Tuesday, December 30, 2014

Happy A New Year!

5:30 PM 0 Comments
Into the New Year the daylight will begin. New beginnings, new chances, newness; liken a fresh start on a blank slate. Oh, but where forth is that blasted eraser?

Thankfully never to be found; least we not forget our mistakes. For from them, life’s’ greatest lessons are learned. And so from yesteryear we carry our memories, some with laughter – others soaked with our tears.

Mostly though, into this New Year we bring who we are and whom we have become. Other then that, the days are the same, the hours, the months…. Only the in-between is what matters, for as every individual enters a new day an opportunity awaits or a choice becons.

One can sit idly by or participate. Either way life goes on, for time is a persistent aspect. Before we know it, another year has gone, one more ‘made anew’.

Now what of those resolutions in no way met? ‘Hakuna Matata’! Though time ticks frantically on, the grand hoopla in life is that, it’s never too late! And so I ask:

Should auld resolutions be forgot,
And never brought to mind?
Should auld resolutions be forgot,
And auld lang syne!

For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne.
We'll take a cup o' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

Happy Anew Everyone!




'And now we welcome the new year, full of things that have never been' — Rainer Maria Rilke


Auld Lang Syne by Robert Burns



January 1, is the first blank page of a 365 page book. Write a good one. -Brad Paisley

Saturday, December 20, 2014

12 Strokes of Christmas Cherries

7:21 PM 6 Comments
Sir Cleges and the Christmas Cherries by F. J. H. Darton

"At the court of Uther Pendragon there had lived a brave knight called Sir Cleges. When Uther had died, Sir Cleges retired to lands near Cardiff in Wales with his wife and family.

Sir Cleges was a kind and generous man, perhaps too generous. He always helped anyone in need, by loans of money that did not need to be paid back until the borrower was able, and by letting people off their rents if they had problems paying. In time his fortune had dwindled and all he had left was the house he lived in. There was no food, no servants and barely enough wood for the fire and it was Christmas time. There would be no visitors this year and no presents.

Sir Cleges was sad that his family would not have food to eat over Christmas but he knew there were still poorer people than himself for he still had the roof over his head. He went out to sit by his favourite cherry tree to ponder on what he could do to help himself and others.

As he sat under the tree he heard rustling sounds above him. He looked up and saw that the tree was in full bloom and then he saw that cherries were growing on it. He stood up and picked some to take in to his wife. She was amazed, it was a miracle, she said, he should pick some to take to the king as a Christmas gift. King Arthur, she had heard, was staying at Cardiff Castle.

Sir Cleges picked a basket full of cherries and went off to the Castle but he realised on the way that he was not dressed as a good knight should be. His clothes were ragged and he felt ashamed off himself. But he had an errand to run and he continued on his way. When he got to the Castle, he explained that he had a basket of cherries to give to the king. The guard would not allow him to enter unless he agreed to give one third of whatever the king gave as a reward. Sir Cleges agreed and was allowed to go to the castle keep where another guard stopped him.

He explained once again that he had a basket of cherries to give to the king. This guard also would not allow him to enter unless he agreed to give one third of whatever the king gave as a reward. Sir Cleges agreed and was allowed to go up the stairs to the banqueting hall where a third guard stopped him.

Yet again Sir Cleges explained that he had a basket of cherries to give to the king. Once more the guard would not allow him to enter unless he agreed to give one third of whatever the king gave as a reward. Sir Cleges, once again agreed and was allowed into the hall where the King was seated at the top table.

Sir Cleges presented the cherries to King Arthur who pronounced that it was a miracle at Christmas to have such fruit. He shared the cherries amongst the guests and invited Sir Cleges to join them.

After the food was eaten the King asked Sir Cleges what he would wish to have as a reward for bringing the cherries. He said he would wish for permission to give 12 strokes of his stick to people of his choosing. The king agrees to this strange request though he wondered why this poorly dressed man did not ask for more of a reward. Sir Cleges left the hall and as he went out of the door the guard stopped him and asked for one third of what he had been granted as a reward. Sir Cleges immediately hit him 4 times on the buttocks with his stick.

Sir Cleges then walked down the stairs of the keep and was stopped by the second guard who asked for one third of what he had been granted as a reward. Sir Cleges, without hesitation hit him 4 times on the buttocks with his stick and walked on to the gate.

At the gate he was stopped again by the guard who asked for one third of what he had been granted as a reward. Once more Sir Cleges hit the guard 4 times on the buttocks with his stick and walked out of the gate. But he was stopped and commanded to go back to see the king.

King Arthur told Sir Cleges that he had remembered who he was. He asked why he was so unkempt. Sir Cleges explained about how he had been too generous and now had nothing left except his home and family but that they would have no food and little heat over Christmas. The King asked why he did not request gold as a reward before and Sir Cleges explained what had happened with the guards. For the pleasure of hearing the story of the 12 strokes, the king decided to reward Sir Cleges with new lands and the control of Cardiff Castle. But he also got assurance that Sir Cleges will not lend money or give too many things away in future."

Story from Internet Archive non-commercial purpose

I think there is a moral to this story, perhaps Though it is sweet to give at Christmas, let's not present so much that it hurts the wallet, Often the Sweetest Gifts are from the Heart.

What do You think the moral of the story is?

Wednesday, November 26, 2014

The Truth About Thanksgiving Day

8:00 AM 4 Comments
It isn’t Thanksgiving Day, we all are being fooled! Truth be told, it is:


Revenge of The Turkey Day

We gather together to eat yams and yammer,

Dig into mashed potatoes while listening to the latest scoop from Family and Friends,

For it’s all about the gravy, fat juicy saucy gossip,

Where cranberry sauce has a way of making things seem bitter,

Though shortly afterwards we can partake in pies and try to be sweet,

For the Turkey that used to go gobble gobble, will have been all gobbled up,

But soon comes Revenge,

Cause the once stuffed Turkey has now stuffed us.

©- Jeane Michelle Culp ndpthepoetress


Originally posted 2007

Thursday, November 20, 2014

Turklicious Deviled Eggs

12:55 AM 0 Comments
For 20+ years, making Deviled Eggs is a Thanksgiving Tradition of mine and each year I venture to make the perfect Deviled Eggs. Though I have often been tastefully successful; my annual tradition seems to be, OMGosh where did I put my recipe and of course being myself seasoned with years, I have since forgotten many of my secret concoctions.

This year I was determined to master the complete art of the fragile egg task from boiling, peeling, and ingredients. So liken a Turkey Hunter, my search began:
Over the search engines and through the websites,
Straight through the barnyard gate;
The chickens knows the way to lay their eggs,
Thru the white and yellow yoke

Over the search engines and through the websites,
To have a first-rate egg;
Hear the timer ringing, Ting-a-ling-ding!
Hurrah for Thanksgiving Day! ~ndpthepoetress

I sifted through add vinegar, salt, or baking soda to the water to prevent cracking. Put lid on, leave lid off to cook. Old eggs -vs- fresh eggs. Brand name Eggs, Store Brand, Eggland's Best eggs, White, Brown, Small, Large, X-Large... Dijon, French's, or Powdered Mustard. Hellmann's or Dukes Mayonnaise. And the advice on how to peel the eggs was longer than Santa's list!

Thankfully, in my plight I landed at Rachael Ray's Henhouse. There my memory was jarred as I was able to confirm my mayo/mustard ratio!

Hunting and pecking around only made me more determined to lambaste those devilish eggs this year and with enough info to stuff a turkey, I was ready to carve through all the mishmash. And so without featherado I give you my Readers, my Turklicious Deviled Eggs recipe! Here for all to enjoy and for me to lose nor forget nevermore :)

Turklicious Deviled Eggs

12 Jumbo eggs (trust me, you'll thank me later; there will be plenty of yolk to go around & leftover!)
1 teaspoon salt
6 tablespoons mayonnaise
2 teaspoons mustard
Paprika

Place 1 teaspoon of salt in the bottom of a pot
Place eggs in a single layer inside pot
Cover with at least an inch or two of cold water above the eggs

Boil eggs as you usually do, or if you would like to try, or you are new to boiling eggs:

Turn stove on medium
Place lid on pot
When water begins to boil, reduce heat to low
Allow to boil for 10 minutes
Remove pot from burner and let set for 10 minutes

CAREFULLY with a round slotted spatula take out 1 egg, place on countertop and gently spin the egg
If the egg spins fast, the egg is hard boiled (If the egg spins slowly, it's raw)
*If undone, return to pot; turn burner back to medium; wait for boil, let boil for another 10 minutes then remove pot and test egg.

Place eggs in ice water for 2 minutes
Then place eggs in a strainer (colander), make sure all the water is drained
Put in refrigerator for at least an hour

To peel eggs: Gently roll each egg on countertop
Crack thick part of egg against sink or countertop
When you remove the egg shell, be sure to also remove the thin clear filmy membrane

Slice eggs in half long ways
Remove yolks and place in bowl
Mash egg yolks with a fork or lightly grind in a grinder

In a separate bowl add 6 tablespoons mayonnaise, 2 teaspoons mustard and whisk together
Add egg yolks and whisk again

Add yolk mixture to the inside of each egg with a butter knife

Garnish with Paprika or Cayenne Pepper, Salt, Pepper if desired
Other garnishes include olives sliced in half and added atop the yolk mixture or use your wild imagination :)

Here's a thigh tickler for you: Preparing the turkey to be cooked Thanksgiving; I was injecting the marinating concoction I made into the meat when plop goes the injection needle, deep into the meat! 15 minutes later after plundering around, poking inside I finally found & got the needle out! There for awhile, I was afraid I was going to have to cook a shredded Turkey for Thanksgiving lol. Needless to say, that injection contraption is now in the trash!

Thursday, November 13, 2014

Anti-Bullying Music Video in the Making!

3:00 PM 0 Comments
Film Day! November 15, 2014

Our vocal group Rechoired will be recording a new original "Young ‪‎Superstar‬" by Bennie Parker with Steven Larund (who has recorded many big names such as Vocal Point) and then making a wonderful music video with Branderson Films Inc.

This song "Young ‪‎Superstar‬" is about realization & remembering Realizing the unique talents & gifts ‎God‬ has given you & remembering them even when others try to break you down or‪ change‬ you.

Keep updated via clicking the Facebook Like button for Rechoired https://www.facebook.com/rechoiredacapella and Join the Young Superstar Project group https://www.facebook.com/groups/407714516047036/

Rechoired (an a capella group that creates music to inspire and uplift others, especially the youth) is proud to Present:

Young Superstar Project (The Young Superstar Project has two simple goals: To bring awareness to the reality of bullying and to inspire change.)

They will be making an Anti-Bullying Music Video. Volunteers include many students from Brighton High Bengals (Brighton High School) in Brighton, Utah

Project Objectives: To learn anti-bullying strategies that we can use daily. For more details preview Young Superstar Project.docx

Donations are much appreciated and there are prizes for donating!! http://www.gofundme.com/9ebk2g

Also Rechoired's New CD: Music Rechoired For Kids will be out soon! (10 Original songs that teach kids to love music! Join them as their album hits iTunes :) With fun, upbeat songs that teach about musical DNA this is perfect for any kids age 0-12!

This Event is by the The Parker Brothers Music: Producer & CEO Bennie Parker and Dirk Parker of Rechoired (an a capella group)

And Remember: #URASUPERSTAR


What is the Young Superstar Project?!

Tuesday, November 04, 2014

BlogBlast4Peace Nov. 4 2014

12:00 AM 0 Comments
If words are powerful....then this matters

Use hashtags #blogblast4peace #blog4peace #peace & Help Blog4Peace wherever you are online Nov. 4

Post the words Dona Nobis Pacem (Grant us peace) as your status, add a peace graphic to your page, JOIN in #blogblast4peace Nov. 4


* http://peaceglobegallery.blogspot.com/ for more details!



Thursday, October 30, 2014

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

Tuesday, September 30, 2014

A Writer's Womb

12:00 AM 0 Comments
"The Vagina Monologues is an episodic play written by Eve Ensler which ran at the Off Broadway Westside Theatre after a limited run at HERE Arts Center in 1996…A recurring theme throughout the piece is the vagina as a tool of female empowerment, and the ultimate embodiment of individuality." Wikipedia 

The Play however; seemed to produce more argumentatively valid criticism than actual dialog. That as it may; the fact remains many women today continue to be uncomfortable talking about or using the word vagina. Therefore in consideration of such taboo, I'd like to note that my post is not intended in any derogatory or vulgar manner, merely a depicted creative analogy.

I begin most notably with the mental vaginas' spontaneous abortion, a miscarriage, an injustice to the artistic world; mournful that in my pursuit of writing, some of my best thoughts have passed away; gone but not forgotten.

Emily Dickinson (1830–86)  Complete Poems 1924

Part One: Life XLVI

A Thought went up my mind today -


That I have had before -
But did not finish – some way back -
I could not fix the Year -

Nor where it went – nor why it came


The second time to me -
Nor definitely, what it was -
Have I the Art to say -

But somewhere – in my Soul – I know -


I’ve met the Thing before -
It just reminded me – ’twas all -
And came my way no more -





Perhaps in an attempt to recapture those lost words or to release the minds' many artistic contemplations, some authors stimulate their intellectual seemingly temporary impotent imagination, by becoming aroused via mental masturbation. Thumbing through a dictionary or thesaurus, indulging in scripted alluring narrative printed words spawned by other writers, lyricists… Such modus operandi has facilitated many a poem for me. 

In fact; some where between the lines of awe inspiring inspiration, my imagination has spewed forth to artificial inseminate my mind. Now inside my mental womb there continues to grow numerous chapters to various books I'm writing. Unfortunately; my mental vagina refuses to give birth, merely false labor pains at times. Maybe that is why there are Ghost Writers, surrogate wordsmiths who can carry the actual words of an author to full term and give birth to a brand spanking new book.

"I do not think there is any thrill that can go through the human heart like that felt by the inventor as he sees some creation of the brain unfolding to success. ..." (Nikola Tesla, 1856 - 1943)

Sadly I may never know such a thrill for I can feel my creative intellectual biological clock ticking; with one hand on my pen and one foot in the grave, it's a race against time to see which wins. How dejecting that time nor death stops for no one; not us authors nor artists or lyricists, composers, or any creative endeavorers


"Time and Death their Thoughts impart On Works of Learning and of Art" 


from the English Dance of Death Pub. 1 April, 1814 by Rudolph Ackermann


May your mental vagina give birth before the clock stops tick talking ~ndpthepoetress

*The R. Ackermann image was distributed freely on the web, the book the image was originally printed in has no copyright notations. However; if you deem this image to be yours, please contact bindingink.org so we may hopefully obtain proper permission to use the above said image and give credit accordingly. Thanks.

Sunday, September 07, 2014

Ferguson Tribute Elvis Presley

9:48 AM 0 Comments
In The Ghetto (Dirk Parker) - Ferguson Tribute - Elvis Presley (LIVE)

We are losing our young brothers and sisters too often. We all have the opportunity and responsibility to lift each other up in hard times and through hard circumstances to live long, meaningful lives. 


Regardless of the circumstances in Ferguson, or the circumstances this song describes, we can help each other and lift each other up.




#LetYourLightShine #kindness #LIFTEACHOTHERUP #Ferguson #Elvis #ElvisPresley


Rechoired - A Capella Musician/Band Featuring Bennie Parker and Dirk Parker


Now Available:
He IsStrike Down




GoFundMe Rechoired is an a capella group that creates music to inspire and uplift others. Their number one goal is to prove (especially to the youth) that it is "cool" to live high standards. Through various events such as 'Super Saturdays', concerts, and firesides, members of Rechoired have positively impacted the lives of all who have had the opportunity to listen.


Click to Visit: Parker Brothers Blog 

Ferguson Tribute - Elvis Presley ~ Parker Brothers Videos

Ferguson Lift Each Other Up|Dirk Parker and Bennie Parker|Parker Brothers Music

In The Ghetto (Dirk Parker) - Ferguson Tribute - Elvis Presley (LIVE)

Wednesday, July 09, 2014

ReChoired: Letters From War

12:54 PM 0 Comments
ReChoired: Letters From War:

ReChoired - Letters From War (Live in the Mormon Tabernacle)



Rechoired on FacebookReChoired is an a capella group that creates music to inspire and uplift others!


Book an Event: Our name is ReChoired and we would love to perform for you! We are an a Capella group that has toured the country for the past year performing at various venues - from daycares to NBA games and we have a SWEET play set list prepared for your event.


Whether it is a BBQ, family gathering or special ceremony - the power of music could be the missing piece to ensure that everyone has a great time and walks away feeling uplifted and inspired.

GoFundMe Thanks
Go Fund ReChoired Thanks!

Monday, June 09, 2014

Hallelujah

4:40 PM 0 Comments

Dirk Parker (member of Rechoired, an a capella group) singing Hallelujah by Leonard Cohen at Brigham Young University - Idaho's New Student Talent Show.


Dirk Parker has been performing music for over ten years. While he is classified as a high baritone, his range is seemingly endless. If he is not belting a tenor high C, he is most likely preparing a gourmet meal or showcasing his skills on the basketball court. Dirk served in the Washington D.C. North Mission and the Washington, Tacoma Mission.

Saturday, June 07, 2014

Maya Angelou Final Curtain Call

10:00 AM 0 Comments
Maya Angelou’s Official Site
Dr. Maya Angelou
April 4, 1928-May 28, 2014
dancer 
singer 
actress 
poet 
writer 
magazine editor 
playwright 
film director 
college 
lecturer 
Professor 
activist 
LOVED 

Maya Angelou; for all you have given humanity in your human form, we release you to your rightful place in the Highest Kingdom of Glory. ~ndpthepoetress



"Please join the family and friends of Dr. Maya Angelou through the livestream of her memorial service, at 10 a.m. EST." http://new.livestream.com/wfu/angelou

Maya Angelou Memorial Service livestream

"In lieu of flowers please make a donation to the Maya Angelou Center for Health Equity through Wake Forest University."


Maya Angelou Facebook Maya Angelou

Thursday, May 29, 2014

Rechoired

1:22 PM 0 Comments
Rechoired

Rechoired is an a capella group that creates music to inspire and uplift others. Their number one goal is to prove (especially to the youth) that it is "cool" to live high standards. Through various events such as 'Super Saturdays', concerts, and firesides, members of Rechoired have positively impacted the lives of all who have had the opportunity to listen. While it is an up and coming group, many members of Rechoired got their start with Southern Virginia University's 'The Fading Point', so they have experience touring and performing at various venues including (professional) NBA games."

Hey, my name is Bennie Parker and I am a lead baritone in 'Rechoired'. Please check out our website to learn more about us and watch some performance videos.

We are asking for donations of all sizes to go towards funding for our equipment (mics, sound board, speakers etc) because we know what we have to offer is life-changing and we want EVERYONE to experience it.

Thank you so much for your contribution.

Sincerely,
Bennie Parker of Rechoired
"Music can change the world because it can change people." - Bono
Email: rechoiredacapella@gmail.com Website: http://rechoired.wix.com/rechoired *(Our website will be transferred to the new domain name www.rechoired.com after the 60 day transfer lock.)

Thursday, May 22, 2014

Ode to Friendship of Yore

12:27 PM 0 Comments
Couplet 
Once a best Friend not seen in many years was introduced as 'an old Friend'; meaning only, this is a long time Friend of mine. However; the word 'old' was lost in misinterpretation and so forever gone the chance to redefine. ~ndpthepoetress (©BindingInk.org Jean M. Culp ©#75IB9956777)

I may not be the most important person in your life. I just hope that when you hear my name, you smile & say That’s My Friend! (I may not be the most important person in your life, but I just hope that when you hear my name you will just smile and say, “I miss this person”)

Thursday, May 15, 2014

Nightingale of India

11:16 AM 0 Comments
poppies
REFLECTIONS ON INDIAN POETRY OF CLASSICAL GENRE: WITH SPECIAL REFERENCE TO THE CREATIVE GENIUS OF ‘NIGHTINGALE OF INDIA' SAROJINI NAIDU
Author: Dr.Sandhya Tiwari

Globalization has immensely contributed to the recognition of poets and poetry in general. It has transformed our life at immense speed not only to bring to light the past talent but also serving as a platform for those who are creatively responding to it. Today, it has succeeded in making people take note of these changes in culture, poetry and other genres of creative writing. Thanks to all these developments, I could enrich myself.

Incorporating the works of great writers, poets and thinkers into the curriculum is a contribution to the cause of nation. These great personalities, through their writings, are permeating   the young minds with the spirit of patriotism and respect for country. It is an honour and the supreme way to pay homage to literary souls who enriched the literature. It is popularizing the talent, otherwise which would have restricted to a limited people. In comparison to social sciences the chief advantage for a man of letters belonging to language and literature is; his work can be included in the curriculum. The purpose of the government behind this is each and every literate must know the contribution, the role played by such people in the history of India. This can be used constructively to enable students to reach a refined level of awareness. It outlines experiences in teaching English Literature, creates a curiosity and interest, especially if it is related to something which most students can identify with.

In recent years, English- language writers of Indian origin are being published in the West at an increasing rate. In June 1997, a special fiction issue of The New Yorker magazine devoted much space to essays by Amitav Ghosh and Abraham Verghese, a short story by, Vikram Chandra and poems by Jayant Mahapatra (16 volumes of poems) and A.K.Ramanujan and profiled R.K.Narayan and Arundati Roy's "A God of Small Things."

Indians began to use English for creative expression much before Macaulay's "Minutes" and the implementation of his policy on English education. [On March 7, 1835, the Governor General William Bentinck agreed with Macaulay's Minute and wrote, "the great object of the British Government ought to be the promotion of European literature and science among the natives of India," thus promoting and establishing a permanent position for the use of English language in Indian educational institutions.] For instance in 1823, Henry Derozio's volume of poems was published and in 1830 Kashiprasad Ghose published his volume of poetry entitled The Shair and the Other Poems. This two eminent Indians may not be great as poets, but their historical importance is great, for they belong to that small group of Indians who wrote in English much before Macaulay. Michael Madhusudan Dutt, who has left behind two volumes of poetry, was a Bengali poet of talent whose one ambition in life was to win recognition as a writer of English verse. He was the first to make a conscious effort to use Indian imagery, express Indian sentiments and tell an Indian story. Madhusudan was born with rock-like determination. He proved himself to be a student of exceptional gifts, and his teachers and professors with no difficulty recognized in him a fast-blossoming intellectual figure.

Besides a few minor poets of the 19th century, B.M.Malabari is another of repute. In his poems he laments the loss of the virtues of Indian character, ethical values. In such verses speaks the heart of India, yearning for freedom from the foreign clutches.

Swami Vivekanandawas a towering spiritual personality, born in on 12th January 1863, who awakened the slumbering Indian consciousness with his soul stirring vision of a dynamic spirituality. He is often viewed as the patron saint of modern India and many great figures acknowledge the life and works of Vivekananda. He reached Kanyakumari, the southernmost tip of the Indian subcontinent on December24, 1892. He swam across the sea and started meditating on a lone rock. He meditated for three days and said later that he meditated about the past, present and future of India. The rock is presently popular as Vivekananda memorial and is a major tourist destination.

In 1893, Swami Vivekananda went to America to attend the Conference of World Religions in Chicago. He earned wild applause for beginning his address with the famous words, "Sisters and brothers of America." Swamiji mesmerized everyone in America with his masterful oratory. Wherever he went, he dwelt at length on the greatness of Indian Culture. He spoke with spontaneous ease on every topic, be it History, Sociology, Philosophy or Literature. The Union Government has declared his birthday as National Youth Day.

Sri Aurobindo Ghosh is another great Indian nationalist, scholar, poet, spiritual philosopher and above all a renowned "yogi", who brought laurels to his motherland, was born on 15th august 1872. Although he wrote mostly in English his major works were translated into 9 foreign languages in addition to 11 Indian languages. "Auroville" is a universal township in the making for a population of up to 50,000 people from around the world. Aurobindo strived for the Transformation of our superficial, narrow and fragmentary human way of thinking, seeing, and feeling. Being into a deep and wide spiritual consciousness and an integrated inner and outer existence and of our ordinary human living into the divine way of life.

In the poetry of Toru Dutt the soul of India is revealed at its best. Many critics revere the first translation, of about 200 French poems, as "transcreation".

In the words of Edmund Gosse, "Toru's chief legacy to posterity is her verse collection Ancient Ballads and Legends of Hindustan (1883) which includes the ancient Hindu stories of Savitri, Sita, Prahlad, Dhruva, and many such appeal to the emotions of love, devotion filial piety, gratitude, etc. it is for the first time purely Indian themes being treated in English against a purely Indian background.

It is Sarojini Naidu, the eldest daughter of scientist-philosopher, Aghornath Chattopadhyaya, and Barada Sundari Devi- a poetess, was born on 13 February 1879 in Hyderabad, who carries forward the task left incomplete by the early demise of Toru Dutt, that of interpreting the soul of India to the West and creating an authentic Indian atmosphere. Her father was also a linguist, a crusader, who established the Nizam's College in Hyderabad in 1878, pioneering English and women's education. Sarojini was a bright child who passed her matriculation at the age of 12 standing first in the Madras Presidency. She studied at the King's college, London and Girton College, Cambridge for a while. During this period her creative urge found expression in poems. She also happened to be a good singer. Her ability to sing charmingly fetched her the title 'Nightingale of India'.

During 1903-17 Sarojini came into contact with Gokhale, Tagore, Jinnah, Annie Besant, C.P.Rama Swami Iyer, Gandhi and Nehru. She began her political career in 1906. From 1915 to 1918 she lectured all over India on welfare of youth, dignity of labour, women's emancipation and nationalism. After meeting Jawaharlal Nehru in 1916, she took up the cause of the indigo workers of Champaran. In 1925 she was elected as the President of the Congress.

Sarojini Naidu, The Nightingale of India, was a great patriot, politician, orator and administrator of India her birthday is celebrated as "Women's Day".

The rhythmic quality of her poetry is mesmerizing frequent references to Hindu mythology accentuate the Indian atmosphere of her verse. She was able to harmonize Indian and foreign elements in her poetry.  Poetry is perception. No doubt we may have different parameters to judge the genius of a poet, yet what is your perception matters a lot.  Highly original and startling similes and metaphors come out of her, as do sparks from a chimney fire. Her originality of expression is commendable with regard to imagery. Highly vivid pictorial and visual imagery are exploited by her to delight and surprise the readers. The figuring of the moon as a caste-mark on the forehead of heaven is in itself a unique achievement of the imagination in poetry and also representative of the Indian ness of her poetry.

A caste mark upon the azure brow of heaven
The golden moon burns sacred, solemn, bright. (Leili)

The image of the river flowing out of the city gates, curved like "the tusks of an elephant" is based on personal observation, and those who have seen the river Musi flowing out of the gates of Hyderabad city can appreciate its justness.

See the white river that flashes and scintillates
Curved like a tusk from the mouth of the city-gates. (Nightfall in the City of Hyderabad By Sarojini Naidu)

Her poetry seems to sing itself, as if her swift thoughts and strong emotions sprang into lyrics of themselves. Though she has been criticized for her many hyperbolic and violent expressions, for her, there are a few critics who defended and asserted boldly that her metaphors and similes.

According to Rajyalakshmi, Sarojoni's similes and metaphors are "pictorial blocks of imagist perceptionand new way of organizing poetic emotion."

The work produced by this writer like John Keats, may not be great in quantity, it is great in quality. She will be remembered for a few fine pieces like The Indian Weavers, The Flute Player of BrindavanTo a Buddha Seated on a Lotus and others.

Though a number of themes are conspicuous in her works they can be classified into five major themes: The Folk Theme, Nature Theme-Spring, The Love Theme, Life and Death Theme and patriotism.

One of the interesting aspects of Sarojini's poetry is the folk theme delicately treated by her. Palanquin Bearers is a perfect example of the true folk-song, a common experience in India half-a-century ago. In this folk theme the poetess exploits the simple joys and hopes and fears and lives of the common folk in town and country exquisitely.

Sarojini had irresistible fascination for nature, she sings of the glories of seasons, particularly spring and summer and also about the individual manifestations of nature's beauty.

Lyricism, love of nature, interest in the past, a melancholic note, dominance of imagination, concern with the common man, emphasis on emotional life, ‘addition of strangeness to beauty', and the beauty of thought, vision, phrase and rhythm are some of the chief characteristics of romantic poetry. They are all profusely scattered all through her poetry. She has written more than 60 poems wherein the theme of love is dominant. This great poetess intricately presents the aches and ecstasies of love.

Arthur Simons commented:

Her poetry seems to sing itself, as if her swift thoughts and strong emotions sprang into lyrics of themselves.

It was about this volume that Symons made some observations that have often been quoted. Referring to a letter from Sarojini , in which she had written  "I sing just as the birds do , and my songs are as ephemeral", he said:

It is for this bird like quality of song; it seems to me, that they are to be valued. They hint, in a sort of delicately evasive way, at a rare temperament of a woman of the east, finding expression through a western language. They do not express the whole of that temperament; but they express, I think. Its essence; and there is an eastern magic in them.

Life, to Sarojini Naidu was not a riddle to be solved; it is a miracle to be celebrated and sung. She may be lacked the philosophical bent but her poems show accumulated wisdom rather than deep insight. In her world life and light are supreme. There are, of course, poems in which she seems to be crushed by pain and grief, but the poems into which she has poured most of her poetic power and skill are those in which there is a note of defiance and of victory over circumstances, over pain and suffering.

Behold I rise to meet the destined spring
And scale the stars upon my broken wing. (Sarojini Naidu, The Broken Wing)

She is equally a poetess of the challenge of suffering, pain and death to life. Sarojini being aware that time is destructive, and nothing can escape its ravages, she welcomes for it is the only way to rejuvenation and new life.

Despite the undercurrent of melancholy and pessimism, Sarojini's poetry is optimistic and forward looking – looking forward to the souls union with the eternal, the infinite, and Time and Death are the means to this union.

O Fate, in vain you hanker to control
My frail, serene, indomitable soul. (A Challenge to Fate by Sarojini Naidu)

As a typical example of such criticism I would like to refer to an essay by James Cousins, who was a friend and admirer of Sarojini has reasonably attributed appreciation for her. Quoting a stanza from one of Sarojini's poems, The Feast, Cousins says:

This stanza, despite its delicate beauty __ or, rather, perhaps the more insidiously because of its beauty __ is a menace to the future of India, because of its perpetuation of the "door-mat" attitude of womanhood, which is at the root of India's present state of degeneracy.

He also praises her not just for her poetic acumen but also for her boldness as a women and adds:
While Mrs.Naidu has broken away the bonds of custom, by marrying outside her caste and by appearing on public platforms, she reflects in her poetry the dependent habit of womanhood that masculine domination has sentimentalized into a virtue. In her life was a feminist up to a point, but in her poetry she remains incorrigibly feminine. She sings, so far as Indian womanhood is concerned, the India that is, while she herself has passed on towards the India that is to be.

Sarojini lived and created in those stirring times when India was passing through the throes of her struggle. The age of great patriots like Gandhi, Tilak and many others influenced her life greatly. After her meeting with Gandhi in 1914, she herself plunged into the thick of the battle. Her love for the nation is reflected in her poetry. Every aspect of Indian life is celebrated in Sarojini's poetry. Indian festivals, Temples, Gods and Goddesses Puranic myths and legends of Radha and Krishna form a major theme of her poetry.

The Gift of India is a poem beautifully depicts the chivalry of Indians during World War I. This lyric is characterized by Sarojini's poetic fervour and by her pride in her own country.
In this moving lyric Mother India herself speaks of the gift she had offered to the world-the invaluable gift: her children and reminds to the world their greatness.

William Heinemann from London published Sarojini's first major book of verse, The Golden Threshold, in 1905. It received very favorable notices in the British press. One reviewer said that the poems were of "undeniable beauty and distinction".

Conclusion:
Thus Sarojini Naidu to quote the words of Dr.Keith, "is a cultured, refined versifier; she is a singer of an aesthetic world", similarly Margaret's throws light remarking: "She is greater than her poems. Her patriosm is the rival even while it is the inspiration of her poetry. For her country she would sacrifice even her beloved gift of song". It is seen that Sarojini Naidu's poetry has won acclaim of a host of discerning critics – both Indian and English.

Primary Sources:
Naidu, Sarojini. Songs, Published privately by Aghorenath Chattopadhya, 1896.
Nilambuja (Prose- Poem), signed Sarojini Chattopadhya, 3 October 1896 (unpublished), Archives, National Library, Calcutta.
The Golden Threshold with an introduction by Arthur Symons, London, William Heinemann, 1905.
The Bird of Time with, an Introduction byEdmund Gosse, London, William Heinemann, 1912.
The Broken Wing : London, William Heinemann, 1917.
The Gift of India : Reprinted from the Report of the Hyderabad Ladies' War Relief Association, Dec. 1915.
The Sceptured Flute with an Introduction by Joseph Auslander, New York, Doad Read & Co., 1937.
The Feather of the Dawn : Bombay, Asia Publishing House, 1961
Speeches and writings of Sarojini naidu : Madras : G.A. Natesan & Co.

Works Cited:
Arthur Symons: Introduction to The Gol;den Theshold . London, William Heinemann, 1905.
Bose, A: "Regal Ground: Sarojini Naidu's Poetry", The Other Harmony, Calcutta: United Writers, Oct. 1938.
Cousins, James H.: New Ways in English literature, Madras: Ganesh & Co., 1949.
Dustoor, P.E. Sarojini Naidu : Stout Hearts and Open Hands, ed. by P.D. Tandon, Bombay: Jaico Publishing House, 1957.
Gupta, Rameshwar : Sarojini Naidu : The Poetess, New Delhi: Doaba House, 1975.
Iyengar, K.R.Srinivasa : Indo-Anglican Literature, Bombay: Karnataka Publishing House, 1945.
Margaret E. Cousins: The Awakening of Asian Womanhood, Madras :1922.
Rajyalakshmi,P.V.: The Lyric Spring: The Poetic Achievements of Sarojini Naidu, New Delhi : Abhinav Prakashan, 1977.
Article Source: http://www.articlesbase.com/poetry-articles/reflections-on-indian-poetry-of-classical-genre-with-special-reference-to-the-creative-genius-of-nightingale-of-india-sarojini-naidus-po-3335800.html

About the Author
Working as Associate Professor at Sreenidhi Institute of Science and Technology(SNIST), Dr.Sandhya Tiwari has published a book titled THE SILENT STORM - Poems by Dr.Sandhya Tiwari.
Published.

"Song of a Dream" by Reginald Unterseher 


Sarojini Naidu with Mahatma Gandhi
post by BindingInk.org

Tuesday, May 06, 2014

Laundry - Ug

10:41 PM 4 Comments
prozacWho likes doing laundry? Except for those Martha Stewart ‘Washabuzybees’, hardly anyone! It’s another chore on that invisible, endless list of things that need to be done. Like grocery shopping, if you want to eat. House cleaning, if you don’t want your place to be condemned. (Nothing like a wrecking ball to wreck your life.) Work, if you don’t want to be homeless. Yes, that wonderfully invisible, forever increasing - better known as, the 'to-do' list. Wouldn’t life be much simpler if everyone just went around stinking dirty, hungry, and homeless? Think about how much time could be saved! And no more spending your hard earned money on another endless list of ‘things to buy’ to get the to-do list done. Like deodorant, laundry detergent, dish detergent, soap, food, lights, rent, mortgage… Instead of dying filthy rich, by working ourselves to death - we all could just die from stinkin’ starvation. Well, that just seems a little too ‘foul’ for me. So where was that freakin’ list, oh yes laundry. Meanwhile; when we launder those wearable items, wouldn’t it be nice if we could also just wash our problems away! Apparently, now we can with 'Prozac Mood Brightener, Wash Your Blues Away!'

Well Happy Washing Readers! May you often see the rainbow, in spite of the rain.


9 lies your mother told you about cooking, laundry, dishes
Live 5 News Investigates: Suds for Drugs

Adams laundry comics laundry

Quantum Journey Into The Matters of the Heart

9:58 PM 4 Comments
Mark Oliver Everett, an extraordinary man in his own right; also known as E is a successful songwriter, the lead singer and guitarist for the indie rock band Eels, and the Author of ‘’. The question is why at the age of 40 would this seemingly ordinary man, who admittedly has an average or below intelligence embark on an incredible journey involving quantum physics?

The answer would only partially involve the fact that his Father is Hugh Everett III, an American physicist (mathematician and quantum theorist) who first introduced the possibility of Parallel Worlds. Also known as the “1many-worlds interpretation (MWI) of quantum physics. In layman's terms, this means that there is a very large, perhaps infinite, number of universes and that everything that could possibly happen in our universe (but doesn't) does happen in some other universe(s).”

To comprehend more about why E would even begin to venture into the world of quantum physics, one only needs to read his book description. “How does one young man survive the deaths of his entire family and manage to make something worthwhile of his life? In ‘Things The Grandchildren Should Know’ Mark Oliver Everett tells the story of what it's like to grow up the insecure son of a genius in a wacky Virginia Ice Storm-like family. Left to run wild with his sister, his father off in some parallel universe of his own invention, Everett's upbringing was 'ridiculous, sometimes tragic and always unsteady'. But somehow he manages to not only survive his crazy upbringing and ensuing tragedies; he makes something of his life…”

E has stated that ‘the only one really intimate experience’ he had with his Father was when his Dad died of a fatal heart attack on July 19, 1982 at the age of 51. E’s ‘2 sister, Elizabeth, long troubled by schizophrenia, committed suicide in 1996, and two years later in 1998 his mother, Nancy Everett née Gore, died of lung cancer.’

And so in an 3Original PBS Broadcast, “Parallel Worlds, Parallel Lives”; E is followed ‘across the country as he attempts to understand the fantastic possibility of parallel universes and unravel the story of his troubled family and the father he never really knew… In this intelligent and imaginative film, the wry and charismatic Mark takes an emotional journey into his father's life… It is only by entering the esoteric world of quantum physics that Mark can hope to gain an understanding of, and more importantly, a connection to the father who was a stranger to him.’

The cross country journey consist of going to the Pentagon and Princeton. Additionally; ‘Hugh's old college friends, colleagues, and admirers, MIT physicist Max Tegmark…’ assist. Also E is shown several experiments to help explain the theory proposed by his Father. Experimentations such as the and Schrödinger's cat. Though Schrödinger's cat is merely a thought experiment, Hugh Everett’s Parallel Worlds theorem states that both outcomes can actually happen.

E was astonished to realize he was easily comprehending his Father’s theory and more importantly his Father. Basically; “Hugh Everett proposed a multitude of universes, each a home to an alternate reality, including alternate versions of you and me.” To which E ultimately stated, “To the me that split off who didn't come on this trip—you lazy sack o'shit—because I mean, I really feel propelled by the sadness of the tragedy of my father not getting the recognition he deserved, because he was just too far ahead of his time, maybe too smart too soon.”

Perhaps in addition to the Parallel Worlds theory we might consider the ‘Split Apart’ analogy from the movie "The Butchers Wife". 4”The reference was to a theory that the gods looked upon man and he was happy, and in envy decided to split man and woman apart." Every since we have been looking for our other half, our Soul Mate so to speak. 4”However; there is no work by Plato called The Corruption as mentioned in the movie. Instead the story is to be found in the speech of Aristophanes in the dialogue called The Symposium” ( Aristophanes's Speech from Plato's Symposium):

5Now the sexes were three, and such as I have described them; because the sun, moon, and earth are three; and the man was originally the child of the sun, the woman of the earth, and the man-woman of the moon, which is made up of sun and earth, and they were all round and moved round and round because they resembled their parents. Terrible was their might and strength, and the thoughts of their hearts were great, and they made an attack upon the gods; of them is told the tale of Otys and Ephialtes who, as Homer says, attempted to scale heaven, and would have laid hands upon the gods… Zeus spoke and cut men in two, like a sorb-apple which is halved for pickling, or as you might divide an egg with a hair; and as he cut them one after another, he bade Apollo give the face and the half of the neck a turn in order that man might contemplate the section of himself: he would thus learn a lesson of humility. Apollo was also bidden to heal their wounds and compose their forms. So he gave a turn to the face and pulled the skin from the sides all over that which in our language is called the belly, like the purses which draw tight, and he made one mouth at the centre, which he fastened in a knot (the same which is called the navel); he also molded the breast and took out most of the wrinkles, much as a shoemaker might smooth leather upon a last; he left a few, however, in the region of the belly and navel, as a memorial of the primeval state...



And so rather we are searching for a Soul Mate or perhaps the ‘Split Apart’ theory might help explain why many of us humans need to understand whence we came from rather hereditarily or as an entity, or maybe in fact the Parallel Worlds is merely where our ‘Split Apart’ is; I hope one day E will also learn, along with many other People that 6there are links between quantum mechanics, neurobiology, human consciousness, day-to-day reality, talk about the consciousness, psi research, physics, biology, emotions, addictions, and that those same revolutionary quantum experiments E saw are evidence that there is a definite mind-body connection proving that we and our world are not separate, but connected.

Things the Grandchildren Should Know
Written by MARK OLIVER EVERETT

I go to bed real early
Everybody thinks it's strange
I get up early in the morning
No matter how disappointed I was
With the day before
It feels new

I don't leave the house much
I don't like being around people
Makes me nervous and weird
I don't like going to shows either
It's better for me to stay at home
Some might think it means I hate people
But that's not quite right
I do some stupid things but my heart's in the right place
And this I know

I got a dog
I take him for a walk
And all the people like to say hello
I'm used to staring down at the sidewalk cracks
I'm learning how to say hello
Without too much trouble

I'm turning out just like my father
Though I swore I never would
Now I can say that I have love for him
I never really understood
What it must have been like for him
Living inside his head

I feel like he's here with me now
Even though he's dead

It's not all good and it's not all bad
Don't believe everything you read
I'm the only one who knows what it's like
So I thought I'd better tell you
Before I leave

So in the end I'd like to say
That I'm a very thankful man
I tried to make the most of my situation
And enjoy what I had
I knew true love and I knew passion
And the difference between the two
And I had some regrets
But if I had to do it all again
Well, it's something I'd like to do



YouTube Eels - Things The Grandchildren Should Know


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APRIL 22, 2014: "The Cautionary Tales of Mark Oliver Everett, the 11th Eels record since 1996’s Beautiful Freak, is one of the most searingly personal documents the man called E has cooked up yet. It’s the first time his real name and unobscured face have appeared on the cover, and it’s a spiritual successor to his 2008 autobiography, Things the Grandchildren Should Know." (Eels Q&A and Playlist: ‘The Cautionary Tales of Mark Oliver Everett’)

Sunday, April 27, 2014

Credit Cards for Peanuts

9:51 PM 0 Comments
Route 666 Sign
#creditcards #radioactive #Heartbleed
I'm not only feeling old age in my bones, I'm waking up! 'Welcome to the new age, to the new age; This is it, the apocalypse.' The age where we are merely plastic numbers leaving digital footprints.footprint
A digital era where credit cards are not only a convenience, but a necessity in real life and online. In real life credit cards are susceptible to Credit Card Skimming at Gas Pumps, ATMs, etc. (skimmers are devices illegally installed to record information from the credit/debit card’s magnetic strips) Currently online; the bug Heartbleed allows hackers to steal information without leaving a trace. (AppCheck for Heartbleed vulnerability). 'January 17, 2007 hackers accessed 47 million T.J. Maxx customers credit cards, debit cards, checking information.' (read more T.J. Maxx Computer Systems Intrusion: Press Releases). 'Nov. 27 and Dec. 15 (2013), Target Corp estimates that 40 million customers credit card data were breached by hackers.' (More information is available at Target’s corporate website). October 26, 2012; South Carolina Internal Revenue Service was hacked, leaving "3.8 million Social Security numbers, 3.3 million bank account numbers and information for nearly 700,000 businesses stolen.USA TODAY (FAQ about the Dept. of Revenue hack attack).

Credit Card mag-stripes (magnetic stripes) have become a gold mine for hackers. So if you can't use or are required to use your credit card in enough places already, there is always the mobile credit card reader. 'Take payments anytime, anywhere. Swipe, scan or key in credit cards, sign. Many retailers offer a free card reader and app for your iPhone, iPad or Android device.' 'Welcome to the new age'.

Consumers Pay 9 cents to give Hackers free digital info

Printer ProblemsMy wake-up call came was when I entered Office Depot to merely get a 9 cent photocopy. The self-serve copying machine required a credit card! I requested to pay cash and was told I'd have to purchase a free special copy card for 9 cents to insert into the copier, instead of a credit card. Or I could pay 1 cent more to have the Store Associate print a copy from the in-store Copy & Print Depot™equipment.

For an extra 1 cent profit, the Company will be spending more because I will need the 'Xerox-certified' Store Associate to take time from a profitable custom print order; merely to show me how to operate the newfangled self-serve copier.

However, the extra 1 cent is worth it for me; especially taking into consideration hackers. "Nearly every digital copier built since 2002 contains a hard drive - like the one on your personal computer - storing an image of every document copied, scanned, or emailed by the machine.cbsnews.com" This includes 'social security numbers, birth certificates, bank records, income tax forms'. The information easily extracted from the copiers hard drive are sold on the black markets, globally. Today my document may be stored, but not my credit card!

Just when I thought my trip from the Twilight Zone was over, my brief flashback from Star Trek gadgets had subsided; on my drive home, I saw our local Boiled Peanut Stand was advertising 'Now Accepting Credit Cards'. More like credit cards for peanuts! 'Welcome to the new age'.

Data Breach
Learn and continue to surf safe, secure; at least until the next virtual radioactive meltdown of a security breach.Radioactive Symbol

UPDATE:"US Computer Emergency Readiness Team and its British counterpart tell people to stop using Internet Explorer until Microsoft can fix it...that allows attackers to install malware on your computer without your permission. That malware could be used to steal personal data, track online behavior, or gain control of the computer."

May UPDATE: "Microsoft issued a fix on Thursday for a security flaw in Internet Explorer that led the Department of Homeland Security to suggest users change browsers until the problem was solved." Elizabeth Weise, USATODAY