I see a great city set upon a hill. Within rules a Queen who is the mistress of delusion. But her fight is within her as she continually strives for lasting youth, unattainable wealth and supreme power through use of her fading beauty and exotic sexuality.
Though she knows not she struggles to maintain an illusion seeing the mirage as reality not realizing the passing of time brings her closer to self-destruction. Doors become walls of solid brick through which she may not pass through. And yet a portal to eternity is soundly guarded by an ancient crone who wears a solid gold ring embellished with diamonds, pearls, rubies, garnets, and sapphires.
Will the haughty Queen forever scheming to obtain enhanced beauty and more riches kiss the old hag’s hand, then looking up sees Atropos as she cuts the thread of life cackling hysterically as the Queen is ushered across the River Styx to resume life in an alternate universe as a disfigured wizened old woman whose only companion is poverty. Deception laughs. Samsara has it’s justice in this world and the next.
Mark 8:36 King James Version (KJV) 36 For what shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?
The museum Thanksgiving Day 2012 –
the museum is populated by a wonderful yet mysterious quiet & peace undisturbed by the frenetic masses. Silences punctuated only by flowing water, the endless hum and shifting of building machinery.
Even normal noises can be unsettling. Especially those associated with people. The building has become a living breathing organism Uttering creaks moans sighs groans from nearly 150 years of footfalls, voices, radios, songs, cantatas, the chiming of clocks, exclamations of awe & wonder. Whispers from an Archaic Victorian century long past to digital diversity.
Oh what secrets lie transfixed within these silent walls yearning for release. The Hunger has been unleashed upon the populace.
The immortality of brick, mortar & steel record the march of ethnicities & nations who roam free these hallowed halls.
Sometimes the sudden interruption of footfalls becomes ominous, invading the sanctity of the Holy Sanctuary. Even the sound of my own steps is somewhat menacing. What spirits accompany me on perambulations among the saints and sinners?
The feeble burbling of the fountain stream’s half-hearted attempts to empty its essence, struggling to pollinate magnificent coins.
The day is at end, the light has faded. Now the night crew enters to continue the evening melody.
Hotel California
Reflections Goth Holiday 2013
Cadaver Mind A.D.D.
Heaving sighs and moans. Creaks, chrupping of brick, mortar, steel and glass pane windows. Blood oozes and drips from open wounds in Laymen’s red brick walls. Elevator doors open and a thousand wailing, howling, grieving souls swoop through the air and into the Medieval Court crying for revenge. Flight of the Valkyries. The Martyrs avenge their unjust and untimely deaths. Swirling and whirling like profane dervishes from netherworld’s portal of the undead.
Angels Falling
Hail Mary Echoes from thousands of Knights, monks, Nuns, bishops, and church saints racing through Byzantium corridors. Spirits of Reliquaries issue forth warnings and admonishments to modern day savages. Reliquary Fingers of Blessing Inflict Pain Yanking Opening Death’s Door breaking off bits and pieces of flesh, bone, teeth and hair for deposit into ossuary banks.
Slats opening and closing mindfully as though giving some secret Morse Code. Dioramas of Death act out murderous suicidal dramas. Eagle slays Dragon plucking out blinded eyes from empty orbs.
Medieval castle built long ago by invaders long forgotten. A grand foyer flanked by two long hallways of Byzantine art leading into Medieval Sculpture Hall filled with statues of Madonnas, Saints, Mystics, Relics, and tombs from Egypt, Europe, Greece, Cyprus and South America. Kali goddess of the sarcophagus raises her many arms in Victory. Subterranean pipes hissing steam clanking unrest.
Island of the Damned by Bocklin
Secret panels opening up to Mausoleum subterranean chambers containing overturned ossuaries, bones bleached white scattered throughout the tombs.
Abruptly Angels on the Christmas tree come to life and like ravenous vampire bats attack unsuspecting visitors. Reanimated Reliquary Arms reach out to throttle throats of fleeing patrons. Fang toothed Egyptian mummies arise and break through display cases to satiate their ancient eon hunger upon frenzied victims. Their desert saliva spreading infection causing festering vile pus filled carbuncles to captive prey.
Life’s ignoble Ending
Desire run rampant as sacrilegious effigies coupled and reached radiant necrophilia orgasm stone bodies now made supple. Mystics and Monks glowered lecherously all the while reciting Gregorian chants, dirges and cries for absolution filling the room with the intensity of their mating.
Gargoyles descended from illicit trysts with human females and warlock man beasts gave into the licentious behaviors’ anointing themselves and fleeing clienteles with seminal fluid oily slick.
Orgasm became an exceptional obsession.
Viscous gleaming blood, shimmering with glided preternatural flakes of light. Black Iris her breasts like soft fragrant pillows.
I couldn’t build a proper tree house. Too high up and anyway I’m afraid of heights, so instead I built this little fort of sorts as a place to gather my thoughts after a hectic day. Made my best efforts with whatever materials the forest floor offered up as building materials. There were enough twigs and branches to construct more ground level tree houses or make my current enclosure larger but I chose to save some for kindling for warmth against the chill night air and the rest I kept stacked as a type of cord-wood in a womb like nook Mother Nature had carved into a tree that had been struck by lightening. Eventually I decided to construct another Tipii twig abode to store my few belongings I had gradually began to sneak away from The Family Residence.
These Tree/Tepee/Tipii/Twig aka T3 structures became my holy sanctuaries and safe havens I return to again and again to re-connect with Mother Earth and nature. Too small to stand upright clicking my heels together three times was not an option so I was forced to remain seated. With some degree of discomfort I could lay down in a fetal position while I imagined myself re-entering an alternate womb to be reborn into better circumstances. Mine were a tepee shelters without the buffalo skin covering all exposed bones and framework.
Tipii-Hut
Sometimes I’d hug my knees and rhythmically rock back and forth while repeating what I thought were calming mantras, occasionally wishing that the earth would open up and swallow me whole transporting me some place free from pain, misery and cruelty. Like a shaman I chanted using my homemade rituals attempting to silence the drumbeat of voices incessantly chattering inside my head versus the declarations of the Family. They created a dissonance tear in the time frame continuum of my thoughts.
You see our house, The Family Home if you could call it that is a ramshackle structure; a hodgepodge mixture of stone, wood and stucco additions and afterthoughts as different parts of the building were constructed at different times upon the whims the directors and caretakers.
I was forced to share this mishmash cottage with twelve other inmates, bordered on this expanse of woods providing me a refuge from leaky roofs, busted walls, peeling wallpaper, lukewarm baths, moldy musty scented showers, not to mention all the yelling, screaming, arguments, fights, thefts of food and personal belongings and constant disagreements of a house too small to accommodate the number of people residing within its creaky ramparts. The Family nicknamed it the Hotel California. You know the place where you check in but never check out. The nails across chalkboard voices of The Family were constant knife thrusts to my brain making daily life a constant battle that did not end even has the diurnal gave up residence to the nocturnal for they all snored, wheezed and gasped through the night abyss. The utter desolation of the place crept into your bones and took root nourished by hopelessness.
The Family’s house sits on an oddly place piece of land, our house gives way to forest which in turn after several miles gives way to craggy, rocky shores of a steep cliff, where if one sits perfectly still you can hear the violent waves crashing against rough jagged rock formations that looked as though they were designed by the devil himself. It is said that in olden times there used to be many shipwrecks where sailors were either impaled on the razor sharp Stalagmites. Sometimes you can even hear the shrieks, moans, cries and groans of the unfortunate wretches mixed in with the howling winds. The few who weren’t dashed to pieces by the razor sharp jagged rock formations tried to climb up to safety but were thwarted by the steep incline.
Forest Hiding Place
So I periodically retreated to my exoskeleton asylums as a sentry medium between earth and sky. I can never turn my mind off completely but within my secret hiding place the voices were kept to a low roar and bid to change direction and pace.
The last straw that broke the camels back came when my moronic addled brained cell-mate Pearl kept throwing her nasty, dirty towels, underwear and flip-flops over to my side of the room. When I returned from the canteen or our common dining area there were moldy wet towels plastered to the floor like throw rugs that accosted the dividing line between our two living areas. Pearl was known as the filthiest female in our wing tossing food and drink to and fro fully expecting that a squad of personal maids and sweepers were following in her wake. One night after I returned from my many woodland sojourns I decided that I had, had enough and soaked all her grimy towels in gasoline and lighter fluid obtained from an unlocked supply closet near the motor pool. Pearl had a tendency to drink like sailor on shore leave and sleep just as soundly so she never had an inkling as I piled the towels around her bed, built a kindling fort for good measure and added effect, led a fuse from a doorway to an open window, climbed out and lit said fuse.
The Kindling delivered me from The Family’s vocalizations. I tried to warn them before. I tried to silence the voices through escape, but it was not working so I had to try another plan. The crackles and pops of my campfire seem to be in sync with the screams and cries for rescue from the patients locked inside their rooms but eventually those voices will die out also, and then sleep. Blessed sleep.
Ladies, Should you find yourself hospital or bed rest sick; should you lose your job or your hours are reduced and that fool you call a man is offering no financial support and still wants you to cook, clean and have sex something is wrong with the whole picture. Get that male’s shoes out from under your bed.
Yesterday I overheard a conversation between two 20-somethings. One young lady was pouring out her heart to her girlfriend that she is working, getting ready to return to college for another semester, doing all the housework including ironing his shirts, more or less being this man’s personal servant and sex slave. As she was telling her story I could tell the young woman had reached her limit. She refused to iron his shirts anymore and wanted him to carry his weight otherwise she would leave. He responded that if she left the relationship was over. With the support of her understanding girlfriend she was drawing strength to leave this one-sided relationship.
Trauma Drama
In her words I saw myself in the last year with my abusive ex-boyfriend. At the time I was in my 40s but like these two young women I realized what these type men really want is a combination of their Mama and a hoe. The two ladies were white so Sisters take note, pretty much all men Black, white, brown, etc… eventually cause problems. Baby boys all. Breaking up is very emotional for women because you want the relationship to work but relationships only work if both parties are invested and respect one another.
Meantime, To the Left, to the Left, everything you own in a box to the Left.” – Beyonce. Git to steppin’ and don’t let the door hit you where the dog shoulda bit you! You and I ain’t got time for no foolishness!!
Gia Allemand, a sister in the struggle from Queens, like me. I was once in the dark. I stayed with him for seven years wanting the relationship to work, fear of being alone since I knew I was aging. There are many reasons women stay so I reserve judgment. Even when my ex was especially cruel and violent I still wanted to stay with him hoping things would work out but they never did. Only when stuff got really bad and I thought he might injure or kill me did I ask God to remove him. He left Thanksgiving Day 2007 and a weight was lifted off my shoulders physically but I still deal with problems of being unworthy or inadequate.
It is a never ending battle and the main reason why I finally gave up on men, dating and relationships last year. Domestic violence and emotional abuse have lingering problems that take years to fix. I’m still a work in progress trying to regain my self-confidence. Even after all these years I still have a lot of self-doubt. My heart goes out to all women of all ages and races in the battle to regain you. Sweet Gia, I hope in your decision to leave this earthly plane that your burdened spirit is now at rest. Truly I wish you had lived but my prayer is that through your battle other women will get the help that they so desperately need.
Gia, like you I felt him not just saying but through his cruelty to me, repeatedly communicating over and over, “I Don’t Love you Anymore.”
As my Dad used to say, “Deborah, There are more fish in the ocean.” Alas for you my poor girl this was it. His words were you’re final breaking point.
Gia, the Bible speaks of renewing our minds. That renewal takes more than prayer. It is prayer, meditation, therapy, family and friends. However I know when I was in my 20s the slap in the face, the betrayal of the end of a relationship feels like the end of the world. I suppose for me being in my 40s and living through a disastrous love affair I had a better perspective on life. After months and years of verbal and physical abuse I just wanted the relationship to end. Finally I removed my rose colored glasses. Dawn ever slowly was breaking. This year light has come and deliverance is nigh. We are all Wounded Healers.
I’m the type of woman who is loyal, faithful, and who will love to the bitter end, however these days I determine the end not the man. I will no longer be the sacrificial lamb. Gia Allemand your story and many other stories will serve as the first step toward wholeness.
John 5:1-8
New King James Version (NKJV)
A Man Healed at the Pool of Bethesda
5 After this there was a feast of the Jews, and Jesus went up to Jerusalem. 2 Now there is in Jerusalem by the Sheep Gate a pool, which is called in Hebrew, Bethesda,[a] having five porches. 3 In these lay a great multitude of sick people, blind, lame, paralyzed, waiting for the moving of the water. 4 For an angel went down at a certain time into the pool and stirred up the water; then whoever stepped in first, after the stirring of the water, was made well of whatever disease he had.[b]5 Now a certain man was there who had an infirmity thirty-eight years. 6 When Jesus saw him lying there, and knew that he already had been in that condition a long time, He said to him, “Do you want to be made well?”
7 The sick man answered Him, “Sir, I have no man to put me into the pool when the water is stirred up; but while I am coming, another steps down before me.”
8 Jesus said to him, “Rise, take up your bed and walk.”
Simon and Garfunkel – Bridge Over Troubled Water Studio Version
I live in Bodega-Land, Brooklyn. Exchange at the Bodega across from the Laundromat. I’m wearing an old Ecko Red short sleeve shirt and some skinny jeans. I’m waiting for my Beef Patty with cheese and coco bread. While I’m paying for my food and drink I get the following rap from Snagglepuss. “Ya keep ya body nice. Can I get your number and can I give you mine.” I’m polite and keep that smile on my face knowing I’m about to reject this fool because I don’t want any confrontation before I get to eat my food or check my clothes washing across the street.
He notices that I speak proper English and says; I see that you’re an intellectual. Hmmm I’m thinking just because I live in the Ghetto doesn’t mean I must lapse into Ghettoese or Ebonics. Crooked teeth continues, maybe you and me can get together and discuss spirituality, blah, blah, blah, bullshit. You know the way that Rasta Negro was eyeing me up and down his mind wasn’t on the things of God or any type of Spiritual talk. Leon Spinks just wanted to find a way to get some “Coochie”. I lied and told him I had a boyfriend. I just wanted to get away from his sorry ass, finish my food and get my laundry done. Mission Accomplished.
However in the words of the immortal Ruth Brown, “I’ll Just Keep Sitting on it. I ain’t giving it away.” Rochdale Village had its share of old coots prowling for “Coochie” I see Brownsville/Bed Stuy has it’s own share of horny fools with really lame game. http://youtu.be/KPll4sQDssU
Talk to the Hand cause the Face ain’t Listening.
Ladies, always remember Men are like the City Bus there’s another one coming in 20 minutes hopefully with good teeth, fresh breath, who bathes and uses deodorant.
Honey if you’re game is lame and your rap is weak don’t even think of stepping to me. No romance without finance. And no I don’t do Ugly, fat or Stupid. I may be broke but I’m never desperate. I’d work 40 hours of overtime before I hook up with your no job, no car, no talking sorry hoodrat/thug/bad boy ass. Been there. Done That. Paid the Price.
Ladies you gotta let these men know what’s up. They telling you they can do acrobatics with their dick! Really! Are they fucking double jointed or contortionists? Give me a fucking break. Please! Why is their dick so much more special than any other. Is it extra long? Does it swing from side to side. WTF! Then they a fucking freak and belong in Ripleys Believe it or Not. Or maybe they should be making porno films. I’m older and wiser now. Dick don’t mesmerize me anymore. Get something in your head or you’ll never get me in bed. My body is my temple and only my true King who I choose can enter in. Don’t get it twisted. Little boy your package does not impress me. In the meantime Losers give your Ding-A-Ling a hand job.
My Ding-A-Ling
Ladies if you’ve had the best don’t settle for less.
Get up off your broke ass, fix your face , see a dentist and fix your teeth, and get an education and a decent job. If you can’t come correct don’t come at all.
Espiritu en Fuego/A Fiery Spirit 