Underground once and for all.
He was sure I was the one.
“The Poetess” haha he gave me
a hip hop name that fit the bill
perfectly for his vision.
It’s weird being the only one in a room with an LA mind. ?People talk, I always think they’re joking. I gotta get outta that habit, ?stop smiling, waiting for some punch line. When you leave LA no one out there’s got a punch line.
??poetry poetry poetry beats
Whatever, I love to travel…??This producer could grind out beats, a serious talent with a vision. I’d been through that a few times before. Playback: “bailar y ritmo ?bailar y ritmo ” That was the vocal in the back ground, and I was supposed to write the verses.
poetry poetry poetry beats
poetry beats beats beats
bailar y ritmo? bailar y ritmo
but afterward, chuggin’ rum in
Martin Luther King Park
drunk and making out.
I heard King’s voice,
speaking to me, right when I
noticed how beautifully blue? my
producer’s eyes were.
I was seeing double…
?Martin Luther King’s voice was ringing clear, asking of me, “…a poet has a message.” he reminded me, a bottom line” said King, and I agreed. I said, “Yes Doctor King, a punch line, this is true, there is no message for the dancers.”
…eyes that kind of blue
were too innocent to
ever know ?the poet
belong in the subversive,
will always be Underground?,
they’ll never enter pop –
there is no message for the dancers.??
I started with a whisper as I rose up in Martin Luther King Park,? out of my mouth came the voice of that slain leader… I whispered, “I want you to think with me this morning from the subject? , Rediscovering Lost Values??…
R e d i s c o v e r i n g L o s t V a l u e s . ”
I got up, and he watched me
swing my hips back and forth,
some extra Betty Boop,
singing loud and drunk,
BAILAR Y RRRRRiTMO!! YAYAYA!
I AM LEAVING ON A? JETPLANE!!! BYE!!
He was wasted, his blues eyes glassy,
“Where YOU GOING?”
I was still swinging my hips
“BAILAR Y RITMO BAILAR!
I’m going back to LA babe!
There is no message for dancers!
they do not hunger for the Word!“
He’s still talking even though
I was near the street,
a cab pulled to the curb,
“??DO YOU Always Have to HAVE A MESSAGE?” he yells.
“YES, I AM A POET, Silly!” I yell back.
I threw my head back and laughed with Doctor , who nods again with a smile of approval. Martin Luther King Jr. politely opens the cab door, and waits as I get in. Shutting it, he reaches through the window and swipes the tip of my nose lightly, and then he pushes the lock down. I stick my half torso out the window to blow Blue Eyes a kiss, as Martin instructs the driver.
“But Right NOW, AT THIS Moment,
I Need A PUNCH LINE baby!
AND Someone’S Got ONE IN L.A.,
I’M GOING To find THE PUNCH LINE IN ALL OF THIS!
Big kiss baby …bye bye y ritmo! bye bye!”
I heard Blue Eyes wish me luck as the cab pulled away. Through the back window, Martin Luther King Jr. stood in the street with his hands folded together and again, he nodded his approval. I smiled back at him in gratitude for his message to me.
Today, the vast blue blanket seemed pale…the day looked dull…the waves had lost their passion and the winds blew with much less fancy…even the slow chirps of the birds had lost their melody…nothing that I adored primarily was of least attraction now…not even the mighty sight of those huge mountains that stood there with equal dignity as before!…And this made me hate them even more…they had promised to be my best friends…they were always there for me every second…but now they were acting insensitive, emotionless, cold, unaffected and total strangers!
The running and flying sand seemed to hit me harder with every breeze that seemed more like a thick army of my foes…its blow only had a single mission, to suffocate me more…I felt it to have shaped its hands that were tightening their grip on my neck…and blocking my breath…
The usual calm, somehow seemed uncomfortable today…the silence of the surrounding seemed to have turned eternal…which nothing will ever be able to break…it allowed no interruption…no pause and no rest!
I tried searching for support…penetrating deep in myself to find comfort…but marveled was I not to find myself…I was lost…no desperate attempts and no dire tries would work now…no fret…no fear … no tears were of any use…I didn’t know where to look for myself…the self that was now vanished in the concentrated and gloomy forest of regret!
1 comments on Regret
I enjoyed reading this.
You mentioned, “everyone” has at some time found themself ….
I don’t understand regret very well. There are things I would have liked to have done differently, though when going back I know that given what I was thinking at that time, knowing what I knew then, I would have done the same thing every time. I don’t see how it could be otherwise. I learn from those times, though I don’t find much empowerment in the feeling of regret.
So, so what, I am a rock star, I got my rock moves, And I don’t need you tonight.
And guess what? I’m having more fun, And now that we’re done, I’m gonna show you tonight.
But that wasn’t quite right was it? There was, in fact, more to come with Pink and her husband Carey Hart after their split in 2008. You see in ‘Life Cycles’ terms they were ‘Confluent’ for a couple of months in every second ‘significant year’ (ie. 19/24 and 31/36). Now they didn’t meet till Pink was past 19, so their only adult period of ‘Confluence’ has been July to September, 2011.
One of the main things about ‘Confluence’ in relationships is that it gives the partners an extra layer of empathy and support when they are going through mutual dramas. It’s not a magic bullet, but it can help. Now it was Pink (Alicia Beth Moore born 8th, Sept. 1979) who proposed to motocross racer Carey Hart (born 17th. July, 1975) and they announced a separation in Feb. 2008, when Hart was in his 31st ‘Year of Broken Pathways’. During the separation Pink supported her estranged husband, when his brother died in a motocross accident. This is a good illustration of the greater empathy where there is ‘Confluence’. In April 2009, they said they had gone to marriage guidance counselling and have, happily I might add, worked things out.
Yes, the scene of a happy family was complete with the birth of daughter Willow Sage Hart on June 2nd, 2011. This was in Pink’s 31st. ‘Year of Broken Pathways’ and only one month away from their wonderful period when Carey turned 36 and was in his important mid-life ‘Year of Revolution’ at the same time. Hart tweeted that Willow Sage was his “greatest achievement” and Pink described herself as “blissed out about motherhood”. In their case ‘Confluence’ was definitely the icing on the cake and, of course, we wish them well.
Be among the first people to ever read about this brand new concept by reading my recent blog posts featuring some of the most famous couples in history. Check it out at Life Cycles//The truth and The Evidence.
Try as I may to see the attraction I just can’t bring myself to find their dim-witted, squeaky attempts at conversation (or was that flirting?) anything I’d want to be alone with. How my peers do it, I do not know. I must say I admire their ability to look past the degrading remarks (jokes?), desperate hugs, and open-mouthed, googly-eyed stares, and find something worth enduring for long periods of time. Maybe there is a malfunction somewhere within me, but I just can’t do it. I need at least an attempt at intelligent conversation, eyes that actually-what do you know!-look into my eyes, and a nod or two that portrays a little pretend listening here or there.
The worst thing about these fools, worse even than their over-gelled hair and pasty complexions, is what fools they make out of us. Us being the smart, creative, lovable women who seem to turn into giggling Barbies when they are around. Us, being the incredible friends, strong-minded souls, deeply passionate deep inside, but all that fades away at the sight of a few attractive Venus Flytraps. We have dreams, aspirations, goals and promises to move us forward, but somehow, in some crazy, mystical way all those goals, promises seem to be put on the back burner just to hear his voice. A voice telling of mixed up things, full of confusing emotions, which not even the teller is aware of. And she with her dreams long forgotten, and her promises only a distant memory, nods her head vigorously to every tenure in his voice. I don’t recognize her anymore. All because some sweet-smelling, good-looking, funny asshole winked.
The name Venus, for the god of love, ironically serves the flytraps (or girltraps as I like to refer to them) well, however I presume a better mythological namesake would be perhaps Narcissus*. I have seen too many an Echo fall for one Narcissus, become trapped in the claws of a Venus Flytrap, and on the receiving end of a teenage boy’s ever-changing hormones to know to stay well away. By this time we know how reasonable Echo can be so all I can do thus far, is protect myself.
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The Sunday Gospel Brunch at 1300 Fillmore is like church meets a brunch. It’s a religious experience with amazing food, an incredible gospel band called the “Future Perfect Band” and featuring a fun, upbeat almost church-like environment featuring moving songs and music that will make your soul soar.
1300 on Fillmore is a restaurant and lounge that draws on the rich cultural history of San Francisco’s Fillmore Jazz District. The restaurant features “Soulful American” cuisine, accompanied by a list of the finest California Wines.
1300 Fillmore’s Sunday Gospel Brunch is a very popular event. You should call well in advance or you’ll be standing outside the door. They have two seatings every Sunday, at 11 am and 1 pm. When we walked in there last Sunday, the place was moving and there was electricity in the air. It was packed and everyone was smiling and singing along. How often do you see that?
From 1300 Fillmore’s brunch menu, we had the BBQ Shrimp N’ Creamy Grits ($14); the Cinnamon Bricohe French Toast with balsamic roasted strawberries with a French vanilla-bean cream ($12); Spicy Tasso Cajun Ham and Eggs Benedict with buttermilk chive biscuits and Tabasco Hollandaise ($12); and the Black Skillet Fried Chicken with buttermilk whipped potatoes and pan gravy ($18).
Everything is prepared to order, so you won’t encounter that “not-so-freshness” issue that sometimes occurs on buffet brunch setups. It’s straightforward comfort food that’s fresh and not over loaded with cream, butter or anything else that might travel directly to our athletic thighs. The French Toast is exceptional and unique. 1300 Fillmore’s grits are amazing. I am a grits lover and these are creamy, rich and not soupy, with an amount of butter and just a hint of salt. These are perfect grits.
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Gervais (despite his British sense of humor) can be funny, but Sunday night at the Golden Globes was not his night. His opening monologue turned into a case study for all would-be-comics of how when humor fails to illicit laughter all that’s left is someone standing on a stage making observations that can take on various interpretations, from mildly amusing to downright offensive, depending on who’s listening. Proof of this was evident in the reaction shots from the audience throughout the evening – celebrities either grimacing or just straight faced; neither a good sign for any comic.
By Monday morning the Hollywood media was accusing Gervais of coming across as mean-spirited, snarky, or out of line throughout the Golden Globes ceremony. From my couch all I heard was Gervais going for the cheap laughs with a rather stale delivery. Perhaps Gervais was trying to be cheeky (to use a British expression), but his material couldn’t support even that possible intention. Really, all the comic juice was squeezed out of Mel Gibson and Charlie Sheen months ago. There are no more laughs hiding in Scientology, in rumors of Tom Cruise’s sexuality, or in the triangle between Bruce Willis, Demi Moore, and Ashton Kutcher.
However taking Gervais to task for being mean makes no sense, some of the best comedy over the last fifty years contains a mean undertone. Anyone who has ever listen to the great George Carlin knows what I’m talking about. In the right hands meanness becomes insightful and the laughter makes it palatable. Ricky Gervais’ only sin on Sunday night was that he wasn’t funny. But the same could be said about Robert Downey Jr. in his presentation of the best Actress in a Comedy or Musical award. If you loved this short article and you would want to receive details about Emery assure visit the web site. Downey’s creepy implication of having or wanting to have sex with the nominees fell flat. Downey’s clumsy bit served only to cheapen the award. Comedy is hard, Jr. Not to mention Robert De Niro’s attempt at humorous self-deprecation in his acceptance of the Cecil B. DeMille lifetime achievement award that was more awkward than humorous. Again, comedy is hard.
Award shows have a difficult task. The intrinsic point of awards shows, like the Golden Globe Awards, is to honor excellence while being entertaining to those of us watching these shows. However the producers of these events need remind their hosts and presenters that these are award shows not celebrity roasts; there is a loud ugly thud between trying to be funny and actually being funny.
The silver lining… James Franco and Anne Hathaway were in the audience on Sunday night. Let’s hope this served as a lesson of what not to do when hosting an awards show, since Franco and Hathaway will share hosting duties at this year’s Academy Awards show. If a good example of how to host an award show is necessary, watch any of the Oscar ceremonies hosted by Billy Crystal. Foremost remember Anne and James… comedy is hard.
Juanita knew too much about the beginnings of a criminal gang utilising the proceeds from the drugs to flue building and construction works as these missing tapes in her handbag may have revealed. This took her life some say.
If you believe in angels, you know they are all around us and ready to help us with everything. All you have to do is ask.
Every Wednesday I have a mediumship class and for the past couple of weeks we have been focusing on automatic writing and channelling messages from our spirit guides. I have been receiving a lot of poetry about angels and I wanted to share one here.
Angel wings glistening,
streaming beams of celestial light.
Shrouding and covering,
till the love seeps through.
Bathe in the light.
Be aware of this love.
It embraces and warms the soul.
Removing doubts and fears,
replacing the anguish,
You can call upon these angel wings,
when doubts and fears increase.
They’ll take away what you do not need,
leaving the true meaning of the life you are meant to lead.
4 comments on Angels
Oh, how lovely! I love the Angels.
nice! I once wrote a piece for school but the angel wings I spoke about were my fathers. He is alive and well but I just feel so safe while hugging him so i consider him to be my angel 😀
Thanks Theresa, glad you like it.
@Taking off the mask, I think all parents are really angels in disguise. They teach us so much. Your father’s hugs sound wonderful and you are blessed to still have him in your life.
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In warm climates, you can run the entire system in PVC pipe. I used polyethylene pipe, a more flexible alternative, because the system has to withstand the freeze-thaw cycles that are common where I live. In any case, you must consult local plumbing codes before beginning work and you may be required to secure a building permit. If you are environment friendly, try using universal hose connector that can minimum the usage of water while at the same time sprinkle at full coverage of irritation.
Every system needs a backflow preventer to keep the sprinkler system from contaminating the potable water supply. One type is a standard, surface-level backflow preventer, which must be installed 12 in. above the highest point of the yard. I installed a reduced-pressure backflow preventer, because it’s allowed below grade. I put it in the basement and will drain the system to this point each winter. The cost of an in-ground sprinkler system can vary widely
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