So I Needed To Talk

So I Needed To Talk

maggie the cat - so i needed to talkby ‘maggie the cat’

I left a voice mail for this case worker who I had been talking to since my therapist had surgery. Needing a therapist is essential to me. So I needed to talk. I didn’t realize every word I spoke was being mis-evaluated, mis- interpreted and used against me in the future, when it shouldn’t have even been on this person’s radar to be recording or remembering what I was saying. It was the ravings and rantings of an addicted client in need of her therapy fix.[ I do exaggerate in this instance].

This person suddenly brought up the need to write up my Treatment Plan. I always do that with my therapist, and only with my therapist. But she countered with the time restrictions and urgency. Bullsh*t. Well, she wrote my plan. Wanted me to sign and return it, but gave me the alternative that we speak about it at the date and time written below. I fretted over what to do. The Treatment Plan was so f’d up and contrary to what I am even close to needing or wanting to work on in therapy. A complete misinterpretation of who I am and what I stand for and an insult to my sensibilities. I have a better idea of what I need and I thought I was getting across to her in our talks what I was about. She missed the path and heard the need I was projecting, the strong need I had for my therapist. She saw herself as a stand-in.  I now see speaking with her as a huge mistake. I wish now I never uttered a word to her.

She looks like Chloe Sevigny. A trusting face. I thought I could trust her. My therapist suggested I talk to her every few weeks, but not to trust any of the other therapists. Reason, they would not get me. Danger Zone. I may just be having an overreaction but my partner was impressed with what I wrote below and left as a voice-mail on the case worker’s machine. I was polite enough to thank her. Taught well as a kid in the realm, ‘we have our ways of making you obey.’ I feel a weight has been lifted and my therapist will be proud of me, doing something I see and I think she will see as bold, brave, and gutsy. I don’t do confrontation well.

It is best not to let those who are there to ‘help’ think in their minds, they are better than you b/c you are the one ‘needing’ to see the therapist,  I must need them & can’t do without, therefore I conclude, their thoughts fall into the category as a stigma-tizer. And no one is going to stigmatize me b/c my brain decided to be different. It has its own special ways of reacting. Also, I didn’t choose my childhood, filled with things that should never happen to anyone, especially not to a child. Like Humpty, I fell off of every wall that existed but technically, I was pushed. There was no teetering. They were all direct hits from the long hand of the maternal parental warden and the paternal and fraternal members and extensions, who decided torturing my childhood was their game of thrones. They were royalty and I was Cinderella, Sybill [except I am Bipolar, not the mis-diagnosis I received of MPD/DID], and Carrie w/ the wacky mother. So when the therapeutic community tries to push you into a prescribed method of healing & behavioral development, I tell them to go f off. I just want my therapist. – maggie the cat 09.03.15

maggie the cat - james thurber - every body you look at seems to be a rabbit - rabbit is shrink

“You Said a Moment Ago That Everybody You Look At Seems To Be A Rabbit. Now Just What Do You Mean By That, Mrs. Sprague?” – James Thurber

Below is the Voice-mail of my Fear turned into Courage

I AM CANCELING Appt. Friday 4th Sept. @1:30pm

In the past months I’ve spoken to you while under duress. When the Treatment Plan came up I was told it had to be completed and signed by a specific date or time. Not ACCEPTABLE. Left message with Dr. M. that the pressure of dealing with Treatment Plan without my therapist is bad for my health – causing Panic Attacks. Feeling pressure to talk w/ someone not a therapist, not my therapist, has been difficult. But to share with them what I want my treatment to be without my therapist involved is one step too close to my line of confidentiality. I rewrote the Treatment Plan I received b/c I felt it did not reflect what I need from therapy. I felt it was 90% wrong. It missed completely what my therapy needs are now. When I talked with you I felt too vulnerable so what came out would have been meant for D [my therapist].

She is away. Not b/c she wants to be. When she returns we will work out together where we need to start our work together again. A great deal has changed since her surgery and treatment. It has changed for both of us. Something I need to discuss with D. Until I show her what I wrote as my treatment plan and we work on what it should ultimately say, I will not be signing anything with which I am in strong disagreement. I am canceling any further talks with you. I feel it is counterproductive at the present time. When D returns, we will designate what I need to work on and what she feels are best for my life as it is in the present. At that time we will make my Treatment Plan together, D & I. And only then, not before, will I sign my Treatment Plan.

Thank you

'maggie the cat'

‘maggie the cat’

yoda - do or do not, there is no trymaggie the cat’s alter-ego / Yoda – the universal eclectic

Private Writings: Chapter #61- “From Me To You”

private writings to a psychoanalyst (c) Jk 2013Private Writings: Chapter #61 – “From Me To You”
Written by Jennifer Kiley
Post Tuesday 13th May 2014

Not Suitable For Children.
All Characters Are Fictitious.
Anyone Resembling Anyone Living or Dead
Is Purely Coincidental.

Crypticistic Synopsis

private writings to dr. annie haskell psychoanalyst

I am the storyteller using imagination fantasy feelings & thoughts to discover self soul eternal serenity & bliss but to most importantly tell the best tale ever after upon a time

see you down the rabbit hole.

Private Writings: Chapter #61 — “From Me To You”

Tuesday 4th November 2008

Dear Annie,

The other night, while I was writing in “A Writer’s Diary” a most bizarre idea occurred to me. Actually, it was two ideas. The first is not so bad to talk about. I decided I wanted to create a scrapbook of photographs of an actress I have a deep & lasting crush on. We’ve never met. I want to write her a script she would love. My fantasy is she accepts & I get to work with her. Running lines. Having her over for drinks, non-alcoholic or not.

I prefer weed to drink. More a sense of control. Your mind doesn’t get muddled. It floods out like a dam broken on a roaring river. All is washed away & awareness becomes acutely sensitive to every stimuli within my reach. But back to my ideas.

The sordid idea that came to me felt so freeing. I decided to created “A Writer’s Diary” that really told & showed everything I was brave enough to release from being a prisoner in the darkest room in the back of my mind. Mostly unreachable. Only set off by triggers from the ghosts that traveled the road inside of my past.

And now they are slowly returning with their stories of what they did to me. More like their lies & denials of anything ever occurring. I am only seeking attention. No one ever touched me. I have such horrible, brutal details from my childhood abuse living inside my conscious mind. Some get pulled back down under.

But suddenly they will rush out at me when I might be biting into a sandwich & taking a sip from someone’s sweet milky coffee, the way my male birth parent took his coffee, lots of sugar & cream. My good grandfather liked it that way also. When we would ever have lunch together when I was a child, he would always offer me a sip. He knew I was too shy to ask. He also would give me bites of the sandwiches my grandmother would make for our outings together. He had his favorites & I had mine. But my grandfather knew I loved the taste of whatever he was eating more than my own food, even if it was the same exact ingredients. Made no difference, his food always tasted better than mine.

He loved to take me to the stables & let me ride one of the smaller horses. I was so drawn to horses. They were my fantasy escape. I would ride off on my horse with someone, a young, blue eyed, light brownish blond hair, wavy & touching her shoulders, girl. She would find her horse & I would lead her to the best secret sights to ride to. Places no one else knew about. They were well hidden behind walls of morning glory & raspberry bushes. I knew the silent entrances no one else was ever able to find. Those were my woods. No one knew them as well as I did. I could run through them as though I were in a race at the Olympics out for the win.

Today, it is all so overgrown, one would need a machete to whack our way into the fortress, my palace against the danger of the times when I was too small to fight back. And there was no one to rescue me. No one knew. I preferred they didn’t. How would I explain what men & father figures, real & imagined, had done to me & would continue doing until I was almost not a teenager any longer.

I was growing into an immature adult child that knew nothing about life except abuse, hunger, neglect & sex. Not real sex with love & tenderness involved. I am talking about force. Rape. Having someone, anyone, I might not even know them but my father did. He knew them all. And one was my oldest brother. They would all force themselves on an unaccepting target, aiming with their pricks to score their goals & leave their disgusting mess behind. I was punished if anyone was not satisfied. You don’t want to know who or what the punishment was.

My secret for now.

Until I am able to see you, I really do miss you terribly.




© Madison Taylor 2008

“I think writing really helps you heal yourself. I think if you write long enough, you will be a healthy person. That is, if you write what you need to write, as opposed to what will make money, or what will make fame.“ — Alice Walker

Red Calla Lily Aranal Flower

Red Calla Lily Aranal Flower

“A Dream

The beginning always starts out

With a dream.

It is all a dream

In our own nightmares”

— Madison Taylor

negative of le chateau de rocher by j. kiley (c) jennifer kiley 2013Le Chateau de Rocher [Home to Madison & Scottie – their Cats & daughter Alison. She has her own place on the estate

play is not just play meryl streep“Pretending is not just play. Pretending is imagined possibility” — Meryl Streep

Medicalmarijuana red cross marijuana leaf black bgMedical Marijuana

Private Writings: Chapter #25 — Private Dancer

private writings by jennifer kileyPrivate Writings: Chapter #25 — Private Dancer
Written by Jennifer Kiley
Published Introduction & Chapter #1 On 19th March 2013
Published Early Tuesday AM
Posted On 10rd September 2013


Crypticistic Synopsis:

I am writing to Dr. Annie Haskell. My form of storytelling is through letters containing dreams, thoughts, poems, music, describing my script ‘Brief Sacrifice,’ already made into a film but not yet released, psychotherapy, inspirations, reflective comments, the inner workings of the mind, soul, body, emotions, and bipolar. I prefer mentally creative, interesting, or having a brain misfiring. Included in the mix are childhood abuse, car crashes, near drownings, drugs [the illegal kind at present], hallucinations, hypersexuality, time warps, finding answers to unsolved mysteries, infatuation, imagination, fantasy,

and a need to discover my bliss.
See you inside.
— Namaste! Madison Taylor

Private Writings: Chapter #24 — Private Dancer

Tuesday 11th March 2008

Dear Annie,

What do I say to you about our first day of private therapy.

If you could imagine my waiting for you to come out to get me in the waiting room. My insides were flipping over. The chair could have floated out from underneath me, I was ascending to the ceiling so often. Then it came. Your hand gently resting on my shoulder. The electric current woke me from a trance. My ear buds were in. Music was high, playing ‘Everything I Do, I Do It For You.’ I’m sure you’re familiar with Bryan Adams.

You touched me. It was the first time. So unexpected but I didn’t flinch. Your hand felt so safe. No touch does from people. Why, then was it okay with you? Therapy began in a moment I never will forget.

I didn’t say anything. Just followed you to your office. It was exactly how my mind imagined it. There is a photograph in my head. Your office is exactly identical. I have been seeing the future again.

What did we talk about? I was in a daze. Being alone with you was overwhelming. After the long wait of wishing for just this day. It seemed like being inside of a dream I’ve been dreaming forever. You have been buried, living inside my mind. You are the one.

Explaining what I mean is beyond human words. It is buried in memories outside of time. A recurring sense of familiarity without any connection till now. It is of times past. Other lives. Reincarnation. Having been together before now. We knew and lived in other times together. What I am writing sounds certifiable to most. Look how people tease Shirley MacLaine. People believe but are embarrassed by believing in such seemingly bizarre, other dimensional phenomena. I do believe mostly, but have doubts when others question the strength of my beliefs.

I am so easily influenced. What I believe floats with the breeze and seems too easily changeable as is the direction of the wind. It is not because I don’t belief what I do belief, it’s my need to question everything. Which leaves me feeling confused, as though I stand on the solidness of quicksand most of the time.

Everything in life confuses me. In a moment I will believe in something being as real as anything can be. In a flash the connection is broken. Reality turns into a nightmare of chaotic brainwaves of disbelief. A crumbling of my reality into a collection of delusional thoughts, a puzzle where the pieces don’t fit together any way you try to make sense of them.

I lose track. Stop knowing what to believe. Testing anything becomes too frightening. The fear, is my reality is false, and my delusions are true. What does one do when thinking and feeling like the world is alien, which trips back and forth at will, no control from within me.

I think it is why I like fantasy. Watching movies. Reading books. Writing outrageous fiction. Creating cryptic poetry. The abstract is more acceptable. It can be whatever it wants to be. Change when it wants to. It is simply accepted. A true shape-shifter. Maybe I am one. Never the same. Always someone different.

Will you be able to help me. I need a complete internal make-over. Inside of me lives a very fucked up mess. Filled with fear. Wanting to love but retreating as soon as it feels too close. Reaching for it. Shutting down when it is given. I would say I am really screwed. The up part I let it be cut off. Most of the time I don’t feel up. When I do, it drives everyone crazy except me. I don’t live outside my body. I don’t notice the extreme agitation and rage. I become fixated and driven. I have no idea why I feel the way I do, except most of the moments when I am awake I chase after the muse to keep up. Exactly like Alice with her White Rabbit. I fall down the Rabbit Hole on a regular basis.

The Mad-Hatter is a really great friend, if one can be friends with someone as crazy as you are. Actually, maybe it is easier. Is there a direction we can take to relieve the pressure? The urges to want out of this world. Oh, yeah, the state of suicidal thinking is a regular visitor in my head. We are co-operating companions. I won’t let her harm me, she knows it is true, so the deal is, I let her exist as long as she lets me have my moments of being in my bliss or high, so I can write and create. She even helps sometimes find those hidden meanings and depth I find so elusive. She knows the secret passageways to memories. Knowledge one can’t find in the wide awake world. Too much bright light can hide the views of the darkness. The answers lie in the darkness. The ones I am seeking.

So what did we talk about. I asked you to tell me who you were. Not using those words. You told me you had a daughter in high school, ninth grade I believe. She wants to be an actor. The plays and musicals she’s been in, all were as the lead. See if my memory fails or leads me to the correct answers. Memory failure is common with me. To begin with, she played Maria in West Side Story. Let me think, she was Juliet in Shakespeare’s modernized production of my beloved ‘Romeo and Juliet.’ Marvelous play. Such an ending, an example of extremely bad timing all around for all those ending up dead. Quite a high number but not as severe as Hamlet.

Which brings me to Hamlet. Her school switched things up a bit on Elizabethan rules, had a lady playing a young man in the way of Hamlet. Your daughter was the lucky one to win the sweet role. The sheer fact at her age to succeed at doing a shortened version of Hamlet or any version is extremely difficult. But you told me she always received excellent write-ups in the local paper and school paper, on all her performances. Which makes me feel and think I would like to meet her someday. Make an attempt to write her the perfect part in one of my screenplays. We will discuss this. If she has aspirations toward being a professional actor, Scottie, my partner in life and career, is a director. We have our own production company, ‘Infinite Imaginations, Inc. III.’ If you would like and she agrees, we could arrange a screen test, see how she appears through the eye of the camera.

If you help to fix me, I would be overjoyed to help you with your daughters future in the world of film. It would, actually be my pleasure. You would know she’d be safe with Scottie watching out for her. And I’d write her an Oscar winning role. Not over-confident, am I?

This leads me right into my favorite part of writing to you. I love telling you about my work and particularly my latest script, ‘Brief Sacrifice.’ We left off with Carter pursuing a lead, following the trail of the Magic Silver Box without any seams and impossible to open. Carter needed the input of her three companions, Jasper, Jax, and James, her Savannah Cats. James’ specific psychic ability was the best way to sort things out but they must follow the trail of its origin.

The first destination was the Estate where Carter purchased her Treasure. Hopefully, they could provide information as to the origins or name of the deceased whose Estate was being sold. If Carter had that name, it could lead to other connections.

After arriving, they found the caretaker. He directed Carter to the lawyer’s office who managed the deceased estate. The firm was hired by Jackson Sharp, to take care of closing out the estate. They directed Carter to where she could locate him.

When she found Jackson Sharp, he invited her in, as though he was expecting her. After the amenities, he asked her and her companions to make themselves very comfortable, for he, Jackson Sharp had a story to tell them.

He started out his story as follows: “The deceased was the Leader of the Organization: The Friends of Nikola Tesla. He managed the Friends of Nikola Tesla since shortly after his, Tesla’s, death at a young age . He died penniless after creating amazing inventions. He worked for Edison, whom he had no affection for but was fortunate to have acquired the support of an extremely wealthy entrepreneur in Morgan and later joined by another wealthy benefactor.”

“Tesla was moving forward with his inventions until he came upon a way for everyone in the world to have free electricity by simply putting a specially devised pole in the ground. The best part is the power from these sources would not only make electricity free, it would eventually create absolutely no need for the use of fossil fuels. Oil that is, Texas gold.”

“Well, his wealthy benefactors did not want this invention to ever see the light of his invention. They buried him. Withdrew their financial support. No one was ever going to see his dream in action. It did sneak into the invention of the Tesla Electric Car, which is doing very well.”

“After Tesla’s death, the U.S. Government absconded with all his possessions where he was living, and hid them away. Did they get everything, though? I believed in Nikola Tesla, myself, once I heard the story from the old man who died. I’m sorry I cannot tell you his identity, it was my promise to never reveal his secret.

“Tesla was brilliant. Did anyone believe he would not have secret locations where he would hide his own secret inventions. Especially after all which had been stolen from him. He was sure to want to leave a legacy for the future where he hoped there would be those who would understand his genius and his amazing capabilities. I am privileged to those secrets. During the remaining years of his life, the old man, with a group of secret individuals of like minds, protected Nikola Tesla’s answers to the future of humankind.”

“These secrets are set to be passed down through generations until humankind is worthy of the powers Nikola Tesla put into his work and dreams. Even the powers of electricity free for all is well hidden away until the world can rid itself of the parasites who live off the energy of the masses. Who cast them aside as though they meant nothing. The .01% of the population are those parasites who are starving the world as they destroy the beauty in nature and make slaves of the majority of humankind. Their day will fall. They will disappear for good.”

“On that day, all the secrets will be revealed. Humankind will make a change. All will be new. The world will be recreated. This is Nikola Tesla’s dream and what Friends of Nikola Tesla are protecting until the time comes for his Dream to be put into full action.”

“All of this is contained in a special Silver Box filled with Magical abilities. This Magic has the capability to alter the world enough so that Change and Truth can be revealed. If I am not mistaken,” Jackson Stark said. “You are in possession of this Silver Box ?”

“Yes, that is correct, but how did you know?” Carter said.

“It was meant to belong to you. You were chosen. I will explain, but let us rest now. I will have arrangements made for you, Carter, and your companions to stay here for while. It’s just for your own protection.”

“What protection? Why do we need protection?”

“The contents of the Silver Box is being searched for as we speak. Many extremely dangerous people will not stop ever until it is found, those who have knowledge of it and those who are in possession of it, are all destroyed. What you hold in your possession is truly Magical, with powers you will find very difficult to understand. It is too soon to get into what it is. The time will be soon enough.”

“Now let me show you to your suite, where you can make your selves comfortable. I will prepare a delicious meal for everyone. Don’t worry Jasper, Jax and you, too, James. I know James, you are the Special One with all the psychic talents. It’s rare to find a cat who matches up with a companion who understands his ability. You can, can’t you, Carter! You have the Magic, also. That is partly why you were all chosen. But there you are. I am getting ahead of myself. I will leave now. Get comfortable. You will find snacks for all in the small refrigerator over against the wall, just over there. Now, I take my leave. Dinner will come shortly, I promise. I will ring you on the intercom. Rest. You will need it for what’s ahead.”

He disappeared. They did as he said and all rested.

And I will stop there. Leave you wanting more.

What a day. A dream comes true. Fear is rising. But telling you my tale of Magic calms me down.

I know I didn’t say anything about the group. What I would have to write would take away from the specialness of having you all to myself today. I don’t want to think about group anymore. I wish it would just end. Be done with it. The only reason I still go now is to see you. Now I can do that on my own. I will leave group at saying there is little I will miss. The past too many years have only been a disaster I should have ended long ago. But I know now, why I didn’t. It was meant for me to live through, till the day came I would meet you, Annie. Serendipity. Maybe. Sometimes what leads up to it can be extremely painful. I needed to learn what I didn’t need, to discover what I do need, and want. Enough from that lesson. Let it be over now. Enough!

Time to stop.

Until I see you next time.

Fondly and Gratefully, I sign off with much appreciation to you, Annie.

Always Want To Know You,


Annie Haskell --- Madison Tayler's Psychoanalyst's Office

Dr. Annie Haskell’s Office as a Psychoanalyst

Somewhere In Time – John Barry



rain in garden giftrusting
written by madison taylor
monday 10th february 2008

trusting the newness
memories overturning
in graves their awakening

arms pull warmth to me
body’s touching silky skin
caressing gently my dreams

feeling hands inside
flesh responds in still silence
open wanting pleads let go

© madison taylor 2008

a matter of time --- artist katherine patrick

a matter of time — artist katherine patrick

“A Dream
The beginning always starts out
With a dream.
It is all a dream
In our own nightmares”
— Madison Taylor

Patrick is our Bengal cat in tree. He loves Scotties. They are buddies. 1612x1212

Patrick-our Bengal cat up in his tree-Scottie’s buddy

Havana Brown Kitten Madison and Scottie's kitten One of the Two 800x600

Havana Brown Kitten Madison & Scottie’s. This cutie is Toker. He has a twin brother Mikey

Chateau de Rocher Art Gallery 999x752

Chateau de Rocher Art Gallery

play is not just play meryl streep

Private Writings: Chapter #22 — Outraged Fortune

private writings to a psychoanalyst (c) Jk 2013
Private Writings: Chapter #22 — Outraged Fortune
Written by Jennifer Kiley
Illustrated by j. kiley
Published Introduction & Chapter #1 On 19th March 2013
Published Early Tuesday AM
Posted On 20th August 2013


Private Writings: Chapter #22 — Outraged Fortune

Tuesday 19th February 2008


You would be proud of me today, Annie. I finally stood up to Dr. George in a once-and-for-all confrontation. I told him off during our private session. The usual mood of unrest was between us. But today the hostility seemed more heightened. The session started almost immediately with animosity. I spoke honestly about my feelings regarding a specific group member who I felt had been treating me with contempt and judgement. She’d made it impossible for me to feel safe and supported in the group especially by Dr. George.

Other members of the group were contemptuous toward me, also, with two exceptions. Kristina was one women who supports me and the other woman is you, Annie. I must tell you, I am so grateful to you for standing by me, helping me feel some sense of security. Well, for some time in our private sessions, whenever I was honest about how a group member made me feel, he would say I was being critical and always come to their defense, without any words of support for me. Not even to say I’d made good observations, maybe we should talk about why I felt that way. What specifically is it they do that bothers me. Instead he would tell me my reality was imaginary. He told me my feelings were inappropriate and I was overreacting. What I thought was happening wasn’t remotely close to accurate. He accused me of delusional, irrational thinking.

Well, I tried to be reasonable and told him specifics of a particular day. I was exacting in detail of what was said and how. I held nothing back. My angry persona was fed up with my therapist’s bullshit and let him have it full force. I told him this group member was racist, homophobic, classist and her language was disgraceful, calling lesbians and gay men, derogatory terms, and with black people, she used the ”N” word. People who didn’t have her wealth, they were beneath her and didn’t deserve to live. I am holding back and being rather kind describing her language and the way she thought about and acted toward others.

He told me I was cruel and used unimaginable criticisms. That was enough for me. All those years of therapy holding back the anger sent my angry persona flying into an extremely powerful rage, telling Dr. George to go fuck himself. It didn’t matter it was Angie who was the center of the emotional storm setting off the rage and the insulting behavior of Dr. George. She was dead and possibly murdered, but delicacy, when it concerned Angie, meant nothing to me. For years Angie had been treating me like shit. Mourning her loss did not fit when I felt such loathing for her. Yes. I knew her children didn’t deserve the pain, but maybe they were lucky to be out from under her influence. Please don’t feel I went too far saying those words. Enduring this monster from Hell for too many years, has been an act of punishment for the entire group.

Dr. George couldn’t stop himself. A sign he was losing his professionalism completely. He repeated his words, I was cruel and unfeeling, calling me the monster. I lost it. My limit had been reached of what I would take from him. My angry persona went into a blinding rage and did something we hadn’t done since we were young. We pushed our body out of our chair, crossed to his office door, opened it and walked through it. With the greatest of forward motion, using all our strength, we slammed his door as hard as our strength would allow, sending an echoing of splintering wood throughout the clinic. I preceded to walk vigorously through the halls proceeded to the Clinic exit, leaving the building swiftly, knowing I had no intention of returning.

You will hear about my indiscretion, I am sure and it will be a biased version told by my ex-fucked-up doctor. I hear his words now saying I was disrespectful of him and of Angie’s memory. I tell you the truth, Annie. Angie was a terrible person. No one liked her, she was intimidating. Dr. George will tell everyone at the morning meeting I am having a mental meltdown, adding I said horrible things about Angie, I am crazy, unbalanced, delusional, irrational, a touch mad or crazy, whichever you prefer. I am none of these. Dr. George is the one who fits this description. Standing up for myself, I would say I am a complicated and have lived a rather colourful and traumatizing life,and someone who needs the assistance of psychotherapy to help me through the mix up, fucked up feelings crashing around in my brain.

I am depressed half the time and so fucking moody, anxious, suicidal on a regular basis but then the opposite. I float high and creativity floods my mind. Time stops. I move through space alone. The Universe is mine. It’s a grand and bloody good high. A no drug zone.

What a liberating experience, finally standing up to Dr. George. He’s been draining my soul of energy from the start. I had to find the force in myself to get past his influence. I know you’re thinking or I’m projecting thoughts onto you, ‘Why did I stay with him?’ Fear. Fear of finding the truth. Would I lose control. Go over the edge if I entered the real world. I felt I needed the familiarity of being destroyed by someone in authority. Dr. George was the perfect fit.

Started with my parents, family and abusers rolled into a perfect trauma circle, followed by bosses, but then came college and I thought I was released. College was an experience outside of time. I was stoned most of my waking hours. I even had an affair with the husband of one of my professors. I didn’t want to have sex with him. I hate sex. I hate it more with men. I didn’t want sex with him. It’s part of what is wrong with me. In college, I met my first real love. A woman of high intelligence and a sense of humour I couldn’t resist. Her opening comment to me, something so simple: “Do you have the notes for the last Western Civ class?” I turned around to see whose face went with the voice, the sensual sound that woke me from my fog. “Why, yes I do.”

“Did you study for the test?” Her next question. Of course, I had. I was one of those students who were always prepared and didn’t have to make an effort or more like didn’t want to make an effort because it all came too easily for me. It fucks you up, you know, to be that way. You miss out on the connection to what you’re learning. Now I concentrate and dig into what I want to learn. Now, I want to understand.

After we got to know each other, she told me, honestly, she thought I was a snob before she first approached me. Me. I’m an extremely shy introvert, yes, but not a snob. More afraid to talk students. Chose to hang out with professors, instead. They were easier to talk to. Once this female student and I got to know one another, we became inseparable. A growing friendship we could acknowledge but nothing more that was between us. It would have been too much for both of us. But love did happen. The lover came out in both of us during a stoned and wine induced high. My response to her saying we needed some guys to have sex was and I quote: “Why do we need men?”

It was the night I drove out some demons temporarily. Love happened there. It was the highest high. So, that was what was missing, I was/am a lesbian. Now, don’t misunderstand. It isn’t that easy. She left for another college, the transfer went through a short time later. I went into a deep depression. Dropped acid. Wanted to kill myself and my life suddenly took a totally new fork in the pathway to my future.

Now, before I close this letter out, I want to mention something about ‘Brief Sacrifice.’ Carter, through the clues, had found the passage on page 62, in the book ‘Somewhere In Time,’ that James, one of her three Savannah cats, the other two were Jasper and Jax, had led her to. This week James points out further information to break the code to open the leather briefcase. There is a number dial on the front of the briefcase on the flap locking it shut. There were, also, instructions on what to read in ‘Somewhere In Time.’ A certain passage was necessary to help understand the meaning for opening the briefcase. The meaning regards what’s contained inside what is inside the briefcase. The double inside meaning is there is a triple layer to penetrate to get to the contents. Once the contents are revealed, the real mystery will begin.

The passage is a long mantra needing to be memorized after being read and repeated until its effects transport you. It is self-explanatory. Carter opens up ‘Somewhere In Time’ looking for what the clue wants her to find. It, also, states once the passage is discovered it needs to be altered according to what the contents in the inside of the inside secret reveals. Those contents will explain what the alteration should be. For now it is just necessary to locate the passage, read it, write it down and then memorize it completely as if it were your life mantra for meditation.

The passage is found on page 95 and reads as follows: “[Some parts I will omit because of length but will include those which make sense of what is being said in Richard Collier’s mind.] It’s Thursday, November 19, 1896. You’re lying on your bed in Room 527, eyes closed. The sun has gone down and it’s dark out. Night is falling on this Thursday at the Hotel del Coronado: Thursday, November 19, 1896. The lights are being turned on in the hotel now. The light fixtures are for both gas and electricity but the gas is not used…”

“…At this moment, every room is heated by a fireplace. This room, 527, is being heated by a fireplace. At this moment in the darkness of this Thursday, November 19, 1896, a fire is burning in the hearth across from you; crackling softly, sending waves of heat into the room, illuminating it with firelight…”

“…Elise McKenna is in the hotel at this very moment; perhaps in the theatre checking some detail of her production…scheduled for tomorrow night…So, too, is her manager, William Fawcett Robinson. So, too, her acting company. All their rooms are being heated by fireplaces; as is this room, Room 527, on the late afternoon of Thursday, November 19, 1896…”

“You’re lying quietly, at peace, your eyes closed, in this room in 1896, November 19, 1896…Soon you will get up and leave the room and find Elise McKenna. Soon you will open your eyes on this dark afternoon in November 1896 and walk into the corridor and go downstairs and find Elise McKenna. She is in the hotel now. At this very moment. Because it is November 19, 1896. November 19, 1896.”
(And so on, for another twenty pages,)

Richard Collier’s thoughts: ‘I’m thinking more and more of the fact that, in going back, I am to be the cause of the tragedy which fills this face; I have her photograph in front of me on the writing table. Have I a right to do this to her? I know I have already done it. Yet, there again, increasingly, I sense a variable factor in the past as well as in the future. I don’t know why I feel it but I do. A feeling that I have a choice of not going back if I wish. I feel this intensely.’

“What do you suppose this means, James, Jasper. What about you, Jax? Wouldn’t you go back if you had the chance. He, obviously, is drawn to her. She wouldn’t have appeared to him before she dies if she didn’t want the experience. Right? But what is all this saying to us? Are we somehow going to find something to do with time travel in all this mystery? What if it is? What would we do with it? Well, actually, there are many things I would like to discover. There are many mysteries that have never been solved or resolved in an honest way. If someone went to the past, they could watch as history unfolds. Secrets hidden away. Never solved deaths. It all intrigues me. I know there are a list of mysteries. To find out the real truth. Hmm. How many lies have we been given in place of the truth.”

“Let’s try those numbers and letters you figured out James. I want to see if they work. What’s inside and inside what is inside of this briefcase, has me going mad. Come on, guys, first number is 7. [Carter rolls the dial to the 7.] The next number is 49. [Carter rolls the next dial around to 49.] What is next James? The number is 3. [Carter repeats the motion to 3.] Next up is a letter. What is it, please. The letter is ‘J’ capitalized. [Carter goes to the next set of dials and takes the first one to the letter ‘J.’] Next letter is a capital ‘E.’ [Carter takes the dial to the capital ‘E.’] What is the last letter, James? We are almost there. The letter is the capital letter ‘N.’ [Carter slowly roles the dial delicately, so no error is made. She stops when the capital ‘N’ comes up.] Okay, guys, here is what we have been working towards. Are you three ready to find out if we did it right? Or more excited that we did and we are about to open this leather beauty and discover the hidden treasure. Okay, slide the lever over. Please release the lock. Just please let’s hear a click and release.”

Carter slid the lever to the left and in a split second the sound of silence, listening. Did it click? “YES!!! Boys, the lock opened. Flip the flap over and open the briefcase, right now.” The flap gracefully fell back over to the other side of the briefcase and the mouth opened. The insides were opened. Now time to look inside. Carter and James, Jasper and Jax all gathered round. Carter pulled back the opening and reached inside to bring out the contents. In her hand she held a sleek silver case 3 inches high, 7 inches wide, and 5 inches deep. Placing it gently on the coffee table, Carter and her boys just stared at what lay before them. It glistened. The silver was shiny like a highly polished magic mirror. Everything in the room reflected off of its surface.

What to do next. How were they going to open this silver box? There were no seams. No lock. The surface was totally smooth, as though it was melded into its shape. It was light, Carter told her babies. “Whatever it contains holds some powerful magic. I am sure it is hollow and something is hidden within that holds great power. Look at the clues. We will find a way inside. We will learn the mystery of this mini-monolith of unyielding precious silver. We look to you James. You probably already know what we are looking at. You are looking through it into its mystery. You know. I can tell. It is in your glistening eyes. When ever you are ready, James.”

Carter smiled. They made a huge pile in Carter’s lap for a group hug of fur and flesh blending in warmth and love, sprinkled with a sliver of curiosity.

And so ends the tale today.

At least, I have my storytelling to escape into, Annie. Murder. Rejection. Madness. Scottie is back but is sleeping right now. I haven’t talked to her yet about Dr. George. She will laugh, I am certain. Her relief will shine all over her face. Ideas of ways to rid me of Dr. George have been circling her mind almost from the day I walked into his office. I stopped writing for a time after I started seeing him. He really sucked the soul right out of me. So does his supervisor, Dr. Reagan, my psychiatrist. She either enjoys conflict or she has no idea what she is talking about. I’ve always wondered about all those multiple degrees on the walls of professionals. They are paper without a story. Written up shortly after someone offers up proof they did their dissertations and a certain number of hours treating patients at a crazy institute. The keepers are the crazy ones and the inmates are their captors.

I hope you are not like any of the others I’ve seen. They fucked with my mind. Some I fell in love with or had crushes on. It was those who thought they would bond and then rip my heart out by leaving before my time was up for needing them. It all sucks but I am afraid I am addicted to the process. It is my faith or belief system. Looking inside to see the bigger picture. The universe or Goddess or the Matrix is connected through the insides of us all. We know or try to find out the secrets or a clue that might help make dying and our soul leaving us not such a terrifying thought. We know it is an eventual experience. Is it really our soul to begin with or to end with?

Until next time. I miss you. I need you to take care of me for a while. Guide me in a direction that points to a better place to live inside myself. You are what I have and need now.

Fondly & Needing You,

Sets & Animals for Film: Brief Sacrifice with Lead Character CARTER MCLEOD. [Portrayed by BAFTA Nominated Actor NATALIE STEPHENS] Savannah Cats are Carter’s. Screenplay: MADISON TAYLOR. Director: SCOTTIE ANDREWS Production Co.: INFINITE IMAGINATIONS, INC. [TRIPLE III] {Madison Taylor & Scottie Andrews Formed Their Production Co. 10 year ago in 1997.}

'Brief Sacrifice' English Garden 734x492

‘Brief Sacrifice’ English Garden

Brief Sacrifice film Savannah cats---Jasper & Jax when 10 week old kittens

Brief Sacrifice film Savannah cats—Jasper & Jax when 10 week old kittens

'Brief Sacrifice' Film Set Library 626x626

‘Brief Sacrifice’ Film Set Library

Every Detail in the Two Story Living Room Is Done with Precision from the Crown Moldings to the Carvings on the Fireplace  800x600

Every Detail in the Two Story Living Room Is Done with Precision from the Crown Moldings to the Carvings on the Fireplace

Edelweiss   674x587


Annie Haskell --- Madison Tayler's Psychoanalyst's Office

Dr. Annie Haskell’s Office as a Psychoanalyst

Somewhere In Time – John Barry

rain in garden gif
Deeper Clarity
Written by Madison Taylor
Monday 19th February 2008

Deeper clarity
Opens my eyes so I might see
The world I live in
How it surrounds and grounds
Further inside of me
Where I cannot touch the way it feels
The numbness cuts out the things not so real
What I love seems to feel lost
Disconnected from the center
Wandering blindly in search of meaning

Invisible sight beyond clarity
Lead me to the obscurity of lose
Where is the understanding?
What holds a world together?
Appearing as a disintegrating edifice
Of unrecognizable signs of life
Meaning is lost
Unable to grasp a hold of security
Drowning from lack of contact
It disappears

With it I follow into invisibility
The universe is disappearing
Usually stated ‘before my eyes’
But without feeling
The touch of anything
Makes transparent
All physical reality
No senses to perceive a truth
No truth to acknowledge existence
Lost in the desert of sand and wind

Nothing recognizable
Blown away with the last breath
Dreams are forgotten
Did they ever exist?
Or were they made up and destroyed
All in one instant
Never established as possible
Or real
Just pretend as children do
The sky is blue

As for a reflection of the ocean
Why then is the ocean blue?
But from a reflection from the sky
They echo each other’s reality
Which makes me think
We are all mirrors reflected images
Repetitions of all existence
Bringing the conclusion
We all are one
In a reflection of a continuous one

And what gives the one meaning?
Isn’t a connection to something
What gives something meaning?
Are we all a dream
In one mind
Played out on a stage
Of an imaginary universe?
Does this bring clarity
Or more confusion?
Where is the understanding?

Where is the meaning?
What is the purpose of it all?
Why are we here? Now?
Or at any time?
Slipping into the dark hole
The proverbial black hole
Where darkness takes hold
Sight isn’t necessary
Nothing there to be seen
Holding a physical dimension

A magnetic union
A force powerful enough
To pull you away from reality
And higher ground
Losing the controls
Battling is futile
Surrender is necessary
Tripping over boulders of truth
Gripping hold of anything solid
While the quicksand pulls at you

Trapping you without warning
All the meaning is evaporating
Clarity is lost in a mind shut down
Bipolar twisting as a tornado
The magnetic force failing
Depression is in full control
Must go with its commands
Fighting is resistance inside out
No strength remains
The power is drained

Where once there was joy
Now there sits despair
No one cares to be scared
It is buried too deep to remove
The mind is on its own
It has no power here
To analyze a solution
Surrendering on one’s own terms
Nothing acceptable but waiting
Lasting till the emotional storm passes

Eventually-level ground returns
Back to self with reality in place
Black holes out of reach
From sucking the soul
Right out of the body
Whole again
Sane again
Resurfacing to regularly scheduled channels
Illusions escape my memory
Realness of truth restored.

© madison taylor 2008

Messed Mindscape  808x608

Messed Mindscape

“A Dream
The beginning always starts out with a dream.
It is all a dream
In our own nightmares”
— Madison Taylor

english garden off the back marble patio  972x732

English garden off the back marble patio

Patrick when he was five weeks. He is a Bengal kitten. Madison gave to Scottie as a present for her Birthday. As he grows he becomes devoted to her.

Patrick when he was five weeks. He is a Bengal kitten. Madison gave to Scottie as a present for her Birthday. As he grows he becomes devoted to her.

Patrick is our Bengal cat in tree. He loves Scotties. They are buddies.   1612x1212

Patrick is our Bengal cat in tree. It is protected area. Patrick cannot leave property from there. He loves Scottie. They are buddies.

Living Room Ope Wide with Windows

Living Room Open Wide with Windows

Chateau de Rocher Art Gallery  999x752

Chateau de Rocher Art Gallery

Dreams of Elysium by Ann Marie Bone  Scottie gave this painting as a present to Madison for your Birthday. She had fallen in love with the colours and the dreamlike state she would transcned into when she meditated while gazing into it  900x669

Dreams of Elysium by Ann Marie Bone Scottie gave this painting as a present to Madison for her Birthday. She had fallen in love with the colours and the dreamlike state she would transcend into when she meditated while gazing into it.

Bedroom Madison and Scottie Share with High Windows --- Great During Thunderstorms & Rain

Bedroom Madison and Scottie Share with High Windows — Great During Thunderstorms & Rain

Glass Ceiling  3977x2848

Glass Ceiling

play is not just play meryl streep

Private Writings: Chapter #21 — Affair to Forget

private writings to a psychoanalyst (c) Jk 2013
Private Writings: Chapter #21 — Affair to Forget
Written by Jennifer Kiley
Illustrated by j. kiley
Introduction & Chapter #1 Published 19th March 2013
Published Early Tuesday AM
Posted On 13th August 2013


Private Writings: Chapter #21 — Affair to Forget

Tuesday 12th February 2008


It has been released, Angie’s death was not from natural causes. The determination has not ruled in or out suicide or a possible murder. Her husband has been taken to the police station for questioning and some time this week they are going to question people from the Mental Health Clinic of Beverly Hills, where she was being treated as an out-patient. Well, that was pretty vague. We don’t know any more than we did last week. We do know her husband is a possible suspect in her death but no formal charges have been made.

I wonder if it will come out she was having an affair with Dr. George. Now, I think she was. Dr. George accused me of telling everyone he was having an affair. Now, who could that person have been but Angie. He is always defending her. Every one saw how he treated her in group and after. They were always flirting. It was impossible not to notice. Dr. George, I think found the pressure became too much. Maybe he killed her.

My theory is, he wanted to end it. She didn’t and threatened him with exposure. That would have been his career. If she threatened him, saying she would to go to Head of the Clinic, Dr. George would be fired if this came out. He couldn’t let that happen. Off with her head. Add to that, the pressure between us was growing, when it came to his lack of support. He kept denying my sense of reality about my feelings. He told me I was imagining things. When I told him certain people I felt were treating me like shit. He told me I was delusional. My perceptions weren’t accurate at all. He wanted me to think I was crazy. His defense of other group members rather than supporting me was driving me crazy. It made the rage build inside of me. What I was feeling started not to make sense. I began to think I was imagining what I was feeling.

But then I would realize, ‘Wait a minute. This is so fucked up. He’s lying to me. I am right about what I feel. He is trying to make me doubt myself.’ It was a constant battle trying to get him to understand how group was effecting me. It was becoming a toxic place. I didn’t feel safe there or with him. There were only a few people I felt I could trust. One of them was Kristina, the other person is you, Annie. When you intercede I feel supported. But why was he trying to fuck with my mind? Only thing that came up, he wants something concrete to hold against me. Some future time, he wants evidence in my records that are false. For whatever reason, I haven’t figured it out yet.

I am not paranoid, Annie. You will see the real me when we start meeting in private sessions. I am not crazy. There is something very wrong. I feel it. No one is telling me what it is. I can’t figure it out yet. That’s why I need your help. Who I am is really confusing to me. I need someone without an agenda to help me. What’s going on inside of me? Do you have any idea? That’s what I need you help me understand.

Dr. George and the psychiatrist I see are fucking with my mind and have been for years. She keeps forcing pills on me I don’t want to take, that give me brain fog. I refuse to take them. The pills stopped abruptly, not with her approval. I went cold. Literally, and the reverb from the withdrawal was really nasty. If I think about it, that’s when everything started to change.

Dr. George became hostile. Dr. Reagan freaked her freak and flipped out on me. She is one angry bitch. The lecture has lasted from day one of ‘stop the drugs I want to get off’ and hasn’t stopped since. I keep telling her I just need some good medicinal marijuana for stress, my racing thoughts and my frenetic energy. Plus all the other things going through my body and mind. Sometimes I can go for days, if I am on a tear with a film script, I can write straight through the days. She thinks I’m doing coke. Told her no way, I don’t need coke. I am naturally high.

We need to work on this. I hate seeing her. She keeps telling me my symptoms of depression and feeling suicidal are caused by what happened to me when I was a child. I don’t think so. And I tell her she is wrong. But she won’t listen to me, no matter what I say. But fuck that. I don’t want to think about any of those fucking people.

Be gone from my mind. Let me mellow and tell you what is going to happen next in Brief Sacrifice, it is way cool, I promise you. You are going to have your mind blown away at what’s going to be coming at you. The wildest idea hit me as I was writing this script. Flashes of insight and magical thoughts danced across my mind. It is so far out what I came up with as the secret mystery. You are going to love it.

But take it slow, I don’t want to reveal too much. Today, I will tell you enough to hold you until next time. Time travel is the key. That we began to establish in the last letter. It’s what will occur to cause this to happen. Carter and her three giant Savannah cats, Jasper, Jax and James are all excited. Their discovery was too good to be true. What it meant wasn’t exactly clear. Carter spoke to the boys, “I don’t know what this means, but if somehow we are this close to uncovering something to do with time travel, I am going to find a way for all of us to be part of it. Now, boys, lets get working on solving the rest of this puzzle of a code. I want inside of this brief case. There is something hiding in there we need to get at. It holds the other half of the mystery. One hell of a mystery.”

James used his psychic right paw to keep pointing out letters and numbers in specific order and Carter, his mum, kept writing down the code in the order he wanted it to be recorded. They were determined to crack at least the order in which all the numbers and letters fit together. Carter has the book Somewhere In Time sitting on the coffee table near the briefcase, just waiting to use it when the time came to decipher the complete code.

Last time the title was revealed from the initials S.I.T. to be Somewhere In Time. The other initials were R.M., which stood for the name of the author of the book Richard Matheson. Then there was the number 62. Carter felt that was most likely a page number but she forgot to check that out. And now suddenly, it dawns on her as she is recording the other code in order of James’ psychic paw, that she should be looking up that page number 62 to see what is written there and to see if it will help with the rest of the code.

“What is the matter with me boys?” Carter proclaimed loudly. “I forgot about the 62. Now all these other numbers and the letters E.M and R.C., they have to be initials. The numbers more page numbers. Also, somewhere in there in the code is the combination to open the briefcase and is telling us something about whats inside of it.”

“So lets take a break and let me check that out right now. This very moment. All things must stop.”

Carter picked up the book Somewhere In Time and opened it to page 62 and looked at it. This is what came to her attention almost immediately: [excerpts from Somewhere In Time by Richard Matheson]

“The stage is her life, her close friends always said. Love-making is not for her. Yet once, to me, in an unguarded moment, a moment never again repeated, she hinted that there had been someone. As she spoke of it, I saw, within her eyes, a tragic light I’d never seen before. She gave no details beyond referring to it, with a sad smile, as ‘My Coronado scandal.'”

It did happen here then.

*** *** ***

The final chapter; on her death. I feel a crushing weight inside me.
Quote: “She died of a heart attack in October 1953 after—”

“—after attending a party at Stephens College, Columbia, Missouri, where she had taught dramatics for a number of years.”

She and I were in the same location once before then.
But at the same time.

Why do I feel so strange?

Her dying words are quoted. No one, says the author, ever understood the significance.
“And love, most sweet.”

What does that remind me of?

A Christian Science hymn. Except the words are: “And life, most sweet, as heart to heart, speaks kindly when we meet and part.”
Oh, dear God.

I think I was at that party.

I think I saw her.

I’m having trouble breathing. There’s a pulsing at my temples, at my wrists. My head feels numb.
Did it really happen?

Yes; I was there. I know it. It was after a play at Stephens. My date and I were at a party for the cast.
And I recall her saying … I can’t recall her face or her name, yet I recall her words….
“You have an admirer, Richard.”
I looked across the room … there was an old woman sitting on a sofa with some girls.

Looking at me.

Oh, dear Lord, it couldn’t have been.

Why was that woman looking at me then?

As if she knew me.


Was that the night Elise McKenna died?

Was that old woman really her?

I’m looking at the photograph again.

Elise. Oh, God; Elise.

Did I put that look on your face?

*** *** ***

…All right, she looked at me as though she knew me. I reminded her of someone, that’s all. Of the man she’d known here.

…Why in November?

Why in the very week that she was here? … Why did I see that photograph? Why did it move me so? Why did I fall in love with her, begin to read about her?

Was it me?

*** *** ***

…Yet that single item seems larger every time I think about it: that she looked at me as though she knew me and, that very night, died of a heart attack.
A sudden thought. Why didn’t she speak to me?

Don’t be ridiculous. How could she? In her late eighties, talk to a boy not yet twenty about a love they might have shared fifty-seven years before?
If it had been me, I would have done the same thing: remained silent, then died.

…If I really did all this, wouldn’t it be kinder not to go back? Then her life would go on, undisturbed.

…How casually I sit here talking about changing history.

…I’ve read these books.
What was done to her has already been done.
Therefore, I have no choice.
I must go back.

…Don’t confuse me with facts, Collier. At least, not with facts that prove it can’t be done. What I have to fill my head with now are facts which prove it can be done.

Where do I find those facts though?

*** *** ***

…There are many possibilities…her favorite music in my head, her favorite wine trickling down my throat…learn about the time I mean to circumvent.
And all of this here. In this hotel. This precise location where, seventy-five years distant, even as I speak these words, Elise McKenna breathes and moves.

*** *** ***

The Priestley Book

First chapters not helpful.

Part Two: “The Ideas of Time.”
I’ve been reading and taking notes for hours…
I can’t stop, though. I have to learn all I can so I can discover the way to get back to her. Desire is an obvious key. But there must be some technique, some method. I have yet to find that.
But I will, Elise.

*** *** ****


It was the third name down.
R.C. Collier, Los Angeles, Room 350, 9:18 A.M.

*** *** ***
to be continued [end of excerpts from Somewhere In Time by Richard Matheson]

“This is all amazing kids. Time traveling back to someone you have fallen in love with through seeing a photograph on the wall. I know what happens. It is so romantic but I don’t want to get ahead. We are focusing on time travel. What it means has me very excited about finding out how to get into this brief case. And I know the key to Richard Collier getting back in time is important to understand. After we crack the book, lets have a look at the film. That might spark something in my mind. Besides, I love Somewhere In Time. Christopher Reeve and Jane Seymour are like magic.”

Jasper, Jax and James snuggle into their mum’s body, purring away. All are feeling satisfied.

Annie, I know this is away from the film I wrote but there is something I need to talk to you about privately. Somehow. we need to find a quiet moment where I can confide in you a secret that will blow everything wide open. I will wait patiently. You will be my psychoanalyst very soon. Sooner then even I had predicted.

We really do need to talk. Until next time.

Fondly & Needing You,

Sets & Animals for Film: Brief Sacrifice with Lead Character CARTER MCLEOD. [Portrayed by BAFTA Nominated Actor NATALIE STEPHENS] Savannah Cats are Carter’s. Screenplay: MADISON TAYLOR. Director: SCOTTIE ANDREWS Production Co.: INFINITE IMAGINATIONS, INC. [TRIPLE III] {Madison Taylor & Scottie Andrews Formed Their Production Co. 10 year ago in 1997.}

'Brief Sacrifice' English Garden 734x492

‘Brief Sacrifice’ English Garden

Open White Kitchen  796x862

Open White Kitchen

Carter McLeod's Study with Her Laptop Black Desk Library  800x600

Carter McLeod’s Study with Her Laptop Black Desk Library

'Brief Sacrifice Savannah Cat Jasper Lounging on Carter's Desk Chair

‘Brief Sacrifice Savannah Cat Jasper Lounging on Carter’s Desk Chair

'Brief Sacrifice' Film Set Library 626x626

‘Brief Sacrifice’ Film Set Library

Every Detail in the Two Story Living Room Is Done with Precision from the Crown Moldings to the Carvings on the Fireplace  800x600

Every Detail in the Two Story Living Room Is Done with Precision from the Crown Moldings to the Carvings on the Fireplace

'Brief Sacrifice' Film Set Bedroom Carter McLeod's Mansion

‘Brief Sacrifice’ Film Set Bedroom Carter McLeod’s Mansion

Blue Anemone

Blue Anemone

Annie Haskell --- Madison Tayler's Psychoanalyst's Office

Dr. Annie Haskell’s Office as a Psychoanalyst

Somewhere In Time – John Barry

rain in garden gif

Spirits Killed Through Lies
Written by Madison Taylor
11th February 2008

Denying tested truth
In place spewing forth lies
Protectors of sanity
Causing insane thoughts
To pass through
The trusting soul
Lying repeatedly
Weakens the resolve
Breaks it not into pieces
Cracks the surface
Into resonating grains
Abstract images forming
Mind perceiving blackness
White attempts covering the ebony
Lines of string crusted white
Blinding the darkness
So only the light is capable of sight

When asked
Avoided colours of white
Submit alternative black lies
Arresting the innocence
Locking it in darkest of dungeons
Confusing the frustration
Existing in delusions
Inside the innocent
Trusting mind
Conflicting the evidence

Appearances of evil
In the degrees
Inside the head
The processes clash
Echoing loudly in disturbance
A differently acknowledged reality
Consistent evidence forging the surface
Raging against the lies with knowledge
Proving regularly the lies
Yet surrendering the sense of real
To those who should know
But cheat using their authority

Makes black stronger than white
Black overwhelming light
Darkness overpowering truth
Blotting out senses of reality
Eventually the infection bursts open
The growing tumour is exposed
The professionals are trapped
Their lies contagion
Finally revealed

Tumbling off the mountain
Pushing unnecessary
Edges fall away
Sheep lose footing
Following the others
Crashing into the waves
Of the angry sea
Washing away
Out into the whirlpool
Sucked to the bottom
Of the darkest sea
Ending the lies

© madison taylor 2008

“The Urge To Destroy Is Creative.”

Anunciata --- Watercolour on Paper

Anunciata — Watercolour on Paper

Evanescence — The Other Side

“A Dream
The beginning always starts out with a dream.
It is all a dream
In our own nightmares”
— Madison Taylor

english garden off the back marble patio  972x732

English garden off the back marble patio

Patrick when he was five weeks. He is a Bengal kitten. Madison gave to Scottie as a present for her Birthday. As he grows he becomes devoted to her.

Patrick when he was five weeks. He is a Bengal kitten. Madison gave to Scottie as a present for her Birthday. As he grows he becomes devoted to her.

Patrick is our Bengal cat in tree. He loves Scotties. They are buddies.   1612x1212

Patrick is our Bengal cat in tree. It is protected area. Patrick cannot leave property from there. He loves Scottie. They are buddies.

Living Room Ope Wide with Windows

Living Room Open Wide with Windows

Bright Kitchen  3456x2304

Bright Kitchen

Bedroom Madison and Scottie Share with High Windows --- Great During Thunderstorms & Rain

Bedroom Madison and Scottie Share with High Windows — Great During Thunderstorms & Rain

Glass Ceiling  3977x2848

Glass Ceiling

Awesome lighted treehouse on the estate of chateau de rocher  642x432

Awesome lighted tree-house on the estate of Chateau de Rocher. A place of escape for Madison. She liked to run away when she was a kid. Climbing trees were her favorite places to hide. Scottie had this built for Madison as their 10th Anniversary present.

play is not just play meryl streep

Motion Set At Confusion

Motion Set At Confusion
Written By Jennifer Kiley
Written On 9th August 2013
Post Created by Jk the secret keeper
Illustrated by j. kiley
Post Created Friday 9th August 2013
Posted on Saturday 10th August

Abstract Fluid Acrylic Art by Mark Chadwick 855x960

Abstract Fluid Acrylic Art by Mark Chadwick

Motion Set At Confusion
By Jennifer Kiley
9th August 2013

Motion set at confusion
Blurring the thinker
With muddled perceptions
Visions not thought
Before clouding
The mind with fog
Opening doors
With no key holes
Entering rooms
Hiding memories

In stubbornness to be right
Distortions are recalled
Jumbled up feelings
Planting false senses
No attachments involved
Realities not real
Start stalking the truth
Hunting down lies
Destruction invented in minds

Vacate my head
Decease planting false visions
Leave reality alone
It belongs only to one
Desist in tampering
Playing psychic doctor
Credentials exceed limits
In this territory

Strength must be found
Undoing the damage caused
Tampering with beliefs
Complicate insecurities
With lies to protect lies
Begin the game of sacrifice
Trampling a person’s sanity
Darkness is blind evil
Match up exceeds power
Challenge has been accepted
Lost by resignation

Finally know identity
Words never can touch one
Whose strength exceeds any power of influence
Traps were set and sprung
Tested theories so weak
Allowed to enter the psyche
Chancing potential damage
Rescued before lies were set in stone
Fooling is not within power
Don’t see identity
Beyond authority
Power’s expanse
Its scope reaches farther limits
Will never touch with weakness

Power has been rejuvenated
After experiment failed to take hold
Bait was wasted
Practice on the weak
Shame on demonic demonstrations
The craven need for power
For total control
Letting go of the need to hold tight
Freedom is so much more enticing and inviting
The soul when free gives more to the dreamer
Without dreams are the broken ones
Healing and will continue to grow and heal
A continuous process learned through accepting
The serendipity of life and releasing the stronghold of death

When death comes will float into the ether
Until then will freely live life
Accept identity
All of one
Share with those love and trust
Love that grows within
That surrounds with sweetness
And renewal
Animals are the renewal of all things
The universe is a playground
Being alive
Accepting imperfections
Stop trying to steal identity
No longer welcome
In this world
It is over
Go away
Join the harmful ones
Trying to steal the innocent in all of us
You are a member of that gang now
Going to leave on life’s journey
You are not invited

© jennifer kiley 2013

“To Create Is To Destroy.”
— Jennifer Kiley-Letters of Import

Flamme Abstrait de Couleurs par j. kiley  (c) jennifer-kiley-2013  968x863

Flamme Abstrait de Couleurs par j. kiley © jennifer kiley 2013

Didn’t Know My Own Strength — Whitney Houston

Quotation for Confusion:

“The things other people have put into my head, at any rate, do not fit together nicely, are often useless and ugly, are out of proportion with one another, are out of proportion with life as it really is outside my head.”
― Kurt Vonnegut, Breakfast of Champions

You Are Not Alone — Michael Jackson