Amanda is thirteen
Claims she wants to be an individualist
Has pink and purple hair because Monica does
Wears her shirts tied at the waist like Jacque
Has fake tattoo sleeves like Erica
Had to have sparkly pink boots like Meeme
We keep waiting for her individualism to appear
So far,
Nothing….
I remember when the walls were red.
Not a single person was dead.
The room was big and wide,
And it was so easy to confide.
I lived in cabin seven.
Jacque called it Heaven.
I never thought I’d forget.
It’s like we never met.
Now the walls are no longer red.
My old friends might as well be dead.
The rooms are so small and white,
And the air feels so tight.
Now I stay in eleven.
I just can’t connect with Kevin
Their calls still echo through these halls.
I’m constricted by these new walls.
Jacque was a high-spirited lass with a smile as wide as my room
You should ask her out everyone told Phil, a potential groom.
Phil had less energy than a gnat that was dying.
He could not imagine being around this lass even when trying.
I don’t think she’s for me he told the matchmaking folk.
He did not even add tomato or cheese to his fried-up egg yolk.
He could not imagine being in a room with a high-spirited lass like that.
Which is why he lived his entire seventy-six years in a bachelor’s flat.
Jacque had been a flower girl in Jack’s brother’s wedding.
He was the ring bearer, who picked her basket up when she spilled it.
He dried her tears, and helped her collect the red rose petals.
Together they proceeded down the aisle, and she was in love.
They met at Jack’s brother’s sixth wedding. She was grown up.
She knew his eyes, but could not remember why she knew them.
No one remembered the story until after their own wedding.
Jack's Aunt May had discovered the photo of the two of them as children.
Gave the framed photo to them as a wedding present.
Saying, “God knew that you two were always meant to be.”
They could not stop smiling or dancing after they opened this gift.
Not remembering it on a conscious level, but loving the story.
Jacque Laurent Agasse
a vet he came to be
As a painter not so prolifique
but his horses were just the ticket
No one will ever forget when we transition to a global Resource Based Economy,
but I will never forget the man and what he meant to me.
Happy Birthday Jacque, rest peacefully.
Venus Project supporters are actively pursuing your vision and dream.
Jacque Fresco
March 13, 1916 – May 18, 2017
Don’t tell Donna that Ted said that Marty
was…..
If I had a dollar for every time I heard some version
of this ridiculousness today, I would not have to
come to work with these gossip mongers.
Ring. Ring. It is Linda, the bookkeeper at the next desk.
She cannot turn and talk to me, because she is
telling tales about Sheila who sits less than ten feet
behind us.
I laugh politely at the end of the tale, hoping
she will let me get back to my bill-paying. But no,
she now has a story about Jacque.
Off the phone I write two checks. Brring Brring
The supervisor glares at me. We are supposed
to get the phone after the first ring. It might be
one of our vendors or our stores. We pay bills
for a chain of stores.
I grab the phone. It is Jacque, who is telling me
stories about Linda. None of them nice ones.
They both want to sit with me at lunch, but not
with the other one at the table. I slink out with
my lunch and eat in my car again, third week in
a row.
The supervisor comes out and raps on my window.
I roll it down about an inch.
"You are not supposed to eat in your car," he tells me.
Jacque was rude she says.
Darla was more rude, I reply.
We had been sitting on the same couch, right?
Darla interrupted Jacque every time she tried to speak.
Well, yes but what about Jacque’s face?
Why did she have that stupid smile on it the whole time?
I have a smile like that when I am completely uncomfortable I say.
She looks at me. You think she was?
I know she was! I was!
Really? I loved watching the drama.
I am staring at her, with my mouth open.
Probably giving her my uncomfortable smile.
On this day in the year of 2017,
a very great and inspirational man was lost to many.
I regretfully never met the man,
but he has helped me in ways that no one can possibly imagine,
including, but not limited to, my life long struggle with depression.
If I had only one wish, it would be to personally thank him.
Rest Peacefully My Friend.
Jacque Fresco
March 13, 1916 - May 18, 2017
I've struggled most of my life with chronic depression.
On an everyday basis I have had to deal with this demon.
It's like we both have been lifelong annoying companions,
but that has changed for the better, I am an improved changed man.
A friend of mine, let's call her Roxanne,
sent me an audio lecture on depression given by this outstanding man.
I listened to that lecture again and again,
and before I knew it I began to approach differently my depression.
I still get depressed every now and again,
but I now no sooner get depressed and realize why it's happening,
and before you know it, I've bounced back on my feet enjoying life again.
It's as if I run into my old demon and say, "Get Lost Depression!,"
and then as quickly as it arrived, my depression is gone.
No therapy, therapist, doctor or any medication,
has ever helped me at all struggling with this life long demon.
The only true and effective help I have ever received from anyone,
was when Roxanne Meadows sent me Jacque Fresco's lecture on Depression.
Jacque Fresco was a man who truly never liked being thanked for anything.
He changed so many lives for the better just from his counseling,
and most would thank him endlessly with tears of appreciation,
but he would always respond in all sincerity to all of them.
"Please do not thank me," he would say with the sincerest of truthfulness,
"Please just go out there and help somebody else."
Jacque was the happiest of newlyweds on the outside
She dressed fastidiously. Walked with her joyful head up.
She had many excuses. She could never take time to sup.
Her smile helped her pretend she was a well-loved satisfied bride
Jacque was keeping her honest betrayed feelings deep inside.
She was cheery, and happy, keeping in her abject sadness.
Stuck in a battle, she could never hope to win, a madness.
Hoping to help her husband with rage he could no longer hide.
Written Feb 20, 2019
Contest: Enclosed Rhyme
Sponsor: Emile Pinet
A missionary and a serial killer are not that way born.
Both evolved by the environment each experienced and individually came from.
If you switched both at birth with the other’s environment,
your otherwise missionary would end up a killer and your otherwise killer a saint.
That's difficult for people to accept initially,
because they have to drop “free will” and individuality.
If you can get past that one the rest is easy to understand,
including the need for a global entirely different kind of environment.
Inspired from the teachings of Jacque Fresco and Roxanne Meadows.
Linda, you think that too?
I did not want to tell you, but since Jacque did.
Wait a second! You think I have road rage?
I have known them both for almost 60 years, but
they still betray me,
creeping at me with judgements, pretending to "help me"
Two childhood friends, doing a road rage intervention.
I am incredulous,
argumentative,
irritated,
ready to pack their stuff for them, and push them out the door.
I hope they will like their little 4 mile hike back to my house.
(fact)
A father figure you trying to be.
Are you crazy, are you stupid
Jacque Andre is my father's name,
why would you want to be him.
For his one of a kind mentally crazy.
your freakage life style doesn't run in my family
Not by the second,nor by the minute.
Who in the world would be attracted to they own family.
It's disgusting and gross, I think I will vomit.
Loving your family is one thing.
But to pass beyond that boundaries is sicking as can be.
That type of love is not a love a parent can forfil.
So to try to be a father figure from being just a men.
I think you have a problem and it's not me.
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