OLIVIA LEE SKYE  PRODUCTIONS - Screenwriter, Author, Music & Lyric's

A PICTURE'S WORTH A THOUSAND WORDS

He reminded me of my grandfather who I vaguely remember sitting in his Pennsylvania home, in a little coal mining Town.  The Rocking Chair in the corner near the window with the Library of Books on the wall.
I was only 5 years old, he was well beyond the years I could ever imagine, come to think about it his age was never disclosed nor did I as a inquisitive adult ever think about.  I now ask myself why.  After all the image of this man sitting there reading his books brought back memories hidden deep in my mind.
In this picture.....he is a member of the characters of Twain-Eddy a screenplay by Val Kilmer. 
I am still in awe of this photo I found there on his site ....is it Kinter,  McCracken,  Farlow or Twain himself?  Yet I am befuddled.  The photo credits seem to mention everyone, I assume Twain, but from my knowledge assumptions can bring trouble so I will save my opinion for  Val Kilmer's
screenplay.
There the books and papers piled high on the ancient Library shelf's in his home just as in my grandfathers.  Only my grandfathers tasks and undertakings were numerous, he wrote, edited and printed a Newspaper in the Town of Shenandoah Pennsylvania,.  He was a Twain of his own undertaking.

The Town itself looks as if it sits in a valley atop Mountains themselves..sort of an oxymoron if I am to think about it, but yet that is a fact.  It was known as a coal mining town.    Being a kid I never paid much attention to the geography but like Magellan I knew my way, a gift I was given as a child.
I once found my way back to the California Town of San Francisco and the home  where I lived 20 years prior  after leaving there as a child of 6 or 7 years old, without an address I might add.  How is one capable of doing this?  I believe channeling or just knowing without knowing, and not unlike Twain himself who made his way from a Missouri town to the East and away from his riverboat career as a young man, to a place he most likely envisioned in his mind.   I believe these things are possible, and we do them as children and never give it a second thought.
Grandfather or jaja as we called him, was reading his book in that corner rocking chair where the sunlight came  shining in from a corner window.  I made my way to his chair gingerly and cautiously for fear of one suffering the wrath of his quick wit albeit jokingly but unknowing to a young child, another Twain characteristic.  Was it sarcasm or was it a joke....sometime I never  could distinguish.
There it was, I could see the page of the book and the words which I could not read......they seemed scrambled and I could never figure out why during that time.  Reason being he was reading in his foreign language and the language of his beloved News Edition.
I ran back to the door beside the kitchen......Mama I cried, I have to go to the bathroom but I'm afraid.  Uncle Henry said there were rats in there by the basement door near the bathroom.  Oh my, the things a family can do to the psyche of a young child. 
I had a creative mind so the picture of rats crawling up the basement stairs was no small undertaking as a fearful child and one they did not want going down to the basement to investigate all the printing press's amid the shop equipment and news paper room where JaJa wrote the articles for the newspaper. 
They just didn't want us down there and employed every trick to attain the result
It was where they had their printing presses and writing workshops and a door that opened out right on to Lloyd Street for Business.
Because we were not allowed  down there the imagination of rats in our minds kept us away.  I wonder if Twain could have ever conjured up such a story or in the alternative his lovely wife Olivia?
My grandmother Baba as we called her also told her own stories of rats, but now they resided on the 3rd level of the house.... the attic.
This was one place as a child I was reluctant to visit and would cry when told we were going there.  I think it was traumatic just to know we had to sleep there for a night or two or maybe longer.
There we were as children upstairs in the bedroom high atop the brass beds, never soft and inviting and piled with wool blankets which made my poor sister itch to no end.  I remember the quilts designed by my grandmother.  I was too young to remember much more about that second floor except for the door to the Attic where the rats resided,  in which I ran past every time I encountered  it. 
The grate in the floor which you could look down in to the great room was our entertainment,  underneath is where the gas heater stood which was responsible for heating the entire house, and where the family congregated.  We could actually see them and hear their conversations, but if they caught us... we were toast.
Me, I just wanted to go to the corner where jaja's library stood and see the books with the strange language,  could Mark Twain have written these I thought.   This was most of the time where my grandfather sat, right near that wonderful library guarding it as a pit bull guards the fence of a junkyard.
 
My sister  and I were allowed to walk uptown together to the the store many blocks away which housed the local lottery machine.  There we would purchase a chip for my mother which they sold for a lottery of sorts and obviously to anyone of any age.  The machine was a large round cylindrical device made of wire which was turned and mixed by hand every time someone would purchase a chip with a number.  I have little recollection of this lottery but it seemed to be pretty popular with the locals.
My grandfather would publish the number for the winners along with the local news in probably that of his beloved native tongue.  I never knew this for a fact, only what I was told. 
Jaja planted a tree in the yard for Arbor day which my sister and I would go and visit and water so that we could see it grow.  I never cared much for the yard  it seemed gloomy and dreary, not like our yard in California which had the most beautiful gardens and swings and an occasional snail visiting.  The flowers were oh so beautiful as they lined the perimeter of the yard along the privacy fencing.
The Pennsylvania yard reminded me of a baron place where children might have played because they were told to go there in the early 1920's and 30's.  I guess that is where my mother  and her siblings went at that time when they weren't allowed to play on the porch or in the streets.  It was confined and cold and seemed like a place where the sun didn't shine....I wanted no part of it.  It was something I refused to allow into my imagination, even if it was only for a day or two.
Children shouldn't have fears instilled in them, their imagination should run free like in a Tom Sawyer Book  or Huckleberry Finn or in the finding of wonderland by Johnny Depp.... or all the way back to the era of Twain.
The fear of Hell being a place where everything you ever wanted residing because someone cast it there is not a vision any child should have.  The vision children need is one of creativity and imagination and all good things where conflict does not live anymore.  Where adversity can be overcome by the happiness someone brings to them, like a good fairy who allows you your dreams by sprinkling stardust into your eyes.  Where death is not a possibility and life is all that matters and fun is all you can have.
Pennsylvania and my grandparents home never nurtured my imagination in good ways...but it did teach me fear and it's probably why it took so long for my pineal glad or cosmic antenna to finally work and allow me the most beautiful pleasure of having spiritual contact within the universe.  My connection between the physical and the spiritual world has finally come into to being and allow me to receive messages sent to me from those who probably don't realize that they have the same need that I do to explore their innermost imagination and become who they were meant to be, but.... I say thank you.  Better  late than never.
Or maybe all those who have touched my life in some way who have passed like my Grandfather who resembles the man in the picture, has finally come back spiritually to invite me into that kundalini knowledge that this is who I am meant to be.
Me, what do I think?  I think Twain has mysteriously channeled himself back in the form of Kilmer bringing with him the past which has yet been settled and the pathway into the new inviting universe of thought and imagination that has been stifled throughout time.  That is why when the time comes I will be honored to see Citizen Twain and finally the new screenplay Twain-Eddy.

I'd like to say it all ends here but that's not the truth.  I can't possibly leave out my childhood in New Jersey or California and the streets where we played as children.  Jersey was probably the most colorful.  There was a place called Down Neck  AKA: Ironbound section of Newark .  We spent a good modicum of time there with my Italian grandparents, there were fun times.
If you can picture fun as playing near the junkyards, barrel yards, the warehouse and near the train tracks.   We rode our bikes everywhere especially through the Miller Street Markets and the Dupont factory street which is why I am so against chemicals other companies are dumping into our environment today..  Lord knows what we ingested just riding down that street.  I know it wasn't healthy because they were petitioned to cordon off the entire area.
These were the same streets which my father and his siblings played on during their youth and the same streets where the most known Soprano like characters took on their life long characteristics...need I say more.
Footsie, Blackie and Muzzy, were some of my relatives, godfather and such.  They lived and worked in the area too.  They all had nicknames just like Billy Crystal would recite in Analyze This or That,  like Louie the wrench, lol.  It made life very colorful and interesting just listening to the stories and the names.
Grandma Katy was a very interesting too, they said she would be known to hide out some of the characters when 5-0 came calling.....even the Priest at the little church wrote a eulogy  that went something like this... and we never knew how true it really was. 
It certainly made for  a light story which made her family smile at a difficult
time.
There was the time s that my sister and I used to pick tomatoes in Connie Frances yard too, they were only down the block from Grandma Katy. 
God rest her parents soul too. The last time I saw them was at my dad's funeral.
Grand pop spoke 7 languages and had a background which for some reason I never grew up knowing, only until my estranged Aunt filled me in on some of it.  Apparently he belonged to many groups and organizations around town.  He was also responsible for getting the Feast of San Gregorio started.  Jersey had such things..they have evolved since.

California ....San Francisco, this was a time I enjoyed as a child.  I just hated to go back to New Jersey. 
We had a beautiful Town house 1 block from Golden Gate Park and one block from Balboa Hill, 8 or 9 rooms.  I always wondered why we had 2 kitchen and two dining rooms.  I never could figure that one out.
We didn't have any maids there at the time.  Even though we all thoroughly enjoyed it.
We spent a good amount of time in our beautiful yard admiring the landscape of flowers.
I made a good amount of friends on the next street over which housed the school with a sandy landscape..yes all sand.
We didn't have snow so we had a flexi with wheels, or as you would know it... a sleigh with wheels and hand brakes.  Loads of fun on the California hills.
We visited the beach  and seal rock frequently .  Redwood National Park was a trip we took  although I was quite young and not able to enjoy everything it had to offer.
I was sorry to leave California, it was a very happy time in my life except for the occasional rumble of the geography and the house moving about.  These were times I would have boarded the plane in a millisecond, but that came all too soon anyway and once we came back to Jersey it's where we stayed.






You have entered my website where it's sole purpose  is a vehicle for my writing.

Where was everyone "The Day the Music died"?  Certainly not back in 1959 with Richie Valens..The Big Bopper and Buddy Holly.
No... we are here in the real world where music changes daily. 
One thing we can be sure of is that the Music is different today.  We have sat through the Grammy's where Adele won multiple Awards for songs on her album....21.  Songs like "Rolling In The Deep"
"Set Fire To The Rain" and "Someone like you".....
Thank's Adele very, very creative.

The Indy band....The Foo Fighters have shown the music industry that Indy can indeed come out on top.
Bruce Springsteen Rolled out his new Song too, very patriotic.
 Paul McCartney, Maroon 5 and the Beach Boys (50 years later) singing and playing and proving that the music didn't die.
Yes......Music is still alive and kickin'  Rock n Roll, R&B,
Country, Blues, Pop, Alternative, Rap, Hip Hop...what ever works for you.
Me...I'm still working on my music. 
Have a wonderful new creative Music partner
It's all about Tempo and Passion to me. 
I hear what I hear in my head so I write it accordingly. 
I'm not opposed to listening, changing and discussing what needs to get done.  What are partners for anyway?  We need to critique each other to become better.
We all have our musical inclinations and artistic talents. 
He's more of a creative blues player and I am more of whatever turns me on that day I am inspired.  Buddy Guy and Stevie Ray Vaughn sounds are great in my book......it better have Passion, Soul,
and that down home Blues Honkey Tonk Tempo. 
In addition, if it is another genre then it better have the correct Sound and Passion, because there is nothing worse than a washed out song without any funk or soul.

One day we'll create songs like Ashford & Simpson,  McCartney & Lennon or ELton John & Bernie Taupin, so that A new music Legend can be created.... Or maybe I'll  become another Diane Warren, Bob Dylan, Desmond Child or Muddy Waters or even another Dolly Parton since I love country.   My writing seems to take on the genre of Country, Blues and Love songs with the occasional Rock song coming by to feed my love of BonJovi type songs...... Just remember their music never died either.....Slippery When Wet songs with Desmond Child's flavor seem to be a favorite through the years.
When I write my hit for them I won't be repeating their songs.....OK maybe a little in the respect of the creativity.   and I'll write what I hear and I'll write what I think should be next on the agenda.  Changing it up lyrically is what I am about, but there's one thing I will never give up, and that is the "Relationship gone wrong song"....that with a different twist of Lyric and melody seems to be in style these days, just ask Adele.                                                  

 And Farewell to Whitney Huston....We will always Love you and you're music will will never die.

Why do we have to say goodbye to great singers who have  marked era's in our lives. 
To Donna Summer  I know your Last Dance will not be your final.



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