Molding One's Inner Soul As If It Were Sculpture

Tell all the world's people who read this how a creative individual, such as myself, solves minor organizational situations in my small studio apartment. My self esteem accelerates when I felt I had succeeded in solving  the problem. I am sure others can agree when they face an identical situation. My advice to the readers is do an activity that enhances your self esteem. This would be positive therapy in a neurotic world. 

In my younger days I would look toward my future and try to visualize what my life might be like. How my life worked out had not worked the way I fantasized it. Many, I assume found their lives and dreams traveled a similar path. This is the last quarter of my existence on this Earth so I feel while looking back to analyze my past, my determination treads onto collect what is left of my less than average physical energy and mold my inner creativity into something extraordinary!

 

 

 

The Title Illustrated as NEUROTICA

 I am inclined to write this blog from the corners of my imagination. The corners of that dark space are rounded; they do not come to the point as regular corners do. The walls and door are so ornate that it is difficult to judge where the door is. Proceed forward and the exit springs open automatically. Picture as you will the most ornate and detailed dream which you have created from your innermost id. Why is it that you, the individual who searches for the prospect of the truth within the surrounding walls of neurotica? Have neurotics blamed you unnecessarily for their own faults? Have their unmet needs stepped upon your toes causing you to feel shame and utter self consciousness? Humiliation is a form of control over the human being. Such disrespect is a difficult pill to ingest. No wonder Dr. Carl Jung and his writings regarding psychology can be depicted by the artist as Dr. Jung removing the mask to show the real individual as opposed to the "fake front" which he dons. 

WRITE LIKE THE RIGHT HAND READS

 

To the readers of this blog I hereby mention a flow of thoughts bubbling from the imagination of an unknown writer who had aspired to accomplish something great in her what appears to be the outcome, long life. A long life can show itself as being in the young old age years up the point of how amazing it was to live beyond expectation to an age where no human being is expected to live. In the media of today I had read of those who survived past the age of 100 years. I am in awe of that single accomplishment they have achieved. As I look at my right hand searching for answers which my lifeline shall inform me of, my thoughts question the split of it. In other words which half of the split is mine when compared to my ex-spouse of thirty years of wedlock is his. My theory formulates an assumption that his is on the left side while mine is on the right. I am no expert when it comes to reading palms. His life line in the palm of my hand seems to hook up with another line. He has been involved in another relationship for over 10 years now. 

The hand is the illustrative history of any unique individual. What do these lines speak of in their own native tongue? How captivating it is to read into this unwritten past. Does it carry an ounce of truth in its story? That I cannot guarantee. Many share an interest in this subject. How mesmerizing the thought of having one's personal history if not their future explained to them by one one who can interpret these signs. 

Speak of the unknown and unpredictable account which I have been rambling on about. Unpredictable each life can be and fate cannot always be depended upon to guide destiny. We can change this path since we are the holders of "free will". 

The Unlocking of the Locked Door Within

 WRITE: Why in heaven's name am I to undertake such a task? This question is somewhat psychoanalysis oriented. Why ask the question if I know the answer already? The reason why to compose sentences of fiction based on real life past experiences. The skeletal remains of memories past will cast a shadow upon these words, sentences and paragraphs. This specter of self expression will illustrate a picture painted with the finest colors and grays in the imaginary watercolor medium. Add too much water and the portrait drips like blood from a fresh wound. 

In the doctor's waiting room she sits staring at the large portrait of a country doctor making a house call to a poor farm family. The doctor is inside a room, sitting down and in deep thought. The patient is a young female child resting on bedding placed on two wooden chairs. The mother is sitting by the table and weeping while her head rests upon her two folded arms. Her husband consoles her by giving her a reasuring touch while focusing on the doctor. He is anxious to hear the doctor's opinion. The background is dark. Beneath this large painting is an old radio housed in a wooden frame. Inside this wooden frame are tubes that need to warm up when the radio is turned on. Its art deco exterior was resting on a wooden end table. 

There was no receptionist for this doctor. He was a portly aging man by the name of Dr. Flanigan. Dr. Flanigan had known the young lady's late maternal grandfather and her middle aged mother. This young lady, whose name is Linda, started coming to Dr. Flanigan when she was only seven years old. Her mother must have thought that she outgrew being the patient of a pediatrician. Two buses were needed to go see Dr. Flanigan, whose residence and home office were on the other side of town. On some occasions one bus was taken by Linda and then she walked the rest of the destination. 

As Linda began to mature, she did not consider herself as a beauty yet teenage boys would drive by her and honk the car horn. Dr. Flanigan had noticed that she was maturing, especially when both were alone in the exam room. As she lay clothed on the examining table according to his instructions, he groped her right arm starting from the wrist and stopped before he reached her elbow. Linda could sense what type of touch that was. 

Linda had informed her mother to start looking for another doctor, but her mother was determined to stay with Dr. Flanigan. When the time came for Dr. Flanigan to retire, sell his house and move to Florida with his wife, he recommended two young doctors for her mother to see. Linda felt a sigh of relief.

THE STORY SHALL UNFOLD

The story shall unfold: The process of molding a fictional story to be read by others originates from the imagination of the writer.  When writing fiction the writer will delve deep into the crevices of her/his mind. Flowers with thorns on their stems can surface below the depths and into the conscious. The writer then can tread upon the grey area of the past. 

A child, aged seven, goes to a friend's house so they can play together. The friend is four years old, named Zelda and resides with her mother and grandfather. They are renters in a three apartment house. When the seven year old girl whose name is Wendy found herself in the basement which, over the years, she and other children had explored. Wendy heard the friend's grandfather descending down the cement cellar steps. Since she knew the grandfather Wendy was not alarmed. The grandfather recognized Wendy and decided to pick her up. When he held her, his hand moved between her legs. Wendy felt uncomfortable and dirty about him inappropriately massaging her. Recently she had received her First Holy Communion and she did not know what to say to this man when he committed a crime against her.  Wendy's father was working in the front yard where she lived with her mother, brother and dad. This dirty secret she kept to herself and she did not know enough to speak to the police. 

A few hours passed and Wendy was with Zelda and Zelda's mom on the large front porch of the three family house where Zelda's family lived on the first floor. The grandfather was in the hallway where there were stairs leading to the second floor. The hallway also lead to the front porch. He stood there hidden and exposed himself to Wendy. What did he want her to do? She was the only one who witnessed his foul deed.  

Starstruck In the City

The breeze is a sensory soothing adventure.

Water under the bridge which flows downstream and into the sewer of the city makes a trickling noise as I peer down to take a peek at where its destination lies. It cleanses the curb sides of the cobblestone street as the train roars past on the elevated ground. The train's whistle echoes past my body encompassing a strong gust of wind which blows my graying hair about. I look up. Being aware of my existence on this earth is obvious to my rationale. I think therefore I am dominates my thought as I stand on the pedestrian busy street isolated and deep in meditative thought. A car horn blows and I instinctively move my two feet to the sidewalk. The city excites me. A feeling of being starstruck grows and develops from within me as I pace the concrete paths of this brick and mortar environment. Telephone poles sprout up as if they were trees in this concrete forest. Its branches grasp the long and straight wires; the ones where squirrels dance and fray its very fabric. Evening casts its grey shadow upon the pulse of the city, leaving with it shaded corners and dim street lights. The bus pulls into its stop and I get on. I fumble through my change to find the correct fare. The bus driver gives me an odd look as I walk with a wobbly gait to an aisle seat. The man seated by the bus window is listening to his iPod as I listen to the tinny sound this device makes when it is for only one party listening. My blue eyes scan the occupants riding on this worn down bus and I notice some are texting, while others are speaking loudly on their cell phones. An occasional rider is reading a newspaper while the rest are immersed in their own private thoughts. A half hour quickly rolls by. My focus is towards the front of the bus. I gaze through the large windshield and notice that my stop is coming up. Gradually I ascend to a standing position and walk to the front. My right hand grips the handrail. Immediately a cat darts in front of the bus and the driver jams on the brake pedal. My balance is lost and in a flash I fall to the floor hitting my head on the metal part of the seat. 

My unconscious body laid in the aisle blocking pedestrian traffic. My mind is descending into a dreamlike state. Here I am in a foreign state which I am trying to mentally analyze. The huge rock which I am sitting on appears real to my eyes. The mist is clouding the trees and other forest growth. The branches protrude the misty fog. This is the land of the unknown I surmised. Every inch of land holds a puzzling mystery. My right foot touches the earthy ground where brown earth meets green weedy growth. The land was not hard but rather slightly moist. Sliding down the grey hued rock I stood and cautiously stepped through the weeds on a quest to investigate. From a bustling city to the serene quietness of the woods where the songs of birds can be heard I tread on, surveying my natural surroundings. 

Peering up at the sky I saw sunlight piercing through the forestation, creating a divine appearance. How sacred this must be I thought as a felt a calming sensation surge throughout my body. The pretty colored birds swooped down and circled around the light. Moving closer until the stones forced me not to go any further, I gazed upward and felt even more hypnotized by its goddess like appearance. An internal instinct was drawing me to move into the light when suddenly I was awakened by paramedics. An oxygen mask was placed on my face and I was removed from the bus to be placed upon a stretcher. A crowd of onlookers watched as the paramedics placed me into the ambulance. 

The ride to the hospital was smooth with moments of bumps here and there. An inner feeling of being a stranger in a foreign town haunted me. My worried thoughts focused on when this ambulance trip will be over. The ambulance attendant inside the cabin was friendly and he noticed I was becoming restless. "Do you need an adjustment of your safety straps?" he inquired. "I am feeling pain from not moving", I replied. "We are nearing the medical center. I shall loosen this strap where you can change your position, then I will tighten it again". This was a tremendous relief for my body. 

As the ambulance pulled into the emergency section, my creative and inquisitive  eyes were fascinated by the red lights of this entering vehicle and authorized personnel directing us to the proper stop. The ambulance driver parked and left the driver seat to open the back doors of the ambulance I rode in. The other ambulance attendant sprung into action to assist my stretcher to leave this emergency vehicle and descend to the asphalt. As the emergency doors automatically opened, I was wheeled in. The staff person behind the desk to ask me the routine questions concerning health insurance. Feeling dazed still, I searched my handbag and pulled out my picture driver's license and healthcare information. When my healthcare cards and driver's license were returned to me, I was taken to a waiting area where I was placed in a bed. The curtains were drawn around each occupied bed. Time had moved on and during my long wait, I could hear commotion by the waiting desk and near my curtain. An outraged woman who was anonymous to my knowledge was brought to this medical center. Her issue was that she was always sent to a different hospital and that if the staff were to contact her policeman husband, he would confirm her case. Her rant went on and on. Then it was my turn to be examined by a technician. It was late in the evening as I lay there on a stretcher awaiting what they call a CAT SCAN. The CAT SCAN technician opened communication with me in regards to what I shall experience when going through the scan. I lay there on a flat wheeled structure and my mind absorbed his overall words of instruction. 

Nosferatu (1922) [Silent Movie] An Artistic Masterpiece

Nosferatu is quite a masterpiece of horror which has transcended time. From the silent era up until the present day, Nosferatu relies upon artistic creativity to speak of its theme. As an unknown writer with an artistic outlook, I write to bring out the film's artistic side, filmed with hand cranked cameras. Since all the scenes had to be filmed with daylight still lingering, natural woven cloths had to be used to diffuse the sunlight. Without the use of sound, actors had to be skilled in facial and body expressions to convey the story. Makeup accentuated the personality of the character. Those hideous hands communicate utter horror for those watching. Filters played an important role for black and white films. In this movie we see sepia, pink and blue in changing scenes. Those with an artistic perspective are in awe when viewing this creatively pieced together movie.