H7N9: My Start on this.

 

                                                        H7N9. Part I
                                                by Mark William Darus



Dr. Chin awoke suddenly from a sound sleep. She felt coldness entomb her as she fought for consciousness. Her place in Hong Kong, a mega story structure.

Her sheets drenched as her pores spewed themselves freely.

Taking inventory, her dark brown eyes opened swiftly, her head bathed in wet black hair rises from a pillow. Looking to her right she sees a movie poster, Vertigo. To it’s left her eyes catch on the painting of a serene field of corn stalks and crisp meadows leading to her hallway.

The hallway going toward her bathroom.

I’m going to puke, shit!

Fuck, hold it back! Hold it b-back.

Her tiny nude form stops about 20 feet from her toilet. Doubling over in pain striking her swiftly like a knifing to the gut, , she vomits on herself as her chin connects below the neck line. Covering her small breasts, stomach and legs with her stomachs rejections, eyes wide in confusion.

She hit’s the floor like a sack of cow manure as she passes out.

　

Other places. Other things occurring.



“Abby, OH MY GOD I LOVE YOU SO MUCH!” Eddie cries as he releases himself into his wife’s vagina. Abby looks at her man, her eyes locked on his as he goes rigid, smashing final thrust into her, yet pulsating onward. Smiling at him, loving him connected in her, she gasps, “I love you, Eddie. All m’heart, darling!”

Smile turning to distress, Eddie begins to cough. Taking his right hand to cover his mouth, his body falls on Abby clipping her left shoulder with his heavy right with a subdued thud as weight meets flesh stoping quickly.

“Eddie, are you okay?” Abby asks in a voice fulfilled yet wondering.

Eddie’s body lay prone across her. Lifeless.

“Eddie!” she cries…

　

Scenes from a nights dream…

　

High Desert Facility: USA, Nevada.

　

“Contain 6 to 11.” a woman said with a thick, low tone. “Inject 3 point 7 235 to it, please.” An average height blond stands, white lab coat covering sexual features, obscuring them. “Did you inject?”

“Yes, of course we did!” an annoyed drone said to his highness.

“AND?” Dr. Phillips inquired harshly. “I want results! DO YOU HEAR ME? RESULTS!?!”

“Yes, Comrade, we’re w-”

“Don’t you ever say Comrade again or I will have you killed! You understand? What country are we in now?” Her voice as sharp as a straight razor.

“Sorry, Major. We are working for the United States Government. Uh, we’re, how do they say? Bro’s,” Ivor said weakly like a child in a foreign land.

“Yes, Bro’s will work with correspondance in an affirmative.”

　

“The virus is mutating quickly, Com, errr, Bro!”

“Very nice, have your crew take break for coffee,” her voiced coldy trailed off down echos of bleak endless hallways.

by MWD, 08192013 part I,

Another video. Posted here because facebook won't.

 

                                          Nature.

 

 

Thanks to the wonderful people of the Cleveland MetroParks system.

 

Learning video is tough shit. I have so much to gain with each step I take.

 

And no, I haven't forgotten H7N9...

 

Mark

Are You Serious. Reader Comments.

                                                       Are you serious?
                                                      Reader Comments.
                        The Thoughts of Others that Read Psychopathy: Another Life.

Placed by Mark William Darus unedited by their authors.



 

                      25,2,2013 Chloe Prostitute entry. This is some of the best journalistic writing I have ever read! I believe you gave people a viewpoint legal in Las Vegas, yet not in Ohio.

07,3,2013 On dead ears entry. Amazing.

Keep up,

Katy Hauser. USA

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Hey, Fuckwad! There’s casket with your name on it! Can I walk u there, bitch? You r evull all the way! I want t’read yur abituchuary!

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Hey, baby!

Love the shit you share! Tara, Tommy, Colorado to 3 Missing girls. I don’t always agree with you. You make me think in other directions and that’s way better than bullshit reality programming on the History, Discovery and learning channel. I can gather weekly sperm sharers tossing my ass showing thighs in a short skirt.

As you’d write: have them take the head of their penic and enter me.

And then these fuckers would bounce in and out of me and seldom, if ever, either kiss me or touch my nipples.

Thanks, Sir Mark. You touched me with your words.,

Patricia Flemming, India.

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My mate,

Let other tossers spank you about! Spread your seed in their faces and make them taste your salt. They’ve brains lost at the Fisher Price level, my mate.

I’ve gone back to education. Psychology, thanks!

Emery Hillingsworth: Nicaragua.

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Rhino babies prancing about. So seldom do many of us see this. Dancing pups or kittens. Hey, Mum cast a glance at me! I is running and running!

Merk, my kinder loved this video. Danke.

　

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You think China wants us dead?!?! Really? So fucking what as Fisher Price sent them nonleaded based paint to use their manufacturing companies sold that paint for huge profits and made their Fisher Price products laced with lead paint. Really so sad maybe 10 people in your so precious USA were awake and caught it.

You do realize how strong your country has made China emerge, right?

Marc, I know you do see this. But other folK?

Jeffrey Franklyn: Austria.

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I wish to suck you into me. Take your throbbing dick into my mouth as I watch your eyers give up to me. Devouring your seed, holding you as our bodies go limp. Hmmmm, what a great daybreak this would be.

Sveta, Iceland.

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Mark,

You are the Devil! This creation of yours is an abomination profound. You’ve created a land of disgusting free wheeling perversity I scare to think where you will go with in another year if you are not killed or simply slapped down by Gods generous hand!

You’ve made me wish to learn firearms. You are Evil, sir. I will earn a carry permit so if you and I meet.

Wishes to hell to you,

Cynthia, Southern USA.

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Mark,

Who owns the Earths waters (07/20/2013): Nestle. Incredible work on your part! I cannot believe their CEO made a video like this and how could they let this go public. “Water is not a basic human right?”

What a corporate psychopath indeed!

Loved the leading photograph for it. Hands reaching for mere survial.

You’re cold, black of heart and most sincere with your words.

Don’t you ever stop writing. Fuck ‘em all!

Marisa Petrovitch, Las Angeles California.

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Ma’am, You’ve gone to alleys no one wants to read about. Dohnt you see this? I worry for you. I pray for you. You push people too far. I like reading you and such.

Jacob, Son of Jerusalem.

　

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I have no idea what makes you run or what fuels you.



You a maniac seeking an Uprising, a Christian and a Jew looking for a home or just a Hybrid Psychopath?

I‘ve read you for over the last year. I saw you get fired from a ten year job, go months without income losing heat and power, and still writing and sharing. You never lost anything with your words, the edge to your thoughts, the hope you convey for all of us to see and grow with.

Getting a job December 2012, a machine shop. So tiny a place for you to work with a mind asvast as yours. I thought you insane for doing this. I believed you sold out.

I was wrong as you punched on with your words after hours of physical labor. Meaningless drudgery of lifting weight, repeated motions. Placing and packing and running a tow motor feeding machinists areas to aide their productivity.

It took me a while to figure this out. You easily learned and took things in as mere muscle memory for your job as you kept your mind free, untaxed, to write after you were done.

I missed your words at a few points. Unlike working for Progressive Insurance where you always had to appoligize for shit you had no control over, and with those ‘sorry’s’ dragging you down and down and down into pits where sincerity is pointless and idiotic. Maybe making those like you more psychopathic for the corporate good? You cannot tell me that repeatedly saying ‘sorry’ to people you did no wrong to didn’t further make you more psychopathic. Did things like this not waste your sense of regret, remorse, guilt?

Your May 22 2013 entry: Loud Screams from Silent America. 3 Girls Missing. I believe to be your best entry. Granted, The Craker Barrel killings was good, and your beginnings about Chardon sublime. I think you created a whole picture for the reader with this entry. You took us for a walk in your life. Yeah, with many of your entries you do this, but this was your first with pictures giving perspective. The light and the dark. Angles of shots. And I being a Catholic hate to say this, how many churches were so close to this evil and no one knew it was going on?

Mark, you may be a psychopath, but I know you do what you do for others. Why else would you post what you do?

I am Catholic, Mark. I pray for you to keep doing as Jesus tells you to do! You have me in your corner. Please never forget this.

Anna Maria, Austin Texas, USA.

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H7N9. You think our government is a part of wishing a super mutation? Really? You should be reported to Homeland Security for this belief. Fuck that, I’m reporting you! I’m gonna gain a credit from someplace by this. Do you really think you can speak your mind and not be judge by our nation, the UNITED STATES OF AMERICA?

Mitch G. Virginia USA

I am a whore. I am raising two children and doing the best I can. Did I make bad choices for a father that impregnated me? Yes. I was weak and believed them their bullshit. My fault for getting knocked up. I went to temple every week, prayed, realized my guilt, sat humbly and sucked it all in.

Yet I was looked down on. And so did my children. My estranged husband, so high in the Hebrew community here caused them to shun me, make me an outcast, my children and I became lost in biblical faith.



Meck, I met you outside China Town take out by Lorain and West 25. I was crying. I was hurting and wits end a long lost memory to me.

“What can I do to help you, “ you asked. I remember your messed up beard and scraggly hair as you walked smiling toward me.

“what are you?” I asked.

“I am nothing, really.” His voice hit me. Spoken openly and happily.

“My children and I need help, “ I struggled with.

“Well, don’t all his children need help these days?” he said and I understood his meaning. There are so many of us whores with children that do what we can. “Moses was seriously awesome, but so was Jesus. And yeah, a myriad of other beliefs to take your choice from. Organized Religion is so screwed up! Seriously, how much more American could you ask for when it comes to choices?”

Seeing him on my knees, looking up and catching his sihlotette backlit.

“may I ask your name, Please?” he spoke.

“E-e-vlyn,”

“Take this, “ he said.

He left me with a phone number and a shelter list.

I grew from that within hours.

I asked him his name as we parted company and found him later on his blog.

My kids would be totally orphaned and I would be dead if not meeting you on that foggy night on West twentififth.

Mark, how tortured is your soul to walk amongst others so freely nailed by abuse and drug addiction that you are comfortable in this place?

How many dues do you have to pay to gain your place in death, Mark?

How much pain can you take in as you write disgusting aspects of others, as you hide your own pain of pasts you’ve solely clipped the surface of?

You ex-wife, mates of decades, fewest of friends, DID ANY OF THEM REALLY KNOW YOU AT ALL?

Well, did they?

You are not afraid of death. You have embraced it, made it fond company, and thru Christ this makes you fearless as you write and post.

Too bad there are so few like you.,

Tina Summars-Evans. Former USA, currently South Africa. Not going back.

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I Would to thank everyone that took to time to send me their thoughts.

I would love to post more, but time does not give me this.


　

You have your thoughts and beliefs. Hold them in your hearts. Fight til your last dying breath!



Mark William Darus 08202013 

H7N9 Virus: Won't We Have a Lovely Time?

                                 H7N9 VIRUS: Won’t we have a lovely time?
                                            Intro to Full Thought.
                                         By Mark William Darus.

                                    Call this a first strike on my part.



              Called a Bird Flu as it started a while ago, then only appearing in China with fatalities. And think about less than two hundred deaths in a country that had their parents exterminate their female babies for population control. Given this, Can anyone really trust the less than 200 deaths in Mainland China based on this Intel?
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/H7N9#Mortality



                 Look at this pesky bugs history, please.
  H1N1:Swine? http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/H1n1



                  Lovely mutations and the never ending human drive to be GODS. drive in genetics/ DNA and Mitochondrial . New
Frontiers we can create in human form. Discovering in sterile dishes, continued and hunger further fed via Unfortunately Poor intel


             Call me bastard, sir?

What would you call my henchmen? Clones, perhaps?

　

                 Dr. Peidmont: Gazing fondly, happily as just before a mother dies, she presses her right breast to her new born baby, giving it a last chance for food as she dies. She gave this tiny once known as a parasite certain immunities. Lids shutting, the mothers thoughts closing: “Live, my child! Live on…”

         Dr Peidmont  emotionlessly speaks to his colleagues in a baritone, "Watch closely, Gentleman. She is trying to save her child from destiny."

                What a scientist might call a child, others given size , might declare this floating form a mutation of DNA and wish it to be humanities evolution.

               "She is giving her  child defense's via DNA, Sir!" Adams spoke quickly, carrying the form of a male and tones of a woman. Pimples wrinkling his 22 year old eye-holder. His body happily wearing Depends to contain his glory without embassesment  and Red Bulls chugging him further.  Gaining control over his bodily functions, muscles in his arms enlarge, a light haired man named West

              A nod from Peidmont,  and the mans head sliced at mid neck line in a public bowling alley parking  lot tumbles into murky memory behind the Dyson Repair Center on  Lorain Ave.

              "Sir, nine died when we lost containment. I wou-" a man with a British accent was cut off by a far condescending female tone of Rio.

              "Nine dead is small. Give me damage reports!"


A tiny blond haired female form outside the womb sucks the last her mothers shrinking tits can perform. Hands, fists. lashing out means different. The satellites have a fix on her....



For her, Alice, there is no backwards as her world dissolves into shapes mimicking sounds as smells transform into solid rock.

Her lips are pulled away from her mother by blue surgeons gloves as a stern look crosses her green eyes.

Tired, so tired, Alice thinks....

Alice dreams....


　

For life.

We run.

To Believe,

We kill much further…



A Child viewed is sheltered and man destroys the Earth.

She is the child of many religions.

She shifts as the highest and the putrid form of attempt their worst spreads sickly venom high, "Fire!" is ordered as they aimed at a body, bodies on cold stainlness steel.


Even from cloning, the chlorinating of a brain, they keep trying as they pose to the public " We're trying us! All of us at the CDC./... \"

    




And to make many think  the importance of females in religions are  nothing more than cattle 



Mark William Darus 08132013  

Walk A Mile by Ryn Cricket.

                                          Walk A Mile...
                                          by Ryn Cricket.

She said, “Girl,

you need to break out of your comfort zone.”

I was confused.

Comfort zone?
I have NO comfort zone.

She was saying this
in response to my

previous confused look
as she rattled off directions,

in Chinese, of the good store
to buy clothes for my daughter

who is suddenly growing like a weed.

I had only been living in Shanghai a couple of months.

And then I started thinking…

About the first time I went camping around

the state of Arizona,

and then backpacking alone
in Alaska
without a plan,

going to an ashram in the Adirondack Mountains

without a penny in my pocket,

my two years in Peace Corps

sleeping on the floor
in a house I shared

with a 7-foot snake and 2 tarantulas

that didn’t pay rent.

Living with an abusive husband,
and going through chemo, radiation,

no voice
and not even able to drink a drop of water;

I am a single mother, living in Shanghai

with my two preschool daughters

and this might be the most comfortable time of our lives,

But I wondered how a person’s perception could be so skewed.

And then I thought about Charlie

this guy I met in the ice cream aisle of the store.

We were both buying vanilla ice cream

because we both were recovering from throat cancer

and that was exactly ALL that we had in common.

He said, “I am really good judge of character,”

and then proceeded to tell me how he completely understood

“how I am building walls,”

“How I am cutting myself off from people.”
and “How I am turning away my friends.”

He got the same confused look.

–from me.

I had never been so surrounded by friends.

I had friends paying my insurance bills,

paying my rent,

taking care of my girls,

bringing food and money,

cleaning my house,

and checking up on me

all day, everyday.

George Bailey had nothing on me.

But this man Charlie,
had told the same bad joke 3 times
to 3 different people

and was so negative and off-putting

that I just didn’t want to talk to HIM.

I understand projection.

I understand perspective.

My Mohican friend gave me

my third-stage Native name

of Standing Wave.  

He said it’s that place in the river

where it looks calm as glass on the surface

but below there’s a rapid undertow.  

He always saw me so clearly.

 

Ryn Cricket August 12 2013

as seen on WordPress.

 

Authors Notes: Thanks Ryn once again for allowing me to share your work. I could add such things like: "keep up the good work!" "Never Stop Writing!" That would be profoundly idiotic of me though. I know damn well you will never lose the faith and passion that courses thru your veins.

 

Mark William Darus 08132013

A Babe of the Modern Age: The Children Of This Blue Marble R R Future.

                                         A Babe of the Modern Age.
                                                   Rhinobaby II.
                                    A short film with original music.

                                            A SlamTraktor Production.
                                          (all rights and lefts reserved.)

                                     I shot this footage November 2012 at the Cleveland Metroparks Zoo. Cleveland Ohio USA. In the last two days, I edited this, wiped out the background noise and synthesized music for it.

 

Thank you for watching the first production from SlamTraktor Productions.

SlamTraktor is the Multimedia division of Psychopathy: Another Life. Video freely used with simple permission. (just email).

 

              Authors note: I would like to thank Those that brought and continuously bring inspiration to me in word, sight and sound.

 

 

             My Higher Power: You got me back into photography but a year ago. I had no idea why you had me buy that Kodak Easyshare from Big Lots when I really didn't have to spare cash to do it. You made me go digital and fired my mind as you said to me in such a calm and even voice: "You write okay, M'boy, you are descriptive squared and all.  You do reach people of wide spectrum, putting them into scenarios unknown to them. I gave you a gift and you now run with it: Being able to express your mind without fear of rejection. You are a student of life, and from that, you respect how I touched your life at birth and share it with others being a teacher. You were given an eye to capture things  with a mind to describe thoughts sharply with written word. The grace to capture photographs and express about them. Be not afraid, I said to you over a year and half ago. So glad you listened and never wavered at any point."

 

Thanks to my Facebook Friends and their encouraging words. You all inspired me with your thoughts to go further with my photography.

 

Thank you to Ryn Cricket and Deborah Glaefke Gilbert! You placed my photographs as covers for your books.  Thanks most profoundly!

 

And BIGGEST/HUGEST thanks to momma and baby Rhino! Thank you most high for the chance to film you and your child as it runs about! You and your kind are endangered. You and your baby are amongst the slimmest of Minorities to merely walk with us as your Lands become nothing more than monetary gains to select humans.  May those of us enlightened do what we can to prevent your extinction.  

 

Personally speaking: I guess everything is a form of inspiration to me. Even in my psychopathic being, why is it I can find the so-called Silver-Lining in the darkness so many of the desolate angels, feeling their religions most highly cast blame to others casting off their own guilt for its making?

 

Answer:

"Because they can't dance like I can!" Dr Greg House, TV show: HOUSE.

 

Hoping you liked the video.

 

Mark William Darus

SlamTraktor Production LTD.

08082013

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

                                       

Animals. A Video with original music. Blog Exclusive. and other things.

                                  Animals. A Video with original music.
                                               by Mark William Darus.

                    Filmed at Rolling Ridge Ranch: Millersburg Ohio USA. August 2013.

                     Yeah, amateurish. Still learning a new art. Pretty cool at 51 years old and still believe there is no box for us to think out of. I have so much to learn and love it!

                     I try to learn something each and every day. I freely admit to being ignorant when it comes to so many aspects of life: sewing, Physics, Brain surgery or a heart bypass surgery(though I think I could do this one).

                     This is my belief.  I think some of you might know this already and hold it high within your being.

                      The Secret to feeling young eludes  of you as you go toward tummy tucks, anorexia and or a belief in Infomercials in the wee hours broadcasting aimed directly at your temples. You so willingly forget the strength of your own will.

                      All you simply need to do is try something different and challenge yourself. Leave your comfort place for a few moments a day and learn things you didn't think yourself possible of.  Toss yourself into an unknown area and never, ever care of looking yourself a fool to others.

                       You were a baby once. You forgave yourself your failings then. Learning to crawl, bank off objects and learn to stand. Eventually to walk, perhaps even run and the fallings, tumblings and bashing face to pavement.

                       As a babe, you cried and screamed and wailed madly!

                       Why should this be any different as you became an adult? Granted, you don't always have a mother or father to hold you. They may not be around due to distance or death, so why not fall back on memories happy in your past. Go from tricycle to bicycle. From simple reading to sincere composition,  to gaining strength to differ from our parents views.

                             Life and Learning are NeverEnding stories with those of us with eyes vigilant. I guess the trick is to merely keep ones eyes open.

                       

                        You learned to crawl.

                         To mumble sounds into words.

                         Words, perhaps reaching growls.

                          Thoughts like jigsaw puzzles completed.

                          Personal Expression.




                     Enjoy and Thanks,
                     MWD08062013

                

              
             




                    

What Food is Your Life Worth?

                                                Muffins or Death!
                               Restructuring ones self for mere survival
                                          By Mark William Darus.

　

           She awakens beneath comfy blankets, mind drifting from dreamland to cold shadows dancing across her first floor bedroom apartments walls. Her eyes slowly open, attempting to adjust, give place, take in.

            Inhaling a huge amount of air, her large body’s muscles go to their limit. Heels, pressing firmly below them against cotton sheets,moving, strolling outward. Flabby arms reaching away from body, heavy shoulders constricting, lower back attempting to arch.

       The smell of blueberry muffins fills her nostrils.

        She begins to salivate, spit filling her mouth like that of Pavlov’s dogs. Fighting it, grabbing a towel, wiping it off.

              Finishing a painful stretch.

          A simple stretch most of us take for granted with each and every awakening we have.

       Yet for others, this brings a pain many of us will never know.

　

         She greets her daughter who had made the muffins.

           “Go-ood, m-morning, Sh-Shauna,” she stammered, not fully awake, yet very hungry.

         “Good morning, Mum! You look well today!” the child of 17 said to her mother in clear voice.

        The two bedroom, 900 sq foot apartment was filled with the scent of blueberry muffins. Each and every crevice spoke of eating, flat white walls dripping blueberries like gore in a slasher film, perhaps with a circus clown adding some real butter across muffin peaks for fuller flavor.

　

            Torture filling every member, every muscle, every joint of her body as she takes every slow step further. Familiar longings tugging her in directions of a half century of memories of cooking.

            Her moms breakfast scents filling the upstairs hallway. Food being ready as she traveled down the stairway with its cigarette smoke stained walls. With each step down, her nose taking in if it be eggs and bacon, potatoes and eggs, pancakes, toast or French toast, oatmeal or Cream of Wheat. The stench of Maxim instant coffee and L&M cigarettes crushes her when entering the kitchen. This bothered her immensely, but didn’t curb other things.

          She devoured all that was before her. Sometimes reaching to others plates when they hesitated.

          Dinner time came to her not soon enough. She had accomplished her junior high school homework quickly and happily. Her mind, thinking of singing chorus and the joy that brought her, as well as her studies, wanting to be a history teacher.

            Dinner would come, either from her mother or grandmother, Jenny whom lived across the porch. Her father had heart disease and gone through countless heart attacks (losing track after his thirteenth one, two heart surgeries in the early to mid 1970’s) so cooking often was divided as families back when willingly/happily shared responsibilities of the simple human carings. >intrusion by the author here: Back when, people truly loved and cared for family. I have my doubts that this still exists today in White American Society<.

               Her grandmother, Jenny made huge meals. Jenny was a survivor of the American Great Depression, much like her fathers grandmother of Ukrainian descent, believing a simple truth of her life: Eat as much as you can when you can! You could be without for a long time in between.

                  In absence of her mom, Jenny stepped up to the mound, ready to throw fierce fast balls and mesmerizing curve balls to keep her family fed regardless of circumstance.

         Jenny Sturdivant was an amazing cook.

         Full course meals in fact. Salad, vegetables highly buttered, walking toward meat! Be it chicken, pork or cow, this lady did always heave her best out each and ever day. Mashed potatoes slathered in the thickest of butter. There were always some form of cookies or desert afterward. Always.

        “Eat! Eat! Eat up!” Jenny would say taking a swig of a liquid.

             Her other grandma (100 percent Ukrianian) would merely have her sons and grandchildren leave her home with pirogee well into 80 plus year of life. She made both potato and Sauer kraut. Creating them over her six day week endlessly She would also give them a quarter gallon of pure butter cooked with sweet onions, simmered slowly over an hour. Wanting, driven, she created culinary feats few could match with either both quantity nor quality. And to think she tossed her product into an old clawed porcelain bathtub for her children to dig in and share her creation with their families.

            I ask you.

               How fucking cool is that?

            So sad to think this type of thing has died over the decades in the United States.

           Nightmares now fill the mind with arteries clogging like that of kitchen basin overloaded with bacon grease. A once two inch span cut to a half inch width. Heart pumping, labored, chugging.

            Abrupt, harshest of roundabouts swings you sideways to thoughts beyond, yet backward further.

             Corrective surgery needed as knees lose ability, ankles give up and a life of more than 5 years seems impossible as her will turns sideways. Thinking of this 2 years ago, she entertained a journey into a mine field of her desires.

             Her personal darkest moments of what is important to her. Her son. Wanting to see him graduate high school, college. Fall in love and feel hurt. A parent like most: Want to see the best for their children,

　

          Mind scrambling too and fro, Fighting denial, struggling, sweating feverish apparitions, thirsty.

                                                          Thirsty!

                 Yes, she must be thirsty for water.

               The thirst for water is a given instinct with us.

                  We all spent the first nine months of our lives in water, didn’t most of us?

                   “are your friends going to over all daY” she asks, a voice now strong.

               “Yes, Mum.” he child said softly.

                She, a mere two weeks before had gastric bypass surgery, looks to her child.

                 She pauses for a moment to think on the coldness of her thoughts, reflects on her life, and asks: “are they going to stay til tomorrow?”

             Her cat cries about an empty water bowl behind her as she opens the drapes of her living room. Her dilated blue eyes cause a crashing of light as she takes in the splendor of another day.

              Reverse and set your mind at ease like an Orwellian story where time does what it does. Her mind smashes about violently from past things to her childhood, memory of being married, of still births and the triumph of her childs birth.



             “Count backward from 9. 8 , se------vin. si…” the surgical god of tranquility spoke to her as the music of the surgical theatre played out at the surgeons request while he performs his job. Asking a nurse for the proper tool….

            “9-8-sevvvvvvin……” dreamland awakens to her. Drug induced slumber create oher wondrous ties of possible futures as her physical body goes numb to the profoundest of intrusions bringing peace legally.

　

　

           Surgeons cut her belly from points A to B.

           Flesh opened. Masked eyes peering into her body as others looked at it in High

              Definition, latex covered blue fingers dig into her with surgical steel clamps, dividers and dive into like Greg Lugginis with precise precession mating.

　

　

                 She is smiling sincerely. She has lost 18 lbs in two weeks according to her doctor in his stuffy office space and the antiseptic smelly corridor of its scale.

             “Your friends being over is fine.” she says.

              I can take it. I really can with what they want to eat and I can’t.

              I have no other purpose for food but to simply keep me alive.

Looking at her child, cat and thinking of family and friends, she thinks of a song her brother told her about.
There’s a time and a place to die, and this ain’t!

                  She struggles onward. No good things comes without pain. Think me wrong, as a woman about childbirth!


                   A better song springs to her mind.
                   She runs with it...

                    as her mind and body....

                     begin to sing and dance as she grows and grows.

                    Being reborn.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dWQEUzOACm4

                     Mark William Darus. 07302013

                      Thanks to a strong individual that granted me the right to write this.

                      I was the sad idiot that pissed off many and didn't eat more. Mother, grandmothers, friends parents. It didn't bother me in the slightest as I offended then as they heaped food to plate and me telling them no. Needless to say, I was not popular at many homes, yet found this amusing over decades.










 

Give me not for my Birthday. Speak praise of my parents. They made me.

              How does one thank their mother and father for making them?

              Where does one dive into their murky depths as well as the most brilliant points of existence? An existence based on two people mating and creating you?

             Sex is such a violent act in itself.

            The penetration of a female from a male.

             Blood pressure goes berserk as if climbs human Alps, heart rate rises rapidly, muscles expand and constrict quickly. Increased respiration. Involuntary movements and vocal response. Reaching male orgasm, sometimes his messengers hit the mailbox, other times, not.

           Swimming in pitch darkness, trying to find a ladder for lifes sake, one half of what will become YOU splashes about madly as time is of the essence. Mere flashes of electricity give this half of you a chance for sight.

            Upstream, downstream and rogue waves toss about viciously.

             At this point, you’re nothing more than a mailed letter amongst millions.

          In a different place, another land, a village adjacent,  lies an egg. Lonely and waiting to embrace the vigilant  voyager that truly has traveled quite far as an intruder.

         Secondary penetration occurs. Explosive, yet shielding at the same time.

            A mans seed crashes the shell of a woman’s egg.

             From this set of things, we are made. Truly blind chance.

            My birthday is July 26 1962.

             My parents created me some nine months before that date as they connected themselves with love and passion. Knowing my late parents as well I think I did, I can imagine their movements, hear their panting tones, quivering voices, their eyes locked supremely to one another.

         My father fired a fastball, mom caught it.

         And I started from there.

          I, oddly, some might say, sickly, can see this as plainly as the screen before me.

          Yeah, I don’t view things like others do. For that I am grateful and proud to be that way.

           I really don’t care if others don’t give me things on my birthday. It matters not to me in the slightest on this.

          On my birthday, I can only thank my parents for having really good sex to make me happen.

        Thank you Mom and Dad! This is your day of celebration, not mine. To me, as you both created me, a sublime team effort amazing!

         I miss you both so very much. Mom: the touch of your fingers coming or going away from you even if only for a few hours. Dad, the brush of your arm, elbow, shoulders much the same as moms. Seeing your eyes as parted, the smell of instance Coffee and L&M cigarettes lingering in the air like warm sunlight, the tones of your voices. 

My Father. Many times a Santa at many places. Mid 80's with a Pentax SLR.

My mother and eldest daughter Rachel as a baby. Mid 80's SLR.

 

        I have little clue how you view my life since your passings, but that's okay. I get inklings now and again as my mind does mental calisthenics. I have no doubt you will kick my ass when I see you both again. I have this coming as it's well earned on my part.  You never asked for perfection, and I really have that covered!

totdat wir зустрічатися again!

Mark William Darus: Proud son of Marion F and Ted Darus. 07252013

A Dismal Future Unless We Are Very Careful. Dwink of Water.

                                Water: Mommy, can I have another 'dwink' of water?
                                              by Mark William Darus.

                                  Part One. A start on a Mothers fight.

                    
                         A small daughter of our Tiny Blue Marble lovingly looks up at its mother. Mother and daughter, eyes locked in complete serenity, the childs peaceful voice asks, "mummy, can I have another dwink of water?"

                         The dirtied haired mother looks down at her child, startled, somewhat frightened. Mothers face muscles tighten fast.  Her mind is shooting like a freight train without functioning brakes, scrambling, tortured, hurting. She looks around their flat and  its barren, crumbling walls, broken screen windows allowing flies to soar in. She thinks quickly, as fast as she can, milliseconds elapsing. Thinking: I can do this for her! I just have to cut 10 volts of electricity over the next ten days. Yeah! I can do this. Her face loosened to more calm continence.

                     "Excuse me a moment, my darling," She turned her back to a daughters loving eyes looking toward her.

                     The child, sleepy after a great day of adventure. Memories of breakfast with mum giving her cereal and fatty bacon. Getting dressed.  Mother pointing out bird songs from the forest, they sounded so sweet to me,  as we walked to Kinder School. Running freely about the neighborhood with friends after school before seeing Mum after she returns from work for hugs and gentle kisses to me.

                     This child and her friends held many things in common. Filthy hair and faces hugely pimpled far beyond their years. All of them under the age of 9, living not in some third world country. They were new kids in America.

                      Reaching the kitchen, the mother looks at her Nestlaide 2100 Water Carrying Device, service number N2100WCD07261962, and slowly lowers a decades old Dixie Cup to its nipple. Looking at its display, she presses the 2oz send button to fill it.

             A raspy, electrically crackling female voice speaks from the unit: "Tha-ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ-TEE-nk your for choosing Nestle!" As warm as a Siberian Winter in February.

             Precious cup filled, the mother walks tenderly to the closet that is her childs bedroom . Never wanting to spill the tiniest of drops from its vastly over used frame, she moves ever so cautiously with purpose. Her mind meanders to better times, simpler times, when all she had to do was put her nipple to her babies mouth to sustain it. She blows that off and concentrates on the task at hand.

             Taking the battered Dixie Cup, gently lowering it to her childs tender pink lips, mating rim to mouth, its small quantity runs.

             As its aqua  volume ceases, the childs mouth is opened wide, like that of a baby bird expecting more worm food. Mother taps her slender finger on the cups rim repeatedly til every drop to reach her childs tongue.

             Mother thinks, how did we come to this?

             >Author Intrusion< Considering these things in history: When I was a high school student, I knew many grocery store workers that made over 10 dollars an hour. Granted, the Reagan administration killed them at around the same time as the Air Traffic Controllers Union. Interesting point in history.  Capitalism is a plague across our globe. It is also a failed system, and if it were not so, why did the American people have to bail out the, errr, our own, banks?  Come on! How fucked up is that? Yeah, let's each and every one of us give our tax dollars for these pricks to raise our interest rates.

                    This is merely part one of a mother trying to keep her daughter alive in a world we WILL see sooner than we think.


                               My film: Water.

Thank you for taking the time.

 

The only dead soul is one that stops learning.

MWD07222013

 

based on the heels of this post:

http://psychopathyanotherlife.blogspot.com/2013/07/who-owns-our-earths-waters-nestle-corp.html

 

 

          
                 

Who Owns Our Earths Waters? Nestle Corp would like to. Stand against them!

 

                             

 

                                   Corporate Pyschopathy: Part II: Nestle Corp.
                          "Water is not a Human Right and should be privatized"


                                      I am sharing with you a video interview with the CEO  of Nestle Corp. He thinks water should be owned and traded like, say, oil. He believes the benefit of water is not a human right.

                               Ladies and Gentleman, Children both young and old! Please acquaint yourself with  Peter Brabeck: Chief Executive Office (CEO)Nestle Corporation and his views on something none of us can live without.

                             Sure, we can survive without oil if needs be. History and basic human survival   have taught us this over the centuries. The struggles and prosperities are a mere memory away if we can simply remember the stories shared by our ancestors of their hardships. For my Lands: United States of America, I remember my grandfathers words of our Great Depression and how his countries existence shifted, contorted, strived for keeping loved ones fed and covered in shelter. Poverty hit most high here in the 1930's, as well as the world.

                          "Mark, those few of us that worked during the Great Depression, had the glory of still having a job to work. We worked as much and as hard as we could! We did this not for egos sake, prestige nor gain. We did this to keep our wives and children alive. Our families alive. Many of us had parents still alive and they needed to be tended to. My grandson, never forget my words to you..."

                          I was like 12 or so years old when he passed. His thoughts, tone and expression whilst we talked as he made me pancakes have NEVER left my memory. When it came to World War Two and Japan, he told me in the early Seventies: "Yeah, we won a battle. The Victor in this war will be determined by time itself over generations to follow."

                         C'mon,  you must  know Nestle well growing up in many countries on our shrinking Blue Marble: Nestles Crunch Breakfast Cereals: Cheerios, Cini Mini's, (United States of America).

                             The World of the Nestle Corporation:

                          Other things:  Toll House Cookies, Carnation, Coffee-Mate. Moca (Brazil). Bear Brand Probiotic (Philippines). Hirz (Switzerland). Sveltesse (France). Munch Brunch (United Kingdom).

                          Ice Cream known across the globe: : Camy (Spain). Δέλτα (Greece). Делта (Bulgaria). Frigor (Argentina). Hjem-IS (Denmark & Sweden). Kotijäätelö (Finland). Motta (Italy). Kimo (Egypt). Oreo (Canada). Nestlé Princessa (Poland). And others hosting countless flags via generic shadows.
                      
                          Infant, Baby Foods:  Gerber (USA). Farinha Láctea (Brazil). Nestum (Portugal). Cérélac (no specific country). FM 85 (sorry, but this smacks so hard of a Stephen King story of a US bio-experiment gone sideways...)  Good Start (no specific country). Nan Ha (no specific country). Lactogen (no specific country). Piltti (Finland). Guigoz (no specific country. NanSoy (no specific country. Bona (Finland).

                        Okay, forget baking, cereals and infant food products created by this company. Let's stroll a moment down other avenues, shall we?

                         Performance Products: These are the types of items you'd consume to either enhance muscle growth to helping encourage weight loss or build muscle mass after shedding weight.

                          No countries given on these items. Nestiva. Pria, Supligen, Mushachi, Neston and my personal favorite in the USA, PowerBar.

                         Perhaps I am writing far too heartless about a global corporation that so deeply cares about us. Maybe I should take a step back for a moment, express their endeavors for us to be healthier and more fulfilled.

                  Nestle Corporation Healthcare and Nutrition products:

                     Compleat. Fibersource. Glytol. Diabitisource. Crucial. Nutren. Optifast. Peptamen. Boost.


                 Okay, their seasonings can make our meagerness in cooking taste a tad better in day to day life after a days/nights of sweating to sustain/ or perhaps apologizing to others we've done no wrong to.  Granted, they mostly carry an unhealthy sodium content and most Americans care little about this. >>>I care little about health over taste. I have a scapegoat though: I keep losing weight in this life of my last eleven months and no longer need blood pressure meds. I guess I'm either blessed or cursed. You decide.<<<

                     Their seasonings: Winiary. Thomy. CHEF. MAggi.

                     Frozen Foods: >I'd subtitle this: immediate need to satisfy hunger as there are no longer enough hours in a 24 hour day to sustain to feed my family.< Nestle Corp is not solely responsible for this. They do however  hold a lions share of a market that fuels these thoughts. This company carries brand names known to most of this globe:

                      Tombstone Pizza. Papa Guiseppi,  Lean Cuisine, Hot Pockets, Stouffer's.

                       Hmmm, think of our pets~!  Yeah, they got it covered.

                        Alpo. Friskies, Mighty Dog. Purina. Dog chow. Cat chow. Felix. Beneful. Beggin' Strips.

                         Candy Products sold: Baby Ruth. Bon Pari ( Slovakia, Czech Republic, Poland and Hungary.) Big Turk (Canada). Goobers (Polo). Chips Ahoy (USA and Canada). After Eight (Australia). Bertie Beetle (Ukraine). Sweet Tarts (global).

                            Like me, I am sure you have enjoyed this company over the decades.

                           Watch this video and I am sure your spending viewpoint will change.

                             You've gone this far...
                              What's your opinion?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4C29_U0Ksao
                                

                                Does the word boycott cross your mind?

                               Imagine a day we would say to our children: NO! run away from the open fire hydrant less we get charged for it on a very hot sunny day. How many glasses have you had.

                               Close your eyes and look back on this...

                               A time when you were your young.

                                Asking simply.

                                Can I have another drink of water?

        Mark William Darus 07202013

                Thank you for reading.

Mark William Darus 07202013