A Masterpiece!

A Poem is a painting

By Phebe Hesketh

A poem is a painting that is not seen,

A painting is a poem that is not heard.

 That’s what poetry is-

a painting in the mind.

Without palette and brush

it mixes words into images.

The mind’s edge sharpens the knife

slashing the canvas with savage rocks

twisting the trees and limbs into tortuous shapes

as Van Gogh did

or bewitched by movement’s grace,

captures the opalescent skirts

of Degas’ ballet dancers.

But words on the page

as paint on canvas

are fixed.

It’s in the spaces between

the poem is quickened.

Read More

The Lines of Fate!

It seems as though for years everyone has scrutinised and studied Went’s hands in almost every photograph and interview of his.  Who can blame them?  Went uses his hands to gesticulate every thing he says so it’s pretty hard to miss them especially when they are so beautifully formed and used.  Therefore it’s no surprise at all that a palmist would find Went’s hands fascinating to read, wouldn’t you agree? I must admit I too have been intrigued by them!

I found this article quite interesting and entertaining to read. 

Wentworth Miller's hand reading:

Wentworth Miller’s hand is one of the good ones, when one compares it to that of other celebrities and successful people.  It shows a calm and inwardly strong temperament. And it shows a very good heart as well.

Wentworth has claimed that he tried to kill himself when he was 15 (because of some issues regarding his sexual orientation) but when one looks for the signs of a suicidal person, one cannot find them on Miller’s hand. Which just goes to show that people who try to kill themselves are not necessarily “suicidal” by nature. By this I mean they need not be people who are unstable or chronically depressed.

In Miller’s case it is just the opposite. He is a cool customer. This is not just on the surface. He has inner strength.

Miller has a large hand with a large palm and long, slim fingers with a long Apollo finger, and a thumb which is of a good length with well a strong upper phalange. He has developed Moon and Venus mounts, and a slightly hollow palm. The lines on his hand are well etched and the Heartline is long, and ends in a fork. The Headline is slightly sloping.

No doubt that Wentworth Miller’s Heartline is better than his Headline, and his emotions can get the better of him at times, but this does not mean that he is an emotional out of control person. On the contrary, his hand shows an extraordinary coolness of temperament and mental strength, despite his sensitivity. The only issue is that he is not steady in his thinking; his thinking changes several times in his life. And this is concerning major issues. These changes would affect his emotional health.

As it is he is the introspective type. His heightened sensitiveness to the environment will likely affect his emotional state because he would find it difficult to function in a hostile or unpleasant environment. He can be called thin skinned, if there is such a term. But this does not mean he cannot handle it. He is very determined.

Miller's hand shows remarkable business talent, more than the acting talent. And he is the kind who strives to improve himself. And from what little one can see of Wentworth Miller’s lines, this man is in for some very serious long-term success. This success is likely to stem from his business acumen. He can take risks, calculated risks.

He is not the materialistic type. He is just very smart. Carefully weighs the pros and cons. Takes time to come to decisions, and finally does exactly what he wants.

Source:  http://palmistryforyou.com/2014/01/wentworth-millers-hand-reading.html

A palm reading of Went’s hand by another enthusiast.

“That’s all I have to say about that” so it’s au revoir from me and a ...

from Went.

Read More

Happy Valentine's Day!

“You are so loved!”

I enjoy this poem by Carol Ann Duffy and thought that I’d share it with you on Valentine’s Day seeing as though Went has an insatiable love of food.

I'm not quite sure if Went's taste buds can handle their sweet flavour, but I ask you with tears in my eyes "What is food without onions?". [She jokes.]

Valentine

by Carol Ann Duffy

Not a red rose or a satin heart.

I give you an onion.

It is a moon wrapped in brown paper.

It promises light

like the careful undressing of love.

Here.

It will blind you with tears

like a lover.

It will make your reflection

a wobbling photo of grief.

I am trying to be truthful.

Not a cute card or a kissogram.

I give you an onion.

Its fierce kiss will stay on your lips,

possessive and faithful

as we are,

for as long as we are.

Take it.

Its platinum loops shrink to a wedding-ring,

if you like.

Lethal.

Its scent will cling to your fingers,

cling to your knife.

♥♥

Read More

The Hug!

Credit: nova. – Wentology.

The young lady in the photo with Went must’ve read the poem below, before going to UCLA on the 6th November 2013.

Lucky for her, Went just happened to be there so she could give him a “vice grip” hug.  Whether it was lucky for Went we shall never know unfortunately.  [She jokes.]

Although after scrutinizing the photo a little closer it does appear that Wenty is enjoying “the grip” too, as he seems to be reciprocating with a big grin. [She teases.]

Therefore, you do know what that means don’t you?

When you get that “once in a lifetime opportunity” of bumping into Went, give him a friendly hug.  It’ll do wonders for him and wonders for you too.  Don’t forget to get a snapshot of the moment to share with others so that they can feel the love too!  There’s nothing better than having the heart strings tugged every now and again ‘cause that’s precisely what happened to me when I saw this delightful photo. 

Thank you Went and thank you to the young lady who went in for the big squeeze. 

If only it …

HUGS!

It’s wond’rous what a hug can do,

A hug can cheer you when you’re blue.

A hug can say, “I love you so”

Or, “Gee I hate to see you go”.

A hug can soothe a small child’s pain

And bring a rainbow after rain.

The hug! There’s just no doubt about it,

We scarcely could survive without it.

A hug delights and warms and charms,

It must be why God gave us arms.

Hugs are great for Fathers and Mothers,

Sweet for Sisters, swell for Brothers.

Chances are some favourite Aunts

Love them more than potted plants.

Kittens crave them.  Puppies love them.

Heads of State are not above them.

A hug can break the language barrier

And make the dullest day seem merrier.

No need to fret about the store of ‘em.

The more you give the more there are of ‘em.

So stretch those arms without delay, and

GIVE SOMEONE A HUG TODAY!

Read More

Something Superlatively Marvellous!

Well just when life seemed a little dull and I'd given up all hope of hearing from Went, he surprised me by writing a superlatively marvellous short story titled “McDonald’s Drive-Thru, 8:23am”  and published it in The Mankind Project Journal on January 28^th, 2013.

Thanks to dear Went, after reading his piece I had "Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious"playing around in my head all day with an enormous craving for a “Sausage McMuffin with Egg and Cheese but later on in the day that craving changed to a Mac Snack Wrap instead with a McCafé Strawberry Banana Smoothie to follow. [She teases.]

http://wentworthmillerwithlove.blogspot.com/2014/01/a-mcdonalds-drive-thru-experience-with.html

It just goes to show that we should never give up hope ‘cause there is always something superlatively marvellousto look forward to around each corner.

Thank you so very much Went, you certainly brightened up my day.  I thoroughly enjoyed reading your short story and I look forward to reading more about your escapades in the very near future.

Emily Dickinson described “hope” so well …

Read More

A McDonald's Drive-Thru Experience with Wentworth

McDonald’s Drive-Thru, 8:23am

by Wentworth Miller

McDonald’s

Williams, California

December 23, 2013

8:32 AM (approx.)

I pull into the drive-thru, empty except for the giant white Suburban ahead of me, coming abreast of the callbox, like a yacht docking. When the window rolls down I can see the driver in his side mirror. Male, bald, mid 30s.

The intercom crackles as a McDonald’s employee pitches whatever it is he/she’s been ordered to pitch at the top of the order. Given the season, presumably something holiday-ish. High on fructose.

My window’s rolled up so I can’t hear their exchange, but I can see the man’s lips moving, his eyes grazing the menu. He turns away from the callbox, addresses someone inside the Suburban, asking what they’d like for breakfast. Presumably.

That’s when I notice how many people he’s got with him. A literal carload. I see multiple heads. Most of them small. This guy’s got four or five kids in there. At least. Plus the wife. All of whom want breakfast. None of whom have ever been to a McDonald’s, apparently, because the man behind the wheel is talking them through the entire fucking menu. Every last item. Apparently.

The intercom crackles again and I glance in my rearview mirror, see two cars waiting behind me, their exhaust commingling with mine as the seconds tick by.

I look back at Suburban Dad, silently willing him to hurry it up. He does not. He’s smiling, taking his time, making sure he’s getting everybody’s order right.

I imagine his voice in my head.

“Yeah… can I get a Bacon, Egg & Cheese Biscuit? No wait – Lexie’s allergic to cheese. Can I get a Bacon & Egg Biscuit no cheese? No wait – can you make that a McMuffin? Can I get a Sausage McMuffin with Egg? No cheese. Lexie can’t have cheese.” (McCetera.)

All I want is a large coffee with 2 creamers on the side.

Unfortunately for me, Dad, Mom, Lexie, and Lexie’s thirty-six brothers and sisters are going to need several more minutes to make up their minds.

I sigh and look to my left, try to distract myself with the view outside my window. But there’s nothing to see. Just a flat, dry expanse stretching to the horizon, a bleak winter vista of grays, browns and beiges in this Dust Bowl Created By Congress (if the billboards lining the 5 are to be believed).

I turn my gaze back to the Suburban, zeroing in on Dad (again), still framed in his side mirror. He’s stroking his chin, looking over the menu (again). Considering His Options. I didn’t know people still stroked their chins.

I look in my rearview mirror, see there are now three cars behind me. Here comes the fourth.

Several scenarios run through my head.

1st Scenario: I tap my horn twice. Beep Beep. Watch as Dad’s eyes meet mine in the side mirror. His brow furrows. I smile. Shrug. Like, “Could you hurry it up, please?”

2nd Scenario: I violently stab my car horn. BLAP. Watch as Dad’s eyes meet mine in the side mirror. His brow furrows. I lift my hands. Shrug. Like, “Whoops – didn’t mean to hit the horn. But while I have your attention, could you hurry it up, please?”

3rd Scenario: I violently stab my car horn. And hold it. BLAAAAAAAAPPPPPPPP. Watch as Dad’s eyes meet mine in the side mirror. His brow furrows. I stare him down. Like, “Yeah. You heard me.” He sticks his head out the window, looks back at me. “You gotta problem?” Maybe he actually opens his door, gets out and walks back to my car, wants to find out what my problem is face to face. (This scenario could lead to violence. Fisticuffs. A McFlurry of punches.)

4th Scenario: Someone behind me taps THEIR horn. Beep Beep. Dad’s eyes meet mine in the side mirror. His brow furrows. I lift my hands. Shrug. Like, “Hey – wasn’t me, buddy. But while we have your attention…”

My fingers drum the steering wheel.

Then, at last, he’s done. Miracle of miracles. I sweep in behind the Suburban the second it moves forward, colonizing the space it so recently occupied. If it were a seat it would still be warm. Now it’s mine. All mine. I have my window rolled down. I am breathless with impatience. Ready to order.

“Hi and welcome to McDonald’s! Would you like to try our new -”

“Can I get a large black coffee with two creamers on the side?”

“Will that complete your order?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“Your total is f – ”

I drive past the callbox and up to the first window, the window where you pay. Or at least I try to. But the Suburban’s still there. Idling. Of course. I can’t tell if Dad’s paid and waiting for change or if he’s still digging around looking for exact coinage.

I lift my weary eyes to the top of his vehicle, spot a rooftop cargo carrier. Black. Sizable. I wonder what’s inside. Body parts maybe. Or Christmas presents. Body parts wrapped as Christmas presents. They’re probably on their way to Grandma’s house. Or a vacation cabin. (‘Tis the season.)

I see movement out of the corner of my eye, catch a McDonald’s employee handing Dad back his credit card and receipt. Dad says something in return (thank you?). Smiles. This guy’s all fucking smiles. A regular chucklehead. Apparently.

Dad says something else to the employee (Merry Christmas?). Then, instead of driving forward and keeping the line moving, instead of showing a degree of awareness and/or respect for the fact that he/they are not alone in this drive-thru and/or world, Dad stays where he is. I see him looking down at his lap, fussing with something. His credit card maybe. He’s putting it back in his wallet. THEN he’ll move forward.

For fuck’s sake.

One of the kids must’ve said something funny because now Dad is laughing, hard, head thrown back. I see gums in the side mirror, a small black gullet ringed by tiny white teeth.

The 1st Scenario pops into my head again, the one where I tap my horn twice. Beep Beep. Watch as Dad’s eyes meet mine in the side mirror, brow furrowing. I smile, shrug. “Could you hurry it up, please?” Dad gives me the stink-eye but pulls forward, allowing me to pay for my coffee at the first window. A minute later I’m back on the 5, nursing my cup of joe and listening to some tunes, inner monologue re: the family in the white Suburban being rapidly replaced by thoughts re: me. And lunch. Then me again.

Meanwhile – still 1st Scenario – the Suburban’s back on the road as well, but now Dad’s mood has soured. He’s still thinking (brooding) about that asshole behind him at McDonald’s, the one who honked his horn. The one who wanted him/them to hurry the fuck up. That honk felt personal. Like an insult. Dad thinks maybe he should’ve gotten out of the car and walked back there, found out what that guy’s problem was face to face. Yeah. Maybe he should have. Dad knows he ought to let it slide but can’t, has never been good at shrugging things off. His fingers drum the steering wheel.

Dad’s wife sits next to him, tense, eyes front, shoulders climbing up to her ears. There’s been a change in the weather and she knows it. She’s heard this record before. She gives her husband a look, assessing the situation, finger to the wind, waiting to see where this will go. But she can guess.

Lexie and her thirty-six brothers and sisters sit behind them, subdued now. There’s been a change in the weather and they know it. They eat quietly, trying not to crinkle their Sausage McMuffin with Egg wrappers too loudly. To no avail.

One of them is an hour and 42 minutes away from getting slapped.

It might happen sooner. It might happen later. But it’s happening.

I sit in the drive-thru with my foot on the brake, staring at the backs of those little heads in the Suburban in front of me, wondering which of them it will be.

Do I know for sure that honking my horn means one of those kids is getting slapped?

Of course not.

Would I really be responsible if the former resulted in the latter?

No. That’s absurd.

Ish.

If Lexie and her thirty-six brothers and sisters are growing up in an environment where slapping occurs, slapping will occur, no matter how quietly they eat their breakfasts. No matter how many drivers refrain from honking at Dad, palms will meet cheeks.

Guaranteed.

But I don’t want to be a link in that chain.

So I still my fingers on the steering wheel and leave my horn unhonked. I will wait the extra 5 minutes for my morning coffee. I will let Dad – still chuckling, by the way – pull forward to the pick-up window when he’s good and ready.

Fine by me.

When he does I follow behind, moving well under 5 mph. When I stop next to the pay window, I brake so gently I can barely tell I’ve braked at all. Or that I was ever moving.

I’ve got my bills and exact change ready. $4.34. I extend my closed fist toward the window as it slides open, revealing a ponytailed teenager in a McDonald’s visor and faded parka. She smiles apologetically, nods toward the Suburban in front of me. Shrugs. Says, “Sorry about the wait. That guy took forever, huh?”

http://mankindprojectjournal.org/2014/01/mcdonalds-drive-thru-823am/

My Comments:

Brilliantly written, humorous, down to earth and realistic.

Went’s account of events always takes me on a ride with him that makes me feel as though I’m right inside his mind experiencing his thoughts and feeling his emotions.  I enjoy his down to earth humor and yes thank goodness he is human and uses the “F” word on occasion.  As always there is always a moral to his story that reveals his rational mind and open heart.  Thank you Went and BRAVO!!!!

… and The Moral of the Story is …

And keep in mind to 

CONSIDER others

while you’re 

DRIVING-THRU!

While we're on the subject of “Consideration” I took the liberty of posting this link for you too.  I hope you enjoy it.

http://debraheylen.blogspot.com/2014/01/compassion.html

Read More

No News Is Good News!

I don’t know about you but it seems like ages since we’ve heard anything about Went.  Oh occasionally we get to see a picture of him with a fan.  Some of them recent and some of them taken a while ago and though these pictures lift my spirits for the moment, I can’t help feeling a little sad that there is no news about Went and his work projects.  Perhaps I’m being unrealistic, after all it’s the beginning of a brand new year and things always start off slow or so it seems! Then there is the saying that “no news is good news” and perhaps I need to keep this in mind and keep my curiosity at bay. 

I thought I’d blog today to let Went know that his fans are thinking of him and that we wish him well wherever he is and with whatever he’s busy with.

Here’s a collage of recent photographs taken of Went that I made to keep on my blog and to share with you.

Read More