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WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?
(October dark writes #4)
I was filled with confusion as I lay in the bed, motionless, staring at the ceiling. My vision was limited to what my eyes could see in their fixed position. I could see faint figures, mere shadows moving about the room, and could only imagine who they were, or what they were doing. My motionless body would not allow me to look. My hearing seemed sharp, sounds everywhere. I could hear muffled voices in the background. I heard cars moving down the street, just outside the window. The sounds outside were loud, at first, then slowly faded into the distance. I felt an itch on my forehead, a slight tingle. I tried to move my arm to scratch it, but remained motionless. The itch increased, and became quite annoying, yet I was helpless. I tried to move again, but nothing happened. A horrid fear swept through my mind, and I wondered what could possibly be wrong with me. I tried to move my other arm, and then my legs. I attempted to raise my head to look, but again, nothing. At that moment, someone leaned over me and just stared into my eyes and said nothing. I asked her what she was looking at, but she did not respond. She did not hear me; the words were only in my mind. I seemed to be in an alternate world, and nothing around me seemed familiar. I was unable to ask any questions. I wasn't even sure who I was. Where am I? How did I get here? I just want to sit up and look around me. Who are these people behind these voices, and what is their connection to me? Why can't I move? Why can't I speak? Why will these people not talk to me? How long will I remain invisible? What the hell is wrong with me?
I felt completely overwhelmed with fear and even anger. There was a sense of helplessness within me, and I felt as though I was being ignored. Out of complete desperation, I tried to scream, and nothing happened. It was as if I was not there, or no one seemed to notice. I felt a tear run down my face, and immediately a woman appeared before me and wiped it away. Who was this woman, and why is she here? I looked into her eyes, and noticed that she had tears in her eyes. The woman faded away from my view, and I could hear her crying uncontrollably. I could hear a man's voice speaking from somewhere in the room. Then, I could hear as more crying began. The voices got louder, the crying continued, and I heard mention of turning off a machine. I screamed, "Wait, I can hear you." Again, my words were not heard by anyone. The crying increased, and that same lady appeared again right in front of me. The beeping sound beside me suddenly stopped. My mind became cloudy, and then, I could no longer see. I am getting so very weak. What is wrong with me?
Note...I wrote this based on a poem I wrote about a year ago by the same title...vic damico
Tags: Poetry, Poems, Writing, Vic Damico
Just Slow Down
Living life is like shopping
All before us is another store
As we walk through the midway of life
We gather what we need as we go
Unlike the malls, all is free, no charge
An unlimited amount of wealth
Not material things, but life treasures
Just reach out and grab what you need
We stumble across that which is bad
Yet within it, we find wisdom
Although the stumble lasted for a moment
The wisdom will remain forever
Visions uncountable everywhere
Enough beauty for a lifetime
Can be found in a single day
Store it within your mind and hold onto it
Sounds that reach within your very soul
Endless and the variety can boggle your mind
Wind howling, a baby laughing, music
It is always there waiting for you to take it in
Some need to have evidence they can feel or hold
It doesn't matter, it is all around you
Pick a flower, throw leaves into the air
Touch an animal, shake someone's hand
You will never be without the evidence
And then there are the friends
Those who have entered and remained
Sharing your hearts, your words, and your space
They are part of our makeup, our existence
The simplicity of our daily lives
Gives us more than most can know
All of the small things that surround us
Should be a planned part of each day
Pleasure and happiness is always right before us
You only need to make it a personal priority
Sadness should never be just accepted
The cure is always within our reach
Just slow down and see what is before you
You may be missing part of your life
Tags: Poetry, Poems, Writing, Vic Damico
Lost In My Own Mind
I stood at the edge of the street and looked at what was before me. The old house at the end of the street had to be at least one hundred years old. There was no sign planted in the yard; no, this house had been vacant for quite a long time. I had an eerie feeling, but felt compelled to walk toward the house. It was rumored that the owner of the house had been murdered one night as he slept, yet there was no documentation to verify or deny the rumor. Slowly, I walked to the steps at the front of the house that led to the porch, and paused before going further. The steps, as well as the porch itself looked as though they may collapse with the slightest weight. I carefully moved up the steps and across the porch and stopped at the front door. I grabbed the handle on the screen door and pulled to open the door. The hinges had rusted, and the door fell onto the porch beside me. I looked around outside to see if anyone had seen or heard me, but I saw no one anywhere. At that moment, I realized that I have never seen anyone in the area. I still had an eerie, almost lost feeling about me, almost a familiar feeling with the house. I opened the front door, stepped inside and closed the door behind me. I felt that all I saw in the main room was not completely new to me, as if I had seen it before. The house was still furnished, and there was a blanket of dust covering everything. There were oil paintings covering the walls, all of them faded and torn with the effects of the years. As I looked at each of the pictures, I felt as though I was looking into the past. I slowly began walking down the hall that led to stairs going to the second floor. As I passed, I looked into the bedroom on the right. It was aged like the rest of the house, but seemed to be as it should have been when the house was occupied. I looked into the room on the left, another bedroom, and it was completely empty. I kept moving, and passed a bathroom, and a closet where the door was open exposing the fact that it was empty. I finally made it to the end of the hall, and I turned and paused at the foot of the stairs. I slowly walked up the stairs and reached the top and paused at the door to another room. The eerie feeling returned, much stronger than before. I grabbed the door knob and tried to turn it, but it was locked. I closed my eyes and just stood there for a moment. I opened my eyes; my hands were still on the knob, but I was now inside the room facing the door. I turned around and with the vision before me, I suddenly felt as though electricity shot through my body. The bed was covered with dried blood. The blood was splattered all over the walls, and there were foot prints of blood leading to a door that I assumed to be a closet. I walked to the door, tried to open it, but it was locked as well. I could feel my pulse in my head, and that strange feeling returned, a feeling that I was familiar with this place. I just knew I had to leave, and the sooner, the better. I walked to the bedroom door, tried to open it, but it was still locked. My pulse increased even more, and I pulled on the door as I twisted the knob but it still did not open. I began to panic. I walked over to the window and tried to open it, but it would not budge from the years that had warped the wood to the point that raising the window was an impossibility. Suddenly visions flashed within my mind, memories of this house, but how is that possible? I knew I had to get out of here, and the door was much too solid to break through. In a moment of fear, frustration and anger, I grabbed the chair by the bed and hurled it as hard as I could into the window. The window not only did not break, but the chair bounced off of it as if it were made of rubber. I threw it again...Still nothing...I walked over to look at the window and there was not even a scratch on it. I just stood there looking out the window when suddenly I felt a fear like I have never known. Why is my name on the mailbox?
Tags: Poetry, Poems, Writing, Vic Damico
Donald Trump For President? The very consideration of making Donald Trump as our next president is the most pathetic concept imaginable as a way to point our nation in the right (correct) direction. I am more qualified for the position and I would not add another ring to the political circus in the process. Please, whether you are on the right or left side of the political spectrum, get this notion out of your head that this man has even a remote chance of being elected as the next President of the United States. If he runs and spends $500 million of his personal assets, he will only disrupt the election process. The man is an idiot, and he represents absolutely nothing that makes him resemble the level of honor that should be a part of the man to take over the Oval Office. Some will say he must be an intelligent man to have gotten this far in life. No, just like the crowd (both sides) in Washington, all you have to do is set your honor and integrity aside and you can go far if you know how to manipulate the system, Donald Trump will not be elected president, and if he would manage to make it to win the Republican Primary, I would never vote for this man, period. We have enough trash already in Washington.
Tags: Politics, Politcal, President, 2012,Vic Damico
Do Not Let The Night Go Unnoticed The night air fills my lungs with its peaceful existence It represents the true dismissal of the previous day The moon pulls at my heart in an attempt to lure me in As if the night, itself sees the need for acknowledgment As I walk, there seems to be an obvious presence with me Overwhelmed, yet calm as the night guides my every move Trees sway back and forth with the soft yet powerful wind As they seem to dance, the darkness is filled with motion Captivated by the light of the moon as it reaches for me Caressing me in a soft, noninvasive manner of calmness The light from above illuminates the path before me Reflections from the water seem to choose the direction The soft earth below me cools my bare feet as I move It seems to generate an energy that flows within me Each step I take moves me closer to the depth of the night Not understanding where I am going, but knowing I will get there I come to a bench and without a thought find myself sitting Leaning my head back and I close my eyes to the light A gentle rains begins as though the night is touching me The coolness upon my face takes me deeper into the night I wonder to myself if others see the meaning of the darkness And just how it is much more than the next stage after the day Night serves a purpose as great as the day that preceded it Many never see it as anything other than a void until the light returns So as the days end and the inevitable darkness takes over the light Understand that the time before you is a beginning, not an end Many hours of silent beauty are simply waiting to be noticed The night is the calmness that will lead you to the coming day Do not let the night go unnoticed
Tags: Poetry, Poems, Writing, Vic Damico
Just to clear the air and express my concerns with the changes with Myboomerplace. I was first quite shocked to see my comment alerts number to be dropped by a little over 200 from what it was earlier in the morning. I have lost many of my actual comments, including some from my dear Ziatia who left us about two weeks ago. I am not happy about this situation and I feel quite invaded by the removal of what was mine, not the personal property of the site. I was told that I missed a bulletin because I deleted a member of the administration who must have been the one to post the bulletin. I have deleted no one, so that was not the case. This may in fact be a site owned by individuals, but my personal profile is to be controlled by me as long as I abide by the guidelines set forth by the site. Missing the bulletin or not is not the actual issue. I did not agree to be a part of a new site, even if it is affiliated with the original Myboomerplace. And later this evening, I was hit right between the eyes by a new revelation. My blogs, my photos, my comments, and even my friends list has been moved to a new site that I did not know to exist until tonight. As simple as it may sound, I set up an account with the original Myboomerplace, not for any site they may choose to share my information. You do not have to go set up your new profile; it has been done for you, whether you want it, or not. All you have to do is to customize it to your personal tastes. Your information is already there. Myboomerplace has decided that your information can be moved to a new site and it is there as I type this. I was basically made to feel that I was being told I was over-reacting because everyone knew about the changes. Everyone did not know about the changes as it was clearing indicated by tonight’s status streams. What should have happened out of respect for the members of Myboomerplace is that the individual members should have been sent an individual message telling them of the changes and to give us an option of not allowing our information to be moved without our permission. It does not matter if I saw a bulletin or if I knew about the changes. It should not have just been assumed to be acceptable that our information was just sent to the second site. I am also concerned and you all should be as well, if your privacy settings are the same at the new site as they are on the original site. For most of us who use any Internet social site, our main concern is our privacy. I am very concerned about the privacy issues now, and I have a good reason to have those concerns. Changes that include my privacy are being made, and it has been done without my personal approval. I find that quite troubling. I have a trust issue now, because apparently, I do not have control of my account, or even my personal information. My intentions with this blog are quite simple. Since we were not asked individually how we felt about the changes, I am asking you, and giving you a chance to express your thoughts and concerns about what is happening. Vic Damico 04.03.2011
Dancing Within My Mind I sometimes feel as though I am dancing within my own mind My existence is floating in a vast area that is unknown even to me Thoughts are endless and rest is no longer an option Memory agents serve as guidelines with my voyage in life I look into my past in an effort to understand my future Today is my middle ground that provides the actual view Time collides with itself and voids are the end result My inner self is consumed as I sift through the confusion As I look before me I can see what is far behind in the distance Gazing into the endless sky allows me to see underground When night brings itself to me I can see quite clearly In the light of the day the blinding light manipulates my vision I sometimes hear things even before the sound is made This becomes more evident as I watch others respond later Only recently my ability to see colors has vanished completely My vision is extremely clear but in a simplistic black and white At night as I sleep my cognitive abilities are more relaxed This is the time that my mind filters out that which is unnecessary My dreams are mental tools that cleanse thoughts that are disruptive I awake with an organized understanding of what transpired the day before Lost somewhere between brilliance and pure insanity My mind takes me back and forth through the unknown Looking for what is there if only within the darkness of my being As I continue to dance daily within my own mind
Tags: Poems, Poetry, Writing, Vic Damico
The Art Of Francisco Goya
Francisco Goya was born in 1746 in a small town near Zaragoza. When he was 14 he began a 4 year apprenticeship to a local master, José Luzan. Goya then left for Madrid with the intention of winning a prize at the Academy of San Fernando. Although he didn’t win, he met the court artist Francisco Bayeu who was to prove influential in forming Goya’s early style. Bayeu was heavily influenced by the German painter Anton Taphael Mengs, and passed elements of this style on to Goya. Bayeu was also instrumental in Goya’s first involvement in a commission. This was the fresco decoration of the Church of the Virgin in El Pilar in Zaragoza. From 1773, after spending a year in Italy, Goya worked on a number of other fresco projects, including one for the Charterhouse of Aula Dei, near Zaragoza. However, it was in 1798 that he worked on his greatest fresco project for the Church of San Antonio de la Florida, Madrid. Goya had now begun working on prints based on paintings by one of his two greatest sources of inspiration, Velázquez. Rembrandt was the other artist that Goya drew inspiration from. Goya began working on official portraits commissioned by King Charles III around 1786. One of his paintings from this time, Marquesa de Pontejos, is on display in the National Gallery in Washington, D.C. He also worked on several tapestry cartoons depicting Spanish life, and these revolutionized the Spanish tapestry industry. However, in the winter of 1792, Goya’s life took a dramatic turn when he became totally deaf after a serious illness. Not surprisingly, this led to much of his subsequent work having a pessimistic air to it. He drew and etched the first in a series of prints, the satirical Los Caprichos (The Caprices). Others followed, including the Desastres de la Guerra (Disasters of War), and Disparates (Absurdities). Goya had witnessed the horrors of war, at first hand, during the French occupation of Spain, and he drew on this for two of the paintings that he completed in 1814. The Second of May, 1808 and Third of May, 1808 both depict brutal massacres of his countrymen by the French. The thick, bold strokes of dark colour that he used were typical of many of his later paintings. Another characteristic of Goya’s paintings towards the end of his life was that they had an openness and honesty, especially his portraits. His portrait, Family of Charles IV, portrays the Royals in a realistic manner, and not idealized as many other artists did. It is on display in Madrid’s Prado Museum. Towards the end of his life, Goya painted a series of fresco scenes on the walls of his country house. These were the Black Paintings, and he used mainly blacks, browns and greys to depict scenes of witchcraft. Goya was evidently becoming depressed by the political situation in Spain, and these paintings reflected his mood. He was forced to leave Spain in 1824, because of the oppression in his native land, and moved to France. Goya began to pursue the then new art of lithography, and he produced a series of bullfight scenes that are among the best lithographs ever made. He died, in France, in 1828. 
The painting known as ‘Saturn Devouring One of His Sons’, by Francisco Goya, presents us with a terrifying cannibal god, Kronos, whom he depicts as a wild, revolting figure, consuming his offspring. The ancient deity looks crazed, his eyes are atrocious and the painting is one of those which imprints itself on the psyche of those who examine it closely.
Tio Paquete
La Cometa (The Kite)
Antonia Zarate
Bullfight In A Divided Ring
Francisca Sabasa
The Parasol
Sacrifice To Vesta
St. Peter Repentant
Family Of Carlos IV
Idiot
The Snowstorm 
 
Music Playlist at MixPod.com
Tags: Art, Vic Damico
Music Playlist at MixPod.com
We Have Lost An Angel We lost a dear friend last evening. Ziatia left our world last night after battling an illness I had known about for only the last few months. I feel as though I have lost a part of me, and I know that she will remain in my heart forever. Ziatia was the most dear, loving, and giving person that I have ever known. Not once, did I hear her complain during her illness, but mostly seemed to be more concerned about not being able to help others as she has always done. Those who knew her were never surprised by her ability to always see the goodness in life, and she had this way of allowing others to feel it as well. Ziatia had a special place in her heart for children, and always seemed to have time to touch their lives, as only she seemed able to do. Even in her last days, rather than to be concerned about herself, Ziatia worried as to who was going to help the children from the church with their next play, or that she was not going to be able to teach them a new song. I told her many times that I did not understand how anyone could have a heart as large as hers. She gave of herself until she could no longer do so, and then was angry because she could not continue to give any more. I called Ziatia my angel, because to me, that is what she was. I know in my heart that God has set aside a special place for her in Heaven. I feel a pain within my heart, as others do with this loss, but I wish to share something someone once told me that seems to explain that pain so well. There was a field, and in the middle of this field were two giant oak trees, probably 60 years old. One of the trees, after all of these decades had seen its better days and had died. The tree was removed and during the process, a discovery was made. The roots from the two trees had become so massive and covered so much ground, that the roots from one tree had become tangled with the roots from the other tree. As the old tree was removed, it damaged the roots of the second tree. It was then said that the roots of the two trees had become as one, and even though damage to the surviving tree would heal within time, it may suffer for a while. That is how it is when we lose someone we love. The hearts seem to grow together, and when the loved one is pulled from you, it feels as though a part of you is being removed as well. It tears at your heart, much as the roots of one tree had pulled from the roots of the other tree. That pain you feel is solid proof that love was in your heart. That pain represents love, so in its own way, it is a good that we are actually able to feel the pain. The following may seem personal, mainly because it is. I decided to include this in my memorial to Ziatia because it is something that I recently told her. My reason for including it is simple. You must first understand that Ziatia and I had never met in person. How she touched me, as she did is a wonderful example of how she impacted the lives of those who knew her, and none more than in my life. I never realized the emptiness that existed in me until you came into my life. That emptiness has vanished and now, I am filled with what could only come from you. The exact same from another would not have touched my heart as you have. The same from another would not have been welcomed into my heart in the first place. I have always referred to you as my angel. I have often thought that maybe we are both angels, and we were chosen to look out for each other. The truth is that you have blessed my life, and I seem to have blessed yours as well. I do believe in my heart that what has happened between us is just as God has planned. There is simply no other explanation for it. You are, and will eternally be my angel. God has blessed us in allowing Ziatia to be a part of our lives, and now, He has claimed one of His own. And Ziatia certainly left her mark here on Earth. She will be missed, but she remains in the hearts of many of us, and will be eternally. And for that, I thank God.
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