Blackmore's Night- 'The Dancer and the Moon'

"There is something inside me- that lies dormant- it is touched by these songs. When it springs into life, twisting and dancing madly to a new world, one that I cannot see or touch- I can only feel its presence. It is truly astonishing . . ."

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aHgSr6AsepI

Literally Speaking . . .

Have you ever sat in a chair that was just 'much too hard?' Literally speaking, you may find that complaint to be much more honest than you may have thought . . .

            I remember that the chairs in the Concierge Center all had their own deficiency. It was interesting to note the variations which were consistently present, though, in the nature of their complaints. One had a bad spine, and would constantly fall upon the floor when roused; in fact, I think I remember sitting in that chair about five times before it completely failed me, and then I had to switch, for my legs were trapped beneath one. And then, of course, there were always those which had general problems.

            There was one in particular I remember, which had a small, twisted-looking lesion. Every time I sat in it, I would begin to slide down gradually, until I was forced into a new seat. This chair had a better stature, but after awhile, I found that it had problems with its disposition. I would slide deep inside of its arms and struggle for freedom; the chair would not let me go . . . and at the end of the day, I would venture that parts of me looked- well, triangular.

            It is important to note that these chairs loved to impress me with their design. To be honest this was probably the most consistent period of my life in which I grazed the world of tattoos; where I had previously been particular to marks burned into my skin, I would find myself flattened, turned, and often sandwiched between two vertices, and pressed into leaven. I took on the shapes of all forms and variations . . . in fact, I remember once walking through the door of my house, and abandoning myself to the closet. I hid myself for two days straight, but it didn't work as I expected. I got up one morning and rested idly by the stove, looking for something to eat. I was so thin at this point, that I was almost transparent, and therefore sitting on the stove was no issue. In just a few moments, however, my problem had escalated- my mother accidentally switched me out for a pancake, and I was soon greasing myself in the skillet . . .

            As you can see, then, there is a bit of fascination which surrounds the chairs. For me, there is a long relationship of excitement, and I have had many an encounter with their artful ways. Very seldom has an innocent person sat down in one of those chairs, at least by my count, and learned to appreciate the vein of malice by which they're supported. Therefore, this is my message to those poor souls who still sit, comfortably relaxed in the chair of their choice; remember that when you are in the Concierge Center, you may find yourself in a position that you cannot evade . . . literally speaking!

Life of Color ~

August 20, 2014 -

People ask, 'why do you follow your dreams when they might endanger your life?' These are the people who question the crime rate of cities, gripe about their loosening pockets, and only see the trafficked myriad. If all of our life was viewed through this shaded bauble, then it would be an epidemic of unknown fears. What the people who believe in this shaded sphere don't know, is that I do not follow my dreams so that I can die sooner, but because I need to live in a world of color . . .

Lady Katherine ~

'Lady Katherine' (born 1926, in Monterey, Tenn.)

This is a picture of my grandmother. Her full name is Mary Katherine Way. Her husband used to call her Lady Katherine, though, so the name stuck with her.

She is a born fighter with strong and stubborn spirit. She has walked through several life-threatening battles steadfastly, and defied the doctors when she wanted. To date, she is a survivor of cancer, listeria, heart attack, and shingles. She has defied doctors who told her she may never walk again.

She places one four in front of the other with gumption, but also humor- last night actually, she told me quite an interesting story. I must admit that I am still musing over the ghost who lives down down on 'Buckner Hill.' The mystifying 'jack-leg' incurred by her childhood doctor, which, according to rumors, was due to drinking some form of white moonshine.

There are some rather odd parts to this story-piece. When my grandmother looks at me after telling it, I notice the twinkle in her eyes. It makes me wonder if she really knows more than she lets on-

And do you know . . . I think this lady must hold more secrets than I could ever name!