tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-60450619901348489742024-02-18T23:33:30.128-08:00SpaceCowgirl-Films, Poetry, Politics and the Like...Am a simple, complicated wild Cinephile, Critic and Fan of all things LIFE and I never make my home in a place; It’s inside my head. I find what I need to furnish it – Family = SHAH RUKH KHAN, memories, friends I trust and the love of learning and YES...MOVIES MOVIES MOVIES ~Wild Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05260455210731142858noreply@blogger.comBlogger65125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6045061990134848974.post-26047379236650920752013-02-24T02:31:00.000-08:002013-02-24T02:31:05.497-08:00"Assured"<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvLNHPAIlwkUFpbdKLVimMEZt1kzxunlHxwMl8pwXEgMB5lag_z266gXCbvbCfZ9YuBSHIcLLhGDYf8EVJaVVxnYNH5lP3PVTkPkZJRafM08GZzcNp74JBglMW8rV8MNQWs5e1Xmf2egA/s1600/nikita4.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 470px; height: 315px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvLNHPAIlwkUFpbdKLVimMEZt1kzxunlHxwMl8pwXEgMB5lag_z266gXCbvbCfZ9YuBSHIcLLhGDYf8EVJaVVxnYNH5lP3PVTkPkZJRafM08GZzcNp74JBglMW8rV8MNQWs5e1Xmf2egA/s400/nikita4.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5497183521542452066" /></a><br />She walks through the door startling him, he looks up. For a little while they stare at each other. Then she says, “You look tired, it looks like it’s been a busy day.” He replies, "Yeah..you have been busy too." Can you tell me what happened? <br />She replies, "Maybe someday..."<br />Then he asks her, "Did I lose you? Did I?" <br />She walks up to him and hugs him. Then she answers, “I have known you all my life and even then I only knew half of you… the promise of you. But these past few days, you have fulfilled your promise. How could you ever lose me?<br />He tightly hugs her tears rolling down his eyes, he kisses her forehead.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6u3cYfrV5wR4anU6CbWVaGfhGzEEhZteBoZmgNRUY0s1EcdzVuDD1AtiVcGxvLjdSYw38QWF_fs0l4JL_x1EXaEYVAP0UjfYqnAodsgC6GF5HndUqUZjoT0KsIIR5xPyW4AwKQVErYy0/s1600/nikita3.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 470px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6u3cYfrV5wR4anU6CbWVaGfhGzEEhZteBoZmgNRUY0s1EcdzVuDD1AtiVcGxvLjdSYw38QWF_fs0l4JL_x1EXaEYVAP0UjfYqnAodsgC6GF5HndUqUZjoT0KsIIR5xPyW4AwKQVErYy0/s400/nikita3.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5497184854905141986" /></a><br /><br />
<object width="480" height="345"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/wHHH2QDliQY?version=3&hl=en_US"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/wHHH2QDliQY?version=3&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="480" height="345" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object>Wild Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05260455210731142858noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6045061990134848974.post-59501522407087870982012-02-14T03:51:00.021-08:002012-02-14T07:27:21.135-08:00A FUGITIVE IN THE NIGHT...<span style="font-weight:bold;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI_XBy1w8VSEO2rfpd-7HFO7KiBqjac-n35X0CF12-bSTPtsHu53GcF5DAX1cdOsSedIPI8iNzeVlxWFk89K3T89S8aL2tbdlYEXFv_WCnGfUo46UUdAAfxqFOWe4V_dmFL8RFmeLTFxk/s1600/379841_301982223167836_139454102753983_946931_36111792_n.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 205px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI_XBy1w8VSEO2rfpd-7HFO7KiBqjac-n35X0CF12-bSTPtsHu53GcF5DAX1cdOsSedIPI8iNzeVlxWFk89K3T89S8aL2tbdlYEXFv_WCnGfUo46UUdAAfxqFOWe4V_dmFL8RFmeLTFxk/s400/379841_301982223167836_139454102753983_946931_36111792_n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5708959554141763138" /></a><br /><br />My last vacation from work was over and I had taken a seemingly easy job in my first case as a fledgling private investigator, attempting to track down the missing father of a client Liz Schumer from Berlin who had gone to India for a week’s vacation and was never seen again. It was a successful effort with unanticipated consequences. I had bought a house in a quaint area of town in Stuttgart, Germany and was settling in well. Although the home was a little too big for me alone, I enjoyed the Victorian view. My friends and family had warned me about the dangers of living alone and in a foreign country but I assured them I would be fine as I had everything locked at night and there was good security.<br />Everyone in my little community seemed nice and the next door neighbors had welcomed me with a Rote Grütze (red fruit pudding) and several bottles of Liebfraumilch (which literally translates to cheap sweet wine), all in all life wasn’t too bad. I had even found out where the closest theatre was and would occasionally take myself to watch the latest movies. As days went by I heard several stories circulating about some drug kingpin known as DON who was originally from India that had broken the morale of his associates by infiltrating the gang with an alias and then taking advantage of his associates’ enmity. Apparently he was so shrewd and so merciless that he had earned a title as king of the underworld undisputed. The police in his pursuit had unknowingly hired him and he ruthlessly had used this to his advantage and set his former associates to battle with the police as he escaped much to everyone’s bewilderment leaving no traces of his evidence or his whereabouts. Word on the streets was that Don had conquered the Asian underworld and was bored so he had set his sights on European domination and was probably already in some European country infiltrating the European underworld but of course he had to get past all the mafia and law enforcement agencies. But at this point it was anybody’s guess. He could be anywhere, who knew??? The evening news always brought a segment on the most wanted fugitives to date and so I decided to check it out and sure enough there was Don’s image being flashed several times along with other wanted criminals. Amongst the other things I had heard about him was that he always got what he wanted women, money, and the law and if he wanted you dead then you were toast. Certainly, in his own country lots of crime lords bowed down to him and were scared of him. <br /><br />Somehow I had warmed up to these wild stories about him and grown fond of his persona. I was a good girl, religious, well educated with a great job at a private investigation firm. Most importantly; I was obedient to my elders/parents growing up but couldn’t help liking his bad side...what was wrong with me? Huh! Could not bother myself with such doubts I had suddenly developed a thing for this man, criminal, fugitive, murderer, bank robber, drug lord... wanted in ten or more countries but I couldn’t care less. My fondness for him seemed to be more than his crimes. I must have dozed off because suddenly I woke up worried and scared. For some reason, I thought that I had heard something in the house. As I held the covers against my body, I considered calling the police. However, I reconsidered wondering what the police might say. My house was one of the best protected homes in town. So I took the courage and slipped into my slippers. Slowly I walked to the door and listened. It was quiet; there was nothing there to hear. I opened the door and stepped into the hallway.<br /><br />“Hello?” I almost whispered. <br /><br />Nobody answered as I had hoped. I sighed, leaned against the wall and giggled. I couldn’t believe I was dumb enough to think that someone would be in my high secure home. As I turned around and went back into my room, a dark shadow grabbed me throwing me on the bed. I turned around and tried to move more onto the bed while trying to adjust to the dark, I wondered what the stranger wanted. Was he going to hurt me, rape or kill me? <br /><br />I couldn’t think straight and didn’t know what to do next. The dark shadow came closer, leaning over me. <br /><br />“Don’t be afraid,” he said softly, “Am not here to hurt you”.<br /><br />As I tried to focus on the man in the room, the smell of his cologne hit me and it instantly turned me on and I started feeling warm but fear took over as he stroked my face. He then turned to the little lamp that was located on the nightstand and turned it on. I moved back not believing what I saw. There in my room was DON, the fugitive and convict that had escaped prison!! Why had he chosen my home? Why not someone else who had more to offer to him. We both stared at each other dumbfounded not knowing how to react, even act toward each other. <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_FQ08tg7gcghq3_TeMEHNfXu-bkwqR9WsnQkgX1ww1Zm-BBcPmb1MAXNgaOYwmRsAsVbC8ZDCZAbSMSfBBA_4bLnOPmZiP5oMThQHzHCfDmObCJ74qXuzXFjCMqanzl8VpqmQ1BEaJmQ/s1600/cal11.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 333px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_FQ08tg7gcghq3_TeMEHNfXu-bkwqR9WsnQkgX1ww1Zm-BBcPmb1MAXNgaOYwmRsAsVbC8ZDCZAbSMSfBBA_4bLnOPmZiP5oMThQHzHCfDmObCJ74qXuzXFjCMqanzl8VpqmQ1BEaJmQ/s400/cal11.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5708959909299288514" /></a><br />After what seemed like hours, Don started talking. <br /><br />“Don’t be afraid,” he said once again, “I won’t hurt you”.<br /><br />“How do I know you are speaking the truth?” I asked.<br /><br />“Just take my word for it. If I had been here to hurt you Larv, I would already have <br />done so.” Wait! He knew my nickname..."LarveeK" and he had even sweetly shortened it.<br /><br />I looked at DON and moved my eyes over his body. He slowly removed the cap and trench coat he was wearing. He was even more beautiful than the portrait on television. At 5’9” he looked tall and I seemed to have to look up onto him. What really stood out was his hazel eyes, the angular face with a uniquely shaped nose and black silky hair tied in a pony tail. His age 46 years old as stated on the news didn’t do him any justice as he looked a lot younger. All in all, I thought he looked quite handsome and sexy...a beautifully crafted Masterpiece...<br /><br />“What do you want?” I asked.<br /><br />Don hung his head stepped over to the bed and sat down.<br /><br />“Please let me stay here for tonight,” he begged.<br /><br />“Why would I do that?”<br /><br />He looked up and explained to me that he couldn’t handle life in prison anymore. He had been considering escape for quite some time but had never done so. This time had been different. He had seen an opportunity to flee and had taken that chance. He just wanted freedom for one night and then turn himself back in. Life as a fugitive was not easy. He would be on the run without knowing where to go. He couldn’t go back home as authorities knew where he would be. He had lived that life fifteen years ago and didn’t want to go that road again. He just wanted one night of freedom and as we started talking and getting comfortable with each other, I walked to the bathroom which was attached to my bedroom, turned on the water in the hot tub and motioned for Don to come over. He paused for a brief moment but eventually got up and walked toward me. <br /><br />“I figured you could use a warm hot bath”, I said looking shy.<br /><br />Don smiled and nodded. <br /><br />“I sure can,” he said, “I feel like a wet dog.”<br /><br />We both started laughing as Don slowly undressed himself. I looked down. He obviously wasn’t troubled that I was in the room nor did he seem shy or worried to uncover his body. Maybe he just didn’t care after all those years in prison. As he turned around he noticed me looking at him.<br /><br />“I’m sorry,” he said as he reached for a towel to wrap around his waist.<br /><br />“It’s okay,” I said as I was leaving the bathroom...<br /><br />Oh God! I was so confused. Here was this convict who had escaped from prison and all I could do was sit there and think. My brain told me to pick up the phone and call the police. However my heart told me something different. I knew what Don had done in the past and what he might still be doing, but I was so overwhelmed with his looks that I didn’t care. The thought of him maybe wanting to kill me too never came up. Somehow he had given me his word and I trusted him. I positioned myself on the left side of the bed and stared at the ceiling. As I closed my eyes I still could see his body. He was slender and tall and I couldn’t help thinking about the beauty of his manhood and his whole aura. I sighed and felt aroused by the image that was stuck in my head. Although I was still somewhat frightened, I knew I wanted him and amazingly it wasn’t just sexual. I was falling in love with him...that quick?? I asked myself...Did he really have such powers? I had never fallen in love with a guy before. As a matter of fact I always thought most men were idiots and they just weren’t worth my time. So it came as a surprise even to me that all this was happening in an evening, a strange one to say the least.<br /><br />After what seemed like ages Don opened the door. Again he had the towel wrapped around his waist. I sat up and looked at him. In some way he knew what I was thinking and crawled in bed next to me. The smell of his clean body intoxicated me and I felt my heart skip a beat. He started to talk, joking around. I couldn’t help but laugh with his silly humor and once in a while I would touch his arm. The funniest and cutest thing is when he took the remote and turned the TV on to the cartoon channel and as he giggled to a “Tom & Jerry” episode; I wondered if there were such criminals like him around in the world...I mean whoever heard of a murderous sociopath with a liking to Looney Toons??? Yet here he was to take me and I seemed to have no objection...I must have zoned out into my thoughts because then he suddenly startled me back to reality. He had grabbed my hand and pulled me towards him forcefully, I almost lost my balance. Looking up at him he had this smirk almost evil grin on his face...his eyes widened at my surprised look. He asked in a husky but sensual voice, “Are you afraid of me?” I quickly answered no! Knowing I was a little afraid of him not because he was a criminal but because deep down I admired him, even loved him. He gently lifted me towards the middle of the bed and I started wondering if he did this with every woman he met or broke into their house. Was he going to toy with me first? My thought was interrupted with him kissing me and before I realized it, I was completely at his mercy. Things must have moved amazingly fast and sweetly because the next thing I heard was his whisper in my ear, “You’re someone I will have to come back for again and again and just don’t share this with anyone” pointing on my chest. He kissed my forehead and I in turn kissed his nose and each one of his eyes and answered... “the feeling is mutual love because I will always be here for you dead or alive...”<br /><br />We both felt emotionally and physically drained and as I watched him nod off while still in his arms my thoughts lingered again. My mind seemed so calm and for a convict, Don was a sweet and loving guy. I had enjoyed every piece of his being, his body. I knew it would be hard to let him go. Although Don had a bad name to him, to me he had shown the real loving and caring Don who didn’t want anything else than give me what I wanted. He had proven to me that he had a soft side to him too by holding me close, gently touching my body and loving me... <br /><br />The sun was shining through the window. I could feel the warmth on my face. I moved over and slid my hands over to the other side of the bed. Opening my eyes slowly I noticed a note on the pillow which read, “Thank you for the wonderful night. You have given me the hope to love again...my wild cat...I will be back for you.”<br /><br />I started crying and wasn’t sure if it was from sadness or joy. Either way, it was a fact...Don was gone but I knew then no matter where I went he would find me and was always going to be with me!<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM0532I3PnPzCnoewKbnc9jDgdYwOOz4MCv81BG1zgcTyny80IR_mROp8eCAP0qyDN7mca_nYT66NXA0nYudnjDoT6NBBcOb-TtDmu4P4W1VAKSViQjcgSi4T40oaHtYujA5RHx3RTI4o/s1600/yen8.png"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM0532I3PnPzCnoewKbnc9jDgdYwOOz4MCv81BG1zgcTyny80IR_mROp8eCAP0qyDN7mca_nYT66NXA0nYudnjDoT6NBBcOb-TtDmu4P4W1VAKSViQjcgSi4T40oaHtYujA5RHx3RTI4o/s400/yen8.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5708960041626087330" /></a><br /><p><object width="480" height="360"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/0H-jLOoz-YY?version=3&hl=en_US"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/0H-jLOoz-YY?version=3&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="480" height="360" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object><br /><p><object width="480" height="360"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/rtOvBOTyX00?version=3&hl=en_US"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/rtOvBOTyX00?version=3&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="480" height="360" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object><br /><p><object width="480" height="360"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/3JWTaaS7LdU?version=3&hl=en_US"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/3JWTaaS7LdU?version=3&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="480" height="360" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object></span>Wild Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05260455210731142858noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6045061990134848974.post-41209777945140651122011-11-07T00:39:00.000-08:002011-11-08T22:45:59.980-08:00Johnny Depp: 'I'm not ready to give up my American citizenship' Via (The UK Guardian)<span><a href="http://static.guim.co.uk/sys-images/Guardian/About/General/2011/11/6/1320599247314/Johnny-Depp-as-Paul-Kemp--007.jpg" style="font-weight: bold; " onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 460px; height: 276px;" src="http://static.guim.co.uk/sys-images/Guardian/About/General/2011/11/6/1320599247314/Johnny-Depp-as-Paul-Kemp--007.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><b>Johnny Depp as young reporter Paul Kemp in </b><a href="http://www.rumdiarythemovie.com/" target="_blank" style="font-weight: bold; ">The Rum Diary</a><b>, based on a </b><a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0860219/" target="_blank" style="font-weight: bold; ">Hunter S. Thompson</a> <b>novel.</b><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold; "><br /></span></span><div><span><b><i>If I haven't said it often enough, then here it is...If there's a Hollywood actor I admire and can down right act it's Johnny Depp and I enjoy any personal interviews that he does and he definitely has it figured out...Heck anything he touches turns into gold, really an amazing being!!! Keep it up Johnny...#Love~ Read the UK Guardian article below and couldn't resist sharing it here for those who adore him like I do, knock yourselves out~:))</i></b></span></div><div><span><b><i><br /></i>~>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>></b><br /><a href="http://static.guim.co.uk/sys-images/Guardian/About/General/2011/11/6/1320599018318/Johnny-Depp-October-2011-007.jpg" style="font-weight: bold; " onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 460px; height: 276px;" src="http://static.guim.co.uk/sys-images/Guardian/About/General/2011/11/6/1320599018318/Johnny-Depp-October-2011-007.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; ">The Rum Diary star on his love of Europe, flying by private jet and why he can't stop smoking...Article by Decca Aitkenhead:</span><br /><p><b>In the weeks leading up to this interview, I began to think there must be some law that makes it illegal not to love Johnny Depp. Everyone melts into a puddle at the mention of his name. Men go even loopier than women – and the higher men rank on the cool-ometer of fame, the more in love with Depp they seem to be. Keith Richards, Brad Pitt, Marilyn Manson, the Gallagher brothers – the dudes all adore Johnny – while this month's GQ anoints him "the world's coolest actor". The director of Withnail & I was only talked out of retirement to make Depp's latest movie "because it was for Johnny", and recently<span><a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/culture/2011/nov/04/ricky-gervais-lifes-too-short" target="_blank"> Ricky Gervais </a></span></b><b>was swooning in this paper: "His emails are like poetry. He's made of bohemia."</b></p></span><b>What can Depp do to inspire all of this? I wasn't sure that the chance to try to find out would ever actually happen. The mythology surrounding Depp casts him as a sort of Scarlet Pimpernel of Hollywood, so notoriously elusive that one director who flew to London and spent days searching for him observed that the secret to signing Depp "is finding him". He loathes the media, once threatened the paparazzi with a plank, and at one memorable Cannes film festival cancelled all his interviews and refused to get out of bed. But after a long and involved game of on-off, on-off, on-again ping pong, last Friday the door to a discreet London hotel suite swings open, and there he is, hanging out of the window smoking.<br /><br />Depp looks like he should be in Bon Jovi, or behind a stall selling Zippos in Camden market. The shirt is extravagantly ripped, the jewellery is heavily goth, the glasses are tinted and the tattoos wrap around him like climbing ivy. His voice loiters somewhere between a drawl and a growl – a deep Kentucky slurry of mumbles – but punctuated by surprise bursts of Queen's English, with the odd anglicism ("take a gander at this") thrown in, making him sound like Tom Waits auditioning for My Fair Lady.<br /><br />At 48, Depp's face remains, if no longer quite ethereal, then still breathtakingly beautiful – creamy smooth, freakishly symmetrical, with a thick chop of chocolate hair untroubled by any trace of grey. The actor has spent most of his career trying to abdicate from the position of Hollywood sex symbol, but there appears to be nothing he can do about the tenacity of his beauty. And yet, the very first thing out of his mouth – once he's stubbed the fag out – gives a pretty good idea of how he would prefer to be seen, and how he sees himself.<br /><br />"In Los Angeles, the hoity toities, the beautiful people, will sit on Sunset Strip and have their meal at these kind of fancy restaurants where no one can smoke – but you can inhale car fumes all you like." He shakes his head. "I mean, that to me says it all."<br /><br />Smoking is a useful metaphor for Depp's self-image – renegade, European, rough around the edges. He did manage to give it up for two and a half years, and despite having to smoke in almost every scene of his new film, <span><a href="http://www.rumdiarythemovie.com/" target="_blank">The Rum Diary</a>. --</span>"Just fake things, I think they're made of cured leather or something, they're really hideous, you light it and it smells like a tyre burning" he says... – it was only on the journey home that nicotine reclaimed him.<br /><br />"One bang on [the director] Bruce Robinson's horrible little Café Crème cigar. One bang – yeah, one hit and it was over." Robinson, for his part, fell off the wagon while making The Rum Diary and began drinking again. "Yeah," Depp grins, "it was the gift we gave each other.<br /><br />"I just said: 'Come on, give me a bang.' Bruce and I was in the plane, and I just said: 'Oh come on.' You know, we'd had a bit to drink – and …" He mimes taking a drag. On the plane? "On the plane, mmmm." I look puzzled. He looks momentarily bashful. "Well, it was a private plane. On a private plane you can smoke. It makes it an incredibly expensive habit, of course," he shrugs, "cos you can only smoke on a private plane."<br /><br />Actually, he says, smoking's not the only reason he only ever flies private. "The commercial flight thing, it just gets a little weird when you're standing in line and suddenly you're not just a guy standing in line any more, you become sort of novelty boy."<br /><br />Ever since Depp became a teen idol in the 80s TV series <span><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0092312/" target="_blank">21 Jump Street</a>, </span>the star has been at war with his own fame. An accidental actor, he came to LA in his teens hoping for a record deal for his rock band, but ended up doing telesales until he fell into acting, and before he knew it he was an international pin-up. Depp spent most of the 80s and 90s getting very drunk, going out with Kate Moss and Winona Ryder, brawling with photographers and generating more of the very publicity he found so oppressive. No amount of dark or quirky leftfield roles – Edward Scissorhands, Ed Wood, Don Juan DeMarco – could get him out of the gossip columns.<br /><br />"I mean, all those films didn't do well at the box office. But I still had paparazzi chasing my tail, so it was the weirdest thing in the world. Everywhere you went you were on display. It was always some kind of strange attack on the senses; I was never able to embrace it. So self-medication," meaning drink and drugs, "was just to be able to deal with it."<br /><br />That strategy lasted until the birth of his daughter, Lily-Rose, in 1999, to the French actor and singer </b><b><span><a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/culture/2010/jun/27/vanessa-paradis-heartbreaker-interview" target="_blank">Vanessa Paradis</a> </span>which he credits with changing - even saving - his life. The couple retreated behind the walls of homes in Paris, the Bahamas and the south of France, had a son, Jack, now nine, and devoted themselves to a private family life, growing vegetables and tending vineyards, with Depp resurfacing only to make critically acclaimed, if commercially unspectacular, films. It sounds like an idyll of wholesome simplicity and artistic integrity. The only snag is "I just don't go out. I just don't go anywhere. Just don't leave home."<br /><br />It's a strange profession where the prize for success is house arrest, isn't it? "It's a very privileged opportunity I've been given, obviously. You know, the benefits are certainly very good," he smiles. "But there is a trade-off, as with anything. Somebody's always going to bring you the bill. The invoice comes." And the bill is his liberty.<br /><br />Depp might have been allowed to recover some of his freedom by now, were it not for one choice he made 10 years ago. It didn't just win him his first Oscar nomination; it has made him the highest-paid movie star of all time, earning $75m between June 2009 and June 2010 alone. Award-winning performances in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, Finding Neverland and Sweeney Todd have secured his metamorphosis into box office gold – and all because of that one performance, as Captain Jack Sparrow in the first Pirates of the Caribbean film.<br /><br />Did he anticipate what the part would do to his career? -- "Not really, no. Pirates was a film I did just like any other one, I made that choice the same way I made every other choice."<br /><br />Knowing what he knows now, I wonder if he'd have thought twice before making it. --"I wouldn't change anything, no. Because I think I went into it innocently, and it became what it became. And now they want to tear me down. Instantly, as soon as I did Pirates II, they say: 'Oh, he's selling out.' What the fuck does that mean, selling out? What if I did Ed Wood II, is that selling out? I mean, it's not like I was ever looking to become franchise boy, I was never looking to become anything like that. I just latched on to a character I loved."<br /><br />Becoming "franchise boy" has in fact done nothing to diminish Depp's credibility. But I'm not sure any of his films really account for his status as the world's coolest actor, or make much of a difference either way. It can't be down to his beauty alone either, or men wouldn't lose their heads around him. I think we get closer to an explanation when Depp talks about The Rum Diary, and his friendship with <span><a href="http://www.bookrags.com/biography/hunter-stockton-thompson/" target="_blank">Hunter S. Thompson</a>.<p></p></span><span></span>The film is based on an unpublished novel Depp found in </b><b><span><a href="http://www.bookrags.com/biography/hunter-stockton-thompson/" target="_blank">Thompson's </a></span>basement in the 90s. Heavily autobiographical, it tells the story of a hard-drinking young reporter called Paul Kemp who goes to work for a paper in Puerto Rico in 1960, and becomes outraged by the corruption and devastation wreaked by American capitalism's arrival on the island. It turns into a tale of heroic journalistic integrity – but not, in truth, a good film.<br />The older, LSD-addled version of </b><b><span><a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0860219/" target="_blank">Hunter S. Thompson</a> </span>Depp played in "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas" was anarchic and funny and clever – whereas the younger incarnation as Kemp is naive, dreadfully earnest and takes himself and his notion of Being A Writer so seriously that only the most impressionable student journalist could watch without cringing. Yet to Depp, Kemp is the ultimate romantic hero – uncompromised, irony-free – and his idolisation of the writer becomes almost breathless.</b><div><b><br />"You know </b><b><span><a href="http://www.bookrags.com/biography/hunter-stockton-thompson/" target="_blank">Hunter</a> </span>typed "The Great Gatsby?" He'd look at each page Fitzgerald wrote, and he copied it. The entire book. And more than once. Because he wanted to know what it felt like to write a masterpiece. He was so hungry, yeah. Innocent, and yearning." After Thompson saw Fear and Loathing, Depp was a bundle of nerves, and called him up to ask if he hated it. "God, no man," Thompson told him. "It was like an eerie trumpet call over a lost battlefield." Depp looks awestruck. "Those words just came out, and I thought, fucking hell, what a beautiful sentence." He repeats it slowly, lovingly: "An eerie trumpet call over a lost battlefield."</b></div><div><b><br />I think it's Depp's own innocence – expressed as indiscriminate adoration for those he admires – that might be what men respond to. It's an odd thing, but a star with a weakness for public hero worship seems to inspire deliriously wide-eyed hero worship in his fans. Depp is a famous enthusiast, with great taste – he loves Withnail & I, The Fast Show, Jack Kerouac, gonzo journalism, hard liquor, good wine and rock guitar. But then, so do a lot of the men in my local bar in Hackney. Only in today's Hollywood, where most heartthrobs are traditionally either too insecure or un-discerning to share these tastes with boyishly humble enthusiasm, do they confer the status of Jean-Paul Sartre crossed with James Dean.<br /><br />Depp comes across as thoughtful, friendly and good fun. It would be very hard not to like him. But – and I realize this is tantamount to heresy – he is probably not the best actor in the world, for while no one can match him for kooky freakery, a straight and understated role like Kemp exposes his limitations. But he embodies a collective ideal of cool that touches men.<br /><br />Early U.S box office returns suggest </b><b><span><a href="http://www.rumdiarythemovie.com/" target="_blank">The Rum Diary</a> </span>may not break even – but he says he couldn't care less about the money. "No, God no, no. It's always a crap shoot, and really if you have that in your head while you're making a movie the process would become something very different. No, I couldn't give a rat's ass really, not really."</b></div><div><b><br />The publicity blitz in the past week might make cynics suggest otherwise. But the film is Depp's homage to Thompson, who died in 2005, and also the first release by Depp's own production company, which would account for his uncharacteristically energetic media campaign. "I believe that this film, regardless of what it makes in, you know, Wichita, Kansas, this week – which is probably about $13 – it doesn't make any difference. I believe that this film will have a shelf life. I think it will stick around and people will watch it and enjoy it." Does he suspect it will go down better in Europe than the US?<br /><br />"Most definitely. It's something that will be more appreciated over here, I think. Cos it's – well, I think it's an intelligent film." He leaves a meaningful pause. "And a lot of times, outside the big cities in the States, they don't want that."<br /><br />Depp's well-documented love affair with all things European has always had a hint of hero worship about it too. I ask if there's anything he doesn't like about Europe, and he thinks hard for a while. "No. Not that I can think of, no. It's a very old and beautiful culture, people know how to live. You know, here you have Sunday roast or the pub lunch, that kind of thing. It's comforting. We don't have that in our culture in the States. Sunday is football day, so it's chicken wings and pizza."<br /><br />He got into hot water in 2003 for describing the U.S as </b><b><span><a href="http://www.people.com/people/article/0,,626682,00.html" target="_blank">"Dumb"</a></span>, having told another interviewer in 2000: "I want to be in the country where life is simple, and we don't have to worry about being mugged or approached by some guy selling crack on the street." Depp has been despairing of America's trashy culture and violence for as long as I can remember, and France is so central to his identity as a discerning sophisticate that I assumed he would never return to the US. So when I ask if he could ever imagine living there again, his reply comes as quite a surprise.</b></div><div><b><br />"Well, I kind of do. I'm between wherever I end up on location, and then the States."<br /><br />What? Hang on a minute; why did he leave France? He makes a sour noise, part grunt, part hurrumph. "Cos France wanted a piece of me. They wanted me to become a permanent resident. Permanent residency status – which changes everything. They just want," and he mimes peeling off notes in his palm. "Dough (Money)"<br /><br />If Depp spends more than 183 days in France, he explains indignantly, he'd have to start paying income tax. "I'm certainly not ready to give up my American citizenship. You don't have to give up your American citizenship," he adds sarcastically, but then he'd have to pay tax in both countries..."so you essentially work for free."<br /><br />And all of a sudden, he sounds exactly like your average corporate Middle America multimillionaire – anti-government, anti-tax and apparently oblivious to the part these twin monstrous affronts might play in creating a country where he doesn't have to worry about being mugged by crack dealers on every street.<br /><br />Maybe nobody – not even Depp himself – could ever live up to the heroic legend of Johnny Depp. So deep is our attachment to the mythology, though, I doubt anything he says or does will ever puncture it. Before I go, I ask if the celebrated story of him and Kate Moss ordering a bath filled with champagne in a hip Notting Hill hotel ever actually happened.<br /><br />"I don't think we were even in that hotel," he smiles apologetically. "No, it's not true. I wish we had done it. But you know, I'm not the most extrovert person in the world. I'm not particularly ... I'm not ... I'm not ..." and he searches in vain for the word. "You know, at my very core I'm pretty shy. I just happen to have a weird job."<br /><br /><span><a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/film/2011/nov/06/johnny-depp-interview-rum-diary" target="_blank">Find Full Original Guardian Article Link here:</a><p></p></span><span></span></b><br /></div></div>Wild Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05260455210731142858noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6045061990134848974.post-60240156175921963562011-11-05T15:17:00.000-07:002013-04-27T11:18:05.107-07:00'I work for neither posterity nor prosperity' : SHAH RUKH KHAN Via (Times Of India)<span style="font-weight:bold;">Love him or hate him...he's here to stay and there's nothing you can do to stop his success or break his spirit besides his fans will tear you apart if you even try...Because I love him and I believe in him with my whole heart and soul...He's just SHAH RUKH KHAN and he's my family...Enjoy the interview all...Via (Times Of India)</span><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZrC54kH87zPTRGftw8agT4A-7NjjP-zXmVFm1mCdbnCGZKHDy-6fAQKvUxZzikhno4B1cdXK9ZQ172tzrn3Kx-2I3G0l5xJCD6Y86C5fuw40BqJQW61wNpfIvm0NAN3enuuRjUW2TN-A/s1600/srbi.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 260px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZrC54kH87zPTRGftw8agT4A-7NjjP-zXmVFm1mCdbnCGZKHDy-6fAQKvUxZzikhno4B1cdXK9ZQ172tzrn3Kx-2I3G0l5xJCD6Y86C5fuw40BqJQW61wNpfIvm0NAN3enuuRjUW2TN-A/s400/srbi.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5671677564097371634" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Bollywood superstar Shahrukh Khan climbs on to a wall of his house to greet fans who have gathered outside on his birthday in Mumbai, India, Wednesday, Nov. 2, 2011. Khan's Birthday (AP)</span><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhncEgPLyJrTOw8KxJbHubBUbgAosNzv-GOzsimAlaQoMK_NApmSxwFjbTyteS0s2uVz6kNRIs2ZgZbmVVSumaWvX0ZHZHh9sqFVURaqH3Rhl_bHk5tdgobw_ZJOwFprijZ8Juh5HY95jk/s1600/srbi3.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 260px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhncEgPLyJrTOw8KxJbHubBUbgAosNzv-GOzsimAlaQoMK_NApmSxwFjbTyteS0s2uVz6kNRIs2ZgZbmVVSumaWvX0ZHZHh9sqFVURaqH3Rhl_bHk5tdgobw_ZJOwFprijZ8Juh5HY95jk/s400/srbi3.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5671677299053288706" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Fans greet Bollywood superstar Shahrukh Khan, unseen, outside his house on his birthday in Mumbai, India, Wednesday, Nov. 2, 2011. Khan turned 46 Wednesday. (AP)</span><br /><br />~>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgswAle7w1rbRl_aaV31oIaYcRkxvd96rYO6nGd3T8PvgPlZvdndlzfChVdfx9RPocQwmQnB9lWgSzHXbrQpxvVthCzT_NdwMXAcdtu1Pz8dhBr1JcSqIyTEWB77laxsjAPrGtYtFvBKJk/s1600/srbi2.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 260px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgswAle7w1rbRl_aaV31oIaYcRkxvd96rYO6nGd3T8PvgPlZvdndlzfChVdfx9RPocQwmQnB9lWgSzHXbrQpxvVthCzT_NdwMXAcdtu1Pz8dhBr1JcSqIyTEWB77laxsjAPrGtYtFvBKJk/s400/srbi2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5671677082718041282" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">In a chat the day before his 46th birthday, Shah Rukh Khan refuses to look back, talking about the here and now - filmcraft vs collections, what keeps him going, and why jibes and sniping about him and his work are like nazarbattoos, keeping ill luck away!<br /><br />When talking about the flak KKR took in the initial IPL, you'd said that the team just needs to win for the sniping to stop - that "success has the quality that it eradicates all personal and impersonal attacks". In your case, doesn't the reverse hold true? Haan yaar, yeh kuch kamaal hi ho gaya hai mere saath...<br /><br />From a Shirish calling "Ra.One" a fizzled cracker to a Thackeray almost calling you a Pakistani loyalist, within a week - what did you do to trigger this? Both unimportant... let me say something sincerely. I hope it doesn't sound too rude. Successful people do things, and get over with it, and leave others to live their life off it. I DO them. And then I leave it to others to live their life off it.<br /><br />It is so strange - if anyone takes my name, I have the ability to make them famous. Just by taking my name. And that's God's gift. My son asked me this the other day, 6 'o' clock in the morning he called me, and asked me, Papa, people say things about you. Don't you get angry? Don't you want to beat them up?<br /><br />And I said no, your father is gifted with this. That if you want to be famous, you take your dad's name. And I said the only persons I don't want to be famous by taking my name are you and your sister. Let the rest of the world do that. And I truly mean that. I hope that comes true. I endorse so many people free (laughs)!<br /><br />But surely statements such as Thackeray's must provoke you to respond? Sometimes I don't want to dignify things with answers. And it takes a huge amount of self-restraint, patience, control, and love for your own family, to keep quiet. And dignity, and perhaps the status that I have in the eyes of the people.<br /><br />I was told by Amitji once - we were sitting backstage for a show - beta, jab stardom aati hai na, koi bhi aadmi aa kar tumko thappad mar kar chala jayega. Tum use kuch nahin keh sakte. Kyunki agar tumne kuch kaha, to tum ameer ho, gareeb pe apna dum daba rahe ho. Tumne sharab pi hui hai. Tum gundagardi kar rahe ho. Tum arrogant ho. Tum apne aap ko samjhte kya ho? He said these are the things they'll say. You have to keep quiet, put on your blinkers, keep walking.<br /><br />And that is why successful people finally become a little reclusive. It's not the reclusion of loneliness; my reclusion is the reclusion of avoiding, of ignoring, of saying, let's move on.<br /><br />Hemaji told me something like this long ago, when I was new. Somebody wrote an article which said that I'd said that Hemaji was not a good director - while I'd said nothing like that, but you know how press mein aata hai... so I was very scared and I said, ma'am, I didn't say anything like that. Hemaji told me see, this means, either I am very famous, or you are very famous. And my fame has sort of reduced now, so this means you've become famous, and now this will be part of your life.<br /><br />The other night, I met her for the launch of her film, and she asked me - you remember na everything I said? And I said, yes, I remember everything.<br /><br />So, yes, success makes people - people not related to you or to your field - like to take a dig at you. Sometimes I go to social networking sites for a while and I'm like, arre! Kaafi personal ho gaya!<br /><br />Quite vicious, the online tenor can be, on a bad day. Yes, very. But then, I'm like, this is maybe a small dusty man in a small dusty room, taking out his angst, his loneliness, by taking someone's name, abusing him, and feeling happy that his achievement has been recorded. So then I feel I'm also a source of inspiration for them, even if in a strange, negative sense. God bless them.<br /><br />There is no death of actors - stars, rather - who share your surname. But the "Nishan-e-Pakistan" sort of compliments are usually directed exclusively at you. Why's that? (Laughs) I know, I know what you mean. Maybe I'm too flamboyant. Maybe like my son, I don't answer back enough...<br /><br />But why are you a target of angst across the range - from the guy in the dusty room to irked political leaders? I think I invoke radical passions in people - and that is why I am such a big star! I'll walk out with you just now, and you'll have men, women, of all nationalities, just hugging me. I think it is the same intensity on the other side, in those who don't like my face. And I will choose to believe in the hugs more than the hatred.<br /><br />Just like Hyundai uses me, as a professional, a lot of people use me unprofessionally. I've become a free-for-all brand. I hope they come out with a rule that they can't use a person's name without paying him for it!<br /><br />And the most irritating part of it is one word - opinion. You ask someone, how could you say this about him? And the answer is - it's an opinion. You're a dog - that's an opinion. You're an actor - that's also an opinion. You're a Muslim - that's an opinion. Anything can be twisted into an opinion. That's not good.<br /><br />Ek "Trimurti" mein line thi - kabhi picture mein shoot hi nahin kari woh! - mujhe badi achhi lagti thi: "Jisko dekho mera baap banna chahta hai" (laughs). It's a strange thing. Jisko dekho mera baap banna chahta hai. Lekin theek hai. God bless them. So long as my children don't want to be my baap, it's ok!<br /><br />"RA.One's" revenues have been the subject of much national debate the past week. Yeah... right now, as we sit down and talk, it is supposed to be the highest grosser, as of five days. The business is different - number of theatres, screens, audience going in big numbers... so obviously the reactions are also larger, more volatile.<br /><br />The projectionists have also become part of the reactions - and they like to make projections telling you that agle din business itna achha nahin hoga.<br /><br />Everybody has become hugely associated with the tangibility of this business. It is unfortunate that it is so; a film should ideally be allowed to breathe, to reach people at its own pace. That was the old style. But if you release it in the new style, like we have, with 5,000 theatres, which is the American way of doing it - and the right way - because there are no longer Silver or Golden jubilees, there's only a weekend or two of business. In the future, all big films will release in 5,000 theatres. In an earlier interview, you said that films and filmmakers are part of a strange art form which is only measured by the yardstick of commerce. And that dichotomy is one you have to live with... You have to live with it, yes, you have to. Earlier, the business of films was not discussed on every platform. Now, if I'm getting off the plane from LA, people come up to me and say, 'Sir, congratulations, what big figures!' Earlier they would come and say nice film, good role - now they talk about earnings. The applause is mixed with the jingling of coins, you have to hear both together.<br /><br />It doesn't make me too happy. My heart doesn't crunch numbers. But my business partners are happy - mazaa aa gaya reactions. I'm like, ok... I think a film should be measured differently also.<br /><br />Is it the media's obsession with you vs Salman that got translated into the almost hourly comparison of "RA.One" vs "Dabangg"? I don't think it's just the media, honestly. I think there is a section of people related to the trade who also talk in these terms. A trade person or a producer, he'll tell you it did well, but it didn't quite do as well as that one, or better than that one on the second day, or whatever...<br /><br />I feel conversations are not viable anymore; it's just communication. And communication boils down to monosyllabic terms. Yes, no, ok, good, like, dislike, bye, 170 (crores). It is no longer ki kaisi lagi picture... Nobody converses. Reactions are like, wow, thumbs up, smiley.<br /><br />New genres, new stories are like a new shoe for a day or two. And I've been in the business long enough to know ki yeh joota theek ho jayega. Now it'll swerve to the opposite - these figures are unheard of, etc, etc. I would not like to participate in either of these discussions, Day 1, Day 2, week... the messages I get are like, '7 crores on a Monday! Super duper!' The first four days are just about communication, then it comes to conversation about a film. Appreciating a film is like opening a wine... good wine needs a little breathing before you drink it.<br /><br />On the point of commerce vs art: Wouldn't you be remembered for a role like "Chak De" even if that wouldn't be a movie that made a fraction of the money that "RA.One" is making? No, I don't think so, I don't think that's a case in point. I work for now. I don't work for two things - I don't work for posterity, and I don't work for prosperity. Some people work for prosperity. I've worked for that. But now I am prosperous, I am ok. And I don't work for posterity. Yaar main yeh kya nishaan chhod ke jaa raha hoon? Because posterity is not created by you; it's created by talk, by cinema, by life itself. If you're working for either of the two, you're on a shaky wicket. I work for NOW. I want to be untouched by this whole tangibility factor.<br /><br />I was speaking to Lady Gaga, I had this long interview with her, and she said some very nice things. I really appreciated it because when I say those things, I sound as if I am philosophizing too much. But she was saying the same thing. If finally someone were to give her a choice between giving up her money, her stardom, all that she's earned, or give up singing, she'd choose not to give up singing. If someone were to give me the choice between giving up all my cars and my money and giving up acting, I'd say, yaar, acting karte rahenge, will let those go.<br /><br />Maybe if you are as successful as I am today, you have that choice. Maybe that's not a choice one has in the first two years of one's career. But this is my reality today. I don't work for the prosperity; yes, it happens along the way, Mashallah, it's very good for the business. And I don't think about posterity. I will not think about posterity because I still haven't ended; I think my posterity will be when I sit down and start watching my own films, which I still don't do.<br /><br />Never? Never, yaar. I can't watch my own films. I've kept that for old age - ki baith ke dekhoonga, kiya kyaa.<br /><br />What is old age? Old age, for me? The way I'm going, about 140. That's what my friends say. I'm 46 now - so about a hundred to go!<br /><br />Your dad was 50-something when he passed away. You've talked about thinking more of mortality, and of him, when you approach 50. Yes, then I did. But now I don't... because I am the healthiest I ever was right now. And I am also more relaxed. In a happier space as a person. To me it's no longer about wanting to have my finger in every aspect of life, like I used to be maybe 15 years ago.<br /><br />But ya, it is strange to think that my son today is as old as I was when my father died. I do get reminded of that, ya. Not necessarily about mortality... but it's good to be reminded of that, too. Like Steve Jobs said, if you know finally you're going to die, there seems to be no risk in anything you do in life. He said this when he had cancer. I think our fear of mortality stops us from living life to the fullest. I am living my dreams - how many people get a chance to do that?<br /><br />Lady Gaga tweeted a picture with you and said 'screw Hollywood!' That must have made you happy! Yeah! Actually all the reviews of my movie in Hollywood are like that. You should read the reviews in LA Times, New York Times... a journalist said to me, 'It's like we've been saying this for 8-10 years, suddenly, seeing "RA.One", we're telling Hollywood, dude, even technically they're here now - and the cost is one-hundredth of your films.' I think it's a sign of the times, whether it's Akon or Lady Gaga, they all want to come to India. In reverse, it took an Oscar for us to recognize the genius of a Resul.<br /><br />As to Lady Gaga, she's a sweet lady, really, really upfront, honest. I spent three hours chatting with her. It was fantastic. Simple, down-to-earth middle-class girl... 'Simple' and 'middle-class' are not the first words that come to mind when you speak of Lady Gaga... An image. An image that's bordering on the bizarre. And it's just an image. Amazingly intellectual. A philosopher. She is very clear. As a person, she is so deep, she knows the philosophy of the world, she ad verbatim knows the philosophers... It was a great learning experience - and I say that about very few people, more so those who are 25 years old.<br /><br />She said a great thing to me. She said, an artiste's personal life should not be discussed beyond a point, because it somehow blunts the art of the artiste. People start taking the art less seriously than the personality. She says my personality is me, my art is what you see - and they are two distinct, two clear thoughts. Seeing her on stage, you expect her to be this really wild, vivacious girl - she's actually a calm, normal person who says her most interesting pastime is cooking food for her father whenever she's in New York. Middle-class girl. She's very clear - I just want to sing.<br /><br />It was a fantastic learning experience for me, and it was also stuff that I completely believe in. Whatever I am out here is for the people - I'll dance for you, I'll do a "Chammak Challo", I'll wear a tight suit and fly if that makes you happy. But in my personal life, I'm a deeper person. So when you say silly things about me... I have to disassociate and say, these guys don't even know me personally. So the comment is unfounded. This guy doesn't even know me. I was flipping through an article and somebody had written, 'This is the most expensive mid-life crisis of a person'. Why are you talking about my mid-life crisis? What do you know about my crisis? Or where I am? Talk about the film - that's what you're paid for. Review the film. Don't review my personal life. I don't sell my personal life to you. Talk about the actor, don't talk about the person.<br /><br />When you make a personal remark about me, without knowing me, I have to take it like that - it's your own issues in life maybe, you're just putting it upon me because iske paas yeh sab kyun hai, hamare paas kyun nahin. I guess it's just that, finally.<br /><br />Are you still an outsider in the system after all these years? Well, if you look at it, I'm an outsider, which my son won't be, so maybe he'll have it easier... but it's not that. I'm told that I may be coming across as rude. I'm not really very social.<br /><br />Maybe it's because I don't bend. Maybe because even in the face of bad things, I'm smiling. It irks people sometimes. They're like, saala, akele yeh sab kaise kar leta hai? I do that because I sleep less, I work harder. Everyone finds a different reason for my success except the fact that I act. 'Yeh marketing guru hai yaar'. 'You know what, saale ki luck chal rahi hai'.<br /><br />Luck chal rahi hai, for 20 years? Haan, saala, bees saal se luck hi chal rahi hai! It's 'Arre wohi kare ja raha hai, love stories karta rehta hai'. 'Gaane nikal jaate hain iske; gaane achhe mil jaate hain saale ko'. 'You know what, Muslim audience bahut pyaar karti hai isko.' 'Overseas! Overseas ki wajah se itna chalta hai.'<br /><br />They find strange reasons for my success. But the real reason is - early to bed, early to rise, work my a** off, and advertize. It's as simple as that.<br /><br />I am my one man walking talking team. I can handle 5-6 things at a time. I can handle a cricket team, I can handle production, I can set up a VFX studio, I can make the most expensive film in the country. I can still come and launch a kabaddi tournament in Bhatinda and deliver a speech at Adasia which everybody loved and still go back home and celebrate my birthday with my kids.<br /><br />And I can play video games with them. And I'm not tired. And I'm everywhere.<br /><br />But your being everywhere was a point of much talk in the run-up to "RA.One" - he's on every show, everywhere... And why not? An actor once told me - I won't name him - 'I don't like dancing at weddings'. I said, and how often have you been invited to dance at weddings? The answer: 'I'll never do it'. I said, pehle chance toh mile! If I'm invited, if I'm put on people's shoulders, if I'm asked to be on, from "KBC", to whatever programme - if I'm called, I like to do it, I'm ok. This is what I'm here for. I like doing that. You do that if you're called. Just because you're not invited, don't run down my party. I'm invited to every party. And I like to attend all of them. And I enjoy myself.<br /><br />Life is beautiful. I am beautiful. And the few things around me that are not beautiful - I like to think of them as nazarbattoos - tils. Woh kehte hain na, tere chehre pe yeh jo kaala sa til hai, lagta hai daulat-e-husn pe darbaan bitha rakha hai. So yeh jo negative baatein karte hain mere baare me, yeh mere daulat-e-husn ke darbaan hain, mujhe nazar lagne se bachate hain.<br /><br />You looked tired, run-down sometimes while being everywhere... I got tired. I fell sick, actually. I got a bronchitis attack but I couldn't stop, film ke premieres they. Then I was on antibiotics.<br /><br />Superstars don't rest, do they? I sleep an average of 30-35 hours a week. Today I slept just an hour, but on the flight from LA, I slept for 16 hours straight. I guess it comes out to an average of 5 hours. I don't sleep very early anyway. I like that time at night. That's the only time I get to be with myself. No cars, no clothes, no films, nothing, just my thoughts. That's important. People think insomnia hai, but it's not that. I like that time - 2, 3am. You hear crickets, it's quiet. I like that time of the night.<br /><br />For 20 years, when so much is asked of you, and you want to give it with happiness and love, you deserve that time by yourself. I just sit quietly, I do nothing. I'll write, or surf channels, or read a really silly book. That time, I feel, gets me ready for the next day, more than the sleep.</span><br /><br /><span><a href="http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/entertainment/bollywood/news-interviews/I-work-for-neither-posterity-nor-prosperity-SRK/articleshow/10618187.cms#comment-rig" target="_blank">Find Full Original News Article Link here:</a>.<p></p></span><span style="font-weight:bold;"></span><br />CELEBRATING RA.ONE AND GAGA MANIA...ON THE EDGE OF GLORY...FILMS, LOVE WITH SHAH RUKH KHAN AND ARTISTIC INTELLIGENCE...@LADY GAGA...HAPPY 46th BIRTHDAY MY SHAH *ILU*~ (11/02/2011)<br /><p><object width="480" height="345"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/QeWBS0JBNzQ?version=3&hl=en_US"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/QeWBS0JBNzQ?version=3&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="480" height="345" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object></p></p>Wild Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05260455210731142858noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6045061990134848974.post-16138723765819305792011-07-10T16:42:00.001-07:002011-11-08T02:41:29.044-08:00"As You Unravel Me"<span style="font-weight:bold;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2Kim8ykvbegvG0JLMjmTYisVzbKYAqCWH1WBeX90G00-jzwBj890CSgrsOEEQwjj0m5B0aLJHCMqn0uYZJMWT9NversGlPx2s8PQryy6MvzmbP-4ZtWi1S7UTQD-fOrzF_k-NCyaSWzg/s1600/rr.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 460px; height: 640px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2Kim8ykvbegvG0JLMjmTYisVzbKYAqCWH1WBeX90G00-jzwBj890CSgrsOEEQwjj0m5B0aLJHCMqn0uYZJMWT9NversGlPx2s8PQryy6MvzmbP-4ZtWi1S7UTQD-fOrzF_k-NCyaSWzg/s400/rr.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5626722359100993362" /></a><br /><br />As I am <br />Weaving crosshairs <br />of your wrapping fingers<br />shadowing my eyes<br />I see filtered <br />behind the hazel of your own<br />an insatiable intensity<br />ordering my flesh<br />To ascend<br />and descend<br />into a recruit’s rhyme<br /><br />"Take me higher"<br /> <br />"Move lower...Ooh... my sweet love..."<br /><br />I ask of you<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsbOCEWp03wbruggMwQPYicbsOnWzox-IdK-J6mSthU-G2BsKsk4rGaFtjJ-pTwGYbyOtFC-jGdP4kExIW4ewcOTvskoZN5mMCKjUEEI7MgSu2Mio3HB-7zmiE1i8z5JctY1fzZXq4lzc/s1600/sens48.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsbOCEWp03wbruggMwQPYicbsOnWzox-IdK-J6mSthU-G2BsKsk4rGaFtjJ-pTwGYbyOtFC-jGdP4kExIW4ewcOTvskoZN5mMCKjUEEI7MgSu2Mio3HB-7zmiE1i8z5JctY1fzZXq4lzc/s400/sens48.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5627903782619546002" /></a><br />Submerging, you trail down to my heart<br />Hearing its clamorous beat you remove the lace<br />Undressing the silk of my skin<br />Untying me<br />Exposing me <br />Freeing me<br />From the crimson veiled phantoms<br />Bleeding across your bed<br />Begging to be scrubbed clean<br /><br />"Don’t"<br /><br />I whisper to you <br /><br />"It’s not time yet" <br /><br />Let them be... <br />Let us drench in each other<br />Am tainted in your colors<br />you’re painted in my soul<br />and we need the camouflage<br />I need the frequency of your lips<br />the length of its waves<br />to hush my moans<br />transforming themselves<br />from sound to sensation<br />Crying to shivering <br />Escaping from mouth to body<br />both begging release...<br />The consequence is the expert <br />playing of our digits<br />Surging music from our bones<br /><br />"Lean closer"...<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMIrtZcevqZTG2heLMZnMsQemYUhEsPtcJvZFZtY3bVYFTsHUz7xIKQO2guGah_flcCWRyiAqHaiR4DHFXPCoha38TpWMkEHS_Jy7EqypK8fGfi9An30PGrQFEIR7PhCM0PoAmjBpYIOQ/s1600/vvc-a.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 480px; height: 370px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMIrtZcevqZTG2heLMZnMsQemYUhEsPtcJvZFZtY3bVYFTsHUz7xIKQO2guGah_flcCWRyiAqHaiR4DHFXPCoha38TpWMkEHS_Jy7EqypK8fGfi9An30PGrQFEIR7PhCM0PoAmjBpYIOQ/s400/vvc-a.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5627871826387062594" /></a><br />Your smile begs to be tasted<br />Heavenly dimples blushing<br />Something about this feeling<br />when kissing you is so tender<br />than the hesitation allowed<br />The intricate examination<br />of the texture of your flesh<br />leaves this raw expectancy<br />of waiting for more and more<br />Pausing for the truth of your tongue<br />as it unravels me again and again...<br /><br /><iframe width="480" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/rz8EFb3Und4?rel=0" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe><br /><p><iframe width="480" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/pa14VNsdSYM?rel=0" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe> <br /><p><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdKV1kb4ilmPf_CS_TKp3eqNkDMCb_6CMpyqSsXIVpue-gfFHLzJHZ8ZxX-JWiYuJBYISIpN5dUkCBy5e-iLeW-0C7AR_cuMhrwSfGAyK8pwJdjkRx4oyFafrsxNgkJK_WHg2VSvB2yGU/s1600/ooo-0.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 480px; height: 370px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdKV1kb4ilmPf_CS_TKp3eqNkDMCb_6CMpyqSsXIVpue-gfFHLzJHZ8ZxX-JWiYuJBYISIpN5dUkCBy5e-iLeW-0C7AR_cuMhrwSfGAyK8pwJdjkRx4oyFafrsxNgkJK_WHg2VSvB2yGU/s400/ooo-0.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5627903445614727730" /></a></span>Wild Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05260455210731142858noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6045061990134848974.post-72870882617312503102011-06-05T12:08:00.000-07:002011-11-08T02:42:05.689-08:00WORLD ENVIRONMENT DAY (GREENATHON): Shah Rukh Khan on Greenathon3 Taking It Global~June 5th 2011<span style="font-weight:bold;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://drop.ndtv.com/green/green-celebs-banner-final.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 480px; height: 197px;" src="http://drop.ndtv.com/green/green-celebs-banner-final.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />We all talk of improving lives, saving the environment and making a difference globally for our families and societies as a whole...BUT what are we really doing about it?? Action does speak louder than words, so lets take a look at some who are walking the talk while making it fun to do so...<br /><br />GREENATHON 3: SRK UNINTERRUPTED - TOO FUNNY :-)<br /><iframe src='http://www.ndtv.com/common/videos/embedPlayer.php?id=201732&autoplay=0&pWidth=480&pHeight=385&category=embed' width='480' height='385' frameborder='0' scrolling='no' ></iframe><br />NDTV-Toyota Greenathon 3: Shah Rukh Khan talks about a whole lot of things, but some of the one liners... you would want to hear them again… LMAO~<br /><br />SHAH DANCES TO RA. ONE'S CHAMMAK CHALLO BY AKON WITH PRIYANKA...G3 <br /><iframe src='http://www.ndtv.com/common/videos/embedPlayer.php?id=201713&autoplay=0&pWidth=480&pHeight=385&category=embed' width='480' height='385' frameborder='0' scrolling='no' ></iframe><br />But most importantly, Shah Rukh Khan, Priyanka Chopra and Shahid Kapoor amongst others adopted 580 villages and all will be lit up with solar lanterns that will help improve the villagers’ lives immensely. Just think the villagers can see what they’re doing in the dark, girls can read and get better grades in school, the villagers’ day to day activities and lives are made easier just by having light instead of working in the darkness. God!!! I am so thankful to all these wonderful celebrities for making a difference where it matters most and helping boost their communities. Shah Rukh Khan adopted 11 villages on this Greenathon 3 and has helped take the greenathon movement global. I don’t know about you but if you asked me how I feel about all this. It would take me an eternity and more to tell you just how proud I am of my Shah...what a blessing and a beautiful example this man is to society and to me and my family. Thank you my love for all your efforts and may Allah open all the doors for you to your greatest achievements and all the success in the upcoming films Ra. One and DON 2...Words don’t do you justice Shah...but you have my heart and soul and that is enough words from me for now~ <br /><iframe src='http://www.ndtv.com/common/videos/embedPlayer.php?id=201689&autoplay=0&pWidth=480&pHeight=385&category=embed' width='480' height='385' frameborder='0' scrolling='no' ></iframe><br />NDTV-Toyota Greenathon 3: SRK dances to Sajda dedicated to him at Greenathon 3 <br /><object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/iW9o4bFRucQ?version=3&hl=en_US&rel=0"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/iW9o4bFRucQ?version=3&hl=en_US&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="480" height="385" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object><br />ALL IN ALL 11 CRORES ( 110,000,000.00 INR) => 2,454,261.51 USD EQUIVALENT WAS RAISED FOR 580 VILLAGES IN INDIA WITHOUT LIGHT!! CONGRATULATIONS TO ALL WHO MADE IT HAPPEN~<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://drop.ndtv.com/albums/NEWS/cebquotes/srk.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 500px; height: 986px;" src="http://drop.ndtv.com/albums/NEWS/cebquotes/srk.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />Shah Rukh Khan: I think we cannot remove plastic straight away. We need to learn how to recycle it...You're damn right baby we do need to learn how to recycle, all of us~<br /><br />ASK YOURSELVES A FEW QUESTIONS AS YOU GO ON ABOUT YOUR LIVES AND TRY TO MAKE A DIFFERENCE:<br /><br />How shall I stop the use of plastics in my day-to-day activities?<br />How shall I conserve energy?<br />How shall I help in stopping pollution from my side?<br />How shall i make a difference in another person's life?</span>Wild Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05260455210731142858noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6045061990134848974.post-7181303938336132772011-05-12T12:58:00.000-07:002011-06-14T15:37:00.263-07:00Did The Professor Have A Choice...? And what would your choice be??? :))<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://darmano.typepad.com/logic_emotion/images/2008/06/03/brand_heaven_4.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 475px; height: 601px;" src="http://darmano.typepad.com/logic_emotion/images/2008/06/03/brand_heaven_4.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br />The following is an actual question given on a Chemistry mid-term exam at the University of Nairobi in Kenya. <br /><br />The answer by one student was so "profound" that the professor shared it with colleagues, via the Internet, which is, of course, why we now have the pleasure of enjoying it as well~<br /><br />Bonus Question: Is Hell exothermic (gives off heat) or endothermic<br />(absorbs heat)?<br /><br />Most of the students wrote proofs of their beliefs using Boyle's Law (gas cools when it expands and heats when it is compressed) or some variant.<br /><br />P1V1 = P2V2<br /><br />One student, however, wrote the following:<br /><br /><br />First, we need to know how the mass of Hell is changing in time. So we need to know the rate at which souls are moving into Hell and the rate at which they are leaving. I think that we can safely assume that once a soul gets to Hell, it will not leave. Therefore, no souls are leaving.<br />As for how many souls are entering Hell, let's look at the different religions that exist in the world today. Most of these religions state that if you are not a member of their religion, you will go to Hell.<br />Since there is more than one of these religions and since people do not belong to more than one religion, we can project that all souls go to Hell.<br /><br />With birth and death rates as they are, we can expect the number of souls in Hell to increase exponentially. Now, we look at the rate of change of the volume in Hell because Boyle's Law states that in order for the temperature and pressure in Hell to stay the same, the volume of Hell has to expand proportionately as souls are added.<br /><br />This gives two possibilities:<br />1. If Hell is expanding at a slower rate than the rate at which souls enter Hell, then the temperature and pressure in Hell will increase until all Hell breaks loose.<br /><br />2. If Hell is expanding at a rate faster than the increase of souls in Hell, then the temperature and pressure will drop until Hell freezes over. So which is it?<br /><br />If we accept the postulate given to me by Julie during my Freshman year that, "It will be a cold day in Hell before I sleep with you!"..in her own words..and then take into account the fact that I slept with her last night, then number two must be true and thus; I am sure that Hell is exothermic and has already frozen over.<br /><br />The corollary of this theory is that since Hell has frozen over, it follows that it is not accepting any more souls and is therefore, extinct......leaving only Heaven, thereby proving the existence of a divine being which explains why last night, Julie kept shouting..."Oh My God!!!"<br /><br />THIS STUDENT RECEIVED THE ONLY "A+"<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaf0FrlOOMlU83p4JPk34ThF-9MiSktzwXqMpGlEXnlIIKpY9qnwCU9lClxR8gazVyZmukcAsgNbF6v7ScFOEJ55NfyCWcCP88BMk5j6LIDKd0XniBCMUZxcBBJSv29ac8F8rFMTg5gZc/s1600/heaven-hell+-+101.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 460px; height: 432px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaf0FrlOOMlU83p4JPk34ThF-9MiSktzwXqMpGlEXnlIIKpY9qnwCU9lClxR8gazVyZmukcAsgNbF6v7ScFOEJ55NfyCWcCP88BMk5j6LIDKd0XniBCMUZxcBBJSv29ac8F8rFMTg5gZc/s1600/heaven-hell+-+101.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a>Wild Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05260455210731142858noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6045061990134848974.post-54549809366369108062010-12-29T02:33:00.000-08:002011-05-13T15:34:09.532-07:00New Beginnings Year 2011<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDcCQIIMbDDhgdGhjVon1_Ji9kgYJidgmwfB4UPDjV-l_DBzA820axJ3h2TBwOgpzHB2mPH7XVZ1xJAsvGFKDGMgQJpfNv2g-BS3x9_a0jEOLanT53KqcLrsfpG4C4BlVoW_1UyhIOeHc/s1600/newyearh005.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 340px; height: 340px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDcCQIIMbDDhgdGhjVon1_Ji9kgYJidgmwfB4UPDjV-l_DBzA820axJ3h2TBwOgpzHB2mPH7XVZ1xJAsvGFKDGMgQJpfNv2g-BS3x9_a0jEOLanT53KqcLrsfpG4C4BlVoW_1UyhIOeHc/s400/newyearh005.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5556053863317918082" /></a><br />Today is a good day to new beginnings,<br />Our tale may be old but it’s new in this season <br />Speaking the arc of truth today<br />My muse’s blessing took the form of <br />An immaculate colored breeze<br />devouring the rebellious butterfly on the wing <br />As he guided me to<br /> <br />My new year’s resolution...<br /><br />Loving those within and closest to my heart <br />Now more than ever<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq8vxNz8Ob_sGrc_OQdZWo2aFHRMxtWzXP9izwONJo1OxR2FYZUrQcJ-G1NWxpFQYYOBb7bsFKR_DSGJn3JXK8pGljusn-NI7vpJCgttGnmbuqIPt6bdSX-hCw0bb7iiPL_LLOeTViJVs/s1600/hny11a.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 201px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq8vxNz8Ob_sGrc_OQdZWo2aFHRMxtWzXP9izwONJo1OxR2FYZUrQcJ-G1NWxpFQYYOBb7bsFKR_DSGJn3JXK8pGljusn-NI7vpJCgttGnmbuqIPt6bdSX-hCw0bb7iiPL_LLOeTViJVs/s400/hny11a.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5556060383238652866" /></a><br />As he loved then, I loved back<br />Now I love and he loves even more<br />We will love still <br />And hope to love infinitely<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip20yYnOBHNkQTM-WZwoaWCgBTjpoiWLkiJDUWSuaqRF2fmM8hP2_0SHNuU8Tcx880vCNT6XqsYbXZpuoq0NzyaL_8NdG3NT5WtiY0mwJCjsrzowHHhWTCikzmC3MBTfvdHHKjFanaF1I/s1600/p80.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 353px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip20yYnOBHNkQTM-WZwoaWCgBTjpoiWLkiJDUWSuaqRF2fmM8hP2_0SHNuU8Tcx880vCNT6XqsYbXZpuoq0NzyaL_8NdG3NT5WtiY0mwJCjsrzowHHhWTCikzmC3MBTfvdHHKjFanaF1I/s400/p80.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5556053054026528866" /></a><br />Without misfortune or ramification<br />In the sweet breathing of our lives<br />2011 is a good year to just love<br />And truly be loved eternally and thereafter.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigVBhWITAnhz0PzTtJC-Jn43on1pBTg59hdlDDoXJU54-wcvTaTd-RWgGZbpHZhvE_M0I335p8euehxZPKMSxBWPoP5mEqoUDegcbUIUuSI5C4R17zIP3Q-8GQHSgkB4OBY9Il0r2m_zA/s1600/newyearh004.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 352px; height: 352px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigVBhWITAnhz0PzTtJC-Jn43on1pBTg59hdlDDoXJU54-wcvTaTd-RWgGZbpHZhvE_M0I335p8euehxZPKMSxBWPoP5mEqoUDegcbUIUuSI5C4R17zIP3Q-8GQHSgkB4OBY9Il0r2m_zA/s400/newyearh004.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5556053603886674194" /></a><br /><br /><object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/57n9mVUENs0?fs=1&hl=en_US&color1=0x006699&color2=0x54abd6"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/57n9mVUENs0?fs=1&hl=en_US&color1=0x006699&color2=0x54abd6" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object><br /><font face="Verdana" size="1" color="#999999"><br/><a href="http://www.myspace.com/video/vid/45840876" style="font: Verdana"></a><br/><object width="480px" height="385px" ><param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always"/><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"/><param name="wmode" value="transparent"/><param name="movie" value="http://mediaservices.myspace.com/services/media/embed.aspx/m=45840876,t=1,mt=video"/><embed src="http://mediaservices.myspace.com/services/media/embed.aspx/m=45840876,t=1,mt=video" width="480" height="385" allowFullScreen="true" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" allowScriptAccess="always"></embed></object><br/><a href="http://www.myspace.com/333457673" style="font: Verdana"></a><a href="http://www.myspace.com/video" style="font: Verdana"></a></font><br /><br /><object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/Ahf2B_eZUc4?fs=1&hl=en_US&color1=0x006699&color2=0x54abd6"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/Ahf2B_eZUc4?fs=1&hl=en_US&color1=0x006699&color2=0x54abd6" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object><br />HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE AND STAY BLESSED WITH LOTS OF LOVE~Wild Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05260455210731142858noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6045061990134848974.post-63745738847254537202010-10-05T15:39:00.000-07:002010-10-06T05:06:02.283-07:00"My Adonis"<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRBcbmMO7RhwKJvqontPU1mDusmTO64ui5w0yPL_G6X6Nk9v_6JsYM9a6VeJuOqMrSGPPE30-MGQGrBS9zIZyb9HTs6sR4FyBRYzry2YFaKUWMOFkfG6FXhUhxjzxP-Xjw6AJy1H-YChI/s1600/adonis.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 480px; height: 610px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRBcbmMO7RhwKJvqontPU1mDusmTO64ui5w0yPL_G6X6Nk9v_6JsYM9a6VeJuOqMrSGPPE30-MGQGrBS9zIZyb9HTs6sR4FyBRYzry2YFaKUWMOFkfG6FXhUhxjzxP-Xjw6AJy1H-YChI/s400/adonis.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5524717066770731762" /></a><br />You stand before me<br />Handsome as always,<br />My Adonis<br />Sculpted from my love,<br />My dreams and desires.<br />I am astounded at how still you can be<br />As my eyes drink your flawless pose<br />Rock hard granite perfection. <br />Silky raven hair falling<br />No... <br />Hanging above a placid <br />Forehead unrifled yet by age<br />A Masterpiece!<br />Gem colored eyes<br />Varying hue by the hour<br />Or reset by the mood<br />Cat's Eye Topaz<br />Malachite chartreuse<br />Complimenting<br />Fleshy lips flawlessly placed<br />Begging to be bitten...<br />To be consumed...<br />On an angular face<br />As if chiseled after an image of Eros<br />Erogenous neck line luring the eye<br />Down to your broad shoulders<br />Arms outlined in muscles<br />Defined and secure<br />Like a horse in gallop<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjToJSx1XT5mcgFNf6ZNlPPcx_EdZbIcY3AQVJg0b8MleMNPkDs8shjlrPgflDyi8spJY11LHnq1Naovaj45OAw1DoyHOR5qnwp_MPYIw5IAkcX7jgxmsyAas2P3ZKUciyKBUxN6BazcXs/s1600/golden+trout.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 480px; height: 360px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjToJSx1XT5mcgFNf6ZNlPPcx_EdZbIcY3AQVJg0b8MleMNPkDs8shjlrPgflDyi8spJY11LHnq1Naovaj45OAw1DoyHOR5qnwp_MPYIw5IAkcX7jgxmsyAas2P3ZKUciyKBUxN6BazcXs/s400/golden+trout.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5524728880932185570" /></a><br />Tag Heuer resting on your wrist <br />Interrupting the flow<br />To your hand <br />Harboring virile fingers<br />Painting, gliding and gripping<br />A pen, a phone, a brush, <br />My soft supple skin...<br />Your torso inebriating<br />Your well drawn back <br />A heavenly sea to rest upon<br />A pirate <br />plundering hearts<br />Wherever you may sail.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVmy0wL3mI6k4N9h-ZKdQZzu44wnrK6E_vuTFntB1V_ZUH7IoYtxyXSWCAK-Lxiax1FCClChjLcQ7cjoOaNoIal2oQY6v7do1E757ZjPt5EU31SgO20WJHP9zCFiq4Bqj_I5uXfhPQjZk/s1600/shahrukh-khan-pantsoff.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 393px; height: 751px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVmy0wL3mI6k4N9h-ZKdQZzu44wnrK6E_vuTFntB1V_ZUH7IoYtxyXSWCAK-Lxiax1FCClChjLcQ7cjoOaNoIal2oQY6v7do1E757ZjPt5EU31SgO20WJHP9zCFiq4Bqj_I5uXfhPQjZk/s400/shahrukh-khan-pantsoff.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5524787789327615346" /></a><br />I met you long ago<br />Needing someone to dream of <br />When bored and to speak to <br />When lonely <br />To cry to and hold<br />When nights failed <br />To draw me into slumber<br /><br />Now always together...<br /><br />I have spoken to you<br />Of Love, Fears, Dreams<br />I have read your poetic words<br />Contemplating all of life<br />Your melodious soft voice<br />Stretches itself over the extension<br />Whispering magical words <br />Lulled with a sultry accent<br />Airing comforting phrases<br />These memories and time spent<br />With a man that is more than a rainy-day’s comfort<br />And a fleece blanket covering <br />My naked feet.<br /><br />Softly...<br />Like a whispered caress<br />I edge closer<br />To your wanting pedestal<br />I possess you<br />My one-piece collection,<br />Frozen forever in this moment<br />My hands move-rushing to <br />Polish you into refined elegance<br />Kissing your eyes, <br />Your dimple, <br />Your nose.<br />Caressing your face, <br />Your chest, <br />Your thighs.<br />I kneel before you <br />My Vampire Knight...<br />Smoothing you until you glisten<br />I come apart at the ends of <br />Your soft fingertips...<br />And before I am finished<br />I slowly run my lips<br />From the apex to the base<br />Of our passionate craving<br />Entangled in sweat and tears<br />Unafraid of tomorrow’s fears<br />Ecstatic to the moment’s oblivion<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiucrqWEOSLBxCZH72zPJWfs9YDXkgWK5CJXdZBcn_k7ynz1_XphyAH1UDokBg6mNU7kg6CLG1jD3DaSfOX9JasZzUK2X-8OTF9ehqomXizf0qVmgrMAUbSdHgc1WfN9_cYi8r0RH93p2o/s1600/never+let+go.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 480px; height: 439px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiucrqWEOSLBxCZH72zPJWfs9YDXkgWK5CJXdZBcn_k7ynz1_XphyAH1UDokBg6mNU7kg6CLG1jD3DaSfOX9JasZzUK2X-8OTF9ehqomXizf0qVmgrMAUbSdHgc1WfN9_cYi8r0RH93p2o/s400/never+let+go.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5524720587790060466" /></a><br />For every question <br />You hold in your heart <br />I answer <br />I am yours.<br /><object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/_3dISGg6vDg?fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0&color1=0xcc2550&color2=0xe87a9f"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/_3dISGg6vDg?fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0&color1=0xcc2550&color2=0xe87a9f" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object><br /><br /><object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/1mB0tP1I-14?fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0&color1=0xcc2550&color2=0xe87a9f"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/1mB0tP1I-14?fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0&color1=0xcc2550&color2=0xe87a9f" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object>Wild Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05260455210731142858noreply@blogger.com61tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6045061990134848974.post-45010605984299355712010-10-01T14:16:00.001-07:002011-01-02T02:16:45.286-08:00"Don't Question My Intelligence: SRK!!!"<span style="font-style:italic;">I love posting anything that i find interesting and there're a million reasons why i adore Shah Rukh Khan as a man / star / actor and human being. Below is one among those many reasons. Here is an example of what simple human rights (Freedom of Speech, Freedom of Thought, Freedom of Religion, Equality excetera...) are and how they're interpreted and misconstrued by others. This is an article from the Times Of India and my thoughts come after, some translations are included...</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><br />Anshul Chaturvedi, TNN, Sep 30, 2010, 12.00am IST</span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy1g5VSDDDeCcHFDllISxQaIuKNzV8RhtPYGxUl02xe0S57ltt1q52bj0kclf9REjBDlyt1QIl4UuNazi2HPdCWHVASEnGE0otwsqQZ8hHlpiEPKfwb9FbfbvTWz6DZKuFKjhsulrLe8I/s1600/bw.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 470px; height: 336px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy1g5VSDDDeCcHFDllISxQaIuKNzV8RhtPYGxUl02xe0S57ltt1q52bj0kclf9REjBDlyt1QIl4UuNazi2HPdCWHVASEnGE0otwsqQZ8hHlpiEPKfwb9FbfbvTWz6DZKuFKjhsulrLe8I/s400/bw.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5523434348793649202" /></a><br /><br />SRK ke affair ki story mein ek byte communal harmony ka bhi chala do (While talking about SRK's affairs let's throw in a byte about communal harmony too) is how stars' perspectives on national issues are treated, says SRK, which is why he doesn't always say what he thinks. Except, of course, to TOI<br /><br />Last week, the Mumbai police asked cine stars to appeal to people to maintain communal harmony as the Babri verdict approaches. You've spoken earlier – after Emraan Hashmi's press conference on not getting a house in Mumbai – and you'd said that you have a point of view, but you're defensive about expressing it because a) it's always misinterpreted, and b) the media doesn't take a stand. Today, if approached for bytes on communal harmony, are you willing to go beyond the one-liners?<br />Perhaps we should not be taken very seriously because we are film stars. You don't go to every engineer or doctor to take his viewpoint on communal harmony. The contrary argument to this is – oh, but you guys are public figures! My contrary argument is, we are public figures to the extent that we are entertainers. Beyond that, if there is an issue that I want to talk about, it may be personal, it may be women's education, I'll say it. You don't have to take it seriously, but if I felt it, I said it. If somebody takes it seriously, wonderful.<br /><br />But I do feel that the line between how seriously we can take movie stars is rather fuzzy; we ask every movie star to talk about a national issue – whether it's the games, a cricket match, communal harmony, using contraceptives, polio vaccines... And on the same hand, we ask them some really silly things too. By virtue of subjecting a profession to two diverse thoughts – arre, bataiye, aap ne toh wahaan badi badtameezi ki thi, aap to sharab pi kar danga karte hain, humne suna hai ki aap ne toh...(Please tell us, you behaved so badly in that place, you drink and create havoc, we heard you .....) – you get a little schizophrenic. Am I someone who should talk about a larger issue in the overall interest, or am I someone who is just meant to be doing tomfoolery?<br /><br />Yeah, the last time you spoke on this, you said, I'm just a dumb, vulgar star, why should I have an opinion?<br />Yeah, so why do I have to answer all this... so you are always in two minds when something like this is said. There are days when you feel, I'm not gonna speak, yaar. Because with the stage and the time of the work that you are doing, you reach a point when you cross just personal satisfaction. Then you think, I'll do this because cinema will look better. Of course you want your films to do well, but at some point you also begin doing it with a thought beyond just the BO returns.<br /><br />But people only weigh it like that – that you can't think beyond your next film's future. That makes me go back to a thought – films and filmmakers and actors are part of a strange art form, which is only measured by the yardstick of commerce. So it's a dichotomy; it'll always be so. Ki hum artists hain, lekin jab tak woh painting biki nahi ek crore ki, tab tak hum bade artist nahin hain. (We are artistes but until that painting sells for a crore we haven't made it to the top) It's a strange thing, that you are weighed purely by commerce, while you are artistic by thought and belief. So sometimes, the question is put to you as an artistic person, about national interest. And you're like, haan, main artist hoon, main aapse is baare mein bolta hoon. (Yeah I'm an artiste, so I'm talking to you on this issue)) Suddenly, it's a commercial question – and you go, arre, yeh kahan se aaya... (Arre, where did this come from) It's a fait accompli, an occupational hazard, and I'll never be able to resolve it.<br /><br />So when someone says to me, speak about communal harmony, I will say – yeah, I believe in communal harmony, in my house there's communal harmony. I believe my nation is truly secular, I truly believe that. So I will talk about it. And on the same platform, like you were just pointing out the contradiction, someone will ask me – toh aapka six pack aa gaya? (so have you got your 6-packs yet?) So you're like... how do I answer something on communal harmony and on six packs in the same breath? So you're, like I said, schizophrenic. You know you're playing two parts simultaneously, and so on days, you try to avoid playing at least one of them.<br /><br /><br />I don't know if people understand, from the outside, the dichotomy of questions that we are subjected to, ki bhai, kya poochh rahe ho same breath mein? (what are you asking in the same breath?) You don't ask the other part to national leaders, you never ask them a frivolous question. And just because we entertain, by jumping and doing fight scenes and dancing, it does not make us different...it takes a lot of intellect to do the silly things that we do on screen to convince a billion people that this is true. It takes a lot of intellect to be able to convince people to believe in fantasy – but people don't seem to be able to recognize that.<br /><br />Like, Walt Disney wasn't a cartoon...<br />Absolutely. Walt Disney is not a cartoon. He is genuinely, internationally, the longest lasting phenomenon. You don't laugh at him when you see his face and say, he's Mickey Mouse. He's not Mickey Mouse – he's the creator of dreams. And some dreams are funny, some are silly, some are sweet – that does not make the creator any of those things, it just makes him very imaginative. It makes him versatile.<br /><br />I like talking when people ask me sensible questions. Ask me senseless questions also, but in a context, and I can have fun, I can make you laugh at my answers. But it should not be that you are just doing it for a purpose which is so transparent, and you are questioning my intelligence by asking me a question like that; ask me a question, but don't question my intelligence. That's what it comes down to, many times. Come with a question, but don't come with a motive behind a question. But... you live with it. You do get irritated also, at times... maybe that is why people are taking to more social networking stuff. They are actually moving away. That is why you may find in the long run that the fastest information, the most important information, finally, all celebrities will end up giving through their own channel – be it a book, a blog, Twitter, XYZ. If I'm not talking about a topic on my channel, it means I don't want to talk about it. I'm very clear now, for example, I don't talk about religion. If somebody asks me a question, I usually won't answer, because what I say hurts people. So, it's like, sorry, now you can't have my views on religion, publicly, because you don't know how to appreciate it, because it causes too much strife.<br /><br />Transmission losses?<br />Ya, ya, it all gets... in fact, in some time, I'm gonna take a position that I will not answer questions about co-actors. Ask me about my film, my work, my job, my stuff – good. Bas.<br /><br />So if it is about your suit in " Ra.One", or the six packs, the pop answers, you will answer anyone, but if it is about something that you actually think about, like religion, you won't take a public platform, won't share it?<br />No, I won't share it. Not with the popular media. I don't think they're even interested in knowing. I doubt if there is any real interest. It is like – aap bol dijiye na, thoda sa bol dijiye communal harmony pe... matlab? (tell us a bit please, just say a few words on communal harmony....what's that?) It's like advertising. They just want me like someone who is selling that thing right now. Thoda sa bol do na... Shah Rukh ka affair ka story chala denge, toh uske andar ek yeh bit bhi aa jayega communal harmony appeal ka. (Just tell us a few words na?.....we'll start the story with Shahrukh's affairs and throw in a bit about communal harmony too) I think a lot of actors and right thinking people will be perplexed by that, won't they?<br /><br />You've stuck to that line, of not commenting on issues of social relevance?<br />Yeah, I don't think movie stars are nationally relevant – it's as simple as that. Or, are thought to be not relevant enough to speak in the national interest, on national issues, without it turning out to be a full blown controversy. We are not supposed to have an opinion. If we have an opinion, it has to be controversial – that is how we are always projected. It is difficult. I do have my opinions, in a private room, and I like to share them, and I do like to figure out if they are correct or wrong; I am an open, 'discussive' kind of person, but it is so unfortunate that today, I am so worried about saying anything – can't even say anything nice about the city (Delhi) ki bhai kisi aur city ko bura na lag jaaye! (in case some other city gets offended) I may say things with the right intention, but more often than not, people will misconstrue it.<br /><br />I couldn't help overhearing you talking to friends about the question of money-making in projects of national relevance, before we began this interaction...<br />If anyone is working on something in the national interest – even if there is this human nature, that I would like to earn because I am working the hardest in this activity, or whatever, if you feel you are not being paid enough for it as per your efforts, say so, make a clear-cut demarcation about these things. But be clear, whatever I am doing in the national interest, for a public activity, at least 51 per cent should go to the nation, I can look to make 49 per cent from it. It cannot be that 99 per cent I make and give 1 per cent to the nation! You need to give back. And when I say give back, I am not being idealistic, I'm a material guy, I'm a businessman, I'm a f****** rock star! Okay, maybe I shouldn't be talking like that, but the point I'm making is that, if I'm ever asked to do something in the national interest, do a project of national relevance, it's not as if I will not charge for it, but I will ensure that what I give back is not just worth that money, but is a little more than that. It should not be just value for money, it should be a little more than value for money. If you are in a business, your personal venture, take 100 per cent profit, take 500 per cent profit by all means, but if you are working on a national project, the objective cannot be to take back a 500 per cent profit. If somebody is working very hard, or deserves a lot of money, pay him upfront, say he is going to be working for so much time, he deserves it – and then put the rest of the money where it should go. But unfortunately, that sort of transparency is rarely there.<br /><br />In that context – Rahman being paid 5 crore for the games song, which is widely seen to be a fiasco. Do you think this is an instance of delivering more than a little value for money, as you say, or is it that when politicians and bureaucrats commission something, even a Rahman ends up delivering a sarkari output?<br />Uh... you see, yaar, creativity has this problem, sometimes it'll be liked, sometimes it won't. It's unfortunate that perhaps we expected something more popular from this music, and it isn't that. See, this is very subjective. You will find enough people who like that also, I think. But perhaps one has decided at some level to take the Commonwealth Games and say, everything is wrong. Ek predisposed idea ho gaya hai – Commonwealth hai, sab kuch kharab hai. Paani aa gaya, dengue aa gaya, traffic aa gaya, yeh ho gaya, woh ho gaya... sab kuch galat hai. Ek wrong footing par aa gaya hai games,(It's become a predisposed idea now - It's the CWG, everything's rotten. There's floods, there's dengue, too much traffic, this...and that...everything's bad) and the song is also caught up in that.<br /><br />Also, I think the whole spectacle is a reflection of how little we appreciate sporting events in our country. We as it is are quick to demean it, and of course all these recent controversies in cricket etc are not helping it either. It's a slightly grey area for us.<br /><br />A Bollywood superstar, brand ambassador for a state, a little later is brand ambassador for another state with a completely different political ideology...?<br />You can see it one way, I see it the other way, like I am affiliated to, say, Pepsi. If I leave Pepsi, and later Coke tells me to do something for them, I'd do it. I have no issues, whether Coke and Pepsi have different ideologies or not. See, I'm called for a job, I'd do it. I used to endorse a computer company; they don't use me any more, for the last one and half years. There's another computer company that just called me, and I said of course I'll do it. Of course I believe both the companies are good at their job. And I believe it is my job to tell people about what the good points of either company are. I'm not lying in either case.<br /><br />If I'm called to launch the Delhi Eye, I'll say okay, I'll come, I was excited by the London Eye, so if there's something like that opening here, and I'm called, I'll come. Tomorrow if I'm called to launch the Chennai Eye, I'll go and do it, or the Bhopal Eye, or the Lucknow Eye. There's no political line, as far as I see it.<br /><br /><span><a href="http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/entertainment/bollywood/news-interviews/Dont-question-my-intelligence-SRK/articleshow/6651561.cms" target="_blank">Find Original Article here: </a></span><br /> <br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><br />>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>></span><br /><br />I think we look at stars or public figures as servants of our own egos and not human enough to feel and do the things we do simply because they're portrayed as a bit alien with something more than a normal person. Hence, we emulate them and blame them at the same time for simply being human. But it's time we realize that they're no different than we're they just happen to be in a different line of work than most of us. Okay granted they make more money but anyone who works hard enough or invents something can make that kind of money. However, this is besides the point. I have met women who tell me that their kids look up to President Obama and therefore when he smokes he's setting a bad example. Yeah you heard me right...Please do excuse my French but who the fuck thinks like that??? How does your parental responsibility get transfered to the President of the United States??? Does he not have enough responsibilities on his plate as a public servant of this United States of America, he has to babysit someone's kids, a responsibility that is solely theirs as parents?? Oh and as if that isn't enough you find parents that that let their kids watch whatever is on the TV or online like a Lady Gaga video and then when their kids want to dress like her they decide to blame the Musician and completely fail to see how idiotic that is!! Because Gaga didn't give birth to their child, they did it's up to them to shelter their kids from anything that maybe a bad influence or overexposure to the Media...<br /><br />I fail to understand this kind of mentality where people project their personal responsibilities to movie stars, musicians, political figures and other celebrities.<br /><br />Why do we ask movie stars and musicians questions about politics or how to run our country? Isn't this the work of those congressmen, senators and Members of Parliament we voted for and put on those high end seats to run our countries and governments? And who says movie stars and musicians don't have a political opinion? Are they not citizens of their countries and well serving members of those very communities? They have every right to voice their opinions just like everyone else but we make it a big deal that they have spoken and God forbid they said something sensible so we turn on them and use their words against them. But wait... when we need them to show up for an event (fund raising etc..) we're promoting then suddenly their opinions seem to matter. How wrong is this???<br /><br />So here is my take on it because it annoys the living daylights out of me...<br /><br />People...all the above persons have their own lives to deal with besides yours. They have their own:<br />-Families (Children ) to raise<br />-Jobs that they have to work hard at to survive<br />-Trying to please all their fans or followers<br />-Entertain everyone<br />-Keeping up appearances everywhere<br />-Maintaining the the peace amongst us because we're just too stupid to work together on common goals that benefit us all as human beings (Democrats and Republicans)<br /><br />Now get your shit straight ya'll, get on top of your game and take care of your own damn responsibilities and issues as parents and members of your communities instead of sitting on your asses and blaming some public figure who has no clue what your psychosis or egotistic self centered-ness is all about!!! <br /><br />Ask yourselves what your responsibilities as parents, members of society and as human beings are before you throw all that to some actor, musician, or politician. We all have an obligation to ourselves and an interest in our communities and need to evaluate how we're making a difference for ourselves, our families and others around us before we designate that accountability to someone else!!<br /><br />GET YOUR PRIORITIES STRAIGHT!!!Wild Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05260455210731142858noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6045061990134848974.post-31345832371471284912010-09-28T16:59:00.000-07:002011-02-09T19:42:57.921-08:00"A Lesson In Chemistry"<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibmp3SUaNj5Zr5YFSq4-VKy7pAIid3Y2yAXSdbaSzavD1mJikdoBEG58Jv9moe5aUoEseXEBvxhvVYIK9mF2Rg3mPEYqVLqnXLduMHplmrDZNCKIRJ7zTON1frDKy1YuXsfy34oCH0QS8/s1600/14z.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 389px; height: 550px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibmp3SUaNj5Zr5YFSq4-VKy7pAIid3Y2yAXSdbaSzavD1mJikdoBEG58Jv9moe5aUoEseXEBvxhvVYIK9mF2Rg3mPEYqVLqnXLduMHplmrDZNCKIRJ7zTON1frDKy1YuXsfy34oCH0QS8/s400/14z.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5516689145559994274" /></a><br /><br />Indivisible you come to me...meeting me in the spaces...<br />between our hearts...<br />Here now...talk to me...more about everything...whisper slowly...<br />Films with you...films of you...old black and white movies...<br />colored ones too...<br />Take off my armour...stay tonight...decorate me...<br />Reflections in cafe` windows...we sit and read together...<br />substance...<br />I want (not less)...maybe more... yes more...touching... <br />your glittering gold...<br />Surround me...soft pillows...in hotel rooms...waiting...<br />Dream...make it unforgettable...everything else...<br />leave it unsaid...<br />Needing...You undress me...unfolding me...my layers...<br />My fingers...mesh and then unmesh with yours....<br />They trail...over the soft olive flesh...<br />Of your forearm...to your back...down...<br />So strong...yet vulnerable...Your sight...<br />It never fails to undo me...<br /><br />Confessions...In your ear...I need to run...down every path of you...<br />Exhaust myself in the many mazes...and patterns of you until weary... <br />I collapse...allowing the last remaining traces of coherence... <br />To abandon me before...the madness of your scent... <br />Leaves me...without an identity...<br /><br />"Mmmm..." You giggle...looking at me...you search deep...in my eyes...<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3lrga7FVIkpWglIwcLUJ0B9nffYZdndNWwrmtbu50l3Dot_teIQ3bo-1tiRzVVCQCg-bidUnHEPWYxK1zNDdYIddf2Kl2XvvUJdJNu3YREurFXTiWlUsAZ44pl66ALdlxE0CM06zOJmo/s1600/sens52.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 389px; height: 550px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3lrga7FVIkpWglIwcLUJ0B9nffYZdndNWwrmtbu50l3Dot_teIQ3bo-1tiRzVVCQCg-bidUnHEPWYxK1zNDdYIddf2Kl2XvvUJdJNu3YREurFXTiWlUsAZ44pl66ALdlxE0CM06zOJmo/s400/sens52.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5516687544451753730" /></a><br />Gift wrap me...red bow...make it about nothing...<br />about something...about everything...<br />Say it...I will...tell me stories...till dawn...<br />Sweet...sweeter...sweetest...equations and calculations...as you...<br />Feed me...<br />Loving...your tenderness...such beauty...fade in me...you are my whole...<br />Our lips...our torsos...our hips...our thighs...our moisture...<br />Our straining...our collapse...inside...<br /><br />"Please...!" You whisper... again and again...as you're kissing me... <br />Not knowing what you're begging for...but it almost feels like it’s your life...<br />I have never heard you plead before...<br />"Yes Sir...!" I say...tears rolling down my eyes..."Anything you need...<br />...Everything you need..." I belong to you...murmuring...<br />Drowning in your kisses...beneath the flood of your yearning...<br />You lose yourself... in me...I come undone...<br />Falling into one another...complete rapture...<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmc-SGLDJD_7tc-NzLAtVSUHMYpYGwy0N-Xh_c1JtUAPfHs6JcxQEPx9Yh2Ca7iYk7kBXvCzPFmUcxOCcPnSJ2b1Tf7yVMBdCttExdyzJbLNLk22HZWzeie1Hj7fCJmUxmwjViZuxxL10/s1600/sens29.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 470px; height: 324px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmc-SGLDJD_7tc-NzLAtVSUHMYpYGwy0N-Xh_c1JtUAPfHs6JcxQEPx9Yh2Ca7iYk7kBXvCzPFmUcxOCcPnSJ2b1Tf7yVMBdCttExdyzJbLNLk22HZWzeie1Hj7fCJmUxmwjViZuxxL10/s400/sens29.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5522117720396017026" /></a><br />By the phone...calling me...play me like your sax...<br />Cover me...<br />Comforting you...giving trust...love...my fire...You<br />Glued to you...on you...portraits of intimacy...fit in my frame...<br />My winter coat...your arms...your heartbeat...Within me...<br />Your touch...meliorates my emotive wounds...<br />Your lips...nestle the glaze of my being...<br />Your soul...becomes that of with purpose...only after my own...<br />Altogether...Ours...<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCmuUPutC3rwO5jt6bkXjeCPjuVZxtEtgxksrQzF3a6KdluP8rI7Xq9cQnUNtQnEWJ3snA5ruyDK30mZqxRo0H_F_embDGAzZy4rpa34V6g1BfKyPTa7vFVDBzH-Uiz7uj8Z1AiKS8Aq8/s1600/hotel+room.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 470px; height: 417px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCmuUPutC3rwO5jt6bkXjeCPjuVZxtEtgxksrQzF3a6KdluP8rI7Xq9cQnUNtQnEWJ3snA5ruyDK30mZqxRo0H_F_embDGAzZy4rpa34V6g1BfKyPTa7vFVDBzH-Uiz7uj8Z1AiKS8Aq8/s400/hotel+room.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5516690061514380098" /></a><br /><br /><object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/7GrK5THh9_k?fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/7GrK5THh9_k?fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object><br /><br />SHAH...THIS ONE BELOW IS FOR MAKING ME ELATED TODAY...*ILU*..THANK YOU..!'BUMPY RIDE' TEACHING YOU HAHA...~<br /><object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/G2RCCDSBEGk?fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/G2RCCDSBEGk?fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object>Wild Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05260455210731142858noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6045061990134848974.post-1878592393731090822010-09-21T19:54:00.000-07:002010-09-24T00:38:42.549-07:00"Love's Invasion"<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipIrVnPXFMifhr7duoG7UdBpar3bMJGbXMHoZrnF5ZrXlz3EGpEOi_JvHtgAzHl2IPNhSMuT8as7UbBmKAzal8dhg1-UlyCvhzZ7ESGvOmJRzryFgkXncQUXyj02dpu9qPnibpMAhINf4/s1600/blackb.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 480px; height: 390px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipIrVnPXFMifhr7duoG7UdBpar3bMJGbXMHoZrnF5ZrXlz3EGpEOi_JvHtgAzHl2IPNhSMuT8as7UbBmKAzal8dhg1-UlyCvhzZ7ESGvOmJRzryFgkXncQUXyj02dpu9qPnibpMAhINf4/s400/blackb.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519600126522167842" /></a><br />Love came in a Spanish calypso<br />with sonnets written under a <br />Back Bay’s Indian moon<br />It was smoking a Cuban cigar<br />filled with verses written <br />by romantic film heroes<br />Blowing clouds of carnival sounds<br />trying to rewrite the notes to my heart<br />I fell prey<br />to the sweet tongue <br />Kissing my heaven<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUvuTHSsNZxzRn1cf1BoCZO2djboMskhL1ISr2HNm0gfINw4QRBTHM5e_qRZzN71-vkQI4TNF1cHKto3N68x10hnsWBKK69Kadwv8pnfqcWhekyrShVPdoylHNKDtVo1II2orWplVV_K0/s1600/oceanl1.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 417px; height: 500px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUvuTHSsNZxzRn1cf1BoCZO2djboMskhL1ISr2HNm0gfINw4QRBTHM5e_qRZzN71-vkQI4TNF1cHKto3N68x10hnsWBKK69Kadwv8pnfqcWhekyrShVPdoylHNKDtVo1II2orWplVV_K0/s400/oceanl1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519581436482003346" /></a><br />When I was awakened <br />from the hypnotic loving<br />It had stolen my rebel<br />Leaving me like those badass poets<br />Who once composed the history of <br />Britain with their famished teeth<br />Volcanic lyrics that made <br />The devil retreat under words<br />they can now be seen on road side theaters <br />Singing tunes of Shakespeare <br />Writing love messages in bottles<br />Searching for that predator<br />Who indulged on their hearts<br />Very shortly they will blossom<br />Because that is what love will do<br />Filling your inkwell with roses <br />and soft melodies<br />Making you forget to cry<br />I feel the beating heart from graves<br />Of men whose bravery still bleeds on my page<br />I didn’t want to fall in love<br />And have it take away the pain<br />Because yesterday needs revealing<br />and tomorrow needs replenishing<br /><br />But alas...<br /><br />Am too late for Love’s Invasion.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4noL-_dfo-K61LrnPWWhbDalIqgsGzSD2FMeMiE5iSsPy23VvybBcrS3FonoFn7s-yxjjr3UN_VV1QVZRxXtWF473hn8IPHxAlrukdW3_laqJjMcVIIKU4jEPQgaLFn3ZCsfi2sOKrmc/s1600/coupleBeachWaterOrngSunset.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 470px; height: 480px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4noL-_dfo-K61LrnPWWhbDalIqgsGzSD2FMeMiE5iSsPy23VvybBcrS3FonoFn7s-yxjjr3UN_VV1QVZRxXtWF473hn8IPHxAlrukdW3_laqJjMcVIIKU4jEPQgaLFn3ZCsfi2sOKrmc/s400/coupleBeachWaterOrngSunset.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519591789427356786" /></a><br /><br /><br /><object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/kwaXnnYfJA8?fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0&color1=0x006699&color2=0x54abd6"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/kwaXnnYfJA8?fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0&color1=0x006699&color2=0x54abd6" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object><br /><br /><object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/IsEPpIRu9VQ?fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0&color1=0x006699&color2=0x54abd6"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/IsEPpIRu9VQ?fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0&color1=0x006699&color2=0x54abd6" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object><br />Wild Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05260455210731142858noreply@blogger.com35tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6045061990134848974.post-7158866385257762512010-09-14T02:43:00.000-07:002010-10-05T21:56:49.311-07:00"Third Strike!"<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1SP42nQY68UKZMMz1Zm3qtmCeRXyISybnRqDIEihJZlSr6Zlu4HqDzMBQDBQtFRQkSqMR_Polp7KcOuySMk09WQnHLqPY-9euoMOOtINir9KPxE5MVbqXTQi4KtKkrEwRWH3t-tPKfWA/s1600/sed2.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 331px; height: 500px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1SP42nQY68UKZMMz1Zm3qtmCeRXyISybnRqDIEihJZlSr6Zlu4HqDzMBQDBQtFRQkSqMR_Polp7KcOuySMk09WQnHLqPY-9euoMOOtINir9KPxE5MVbqXTQi4KtKkrEwRWH3t-tPKfWA/s400/sed2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5516710446780146162" /></a><br /><br />Rise before me... <br />Take your shirt out of your jeans.<br /><br />Now!<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_C6xCzT2DJbs/TI9LUVj5LiI/AAAAAAAAAec/7GElJ-http://www.blogger.com/logout.g5xOwI/s1600/shirtb2.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 331px; height: 500px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi42nOFLsjyX4CbXakHoD0N_P-XUYJif2Z66_lcP65f4tuUWUwn25_fUArDwpGaWji12_Z_Ti_l5n8XrH7xuH2LpuVBKXNefe25459Hrj-IMvO7CCdD871MjXdO6S0KkbjJJz6N0Nqmxc0/s400/shirtb2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5516710881309306402" /></a><br />I didn’t say you could look at me.<br />You just earned your... <br /><br />First strike!<br /><br />Kick your shoes off and spread your legs apart. <br />I want bare feet<br />Spread them wider<br />I can see the pulse jumping at your throat. <br />You’re breathing fast, baby...<br />There’s no reason to be afraid of me.<br />At least, not yet.<br />I can always smell you.<br />Your scent’s caught on my skin <br />and when I taste it on waking<br />My smile soaks into my day<br />and spreads like honey through my limbs<br />You smell like sandalwood and tonquin musk <br />with white chocolate <br />I’ll never be hungry again<br />Or soiled<br /><br />Unbutton your shirt from the bottom to the top.<br />Slow<br />Slower<br />I shouldn’t have to repeat myself.<br /><br />That’s the second strike!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOiZM_X-MMresxyr7xOxOADGlEY4YbmWXv3yqBidBQLZR-lNaSGbQHWCUzOPl2ZAeLHS1tePwRh7PvB6LfdA1RYHEjLkDxwf7zksUS3TsOVNJ4CkPIIqL1QjPHU3nfZwE27RCCn-WV08E/s1600/oso4x.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 331px; height: 500px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOiZM_X-MMresxyr7xOxOADGlEY4YbmWXv3yqBidBQLZR-lNaSGbQHWCUzOPl2ZAeLHS1tePwRh7PvB6LfdA1RYHEjLkDxwf7zksUS3TsOVNJ4CkPIIqL1QjPHU3nfZwE27RCCn-WV08E/s400/oso4x.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5516713325027190850" /></a><br /><br />Throw your shirt near your shoes <br />and take a deep breath.<br />If you look at me again, <br />I’ll pull one of your chest hairs out <br />with my nails and feed it to you.<br /><br />You know...literally? <br /><br />I’ll place my lips against yours <br />and tug them open<br />With my incisors and a guarded heart<br />Don’t worry, I won’t be gentle<br />I’ve started to need you<br />So I’ll bite hard this time.<br /><br />I’m going to hurt you tonight<br />In three delicate ways<br />So that you don’t hurt me<br />When your hand gets tangled <br />in my hair as we sleep<br />Pull your jeans just below your hips<br />And be still...<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQnw-L1XjY1PMOqc9eh4OdiOxuRUS7g8up9dto6GgJzV8v0jjnwxpJwbqVipzAJi1BQWCiuCt70Xn-5H7IxayiWOMHnWGyXoplEjpWmJTCwANWV00TdZNwSWz8tkSuC1iuyqgVREM6oX0/s1600/ffokt1wj5.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 470px; height: 720px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQnw-L1XjY1PMOqc9eh4OdiOxuRUS7g8up9dto6GgJzV8v0jjnwxpJwbqVipzAJi1BQWCiuCt70Xn-5H7IxayiWOMHnWGyXoplEjpWmJTCwANWV00TdZNwSWz8tkSuC1iuyqgVREM6oX0/s400/ffokt1wj5.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5516717061667159634" /></a><br /><br />Such marvelous lines to fall into here<br />my throat aches..am thirsty...<br /><br />There’s a muscle twitching beside your belly<br />when I reach out with my two hungry fingers<br />You almost flinch.<br /><br />That is the third strike!<br /><br />You know what that means...<br /><br />Come here boy... *I Love You* ~:)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqS6EsGsHae1U9C2cmsMWTb1KjHPU689PLepcg-7aqNyqgNVxmDR62TJtCuTrxVm-g_CzBdYYGxj_Zimj4Zj2cWgpvLOZD2W0Qe8lB3mFXyvGbOvszfSwHDMLdEMasjzLk3GCbhfpIle0/s1600/sens32.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 470px; height: 325px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqS6EsGsHae1U9C2cmsMWTb1KjHPU689PLepcg-7aqNyqgNVxmDR62TJtCuTrxVm-g_CzBdYYGxj_Zimj4Zj2cWgpvLOZD2W0Qe8lB3mFXyvGbOvszfSwHDMLdEMasjzLk3GCbhfpIle0/s400/sens32.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5516918603861054498" /></a><br /><br /><object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/19WUwZYM7bM?fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0&color1=0xe1600f&color2=0xfebd01"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/19WUwZYM7bM?fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0&color1=0xe1600f&color2=0xfebd01" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object>Wild Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05260455210731142858noreply@blogger.com48tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6045061990134848974.post-50815935386607680882010-09-07T15:41:00.000-07:002010-10-05T21:56:49.318-07:00"The Child In Him"<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJYTzgP-HxPlw3sqHu1Kq-TKHjv00L6_KJZyP6EAasWomA3fn68WL_c2LKe-jaPFw2l0MthDicAvyHMmydLhaGPZ9mWSsKrRFx47m6rb41gUhn0tVTHY7-ZLZbX8B_YNQHxSnpQSEDN-U/s1600/sens36.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 470px; height: 327px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJYTzgP-HxPlw3sqHu1Kq-TKHjv00L6_KJZyP6EAasWomA3fn68WL_c2LKe-jaPFw2l0MthDicAvyHMmydLhaGPZ9mWSsKrRFx47m6rb41gUhn0tVTHY7-ZLZbX8B_YNQHxSnpQSEDN-U/s400/sens36.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514307980757499218" /></a><br /><br />I love <br />The child in him<br />so innocent and sweet<br />The mischief in his eyes<br />The blush upon his cheek<br />The tender way he speaks<br />I love<br />That he shows me that he cares<br />And tells me he loves me in his own invented<br />language<br />The little colds disturbing his ever <br />Strong immune system<br />That give him a stuffy nose,<br />How he sweetly agonizes <br />On everything smelling less<br />How I make him chicken noodle soup<br />And give him lemon with sweet honey<br />Cold remedies concocted in the <br />Pharmacy of my soul<br />Honey lemon syrup of passion and <br />Hot ginger filled in his laughter<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhceJIwA0sHwwHzmFWhO0EpNChliO0CgioZWqhvENGhrsoM-FqLtFWmX8CwyPW0x8uWVj4SGrr-q2_3KzPi9gCJPFTKRMunlcHPcljV1zY5a0x5d0ZJAECHFkC252-uwRYIMKb349W7qf0/s1600/pharmacy.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 470px; height: 333px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhceJIwA0sHwwHzmFWhO0EpNChliO0CgioZWqhvENGhrsoM-FqLtFWmX8CwyPW0x8uWVj4SGrr-q2_3KzPi9gCJPFTKRMunlcHPcljV1zY5a0x5d0ZJAECHFkC252-uwRYIMKb349W7qf0/s400/pharmacy.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514307123065713490" /></a><br />I love <br />The touch of his warm hand<br />That gently touches my hair <br />When he’s feeling better<br />And he holds me in his arms<br />The warmth from his chest on my face<br />as I lay on my forever home<br />I love <br />When he wears "the pink eye glasses"<br />The way he says my name<br />When I kiss his nose<br />The smiles that we share<br />That fill my life with glee<br />For when I’m with him<br />I find the child in me.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3QyglJT6eISnY-l_baf-X3ABDRAQ7yMWYDNRAH6Jxq3ARxowwyNDpl1bt6EgTvnUQz3tOvhxw-coC5l_dqzfF28QnLwFNz89lI0FOlBSyVnN4OsYiYF84X9R6JNBDAaBFFXQuWOso5LI/s1600/nose.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 298px; height: 430px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3QyglJT6eISnY-l_baf-X3ABDRAQ7yMWYDNRAH6Jxq3ARxowwyNDpl1bt6EgTvnUQz3tOvhxw-coC5l_dqzfF28QnLwFNz89lI0FOlBSyVnN4OsYiYF84X9R6JNBDAaBFFXQuWOso5LI/s400/nose.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514306671813599090" /></a><br /><br /><object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/u5vrthttp://s.ytimg.com/yt/img/pixel-vfl73.gifG53nwc?fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0&color1=0x5d1719&color2=0xcd311b"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/u5vrtG53nwc?fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0&color1=0x5d1719&color2=0xcd311b" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object>Wild Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05260455210731142858noreply@blogger.com49tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6045061990134848974.post-91007169724020183032010-08-30T17:28:00.000-07:002010-10-05T21:56:49.325-07:00"My Predicate"<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfYIWjvf6ZZIchR6EJP-H-KHVPelvEY7l1lWi-ivCz9BDS7zSbfSKL4cauF-0xXkSPlcQ9wykjOMxoCouS2xSf7QcjfTfIHLOGDseXF1K5d4Cow8YZu9HEX5qqwza0zE1XsjYoZZbVvIw/s1600/stroke3.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 470px; height: 347px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfYIWjvf6ZZIchR6EJP-H-KHVPelvEY7l1lWi-ivCz9BDS7zSbfSKL4cauF-0xXkSPlcQ9wykjOMxoCouS2xSf7QcjfTfIHLOGDseXF1K5d4Cow8YZu9HEX5qqwza0zE1XsjYoZZbVvIw/s400/stroke3.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5511366111394275746" /></a><br /><br />Words seem so inadequate <br />When I reach for you.<br /> <br />Why?<br /><br />I want to<br />Precisely convey<br />The trace of my fingertip<br />Along the nape of your neck <br />or along the soft dimple in <br />the small of your cheek<br />as i stroll down the furrows<br />of your chest...<br /> <br />But how?<br /><br />Each night as I envelop you in my arms<br />Your love’s scent mocks my attempts <br />to attach these predicates <br />called words<br />And when I awake and <br />find your hand in mine<br />I desperately search for<br />An unused phrase,<br />And unrepeated clause<br />That paints best a picture, <br />That speaks to you and of you<br />Of this delight that you sketch <br />Within me beyond definition<br /><br />Yet what else is there for me to use?<br /><br />I am no painter or actor<br />Is there another language<br />I must learn <br />That can portray<br />The way we fit and <br />The safety we feel<br />As we hold one another?<br />Our gaze meets and <br />our dreams are intricately <br />tangled <br />Every night I madly search<br />The heart’s dictionary <br />The soul’s thesaurus<br />And once more<br />The words slowly abate<br />Your loving glance becomes the <br />rhyming composition<br />Your laughter the emotional verse<br />The brush of your lips become <br />my pausing sonnet<br />Your arms wrapped around me <br />the Academy<br />This game is astoundingly frustrating <br />yet thrillingly beautiful<br /><br />Perhaps... <br /><br />It is Evolution, an Atomic <br />Fusion of electrical transformation,<br />an Inception <br />That needs to catch up<br />Where the Predicate<br />And our heart space is so<br />Undeniably intertwined<br />That one learner cannot survive<br />without the other<br />Certainly that is what already is, <br />Our never ending comma<br />An everlasting trend. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU9ttDfBUvDr2-u_KjYEWJ6iS3VJzRKxr-vJNN2b4AGjH-No8jejYCVhGEjo4zk-gbXPmVVkeRflBFDYZJbE2e44YclabgVheKSNJ0IZbQ0FvqOF-ULBk4mAkH4A1ZbulOtZI8H5znbOg/s1600/stroke4.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 470px; height: 347px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU9ttDfBUvDr2-u_KjYEWJ6iS3VJzRKxr-vJNN2b4AGjH-No8jejYCVhGEjo4zk-gbXPmVVkeRflBFDYZJbE2e44YclabgVheKSNJ0IZbQ0FvqOF-ULBk4mAkH4A1ZbulOtZI8H5znbOg/s400/stroke4.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5511367539836612850" /></a><br /><br /><object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/tTpJANiITDI?fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0&color1=0x2b405b&color2=0x6b8ab6"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/tTpJANiITDI?fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0&color1=0x2b405b&color2=0x6b8ab6" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object><br /><br /><object width="470" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/AlP95HVyVnw?fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0&color1=0x2b405b&color2=0x6b8ab6"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/AlP95HVyVnw?fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0&color1=0x2b405b&color2=0x6b8ab6" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="470" height="385"></embed></object><br /><br /><object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/XigHM45GGVU?fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0&color1=0x2b405b&color2=0x6b8ab6"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/XigHM45GGVU?fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0&color1=0x2b405b&color2=0x6b8ab6" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object>Wild Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05260455210731142858noreply@blogger.com47tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6045061990134848974.post-37179060143456833272010-08-25T01:50:00.000-07:002013-02-24T02:26:35.323-08:00"Embracing your chaos"<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLcszwVHxO2Ct5p0YGBeYMeUhI0nPPS5kdfdevhSDJCThuldl4_nolVP7S0htuBINrYxfW-vIcl3nxYE0dxScP_sFxuW2n9fzyIwpgUdHkI0j0Boml63a0qEE2BxQQkdBZPN-qSBUhkbU/s1600/mygentlemancalls.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 470px; height: 354px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLcszwVHxO2Ct5p0YGBeYMeUhI0nPPS5kdfdevhSDJCThuldl4_nolVP7S0htuBINrYxfW-vIcl3nxYE0dxScP_sFxuW2n9fzyIwpgUdHkI0j0Boml63a0qEE2BxQQkdBZPN-qSBUhkbU/s400/mygentlemancalls.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509276085403841410" /></a><br /><br />I wrote this first in long hand in the dark<br />Wrote you short hand in the dim<br />to feel the words take me innocently upon the page<br />the distractions of the colour of life ruled away<br />Or was I trying to be a secret agent of my words?<br />Going undercover as I scrawled my <br />heart speak over an unlit page<br />hiding my feelings in the dimming<br />But each letter that fell <br />I knew where the right imprint of my truth was<br />I desire to write them on your skin each day one by one<br />with my tongue dipped in the ink of you<br />I love you<br />I love you still<br />I love you without the need to have a returning page<br />Eyes closed into the shadow of us<br />you ate from the goblet of my flames<br />slowly I consumed the fuel of my forever love for you<br />I lay quietly, glistening, the stars of my skin twinkling as your fingers passed <br />You wondered what universe you had led my mind to.<br />I played amongst the clouds the tremulous symphony<br />that was neither predictive nor pre-emptive. <br />Annihilating me you celebrated my fascination<br />Imbibing our motivation right to the core of the matter<br />to the nuance of our heart beat with undying emotion.<br />Such it was...<br />A knowing that cannot be spoken<br />A love that cannot be broken.<br />Day came with a discerning ray of light<br />And I awoke with a smile of contentment <br />my lips blurred a little in midnight blue<br />A no regret kind of awakening morning<br />It just does not feel wrong <br />to love the way we do, our biopic.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhogUf1xH2HRvvMFFYWSLsvLRqwIxrCNtXiLXJK3lumv1kr-TwckqmWNcI3T0DEqVM60jbvDBXOBlsUR4CmVywNZkrSQxtnnnzEkv-IJzdieWjx1WZzNVepamUHkpmUXG_sWtAlhptfREg/s1600/14e.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 470px; height: 354px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhogUf1xH2HRvvMFFYWSLsvLRqwIxrCNtXiLXJK3lumv1kr-TwckqmWNcI3T0DEqVM60jbvDBXOBlsUR4CmVywNZkrSQxtnnnzEkv-IJzdieWjx1WZzNVepamUHkpmUXG_sWtAlhptfREg/s400/14e.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509275263647185218" /></a><br /><br />
<object width="480" height="345"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/71fH6QGYYCU?hl=en_US&version=3"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/71fH6QGYYCU?hl=en_US&version=3" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="480" height="345" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object>
<object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/PSu5nAQ7uZw?fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0&color1=0x402061&color2=0x9461ca"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/PSu5nAQ7uZw?fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0&color1=0x402061&color2=0x9461ca" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object>Wild Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05260455210731142858noreply@blogger.com40tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6045061990134848974.post-47120791454771258952010-08-17T14:17:00.001-07:002010-09-24T00:39:19.686-07:00"Through Their Eyes"<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkAML8O2687UgOUSc9q1kM_pmfV7mNxl52DYf2npO1tL4emikSF2jw2B1hI90ip9bbzK5LUn30Z4pQ7-FeT7CPa9I_yR_sx4ZWlos1WX63trtxm-V6lAWvDhR8xHKMhmz3rjoRFr70Rjw/s1600/basket2.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkAML8O2687UgOUSc9q1kM_pmfV7mNxl52DYf2npO1tL4emikSF2jw2B1hI90ip9bbzK5LUn30Z4pQ7-FeT7CPa9I_yR_sx4ZWlos1WX63trtxm-V6lAWvDhR8xHKMhmz3rjoRFr70Rjw/s400/basket2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5506492383410454482" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisDMaxOUwGqUJhMON73UXdEIv7CwiCTGEq7VunLsXA1JUTxuo8519k0rzhDGKAz0qM9L9PuuKIXRpukh67iNsW0upcrxgi2QQLSIiGlv342495KKNbiwg4XBdzW68SlZrYrIfTYEMqnKM/s1600/basket4.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisDMaxOUwGqUJhMON73UXdEIv7CwiCTGEq7VunLsXA1JUTxuo8519k0rzhDGKAz0qM9L9PuuKIXRpukh67iNsW0upcrxgi2QQLSIiGlv342495KKNbiwg4XBdzW68SlZrYrIfTYEMqnKM/s400/basket4.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5506492701431151970" /></a><br /><br />Through their eyes<br />Door to door<br />Street to street<br />Her walk, little feet leaving imprints<br />Of mud and innocence,<br />selling her fruits and tins.<br />5 cents a fruit<br />20 cents a fish<br />10 cents per yam<br />The basket on her head<br />That is too big for her to carry<br />Weighing down on her steps and slowing her heart;<br />She cannot go home until it is all sold.<br />What will the little mouths eat?<br />She has a shawl draped<br />over her thin and weary shoulders,<br />With her thin and weary face<br />Are sharpened eyes that smolder<br />Telling of the truth, and the ways<br />And the days of their lives<br />That are not ever comfortable or playful;<br />It is why she does not smile.<br />Disappearing is the sun<br />as it sinks to the other face of earth<br />So that other little girls<br />May start the fires on their hearth<br />Or whatever it is that other little girls do.<br />This one walks on and on<br />vanishing out of sight<br />And she knows, though she keeps knocking<br />Door to door to door, <br />street to street to street,<br />there will be no meal for the little mouths<br />and that there will be no bed for her tonight.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCEDc3alo5fmJL6e78-WdFH8pt4yzQajSHL0eeaHbyzPHCe5jvTGKszEIOvkNTymMBzRT7g2nDvJ23JZVhqWFbNsYWf6_WKeABUQW6MznjbjUyp-cFf1Kcn-yqjzk6kcIsX3ABeO_eVbY/s1600/basket3.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCEDc3alo5fmJL6e78-WdFH8pt4yzQajSHL0eeaHbyzPHCe5jvTGKszEIOvkNTymMBzRT7g2nDvJ23JZVhqWFbNsYWf6_WKeABUQW6MznjbjUyp-cFf1Kcn-yqjzk6kcIsX3ABeO_eVbY/s400/basket3.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5506493121802095314" /></a><br /><br /><object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/3v7ZQUzr0yo?fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0&color1=0xcc2550&color2=0xe87a9f"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/3v7ZQUzr0yo?fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0&color1=0xcc2550&color2=0xe87a9f" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">All over this world trouble remains<br />Every man thinking about the rules of the game<br />But no-one is praying for the answer to find<br />The secret to happiness for all of mankind.</span><br /><object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/ycYpc0zDwmw?fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0&color1=0xcc2550&color2=0xe87a9f"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/ycYpc0zDwmw?fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0&color1=0xcc2550&color2=0xe87a9f" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Every day, a little hope fades <br />Lost in the ocean, consumed by the waves<br />Of poverty and hunger, felt in the hearts<br />Of my young sisters living so far apart.<br />And into the distance of the path that we walk<br />We’re surrounded by silence for we never talk.</span><br /><object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/dc5QuTVb_6k?fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0&color1=0xcc2550&color2=0xe87a9f"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/dc5QuTVb_6k?fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0&color1=0xcc2550&color2=0xe87a9f" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">SCREAM AT THE TOP OF YOUR LUNGS SO MAN CAN HEAR YOU AND HELP OUR DAUGHTERS RISE WITH HOPE~</span>Wild Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05260455210731142858noreply@blogger.com47tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6045061990134848974.post-49890674779827602252010-08-16T12:04:00.000-07:002010-10-05T21:57:14.953-07:00"GUEST POST AT THE URBAN COWBOY"<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd1Vbdhihn7YQ_quXPudSagGkEfMV8FkRhXTMfRqab_3XNT-a5j4t9_m0ycgxdC3ZT-1tWaeG1J9VoNN33TKeQtX_yMmJ4wxYF6lw3aDK4WQ94BlKfQogNWYHd5VcZ577rxqFLpK_mCp4/s1600/fathers3.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 470px; height: 382px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd1Vbdhihn7YQ_quXPudSagGkEfMV8FkRhXTMfRqab_3XNT-a5j4t9_m0ycgxdC3ZT-1tWaeG1J9VoNN33TKeQtX_yMmJ4wxYF6lw3aDK4WQ94BlKfQogNWYHd5VcZ577rxqFLpK_mCp4/s400/fathers3.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5506155198577766258" /></a><br /><br />Hello everyone, Brian or better known as <span><a href="http://theurbancowboy.net/2010/dark-desires/" target="_blank">The Urban Cowboy </a></span> asked me to do a guest post. Of course I couldn't say no because it was an honor and i was elated. Most of us know him as a decent, loving and amazing human being. I admire him for his generous spirit and lovely sense of humor. Besides that, he can write some mean stories for those who enjoy reading as i do. So if you haven't met him then please stop by and visit him, you won't regret it :)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTaRTGAIVlVXLrfRV02MUqdZXf3zCmujFayC2NDbe2vSYLmySustYlEJsR1QuFzBOPGrLwLeg-_FT6L3oVGfU9MOpHSme5FfEJ-H3hfMtlYy5_WeThlXTtPjfncnnRF2ya5A9XlpqQDFw/s1600/sa.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 470px; height: 370px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTaRTGAIVlVXLrfRV02MUqdZXf3zCmujFayC2NDbe2vSYLmySustYlEJsR1QuFzBOPGrLwLeg-_FT6L3oVGfU9MOpHSme5FfEJ-H3hfMtlYy5_WeThlXTtPjfncnnRF2ya5A9XlpqQDFw/s400/sa.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5506152539954226930" /></a>Wild Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05260455210731142858noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6045061990134848974.post-83353810110759766852010-08-10T16:01:00.001-07:002010-10-05T21:57:14.960-07:00"Into Dimensions of You"<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvDTktvQfbHWN3svxsF2ko8qJJN0O35yTkU45EVhQzQr4RONUPg2r6uD6hPk0EE7mdRhxtyRhPr3V-NMmcC0pxWszi3tC69_kHKgeeVPIh_D0httlYl-EYtfmpFP3lQnkxSWEjUF34YOw/s1600/justu.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 470px; height: 328px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvDTktvQfbHWN3svxsF2ko8qJJN0O35yTkU45EVhQzQr4RONUPg2r6uD6hPk0EE7mdRhxtyRhPr3V-NMmcC0pxWszi3tC69_kHKgeeVPIh_D0httlYl-EYtfmpFP3lQnkxSWEjUF34YOw/s400/justu.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5501463433976061474" /></a><br />You came to me<br />secretly<br />like the soft strain <br />of violins<br />woodsy<br />happy<br />noble<br />strangely solemn<br />saxophone sexual<br />on a bare raw breathe<br />I bled into your angelic limbs<br />as I soared through your heaven<br />you caught my essence<br />like blood and red wine<br />you sipped me slowly,<br />savored of my sweat.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgUFuuSIjaOVimIE-h53kiGOGfQl1vxpI55dNHhF6GLDzrqfTgIJEScWXQvTEKRfULwyhLUfNUuixmZnEiLQ23hljYZRKhrOTBqcHX6zChB0u6MMvSkHqJ8Cr5vRDlGGEBMt9R5IXvb50/s1600/raining+inside.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 470px; height: 470px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgUFuuSIjaOVimIE-h53kiGOGfQl1vxpI55dNHhF6GLDzrqfTgIJEScWXQvTEKRfULwyhLUfNUuixmZnEiLQ23hljYZRKhrOTBqcHX6zChB0u6MMvSkHqJ8Cr5vRDlGGEBMt9R5IXvb50/s400/raining+inside.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5501462715149911842" /></a><br />Softly now<br />My lips linger<br />like cigarette smoke<br />on the taste of your glow<br />My heart warbles a chant<br />to the hymn of your soul<br />a tantalizing stroke<br />on the hull of your want<br />belonging<br />to the rains, the stars and the moon,<br />to the quiet,<br />to the rhythm.<br />You and I<br />reach to the sun<br />beneath the shades of blue<br />echoes like white shells and sand<br />hand in hand<br />You came to me<br />secretly<br />but linger infinitely...<br /><br /><object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/qj18_1C4Hc8&hl=en_US&fs=1?rel=0&color1=0x402061&color2=0x9461ca"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/qj18_1C4Hc8&hl=en_US&fs=1?rel=0&color1=0x402061&color2=0x9461ca" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="470" height="370"></embed></object><br /><br /><object width="470" height="345"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/Row4eEgfSew&hl=en_US&fs=1?rel=0&color1=0x402061&color2=0x9461ca"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/Row4eEgfSew&hl=en_US&fs=1?rel=0&color1=0x402061&color2=0x9461ca" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="470" height="345"></embed></object><br />Wild Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05260455210731142858noreply@blogger.com49tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6045061990134848974.post-51711220669085735752010-08-07T08:06:00.000-07:002013-02-24T02:14:49.035-08:00"Tell Me"<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU-6s51tIdg1VXZnrX4vqc6EPdXFCOQgZhkZvR8RDU2df23_S_9qWrSucfStUkcRZ__SXrKKg7i2DHmbbvmb4arIQ-GCVazehHidjTnQfsIgfeXeYW02XyhiYoqjoMnvqY3WiDGyN45vI/s1600/nikita4.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5502686952618515922" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU-6s51tIdg1VXZnrX4vqc6EPdXFCOQgZhkZvR8RDU2df23_S_9qWrSucfStUkcRZ__SXrKKg7i2DHmbbvmb4arIQ-GCVazehHidjTnQfsIgfeXeYW02XyhiYoqjoMnvqY3WiDGyN45vI/s400/nikita4.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; height: 300px; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
She walks through the door startling him, he looks up. For a while they stare at each other. Then she says, “You look tired, it looks like it’s been a busy day.” He replies, "Yeah..you have been busy too." Can you tell me what happened? <br />
She replies, “Maybe someday...”<br />
<br />
Then he asks her, "Did I lose you? Did I..?" <br />
<br />
She walks up to him and hugs him. Then she answers, “I have known you all my life and even then I only knew half of you...the promise of you. But these past few months, you have fulfilled your promise. How could you ever lose me?<br />
He tightly hugs her tears rolling down his eyes, he kisses her forehead.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj08yjGvc_3pBC6-aAOsnzPmj1S5jPFtBbgBL2YKrYxilOXfjEHja-F2qwHNcIX_ZG5O-vo6cz2arHlOyU7i5QosANxsBGylA792kF5pSqbYWZXBw2H6sAAeDN1eX4TxMqKEEE2gBUgmUM/s1600/hug.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5502687104597954930" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj08yjGvc_3pBC6-aAOsnzPmj1S5jPFtBbgBL2YKrYxilOXfjEHja-F2qwHNcIX_ZG5O-vo6cz2arHlOyU7i5QosANxsBGylA792kF5pSqbYWZXBw2H6sAAeDN1eX4TxMqKEEE2gBUgmUM/s400/hug.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; height: 410px; width: 329px;" /></a><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-TOib7lZfcPVeMIrHO1_Ci7r0KgCIOQ384-4yzTR0HSCzkCtosLVpnUvg_P_Qf3FjGKyX2UOqfRhrYbf4kzCAhDWqeYeSgNQWDfwfouUSa_MbUEcNdzlcVNVuAYT8K-19MdV8omav9GA/s1600/nikita3.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5502687584823747634" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-TOib7lZfcPVeMIrHO1_Ci7r0KgCIOQ384-4yzTR0HSCzkCtosLVpnUvg_P_Qf3FjGKyX2UOqfRhrYbf4kzCAhDWqeYeSgNQWDfwfouUSa_MbUEcNdzlcVNVuAYT8K-19MdV8omav9GA/s400/nikita3.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; height: 360px; width: 470px;" /></a><br />
<object height="315" width="420"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/oSJOOli3SIE?hl=en_US&version=3" /><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true" /><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always" /><embed allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" height="345" src="http://www.youtube.com/v/oSJOOli3SIE?hl=en_US&version=3" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="480"></embed></object></div>
Wild Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05260455210731142858noreply@blogger.com31tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6045061990134848974.post-91539258401071733102010-07-27T20:48:00.000-07:002010-10-05T21:57:14.973-07:00"Gold on Film"<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqnzCOSpvIajKQ77vKbzrwk5yQMPSXswWOCHxBTIDq66v6W_4BkfvInJdMx98jPSR-mMl5cNPvsGhv5pqqolwL6muLDTazD1cESydnwf7GyEijQL40olrIfdo8i29CyJs92JKfSnsr09c/s1600/1.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 371px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqnzCOSpvIajKQ77vKbzrwk5yQMPSXswWOCHxBTIDq66v6W_4BkfvInJdMx98jPSR-mMl5cNPvsGhv5pqqolwL6muLDTazD1cESydnwf7GyEijQL40olrIfdo8i29CyJs92JKfSnsr09c/s400/1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498808821660446274" /></a><br /><br />The alarm shrilled<br />lingering briefly<br />he invited the morning sun rays in.<br />Just another day on his calendar<br />the morning was as the previous,<br />but this one was strangely<br />full of hope and belief.<br />How could he have realized it then?<br />No signs had laced into his dreams.<br />Building up anguish seeped into his bones,<br />he did not turn to his wife to voice it<br />nor did he kiss her good-morning.<br />He had decided to change the rules to the game<br />No longer a game player,<br />he had become the game changer.<br /><br />He dressed up and ate his breakfast<br />reveled in his children’s eyes,<br />the goodbyes at the airport were short.<br />Going into the day that was every yesterday<br />of his tomorrow, his work on the film sets. <br />On location during a shoot she walked in, <br />exuberant her cheeks swallowed<br />each step she took left a foot print upon his heart.<br />Shifting her gaze; his eyes followed<br />concealing her dying heart inside a rib maze,<br />his world spun in only her direction.<br />Silence filled every hour she was out of sight<br />limbo rocking his heart back and forth.<br />His need had grown patient arms<br />but it was her tears that undid him.<br /><br />Then they met again and again there after, <br />every moment tasting different<br />sweeter than the last.<br />He was quiet and unassuming in his disposition,<br />the gentle elixir for all she’d known before.<br />Her spilling joy was everything <br />missing in his uniform existence.<br />He knew her ache was boiling <br />beneath her jubilant crust,<br />she couldn’t bear to see him alone<br />not even for a second.<br />She had vowed to watch over him every night,<br />he had sworn to dance with her every day.<br />She loved him beyond her dying heart,<br />he loved her beyond all reason.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3QUE3He6VRjqTLDW7bYJDV7nMR_rmOx_tl97IjnGD9PeUjcvPzCLhrPUhdjxTxHeHaoc9502yHVk2_S7Lo87nCfOn-_Z444fCS5p3rLGVdcMbTvASC7ifV8LaU86nAkCLw-SMc7FKZ4w/s1600/sacred+love.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 470px; height: 315px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3QUE3He6VRjqTLDW7bYJDV7nMR_rmOx_tl97IjnGD9PeUjcvPzCLhrPUhdjxTxHeHaoc9502yHVk2_S7Lo87nCfOn-_Z444fCS5p3rLGVdcMbTvASC7ifV8LaU86nAkCLw-SMc7FKZ4w/s400/sacred+love.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498809692958804754" /></a><br /><br /><object width="470" height="345"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/G8OwOB4Ouyg&hl=en_US&fs=1?rel=0&color1=0x2b405b&color2=0x6b8ab6"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/G8OwOB4Ouyg&hl=en_US&fs=1?rel=0&color1=0x2b405b&color2=0x6b8ab6" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="470" height="345"></embed></object><br /><br /><object width="470" height="345"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/MuxTcG78cd8&hl=en_US&fs=1?rel=0&color1=0x2b405b&color2=0x6b8ab6"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/MuxTcG78cd8&hl=en_US&fs=1?rel=0&color1=0x2b405b&color2=0x6b8ab6" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="470" height="345"></embed></object><br /><br /><object width="470" height="345"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/jk43TIF3AQg&hl=en_US&fs=1?rel=0&color1=0x2b405b&color2=0x6b8ab6"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/jk43TIF3AQg&hl=en_US&fs=1?rel=0&color1=0x2b405b&color2=0x6b8ab6" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="470" height="345"></embed></object><br /><br /><span><a href="http://oneshotpoetry.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Submitted to One Shot Wednesday </a>.</p></span>Wild Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05260455210731142858noreply@blogger.com59tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6045061990134848974.post-54572033972480785362010-07-23T12:59:00.001-07:002010-10-05T21:57:38.722-07:00"Mapped"<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiI0DKVEb08RfT_PoESLzcyZBIoBi8CyegGd-EjOgvkyEsgoZvDU6Gu6d4zO60LQKpXkwBSEPGCt0ShkatXN4a1CcRgG6-uyprClTlCKxtrNYyhVJdy1eiO3JdFHGmt_TOF3yOT4XGxTw/s1600/mappedx.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 590px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiI0DKVEb08RfT_PoESLzcyZBIoBi8CyegGd-EjOgvkyEsgoZvDU6Gu6d4zO60LQKpXkwBSEPGCt0ShkatXN4a1CcRgG6-uyprClTlCKxtrNYyhVJdy1eiO3JdFHGmt_TOF3yOT4XGxTw/s400/mappedx.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5488872556443413138" /></a><br /><br />Sat on the grass, listening to the crickets,<br />laid me a map on the ground,<br />wide and lusty.<br />Fornicating with the soil it touched my outskirts,<br />It said, “Take me”<br />I said, “I will after the beautiful storm”<br />Looking at the map more carefully,<br />I realized it was fleshier, <br />mountainous in all the right places, <br />with hills exactly where there were meant to be.<br />Curiosity got the best of me, so I touched it and<br />Lo and behold!<br />It was my lover’s body, laid out on lascivious grass,<br />and it was the best map I could think of, <br />with all the GPS gadgets strategically placed,<br />he took me on an exhilarating journey,<br />to places I had never dreamt of. <br />So as not to sting him, I used blue and orange thumbtacks <br />to mark my favorite destinations, <br />the towns that I’d visit again and again with urge wondering lust,<br />he led me to the creek where we celebrated our selfness,<br />leaving a love stain on the leaves, <br />we mapped out our eternal tomb.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw_oW5-Zvfy_ATWhL4oc9NBx6cL2Arz9pdWK3rLKHiPtcb3ScFu4Ei49niPUPGv33-KEu6wlHVJvu9aQlgnSyV0PjLQGG5hSYnAV9ZaO5pH3RRMQfmyaXDSz3tpR2s8CHVELTqWGBhcKU/s1600/stagbend.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 470px; height: 273px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw_oW5-Zvfy_ATWhL4oc9NBx6cL2Arz9pdWK3rLKHiPtcb3ScFu4Ei49niPUPGv33-KEu6wlHVJvu9aQlgnSyV0PjLQGG5hSYnAV9ZaO5pH3RRMQfmyaXDSz3tpR2s8CHVELTqWGBhcKU/s400/stagbend.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5488865243122645250" /></a><br /><br /><object width="470" height="325"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/JZg3ibOt964&hl=en_US&fs=1?color1=0x3a3a3a&color2=0x999999"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/JZg3ibOt964&hl=en_US&fs=1?color1=0x3a3a3a&color2=0x999999" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="470" height="325"></embed></object>Wild Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05260455210731142858noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6045061990134848974.post-88802342777062386412010-07-14T07:01:00.000-07:002010-10-05T21:57:38.741-07:00"Deified"<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhekbmnAshBhiJQUzV0EbqR4cunX6b3Cq0f7czA0GLWX8iwja7Qt1nYLew5lHfxi9Ul5UZsBr3MSfTo7qRAEJy6RaheRLeKlmd_D10tSBIrTDWg2GyGi3lZjE4ADiZwTSxPFqouevUJN04/s1600/angelp.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 292px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhekbmnAshBhiJQUzV0EbqR4cunX6b3Cq0f7czA0GLWX8iwja7Qt1nYLew5lHfxi9Ul5UZsBr3MSfTo7qRAEJy6RaheRLeKlmd_D10tSBIrTDWg2GyGi3lZjE4ADiZwTSxPFqouevUJN04/s400/angelp.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493770246458749202" /></a><br /><br />Screaming angel prays, <br />imprisonment tumbles flat, <br />shining some stag bends.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcFRuCFAr9bWF47KcZoi5wZwEv09rqOlrnNkN2Zv51eT9wiufQx0haWlyw81a5pBdI6BqZz09WVaGnF33eSRSzqRDE6_97chJAhoXzb78cM4e2OSC3PKN8mgotpewluwNUM78sW16AC3o/s1600/stag2.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 460px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcFRuCFAr9bWF47KcZoi5wZwEv09rqOlrnNkN2Zv51eT9wiufQx0haWlyw81a5pBdI6BqZz09WVaGnF33eSRSzqRDE6_97chJAhoXzb78cM4e2OSC3PKN8mgotpewluwNUM78sW16AC3o/s400/stag2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493770649572293154" /></a><br /><br /><object width="470" height="345"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/RCqFr6sF0jo&hl=en_US&fs=1?color1=0xcc2550&color2=0xe87a9f"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/RCqFr6sF0jo&hl=en_US&fs=1?color1=0xcc2550&color2=0xe87a9f" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="470" height="345"></embed></object>Wild Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05260455210731142858noreply@blogger.com44tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6045061990134848974.post-8317171401678905002010-07-10T21:24:00.000-07:002010-10-05T21:57:38.748-07:00"Jungle fever illation"<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBUSBmOIuP-u54IM24Nx33-vTwkahGqAhP0X9mXI6s4eXVM_xPWidraLd4uawjkjbxIPpY7k9NQ8lK3tz_ke9XycxdGU3_bnUIKr-f0uDbM9AYoK6dQ9GqlUhmsqMUK33ZxQ0y08gwSN8/s1600/shiversoflove.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 333px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBUSBmOIuP-u54IM24Nx33-vTwkahGqAhP0X9mXI6s4eXVM_xPWidraLd4uawjkjbxIPpY7k9NQ8lK3tz_ke9XycxdGU3_bnUIKr-f0uDbM9AYoK6dQ9GqlUhmsqMUK33ZxQ0y08gwSN8/s400/shiversoflove.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5492507554004655922" /></a><br />It was a lovely early morning in the wild, the sun was just mounting up high in the sky and the hill-side whitened with blossoms of mountain ash. Late autumn colors flashed hues of red, yellow, drab, purple and light to dark shades of green. A rich coverlid of grass— exotic animals and birds—with private untrimmed banks of primitive apples and pebble-stones all negligent of one another as beautiful fragments. That is what I called them or thought of them. Drooping shy and unseen were our love thoughts of love yielding and acts of love climbing. Hands and arms of love, lips of love, phallic thumbs of love, breasts of love, bellies pressed and glued together with love. An all earthly chaste of jungle love it seemed. <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYiHqo-owsM2T6zdO25gmKIN9nRoUUHWnwhFp-1WynZ5muNpCT5bd9RcmybLWi3DQZbCRKm36ncqUqgTlq2AtY6GuE6eoe_6M7kWhdJuEMxs43tm2Z9RM4BlxDUwhei-tJ41nYhGY1Iqc/s1600/jung1.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 470px; height: 330px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYiHqo-owsM2T6zdO25gmKIN9nRoUUHWnwhFp-1WynZ5muNpCT5bd9RcmybLWi3DQZbCRKm36ncqUqgTlq2AtY6GuE6eoe_6M7kWhdJuEMxs43tm2Z9RM4BlxDUwhei-tJ41nYhGY1Iqc/s400/jung1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5492508298113531618" /></a><br />Watching our body of love--the body of the man I love with me as the morning dew airs blew from the southwest, nature unraveling--the hairy wild-bee murmured and hankered up and down— griping the full grown lady-flower, curved upon her with amorous firm legs, took his will of her, and held himself tremulous and tight till he was satisfied. In the wet of woods through the early hours, the curious roamer kept at work; his hands roaming all over the body with bashful withdrawing of flesh where the fingers soothingly paused and edged themselves. The mystical delectable night—the strange half-welcome pangs, visions, sweats, had brought us to pulses pounding through palms and trembling encircling fingers, a rocking conclusion at the horizon. Flushes after flushes, surfing in the rain as everything seemed better when wet. Hot hands seeking to repress what would master him; his voice carrying me into a land of open grass plains, a place where anything and everything was possible. Jungle fever driving us mad. Then a wholesome relief, stillness, content with fulfilled sighs. Work was done as we tossed carelessly to fall where we could in the beautiful wilderness, our safari concluded.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4AkaP3VzRmSfqjfAj4K6Ai9Hq04yT7G-5iQaXZAzFwTPSA6tfqlne2Kp5MqunkZ5IeSeFvfM-p-JZGoiPaj2ReDypPonsizoKLnOdvcEiCSsPXXOD1HadF5Je1LD8ZkeLOc8_xCXLGGg/s1600/shakisrk2.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 470px; height: 325px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4AkaP3VzRmSfqjfAj4K6Ai9Hq04yT7G-5iQaXZAzFwTPSA6tfqlne2Kp5MqunkZ5IeSeFvfM-p-JZGoiPaj2ReDypPonsizoKLnOdvcEiCSsPXXOD1HadF5Je1LD8ZkeLOc8_xCXLGGg/s400/shakisrk2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493976783583146882" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-GbGG_5DnJ_Fg_ubC1urbDJjL6amqywZgCHfxCRXWaVjWtYAjaXac7Wb7PbAsn1ha-hIIwkjc1VP4eH-v_7CoRiU3xHfWhG24RfywgvtnkZ9VZ-GOVUks2Ju6lngfREEEjBoXG4LnAkI/s1600/newlarge1.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 460px; height: 330px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-GbGG_5DnJ_Fg_ubC1urbDJjL6amqywZgCHfxCRXWaVjWtYAjaXac7Wb7PbAsn1ha-hIIwkjc1VP4eH-v_7CoRiU3xHfWhG24RfywgvtnkZ9VZ-GOVUks2Ju6lngfREEEjBoXG4LnAkI/s400/newlarge1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5492501951405875458" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhi_Oe-p5aKKl-LK3hMXzt8a3OHvatcErwY_WwuRzAGuqWEC8bB3-dlDeBXwlf4HMn56JLYEO-oeCc_td7ACkvE35flTIMBgK1x-evwFW8pD-BlmJRdvlpYwi8Bc6HrM_fiYhmQZiJxhI/s1600/shakisrk.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 470px; height: 285px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhi_Oe-p5aKKl-LK3hMXzt8a3OHvatcErwY_WwuRzAGuqWEC8bB3-dlDeBXwlf4HMn56JLYEO-oeCc_td7ACkvE35flTIMBgK1x-evwFW8pD-BlmJRdvlpYwi8Bc6HrM_fiYhmQZiJxhI/s400/shakisrk.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493355269172448898" /></a><br /><br /><object width="470" height="325"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/xE2onUOa5u4&hl=en_US&fs=1?rel=0&color1=0x234900&color2=0x4e9e00"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/xE2onUOa5u4&hl=en_US&fs=1?rel=0&color1=0x234900&color2=0x4e9e00" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="470" height="325"></embed></object><br /><br /><object width="470" height="345"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/sjxb6Y1l4s4&hl=en_US&fs=1?rel=0&color1=0x234900&color2=0x4e9e00"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/sjxb6Y1l4s4&hl=en_US&fs=1?rel=0&color1=0x234900&color2=0x4e9e00" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="470" height="345"></embed></object>Wild Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05260455210731142858noreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6045061990134848974.post-5911938289154069252010-07-10T19:47:00.000-07:002010-12-08T01:08:28.687-08:00"Toffee and Ice-Cream Swirl on Safari"<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQHEvv2IBX-uTTvQRFeQQC070lXLhMLTwUyTKfh3kyQ86z_iNUFKDFMbEOfgGPxpS-7ntsdFwQ5mYJnlLKFiRC8DZAwd9WcuqkzZ7I2YfSbbkprrxIHFXvNTd8GF6GeMBmWErFRLX7kJQ/s1600/toffee.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQHEvv2IBX-uTTvQRFeQQC070lXLhMLTwUyTKfh3kyQ86z_iNUFKDFMbEOfgGPxpS-7ntsdFwQ5mYJnlLKFiRC8DZAwd9WcuqkzZ7I2YfSbbkprrxIHFXvNTd8GF6GeMBmWErFRLX7kJQ/s400/toffee.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5492487799168104978" /></a><br />Trickling in caramel toffee warmth down my back,<br />he slithers as sugar magic streams through our veins.<br />My stomach aching to receive the lightness <br />that is the tone in his caressing voice,<br />crushing like stampeding animals, <br />herded through a kaleidoscope rainbow, <br />remembering to slow down. <br />Then taking it all in before the atmosphere disappears, <br />our Safari sketched.<br />Erupting into chaotic cacophonous diatribe on frailty, <br />realizing this is reminiscent of nothing ever felt before, <br />giving new meaning to feelings. <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAdY6dn9hNyIwG0u6PtKOx8odb1hWTL_5DQNu7J5hZa6-iTMiPUpOmwdn4F6zMUQoVaI5WeZoIw0CMcYvcloizc3tcbNwfjIR2QQEbem5OP3DeJoppuPO9bAQm6KtZXtjfQys8g17JjCo/s1600/saf1.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 430px; height: 357px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAdY6dn9hNyIwG0u6PtKOx8odb1hWTL_5DQNu7J5hZa6-iTMiPUpOmwdn4F6zMUQoVaI5WeZoIw0CMcYvcloizc3tcbNwfjIR2QQEbem5OP3DeJoppuPO9bAQm6KtZXtjfQys8g17JjCo/s400/saf1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5492486597978399362" /></a><br />Every fiber in my being driven to call out to your wild, <br />primitive self, <br />brooding and emotive yet somehow fragile, <br />elongated musings drawing out in the middle of the afternoon, <br />tasting toffee colors and mischief swirls of ice-cream on the lips of you. <br />Us dripping down walls like water draining, <br />sapping of energy but still energized enough,<br />partaking in another rendition of love’s ballad.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK1lQGAsyyY1E0sBjA0ALXpO7-KiU1bn1PI4xOtkAN_PPCpNZx7VyFWrA_nulVVDqFiqiOyaxkFqjHshBEjOyDRpLuu0dTiTSXmFIeiKSJZWBAyLb3I7YK4yVvmFWr5ZEjezj-9amIkqY/s1600/saf3.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 290px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK1lQGAsyyY1E0sBjA0ALXpO7-KiU1bn1PI4xOtkAN_PPCpNZx7VyFWrA_nulVVDqFiqiOyaxkFqjHshBEjOyDRpLuu0dTiTSXmFIeiKSJZWBAyLb3I7YK4yVvmFWr5ZEjezj-9amIkqY/s400/saf3.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5492487296438381586" /></a><br />Harmonizing elegantly, sensuously, sumptuously, <br />and scintillating lust masquerading in erotic repose. <br />None knowing the depths of this passion we share, <br />giving up all attempts to decipher our puzzle, <br />meaning only to enjoy this moment. <br />Hoping for many others that resemble this <br />delightful melting of ebony and ivory, <br />titillating, unabated and inebriated spirits morphed into one. <br />Marathon sessions of exasperations, <br />sleeping and awakening to start all over again, <br />drawing in breathes upon shattering release, <br />losing grip on sense; giving in to shameless enjoyment. <br />Deploying every trick ever leaned through time, <br />eliciting the love, pleasures of body and mind. <br />Electrifying skin prickles with droplets of sweat, <br />glistening with sheen of exhaustion, <br />palpitating hearts beating in unison, <br />so many beats per minute. <br />Racing to the point of passing out we shout; <br />"Oooh...now isn't this just the sweetest insanity of toffee and ice-cream swirl?"<br /><br /><object width="470" height="345"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/9u7hGkL57N8&hl=en_US&fs=1?rel=0&color1=0x5d1719&color2=0xcd311b"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/9u7hGkL57N8&hl=en_US&fs=1?rel=0&color1=0x5d1719&color2=0xcd311b" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="470" height="345"></embed></object><br /><br /><object width="480" height="345"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/74GwwUVnPLA?fs=1&hl=en_US&color1=0x5d1719&color2=0xcd311b"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/74GwwUVnPLA?fs=1&hl=en_US&color1=0x5d1719&color2=0xcd311b" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object><br /><br /><span><a href="http://oneshotpoetry.blogspot.com/2010/07/one-shot-wednesday-place-to-share-your_13.html" target="_blank">Submitted to One Shot Wednesday </a>.</p></span>Wild Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05260455210731142858noreply@blogger.com34