There are times when I am browsing at gallaries; I see something I like, that inspires me to continue my quest for Creative Relevance. I will spot an artist and take down their name and location and try to support them finiancially in hopes that they will in return remember me and maybe one day find something I create to be equally inspiring and maybe something they would like to buy.

  Here's to hoping.

Anyway, as I go around collecting art and watching people perform in ways I can only dream of or desire to have dreamed first. I found a woman who created an oil painting of a witchie like woman, who was very attractive to look at that had the strangest and prettiest hands. On each finger was a planet and the image had a mouth that was the prettiest black hole very few could have produced better. The artist in question had the piece online and I wrote to her one time, to find no answer from her. So I thought with a piece of art that unique I'd find her again. Rghit?

So far it has been a dud.

Can you imagine, you find something that unique, striking, and along with the rest of her work. You know she is a tattoo artist of fine regard, But from here to Pinetrest she has vanished.

Leaving me with this desire to speak to her; Leaving the image of a woman eating planets burning in my head.

I wonder sometimes if my work produces that much inquiry?

Have any of you seen her before...am I the only one looking?

  This is a letter to all performers; and artists of any race, creed, color, and back ground. 

  I am writing to you today a letter that will be accompanied with many letters because I endeavor to accomplish an event that will take the hands, energies, talents of everyone I know. Those I know and desire to know better. I want to host a show that will not only entertain; leaving us with a good moment; only to have us returning home looking for another source of entertainment. I desire not to take anything from those that will sing the songs and participate in the production. I desire only enough to pay the bills for the venue; the commission is based on the crowd and I desire to find enough to make us remembered, desired and needed.

  Everyone I know is waiting to go to heaven to feel achievement; not having seen or understood that heaven can be NOW!!! Right HERE!! Among us; for each and everyone of us, I live in the bible belt; this does not mean I live a boring, religious, abstinent life; it means everyday I dream of heaven and how to make it real for people like you.

  I desire one show. If we can pull a crowd with one show, with enough take home to erase the bruises of the pain associated with the Great Recession, maybe we can stave off the bitterness associated with the Great Depression, that will soon to be coming over the country. Those already associated with me are hero’s from other countries, who have picked up on the vision and support me with a burning whip imploring me to finish building their dreams no matter the cost to my mind, body, and spirit.

  I have written a song that I desire to perform the beginning of the project as an introduction to the motif of the production. Meaning as an example to the rest of you as to how you can build upon the message and renewal and an understanding that each and everyone of us are allowed to express how wonderful it feels to still be alive. To still believe in our dreams.

I listen to the radio and all I hear are millions upset about people or circumstance. I am upset because the church thinks platitudes are enough. They will rewrite Dorthies lyrics and dream upon rainbows way up high; the very same rainbow she flew over years ago.

  Many of you are still carrying Andy Warhol’s methods of entertainment and he was assassinated because one young woman was promised the moon but received shillings; while living in America; when her talents made Andy what he was.   I say all of that to say this; After this one show dedicated to the Performers of Heaven; Artists of Heaven; Models of Heaven; Dedicated believers who don’t mind the camera and being heard on every major radio station from here to Japan: That is what I am hunting for~ To take the bible belt of North Carolina and South Carolina up and down 1-95 in a year and send that sound from America to Europe to Asia to the Islands and back again three times with video and audio of some of the most talented performers I know. I want to go to the Ritz not just with Gospel but with sonic sounds that shows holiness is an energy that can heal the wounds of the past for those with worse stories of tribulation that I.

 Jubilation is the aim: I might even call the show that; if it takes a decade to pull it off~Then we could be in another jubilee and the title would speak for itself. My time table is a lot sooner than that. I don’t have a decade and neither do you. This is not a yearly block party, I am proposing, this is a directive to change the times I am made  to swallow as I travel the country; not just for myself but for everyone. If I have to I’ll take what is grossed and not only keep land rights intact  but we could start our own radio feed: set up an entertainment corporation to rival the very sounds Quincy Jones has come to denounce. Singing to God is easy; making others sing with you is the hard part.

  I have written blogs upon blogs for the reasoning behind such a venture here in America, only to unveil this proposal now because of all the hands I’ve organized into the same accord. Right now they are incorporeal; they exist through the computer and funding is the only obstacle that keeps us all separated; but wouldn’t it be wonderful if we could all be in one place; perform to our best abilities and take the world by storm before we leave this world for higher planes??

To those that have read my books and blogs, songs and viewed my art; I know I am not the only one who has had a need of emotional release. I am offering such and a way that we can shape the world around us.

 Come join me for one show stopper. When we pull this off more will follow and we could be the first Americans to retire from giving the world not Morales or judgements; or death to enter heaven but simple faith.

 Remember; Faith is the substance of things Hoped for; the Evidence of things Not Seen:

The very definition of faith can only be illustrated through the stage.

I showed you my few views of heaven in Open Heaven and the Banks of Heaven; share with me yours.

Prose, Poems, Art, if it can be scanned and transfered and is an idea of heaven share it: we would love to see.

....the things I'd do if I had the time.
I'd call forth the tempest,
Stretch my hands wide,
Fly to Venus and Saturn,
Watching the world's collide!
The things I'd do if I had the time....
I'd turn my wife into a countess, set up rules that would make us exclusive
I wouldn't be living inside of my mind....
The things I'd do if I had the time....

Dedicated to the friends of Advent Voice and the memories associated with them.

To recieve 5 stars with one vote for a piece of art is very commendable.

It is down right inspiring. It is something to write home about.

What makes me the most excited about it is the fact that it was for "Portraits Are Made From Love." That means there is one special person out there that I need to thank personally for appreciating a peice of work that has so many meanings to me, I would not know where to start.

  I aspire to share the same love for the work of a portriat with anyone. I broke each piece orginally into three panels. You see I was not satisfied with one picture of the woman. I had to go all out and place her in three scenes using three different mediums but all showcasing what made her speical. Black History month was just the most appropriate to unviel her; but it is really something that for me is good for all year round. That is what it means to have a real friend at least. Some one we can share the good times with all year round.

  The third piece of the portriat was too much for the computer. Yeah she broke my computer. No bother, more are to come. Thank you guys and gals for viewing and making me smile.

*The cities of my mind*

That is an art piece that speaks volumes of our present condition. Especially mine.

There is a chapter in Black Amethyst that I especially love, It is the end of the story where everything comes together.

After we travel with Clive Dawson through his pain, his joy, and we realize there is something wonderful at the end of the adventure, He says something that will forever be true and I tried to recapture in the art piece.

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Chapter 10

Queen of Spades:

Utopia, peace for the common man, prosperity of the Elysian fields, honor to the individual who fought the good fight, compassion placed upon the man who finds himself covered in soars from the black leaches of his environment. Absolution to the sinner, Tolerance toward the intolerant, rebirth of a city whose pavement remains spackled with the black mar of the burnt offerings;

Ashes, dust, death to the willing worker. The very worker, who slaves over the needs of the many.

A cycle of life created by a world too afraid of the steps hidden by their own overcasting shadow,

Individuals too lazy to demand more of this world, that when talks of ones, Right of Passage,

Freedom of Thought toward actions, Commitment to a better world, Belief in anything greater than what we can physically hold, is set upon the table;

Deluded by his or her own duality, Inferior to the Superiority of reality, Not pious enough to take the words decreed by the Gods and divine as the truth upon faith alone. A sacra less individual

plagued by demons, assured a painful lonely death. Due to your need to be accepted, Thousands have sold their very minds. They have sold their potential to a thankless corporation, who’s ever waking occupation is designed to leave you all spiritless.

Now, my little monsters, those of you engrossed in the tale of the alcoholic writer, may have deemed the Dreamweaver, to be some kind of savior of humanity. Like so many before him who have died to prove their worth, in this world, to be elevated upon the courts of the celestial realms, he would  tell you not to follow or worship him. Neither Idealize his mission or believe that his path will not lead to the death of millions.

Through the flames, the all purifying breathe of enlightenment, will be Revolutionized thought ending the tyranny of those in charge of our Final Fantasy. ~Clive Dawson

The black ink bleeds upon the sand paper-brown lines of parchment. His very last few tries to open the eyes of his city.

……

Patrons of the Nightingale continue their mindless deluge of intoxicating liquids. No change can be read upon the ignorant faces as night becomes day. The Yaksas sing praises as they mill

around the dejected, thanking the Gunas; Tamo, Raja, and Sattva, for such kindness as to allow

the souls of humans to complete the cycle of entrapment. Without the separation or worlds, good and evil could not exist. One feed into the other.  Humans are simply pawns; who due to their inferiority in the cosmic scheme of things are simply designed to perish with no hope. Well no hope, other than to grovel upon the feet of Faith.

Clive, and so many others, growing up as outsiders, vagabonds have always wondered what will happen to the worlds when a human makes a god bleed. No one ever mentions these things. Most try to shy their children from such dangerous line of thinking. ‘say no to drugs,’ they say, ‘Marry a good man or woman, have some kids, work by the sweat of your brow, save your wealth no matter how meager, never covet what does not belong to you, love with honor, share with the needy.’ To do this and one will live forever.

Truly, in this dark piss filled realm living forever is nice; Don’t you just love living for the millions that are too greedy, lazy, or disgusting to lift a finger for themselves.

Prison life tends to crystalize a man. When the cinder block jungle becomes the home of a materialistic person the slamming of cell bars, steel vacuum sealed doors and war-hardened fists,

Very few adhere to the Laws of God. Human Nature becomes the Queen of Spades need to Shoot the Moon. Hard to imagine a man, serving incarnation, who goes out of his way to save the

helpless? There are a lot of helpless men in this world. For Clive and many others the ability to remain on top of the pile of bodies that made the surface of his battle for freedom, was a testament in that of its self.

So when Brahma asked his Oracle to find our elusive hero, she was more than willing to incline.

Amber Jones, leading psychologist for the criminal court system, was originally, introduced to the Dreamweaver, when he was nineteen; More in her private office on the seventeenth floor of a newly constructed corporate building. The monolith was an all glass and steel cube. Filled with

cut away cubicles meant to create the illusion of privacy, the young Clive sat directly in front of the older talented woman without as much as acknowledging her presence with the required

hello and greeting of salutations inquiring upon her day. The young seeker delved into the story of Alexander the Great and classical revolutionists like the Monkey King.

‘To be the very same age as the Macedonian King when he set forth an army to lay siege on the known world. One can only hope to aspire to inspire at such a time as mine. Always look to the standard of the Monkey King, the only deity to journey to the west gates of the Nine tails to stake

his claims upon those that deemed him inferior.’

She was going to sit and ignore yet another black soul coming to her for a spiritual exorcise neither she, nor the patient believed in. Only to find, as she peered over the rim of her horn

tipped wire frames, an overly confident MAN. Seemingly unaffected by—‘she shuffles through his file—newly opened upon her lap—‘says here you were convicted of heinous crimes against

Nature and the Natural order of things for the duration of a year and a half, due to psychological observation to deem you—fit for society,’ she pauses to look at his controlled and pleasantly handsome face.

‘Do you deem yourself a danger to society?’ Amber Jones is known to be pointed. For seventy-five dollars an hour she can afford to be anything she desires.

“The only danger posed to society are those that cannot come to terms with the responsibility of their own actions, As you sit there and compare me, the man, with my life, You have to ask yourself, Do I look like a MAN that has trouble with Conviction?’ The smirk on Clive’s face in contagious. Amber cannot help to find herself smiling with him.

“I told the courts I’d take any punishment they deemed me worthy of,  They are still disputing, they allow me to fly all over the country because they trust me to adhere to the rules. Son of a military officer, I am the picture of honor, My word is my bond even if I am a Convict.” Mrs.

Jones is unconvinced, “That is how you define yourself? Brave man, in this town criminals are given no such respect. Most fear the labels, shy away from terms that signify where they have

been, Yet you own your black marks. Care not for your Reputation in society, what may be left of one?” Clive is angered by her question, “Reputation is the mask the individual of gentries wears

to disguise the fact that without it he is no different from the beggar that harps on his ankles for a quarter. I have never lived off the chimes of purse I could not earn off of my own merit. Though

being a man of few words what Reputation could one like me truly have? Now do I care how the world perceives me? Well that is a different matter.” Collecting the loose files she barely looked

at in the hour she was granted. Amber begins to write her private number on a card. One can only

imagine the elicite thoughts running in the mind of this mother of three. Married for three years, happily contemplating what another meeting with Clive Dawson will reveal. Handing the Dreamweaver her card she asks, “How should the world perceive a man of your caliber? I’d like you to take a look at these questions, answer them honestly in the comfort of your home, we will discuss them when you return.” Her hand lightly glances of his callous warn knuckles.

……

“When the world sees greatness of any sort, it should cultivate that beacon of light. Mold that individual to lead others by his or her example, we can not function in this world believing what is told to us. Someone must take a stand against the congested minds that wish us to

continuously repeat our fruitless existence. Judge me as you will. Before warned my righteous vengeance will stand the test of time. When and if you ever find yourself at rock bottom,

remember my words to you. the strength of your will is not determined by the length of how long

you remain in the sky, it is determined by the number of lengths it took your blooded fingers to reach so high.” ~DreamWeaver~

“Has he been found?” demands the God of Passion. A tone that accents his inpatients, “I’ve always kept close ties to the DreamWeaver, as it stands the one you seek remains in a heated battle with Kesi, you demon of doubt. They have teleported to the Other world. He has developed so quickly in these short years, it is becoming harder to remain focused on the tether he maintains with the physical realm.”

“If you know exactly where the weaver is to be found, tell me so that I may intercede,” demands the God, “He is in the home of the Raksasas, be thou as brave as a man to step upon the soil of

the damned? Kesi dragged the Weaver there as an attempt to seek aid. Though the mortal wishes your death, you still wish to ‘interfere’ with his glory?” The glowing second sight of Amber turns upon the intentions of her employer who quickly refutes her gaze.

As he departs her chambers, a trail of disgust at the impudence of his present followers, Brahma sets his sights on Clive. More than eager to teach the God of Fire what happens when the kitchen catches flame.

Siva, after she was certain the lord of passion truly was no longer in ear shot, the twinkling of the bells resting on her sensuous ankles, proceeding her entrance, demands a moment with the

oracle, “How is it that a woman of your station, a clinical doctor, began to love a man like Clive

Dawson?”  Amber is not shocked by the lord of ignorance’s perplexity, one set in an existence where you cannot love or trust anyone, would wonder what it was like to care beyond the

physical drive of nature. “I suppose the same could be asked of you, lord of destruction, how can a deity know what it is to find pleasure upon hearing the name of a mortal man?”  The blood filled cheeks of Siva, is all the answer, her nonchalant demeanor, cannot deny.

“Come my precious lord of ignorance, together upon this tender kiss we will pleasure each other to the desires of a dream weaver we allowed to go amidst, the black amethyst,” beckons Amber Jones as her blouse pools at her feet.

…….

Lauren Shriller of the CNN news broadcasting station, ‘For the ten long years our nation has been at war with terrorism several questions have arisen that neither side of the fallen bodies can truly answer assuredly, when one discards the personal agenda, is the death of millions worth in comparison. After the smoke clears will you be satisfied that anything changed. Of

course not, all you hold on to is the worthless notion that God of any name condones genocide and pointless slaughter. That the gold and bullion of your fore-fathers, that neither of you will ever use or even truly earned a right to speak of, belongs in your greed filled pouch. That the color of your skin declares the testament of a long forgotten race, that the rules of you people

are better than the next even though the struggle of life is universal. As an observer, seeing no

difference made of the police state of one city opposed to another. That even as one crosses an ocean and upon the soil of foreign ideals, sex, creed, casts, all struggle against the very real survival of simply living. As a nation would it be so out of the way to elevate our vocabulary

when crass topics of war is discussed. For most ignorant individuals the thought of reading the

Quaran is unthinkable; even though the bible tells the same story. What I find in this world are schemers. Bored individuals who feel the only way to assert their lives is to gain control of

anything. The man that owns a business, his wife, children, home, car, his material is in control

of his kingdom and the moment the wife’s head is turned by the over indulgent intensions of the

‘pool boy’ or family friend who visits only during back yard barbeques, she is found consummating her infatuations of the attentions previously ignored by the complacent husband. Then heads are made to roll. Rage takes over and her sinful nature is laid bare. Yet such temper tantrums are the erratic responses of the very same Neanderthal that could not write as elegant as the husband or you and I. 

How far we have come, to have landed on the moon, destroyed millions through the diffusion of atoms, crafted vehicles that assists us to see the skies, the birth of children is practically

painless; through, so many successful births it is a direct science that used to be magic. So far, to have not learned a thing, beyond how to dress better than the naked Neanderthal. These writings are not knew, Julien Vern had the same thoughts, Only no one read his books so the elevation

remains unrealized. Then they say, ‘How do we advance without ensuring someone leads us?’

The same question the children of Israel posed God while lost in the wilderness. We believe

Camelot fell because of the evils of human nature. The fall of man was man’s doing but we have deluded ourselves into believing that such pain is of our DNA. We are greater that our thoughts.

Loving Clive Dawson; easy for me because he has shown me that if I truly believe I can be anything I wish to be. You all are greater than the sum total of your flaws. I did not need Jesus to tell me that. Now it is up to you to create the world you desire. Thank you and Good night.

Chapter 11

Spirit Realms

The other world, our spirit realm is not as fantastic as those deluded by the miscreant ‘threemodes’ of existence are lead to believe. The practitioners need flowery words to intice the non-

believer. Who would care two Sundays from now, about death and life if, they were to know, to

an unaware soul, nothing, but everything has changed. The soldier who is in the heat of combat,

loses his life due to the sword in his heart. That instant, as a lighting shock, everything that he is, alive and kicking, knees upon the same earth, which only moments ago filled as a river with his blood, is green again, can see the whole of existence reflected by the social agenda rooted system of the Banyan tree. The relief is present, upon realizing he is still alive, yet he can smell it. The change around him; the sepia of the sun rays are not as warm to the touch. In fact, “touch” is

more comparable to the surface of a mirror. Sand, dust, when placed under immense pressure,

heat and compacted into a nice box, left to cool, produces the very same glass upon the wall of

you bathroom sink. This alchemic production can be applied to the process of the soul when it is

Trans mitigated to the other world. Through death the process is not uncomfortable. One feels nothing, yet through life, the separation of the worlds for one not used to the passage, can be

rather unnerving. Jarring even. So one can understand why a traveler, such as Clive Dawson,

finds himself on the streets of, Other world, commencing to beat and maim Kesi, the demon of

doubt. Though he remains changed by the spell the dream weaver placed on him. The unsettling effect of realm jumping fuels Dawson’s anger. Bon-jarring blows upon the face of the dark

demon seem to help even out his mind. So he keeps punching him. The eyes are the key to the soul; an unarguable truth, held by all those that has obtained any knowledge in the life time. Through the eyes we can gauge the awareness of the individual who as of present may be talking to us. Through his or her eyes we can determine the happiness of life or it’s sadness. Can read the thoughts that remain unspoken; when a loved one dies, the vacant expression of the eyes reveal to all that the soul has traveled to the Other world. This is the last bit of magic in the world that

no philosopher, doctor, atheist, etc.; can argue with. One can claim that the worlds remain closed. As of yet no one has come to tell us of the world beyond. As of now all talk of the otherworld is found in the fantasy section of libraries and in the minds of those locked away from society. The pressurized mind knows the truth and it is reflected through the eyes.

‘The roots of the spiritual world grow upward, forever reaching to break the veil into the material realm. Our dopplar~ganglers scratch the surface of the mirror seeking to finally know

what it means to touch. The homunculus of our souls forever remains trapped in the otherworld.

Humans, unappreciative of the gift of life seek absolution of the sins committed by crossing the veil. Gods and demons alike allow such occurrences because of spite and jealousy. An

embodiment that is as crystalized as glass, never loving, never experiencing the touch of a

woman. Imprisoned by the laws of nature; to cut down the banyan tree that holds such a system together is the mission of Clive Dawson. Of course he has his misgivings. As he looks upon the ancient rooted system he can’t help but to wonder if the lights of this entire creation will fall in on itself as the body does when a human dies.’ Or are these just the vocal doubts of the black puss that is Kesi? ‘Wouldn’t it be a spectacle to witness though? the destruction of our unified prisons and the final union of both worlds.” The punch is swift.

“I have told you time and time again, cutting down the tree without knowing for sure is not in the best interest of my city. Stop trying to feed your own agenda and tell me the final aim. Cut down the system, to what end. Death. I don’t think so.”

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I have just given you two chapters to a book that is set to blow your mind!

Tell all of your friends about it....ask questions of those around you...Seek and you shall find.

Thank you all for loving on Clive Dawson just a little bit more.

So if you were born in the 90's they said you were Gen Y.

If you were born in the 60's to 80's they said you were Gen X.

It is fair to say that anyone born from 2000's to present is Gen Z. My problem is that I can not determine what that looks like artistically and if the art has improved or am I just old in my thinking?

So what does art from GEN Z look like?

I had so much fun producing the blog and the art that inspired it.

most of the things I write about come from personal experiances and desires I have for the outcomes of some of those experiances.

Sometimes I wish I could go back into time and say better things to change how a situation occured. Sometimes I wish that a situation was simply generic and speical to only that moment, but I find so many can relate to this stories and as I have said in previous blogs, my one real desire in sharing any of this information is in the hope that in helping others I can help myself.

If you have not read the short story that coincides with the piece of art recently posted be sure to site referances to www.avproductionsblog.wordpress.com

Our affiliate produces share a lot of thoughts that fuel the magaizine Adventgradepress.com & Advent Voice along side promoters like @Scope2Mars. He is a swell individual and just wants to share with the world stories behind the art and would not mind getting other voices and artist into the fun of being seen and heard.

A lot of the time I am asked what does all of my art comprise of? What is the real purpose behind it?

For me illustration and the art behind composing stories through this craft I have a hard time really getting across to my readers and on lookers the point. I honestly feel if they got it. If the really understood where I stood, I would have more people interacting with me. It is because I am brushed off and people love to say, "It is an Unfair world," and I should just settle for what is given; I have engineered a meening that is ahead of it's time and that is why I am the only doing it. But I think it is a fair question.

To get a real grasp of what my art, prose, and articles are about Checkout some of the latest posts found @ www.avproductionsblog.wordpress.com or read Black Amethyst found @ www.smashwords.com/profile/view/AVplusME dig deep into the art and the stories that motivate them!

My newest blog is called Mr.26...no one will tell the real story of the man that broke out of a Federal Prison for food and supplies but I think in the search of liberation and the essance of what makes America the land of the Free and home of the Brave; this piece is all the motivation one needs to create the art that is before you! 

( Incerpt from Poems of Love and March in the City)

written by Clive Dawson:

Making contact with people of interests has always been a work of art to me.

People are innately curious, all the time. I say something on twitter, one word, and I'll make 500-1000 impressions in that one bracket of communication. The gift of gab.

It has not always equated into revenue but the potential is there, everytime a person presents themseleves to be curious, dash a like, retweet what I have said. If they just simply click, there curiosity has been peeked and an open door is all a creator needs.

I was a great sales man in my hey day~ A great influencer~ to this day. I feel I've cheated myself if I've not made someone laugh or inquire about life. Then I have these days when I don't want to talk to anyone.

I am beat in the head with this idea of, "What is the point?" I send out proposals never to hear from anyone~ Not even a letter suggesting that they reviewed my letter but at the moment we can't use you~

Something is better than noting; and Nothing can't or will never create Something.

~I remember a time when THE PINK PANTHER THEME SONG was always in my head.~ My life was a continued Jazzfest~What you would call an "A game." I was not even amped or high~I wsa just certain of where I wanted to be and where I was going~

Then the Recession hit~ Nothing was certain ever again.

I did not even want a woman.

I was thankful not to have lost my mind.

Now people look at me with constant questions, never sure what it is they desire to know about me and are upset that I am not forth coming:

How many of you want to hear from the man that could illustrate Death chasing him, witches, flaming lion heads, Burning airplanes and women that crush the heart of a man?

In order to truly grasp my story, to truly understand me~I must take you on this long dark jounrey through my mind: much to my own displesure; I find myself doing the very thing that made Stephen King a nuisance; at least to me he was, (I feel it is a mark of a poor writer): Dragging you along with promises of a wonderful ending; something lite, but in order to reach it; that perch on the mountain, you have to release sweat from ever pour.

Every piece of art displayed so far is just another part of me.

If I was to truly depict to the world who I am~It would be a man who witnessed to gates of heaven open only to have it said, "It is not your time, you are not worthy, return to the land of the living and this time, everything that you loved belongs to another demension, the people will not remember you, you were forgotten and there was no mark that you ever existed."

 Your Mission If You Choose To Except It: Make a new mark, climb to the tallest mountain but never reveal who you really are to the ones you loved.

I remember the love of my life, before she had my son, she would say things like, "I wish you did not love me as much as you do."

We really did not know what love was: such a pitty to bring a child in the world and not know what love is.

IF you desire to read more about Clive Dawson and the Jazzfest that plays in his mind:

Pick up Black Amethyst @ https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/AVplusME

Thank you so much to fans and passer byers. You all that take the time to read and be entertained are the only reasons anyone creates anything. To have those read a prose or jam to the lyrics set to the beats of our heats, makes this adventure worth remembering.

(This lyrical story is set to motion and culmiated by real events: though names and settings change due to privacy and a belief that life is fulll of lessons the chorus might be something you have wanted to sing before and I welcome you all to do so in the shower the next time you think of that....)

Marriage of Conviece~

No matter how many times you smile

You have to remember you married that FAT LiPPED ziGGA!

You were a liberated woman, no one could give you an ultimatum. Never could it be said that I didn't try to S-A-V-E you from your own enternal disgust. I was a dream for ya; You were so insecure, so sure, that I'd stop dreamin' of ya, projecting the thoughts of others onto a man that spoke honestly, earnestly, trying to get you to understand~ what it meant  to be a man.

The difference between them fairytale critters who sold ya dreams of mansions, money, fame, corralled you with pyramid schemes, encouraging you that in order to be somebody you gotta PAY-to-PLAY the game. The jokes on you,

HAHAHA

~While your sittin' in the sun~

Marriage of Convience~

You'll always have to remember you married that FAT LiPPED wiCCan

I wrote it all in a song, in hopes to catch you singing along, crowd pleaser, pumppin' you up cuz ya sleezie. We had dreams of touching space. Extacy was no fantasy, You were real to me, I only gave you ultimatiums because the world can be a rough place. I never minded goin' with you to the parties; I thought you were cute as button, flashing the world, in that dress that I bought you.

We were livin' large and it was so cool of us. Now you gotta remember

You married that FAT LiPPED ziGGA.

You'll always remember me as the lyracists that never sold you dreams of us, never going to marry you cause it was CONVIENCE. Never treated you like a trophy.

You were my sister, I never dis ya.

Truth is I miss ya.

Now you gotta remember You married that FAT LiPPED ziGGA!

Ain't No Rest for the Wicked:

That is how the flames feel when they begin to lick ya: They warp your mind, you being to loose vision~Forgetting all the lessons of analytics I departed wit-cha. I found you going from MAN to MAN.

oooh I caught ya slippin. You can listen to those acclaimed rich prostitutes as they teach you how to sell cakes in the kitchen. Sell your soul for a little bit of gold, just remember, you marreied that FAT ziGGA.

I am so thankful to a few lessons I emparted to you are showing, I don't see my son being flashed all over the Social Media, there are no trANNIES around trying to teach him how to be a MAN.

Again I am chocked up about your Marriage of Convience~ just remember you chose the marry that FAT LiPPED Losser.

Twitter is the new time square. You'll find me in the middle of the crowd, cause for the life of me, I'll always be singing your praises, another green board dictation, you got your pen ready cause I am not going to say this out loud~

Spoken word, which leads to action is how you get what your seekin'~that's the secret~ so sorry about your marriage of convience, just remember you decided to LiNK Ball and ChaIN to that FAT ziGGA, I can only bless ya, while you carry that load life dealt ya.

They will call men like me (Captain Save A-Hoe) cause I beleive in marriage. I pitty them cause every time I see them I make them remember like the fifth of november, You decided to marry that FAT SiCk ziGGA. I hope your enjoying your

Marriage of Convience~

( SO MANY MARRIAGES END IN DIVORCE BECAUSE OF LIMP ***ICK MEN)