Monday, November 25, 2019

Thanksgiving

5:23 PM 0 Comments
Thanksgiving, lets us also remember our many valiant Military soldiers who have lost their lives to save ours. Set for them,'The Vacant Chair' and for all our family and friends we have lost. ~ndpthepoetress

"As the Thanksgiving holiday approaches in the U.S., it is a time to remember family and friends that we have lost. The song posted at the link below is titled "The Vacant Chair", which sets a poem by Henry Stevenson Washburn. The poem was inspired by the death of Civil War soldier John William Grout at the Battle of Ball's Bluff, and the sorrow of his family, who set a vacant chair for him at their Thanksgiving table." -Performing Arts at the Library of Congress

Sung by Tennessee Ernie Ford

Lyrics
We shall meet, but we shall miss him
There will be one vacant chair
We shall linger to caress him
While we breathe our evening prayer;
When a year ago we gathered
Joy was in his mild blue eye,
But a golden chord is severed
And our hopes in ruin lie.
We shall meet, but we shall miss him
There will be one vacant chair
We shall linger to caress him
While we breathe our evening prayer.
At our fireside, sad and lonely,
Often will the bosom swell,
At remembrance of the story
How our noble Willie sell;
How he strove to bear our banner
Through the thickest of the fight,
And uphold our country's honor
In the strength of manhood's night.
We shall meet, but we shall miss him
There will be one vacant chair
We shall linger to caress him
While we breathe our evening prayer.
True, they tell us wreaths of glory
Ever more will deck his brow,
But this soothes the anguish only
Sweeping o'er our heartstrings now.
Sleep today, Oh early fallen,
In thy green and narrow bed,
Dirges from the pine and cypress,
Mingle with the tears we shed.
We shall meet, but we shall miss him
There will be one vacant chair
We shall linger to caress him
While we breathe our evening prayer.

Songwriters: GEORGE ROOT / H. WASHBURN
Vacant Chair lyrics © Edward B Marks Music Company

Monday, November 11, 2019

Veterans Day Patriotic Songs

12:00 AM 0 Comments

National Veterans Day Ceremony
The Veterans Day National Ceremony is held each year on November 11th at Arlington National Cemetery . The ceremony commences precisely at 11:00 a.m. with a wreath laying at the Tomb of the Unknowns and continues inside the Memorial Amphitheater with a parade of colors by veterans' organizations and remarks from dignitaries. The ceremony is intended to honor and thank all who served in the United States Armed Forces.

Sunday, November 10, 2019

Veterans Day

10:10 PM 0 Comments
U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs: In November 1919, President Wilson proclaimed November 11 as the first commemoration of Armistice Day with the following words: "To us in America, the reflections of Armistice Day will be filled with solemn pride in the heroism of those who died in the country’s service and with gratitude for the victory, both because of the thing from which it has freed us and because of the opportunity it has given America to show her sympathy with peace and justice in the councils of the nations…"

An Act (52 Stat. 351; 5 U. S. Code, Sec. 87a) approved May 13, 1938, made the 11th of November in each year a legal holiday—a day to be dedicated to the cause of world peace and to be thereafter celebrated and known as "Armistice Day." Armistice Day was primarily a day set aside to honor veterans of World War I, but in 1954, after World War II had required the greatest mobilization of soldiers, sailors, Marines and airmen in the Nation’s history; after American forces had fought aggression in Korea, the 83rd Congress, at the urging of the veterans service organizations, amended the Act of 1938 by striking out the word "Armistice" and inserting in its place the word "Veterans." With the approval of this legislation (Public Law 380) on June 1, 1954, November 11th became a day to honor American veterans of all wars.

Later that same year, on October 8th, President Dwight D. Eisenhower issued the first "Veterans Day Proclamation" which stated: "In order to insure proper and widespread observance of this anniversary, all veterans, all veterans' organizations, and the entire citizenry will wish to join hands in the common purpose. Toward this end, I am designating the Administrator of Veterans' Affairs as Chairman of a Veterans Day National Committee, which shall include such other persons as the Chairman may select, and which will coordinate at the national level necessary planning for the observance. I am also requesting the heads of all departments and agencies of the Executive branch of the Government to assist the National Committee in every way possible."
pamcleague.org: Veterans and their Families have already sacrificed well above and beyond what most citizens endure for their nation—enormous life-changing sacrifices.
As we express our gratitude, we must never forget that the highest appreciation is not to utter words, but to live by them. ~John Fitzgerald Kennedy
brotherswar.com: The mystic chords of memory, stretching from every battlefield and patriot grave to every living heart and hearthstone all over this broad land, will yet swell the chorus of the Union, when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature." -President Abraham Lincoln

Related Posts:
Thank A Soldier
Influential Women In The Military
The Flower of Remembrance

Monday, November 04, 2019

Butterflies Upon the Will of Power

5:48 PM 8 Comments
I watched the movie, Shattered starring Pierce Brosnan, Maria Bello, and Gerard Butler. The movie is based around the quote, “Who breaks a butterfly upon a wheel” found in the literary work of 1735, An Epistle to Dr Arbuthnot written by Alexander Pope. The excerpt has been drawn on by many People throughout the years. And different meanings of the expression have been included in music such as that by The Mission whom recorded a track titled Butterfly on a Wheel. Basically the phrase means, “putting massive effort into achieving something minor or unimportant”.

I think the quote “Who breaks a butterfly upon a wheel” has a lot of significance to offer our World today and is a great thought for ..2019... To often criminals break a butterfly upon a wheel leaving innocent victims to suffer the consequences of another’s irreparable actions. To many Soldiers are sent to fight a War that has largely lost its’ main purpose. Leaving our Men and Women to flap their wings in a territory that seemingly lacks the ability to act – let alone react – as civilized human beings who have been given the opportunity to rise above their once dictated brainwashed sadistic antics. Meanwhile; our own Country continues to lack massive and important measures to securely prevent any future potential terrorism violence nationally. Global Warming is given verbal band aides of decorated hope while sufficient funds are disbursed into other wheels of less importance.

Environmentally speaking, the butterfly effect is a phrase that “refers to the idea that a butterfly's wings might create tiny changes in the atmosphere that ultimately cause a tornado to appear (or for that matter, prevent a tornado from appearing). The flapping wing represents a small change in the initial condition of the system, which causes a chain of events leading to large-scale phenomena.” Let us no longer wonder, “had the butterfly not flapped its wings, the trajectory of the system might have been vastly different." Perhaps instead; it is time that we take back the wheel and steer our own wings, promoting positive change throughout the World toward Peace. For even the smallest of efforts can make a difference collectively. Be this by beginning such in our own home, community, political stance, etc. Hence, let they “Who breaks a butterfly upon a wheel”, know not their abuse of power but the willpower of Humankind.

Thursday, October 17, 2019

Psyche of a Murderer

10:26 PM 3 Comments
ndpthepoetress: "The Tell-Tale Heart by Edgar Allan Poe is about an evil eye, dismemberment, and the repercussions of guilt. What more could a reader ask for! A seemingly short tale with enthralling details, but with an abrupt ending. Still in-between the lines one can perhaps visualize how some people fixate on a person’s flaws instead of their overall significance as a human being. And so the story begins, such imperfection gradually converts into an obsession. The male perpetrator could have only taken that which disturbed him the most. His method of choice however contemplated primarily on the breath of life, possibly giving the readers a clue to the frame of this killer’s own psyche at the time. Hence; the subsequent anatomization, may have been more of a means to prove his own self bloody-right than the ascribed reason. However; he was about to learn that all human life does have value. For guilt has a way of eating into the brain. There truth echoes, beckoning to be heard. Such resonance then can impel a sane man mad while plummeting a supposedly mad man even further into the depths of insanity. And so it is with The Tell-Tale Heart by Edgar Allan Poe":

TRUE! --nervous --very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but why will you say that I am mad? The disease had sharpened my senses --not destroyed --not dulled them. Above all was the sense of hearing acute. I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth. I heard many things in hell. How, then, am I mad? Hearken! and observe how healthily --how calmly I can tell you the whole story.

It is impossible to say how first the idea entered my brain; but once conceived, it haunted me day and night. Object there was none. Passion there was none. I loved the old man. He had never wronged me. He had never given me insult. For his gold I had no desire. I think it was his eye! yes, it was this! He had the eye of a vulture --a pale blue eye, with a film over it. Whenever it fell upon me, my blood ran cold; and so by degrees --very gradually --I made up my mind to take the life of the old man, and thus rid myself of the eye forever.

Now this is the point. You fancy me mad. Madmen know nothing. But you should have seen me. You should have seen how wisely I proceeded --with what caution --with what foresight --with what dissimulation I went to work! I was never kinder to the old man than during the whole week before I killed him. And every night, about midnight, I turned the latch of his door and opened it --oh so gently! And then, when I had made an opening sufficient for my head, I put in a dark lantern, all closed, closed, that no light shone out, and then I thrust in my head. Oh, you would have laughed to see how cunningly I thrust it in! I moved it slowly --very, very slowly, so that I might not disturb the old man's sleep. It took me an hour to place my whole head within the opening so far that I could see him as he lay upon his bed. Ha! would a madman have been so wise as this, And then, when my head was well in the room, I undid the lantern cautiously-oh, so cautiously --cautiously (for the hinges creaked) --I undid it just so much that a single thin ray fell upon the vulture eye. And this I did for seven long nights --every night just at midnight --but I found the eye always closed; and so it was impossible to do the work; for it was not the old man who vexed me, but his Evil Eye. And every morning, when the day broke, I went boldly into the chamber, and spoke courageously to him, calling him by name in a hearty tone, and inquiring how he has passed the night. So you see he would have been a very profound old man, indeed, to suspect that every night, just at twelve, I looked in upon him while he slept.

Upon the eighth night I was more than usually cautious in opening the door. A watch's minute hand moves more quickly than did mine. Never before that night had I felt the extent of my own powers --of my sagacity. I could scarcely contain my feelings of triumph. To think that there I was, opening the door, little by little, and he not even to dream of my secret deeds or thoughts. I fairly chuckled at the idea; and perhaps he heard me; for he moved on the bed suddenly, as if startled. Now you may think that I drew back --but no. His room was as black as pitch with the thick darkness, (for the shutters were close fastened, through fear of robbers,) and so I knew that he could not see the opening of the door, and I kept pushing it on steadily, steadily.

I had my head in, and was about to open the lantern, when my thumb slipped upon the tin fastening, and the old man sprang up in bed, crying out --"Who's there?"

I kept quite still and said nothing. For a whole hour I did not move a muscle, and in the meantime I did not hear him lie down. He was still sitting up in the bed listening; --just as I have done, night after night, hearkening to the death watches in the wall.

Presently I heard a slight groan, and I knew it was the groan of mortal terror. It was not a groan of pain or of grief --oh, no! --it was the low stifled sound that arises from the bottom of the soul when overcharged with awe. I knew the sound well. Many a night, just at midnight, when all the world slept, it has welled up from my own bosom, deepening, with its dreadful echo, the terrors that distracted me. I say I knew it well. I knew what the old man felt, and pitied him, although I chuckled at heart. I knew that he had been lying awake ever since the first slight noise, when he had turned in the bed. His fears had been ever since growing upon him. He had been trying to fancy them causeless, but could not. He had been saying to himself --"It is nothing but the wind in the chimney --it is only a mouse crossing the floor," or "It is merely a cricket which has made a single chirp." Yes, he had been trying to comfort himself with these suppositions: but he had found all in vain. All in vain; because Death, in approaching him had stalked with his black shadow before him, and enveloped the victim. And it was the mournful influence of the unperceived shadow that caused him to feel --although he neither saw nor heard --to feel the presence of my head within the room.

When I had waited a long time, very patiently, without hearing him lie down, I resolved to open a little --a very, very little crevice in the lantern. So I opened it --you cannot imagine how stealthily, stealthily --until, at length a simple dim ray, like the thread of the spider, shot from out the crevice and fell full upon the vulture eye.

It was open --wide, wide open --and I grew furious as I gazed upon it. I saw it with perfect distinctness --all a dull blue, with a hideous veil over it that chilled the very marrow in my bones; but I could see nothing else of the old man's face or person: for I had directed the ray as if by instinct, precisely upon the damned spot.

And have I not told you that what you mistake for madness is but over-acuteness of the sense? --now, I say, there came to my ears a low, dull, quick sound, such as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton. I knew that sound well, too. It was the beating of the old man's heart. It increased my fury, as the beating of a drum stimulates the soldier into courage.

But even yet I refrained and kept still. I scarcely breathed. I held the lantern motionless. I tried how steadily I could maintain the ray upon the eve. Meantime the hellish tattoo of the heart increased. It grew quicker and quicker, and louder and louder every instant. The old man's terror must have been extreme! It grew louder, I say, louder every moment! --do you mark me well I have told you that I am nervous: so I am. And now at the dead hour of the night, amid the dreadful silence of that old house, so strange a noise as this excited me to uncontrollable terror. Yet, for some minutes longer I refrained and stood still. But the beating grew louder, louder! I thought the heart must burst. And now a new anxiety seized me --the sound would be heard by a neighbor! The old man's hour had come! With a loud yell, I threw open the lantern and leaped into the room. He shrieked once --once only. In an instant I dragged him to the floor, and pulled the heavy bed over him. I then smiled gaily, to find the deed so far done. But, for many minutes, the heart beat on with a muffled sound. This, however, did not vex me; it would not be heard through the wall. At length it ceased. The old man was dead. I removed the bed and examined the corpse. Yes, he was stone, stone dead. I placed my hand upon the heart and held it there many minutes. There was no pulsation. He was stone dead. His eve would trouble me no more.

If still you think me mad, you will think so no longer when I describe the wise precautions I took for the concealment of the body. The night waned, and I worked hastily, but in silence. First of all I dismembered the corpse. I cut off the head and the arms and the legs.

I then took up three planks from the flooring of the chamber, and deposited all between the scantlings. I then replaced the boards so cleverly, so cunningly, that no human eye --not even his --could have detected any thing wrong. There was nothing to wash out --no stain of any kind --no blood-spot whatever. I had been too wary for that. A tub had caught all --ha! ha!

When I had made an end of these labors, it was four o'clock --still dark as midnight. As the bell sounded the hour, there came a knocking at the street door. I went down to open it with a light heart, --for what had I now to fear? There entered three men, who introduced themselves, with perfect suavity, as officers of the police. A shriek had been heard by a neighbour during the night; suspicion of foul play had been aroused; information had been lodged at the police office, and they (the officers) had been deputed to search the premises.

I smiled, --for what had I to fear? I bade the gentlemen welcome. The shriek, I said, was my own in a dream. The old man, I mentioned, was absent in the country. I took my visitors all over the house. I bade them search --search well. I led them, at length, to his chamber. I showed them his treasures, secure, undisturbed. In the enthusiasm of my confidence, I brought chairs into the room, and desired them here to rest from their fatigues, while I myself, in the wild audacity of my perfect triumph, placed my own seat upon the very spot beneath which reposed the corpse of the victim.

The officers were satisfied. My manner had convinced them. I was singularly at ease. They sat, and while I answered cheerily, they chatted of familiar things. But, ere long, I felt myself getting pale and wished them gone. My head ached, and I fancied a ringing in my ears: but still they sat and still chatted. The ringing became more distinct: --It continued and became more distinct: I talked more freely to get rid of the feeling: but it continued and gained definiteness --until, at length, I found that the noise was not within my ears.

No doubt I now grew very pale; --but I talked more fluently, and with a heightened voice. Yet the sound increased --and what could I do? It was a low, dull, quick sound --much such a sound as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton. I gasped for breath --and yet the officers heard it not. I talked more quickly --more vehemently; but the noise steadily increased. I arose and argued about trifles, in a high key and with violent gesticulations; but the noise steadily increased. Why would they not be gone? I paced the floor to and fro with heavy strides, as if excited to fury by the observations of the men --but the noise steadily increased. Oh God! what could I do? I foamed --I raved --I swore! I swung the chair upon which I had been sitting, and grated it upon the boards, but the noise arose over all and continually increased. It grew louder --louder --louder! And still the men chatted pleasantly, and smiled. Was it possible they heard not? Almighty God! --no, no! They heard! --they suspected! --they knew! --they were making a mockery of my horror!-this I thought, and this I think. But anything was better than this agony! Anything was more tolerable than this derision! I could bear those hypocritical smiles no longer! I felt that I must scream or die! and now --again! --hark! louder! louder! louder! louder!

"Villains!" I shrieked, "dissemble no more! I admit the deed! --tear up the planks! here, here! --It is the beating of his hideous heart!



Part Two 

The Tell-Tale Heart is a short story by Edgar Allan Poe, first published in 1843. It is included in , online at .

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org

Wednesday, October 02, 2019

Treads of A Murder

8:29 PM 6 Comments
In the cloak of darkness the heart pounded detrimentally inside her chest, as if insistent on immediate release; while perspiration dripped from numerous sweat glands she never knew her flesh had. Suddenly, the body she was hauling tumbled to the ground and descended along a steep hill. Panicky, she ran toward the already rotting carcass. In the hurried course her high heels broke as she toppled onto the mossy wet leafed ground, tasting dirt from her moist glossy lips. Her nose was within a few inches of the cadaver, the stench reeked with a combination of dumpster garbage and human sewage waste. Sickeningly nauseated she some how managed to rise, brushing the earths remnants from herself with her now bloodily scratched hands. Then, as if without any forethought whatsoever; she grasped the stiff body and lugged it toward a nearby river bank. Briefly, as if to catch a breath; she sat on the moist ground surrounded by the night. Her fleeting thoughts interrupted abruptly to realize she had not brought a shovel. Frantically she looked around in the moonlight. Broken twigs were scattered amidst the thickening, as she hurriedly threw them aside to at last find a short broken, rigid tree limb. She began to dig furiously right there beneath her feet, until the depth was sufficient. By now the crack of dawn was awakening, worn out she clasped the foul body, dragging it inside the hole. Her bare, scuffed raw hands clumping dirt rapidly over the grave. Content with her undertaking, she staggered toward the river. Achingly she knelt down to fling the icy water onto herself, simultaneously seeming to cleanse some of the filth from her skin and mind. Exhausted, she began the journey toward the hill top where her car was parked. Finally she arrived; fumbling with keys until the door unlocked, she climbed inside. Idle, hands on the wheel; she reflected on the nights’ escapade. If only someone had driven a little slower, perhaps none of this would have happened. Or if someone merely attended to the matter themselves when the incident occurred, than maybe she would not had to taken care of the dreadful situation herself. Still trembling; she shifts her car into drive and pulls onto the blackened road. The muddy rear frame of her car had only one bumper sticker visible: God Bless the animals that cross to and fro, for they know not which way to go.

Written By ©ndpthepoetress (- Jeane Michelle Culp) {copyright #98s7750940}

Tuesday, October 01, 2019

My Pet

11:21 PM 4 Comments
I often believe that life has a way of presenting circumstances in our lives as a method of reminding us about lessons yet to be learnt or merely fragmentary reflections of current events. And so such began for me, my pet Gnat. Admittedly; there were several matters bugging me recently, ordeals seemingly beyond my control. And there, every time I came home – to greet me was The Gnat. Persistently pesky little bugger, reluctant to die. Never once did it try to flight upon my food, as if to contentedly fulfill its’ own needs. Instead, this Gnat would seemingly sneak from its’ hidden abode, explicitly when my eyes were fixated else where in deep thought; than zoom! Zoom, whoosh, whiz repeatedly; as I tried in accordance, only to unsuccessfully squish it with my hand or paper. Until at last this became liken a game between us of - dash, clasp, miss. Okay maybe I am taking this a wee far by my next train of thought, however; I swear this ruthless pest would accompany me at work in the good olde days. In the building at my place of employment, we seldom get pestered by the ‘real insects'. It’s not like we have flyswatter decors hanging about in all confined cubicles. No! Yet there ‘it’ was, The Gnat! And so Whoosh, slap, miss! Like a fool whom never learns from mistakes; I continued to take the hurtle bait, only to constantly get the same results - missed! Blasted rascal! Ok, if this pest was not the same from my home, than please explain how one day the annoyer was in my car, when I got off work! The Gnat – there to greet me in my auto, as if waiting for a free ride home from ‘its’ weary day of play. Ok I hear you. Gnats are massively every where! I have finally lost it. I am bugging out! This Gnat has ultimately succeeded - if only to drive me batty! Well today, or maybe it has been a few days now, anyhow; I am sadden to say, I lost my Pesky pet. No, I did not kill The Gnat. I recon ‘it’ has gone to pester someone else or has died of starvation – somewhere between my home and the open road. Or at worse, has become someones’ windshield muck. Just, I’m certain The Gnat did not leave of its own accord; as there are still plenty of recent tribulations tugging at my heart strings and playing intensely on my mind. Yet, sadly gone is The Gnat. Now I can’t help but wonder if I had ever succeeded in squishing ‘it’, would I have felt relieved or remorse. Perhaps we all need such a Pest, I mean Pet in our lives at times. Something tiny, requiring minimal upkeep; just something small enough to keep the mind occupied on other things, if but for a minute - so that the raw obvious doesn’t continuously eat us alive from the inside out, like an introverted vulture. Therefore; here’s wishing Gnats in your life! May you go batty as bed bugs, if but for a fleeting moment! Zoom, whoosh, whiz!



Dragonball Z - Eating Me Away


SKILLET

"Eating Me Away"

It's eating me away
I said to God
It's rotting in my mind
It's like a cancer
Is there anything, anything at all to numb the nothingness
I need a reason to breathe
It's eating me away

Yeah, yeah....

It's eating me away
It nibbles at my brain
The question of my existence
And the matter of pain
I shake my fist, I shake my fist
At the cosmos and my insignificance
I need a reason to breathe
It's eating me away

[CHORUS:]
Save me from my rage
And my humanity
I'm more nothing than being
Is this my legacy
Feel it eating me away
Yeah, yeah.....

All that I am, all that I want, all that I lack
Come on and save me
All that I am, all that I want, all that I lack
Come on and save me

[CHORUS]

All that I am, all that I want, all that I lack
Come on and save me
All that I am, all that I want, all that I lack
Come on and save me

It's eating me away

[CHORUS]

Sunday, September 15, 2019

143°

9:00 PM 0 Comments
143°

Love is like a cloudy day
The rain will come or the rain may stay
The wind could blow, shift, or brew a tornado or two
Maybe change course, stir anew; as if a hurricane is coming by or bye
But just as sure as the rain will come, surely the sun will too
And those whose hearts are built to last, together they'll repair any damage
Going on to love forevermore, with a forecast of less cloudy days ahead
So if you're going to up and fall in love
Be sure to carry an umbrella and lots of humble pie too.

Poem by author, poet ndpthepoetress Michelle Culp
© #22290AR99

Saturday, August 24, 2019

And you thought you were having a bad day!

12:36 PM 0 Comments
Lo and behold; what hath I done to thee Universe to deserve such treacheries! I go to do laundry, courtesy of my Sister. I see an empty large Arm & Hammer laundry detergent jug, so I grab the smaller container in front of it; same brand Arm & Hammer. Began my laundry, then later noticed on the shelf is a full jug of laundry detergent. Perplexed; I read the smaller container, only to realize I am washing my clothes in RUG cleaner! Arm & Hammer plus Oxi Clean Stain Remover! With visions of my clothes being eaten by this strong stuff or chemically spotted, I calculated the repercussions of my actions in having to replace my clothes! Nothing I could do but wait.

Whilst fretting; I proceeded to vacuum my car, only to notice the hose was leaving black streaks on my car seats and my hands. Omgosh, I was using their outdoor grill vacuum cleaner! Now I really need the Carpet cleaner!

Meanwhile; the moment of truth has arrived, the washer is silent; as if pausing in a moment of prayer with me. I slowly open the washer lid...slowly....Yay; all is well and good; until while spraying Febreze, I realized in actuality and I kid you not, I went from praying to 's'praying freakin' Windex on my clothes!

Now my clothes are as clean as a rug, shiny as glass, and I can slither into my car seats!

Oh wait....my day just got better, NOT! Speaking of slithering, there is a flippin' swirling noise in my room JUST NOW; oh guess what it is! A lizard.....with a frantic crazy looking, suddenly an instant Ninja woman scrambling to open the door to set it free....run Lizzy the Lizard....'run as fast as you can'....away from ME! Success! Lizard🦎is free OUTDOORS! And BREATHEeeee...

All this before 🕙10a.m. today does not include the other day's, escapade! I was at work, parked in my usual spot waiting to go into work. Heard a thump; I thought on my car roof, thought it was squirrels, but got out and omGGGGG over 50 caterpillar looking things, BIG; were all around my car on the pavement. I looked and on my front engine top were splotches of grayish red globs; like something from the tree dropped, a nest of 'what the heck were these creepy-crawlies'! They were hard as with a stick, I removed some from my car than quickly ran to park elsewhere; in fear of some or more having already gotten in my car....creepy!!!!!

Yes, I only got one picture to prove this because there was NO way I was going to stand amidst the eerie army to capture the full effect! The sound in the below video, if it works; is scary enough! Sounds like, 'Let's kill her'!

And you thought you were having a bad day!😱

Thursday, May 23, 2019

Black Sheep of the Family

8:29 PM 0 Comments
"The so-called 'Black Sheep' of the family are, in fact, seekers of liberation roads for the family tree. Those members of the tree who do not adapt to the rules or traditions of the family system, those who were constantly seeking to revolutionize beliefs, going in contrast to roads marked by family traditions, those criticized, tried and even rejected, those, by General, they are called to release the tree of repetitive stories that frustrate entire generations.

The 'Black Sheep', those who do not adapt, those who scream rebel, repair, detoxify and create a new and blooming branch... countless unfulfilled desires, unfulfilled dreams, frustrated talents of our ancestors manifest themselves in their rebellion looking to take place.

The family tree, by inertia, will want to continue to maintain the castrating and toxic course of its trunk, which makes its task difficult and conflicting... that no one makes you doubt, take care of your 'rarity' as the most precious flower of Your Tree. You are the dream of all your ancestors "
- Bert Hellinger

Art by Jeremy Enecio

Shared on Facebook by ShamanTube

Friday, May 17, 2019

I P.E.N. Thee: Wake Up Atom (Adam)

6:10 PM 0 Comments
Cosmic Artist By Alex Grey
♪ Row, row, row your atoms
Gently down the stream of consciousness
Merrily merrily, merrily, merrily
Life is but a dream ♪

Out of the skull of illusions comes the brain; and once that is gone, there is nothing; a mere void, a trifling pretense of something that was once there, something that occupied space and time and preoccupied time and space; but now neither exist except for then. Then when there was once a skull filled with a brain utilized in this thing called life that now no longer exist; but was once existent then; then whence attached to a body. And oh of the body, 'what was that'; a thing clothed in skin, wrapping the bones that encased the skull and trapped the heart in a cage. And what is this of the heart, given literary significance of painful sorrow and joy, when but the heart is just a organ, it beats neither for you nor me. Simply an instrument beating to the rhythm of the lungs. And what is it of lungs but repetitive cycles of filtered pollutants; perhaps even recycled atoms of once upon a 'what was that'. Oh but air, without such there'd be nothing; no gamma waves, no beats, nor sighs; just layers of lifeless flesh, once upon a body. Now a corpse slowly decomposing, awaiting for the dust to settle or burnt remnants of shattered ashes to clear the air. Merely, practical particles; atoms degeneratively converging toward another and yet another form, in a endless loop of looking back wondering,'what was that'; of the skull, of the thing the skull encased, of the flesh, of the caged heart, of the polluted lungs, of the circulating air. Until at long last; thought itself becomes but a thing once thought; unaware that any of this, 'what was that'; convoluted conversation perhaps once existed. Oblivious, forevermore; evaporated into the abyss of never ending nothingness. Having ever so
Creation of Atom by Natalie Doud
briefly emerged from a once upon a time; whence a pendulum jiggled beyond the realms of possibility, creating the greatest optical illusion ever.

Author: Jeane Michelle Culp (ndpthepoetress)
© #922-3-z6-118710-4

Tuesday, May 07, 2019

Rest In Peace

11:04 AM 0 Comments
There is a Graveyard on my way to and from work. It is plotted along a winding and twisting road, much like life. Across the road there is a ditch. Given any windy day, you will see the ditch filled with flowers,💐 wreathes... from the graveyard⛼. I understand that's how the gushing gusty winds blow. However; I can't help wonder if it could be ghosts,👻 spirits throwing the flowers....as if to say,🖐️Hey you didn't bring me flowers🌹 when I was alive, so don't bring me flowers now🥀 😢. So please, 'Don't wait until your loved ones are dead to give them flowers', shower people now with flowers.🌹 , kindness, affection, hugs🤗.....❤️ And if you can't afford flowers; there are plenty of free discarded flowers, in a ditch across from the graveyard near me.
*I would have liked to have shown the sad picture of this elongated flowery filled ditch, however; I didn't want to risk life and limb on this winding dangerous road and become another permanent resident⚰️ in that graveyard!😛   ~ndpthepoetress of BindingInk.org
Art by Gypsie Raleigh

Sunday, February 03, 2019

True Colors

12:30 AM 0 Comments
My 'personal action' is to continue to promote the IDEAS®: Inclusion Diversity Equality Acceptance Solidarity for ALL by saving Humanities 1 Human at a Time, 1 Book, 1 Poem, 1 Quote, 1 Song... at a Time. Join us on Facebook STOP and: S.ee T.he O.ther P.eople.

In my opinion, whether because of ones health, accent, lifestyle, color of skin… whether rejected or ridiculed or some other means of communal castration, no matter how small or large any difference or the bullying or any consequence thereof be; the complete eradication of prejudice will remain a centuries old vicarious plague spurred from societal statistical stigmatic stigma, hysterically injected into the ill-reputed frail failing intellect of the majority who damningly dare to declare what differentiates from the norm. For example; I recently read about a son spurned by his own flesh and blood, “a vicious parent shaming still its child”1. ‘*Revolted by his father’s injustice’, the son left home at an all to early age, set upon a journey to prove or find his roots. Regrettably; during his mission, he was essentially met with a series of harsh condemnations. Ultimately; the son becomes consumed with self-delusion and an insatiable appetite for revenge to be inflicted upon those who once dared to flaunt their popularity, while others refused to embrace his uniqueness cloaked in natural flaws.

Fortunately "2the pen is mightier than the sword", so he merely immerses himself into his literary work. At last the world is his stage and he could not have chosen a better place. For whom among us has not been psychologically moved or entertained by words upon a page. Or our attention drawn to a character in a play, opera, movie, or a mere sit-com? And so with pen and paper the son makes his plight known for others to read then mourn, scorn, ponder, or wonder. Except to him, his anguish was the worse of anyone. Nonetheless; in due course the son grew into his own isolated culture rejected existence. After some time; a Woman professed, “*Evidently God has made us for each another! I am like you…” Soon afterwards the son married her, asserting; “*Blessed be the sorrows I have borne… Heaven was keeping such unhoped consolation in reserve! Until today I feared myself doomed to eternal singleness and to tell you the truth it was a heavy burden to bear”. Though; had he truly loved her for herself and not out of a seemingly Narcissist reflection of himself; then when her true colors came beautifully shining through, he would not have (for shame or other matters) discarded her much as he had been cast off by the population. Yet he did flee from her side; “*to abandon the career of literature, to escape into the desert and if possible shun for ever after the sight of living creatures. To seek, indeed, like Alceste”. Oh but as fate or merely an ill-fated wind would have it; the son landed not far from where as a child he had begun his journey away from his parents home. I surmise that perhaps feeling like the odd man out, surrounded once again by the publicly accepted; here in this familiar place is where he may have learnt the greatest lesson of all, which is; nothing in life is ever as it seems.

Every part I read about the spurned son seemed a humanistic enough story plot, the emotional afflict of discrimination, a temporary successive solution, love, loss, lessons learnt… except this is a tale of the feather type. Written in 1842 by Alfred de Musset; whence combining a vast array of birds with a stylish flare, a story takes flight. Amid the author’s intertwined unraveling assemblage of vividly artistically painted printed words, emerges a subtle view about a struggle with the centuries old trials and tribulations of the societal injected statistical stigmatic stigma, known as prejudice. “^How glorious it is and also how painful to be an exception”.

And so begins:

*The Story of A White Blackbird by Alfred de Musset (Histoire d'un merle blanc)


1. George Eliot (Mary Ann Evans), O May I Join the Choir Invisible!
2. Edward Bulwer-Lytton, Richelieu Act II Scene II

Related Links:

Stop Bullying

Not In Our Town 'highlights communities working together to stop hate'.

Friday, January 04, 2019

The Art of Healing

1:34 PM 0 Comments
*Music: Waiting Arms (2017) by..

This is the art of healing. Drawings by Tina Walker. Her continued journey out of the past and into the present. She is more than a survivor of bullying and other emotional scars; she is a successful woman, a champion of weight loss... She is a nurturer of her faith upon which she is building a foundation for the todays and her future. May you find some comfort in her art; knowing whatever you are going through, you are not alone. There is healing with time, faith, hope, and a lot of work. Find your constructive outlet; express yourself, let the healing begin!

#art #healing #journey #survivor #bullying #emotionalScars #emotions #weightloss #faith #YouAreNotAlone #YouGotThis #expressYourself

Tuesday, December 25, 2018

I Believe

11:32 AM 0 Comments
I believe above is reserved for the Sun, Clouds, and doves
Moon and Stars, planets like Mars
And if I could stretch beyond the blue, perhaps touch Gods’ hand too.


I believe below whence water flows with youthful woes
Of innocence gone as age has marched on
There transcends our Once Upon a Time Childhood Friends

Maybe where Sindbad the Sailor crossed or perhaps where City of Atlantis is lost
There Snow White and the 7 Dwarfs, Jack Frost, Frosty the Snowman are standing on wharfs
As The Gingerbread Man, Hansel and Gretel run to greet us as fast as they can
We see Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty each with their own fella
The Old Woman Who lived in a Shoe, Puss in Boots, The Elves and the Shoemaker have good news

The Billy Goats Gruff, the Three Pigs, Three Blind Mice, along with Goldilocks and the Three Bears want to prove they weren’t a bluff
The Ugly Duckling is inside Atlantis with The Phantom of the Opera, Beauty and the Beast - all chuckling
And the sweet Tooth Fairy still leaves coins as a treat.
United at last is The cow who jumped over the moon, The cat and the fiddle, and The dish who ran away with the spoon

Hickory dickory dock, that dang mouse won’t stop fiddling with the clocks
Jack be nimble Jack be quick and Little Jack Horner continue to do their tricks
While The Little Men dance with Little Red Riding Hood, swim with The Little Mermaid, and court The Little Women
The Goose That Laid the Golden Eggs and Humpty Dumpty play pegs
Dumbo and Pinocchio speak their own mumbo jumbo
The Princess and the Pea, Johnny Appleseed, and Jack with his Beanstalk are a glee


Things are a spinning as Rapunzel and Rumpelstiltskin are a grinning
Peter Pan, Tinker Bell, Tom Thumb, Thumbelina want us to join them soon as we can
Along with Alice, to sip tea with the Easter Bunny in the Atlantis Palace.

Of all this I do not doubt, so let me just point out
I believe in Santa Claus and Jesus too, do you?


© - Jeane Michelle Culp (#r3779xy1988CC€)

Monday, September 11, 2017

The Power of One

12:30 AM 0 Comments
One
by Cheryl Sawyer

As the soot and dirt and ash rained down,
We became one color.
As we carried each other down the stairs of the burning building
We became one class.
As we lit candles of waiting and hope
We became one generation.
As the firefighters and police officers fought their way into the inferno
We became one gender.
As we fell to our knees in prayer for strength,
We became one faith.
As we whispered or shouted words of encouragement,
We spoke one language.
As we gave our blood in lines a mile long,
We became one body.
As we mourned together the great loss
We became one family.
As we cried tears of grief and loss
We became one soul.
As we retell with pride of the sacrifice of heros
We become one people.

We are
One color
One class
One generation
One gender
One faith
One language
One body
One family
One soul
One people

We are The Power of One.
We are United.
We are America.
---------

Cheryl Sawyer is a professor at UH Clear Lake in the counseling department.

*Permission to post poem One granted to BindingInk.org by Dr. Cheryl Sawyer School of Education University of Houston – Clear Lake

Wednesday, August 09, 2017

Down The Rabbit Hole

9:40 AM 10 Comments
What the Bleep Do We KnowThe concept of combining quantum theory and spirituality was originally introduced in a 2004 movie entitled has now been expanded upon in an extended version of the same film released August 1, 2006, What the Bleep - DOWN THE RABBIT HOLE QUANTUM EDITION.

1The BLEEP – Quantum Edition explores the latest scientific discoveries that explain the mind-body connection – making them understandable for the everyday, ordinary person. In addition it puts forward revolutionary experimental evidence that we, and our world are not separate, but connected.

2Part story, part documentary, and part elaborate and inspiring visual effects and animations, this extended version features a new opening 3following the journey of divorced professional photographer Amanda (played by Academy Award winning actress, Marlee Matlin) as she comes to understand the sources of her depression and slowly changes her life. During the process Amanda 2afinds herself in a fantastic Alice in Wonderland experience when her daily, uninspired life literally begins to unravel, revealing the uncertain world of the quantum field hidden behind what we consider to be our normal, waking reality.

The movie's documentary inserts include the world’s top in the field of physicists, neurologists, anesthesiologists & physicians, molecular biology, and spiritual teachers, mystics and scholars who 3aexplore the links between quantum mechanics, neurobiology, human consciousness and day-to-day reality and talk about the consciousness, psi research, physics, biology, emotion and addictions.

There are in this Quantum Edition. One of my favorite animations is when 4Amanda peers through her camera at the wedding reception. She sees into the guests’ bodies and watches Cells running rampant with their molecules of emotion. But this rabbit hole soon turns inside out as the Cells find their way out onto the dance floor to cajole, coerce, and excite the partiers into their favorite brand of emotion. Animations similar to this help us 5examine how the brain captures and processes information, and how that influences thoughts and actions. Making the case that humans can become addicted to certain emotions - love, rage, humiliation - just like a drug, and it takes willpower to break the cycle.

The fourth new character in this version is the animated Dr. Quantum by the pioneering physicist . Dr. Quantum leads viewers through an exploration of quantum physics including the Double-Slit Experiment and Entanglement. My favorite is Dr. Quantum - The Flatland.

I found the most intriguing part of this movie to be the Water Crystals by . He proves that 6thoughts and feelings affect physical reality. By producing different focused intentions through written and spoken words and music and literally presenting it to the same water samples, the water appears to "change its expression". 7From Mr. Emoto's work we are provided with factual evidence, that human vibrational energy, thoughts, words, ideas and music, affect the molecular structure of water, the very same water that comprises over seventy percent of a mature human body and covers the same amount of our planet.

Also beautifully detailed in his book “”:

“Imagine if water could absorb feelings and emotions or be transformed by thoughts. Imagine if we could photograph the structure of water at the moment of freezing and from the image "read" a message about the water that is relevant to our own health and well-being on the planet. Imagine if we could show the direct consequences of destructive thoughts or, alternately, the thoughts of love and appreciation. The Hidden Messages in Water introduces readers to the revolutionary work of Japanese scientist Masaru Emoto, who discovered that molecules of water are affected by thoughts, words, and feelings. Dr. Emoto shares his realizations from his years of research and explains the profound implications on the healing of water, mankind, and earth.” Beyond Words

Thank You Love

As C. Norman Shealy, M.D., Ph.D stated, “6aHalf of the earth is water; our body is three-quarters water. Water represents the interface between the 4th dimension in which we live and the 5th dimensional sphere of our soul.”


In conclusion; ‘What the Bleep - DOWN THE RABBIT HOLE’ is more than entertaining, it is education. All that remains is the one enduring question "How Far Down The Rabbit Hole” are you willing to go?" Cause the deeper you go down the ‘Rabbit Hole’ the more you learn, the more you discover, the more you understand, the more you see that ‘we are not separate, but connected’.

“If I had a world of my own, everything would be nonsense. Nothing would be what it is, because everything would be what it isn't. And contrary wise, what is, it wouldn't be. And what it wouldn't be, it would. You see?” Lewis Carroll (Alice in Wonderland)


1.
2.

Wikipedia:Double-Slit Experiment and Entanglement



Related Posts: To Curse, To Ponder, To Wonder or Not

Permission to use photo #'27. Animation characters' from the Press Room, High Resolution Stills from What The Bleep Do We Know!? granted to Binding Ink.org by Webmaster.

Sunday, July 02, 2017

Thursday, May 11, 2017

Angel Without Wings

10:30 PM 0 Comments
Angel Without Wings an original Mother's Day Song written by Dirk Parker for his Mom
Mother's Day Song


He Is Strike Down
He Is by Dirk Parker & Bennie Parker
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Strike Down by Bennie Parker & Dirk Parker
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