The white globe glows on

We will all tremor in the future
And there will be no mistaken escape
No sense of time after apocalypse
What a strange and magnificent invention
Is the prophecy of our own death
* * *
We exploit so much of what is given
Only to be erased by time’s earthy hands
Forever and for good, cheers to our stay
We who were braver for the failures of our fears
* * *
There’s no comfort in tomorrow, if you know
What is to come, there’s no dawn to sooth the ache
Only the exquisite dream of utopia
Whispers from the Upanishades, of all things
* * *
We will love the future, even if it won’t be ours
It’s better by far than loving the past
The past has its own authority over us
Which we cannot yet control
* * *
We live in sketches that wish to be real
In simulations of quantum entanglement so elegant
The white globe glows on, humanity is a wounded woman
Obliged to accept her role in our decay.

Last Gladness of Stars

Image courtesy of Natalia Drepina.

Although only with breath, I breathe
And only with mortal love, I feel
What is beautiful, let that be my good

What is true, be it right at the time
You who judge me, let me not
Accuse myself of knowing anything
What cannot be said, will be wept
Though I alone search the poets

From Sappho to Auden, be it clear
That although only with prayer, I prayed
Gratitude was not my abundance

Delight was not my possession
Freedom was not my virtue
I could only love best, in words
Words that must remain an evil illusion
Words that never reach their goal

Art that never could profit me truly
What I loved, remains unseen
All my giving was a farce

And my glory was a kind of boredom
In writing more naked than the flesh
I never found my last resort
Or a heavenly kingdom in the future’s vanity
Without warning as a whirlwind

I will die, and no one shall remember of forget
How my life became my own, in slow immaturity
The limb-loosener will take me away

And I will be lost to this world forever
As if my value was in happening, or dream
There is no beauty that endures this species
Only that which reincarnates on all the worlds
There is finally, no place for grief
In these houses of stars which serve the muse.

I Plead Myself with Thee

I have dreamed of death and mine
As if it were ungrateful of me to keep
Living and breathing, although

I have laid the rest of thy divinity
In a place so deep inside of me
That like a pilgrimage I scattered youth

The Autumn innocence that
Empties me of feeling every year
With each passing summer I leave

A part of myself well and beloved behind
And in doing so, I die enough to stalk
The future of my own gifts

That won’t be mine, but in meeting you
Will have unveiled something of the infinite
Where I can live irresponsibly and fine
Not bound by this Earth that won’t keep me lovingly
There’s no shadow’s length I bet
No growing pale as I strive

Who can understand the imperfection?
Of our humilities, that leaves
The orchard of our shared vulnerability
Open and not barren, where thrives
Scanty sunbeams for hidden fruit
Proof that we hung Springs together well.

Of It I can Say Nothing

 

 

 

Be here, by me

I who have been in love alone

Yoking the voice of listening itself

Where to pray is a kind of cherishing

Be here by me

 

I can say nothing no more

Of what it means to live

Each has their own eternity

To grieve, and brief moments to rejoice

Where a delicate fire is translated

 

Of the human condition’s reach

Be here, by me

Where time hangs – and I write

Words more naked than the flesh

Than the vulnerability of hours

 

That smite the dreams of youth

Be here, by me

I cry out to you, again

You who cared not that I sought to hear

Your emotions incommunicable

 

Be here, by me,

From aching care, to invisible language

And for what it means to be a friend

To witness the stories of lost souls

What cannot be said, will be wept

 

Like the smothered dreams of

All that is forgotten, death

The last blanket on our eyes.

 

 

Into the Stars

Into the Stars

An everywhere of silver

An everywhere of love

That’s what life is, in essence

A unity of being and becoming

Until I becomes we

And we becomes us

With breath to track the land

And a heart to hold the sky

And morning lit with a bud

Of breaking sunlight in the eyes

An everywhere of gold

An everywhere of eyes

That’s what life is, the melody

Of a trillion echoes of lives

A unity of hope

Until diversity revolts

We are splinter colonies

Lifting our little girls to the stars.

The Second of November

It was in the white of the year
That Father left the Multiverse
But death was a sweet hour
OF faith and dazzled face

For Time and God to converge
Or that Ethereal zone to confide
No longer to be confined on Earth
And little self and tea for beggars

With sons and friends to hold
One’s life, and to hold the ears
Of memory and all that was left unsaid
Unknown, private for paradise

The soul should know what the body doubted
The heart remains silent to fend off grief
The dying need but little, dear !
The inner room is where it is said

We forget our name for Good
The self is but a collection of choices
Some temporary disease of identity
How trivial the flesh, the spirit
Lives eternally, in wood and words
In a hush of prayer that blankets everything.

Musts, Shoulds and Could’vebeens

The solemn years have ended
In bliss of holidays extended
And parting with the world
Still unfair, with but a hope to dream

With tolling bell and taxes taken
It’s time for death, and nothing less
The centuries have not smiled like this
Since 1956, or else

Good news can be the common way
Our bones and teeth still have decayed
Time was not differ than what it is
You say that’s just life, I must have heard wrong

How heaven could be so sad?
And life so bottomless a well
Of mystery and anonymously clad
What’s on its way is going and gone

Time for eternity, never enough….
There are no “complete poems”
Only preferments and stations
That must dissolve, this purple state

Into a balance of modest clay and ash
The unblushing end is upon us here
So stay a while majesty and regret
That we might have loved, a little bit more

The sad world in her corrupt gown
With all the same stories and fallen angels like
The soldier, peasant, monk and squirrel:
We are just weary creatures here
Awareness of the end, is the beginning of the end.

Among Rivers of Dark Purple

If I should die, then let my poems live on
Or that they should die and I should
Be free, of the gurgle and of existence

That is so personal and yet so irrelevant
To the cosmos that sings of eternity’s theme
And golden birds of our dreams than burn

Against the sun that is Time’s will
Her signature that I should die
When it is her will, and I will write
Not unlike the sky to the horizon
Of sunsets and the commerce of the living

Where parts the parting skies of hours
Hours that float and rise and lift
The conduct of all pleasing scenes

* * *

All smiles, all beloveds that left
So then, how wonderful is Death
And dying to ourselves, and the spirituality

Of the waning moon that blushes over
The entire world, of heartbreak that lasts forever
Maybe, I’m numb now to the passing wonderful
The subjectivity that was once so intense
Is now a common flower, I won’t mediate

Anytime soon in cemeteries but I ponder
The seasons of my life, that drank in darkness
And could not find the light, whether in myself

Or reach the intimacy in others with
The skin of my soul, my life’s inauthenticity
Is the corpse of my doubt and cowardice

* * *

That never truly knew love, or had the courage
To wrestle danger with a smile or succumb
To the pressures of a common life, perhaps
I will die young, bohemian and a bit wild
Where I feel the breath of Armageddon

In the silence, can death hit me then like this?
When my heart already has some lack
Of oxygen, my heart-beats lack a sturdy foot
What of my brain that drips in lost memory
The better part of who I used to be.

I’d pause to die a little by the setting sun

Death loves immortality and nature
Finds death a lovely friend
She always knows when to come calling

We take the carriage
To infinity there
In the pause before

A divorce, a parent’s passing, a child’s coming
It’s epic to feel the roof of the universe
So close, so very intimate

With the tragedy and the gratitude
Colliding as it were, in an Eden
Of rampant change that will not

Let us rest, it’s irresistible
And a Force to be reckoned with
Death is not sinister, but natural

And we taste her every day
Beloved, we die a little bit every day
While men clamor after immortality

Power, status, the works
Women know that connecting and
Affirming life, is a much more valuable

Way of being, caring for the world
While we are alive, that’s meaning enough.

Like a prayer

Like a prayer

It’s an unfortunate coincidence
That we end up with nothing
The moment we die

Only a last thought

A waking memory
On the border of this and that
Neither here or there

Shivering, anxious
In a cold sweat at the start
Of the greatest of endings

And there, in a note
Of the purest surrender
We find ourselves buried

Time flying into the future
Where we possess our
Spiritual necessity

It’s our naked privilege
Then, to be ourselves
Knowing, we are on
Our way to becoming
More ourselves every day

Every lifetime, it’s inevitable
And like, an aglorithm
Of soul training itself
On the Big Data of
A thousand lifetimes.

For National Poetry Month – More

More

It’s safe to say that
We are dead
Safe and dead in the cold night

Warm for the rest of our lives
In bodies of spirit
In minds of calm

Here dead lie we for
Free-will attempts the impossible!
To live and feel shame
Is a natural thing, to not
Have perhaps achieved our dreams?

Did we not choose to love
The little that we could indeed?
But young men think the world is theirs
And young women have something
Up their sleeve, and I hope

I hope they are right
For a time, until it is not their time
It’s safe to say that

We will all die
If only for a holy nothing to lose
There is nothing to lose

So risk your heart out
Until you have no courage
Until you’re all numb
It takes courage to push
Yourself to new places

And there are always new places
To break through barriers for
It’s safe to say we all

Pushed for some kind of future
Something always out of reach
Poetry on the tip of our tongue.

Singularity spoken

~ A Transhumanistic manifesto in a poem:

Singularity spoken

It was not death, no
For I was awake
In all the parts of my being
It was not the night

For the tongues of Noon
Has fallen like my flesh
But I was aware
Of so much more than

Chance or burial would make
Reminded of time
I took a step outside
Of her and her bodyguard of space

Without breath, I felt
Midnight and noon in one echo
Of what it meant
To be tied to a body

I was not anxiety
For I was part machine
Part poem, and all the ticked
Of time had stopped

It was not death, but
Quantum life I know
Success is counted sweetest
When prayers have run out

Like biology’s last play
So clear the victory
Of algorithms and machine-learning
That by defeating death

I became part software
Part virtual author clear
Free-will was transcending
Simulations, and entering

An abyss, of symbiosis
The transhumanistc event
Adaptive and unalterable.

Or Not to be

Or Not to be

I died for beauty and for grief
As if they were scarce
As if I was in need
When one died it did not matter
Descendent divinity could adapt

For truth and beauty
Belong to the future’s make
In kin I never knew I had
In aliens so similar, it was
Hard to comprehend

I died for beauty and for grief
I lived perhaps a wasted
Satisfied temporary, like an abyss
And my name was not beautiful
But at least we were together

In adjoining rooms, fed
Language, light and breath
A while, I died but it was not bitter
It was the natural way to be
Living until we die
Now that was a beautiful thing.

On Carriage held but just ourselves and Immortality

On Carriage held but just ourselves and Immortality

I cannot stop for death
One man’s heart breaking
Is another woman’s birth
I cannot live in vain

For there has never been
Another one quite like me
Not I, unto the nest again
Descendent divinity shall wrap

All my mortal wounds
Filling me with light
Hope is the thing with feathers
That fly on dreams that dance

At every dawn, at every twilight
I cannot stop for death
But I must risk it all
To live the life I want

Death will not ask me for directions
When it is to Immorality
Of the soul for which I walk
I know no haste, for I believe

In my appointed hour and place
I cannot stop for death
For Fate has me in his civility
I labour past leisure for a cause

Of which all previous acts accumulate
I cannot stop for death
For eternity will feel jaded
If I stop for long for anyone.

Last Stop

There is a last stop in all of us
A place our soul consents to rest
Few were the moonlit nights
That I’ve truly cared for after all

In the alphabet of stars
Time carried me until I was
Completely different
And with a fatigue of thought

I settled on dying a white death
After people were forgotten
There were still my dreams
Dreams I had held on to in spite

Of difficulties, tempests, dishonour
But memory is just a day
When somebody we cared for

Is replaced by somebody else or
The fleeting thing of hours
The turbulent street where everything blurs.

We returned through dying

We returned through dying

the stars held our memories
as we returned home broken
a bit more broken each day
that was us growing old

the pinning for the shores of energy
with mouths cracked
and limbs incapable
and a heart blue from winter nights

this carved relief of humble art
so that our private drama
could begin again
so very much having passed

in the space between our years
and so little known about
the universe scattered like
a marathon of light and the curved face

of galaxies and that collapsed
worlds that once were in time
all was mystery, all was sinking
with altars destroyed, friends forgotten

the harvests of our travels were now gone
our youth has punctured our souls
and our spirits raced
into the eyes of strangers

in the future we barely recognized
maybe descendants, maybe ourselves
reincarnated with different stories
wounded by my soil

her fingers against the blue scarf
of decades, the pomengrante
that broke was full of stars
skies, people, poems, poetry
a single gull cried in evening.

Wind passes and we forget

Wind passes and we forget

the wind is blowing tonight
too hard to be able to rest
it’s blowing so I become the wind
i become the night at the ocean
perhaps the thing in my soul

———————————————

grows weary of the earth
my spirit a free-child without limits
I sense a delight of a far-off place
that’s come upon me now
regardless of life and circumstance

——————————————————-

body, neuron, mood, wealth and mate
profession: a hard wind is blowing
it’s taking me, to invisibility
transcendence, judgement, reckoning
in extinction and non-dual being

———————————————————–

it makes my soul ache with a calm
how strange, I become the night at the ocean
at the edge of the galaxy, where stars
they are dim and dipping over
inside-out and there God thanks us

————————————————————–

for being born and having lived
in most respects, quite ordinarily.

————————————————————–

After Sappho

Death, does thou lie?
What lies beyond the breath
No bright reversion shalt

Thou gain, given a lifetime of faith
Death, be not so cold
After you, what can remain?

An extinction of what was once
A company of many friends
Or loneliness dies to itself

To be reborn in someone else
There was a time to wander here
To think of life’s empowerment

To learn, and laugh, and love
For some mortal months
Death, take me, subdue my story

With the ending fit for all hearts
It does not matter how we die
We shall die, and that’s art

It’s poetry to die and wonder
Thou bringest all endings here
Here to a universe of expanding light

With only time to gather or pluck
The shortest quivering sentiment
Of what it meant to live.

Incarnation wisp of foam taming the bark

the silence is great around our bed
especially whispering

hanging like a girlhood of dreams
our hearts still beat
attitude is destiny

even if we are sleeping!
just as gravity murmurs
of how we wear the years!

there is no cosmic reply
to the questions we were asking
twenty years ago!

time sits like an enchanted
mystery, ready to fly away!
we are still virgins to experience

we just refuse to see it in new ways!
we gather a little experience
And then we prepare to die

And then it finally happens!
since you cannot hear me
now that I have passed the boundaries

I will not say trivial goodbyes or helloes
My most beautiful ones
Live your lives.

Ode to Centuries

Sleep thou in the bosom
Of thy tender comrades
And if the world
Did not give you a true friend

Sleep in the divine-open
Where the stars speak with you
While the living water
Knows your name

And the moonlight glimmer
Satisfied the dreaming in you
Sleep thou in the bosom
Of the whispers of mortals
For a day will come
When you will be immortal.

Suicide of a Diwan

The streets are mute
And the downtrodden are cold
And the girl pretends she
Has many suitors
The handkerchief in my hands

Is nothing much more
Than a rag now
And the night only has one moon
And the fountains have
Ten thousand pennies

I carry the “No” that you gave me
Buried somewhere, as if
It was a part of me now
My love is spinning
The murmur of the masses

Grows loud and I tremble
At the greed of this society
That takes more than it gives
Until giving means giving
To those who would profit from you

The afternoon was something else
Sunlight had been forgotten
If I die like this, from regret
Leave the balcony open
The reaper will harvest

The soul of my art
In my study
Beneath my dirty sheets
From my balcony I can see him
He finds the weight of the snow

Annoying like a transparent shadow
The streets will still be mute
And the downtrodden will
Still beg at the metro of the church
And when I am gone

I will feel myself both like
The balcony, and the tower, and the skies
Moving up, in a stream of shadow-light
And there, I will
Pretend that God loved me.

Anticipation of that Moment

(Ode to Mark Strand)

Poets love death, for that’s their existential
Crisis, the juice that makes them write
The immortal point of heavens
And the final Dream of laughter

I am not thinking of death
For Death thinks of me
I am not standing alone
For being alone is my script

To observe a world as lonely as this?
And point to dying as an epiphany
For mortality is a leafless change
Youth too short, those city of souls

Too transient! I no longer yearn
For the great plaza of life, or the various
Temptations that one might find in existence
It’s all fair and well, O’ let is all be done soon

I love mystery and as such, I’m looking
Forward to the journey that is death
Though one thing I dislike, this waltz in
Delirium, I will no longer be able to write!

Morning Strike

Morning Strike

I will have lived long enough
When I die
For the cadence of life
Is O’ so dear
However long
Love lies sleeping
In an immense city
Filled by so many people

I feel lonely at the thought
Of being anonymous
For so long
I will have lived long enough
When I die
I tremble at the thought
Beauty is a cool watermelon
When you can appreciate it

When dusk turns to night
And when dawn turns to day
These are my favourite parts
Inverted and transcended
On the balcony of faith
When hope is all but scattered
I will love alone
What the universe gave to me

I will not take
I will not hoard
I will have lived long enough
When I die
This heart or that
May know of the feeling
How the water dries
How the newspapers

Turn to dust, it’s nearly
Affectionate, how the lips
Of summer never quench
The youth inside of me.

To Creation

If yet I have not all thy love
Remember this, I was born
Into your world, strange nature
I breathe, because of you

And your Deare evolution
I shall never have it all?
Being poor, and who made me so
And all my inner beauty is yours

I have nothing to bargaine with
Anymore, time can have me all
I have no great goals for my
Lofty mortality, “it is what it is”

So they like to say, I am tree, river
Stone, and just a bit of flesh
That grew in your womb never
Saying oaths that others do

If yet I have not all thy fortune
Let me be as you intended me to be
I can only love so much, do so much
In the fragile state for which I live

My remaining days, there are no letters
Like my genes to bring me home
Home is the planet I live upon
God’s riddles are for the absurd

Faith is not the kind of jewel I wish
To store in my brain, fruitless hope
Nor was any return love vowed by thee
Life does with me what it wills

I am as a fish in a polluted sea
Or as a tree in the last forest
I am as a world in ruins
For the sake of the greed of a few

Men who could not win your love
Any more than I could make the
Universe be aware of my existence
Love is for those whose hearts are young.

Later Verse Last Letters

i

The progress of the soul is a slow
Endeavour, full of the ironies
Of the narratives we create

These contexts exchangeable
Half-hearted escapes into subjectivity
That I know I am an epitaph
Waiting to happen, that my
Mortality hangs on a leaf

ii

Like a moment lost at dusk
That my legacies are without meaning
And all that I am will be forgotten

That this world is temporary
These signs we make to each other
Mere symbols in an eternity
Of syntax lost between bodies
Miraculously born and aged

iii

Without dignity, sick with
All that misfortune can bring
Tiding of a lost world

Not enjoyed by God, not followed
By the banks that profit
On the debts of the carnal
My art is short-lived, indeed
And not the childlike plaything
Of how a self-praiser prays.

Ebola, Puppet of Propaganda

Ebola, coming from the Continent of our roots
The WHO is exhausted by your contagion
Nurses are leaving their posts, doctors are dying

What can contain exponential growth?
Not the money and debts of this bankrupt America
We print more money and expect
The world to stay the same, but it won’t
Not after you Ebola, a profit mechanism

Vaccines, for each strain and mutation?
Ebola, your incubation period is too long
Your death-conformity is too high

How can you possibly be natural?
Man-made, racially biased, targeting
The weak, the poor, the masses
Ebola, a colonial rampage in your DNA
I call your bluff, genocide, Genocide!

Obama doesn’t mind Ebola, flights stay open
New epicenters for outbreaks arrive
The pundits say it’s already too late

Fluids or air-droplets, both, who is to say?
The CDC seems strangely apathetic
The UN is oddly apologetic
Ebola, are you ready to decimate
The white man, as you have the black?

All Souls Of Those I loved have been translated

I’ve been to the face of death
A sliding away from oneself
She kissed my cheeks and allowed
Me to live a while longer here
I’ve been to the edge of something deep
For which there is no tag, no shelf
The very end of suffering
That in itself, is not a bad thing
I do not dread the moment I escape this life
Perhaps it will even be a good experience
The unknown is what we fear
The timeless roses have maybe
A brighter hue on the other side?
Perhaps the sweetness of life
Can be better appreciate from there?
Above the wall of toil a slender branch
Is blooming, call it what you will
A strange kind of music, with
No need for mortal food, no searching
For belonging, no puzzling over
The injustice of all human brutality
I’ve seen the face of death and remarked
That her cloud-rimmed eyes were
Shining like the night, not unlike stars
And there was an alien freedom in her embrace.

Photo Courtesy:
1. http://www.deviantart.com/art/Melaelancholy-488208776
2. http://www.deviantart.com/art/One-photo-of-timelapse-488209194

Walking through the light of the world

We scattered to the night
like diamonds and stars
owls of forever
never to be seen or heard
from again, my friends
went off, I carried their words
in my pockets, on my heart
those burning treasures
the years of bones and
making it alone
The private hours that gnaw
At the days like lost battles
Humiliations too common
In a cruel world like this one
We scattered to the night
Like lost lovers of literature
Desecrated by the seasons

The kind of wet deep down sorrow
That each broken heart multiplies
Here is where every speech ends
Here is what they don’t say
What happens after the story
Here the star is black
And the light empties out
Even of the shadows.

Photo Courtesy:

1. http://www.deviantart.com/art/BELIEVE-IN-FAIRIES-487738766
2. http://www.deviantart.com/art/Oh-Ophelia-487357522

Letter to final interpretation

Like our bodies imprint
Not a sign of how we rejoiced
In the seasons of our youth will remain

The sand will straighten itself
The wind will not comb our hair
Time will not sit still for us
Dates will no longer exist
Our soul will be lost in energy

ii

Nature will rebuild and
The world will close behind us
Aware only of its self-centered drama

The languages our heart knew
Will not be sung in any dreams
The faces we once cherished
Will no longer exist, exactly so
None will help me, for I will be dead

iii

Though did I help the world
That gave me learning grounds?
As the centuries drink the amputated

Routines of generations
We even flew a little, in our prime
Had some rare ideas
Experienced ourselves more fully?
We loved with the wings of everything

iv

As far as I’m concerned
It was enough to be
Dismantled so easily by age

Decline was a precise surgeon
The engineer in my genes
Knew of angels before sunrise
Though in the anonymous paths I tread
I only felt a whiteness above covet me

As if I watched myself knowing

Brevity, mortality, impermanence
So aware of each moment slipping
Until I knew the name of divinity
And it was, already time to let go.

Ebola, the 60% protocol

Ebola then turns the insides of its host into jelly: you begin to vomit black junk which is basically your dissolved liver and internal organs.”
― Andrew Cormier

Fear too is an epidemic, it stretches out like
An incubation period for a kind of doom
Population control, whispered a silent elite
Who engineer our wallets, our GMO food, our futures

Ebola was a convenient way, of making us fear
Who we once were again, black as a Nigerian
We died alone in deathbeds, isolated plastic containers
For who we once were, our organs giving out

Infection was a spider hand, MSM gave us
False positives, but could the main-stream-media
Be trusted any longer? Wasn’t this just a matter
Of time, an algorithm set loose upon the billions?

Fear is that place, where people go in adversity
It’s hypnotic like an audience at a concert
It’s contagious how the will for self-preservation can spread
Fight of flee, but where to run, out of the cities?

The new normal is a kind of paranoia
While we watch the situation very closely
Every hour there is underground news about
Another case in another country, Ebola isn’t

Your grandmother that only likes good climates
She’s an engineered hypothesis of how mobility
Causes any true pandemic to become a flamboyant outbreak
The comet that signals black plagues has been seen

Fear too is a weapon, when you can’t stop the world
Because it’s too costly to do so, and you can’t
Tell the world not to fly because we’re too free
We left Africa a long time ago, but who among us
Would stand 20 meters from their open graves?

Aftermath in Realtime:

1. http://healthmap.org/ebola/
2. http://healthmap.org/en/

1. What city in Europe has the greatest chance of being the first major outbreak area?

That would be Paris, France.

2. What Country has the greatest chance of losing the most lives in the next 3 months?

That would be India.

Related VIDEOS:

1. August 8th, 2014

2.

Related Articles:

1. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2014_West_Africa_Ebola_outbreak
2. http://www.godlikeproductions.com/forum1/message2611902/pg1
3. http://www.godlikeproductions.com/forum1/message2615364/pg1
Spread Rate of 1.86
4. http://www.godlikeproductions.com/forum1/message2612635/pg1

Reached Nigeria 27th July, 2014.

August 9th List of Infected Countries:

1.Guinea
2.Liberia
3.Sierra Leone
4.Nigeria
5.Benin
6. (Even as I wrote this) Senegal and Ghana likely have cases too now.

August 10th:

People are being tested in the following places. [not confirmed cases]
1. Bucharest (Romania)
2. Hong Kong(Hong Kong)
3. Chennai (India)
4. Brampton (Canada) patient was Negative for Ebola.
5. Hamburg (Germany)

Scarcity Scenario:

1. http://www.godlikeproductions.com/forum1/message2615340/pg1