( 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