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    check and see my Artworks in my blog at http://steptomydreams.blogspot.com/ and i'm accepting suggestion and comments I'm an amateur artist God bless and take care
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    Hey guys and girls, I hav started streaming my art! Watch it here: https://www.picarto.tv/live/channel.php?watch=FunkyBoy Does anyone else do this?
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    Wow. Talk about a late reply. Streaming, just basically broadcasting my work, as I work. It's super rare that I do it.
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    Clive James, man of many talents, roles and names to fame, admits that on some occasions when he spoke he did not know what he was talking about. One can’t know the details about all the things one talks about over the many decades of living or one would have to confine oneself to only a few subjects. Your conversational life would be tedious. Clive has tried to absorb anything and everything that's new or rather, almost everything. He says that he can't abide hip-hop. The motivation behind his huge body of work: essays, poems, books, inter alia--is partly, he says, his sense of responsibility which began in childhood. He also has had a desire to: (a) use his time well and ( experience the pleasures and fruits of solitude. James's literary and verbal artistry lies in his ability to seem both casual and careful on the one hand and serious and well-read on the other. He observes an imperfect world with acerbic off-handedness and humour. He displays a formidable erudition and a giddy love of pop culture. So much of our culture, its history and its present, infuses James's prose and his wit blossoms when he is interviewed. Writers, James emphasizes, often speak with a special pontificating voice. That voice, James continues, strives for integration and a certain judiciousness even in its doubts. That voice also purports to contain the distilled wisdom of a lifetime's experience. Almost always, he says, that voice of the writer is at odds with the personality from which it emerges. “In my case the discrepancy is so glaring that even I can spot it,” he says engagingly with a proverbial twinkle in his eye. He introduced one of his columns about the mess that exists in his study and on his desk with the following question: “Are we able to think clearly when surrounded by mess because chaos is inherent in all our minds, even those of the great writers and thinkers?--Ron Price with thanks to “Denton: Elders,” 30 November 2009, ABC1, 8:00-8:30 p.m. and several interviews and columns of Clive James available on the internet. It’s always a pleasure, Clive, although I can’t say I’ve read all your 30 books;there is too much else which catches my.... fancy, my mind and emotions... You said a good deal tonight which pleased my sensory and intellectual emporium...your words about creativity & sex; your comments about our wide- wide-world thrown off with an insouciance and concern, with a humour and seriousness as.. befits your life in the world of erudition and pop-culture- entertaining the mass as you’ve travelled your road during these epochs: you are my contemporary Clive, just a little bit older and so much more well-read: how on earth did you do it, Clive?? How did you do it, Clive????? Is this all there is, Clive, this life? Ah well, we can’t agree on every line of thought, can we Clive, eh??(1) (1) my Bahá'í beliefs posit an afterlife. But whatever one believes regarding an afterlife, in the end, we are all agnostics, since belief and knowledge are different things. Ron Price 1 December 2009 Updated for artfreaks.com On: 3/12/'10 ------------------------
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    i am a huge fan of the batman comics... i have to say i was very skeptical of (RIP) Heath Ledgers roll as the joker... but I dont think it could have been played better by anyone else. Too be honest... Jack Nickolson did not cut it... so i pose this question... what if batman (Cristian Bale) and the JOker (Heath Ledger)???? i dootled this earlier... ?
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    "They must find it difficult, those who have taken authority as truth, rather than truth as authority." Gerald Massey. He was the author of a brilliant thesis in his, Ancient Egypt The Light of the World.
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    “Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars.” Kahlil Gibran. *** Para Mi Saudade. *** De las raíces de su brillante terciopelo negro, paulatinamente, la naturaleza reclamaba la belleza de su tierra natal. Brotaba de las ventanas de su alma, una inquietante madrugada, con un silencio prohibido. Niña, ciertamente, ya no era. Una flor en el correo del extranjero llegó a ser, con timbres de Méjico y España, en su pasado, y el mundo en su futuro… Pulsando un futuro indeciso e incierto, simplemente una sonrisa y murmullante, de esos labios, “hola…” Eduardo A. Cong Poeta y dramaturgo, Miercoles, 6 de Junio, 2017 San Diego, CA 92101
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    “In a time of universal deceit, telling the truth is a revolutionary act.” George Orwell, 1903-1950. English novelist, essayist, journalist and critic. “Until the Lions tell their tale, the story of the hunt will always glorify the hunter.” African proverb.
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    PAALAM, Senator Miriam Defensor-Santiago, J.D. (June 15, 1945- September 29, 2016) Another brilliant and courageous star in the Philippines contemporary history leaves an amazing exemplary legacy. “Footprints on the sands of time” came to mind as all of the onlookers were in waiting burst into applauses at her arrival to pay homage at the wake. At the funeral cortège preparation, were amongst those present applauding the vessel, once containing this great giant. “We will always miss her intelligent discourse;” proffered the astute Senator colleague, Richard Gordon on her brilliance. Her courage prompted the present president of the Philippines, to observe, “We lost one of the guy good guys.” Respectfully, in agreement with his observation, please, reread Rizal’s introduction, “Noli Me Tangere.” It may have been Spain then, you draw your own conclusions, today 2016. He was a physician bound to the sacred oath, emerging from ancient Kemet, the Greeks ‘Aiguptos.’ “Do not Harm, above all.” For Miriam Defensor-Santiago, These respectful reflections are an extension of those flowers at her dignified resting place. In the dawn of Rizal’s Dapitan, she rose. This was not the street behind that Pontifical University, but in Rizal’s (Ateneo) exile, in Mindanao. Long unrecognized and/or acknowledged by so many contemporary scholars, his blessings was in disguise while in Mindanao. From a pristine turquoise blue ocean, her pointed observation ruffled so many feathers, because integrity spoke for the love of the people she served. She did not compromise the constitutional legacy of the nation, and thus, her people. Eduardo A. Cong, Poet and playwright, San Diego, CA. USA. September 29th, 2016 C'est l'Afrique noire inspirant.
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    “…to be Young, Gifted, and Black.” Niña Simone. This singer, once a child prodigy in her life, was commemorating Lorraine Hansberry’s play, and her life. (See her you tube recording for a full appreciation of her natural born gift.) Tuesday April 27, 16 (V) For the Black Children of The Future. That is today, 2016. In her eyes, Transcending all biometrics before me, became puzzled, As the cognitive hearing and translating brain, interpreted: “I am genius.” The very cosmic, electro magnetic atom/molecular/cellular level of the universe, Arising an amazing awareness. As this humble seed reflected on the volumes covered over 5,0000 years, of “hue” man wisdom, before their Christian era, we are to ask, and seek truthful knowledge, so hidden by the Westerners, (in their sacred and profane) scholarship. The stars, and its constellations, wherein is the biochemical carbon base of the 9/10 earth’s ‘hue’ man. The very key to the universe was physiologically manifested. Eduardo A. Cong Poet and playwright, Tuesday April 27, 2016 Post Script: From those ‘shoulders of giants” we are to give thanks to, Dr. Cheikh Anta Diop, Dr. Frances Cress Welsing, Dr. Richard D. King, Dr. Bobby E. Wright, Dr. John H. Clarke, Dr. Josef ben-Jochannan, Dr. Ivan Van Sertima, Dr. Chancellor Williams, Dr. Carlos G. Wilson, George G. M. James, George Simmons, John G. Jackson, ad infinitum. Their absence leaves boundaries of immense sidereal constellations; they are amongst our elders’ immortals.
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    The priest entered his donkey in a race and it won. The priest was so pleased with the donkey that he entered it in the race again and it won again. The local paper read: PRIEST'S ASS IN FRONT The Bishop was so upset with this kind of publicity that he ordered the Priest not to enter the donkey in another race. The next day, the local paper headline read: BISHOP SCRATCHES PRIEST'S ASS This was too much for the bishop, so he ordered the priest to get rid of the donkey. The priest decided to give it to a nun in a nearby convent. The local paper, hearing of the news, posted the following headline the next day: NUN HAS BEST ASS IN TOWN The bishop fainted. He informed the nun that she would have to get rid of the donkey, so she sold it to a farmer for £10. The next day the paper read: NUN SELLS ASS FOR £10 This was too much for the bishop, so he ordered the nun to buy back the Donkey and lead it to the plains where it could run wild. The next day the headlines read: NUN ANNOUNCES HER ASS IS WILD AND FREE The bishop was buried the next day. The moral of the story is ... being concerned about public opinion can bring you much grief, misery and even shorten your Life. So be yourself and enjoy life!! Stop worrying about everybody else's ass and You'll be a lot happier and live longer!
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    On January 2, 2016, one of the United States most courageous psychiatrist, scholar and author of “The Isis Papers: The Key to the Colors (Third World Press),” has died. She was 80 years old. Her intellectual depth and breadth, brings to me, reminders of another titan in the Philippines History, Dr. Jose P. Rizal, also a physician. As much as the Church back then, and still today, try to keep their light from blossoming on a universal level. It is systemic and thus, those who are in control of the institutions, then as well as now, control the unenlightened practices and behavior of the many, local and global. “ If you think education is expensive, try ignorance.” Read this many years ago, and forthcoming in poetic imagery is her legacy, as succinct as possible. HAVE A GREAT YEAR ALL OF THOSE CONTRIBUTING TO THIS FORUM.
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    Laughed until tears ran down my cheeks!!! Have a great year, kaibigan ko. Eduardo
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    Well, your work is very bright and colourful. I like it.
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    Would love any feedback about my site. Several new pieces are up. Thanks!
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    MJ's Hair was sold for 10k on line the other day the gross part it was hair from a shower drain, and you are all aware he is bald
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    The following is a revision of some thoughts on Herman Melville after watching Moby Dick on ABC1(8 and 15 May, 8:35 to 10:00 p.m.). Kerry Saunders, a Peabody Journalism Award winner, was interviewed by Alan Saunders back on 30 June 2007 and he stated in that interview that Moby Dick(1851) was a metaphor for the American ship of state which was driving toward destruction, the destruction seen a decade later in the Civil War(1861-1865). The book was also a metaphor for the emptiness of reality, part of what came to be called existentialist philosophy, a philosophy that was emerging and would emerge in the 19th century with the two philosophers Nietzsche(1844-1900) and Kierkegaard(1813-1855).-Ron Price, 15 May 2011. THE HEALING ROAD I first came across the ideas of sociologist Emile Durkheim while studying sociology at university from 1963 to 1967. Many of his ideas I have always thought were relevant to a Baha'i perspective, a perspective I have entertained and that has evolved since the 1950s. This French sociologist’s ideas certainly reflect my experience of intellectual, artistic and literary pursuits, what 'Abdu'l-Baha called "learning and the cultural attainments of the mind."[1] Just as Baha'i administration was taking its first form under the guidance of Shoghi Effendi in the 1920s, Durkheim wrote that "the love of art, the predilection for artistic joys, is accompanied by a certain aptitude for getting outside ourselves, a certain detachment or disinterestedness. We lose sight of our surroundings, our ordinary cares, our immediate interests. Indeed, this is the essence of the healing power of art. Art consoles us because it turns us away from ourselves."[2] After forty years of travelling- pioneering, I find here peace and supper, as if after a very long day's work. Yes, Herman, this is its own reward.[3] Just a simple artistry in these poems, part of my search for the right idiom and the best ways of meet life's lot. I do not feel like Frost, stricken as he was and intensely conscious, suspicious of my struggle……A healing came, to me, at last, Herman, at long last……And all that gloom, and obsession, temper, rage, depression—it softened with the years and at last an easy sleep without the pain—dulled it was, life's sharp-ragged edges…../ And my style could lighten and take an easier road without that heat and load; it could brighten, that road.[4] Ron Price 22 September 2002 ----------------------------------------------------------------- ONE HAD TINTED CRIMSON In the year after the Bab was martyred Herman Melville published Moby Dick. Some have regarded this book as the greatest work in American fiction. Melville began writing this book in the late 1840s, perhaps 1849 at the earliest. He said he loved all men who dived. Any fish could swim near the surface, but it took a great whale to go down five miles. Melville also thought that comfortable beliefs needed to be discarded. He could not himself believe and he was uncomfortable in his disbelief.-Ron Price, a summary of an essay and an encyclopaedia article on Melville. Melville must be henceforth numbered in the company of the incorrigibles who occasionally tantalize us with indications of genius.....Melville has succeeded in investing objects.....with an absorbing fascination...Moby Dick is not a mere tale of adventure, but a whole philosophy of life, that it unfolds.---Henry F. Chorley, in London Athenaeum, 25 October 1851; and London John Bull, 25 October 1851. My Revelation is indeed far more bewildering than that of Muhammad....how strange that a person brought up among the people of Persia should be empowered by God....and be enabled to spontaneously reveal verses far more rapidly than anyone….-The Bab in Selections from the Writings of the Bab, Haifa, 1976, p.139. They both went down deep into the ocean of mystery, a mystic intercourse had possessed them with some subtle-penetrating grandeurs, intensities, strangenesses, absorbing fascination, profound reflections, a whole way of life in their words, a certain eccentricity of style, an object of ridicule, a kind of old extravagance, bewildering, and that very transcendental tendency of the age, that 19th century age. But One had musk-scented breaths... written beyond the impenetrable veil of concealment...oceans of divine elixir, tinted crimson with the essence of existence…..Arks of ruby, tender.... wherein none shall sail but the people of Baha...1 Ron Price 18 February 1999 1 The Bab, Selections from the Writings of the Bab, Haifa, 1976, pp.57-8. [1] 'Abdu'l-Baha, The Secret of Divine Civilization, Wilmette, 1970, p.35. [2] Emile Durkheim, Moral Education, Free Press, 1961(1925), p.268. [3] Herman Melville, Letter to Nathaniel Hawthorne, 1851. Melville wrote that after a hard day's work it was enough of a reward to sit down in peace and enjoy one's supper. This could also be true of hardship, if some anxiety prevailed over something over which one did not seem to have any control. It was, indeed, reward enough just to sit and enjoy some peace and something to eat. Amen, Herman, amen. [4] While I wrote these last two stanzas I was thinking of: (a) the heat in Robert Frost's poetry and the inner battles he had to fight. See Selected Letters of Robert Frost, editor, Lawrence Thompson, Jonathan Cape, London, 1965, Introduction; and ( the healing I received in 1980 and 2002 from two different medications for my bi-polar tendency.
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    Apologies for those who found the above somewhat obscure. Poetry is often this way, especially when one is dealing with complex problems, especially when one is, as this thread indicates, dancing to a different drummer.-Ron Price, Australia
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    Just a final note: ----------------------- ROUTINIZATION OF CHARISMA The Romans all loved or hated Augustus didn't they? The same with kings and queens: there was a personality factor, something extraordinary, personal, often something divine. These authority figures elicited responses of awe, deference and devotion. They range from frenzy-creating preachers to quiet, meditating sages. An inherent instability was part of their authority, their charisma. -Ron Price with thanks to Douglas Barnes, "Charisma and Religious Leadership", Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion, 1978, 17(1), 1-18. We had our prophetic revelation, our charisma, our unified world view, our consciously integrated, meaningful attitude to life1, our perceived extra-ordinariness, our doctrine, mission, constructed beyond-the-human, a gift of grace, of history, of God, otherness, revolutionary and then, then: routinized, depersonalized, adhering not to persons, but to institutions, authority,1 central order-relating events, a legitimating force, the function of the need for order in what we could call: charismatic community with its collective excitement, transforming the inherently so precarious into a superhuman facticity that seems eternal, free of disenchantment---one. 1 In the Baha’i Faith authority is invested in institutions and power, a much more subtle and indefineable entity, is to be found in individuals. This power could be expressed in host of ways. It could be seen as energy. Man provides the energy and God provides the guidance. Ron Price 7 November 1997 1 Max Weber, some aspects of charisma.
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    Max Weber observes that both for sociology and for history the object of cognition is subjective meaning. This subjective meaning is both the basis for and the complex of action. The point here is not that "anything goes," but rather that "everything is contingent"; not that there are no rules, but that the rules that do exist are decidedly "historically and culturally situated." REENCHANTMENT The great sociologist, some say the greatest, Max Weber, wrote about the reenchantment of the world. The phrase has come to be used in many contexts by sociologists and philosophers, scholars and social scientist specialists in various disciplines. This writer, this poet, sees the reenchantment of the world as having its beginnings with the Enlightenment and the birth of Shaykh Ahmad in the middle of the 18th century. By that time all the traditional religions were well into the winter of their lives, although there were many cold and sunny, bright and often windy days to come. From my perspective or at least one way of expressing this perspective, this reenchantment has been underway for over 250 years. Reenchantment has a host of forms: industrialism, capitalism, socialism, liberalism, conservatism, democracy, communism, science and romanticism to choose but nine of its many manifestations. The core and centre of this reenchantment is to be found in the Baha’i Faith, although this will not be evident for some time. The process is similar to the way Christianity became the core of the reenchantment of the Greek and Roman world. The very nature of matter, new models of scientific knowledge, explosions in knowledge, in material goods and in population are all part of this reenchantment. To even begin to write about the transformation that has occurred in the last two and a half centuries when this reenchantment has been taking place would require a book.-Ron Price with thanks to Kate Rigby, Topographies of the Sacred: The Poetics of Place in European Romanticism, University of Virginia Press, London, 2004, p.17. They all got a slice of the action, all got a piece of the cake, as the essential revolution proceded quietly, obscurely, largely unnoticed, in the hearts of millions who dropped out of a socio-political world they long ago found meaningless. Some of the routines have gone on; some of the laws have been obeyed, but the roots of faith have been severed, unbeknownst, seductively, insinuated by revolutionary, spiritual, forces that are entirely out of human control. And here I am in this place in early adulthood amidst diverse living things and natural forms, beneath the sky, light’s alternations and rhythms of the seasons, in community worldwide now, open to the advent of the divine and beckoning the messengers of the godhead’s reenchantment.1 1 Kate Rigby, op.cit., p.84. Ron Price January 16th 2006
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    Belated apologies for taking 8 months to respond, Slightly art-freakish! So true: "Very few human beings are open to new ideas that conflict with their deep core of beliefs." Eventually, though, as the sociologist Max Weber theorized in his sociology of religion, a secular ethic becomes spiritualized and a new world religion becomes dominant.-Ron Price, Tasmania -----------------------------------------
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    In our world of the knowledge explosion and burgeoning information far beyond the capacity of any ordinary mortal to keep up on more than a sliver, a small portion, of it all, I was not surprised when yet another artist--unknown to me--was given a TV bio-pic1 last night. Lucian Freud, now 89, has been at the game of life more than two decades than I. He has gained a pre-eminence among British artists, a celebrity status, far beyond anything I will achieve even if I live to be a centenarian. Jurgen Habermas has achieved a celebrity status in the field of sociology, but people with little knowledge of sociology will not know of this intellectual giant. One also needs to know more than a little about the field of history to be familiar with Peter Gay, and I could go on and on through the fields of knowledge to mention names with which only those who are connoisseurs or scholars in those fields are familiar.
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    It's not difficult to make a woman happy. A man only needs to be: 1. A friend 2. A companion 3. A lover 4. A brother 5. A father 6. A master 7. A chef 8. An electrician 9. A carpenter 10. A plumber 11. A mechanic 12. A decorator 13. A stylist 14. A sexologist 15. A gynaecologist 16. A psychologist 17. A pest exterminator 18. A psychiatrist 19. A healer 20. A good listener 21. An organizer 22. A good father 23. Very clean 24. Sympathetic 25. Athletic 26. Warm 27. Attentive 28. Gallant 29. Intelligent 30. Funny 31. Creative 32. Tender 33. Strong 34. Understanding 35. Tolerant 36. Prudent 37. Ambitious 38. Capable 39. Courageous 40. Determined 41. True 42. Dependable 43. Passionate 44. Compassionate WITHOUT FORGETTING TO: 45. Give her compliments regularly 46. Love shopping 47. Be honest 48. Be very rich 49. Not stress her out 50. Not look at other girls AND AT THE SAME TIME, YOU MUST ALSO: 51. Give her lots of attention, but expect little yourself 52. Give her lots of time, especially time for herself 53. Give her lots of space, never worrying about where she goes IT IS VERY IMPORTANT: 54. Never to forget: * birthdays * anniversaries * arrangements she makes HOW TO MAKE A MAN HAPPY: 1. Leave him alone
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    Interesting post, jazz was a revolutionary movement that obviously took a long time to resonate with the mainstream. This speaks volume to the nature of human beings and thought. Very few human beings are open to new ideas that conflict with their deep core of beliefs. Even to this day people have a hard time accepting and comprehending Einstein's theory of relativity. The good thing is that new generation always come in to lay a new foundation in thought.
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    This has also been a struggle of mine, especially online. If however you would like to go the gallery route, here are some great articles that discuss this entire process. And it does work. I need to update my own blog as I now have had a 4th gallery contact me to represent my work, all based on a mailing of an art package and brochure! Art Marketing 101
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    It took years for me to learn some very basic stuff about photographing my art. Todays point and shoot digital cameras are so much better, but be careful, there are some very special features that you really have got to have in order to shoot oil paintings. One feature that will allow you to get about 95% glare out of the print! Using a CPL filter, circular polarizing lens. More info here on how to get the lens for your camera, or at least what to look for on the camera to see if you can even add it! What features to look for in a digital camera and more info on actually shooting the work. Shooting your own work the easy way!
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    kayumangging kaligatan
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    If you're just wanting to go out and do a little Karaoke, I like to go to Tony's Bar...It is a little bit of a dive, but the drinks are cheap and they have the best Karaoke equipment & song selection in town. It's also kinda fun to watch some of the INTERESTING customers come in and out. Some nicer places in Dubuque to go are The Europa Haus, a great little German bar and restaurant. They have an awesome selection of German Beer and also domestic and resonably priced mixed drinks, which are served quite strong! Also, Bricktown is quite popular-they have a restaurant as well and they have live bands and comedians come in, they do have a cover charge , though. One of my favorite places in Dubuqe has to be The Busted Lift. This is a really cool Irish pub; they, of course, have a variety of Irish (and other) imported beer. They bring in some bands and the last I knew, they had Open Mike nights once a week-Tuesdays?-if you are an aspiring singer/song writer. This pub is wonderful!! Great atmospere.
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    And here's some more songs in the Flixx Band repertoire of covers: Abba medley, Sampaguita Medley, Queene medley, Styx medley, Only Reminds me of you, 70's Medley, Sweet Dreams, Where are you now, Question, Dream On, Straight from the Heart, My Humps, I live my life,
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    FLIXX BAND GIGS: every Tuesday performing at Festival mall in Alabang...Wednesday Cowboy Grill Arquiza St., Mabini, Manila.. Friday Calle 5 Mabini, Manila...Saturday C.O.C (Chicks O'Clock) Music Garden Doroteo Jose Sta. Cruz Manila. The members of the band are....Loy vocals, Len & Jeny Singers.. Ford Lead Guitarist, Ace Bass guitarist, Lito keyboard, Toots Drummer...for more information please contact Mr.Lito Bondoc Cell # 09284606463 or Tel.2352060...
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    This is just a test . . . Problems in posting. Alhambra . . . Alhambra, you shone above. All, Andalucian cities had seen. Your splendor amidst the thick tropical foliage surrounding your castle, The carefully engineered irrigation system of pools and waterfalls, the combined sustaining pillars and towers, and even channels were designed to keep you eternally a garden in the future of mankind?s children mind . . . We had a story to tell, and across the Gibraltar we chose to tell it. From afar, for posterity to know we were then, very ancient souls . . . The wizardry you caste on the entire Europe, was equaled by none given the time you appeared. In a Moslem world of your own, A god and prophet of your own, you Africa, were the cradle of mankind?s birth and in this fact, you shone. Bienvenue, Adam and Eve . . . The distinctions and subtleties in semantics, whether of Moorish, Arab, and Jewish hues, in which your genius shone for us to know that you were Unequaled then, and leaving ample documentary records to testify of your genius . . . We had a story to tell . . . While had been walking the paved streets of cobbled stone you created, the tolerance you accepted as a way of life, from Christians and Berber?s faith, alike . . . Inhaling of the tree?s moisture in this walk, I heard the loud waterfalls stream down the channels you created, For all to enjoy, as you did yesterday. The seventh century was a the creation in ?Europa,? Of another civilizing wave, while in a motion-filled stream, the symbols you created remains, after centuries of your absence, your tactful presence for generations and generations on mankind?s mind . . . We had a documented story to share. It is no mistake upon entering C?rdoba, Spain, we find the greeting: ?The City of the Patrimony of mankind? Copyright, Monday, October 27, 2003. Eduardo A. Cong. Poet and playwright. Granada, Spain.
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    Maraming Salamat, Oftentimes, with the gift to describe with so many words, the many shades of light, and its complementing parts, darkness. Find myself speechless, kaibigan. Am humbled, enjoined hands, and extending a bow, proffer to you, and all, NAMASTE. Postscriptum: Originally means, I honor the divine in you.
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    transl. Celestine Fire 3. For Lenora W. The Initiate arrived in a city that never sleeps, New York City. During the journey, the constant rumble of the plane filled the hours with spinning memories of his youth, of his childhood, and amazingly enough, it came very fast. The scenery around was entirely white and full of clouds. So bright were these clouds that in the absence of dark shades, were blinding. Waiting, from a child now a woman, was an immense distance. Her free Spirit, in a weak temple, waited for her defense before a contemporary inquisition . . . The child, though at present a woman, patiently sat in her innocence. On the horizon were those gigantic silhouetted apocalyptic horse riders from destiny. They were in a strategic circle against her free Spirit and a weakened vessel by the circumstances and time. Upon the appearance of the initiate, they remained in their circle, and just circled around. For reasons unknown, its leader did not come near, and the remainder dared not peek over for their prize in this mission. While hope filled the emptiness and darkness, like the mist from heaven, rain it was not. Just the tears of a compassionate Initiate, in each tear, were the reflections of an intense light. Firefly, it was not. Moon, it was not. It was neither the Sun, Simply a Celestine light . . . Copyright, February 3, 2006. Eduardo A. Cong. Poet and playwright, New York, N.Y. USA.
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    Wushu, Kung fu is like oceans crashing against the rocks, tidal waves rising into the sky, Tsunamis . . . So much power, and grace in those fluid movements, aspects of aspects . . . Tai Chi Ch?uan, is gentle as the clouds in heavens, and as fluids as the rivers. Rising far beyond the waves, in depth and breadth, it remains. Tai Chi Ch?uan seems to have begun from pure rain, in heavens, touching the earth?s mountains first. Its journey, traversing the lands of the wealthy and the humblest of souls, having to fertilize the lives of so many. Finally, giving freely of its wisdom to the oceans of the world . . . Choices being made on every dawn of the soul, on the wings of a dragonfly she danced, whispering into the universe . . . Copyright, January 30, 2006. Eduardo A. Cong Poet and playwright, Balboa Park, San Diego, CA. USA. Revised on February 3, 2006.
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    Coreograf?a en el Cielo. For Lisa S. Tunay Kayumangin Kaligatan, Her feet were as light as the clouds in heavens, and if eagles were in soaring flight, she seemed to have danced upon more than a surface of a tree, perhaps, its leaves. The music, with its percussions beats, rhythmically shared steps of heartfelt beats. Senza catene, in her dance, as the waves, combing through the sands of Palawan beaches. Puerto Princesa was just a short distance away and still yet, she remained silent to the keys of these thoughts. Upon a notebook, as an island, she remained, unwittingly or is it witting, silent? She was in her silence, as the pen soared in flight, focused and drawn solemnly to the sounds of heartfelt beats, percussively above the waves she appears, magically, to have been walking on. Culture being the blue print for behavior, lighting needed to lead for the percussions of the thunder. Intermittent thoughts conceived was seen and heard while walking between worlds, yet wings needed to rise above the oceans of the world, and for the initiate?s soaring to be complete, Wind and Oceans meet . . . Copyright, January 21, 2006. Eduardo A. Cong Poet and playwright, San Diego, CA. USA.
  39. 1 point
    Costa del Sol. Marbella, Rinconcillo y Estepona, sobre tus orillas y playas camin?. Cu?n hermosa eran tus distantes arenas. Sentado sobre una roca al pies del Mediterr?neo, bajo una noche llena de estrellas, la memoria de tu sonrisa en una flor llev?. En esa ausencia, tu palpitantemente presencia, llen? esta noche de tu silencio tan permanente como estas arenas de Marbella. Dando hogar al vac?o en estas playas del Mediterr?neo, tus labios y tu voz. Cada vez, que a su alrededor paseaba, en t? pensaba. Aunque me llenas de memorias en cada grano de arena, En t?, poesia ve?a. Si por casualidad hall? una flor entre lo oscuro de tu cabellera, y tus orejas, es porque de tus labios, tu sonrisas, llenaron mi noche de la fragrancia tuya como una flor. Copyright, Monday, October 27, 2003 Eduardo A. Cong, Poet and playwright, Algeciras, Spain.
  40. 1 point
    My Lai, March 16, 1968. This is written posthumously for Hugh Thompson, Lawrence Colburn And Glenn Andreotta. Thundering from below and drowning the blades of the silver bird spiraling wing above was the sound of bullets. From above, the view of elders, women and children, all civilians, fleeing in desperation. As the carnage of bullets kept tumbling down human lives, into the field below. Aflame were the straw huts spewing black smoke to the skies, and to a camouflaged silver bird, it was sign for help. So much smoke filling the lungs, just like the twin towers which were symbolic targets with our loved ones completely unawares, at home, of the external bridges our bureaucrats had burned to ashes. Darkness wore so many faces, then and now . . . Then, therein short distances from the rice patties were those heat-seeking missiles pointing at obvious noncombatants, similar to the infernal fire that had devoured those towers in cincture with volcanic heat, at obvious innocent lives. Darkness wore so many faces, then and now . . . We knew better. We had been trained in higher standards. Military Conduct, Geneva Convention, and treatment of prisoners had protocols in documents. In light of the above, one courageous soldier lead. In so doing, restored dignity to our troops during Indochina . In view of this scene, the silver bird momentarily kept silent, as if to give sounds to the voices of mothers and children screaming from their ground zero. Spiraling wings slowed down, the silver bird descent in the midst of the fire. It was not bullet proof, but conscience proof of the lives at risk on the other side of her. Instinctually, the effort was to protect, shelter against humanity callousness, and the ensuing carnage. The silver bird gunner pointing his higher power with enough arsenals to light the dawn, and halt the continuing slaughter. One humble giant, single-handedly went to light the way. Man, the creator of the most astonishing mechanical accomplishment of the century was unable to harness, that kindled flame burning in all life, its love . . . Complete obscurity, one and the same, My Lai and New York City, touching thousands of lives, for generations to come of so many friends . . . New York City's ground zero memoirs may have invoked the lines, but it was My Lai's hero passing, a torch of those times, a hero's courage that shone, and shaped these thoughts . . . During My Lai, it was not, a symbolic target destruction. It was as real as the keys of this notebook, with each keystroke, its touching motion creating the symbols of communications, the field was catching the lives tumbled by the arsenal. Just as the concrete pavement was catching those who took flight, from below the 101st floor of the Twin Towers . . . In flight, so many souls were released during My Lai and the Twin Towers . . . Copyright, January 9, 2006 Eduardo A. Cong Poet and playwright, San Diego, CA. USA As a student of history, cognizant of French and USA incursion in Vietnam, and the recent passing of Hugh Thompson, this was written . . .
  41. 1 point
    "After we have mastered the waves, tides and gravity, we shall harness for god, the energies of love. Then, for the second time in the history of mankind, we would have discovered fire." Dr. Pierre Teilhard deChardin, Jesuit priest, Physical Anthropologist, Poet, Theologian, Philosopher, etc. For the readers, thanks! Am continually humbled in the interests given these thoughts, wings. As soon as time permits, will have an active website. Victor, my UK/Philippines' best kaibigan has beeen more than generous in allowing these expressions, in all of its flaws. Thanks, Merci, Gracias, Salamat, Xie_xie! Eduardo A. Cong. Poet and playwright.
  42. 1 point
    Piel Canela Para Lisa S. "Tunay Kayumangin Kaligatan." En tu Piel Canela, canto al tr?pico de las Filipinas, y aunque a una distancia de ella, me llen?ste la pluma de tinta. Al f?n, pude escribir esa tarde. Y, porque fuiste la tinta, pude yo, escribir. . . Las palomas callejeras del centro de Manila ten?an que cederte el paso, y yo, crearte un pasaje. . . Tu sonrisa, casi celestial, vest?a una noche llena de estrellas luminosamente placenteras. A?nque en c?rculos ajenos a tu voluntad, te prohibieron hablar, y de peor, estar con el poeta, ?ang makata.? Como las estrellas, que despiertan en el oscuro vientre de la noche; quise que despertaras. Entre los comentarios est?riles, el desierto de ?amistades,? que llen? tus o?dos. Decidir, entre luz y oscuridad, luz en existencia por necesidad de la otra, siendo partes de la misma energ?a Llevar?an a tus puertas, la plena conciencia de luz. Y el poeta, ?ang makata,? simplemente esperar, en fantasia . . . Copyright, August 15, 2005. Eduardo A. Cong. Poet and playwright, Balboa Park, San Diego, CA; USA.
  43. 1 point
    Celestine Fire II Another winter in New York City, as seasons from the sun, defined a region. La Guardia seemed so different this time, as she anticipated a traveler?s arrival. This journey was never new. It had been done in nano seconds of her echo, ?when is your vacation?? The soul traveled then as now, in dimensions unknown to the common mind. Wherein distance, time and regions are all the same. The Initiate arrival recessed destiny of the Apocalypse rider . . . Reciprocal respect was in place for this cause and effect relationship. The circle was complete. Copyright, December 30, 2005 Eduardo A. Cong. Poet and playwright. New York. N. Y. USA.
  44. 1 point
    Celestine Fire. For Lenora, NY. Snow never came, though very cold, and the underground roar of that silver dragon belched its heat from each stop. Entering and exiting the subways were the trails layered with steps from commuters racing against time. The snow had not the time or place to sit on, as the devouring dragon consumed each rider, as well as the snowflakes before departing the clouds. It was a transforming fire upon each dancing crystals of hydrogen and oxygen long before its descent on the concrete jungle. Amazingly enough, the weather did not halter the predators or, prey?s survival skills. The festive mood was prevalent all through Manhattan?s face and joining the crowd was a stranger in paradise. Dressed in all black attire was the elusive stranger, As if giving time a new meaning in a city that never sleeps by walking slowly. Steps were barely noticeable from its full length black coat worn. Its continuing motion contrasted with the commuters rushing by through its shadowed silhouette. Simultaneously, at North General Hospital, speechless, his guest?s voice was completely void from the years of smoking. She wittingly waited, as she was rushed from intensive care, into a general room. Any prayer aloud was silenced by the effects of the consumption of far too many charcoals born from nicotine. Charcoals that stood defiantly along the respiratory track, strangling thousands of living cells, of life . . . Though the inevitable were yet to come to many relatives and friends; the stranger kept focused and walking towards his destiny. Greenwich Village was littered with people, and quite a distance from the destined meeting place. A couple of a thousand of miles away, before an ultimatum had been given, and finalized. The firmament stood still in principle of physics. She asked: ?When is your vacation?? From that moment on, a series of events became unleashed. The stranger in paradise recessed the journey, subject to the principles of cause and effect . . . Light began to shine, on the periphery of each cell, an implosion, at the molecular, cellular level . . . Quantum Physics began its manifestation, in the very source of all life, energy within another traveler?s soul took on its role. Some call it faith, others know it as light, Initiates have always known it as the Celestine fire . . . Copyright December 16, 2005 Eduardo A. Cong. Poet and playwright. New York, N.Y. USA.
  45. 1 point
    In One Picture Frame, All. For Humberto. From the shadow of childhood comes your memory. Distant to some and to others, it came numbed. By the choices made, the news came of your demise. Was it timely? While the withered leaves of memories danced on the mind's eyes, The jokes you played, while yet a teenager and the consequences of grown actions, too late to advise, or even warn of its consequences. Distance was never an excuse, given the electronic world we live in. Just different lives lead, and the choices we made. Would you had heard me, even if I screamed across the room of the risks taken. Remembered two years ago, gums shown in laughter, that replaced the shining ivory of teeth's you had. The advises given on the streets we had grown on, and played together. "Be careful" was the word. Destiny reflected in the temple you lived in, the excesses you had inflicted on the fragile house of the soul. Though young, you lived one hundred lives. Still yet, the continuing laughter filled that tropical air in my lungs we shared, as if to numb the pain you lived in. We talked and recollected the days of our childhood. Each relative in a different world from the one you lived in, the open theater of life. The others, in sheltered caves, secure and protected from the social predators you dealt with on a daily basis. Not one, ever questioning your survival skills, and you continued to live on, day after day. . . Finally, the risks you took and the choices you made, had taken its tolls. The apocalypse horse rider had arrived. Silently, in the dusk of your sleep, you mounted that horse. The tremors from the galloping horse never woke you, or even scared you. The pain seen and felt, all in one picture frame, as you continuously struggled in selling your cigarettes on the street corners, of many social outcast lives. From a mere pack of cigarette, you were able to extract a livelihood. Where was this pen to find another long lost relative, within reach of your consciousness. The system had taken its tolls by the choices you made. Now, all in one picture frame, seen and remembered were the laughter we shared. Leaves, withered leaves danced in the memory of your absence, and blown in a tropical moisture, am asked to offer a thought, while all in one picture frame it returns. . . Finally, free again, to remember the journey, your goal. For "in nature," and we are all children of nature, "nothing is lost; nothing is gained, merely transformed." Eduardo A. Cong Poet and playwright. San Diego, CA; USA. The conclusion was quoted from Antoine Laviosier's notes, a renaissance French Chemist Postscriptum: A. Camus was killed in a car accident while driving to Paris. He was with his friend and publisher, Michel Gallimard, in January 1960. His quote, concluding my entries, was taken from l'invincible Ete,<<< The Invincible Summer. After Rudyard Kilpling, Albert Camus was the youngest recipient of the Nobel prize for literature.
  46. 1 point
    Circle of Love. . . Create a circle of love for the children who speak not, for they know only to play and love. Create a greater circe of love, for those children who have found themselves in the midst of grown up problems. Unable to articulate the lost, yet feel it and know nor what it is all about. There is this feeling Mama that you're lost for words to explain this conspicuous absence. Suddenly, an infant is drawn into another world, and your face becomes that of a stranger? It is the "sikat nang araw" upon these waves, dancing on the sparkling gold hues of those waves. Behind me was Remedios Circle, almost vacant, leading me back home. A jeepney ride away from Mabini and Remedios Street, as th rising of the sun, echoes your voice. . . No longer away, and Joy returns in the presence of you, ready to play, once again, your love emerges from distant shores. In a greater circle of love, it returns, reminding me, that you were always there. . . Copyright, May 30th, 2005. Eduardo A. Cong Poet and playwright, Plaza Boulevard, National City, CA
  47. 1 point
    Seaman for thirty years? Transform that feeling, my friend. In each dancing waves, see your little girls eyes, their smiles, in the sunrise and sunset, of each horizon, their hearts shine upon your thoughts, and a smile upon the memories shared besides them...They're precious and this journey, you will not be doing it over, again!. MAKE THE BEST OF IT; leave footprints on the sands of time!!! Eduardo
  48. 1 point
    French Indochina while in America was growing from another generation of Asian emigres. The war was to claim so many lives and the seeds in your eyes, have seen. To many, the soulless origins of their discontent were in the light of their perspectives. It was time for healing and tangent steps were taken by a gentle Spirit-soul. She sat at a table next to me, in focused study, next to me she was. As the music progressed, the evening was young and, she iced focused. Intermitent pauses were taken to talk and break the focused routine, with her friends. Adjacent to the evening was the music, and the rhyming to her almond eyes. She continued her readings and the heat of the evening was warming the table, and all surroundings. The pen felt, from a distance, her heart beats. Ink had to be given to a blank sheet of paper. Her reflections from a mirror had given another view of her soul. To a picture denied, an impression of the soul, while present, had to be drawn. The exchange in a silent language was continually in mind. As the pen drew the night to a close, work continued, mine and hers. Shirt came off, laying bare her back, and seducing the night was her physique. Revealing an Asian goddess in fair complexion and smiles, this pen was left to wonder if the night had just started or, the dawn on Mandarin heaven had just began... Leaving nothing to chance, shared the same heavens we sat under, while in a coffeehouse, in America, and leaving nothing to chance, She knew... Copyright, Monday, May 30th, 2005 Eduardo A. Cong, Poet and playwright, San Diego, CA; USA. Thanks for the gift, of your gentle Spirit-soul, Ms. Q. T. French Indochina/Vietnam.
  49. 1 point
    Two Bright Eyes Children A picture, Of two beautiful souls joined together by kinship, and patriarchs were conspicuously absent. Its legitimacy, you have questioned, in appearance of two beautiful souls. Another picture, Two bright eyed spirit children, Matriarchy caring, loving and ever present, she never doubts, whose child they are. They play side by side, Sure of their kinship and loyalty to each other, their love is never a doubt. Admiring the dignity and respect you proffered, Two beautiful souls, unawares oftentimes of their beloved flaws, They still love. Aware of the innocence in two bright eyed spirit children, no longer you question, and you just love. Eduardo A. Cong Poet and playwright, The Philippines Islands. March 24, 2005 This is for a remarkable friend! Maraming Salamat!
  50. 1 point
    Hemingway's Africana/Cafe Havana. Ambience motifs layered the stairs up to its entrance and once within, the whole room lit with artifacts from the African continent. Carving your presence through the room, to the table a menu arrived. The persistent coughs brought me to the shores of your mind, Then, came the query: "do you have asthma?" As humidifier took on the labor of cleansing the air, distracting the coughs was your gliding presence, back and forth through the cafe. The persistent coughs needed remedy, and Calamansi was prescribed. Time came to a halt, in your presence, and constellations spooned the stars... The fabric woven into your skin, between heavens and earth, biological rhythms flowed. As smooth long white legs revealed a sensuality of its own. Imagination soared to unexplored regions of body and soul. The view completely rose to the imagination of many moons on cosmic shores. Your sensuality devoured. In midst of the fire within, Eyes mine, Smiles mine, And lips yours... Momentarily had to gather all thoughts, for your mesmerizing sensuality, Soon... Copyright, March 12, 2008. Eduardo A. Cong, Poet and playwright. e_cong@msn.com The Philippines Islands.
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