Prague (Praha) 4



I just wanna say; I’m jealous! That must not be a yammer though, I have a little tear in my eyes. You know; I have always a hard working day to get my weekend, my lovely weekend with you lovely friends to share my deepest thoughts which I can never share them during my work with the colleagues. they’d never understand it, quote end! And then; as I am working, I have always a look into my Smartphone to know what I’m missing and of course, there come a lot of ideas in my head to work on; and then when I get my favourite day: Saturday, I wake up early in the morning; not wasting time, but after turning on my PC, I sit there in front on monitor and stare on it! Believe me, I really don’t know where and how I’d begin.

And what makes me jealous; It is that some of my friends have a lot of time to read good stuff which I’d dream of 😀 😉

Anyway, I “have to” add the forth part on this journey, because of two meeting which my lady and me have taken part in;

the first was an idea of my wife (as always 😀 ) to visit the studio of making movie by Karel Zeman

Karel Zeman

I knew him from the younger-time in Iran as I was working as an actor on the stages and was much interested in theatre and movies. His works had fascinated me; he had worked with toys and took frames from every single act. You might know it, it had caught my eyes those days how hard work it could be; to bring your uncommon imaginations on the screen to make a movie…

And there are some more pics on this issue;

Another issue was to visit the communism museum. though, it was not so easy to find it but we’d succeed and there are some pics; first begin with the Master 😉

an ever life working place for a stuff
The undergoing events
Havel the saviour

Thank you and good night ❤ ❤

The Delta Pearl 17 — Jump


The magical tour sailing on, all Aboard ❤

Teagan's Books

Saturday, December 7, 2019

Original image by Pixabay, tomfoolery by TeaganOriginal image by Pixabay, tomfoolery by Teagan

Welcome back to the steampunk riverboat, my chuckaboos! 

Most of you will recall this serial is a rewrite of a novel I wrote in 2016.  I wasn’t satisfied with it, so I’m adding to it via this serial.  During National Novel Writing Month, I posted a few chapters that did not get a rewrite.  However, today’s chapter is all new material.

I only used one random reader thing —  Locusts from Jacquie Biggar.  I hope you’ll take a moment to visit her blog.

 To review Chapter 16 Suffrage, click the link. 

This time preparations are starting for Émeraude’s sweet sixteen party.

Thanks to Dan Antion and Faith Antion for the use of their photos.

All aboard!

The Delta Pearl

Chapter 17 — Jump

Brown cloud Clouds Altered PixabyAltered image, Pixabay

There it was again — that sooty, smudgy cloud…

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A Reedeming Darkness of The Black Madonna


A woman is more likely to acknowledge her own duality. A man is continually blinded by his intellect and does not learn through insight. ~Carl Jung, Jung-Ostrowski, Page 51.
An amazing awakeness for men who do must know 🙏💖💖


“Underneath all our conditioning, hidden in the crypt of our being, near the waters of life, the Black Virgin is enthroned with her Child, the dark latency of our own essential nature, that which we were always meant to be.”

Ean Begg, “The Cult of the Black Virgin”

The Black Madonna of Vilnius

Our world needs the dark goddess. We live in yang, daytime culture, which values above all a clear sense of purpose, logical solutions, single-minded focus and clear-cut distinctions. With the ever-increasing light pollution, we have lost touch with the dark sky and the dark earth. Most of humanity still live under the cultural spell of monotheistic religions, which deny divinity to the feminine. The patriarchal monotheism of Judaism and Christianity, symbolically reduced women “to nothing but mute matter, a mere body;” (1) the body which is portrayed as an instrument of devilish temptation, rather than a…

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Dying with the boots on, just the boots. Great read 🙏👍💖


GHOST2 (2)

Likely it would have happened regardless of the earthquake, after all for every beginning there is inevitably an end. Time out of kilter. That’s all. Even so, a pity he had to die so young. When the soldiers had dragged his corpse out of the rubble he looked like an unwashed burly, surprisingly pinkish, pig awaiting a butcher’s slab and knife. She almost, yet not quite, smiled when realizing he died with his boots on. Just boots. That puzzled her although not unduly. In any event she had guessed his fate already. Stark evidence merely verification of what her heart had already advised her of.

Prior to the visible corroboration she had prayed. Prayed in hope of a miracle…denied common-sense the freedom to tell her otherwise. For the life of her she had no idea as to why. She was not an idiot. She knew full well that a prayer…

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Annoying Father|پدر آزار دهنده


What a great father, what a bit of great advice.:) ❤

A Voice from Iran

Kyle was twenty-six years old, a young man with a bachelor’s degree, still living with his parents. He was looking for a job and couldn’t wait to get out of his father’s annoying discipline prison.


Kyle: “My father always had something boring to say, like when you are not in your room, turn the lights off. Don’t waste water when you are brushing your teeth.

Don’t drop your garbage on the streets. The environment around you is your home too take care of it. I have a critical interview, in a very successful company. If I get that job I can afford to have a great life free of my bothersome father.”

Kyle wore his best clothes and got ready to leave for the interview. There was his father again mumbling: “Be positive my son. Have confidence. Believe in yourself. You can do this.”

Kyle thought to himself: “Oh, he…

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#writerproblems: When Life's River Changes Course (Or, Transforming #Writing shortfalls into Successful #WritingGoals)



Jean Lee's World

Well, here we are. Thanksgiving came and went before I could even show you Blondie’s lovely art project for November.

I do so love anything that reminds me of stained glass windows. xxxxx

I had hoped to share another 1,000 or so words of What Happened When Grandmother Failed to Die with you.

National Novel Writing Month called to my imagination with the promise of storytelling in spite of all life’s commitments. Thousands take up the challenge, so why can’t I? And I was realistic about this, too. I knew 50,000 words was impossible, but surely there could be SOME way to accomplish a meaningful amount of words. I’ve done it before, and dammit, I could do it again!

But if you saw my banner for November, you might already know what changed the course of my plans.

Oddly enough, it wasn’t the motherhood. I managed to turn Biff’s day…

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Two love poems…


Lance Sheridan

Then was my love

Then was my love,
I saw time with its dull scythe
And rusted blade
Over the sea water come,
It killed her terribly,
Tide hoisted into an abyss;
Wound and spindled
Hair and bone
Drowned her cries,
Swallowed deep
Into bags of seaweed.

The Sargasso is her tomb,
Food for fish, fed in dark shades;
Once above, the stars
Our twilight, now dreams muted
Stiff as sand, leave me now
Where she lies; damn the sea
That sped her death, soon to
Take mine, take me to the water
Of her breasts; I drink and drink
Of salt to rob the fluids of my heart;
Awake, my sleeper my ghostly bride.

N40 Then was my love

Edda and her love for Grimr

Through throats of forest where rivulets labour and
Ravens cry down along ago, a conceiving moon in
High chalk sky, there one night Edda walked till met
The wooded…

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