Don’t get the wrong idea, I’m not fear mongering. I read the article reprinted below in the June 2009 issue of Diva Magazine. It is a true tale of domestic violence, alcoholism and murder.

This youtube was passed on to me by a dear friend in SecondLife named Akasha Divisadero and I had to share it with you.

I was shot at Providence St. Vincent Medical Center in Portland Oregon. This is what the blurb says:

“Our employees put together this video to generate breast cancer awareness throughout our hospital system. We had a ton of fun putting this together and hope it inspires others to join in the cause.”

Enjoy!!

Recently, I acquired a book of short stories written by Jackie Manthorne. The entire book was great but one of the stories was similar in some ways to my own life while still being different enough that I didn’t wonder ‘have you met me somewhere before?’.

This book is titled ‘fascination … and other bar stories’ and the bar in which, for the most part at least, they take place is called l’Entr’acte. The stories revolve around the same group of base characters but evolve to include others as this group continues their journeys.

Do you know what a “still point” is?

It doesn’t have anything to do with sitting still, if that is what you’re thinking.

In one of T.S. Eloit’s poems, entitled ‘Four Quartets’, there are a few lines, about halfway into the second of five poemlets that make up this poem … anyway, one particular line is about a still point.

In SecondLife, there is a woman by the name of Half Short. She runs a business that sells some amazing items.

One day not long ago a group IM popped open. She was talking about a piece she had created which she chose to call ‘Caught Teardrops’. The following poem exploded into being and subsequently is being used in conjunction with the sale of her creation.

Caught Teardrops

Morning breathes
its cool breeze on the rosebuds.
The dew shimmering on their delicate petals
Like caught teardrops.

She rises,
sweeping aside the curtains and standing,
her pale skin bed-warm,
as she traces the stained glass of the window.

A memory races through her mind
of a love lost to time
and she reaches up to her cheek
and gathers caught teardrops.