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Several years later, after her mother had passed away, Monica reminded me of my comment. It had had a tremendous impact, she said. I was surprised—I could have just as easily made a case for her not being the ocean—but I was glad I had been able to say something that mattered, something she remembered, something that made her think. Epstein , emphasis added. She told you exactly what you needed to hear, that's all. Neo, sooner or later you're going to realize, just as I did, there's a difference between knowing the path and walking the path. Actor Richard Gere reminisces about a meeting with the Dalai Lama in the early s.

Gere claims the Tibetan Pope inquired about Gere's job, to which he tried to give a self-important, thoughtful answer: the Dalai Lama just laughed. Gere takes the monk's laughing as encouragement towards gnostic insight instead of a rude reply on the part of a clueless Tibetan who probably understood a third of what he was saying in English anyways.

Because the Dalai Lama probably understood only bits and pieces of Gere's highfalutin answer, there is no way he might have addressed the actor's particular situation. In other words, it all probably rested in Gere's mind. The Dalai Lama might have quoted from a phone book, and Gere would have found deep gnostic pointers in that, too. At 1AM, the guru threw a tantrum, woke disciples up and demanded that a certain food be served to him right away.

Days later, the guru offered the following explanation. Precisely at the time of his tantrum, a disciple of his was dying far away. This disciple had -in his last moments- a craving for the food the guru had requested. Because such inopportune craving might very well spoil the disciple's up-coming rebirth, the guru had taken the craving upon himself to spare the dying disciple. At another point in time, Ram Dass sees awesome gnostic insight in the fact that his guru shooed him away with a leg when he was showing his devotion with a prostration in front of the holy man.

But if he claims that he has faith in god, he cannot -in any like sense- specify what he means. He can identify god in fact only as a feeling: he has faith in a feeling. But since faith itself is only the worship of feelings, the man who declares to have faith in god is declaring that he has a feeling about a feeling: the feeling that his feeling is true. What about Krishna, who -at the Yamuna river- multiplies to dance with each of his devotees individually? Lakhani is adamant: in order to close a final sale, one has to deliver the message to each individual recipient, just as presidential debates offer candidates who look into the camera delivering their truth to each individual viewer.

Isn't father god monitoring each and every one of us at all times? One and the same. The 'personal god' item is here crucial, as it encompasses not only fuzzy definitions of ghostly almighty ones few can exactly grasp, but all the dog and pony shows each society carries as politicized cultural baggage mos and suchlike. Ancient myth ologie s are not only the province of hazy speculation by amblyopic scholars, but are circularly reenacted, staged, spoofed on a constant basis. Prothero As Debord argued, society as ongoing spectacle is based upon autonomous images, life's concrete inversion, whereby what is non-living takes on autonomous life: a pseudo-world where liars lie to themselves In , Berlusconi surprises many, for he seemingly refuses to ride to his full electoral advantage the alleged involvement of Partito Democratico the new designation of the Communist Party in the huge financial scandal of bank MPS -another the hydra of regulatory bodies couldn't possibly prevent, resulting in about 4 billion State bail-out-.

In , MPS is once again on the verge of bankruptcy, with another possible State bail-out in order: frazzled bureaucrats are helpless as investors' savings are wiped out once more. At the end of , a third bail-out euro 20 billion targets MPS and other banks.

As the present writer suggests, every epoch has its totem imagery. Speaking in the early s, Roderick here captures a clear obsession of the s: the Videocassette Recorder VCR. What Berlusconi was tapping for prompt results was what psychologist Cialdini dubbed the fundamental principle of reciprocity. During WWI, U. S citizens were enthused to join the war effort with the imagery the USA were paying back a debt of gratitude as well. France had helped fight the English during the independence wars: Lafayette was chosen as monocratic figure to rally the U. S horde in patriotic fusion. Alternatively, Berlusconi recurs to the image of the godly patriarch, shying away from rabid polemic for the sake of the bank's employees, whose job is on the line.

Alternatively, Christian St. Many examples of the story exist. In Buddhist Javasakuna Jataka, a woodpecker dislodges a bone stuck in a lion's throat. A creature red in tooth and claw, To dare such a deed and be living still, Is token enough of my good will. Aesop, and a Jewish tale around the I century CE, suggest identical stories where adventitious details vary. Under the elusive guidance of a power-hungry demon from another galaxy, dinosaurs emerge from the earth to destroy cities and reclaim the world for themselves.

A special squad fights them with high-tech weaponry. In the Italian adaptation episode Un Dinosauro Amico , children take an harpoon off an attacking dinosaur's nose, and they become thus friends. Churchill, Busloads of soubrettes, ballerine, models and hostesses circulate within the networks of international policy making. One such alluring woman, in Berlusconi's official retinue at the Toronto meeting in , is arrested March 13, at an Italian airport with a load of 24 kilograms of cocaine:.

But we know this much: He betrayed the uniform he wore, and he contributed to the deaths of untold thousands of his comrades. He may well have been the greatest traitor in history. Gordon no page. Alternatively, such women may be 'secret agents' on a patriotic mission, for so-and-so almost brought home a multi-billionaire contract for this Italian company, thus shifting the burden upon the critic, now under the angry stare Polidori no page. According to newspapers, some alleged a transportation service was run to bring a group of young women back and forth to follow Berlusconi as he travelled in his official capacity.

Hungarian-Italian porn-star and politician Ilona Staller declared to the press in how Hungarian Iron Curtain secret services had hired her to seduce and spy upon visiting foreign politicians and businessmen:. Then, when Magruder and others were working to reelect Nixon, G. Liddy was a wild card, a James Bond wannabe. His first plan to ensure Nixon's reelection was to spend one million dollars to hire "mugging squads" that would rough up demonstrators; kidnap activists who might disrupt the Republican convention; sabotage the Democratic convention; use "high-class" prostitutes to entice and then blackmail leading Democrats; break into Democratic offices; and use electronic surveillance and wiretapping on their perceived enemies.

In the same time frame trepid viewers agonized over the plight of wartorn Georgia, the martyr State crisscrossed with lines of dispossessed refugees, the Georgian delegation seemingly partied wild in the company of eighty 80 prostitutes during a NATO meeting in Lisbon; unable to sleep, President Sarkozy alerted the security personnel The Japan Times, February 11, Naturally, foes arrange sordid encounters with 'prostitutes' King, as a biographer would have it.

Still talking about M. He told it so well that we forgave him almost everything. If an historic character has made a great contribution to country and society, and if his name and his deeds have been used over the generations to foster high ideals of character and service, what good is to be accomplished by digging out of the past and exploiting weaknesses, which perhaps a generous contemporary public forgave and subdued? Mormon Apostle S. Richards in There is also another small return on these scandals.

Despite his political and personal responsibilities, old age and health problems, foes accused Berlusconi. Parting humbugging politicians from other sybaritic entertainers might prove difficult. Actor Michael Douglas as well toots the horn of his presumed sexual frenzies and bohemian excesses. French President Sarkozy equally tried to capitalize as much as he While policy makers and other celebrities possibly pose in the bathroom basking in the image they cultivate of themselves as irresistible he-men cavorting in the company of ballerine, Italian ballerina turned politician N.

Brazilian caudillo Getulio Vargas, who embodied the Brazilian version of paternalistic statism so popular in the s Mussolini, Hitler, Roosevelt, Salazar Characters from Japanese cartoons -in the s for example- were normalized to reproduce standardized Caucasian features. Venezuela's Chavez in recent years revamped the item: murals depicted the leader in a fatherly embrace with a child; a statue also portrays Ho Chi Minh teaching a precious child; Chairman Mao also loved children in various posters.

In Italian Head of State Napolitano joined a similar scene 'embracing' juveniles from third-world immigrant groups he wished to extend citizenship to when born on Italian soil. All those may seem -and are credited by some as being- clumsy, accidental, 'romantic' or inoffensive postures, 'gaffes', which -irrespective of any dis agreement regarding the line being followed- is highly unlikely given the 'machine' at work behind the image ghostwriters, spin doctors, cameramen, makeup artists, digital imaging specialists etc.

Some wisely raise doubts about the characterization of various statesmen -such as U. S President Bush, jr. Yale graduate , and Brazilian President Lula -as nitwits taped as they're unable to spell; Bush, jr. Deception is such a common technique for ingratiation that its lack strikes us as aberrant.

Feldman , This raises the interesting possibility that, like much of their behavior, the mental processes of psychopaths are poorly regulated and not bound by conventional rules. This issue Hare We won with old. We won with highly educated. We won with poorly educated. I love the poorly educated. It all might be another spectacle: the personable savior-hero is one of us to a fault, including the common man's miserable shortcomings and gaucherie.

After all, aren't Rocky and Forrest Gump semi-retarded? Yet, what heroes:. He was also from a quite upper-class part of Missouri. Louis enclaves from which Danforth came. Likewise on campaign stops Likewise, if you listen to tapes of John Kerry from the s, you hear a very definite Kennedy accent. There, he came across as a Yale educated, new-class intellectual. In he came across as a semirural, basically unsophisticated politician arriving to fix a broken system. It worked beautifully: Clinton allayed fears that as a Democrat he was too leftist by communicating to Southern and midwestern voters, through his voice and body language, that he was one of them.

Drout Quelqu'un a mal fait son boulot? Ou l'indice que, sachez-le, on s'en fout. Il s'agit de communiquer, pas de parler. Cassin no page. The sooner you start telling yourself that you're excited rather than nervous, the sooner you'll be able to convince your subconscious that this is actually how you feel. And, in fact, that's really all that matters. Change your attitude, and your body language and voice tone will change to reflect your new attitude.

Keep in mind that most people are as eager as you are to establish rapport. They will generously give you the benefit of the doubt. Boothman , emphasis added. Parzival and his horse are on the ground. Parzival reaches into his quiver, takes a javelin, and sends it through the knight's visor into his eye and kills him. That's not the proper way to kill a knight, so Arthur's court is now twice shamed. As far as they know, this is the Red Knight, the great king. What a shock.

But Gurnemanz knows how to judge male flesh, and he realizes this is some boy. Similarly, a number of classic psychiatric disturbances have prospective bright sides to them. For example, milder forms of bipolar spectrum illness and attention deficit disorder have been associated with creativity Abraham et al.

Both autistic individuals and their relatives sometimes possess exceptional mathematical skills Baron-Cohen , and obsessive-compulsive traits are often observed in industrious people Bradshaw and Sheppard ; Polimeni et al. In contrast, there appears to be no silver lining associated with conventional medical disease, injury or any other form of unequivocal biological malfunction. Medical problems such as heart disease, emphysema, arthritis, diabetes, brain injury or mental retardation syndromes are never associated with symptoms or traits that can be construed as even slightly beneficial.

Because scientific discoveries are sometimes inherently logical while simultaneously contradicting convention, this study implicates the nonconforming disposition of schizophrenic patients as a potential contributor to ingenious creativity. Polimeni , This messiah entered a savage whirlwind of biblical prophecy, debauchery, eccentricity and purported ascents to heaven as proof of manifest destinies soon to unfold.

S ATF forces: dozens of people -including Koresh, and several children- died in the assault. Belle Gibson, the alternative healing author and internet personality from Australia, was in April revealed to be just another hoaxer with the usual troubled childhood, teenage pregnancy and related 'man of sorrow' paraphernalia: experts in the media now label her an antisocial narcissist: the writing was all over the wall. Her stories of miraculous recoveries thanks to alternative medicine were as fake as the non-existent illnesses she purportedly recovered from: the money Gibson made -plus engagements, endorsements, etc- sure was real.

As with Koresh's equally outlandish claims, votaries were too busy putting their hands together to celebrate the providential wo man. Monti was allegedly first to appear with precious children as part of his campaign: would opponents pour all that bile over righteous Monti in the presence of such little treasures?

The Baby Jesus by Mary Alice Jones 1961 Vintage Christmas Book Rand McNally

Berlusconi riposted being photographed with a puppy even more precious than Monti's toddlers. Naturally, wise patriarchal figure Monti knew best: he, too, pulled a puppy from his politician's hat. Resourceful Berlusconi in turn pulled children from his politician's hat, while exit polls slowly but surely rose. Pope Francis I is also involved with children: kissing the foot of a disabled child, and letting a child take his seat, for example:.

Ireland's Roman Catholic Church told the order of nuns who ran the former home where a mass grave of almost children was found that it must co-operate with any inquiry into the discovery. Ireland is considering an investigation into what the government called a "deeply disturbing" discovery of an unmarked graveyard at a former home run by the Bon Secours Sister where children died between and Reuters, June 5, Myth ologie s tend to coalesce: Pope Francis I appears with a green parrot.

What's more, the parrot is the gift of a professional male stripper -soon to appear in an erotic movie- who declares to be in love with the Pontiff. The myth of Saint Francis as quintessential animal lover -akin to Orpheus, Buddha and other In May , Berlusconi on a never-ending political campaign pledges his commitment in favor of animal rights animals and children, what a favorite imagery.

Some, however, opt for more traditional appeals. After the chances of being elected with a radical left-wing list vanish, Bacchiddu promptly switches allegiances to right-wing Lega Nord of nativist vintage. Charming coincidences, or artful stage management? Readers be the judge. The message to the artificial kin member is, probably, that puppies and children are so pure at heart -whatever that means- they would never associate themselves with the awful person opponents portray so-and-so as being.

Of course, legions of toddlers and puppies are successfully associated with many things in advertisement, from cars to toilet paper and shipyards: that's ethos credibility again, irrespective of any sense this may not make:. Most young children are truly authentic—what you see is definitely what you get. They have yet to learn how to hide, filter and manipulate their experiences to fit what others are expecting. Their motivations are out in the open Brown The baby, because his heart is pure, is an unlearned saint.

The saint, because his heart is pure, is a learned baby Watarai Nobuyoshi, Aurobindo comments on the Vedas:. Yet throughout the symbol of the sacrificial Fire is maintained. It is evident that we are in the presence of a mystic symbolism to which the fire, the sacrifice, the priest are only outward figures of a deeper teaching and yet figures which it was thought necessary to maintain and to hold constantly in front.

MAISI no date:lecture note The biographer Plutarch, writing in the late first and early second Hirai translation. It can apply in both positive and negative form to any group of zealots into any kind of pursuit. He tells how the King of Alba beheld the strange sight of an erect penis that rose from his hearth fire and stayed there for several days extnote.

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He sought advice from the gods via an oracle, which informed him that a virgin should give herself to the phallus and the offspring produced would become a very great man. The king, named Tarchetius extnote in this version, ordered his daughter to mate with the phallus, but she balked at this and sent her servant to do it instead. Tarchetius discovered the truth and imprisoned them both. He was held back from killing them by a dream sent by Vestaextnote, and then Romulus and Remus were born.

They were abandoned in the Tiber, suckled by a she-wolf, saved by a herdsman, and grew up to kill Tarchetius. This myth, which may be of Etruscan origin, is also reflected in a myth of the birth of one of the later kings of Rome, Servius Tullius, and has a connection to older Indo-European mythic motifs, where fire is equated with male virility and the divine spark of life.

Meineck The desire for honor and glory sets men on fire Cicero, Tusculanae Disputationes, 1. In Roman lore, even King Servius Tullius was miraculously conceived when his mother Ocresia mated with a magical phallus from the hearth, either sent by the god Vulcan or by the the lar familiaris, god of the hearth.

The city of Preneste also shared a similar myth. Caeculus was deemed son of Vulcan, survived ordeal by fire to prove his divine parentage, and could control fire. Readers may note multifarious versions of the Romulus story. At times the mother is a Vestal virgin; at times a servant. In Jesus' case, it's the the low-class woman who's also a virgin note of this writer. Within all moving beings he has become [the] Desire! Catholics celebrate Ash Wednesday as the faithful are blessed with sacred ashes, a vestigial fire ordeal that commemorates Jesus' forty days in the wilderness facing Satan.

Tribal ritual set aside, new age movements catering to urban white collar upper middle classes have appropriated the item as well in the name of an higher perception, the actualization of one's self, the transcendence of physical limits, positive psychology and so forth. Results indicate that there was a relationship between New Age practices and beliefs and schizotypal personality traits, characterised by magical ideation, a cognitive disposition towards looseness of associations, and emotional hypersensitivity.

Women were also more likely to be drawn to New Age practices and beliefs. On the other hand, traditional religiosity was unrelated to all personality indices and measures from the experimental task. These findings suggest that an individual may be attracted to the New Age by virtue of its magical belief system and practices, which provide meaning to unusual ideation and experiences, and which emphasise the exploration and development of a loose cognitive style and emotional sensitivity.

Farias et alii Bundles of commingled mythologies are everywhere. Let's take W. Churchill, for example. Most -in fact- would equate the British leader with just causes and best of all ideas the 'fire' in his speeches certainly derived from. Churchill's penchant -for example in a article raised quite a few eyebrows over time, however. The torturing embarrassment regarding Churchill's ' true ideas' could be easily solved dealing with another possibly controversial and unpublished article:.

Sir Martin Gilbert, the eminent historian and Churchill biographer, He added that Churchill's instructions for the article were different in both tone and content from what Diston eventually wrote, and pointed out that Diston was a supporter of Oswald Mosley, the notorious fascist and anti-Semite. The present writer is not interested here in scoring political points, but in a simple fact. On one hand, Churchill is eulogized as the larger-than-life figure, whose uncompromising moral assumptions warranted him a place in history.

On the other, he is just another gamesman trying different strategies. He commissions his 'memorable' pieces to a cohort of ghost-writers, each one in tune with a different portion of the political spectrum, just in case: most statesmen do so anyways on a regular basis The leader of the French Fascist Vichy regime, Petain, had in his drawer a serenade to his appointed arch-enemy De Gaulle. Illustrated Sunday Herald, 8 February Luigi Firpo's , Italian historian and politician earlier translation. Although Berlusconi's foes choose the episode to cast 'honest Firpo' against 'dishonest Berlusconi', Firpo apparently never pressed charges against Berlusconi.

The private exchange between the two regarding the matter was embargoed upon Firpo's death, soon to be made public in silence has shrouded the issue ever since. Lega Nord secretary Salvini tries to project his image of highly sophisticated individual. In January , he brags about two new books he's supposedly reading: too bad one of them was still to be released on the Italian market.

Incensed votaries defend him from ridicule: he surely was reading the book in the original foreign edition. Media reported, however, that the book cover Salvini or his press agents or cronies posted online was that of the Italian edition yet to be released What he presented as his literary masterpiece was in reality his retelling of lines from the popular movie Dead. S President Johnson in an interview with German Chancellor Erhard jokingly remarked how he wasn't born in a log-cabin like Lincoln, but in a manger like Jesus.

In Richard Nixon had given the same answer In this connection, it is interesting that the mixture of religion and politics is found in stories about Nixon as well as Kennedy. An anecdote [exists] ridiculing Nixon's repeated references to his humble origins and suggesting that false modesty might conceal exalted visions of grandeur If I had to name my greatest strength, I guess it would be my humility Barack Obama in Contrary to the rumours you have heard, I was not born in a manger,I was actually born on Krypton and sent here by my father, Jor-el, to save the planet Earth Barack Obama in Donald Trump on Twitter in Don't be so humble - you are not that great.

People will forgive you for murder a lot faster than they would forgive you for displaying your exhibitionistic needs Moore part 6. The same platitudes and strategies used in this example can be successfully used in a variety of situations involving different people with an equal degree of credibility: It is one thing to suggest that a hero or a patriot is a martyr, it is quite another for a community to perceive it as true. Therefore, the metaphor inherent in associational catalysts requires that its author must maintain a degree of social legitimacy so as to invoke a believable image.

Allgrove The reason these Christians invented martyrdom stories and saw their history as a history of persecution is because then, as now, martyrdom was a powerful tool. Early Christians respected saints as holy people with a special connection to God. As such, in later times martyrs were powerful spokespersons for the church. When early Christians wanted to prove the antiquity and orthodoxy of their own opinions, they would edit or compose a story attributing their own views to an early Christian orthodox martyr.

Moss It is the very thing for which I have been longing these several years. The ill-treatment of the mob had not daunted his spirit; neither could this sentence of death. Within him had grown such conviction of his rectitude that he had most likely worked himself up to an emotional fervour reminiscent of the state in which the early Christian martyrs walked singing to the lions.

He seemed to welcome ill usage and cruel treatment, and ecstatically he gave thanks to the almighty that he was worthy to suffer in the cause of the Buddha. Several of his disciples had died martyr's deaths while protecting him from his assailants. As his guardian had employed his prerogative, Nichiren was taken to be executed. He was humiliated by being led through the streets to be jeered at by scoffers.

But not everyone along the road hated him, and his many friends came out to weep at seeing their master so treated. The scene is more than a little familiar to Christians Upon arrival at Tatsu-no- Kuchi on 17 October, where he was to be decapitated, a miracle is reported to have taken place. Brudnoy What counts is not the case at hand, but the repository of exempla, fossilized characters, obtuse allegories and petrified mythologies. This in spite of the circular over-emphasis leadership scholars -such as Ben-Shahar- place on. Many have wondered: is Qaddafi mad? A megalomaniac? Otherwise respectable psychologists have tried to analyze him from afar.

More reliable is what Qaddafi says about himself; he considers himself a visionary. While many of those around him are corrupt, Qaddafi by all accounts is not, making him the worst sort of dictator: a truebelieving one. What Qaddafi believes is a muddled mix of Nasserist nationalism, Western anarcho-syndicalism and Bedouin desert egalitarianism. Schumacher no page, emphasis added. When it is not exemplary, an authority figure has an uncertain therapeutic effect. Rieff Social work educators Dean H.

Hepworth, Ronald H. Inducing trance through storytelling shall take aesthetic sense into the picture. Aesthetic sense brings about idealization: both Octavian Augustus and Napoleon -who were not exactly 'small fry' needing to prove themselves to anyone-. Messages on the Mormon Channel also follow this logic. Messages for youth are crafted like Disney Channel teen-oriented series plus the religious angle. To this day there is controversy regarding some pictures typically used to portray Indian thinker Aurobindo; dissidents say such pictures have been enhanced to convey a spiritual or majestic image, whereas devotees claim the allegation to be false.

Joseph Stalin's pictures were retouched to cancel the scars smallpox had left on his face. That is why most politicians wear dresses engineered to hide protruding bellies and weak shoulders, thus making them look like rugby players fit as race horses; special shoes can often be worn to camouflage height issues:. The pounding also makes him loud and scary. In human terms, we read confidence the same way: how much space people are willing to take up.

They put their feet on the desk. They sit on the desk. In one experiment, assertiveness- and energypromoting hormones rose by 19 percent, while anxiety hormones fell by 25 percent. Assuming a strong, confident physical posture will make you feel more confident and more powerful. As you feel more powerful, your body language adapts accordingly. Attractive candidates received more than two and a half times the vote of unattractive ones in Canadian federal elections. It's as old as man. Ancient Greeks -and Nietzsche- hold it up as a signpost of virtue: kalokagathia beautiful and also virtuous.

But the more intriguing result was that the greater the social competence of the adolescents, the more successful they were at deceit. Just like adults, the more popular adolescents were better able to fool the observers with their lies than the less popular ones. Feldman Pandit Tigunait recounts how accomplished Hindu Himalayan yogis could allegedly ignite yogic fire within themselves to disappear into the sun quite literally in order to leave their mortal coil behind.

Brown confirms that attractiveness automatically makes most perceive one as well above average even in unrelated matters, such as academic excellence. People at the Mormon Channel are listening: careful settings, and no gross, ridiculous, unattractive, clumsy person on stage as it is the case with glossy commercials: they must spend a fortune in teeth whitening alone.

In various countries, TV shows exist ed showing how ordinary -even despicable- nobodies could be turned into centerfold material with the intervention of professional makeup artists and 'image-makers'. Nixon, on the other hand, was judged the winner by people who listened to the debate via radio. Which presidential candidate will best manage international crises and encourage economic growth at home, all while safeguarding civil liberties and keeping us safe? As she melts apart after her failed bid for the U. Movie stars and other mass entertainers also ride that bandwagon, whereby polished nails, hairdos worth thousands of euros, fantastic plastic surgery faces, and so forth, are equated with stupendous skills, virtues and the like.

A cursory look at tabloids reveals this couldn't possibly be farther from the truth: public figures royalties, gurus, millionaires, politicians, entertainers Debord point A senior British lord embroiled in a scandal over allegations by a tabloid newspaper that he used cocaine and hired prostitutes, said on Monday he would not return to parliament until investigations into his actions had been completed. John Sewel stood down from his post as deputy speaker of unelected House of Lords at the weekend after he was filmed snorting what The Sun on Sunday newspaper said was cocaine with two prostitutes.

Lord Sewel French sources reveal how President Hollande's personal hairdresser shall pocket a cumulative gross salary of euro Halperin no page, emphasis added. So, to what degree did [ U. By campaigning to have his guy portrayed in a network hit, did Axelrod soften up millions of Americans for the task of electing the first minority president?

Attie says his latest e-mail from Axelrod includes the good news: "We're living your script. Funt no page. Good looks, a touch of charisma, a flood of words, contrived distractions, a knack for knowing which buttons to press-all these can go a long way toward obscuring the fact that the psychopathic presentation is nothing more than a "line. If the psychopath's "show" is not enough, the adroit use of "stage props" -phony credentials, flashy car, expensive clothes, a sympathy-inducing role, and so forth-will usually complete the job.

Jesus said, "He who will drink from my mouth will become like me. I myself shall become he, and the things that are hidden will be revealed to him Gospel Of Thomas no date no page n. You must look the part, sound the part, and act the part. If your message and your persona are not congruent, people you hope to persuade may make an unfavorable decision about you.

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Look the part and get the sale. The right handshake costs far less and will do far more for you than a designer suit can. The book was a phenomenal success, spending forty-eight weeks on the Times bestseller list, thirteen of them at No. More than a million copies That's what psychopaths also do, according to author Sam Vaknin, himself a diagnosed narcissistic psychopath:. But those real experiences are so boring compared to [the movie] Jaws.

I mean Jaws is a hyperreal experience. Roderick Fatal Strategies, emphasis added. Q: Do you enjoy being President more than being a movie actor? The happy ending was the invention of Russian Jews, designed to drive Americans crazy. It was a marvelous idea. What could make them crazy but to throw back at them their small towns? Look how happy it is here. Compare the real small towns with the small town on the MGM back lot.

There's no resemblance. Jill Robinson, daughter of a former MGM executive She wanted to let the writing speak for itself. Readers were few and far between. Then one day the book surged from 4,th to become the best-selling book on Amazon. Soon, hundreds of thousands of copies had been sold.

No again. Berger Other websites really want to take no chances with this disclaimer:. The story s depicted on this site and the person s depicted in the story are not real. Rather, this fictional story is based on the results that some people who have used these products have achieved. The results portrayed in the story and in the comments are illustrative, and may not be the results that you achieve with these products.

Such a disclaimer should appear on many history books, news reels, political broadcasts and charity pleas:. It is hardly surprising that exercises in collective historical remembrance far more closely resemble myth on one side and political propaganda on the other than they do history, at least as that is understood as an academic discipline Rieff Just as this or that public figure has elated votaries believe s-he is the current incarnation of Zoroaster, Jeremiah, Ulysses or other chaps from myth ologie s, so bimbos and studs on dating websites reside right within our ZIP code.

They follow one around with unrelenting appeal from a variety of area codes that match one's as one beams out of seven world cities using a proxy server. After all, author Sam Vaknin an expert on narcissistic psychopathology concludes the online dating scene is the province of the mentally dysfunctional, whether clinical or sub-clinical. Websites exist ed to allegedly teach future exotic love doves how to bleed their western prospects dry, financially speaking. Some western embassies even broadcasted warnings to their citizens regarding rife romance or dating scams in the region West Africa, Philippines, Former Soviet Union Italian TV personality Gianfranco Funari in the early s threw the gauntlet to the established media in an attempt to document the power of television.

He thus started pushing a severely disabled man in a wheelchair as sort of opinion leader, in spite of the person's speech being somewhat impaired. The disabled man A. Guidi was thus showered with appointments: minister, parliamentarian with Berlusconi's Forza Italia , and so forth. Readers be the judge about whether Funari made his point:.

When you dominate a conversation by creating the conversation in the first place, it is very easy to move ideas forward. The ideas are created by you and those you endorse or create, present your ideas and opinions as their own to create awareness. They are highly persuasive because the only place that people can learn about the If Funari played his tricks in the s, a Down syndrome woman is hired to give weather forecast on French France 2 following an internet campaign in Kalokagathia also meets its inverted doppelgaenger: saviors, heroes and founders act as heralds of the unwashed rabble:.

The Son of Man came eating and drinking, and they say, 'Here is a glutton and a drunkard, a friend of tax collectors and sinners. Thus vulgarity [in Sartre] comes to signify lack of social standing at best and outright evil at worst. Psychopathic personalities also relish liminal groups in critical situations: David Koresh and pastor Jim Jones come to mind. As if the masses had any way to know -or even cared about- whether the 'great man' is feeling it, or faking it.

In Italy, master chefs and TV personalities Cracco and Cannavacciuolo -who charge high prices in their restaurants- are found during an inspection to cook frozen food omitting such detail. Both chefs claim frozen food was for the exclusive consumption of their family and staff, not the paying customer:. Authority is granted to people who are perceived as authoring their own words, their own actions, their own lives, rather than playing a scripted role at great remove from their own hearts.

Palmer no date, emphasis added. Whether the evangelist himself literally believes his gospel is about as important as whether an actor playing Lenin is really a communist. People seem to derive edification regardless. Price no page, emphasis added. Steve Jobs exudes an almost giddy enthusiasm every time he presents. Former employees and even some journalists have claimed that they found his energy and enthusiasm completely mesmerizing. Gallo , emphasis added. Throughout our interactions, we instinctively look for clues with which to evaluate warmth or power, and then we adjust our assumptions accordingly.

Expensive clothing leads us to assume wealth, friendly body language leads us to assume good intentions, a confident posture leads us to assume the person has something to be confident about. In essence, people will tend to accept whatever you project. Cabane , emphasis added. Appearing sincere, or congruent, is a key ingredient for building the trust that opens the door to likability and rapport Boothman , emphasis added. Crowds fail when they have a shared error in judgment. Huettel If this was the case, all great actors are at their most authentic on screen playing Robin Hood, doctor Mengele, Billy the kid or Paul Atreides:.

Why do we like great actors and take them seriously when we know they're only speaking lines that someone else wrote? Because they're believable; because they are congruent Because your attitude precedes you, it is an essential component of the first impression you make on new acquaintances. Boothman ,64, emphasis added. Like a novel, an opera or a ballet, myth is make-believe Armstrong After lovemaking, at Motta Visconti Italy , C.

He then creates chaos in the house to simulate a burglary before heading to a pub in order to cheer very emotionally for the Italian national soccer team Casual eye-witnesses wonder how a man might be so poker-faced as to dispatch wife and children in such a gruesome way: he looked so authentic as he devotedly cheered for the Italian soccer team. Vicious murderous sociopaths, and. Lissi then invokes mental illness to court leniency from the judicial system. More often than generally thought, actors may experience difficulties -or failures- in quitting the iconic role that has been imposed upon them during filming.

Sean Connery admitted his infatuation with his James Bond role led to difficulties in relationships: he is generally known for his ego while filming. Actress Miley Cyrus changed her name to allegedly accommodate family ties, but rumor had it that she intended to legally change her name to that of her fictional, Disney channel character Hannah Montana. Many argue Clint Eastwood and John Wayne took the same character -probably a warped projection of how they saw themselves into all the fictional It won't elude readers how there actually was very little, if anything, in common between real-life Arnold Schwarzenegger, John Wayne, Chuck Norris, Clint Eastwood or Charlton Heston, and the novelized or imaginary characters they portrayed on screen.

How is Donald Trump's reality TV persona different from his entrepreneurial or political self? If you make your persona one that they themselves would like to emulate, you have done your job perfectly. Aissa Wayne said the country needs a strong and courageous leader like her father.

Shelley’s Italian Experience

She said John Wayne would be offering his endorsement [to Donald Trump] if he were still alive. Associated Press, January 19, Clint Eastwood, the year-old four-time Oscar winner, excoriated the current generation of Americans as weak and overly sensitive while backing Donald Trump even though the Republican presidential hopeful has "said a lot of dumb things. The borderline individual is overwhelmed with her unmet needs and constantly tries to get them met in other people. She often creates a chameleonlike identity by taking on the qualities and characteristics of those she admires.

Engel Lakhani , emphasis added. Italian comedy actor Alberto Sordi did pretty much the same: it was mostly difficult to tell apart roles he played with the exception of costumes and backdrops. Sordi -whether the real person or the xeroxed characters he played on screen- was also taken as embodying the quintessential Italian: half crook, half existentialist; a versatile, slightly dishonest jack of all trades with an heart of gold deep down.

An entire category apparently exists that regroups not only former clergymen turned atheists or agnostics, but -as the Dennett-La Scola study showedof current clergymen busy pastoring churches and leading congregations who -far from their parishioners' earshot- openly subscribe to atheist, skeptic or agnostic beliefs: the society of spectacle. A article detailed something then President Bush, jr. Mr Bush revealed the extent of his religious fervour when he met a Palestinian delegation during the Israeli-Palestinian summit at the Egpytian resort of Sharm el-Sheikh, four months after the US-led invasion of Iraq in One of the delegates, Nabil Shaath, who was Palestinian foreign minister at the time, said: "President Bush said to all of us: 'I am driven with a mission from God'.

God would tell me, 'George go and fight these terrorists in Afghanistan'. And I did. And then God would tell me 'George, go and end the tyranny in Iraq'. And, by God, I'm gonna do it. From a 'good' leader to a bad one:. He explained that God had spoken to him in a dream, directing him to act immediately and "win the economic war".

He contended that the Asian were "sabotaging the economy of the country" and gave them 90 Days To Quit Uganda. O'Cleirigh , emphasis added. Joyti De-Laurey, a thirty-year-old former personal assistant at a She used the money for a lifestyle that would be considered extravagant even by the rich and famous.

Please help me. Hallucinations can take many forms, but the most dangerous types are known as auditory command hallucinations. Command hallucinations are voices that the patient hears instructing him or her to perform some behavior. Kiehl The year-old [Nikolas Cruz] who is accused of killing 17 people and injuring dozens more when he opened fire on a South Florida high school Wednesday afternoon told investigators that he heard voices in his head, giving him instructions on what to do to conduct the attack, law enforcement sources told ABC News.

The voices were described as "demons" by law enforcement sources. ABC News, February 16, Flaky characters from all the provinces of the political spectrum have god whisper secrets, holy writ and providential blueprints of history to them. The entire U. Would anyone trust the character above to hold a government position?

If he were a maximalist right-winger, then probably the shoe would fit: those kooks are not to be trusted. Yet he is the former leader of a left-wing insurrectionist group: refraining from hasty judgments shall now apply. Why is the average contemporary reader likely to treat the remark about President Bush, Jr. What about President Amin? Does the shoe fit, perchance? Why does psychologist Stout deliver a chapter to portray the irresistible ascent of a fictional wealthy boy she portrays as a sociopath, whom many identify with President Bush, Jr.?

After all, many factoids in the fictional account allegedly match Bush's biographical anecdotes, such as blowing bullfrogs up with firecrackers as a pastime. The investigators used functional neuroimaging fMRI to study a sample of committed Democrats and Republicans during the three months prior to the U. Presidential election of The Democrats and Republicans were given a reasoning task in which they had to evaluate threatening information about their own candidate. During the task, the subjects underwent fMRI to see what parts of their brain were active. What the researchers found was striking.

Importantly, in both their behavioral and neural responses, Republicans and Democrats did not differ in the way they responded to contradictions for the neutral control targets, such as Hanks, but Democrats responded to Kerry as Republicans responded to Bush. Liberals shifted in the direction of even greater disagreement with the statement. The shift was not significant, because the most liberal subjects already tended strongly to disagree with it. But for those who characterized themselves as conservative, there was a significant shift in the direction of agreeing with the statement.

Sunstein These days, if a shot is egregiously bad, a golfer might write it off as a Strictly speaking, mulligans are never allowed, but in friendly games, players sometimes agree in advance that mulligans are permitted. Of course, even when mulligans are not legal nor agreed upon, golfers still take them from time to time If the key to our dishonesty is our ability to think of ourselves as honest and moral people while at the same time benefitting from cheating, creativity can help us tell better stories —stories that allow us to be even more dishonest but still think of ourselves as wonderfully honest people.

Ariely ,, emphasis added. Over the past sixteen years as [a] member of the Board of Trustees of the Zen Studies Society and more recently as president of that Society, I have attempted to make excuses for Eido Roshi and to cover up the scandals as best I could. What about a simple math problem? Would 'best of all causes' get in the way?

So how did people fare on the handgun version of the problem [in a study by Kahan et alii published in ]? They performed quite differently than on the skin cream version, and strong political patterns emerged in the results—especially among people who are good at mathematical reasoning. Most strikingly, highly numerate liberal Democrats did almost perfectly when the right answer was that the concealed weapons ban does indeed work to decrease crime version C of the experiment —an outcome that favors their pro-guncontrol predilections.

But they did much worse when the correct answer was that crime increases in cities that enact the ban version D of the experiment. The opposite was true for highly numerate conservative Republicans: They did just great when the right answer was that the ban didn't work version D , but poorly when the right answer was that it did version C.

Mooney no page, emphasis added. Another reason that people overestimate the quality of their evidence toward a decision is that people tend to seek out evidence that confirms their existing beliefs, instead of evidence that could refute those beliefs. We see echoes of confirmation bias in the popular media, in our conversations, and in ourselves. When people take a strongly held position—like on a political hot-button issue—they interpret new evidence in whatever way best fits their existing beliefs. Whether by choosing information or informants, our ability to cook the facts that we encounter helps us establish views that are both positive and credible.

Gilbert It'll just make them mad. Morgan in The Pollyanna syndrome every cloud has a silver lining; seeing only the best in people or situations , and its inverse the Machiavellian orientation: the attitude towards the 'best of all causes', and its inverse:. This repetition compulsion, this urge to repeat, is referred to by Alice Miller as the "logic of absurdity".

Bradshaw As soon as our potential experience becomes our actual experience —as soon as we have a stake in its goodness—our brains get busy looking for ways to think about the experience that will allow us to appreciate it. First of all, there is a curious, cloudy sort of argument, much affected by the professional rhetoricians of Prussia, who are sent out to instruct and correct the minds of Americans or Scandinavians. It consists of going into convulsions of incredulity and scorn at the mention of Russia's responsibility of Servia, or England's responsibility of Belgium; and suggesting that, treaty or no treaty, frontier or no frontier, Russia would be out to slay Teutons or England to steal Colonies.

Chesterton no page. It turned out, England was out to steal colonies industrial patents etc after all. Furthermore, the diaries of the French ambassador to the Czar confirm that at the Russian court many were already sampling anticipated flavors of victory over a defeated Germany when it was still high time to save the peace before WWI. Many travel sites forewarn potential tourists that -in certain foreign locales- uniformed officials may tend to extract money from tourists under a variety of pretexts, which is seen as extortion and harassment only awful people could The same bilking can easily be wishfully ethicized.

A nice policeman -who among other things is a gifted saxophone player, and the sweet daddy of three precious children- wants to prevent you from harming yourself -or others-; he's merely doing his duty as he operates a speed trap. The typical riposte is that the 'sweet daddy on duty' doesn't line his own pockets like the corrupt cop from an exotic locale does.

Most often he doesn't, indeed: his paycheck merely depends on it. One person's rogue can be another person's Robin Hood: Stalin and Mujica robbed banks to fund revolutionary activities. Though we have wept for him, Though we have prayed All through the night-years— What if we wake one shimmering morning to Hear the fierce hammering Of his firm knuckles Hard on the door?

Shall we not shudder? In she was named poet laureate for the state of Illinois. In , she was the first black woman appointed as consultant in poetry to the Library of Congress, a post now known as Poet Laureate. She lived in Chicago until her death on December 3, Blacks Third World Press, Nothing cut or polished. Windows here face west.

Sunrise colors first the top of a huge construction crane where the new hospital slowly climbs its own stone steps. The crane is like nothing else in the landscape. Two sentinels. Then, everywhere, day. Last lit, it will be first to go dark tonight when light shines in our eyes, some days magenta, some days poured gold. Overheated room and talk and talk and no one listening. Steady drumbeat in the downspouts, tuneful as monsoon rain in a Graham Greene book.

I wash my sticky hands in a white sink above a beheaded broccoli. Later, warm wind lifts the leaves of the pin oaks as I walk to my car. Lines of ragged clouds illuminated by town lights chase after the storm,. She lives on a farm outside Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. I have the memory of Thai words in my mouth, thick tongue at the back of my throat. In my nose I have the aroma of jasmine rice. In my chin I have massaman curry. Salt from the ocean and crisp banana leaves rattle my heart. There is the rough shell of rambutan fruit in my skin and the sting of jellyfish in my veins.

One ear carries the crank of my tongue breaking down; the other, the laughter directed at me afterward. There is a lift to my wrists from saying goodbye from the sandwich baggies full of drink, twisted to me with a rubber band. When we went to the beach, I knelt down and swallowed the sand. When the penguin father releases his chick to the sea, perhaps he remembers the longest night, the moving huddle of penguins, his great body hovering over his egg. The memory of his turn on the perimeter is the ghost of a dream, snow covered. As her child enters the water, the penguin mother might recall cradling him in the cave of her body, the texture of feather on skin.

I birthed you into the world of breath, where you might gasp for your own voice. My body became an ark of bone for you, and you came out grasping for light. I held you beneath star and storm, our skin pulsed with heartbeat. Now your blood beats toward the sea.

When the time comes for you to leave, I will stand on the perimeter, and I will watch you fly. Are we machinery beating toward Him, or a piece of the universe embodied? My womb: The birth of two children, the tomb of three, a furnace of words that bleed singing into the world. I hold my creations as long as I can, and let them fly.

She is currently working on a second chapbook and a YA novel. Snow: years of anger following hours that float idly down — the blizzard drifts its weight deeper and deeper for three days or sixty years, eh? Then the sun! The man turns and there — his solitary track stretched out upon the world. William Carlos Williams was a poet, novelist, essayist, magazine editor, and playwright who simultaneously maintained a successful career as a medical doctor. He also had a love of painting and art, nurtured by his mother, who trained as a painter in Paris.

We hold lands inside us like embryos wanting life. Stones we have crossed, some without knowing. Some forgotten. No matter, they breathe inside of us like memories seeping through the sheets, we toss and turn before our dreams color. Nothing turns inside of me, connecting me to its breath, calling me Mother. Land spans inside instead no longer distant and foreign. Saints have called and I have responded Like old women — hands up, eyes closed — Holy Ghost spilled over in Communion wine cups.

I drink while body broken like lands open. Somewhere in heaven my father is praying for rain to fall on his seeds. Lord, have mercy. The following mornings, after kneeling before the sunrise, and rising with it, it was customary for Dad to put on his armor, sealed with his freshly polished black shoes that waited for him at his bedside. It was a Saturday when Dad walked into freshly fallen snow. Who knew later that night he would not make his shoes shinier than stars in a darkened sky, or that the house would grow silent without his high-pitched preparation piercing air; no thin pages turning like leaves in the breeze?

And that following morning, Dad would not go down on his knees nor rise as the sun. He would not put on his clothes and collar, tie his spaghetti-thin laces tight. No, his black wingtips would not be waiting for him, but instead, for me to take them home without him. They both would come, pain in rounded arms like holding a basket full of freshly picked string beans. She works with groups and individuals interested in using art on their healing journey, leads retreats, and offers online poetry classes. Her own poetry is featured in a number of magazines and her chapbook, broken ritual , was published by Finishing Line Press.

For more, visit: www. Plays the guitar a Spanish ballad I barely recognize I slip over his voice on the pavement tripping on lyrics and averted gazes. I lay a few dollar bills in his guitar case but know I should have also put my bones inside. I look at him one last time and realize we both understand this long hairline fracture on the back side of autumn.

Her first full length book, Floodwater , was released by Glass Lyre Press in and won the Lyrebird award. Floodwater Glass Lyre Press , Available on Amazon. Available online at Barnes and Noble. Send an e-mail to publisher glasslyrepress. The line between life and death depended so it seemed upon the imposition of her will.

Like the live shells, so many of them tossed on the sand, her offering the fragile whites back to the sea, tossing them maniacally, as far as the child could see. As if she could have saved them, as if she heard cries from the marrow of their coiled-in selves. She pens fragile words, offering them back to the sea, tossing them far, as far as she can see. As if words will save her from the marrow of her coiled-in self.

Luxuriate in its beetness, its daffydility. Who are You? And who am I? Author photo by Kate Reeves. She and her husband relocated full-time to Vermont in order to experience rural life and enjoy the outdoors in all its seasons. She organizes literary readings for Osher Lifelong Education at Dartmouth and is currently compiling an anthology of Osher poets and writers.

Book cover created by Kate Reeves. Kate is a professional gardener and artist living in Woodstock, VT. I folded a battalion, a fleet of origami peace cranes, their wings creased into Japanese paper, crisp lines, astute beaks, sky-pointed mouths, peace, with every fold, I visualized peace, these flat lifeless squares becoming dimensional birds, a murmuration of paper ready to take flight into the world.

My hands grew familiar with the movements after the first two or three cranes took shape, then it became just a physical twisting and folding and sculpting and bending that I did not have to really give much attention, just involuntary finger movement crane making, while my mind drifted into the broken, the wartorn, the unloved, the helpless, and I folded, and I folded, a meditation in paper. Once in a Blue Moon take your clothes off outside and meet the rising night, remember how the air feels as your only garment, how your nipples kiss the sky like a long lost lover, dress yourself in only blue moon blue.

Once in a Blue Moon, look in the mirror and ink the glass with fingerprints, smudge your reflecting window with how many parts you love about your body, your glowing, glowing body, point out the curves that sing, the lines and folds that bless the body as shrine, cursive script the word Beauty over the glass echo of your face and trace your shape in love, just LOVE. Once in a Blue Moon, look up at that glowing pale world, that constant follower, that moon silver wolf mouth, and hear every poem of unrequited desire that has been written under that spectral waning waxing balloon, and take all the words into your heart like you are the YOU that every poem was written to.

Once in a Blue Moon. I can hear myself better underwater, when the soft horizon of wet climbs the edges of bathtub white and my skin dives below the roaring whisper of rising water. I lie down, creating my own rolling wave, as the force of my flesh pushes a small tsunami backwards in a slow arch and forward around my waist to the front opposite tub wall. I can never get my entire body submerged, hills of breast and belly making whale dance ripples of cold, the air still biting at what is not underwater.

Head back, under, my ears fill, the nature of the body, plugging the holes of sound until I myself, become the stillness, the slow breath of my bones echoes like god noise, like wind trapped in a bottle, I listen. I can hear myself better underwater, become surround sound reverberation, movement of slow floating, I swim in the music a swallow makes, a hum, drinking myself in, the resonance of my heartbeat like my chest has a new song. It is a pulling to center, when the waters envelope me, a call back to the ocean where I am a part of everything and everything is a part of me.

I say the beginnings of poem into the porcelain air, and I can feel the earth hear. Wingspan Golden Dragonfly Press, Each book she sells in person, or from her website, comes with a free bookmark which is a white feather. Coggin tells people that she plucked the feather right out of her own wings. We believe it!

It is filled with enchantment from beginning to end. All evening the town was quiet and we could hear the sea though far and miles away like trains that carry night through Novembered air. A warm afternoon rain after which light changed everything the way stepping outside after illness does. Maybe I want to live. She can be found on her website jeanietomasko. Her work has been featured in solo exhibits in Door County and Madison, Wisconsin; and juried exhibits in Wisconsin and Arizona, as well as in on-line magazines.

Collaboration rocks! Postcards are 4. Prologue by Jeanie Tomasko, Concrete Wolf, The canyon water ran black, the driftwood ran gray on a day when sky blended into sea a seamless bone. Slivered ancient trees. Lines around the eyes of wizened faces of locals nearly worn away. Old timber,. The lapping of tiny waves announces a boat.

A fisherman, a net all the same soft icy hue. Memory of an air-mail letter, an atlas traced with music softly playing behind in pale yellow rooms. Light candles,. Send books. All this gray quiet splintered silence tells her as if the sea could spell. Because the distance from land-shore to island is a fingersnap in the constant of all time.

Because the tides bless fishermen and landlocked alike, full creels the harvest here, no watery graves, no tears. Because the store displays bait and boat, strong needles for sewing the lace of fishing line, not delicate woman-lace. Because the sun burns with savage brightness, much as the evening stars will burn unwatched and unwished upon. Because the ghosts of old souls and older relics own the dark, with nary a mortal light upon any land, sea or shore. Because here, no one interprets the thousand pin-pricks composing a symphony in the eggy blackness of night.

Because the fragrance of this summer conjures memory after memory of all pasts and futures. Because there is no caretaker, no guardian to aid thin fog search the inlet for crevice with which to gain purchase—. I wish to walk barefoot on old stone, become one with the earth and sea, learn their secrets,. I dream the silvered splash of nighttime life we never see, watch the gentle.

It sings my heart shoreward. You may reach Tobi at sprreview gmail. Romance and Rust Blue Horse Press, For authorities whose hopes are shaped by mercenaries? Not for these the paper nautilus constructs her thin glass shell. Giving her perishable souvenir of hope, a dull white outside and smooth- edged inner surface glossy as the sea, the watchful maker of it guards it day and night; she scarcely.

The deepest feeling always shows itself in silence; not in silence, but restraint. Once where there was a prickley-pear —. Moore was born in Kirkwood, Missouri. She taught at the Carlisle Indian Industrial School in Carlisle, Pennsylvania, until , when Moore began to publish poetry professionally. From until , Moore served as editor of the literary and cultural journal, The Dial. This continued her role, similar to that of Pound, as a patron of poetry, encouraging promising young poets, including Elizabeth Bishop, Allen Ginsberg, John Ashbery and James Merrill, and publishing early work, as well as refining poetic technique.

She often composed her own poetry in syllabics. Not long after throwing the first pitch for the season in Yankee Stadium, Moore suffered a stroke. She suffered a series of strokes thereafter, and died in Excerpted from PoemHunter. Snow melting on the roof and damp from Pike Lake bring chunks of plaster down on our heads, a small matter with Vivaldi on the phonograph and the room filled with cigarette smoke and poets who drop their new work on the table before me.

Memorization no longer necessary, reciting is out of style. They shadow work on the poem that rises and falls in me, as a glacial lake laps at its beaches. Look for the candles that sputter in my window. I welcome those who venture back across the Lethe. Her most recent book From the Book of Remembrance Shanti Arts, is a collection of poems and paintings. She is currently working on a full-length collection of poetry titled Iterate and a collection of poetic non-fiction pieces titled Beholding , which explore her deep relationship to the Vermont landscape she lives within.

Find out more about this author at her website: www. Although you sit in a room that is gray, Except for the silver Of the straw-paper, And pick At your pale white gown; Or lift one of the green beads Of your necklace, To let it fall; Or gaze at your green fan Printed with the red branches of a red willow; Or, with one finger, Move the leaf in the bowl— The leaf that has fallen from the branches of the forsythia Beside you… What is all this? I know how furiously your heart is beating.

I do not know which to prefer, The beauty of inflections Or the beauty of innuendoes, The blackbird whistling Or just after. Icicles filled the long window With barbaric glass. The shadow of the blackbird Crossed it, to and fro. The mood Traced in the shadow An indecipherable cause. O thin men of Haddam, Why do you imagine golden birds?

Do you not see how the blackbird Walks around the feet Of the women about you? At the sight of blackbirds Flying in a green light, Even the bawds of euphony Would cry out sharply. He rode over Connecticut In a glass coach. Once, a fear pierced him, In that he mistook The shadow of his equipage For blackbirds. It was evening all afternoon. It was snowing And it was going to snow. The blackbird sat In the cedar-limbs. The houses are haunted By white night-gowns. None are green, Or purple with green rings, Or green with yellow rings, Or yellow with blue rings.

None of them are strange, With socks of lace And beaded ceintures. People are not going To dream of baboons and periwinkles. Only, here and there, an old sailor, Drunk and asleep in his boots, Catches Tigers In red weather. He attended Harvard University as an undergraduate from to He planned to travel to Paris as a writer, but after working briefly as a reporter for the New York Herald Times, he decided to study law. Bar in He practiced law in New York City until Though he had serious determination to become a successful lawyer, Stevens had several friends among the New York writers and painters in Greenwich Village, including the poets William Carlos Williams, Marianne Moore, and E.

More than any other modern poet, Stevens was concerned with the transformative power of the imagination. Composing poems on his way to and from the office and in the evenings, Stevens continued to spend his days behind a desk at the office, and led a quiet, uneventful life. Though now considered one of the major American poets of the century, he did not receive widespread recognition until the publication of his Collected Poems , just a year before his death.

Age is still decanters on the table the size of small chandeliers or cloud foam. You, remember, are the one that is unmade as of yet, unknown. Medium merely to an image, a woman. Somehow your barnacled vessel lit from within like a carriage clock or sea-washed amber stones. Have you been taken? The Victorians inquired; from flesh into silver salts, into gaslight paper or gold? Everyone becoming older. One unknowable instant— even as the aperture quietly holds, even as the light.

We live for the tunnel, the years signatured together into the surreal— for our art imperfect and striving. Cloud Pharmacy White Pine Press, An eagle settles in the madrona between the moon and me, while sun bleeds over the Olympics. I have just seen the meaty wing of a seagull. I imagine rolling over sand. I am burying my transgressions.

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  4. Understand the eagle has a lesson in solitude. Understand even sunset has enslaved the hunter. Because this is new to me I retreat. The female fans a redd. Tentative I shift, watch her drift out, dart back to nose in under a branch. Now exposed, I fish for the horn with a twig,. Shimmy it upright,. That night I awaken, the moon a new-cut onion, and myself, open and raw. Ronda co-edits the literary journal, Crab Creek Review.

    Poet and photographer, she is attracted to words and textures like a moth to a bare bulb on a twilit porch. As a talented photographer, Ronda Broatch included several of her original photographs in the collection, Lake of Fallen Constellations , as section dividers. Here are three examples of her stunning work:. The light is shut out, the curls of cloud separate, the blue slip of skin dissolves. Today, I practice making kolacky. Outside, the turning leaves. I fold two points of each square to the middle: small, crossed hands.

    Colors of apricot, berry, darken inside, like turning leaves. Like my mother, I make kolacky, and I want to get it right. Waste, a bitter taste: the sugar-scorched underside that burning leaves. Some I cut too large, ungainly. Some crack; some open, leaking jam.

    The best: wee swaddlings on the nursery-pan. Comes wide yearning, leaves. Like my mother, I pencil notes, margin-side: what learning leaves. Like a mother on school mornings smiling doorside who, turning, grieves, I practice making kolacky.

    “An awake heart is like a sky that pours light.” ― Hafiz

    Like birds we turned our necks toward the black-eyed camera. Someone pitched a best version of us. There was laughter, our glossy teeth sparking like hammers, jostling, uncertain. The room pitched, rustling the curtain. We set eyes on that infinite aperture, future: found this portrait there, fixed like furniture. Jan Bottiglieri is a freelance writer living in suburban Chicago. Her chapbook, Where Gravity Pools the Sugar , was published in and her full-length poetry collection, Alloy , was recently published by Mayapple Press July, It is clear it was swung low, and high at times in arcs, a fun pendulum in magical air.

    Last spring, the old bay window over the back deck was Done in by ripsaw, crowbar and sledgehammer— Smashed into a pile of scattered debris on the deck. When the nest was torn open, its interior was empty like Some lost, ancient civilization once sheltered so well by its Intricate design. Now gone forever from our property, a sacrifice To our sliding deck door, a weatherproof invention— Man-made technology of high order, lacking, though, the Miracle that preceded it in that spot.

    Several of his poems appeared in the poetry collection, Portals And Piers In the summer of , six of his poems formed the text for a chamber music composition entitled, The Privileged Secrets of the Arch , performed by some musicians, including two members of the Milwaukee Symphony Orchestra and an opera singer. Because of a particular set of life experiences, Anderson considers himself a poet with a global perspective rather than a regional poet. His newest poetry collection, Navigating in the Sun , was recently published by Finishing Line Press Contact author for details at: stephen.

    Navigating in the Sun Finishing Line Press, The Blue Heron Speaks page will be on a brief summer vacation for the months of July and August , but we already have 2 fabulous featured poets lined up for September and October! Past young aspen and punky old balsa alike, before sunrise unhinges lids from dreams, the boy in him walks the dogs to the river, the best part of his day, he says, autumn river swiveling to grind the stones of his imagination, carrying ice from the spring that cracks granite at 13, feet, where forget-me-nots blood-drop small breed late, where eagle feeds on voles, and a bull elk swells his thick neck bugling to mate.

    Above him, magpies rock the pear tree shading the grave of the wolf who lopes underground now, grave of his wild white heart gone to the stars. The boy in him laughs at the new pup shaped like something between black bear and buffalo stumbling and biting through his own leash. The boy in him has given up on restraints, mind careening free as the torrent pouring over boulders, cutting through the park named after eagles who will return with first snow.

    Rain-slick in the lower pasture, two new foals fall from their mothers, flatten onto grass like the deflated garbage bags I fill with the detritus of my life and toss in the cans across the road. When the mare bites through the birth sac the male colt breathes, shakes up on splayed knees. Perched atop lava rock, blue-footed boobies and pelicans preened, scattering as if some internal radar screen lit with beeps alerting them to a school of yellow tails hidden in that smoky intelligence of blue.

    Would that I was that intuitive or purposeful, not adrift and paddling with nowhere sure to go while my husband threw rocks of joy for the dogs on the beach. Do they hear horses stampede through the muddy fields of my heart, still locked in spring snow that refuses all attempts to melt now that vultures have replaced the eagles whose wings all winter were the one certainty that gave cadence to the disassembling air? About Pam Uschuk. Her new collection of poems, Blood Flower , appeared in February Translated into more than a dozen languages, her work appears in over three hundred journals and anthologies worldwide, including Poetry , Ploughshares , Agni Review , Parnassus Review , and Valparaiso Review.

    She also has a home in Tucson, Arizona. Working a poetics rare for a North American writer, Uschuk has crafted a poetry equally steeped in nature and political resistance. This is an ecological poetics of engagement, a mythic poetry—part Lorca, part Rachel Carson. Blood Flower Wings Press, As we gathered for poems you always brought out the good china. Little blue scenes from an ancient dynasty. The mother of our group, you placed yourself at the head of the table. To slice cheese we used Confederate knives dug up near your farmhouse in Pennsylvania. Everything was crafted, finely done: the French antique chair in which no one was permitted to sit.

    Your endings, well, they were magnificent. You were the gymnast, arms raised high, a perfect landing. And so we wait, we listen, we return to the uncarved block. This is poetry. Tolerate nothing phony, nothing weak. You read each line out loud as you commented.

    So we must be careful in valuing words.

    Damien McClendon - "Slavery Auditions for the Role of Jesus in a Movie Called America"

    Everyone will then say we just acted naturally. Everything in this world leans against something and so did you that birthday morning. Wind coming off the bay, sun reflecting on our windshield, we drove out to get your new glasses because this world is worth seeing. They fit perfectly. Coming home we passed the naval air station long ago closed down, the one for wars long since won, remembered its empty hangars, big ones with their doors wide open, waiting. Back at your place, one aging man, one ancient, we stepped under November branches that long since had dropped their leaves.

    I felt gentle pressure of your leaning on my arm: ninety-six-year-old pressure. His poems focus on family, work, nature and time and frequently echo classical carpe diem and ubi sunt motifs. He has two sons, one living with his son-in-law in Brooklyn, New York, and the other in Geneva, Switzerland. His daughter, son-in-law, and grandson live in Chevy Chase, Maryland.

    Give me hunger, O you gods that sit and give The world its orders. Give me hunger, pain and want, Shut me out with shame and failure From your doors of gold and fame, Give me your shabbiest, weariest hunger! But leave me a little love, A voice to speak to me in the day end, A hand to touch me in the dark room Breaking the long loneliness.

    In the dusk of day-shapes Blurring the sunset, One little wandering, western star Thrust out from the changing shores of shadow. Let me go to the window, Watch there the day-shapes of dusk And wait and know the coming Of a little love. Blossoms of babies Blinking their stories Come soft On the dusk and the babble; Little red gamblers, Handfuls that slept in the dust. Who came soft— Back to the sod, To silence and dust; Gray gamblers, Handfuls again. He established his reputation with Chicago Poems , and then Cornhuskers , for which he received the Pulitzer Prize in Soon after the publication of these volumes Sandburg wrote Smoke and Steel , his first prolonged attempt to find beauty in modern industrialism.

    With these three volumes, Sandburg became known for his free verse poems that portrayed industrial America. In the twenties, he started some of his most ambitious projects, including his study of Abraham Lincoln. From childhood, Sandburg loved and admired the legacy of President Lincoln. For thirty years he sought out and collected material, and gradually began the writing of the six-volume definitive biography of the former president. These later volumes contained pieces collected from brief tours across America which Sandburg took each year, playing his banjo or guitar, singing folk-songs, and reciting poems.

    He received a second Pulitzer Prize for his Complete Poems in His final volumes of verse were Harvest Poems, and Honey and Salt Carl Sandburg died on July 22, Carl Sandburg: Collected Poems. Wrapped in the scent of leaves, the dream is careful. New skin unfolds beneath the old, a lie for beauty.

    The earth is cold after rain. My secret bed hangs quietly in mid-air. I know nothing of the future, but inherit this sleep. Perhaps the world is empty as I am brief like a reckless soul turning into light— weightless beyond safety. First published by Poetry Magazine , April Collected in Night Traveler , Foothills Publishing, Summer mornings burn bright, brighter and brighter until blue shadows melt into the creases of this whitewashed storefront, worn wooden steps,.

    A slight breeze ripples the air, raising a swirl of pink dust. Time is passing. The wide plank floors creak. The iron cash register pings when the drawer springs open. Not shortcake. Fresh fruit in season. A stack of banana nut pancakes. Squeezed juice. Buckwheat honey. Elderberry jelly. This is exclusive.

    First published in BlueLine. I fidget. M J Iuppa lives on a small farm near the shores of Lake Ontario. Between Worlds is her most recent chapbook, featuring lyric essays, flash fiction and prose poems Foothills Publishing, John Fisher College. You can follow her musings on writing and creative sustainability on Red Rooster Farm on mjiuppa. Between Worlds , prose chapbook Foothills Publishing, Within Reach Cherry Grove Collections, Night Traveler Foothills Publishing, My mother relished clean.

    Her druthers, fresh linens daily— thread count rising. She never missed a shower or a chance to wash a load of clothes. Likely we were the most washed family on Bloomer Drive— pants and shirts and socks barely worn, spun with Tide. Tags snipped, new garments agitated in the machine before they touched our skin. Her fierce independence fell to the floor with the towel when cancer pressed in. The Bather came to help my mother get in and out of the tub She could make this ritual happen. My mother let her— Bather to the Queen of Sheba. In reverence. A waft of cherry blossoms in winter.

    My mother stiff, her body, intent on holding on— thawed. I witnessed her soften, melt into Egyptian cotton. To anyone. Ground broken? Like a horse led first by the halter, then habituated to bit, bridle, weight. Broken so it may follow. Or defective like the cheap plastic bird feeder with yellow perches that fail even the finches? Like the amber glass in the country church window where empty pews wait inside, the altar cloth untouched?

    Her allergic reaction to the toxic toxic chemo juices streaming through her veins causing the worst pain she ever had. Even though I look just fine. A glitch, a glut of chemicals sending messages from the pain place to the spinal cord to the brain. Not like a hangnail or a splinter. Or when you stub your toe and it hurts like hell for a time. Not like a broken wrist, ankle, not the broken bone pain that mends. About Gail Goepfert Gail Goepfert is a poet, amateur photographer, and teacher.

    After many years in the classroom with seventh graders, she pursues her passion for the arts and nature. She is an associate editor for RHINO Poetry, teaches developmental online English classes, and walks the natural world with a camera as often as possible. A Mind on Pain is her first chapbook. She loves the cross-over of the arts. A former student set one of her poems to music. Her photographs appeared in Olentangy and 3Elements Reviews. Gail Goepfert was born and raised in the Midwest states of Illinois and Ohio, from near the Piasa Bird along the bluffs of the Mississippi to the eagle-watch waters of the river near the Quad-Cities, from the Glass City, Toledo, Ohio, to a long and present stay in the northwest suburbs of Chicago.

    You can find her online at: www. These unflinching and empathic poems speak to us all, most especially those women suffering from fibromyalgia and they are mostly women who have shared such a journey, and those who care about them. Yet this is no allegory. I do not know where either of us can turn Just at first, waking from the sleep of each other.

    I do not know how we can bear The river struck by the gold plummet of the moon, Or many trees shaken together in the darkness. We shall wish not to be alone And that love were not dispersed and set free— Though you defeat me, And I be heavy upon you. But like earth heaped over the heart Is love grown perfect. Like a shell over the beat of life Is love perfect to the last. So let it be the same Whether we turn to the dark or to the kiss of another; Let us know this for leavetaking, That I may not be heavy upon you, That you may blind me no more.

    I burned my life, that I might find A passion wholly of the mind, Thought divorced from eye and bone, Ecstasy come to breath alone. I broke my life, to seek relief From the flawed light of love and grief. With mounting beat the utter fire Charred existence and desire. It died low, ceased its sudden thresh. Now that I know How passion warms little Of flesh in the mould, And treasure is brittle,—. She has attained the permanence She dreamed of, where old stones lie sunning.

    Untended stalks blow over her Even and swift, like young men running. Always in the heart she loved Others had lived, — she heard their laughter. She lies where none has lain before, Where certainly none will follow after. She married in and was widowed in In , she married her second husband, the poet Raymond Holden, whom she divorced in For thirty-eight years, she reviewed poetry for The New Yorker. She died in New York City on February 4, The Blue Estuaries by Louise Bogan.

    A girl goes into the woods and for what reason disappears behind branches and is never heard from again. It was a clear bright day very much like today. It was today. Just released as well, Malala. Some broken, some not. The sink is always full of disappointment. Unnoticed daylight, a measure of sadness— chipped sunflower plates overpowering the blue delphinium teacups. Sometimes the crows remind us, we are only ink and paper. Book of ghosts. Whispers and watermarks. Whatever still reflects: paper, waves, a dove suggesting God. A crowd of drunken lovers.

    Newspaper hats, new couples falling from couches and love- seats—the pleasure remembered, never the regret. Look at our lives. Earthquake, accident, layers of God removing the dead skin from my palms. Frida, I made a dress from your postcards. Shattered spine. Fence post leaning against the road. How many words are there for pain? Tell me how the gossip in old books holds you near, how whiskey is the valley you want to visit. Yes, it hurts to fall— ache, tenderness —but each scar is a sign your system is working.

    Kelli Russell Agodon is a poet, writer, and editor from the Northwest. She lives in a small seaside town where when not writing, she does graphic design and photography. She is also an avid paddleboarder and mountain biker who has a fondness for old dogs, bonfires, desserts, and fedoras. Hourglass Museum, White Pine Press, Richard Havenga seeks to make the ordinary extraordinary through close, personal observations of nature. Weaving words of grace and gratitude through the tapestry of his exquisite photographs, Richard shares everyday miracles with the rigorous curiosity of a naturalist, and the immeasurable perceptions of an artist.

    Richard writes with a supple blend of awareness, spirituality, and discovery. Always attentive outdoors, always searching for new epiphanies of beauty, always grateful for the extravagant gifts of creation, he leads the reader-viewer along an inviting trail of words and images; gifts thoughtfully selected, and graciously given. Find out more about this author:. In the city square, human shames, betrayals,.

    Your song over a quieting sea, a fado in crescendo. All day he watches the monkeypod he never climbed as a boy. Names of lovers and lost friends became dust in dying cities, in the wind of pastures of silent animals and stones grown into an eerie array. I walked in solitude, a land. Altered landscapes, blurring colors of gray sea beating beige cliffs, mountain passes disappearing into invisible suns. On timeless sands of deserts, abandoned to hunger and night, I wandered beneath aimless birds drifting in the sky.

    Her first book of poems, Dream City , was published in by Iris Press. She is currently at work on a second collection of poems and a novel. Find her on Verse Daily. The quickening unfolds — a nightingale sings a peach blossom from invisible stillness. Nothing is permeable. Not any one thing. Leaves turn brittle, rain dries into nothingness, a soundlessness of birds fly tremendous distances, rocks break into light, bells forget how to ring inside a Chrysanthemum.

    The singular moment when things are alive does not have to make sound in order to cause amazement. Sometimes you are waiting for a message that never comes. We are impatient for the Spirit to lift the day like a small child into open arms of sky. Sometimes you face silence and the loneliness is overwhelming. You find no place you feel welcomed. Why does the heart not feel open? The sky is not the face of silence.


    Enter, instead, into the overwhelming,. The Spirit has wanted to share this message. It lets you know everything is fine.

    Poetry # 3 Serenade to Baby Jesus: Shafts of Wholeness Cause Oneness

    The Spirit has known you since you were born. Sometimes the answer has been in the Silence, and you have not been listening. Because you do not know it, you do not feel welcomed. Sometimes we are searching for the message in the right places, but impatience cannot find the Spirit. Like doors of butterflies, like jars of laughter, Spirit has been waiting for you. Light will split your chest open, breaking clouds over anvils, banging gongs. Martin Willitts Jr. Searching for What is Not There. Before Anything, There Was Mystery. Give them your heart, liver, lungs, the network of nerves, the strum of your breath.

    Let them deconstruct the architecture of your bones, pile them on the hill in an ossuary of discontent. Let them pull and release the sinews, tug apart the tendons, pluck the feathers. They will not find the mystery. Praise to the stillness when the baby falls asleep, a milky pearl suspended from his bottom lip, to the silence when the yapping dog gives up and curls into the shade, to the goldfish circling his glassy walls.

    Honor the moment between the shore-churned waves, the hour of dawn when the cricket folds his legs at last. Wait for three am, when at last he sighs, turns over in bed and stops snoring. Step into the still and silent air after last wisp of the Santa Ana has swept the canyon.

    Praise again to the rose and the morning glory and the magnolia motionless in morning fog. She has published two books, Fugitive Pigments and Embers on the Stairs. A third book, No Longer at this Address , will appear in She loves the light on November afternoons, the smell of the ocean, a warm back to curl against in bed.

    She hates pretense, fundamentalism and sauerkraut. Since last month was National Poetry Month, I wanted a change of pace for this page. If poets paint with words, then visual artists create poetry through the beauty of image, form and visual concepts. To honor the light-bearing month of May, it is my great pleasure to introduce and shine a spotlight on the talents of photographer, Megan Morgan. I hope you enjoy these majestic glimpses of light in their natural and unexpected forms. Light reaches out to us in spring — touches the cheek with soft lips — reminds us that summer will soon awaken.

    I hope you will come visit this page often in May, when in need of some spiritual breathing space. Sometimes just pausing in our day to gaze at artful beauty, can change our whole outlook. Let there be light! Feathered light finds my eyes like fingers brushing against skin — like the flow of water on tender feet longing to leave the shore. There is a boat that waits for me, a drifting raft takes me away from the island of dreams, nestled beneath covers and layers of silk.

    I pull a thread, stare at its texture — its braided, unraveling tube. Like Alice, getting smaller, I dive into the tunnel — growing bolder with each layer of life floating across my vision. I must get to the boat, I think. I must keep going. The blinds unfold, letting in the full circle of sun. I have arrived. Megan Morgan is a visual artist currently living in Northern California who focuses mainly on photography. Additionally, as a yoga instructor, she believes in the goodness and uniqueness of all people and strives to find ways to capture the best of this lifetime with the people and places she teaches and photographs.

    You can find her musings, websites and other creative work here:. In honor of National Poetry Month, I have chosen to feature a special writer who is no longer with us. I hope you enjoy these three poems by May Sarton. We have to dare to be ourselves, however frightening or strange that self may prove to be. Now I become myself.

    Before you reach the morning? Or the end of the poem is clear? Or love safe in the walled city? Now to stand still, to be here, Feel my own weight and density! The black shadow on the paper Is my hand; the shadow of a word As thought shapes the shaper Falls heavy on the page, is heard. All fuses now, falls into place From wish to action, word to silence, My work, my love, my time, my face Gathered into one intense Gesture of growing like a plant. As slowly as the ripening fruit Fertile, detached, and always spent, Falls but does not exhaust the root, So all the poem is, can give, Grows in me to become the song, Made so and rooted by love.

    Now there is time and Time is young. O, in this single hour I live All of myself and do not move. I, the pursued, who madly ran, Stand still, stand still, and stop the sun! On the ashes of this nest Love wove with deathly fire The phoenix takes its rest Forgetting all desire. After the flame, a pause, After the pain, rebirth. You cannot call it old You cannot call it young. No phoenix can be told, This is the end of the song. It struggles now alone Against death and self-doubt, But underneath the bone The wings are pushing out.

    And one cold starry night Whatever your belief The phoenix will take flight Over the seas of grief. To sing her thrilling song To stars and waves and sky For neither old nor young The phoenix does not die. Is she really here? What is the saving word from so deep in the past. Here under the shock of love, I am open To you, Primal spirit, one with rock and wave, One with survivors of flood and fire, Who have rebuilt their homes a million times, Who have lost their children and borne them again. The words I hear are strength, laughter, endurance. Old Woman I meet you deep inside myself.