Just some interesting thoughts.

I completely believe that every single person in the world, without exception:

~ is imperfect,

~ has emotional baggage,

~ has a challenge in his or her life they must overcome,

~ has something odd, weird, or strange about themselves - whether it is a quirk, a belief, an interest, a thought, or an activity,

~ has at least one skeleton in his or her closet,

~ has a special talent, no matter how obscure or esoteric it seems,

~ has an interesting story to tell.

We are ALL equal in these regards, which makes us all equal.

That is all.

Celestial Sea

If I could, I would dive into
waves of colour, light ripples reflected,
washing up on shores of stars,
as numerous as grains of sand;
I feel as if I could sink my hands
into the wet stars, and gather up handfuls
letting them trickle through my fingers.
I would trace through the
ebb and flow of the Aurora Borealis,
and let the stars wash away,
settling into new constellations.

The First Step

A siren keening in the distance

dirty needles in a ditch

a brawl outside a bar

a group of junkies walk past

whispering plans

to rob a bell-ringing volunteer

on a street corner

one shakes his head

and walks away

that's just going too far

he says

they never dreamed

he's come back to defend

so the others attack

under dissillusioned strings

of coloured lights

his face is a mask of pain

but he brings back a group of

students out for coffee

Good Samaritans

who subdue the sick kids

a cop arrives to take them away

he stops to talk to the hero

who isn't all that different from

the ones he stood up to

skinny

hollow eyes

sores on his face

one thing

a light that says he's bouncing

from when he just hit bottom

fifteen minutes ago

the cop talks to him quietly

and gives him a card and flyer

he calls someone on his cell

and tells the boy that

someone will come to meet him in an hour

the cop stays

gives the kid a coffee

waiting to see

how high

this one will bounce

BOX

In the box of mirrors

You can see

The puppet of yourself

From all sides

She is vain

She likes to preen and pose

She does not see anything else

She cannot see anything else

But what what is reflected

On the walls of her

fingerprint-smeared prison

She is happy because she is

Allowed to do what she likes best

She is unaware that she is trapped

And forced to move

By your hands

Roma Dreams

Tonight, I dance through the atchin'tan

Celebrating my life and my music.

My lips are bright with the sheen of orange juice and laughter.

I dance around the bonfire, as it rises higher

with ghosts and gentle shadows.

Those I know and love dance with me and offer

Broken arms to lead my whirling feet through the

Dew of dawn.

A bear rises, graceful, above me -

His eyes gentle with love -

As he dances to the sound of my flute,

Silhouetted against the flame,and

Two become one.

My way is lit by the fireflies that bless me - and

By the moon's reflection in my father's eyes.

We are all alone, on the edge of the forest,

Watched by a doe and her fawn who know

That the birds are silent because they no longer live -

Drowned by my tears.

My brother and captain leads me in the last,

Unending dance,

Bows to me, then tucks into his belt the prickly thistle

I gave him in return for the

Full-blown, perfect red rose

That I now wear in my hair.

I can see through his body,

The forms of animals and loved ones,

dark grey and ethereal, intangible.

Our music keeps the rhythm of the bell

Tolling in the distance -

My tambourine in time with the beat of his drum.

When, unsmiling, I stop – I see the dying fire,

The fading memories, the darkness melting into sunrise.

There is no sound, no movement now, but my voice

Singing along with one clear bell

Ringing Matins in the distance.

Twisted Twine

I see several pairs of giant hands reach out

To manipulate a string - I see

Myself dangling at the end of the string

I see the hands twist the string; the string

Winds up until it's doubled over on itself;

I see that the string is now wound so tight,

It can be wound no further

I see the hands release the string, with

Me dangling from the end of it; it's wound tight around

My hand, making a wound, cutting me deeply

Into my skin, making me bleed

I see the string unwinding, spinning

Faster and faster, with me at the end of it

Losing control - until I can no longer

Hold on, and I fall off or jump off, just to

Get away from the motion sickness.



The Rose






She watches, rapt, as he

rubs the silky petals against his face

and buries his breath in its sweetness.



Oblivious to anything else

(unaware of her secret mind-photograph)

he cups the blossom delicately and traces

one finger down the stem

and pierces it on a thorn.



Dreamily, he watches as the bead of dark

blood magically appears on his finger.

He holds it up against the flower;

matches the richness of colour,

then touches it to his lips,

and it's gone.



She watches, rapt, and wishes that the

blood-red was her skin, and the rose was

watching silently, secretly, jealously

instead.




She Is All









The moonful goddess shines through me

hair sprayed behind her like light

I love a man who is the sun

ripening me into sweet fruit

two into one into eternity

this delicate symphony sings, chants, screams, moans...

the music pleading no, stop, please no stopping

pink spring, green summer, red fall, blue winter

rain pounds, mist lingers, languid dreams must never tell

his tongue is sweet and my skin is smooth

I am delirious beneath the frantic need

I want - he wants - sweat slick upon my breast

drunk with urging, aching, and weakness.



Holding my fire in dark gold flow,

I drink music that will touch me.

For when the goddess leaps to the sky

Quiet morning dawn once again is free.

Jillian Karen Knapp

Chains of Events
Current mood: contemplative
Category: Life

Hello, to whoever reads what I write. I apologize for not posting for a while. Sometimes, my mind is so full of thoughts, I find it difficult to organize them so I can put them down on paper. Unfortunately, unlike many people, writing my thoughts down doesn't help make organizing them any easier.

Anyway, something occurred to me when I was playing a little flash game called "Boomshine". It's nothing much, just a little Flash game in which coloured dots float on the screen, and you have to click in the right spot in order to touch the dots and make enough of them explode to fulfill the requirements to get to the next level. It's really random. You don't have any control over where the dots move. It's lovely though, when the screen is full of coloured bubbles.

What occured to me as I was playing this game, is that it's a lot like life. I know that sounds ridiculous but it really is. The purpose of one's life is to touch as many people as possible, to make that gorgeous picture. Sometimes, just like in life, when a whole bunch of the bubbles explode at the same time, the Flash memory is overwhelmed and the game slows right down. Eventually, though, it starts back up again, and you resume touching people, changing them, and in the process, changing yourself. You never know how the pattern will turn out; it's different every time.

I recently got back in touch with an old friend of mine that I hadn't spoken to for fifteen years. When I met him, we spent a total of ten days in each other's company before going our separate ways, and we haven't seen each other since. How is it that even in these circumstances, I feel as if I can talk to him about anything, even now? How can that strong of a connection still exist?

Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if he and I had made an attempt to keep in better contact and spend more time together. I don't think that it would be a good idea to do that these days; it might be too disruptive to his life and mine. My life is good now; but sometimes, you can't help but wonder what might have been.

Peace to all

Jillian

The Demographics of Rudeness
Current mood: amused
Category: Jobs, Work, Careers

With my job, I have met many different types of people, of many different ages, with many different jobs, of many different walks of life. A lot of my coworkers thing that none of these things matter in terms of how rude a customer is on the phone. I however, disagree.
For instance, I have noticed that generally, the younger a caller is, the more polite they are. They are less likely to argue with me. The older they get, the more likely they are to fight with me about the steps I take them through. The older they are, the more they seem to think that they know more than I do. The funny thing is that the younger ones are the ones that are better with computers.
Socioeconomic status also seems to make a difference. Middle-class consumers are the least likely to be rude to me. Upwards or downwards from that point, I get more rudeness and arguments. Lower-class consumers seem to think they have something to prove, and upper-class consumers seem to think they are above what I have to say.
Educational background also makes a difference. Generally speaking, individuals with a technical background will be less likely to argue with me, more willing to do what needs to be done to get the problem solved. These individuals generally only call tech support as a last resort, when they have run out of options. They seem to understand that I have to dot my i's and cross my t's. The less a person knows about a computer, the more likely they are to object to whatever I want them to do, and question my knowledge.

Something interesting to consider.

Blogging is a new experience for me, but I plan to use it as fully as I can. Obviously, the idea is to be heard. I will make sure that when I am heard, I am as intelligent as possible. I plan to talk about everything from arts and sciences, to nature, to sex, sensuality and beauty. Welcome and Enjoy!