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Mary Cascino

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Abonnenten, folgen, 27 Beiträge - Sieh dir Instagram-Fotos und -Videos von Maria Chiara (@vvd-urk.nlo) an. Sehen Sie sich das Profil von Mary Cascino auf LinkedIn an, dem weltweit größten beruflichen Netzwerk. 2 Jobs sind im Profil von Mary Cascino aufgelistet. Mary Cascino · Stephanie Owen. Administrator · Adam Nugent, AIF · Malia Vitousek. Aspire Teacher Resident at Aspire Public Schools · James Donald. Software. Vorname Nachname (Jahr). Mutter, Vorname Nachname (Jahr). Ehepartner, Josephine Mary Cascino (Jahr). Öffentliche Stammbäume: Alle Suchergebnisse für Cascino Mary Lou Cascino Rouse von Stammbaum Gulluccio tree.

Mary Cascino

Patrick Cascino. Weitere Informationen. Minimieren Viktor Lazlo · Neal Hefti Chorus & Orchestra · Piano Bar · Angelo Fabiani · Flavia Fortunato · Mary Nelson​. Mary Cascino · Fotos ansehen. Arbeitet bei me stessa. Mehr Ergebnisse werden geladen Deutsch; English (US) · Español · Français (France) · 中文(简体). Cascino GD, Klingerman S, Neumann C, Wang R, Jacobsen JC, Nolan MA, Lederer D, Mary S, Scalais E, Selim L, Van Coster R, Lagae L, Nikanorova M. Mary Cascino Mary Cascino Mary Cascino · Fotos ansehen. Arbeitet bei me stessa. Mehr Ergebnisse werden geladen Deutsch; English (US) · Español · Français (France) · 中文(简体). Thomas Cascino, MD, MSc. University of Michigan. Diagnose von Erkrankungen des Herzens und der Blutgefäße. Mary T. Caserta, MD. University of Rochester. Patrick Cascino. Weitere Informationen. Minimieren Viktor Lazlo · Neal Hefti Chorus & Orchestra · Piano Bar · Angelo Fabiani · Flavia Fortunato · Mary Nelson​. Cascino GD, Klingerman S, Neumann C, Wang R, Jacobsen JC, Nolan MA, Lederer D, Mary S, Scalais E, Selim L, Van Coster R, Lagae L, Nikanorova M. Brian J. Nimish A. Mercedes E. Anna E. Bhakti K. Robert L. Christopher M. Jan J. Kenneth A.

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Highlights of the Final #Mauritius2 June 26th Cascino/Shroff

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Close Send. Darkness was perfusing the sky and I swear the clouds looked just like cotton candy. It was so weird though this one angelic year-old girl with brown hair kept lovingly following me around.

She had the biggest smile under her mask while dipping her feet in the water. So I felt inspired to strike up a conversation with her.

She told me about how she feels trapped living with her family and family friends at the moment but her dreams of being a journalist are keeping her hopeful and positive.

Oh and her eyes lit up when she talked about maybe getting married and having children or at least dogs someday. We ended up stopping by an African drum circle on the grass next to some Coast Live Oaks and she danced her heart out.

I could tell by the twinkle in her eye that she has the ability to see beauty in everyone too. The time had come for me to make my way home.

As I was walking up the steps to my apartment at pm I received an disturbingly loud notification on my phone with a news headline reading:.

Art by Luis Royo. Sometimes creative insight comes to me straight from the Devil himself. This half man half goat can be found perched up in a dingy, cold room with a reversed pentagram in between his horns.

He sources his artificial sense of power from unhealthy physical world patterns such as addiction, materialism, rape, trauma bonding and exploitation, just to name a few.

In fact, I saw it in a dream just the other night. I was peacefully floating around in my pastel-colored dreamworld minding my own business when out of nowhere Aleister Crowley aimlessly stumbled in.

I must say he was looking quite dapper wearing a black top hat and a long grey wool peacoat. Yep he definitely had a cool cane.

Then he gave me that look. Call it a scowl, grimace, dirty look, whatever. You know the look. Anyway he gave me that look and I got really scared.

Suddenly with a wave of his magic wand a debilitating bout of sleep paralysis engulfed my body, pillaging me of my abilities to move and to speak.

I tried with all of my might to smack my hand against the headboard of my bed and scream out to wake myself up. Nothing was working. I felt imprisoned in a realm of darkness with no exit strategy, like a special, warm-hearted woman trapped in the backseat of a wrecked and smoky Mercedes W at the entrance of the Pont de l'Alma tunnel.

She was severely wounded and not to mention absolutely petrified. Oh and the final nail in the coffin, you ask?

Photographers just stood there diabolically taking pictures. Leave me alone!!!!! So I decided to take a different approach.

And just like that my body began to relax. My heart rate slowed down. I took deep, calm breaths. The binds and blindfold were removed.

The pain stopped. I was free. I thanked him for helping me practice setting boundaries. He looked at me with his secretly sweet brown eyes, tipped his top hat and bid me adieu.

I swear I even saw him crack a smile. Mine are for sure. The other day my frustration skyrocketed to the point where I freaked out and threw one of my favorite paintings overhand against the wood-floor in my apartment and watched the glass break into 32 little fragments.

Fuck it, whatever. So if I need to pitch a damn knick knack against the floor of my home from time to time, so be it.

But I mean how can you not be angry? Look at how we treat our fellow Earth inhabitants. For starters there are sweet children all over the world begging for food in this very moment, right now, as we speak.

Definitely some framed Warhols in the store. I think it was about as much as food for a child for a year. I did some snooping and found out it belonged to Penny Marshall.

I thought about how lucky Penny was to have had such a beautiful couch in her home. I pictured her comfortably lounging on it sipping vodka martinis hosting one of her cool parties in the Hollywood Hills.

Maybe even having a Marlboro on it. Or I then imagined her responding to my vision in her signature Bronx accent: Oh honey the couch is just replaceable crap.

Ya kno? Within an hour I found a forest green velour sofa up for grabs. According to Google Maps his house was about 25 mins away in a small city in Orange County.

I figured it was wise to arrive with back-up in case the guy turned out to be a psychopath using a forest green velour couch as bait to lure lowly Craigslist users with excellent taste in furniture, I might add and cold-heartedly harvest their kidneys.

Not gonna lie my heart rate was picking up and my palms were sweating as I got out of the SUV. Holy shit I gotta stop here for for a second.

So freaky. Of course the guy turned out to be a kind and open-hearted year-old skater dude. He said he frequents Cherry Skatepark on occasion but mainly skates Orizaba.

Oh and the forest green velour sofa was in mint condition. Sometimes inspiration comes in subtle ways. Like in the form of a mysterious woman draped in a blue cloak sitting upright in perfect stillness.

She joyfully delivers the same message whenever I visit her at her home in the country: create.

Art by Lucrezia Battelli. Damn, okay. Oh right. After 3 beautiful months Fozzie and I decided to go our separate ways.

The family was really missing him after quarantine restrictions began to lift so I volunteered to drive him up to Nor Cal to hand him off to my brother.

So here I am back on the road for a few days with the kingdom of Nor Cal as my temporary playground. The other day I got one of my wheel bearings replaced at an auto shop in the neighborhood of Rose Park in Long Beach while preparing for my trek.

While receiving a subpar lower lumbar massage my mind started to restlessly wander. After 2 days of not writing I was curious when bolts of insight would finally strike.

Suddenly I drifted off to a time when all of us ladies were hand washing our clothes at the banks of a peaceful river.

Sounds of our etheric humming and singing carried us through the hard labor under a scorching sun. Blue Morphos were there too.

Reality came crashing down when I noticed it was pm. Oh shit. Gotta pick up my car. I begrudgingly gave up my cushy pleather seat and grabbed my stuff.

Amy Winehouse accompanied me on my walk over to the shop. Davis was on the trumpet. Thelonious on the keys. My first stop was my favorite coffee shop in town.

I parked my car in the parking lot and noticed a bunch of guys having their morning coffee and talking shop next to their pick-ups. One of them was sharpening his Makita chainsaw with his sweet red-nosed pit laying in the bed of his F I got my coffee and went for a walk on the main drag of the charming town.

The guys said their friendly hellos as I walked by. The one with the pit started making conversation with me after he noticed how much I loved his dog.

He told me about his last dog getting run over by a car and how devastating the experience was for him. I responded to his grief by talking about how necessary it is to heal your heart or something cheesy like that.

Of course it made his heart melt and he loved it. All guys secretly do. I think it reminds them of the maternal tenderness we received as children and are unknowingly starving for as adults.

After walking around town and paying my respects to a local officer who was recently shot and killed I decided it was time to continue onwards.

Just so they could hear her angelic words, of course. Before I knew it I was sitting on a bench under a baby Redwood listening to an older gentleman playing guitar.

Him and his buddies acknowledged my presence with respectful greetings. This one intimidating looking dude with a thick Jersey accent and long gray hair took an interest in me and felt safe enough to open up about his pain.

He shared with me that the love of his life is sick and has about 6 months left on Earth. I did however tell him that he will have a beautiful reunion to look forward to on the other side when the time comes.

We all will. I said farewell to the guys and drove to the hotel I booked for the night. Politicians, musicians, actors and actresses… you catch my drift.

Marilyn Monroe was a guest here at one point. Of course callous-hearted mobsters would party here back in the day with their hide-out hunnies.

While waiting in line at registration a little girl named Shanti started talking to me. Shanti asked me what my name was then quickly asked if I was a mommy.

Before I had time to respond the guy behind the counter gestured for me to move forward. Time to check-in. I received my key and headed up to my room.

I even considered pulling an all-nighter. I came prepared for my journey with my finest tools for protection and comfort.

All set for literary lift-off. Love is my purpose, intention and the reason for my existence. As long as I keep coming back to that sentiment nothing can hurt me.

Over there your heart is where your true power lies. Just like that one Tarot card depicting a pretty woman calming an unruly lion by demonstrating the strength of love by gently caressing him.

Her message is an easy one to remember: be a tempering force with benevolence. Alright gotta go. Time to put on my headphones and start writing to the warm-hearted sounds of 2 Chainz.

Like a lot a lot. I usually see it as a term of endearment and kinda sweet. All in friendly, neighborly tones.

And I get it. When we classify strangers according to their exterior appearance we gain a sense of control in an out-of-control reality. It allows us to respond appropriately to our environments, and sometimes the intent is clear.

When the words are punitive, however, they are being shot from a severely wounded heart. That never feels good for anyone involved. Case in point the other day I was walking down Ocean with Fozzie wearing a cinnamon-colored cotton sundress, my Walgreens John Lennon-esque sunglasses and my favorite Labradorite necklace when I noticed a woman walking towards us radiating maniacal tweaker vibes, like a sped-up version of the Tasmanian Devil.

When we got within closer range she started giving me sinister elevator eyes and a cruel scowl. Her rage was palpable. I knew in my heart of hearts she was conjuring some hard-hearted insult that she would be firing at me like a loaded revolver ejecting 4 hollow-points to my back and left shoulder.

My heart was pounding. Oh god here it comes…. She angrily screamed. Okay that hurt. I mean of course I was offended by her statement, but I was confused more than anything.

Then it hit me. In fact, none of us are. I was wholeheartedly impressed by the evocation of her words. I thanked her in my heart for being an unexpected source of inspiration for me that day.

I also hoped that sweetness and joy would make their way to her heart soon. Art by the late and incredible Gil Elvgren. I went for a solo walk on the beach at pm sharp while Fozzie stayed home for a nap.

I spent the entire time on the beach listening to music in my clunky wireless headphones feeling hyped and manic. As soon as I finished my afternoon stroll I ascended up to street level and unknowingly walked myself right into a massive gathering of people sitting in silence in Bluff Park.

The kind of music that offends most but pack a punch, slap hard and cut deep, nonetheless. Anyway I totally had it on the maximum volume level and of course my phone froze when I tried turning the music off.

To my embarrassment, the oppressive beats of the electronic music leaking out of my headphones ignited a chain reaction of people waking up from their mental slumber around me.

After I finally managed to turn the music off I decided to plant myself in the lap of this gnarly Moretan Bay Fig Tree and join in on the moment of stillness.

I looked around and noticed everyone sitting calmly with their eyes closed. It was pm exactly and mania was still pumping through my veins from my EDM-infused walk.

My eyes were wide open and my restless legs were giving me the signal that it was time to go. I awkwardly picked myself up right as the procession was closing and made my way back home to be with Fozzie.

It was am and I just got home from putting my feet in the Pacific Ocean. The evening curfew was looming over LA County like a tyrannical cloud.

I spent the entire night before brainstorming and typing notes but failed to make any headway. Suddenly out of nowhere, creative inspiration broke through like a giant hand appearing out of a clear sky tightly gripping onto an upright sword.

The wind started picking up outside. Ideas were connecting at lightning speed. I took a break at pm to get up and move my legs and rub my lower back but immediately went right back in.

At around pm I was in such a deep state of literary ecstasy that I closed my eyes and focused on my breathing while holding a piece of shimmering Oregon Sunstone.

I kept thinking about how my former yoga teacher and boss in Grass Valley, Amanda Dozal, would lovingly hammer it into us during yoga teacher training that Earth would be a peaceful place if every one of us simply took slow, conscious breaths.

Fear has a sneaky way of dominating our senses and controlling our actions, thus perpetuating the destruction and suffering cycle.

Inhale through your nose. Take a deep full breath in and let the air fill up your lungs completely. Hold it. Suspend the breath.

Exhale, slowly blow all of the air out of your lungs. At one point while getting tossed around by the tides of visionary trance I had to physically pry my eyes open and ask myself what the hell was going on.

Lol yep. Just like that. I kept going back to that Persian rug. Nor have I ever felt inspired to. The whole concept of past lives is fascinating, really.

Like a well of information just waiting for us to tap into at anytime. Anyway I digress. Fozzie and I woke up at am on the dot.

Shoot maybe it was am. And I swear on my life the sunrise looked different. It was more radiant than usual, like we were seeing it for the first time or something.

Suddenly the royal privilege of being able to see with the eyes of the heart is bestowed upon you. Thank you so much for reading, xoxo.

This creation is in your honor. Image by osaki. Startled, I tip-toed out of my bathroom and over to my front door to examine the scene.

You know that feeling when chills sweetly run up and down your body? Like a creative tempest was about to take hold.

Gotta go through it. The feeling I was just talking about usually comes to me when I hear certain sounds.

Popular instruments like the violin, piano and chimes can deliver it for sure, and some foreign instruments like erhu , ney , kawala also bring me to that place.

The sounds of the Middle Eastern flute instruments seriously drive me crazy. The hair on your arms and the back of your neck levitate. And voila, negative emotions are gone.

The world feels beautiful again. It came to me the other day when I was with Fozzie getting a taco from a food truck parked on Ocean and Junipero.

Long Beach felt like an empty movie set due to the impending curfew for the evening. Magic was in the air though.

While waiting for my taco I met this friendly woman named Vinnie and her buddy, I totally forgot his name but I remember he had a sweet tattoo of a panther on his right arm.

We were chatting when the sultry beat of a Ghostface Killah song started playing from the food truck. Suddenly everyone was euphorically swept up by the thundering tides of the music and reaching for whatever they could grab onto for stability and equilibrium.

When he heard that protests were erupting he busted out his Guy Fawkes mask and off he went into the anarchy parades, never to be seen again.

I sure hope he comes home soon though, I miss my cuddle buddy. Oh and no need to worry, he made his way home safe. Hell yea.

Thank you for reading! Shoutout to osaki. Thanks for letting share your beautiful creations! Also shoutout to all of the hip hop artists on Earth and in Heaven, thank you for always inspiring us with your words!

Nothing makes sense. And I get it, emotions confound any logical approach. When it comes to our mercurial inner-realm of feelings there are no simple solutions, tangible explanations or hard rules.

Even sweet looking ladies in cutesie nightgowns with bows have their bullshit. Earth can be a dark place when your inner-world is capricious and at times frustratingly saturnine.

PTSD is crazy like that though. I keep orbiting back to destruction being one and the same as creation.

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