When, in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon myself, and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featur’d like him, like him with friends possess’d,
Desiring this man’s art and that man’s scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven’s gate;
For thy sweet love remember’d such wealth brings
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.
She Died with a Full Heart (A eulogy for Rita Mazel)
Tuesday April 26th, 2016 ~1:06AM-6:26PM
Mary Elizabeth Frye once wrote: “Do not stand at my grave and cry, I am not there, I did not die.” Still I cried upon hearing the news of tyetya Rita’s passing, on Monday April 25th, 2016.
Fydor Michaelovich Dostoyevsky once wrote: “Beauty will save the world.” That is the essence of what he stood for, and so did tyetya Rita. I believe that is why she felt such a strong spiritual connection and kinship with him.
Lybov described tyetya Rita’s passing:
She was “lying like an angel.” “She sighed the air a couple of times and died.” This reminds me of my poem “the Redeeming Moment” where I write: “The sound of God is a simple sigh, which reminds us all that we one day must die. And dying is a sacred thing too, It’s about fields emerald and skies blue.”
Tyetya Rita lived a long meaningful life, full of much joy and sorrow. Finally, she crossed over, as we all one day must, and made it to the green Elysian Fields, with Fydor Michaelovich standing there to meet her on that side. With crystal clear blue skies above and golden sunshine on her face, she met the Jesus she so cherished and loved in her walk with God.
She met her God like she lived: with courage, dignity, and hope. God sped her to the Elysian Fields, to her beloved friend Fydor Michaelovich.
She died with a full heart.
R.I.P. Rita Mazel Frida Osipovna age 84, 07/19/1931-04/25/2016 beloved Dostoyevsky scholar and woman of God.
Everyone is regrouping (Under God’s Umbrella)
Tuesday April 26th, 2016 ~3:06PM
Everyone is regrouping. Fighting fighting fighting to make it back. Off of the ecstatic high of the April 23rd Bruce Springsteen concert, the unbelievably sad melody ending of the concert of Alison Krauss’s “Down to the river.” Yes everyone is regrouping, We are under spiritual siege. Like that song said “Love is a battlefield.” Where to go from here? Where will the next magic moment come from? There is no doubt we are all tired. I can see it in myself, in the people around me: Tony, Misha, Bryan. The skies get dark right now at 3:10PM. I remember Tony telling me about his song “the Storm that Never Ends.” It seems like many people died this week, Rita and Prince. Two people as different as can be, but both artists seeking God, faith, and love in their own way. That is what I have tried to do in my writing, to seek God. To glorify God through my writing. Through righteous actions and words. And yet I am left feeling terrified that I will fall and never get up again. Still I do hope, still I do pray. Still I do remember. I remember you Bruce Springsteen girl. I remember you Anna Kulik. I remember you Dominick. I will never forget you. Cyndi Lauper sings “I drove all night to get to you.” Reminiscent of Bruce’s “Candy’s room,” don’t you think? “To get to Candy’s room you have to walk the darkness of Candy’s halls.” Maybe it’s time to pick up the guitar? I hear Cyndi Lauper sing “All through the night.” “We have no past, we won’t reach back” sings Cyndi. It’ raining. I was just remembering the song “Kiss the rain” when I was lying awake in bed, a lonely night, thinking about my dear departed friend Rita and my valiant Bruce Springsteen girl. It’s pouring. Remember when Prince sang “purple rain” through the rain during the Superbowl?! “You with the sad look in your eyes, don’t be discouraged” sings Cyndi. “Yellow diamonds in the light, now were standing side by side, as your shadow touches mine, what it takes to come alive”! Aren’t we all under God’s umbrella?!
Он один, а ему неможется,
И уходит окно во мглу,
Он считает шаги и множится
Счет шагов от угла к углу.
От угла до угла потерянно
Он шагает, как заводной,
Сто постелей ему постелено,
Не уснуть ему ни в одной.
По паркетному полу голому,
Шаг и отдых, и снова шаг,
Ломит голову, ломит голову,
И противно гудит в ушах.
Словно кто-то струну басовую
Тронул пальцем и канул прочь,
Что же делать ему в бессонную,
В одинокую эту ночь?
Но врач – убийца.
Вино – моча!
И спят давно
Друзья — подонки,
Друзья – говно!
На целом свете лишь сон и снег,
А он в ответе – один за всех!
И, как будто стирая оспины,
Вытирает он пот со лба:
Почему, почему, о, Господи,
Так жестока к нему судьба?
То предательством, то потерею,
Оглушает всю жизнь его?
Что стоишь ты там за портьерою,
Ты не бойся меня, Серго!
Эту комнату неказистую
Пусть твое озарит лицо,
Ты напой мне, Серго, грузинскую,
Ту, любимую мной, кацо,
Ту, что деды певали исстари,
Отправляясь в последний путь,
Спой, Серго, и забудь о выстреле,
Хоть на десять минут забудь!
Но полно, полно,
Молчи, не пой!
Ты струсил подло
И пес с тобой!
И пес со всеми,
Повзводно в тлен,
И все их семьи
До ста колен…
Над столицами поседевшими
Ночь и темень – хоть глаз коли,
Президенты спят с президентшами,
Спят министры и короли.
Мир, во славу гремевший маршами,
Спит в снегу с головы до пят,
Спят министры его и маршалы…
Он не знал, что они – не спят.
Что, притихшие, сводки утренней
В страхе ждут и с надеждой ждут,
А ему все хужей, все муторней,
Сапоги почему-то жмут…
Не приказанный, не положенный
За окном колокольный звон,
И, упав, на колени, — Боже мой! –
Произносит бессвязно он, –
На помощь вышли
Ко мне гонца,
О дай мне, дай же,
Не кровь – вино,
Забыл, как дальше,
Но все равно…
Не ставь отточий
Прости мне, Отче,
My site is undergoing some revisions I did not personally make.
I thank the authors for their input, but would humbly ask that perhaps those revisions be made as suggestions in the comments section,
rather than in the content of the site.
I wish to know my e-mail, please let me know.
ehh wish I knew linux. I guess I’ll leave it to those who do.
(I’d prefer that I made revisions personally)
It makes me sad to see the Katie photo revised.
For those who wish to leave comments and want them to be published, I will try to do so if I can.
The roles we play is what we become.
If we genuinely behave like a good guy long enough, we become one.
There are heroes in this story and perhaps even “villains”.
But they are not even really villains - they are in pain and lost.
Lets help them with love and compassion, find their way.
I hope they do, but that is their choice.
A man who was once a “villain” can become a hero.
Remember John Newton. He wrote “Amazing Grace”.
P.S: I am not playing any role. I am not on any side. I believe in love and the good. Many of you do as well. And for those who are not, I hope one day they will have a change of heart, and we will stand together as freinds, and stop hurting each other. I do not want to win and for someone to lose. I hope that we can find a path to happiness together.
We are individuals and unique. We have individual choice. That is beautiful.
We are also here together. That is beautiful as well.
P.S: Although I am not on any side,
I do not wish my friends or my home to be injured.
I love this land. Nor do I wish harm to anyone else.
Well – so, the journey continues I guess.
Don’t know much what to make of any of this.
In my life, taking things seriously hasn’t helped me much.
Even if they are serious.
To quote a song: All I know – all I know love will save the day.
At least we can hope. Let’s relax and hope – that’s my suggestion.
Life is a quest of sorts – I suppose. Only God knows the paths we walk.
I hope that we can all find some good together.
I am still having technical integrity issues on peace18.com.
As many of you know, data on the internet can be insecure.
A particular post can sometimes change without the consent or knowledge of the author. Please keep that in mind.
Can anyone suggest some good tools for data integrity?
The last broadcast of Peace 18 will never be forgotten, it will live in eternity. For those of us who were there, it lasted even longer.
The last words of the mayday broadcast were spoken by Dancer. The machine gun fire echoed heavily – almost muting out his words.
Orphelia was requesting air support for EAF-011. Colonel Danton was (still) under heavy fire at radio tower one.
The firefight aboard EAF-011 was desperate and bloody, while a few of us made love and prayed in the background. Fighter jets from all nations involved had been ordered to shoot down EAF-011. the fighter squadron leader who refused the order was named “Aquarius”. His tombstone was hidden and protected for many years hence. Aquarius would order his squadron to disregard – an order which was ignored. he was shot down by his own men, as he was attempting to eject, while simultaneously using his radio to inform Peace 18 that EAF-011 was under heavy fire. and saying goodbye to his wife on the alternate com-link.
By that time EAF-011 was also issuing its mayday hail. The prayer we said together lasted under ten seconds. Most of us would die within the next several minutes. As for the rest of us – we would be scattered to different corners of the earth. Dancer and Doria were the only ones who would see each other again
The despair was palpable. our friends Mayday Peace18 were still attempting to hold off heavy artillery fire at radio tower one. There were countless desertions from the counter-assault reams storming radio tower1. Those that did so, by dropping their weapons – were shot down by their own . there were others that turned the guns on themselves. when British assault reams ordered Danton to drop his transmitter – he refused to do so – holding it up with his right hand and a peace sign with his left. He was shot on the spot.
The reason tower one held off for so long – a good seven minutes, was because the international divisions were engaged in a heavy firefight, maneuvering for the position of being the first to take Peace 18 tower-1.
“Mayday – mayday – mayday” echoed all stations.
Dancer caressed Doria’s body, one last time.
The rest of us hugged and wept. “EAF-011 had crashed” – came in the bulletin. By now we were receiving mayday on all frequencies. The sunlight came in through the window. The “station down” calls mayday hails poured in like the winds of a hurricane. The distress calls became a hum of a million voices.
“Radio down” he said. Peace 18 was off the air.
- Official news would later causally report that an insignificant (and therefore unnamed) radio station had had it’s license revoked. That it took over 532 army battalions and one third of the nations air fleet to revoke said license, was not mentioned.
- The heroic American b-teams that helped Peace 18 were later charged with treason.
- Colonel Danton would posthumously receive the Nobel Peace Prize (by unanimous consent). He would be nominated for the Congressional Medal of Honor over 300 times. He did not win.
“To our soldiers in dangerous places. To those who have endured the tsunami and to all who have suffered natural disasters, and who must find the will to rebuild. To the oppressed and to those whose lot it is to struggle, in financial hardship or in failing health. To my fellow journalists in places where reporting the truth means risking all. And to each of you: ‘Courage.’”
10Finally, be strong in the Lord and in his mighty power. 11Put on the full armor of God so that you can take your stand against the devil’s schemes. 12For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms. 13Therefore put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand. 14Stand firm then, with the belt of truth buckled around your waist, with the breastplate of righteousness in place, 15and with your feet fitted with the readiness that comes from the gospel of peace. 16In addition to all this, take up the shield of faith, with which you can extinguish all the flaming arrows of the evil one. 17Take the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God. 18And pray in the Spirit on all occasions with all kinds of prayers and requests. With this in mind, be alert and always keep on praying for all the saints.
19Pray also for me, that whenever I open my mouth, words may be given me so that I will fearlessly make known the mystery of the gospel, 20for which I am an ambassador in chains. Pray that I may declare it fearlessly, as I should. (link)
Dedicated to my friend Louis. Does anyone know where he is?
I hope his counterpart is helping him.
I hope this video doesn’t get corrupted. (ehh – I can already tell, it’s been tainted). The prince of darkness is busy these days. He’s trying to infect me as well. I’m trying to stand strong. I believe in God.
Anyone who needs to reach me, email me: email@example.com
I can give you my phone number.
My skype account is: coloneldax2005
Any friends or anyone who wants to talk to me,
Please do not hesitate to call. I’d be glad to hear from you.
You can call and ask me about my peace8.com posts, if you need a reason.
And to my friends, esp. dedicated to those in intelligence (esp. thank you to Americans, Mossad, and Mi-5/6) and those in news media: Don’t Stop Believin’ (Glee Cast Version) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5ffuCVLECpY
We have become slaves to our own fear. The fear of being misunderstood, the fear of being hurt, even the fear of the good. Through our fear, a relatively small number of people can manipulate us and turn us against each other. Turn the world into hell on earth. The challenges are coming, and for many they are here and beyond challenges. I am afraid. Afraid I am losing my strength. Afraid I will be misunderstood. Afraid of being hurt. Afraid of pain. Death does not scare me, however. Neither does eternal hell. It does not exist. It cannot.
The answer is this: love and trust the world as if it were your own self.
There are enough good, honorable people here to change the nature of this story. I believe in you. Those I know and those I do not.
And as for the ones who are lost to the point of wanting to destroy everything, they have a heart too. They just need to find it.
Shalom and God Bless You,
Don’t stop believing,
Some say love it is a river
That drowns the tender reed
Some say love it is a razor
That leaves your soul to bleed
Some say love it is a hunger
An endless aching need
I say love it is a flower
And you it’s only seed.
I am working on a book/movie script. Here is one particular scene:
Colonel Danton/Dancer’s statement to the press:
I wish to inform the members of the press (such as may be here), that all of the member of the Secret Service detachment loyal to the President (present at the time of the incident) are dead. I believe that most of the members of the administration are as well.
I would humbly suggest that congress convene in emergency session to clarify the issue of who indeed is currently president.
I urge the members of the press corps, as well as those in Hollywood, and Washington, as well as anyone (of public stature or not) to speak out on the incident in question – if possible.
The public must know that EAF-011 had crashed, and passengers dead.
Then Danton waited for the press to speak. But he realized he might have to wait a while. When will someone just come out and say it? I haven’t had the courage – so how can I expect others to?
“Lets do something else” she said (to me). I sit on the bathroom counter – and cry. I ran through the waves with her – at night. We sit together on the lifeguard tower. I see my wall, and tears stream down my face,
As I remember (and miss) her. She hops over the fence – like a little boy, with the ease of a little boy hopping over the fence. She touches my face with her nose. We sail away on a little ship, just me and her, in the middle of the summer ocean, heading for our own little oasis/haven. She touches my neck as she puts/rubs on aloe vera juice/gel. I’m lying on the cot, and she puts a mouse, on my blanket. I fall to my knees and tears stream down my face, as I pray for her.. I’m hanging on to the windowsill, and she pulls me up, saves me and makes love to me. Saves me.”Good morning” she says. The blood runs down my knuckles, can she hear me?!
Meghan – I miss you, more than I can (even) say. I wonder what you are like in heaven. You must be much like you were on earth – beautiful. That is all I can say. I wonder when I will see you again. You must be watching over me – even right now. I wish I could remember your face. I wish we got to spend more time than those precious two hours. I don’t know of any way to connect with you but to write to you, as if you were to read this. How many more times will I try to remember your face until I see it again, with full clarity? I don’t know how to pass the time, Meghan. Every minute seems to drag by, as if it was an hour. That is always how it is when you are waiting for something. Especially waiting for something you desperately want. Just to remember your name and that I knew you and that you knew me, brings me joy. It must be all worth it, as James C. Herper said. You bore your own cross, Meghan. You did. God knows you did. Will I have to? I hope not. I wish I took your hand that night. How I wish. I would give anything to make it so. But that is something that I cannot change. Maybe something even God cannot change, if such a thing is possible. I wonder how you went, into that gentle good night. Maybe you remembered me. Maybe when it is my time to go. I will think of you. As you always were, and as you will always be. Your last moment will never be forgotten, it will live on in eternity. And how I wish to live with you in eternity – one day, Meghan. My beautiful Meghan Cross.
“Do you believe in miracles?” I asked Britney. Britney Peace of CIA child Monarch program, was transferred approximately on September 11th, late evening or middle of the night to possibly Hampton(sp?) state hospital or an undercover CIA facility, from Summit Oak Psychiatric Hospital (NJ). “Go into her room and give her a kiss on the cheek, that is all you need to do to save her and send her on her way.” said Steve. I ran in, but hesitated and they dragged me out. I could not save her. “You are not her hero.” said Kyoung. He is right, I am not, but maybe there is someone who is. I urge the worlds intelligence community to save Britney Peace (now Patricia), if there is still time, possibly currently being tortured by the CIA for what she knew, what she found out, and for trying to speak. “I wanted to preach the gospel. I failed she said. I thought maybe I could love her. As if her grace was not enough. “Don’t try to help me” she said. “You’ll only get in trouble.” How many more dead girls will I have on my conscience before God forsakes me? “I will never make love to you – I will never see skies so blue. I will never see the despair in your eyes, and I never heard your cries.” How many more times will I say that again? Will I die with that poem still un-rewritten? I asked Ashley to help me write a different version. I didn’t make it in time, Ashley. And maybe not in time to help Britney. The world deserves to hear her sing Amazing Grace, like I was blessed two times to. A simple kiss on the cheek and things might have been different. Selfishly, I hope for the sake of my own conscience, that it is not too late. Someone save Britney Peace. Maybe Louis.
God Bless, 3:16 AM.
Daniel Veytsel (discharged from Summit Oak, yesterday).
“Lauren, I wanted to ask you to take me to California with me, but I missed the moment” I said to her.
“I have a boyfriend, sorry dude” she said sweetly.. I met Peter the night I wanted to ask Lauren to pose for a painting for me, but didn’t. “I can’t go to California, even on my own” she said to me. I saw her later that evening and/answer she called me “sweet pea”.
I met Lauren on December 19th, 2011, the night I met an lost ✞ Cassie ❤ as the music from Heat played (in that scene where Val Kilmer leaves her forever), while I cried and later wept after I left my beautiful Greek restaurant and my beautiful Greek girl, who was wearing a shirt the same light brown colour I was wearing (that my mom gave to me). The night I first discovered RCC. That night I lost Cassie but fell in love with the RCC. Lauren was wearing gorgeous ripped stockings that night.
“And they’re out there – a – having fun in the warm California sun” I sang the The Rivieras – California Sun to her as she stood sideways and smiled, just like Jodie Foster did once in a photo I cannot find.
I remember how Lauren’s eyes flowed and glowed with soft gentle flowing California sun; so beautifully, softly, melodically, lovingly; like a wave blown by a soft tender WEstern breeze on the Pacific ocean or like LAuren’s hair.
I never did get to say goodbye. Lauren left for California this year.
❤Kel and ❤ Francheska left too (for PA). I heard their baby was born yesterday, the 76th Birthday of my dear true friend ❤ Monroe. We lost Tim too, I’d love to hear “Dear Diary” one more time.
Forevermore, whenever I hear Tommy Roe’s “Sweet Pea” I’ll think about you standing in the surf in a bikini, soaking in the waves of the Pacific, and how you once called me Sweet Pea. I’m almost crying as I hear John Butler’s Ocean. Goodbye ❥ (my heart is sideways, I just checked the weather forecast it’s raining and might flood in California) , or Shalom Lauren. I wan’t to sing “Don’t Stop Believing” by Journey to you, one more time. LAuren, do you have your hair down? Dear Lauren: Is it sunny in California?
“Kirsten,” I said to her. “You shake my faith in humanity and renew it all over again. Every time I see you eating that turkey sandwich, a little piece of me dies. You say you believe in Saint Raphael the patron saint of animals (actually it is Saint Francis, but never mind that), but don’t you know that every time you eat meat, that Saint does weep?! You say you believe in vegetarianism, but is it enough to just believe. Doesn’t that require action? I mean, what do you think that turkey felt when it was tortured and killed? Is it enough to say that you have compassion, and yet continue to engage in the same horrible practice of meat eating that so many in the world degrade themselves to?!
Dear dear dear Bruce Springsteen girl. I want to pour everything out on the page. Saturday April 23rd, 2016. 620 Atlantic Avenue. Barclays Center, Section 225. I was in Row 10, Seat 17. You were in Row 11, must have been seat 14 or 13.
What can I say about you, Bruce Springsteen girl? Most of all that you were so beautiful and sensuously shy. What a longing soulful sensitive look I saw in your eyes, every time I stole a glance back at Section 11. I’d forgotten there were women like you in the world. You helped me believe again.
I thought to myself, when I first noticed you, who’s that passionate blond honey with the cherry red lips, who seems to be saying with her very soul in her eyes: take my hands, dance with me, kiss my lips, and hold me tenderly all night long.
Somewhere between “the River” and “Shout,” I fell for you.
I felt like Bruce was playing the whole show just for you and me. After all, Bruce is psychic!
I’ve been yearning for a woman’s touch for 36 lonely years, and somewhere during “Dancing in the Dark”, I think, I ran left two or three seats left, and took your right hand. You smiled a warm beautiful smile and gave me a thumbs up with your left hand, as I held your right and we danced to the greatest musician of all time, New Jersey’s pride and joy, Bruce Springsteen. It was a beautiful moment that I shall never forget and shall always cherish.
I’ll never ever forget you, Bruce Springsteen girl.
“One last time, I need to be the one who takes you home.”
Godspeed your love to me (one day), Bruce Springsteen girl, in this life or the next, in the Section 225 in my soul. From now on when I dream, you’ll always be in my arms.
“I get so emotional, baby
Every time I think of you
I get so emotional, baby”
God bless you Bruce Springsteen girl,
I weep tears of sadness and joy,