The Chosen Is in The House.

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jones jones
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Post by jones jones »

My dear mother Lola died rather suddenly when I was still a lad in short pants. Until then she'd never ever complained of feeling ill. Well not while I was present anyway. I think I must have been about eleven going on twelve. From experience I'd hazard a guess that this was the time when a boy really needed his momma. Eleven plus years isn't a very long time in the life of a pre-teen lad to get to know his mother.

I have three monochrome photographs of Lola which sit upon an old Oak Welsh dresser in my diningroom. They are the only images I have of her. One is a "coming out" photo of her aged sixteen, wearing a long dress and a rose behind her right ear. Another is a wedding photograph with several bridesmaids and flower girls, and of course my dad, in front of the Cathedral in which they were married. The last one is the most interesting of the three.

It was taken on her birthday which is on 9 January. Lola is sitting in the middle of a three seater settee, with two of my sisters, Pamela and Rosemary seated seated on either side of her. I being the odd boy out, am seated on the rug at Lola's feet.

Now we are posed before a large window and the photo was taken at night, shortly before her birthday guests starting arriving.

Above her head is this bright light and it has a sort of spooky look to it. It looks for all the world like a ball of fire with wings.

Okay, I know it's just a reflection from the flashgun on the Yashica reflex camera my dad was using. I mean what else could it have been? And hey, this is Jj the atheist speaking!

But eighteen days later on 27 January Lola collapsed and died.
"…I hate how I don’t feel real enough unless people are watching." — Chuck Palahniuk, Invisible Monsters
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And speaking of Lola ... Sunday is Patriot day in my Homeland. It will be the anniversary of what has become known as 9/11.

The last time I spent any length of time in New York was during the winter of 2005 and it was the first time I had returned home since 9/11. Of course I visited Ground Zero which at that time was just a big hole in the ground.

Standing on the sidewalk shivering in a -2 degree temperature, I gazed down at this gaping hole where four years ago the Twin Towers had proudly stood. Suddenly I felt this rush of warm air against my face, almost as if a hot summer wind had sprung up. As quickly as it had begun, this warm feeling vanished and I was back in a sub zero New York.

Later that night when I lay in bed in my hotel room in Manhattan, I thought about what had happened at Ground Zero.

I recalled something one of Lola's sisters had mentioned at her funeral. My mother had been "born behind the veil," that is born with a caul. A child "born with the caul" has a portion of the amniotic sac or membrane remaining on the head.

Apparently, and I guess this is just an old wive's tale, anyone born with the caul is usually psychic and has second sight.

So was it Lola's breath I felt at Ground Zero or just maybe some hot steam escaping near me? I'll never know for certain, but she loved her homeland America with a passion.
"…I hate how I don’t feel real enough unless people are watching." — Chuck Palahniuk, Invisible Monsters
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I was raised in a Christian home and attended a Christian primary school. I was taught about god and Jesus from day one. Because I was told the bible was "the word of god", my childish mind figured that the invisible man in the sky had actually written this book and then given it to us earthlings.

I was taught to pray; first the "gentle Jesus meek and mild" thing and later "our father." I believed that anything was possible with god and that if you were a good person and you prayed to him, he would listen.

As kids we used to "cross our heart" with sticky, grubby fingers and add; "god can strike me down stone dead if I am lying." Such was our belief in this man who sat in heaven, that the bona-fides of any kid who swore this oath were instantly recognized.

As I grew older I saw that even men and women who attended church every Sunday often did stuff from Monday to Saturday that wasn't right. The man two doors down from us attended church yet still kicked the **** out his wife every Friday night when he was drunk. The woman opposite us was collected by a guy in a big black auto every Saturday night after her husband had left for night shift at the factory. She went to church Sunday morning and evening.

When my pet puppy drowned, I prayed and prayed to god to bring him back to life, but he didn't. When my best friend got knocked down by a car and broke both his legs the day before we were due to go to summer camp, I begged god to heal him, but he didn't.

It took me quite long to lose my religion and I was already in college when I "saw the light" so to speak. I had given god a fair crack of the whip here - nearly nineteen years of my life - but now I was done with him.

It’s not like I just woke up one morning and said: "Hey, from today I am an atheist." No. I read the bible from cover to cover, I studied many of the books and I read and re-read stuff written by both sides - Christian and atheist. I began to think for myself, to question and then to doubt.

I think it was when I realized that man and nor god had written the bible that I stopped believing. That man had put in and left out whole gospels. Writings that did not suit the church, revelations that might make people question the role man had played and was still playing in their daily lives in and out of the church and calling it divine teachings.

I know I shouldn't pre-judge, but I now find myself mistrusting people who can't seem to wait to tell me they are a Christian; to me it is almost as if they are hiding behind this revelation, using it as a shield so that I will look no further than their faith.

I am well aware that there are millions of good earthlings in the world who believe in a god. Good for them; whatever floats your boat.

But ... I am an atheist and I am spiritual. I am an atheist and I am quite happy. I have never tried to, nor will I ever attempt to convince anyone to become an atheist.

All I ask is that they accord me the same courtesy.
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A fair witch crept to a young man’s side,

And he kiss’d her and took her for his bride.

But a Shape came in at the dead of night,

And fill’d the room with snowy light.

And he saw how in his arms there lay

A thing more frightful than mouth may say.

And he rose in haste, and follow’d the Shape

Till morning crown’d an eastern cape.

And he girded himself, and follow’d still

When sunset sainted the western hill.

But, mocking and thwarting, clung to his side,

Weary day!—the foul Witch-Bride.

- by William Allingham
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Post by jones jones »

The Orchard.

Oil On Canvas - Franz Dvorak (1862-1927) - c. 1912.

I love the colors in this painting!



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"As I write this now, it occurs to me that the peculiarity of most things we think of as fragile is how tough they truly are. There were tricks we did with eggs, as children, to show how they were, in reality, tiny load-bearing marble halls; while the beat of the wings of a butterfly in the right place, we are told, can create a hurricane across an ocean. Hearts may break, but hearts are the toughest of muscles, able to pump for a lifetime, seventy times a minutes, and scarcely falter along the way. Even dreams, the most delicate and intangible of things, can prove remarkably difficult to kill."

Neil Gaiman, Fragile Things: Short Fictions and Wonders
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"This living hand, now warm and capable

Of earnest grasping, would, if it were cold

And in the icy silence of the tomb,

So haunt thy days and chill thy dreaming nights

That thou wouldst wish thine own heart dry of blood

So in my veins red life might stream again,

And thou be conscience-calmed—see here it is—

I hold it towards you."

— John Keats, “This Living Hand”
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"She seems so cool, so focused, so quiet, yet her eyes remain fixed upon the horizon.

You think you know all there is to know about her immediately upon meeting her, but everything you think you know is wrong. Passion flows through her like a river of blood.

She only looked away for a moment, and the mask slipped, and you fell. All your tomorrows start here."

Neil Gaiman, “Strange Little Girls”

From Fragile Things: Short Fictions and Wonders
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"There was this little prince with a magic crown. An evil warlock kidnapped him, locked him in a cell in a huge tower and took away his voice. There was a window made of bars. The prince would smash his head against the bars hoping that someone would hear the sound and find him. The crown made the most beautiful sound that anyone ever heard. You could hear the ringing for miles. It was so beautiful, that people wanted to grab the air. They never found the prince. He never got out of the room. But the sound he made filled everything up with beauty."

— Julian Schnabel, Basquiat
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Christopher Eric Hitchens died on Thursday at the age of only sixty two. I found him to be a very complex earthling, but his book "God Is Not Great" made very interesting reading.
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The 15th-century church of Rodel on the Isle of Lewis, built for the warlike chiefs of the MacLeods, towers over the sea lochs of Scotland’s Outer Hebrides. Nothing in early modern Britain, from its cities to its remotest corners, was more political than religion. The church in every parish—nearly always the most imposing building—was as much a symbol of worldly control as a shrine to God.





Photo and caption from the December 2011 National Geographic’s fantastic article on the history of the King James Bible.
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Trying to get an angle where he might be able to get both Marilyn and JFK in the frame, Ray moved higher up in the Garden … and suddenly the moment arrived.



“It had been a noisy place, everybody all ‘rah rah rah,’” Ray recalls. “Then boom, on comes this light. There was no sound — no sound. It was like outer space.” Marilyn was on the stage, taking off her white fur to reveal that scandalous dress underneath. “It was skin-colored and it was really tight. She didn’t wear anything underneath it, it was all sewn on, and those Swarovski crystals were sparkling. And she used this long pause…. Then finally, she comes out with ‘Happy Biiiiirthday’ — she starts the whole breathy thing — and everybody just went into a swoon. I was praying because I had to guess at the exposure. It was a very long lens, which I had no tripod for, so I had to rest it on a pipe railing and try not to breathe.”

Above: Bill Ray’s most iconic photograph, and one of the most famous pictures ever taken of Marilyn Monroe, as she serenades JFK at the Garden.

LIFE Photographers Look Back)
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NEVER PUBLISHED: On the Set of ‘The Outlaw’



LIFE photographer John Florea was on the set of the controversial movie that made Jane Russell a star. Here she is, propping up her legs and reading a script.

Jane Russell: Her Sexiest Photos)
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By Albert Lynch (1851-1912)

Francais: Portrait d’une jeaune femme. (c1890)

Medium: Oil

Current Location: Unknown
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Eros earrings

Date: late 4th century B.C.

Dimensions: Height: 2 1/8 in. (5.398 cm) Diameter: 7/8 in. (2.223 cm)

Medium: Gold

Credit Line: Dallas Museum of Art
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Scotch Mist

A sober soaking rain; a Scotch mist will wet an Englishman to the skin.

Sandy

A general nick-name for a Scotchman, as Patty is for an Irishman, or Taffy for a Welchman; Sawny or Sandy being the familiar abbreviation or diminution of Alexander, a very favourite name among the Scottish nation.

Salmon-Gundy

Apples, onions, veal or chicken, and pickled herrings, minced fine, and eaten with oil and vinegar.

Round Robin

A mode of signing remonstrances practised by sailors on board the king’s ships, wherein their names are written in a circle, so that it cannot be discovered who first signed it, or was, in other words, the ringleader.

Punch / Contradiction

A liquor called by foreigners Contradition, from its being composed of spirits to make it strong, water to make it weak, lemon juice to make it sour, and sugar to make it sweet.

Prick-Eared

One whose ears are longer than his hair: an appellation frequently given to puritans, who considered long hair as the mark of the whore of Babylon.

Nick Name

A name given in ridicule or contempt: from the French nom de nique. Nique is a movement of the head to mark a contempt for any person or thing.

Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue by Captain Grose, 1811.
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Sir Sandford Fleming. This Scottish-Canadian was an inventor of time zones, explorer, engineer, and wearer of fabulous furs.
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~ What Shall I Eat? The Housewife’s Manual, by Miss E. Neill, 1892

via Internet Archive

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Jessie Hardy Stubbs (1876-1921) was a well known advocate for women’s suffrage and international peace. She held leadership positions in both the Congressional Union for Woman Suffrage and the Women’s Peace Society. Jessie was also one of the small band of suffragettes who made headlines when they hiked from New York City to Albany to petition the state legislature.

Sadly, Jessie suffered from mental health problems. In 1921 she became severely depressed. Her husband Benton MacKaye thought a trip away from their New York City home might soothe her nerves. He hired a nurse to accompany them to upstate New York, but while he purchased train tickets at Grand Central Station, Jessie ran off, threw herself in the East River and drowned.
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I just love the color of these Kelims!

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Stevie Nicks of Fleetwood Mac. Still as beautiful today as she is in this early image!

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Greta Garbo, New York, 1935. An unusual shot of this enigmatic beauty.



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Ficus carica (the plants) makes a breathtaking display of aerial greenery filling the glass dome of what was once a chapel. Tradition has it that the dome was built round the tree.

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And today’s so called “Stars” think they got style!!





Douglas Fairbanks, Jr. and wife Joan Crawford, 1932





Greta Garbo in John S. Robertson’s film “The Single Standard” 1929
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1938 police Shootout

JH McCrory Los Angeles Times
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Julie Christie, 1960s. That dress!!!
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Claudette Colbert in Cecil B. DeMille’s Cleopatra (1934)
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Loved this beautiful lady since I watched the first "Thin Man!"



Dreamy smiles and Myrna Loy
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Liz in a tutu ... Awesome!!!!!!!!!!!



Elizabeth Taylor
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Now this is what I call an automobile!!!



1957 Pontiac Starfire
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Congested highway on the west side of NYC, 1956

Traffic looks better when it’s classic cars.
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Swingin’ couple

Photo by Peter Stackpole, 1940’s
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1941 Pontiac
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Marianne Faithful
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Infinite Cave in Vietnam



The amazing photo featured above was taken in a huge cavern complex within the bowels of central Vietnam – in Phong Nha-Ke Bang National Park. During the spring of 2009, a team of spelunkers began exploring a mountain river cave in Vietnam and discovered a passage carved by a subterranean river millions of years ago.

Like a castle on a knoll, a limestone formation shines beneath a skylight in Hang Son Doong Cave. A monsoon storm had just filled the pool in the foreground, signaling that exploring season was ending. Referred to as the “infinite cave” this underground labyrinth is more than 2.5 mi long (4.0 km).

Photographer: Carsten Peter/©National Geographic Magazine.

Summary Author: Mark Jenkins/©National Geographic Magazine.

http://www.eons.com/images/members/2011 ... 847661.jpg
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Now this beauty could very easily tempt me into becoming a royalist!!

Princess Madeleine of Sweden.



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Vintage Badass Women!



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A bit late but Happy Birthday Jane Austen. (December 16, 1775 - July 18, 1817)



“You are very kind in your hints as to the sort of composition which might recommend me at present, and I am fully sensible that an historical romance, founded on the House of Saxe Cobourg, might be much more to the purpose of profit or popularity than such pictures of domestic life in country villages as I deal in. But I could no more write a romance than an epic poem. I could not sit seriously down to write a serious romance under any other motive than to save my life; and if it were indispensable for me to keep it up and never relax into laughing at myself or other people, I am sure I should be hung before I had finished the first chapter. No, I must keep to my own style and go on in my own way; and though I may never succeed again in that, I am convinced that I should totally fail in any other.”

Jane Austen, from a letter to J. S. Clarke dated April 1, 1806
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Love this lady!



Sarah Bernhardt by Georges Jules Victor Clairin, 1878. he was her favorite portraitist.
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Hiram and Barney were two mentally disabled brothers from a Connecticut farm, born in 1825 and 1827 respectively. They were each 40 inches tall and weighed about 45 pounds, yet could perform feats of great strength such as lifting heavy weights and wrestling with audience members on stage.

Discovered and subsequently promoted by a traveling showman in 1850, Hiram and Barney were given new names, Waino and Plutano, and a sensational back story - they were said to be from the island of Borneo, where they had been captured after a great struggle with armed sailors.



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"Never part without loving words to think of during your abesence. it may be that you will not meet again in this life."

Jean Paul Richter



"Look not mournfully to the past ... it comes not back again; wisely improve the present ... it is thine; go forth to meet the shadowy future without fear, and with a manly heart."

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

"All men dream but not equally. those who dream by night in the dusty recesses of their minds wake in the day to find that it was vanity; but the dreamers of the day are dangerous men, for they may act their dream with open eyes to make it possible."

T.E. Lawrence

"You will never “find” time for anything. if you want time, you must make it."

Charles Buxton
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Post by jones jones »

Two beautiful Ziegfeld Follies ladies!



gladys hellinger by alfred cheney johnston



kay english by alfred cheney johnston, 1920’s

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I am beginning to believe that I might be insane or at best unbalanced. Of late I seem to bring out the very worst in those I come in contact with in cyber land. Yet I, the man, me, I have not changed so the alteration must be in my mind, my sub-conscious, my psyche.

I find myself saying, no articulating thoughts that seem to force themselves to the forefront of my consciousness and in so doing, almost taking over my mind. Such is their desire to be expressed that they accomplish this with or without any consideration for what I might want to say.

I have allowed myself to become imprisoned in a “retro-state of mind” so that I am now caught in a time lock. Even the way I am writing this is old fashioned. It’s almost as if I have somehow been able to pass thru the door that has for so long kept me out and I am now back where I belong. But the irony is that nobody else can actually see me, understand me or love me.

I need to lose myself in order to find my way … break free and brush off the cliché ridden rhetoric that clings to my face and body like so many dusty cobwebs. I am a living, breathing man with feelings and not what they say I am. I am intelligent and creative with no need to be continually apologising to earthlings who have no sense of wonder left within their hearts, who no longer see any beauty on a starry night and to whom love is simply another four letter word.

So, should I remove these “obstacles” from my life? Purge my body of them? No longer allow them access to me or my world? The answer is a resounding YES!

I have given of myself, shared thoughts, images and words with them, freely and frequently. In return I have mostly had scorn and ridicule heaped upon me. Yet I create characters in my novels far more alive, complex and interesting than any of these men and women.

Enough I cry! Words of wiser men than I dance about my brain, advising me, calming me, instructing me, Those who have been scornful, those who have ridiculed me owe me nothing. So I will offer them the same in return – nothing.

And then perhaps the madness may leave and I can once be at peace with the world, but more importantly … be at peace with myself.
"…I hate how I don’t feel real enough unless people are watching." — Chuck Palahniuk, Invisible Monsters
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Post by jones jones »

Thought I'd post some stuff to my journal for a change. Its been some time since I was here.

Like this for a start ... Very true words Scotty!



And an image of your wife ... the stunning Zelda!





And for good measure ... a photo of granpappy!



"…I hate how I don’t feel real enough unless people are watching." — Chuck Palahniuk, Invisible Monsters
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Post by jones jones »

Wow ... This is soooooooo coohil not having to go: "(See First Reply)" alla time!

"Shooting the Breeze" by John Vachon. Bench warmers at the cooperative.







This kind of toy has become really valuable today. Police car.







Twenty Four Tirthankaras. A Tirthankara is one who establishes Jain organization after conquering both love and hatred. He shows a fine path to the world’s living beings to be free from ignorance, misery and moha (Worldly happiness.)

Just love the colors!

"…I hate how I don’t feel real enough unless people are watching." — Chuck Palahniuk, Invisible Monsters
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Post by jones jones »

Memorial jewellery as an expression of mourning seems to have been mostly a British thing that never caught on in Europe. It became fashionable around the mid 17th century and then blew hot and cold before finally dying out about 1720. It took off again following the death of Prince Albert and Queen Victoria seemed to spend the rest of her life in mourning, some 40 odd years!

Mourning jewellery was only one part of the Victorian’s pre-occupation with death, ranging from stationery to tombs. One particularly macabre fashion was post mortem photography where departed loved ones, especially children, were dressed up, laid out and photographed after death, often with there eyes open!

Lockets with strands of hair were very popular and a great deal of the pieces were made from Jet stone, often referred to as “black jewel.” Jet has a silky glow but I think its just a type of coal that can be polished and if rubbed it gets charged.

Apparently it can be used for removal of negative energies of any kind, including negative thoughts and fears. Jet is able to produce an atmosphere of peace, calm and serenity, reducing the feeling of depression. Jet awakes the kundalini energy since it corresponds primarily to the first energy center - Muladhara chakra.













"…I hate how I don’t feel real enough unless people are watching." — Chuck Palahniuk, Invisible Monsters
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Post by jones jones »

Albert Bierstadt. Looking Down on Yosemite Valley.



"…I hate how I don’t feel real enough unless people are watching." — Chuck Palahniuk, Invisible Monsters
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Post by jones jones »

Unlucky 26 … again! I’ve already written about the tragic Clara Bow, who left the bright lights of Hollywood at the ripe old age of 26. (FG 11/11/8)

Another “starlet” who was cursed by the number 26 was Barbara LaMarr who was a sixteen year old veteran when she arrived in the City of Angels. Dubbed the girl who was too beautiful, an unlikely trait in Hollywood), she seemingly crammed quite a bit of living into her short ten year career; six husbands, a rumoured two thousand lovers (she allegedly claimed that her idea of a good night’s sleep, was a catnap between bouts of sex) and more than twenty easily unforgettable movies. Some had the equally forgettable titles of “Rose of Nome”, “The Little Grey Mouse” and “The Brass Bottle”.

Barbara apparently died of “natural” causes on, you guessed it, January 30, 1926, drugged, burnt out and exhausted. Now 2000 lovers divided by 10 years equals a new lover every 1.08 days if my math is correct. Small wonder she was burnt out and exhausted!

One Hedy Kiesler inherited Barbara’s last name, but that’s another story!



"…I hate how I don’t feel real enough unless people are watching." — Chuck Palahniuk, Invisible Monsters
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Post by jones jones »

They say only crazy people talk to themselves. Not sure who “they” are but I must be crazy cos here I am taking to myself in my Journal … “The Chosen is in the House.”

At the beginning of the year I deliberately stopped posting threads which might give the Haters the opportunity to attack me because I was growing weary of it. I also said quite openly that I was certain that Forum Garden members and guests were probably tired of this too.

I began copying and pasting images in threads in the belief that there would be very little to attack me about on them. When I took a weekend off from posting on Forum Garden, well the Haters just started their own venomous thread. So I just went back to copying and posting images with a minimum of comment.

Then last weekend something changed. Bryn consolidated most of these threads into a single entity. He was very nice about it and gave me the reason which I have accepted.



I’ve had a few days to reflect on not being allowed to put up separate threads containing images because: “… they were skewing the home page and giving a false impression of the nature and intent of the Garden as a whole.” Fair enough. Who am I to argue?

But after due reflection I have decided that I am not enamored with them being placed in a single thread in the Forum “Hobbies - Special Interest Forums - Photography & More,” albeit under “Awesome Images.” In fact I would feel exactly the same irrespective of where they were so long as they remain merged in a single thread.

“Tough luck.” I can hear the Haters going. “Then leave Forum Garden and go post your “twaddle” elsewhere! You’re not wanted or needed here.”

Yeah right. “Twaddle” which since about the first week in January 2012 has received nearly 11,000 views!

I have neither the time nor the inclination to accumulate any figures, but I would be very surprised if the threads posted by either one of “Loth, Sicoth, Smoth” or any of the ”Hooths,” came close to getting so many views.

Of course I may be totally wrong and maybe views don’t count for anything. Maybe replies count for more which is why I am unhappy. I mean how on earth is any man, woman or otherwise gonna find the Chosen’s threads now? So in the interim I am just going to have to fill my Journal to bursting point.

It’s a difficult one and I don’t have the answer cos I am just Jj.
"…I hate how I don’t feel real enough unless people are watching." — Chuck Palahniuk, Invisible Monsters

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