To Be a Writer . . .

'Ordinary life does not interest me. I seek only the high moments.
I am in accord with the surrealists, searching for the marvelous.
I want to be a writer who reminds others that these moments exist;
I want to prove that there is infinite space, infinite meaning,
infinite dimension. But I am not always in what I call a state of grace.
I have days of illuminations and fevers. I have days when the music
in my head stops. Then I mend socks, prune trees, can fruits, polish
furniture. But while I am doing this I feel I am not living.' ~ Anaïs Nin

Man & Woman

The man is the highest of creatures.
The woman is the most sublime ideals.
God made to man a throne for the woman an altar.
The throne emphasizes, the altar sanctifies.
The man is the brain. The woman's heart.
The brain, heart, light factory produces love.
The light is wonderful, love revives.
The man is strong for reason.
The woman is invincible to tears.
The reason is convincing, moving tears.
The man is capable of all the superheroics.
The Queen of all martyrs.
Ennobling heroism, martyrdom sublimates.
The man has the supremacy.
The woman preference.
Supremacy means strength;
represents the right preference.
The man is a genius. The woman an Angel.
The genius is immeasurable;
the Angel indefinable.
The aspiration of man is the Supreme glory.
The aspiration of the woman is virtue.
The glory makes it all great; virtue makes everything divine.
The man is a code. The woman a Gospel.
The code fixes, the Gospel perfects.
The man thinks. The woman is dreaming.
Think you have a larva's skull;
dream is having on his forehead a Halo.
The man is an ocean. The woman a lake.
The Ocean has the Pearl that adorns;
the Lake poetry that dazzles.
The man is the Eagle that flies.
The woman is the Nightingale that sings.
Flying is dominating the space.
sing is conquer your soul.
The man is a temple. The Lady shrine.
Before the temple we discover;
in front of the shrine we bow. Finally:
man is the end of the Earth,
the woman where the sky begins.

~ Victor Hugo

Woman's Abyss

'Man can never know the loneliness a woman knows. Man lies in the
woman's womb only to gather strength, he nourishes himself from this
fusion, and then he rises and goes into the world, into his work,
into battle, into art. He is not lonely. He is busy. The memory of
the swim in amniotic fluid gives him energy, completion.
Woman may be busy too, but she feels empty. Sensuality for her is
not only a wave of pleasure in which she is bathed, and a charge of
electric joy at contact with another. When man lies in her womb, she
is fulfilled, each act of love a taking of man within her, an act of
birth and rebirth, of child rearing and man bearing. Man lies in her
womb and is reborn each time anew with a desire to act, to be. But for
woman, the climax is not in the birth, but in the moment man rests
inside of her.' ~ Anaïs Nin

Finnegan Bond

‎'He was the kind of young man whose handsome face has brought him plenty of success in the past and is now ever-ready for a new encounter, a fresh-experience, always eager to set off into the unknown territory of a little adventure, never taken by surprise because he has worked out everything in advance and is waiting to see what happens, a man who will never overlook any erotic opportunity, whose first glance probes every woman's sensuality, and explores it, without discriminating between his friend's wife and the parlour-maid who opens the door to him.

Such men are described with a certain facile contempt as lady-killers, but the term has a nugget of truthful observation in it, for in fact all the passionate instincts of the chase are present in their ceaseless vigilance: the stalking of the prey, the excitement and mental cruelty of the kill. They are constantly on the alert, always ready and willing to follow the trail of an adventure to the very edge of the abyss.

They are full of passion all the time, but it is the passion of a gambler rather than a lover, cold, calculating and dangerous. Some are so persistent that their whole lives, long after their youth is spent, are made an eternal adventure by this expectation. Each of their days is resolved into hundreds of small sensual experiences - a look exchanged in passing, a fleeting smile, knees brushing together as a couple sit opposite each other - and the year, in its own turn, dissolves into hundreds of such days in which sensuous experience is the constantly flowing, nourishing, inspiring source of life.'

Determination - Firmness of Purpose

So many times people think that success has mostly to do with talent and luck. It's easy to think this when we see athletes standing up on the podium receiving their trophies and medals. That's the problem, though we only see what they display to us publicly. What we see is the result of what they have done in private. Few people get to see what these athletes go through when they are not publicly competing. Few people fail to realize that these athletes put themselves through intense rigorous training for years.

Michael Phelps said that he worked out days seven days a week for 4 years. Most swimmers will take a day off each week, but he didn't. He said the reason was that every time he takes a day off, it takes him 2 days to get back to the same level he was at that took him 6 days in a row of training to obtain.

It is easy to look at him and say the reason he won was because of his body shape or his longer than normal arms. I'm sure if most people went through the same training as he did for 4 years, they wouldn't be all that surprised by his results. That one shining moment was made possible by the thousands of hours of sweat and hard work that was put into it. If you want to experience great success, outwork all of your competition and you will have a good shot.


* Naomi Campbell & Cheetah by Jean-Paul Goude @ Harper's Bazaar '2009

'Phenomenal Woman' ~ Maya Angelou

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size
But when I start to tell them,

They think I'm telling lies.
I say,
It's in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It's the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can't touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can't see.
I say,
It's in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman

Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Now you understand
Just why my head's not bowed.
I don't shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It's in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need of my care,
'Cause I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

* courtesy of Linda Gaye Smith

Advertising Dilemma !

Two young boys walked into a pharmacy one day, picked out a box of tampons and proceeded to the checkout counter. The man at the counter asked the older boy, "Son, how old are you?" "Eight," the boy replied. The man continued, "do you know what these are used for?" The boy replied, "not exactly, but they aren't for me. They're for him. He's my brother. He's four. We saw on TV that if you use these you would be able to swim and ride a bike. Right now, he can't do either."

'Sutton' by J.R. Moehringer

Born in the squalid Irish slums of Brooklyn, in the first year of the twentieth century, Willie Sutton came of age at a time when banks were out of control. If they weren't taking brazen risks, causing millions to lose their jobs and homes, they were shamelessly seeking bailouts. Trapped in a cycle of bank panics, depressions and soaring unemployment, Sutton saw only one way out, only one way to win the girl of his dreams.
So began the career of America's most successful bank robber. Over three decades Sutton became so good at breaking into banks, and such a master at breaking out of prisons, police called him one of the most dangerous men in New York, and the FBI put him on its first-ever Most Wanted List.
But the public rooted for Sutton. He never fired a shot, after all, and his victims were merely those bloodsucking banks. When he was finally caught for good in 1952, crowds surrounded the jail and chanted his name.
Blending vast research with vivid imagination, Pulitzer Prize-winner J.R. Moehringer brings Willie Sutton blazing back to life. In Moehringer's retelling, it was more than need or rage at society that drove Sutton. It was one unforgettable woman. In all Sutton's crimes and confinements, his first love (and first accomplice) was never far from his thoughts. And when Sutton finally walked free--a surprise pardon on Christmas Eve, 1969--he immediately set out to find her.
Poignant, comic, fast-paced and fact-studded, "Sutton" tells a story of economic pain that feels eerily modern, while unfolding a story of doomed love, which is forever timeless. Praise for "Sutton"

"With a voice at once sentimental and muscular, Moehringer is like the kid brother of John Irving or Roddy Doyle. He brings a raconteur's grace and rhythm to his first novel, "Sutton," a stirring portrait of Willie 'The Actor' Sutton. A-." -- "Entertainment Weekly" "A captivating and absorbing read." -- "Kirkus" (starred)
"Moehringer relays, in electrifying prose, the highs and lows of Sutton's dramatic life . . . Readers will be riveted by this colorful portrayal of a life in crime."-- "Booklist" (starred)
"A mesmerizing portrait of a remarkable man . . . The author's eye for detail and sense of place make every stop on Sutton's internal and external journeys resonate--from smoking a Chesterfield to Sutton's first sight of the moon as a free man, every scene is saturated with life."-- "Publishers Weekly"
"In Moehringer's more-than capable hands, the story has a life all its own beyond the historical fact." --"The Daily Beast"
"A moving and thoroughly absorbing novel. Filled with vibrant and colorful re-creations of not one but several times in the American past."-- Kevin Baker, author of "Strivers Row"
"In Willie Sutton, the greatest bank-robber of all time, thinker and lover, escape artist extraordinaire, J.R. Moehringer] has found an historical subject equal to his vivid imagination, gimlet journalistic eye, and pitch-perfect ear for dialogue. The result is a terrific first novel by turns suspenseful, funny, romantic, and sad--in short, a book you won't be able to put down."-- John Burnham Schwartz, author of "Reservation Road" and "The Commoner"
""Sutton" presents a glorious romance, a riveting heist novel, a financial history of the 20th century, a loving portrait of New York, and an empathetic portrait of the bank robber as a young man, all in one crisp, sad, and often hilarious novel. It is an utter joy to read."-- Anthony Doerr, author of "The Shell Collector and Memory Wall"

Leonard Cohen @ Jazz Festival‏

It was a strange mix of old-timers, young people, and
spirituality, which was fitting, considering it was
Leonard Cohen.
At 7:30pm, precisely, the lights came down and the
curtains began their ascension. First, his nine-piece
band, with an arsenal that ranged from pedal steel and
Hammond B3 organ to archilaud (a type of Spanish flute)
and bass clarinet. Along with a strong vocal support
provided by the Webb Sisters, (Charley and Hattie, a young
British-based duo), and Sharon Robinson, a long-time
collaborator and co-writer of several songs, make their
way to center stage.
Followed by the Dean of Cool, the Master of Zen, the
Buddha Monk, dapper and smart, wearing his usual attire,
a perfectly pressed Armani suit, crisp shirt and Fedora,
which he removed to take a bow after each song. The audience
rose, and an uproar of claps and cheers ensues. The native
son had come home.
At 73, Montreal poet, novelist, songwriter and singer
Leonard Cohen truly merits the label 'immortal'. An icon
of song as well as literature, he is considered one of
the most important and influential songwriters of our time.
He has forged a resolutely unique, inimitable body of work.
The singer with the singularly deep voice played to a packed
room, one of three, at Place des Arts, his first tour in
15 years, since 'The Future' brought him to the Forum in
June 1993. It was a non-stop, eclectic, drunken stupor
of classics.
Cohen bowed and broke into a huge smile, and he never stopped
beaming the rest of the night. While quipping that at shows
in the 1990s', "I was just a kid of 60 with a crazy dream."
He also took time to express concern about the state of the
world, and how fortunate he was to have come from, and live
in such a beautiful city with pretty streets. Plenty of
irreplaceable banter, and surprisingly speaks French well,
which completely sent the audience into a whooping standing
ovation, with sporadic shouts, LEONARD. The poet dazzled
the audience.
His age is beginning to show... he moved slower, stooped
and sang just a little quieter. Cradling a handheld microphone,
he was able to move energetically around the centre stage
to interact with his band, and played guitar on several occasions.
He was still in the kind of form you'd be a fool to undersell.
He played through 40 years of song classics such as 'So Long',
'Marianne', 'Bird on a Wire', 'Hallelujah', 'Everybody Knows'
and 'I'm Your Man'.
Cohen knows his songs well and so did the audience, many
of them old enough to recall that first album in 1967. Already
one of Canada's young literary lions, the poet and novelist
seized the time to marry his muse to popular music, whose
boundaries were expanding under the influence of slightly younger
contemporaries such as Bob Dylan. In March of this year, he
was inducted into the New York's Rock and Roll Hall of fame.
On the road again, Cohen is once more among his own folk,
less melancholy than his reputation and as passionate and
articulate as ever. After all, public performance is a literary
tradition at least as old as Homer.
On a personal note, listening to Cohen, took me back to
a place, on the main, called Di Salvio's. A private club,
filled with the beautiful people. Cool to nth degree. Women
not girls, in droves, wearing the skimpiest and shortest
skirts, parading across the dance floor. Leonard Cohen blaring
from the refrigerator-sized speakers, and you wishing that
some day you could be as cool as he was.

* From Where I Sit!
June 26, 2008

Great Dads !

'I'd like to take a moment to show appreciation to 'Great Dad's' all around the world! I have observed over the years that the numbers of great dads are growing and I think they should be commended for the outstanding care they are providing to our children! Many times, sadly, I notice their surrounding criticize them for not having a job and financially supporting their family, this is such shallow thinking! A Real Dad is.... 'A Dad is someone you can count on ... Someone who is always there ... Someone who listens when you talk ... Who knows when you are lying... And when you are telling the truth. A Dad is someone who protects you ... And cares about you. A Dad is always kind, and understands what you say... He understands what is wrong... And makes you feel okay ... A Dad is someone who loves you no matter what you do.' This type of Dad is worth more than any amount on a 'pay check' they will bring home!' ~ Rose E. O'Donnell

Journey's End

Lead me to the field of dreams
Where our souls can bask in splendor
Not knowing any loneliness
For tis only love there rendered.

Lead me to your open arms
Your waiting warm embrace
Where safety and security
Is found within that space.

Loose me in your loving gaze
Where time is stilled forever
Let me glimpse inside your soul
Where deception lies surrendered.

O’ lead me to that field of dreams
Where our hearts become as one
Knowing we’re at journeys end
And our search for love is done.

copyright 2012 TLS

*** November Rain ***

When I look into your eyes I can see a love restrained
But darlin' when I hold you, don't you know I feel the same? yeah
Nothin' lasts forever and we both know hearts can change
And it's hard to hold a candle in the cold November rain

We've been through this such a long long time
Just tryin' to kill the pain, ooh yeah
But lovers always come and lovers always go
An' no one's really sure who's lettin' go today, walking away

And if we take the time to lay it on the line
I could rest my head just knowin' that you were mine, all mine
So if you want to love me then darlin' don't refrain
Or I'll just end up walkin' in the cold November rain

Do you need some time on your own?
Do you need some time all alone?
Everybody needs some time on their own
Don't you know you need some time all alone?

I know it's hard to keep an open heart
When even friends seem out to harm you
But if you could heal the broken heart
Wouldn't time be out to charm you?

Sometimes I need some time on my own
Sometimes I need some time all alone
Everybody needs some time on their own
Don't you know you need some time all alone

And when your fears subside and shadows still remain, oh yeah
I know that you can love me when there's no one left to blame
So never mind the darkness we still can find a way
Nothin' lasts forever even cold November rain

Don't ya think that you need somebody?
Don't ya think that you need someone?
Everybody needs somebody
You're not the only one, you're not the only one

Don't ya think that you need somebody?
Don't ya think that you need someone?
Everybody needs somebody
You're not the only one, you're not the only one

Don't ya think that you need somebody?
Don't ya think that you need someone?
Everybody needs somebody
You're not the only one, you're not the only one

Don't ya think that you need somebody?
Don't ya think that you need someone?
Everybody needs somebody...