose
let my children go loose,
cries far away from
the Borough today.
js

The following text is taken from 'Goodreads' reviews of John Constable's 'The Southwark Mysteries'.


'For tonight in Hell, they are tolling the bell
For the ***** that lay at The Tabard
And well we know how the carrion crow
Doth feast in our Cross Bones Graveyard.'


In 1107, the Bishop of Winchester was granted a stretch of land on Southwark Bankside, which lay outside the law of the City of London. The Bishop controlled the numerous brothels, or 'stews'in the area, but the prostitutes, known as 'Winchester Geese', who paid the Bishop licence fees, were nevertheless condemned to be buried in unhallowed ground. For some 500 years, the Bishop of Winchester exercised sole authority within Bankside's 'Liberty of The Clink', including the right to licence prostitutes under a Royal Ordinance until Cromwell and the Puritans shut down the bear-pits, theatres and stews of Bankside's pleasure quarter.

In 1996, those working on an extension to the Jubilee line of London's underground, unwittingly began to dig up the bones of the outcast dead of Southwark, extimated to number 15,000, and John Constable began writing the Southwark Mysteries and later became part of a campaign to preserve part of the cemetery as a memorial garden.

I can't resist pasting in an article from the Daily Telegraph that appeared after the performance of the Southwark Mysteries at Shakespeare's Globe and Southwark Cathedral on Easter Sunday and Shakespeare's birthday, 23rd April 2000:

The Sunday Telegraph, May 14th 2000

"DEAN REJECTS CRITICS OF 'SWEARING JESUS' MYSTERY PLAY

A religious play staged in an Anglican cathedral has provoked fury after it featured a swearing Jesus and Satan wearing a phallus.

The Southwark Mysteries was produced by Southwark Cathedral and Shakespeare’s Globe in south London as part of the capital’s 'String of Pearls' Millennium celebrations. It mixed ***** medieval scenes with modern imagery and referred to bishops engaging in homosexual *** with altar boys and priests visiting prostitutes. The character of Jesus, who rode onto stage on a bicycle, was shown apparently condoning a range of ****** activities, while Satan told scatological jokes and ordered Jesus to 'kiss my a*'. At one point Jesus was admonished by St Peter for his swearing and responded: 'In the house of the harlot, man must master the language.' At another, Satan, played by a female actor, strapped on 'a huge red phallus' before using it to beat his sidekick, Beelzebub.

The play was written by John Constable, who said that he had deliberately wanted to challenge Christians. 'Profanity is a theme of the play', he said. 'The point of it was to explore the sacred through the profane. ' Mr Constable said he had worked closely with Mark Rylance, the Globe’s artistic director, and the Dean of Southwark, the Very Rev Colin Slee, who conceived the idea of a joint production to mark William Shakespeare’s birthday falling on Easter Day. He said the clergy had made a number of suggestions about the content, but he had not acted on all of them. 'They did ask me to make sure that Satan did not wear the phallus in the presence of Jesus, which I did', he said.

The first section of the play, which contained much of the ***** material, was staged at the Globe, and the final part, 'The Harrowing of Hell' in the cathedral. 'Colin Slee was very robust in keeping me on the straight and narrow', Constable said. 'The play is a new version of the traditional medieval Mystery plays, which were religious in nature but accepted human imperfections and took place in a carnival atmosphere. It seemed to be well received by most people who saw it.'

But one member of the audience, Simon Fairnington, has condemned the play as 'disgustingly offensive', saying that it 'revelled in the glorification of vice'. In a letter to the Dean he complained: 'Had the play been a purely secular production, one might not have been surprised at its treatment of Christian belief. What was dismaying was that it was sponsored and performed in part within a Christian cathedral. The cynical part of me wonders whether this is simply a sign of the times, and the way the Church of England cares about its Gospel and its God.' Anthony Kilmister, chairman of the Prayer Book Society, said: 'This is not the sort of play that should be performed in God’s house. It is quite disgraceful.'

But the Dean, who was the centre of controversy a few years ago when he allowed the cathedral to be used for a Lesbian and Gay Christian Movement celebration, defended the play. The performance was in keeping with traditional Mystery plays and 'portrayed graphically the life and history of the area' which was 'where the seamier side of life was to be found', he said. 'The message was that even the worst sins are not beyond redemption', he added.

Most of the audience responded positively to the underlying message of mutual forgiveness. Like the Dean, many accepted Satan’s *****, blasphemous words and deeds as part of the Mystery Tradition. The theologian Jeffrey John was of the opinion that, despite some obvious heretical tendencies, Constable was presenting 'remarkably orthodox Christian teachings going back to the first century AD'. Constable’s Harrowing of Hell is closely modelled on a play from the medieval York Cycle. His version shows Jesus’ spirit of forgiveness triumphing over the letter of The Law. Jesus’ ultimate 'Judgement' is a verse paraphrase of Matthew 26: 35-45.

  JESUS
  My blessed children, I shall say
When your good deed was to me done.
When man or woman, night or day,
Asked for your help, your heart not stone,
Did not pass by or turn away,
You saw that, in me, they too are One.
But you that cursed them, said them nay,
Your curse did cut me to the bone.

When I had need of meat and drink,
You offered me an empty plate.
When I was clasped and chained in Clink,
You frowned, and left me to my fate.
Where I was teetering on the brink,
Did bolt and bar your iron gate.
When I was drowning, you let me sink.
When I cried for help, you came too late.

  RESPONSE
  When had you, Lord, who all things has
Hunger or thirst, or helplessness?
Had we but known God a prisoner was
We would surely have sought to ease His distress.
How could God be sick or dying? Alas!
When was He hungry, thirsty, or homeless?
How could such things come to pass?
When did we to thee such wickedness?

  JESUS
  Dead souls! When any bid
You pity them, you did but blame.
You heard them not, your heart you hid.
Your guilt told you they should be shamed.
Your thought was but the earth to rid
Of them I am now come to claim.
To the poorest wretch, whate’er you did,
To me you did the self and same.

I don't want prince charming
suited up in armor.
I want a flannel clad man
who will help me
keep my demons in line
and I can help him tame
his inner monster.
You Disney girls keep
looking for Charming,
I'll keep searching for a Winchester.

When Winchester races first took their beginning
It is said the good people forgot their old Saint
Not applying at all for the leave of Saint Swithin
And that William of Wykeham's approval was faint.
The races however were fixed and determined
The company came and the Weather was charming
The Lords and the Ladies were satine'd and ermined
And nobody saw any future alarming. —

But when the old Saint was informed of these doings
He made but one Spring from his Shrine to the Roof
Of the Palace which now lies so sadly in ruins
And then he addressed them all standing aloof.

'Oh! subjects rebellious! Oh Venta depraved
When once we are buried you think we are gone
But behold me immortal! By vice you're enslaved
You have sinned and must suffer, ten farther he said.

These races and revels and dissolute measures
With which you're debasing a neighboring Plain
Let them stand —You shall meet with your curse in your pleasures
Set off for your course, I'll pursue with my rain.

Ye cannot but know my command o'er July
Henceforward I'll triumph in shewing my powers
Shift your race as you will it shall never be dry
The curse upon Venta is July in showers—.

if i was a pearl i’d feel itchy scratchy stuck inside an oyster shell if i was a tree i’d  be a big fat redwood fantasizing about Julia Butterfly Hill living and peeing around me if i was a dog i’d be a Catahoula hound if i was Italian i’d be Sicilian if i was pasta i’d be spaghetti if i was Icelandic i’d be Bjork if i was a rock star i’d be Elvis Presley Bob Dylan Jimi Hendrix Jim Morrison John Lennon Bruce Spingsteen Maynard James Keenan if i was i writer i’d be Herman Melville Mark Twain James Joyce William Faulkner Thomas Bernhard Yukio Mishima Naguib Mahfouz Phillip K. **** Gabriel Garcia Marquez Annie Proulx Lydia Davis if i was a poet i’d be Walt Whitman Sylvia Plath Ted Hughes Gwendolyn Brooks Pablo Neruda  Heather McHugh Carl Sandburg Robert Frost Arthur Rimbaud Dante Alighieri Homer if i was a painter i’d be Leonardo Da Vinci Michelangelo da Caravaggio Johan Vermeer Rembrandt van Rijn Paul Cezanne Marcel Duchamp Jackson ******* Mark Rothko Ad Reinhardt Anselm Kiefer Susan Rothenberg if i was a photographer i’d be Man Ray Ansel Adams Edward Weston Diane Arbus Robert Mapplethorpe Sally Mann Helmut Newton Richard Avedon Annie Leibovitz if i was a philosopher i’d be Socrates Plato Aristotle Jean Jacques Rousseau Sören Kierkegaard Immanuel Kant Karl Marx Georg Hegel Friedrich Nietzsche Henry David Thoreau Ralph Waldo Emerson  Jean-Paul Sartre Jean Baudrillard Michel Foucault if i was a singer i’d be Woody Guthrie Otis Redding Grace Slick Bob Marley Joni Mitchell Marvin Gaye Johnny Cash Patsy Cline June Carter Patti Smith Chrissie Hinde Nick Cave P J Harvey Beyonce if i wa a band i’d be Velvet Underground Ramones *** Pistols Clash Cure Smiths Joy Division Uncle Tupelo Pixies Nirvana Nine Inch Nails Madrugada Sigur Ros White Stripes Thee Silver Mt. Zion Memorial Orchestra Justice of the Unicorns if i was a boot i’d be Chippewa Frye Ariat Red Wing Tony Lama Wellington if i was a shoe i’d be Christian Louboutin Jimmy Choo Kedds Chaco Chuck Taylor p f flyer if i was a dress i’d be Channel Dolce & Gabbanna Giorgio Armani Marc Jacobs Comme des Garçons if i was a cowboy shirt i’d be H bar C Rockmount Temp Tex Karman Wrangler Levis Strauss Lee if i was a hat i’d be a Stetson Borsalino Stephen Jones if i was a fruit i’d be a mango apple banana blackberry if i was an scent i’d smell like fresh perspiration jasmine sandalwood ylang ylang the ocean if i was a doctor i’d be a gynecologist neurosurgeon if i was a flower i’d be a hibiscus rose orchard if i was a stone i’d be a sparkling ruby diamond opal if i was a knife i’d be a k-bar switch-blade machete if i was a gun i’d be a Remington Winchester Beretta Glock AK-47 if i was a car i’d be a Lamborghini Ferrari BMW Saab Volkswagen GTO Ford Mustang Dodge Challenger if i was a  TV show i’d be Law and Order if i was actor i’d be Charlie Chaplin Humphrey Bogart Steve McQueen Robert De Niro Ed Norton Shawn Penn if i was an actress i’d be Marlene Dietrich Ingrid Bergman Natalie Wood Audrey Hepburn Marilyn Monroe Helen Mirren  Meryil Streep Brigette Fonda Robin Wright Julianne Moore Angie Harmon if i was a female comedian i’d be Gilda Radner Lily Tomlin Nora Dunn Joan Cusack Sarah Silverman Tina Fey if i was a  football player i’d be Sid Luckman George Blanda Walter Payton **** Butkus Mike Singletary Joe Montana Jerry Rice Payton Manning LaDanian Tomlinson  Drew Breeze if i was a celebrity i’d be Charlotte Gainsbourg if i was a rapper i’d be Tupac Shakur if i was a movie director i’d be Sam Peckinpah Robert Altman Stanley Kubrick Roman Polanski Werner Herzog Rainer Fassbinder Louis Bunuel Alfred Hitchcock Jean-Luc Godard François Truffaut if i was a bird i’d be a eagle hawk sparrow bluebird if i was a fish i’d be a dolphin shark narwhal Charlie the tuna if i was breakfast i’d be a French toast pancake folded in half with 2 strips of bacon in between if i was a cold cereal i’d be snap crackle popping rice crispies shredded wheat cheerios oatmeal if i was tea i’d be Japanese green matcha Irish breakfast Tulsi Thai holy basil Lapsang souchong Luzianne Lipton if i was a soap i’d be French hand milled ayurvedic Avon Ivory Dove Pears Aveda  if i was a man i’d be a football basketball baseball tennis swimmer athlete if i was a woman i’d be a track star runner writer painter gardener doctor nurse yoga mom i'm just scratching the surface and the beat goes on lahdy dah dah

This rich Marble doth enterr
The honour’d Wife of Winchester,
A Vicounts daughter, an Earls heir,
Besides what her vertues fair
Added to her noble birth,
More then she could own from Earth.
Summers three times eight save one
She had told, alas too soon,
After so short time of breath,
To house with darknes, and with death.                              
Yet had the number of her days
Bin as compleat as was her praise,
Nature and fate had had no strife
In giving limit to her life.
Her high birth, and her graces sweet,
Quickly found a lover meet;
The ****** quire for her request
The God that sits at marriage feast;
He at their invoking came
But with a scarce-wel-lighted flame;                                
And in his Garland as he stood,
Ye might discern a Cipress bud.
Once had the early Matrons run
To greet her of a lovely son,
And now with second hope she goes,
And calls Lucina to her throws;
But whether by mischance or blame
Atropos for Lucina came;
And with remorsles cruelty,
Spoil’d at once both fruit and tree:                                
The haples Babe before his birth
Had burial, yet not laid in earth,
And the languisht Mothers Womb
Was not long a living Tomb.
So have I seen som tender slip
Sav’d with care from Winters nip,
The pride of her carnation train,
Pluck’t up by som unheedy swain,
Who onely thought to crop the flowr
New shot up from vernall showr;                                      
But the fair blossom hangs the head
Side-ways as on a dying bed,
And those Pearls of dew she wears,
Prove to be presaging tears
Which the sad morn had let fall
On her hast’ning funerall.
Gentle Lady may thy grave
Peace and quiet ever have;
After this thy travail sore
Sweet rest sease thee evermore,                                      
That to give the world encrease,
Shortned hast thy own lives lease;
Here besides the sorrowing
That thy noble House doth bring,
Here be tears of perfect moan
Weept for thee in Helicon,
And som Flowers, and som Bays,
For thy Hears to strew the ways,
Sent thee from the banks of Came,
Devoted to thy vertuous name;                                        
Whilst thou bright Saint high sit’st in glory,
Next her much like to thee in story,
That fair Syrian Shepherdess,
Who after yeers of barrennes,
The highly favour’d Joseph bore
To him that serv’d for her before,
And at her next birth much like thee,
Through pangs fled to felicity,
Far within the boosom bright
of blazing Majesty and Light,                                        
There with thee, new welcom Saint,
Like fortunes may her soul acquaint,
With thee there clad in radiant sheen,
No Marchioness, but now a Queen.

A series of  Acrostic poems noting the healing properties of the crystals to the Zodiacal signs. .
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Capricorn  ♑️  December 23-January 20.
~~~~~~~~
Capricornian don’t mind me. I can’t live as you.
As you have the highest of standards always.
Peridot,Garnets, Agate or Turquoise to wear
Ruby’s grace a  beautiful young maidens hair.
I see the jewels in your eyes when you smile
Carnelian stones or Malachite for soul healing
Or Jet ,Smokey Quartz or shiny Black Onyx.
Red Garnets,Blue Aragonite,Green Tourmaline
Nonsuch is the birth symbol ,graceful as thee
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Aquarius ♒️  January 21 -February 19
~~~~~~~
Aquarius the symbolism for the water carrier.
Quite an important member of our community
Under spells by an association of the heart
Aquarian crystals are Garnets and Amethyst
Rainbow moonstone, Labradorite, Magnetite
I would buy thee Lithium Quartz ,Moss agate.
Under your care placing Crysoprase n Cryolite
Some Rainforest Jasper for love of this lady.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Pisces ♓️  February 20 - March 20
~~~~~
Pisces are healed by birthstones of Amethyst
In tune also with Turquoise,Aquamarine,Amber
Sapphires,Sunstones,Smithsonite, Labradorite
Chrysoprase of green, Ocean Jasper, Flurite
Especially Bluelace Agate,Rainbow Moonstone
Stones Charolite, Calcite,Ametrine,Bloodstone.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Aries ♈️  March 21 -April 20
~~~~
Aries children tackle life head on.
Ruby,Diamond,Amethyst and bloodstone
I know she’s into Aquamarine and Tourmaline
Especially pink, Dravite aka Tourmaline brown
Stellerite, Sardonyx , Citrine, Kunzite n Axinite
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taurus ♉️  April 21 -May 21
~~~~~
Tourean girls have an inbuilt stubbornness
And are partial to the birthstone Sapphire
Understanding An Emerald and Aquamarine
Rhodonite, Amber,Lapis Lazuli and Tiger’s Eye
Universal faith in crystal’s Kayanite n Kunzite
Spiritually in tune with Carnelian

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Gemini ♊️ May 22 -June 21.
~~~~~
Gemini never grow up.They are so  flirtatious
Ever wooing and seducing their audiences
Moonstone,Agate,Aquamarine,Tigers Eye
Into the healing powers of Chrystoprase stone
Naturally Green Tourmaline and Serpentine
I also see Anyolite, Citrine,Thulite and Variscite
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Cancer  ♋️  June 22 - July 23
~~~~~~
Cancerarians are high on the emotional scale.
And they benefit from Emeralds and Rubies
Natural Amber,Rhodonite ,Rainbow Moonstone
Chrysoprase,Carnelian, Citrine, Moss Agate.
Even with the beautiful crystal Fire Agate
Ruby stone and Pink Tourmaline healing.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Leo ♌️  July 24- August 23
~~~
Leo has birthstones of Onyx, Peridot,Ruby,
Even Turquoise,Amber,Citrine,Larimar,Petalite
Or Fire Agate,Red Garnet,Sunstones,Sardonyx
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Virgo ♍️  August 24-September 23
~~~~
Virgo needs be a person advocating virginity
I know because I have fusion and experience.
Realistically fusing together two personalities
God knows n loves my approach and approves
Of Peridot,Carnelian, Blue Sapphire,Tourmaline
      Of Green ........
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Libra ♎️  September 24-October 23
~~~~
Libra uses healing properties of Lapis Lazuli
In Peridot,& Sapphires, Aquamarine stones
Bloodstones,Emerald stones, Sunstones,
Rainbow Moonstones, Morganite, Lepidolite
Aventurine,
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Scorpio ♏️  October 24- November 22.
~~~~~
Scorpio needs the healing of Aquamarine
Charolite, Turquoise, Malachite or Emerald
Obsidian Black , Golden Topaz and Boji Stone
Ruby, Lapis Lazuli,Green Tourmaline,Kunzite
Peridot , Rainbow Moonstone, Rhodochrosite.
I know of Variscite Hiddenite n Apache tears.
Or Herkimer Diamond ,Hiddenite , or Variscite
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sagittarius ♐️  November 23- December 22
~~~~~~~~~~
Sagittarius is so joyous and very fun loving
Amethyst,Turquoise,Lapis Lazuli n Blue Topaz
Grace her body with healing properties now.
I recommend Azurite stone, Blue lace Agate
Tourmaline pink, Malachite, n Yellow Sapphire
Topaz of white and beautiful Ruby Stones
A Zircon Crystal and Snowflake Obsidian
Rich Merlinite, Labralite ,Dioptase n Charolite
In these healing crystals wear them with faith
Understanding the powers the Universe grants
Sacred is the space that you take upon Earth.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Written and inspired by Sacred Space.
Shop 10 /74-78 The Corso , Manly , 2095 NSW . Australia. Louise Winchester.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Written by Philip.
December 2018.
~~~~~~~~~~~~

Marcus wiped the sweat from the long strands of greying hair on his brows, laid down on the ground behind a thin covering of overgrown bush, and leveled the Winchester's stock against the potmarked cheek of his face and firmly planted the **** of the rifle into his shoulder. He squinted his left eye closed and focused his right thru the mounted telescope until the crosshairs and his target became clear. He eased the index finger on his right hand against the trigger and carefully began to squeeze until he heard the satisfying bang of the rifle and felt the kick in his shoulder. He watched in slow motion as the bullet left the barrel of his Winchester, spinning in its rotation, burrow into the thick left chest muscle of the animal he had been tracking for the past four days and rip out with a geyser of blood on the right shoulder. The animal staggered in a stupefied daze for a few feet before collapsing where it stood and resigning itself to its inevitable death.

Marcus stood up and dusted the dirt off of his tweed hunters jacket and cotton canvas pants and slung his Winchester over his shoulder and began to descend the slight hill that he had shot from. He felt a breeze pick up from the west and knew that a storm was on its way and that he had only a short time left to collect his trophy. Marcus began a slow jog towards the downed animal when the terrain leveled out and noted how quickly the breeze had picked up in its coolness when it touched the exposed skin of his face. It was going to be a heavy storm. He ran a little faster, his riffle swinging and bumping across his back as he quickened with every step until he started to feel a burn in his side. He slowed down enough to a comfortable cadence and continued on towards the beast.

Rain started to fall from the low ominous looking clouds. Slowly at first so that Marcus could barely feel any trickle of wetness hit him until it suddenly became a downpour and he had to seek refuge beneath the low hanging branches of a pine tree. He dried his face off with a handkerchief and watched the rain berate the ground from between the pine needles.

He kept watch on his prey and the weather and after thirty minutes of continuing rain decided that he could and should make his way to the wounded animal and left the safety of the tree just as a bolt of lightning shot down from the sky and stuck the top of the pine, lighting it aflame and sending a loud crack thru the air around Marcus. For a few moments he forgot to breathe until his basic instincts kicked in and his brain screamed at his lungs to inhale.

Marcus stalked carefully towards the animal, following a blood trail that had been left when he had shot the animal in the leg a few moments before his wounding shop. He came upon the animal attempting to hide in patches of overgrown grass and, removing his riffle from his shoulder, parted the grass with the barrel of his gun until he was looking into the scared blue eyes of his ****. His blonde hair was matted with drying blood and his body smeared with dirt and fresh blood. Marcus looked at him and let a derisive laugh escape his mouth as he watched the mans lips twitch and heard the gurgles in his throat as he attempted speech.

"P-p-plea-se don---'t k-illlllll m-eh," the blonde man finally managed to spit out between splurts of blood and death rattles.

Marcus unsheathed his Bowie knife and knelt down beside the man and cradled his head in his arms.

"Hush. Hush. It will all be over soon. You've been a good hunt. You've evaded me longer than anyone else ever has. I commend you for that. I appreciate your sacrifice. But it was inevitable that I should **** you. You know this don't you? There was no escaping. Surely you knew this?" He looked at the mans face and saw a resigned hatred in his blue eyes. Marcus was taken aback for a moment but quickly gathered himself back together. "Now, now. Don't be like that. You gave it your best. You really did. It's just...that I'm better."

Marcus took his knife and put it against his ****'s throat and quickly plunged and slid the blade across his neck. He listened closely and relished the sounds of the mans life leaving his body.

Marcus sat there smiling, holding his trophy closely; as the rain continued to fall.

A Story of Scientology and the
Mental Health System Connection


MARILYN

"Her weapons were her crystal eyes... driving every man mad... (dark) as the dark night she was... had what no one else had..."
BANANARAMA "Venus"

Upon first meeting with Marilyn the first thing I was struck by were her eyes. If the eyes are the windows of the soul, hers were the stained glass of Winchester Cathedral. They were absolutely beautiful. Polished obsidion orbs that seemed to have an inner light for all their blackness. The second thing I noticed were her teeth. Strong. Perfectly even, and glistening white. Lastly her height and *figure. Again, I shall use the Winchester Cathedral metaphor... she was positively that... not just a brick house, she was marble! Cantilevered, with flying buttresses everywhere! WOW!

Now, I'm not a lesbian. But if I were, Marilyn would have been in trouble! I was to notice flaws in her looks as time went on. Her thick, shiny raven hair was poorly cut, and her face, while striking, was not all that beautiful. Her features were even and well proportioned, but she was not a classic beauty.  She was of arabic/caucasian liniage. If I were to be perfectly honest with myself, I noticed these imperfections because I was somewhat envious. She was a man-magnet. Ms Pac-Man! I'm not an ugly woman. But I couldn't hold a candle to Marilyn!

As fate would have it, I became her "twin". We were on the buddy system at the beginning of our Sea Org training, and I was paired up with Marilyn. As luck would have it, we hit it off. Even though I felt like a shadow next to her light, I also really liked her. And she liked ME. She never lorded her looks over me. Her brilliant smile could melt the stoniest heart. And we enjoyed the same things. Though she was no artist, she really appreciated art. I actually drew her portrait (which she kept and framed, she told me many years later). We would take long walks around the Hollywood area, and, when time allowed, went to the beach. Santa Monica Pier. She had a droll sense of humor which i could appreciate, and i made her laugh, too. We got along very well.

Our Mission, should we decide to accept it (or NOT), was to write letters to people who had, at one time, been interested in scientology, or the Sea Org (not necessarily in that order). We were told that we to up our "statistics" daily. All jobs were measured statistically. Now, even at THAT age, I knew the Samuel Clemmons quote, "There are lies. **** lies. And statistics." But i thought it prudent not to mention that to anyone.

So, we were to write letters. We worked out a system for staying "upstat". We figured if we wrote LONG letters, and took breaks at first, then wrote shorter letters as time went on we could "beat the system". So we did. We never competed with each other. I was slightly faster than she (I'm a writer, obviously) but she didn't care. I could write. But she could spell. I was never good at that (I HAVE autocorrect on my phone, lol!).

Our I/C (in charge) never really bothered us. We were "upstat". So we joked around and had fun with it. We were allowed to go out and have a little time off occasionally.
I remember going to see the first STAR WARS movie with Marilyn and another dude who was totally smitten with her. She didn't even feign interest, even if he WAS very funny, and good looking in a diminutive way. But he was around her in a holding patern! Like a hummingbird to a honeysuckle! Shaharizade had mesmerized him with her seven veils! But the poor man never got anywhere. So he started to evince interest in me! But got nowhere in that arena either! Poor dude! So, that's how it worked. Marilyn would draw masculine attention. And, eventually, I would be "second pick". Oh, well. I knew better than to "get involved". There was a strict rule about "fratenization". A polite term for ***". THAT was VERBOTEN! It was grounds for RPF, should the partners be unmarried. And since I had NO desire to marry any of them, those dudes were out o luck.

Time went on. FRU  (Flag Recruit Unit) didn't seem so bad! And then there was the lure of my final destination. Flag Land Base... Finally I was ready to take my

...*1,300 mile Greyhound bus!

One life by flames a Hero made

This just became a lot harder by its very nature I must cloak one identity shine all the light I can on the
Other harder because I was just reminded people find my writing hard to understand brothers at church
Out home can you be more simple use smaller words I could be stupid I’m a high school dropout I don’t
Know any big words well I did use imbecile in the seventh grade that was cool and got a reaction this
Started to be a tribute to a person who was rare although you can surely see glimpses of your dad
Brother or other male members of your family as I said to write you must follow truth strictly no
Deviation but before I could pay and honor the visible one another comes into view from the past with
This twist then he was the dark kight now he is a knight in shining armor the dark knight have him on
The Cross bar of a bicycle both of you have swimming trunks on you pass some tuffs with extra powerful
BB guns while your body shields him he lets off a litany of sailor inspired words directed at them they
Don’t return insults they open fire I have welts and his mother picks three B Bees out of my back did he
Feel any pain he was too busy laughing that was just one time not enough room here to give you the run
Down let’s just say as the only identifier he was a short racer came in first braver than the others but I
saw him in a class picture there is the strange part it touched my heart and then speaking to him on the
Phone my feelings were correct he is a great wonderful person then the stranger yet he so embodies by
Appearance and voice of the one I choose to honor here Stevie Rucker was about eleven that summer I
Met him his mother went to my wife’s church he was bright kind and melted people with his soft and
loving nature quite a contrast to his father a six foot four hard nose FFA inspector we were out at a
Restaurant in the city a foursome in the next room with a booth were using foul language I don’t know
The dim lighting could have been a factor but when this giant shadow fell on them and asks them to stop I
Don’t think they even talked loud after that. But this sweet little boy harbored a dream one day he was
Going to be a fire fighter then as dreams go it was shattered bad eye sight disqualified it was a dream
Worth fighting for so he took action a risky costly eye operation was the answer victory he moved to
Patoka California by now a wife and two toddlers a boy and a girl three boy five they lived in the foot
Hills of the Sierra Nevada mountain range ever where you were in great growth forest of course the
Red Woods get all the glory but take a stroll red clay earth and some of the most gorgeous nature you
Will ever find although the Great Smoky Mountains will give it a run for the money in a later story I will
Tell about them and the gnome mobile and the huge boar black bear that I thought I was going to have
To run to the car pull out my thirty thirty Winchester and start working the lever action to save seventy
Five tourists I put in Jeopardy by getting him out of a deep gully. Well life was good for Steve and his
Family he was living his dream our paths would intersect we stopped at Paso to break the trip in half to
Southern C and Disney land were heard about the fire in Dego it was bad enough that the whole LA
Basin was fogged in for two days the Santa Anna winds finally pushed it out to sea and up the coast I hit
It on the other side of San Louis Obisable in a gorge it was banked in and because of youthful lucky strikes and
Later sleep apnea I couldn’t breathe in the car until I hit the air conditioner well by the time we got
Home to check in at the hotel it was clear home is what Anaheim means in German then there was that
USA Today News paper again I looked and a face was staring at me older and thicker heavey set but I knew the face and then at
The bottom of the picture emotional train wreck a child so giving now as a man had given his life for
Strangers five to six hundred miles south from his home he died trying to save their homes he joined
Many others but these were fresh in my mind the folks who died in the fire storm in Oakland from the
Conflagration that took lives and homes and four lane highways on both sides couldn’t slow it down and
You have as much chance as out running a bullet as you do a fire as twenty five Idaho smoke jumpers
Found out they were racing out of a gorge scrambling to get over the top this natural configuration had
Become a chimney of living flame thirteen died instantly those others rolled over and away on flat
Ground at the top was spared. What could I do I wrapped myself in the only protection I could find he
Died a hero that kept the pain at bay how many times I invoked that statement it worked so well until at
The community center in Patoka where they honored Steve’s sacrifice it was televised Governor Arnold
Schwarzenegger and other state dignitaries his fire house buddies and other fireman from everywhere
Was there and then they panned down to his mother and father his father wasn’t so large anymore and
It was the last time I could use my shield as I looked and watched Pat weeping Uncontrollably over her
Lost son I thought you would like to know of this wonderful person I will close with a thank you in the
Language of the Lakota Sioux as his service had part of it in the native language of his tribe Pilamaya means thank you
Steve you are an inspiration we bow to greatness beyond our understanding

Take the gun from off your back and shoot down the wild birds from the sky
They come easily if you wait
If you wait
When my ankles swell with the storms
You carry me over your shoulder like the corpse of a Canadian goose
I am your prize
You've blown a bullet through my aching bones and I am your prize

I went to Winchester again,
It's been forty years since then,
When we were awed in the nave,
Stood over Jane Austin's grave,
And loved the irony of golden St. Joan.
The chest coffins hold bleached bones,
The stained glass mosaic filters the sun,
And everything appears the same.
I had perfect recall,
I remembered it all,
Before returning my self-guided tour.
I lowered my head
Through the Refugee door;
To return no more.
Your memorial  has faded;
My memories got jaded.

Venom be spat from the tongue that blinds.
Twixt the lovers.
Whose hearts, no longer entwined.
Words tied and tangled.
Twisted and lost.
Love becomes mangled.
Crumbled to dust.

No words dare be spoken.
The lovers that were.
Invoked the monster of Lady Medusa.
Screeching siren.
Lady's on fire.
Don't dare put her out.

Her eyes surely saved for you.
Muted sounds.
Exploding fear.
Hearing her dear.
Utters last squeak.
Unable to speak.
Bit his own tongue.
As she turns him to stone.
With eyes that don't see.
(c)LIVVI








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I rarely use Costa, I will be working back at Winchester hospital shortly.
I will use their canteen, the food is generally very nice x














Revealed: The squalor inside Costa coffee shops

A total of 23 Costas got two or less stars in their most recent inspections, including a hospital branch which had paninis at risk of contamination with bacteria which can cause paralysis and death.



dailymail.co.uk



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Olivia Kent Ward , starting Monday x

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Philip McCarthy







Philip McCarthy Good luck with the job Olivia, But Im a bit of a coffee freak but will never use Costa it alwaysgives me bad guts ache afterwards.

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Olivia Kent







Olivia Kent Thank you Philip **

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Philip McCarthy







Philip McCarthy Hey I'm at the Cafe Reflections for the first time. It's good here x Photos to follow

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"Super cool."

"My boy"

Jade Xuereb's photo.


"A big shout out to everyone at the Amy Winehouse Foundation gig last night! Did two sets, first just me and the second backing."

Gray Ian's photo.

Waritsara Karlberg's photo.


"Storm Journey * unbreaking stone the key that unlocks the sky, and something races lionlike from beyond he thunderclap and the forest thrashes and waves like the choir in a Pentecostal church "yes, Jesus! Thankya, Lawwwd!" yes, there will be water if God wills it, so 'tis said. i read something in the living strokes of skyfire, the dance of something both benevolent and dangerous, and i can taste it like wine on the breath of the onrushing storm. it tastes like life, pouring into my lungs so fiercely i feel like i might be consumed by an overabundance of vitality. i can see that vitality all around me, the fecundity of Summer, relentless in its upward-thrusting, blossoming, breaking from the loam, bursting from the chrysalis, defying the arid winterlock that held the ground mere months ago. i walk from miracle into miracle, from myth into myth, the Universe enlarging with each step, until i'm carried like an infant in the arms of a loving storm."

Angie Colvin's photo.

Sean Creed's photo.

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Karen Wilmott

Sitting in white shirt
(Loosened yuppie Windsor knot)
Armchair laughing
Having realized the grand joke of life

Satisfied little Sanskrit honey
Is it a bohdi tree or burning bush
(When really are one and same)
Don't think too hard

Suburban white boy dreams of trap houses
With tie over shoulder
As the tv says it prevents
***** on tie

Little air planes
Round and white
Hard pressed (to explain)
Make one fly at high speed
Get it? (never mind inside joke laughing)

Talks like a gang banger
Can't take it seriously
Little big boy equals not shook
Drinking rot gut tallboys

Days after and minutes away
Zehaf-Bibeau war memorial
Winchester repeater in hand
Supposed ideological threat needed
Expand the police state

Marched in step
Toting a little red wagon
Stride carried pep
Dragging that little red wagon

Weathered in rust
Creaking in the sun
Covered in dust
It weighs a ton

Overburdened by basic trinkets
Remnants of Christmas 05
Macaroni made cumulonimbus
From school days off winchester drive

Photo of family for evidence
Not that it means a thing
Victim of malevolence
Thrown out in early spring

Winter brought about the cough
Toting a little red wagon
His whole system seems off
Dragging that little red wagon

He's feeling old
Went and turned lethargic
Held onto the cold
Wallowing in hardship

Deterioration apparent
There's something horribly wrong
Behavior aberrant
His strength is gone

Innocence in tow
Holding onto reactionary bliss
Writing name in snow
...Blood marked abyss

Death encroaches.
He falls before his little red wagon
A young boy approaches
And steals that little red wagon

I can smell the talking cloud's tongue bright bright yellow light's blank bride medium blonde Italian Shadow, a ghost alerted to the base of conscious events one morning while standing with a gun which she fires and the bullet flies; face flushed with color, she dropped the gun and went into therapy on the side; :: separator :: revolutionary ***** mother police this warm stand of life of life, we ​​speak loves **** bad as long as the horrible monster lying in the tiny germ of the United States General Fingerprint Girl listening to good sunburn lets poets among the colors to make it easier for Norizontal children to cool; The features of Paul, Fuchsian and fleshly skin new to the new nation as well as to the magnificent laws of the Great Hall of the Church in the depression of foreign aliens. Yeh, support the family, yes, the trees are walking on the opposite side, sitting and staying in darkness. Here, except all the toys, but Russia drew swords and fish, and all the special features of the leaves are green and the shoots of a Hunter's Spatula ... In our areas the king of China is mighty over Corsica and Croatia. Gray with many lawyers, states in the United States and Europe, Albert offers new men and women. Happy, blessed with good names, women, women, children, Paul, Paul, Paul, Paul, Paul, joy, holy tradition, Paul's Apostle, the first month of this year, the happiness, and the TV of Russia and Santa Clara Santa Claus. Clara, Eugene's army, the chaos of the United States and Italy and the United States.
____________________­____________________­_________________

Sandra­ and two dogs, dogs, canine casting, dogs,
in Africa, again, I want you better, Sinah, in Austin,
an SSH outdoor way, also think that the British hope
"deer, drawing of he did not have the mind,
the issues coming in the storm by fire,
I thought I was ready for a wise fool to overcome
the pain of his dark car, the pure spirit of spirit,
light and black Italians had fallen in his closet
with a room talked about above the knee,
the living room where the police are talking to you,
was warm for you, which was in vain, the fire
was growing up to be a witness for the damage
and to restore the body's strength, such as the short hair
of hairy Ivan, Usa, all wind, wind, rain and clouds
on the ground, the last songs, now you have to go crazy
with the colors of criminals. Just s FUE in conjunction,
cold flies, home meat and Paul kept his skin clean,
and his guilt was like the words of a young man
in the days before Well, it's like a big dance I'm looking for:
I have enough to remember YCHA's little yokes, pain:
I want to talk to my hands.
__________________­____________________­____________________

­dystopia; plural noun: dystopias: an imagined place or state in which everything is unpleasant or bad, typically a totalitarian or environmentally degraded one. Utopia; plural noun: Utopias; noun: utopia; plural noun: utopias an imagined place or state of things in which everything is perfect. The word was first used in the book Utopia (1516) by Sir Thomas More.
synonyms: paradise, heaven (on earth), Eden, Garden of Eden,
Shangri-La, Elysium; idyll, nirvana, God's country, *****, ***, snooch; literary: _Arcadia           "it may be your idea of Utopia, but it's not mine."

\ n \ n \ n \ n \ n \ n \ n \ n \ n \ n \ n it is possible to be? bright, deep with three cheeses have a night of music and acid developers. But the soul of the child is the most green with its buds, the mouths of the feet of all those youthful years, the voice of it appeared in a generous and die of gold, queen of the cool colors abolished death, and was very angry with the cold, was a great change I desire to justify to you in the azure, blue, and gold, and the gold, Khan in October, many people had got out, and the song, as in a mirror, floor faced the most difficult man, but a rich, sweet drink patty the 2, George's carrots are ***, just made into wine, and the wine is to be given to the Christians, with his will he wrote this in Africa, the Christian name of Guy Wisdom, Christianity, George, history, the rich brown rye of FM, a young man, Kisukeya was concealed by the girl, it was degrading.                      

Top ink bottle modern jellyfish Ranpuhiru of contemporary Asian dream Anticinema Yamashoo robot picture image at Jack's Socks Center. At five the average social value which come in chains is sitting in the woods with a cotton Core, 2 from hockey to see Bob relay life to the Sodomi Yudaya football field and a Core 2 boar; Bob's devotion is to your heart station, 100th on the seventh smoking football, he thinks Stein Stein must understand the children on the toilet and in the corners of the corner UG Twig Ug to the Twig; the thick black pink beach Museum of clothing where the city sleeps with a witch in music paradise Chu, or 2 EMS Mary flies and marries a windy boy and pretty woman in January about the rainy season, ****** abuse by a woman with a pistol made of bread and Bee fingers; Warming up the rhyme to help poor Italy, monsoon. Permanent Glory Available as Typically A ribbon, and soon, a new color's new heat "colors uneasy King 'wins the boy' Robert White, Robert's noise, Homuesabi 100 Opera House, Silicon / 2000" bad example of the comparative example, the 2000 391 RB (600 100), the "Biogen FLATIC 100 2000 2000" into a large family company formed: "America's house of Excellence ", then the lives of Kabgokki.

Truth (2000) (a) "enough" Journal of Technology "by Jamie Winchester won the Nobel Prize for peace in the world." Of that war was in the dungeon.

One hop and a skip
one tab
one more trip
and I slip into dreaming
effortlessly really,
effort, less me,
seemingly floating while
swimming through syrup,
my feet in the stirrups
on a horse called
Winchester.

Laughter in the cloisters and
the toaster pulling faces
while the priest catches monkeys
that swing through the
door.

If life is for anything it cannot be this.

III. Memoriams

Along the walls the rich dead have their names,
some brazen, gilt or carved in polished stone.
Large monuments displaying all their wealth,
which, by their widow's orders were set up,
and are the handiwork of chartered men,
whose many hours of toil have brought this show
and made the lasting icons of the dead.
But on the white stone pillars you will find
the epitaphs of far more poorer folk
who have, by their own slow and humble ways,
etched out the record of their bye-gone days.

Dean, You really saved the world one last time.
Now you're at peace and everything is fine.
I'm so upset that you're gone.
But I know in my heart you'll carry on.
My pain at losing you is too much to bear
I really wish that you were here.
You went heroically like I always knew you would.
Now your legacy will live on where you once stood.
I'm gonna miss you so much I can't help but cry.
I never thought you would die.
I wanted you to  live until you were eighty
Maybe even find a nice lady.
That was my happy ending for you but you were taken from us too soon.
I thought from death you were immune.
So now i'll listen to some classic rock tunes.
Just so I can feel close to you.
I'll miss you forever but I know that you're happy now.
In your own little heaven, We'll meet again. Somehow.

I tried not to look at it,
But I couldn't help myself,
The blue sky burying me completely,
The sun shedding visibility
On the edible chanterelles--
Little fungi, little mold spores
Treated as food, soft and porous
Sponges, fragile like egg shells.
We hunt for the orange gleam
Showing through the duff
As if we are savages,
Lost in our search,
Forgetting our state.

I'd forgotten what a sight they were:
Unfunny clowns always having
Arguments over who gets what space--
Quality family time.
Every home is a miniature dictatorship.

Now, savages rule our thoughts
And actions; they fight
For control;  they
Pump Estrogen into our
System so that we
Will not fight back.
The dream is not a dream.
The Police are a privilege
For those who can buy it.

All this was a week after
The dust settled. There was no music.
Even the chants of Buddhists
Were silenced, the replacing hum
One of screams
And gunshots.
The sound of
Your enemies being sautéed
Is what loss truly is:
Accounts holding our Humanity
Have been depleted.
The only unclosed door
Leads to Egypt.

When I think of it now,
What I remember is
Debt. Once, I saw
A college student
Buying cheap ramen
With a grin.

And, in a dream once,
There was no sound,
No color. Everything
Was the same—taste,
Touch, smell. Red lipstick marks
On a shirt would not
Remain. And hippies,
With their tie-dye clothes
Were just working stiffs,
Looking out a window
To see
Brick and mortar.

They say,
“This is your police state.
This is your Haunted House,
Your personal Winchester House
With no exits. This is
Your nightmare,
Your stench.
These are your maggots in your eyes.
This is what you want.”
We listen.

I do not want to be
The kind of person
Who makes it okay
To want to die.

Home - what is home?
Most people equate it with where they live,
but I have a different idea.
Home is where the heart is, right?
And what's to stop your heart from going to some place you've never been?
Nothing.
Just as you can't help falling in love with people,
neither can you help falling in love with places.
That's why, to me, Hogwarts is home.
221B Baker Street is home.
The TARDIS, the Shire, the Burrow.
All are home.
The USS Enterprise is my home away from home.
Same with the Winchester's 1967 Chevy Impala.

They say you can feel homesick for places you've never been.
Most people can't quite understand how that works,
but I know what it's like.
While I may get to visit all of these places in my mind,
thanks to the stories surrounding them,
I'll never be able to physically visit these places.
They're real to me. They just don't exist.
But I have been there - to all of them.
Through words on a page or through scenes playing out on a screen,
the stories surrounding these places have allowed me to visit them.
I know from these stories what it's like to travel through time and space.
To live in King Arthur's court.
To witness Sherlock Holmes bored.
Stressing over Potions essays, adventuring to Mordor,
bonding through hours-long drives across country.
These things, these experiences;
they've filled gaps in my soul that I didn't even realize were there.
And that, I think, is why I call them home.
So that even when their stories are over,
I'll still have that connection to them.

Elegy for the Forgotten Oldsmobile**

July 4th and all is Hell.
Outside my shuttered breath the streets bubble
with flame-loined kids in designer jeans
looking for people to **** or razor.
A madman covered with running sores
is on the street corner singing:
O beautiful for spacious skies…
This landscape is far too convenient
to be either real or metaphor.
In an alley behind a 7-11
a Black **** dressed in Harris tweed
preaches fidelity to two pimply ******
whose skin is white though they aren’t quite.
And crosstown in the sane precincts
of Brown University where I added rage
to Cliff Notes and got two degrees
bearded scientists are stringing words
outside the language inside the guts of atoms
and I don’t know why I’ve come back to visit.

O Uncle Adrian! I’m in the reservation of my mind.
Chicken bones in a cardboard casket
meditate upon the linoleum floor.
Outside my flophouse door stewed
and sinister winos snore in a tragic chorus.

The snowstorm t.v. in the lobby’s their mother.
Outside my window on the jumper’s ledge
ice wraiths shiver and coat my last cans of Bud
though this is summer I don’t know why or where
the souls of Indian sinners fly.
Uncle Adrian, you died last week—cirrhosis.
I still have the photo of you in your Lovelock
letterman’s jacket—two white girls on your arms—
first team All-State halfback in ’45, ’46.

But nothing is static. I am in the reservation of
my mind. Embarrassed moths unravel my shorts
thread by thread asserting insectival lust.
I’m a naked locoweed in a city scene.
What are my options? Why am I back in this city?
When I sing of the American night my lungs billow
Camels astride hacking appeals for cessation.
My mother’s zippo inscribed: “Stewart Indian School—1941”
explodes in my hand in elegy to Dresden Antietam
and Wounded Knee and finally I have come to see
this mad *** nation is dying.
Our ancestors’ murderer is finally dying and I guess
I should be happy and dance with the spirit or project
my regret to my long-lost high school honey
but history has carried me to a place
where she has a daughter older than we were
when we first shared flesh.

She is the one who could not marry me
because of the dark-skin ways in my blood.
Love like that needs no elegy but because
of the baked-***** possibility of the flame lakes of Hell
I will give one last supper and sacrament
to the dying beast of need disguised as love
on deathrow inside my ribcage.
I have not forgotten the years of midnight hunger
when I could see how the past had guided me
and I cried and held the pillow, muddled
in the melodrama of the quite immature
but anyway, Uncle Adrian…
Here I am in the reservation of my mind
and silence settles forever
the vacancy of this cheap city room.
In the wine darkness my cigarette coal
tints my face with Geronimo’s rage
and I’m in the dry hills with a Winchester
waiting to shoot the lean, learned fools
who taught me to live-think in English.

Uncle Adrian…
to make a long night story short,
you promised to give me your Oldsmobile in 1962.
How come you didn’t?
I could have had some really good times in high school.

Dear Jensen Ackles,
Thank you for being the man with the impala

The one who's character's brother is Sam Winchester and who Castiel's love interest is

Who happens to be the one I try to look like as a trans person

As well as your character Dean Winchester

Thank you for being one of the reasons I will "ALWAYS KEEP FIGHTING"

Sam, I'm gonna miss you a ton I want you to know.
But now it's time to put a curtain on this show.
I love you so much I can't describe what you've done for me.
You helped me with my demons so I could be free.
You fought to save the world more than one time.
But now it's time for you to rest, we will be fine.
You're so brave and so kind I hope you know that's true.
I don't really want to say goodbye to you.
You mean the world to me I know I must move on.
But it's hard since you've been apart of my life for so long.
So one final goodbye to you is what I'll say
You'll be in my heart forever, for the rest of my days.

While driving home today,
a small boy pretended to shoot
at my van with his toy rifle,
as if I were the bad guy.

Our culture is fighting to strip
our children of violence,
"guns are a danger
and they pervert our sons."

I agree,
we should be purposeful
on how we raise our kids.
Violence is not always
healthy for the young heart.

I disagree,
we should not be dictatorial
on how we raise our kids.
Violence is not always
bad for the young heart.

Taking away guns from a boy
is taking away paints from an artist.
Stripping a son of his warrior-spirit
is stealing the melody of his song.

He was John Wayne
wielding his Winchester,
and I was the bad guy
escaping on a stolen horse.

In his mind,
he was a hero.
Why would you want
to strip him of that?

Teaching him self-control
is absolutely necessary,
but removing his ability to learn
is killing his growth as a person.

Don't be the reason he rebels,
teach him to use his sword.

*m.w.

I heard the crow at dawn again.
It awoke me from a deep slumber.
As if to chastise me for not being up already.
There is so much to do, of course.
So I sat up on the edge of the bed.
And stretched up with my hands clasped.
The sun slowly creeping itself over the window ledge
And striking my eye just so...making me squint.
The crow called again.
I must not be fast enough for him.
I stand up with a half- hearted vigor
And rub my eyes.
I proceed with with my morning routine
Skipping the harsh mouthwash today.
Again the crow.
He hurries me as if I am racing a clock.
And makes my heart beat more prominently in my chest.
What an awful call a crow has.
Incessant and prodding.
I feel as if I am being yelled at and I don't deserve that.
I cross into the kitchen and reach over the door.
To the mount that holds my ol' Winchester.
I push open the squeaking screen door.
And step outside.
Again the crow calls but this time I am rallied.
I am too slow for him, am I?
We will see about that!

Dear  Jared Padalecki,
Thank you for being the one who Crowley nicknamed Moose

The one who's character's brother is Dean Winchester and is also Castiel's as well

Who happens to be the one I try to be as a person

As well as your character Sam Winchester

Thank you for being one of the reasons I will "ALWAYS KEEP FIGHTING"

They said Keith couldn't *** without a finger up his ***,
they said Ruth was a **** for not sleeping with her man.
They said George was a woman because he couldn't grow a beard,
they said Molly was autistic, because she was a little bit weird.

They said Mr. Winchester was a ******* because he wore an overcoat,
they said Ms. Wheeler as a witch, and once sacrificed a goat.
They said Mr. Winter was so fat, he was more or less bulletproof,
they said Ms. Walker was not attractive, but if it came to it:
she'd have to do.

They said Lucinda was thin because she chose not to eat,
sitting by the bathroom doors in the lunchtime canteen.
They said Leonard was a ****** with his long, blonde hair,
they said Luke was a downy because of his vacant stare.

They said Mr. Fresco was a drinker who beat his wife at home,
they said Ms. Finkel was a *******, seen standing out in the cold.
They said an awful lot of things that decayed away over time,
but it takes a strength to train the mind

to not trod the tracks of a lifetime past,
to keep yourself to who you are,
not those ancient words,
nor those faded scars.