About me: Welcome to Reader Views,
your one-stop book review & publicity service. Check out all that we offer to not only the reader, but also to the authors! We keep adding new low-budget programs continually.
Visit our main site at www.readerviews.com
Thanks for welcoming me into your creative/literary family. - Mark David Gerson author of "The MoonQuest: A True Fantasy" and "The Voice of the Muse: Answering the Call to Write."
Thank you for your support Book Readers and Book Clubs & especially for me The WAGGIEKATZ!! on behalf of all of us, whether you have read our material or not. If it weren't for you...there would be no we...WE APPRECIATE YOU, Heres to you...
Hello to my new friends at Reader Views. Thank you for sharing the love of books with the world. It is very good to meet you.
Let me introduce myself properly...I am a healer, a mystic, and a writer. My goal is healing the planet. I love connecting with other light workers.
Please subscribe to my blogs, read them, post comments IN THE BLOG itself, and do forward my bulletins on to your friends.
My blogs contain: * Practical True Wisdom - Teaching People how to Heal Themselves. * Stories of Love and Adventure (ie. My Arranged Marriage to my Indian Wife) * A Real Solution to ALL of the Problems that Plague the World Right Now...Stop Complaining and become part of The Solution! * Fantastic Photographs of my World Wide Travels
Hi! Thank you for adding me to your friends list! I have just started this site and hope to get it off the ground. Your site has been an inspiration! Thanks again. Shannon
Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent, a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.
Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battle-field of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field, as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.
But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate -- we can not consecrate -- we can not hallow -- this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us -- that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion -- that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain -- that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom -- and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.
I am bored out of my mind.
Living alone is the most boring and lonely
thing one could possibly fathom.
It's the feeling of the frantic vampire roaming paranoid.
Sometimes I get so bored I dust my books.
That's how I feel right now.
I feel like dusting off my books.
It seems as though no one cares.
Depressing.
I remember as a child I didn't care
if anyone was listening; I just wanted to play.
Now the world seems so much bigger
and there is nothing to really do.
Immaculate.
What is happening in this world of dreams?
No one ever listens, but that's okay.
I know it will never change.
I will fall asleep tonight.
No one will care if I wake in the morning.
No one will notice my absence.
We have become people of little importance.
Our hearts and minds are filled with fake dreams.
Dreams of baked clay and bottomless smoked grass.
Life is the ever watchtower filled with endless ashes.
I am living in a wilderness of pain.
I have been waiting for the morning rain.
Still, it hasn't come to smother my garden.
Oh new day.
We waste our tears on flings and things
but never care for the dead butterfly.
We open our eyes and see the birth of the new moon
but we don't realize how far we are from reality.
Let's smoke away our lives in the filthy bong.
Let's play the rhythm of every song.
My heart is over filling with tears
and my eyes fed with agony.
My ears bleed in sorrow and rage from the child's' screams.
I am shaking from the cold heat.
Where am I?
I have died long ago but no one cares.
My friends have my wings and I thought I could fly.
My mother gave me poisonous gas for breakfast as a child.
I think it may have hurt my lungs.
Last week I visited a reunion for the Kamikaze survivors.
The problem was, no one showed.
The room is getting dark.
My fiber is wearing thin and
every ounce of this fictitious lie is fading.
I
