Grandpa Jerry And St Paul Down Home Story

Writen by Lindsey Williams

Grandpa Jerry Williams was a great admirer of Saint Paul and would not have invoked the name of the revered apostle deliberately to frighten the wits out of a St. Louis drummer. Besides, Grandpa had to replace the church-yard gate and repair the steeple.

In those days of southeast Missouri, folks took their religion more seriously than some of us today. Grandpa Jerry, for instance, always felt he remained a poor carpenter-farmer because he had not heeded a "call" by the Lord to be a preacher.

Grandpa was a pious man, nevertheless, and tried to understand and obey the Lord in all other respects. Thus, he was a pillar of the Methodist Episcopal church -- passing the collection plate on Sundays and preaching the sermon when the regular pastor was on vacation or attending a bishops' conference.

Saint Paul was Grandpa's favorite biblical hero -- perhaps because both had been called by Christ and resisted. In any event, Grandpa read and re-read Paul's many letters that comprise a quarter of the New Testament. He was a recognized authority on Paul and often quoted the saint on perplexing or momentous occasions.

It was Grandpa's custom, when substituting in the pulpit, to propose a weighty spiritual problem, then ask the rhetorical question:

"What did Paul say?"

What Paul said on the subject usually took a solid hour, or a bit more, to relate. Grandpa didn't get many opportunities to atone for his youthful disobedience to God's call, so he made the most of every one.

Despite Grandpa Jerry's scriptural verbosity, he was an imposing figure in the pulpit. He was a large man, tall, with a wild crop of bushy white hair. When he got wound up about Paul, he commanded attention. He voice boomed, and he emphasized his words with thumps on the pulpit.

Folks allowed as how the regular-ordained pastors were easier to take, week-end-week-out. Still, a good dose of Saint Paul now and then purged the soul.

The spiritual home for that little country congregation was about five miles from town. As was the custom, it was left unlocked so passersby could enter for mediation or shelter.

Grandpa Jerry's farm was nearby, and he often went there in the evening, after chores, to look after the church. After mending a window pane, or mowing the grass in the graveyard out front, he would commune with God in the empty sanctuary.

It was on such an occasion during Lent that Grandpa Jerry and the St. Louis salesman encountered each other briefly. Grandpa went to the church that evening to sweep the floor and make sure the hymnals were evenly distributed for Easter Sunday. This done, he lingered to think and pray.

Darkness came on with a raging thunder storm. Grandpa's mood, the Holy season, and the natural elements inspired him to preach. He strode to the pulpit. Amidst the flashing lightning and rumbling thunder, he let his heart pour forth.

The salesman, in his Model-T Ford touring car, was caught in the area by that sudden storm. The rain beat in through the open sides. He careened down the road at a dizzying 40 miles-per-hour --- looking for a barn or some other place for him and his vehicle.

At last, the White Oak ME Church hove into view. The salesman gave an exclamation of relief. He knew there would be a horse-shed for his car, and the church door would be open. Hurriedly he dashed through the rain and dark to open the church-yard gate, park his car and take refuge in the church.

The salesman lit matches to find a pew in the back of the sanctuary and scrunched down to check his eyelids for light leaks until the rain let up.

But, repose was not to be. From the darkness and beating rain, a sonorous voice began to intone:

"And I persecuted this way unto death, binding and delivering into prisons both men and women. And it came to pass that as I made my journey, and was come nigh unto Damascus about noon, suddenly there shone from Heaven a great light round about me.

"And I fell unto the ground, and heard a voice saying unto me, Paul, why persecutest thou me?"

By now the drummer's hair was prickly at the back of his neck. The graves he had casually noted as he parked his car now loomed large in his imagination.

It was, of course, Grandpa Jerry warming up to this favorite topic -- thinking he was alone in the darkened church. Or, maybe he was aware of the visitor and was laying on an effect.

"And what did Paul say?" roared Grandpa just as a bolt of lightning hit he church steeple with an horrendous crash.

In the awful, split-second flash round about, followed instantly by an ear-splitting crash of thunder, the salesman saw a giant in the pulpit, his eyes burning coals and a white halo gleaming about his head.

With a screech, the salesman leaped over the pew and gained the door with one mighty lunge. By some divine miracle, the Model T engine coughed into life at the first spin of the crank. The salesman departed the premises with noteworthy alacrity.

Unfortunately, he did not pause long enough to unlatch the church-yard gate. It was a good gate with may years of useful service remaining. Under the circumstances, however, it seemed more appropriate to take the gate along on the front hood of the car than to tarry longer in the vicinity.

Thus it was that a badly frightened salesman, with a church gate for company, pulled up to the Campbell Tavern. "There's a mad-man back there in a church!" he stammered.

A table of men didn't bother to look up from their game of five-card stud.

"Was he talking about Paul?" some one asked.

"Yes, yes! That's him."

"Oh, that's only Deacon Williams. You should have hung around a little longer. He would have taken up a collection."

They kidded Grandpa a lot after that, scaring strangers and all; but he wasn't amused at being thought non compos mentis.

"Probably the first time that jasper has been to church in 20 years," groused Grandpa. "Too bad the Lord's aim was a little off with that bolt of lightning."

Lindsey Williams is a Sun columnist who can be contacted at: LinWms@earthlink.net LinWms@lindseywilliams.org Website: http://www.lindseywilliams.org with several hundred of Lin's Editorial & At Large articles written over 40 years. Also featured in its entirety is Lin's groundbreaking book "Boldly Onward," that critically analyzes and develops theories about the original Spanish explorers of America. (fully indexed/searchable)

Art Gallery Openings A Young Artists Colorful First Time Experience

Writen by Ellen Gilmer

The first time visit to an Art Gallery Opening can be an eye widener for anyone, as this experience of a young artist and newcomer to New York reveals:

The event was a combination exhibition opening and birthday celebration for the Lambert Art Gallery, which, a few years earlier, in a moment of exuberance and elation at its own prosperity, had given birth to the smaller, fledgling downtown dealership, the Eye Span Space, where, incidentally, Celia had planned to apply for a job. Having taken the bus up Avenue of the Americas to Fifty-Seventh Street, she steadily clicked her way east in semi-high heels, gradually losing awareness of her resounding progress. As she approached the large, dark, marbled arcade entranceway, she stopped for a few moments to watch the steady stream of well-attired people en route to and from various events being hosted within the tall, shadowed and foreboding expanse of building which confronted her. Taking a step backward, she shivered slightly, bracing herself as though against a sudden, chill breeze. Then, gathering her courage about her as a shawl, she walked ahead to join the easy flow of people now entering this awesome mass of architecture.

Once safely inside the dark glass doorway, Celia joined in the procession to the equally impressive elevators. The doors rolled smoothly open and closed on a deep amber and brass interior, large and rather impersonal, in keeping with the structure's darkened atrium entranceway, yet at the same time warm and set aglow by its now pleasantly peopled interior. Curious, the hushed, polite, but electric intimacy of vertical travel alongside strangers. Celia tried to picture the experience of "lifts" designed for horizontal movement -- travelling around, or even spiralling the building's girth. Fun, she decided, like a work-a-day amusement park, but neither practical nor intimate. Flying could be very sensual, but sometimes strongly separative; for, a definite pull of gravity was necessary for any true sense of intimacy. And the shyness -- that same kind of shyness was present that sometimes occurs at one-to-one first-time encounters or during formal introductions among groups of strangers. It was difficult, next to impossible to look directly at anyone now, for everyone faced straight ahead, except for couples and threesomes, who stood slightly inclined toward one another, even in their subtlety, boldly breaking the pattern.

Celia called on peripheral vision to glance at those persons on either side of her. To her left stood a rather tall, handsome, olive-skinned woman beautifully attired in black silk and speaking in a quiet, but animated fashion to a very tall, pale, young wisp of a man wearing flesh colored spectacle frames who swayed back and forth, seemingly in slow motion, to the staccato rhythm of her words. On the left were profiles of elegance and polite impatience; on the right, of amiability and anticipation, silent silhouettes of well contained emotion.

When the elevator doors slid apart once again, its passengers stepped out into a spacious, high-ceilinged room with soft spotlights on large abstract still-life paintings against newly painted white walls. The room was already nearly two-thirds full of mingling people -- some lively, animated; others with affectation of condescending boredom.

A slender dark young man (one of the bored) was commenting in a rather loud whine to a short portly matron in a sea-green suit with matching forties pill-box hat, on the inferiority of the champagne being served. To Celia, champagne was at this point still an item of novel extravagance; she had yet to discover differences in quality and the fact that, in general, gallery openings were notorious for serving relatively low quality liquid refreshment. The chubby woman in green seemed to agree wholeheartedly with the young man's complaint. And yet, Celia noted that as they exchanged yawns and tired, affected, lazy remarks, both sipped away and emptied full glasses.

After several glasses of the bubbly, overly sweet beverage, Celia found herself floating slowly around the crowded floor in counter-clockwise direction, as though she were a vague dancer in some unexplained ballroom scene of another time. Along her course, she had brief encounters with a pompous politician; a harried hairdresser; an overworked bleary-eyed accountant; six painters; three sculptors; a jaded journalist turned art critic; an undertaker's apprentice; the fussy, hyper mother of a "child prodigy painter" (in tow); a dapper Danish diplomat; a radiantly regal opera singer in flowing scarlet silk and satin; and a tall, slightly aloof man of fortyish with dark, greying hair and a child-like, uneven, mischievous smile that lit up large dark eyes in an otherwise sobered, somewhat stern face.

They met when Celia, turning abruptly to sweep yet another glass of champagne from a passing tray, tripped over her own feet, wobbled dangerously, and performed a loud, impromptu tap-dance to recover her equilibrium, at once startling and silencing the people around her. Reaching out, he offered support by means of a firm hand under one of her elbows until she regained her balance. Then, he brought his hands together gently in soundless applause as his face broke into a smile. "Somewhat disoriented, aren't we?"

And those eyes ... there was a strong pull, a definite sensation of magnetism drawing her into those lively, compelling eyes. Later, thinking back, she was certain they had been dancing together -- just the two of them, somewhere off in a room to themselves, although there had been the crowd and no music at all. Something assured her of it, even though it couldn't be so.... But first impressions can be like that. And first impressions lead to larger canvases of experience called Life.

Excerpt from the novel, La Belle Famille, by Ellen Gilmer, published by The Pentland Press Ltd., Durham, England

Ellen Gilmer

elgilmer@yahoo.com

Ellen Gilmer is a writer/composer and artist who lives in New York City. Crystal Clear Artforms, her creative arts business, is dedicated to the development and promotion of Thematic Arts (creative expression in multiple art forms). Ellen's work includes copywriting and article writing. She is a member of the Agora International Press Corps / AWAI Travel Writers Group. She has published two books: La Belle Famille, a novel; and Free Style Run of the Heart, a book of dramatic monologues with songs. Both books were published by The Pentland Press Ltd./ Carnegie Publishing, England. The Website Address for Crystal Clear Artforms is: http://www.home.earthlink.net/~elgilmer

Organization Is The Key To Maximizing Your Tivo

Writen by Barb Gary

Maximize Your TIVO

Isn't Tivo just the greatest invention EVER? I love mine and this article is just some helpful tips I use myself to keep my tivo to the maximum level it can have.

Mine is only a 30 hour unit which I thought would be insuffient but I have made it work nicely. If yours has more hours you are really sitting on a goldmine of possibilites.

I have 42 season passes set up. All regular Tv series I watch are setup to "save 5 episodes" and "until I delete". That way there is no chance of you having one not record.

Every day I check my tivo to do list by going to the end of it and changing the date of all programs that were added with until I delete that day as it keeps a running calendar of events for you.

I change them all to keep 3 days or whatever you need. The point is don't leave them set at "until I delete" or you will run out of precious space.

This alone will help you keep your tivo running perfectly for you. It frees up an immense amount of disc space so do it every single day so that you can load it up, make that your top priority task to do each morning, whether you are rushing to work or a stay at home parent. It is the most important thing you need to do for the day. There are some programs I set as until space needed which is mainly any decorating-hgtv shows, cooking programs, biographies...that sort of thing.

The reason is; they always get recorded anyway but this allows more space for your tivo to do it's thing. It's kind of like a guy it's there and it will do it's job, but it usually needs some breathing room.

If I add any of these type programs manually instead of a season pass I always just let the default until space needed be used. This puts those shows at a lower priority. It will tell you when you run out of space, don't panic just read the screen carefully and take it from there. I know it is frightening the first few times you have a message pop up from tivo.

Using all my methods I can get my tivo to load up 14 pages in it's to do list, which is an amazing amount since it is only a 30 hour tivo unit! I can safely keep 2 full pages on my now playing list at all times, which is a ton of shows. I watch a lot of tv but this is the best way to do it, I've spent many hours perfecting this way which is why I wanted to share it with others. It doesn't rush you to get anything removed. When my pages are all full I have at least 100 hours of tv programs on my tivo at any given time.

On your season pass list use their feature to put each one into a priority level. It takes a bit of time but is well worth it, afterall you don't want to miss an episode of Desperate Housewives, 24 or gasp, Alias do you? I thought not. Set your favorite shows at top priority #1, #2...and work your list down, you'll be so glad that you did because it may save you heartache in the future if something you love didn't get recorded.

The only problem I have ever had with my tivo is you need to check against tvtome.com often to make sure a series you watch is on or not. Because if they changed the time of showing your show like from 8 pm to 10 sometimes tivo won't catch it. Also, you always have to watch for Presidential type interruptions to run over, so set extra time on programs when you can. So, check that site every day, just seeing what is airing that night. Check it with your tivo and make sure your programs are listed on your tivo to do list.

If not, go do a title search for upcoming showings. It only takes a few minutes and it's well worth your time. This happened to me with an episode of Smallville that I am hoping they will re-air. Gotta have my Lex Luther fix afterall.

Keep a notebook page titled tivo handy at all times. In it write a seperate page for Sunday-thru Saturday what programs you actually have on your tivo. This list will help you keep track.

That way, you have a running total of everything you actually watch.

Just put Sunday:

8pm name of show channel

8pm show channel

9pm show channel

9pm show channel

10pm show channel

Get the picture? This will only take a few pages in your notebook but is vital to keeping track of your programs. Check it daily to make sure you have not missed something you love!

I always put a Checkmark next to any show in my notebook that I have a season pass set for. Then you can just glance and see when you see a new commercial for a brand new program coming out whether or not you have an opening that night on your tivo. But, if you check futoncritic.com a lot like I do you already know what new shows are coming out in advance. Of course if it's on a local channel you could switch it out and watch it on your antenna and let your other 2 shows record. Your notebook helps you keep track of what you watch is all but it's very important. I always put the channel in case I need to switch out for the antenna. Since I watch over 65 shows a week sometimes it's hard to remember what channel something is actually on.
This notebook will save you a lifetime of aggrevation.

Make yourself a page in your notebook when you're finished with the other project that contains Every one of the shows you watch. Put them all on one page for a quick glance sheet. Anything I have as a season pass that is not marked keep until I delete I don't bother to put in my notebook. Afterall, if it didn't record they are shows that actually repeat, so I can look them up and add them to the tivo manually for a later showing.

I do use the browse my channel feature a lot too. It's just amazing how many good movies and cooking programs you can find using that feature. I bet there are shows you never knew existed.

Set up an actor wishlist for each person you really like and want to see again. I have over 50 names on mine right now. Mainly, it's so you don't have to type them in each time you think of them. It also helps to just run their name every couple of weeks to make sure your'e not going to miss them on one of the late night or early morning talk shows. Sometimes actors give up their best juicy gossip on these type of shows.

I usually record any of these by the last half hour only. Saves time watching it and on your build up of your tivo programs. After all, if you only want to see your favorite person why not just watch the part he/she may be on?

I hope some of these tips help you out in programming your tivo. It is truly the most remarkable invention in my opinion. My son gave me this over a year ago and I've been excited by it ever since. It is by far the best, most used gift I have ever received from anyone. I hope you'll agree.

Barb Gary Copyright 2006 http://www.webmasterinfoandcontent.com Free content, article publisher. Movie and TV Dvd Reviews, Forums: Pick your top 5 favorite all time movies, Song Lyrics, Polls, Trivia http://www.top5tv.com/

Games Might Amp Magic

Writen by Michael Russell

Video games have come a long way in the 30 plus years that they have been in existence. Many have come and gone. Some were good, some not so good. But very few had the impact of the Might & Magic series, loosely based off the Dungeons & Dragons role playing and video games.

Might & Magic itself had a very long series with one loosely tying into the next. The original Might & Magic games were crude in comparison to the later versions. But one of the major differences was that the early Might & Magic games were turn based as opposed to the later games which were real time.

The turn based Might & Magic games were just that. You would make your way through the towns and mazes of the lands and when an encounter came against an evil creature or group of creatures, the action would turn from real time to turn based. During this phase the player would plan out his strategy of how he would attack the big bads. After programming in his attacks he would hit the attack button and the computer would compute the results. This continued until the battle resolved one way or another with the player either defeating the creatures or losing in the process, thus ending the game.

Real time based games were real time throughout. If during the course of making your way through the towns and mazes you ran into a creature or group of creatures, the action would continue. The attacks would come at you as you were walking, running or even flying. In return, you would attack the enemy while either advancing on them or retreating. This type of battle took more skill than brains. There are those who preferred the turn based games and those who preferred the real time games throughout.

The Might & Magic series lasted for quite a number of editions. Probably the greatest of these was Might & Magic VI, which at the time was the largest mapped video game ever. The adventure covered no less than 10 different cities and areas. A game could last from 6 months to a year or longer. The levels that your adventurers could reach were beyond counting. Eventually, if you lived long enough and gained enough power, which included finding some really powerful lasers, you could wipe out an island of red, blue and gold dragons in a matter of minutes.

To win the game, you had to defeat the evil queen who was surrounded by her minions from hell. The Hive, the last battle of the game, was guarded by just about every demon of the underworld. Not only did you have to defeat the queen but also had to make your way out of the hive with certain items or the world as you knew it would be destroyed.

If you are new to video games and want to play one of the most incredible games ever made, get a hold of a Windows 95 operating system and pick up an old copy of Might & Magic VI. You won't be sorry.

Michael Russell Your Independent guide to Games

Why Comic Book And Movie Superheroes Are Still Popular

Writen by Gregg Hall

We all love to watch comic book movies like X-Men, Daredevil and Spiderman they are movies for the whole family. So why do we love comic book movies and superheroes so much? Are we really interested in mutants and giant green men more than we are real people? The box office numbers would say that we are. Millions of dollars are spent each year to go to movies that star superheroes and comic book characters.

The technology to make these movies is increasingly easy to use. Some studios spend thousands of dollars to make their movies but it is possible to only spend a couple thousand dollars and make an animated movie. Superhero movies are not always animated some of the most popular movies are actually live action movies that star superheroes.

The amazing special effects that we see when watching a superhero movie keep us interested throughout the movie. Most of the current movies even have romances to help incorporate the female audience. Plus many of the superhero movies today are toning down the violence so they can earn a PG rating and gather younger fans.

Superheroes are the ideal that many people want to live up to. People like the idea of saving others and fighting against evil. The idealistic view of superheroes is something that we grow up with as children. At a very young age we start collecting superhero action figures and playing games pretending that we're superheroes.

The super strength of these characters is often a fantasy of many children. The idea of being invisible, invulnerable or being able to fly is something that many children wish they could do. In fact, many adults wish they could do that also. The superhuman powers that superheroes have are only one characteristic that bonds us to the ideals and fantasy of superheroes.

With every movie that is released the matching action figures are released also. So every child that sees the movie will then want to go purchase the matching action figure of its favorite movie star. So there is something much larger behind the comic book and superhero movies than just money. Children really love these stars they incorporate them into their daily fantasies, they even get Halloween costumes so they can look like their favorite superheroes.

Superhero comic books and movies are very popular and they do not look like they're going anywhere soon. Children and adults enjoy watching the superhero movies and comic book movies. These movies are becoming popular with pretty much the whole family. Whether you collect superhero figures or watch superhero movies superheroes are a part of most of our lives; a fantasy that we look to as an escape from our current realities.

Gregg Hall is an author living in Navarre Beach, Florida. Find more about this as well as super hero collectibles at http://www.bigbadheroes.com

The Great Wall Of Darkness

Writen by Patrick Brown

Well, here I am. Inside this wall of darkness. Just how long have I been here? Days, weeks, months, or has it been all of my life thus far? I really dont know. All I know is that I sit here, here inside this wall of darkness. It seems so thick, it seems as solid as granit, It seems so infinite. This wall of darkness that surrounds me so completely. Oh, I can hear all of the sounds, all of the sounds that are outside. All outside this thick wall of darkness. I can hear all of the life, all of that wonderful life. But they dont know that I am here. They dont know that I am inside this thick wall of darkness.

For no one can see inside, none can penitrate this wall. none can see inside this wall which has so completely encompassed me. But I can hear them. And I just sit and listen. I listen to all of that wonderful life out there. There must be light out there. There must be sunshine out there. There must be, because I can smell it, I can taste it, I can feel it. It heats my wall from the outside, It's as though it can almost penitrate this great wall of darkness. But alas, it does not penitrate it. It is just a hope, and then it is gone.

Just as the sun leaves the flower, and the flower eventually withers. I am inside this wall of darkness, and my soul is withering. Yes, I try to fight it, but this great wall, this darkness, this blindness is just so strong. It is so persistent, it is so infinite. But me! I am finite, my strength needs to be replenished. Where can I find the means, the replenishment, where can I find the hope, the desire.

Where can I find the patients. Do I exist? Or, is this just a dream? Is this wall of darkness real? Or is this some long, long day dream? I open my eyes, and the darkness is still there. The wall is still there. The light is still on the outside, I can hear it. The sounds are still on the outside, I can hear them. The life is still on the outside, I can almost taste it. And so, I sit here. I sit here inside this great wall of darkness. Is this my prison, or just my allotment. I sit here inside this wall, I sit here inside this great wall of darkness.

Kevin is a blind, jazz saxophonist. He owns, and operates a Texas based recording studio: Curse Buster Sound. You can hear, and contact Kevin at: http://www.cursebustersound.com

The Devils Fate Chapter 3 Parts I Amp Ii Of Three Parts

Writen by Dennis Siluk

The ongoing chapters of the story: "The Carverous Planets," CHAPTER #3, parts I & II

3.

A Devil's Fate

People don't choose their fears—

Their jealousies, envies and hates They do.

The Princess

Part I

Island of Semyaz

Semyaz is intimately related to the so called 'Old One's,' the ones who vanished before the dawn of man's contemporary civilization. He vanished before man's written history of course, yet he did survive the surprised attack of Ura'el the holy angel sent by God to bind, hand and feet of Semvaza and Azaz'el, the two angelic leaders, and bury them in a hole in the desert, and put unmovable rocks on top of them. And so this was done, for their sins were great in the eyes of God: they had both defiled themselves with the daughters of the earth, lay together with them, as they gave birth to giants sons who brought blood and oppression among the earth, thus, they were killed as well, in good time (the Giants).

Semyaz liked power as well as Azaz'el, and was given such power over his companions now, the ones Semvaza and Azaz'el commanded; yet this angelic beast, with the group of two-hundred renegade angels was discontent.

As I was about to say, Ura'el when he came down from the heavens and chained Azaz'el under rocks and earth, Semyaz was vanished to a far off island in the Pacific; vanished to an island that now bared his name, vanished because he was discontent and perused like Azaz'el flesh thereafter; yet, Semyaz along with his accomplice who both taught incantations and the cutting of roots in addition to other sins, unto earths early inhabitants, he ruled with a club in hand, now only a lonely island was his domain. And so we are back on earth.

—Semyaz was given an island of his own to live on for the rest of human history, until the 'End of Day's'. But there was a problem, an irritating one at best, the island sunk into the deep of the sea during the day light, and at night it would rise to face the moon, and its surrounding constellations. A most tired some ongoing event, for the prisoner.

"Understand," said Semyaz, with a harsh vile to his voice, as he spoke to the emptiness of the night, "Understand!" he shouted to the heavens with his hands thrust into, and up-to the heavens:

"Understand, whom ever enters my island they will be subject to me, I will destroy them," he shouted at God these very words, and as he shouted he chanted the name: 'Ura'el;' yes, O yes, bellowing to God as if he was daring Him for a challenge, one that would be on an equal footing. Theretofore, he went about administrating to his unholy ground in solitude, his four-archer spot in the Galapagos.

Each evening Semyaz, as the island surfaced from several fathoms below the water, akin to a sunken ship, he could be seen [if one was looking] sitting on his throne, a huge rock shaped into one anyway, facing the moon. There was an abundance of time to think, and so he'd face the foliage around him, the creatures that crawled here and there, and the movement of the sky and talk, command as if someone was listening, as if he had an audience. He thought about the abyss, his old comrades were in, '… nasty fate…' he'd say. But it was getting old, that is, hashing over the same issues, complaints; looking century after century in the sky as if it was God's eye; looking at the same constellations; the humdrum of life was upon his mind and shoulders. 'Could things get worse…' he'd say, with doubt in his mind—perhaps.

Semyaz, new life would never return to him, in which he knew, that is to say, life as it once was before; life in the Pre-Satanic era, when Lucifer was the welcomed ruler of earth, before the cursed rebellion, before man came to populate the world. Even before the Moirommalit's were heard of.

For the most part, Semyaz was a tall and hard muscled fallen angelic being, at one time a handsome looking brut for an angel, or so many had commented; now he was far removed from it; he was the reverse, tall and thin, and watered down looking, like a sponge, wrinkled by a thousand-years of being dunked in and out of the water, now an old man old man; thin hair, and webbed feet, greenish skin, and large bug eyes. He had become part of his landscape you might say. He even had gills, all the ingredients to live in the sea, and a mammal touch to live on land amongst the earth creatures. And still there were slight orbs within his being that gave out a convinced current-wave—if you will, that he was once a supernatural living thing: all wrapped-up in a twisted package now.

It was seldom if ever, humanoids came upon his island, and when they did, it was during the day, and as the island sank, they'd be gone, making his revengeful heart even more infectious to those around him, meaning he could not displace his anger as willed; being a demonic plant-life creature now. Annoyed and disturbed as I was saying, he was, no matter what eventuation took place; no matter how comforted he was, no matter how much he wanted to leave the island for boredom sake, he never left the island in fear he'd defile himself again, and be cast into utter darkness. Even pleasures that once obsessed his mind, now diminished to a small dribble of water, sprinkled his mind; nothing in comparisons to how it used to be (and how it used to be is nondescript). Yet he pitied himself horridly—with his stricken face, his constant defensive rigid body posture. 'Oh yes,' he told himself, he had a right for pleasure, just as much as anyone should have, but he took too many liberties before, when he was not being restrained, and was paying the price now.

Semyaz—one of the 'Old One's'

Part II

The Visitation

Semyaz looked up from his throne, cursed heaven again, as he had done almost daily for a number of millenniums, did his sound incantations, shouting spells into the night's air as if to call on the Greek god's of old, which he was one of at one time, as a result, he was worshiping himself in essence.

The inky dark night was especially haughty this evening, even for him, as he felt his skin quiver (it was twilight), caused by a premonition possibly, one of the so called 'Old Ones,' ghostly haughty was approaching; '…if not…?' he told himself, something was different, something in the makings [demonic-peculiarity he call it). The shadows in the face of the sky seemed to have scars, tares; and these faces seemed to be making faces back at him as he looked up, demonic faces; drifting faces, so he noticed as he checked out one detail to another. It was drifting from downward by another island beyond his; from the big island some ways off, so far he could only see it as a shadowy mist; it was coming to his tiny inundated island.

'What is it?' he mumbled, while, squinting his eyes at the dark blisters lit faces within the hollow of the night clouds; reflections, moonlight reflections, showed the faces becoming thicker. Who where they of, they all looked familiar. Odd he thought, very anomalous. The longer he stared the more he could see the face of Azaz'el, his old angelic friend, and possible Buer and Gusoyn, the hermits of the big island beyond his, demonic creatures. They were at one time Agaliarept's henchmen of the underworld; they both turned into demons after the Pre-Satanic era came to an end (prior to the time of Adam). They were at one time shopkeepers, and builders of cities. Now deformed; one used to looked handsome with blond hair, the other like a stuffed penguin—his belly overlapping to where he could not see his feet. He farted so much he could have played the flute. They had vulgar features—in person and in the configurations in the night's emotional sky. 'But Azaz'el is…' he wanted to say dead, but it would have been the wrong word, such creatures like he and Azaz'el do not die, '…buried alive,' yes, that flooded his cerebellum for the moment, but not dead. Then approximating, Buer manifested himself by his side.

'A surprised visit,' said Semyaz to Buer, adding, 'How come I can see Azaz'el' in the ghostly arrangement in the smoke-like clouds?'

'Alas,' said Buer, 'I think he may have escaped from his incarcerated environment… (a long pause took place as Semyaz stared at Buer] and, and…."

'And what Buer?' said [freakishly] to Semyaz.

'Well, I hate to tell you but I will he is doing what he does best, cohabitating with one of his natives on the big island.'

There was a long, very long silence in the dialogue. It was an unbelievable statement, yet, possible thought Semyaz: or so he told himself, trying to convince him it was possible, but how, he was buried by an archangel?

[Mental deliberation] Yes, possible, but not likely, he tossed inside his brain a second time, yet reasonable, but not practical. Yet, it would be like him, he told himself, like him, if he was free from his shackles; very much like him he repeated within his thoughts, should he had gained his freedom, he would surely be testing his liberties with human flesh again—that goes with out saying; the very thing that got him in trouble in the first place; actually, that was the very thing that got both of them into this mess.

After an hour of quiet pondering inside his skull, he told Buer, 'Yes, inevitable, it would be inevitable. Any thing for pleasures sake, that is exactly him, right to the core, yes, O yes.' The more he paced back and forth from the rock which was his throne to the ocean front, then back to the foliage of the jungle where Buer was standing [a flat affect of his face], he was becoming more frustrated: '…how could this be…' he pondered, 'why does he get to escape and have pleasures as he pleases, and 'I am stuck here,' unfair was shifting back between his mind and his stomach, down to the center of emotions in his bowels.

'I assure you my friend, Semyaz, he was there a moment ago, with Innina-Anu, princess of the island, and most beautiful, he was laying with her, laying naked, flesh and blood to his monstrous body,' said Buer with an antagonizing and jeering voice.

'Brother Buer,' said Semyaz with a slight exhausted stare, 'where is Gusoyn, your companion of sorts?' For some odd reason, it just occurred to Semyaz to ask, for it seemed they were always together, like two peas in a pod.

'Oh! [he said with a jerk to his throat, trying to clear it] he is watching them make love.' This aroused Semyaz even more: with desire, hate, and envy and jealously all twisted in knot in his guts now; to no bounds. It was all too hard to digest, his eyes started to turn red like a great apes; horror belled out of his nostrils, red with envy: anger nesting in his every thought. His viper tongue now slid out, over and down his jaw—shuddering like a snake with forty eyes wondering whom to attack; he looked like a vampire in heat, bloodthirsty, and wanted revenge; and anyone, and I mean anyone would do, would do right this minute. As hungry as was for pleasure, or revenge, it was envy that got him; he wanted what his old friend had, his friends mate, envy yes, but envy with having the same rights he had, for they both committed the same sin. Ah yes! When it is our turn for justice, we want it fair and square; but when we give it, we could careless. He was acting like a mongoose after a snake: shaking his head almost in a 360-degress angle, and pounding his feet on the ground like a mad bull. Buer got a little fearful, him being on Semyaz's island, and he having all the power there, he was just about to leave when Semyaz grabbed him: 'Take me to them…!' he commanded. For he had heard that the beauty of the princess' flesh, was like polished glowing gold, flesh that blinds—and her curves were precision made; breasts that filled everyman's desires, and her sweet, sweet thighs, were like a crimson toned rainbow, tantalizing just to look at.

He now was telling himself he'd take her, and boy would he take her—and drain her until she was completely his, crush her body if she resisted; yes, he would take her away from Azaz'el, whom was the fallen leader and had so many times before [with him] raped and tore children away from their parents and used them as part of his love machine, whomever he wanted he took, be it daughter, wife, mother or child. His mind now was working overtime, he had come to the conclusion, he would take her away from this so called ex-colleague of his, who put his curse on him, or better put, he was the cause he was cursed in the first place, or so he told himself; thus he would do as he would do, what he had planned now in his head, if Azaz'el could escape, why couldn't he. Maybe God had forgotten his spell he put on him and Azaz'el. This would be a protest, should he need to have one after the fact—'Yes, yes,' he thought, a protest to God Himself: after he had his pleasure and revenge. Plus, Azaz'el was simply trying to intimidate him with his shadowy face in the night sky—kind of a show off thing, knowing he was stranded on this dreadful pathetic, lonely island in the Pacific, but he'd show him soon.

Dennis Siluk, Author http://dennissiluk.triood.com

Suicide Heaven In English And Spanish

Writen by Dennis Siluk

"Where do we all go when we commit suicide?" he asked his Christian Professor, at the university, "is it the unpardonable sin?" was his second question.

Then the old professor, pushed his papers aside, left his desk area, looked out the window, up into the stars, or so it seemed to Gene; out the open window he gazed, stoned faced almost, concentrating on the shapes and the shadows, that seemed to drift about. It was only a first floor office, a window you could jump out of, and if you fell, you'd only get a headache, it was but a few feet to fall. Then the old man brought his eyes down from up high, as if he was following a bird down to a big tree, and now he was staring at the solid, huge oak, outside the window, with its snake like, thick anaconda branches, and its trunk as big as the pillars at the Lincoln Monument, in Washington D.C.

At the same time, from the corner of his eye, the long part of his eye, he watched the wrapping, soak up with blood starting to drip on Gene's pants legs, tied around his student's wrist.

It was dusk, and he had worked late, and like out of the blue, Gene had stopped in, Gene Furbelow; just like that he showed up at the professor's office on campus.

The old professor pointed up into the thick branches of the tree, full of green life; dark green life with black charcoal branches, hooked onto it like Christmas bulbs; it was as if the tree was alive, beyond its normal existence: it was all darkened with the blackish-blue evening of the atmosphere. But something else was there.

"What do you think it is?" asked the old man, still pointing at the tree, the shadows in the tree, its shapes.

Skullduggery

"Is this a trick question, are you trying to imply something?" Gene asked the professor.

"I shall go further than a man should go in his trade," said the professor of theology (Professor Backer). "Well, well, well," said the professor looking at the blood dribbling from Genes wrists, now his bandages completely soaked, as was his right side of his pants by his knee also. Gene had tied a white hanky around his wrist before he came in to see the professor. Gene did not move from the chair.

"I'll give you $100-dollars worth of advice," said the professor, it was what he got for an hours worth of work (in l991). Gene just stood listening, it was why he came there, to get his two questions answered. The professor then called his wife, told her he'd not be home for dinner, and left it short, with no details.

The professor had sat down for a moment, now he stood back up, neatly dressed, he paced the floor, looking at Gene, deliberating (so Gene thought) about his two questions not yet answered, thinking at any minute they would be, and thus, gave his wrist no attention, nor his soaked pants: blood now dripping down to his socks—and soaking them; and drowning his foot, while being absorbed into his shoe.

The professor stood by the window again, breathed in the cool evening air, "Heaven has fallen upon us, and Hell is seeping up…" he said, Gene just kept staring at the professor, at the shadows he was staring at, the tree he had pointed to before. He stepped out now, out through the window and beyond the it—the professor, it seemed so easy for him to do, like he almost floated out of it, no pain in them old legs; Gene just looked, surely he was thinking: now is the time he was going to let him know the answers to his questions, perhaps an analogy. The professor was kind of a poet, philosopher: hence, perhaps a comparison, simile. Gene did not move from the window sill, he stood by it, hands leaning on the sill his weight on his wrists, head pointed outward, looking at the professor, his bleeding wrist being traumatized.

A voice said, "Heaven or Hell," Gene looked for the whereabouts of the voice, he could not see it, but it was talking to the professor, addressing him.

There were now shadows and shapes all around the professor, but he paid little heed to them, he moved around the tree, as if he was searching for someone, or thing.

He spotted Mr. Johnlittle, "…say Mr. Little, when that man took your wife and you committed suicide, did that ease your feelings, your pain?"

"Yessum," he said, then added "but not for long, now I'm in-between heaven and hell, like all us ghouls." And he looked at Gene, smiled at the professor, as if he could read his mind, as if to say: another suicide.

"Stay here, I will not be long," the professor told the ghoul, and walked over to the window, grabbed Gene by the wrist, the one that was now bleeding so much he had weakened to a half dead cockroach: pulling him over to the tree as if to show the ghouls a prize.

"Here, you have a guest; he will be joining you in a few minutes." Then he looked at Gene, said with a smile, "…they'll answer your questions in a moment," and shoved him down against the tree. Immediately, the swarm of shadows and shapes bound Gene with as much wind and residue as they could to keep him in place.

"I want to go to the hospital," cried Gene, "I have second thoughts on this matter that is why I came to you, professor."

The professor was now climbing back through his window, he never turned around again, but he did say something that echoed back to Gene, "It won't be long now, just hang in there kid," and the kid passed out, and he got his questions answered, but it wasn't by the professor.

Written 11/12/2006, at the Bookstore, café in Roseville, MN.

In Spanish Translated by Nancy Penaloza

Cielo del Suicidio

¿"A donde vamos todos cuando cometemos suicidio"? El pregunto a su profesor cristiano en la universidad, ¿"es este un pecado imperdonable"? fue su segunda pregunta.

El viejo profesor, empujo sus papeles a un lado, dejo el área de su escritorio, miro fuera de la ventana, arriba en las escaleras, o eso le pareció a Gene; fuera de la ventana abierta el miro de reojo, encarado casi endurecido, concentrado en las formas y las sombras, eso parecía vagar alrededor. Era solo una oficina en el primer piso, una ventana por la que tú podías saltar afuera, y si caías, solamente podrías conseguir un dolor de cabeza, estaba solo a pocos pies para descolgarse. Luego el viejo hombre concentro su mirada desde lo alto, como si el estuviera siguiendo a un pájaro abajo hacia un árbol grande, y ahora el estaba mirando fijamente el sólido, y enorme roble, fuera de la ventana, con sus ramas gruesas como la serpiente anaconda, y su tronco tan grande como los pilares del monumento a Lincoln, en Washington D.C.

Al mismo tiempo, desde el rabillo de su ojo, la gran parte de su ojo, el vio la venda, absorbiendo con sangre comenzando a gotear sobre el pantalón corto de Gene, atados alrededor de la muñeca del estudiante.

Era el atardecer, y el había trabajado hasta tarde, y como por arte de magia, Gene se había detenido allí, Gene alterado, justo así el apareció en la oficina del profesor en el campus.

El viejo profesor señalo dentro de las ramas gruesas del árbol, lleno de vida verde; verde oscura vida con ramas negras como el carbón, enganchados a esto como bombas navideñas; era como si el árbol estuviera vivo, mas allá de su normal existencia: todo esto estaba oscurecido con la ennegrecida -tarde azul de la atmósfera. Pero algo más estaba allí.

¿"Que piensas tu que es?" pregunto el viejo hombre, todavía apuntando hacia el árbol, las sombras en el árbol, sus formas.

Artimañas

"esta es una pregunta con segundas, ¿estas tratando de insinuar algo?" pregunto Gene, al profesor. "Iré mas lejos de lo que un hombre iría en su tratado", dijo el profesor de teología (profesor Backer). "Bien, bien, bien", dijo el profesor mirando la sangre goteando de la muñeca de Gene, ahora su vendaje completamente empapado, como estaba también el lado derecho de sus pantalones por su rodilla. Gene había atado un pañuelo blanco alrededor de su muñeca antes de venir para ver al profesor. Gene no se movió de la silla.

"Te cobraré el precio de $100 dólares por el consejo" dijo el profesor, esto era el precio que él conseguía por una hora de trabajo en (1991). Gene solo permaneció escuchando, para esto era por lo que el había ido allí, para conseguir respuesta a sus dos preguntas. El profesor luego llamó a su esposa, le dijo que el no iría a casa para la cena, y dejo esto, sin mayor detalle.

El profesor se había sentado por un momento, ahora se apoyó atrás, cuidadosamente vestido, dio pasos por el piso, mirando a Gene, deliberadamente (entonces Gene pensó) acerca de sus dos preguntas aun no contestadas, pensando en todo momento lo que podrían ser; y así, no dando a su muñeca ninguna atención, ni a sus pantalones remojados: la sangre ahora goteando abajo a sus medias y mojándolas; y ahogando sus pies, mientras estaba siendo absorbida dentro de su zapato.

El profesor permaneció por la ventana nuevamente, respirando el aire fresco del atardecer, "el cielo ha caído sobre nosotros, y el infierno esta absorbiéndonos" dijo él, Gene solo retraído mirando fijamente al profesor, a las sombras el estaba mirando fijamente, al árbol que el había apuntado antes. El dio un paso hacia fuera ahora, afuera a través de la ventana y mas allá de esto- el profesor, parecía tan fácil para él hacerlo, como si casi flotara fuera de esto, sin dolor en sus viejas piernas; Gene solo miraba, seguramente el estaba pensando: ahora es el tiempo en que él le dejaría conocer las respuestas a sus preguntas, talvez una analogía. El profesor era como un poeta, filosofo: de ahí, talvez una comparación, similitud. Gene no se movió desde el marco de la ventana, el permaneció allí, sus manos reposadas sobre el marco su peso sobre sus muñecas, su cabeza dirigida hacia fuera, mirando al profesor, sus muñecas sangrantes siendo traumatizadas.

Una voz dijo, "Cielo o infierno", Gene miro de donde salía la voz, el no podía ver, pero estaba hablando al profesor, dirigiéndose a él.

Hubo ahora sombras y formas todo alrededor del profesor, pero el presto poca atención a estos, el se movió alrededor del árbol, como si el estuviera buscando a alguien, o cosa.

El pudo ver al Sr. Johnlittle, "diga señor Little, cuando este hombre se llevó a tu esposa y tu cometiste suicidio, ¿Eso facilita tus sentimientos, tu dolor?

"Si, totalmente", dijo él, luego agregó "Pero no por mucho, ahora yo estoy entre el cielo y el infierno, como todos nuestras fantasmas. Y el miro a Gene, sonrió al profesor, como si el podría leer su mente, como diciendo: otro suicidio.

"Quédate allí, yo no estaré mucho", el profesor dijo al fantasma, y camino por la ventana, agarró a Gene por la muñeca, la que no estaba sangrando tanto. el había debilitado a una cucaracha medio muerta: jalándolo a el sobre el árbol como si mostrara al fantasma un premio.

Allí, tu tienes una pregunta; el estará reuniéndose contigo en pocos minutos. Luego miro a Gene, dijo con una sonrisa, ellos contestaran a tus preguntas en un momento, y lo empujo abajo contra el árbol. Inmediatamente, el enjambre de sombras y formas rodearon a Gene con mucho viento y residuo como ellos pudieron para mantenerlo a él en el lugar.

Yo quiero ir al hospital grito Gene, yo tengo otros pensamientos sobre esta materia es por eso por lo que vine hacia Ud. profesor,

El profesor ahora estaba de regreso trepando a través de su ventana, el jamás regreso nuevamente, pero dijo algo que los ecos regresaron Gene, ¡esto no será muy largo ahora, solo cuélgate allí muchacho" y el muchacho murió, y el consiguió la respuesta a sus preguntas, pero no fueron del profesor.

Escrito 11/12/2006, en la biblioteca, café en Roseville, MN.

See Dennis' web site: http://dennissiluk.tripod.com

The History Of Salsa Dance

Writen by E Margolin

Salsa dancing has a very distinct dance style. It has a pattern step style encompassing six steps that are danced over eight counts in a musical beat.

Salsa is the combination of many cultural genres including Afro-Caribbean and Latin sounds.

Although the exact origin of salsa cannot be interpreted, many believe that Cubans created this explosive dance style that has won the world over. It is in this place where Contra-Danze or "country dance" of England and France later known as Danzon that was brought over by the French who had fled from Haiti. Their experience with the French music traditions and the distinctive drum beat influences of Rhumbas of Africa and partner dance style helped influence the development of the very distinctive salsa style of music and dance that we are all familiar with today.

However, regardless of who originally founded salsa, it's collaborative cultural flavor of Afro-Caribbean and Latin influences have been successful in making it one of the most popular dance and music styles recognized all over the world.

Salsa dance moves are very distinct. Salsa moves more from side to side, putting much emphasis on turns, which are carefully synchronized with the strategic side stepping of the dancer.

Although the countries I just mentioned have helped influence salsa dance and music, several other countries have also influenced it like Columbia, Puerto Rico the Dominican, Mexico and several other Latin American countries.

Many bands from these countries took their music to Mexico City during the famous film era and then later brought their musical style to New York where it started a movement through cultures that had never heard this unique style of music, or seen this magical and explosive dance style. New York picked up salsa music and dance almost instantly which helped to promote the salsa movement but New York was also the city that coined it as "salsa".

If you listen to salsa music carefully, you will hear influences of Merengue, Cha Cha, Mambo and several other Latin American and African musical styles. You'll hear many of the classic old-styles built into the salsa rhythms.

Salsa's evolution has been explosive and only continues to evolve!

Want to learn how to dance to salsa music? Learn the easy steps by visiting www.salsadancedvd.com. This is the best site on the web for learning how to dance salsa. Taught by real professional salsa dancers. It's toxic!

Evan Margolin shares his passion for salsa through DanceSF, the premier salsa studio in the Bay Area, his Learn to Salsa DVDs (http://www.salsadancedvd.com) and SalsaCrazy.com, a comprehensive guide to salsa news and events in the Bay Area.

An Introduction To Oil Paintings

Writen by Ken Marlborough

Flemish painter Jan van Eyck (1390-1441) is credited as being the first painter to use the technique of oil painting in his work. His 1434 wedding portrait of Giovanni Arnolfini and his wife, which is now in the National Gallery in London, is accepted by historians as the first and best sample of an oil painting. After him, Antonello da Messina, Leonardo da Vinci, and several others improved the technique to aid faster drying and improve its richness and flexibility. Among the most famous oil paintings are Leonardo da Vinci's Mona Lisa, which is an oil on a poplar wood panel, and Raphael's La Donna Velata, also on a wood panel.

Artists who paint with oil use brushes made of different materials to express varying degrees of intensity in their paintings. Eyck used a brush made with a hog's bristle when he wanted his strokes to appear bold. He used a brush made of squirrel fur when he wanted to paint finer, softer strokes. He used what was called a filbert, or a pointed brush, for detailed work, and a fan brush when he wanted to apply large swaths of paint. Sometimes he even used his fingers.

While each painter's brushes varied depending on the character and intensity of their paintings, most artists painted in layers while making an oil painting. They first laid the background and left it to dry. Next, they painted the main characters in rough tones. When this second layer dried, the artists brightened the painting with bolder colors, shadows and light effects. In the end, they coated the painting with varnish, which served as a sort of seal that held everything together.

A classical painting took months to complete, but today the process is much faster, what with improved oils with drying agents that firm up paintings in days, not weeks.

Paintings provides detailed information on Paintings, Oil Paintings, Famous Paintings, Abstract Paintings and more. Paintings is affiliated with Oil Paintings For Sale.

Why You Should Always Have A Budget When Planning A Party

Writen by Gregg Hall

We all love throwing parties on special occasions and want it to be a great success. Planning a party is the most difficult part. You can get ideas from other parties that you have attended, but always make sure that you never emulate the ideas or themes. The best part about your party should be the originality and the uniqueness, making people remember it for a long time. However, big successful parties demand a lot of money and heavy expenditure, which is not possible for most of us. Thus it is important to plan the budget before organizing the party.

To begin with, you should always lay down a practical budget and stick to it. You can ask your friends to help you organize and plan the party. Your friends who are creative can give you unique ideas, which can be used for the party. If they are good artists, ask them to design or create reasonable invitation cards. If you are having a theme party, your artistic friends can make a huge backdrop for the party making it look very different.

Friends who are disc jockeys or have an incredible music collection or a karaoke machine can help you with setting up the music for the party. If you are falling short of lights to decorate your venue, request your friends to lend you their Christmas lights, instead of buying more lights. The best way to cut down the expenses is to borrow from friends and family.

Usually during parties, we spend an enormous amount of money on food. Thus another way to cut down the expenses of your party is to limit the amount to be spent on food. You should throw your party at a time of the day when people have already eaten. For instance a party after lunch will be very reasonable, as you can offer only snacks, which will help reduce the cost of the party. Or a late night party, when people have already finished their diner is also a good choice. If you are serving only snacks, they can be made at home, to cut the costs further. The key is to serve simple and easy snacks.

Decorating the venue also demands a lot of money. Thus you should keep the theme simple and innovative, to avoid heavy expenditure. You could decorate your party with streamers, balloons, ribbons and so on, which are very cost effective. If you have Christmas lights at home, they can be used in making the place look very bright. Always use your imagination and creativity to cut down on the expenditure and use as many substitutions as you can.

An expensive party doesn't always have to be successful. The important factor of a party is to have fun, which is possible even in low budget parties. You just have to be creative, original and well organized to have a successful party.

Gregg Hall is an author living in Navarre Florida. Find more about this as well as party appetizers at http://www.gourmetpartyappetizers.com

Top Cities For Salsa Dance

Writen by Evan Margolin

If you are wondering where the best dance classes are in the top cities, check out these salsa dance club listings. We've done the research for you to help you pick the best salsa dance studio in your city. Below we've added their website information for easier access and navigation just for you.

Check out the best salsa dance classes available to you!

http://bravodancecompany.com/brav_clss.html - Vancouver, Canada
Bravo Dance Company was formed in early 2005 by Alfonso Caldera, W.S.F. world salsa Champion. Inspired by the intensity of the L.A. salsa scene Alfonso pooled together a group of talented individuals creating a dance company that captures that energy, bringing an explosive new style to the Vancouver salsa community. Bravo dance company is Made up of a women's and a couple's team.

Combining talent from various fields of performance, Bravo routines consist of a mixture of Hip-Hop, Afro Cuban rhythms, jazz, and L.A style salsa. The Bravo style can be described as fierce, fast, and aggressive; with attitude and style, held together by professionalism and showmanship. Having participated in competitions throughout the world, Alfonso has an understanding of what it takes to create a 1st class performance team. Constantly striving to raise their level of performance and dance, The Bravo Dance team has set out to bring recognition to the Vancouver salsa scene with passion and style.

http://www.mambotribe.com/ - Toronto, Canada
Mambo Tribe Salsa Dance Company; bring you their new multi-level salsa classes in Toronto. Together Mark-Anthony and Stephanie have over 17 years of teaching and performing experience in the Canadian and International salsa circuit. Their specialized salsa classes will feature timing, technique, turns & spins, cool up-to-date turn patterns, shines/footwork, body isolations and styling both On1 & On2.

A combination of New York, Puerto Rico L.A, Cuban, Columbian and Toronto salsa styles are incorporated in their classes to ensure that you can dance to any style in the clubs. Known for their clear and concise breakdown along with a fun filled class, Mark-Anthony and Stephanie will give you the tools to feel confident on the dance floor, whether you are a total beginner or advanced dancer.

Their studio is located at the beautiful DLM Studios 1610 Bloor St West, Toronto (On Bloor 2 blocks west of Dundas West) 416-895-7874 & The Earl Haig School of Arts located behind the North York Civic Centre (Yonge & Sheppard) 416-995-7638.

www.strictlysalsa.com - Toronto, Canada
Since 1978 the Gomez Family, led by the legendary Alberto Gomez, has been recognized as pioneers in the Toronto Latin Entertainment industry for infusing their love and passion for the dance in their performances. They have showcased their talent at Massey Hall for Tito Puente and Johnny Pacheco Concert, Queen of Salsa Celia Cruz concert, and Tango Vive production. This infectious passion for the dance was the legacy passed on to Albert J. Gomez and Ronald Gomez.

Albert, with the vision of showcasing the richness of the Latin culture both in North American and abroad, founded Strickly Salsa Dance Company in 1999, which allowed him to merge his obsession with the high energy dips, tricks and flips of the dance, with his love for music and entertaining. Strickly Salsa quickly began to live up to its vision when Albert organized a group of talented dancers in the city to attend and participate in the 2000 Salsa Convention in Los Angeles, California. The group made its mark as the first salsa dance company in Toronto to represent Latin talent at an international event. This event also showcased the addition of Strickly Salsa's newest and youngest addition - Ronald Gomez.

Their speed, high energy and creative combinations have won them recognition from Tele-Latino, Toronto Sun, CFMT, Toronto Star, and World Salsa Congress. In addition they were presented with a certificate for being "the best performers and instructors" Ethnic Press Council and presented by the City of Toronto Mayor, Mel Lastman.

Strickly Salsa, working with event planners and co-coordinators, remains focused on the future forward as it expands its services to provide the ultimate source of Latin entertainment. From Bands to DJ's, to Salsa to Tango: Strickly Salsa Dance Company, a mix of Latin entertainment.

http://www.londonsalsa.co.uk/ - London, England
LondonSalsa is an independent London Salsa guide by Salseros for Salseros. We don't favor any club/class over another, but let the dancers decide which they like best!

Some say London has become THE capital of Salsa in Europe. That is why we are here to tell you about all about:

• the best Salsa classes & clubs in London
• renowned instructors from around the world
• upcoming events & parties
• reviews by dancers of the best clubs in London
• ... And much more!

www.dancesf.com - San Francisco
DanceSF is the San Francisco Bay Area's leading Dance School for club style social dancing. We offer fun and social dance classes for people of all ages, and all skill levels! We also offer East Bay and South Bay salsa classes. Our dance classes are geared towards beginner dancers, providing everyone a wonderful, supportive, and fun environment to learn to dance! In addition, DanceSF offers our bestselling Learn to Dance DVD's for your home use. North Bay, South Bay, East Bay, Peninsula and Silicon Valley Salsa Classes

www.justsalsa.com - New York
To find a great Salsa dance instructor giving dance classes in the New York area contact the JustSalsa Dance Referral Service at 212.982.4633. We will spend the necessary time to help you locate the right Salsa class and instructor or dance school in an area near your home or place of work. We can recommend a Salsa instructor or dance school that offers group or private instruction or classes near you.

Classes are taught by professional Salsa dance instructors in various styles and levels. Instructors are available for your nightclub Salsa lessons, private functions or parties, corporate events or to prepare you and your bride for your wedding dance. or wedding reception.

We can recommend a Dance instructor who teaches in the language of your choice including English, Spanish, or even Chinese. New York Area Salsa Instructor Referral Service Telephone: (212 982-4633) E-mail: in@justsalsa.com

So, if you are traveling in any of the major cities and want to get your salsa groove on, give any of these dance studios a call. These schools offer the best training by the best instructors. At least you'll know your getting the best training available.

Now get your dancing shoes on and salsa!

Evan Margolin shares his passion for salsa through DanceSF, the premier salsa studio in the Bay Area, his Learn to Salsa DVDs and SalsaCrazy.com, (http://www.SalsaCrazy.com) a comprehensive guide to salsa news and events in the Bay Area.

Hungry For Overkill

Writen by David Leonhardt

I don't have much time to watch television. Being the lazy person that I am, I usually let other people in the family do my watching for me.

But some events are just so important that I have to watch them myself. Such was the case with the finals of this year's American Idol. The space shuttle Columbia crash in Texas earlier in the year was another event that (sadly) I just had to watch. And I certainly did not want to miss the thrill of seeing the America's Cup sail into Switzerland.

Of course, I regularly turn on the tube whenever a George Bush invades Iraq. Hopefully, this one will soon finish invading; my electricity bill is suffering.

The latest must-see event is the Michael Jackson arrest, an event of such momentous importance that all news shows, gossip shows, comedy shows and just about everybody else is offering wall-to-wall coverage. It has been estimated that 37% of the American population has been interviewed by the media for their inside-knowledge of "the pop superstar's" personal life.

So I was most shocked when I flipped to a channel that was not helping me track down the most fascinating intimate details and most intriguing and succulent minutiae of all things Michael Jackson.

"What?!" I demanded. "This is impossible. What is this trash?"

"That's Touched by an Angel," my wife offered. "It's one of your favorite shows."

"That's no excuse," I blustered. "The network should be hot on the Jackson case. How could this be? I'm calling the cable company to complain."

"But dear ..." my wife tried to interrupt.

"It's no use," I insisted as I dialed. "My mind is made up. Don't try to stop me."

"But dear ..." my wife tried to interrupt me again.

"I am sorry. There is simply no excuse for airing pure entertainment when there are important details about Michael Jackson to be uncovered."

"But dear ..." my wife tried once more.

"Hello? Cable Company? I want to lodge a most serious complaint."

"But we don't get cable out here," my wife broke in. "We have satellite TV."

"Oh."

"Look. There are some 395 channels, and at least 70% of them are airing Michael Jackson stories. Don't you think that's at least, oh, let's say, 70% overkill?" my wife asked.

"You don't understand. This is important. The whole world is watching. This man has changed the face of music."

"Yes, that's what some of his celebrity colleagues are saying", my wife rolled her eyes. "As if people who change the face of music have all been vaccinated against child-molesting."

"That's not the point. There are so many details to uncover. We know he likes Kentucky Fried Chicken, but does he eat quiche? Everybody knows that real men don't eat quiche. Could that be his problem?

"Let it go, Happy Guy," my wife advised. "It just doesn't pay to get so caught up in all the TV drama. Besides, this is a serious investigation with a serious charge and it should be left to the authorities."

I sank down into the couch. My wife was finally starting to make sense. "What are you going to do now?" she asked.

"I think I'll watch Touched by an Angel."

"Ah, that's the husband I know and love."

"Right now Michael Jackson could use an angel, and so could all those kids. I mean, what can one little district attorney do?" I moaned.

My wife moaned, too. I was amazed that she would suddenly show such support.

"I know," I said, lighting up. "Never mind the cable company. I'll call Tess. She can set Michael Jackson straight."

About The Author The author is David Leonhardt. Sign up for his weekly satire column up at http://TheHappyGuy.com/positive-thinking-free-ezine.html or read more columns at http://TheHappyGuy.com/self-actualization-articles.html. Pick up a free motivational ebook at http://TheHappyGuy.com/l/daily-motivation-inspiration.php. info@thehappyguy.com

Mr Ground The Hog 1960 7 Written During My Jr High School Days

Writen by Dennis Siluk

Old Mr. Groundhog   who always seemed  to be around,  playing with us kids   from sun up to sundown  lived long ago, in the city  of St. Paul, Minnesota;  yes, the land of much snow.
With the city's children   he'd play each day,  in parks, in every kindly way;  a legacy carried over from  his father's day.
He became well known  all around, here and there,   the envy of parents,  who really didn't care;   who had  no time to play,   but shunned their kids out,  and would swear:
'…there's that crazy old man  that lives down the street!'

Note by the author: "Here again is a poem from my youth, another poem unpublished, and found tucked away in and among my many papers lying about, and for the jest, or better put humor of it, I have placed it in this collection (of six recently found poems, from my first years of Jr. Sir High School days, and two poem from my Sr. High School days). I'll publish them one by one, and most likely put them into a future book, but for now you can read them first. This one here, "Mr. Ground, the Hog (1960)," was written I do believe when I was twelve-year old ((12 years old)). This is poem number #7 of #1390 poems to date written.

I first started writing poetry at the age of eleven, my first poem being "Who (1959)," which I found three years ago, after my mother had passed on. I will publish that also, which has never been published before and: "Typing (1962 #15)," written in 1962, and published in the book, "The Other Door," my first book, and the "Beyond Man (1964 #17)) written in Journalism Class, at Washington High School, 2nd year, I was 16-years old;" also "Old Man Jay (1960/61 #8)) written during my attending Como Park Jr. High School, in St. Paul, Minnesota. So there is a little history here. During this period I wrote between 17 and 20, poems, the rest I've yet to find."

See Dennis' web site: http://dennissiluk.tripod.com

Is It Art Instant Drawing And The Digital Darkroom

Writen by Henry Bateman

Henri Cartier-Bresson is reported to have said after he had given up photography.

"All I care about these days is painting—photography has never been more than a way into painting, a sort of instant drawing."

No one disagrees that painting is art, albeit the quality may vary but it is always considered art. Why isn't this the case with photography? It is agreed that there is an art to photography but this means it is a craft but photography of the highest order is referred to as "photographic art". Likewise images created on or enhanced by a computer are labelled as "digital art" or "computer art". Whereas painting is just art, be it water colour, oil or acrylic.

In part the problem lies with the artist. The discussion about photography is littered knee deep with technique and coloured with technical jargon. Seldom if ever is the art discussed. I have yet to find a discussion about a painter's work where the types and sizes of the brushes scores a mention. And quite frankly who really cares? If I was to twiddle the knobs like Ansel Adams would I make an Adam's photograph? The simple answer is no, I'm not Ansel Adams.

The photographer makes the photograph with their attitudes, opinions, experience and aesthetic. The very same attributes that the painter brings to their work, as does the sculptor, the writer or the composer. Technical ability only makes technically correct work. The most interesting work is that which is out there pushing the boundaries, ignoring the rules and making it up as they go along, finding new forms of expression.

The development of the digital darkroom heralds a new age for photography. Gone are the days of mechanical drawing, now full blown paintings are as accessible as the artist's ability to imagine them. With attitude, opinion, experience and aesthetic being the guiding principles not the recipes of those who have gone before.

It is a play ground, don't worry about mistakes it is through them that we learn. As one of the greatest artist's of the 20th Century, Pablo Picasso, said, "Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once he grows up".

Henry Bateman is a painter gone digital. His work can be seen at http://www.pissedpoet.com and this article with pictures at http://www.pissedpoet.com/art.html

The Art Of Graceful Oil Painting

Writen by David Hoyles

As with most things, an oil painting begins with good planning, and the art graceful oil painting is the same. Start with plenty of good brushes, #1 to #10 (round kolinsky brushes are a good choice) together with one or two #20 brushes to cover larger areas, and not forgetting turpentine to wash the brushes afterwards.

The palette should be of hard, dark wood, wiped beforehand with linseed oil.

The paint itself should be of good quality and of the basic colour range, making sure that all paints are compatible. Again, planning is needed here as you may need to purchase any specific colours according to the subject of your painting.

The canvas should be of a good quality, primed several times beforehand and ideally it should be rubbed afterwards with fine sandpaper, all for the purpose of covering and hiding the texture of the canvas.

To create a work of art, the painting itself should be planned out also. It can be either be drawn on the canvas initially, or drawn on separate paper and transferred to the canvas by carbon paper. Either way, it should be sketched very approximately to start with, making sure that the overall basic dimensions are in proportion, then the increasingly finer details can be added. The subject of the painting should be something close to your heart. Invariably, the more interest you have in a subject the more success you will achieve. Large areas of the background should be painted first, allowing sufficient time for drying in between coats. Some people tend to wipe the surface after each coat with half an onion in order for subsequent layers to be absorbed better. Foreground details and finer details are added last. A final coat of lacquer can also be added.

These are only some of the basics of creating an oil painting. Much can be learned by watching an expert at work, regardless of the topic, so you should make every effort to find a competent artist who can create a work of art, with flowing, graceful lines in his oil painting. But the internet is also an ideal place to gather a great deal of information about different oil painting techniques.

About the author:

David Hoyles is the webmaster and publisher of three oil painting sites Visit http://www.artgracefuloilpainting.com, http://www.adamsonartistoilpaintingseashore.com and http://www.art-graceful-oil-painting.com to learn more.

Philosophy Its History

Writen by Gabriel Rise

This time we'll talk about Philosophy and its famous early philosophers. The churches are for all, philosophy for individuals. The churches are visible organizations, wielding power over masses of men in the world. Philosophy is an expression of a realm of minds linked with one another through all peoples and ages; it is represented by no institution which excludes or welcomes. As long as the churches have ties with the Eternal, their outward power exploits the innermost energies. As they draw the Eternal into the service of their power in the world, this power, like every other power in the world, grows sinister and evil. As long as philosophy remains in contact with eternal truth it inspires without violence, it brings order to the soul, from its innermost source. But when it places its truth in the service of temporal powers it beguiles men to delude themselves for the benefit of their practical concerns, it leads to anarchy of the soul. And when it aspires to be no more than a science it becomes an empty game, which is neither science nor philosophy. Independent philosophy comes to no man of itself. No one is born into it. It must always be acquired anew. It can be apprehended only by him who perceives it out of his own source. The first ever-sofleeting perception of it can fire a man with enthusiasm. The enthusiasm for philosophy is followed by the study of philosophy.

The study of philosophy takes three forms: practical study, in the inward action of each day; specialized study, in the learning of the contents, the study of the sciences, of the categories, methods and systems; historical study, by which we make the philosophical tradition our own. The reality that speaks to him from the history of philosophy is for the philosopher what authority is for the churchman. If the history of philosophy is to further our own philosophical efforts, it must be understood in the broadest possible sense. The variety of philosophical manifestations is extraordinary. The Upanishads were conceived in the Indian villages and forests, apart from the world, by hermits or small groups of teachers and students; Kautilya was a minister who founded an empire, Confucius a teacher who wished to restore education and true political reality to his people; Plato was an aristocrat who felt that he could not engage in the political activity befitting his rank because of its moral degeneration: Bruno, Descartes, Spinoza were solitary thinkers, without any institution behind them, seeking the truth for its own sake; Anselm was the founder of an ecclesiastical aristocracy; Thomas a servant of the church; Nicholas of Cusa a cardinal whose ecclesiastical and philosophical life were one; Machiavelli an unsuccessful statesman; Kant, Hegel, Schelling, professors who developed their philosophies in connection with their teaching.

We must rid ourselves of the idea that philosophical activity as such is the affair of professors. It would seem to be the affair of man, under all conditions and circumstances, of the slave as of the ruler. We understand the historical manifestation of the truth only if we examine it in conjunction with the world in which it arose and the destinies of the men who conceived it. If these manifestations are remote and alien to us, this in itself is illuminating. We must seek the philosophical idea and the thinker in their physical reality. The truth does not hover all alone in the air of abstraction.

Gabriel Rise has been working at essay writing service for several years.You can ask her about customer service concerning the custom essay or dissertation that you have.

The Art Of Faking Art

Writen by Michael Russell

It would seem that all art is not truth. Three fake Mona Lisas have been made and sold. The Tate Gallery in London discovered that their archives were tampered with and false documents inserted to "prove" fake works. Just recently, Italian police uncovered more than ten million dollar's worth of fake art sales. Even more disturbing was a former director of the New York Metropolitan Museum of Art declaring that almost half of the paintings sold on the market are forgeries or semi-forgeries. It seems that fake art has made its own supply and demand and art experts are raking handsome fees for "fakebusting" services.

Vermeer once remarked that as long as there is art, there would be forgeries. The ugly truth that collectors and museums must face is that copying and forging art are inseparable. Even Greeks and Romans produced reproductions so well that today, it is difficult to separate original Greco-Roman work from their copies. Although many people forge art for money and profit, some people also view art forgery as a twisted complement to the original artist.

There have been many famous forgers throughout history, but none as famous as Henricus Antonius van Meegeren, whose reproduction of Vermeer's Disciples at Emmaus fooled even senior art experts. He proceeded to reproduce and profit from his Vermeer copies to he tune of more than $5 million dollar and only went bankrupt because he confessed to making the forgeries later in his life.

Forging art nowadays has become a relatively easy endeavor, in part due to the evolving techniques of the forgers and in part due to the new technology they use to artificially "age" a painting. Forgers learn the original artist's style and match the color pigments he used on his canvasses. Then they create the work using the original artist's brush stroke patterns. Art forgery has even gone as far as inventing new artists with corresponding fake biographies to sell a whole line of artwork. Some art forgery circles have even adopted sophisticated fraud modus operandi that involved inserting professional-looking catalogues and documents into museum archives like the Tate, where ironically, experts go to authenticate art.

Fakebusters, on the other hand, rely on forensic science and police investigators to determine the authenticity of an art piece. They analyze fractions of fingerprints or palm prints that forgers leave on the painting surface, then scan the work with x-rays and UV light (black light) to determine the use of modern fluorescent paint. They analyze the composition of the paint used by the artist by using chromatography, after which a color "fingerprint" of the artist can clearly come through. The process is usually long and slow.

Despite the abundance of fakes on the art market, most buyers do not show any signs of slowing down. This persistent demand has even opened a niche for painters selling "legal" fakes. Customers who patronize these honestly forged paintings are the type who would want to spend a thousand dollars for a painting that looks like the original rather than spend millions on a piece that might turn out fake in future. Forging painters claim that there are many big-name collectors and celebrities who knowingly buy fakes now. What seems to be the most interesting is how well the whole system of fake art survived the crackdowns and how the art business has tolerated the massive amount of frauds that has infiltrated museums and private collections all over the world. A Christie's art specialist calls it "a very, very clever, even artful scheme".

Michael Russell Your Independent guide to Fraud

Asylum Chapter Two From The Baltic

Writen by Dennis Siluk

[The Voyage] On the ship, during its voyage, Anatolee would reminisce, grieve his past, the old kerosene lamps on the wooden floors in his home became lit: which lit up the pathway to the bedrooms—kitchen, and out to the out-house at night; and those rugs, those old, old, old warn out rugs kept over the wooden floors, over them to keep in the heat from the cold drafts seeping in from underneath the house through the floorboards, the winds that try to sneak through, as long winters gave little mercy— through the windows, winds oozing over ice, in circles freeze up everything. He would remember his older brother whom would inherit the farm now, and the soldiers whom would go searching from farm to farm looking for the younger sons of the family to fight in the Great War in progress, he would not be there for them to take to battle, to be dragged from the farm should he refuse

Unbreakable Men
[Kirovsk: Yulie's Youth—l885-l889]

Yulie, in his younger days, his youthful days, had worked in the black factory one-hundred miles north of the Arctic Circle before becoming a farmer.

There the average climate was five below zero; he worked in the quarry that was part of a mountain. It became eventually, Stalin's Gulag in the coming 1920s.

But back in those far off days, apatite: a fertilizer component was the main source of income for the small town nearby the factory. He had told his youngest son that he had hired a man with a horse and wagon to ride him up the long stretched-out road to the factory that had three building structures in somewhat of a perpendicular alignment: the planted buildings facing one another in somewhat of a horse-shoe fashion.

Thus, they climbed the snow capped mountain—with its drudgery of pushing forward snow forcefully to the sides of the road, up to ones waist it was; between the men and the horse, they cleared the path, it was his taxi and he paid a fair price for it, even though it was but a few rubles; it was a matter of survival, there was no work elsewhere, and his father was likened to a peasant; and now with no pension, he collected bottles to sell for a living. That is what drove him inch by inch up that mountain through the arctic winds. His father was born in l851, and his grandfather was born in about l831, or thereabouts, he was Turkish—and like them, he went where the work was. It was the way things were.

If anything, one thing Yulie was witnessing, as Anatolee was now witnessing more so, was the industrialization of the world, yes, Russia included.

he had departed forever, he would never return—that would be his anecdote. His head back-flung, he leaned more of his weight on the ships edge overlooking the water as it swayed to and fro, his stomach a bit mucky: as he looked about the ship he saw an assortment of Catholic variety of lives on board, and some Russian Jews, a few Protestants, and gypsies to boot. Everyone going to America, he expels his breath, it is just a sign if anything of relief.

In days to follow even a worse depression would sweep over the Baltic area, and especially Lithuania to where his family would pack up whatever they had left of value in life, and move to Warsaw, Poland with relatives; there the older brother would find a job. But as Anatolee stood stone-still against the ships staircase, gazing into the waters-still gazing into the waters—his action being silent, for silence made him more comfortable now, the cold Atlantic filled his face; a pipe his father had given him, he filled with tobacco, he lit it, the eighteen-year old endlessly looked at the ocean, now with the lit pipe—fiddling with that pipe, a puff, a look at the pipe, the water, and trying to look beyond the water was impossible now, it was all water—henceforward, he had become a man, he would have to be sufficient or parish in the winds of the world, into the deep-blue; on the other hand this was an adventure of a lifetime, his new beginnings, opportunity. Things would never be the same for sure, nor would he want them to be, for sure.

He walked back and forth the ships wooden deck, pacing, as he would in future time—pace, it would, or seemingly would become part of his DNA, part of his genetic code I do believe, as it would be for his children to pace, his daughters and sons, none born yet. As he paced his voice became soft, reminiscent, lost now in a dream. America to him was kind of a postcard, a pretty postcard, a golden age postcard if you will.

In addition to his working on the farm he worked as a tailor in a city called, Grodno, he was quite young back then, but he liked working, it was part of life, as his father explained to him many times: "Get used to it; it will be your life's journey."

Impalpable dust, turned into daydreams, flagging Grodno into his mind for a moment:

Grodno
[The Milk bottle and the Taylor—1901]

He did not know it was a restaurant at first, he was only eight-years old, it was 1901, and his father had taken him to Grodno, a small town close to the boarder of Poland in Russia. But he'd not forget walking through those doors the first time, and his father outwardly being known by all the patrons there. All saying:

"Hi, Yulie, how's it going?" just nice old fashion greetings, that's all it was, but they make for lasting memories. It was his first trip to Grodno, and as I mentioned, his first in the restaurant for that matter.

Most of the folks in the restaurant were having soup, a few with a bottle of vodka hidden under their coats, pouring it into their coffee. Mostly they were older men, a few business types looking men, no children; Anatolee was the only child he could see. 'Papa pulled out a cigar, and like a few others in the eatery, filled it up with smoke,' he would tell his children of later years. The tables had very solid looking wood to them, but his papa didn't sit at the table, he pulled out a stool for himself and one for Tony, and Tony imitated his father as they both sat down, he putting his elbows on the long stretched out wooden bar.

"Milk and pie for the kid," he told the person behind the bar, as the barkeep told the waitress down a ways from the bar, "And for me, just coffee, that'll do."

Tony noticed the waitress pull the milk from under the counter out, it was warm milk in a bottle; it was how they drank it normally. Then she took the top off and poured it in a glass, and cut the pie in sections, giving him no more or less than the other pieces, pulling out a fork, and then delivered it to the barkeep, and on to the boy. Yulie had already gotten his coffee.

All of a sudden approached a short fat little man, half balled, cigar in his mouth,

"So Yulie, is this our youngest, the one you told me about, the tailor to be?"

"Sure is Ivan," said Yulie with a smile, and then introduced his son to him properly. Anatolee was a bit taken back, he didn't know he was going to be a tailor someday. He thought what a good surprise, 'Papa was thinking of me.'

It was a trying time for the country, a revolutionary spirit was in the air, and work was not plentiful, and a trade was the best way to insure the boy could make a living and Anatolee would practice at this trade in years to come.

This day would remain in Anatolee's head all his life for some reason it had taught him if anything, that one had to look at long term goals, instead of short term gains; that is to say, one must not grab, but rather plan.

Dennis Siluk's books can be seen at many web sites such as http://www.bn.com or http://www.amazon.com

Your Stars

Writen by Lisa Mills

Aries
March 21st - April 20th
It's time to start giving people the benefit of the doubt and being more accepting of those who have different ideas to you. So the next time someone in your vicinity answers their mobile phone to the sound of the Crazy Frog ring tone, try to convince yourself that they are not an unoriginal, brain dead, twat with the sense of humour of a six year old.

Taurus
April 21st - May 21st
Taureans are notoriously quick tempered, have a tendency to over react and commonly have an intense dislike of noodle based hot snacks. Try and keep some perspective on the situation then when your partner comes home from Tesco while you are cutting some trees down in the garden with a chainsaw, when they proudly announce that they took advantage of a fantastic '20 for the price of one' Pot Noodle promotion.

Gemini
May 22nd - June 21st
The most passionate, intense and sexually charged holiday romance is on the cards for you this month. And who would have thought that such physical ecstasy and fulfilment would have been likely when you first agreed to accompany the old people from the local home on their day trip to Bournemouth?

Cancer
June 22nd - July 22nd
An explosive argument with your partner results in both of you questioning your future together. If you want to save the relationship then consider the possibility that you may just have been wrong – Celebrity Love Island is not the greatest TV programme of all time.

Leo
July 23rd - August 23rd
A close friend plucks up the courage to confide in you about a highly embarrassing personal problem. Spice up what will otherwise be a terrible month for you by telling everyone that knows them and having a good laugh about it.

Virgo
August 24th - September 22nd
Cram in as much time as possible with your elderly relatives, watch your partner like a hawk and be extra vigilant when checking your testicles/breasts this month - and take some comfort from the fact that us astrologers are wrong two thirds of the time. Still not looking good though is it?

Libra
September 23rd - October 23rd
As Mars enters Uranus, what better time than to rush out and buy Marianne Faithfull's greatest hits?

Scorpio
October 24th - November 22nd
Prepare yourself for a roller coaster ride of a month featuring a smattering of quite good news, some indifferent news, mild excitement, occasional minor boredom, regular bouts of eating, drinking and excretion, and constant respiration and bladder control. It'll be a month to remember!

Sagittarius
November 23rd - December 21st
Help yourself to deal with some devastating news this month by purchasing the latest Brian McFadden album – and smashing the poxy thing to pieces. If only there was a way of getting to Brian himself.

Capricorn
December 22nd - January 20th
Beware of arguments at home boiling over and dividing the house as food levels start to run low. Make sure you give your all to the tasks and rewards will come your way, and to those around you. Always keep your pants on when showering and don't let Maxwell's ridiculous catchphrases enter your vocabulary. By the way, can anyone recommend a TV repair man? I can't get anything else on my bloody telly other than E4.

Aquarius
January 21st - February 18th
You're going to win the Lottery this month!! Yes, really! The rollover jackpot!! It's what you've always dreamed of! A happening so unlikely, experienced by so few! It's never, ever going to happen again in your lifetime, or that of many others! Enjoy it and don't let splitting the money with the other 5 million Aquarians in the country, leaving you just £2, spoil it for you.

Pisces
February 19th - March 20th
It may well be time to broaden your working horizons and consider a career move – find yourself a job that's going to inspire you, utilise your talents and give you the long term career you've been craving. Not only that but unknown to you, your workmates can't stand the sight of you and love nothing more than ripping into you the moment you leave the room.

Your stars are available via http://www.24-7london.co.uk. They are written by a variety of people under the guise of 'Septic Peg'. 24-7 London is an online entertainment guide to London, England with a sense of humour.