Passion - or - What REALLY Turns Me On

PASSION.

“They may forget what you said, but they will never forget how you made them feel.”  Carl W. Beuchner sums it all up in this one simple sentence. 

Passion drives me, even more than curiosity drives me.  For in the rare moments when my hyperactive mind is quieted and curiosity is momentarily idle, passion knows no such idleness.  Every thought, motion and spoken word is propelled forward in my life by passion.  It can be exhausting.

The definition of Passion:

–noun
1. any powerful or compelling emotion or feeling, as love or hate.

2. strong amorous feeling or desire; love; ardor.
3. strong sexual desire; lust.
4. an instance or experience of strong love or sexual desire.
5. a person toward whom one feels strong love or sexual desire.
6. a strong or extravagant fondness, enthusiasm, or desire for anything: a passion for music.
7. the object of such a fondness or desire: Accuracy became a passion with him.
8. an outburst of strong emotion or feeling: He suddenly broke into a passion of bitter words.
9. violent anger.
10. the state of being acted upon or affected by something external, esp. something alien to one's nature or one's customary behavior

The definition leaves one wanting for more.  Passion is not a manifestation that can well be described by words alone.  Truly, the written word "Passion" is perhaps much better understood when used by example:
 
“Tears are words the heart can't express”  
 
Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel :  "Nothing great in the world has ever been accomplished without passion.”
 
John Maxwell:  "A great leader's courage to fulfill his vision comes from passion, not position.”
 
Angela Monet:      “Those who danced were thought to be quite insane by those who could not hear the music.”
 
 

 
Joss Whedon:  “Passion, it lies in all of us, sleeping... waiting... and though unwanted... unbidden... it will stir... open its jaws and howl. It speaks to us... guides us... passion rules us all, and we obey. What other choice do we have? Passion is the source of our finest moments. The joy of love... the clarity of hatred... and the ecstasy of grief. It hurts sometimes more than we can bear. If we could live without passion maybe we'd know some kind of peace... but we would be hollow... Empty rooms shuttered and dank. Without passion we'd be truly dead.”
 
Federico Fellini:  “There is no end. There is no beginning. There is only the passion of life.”
 
Virgil:  “Your profession is not what brings home your paycheck. Your profession is what you were put on earth to do. With such passion and such intensity that it becomes spiritual in calling.”
 

I often toy around with the idea of trying my hand at photography, and creating a book all about passion through the eyes.  I am forever watching for interactions ... an elderly couple staring into each other's eyes upon both being humored or saddened by something - I just love that they have a history together and have become one.  Young schoolchildren staring into their teacher's eyes as they are told a captivating story.  A child in pain looking into a parent's eyes, and the parent looking back in pain upon the realization of a hurting little soul.  Anybody at the bedside of a dying parent.  Anybody discovery the death of a beloved soul.  Any animal staring into the eyes of their young one.  An audience captivated by whatever/whomever is in front of them.  A singer or musician lost in their music....

Which brings me to the main body of this post.  It seems to me that when I reflect on times and events in my life gone by, I always associate it with the music I was listening to at the time.  I have always become entranced when observing any artist in the throws of performance. 

When I think of life in gerneral, meaning MY life, I think of the following song forever playing in the background.  From Aerosmith:  Kings and Queens.  (I was not able to find a good performance video online, but the following serves well because it is the original recorded version.  The video is nothing more than the lyrics.) ....

Though I am a rocker at heart, I am open-minded to any music.  I think the following video is one of my favorite examples of an incredibly passionate performer - Michael Jackson.  I count my lucky stars for having been alive during this performer's lifetime.  For whatever people's opinions are about the man, he wore his passion on his sleeve.  The song is "Dirty Diana".  The song is about a persistant groupie.  I love the following story...According to Michael Jackson in an interview, this song was scheduled for a live 1988 performance at Wembley Stadium during the Bad World Tour; however, Jackson felt the song would be an insult to Princess Diana, who was in attendance, so he had it removed. Diana informed him the song was actually one of her personal favorites and he later went on to perform the song.

Slash.  Mm hm.  I am passionate about this guy way beyond his music, but whatever.  His contribution to multiple bands is legendary.  But his music stands alone, too... (Godfather Theme)

Henry Rollins.  I have only very recently discovered this incredible phenomenon, only to realize the world has known about him for decades.  His music is only one facet of his passion.  This man is passion embodied in flesh.  At this point I am unable to pen anything coherent about this boy, because I am enraptured by everything Rollins. GaGa. Tongue-tied.  I have no exposure to punk rock, but all else around me fades to black when I watch this guy perform.  Check out "Liar" and "Disconnect" after you've watched the following video which is a live performance at the Bizarre Fest 2000 (Germany).

Christina.  Pink.  Mya.  Lil' Kim. ...  Lady Marmalade

Alecia Keys.  Fallin'.

The Cult.  Wild Flower.

Kid Rock.  Bawitdaba.

Eve and Gwen Stefani.  Let Me Blow Ya Mind

Guns N' Roses.  Sweet Child O' Mine.

Blah, blah, blah.

Therefore, I shall....

Rock on.

Henry Rollins - What?...Who the?...What The hell?!?..Oh NO!

Okay.  Where do I start ?  Upon exiting my last post I was preparing myself for authoring my thoughts on an especially dispicable character of the first episode on Season Two of a new, fictional biker series - Sons of Anarchy.  I was prepared to devote one entire post in this blog to this solitary character, only because his portrayal had very much bothered my conscious thought long after the the episode was over.

I don't normally watch this sort of thing, but I have oddly found myself becoming more and more attached to this fictional drama.  You will just have to read my last post if you really need a more thorough explanation of why I am watching.  But be sure to pay attention in my previous post, to the part where I swear up and down that I am for the most part a strictly Discovery/History/Biography Channel Kind of Girl.

So.  I have found myself internalizing an incredible hatred for this one particular character.  I mean, for REAL!  For days, after the airing of the episode which was made dark by the portrayal of a realistic rape scene, the thought of this character consumed me with hatred that concerned me so much that I went so far as to access the Sons of Anarchy Website for cast information.  What kind of slimeball actor could so realistically portray such raunch?  He must be a lowlife that is a little too personally familiar with this scenario to portray such an absolutely believable character, perhaps one of the best on the show so far.  He disgusts me to the depths of my very being. 

This is SO absolutely not like me in any shape or form.  This is all fictional.  I have greatly more important things to do in the way of publishing to spare valuable time cruising the web for information on some Hollywood actor.  But something is driving me.  Why is that face haunting me?  Why am I letting some stupid fictional Hollywood garbage dig into my conscience like this?  WHO IS THAT MAN?!?

That's HIM!  He is a rapist!  And he has that steely look of someone who would be willing to do many other dispicable acts.  No kidding -  I actually feel a physical, stomach-hardening hatred for this character, and therefore for this Hollywood actor, too.  He is too real.  He knows too well what this character is really all about.  I have unfortunately at times found myself staring into the face of someone who repels me with every fiber of my being.  HE IS ONE OF THEM BECAUSE I KNOW HOW HE TRULY IS INSIDE, I am sure of it.  This picture embodies who this man really is!  I just know that he is bad, horrible, BAD.  My soul can feel it.

Aha!  The Sons of Anarchy cast link has given him away.  He has a name!  He is someone who is named Henry Rollins!  Before I can read the short biography that is associated with his printed name on the official Sons of Anarchy website, I have tabbed to a new window and begun a Google search before I read on.  Google Images would be a good place to start - shouldn't I know that face?  NO SHIT.  THIS is what immediately jumps off my computer screen at me...

Oh my!  That man is, FOR REAL, too horrible!  What?  Wait - is that a face of an evil man?  Could it be that this face, for me, possesses a fascinatingly interesting glimmer of an attitude with perhaps something to say?  Hm.  I am an intelligent and, I hope, a good person.  I know better to always keep an open mind as well as to take a look at things from perhaps a third-eye view.  Never judge without knowing, as so many have done to even my own self. 

From the Sons of Anarchy Website, link to Cast...
In describing Henry Rollins, the tendency is to try to squeeze as many labels as possible into a single sentence. "Rollins is many things," says the Washington Post, "diatribist, confessor, provocateur, humorist, even motivational speaker... his is an enthusiastic and engaging chatterer." Entertainment Weekly's list includes "Punk-rock icon. Spoken word poet. Actor. DJ. Is there anything this guy can't do?" TV Guide has more concisely called him a "Renaissance Man" - but if Henry Rollins could be reduced to a single word, that word would undoubtedly be "workaholic."


A man of words?  But words are an important part of my life, how could I not have heard of this Henry Rollins?  From John Steinbeck: "A man without words is a man without thought."  No way.  That would make Henry a thinking man.  I will bet he reads.  Who IS this guy?

A humorist?  Mark Twain has assured us: "Humor is mankind's greatest blessing." 
My father has taught us always to bless our lives with humor.  Now this guy is making my heart begin to race.

An enthusiastic and engaging chatterer!  Shivers are running down my spine.  An intelligent conversation.  Something I find myself longing for when day to day life sometimes leaves me wanting for - well, for - wanting for enthusiastic and engaging chatter.  I have got to find out what this enigma named Henry is chattering about! 

Renaissance Man? From Thomas W. Higginson: "Great men are rarely isolated mountain peaks; they are the summits of ranges."  This guy certainly seems to be a summit of ranges.  What is happening here?  I have some kind of "thing" where my life and it's lessons have frequently been touched and/or influenced by especially great and powerful souls - some were somehow physical fixtures in my personal life, some from afar.  This boy is afar.  Damn.  What is this new feeling now welling up in my formerly loathing depths? 


Oh no.  Looky here...

This guy is in actuality...pretty damn hot. 

But there's more...

You guessed it.  He is passionate in his work.  Mentally and physically.  Very physically, mm hm.  But a punk rocker?  That is so foreign from the music environment I have known, and I like to think that I have kept myself open to all genre of music.  Then again, persons are forever surprised that I am a thinking, intellectual biker, an environment that few others have known.  Being a biker is only one aspect of my person (and for the most part occupied so much of my life's pre- 40-something existance).  There is so much more to my life than my previous biker history.  Punk rocker.  I must remain open-minded and continue upon my quest to read about what makes this guy tick.  I must do a little checking around into this foreign punk world.  1961.  He's my age.  What road am I unwittingly embarking upon?  Why do I need to know?

Well.  This last image just makes me want to pull up a chair and and have a lean-into-each-other, enthusiastic and engaging chatter.  Why do I care?  Why can I NOT seem to be curious and curioser about this man?  Curiosity drives my life.  What is driving me about him?  I need to know who he is.  It's kinda starting to creep me out, this new need to know.  I have things to do.  I shall search on for a brief moment or two, until I have satisfied my self.

But who am I kidding.  Another intriguing image...

And now, I have arrived at YouTube.  Henry Rollins in the search box.  A whole new world is opening up before me.  I have immediately been floored by something titled Joe Cole, Parts I and II.  I am honestly, no shit, weeping.  I find myself needing to imbed these wondrous video clips into a very personal and emotional former post on this blog, a post that is devoted to a heinous murder and the unspeakable pain in the loss of a soul mate.  Henry's first spoken words to have reached me have reduced me to tears.  But in fact, my last statement is not a truth at all...for Henry Rollins' FIRST spoken words to have reached me were those that incited such an uncharacteristic, and deep, alarming loathing within me.

What invisible force or Greater Power is leading me down this unexplored path?   It is daunting to feel that a single person - a person who in no way is connected to my life nor has an inkling that I exist, is having such a grip upon my psyche.

Blah, blah, blah.

Therefore, I shall...

Rock on.

Sons Of Anarchy - or - I Can't Wait To See How Hollywood Has Imagined Themselves To Know The 1% Lifestyle

Sons of Anarchy...  Last year, the public heard about this new fictional (but based upon an actual 1% Club/s) program for months before the first show ever aired.  For myself, I am more a kind of Discovery/History/Biography Channel kind of girl.  But I was forever running across internet forums discussing this program and was personally being asked by more "independent bikers" my opinion of what I felt about the possibilities this fictional program may have to offer.

Well... NOT MUCH.  I am loathe to most any biker video media just because Hollywood has always had their own way of presenting real bikers, especially the 1%ers.  Hollywood has their own idea of what it's all about, and then there is the truth.  And to hell with them, because it is no one's business and they could just never understand.  I could not imagine a Club inviting any sort of Hollywood producer into the deep inner sanctums of a clubhouse.  Truly, things can happen in this lifestyle that the public would just never believe anyway. 

I knew of... a few local 1%ers who would be watching just for the sake of evaluating how wrong and impossibly screwed up Sons of Anarchy would surely be.  The first season was well into it's second or third episode before I finally sat down to have a look for myself.

Hm, well damn.  They are talking about church?!?  And they sort of have a good idea of the whole heirarchy thing.  There was even an actress playing an intelligent and strong character, and she was playing it well.  Not every chick in this program was a hoe.  What kind of show is this?

Of course I could find plenty to scowl at.  Those circles and rockers were a little too clean to have been worn by some of the decades-long members.  Throwing leathers down in the dirt once or twice to dirty them up does not cut it. 

The bikes were a little too new to be ridden by some of the older members whose bikes would have aged through the years along side their owners.  Where are some of the old choppers and rat bikes?  And I have never seen so many windshields in one place in my life - other than at the toy runs that the myriad of RUBs like to attend on warm weekend days, or a modern-day Harley showroom.  Shame on the props department for not having conducted better thought out research.

And... I was incredulous to watch a downright shootout involving an amazing amount of rounds fired - with barely a victim among either side.  I have lost souls who have died by only a shot or a few, and died by automatic weapons shootoutw that have taken out nearly every living soul who were on the receiving end.  Where the hell do these numerous shootouts happen that not a solitary citizen hears a ruckus in the distance and calls law enforcement to report it.  Cops do have a way of counting and then marking each and every bit of shots fired at a crime scene - they would need a larger force and an extra roll or two of labels to work some of those crime scenes.

And by the way, we don't talk to cops.  We don't wilfully visit them in their offices.  NOBODY rides on the back of a bike if it belongs to an old lady.  Plenty will try, but it's a deal breaker if he goes for it.  NO brother procreates with his brother's old lady.  It's not done.

So.  I find myself into Season Two, with all of Season One recorded on my DVR and only a button away.  I can't help myself - it has become one of the few times I will make a conscious effort to be at my television at a certain time on a certain day.  For a fictional show, I suppose I would have to say that this solitary biker drama is perhaps not so bad, and even entertaining. 

 

Speaking of Season Two...  New characters have been added this season, with some of them portraying members of a white separatist organization.  The first episode of this latest season is most disturbing, airing a very realistic rape by some especially unlikable characters.  As a woman, I found that I internalized my hatred for one masked perpetrator in particular. 

(Gasp) 

Blah, blah, blah. 

Therefore, I shall...

Rock on.

Corruption and Murder - or - How Henry Rollins Made Me Cry Today

I have been forever scarred by a murder in my life.  Sometimes I can talk about it, sometimes I cannot bear to say a word on the subject.

Today, at this moment, I find I cannot bear to relive the circumstances.  Perhaps I will feel differently sometime soon and enhance this post.  For now, I will allow other websites to tell my story.

A quick background is necessary, however.  My husband was murdered in a triple homicide, in a farmhouse belonging to his good friend (that friend died with him), in Preble County, Ohio, in 1987.  I was 1000 miles away with my children at my parent's home - we were spared our lives.  The subsequent investigation was the most confusing and bungled piece of work I have ever heard of. 

I am a city girl, and I live at the base of the magnificent Rocky Mountains.  The customs and ways of a small rural county in the farming state of Ohio was a galaxy away from anything I had ever known.  However, an investigation is an investigation, and things were just not adding up.  The triple homicide remained open as an unsolved crime. 

Years later, when our youngest daughter was immersed in journalism classes in college (she was one-year-old when her father died), she decided she was going to make some inquiries into the death of her father.  She discovered a local online community forum in  Preble County by doing an internet search, and promptly submitted a post stating that she was the child of one of the "Triple Victims" and would appreciate any information anyone might have. 

Hells Bells!  I can literally hear in my mind the Bell of Doom begin it's toll in the ACDC classic when I think of the moment that my darling daughter submitted that post.  It changed our lives forever, and I have yet to determine if it was for the better or worse.

Not only did Preble County citizens have information on the triple homicide, but they had information on at least five other deaths in the area.  And they ALL were widely believed to have been perpetrated by a Good Ole Boy network including county judges, prosecutors, investigators, sheriffs and more.  Perhaps half of the members of that online community forum shamelessly berated all members of the families of the deceased when they tried to pursue the requests for information in all of the other various cases of that area, claiming they were all Conspiracy Theorists.  Most terrifying of all, were citizens from far and wide that secretly provided horrible and incredible hard evidence that in fact the Good Ole Boy rumors were true.  There was even a Citizen's Task Force that had tried to amass an incredible amount of evidence and find safety in numbers.  Problem is, much of that original GOB network is still in service in that same county today.  Threats of harm and worse were received from the very officials that were accused

And so, this led to the families corresponding with each other and sharing information.  One family had successfully sued in federal court for official wrongdoing.  We were dealing with terrifying truths, hard evidence, but also some wild accusations.  Some families were getting more vocal and desperate than the others, which led to doubt of credibility toward us all. 

We then decided this information and body of evidence was too much for private citizens to handle, and we individually as well as collectively took what we had to the Department of Justice by way of the FBI.  I'll be damned, we approached these agencies the very year that the DOJ was in hearings for mismanagement.  Doubt of our claims having ever been read were confirmed by the large packets that were returned to us in the perfect order and shipping sequence that we had sent them.  With DOJ you pretty much have to be accepted the first time, it has to be under a whole new premise or with new undeniable evidence to have a chance at reconsideration.

The whole thing was exhausting.  It was sure something to see the members of the Good Ole Boy network sweat, though.  There was an incredible scuffle of removing paperwork and relocating evidence, all the while their actions being reported to us by insiders at the courthouse and administrative offices. 

They are guilty as hell and I suppose I shall have to accept what I personally now know as my own form of closure.  And I no doubt now have a file on myself with the FBI - if I didn't already have one before.  It's that biker associations thing, I'm sure. 

Three particular websites pretty much encompass the total of the cases there.  Please, PLEASE visit these sites.  We may be losing sight of hope, but I also try NEVER say never.

murder, Murder, MURDER in Preble County

What The Heck Is Going On In Preble County

Clear Billy Scott

Rest In Peace Donnie, Dave, Melinda, Lesa, Clayton, Woody, James, Gail, and the many others.  God Speed to Billy.

And how, might you ask, has Henry Rollins made me cry today? - as indicated in the second alternative of the title of this post...

Well, Henry Rollins has become my latest (and most out of control in quite a while) obsession.  And I mean OBSESSION.  But much, much more about Him in a soon-to-be-created future post.  This guy has my utter and full attention.  I am well into microscopically pouring over every single one of the 647,000 Google links they have on this punk rocker extraordinaire.  As you will soon read about, I have spent a shameful amount of hours dumbfounded as I watch the incredible amount of YouTube video on this guy.  I have literally lost days and days of my life discovering the wonder that is Henry.  He knocks my socks off.  Even I feel on the verge of speechlessness when I think of even beginning to write about him.

But today I have discovered a certain video in particular, and I have found it just as I prepared to write this current post on the death of a soulmate.  This just throws yet another aspect of Him at my already overwhelmed-by-Henry-Rollins fragile psyche. 

I have never, ever heard anyone so concisely put into words the depth of the loss of a beloved soul.  He makes my heart break for him, and for me, and for us all.  He has dared to put to word that which I have been too pained to ever consider vocalizing.  He makes me feel ashamed for not acknowleding that there ARE others out there who have experienced the searing pain of the loss of a half of one's self as I have, as many have.  I am not so alone, afterall... I have selfishly focused on my own despair, when I should have been reaching out to others who may be needing a hand to hold on to during their own new introduction to that same despair.  Henry Rollins makes me want to be a better person.  What the hell is up with that?  Who IS this guy?!?

Henry, you have gifted Joe Cole's memory with the highest of honor.  You keep a part of him alive as you keep him fresh in your memory and ours.  You have invited us to care about him and love him, too.  You are a true friend and most wondrous brother.  I am deeply sorry for the unbearable pain you will always carry with you.  And Henry, you rock!

Fess up...did Henry Rollins make YOU cry today, too?

No blah, blah, blah here.

Nevertheless, I shall...

Rock on.