Presents, a Life with a Plan. My name is Karen Anastasia Placek, I am the author of this Google Blog. This is the story of my journey, a quest to understanding more than myself. The title of this blog, "The Secret of the Universe is Choice!; know decision" will be the next global slogan. Placed on T-shirts, Jackets, Sweatshirts, it really doesn't matter, 'cause a picture with my slogan is worth more than a thousand words, it's worth??.......Know Conversation!!!
Accepting my lot in life I have galloped the Winds on the breeze ways pass,
in the midst of more that battle became a horror to mode of Operators,
this has never ceased,
it brings trust to ended by formal license to the fact at Truth with myself being introspect to being known as A thing,
from birth to growth I have plodded on for that once upon a story dream,
in reality the deep is the lie,
concrete basement,
floors with Tiled roofs that heard the Sounds,
screaming was the silence of my Hands release to tack the drowning,
so letter by posting has brought to station a place of porch,
with words that encourage the down feather to flourish with a gain,
not the dismissal of born to tax.
Packing further the carriage of my own shoulders have been heavily laiden with wretched lathes,
the web of spy in furnace heaters that bring to sentence even faster skirt that taste of eat dirt and cry,
so my cheeks may weigh the counted drops of smiling more than the ground knows found,
but on that certain stripping of laughter I chose to station the Horse as my reason for work,
that daily grind brought to this blog the understanding of shoeing to become more familiar with Nails,
the Hammering that pounded my file off memory to put to the tablet a system of journal to rate.
As ton of information sweeps the brooms this has enabled the times tables that once just multiplied,
in dancing the lonely room I have flyers that bull it language to aspect the scene between the dones,
at present this has only formed a Time line to the learn,
a remember the freezer burns,
clocks that have big bins trashing me like the cycle of rats biting my brain,
in torn I chose to stand,
speak the score but not to even it that barks to stiff upper lips on tinsel flipped,
I decided that the yield would bring comprehension to my gut screaming screwed.
I have lost only the Tooks,
I have gained the verse to speaking with levels,
I snowflake only the example of particle dust,
I had been dismissed long before I ever reined,
but it was those bits and pieces that buckled approach that brought round,
not to go in a circle but know that the spoken taste of what is corn takes the field to say plains.
Riddles on Path of reading the Terra firm a Bean Ways pasture on a Concerts platter of folds,
wrist bands with players of cork that is the Champagne Brunch of counter touching Role's of Syn a Men,
to lead down memorized lapse that park of built has provided listing to In tell,
the ordinary express of Trainers on Mail yet Aye cannot know sew shall we dance,
that Folk lore to what is bulb busting this each day of provide,
that class course of actual to the society ignoring each sign.
Yield is the Crossover of Motorcycles preview,
touching written before the at of the ledger each plain,
the prop to symphony of Instrumental bar Clue,
that Goods of cinnamon rolls breakfast and Beer.
The Scent of perfume to that Original joes shackle to ground Cent trolls,
thus the grip of rifled through the page books to even division of Human contacts,
in the fore Width of Isolation to that Over Taxing speak easy the Dust Jackets see deed,
finger Ten on the towing of Rock its held Stared.
By knock of the gift to Tack that saddle eyes have In Edition to personal shoved absence,
that accidental skit that Taste of railed for the In Car Nations of lights at chairs,
stools of Pub to the Saloon of gate It has been a trip to Event in the Met look,
as that is neither begging the Question just knowing of lit I send love via Dove Tale`d register.
The Bureau of logistical Changed that score to be sneakers of The Clip per The Doors,
magazine`d for Call has brought Wierds to strange & Turkeys to lake,
forging through the Cent troll In tell A gents eyes Mirrorly reflect shun,
that Top Chopper on the spiral Scene in blowing Winds prevailing storm.
The remember of Chess playing and The loving Environment catches this at Blackjack,
a Full^House of multiple Complexities with guitar Jazz on The Blues,
the breadth of Fresh Air is On the Facts,
a Treasury of Root Beer and Apple Jax,
only the froth would wave in that sands beach land,
to have Faced the Shore I would have drowned on the More's,
it truly was the star lights lens that blinked my steady to Park Hills Road over dose of lacquer,
now its just the peek a boo that brings note on this type riders resin of Air oh's past.
In reality its just the buckle of shoe laces and Chores,
to that sing a long each state of release that creates a burst of short sleeved,
the brief never for trust has been left in the Ruins of times racked,
life is like a Race baste of pause to Consider the means,
in that it is the saddle of girth that stands to ride the storms details,
jumping sigh to grasp the totality of the road signs on route tent A Five,
a sharp Peas posture on this World of fed Ur rowel ease or the know of cat Toll Buoys,
method has been shut out of the goes because of The Prose.
Just the wonder in the other day Two Turkeys came to drive so amazing on the sight,
the path of so special that it clucked a coo of a purring respond,
gently walking the hill on a peaceful communication of feather.
To date the company of Wyrd is to be known by the appointment to truth,
wild and free to flight of open range,
coffee on the cent,
the daily grind of magic being lens of blinking treasures Told.
Say that the footprints settle is on a reminder of the trace,
a Hawk as a perfection that soars touching whistles the breeze,
I love the say that shields the growth as in complete whole,
to specifics of each being that identity of both rare and echo.
Trades of Human Contact are dropped from the sell,
that presents the Fashion a China shop to Shades,
in the Elephants tusk to Rooms of beveled papers.
Record on that is the jovial laughter of truth,
hands that chorus to writing the Wave of lathe,
to tack is those beautiful Birds that flight of Incredible mystery of Appearance,
to just be present without the threats of death by expectations on landing a score,
for it was the pears that drew them in for good taster of plums and bread instead,
a true forth.
The last big Tom that I spied out was On Thanksgiving some trued years back,
right in front of the park it very Nearly seems a Shingle of lived by the sticks,
once at the expression of those broad displays,
the Theater Piece to softly lit show of making the Cause a posture to Know.
Bells & Gongs that scripted get along telling the Cools of chill,
in that is the score to Atascadero on the Pozo be load,
the birds so Incumbent that the said of such touched Classic on the prose,
marketing treasure to have the spoken be a worth by look never see but take the type and lead.
A waltz of friends that show the fortune of reality with love from the coral reef,
curdled in with the worms and send at grubs to pants that have sit ins for digs,
but on the Century of Futures on contracts and gardens,
it is the application of the worth that takes the Apple to know its seed.
Image copyrightTim BoothImage captionHands of impressionist Alistair McGowan
What can hands tells you about someone? Tim Booth has been photographing fingers, palms, nails and knuckles for more than 20 years. He says they can reveal much more about a person than you might think.
"When we look at a face we immediately make preconceptions," he says. "Labels are added because of how someone looks. But when we look close up at hands we don't do that."
Dorset-based Booth says the photographs in his new book, A Show of Hands, "focus on people whose hands are a key part of what they do - not just a cerebral connection, but a physical one too."
And it was this next image of his grandmother, taken two decades ago, which inspired him.
Resting on an almost invisible stick - with her wedding ring glinting - her arthritic hands are curled and knotted like plant roots.
"That was the seed," says Booth.
"I think she would be pleased that she was the inspiration for the book, but she hated the photo."
The next image is of a ferryman, Charlie Baker, who rowed across the Thames in south-west London for 56 years.
"He died a while back. But we worked out he'd rowed to Singapore and back in his lifetime.
"He's holding these huge oars, but actually had quite tiny hands."
Image copyrightTim BoothImage captionFerryman Charlie Baker
Some of Booth's hands belong to people with more familiar faces.
His photo of the rugby player Jonny Wilkinson is simple, clean and almost heart-shaped.
"He told me quite clearly that rugby is not about your feet, it's about your hands," says Booth.
Image copyrightTim BoothImage captionRugby player Jonny Wilkinson
The next image features "huge sausage hands, which are filthy dirty and crusted in salt crystals".
They belong to Dave Sales, a lobster fisherman from West Bay near Bridport in Dorset.
"It is reminiscent of the old days," says Booth. "When you pulled miles of rope a day, pulling up your pots until your hands bled. It was really hard graft."
Image copyrightTim BoothImage captionLobster fisherman Dave Sales
Booth says it took him a long time to find a former coalminer to photograph - but John Matthews was a great discovery.
"He had some fascinating stories from the mines - how he was squeezed into tight spaces with inches to spare above his head, and people dying at his side."
The hands are shaped so the gap between them looks like the mouth of a cave - and the small dark flecks under the skin are tiny chips of coal.
Image copyrightTim BoothImage captionFormer coalminer John Matthews
Another difficult but rewarding search resulted in this next photograph of Betty Bull.
"She was a milkmaid," says Booth. "She had to carry heavy yokes supporting four-gallon steel pails from the age of 14."
She is now retired and her cottage is full of cow memorabilia.
"I didn't know there were horseback archers," says Booth of the next image which features the arm and hand of Tom Drury.
"They gallop bareback and fire three arrows at a target."
Image copyrightTim BoothImage captionHorseback archer Tom Drury
Staying with the equine theme, the next photos features the hands of horse trainer Connie Colfox - and the face of her horse Wendy.
Her right hand is across the bridge of Wendy's muzzle, while the left is cupped around the mouth.
"Hands are a vital communication tool when working with horses," says Booth. "Arguably more than the voice."
Image copyrightTim BoothImage captionHands of horse trainer Connie Colfox
Booth says he was taken out by Jo Webb to find dry stone walls she had built or repaired.
"It's like having your hands sanded each day - but you have to feel the stone and gloves wouldn't work.
"I hadn't really understood how creative it is. She told me you pick up a rock and you instinctively know where it should go. You become part of the walls."
Image copyrightTim BoothImage captionDry stone waller Jo Webb
To call Jodie Kidd simply a supermodel is a bit unfair - says Booth. "She is so much more than that - a real country girl who rides, plays polo and drives racing cars."
There are two images of Kidd - one shows strength as she grips a polo mallet.
The final image - like the first - is of impressionist and comedian Alistair McGowan.
It was shot on a bench in a square in central London.
McGowan told Booth he had first become aware of his hands when he did an impression of the former football manager Glenn Hoddle - and someone pointed out to him the accurate mimicry of his hand actions.
Blink the rattle on that Snap trap per Falls,
in treasure of the Mind out of that sad it braves the Lynx on a Cattles Pork,
social barfing brought great Thanks as an Introductive fate,
from that clock to Watch the marvel magistrate,
the Steer Age.
To each drive on those Roads turned,
not a day passed without I sync,
to the traveling hub boards Elle bow as A piercing Thought,
time delivered lags,
in True to Form the Rise on shore braided Only One skeet to chutes door chimney,
bringing the slums to project found.
While the would in gauge,
Aye pour the fountain ink asking Note Terminal the trainers lame,
shivers Torque in the Wrench of Widgets Fence,
garlic Oils and pop ease roll owed,
life savers ring to know the hole was of purpose fulled,
that cod singing worth with the silence of the lanterns.
Privy bench road stirs delivered more in a Mailbox of query that Real Men have the absinthe to tree,
the climbers of lathe in labels that have scenery tack ridden to blank its prose,
counted word with simplicity just to starters on the infinite price Piece worked,
that was the reality of Mind on the matter of sentence structures Trace,
the drawn effect to cause muscle to pound Quarry for Crypts.
Dig ends that Character Police the Method of lodge It call to mow dumb Mutes,
screen Fares that Circle the cast A way with sweet Sun knee ruff etch of product victuals,
in the enth degree of Fax shins dippers Trial the coursed with empties and louds without the amp. Pulls sleeve,
this has put to Lie Cents the indicative Flavor of Squirreling the subtle to outright disk miss Owl,
that truth reeled in my eyes on that lonely vacant see of movie house poster Theaters,
always on the Scribed never in the Shoe to event a Futures letter in Query of the lathe.
Goes to show that the able sugars cane the Candy land of gamers and prose,
that spoke in tau wool on the fleecing drains,
coats and sweaters to skulls and growns weather It Is the see Aye A,
or chose to be that Swing in a lull A bye's Crane e! Um,
a natural log a rhythm stating Won is the loanly lest lumbered.
