5/21/2014 8:52:39 AM: http://www.youtube.com/channel/UCvdj0RjowP7bohK16QJEzDA  

2/2/2011 12:58:57 PM: The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes 'Awww!'  - From Jack Kerouac's On the Road

1/14/2011 11:43:46 AM: The smell of old books.. Its wonderful see from reading so many profiles that people still love to read. I do love to read as well, and have a fairly decent collection of books. There's something so warm and inviting about an old book; it's smell, heft and texture, the lovely old musty armona of its yellowed pages, so warm and endearing. Reading a new book is like the anticipation of meeting a person for the first time; rereading an old book is like sitting down and visiting with an old friend whom you haven't seen in ages but longed to see again. I wonder, will folks in the future feel the same about their favorite books when they are all regulated to a Kindle or Nook ebook reader? A world without books isn't a world I wish to be apart of. May we never see the day! I built a library room to house my collection and use use it to help sequester myself from the distractions of the outside world. I really do like having my own library to use at my beck and call. When I was a kid and we would visit friends of my parents', the husband - he was a lawyer - had this beautiful library with solid cherry bookshelves replete with row upon row of hard bound leather books, big comfy leather chair with the brass buttons, and a roaring fireplace. It was love at first sight; and I thought to myself that a real man - a man of substance and means - should have a room dedicated to the finer pleasures of scholarly pursuit. It is definitely the calmest room in my house and several friends of mine have remarked that when they entered the space that they felt a general sense of peace and well-being. I have a theory on this that when anyone who holds or fondles a book, a little bit of psychic energy is left behind slowly building up as it is tenderly passed from reader to reader. And if you have a whole room of these books, the feeling is cumulative and palpable even to the uninitiated. How I love to have my sub sit near me or have her put her head on my lap whilst maybe I read to her whispering passages from Jane Austen or perhaps a nice piece from Shakespeare. I'm gratified that the woman dedicated to me has taken to learning my customs and habits in order that she could adaquately anticipate my needs. Yes, books possess the ability to transport us into our own little world where we can assume the hero or even the damsel in distress waiting for her prince to come to her rescue. The power of the written word: What is it about the written word? What makes it so powerful? Little words on a printed page; yes, but so much more: The power of words isn't just how we communicate, it is how we share our past and our present. Shaping and molding our minds into that which we aspire to be, to live vicariously through the eyes of the author and dream of possiblilities.; for we are what we read. Would love to share thoughts with like-minded people.

1/14/2011 11:17:02 AM: Saw this quote and it resonated with me so I thought I'd share it: The best locks cannot be opened because they use no bolts or bars. The best knots cannot be untied because they use no ropes or cord. When force is not used, people do not resist. What is not resisted, cannot be opposed. When living and dying are no longer different, The nourishing female is discovered. -Lao Tsu

6/1/2010 11:48:44 AM: Well, my London trip is over visiting 'The Big Smoke' or should I say 'Londonistan' concerning how much the city's demographics have changed. When a friend canceled at the last minute I thought the quality of my trip would suffer. But, often, when one door closes, another opens wide and welcoming. To Robert Frost, I say, you are more right than you know when you spoke the words: Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,And sorry I could not travel bothAnd be one traveler, long I stoodAnd looked down one as far as I couldTo where it bent in the undergrowth. Then took the other, as just as fair,And having perhaps the better claim,Because it was grassy and wanted wear;Though as for that the passing thereHad worn them really about the same. And both that morning equally layIn leaves no step had trodden black.Oh, I kept the first for another day!Yet knowing how way leads on to way,I doubted if I should ever come back. I shall be telling this with a sighSomewhere ages and ages hence:Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--I took the one less traveled by,And that has made all the difference. My trip was a chaotic maelstrom. It was the best of times. It was the worst of times. It was a glorious homage to 'Men at Work' and the wisdom they brought to bear. Traveling in a Masonic combieA widow's son, stayed shooting zombiesI met a strange lady, she made me nervousShe took me in and gave me breakfast Serendipity, thy name be the Morningstar, shining brightly in the heavens, leading those who seeks it's wisdom to follow its path to enlightenment. All I ever asked was a tall ship, and a star to steer her by. My muse, my raison d'etre; oh, to be a man in that desert given but a brief taste of its life-giving waters, only to be denied a second draught. Oh, how I wished again to drink deeply of that sweet honey from the rock, tasting its sweetness on my fingers and lips yet again. 'What is sweeter than honey and what is stronger than a lion?'Samson said to them,'If you had not plowed with my heifer,you would not have solved my riddle.' Would, that I had had the strength of a Sampson, and with the jawbone of an ass, slew all my petty prejudices, shortcomings and moments of indecision and distrust. But the road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom as they say; for we never know what is enough until we know what is more than enough. And only those who are willing to risk going too far can possibly find out how far one can go. For we shall not cease from exploration, and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time. I have traversed T. S. Eliot's Wasteland and found solace in the solitude. 'My nerves are bad to-night. Yes, bad. Stay with me.'Speak to me. Why do you never speak? Speak.'What are you thinking of? What thinking? What?'I never know what you are thinking. Think.' What are you thinking about now that I am no longer there entwined in your sweet embrace? I hunger to know. It gnaws at me. I say, Come, Muse, Let us sing of rats! Confusion will be my epitaphas I walk a cracked and broken pathIf we make it we can all sit back and laughbut I fear that tomorrow we'll be crying. And now that tomorrow has come, I still feel the bitter sting of lachrymal tears upon my cheek.