Backroom

A friend sent this image to me and along with it came wonderful memories. Pleasant thoughts that had been tucked away somewhere in a backroom of my mind. Thanks for getting me to open that door.

The Movie "Avatar" in Real Life - WE ARE ALL ONE!

Bon Jovi - Hallelujah

Il Divo - Regresa A Mi (Unbreak My Heart)

Il Divo - Adagio

Mama

Il Divo - Hallelujah

The Kiss

“Lord! I wonder what fool it was that first invented kissing. “

Jonathan Swift (1667-1745) Irish author and clergyman

Consider the kiss. What an odd, intriguing, and absurd concept, this pressing of lobes, this mating of faces.

Ah, the kiss. Obscene and brutal? Or magnificent, erotic? A tribute? An insult? Whatever the form, it does span mouths and hearts and time. There are too many kinds to count, this mirror of emotion, purveyor of desire:

The Judas kiss, low as a snake and deadly as sin. The obligatory kiss to Aunt Jane, whose breath is stale with age and cigarettes smoked. The perfunctionary peck upon the cheek, a greeting here, perhaps sincere but perhaps not. A parent’s worried lips to the child’s fevered brow. And what of the kiss of comfort, the one that absorbs even a little of the grief while a loved one sleeps in a silk-lined box? Kisses sweet, brief, given without thought or considered at length. An apology even, when words are too hard to say.

The lover’s kiss: prelude to passion each mortal strives to perfect with varying degrees of success. Mustn’t be too sloppy or too dry; the timing is crucial, too; when to begin as important as knowing the moment it is meant to be over.

Is it tentative or hungry? Is it reciprocated, or rejected with the turn of the cheek, mauling the ego more deftly than any two-fisted blow? The cheek will not do, not when lips are destined to meet and seek a fit as intimate as hip to hip.

A tracing of the lips with the tip of the tongue, dip, taste of the tender, fleshy lobes, around, under, and finally between. The tongue is taken into the dark, moist chamber. Textures there, be it raw silk or rough as the kitten’s tiny bumps coated with cream. Can you hear the accelerated breathing; maybe it is ragged, harsh, and a little raw? Breaths mingle, exchanging flavors, longing. Teeth close, claiming a tongue, a bite, just a tiny pressure, a groan, a sigh. Reverse the exploration.

And then eyes peek open, affirming that this feeling is mutual and unfeigned. Now the deepening of it, the slanting of lips, the tongue thrusts, the increasing wetness and carnivorous nibbles as they devour each other..

It is delicious. Absolutely divine. His lips skim down to her chin, he sips and the delicate jut. Unwilling to relinquish and yet feeling the natural course playing to the end. Their eyes open and meet and no words are needed. If it is good, it is the best part of heaven; if not, they part knowing the kiss was fatal and this is good-bye.

Consider the kiss. A concept worthy of thought, though one better pondered with nimble lips rather than words.

Michael Jackson

It is hard to believe that it has been a year since the death of Michael Jackson. I don't think there has been a day in that year that has gone by without some story by the media regarding him or his family. His music will live on for many years and continue to inspire other artist.

Michael Jackson

It is hard to believe that it has been a year since the death of Michael Jackson. I don't think there has been a day in that year that has gone by without some story by the media regarding him or his family.

Wild Things

In the book by Maurice Sendak, Where The Wild Things Are, Max, in his wolf suit, makes mischief until his mother in exasperation calls him a wild thing. "I'll eat you up." Max says and is sent to bed without his supper. There in his dreams, he travels to the "place where the wild things are" and they roar their terrible roars and gnash their terrible teeth and roll their terrible eyes and show their terrible claws" until Max command, "Be still" and tames them with his magic trick of staring into their eyes.

All of us have wild things within us, the feeling that we must learn to control. Emotions that can get us into trouble but at the same time are essential to conjuring up the creatures that make life interesting. It is our ability to control with out quashing that makes us optimistic. Optimism is dependent upon our ability to become King of all the wild things.

It requires mothers/friends who will send us to bed without our supper, but will keep it warm as well and welcome us back from where the wild things roam. It is from this family that we learn the magic tricks that we need to make us feel like a King.

Let the rumpus begin!

Where The Wild Things Are

In the book by Maurice Sendak, Where The Wild Things Are, Max, in his wolf suit, makes mischief of one kind or another until his mother, in exasperation, calls him a wild thing. "I'll eat you up!" Max says menacingly, and is sent to bed without his supper. There in his dreams he travels to the "place where wild things are," and they "roar their terrible roars and gnash their terrible teeth and roll their terrible eyes and show their terrible claws" until Max commands "Be still!" and tames them with the magic trick of staring into all their yellow eyes without blinking.

All of us have "wild things" within us, the tumult of inner feelings that each of us must learn to tame. Our emotions can get us into trouble in our relationships. But these same feelings are essential if we are to conjure the creatures that make life interesting. It is our ability to control these feelings without quashing them that makes us optimistic. Optimism is dependent upon our ability to become king of all the wild things.

It requires mothers/friends who will send us to bed without supper but who will keep it warm as well, ready for our return, lonely, from where the wild things are. It is thru our family and friends that we learn the magic tricks we need to make us feel like kings. Let the rumpus begin!