Portraits of familiar strangers


By Dana Klein


By Dana Klein

by Dana Klein


By Dana Klein

These portraits were done by my favorite artist… my mother… Will be taking a short break… so I leave you with this art… hope you enjoy them, and visit my mothers site for more work

Klein Fine Arts Studio

Theft of Time

Ever conceptualize time? Not mathematical, or scientific, just time. What time we receive is objective and relative… it is too short. When we realize what we have…it is gone. We live our lives not alive. We try to make something out of nothing that matters. Our careers, money, power…What are we doing?

Is this life? Is this living? Do we not need fulfillment? Do these thing fulfill?
Time is funny. We blink, aware that we are 28. Blink again 45. Is time a thief?

One could assume so, blame time for our wasted lives. Wasted opportunities. Why not blame ourselves? We could look back on the past, what we know of it. We could see that humans have been around for thousands of years. Life has been present for millions of years. And we are given 80 (if we are lucky) years. That is a blink. If not a blink, a thought of a blink. If that.

We blame and not accept responsibility for our lives. We make and create what is apparent. We live and want what does not matter. We breathe and take for granted the air. We are not seeing the possibilities. We wait for something bigger to come along, instead of interpreting reality… We don’t say what we need to say, because we think, we think we have another day. We think we have it coming to us. Then what?

Is time a thief? I think it is we who steal from time. We take and take…waste and waste. And want more, blaming time for taking the things we want most away. In that sense. It is you and I who are the thieves. Time should not be blamed anymore. Let it be. We need start living. Taking in what has been given to us…For no matter how long we have, we have it and so many don’t.

In these thoughts I ask you questions… I know not all perceive time as I do… perhaps I am jaded… perhaps I am tired… Either way, there are many out there who are stronger than I… who would say time is the bearer and we are the reapers… either way… there are many who say time is a blessing… I would agree with a grain of doubt… sometimes time is funny

Listen to her… please

Gabrielle Bouliane (Austin Poetry Slam)

Gabrielle Bouliane:  July 24, 1966 — January 29, 2010

(video recorded on December 5, 2009)

If only we could listen… truly listen to her… thank you ToBeMe for sharing this… and please I believe everyone should see this… pass the message on, as ToBeMe states…

“do it so that this message rings around the world.”

This was written about her by her family

The lovely and amazing performance poet Gabrielle Bouliane performs for the audience at the Austin Poetry Slam.

This would be her last public performance.

Gabrielle was diagnosed with Stage Four Cancer shortly before this video was filmed. Our dear sister fought hard, but she ended her fight January 29, 2010. She was surrounded by family and friends, and her passing was in a very quiet, peaceful room full of love and affection. She was so brave.

Please share this video with everyone you know. I am sure it would tickle her to no end to have this video get as viral as a video can be. Tell the world.

Bunny up!

To begin with…

Enreal, let me start by asking you a question; (no need to answer if you don’t want to). What made you decide to start your blog?

I will be honest. It was two weeks after my father died. I was lost, confused, bursting with pain and had nowhere to turn. My family looked to me as the rock… it was only a matter of time before I crumbled. I needed an escape. I needed to detach from my life.

This is my beautiful detachment… this is my salvation… this is my escape… this is where I can express my dreams, my desires, my visions… this is my minds home, my hearts retreat, my souls property… this is who I could be without limitations…

If the people I have met along my virtual journey in my journals would see who I was in the real world, they would be surprised. I suppose this is true for most… we share the best of ourselves here, that is why it is such a beautiful instrument… I know I have learned so much from the people I have met here and am blessed they have journeyed along side with me…

AS for the surprise… it is not that I am not a bad person or different from the words I write. I am simply busy.I work too hard and yearn for more… so much more… and I am too afraid to live… I live for my limitations…

So J… this is why I blog, this is why I write here… in some way I gain my freedom through my readers. Thank you all for journeying with me

Looking Back

I was recently thinking… what was my first post about? So I looked and found Love

Ironic for someone who does not believe in “Love” in the conventional sense… I wonder…

What was your first post about? Did it forecast what your site became?  What you wished to share? Who you are or what your message is to the world? If you read this post… Link me your “first post” I would love to read them… I leave you with Love


Love. Does true love exist?
Does true love exist as depicted in countless stories, or innumerable actions or infinite works of art?
When the emotions that come forth under the perfect circumstances make you feel more alive than before, is that not a sign?
The perfect words, the perfect setting as if an uncontrollable force that is driving for true happiness and love is alive.
Alive and well.
Almost chaos.
That is love.
If the emptiness felt when I read these words or imagine the setting is a glimpse into the unlikelihood of it happening, and the reality that happiness like that can never come forth, then what reason is there to hope for true love?
Truth be told,
deep down in the pain,
there has always been hope,
it comes with the soul.
If hope comes with the soul,
embedded within,
how is it possible to feel that much pain and want?
The want for nothing other than the perfect love.
For the soul can have only one perfect love,
and that perfect love is unattainable.

Or is it?

For Now

The days begin to fold into one. Months, weeks, days, hours… or perhaps simply minutes. I can’t tell anymore. Staring at the second hand wondering, why I can’t cry. Why I can’t feel. Why I can’t see…

Then I turn away. I walk away, once more… tired… this too shall pass…

Sighing a heavy breath, one which never really alleviates anything, a breath which is part of my soul, never parting, never detaching from my chest, from my heart… it is a heavy breath…

Then I try once more to breathe, to feel, to see, to cry… I still can’t… for now.

This too shall pass