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Dancing with Genius, Dancing with Madness (Remembering Rumi) Tuesday, September 30, 2014 (17:43:00)
Sharing in honor of the great Sufi poet Rumi's birthday, September 30:

I think of Genius and Madness as being very much like a twin brother and sister. And it doesn’t really matter which one we call the brother, or which we describe as the sister, for one simple reason. Within the universe of the extraordinary, those qualities we designate to human concepts of gender are often shared, exchanged, or even completely obliterated. Because of this mixture of traits, these twins called Genius and Madness often appear to be the same thing. They both have a tendency to blur the lines of what we call norms, or established reality.

They both, when we study that grand tapestry known as history and modern-day society, tend to stand out in much bolder relief than other figures. Neither Genius nor Madness ever look upon the world as a finished product. Both tend to view it as a kind of work in progress subject to their peculiarly mesmerizing influence.

Nevertheless: despite their similarities we are talking about twins with pronounced and distinct characteristics. If they at moments appear identical, in the end there’s rarely any difficulty telling them apart. For we recognize True Genius and True Madness most accurately by their legacies. Madness has a fondness for leaving the world filled with confusion and atrocity: such as the assassination of humanitarian leaders; the systematic rape and oppression of women and children; or the deliberate destruction of social and individual harmony. Genius, on the other hand, prefers to reserve its passions for clarity and the joys of intellectual possibility. It bestows upon the world such gifts as the angelic compositions of a Mozart; the enabling spiritual vision of a Martin Luther King, Jr.; the creative brilliance of a Leonardo da Vinci; or the Nobel Prize-winning literary excellence of a Toni Morrison.

NOTE: If you'd like to check out more please visit this link:
[url= ]

Skylark Aberjhani
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Heartwings Love Notes 640 Less Can Be Just As Much Sunday, September 28, 2014 (01:43:12)
Heartwings says, "You can enjoy treats just as much in small portions."

One of my favorite memories is of being out to dinner with Stephen and two friends at a fine restaurant and ordering one scrumptious dessert for the four of us. The serving was not large; divided into four pieces it was smaller still. Yet each of us was completely satisfied with the wonderful taste we enjoyed because we didn't need to eat more than what we had had to feel satisfied.

Some years ago I read a diet book in which the author suggested that one could partake of any treat one wanted to eat and still lose weight as long as one limited oneself to three bites of it and no more. She had apparently lost a great deal of weight simply by applying portion control to her eating habits and following her three bite rule when it came to sweets and treats.

As I get older I need less food. When I am less active, I need even less than normal. For best results in my weight maintenance, calories in need to equal calories out. When and how I consume them as well as what kind of calories I consume also makes a difference. Chewing my food thoroughly helps both my digestion and the need for less on my plate. A good balance between protein and fruits and vegetables is also vital.

When something tastes very good, whether it is a casserole or a dessert, I am tempted to eat lots of it. Yet I have noticed that as I eat it I taste it less and less. My taste buds seem to become used to what I am putting in my mouth. They no longer respond the way they did when I began to eat. This is especially true of anything cold, like ice cream, or intense, like strong chocolate.

I try to be mindful how much I put on my plate because it is so easy to take more than I really need. I have to be aware of the habitual amounts I am used to taking and adjust my eating to reflect my lifestyle and not my appetite-- which is usually driven by how things taste, not how much I need. Eating small amounts of what I like is much better than denying myself, plus it is good for me to practice the discipline of adhering to smaller portions.

Wishing you joy with every bite, and good discipline to help when you need it.

Blessings and Best Regards, Tasha Halpert
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A piece that took less than a minute written from me to you Friday, September 26, 2014 (02:34:00)
I sold my soul
to words bleeding haphazardly
on paper creating humor out of my
disenfranchised channels.

Fine line between corruption
and having somewhat a fiery personality.
Walking corpse among the astral plane -
won't you join me?

I can't give up. I just can't.
Comments (0)

CANT POST TO BLOG so I edited my last entry - NEW SONG Tuesday, September 23, 2014 (16:21:00)
This morning on the drive into work a song wrote itself in my head...

noun: transgression; plural noun: transgressions

an act that goes against a law, rule, or code of conduct; an offense.
"I'll be keeping an eye out for further transgressions"
synonyms: offense, crime, sin, wrong, wrongdoing, misdemeanor, impropriety, infraction, misdeed, lawbreaking;
error, lapse, peccadillo, fault;

I like the visual pattern of the lyrics, I imagine once I compose this it will have a similar pattern!
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LOVE THIS STEPHEN KING QUOTE Monday, September 22, 2014 (21:04:48)
“For the poet, everything matters, and it matters a lot. That is the realm where we work. Once you are there, you are hooked. If you are a real poet, you are hooked more deeply than any narcotics addict could possibly be on heroin. You are hooked on something life-giving instead of destructive. Something that is a process that cannot be too far from the process that created everything. God’s process."
Comments (1)

Heartwings Love Notes 639: The Permanence of Impermanence Sunday, September 21, 2014 (22:08:30)
Heartwings says, "It is wise to remember that the only constant is change."

"It's gone!" Stephen exclaimed. He stood looking across the street to where the house turned shop that he had known from his childhood had been. In its place was the gaping infrastructure of a soon to be Brown University dormitory. Stephen had grown up in Providence, and his family had once owned the now totally vanished building for all of his young years. In his childhood it had been the site of a shop that his mother and father had managed and in which he had spent many hours as a boy.

He turned to me and the expression on his face was sad. "Why did they have to tear it down?" I felt for him. When something you have known from your childhood is gone it is as though you have lost an old friend. The experience brings to mind other losses as well. I know I was reminded of other vanished childhood places as well even as people who have disappeared from my life. A wise person who had been one of my teachers was fond of saying, "The only constant is change."

It seems important to be able to take this kind of experience in stride. While it is appropriate to mourn a passing of significance, it is also vital to move on from it and to accept the inevitability of change. Growth cannot take place without it. Brown University had outgrown its current ability to house students and needed to expand. To make way for that, buildings or houses of lesser importance to them had to be razed. In life, what we have left behind must be removed to make room for what is to come.

As a mystic, I see a potential for symbolic meaning in this experience. Perhaps something from Stephen's past has been eliminated to make room for something new that is being built for him. I am always curious to see what develops when a major change has taken place. Our lives are subject to the currents of energy that take us where we need to go for our next adventure. Meanwhile, as another wise person has said, there is always the laundry and the grocery shopping.

May whatever of significance you lose be replaced by something more useful.

Blessings and Best Regards, Tasha Halpert

Seeking a present that keeps on giving? Tasha's comforting book of poetry, short essays and simple uplifting exercises, Heartwings: Love Notes for a Joyous Life, can be found on Amazon, or for a signed copy, send $18 to include postage and handling to PO Box 171, North Grafton, MA 01536. To sign up for more Heartwings, go to To read Stephen's funny stories go to Check us out on Facebook and YouTube too. Look for Stephen and Tasha Halpert.
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I AM GOING FOR IT Friday, September 19, 2014 (17:34:00)
I have began researching the avenues to get my songs/poem/lyrics out there for selection by recording artists. Also next week I am going to buy myself a keyboard! I am going to sell a song that will be recorded before I die...this is my pursuit of MY dream. I would love to hear from anyone who has experience in the songwriters marketplace, or any other site to help me market and sell my dream to someone. THANKS GP ARTISTS <3
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sad rant Wednesday, September 17, 2014 (13:30:00)
i try so, so hard to do my best to spread the little love i have in my soul-niche and i think i'm failing miserably. i am fractured wishbone and the jinx of hamartia.
i am both the heroine and hamartia, in fact, and i am completely submissive to my own annihilation. i am completely helpless when it comes to the collateral damage.
i continue to pick up the splinters, the shingle, the ash, the broken phoenix - the vertebra - i snap each into half. i pick up the pieces. i break them all, and i repeat. i crush the turmeric neck of artery - snap her into halves. i hurt people, too, and it hurts me. i choose to carry the onus of all known maudlin on the planet on the hull of my back and i think it broke me. not a first time, though, i know what shatter feels like. i think it's because you broke me.
i drink too much, even when the brandy's too hard for the tongue and even when the cocktail is tempting and maybe it's because you broke me so long ago that i have forgotten how to tell the jagged edges of ash from my own shattered windowpanes. i can not differentiate self-destruction from any other means of living. i can not tell torn curtains from the blinds of my own wrists. i cannot tell if i am. am i? am i at all? i cannot tell the pitter-patter of dilapidated tap drip-drop in 2 am opacity from my own tears - they have a harmony of their own, they have grown into each other's presences, inextricably linked in the blind-folded symmetry of coexistence.
just like we used to be.

just like your lips the day you first kissed me. just like the day you first held my hand, just like the day you took the small of my neck and cradled it in the palms of your hand as if it were silver and snapped me into two. not two, three, four, you taught me the damn art of destruction. you taught me the art of hatred, of loving and dying in the process, of loving and hating, no; feeling so damn hard that your wrists bleed and you bleed so much love out of the sockets of your eyes that you become so love-depleted and starved and submit and you no longer recognize yourself.

you taught me passion, baby
you taught me to destroy myself like it was child's play, like chess, checkers, roulette, gamble
you taught me gamble
you taught me orison
you taught me destroy
you taught me that this- this art of cutting the self open in the hollow of the sternum - the art of embracing your remains after - this is the kind of love i am worthy of

you taught me art is pain and pain is art and you cannot call yourself an 'artist' if you haven't tasted a lash in your life. "everyone does this," you said, "this is how people in love show their love for each other, darling, hush"

you taught me art, you taught me that fractals are but broken trees constructed by and out of the bones of maimed people whose hearts were winged dreamers & kaleidoscopes
and hereafter, i will dismantle the pink of my flesh, the crimson tints between being and not being, for the mural and the martyr

you taught me love, baby, no, you taught me destruction; and i can not tell the difference

things with feathers douse themselves into the honest blindness of a gasoline rainbow. the bird flickers momentarily before plummeting from her echelon, plunging into aquamarine absence. this is the story of a broken bird who undresses herself, caressing every feather before slicing its spine. this is a free bird tightening the manacles and locking the rib cage.

you taught me poetry. you taught me how to carve the hieroglyphics of learning how to not belong in my own skin
and again
and again.
makes perfect
prctice makes
you taught me practice makes perfect.

practice made

i will always love you
Comments (0)

My Mother Always Used to SAy Monday, September 15, 2014 (02:26:45)
Heartwings says, "The treasured sayings of memory are ours to keep."

My mother often used to say, "a girl has to choose between her face and her figure," meaning that as women get older they look younger if their faces reflect a little extra weight. Please note, I said a little, not a whole lot. It is true that wrinkles are less obvious on faces smoothed by a bit of plumpness. Of course, this does not take face altering surgical techniques into account. In my mom's day most women didn't commonly resort to plastic surgery unless it was to correct an actual defect rather than simply look younger.

Another favorite saying of hers, and one I often heard her repeat was, "In a hundred years will anyone care about that?" Because my mother and I lived at a distance and she wasn't much for writing letters, we spent much time chatting over the telephone. If I were to repeat something I regretted or was upset about, she frequently responded with that saying. She was not one to repeat comforting words like, "oh you poor dear," or "I am so sorry..." Instead she took a more philosophical approach.

One of her sayings has certainly proved over time to be accurate: "People's peculiarities do not diminish with age, instead they often increase." I have observed this to be true. It is unwise to expect someone to change with time. When a person makes an effort certain characteristics may diminish or be enhanced, however, the basic personality remains pretty much the as it has always been. What is important is to learn to love the person unconditionally. Without expectation of change there will be no disappointment.

As I have become older, I have grown to admire my mother more and more. There are things that cannot be fully understood until they are experienced for oneself. I appreciate more than ever now what I so often heard her say: the outsides keeps on getting older but the insides stays the same. Inside myself I feel much as I have since I became an adult, yet when I look in the mirror I know I am not as young as I used to be. Still, it's the spirit within that counts. My mother's spirit was very young and she set me a good example.

May you have fond memories of loved ones that may guide you as time goes by.

Blessings and Best Regards, Tasha Halpert

To enjoy more Love notes or to sign up for a free weekly subscription, please visit Check out Domestic Tranquility 1 on You Tube for a look at the Halperts in person. For a chance to enjoy some humorous writing please visit and enjoy the postings, not only by my husband Stephen and his friend Ken, but by others. Readers are invited to contribute there. Questions or comments? Please write
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THANKS AGAIN! Saturday, September 13, 2014 (14:33:45)
Yesterday's Top
Rank Name
01: doNotcallmeJan
02: sschubert
04: Mayo
05: angel4eva1976
06: nprimemin
07: induce
08: Veils_Mistress
09: zoe_in_a_bubble
10: jadia4708au
11: Kinode
12: mac
13: Noremote
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Now with extra marshmallows! Saturday, September 13, 2014 (01:29:38)
Okay, so not a box of Lucky Charms...but more like new packaging with the same old label, lol.

I'm just writing this in the event that someone sees me post a poem that seems like something in workshops under "deleted user 9564".

She is me...I am she. A really unimaginative reincarnation in screen names Smile

...and for those of you disappointed there were no marshmallows, you can read my previous blog. lol

It was plenty sugary Wink
Comments (2)

9-12-14 Friday, September 12, 2014 (15:36:00)
This morning, as I sit here kind of reveling in the novelty of a late breakfast..rye, toasted just so, with a bit of butter and some preserves (hell no, not sugar free!), I’m thinking about the joys of what we tend to overlook in our hectic lives.

Planted in my writing spot, a childhood desk that still holds tiny carvings underneath, I am smack dab in the middle of mayhem. An explosion of action figures and wee Legos that would normally make me groan. It’s such a contrast to the quiet now that September is here. I’m surprised to actually long for three o’clock when I can bring back those two little balls of energy that fill the place with madness at times, with their “He’s touching me with his foot!” and “Moooom! I can’t find Batman’s grappling hook! Find it!!”. Fighting and other randomness…It makes me pause and realize how they fill this house with life. And as much as the quiet is lovely, I would be lost without my little rag tag family.

At some point I should pop the last bite of crust in my mouth and get back to shoveling the 10,000 pieces of plastic off the floor, but maybe today I will just leave it as a welcome home.
Comments (2)

Thoughts on Nine Eleven 2014 Thursday, September 11, 2014 (17:11:00)
Thoughts on Nine Eleven 2014

A Saudi’s son
once aimed his sights
toward towers tall
midst city lights.

His minions flew
through peaceful skies
to make his mark
on people's lives.

No one forgets
when this began;
no one forgets
where they were then…

---- ---- ---- ----

Who would have thought
his seed could grow
in Minnesota’s
fertile soil.

A mix of mud
and martyr’s blood
from Mogadishu’s
wretched flood.

Emboldened sons
false prophet’s preach
them martyrdom
and death they seek

The west debates
what should we do
to fix mistakes
from World War II.

And on and on
the drumbeat rolls
while day by day
the carnage grows.

No peace awaits
the world we know
'til all the gates
of hell are full….
Comments (2)

Saying My Name Wednesday, September 10, 2014 (19:05:13)
My childhood was really terrible. My mom and my real dad got divorced before I was a year old. They had been married about six years, they just waited to have me.

Then my mom married my step-dad. My real dad married a lady with a couple of kids.

I was so young, that the parents all got together and decided without any sort of legal proceedings my real dad would raise those kids and my step-dad would raise me as his. I wish I had had some sort of approval over that decision. My step-dad, although I really loved him, turned out to be quite the abusive alcoholic.

As a child, I used to pray that I wouldn't become an alcoholic like him. I used to sometimes pray that he wasn't my dad.

In sixth grade, I tried out for a softball team. I thwacked the ball out of the park on my second swing. I made The Tigers. The best team.

I was enrolled in school with my step-dad's last name. When I told my mom that I needed to take my birth certificate in to start playing softball, she hedged. By this time, she and my step-dad were on the verge of divorce and his drinking was out of control.

She broke down and told me about my real dad. So in a way, my prayers were answered. She also told me that if my step-dad found out I knew, he'd probably flip out and kill us.

My real dad worked in radio, like two towns away. My step-dad got in the habit of turning the radio on that station and would watch to see if I had any sort of reaction. It was torture.
Comments (3)

Coffee painting and words Wednesday, September 10, 2014 (15:37:31)
Comments (10)
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