The Framed Lady

Exhibit "A"

The Lady was framed!

Yes, I did it and I have no regrets. I framed her before I ever met her. I stole her pictures from Match.com. I put them upon my desk ( see exhibit "A") and talked to her for hours before I met her, I didn't want to be a stranger, not on our first meeting. But that is not the story here.

I keep pictures of Rose everywhere. In my car, on the fridge, on the walls and over the fireplace. I do that so I am never alone. Nobody should be alone, ever. By having Rose in view, I am always with her. I talk to the pictures, all the time. Yes, I do. 

Studies have shown and science suggest that we are social beings. We need company for survival. Sometimes you just want to have a intelligent conversation and you scan the office, workplace, room or meeting and decide to talk to yourself, know what I mean? Morons all of them. Just when you need to discuss the latest contestant on the "Voice" and you find yourself adrift in a sea of losers. Huh? Where are all the intelligent people, you know the ones who think like we do? Like the same things we do. The normal people! Does this happen to you? Happens to me all the time. A lady from across the room looks at me and whispers those three little words ......."Your'e a Moron". Yes, all the time. I guess I am not one of the normal people after all. That's why I keep pictures of Rose everywhere. 

The world is a funny place, everyone looking for someone to talk to. Someone like them, somebody to relate to. Wouldn't it be grand if all the people we worked with were more like us? Hell, yeah! But the world is full of different people, like me. People who think not like you but as themselves. I love different people, they make me laugh, smile and sometimes I just shake my head and think . . . . "Moron"

That's why I framed the Lady, I need to remind myself that this world holds at least one person who thinks I am not a moron.

Don't you think you might want to frame somebody too? Couldn't hurt.

A simple thought on a dark night . . .

'I have traveled many miles on many different roads. 

This lost highway, that I find myself on tonight, is my old friend. 

We have shared far too many nights and miles together. 

Even though we are companions here, we never speak. 

We only think. 

Think of what has passed us by and what is around the bend. 

This lost highway has no beginning and never ends. 

You just end up here. 

Lost and alone.'

excerpt from Universe of Two, Book One, That Darn Dragon

The raven knows all too well . . . .

The Raven and his friend that we cannot see . . . .

The Raven knows, all too well

Of all the things that I have never seen

Like fairies, love and midday dreams

Secrets he keeps hidden under wind swept wings

He remains silent and keeps his thoughts to himself

Like a book of answers high upon a distant shelf

I call to him, beckoning him to reveal all to me

He has never answered, he has never replied

Yet, I can see the untold secrets in his dark shining eyes

The Raven has not always been near

It was late winter that first his shadow, then he did appear

The Raven has no shelter, nest or home

Like a statue, standing silent, vigilant and alone

He can always be found, poised upon my garden wall

Of all the garden guests, who come to call

It is that black Raven, I care for least of all

I watch him from my window, he knows I am there

He goes about his chores, glancing back, just to see

If I have noticed him, looking up at me

He turns his ebony tail to me and then

Looks over his shoulder and grins

I see him talking to no one there

I am sure he is fooling with me

Maybe he is speaking to someone

A friend of his that I cannot see

In my mind, I see myself setting a trap for him

To capture this joking and clever dark bird

And make him tell me, all those secrets I’ve never heard

Where do fairies go, when footsteps they hear?

And what of the Angels who float o'er my head

The ones I never see, the ones who watch over me

Yes, he shall reveal all his secrets, and then

I will set free my Raven, my feathered friend

Picture of Raven and child, artist unknown, friends_by_flina-d5n4jwv.jpg

“Wanting and waiting is surely the pastime of Fools, like me.”

Let me tell you about his Madness . . . . . . 

Not so long ago . . . I waited for the phone to ring.

Anticipating a reunion with the one I craved so.

I listened for the phone to beckon me
I cursed the silence, over and over again.

I assembled an impressive list of reasons and excuses for the silence, yet even though

The silence lingered and then my madness stepped in

More cursing, more waiting and yes, more silence.

If I craved this much silence, I would climb a mountain.

The ascent would be easier than all this waiting and wanting of my friend

As I stared at the silent phone, my mind, my madness offered to explain

Answering my questions and offering his temptation as a substitute

For all the reasons my phone remained mute

“She has forgotten you, or has she found someone new

She is much too busy and has too much to do

Later, much later she may find a moment for you”

I listen, I hear myself explain, all the reasons again and again

Madness, sheer madness in the first degree

Once again I have let my mind, my madness get the best of me

The gift of Flight, A poem for all the children who have been grounded by poverty

The world does have too many fences

Some are steel and adorned with razors

Others are simply known only to our senses

I hear words spoken about the others

Those who live with desperate pleads

Of all the gifts we have but don't really need

I say a prayer, each night

Hoping for a answer

To all their prayers, whispered ever so slight

To end their grief and grant them wings

Let them soar o'er fences, across mountains and seas

To a land of plentiful harvests with clear water streams

My prayer echoes through each night

That their God may grant to them

The gift of flight

Forever and ever, Amen

Let the rain pour down

Hank Williams Sr was speaking about a song he just wrote, he said sometimes he writes a sad song and then he writes a sadder song. But, at times he writes a pitiful one. Sometimes I too write a pitiful line or two.

Let the rain pour down

People turn to see

Then they all simply walk away

There’s nothing left of you and me

Nothing left to see

Nothing left to say

Let the waters pour down

Cleanse and baptize our souls

Let the rain wash this sin from our hands

Let us try to live once again

Both of usLost and searching 

Trying to find our way home

Distracted by our own insecurities

I forgot about you and you didn’t remember me

We focused upon ourselves and left the other in the rain

All we had, we have wasted it so

Let the waters pour down

Cleanse and baptize our souls

Let the rain wash this sin from our hands

Let us try to live once again

Who can say, who is to blame?

We both knew but, couldn't say

All we did was pretend

Let the rain pour down
Let it wash this sin from our hands
Let us try to live once again

A clear answer from my tangled mind

I call this painting "First Kiss" 

The painting is actually entitled Cupid and Psyche as Children painted by William-Adolphe Bouguereau. When I look at the painting. I see a first kiss.

Seems that everyday I have more thoughts than time to write them down. Today I have to admit that my mind is once again wandering through the forest of human emotions and has decided to question me about my own beliefs. Where did I ever conceive the notion that my opinion on matters of the heart were worth the paper they are scribbled upon? Why do I believe that anyone would ever give a damn about what I had to say? He makes a strong and persuasive argument. Why do I think I am entitled to "preach" about matters of the heart? I simply smile and answer my own question. Because I still have a heartbeat. Who could ever know more about what I feel than I. Who could ever express all the emotions you have lived through better than you, my friend. We are experts in our individual and unique lives. No one could ever know how we felt and what we were thinking at the time than us. You and I are entitled to describe our feelings with conviction.  We are the experts. Never think otherwise.

Martin Luther, a German monk, once expressed his beliefs by nailing them to the ornate front wooden door of the Catholic church. When asked to recant his beliefs, he calmly expressed his beliefs by stating . .. .

"I cannot and will not recant anything, for to go against conscience is neither right nor safe. Here I stand, I can do no other, so help me God. Amen"

 Martin Luther

Never miss the opportunity to express your beliefs with confidence and conviction, never. The world knows not, of all that you hold inside your mind. Tell them your beliefs with or without a hammer and nail.

That's why we are entitled to speak our minds and call a masterpiece by another name.

Bouguereau, William-Adolphe, Cupid and Psyche as Children, 1890, oil on canvas, 19 March 2013, http://www.scenicreflections.com/media/326781/Cupid_and_Psyche_as_Children_by_Bouguereau_Wallpaper/

Monsters under the bed . . . .

"A old memory of hers and a new misery of mine"

Time heals only what we choose and allow it to heal. If we hold on to a hurtful memory, well . . . . seems impossible to distinguish who has a hold on whom. Sometimes we can't tell the prison from the prisoner.

Do know someone who can tell you the time and the day someone broke their heart? Do know someone who becomes depressed and physically ill on the anniversary of that debacle? Sometimes we find ourselves arguing with ourselves over why and how could they do this to me? If we never reconcile the act, we are doomed to relive that moment over and over again. Yes, monsters under the bed do live in the memory of many heart broken souls. They seem somehow held prisoner in the confines of time, time and time again.

I once knew a Lady who was a prisoner, 

 "We spoke of little green monsters and an old memory, two in the same. A memory of a Valentine's day betrayal and a hollow promise. A choice made by the one who said he loved only her. A choice to satisfy a need to be loved, physically, not truly. A moment of passion for all the wrong reasons, a choice of selfishness made in the heat of self-indulgence and primeval lust. A choice forgotten by the perpetrator but never by the one who truly loved him. She simply blamed herself and let the guilty party go free. She did keep that memory, that little monster from yesterday. That little monster even celebrated each and every anniversary of the unforgettable act. The Lady celebrated with him, every Valentine’s Day. Not by choice but because she has no choice. The celebration was spent with old friends, too. Guilt, Shame, Insecurity, Misery and Alcohol were all in attendance and in great abundance. They partied late into the night, spinning tales of that dark day and giving still more reasons and opinions of why. They stayed well beyond their welcome and well beyond reason, too."

The little monster under her bed is still present, as far I know. All those who loved her begged her to set him free. She could not. It seems that there will be no reconciliation, only anniversaries spent with the friends of the monster who lives under her bed and in her own mind.

"I wanted to free her from the past, but how? I didn't even know there were monsters under her bed. And yet, living among the dust bunnies were little dark forms in the shape of a troll. Memories doomed to be eternally damned and sentenced to haunt the heart of the Lady, forever, Amen."

In my mind, I can't help but believe . . . . The person who lived through the heart break of that tragic moment did perish, long ago. Today there are a better person for all their pain. We don't have to give refuge to little monsters under the bed. We need to let that hurtful memory die and force him to take his partners in crime with him to his grave.

What is past is past. 

The person we used to be is simply that, Someone who lives only in our memories.

If you met the old you on the street, you wouldn't know them. I am sure you wouldn't want to be them. The you of today is so much more experienced, knowledgeable and better looking, too.

Excerpts from Universe of Two, Book One, That Darn Dragon
"Monsters under my bed, Artwork, Artist Unknown, Monsters under my bed, 19 March 2013, http://flina.deviantart.com/art/Monster-Under-My-Bed

“You are what you is”

Studies have shown and science suggests that happiness is an emotion displayed to promote social bonding and acceptance. There is a lot we don’t know about this emotion. But, I want to talk about why people are happy and why some people are just plain painfully unhappy, a lot, all the time, eternally. So, what makes you happy? Most people believe that money makes them happy. Nix Nine! Money only helps us to deal with life’s little problems that make us less happy. Happiness comes from being okay with yourself and others. If you’re not stressed out all the time worrying then you can focus on the treasures of and in your life. People tell me that I am a happy guy. I wasn't always a happy guy. I used to think about all my problems all the time. I used to waste an awful amount of time worrying about what could happen. One day it occurred to me that all my worrying never changed one single outcome. I just wasted time, time I could have been pursuing my personal pursuit of happiness. So I just decided to be happy. Happy I was alive. Happy I had survived my life so far. Happy I could walk, talk and still dress myself. Happy I wasn't unhappy anymore. Happy somebody loved me for me.

The folks who actually study happiness have found that happy people are really different; different in the way they view life’s little annoying problems. They never beat themselves up for something they were responsible for or not. They reward themselves for even the tiniest accomplishment. They tend to see themselves as a happy person. They don’t worry about things they have no control over. Oh, they still fret over the everyday problems but they refuse to allow themselves to become stressed out over them. If one were to focus upon a upcoming deadline, knowing the outcome could alter their life either positively or negatively well . . . . worrying won’t change the outcome. Worrying about things actually makes it worse. You pile up the mounds of guilt, stress and uncertainty upon yourself and for what? It will be what it’s gonna be. Remember, . . . .

“You are what you is”

 Frank Zappa

If you is happy, then you are happy. And isn't it funny that when you are with others who just happen to be happy . . . . you become happy too! Happiness is contagious.  Unhappiness is terminal.  Surrounding oneself with folks who have the “Eeyore” virus, leads a soul to the alter of eternal Blisslessness!  You know them folks they all live in the southeast corner of Christopher Robbins’s hundred acre woods in "Eeyore's Gloomy Place” the place that’s “Rather Boggy and Sad". 

“They haven't got Brains, any of them, only grey fluff that's blown into their heads by mistake, and they don't Think.”  Eeyore

Yes, Happiness is a state of mind. Next time you feel that Eeyore virus coming on . . . . Slap yourself and simply state"You are what you is". Then laugh it off and get to being happy.

A ghost from a wishing well

Once upon a time . . . .

On a street lined with white oak trees, white mailboxes numbered in black paint and children playing, there are seven houses. Nothing special. Just a street in suburbia somewhere. Could be your street or even my street. The houses are all the same size and of equal age. Some are dressed up to look more sophisticated than the others but, nothing out of the ordinary . . . . on the outside. The street is alive with the sounds and smells of another Saturday on a street lined with white oak trees. On the inside of one of those normal houses sits a young man, alone with his conscience and a guitar. The house, once overflowing with life and the love of a young couple, now sits empty except for the young man, a guitar and his memories. Surveying the damage wrought by the loss of his lover, he wonders where we went wrong. He feels like a ghost who will never be free. Doomed to wander through the memories and the halls of this castle dark. The melody from his guitar echoes down the hall in a sad and somber tone expressing his empathy for the empty house. He wishes his lost lover could have read his mind, read between the lines and know what his heart was trying to say. He would like to move on, he can't. As he plays the sad melody over and over, the words begin to flow and the sad melody embraces even sadder lyrics. The song and the young man are now one in the same. For at that moment in his life, after his divorce became a reality, Gordon Lightfoot sits in the house once belonging to two young lovers on the eve of a happy ever after. He writes "If you could read my mind". The young man has captured a moment in time, a moment of his life and then he shares that moment with the world. Without even trying, Gordon has written a song that expresses a single moment in time, a single moment of his life and a moment in the lives of far too many others.

Some might say that it was just a song. I say it is a painting of the moment expressed in the hues of his heart. That song moves me every time I hear it. That song takes me to a "castle dark" and I feel the "chains upon my feet". I too become a ghost who will never be free as long as I am a ghost my lost love can't see. 

In our lives we only have so many days and moments, why not share. If we never speak the words upon our minds to the one we love. They will never know and we may end up with chains upon our feet in a castle dark. 

"'If you could read my mind love

What a tale my thoughts could tell

Just like an old time movie

Bout a ghost from a wishin' well

In a castle dark or a fortress strong

With chains upon my feet

You know that ghost is me

And I will never be set free

As long as I'm a ghost that you can't see" 

                           "Unspoken words and unlived moments make for good bedfellows"

~Jester

My Glass Rose

“Once, I loved a beautiful lady. I believed, truly, that she loved me. But she could not or would not love me. But, there is one love in my life that I will always cherish. The love of the Lady, I always loved. I have bestowed upon her the title of My Glass Rose. For, she too has tasted the tears and felt the very heart of her heart breaking. All for sake of love. And still after all these years, she unknowingly carries that crippling weight, the weight of hurtful memories cast from the hands of a lover, never to be true. She carries those rusty and somehow ageless chains of mistrust forged from the kilns of lies and deceit. I hope to free her from those chains, one day. To me, she will always be like the timeless beauty of a single rose. Roses are to me, like lost and distant lovers. Lovely to the eye and yet they forbid you to hold them. For all roses possess the thorns of past loves that protect their hearts from being broken, yet once again. My Lady, she is the perfect rose. She is the color of a summer's eve as the day melts into night. She is as soft to touch as a lover’s first kiss. My Lady is more than just a pretty flower, for she is My Glass Rose. She can never be held by anyone, except the one who is destined to be hers and hers alone. Her lover will always be true to her heart. For she is lovely and yet, ever so fragile. For this reason I will always hold her eternally close to my heart and keep her safe and warm. I will always caress her gently with the lightest of touch. For I know this lovely rose is in my care. I will cherish my lovely Glass Rose for all my days, for she is My Glass Rose and I was destined to love her. Yes, I am.”  

DA Keene   

Excerpt from Universe of Two, Book One, That Darn Dragon

Sometimes, I just don't know . . . .

Sometimes I just don't know what life is all about. Do you ever feel like your life is just an illusion, a cinematic creation of ones own mind? Created from the past of ones own life. A rerun of what used to be. I felt that way for years, very long years. Life was just a repeat of yesterday, again. Sad in a very peculiar way. Lost in all my yesterdays and doomed to live my life in an eternal rehearsal of a play nobody was ever going to attend. But, that was then. Now I am happy to have had all that darkness so I could appreciate the light.

I hear people say, "Moderation in all things is a good thing!" I think moderation in nothing is better. Why do anything half-hearted? Why would one want to try with half an effort? Poohey! All the way or nothing at all. Life, as in love, has no use for time and half-hearted fools. Give it all you possess or get your fuzzy butt back on the porch. We need spectators in the span of our lives, someone to verify our boldness. Someone to cheer us on or simply watch in awe as we do what they knew couldn't be accomplished. Let them simply watch those of us who want to run free, free from self-doubt and the fear of the unknown.

Starry night by Vincent van Gogh is his personal view of the night sky, as seen through his soul not his eyes. What do you see my friend? 

"Life is like a painting, show the world what is in your soul. They can see you just fine with their eyes. Show them whats inside of that shell of a body, show them your soul. "

DA Keene

Nothing left to say . . . .

Have you ever thought about who owns the words you speak? What about a poem or a phrase you spoke or wrote to a past love? Can you speak or write those words again? Do our words of passion belong to the soul we gave them to?

I believe . . . .

"I wanted to tell Rose all about that very thought, owning words. I tried my hand at prose one more time. This time passion was in the co-pilot seat. I am happy with our words. I sent Rose a message with her poem.

“My Rose,

I need to tell you what words could ever say.
This I will do, each and every day.


PS I finished the poem about you. 
Funny, I wrote you a poem about having nothing to say. 
Yet, I feel I've said all I wanted to say.. . . . . 
Well at least for today”

Nothing left to say . . .

Words of passion, well they’re hard to hold.

Seems to me, at times they are bound and caged inside my soul.

I try to give to you, all I hold.

Sometimes though, the flames retreat and passion’s embers wither to cold.

Only dust and ashes, that’s all that remains 

For I’ve not a lover’s word left to say. 

All my words of passion, given away.

The words just won’t come, I feel so hollow, I just go numb,

Nothing left to say.

All my years, All my words, All my passion given away.

Now, I have nothing left to say.

All the other lovers, simply accepted my words

They listened quietly, I believed they truly heard

I poured all of me, all my heart, into every chosen word

I turned to them and they simply turned away

They all listened closely, but they could never hear

Yet, to my heart the words echoed ever so clear

The words just won’t come, I feel so hollow, I just go numb,

Nothing left to say.

All my years, All my words, All my passion given away.

Now, I have nothing left to say.

All my words have been given away.

You rekindle my passion, your very presence excites the flames.

I loose control.

Still the words won’t come but I know you know

All the lover’s words I long to say.

To you, My Love, I've given the heart of me, my very soul.

All my years, All my words, All my love.

No words could define and I could never say

My heart, my soul now, given away"

Excerpt from Universe of Two, Book Three, Pinnacle of Passion by DA Keene

The address isn't important, when you know the way home.

After the big "D" and I don't mean Dallas. I moved into the house where we raised our family. The little ones all have littler ones of their own. It is not my house. It is the haunted house on Timothy drive. It the house where our children grew up. The house where memories and reminders abound . I am eternally haunted by the most treasured memories of a lifetime.

So, . . . .

"The whole point to moving is to begin a new life in a new place. It is time to start living for and with each other. It is time to migrate, south.

I told Rose a story about being on board my boat 32 miles east of Ocean City, I painted a picture of the shoreline and the skyline of high rise hotels dropping below the horizon. Then there was nothing but salty green water as far as one could see in all directions. You couldn't tell which direction was south or north. It all looked the same. As in life, sometimes we are 32 miles out and the foundation of our life, the solid ground beneath our feet slips below the horizon. Our dreams fade with the setting sun and we are adrift upon a sea of uncertainty. All you think about is, I want to go home. Rose and I don’t have a home, we only have houses. We want to go home, our home.

I often catch myself staring intently at Rose as she stares at nothing in particular out the window. As the fields and countryside stream endlessly by, my brow furrows as I think, ‘I wonder if she’s thinking about her home?’ I notice that a veil of sadness has taken her by surprise. She is silent and her ever-present smile has retreated from the overpowering sadness. I wonder if she is truly happy, living with the curse of being homeless at this point in her life. Her home is somewhere in her yesterdays. I can’t take Rose home and that reality is killing me. Rose is a homebody without a home. We dream of a home, talk about searching for and purchasing a home but we can’t find the road that will take us home. Rose and I speak of our home but for now it’s only a lovely dream. I wonder which one of us hates that fact that we are homeless more? Rose and I are happy when we’re together but then . . . ."

"We never go home, we just go back to our two separate houses. "

I hope to drive Rose to our home, one-day.

"The address isn't important, when you know the way home."

Home, Sweet Key West, Home

The Angel in my mind

 A short story for Mothers day about ones Mom ascending to Heaven and discovering an angel here on earth . . . .


"When “Nana” came to see us, I was quite taken by her hands and her comforting smile. A smile so angelic, I had to ask, “Are you the angel? The angel in my mind, the angel I have been praying for?” No, was all she said. She too forgave me, for my asking about the angel I prayed for. Nana was our newest team member in this battle to vanquish this demonic cancer. The doctors had all but given up, in my mind at least. The comment was never spoken but one could hear it in the tone of all their voices, “We can do no more”. Maybe Nana could do more. As I watched Nana scurry around the makeshift hospital/living room, rearranging or better yet transforming it into a more manageable menagerie of hope and bed sheets.  I prayed she would at least try. "

"Nana did try. She explained to me what was happening and what would happen so I could understand. She helped my mother understand and promised her she would be here and guide us in whatever way possible and necessary. I was quite taken by her gentle touch and then there was that smile. ‘Mona Lisa may have been a hospice nurse’, I mistakenly spoke aloud. Nanna smiled and simply stated, “I think not”"

"In her comforting way, Nana softly spoke to my mother “It’s okay, you are ready and soon we will all be by your side once again.” As I gazed in wonder, the pain ascended from her body into the heavens and her misplaced smile had returned to its proper place. My mom turned to Nana. Then softly and clearly, she whispered “ Bring your smile, when you come to see me, I will miss your smile the most of all the treasures I have known here on this earth”. “I will “is all that Nana said. Then they just held hands and smiled at each other for what seemed an eternity. But I know time had ceased for that moment. There was no need to count the minutes of a moment that would be everlasting. I felt blessed to have been there in that endless moment, I felt at peace. I could see my mother had experienced the same peaceful moment. The expression upon her face told a story I could never write. The story was more of a symphony of emotions performed in the key of Nana’s heart. Her comforting smile was the final and everlasting memory my mom took with her. I thought how fitting of one angel to give to another their most admired gift, their comforting smile.

But they are Angels, we mortals know not their ways of loving, we only watch from the balcony and weep for ourselves.

The Angel in my mind has flown, for her comforting smile is needed elsewhere, her memory is nested next to the comforting smile of my dear Mother, in my heart, forever, Amen."

Excerpts from Universe of Two, Book Three, Pinnacle of Passion by DA Keene

We are perennials not annuals.

“Our past lives are our own unique foundation on which we build a better self upon. We construct a better us every day. Some folks view the past as a blueprint for the future. Pity, they can’t see that the person who made those choices long ago has since perished, that person is in the past too. The person we are today is the sum of all our past choices and learning’s. We are perennials not annuals. We bloom anew with each season. “

Excerpt from Universe of Two, Book Two, Passion, where the hell hath thou been? by DA Keene

The Passionate You and that other person

"It seems impossible that two persons could occupy the same body, at the same moment in time, but I believe they do. This duality existence is as old as our species itself. Two people, one body. Hummm  . . . . . . . Well at least we shall never be alone."

“Life is far too important a thing ever to talk seriously about.”

Oscar Wilde

"Do we have two personalities or one vastly complex personality? I believe that we are all two people in many ways. The primary belief being that we all hold a “passionate you” and “that other person”. Let me explain my thoughts here. The “passionate you” is the child who is always either 1) Chasing Pirates or 2) off on another great adventure of some sort and “that other person” is the frowning kid next door who, while shaking their head with arms folded tightly against their chest yells over the fence “when are you going to grow up?” One is being their true passionate self and the other is being behaved, as dictated by parental and societal influences of the current day. One is fueled by personal passion to capture those pesky pirates and the other is fueled by the desire to be just like, to talk just like and behave just like all the other grown up’s.   Pity."                              

"I believe that as one grows older, one’s point of focus changes not their “passionate you”. As I moved from chasing pirates to chasing young, curvaceous maidens my focus did truly change. I was still the same ole trouble I had always been, just refocused. Society and other outside influences mold and shape our viewpoints and narrow our definitions of all things and emotions."

"Dual personalities or dual persons? I believe that we have a complex personality that comes standard with a “personality switch”. In the up position we are sailing the Caribbean with a parrot named Moe on our shoulder, singing along with our first mate, Jimmy Buffet. With the switch in the down position we have adjusted well and our thoughts, words and actions mirror the acceptable norms of the day. If we never get caught with the switch in the wrong position at the right time then we have matured, grown up and possess a well-adjusted personality. Act right at all times and no one knows just how much you like to chase pirates and that occasional young, curvaceous maiden. I always and I do mean always get caught with my switch in the wrong position or maybe I am in the right position and everyone else, all of them shaking their heads and yelling over the fence at me, has their switch in the wrong position, hummmmm, hard to say. "

So, what do you chose my friends? Will you be thyself or whilst thou be what society thinks you should be? As for me you ask? Well, I will give you my heartfelt answer just as soon as I find Moe and my eye-patch.

DA Keene

excerpts from Universe of Two, Book Two, Passion where the hell hath thou been? by DA Keene

When tomorrow becomes today . . . .

Where will you be, my friend, When tomorrow becomes today?

At times, I hear my voice say "I will get around to that another day" and "I don't want to do that today, maybe tomorrow." I justify my statements by declaring that is always today. I will get to it, sooner or later. But, it is always later than we think, my friend, for . . . .

"The present is but a fleeting parade of perishing moments, it is always later than we think. For every moment that we live another moment has passed away and it is not coming back. Every second we stand still, another dream breaths its last and we don’t even notice the parade of lost memories marching by. We simply wonder, Where did the time go?" 

Let us not dally here in the now, let us do what we need to do, today. Let us all be ready for When tomorrow becomes today. So, What are you waiting for, my friend, get busy!

Excerpt from Universe of Two, Book Three, Pinnacle of Passion by DA Keene

How to get rich and a date?

Here is a little snippet of an Email I got yesterday from a close friend of mine, What a loony tune!

"I have a new idea! “Date Fax”! Have you seen that carfax deal on TV? You send them a couple of bucks and they give you the complete history of the car. What if . . . . . One could do the same for online dating? In reality it is not “Online Dating” at all. They should just call it for it really is, “Online Charading”. Now, back to my idea. Are you with me, here? I am going to provide potential dating prospects with a report describing the history of the person they want to date. I am going to be rich! Here is an outline of what I am thinking.

Mileage, Reported vs. actual, other data could include things like 

“Was this subject rode hard all week or just on weekends?” What kind of mileage is this? Single commuter or did all their friends get a free ride?

Body damage, any major repairs? 

Has there been any body modifications? Is the body stock or maybe had performance mods made to it? What about that paint? Original color or maybe a brighter shade to appear newer.

Tinted Windows? Can you see what’s inside or are they hiding something?

Luggage or should I say “Baggage” compartment. How much baggage does this model hold?

Rear view mirror, Is the past still in view? And just how far back can you see?

Automatic transmission or do you have to put it in gear manually?

What about that rear-end? 

What about the front end?

Is it a sporty model made for fun in the fast lane or a minivan made for a family?

How about that engine? Purr like a kitten or does it cough and spit like a diesel truck?

 I am going to be rich!

Gotta go do some research about extended warranties,"

Excerpt from Universe of Two, Book One, That Darn Dragon

The key to life is simple . . . .

The key to life is simple, my friend. You need to find someone who is like you but not a clone of you. Someone who moves your soul and helps you become the person you were destined to be, the real you. There are seven billion people in this world and one of them is that someone who has been searching for you. They too need that someone who will move their soul and help them to be the person they were destined to be, your lover, your friend and the one who allows you to fulfill your destiny. For you see my friend, they too need someone like you. 

Someone like you

“One has only so many heartbeats from our faint first heartbeat

 to our fading final heartbeat. 

The key to life is simple. 

Love someone whose heart beats in perfect rhythm 

with yours. . . . Someone like you.”

Excerpt from Universe of Two, Book One, That Darn Dragon

yes it is available at Amazon.com as a E Book, but you knew that!

Unbelievable

" If we are wise, we choose to turn to them and show them that we understand why they are in our life. It was simply meant to be. We see the light and it is shining on the path toward a home we never knew. A home where one loves the other and one cares for the other. A home, where we were simply meant to be. With the one who was simply meant to be with us. And then, only then does the world melt away. Time pauses and we love without restraints, forever, Amen. Unbelievable, but true."

Unbelievable

"If I ever truly loved someone, it would have been you.

I knew I would love you one day, I just didn't know when.

I never knew your name or the shape of your face but I knew I would love you.

I knew one day you would love me.

I just knew we would be unbelievable.

It is.

We are.

Unbelievable."

                             Excerpt from Universe of Two, Book three, Pinnacle of Passion