“…I love dressing up in superhero outfits and in fact, when I dress up as Wonder Woman, I actually think that I’m more powerful…”
Real or made up. A super hero can be anybody. The lady next door who devotes her time to the needy, our soldiers across the seas or like our heroes growing up we can write about Batman or Wonder Woman. A super hero can take many forms. Lets write about them this week!
Every Halloween my brother Stephen and I become Super Heroes. Halloween is my favorite holiday because you can not only dress in costume but it’s okay to walk around the city in that costume with your new though temporary Identity. For a long time I went with a feline theme thus I was Cat Woman channeling Eartha Kitt for several Halloweens. As you can see I greatly enjoyed my Cat Woman and Tigeress Avatars! Stephen won Best Costume in 2011 for his Scarecrow Costume!! in 2013/2014 Stephen was a Sailor aka like the kid on the Cracker Jack box for those of you old enough to remember the caramel popcorn with the toy surprise. Obviously for those of you living on the East Coast of the United States Hurricane Sandy put the kibosh on Halloween that year. Some photos were taken at Stephen’s training center AABR in Jamaica, Queens, New York.
This past summer Stephen with his Group Home residence had visited The New York Renaissance Faire located in Tuxedo, New York. So together we decided on variations of a Renaissance Theme. I re-imagined Diana the Huntress as DeBorah the Huntress, a combination of the Hunger Games and the Goddess Diana. So I become the Goddess DeBorah acting out my incarnation as Huntress Protector of the Forest. Stephen transformed from a Sailor into the Black Robin Hood! This is what ensued.
Warning! This Post is Not PC. If you get easily offended stop reading now. Contains Brutal Language.
Judges 4-5 New International Version (NIV)
4 Now Deborah, a prophet, the wife of Lappidoth, was leading[a] Israel at that time.5 She held court under the Palm of Deborah between Ramah and Bethel in the hill country of Ephraim, and the Israelites went up to her to have their disputes decided.6 She sent for Barak son of Abinoam from Kedesh in Naphtali and said to him, “The Lord, the God of Israel, commands you: ‘Go, take with you ten thousand men of Naphtali and Zebulun and lead them up to Mount Tabor.7 I will lead Sisera, the commander of Jabin’s army, with his chariots and his troops to the Kishon River and give him into your hands.’”
8 Barak said to her, “If you go with me, I will go; but if you don’t go with me, I won’t go.”
9 “Certainly I will go with you,” said Deborah. “But because of the course you are taking, the honor will not be yours, for the Lord will deliver Sisera into the hands of a woman.” So Deborah went with Barak to Kedesh.10 There Barak summoned Zebulun and Naphtali, and ten thousand men went up under his command. Deborah also went up with him.”
Matthew 11:12 King James Version (KJV)
12 And from the days of John the Baptist until now the kingdom of heaven suffereth violence, and the violent take it by force.
DeBorah The African Warrior Queen
I come with Words of Peace and Praise of Thanksgiving upon my lips
Along with a Sword in my right hand.
Third Eye Opened in the midst of a Changing Life,
I refuse to play the victim any longer!
Pale riders your rule has come to an end. StepandFetchIt and Mammy are long gone. Ethiopia and Nubia Rule once more.
I will defend my Queendom unto death for there be more with me than against me.
Though I be petite in frame, know this my enemies, Don’t sleep on the size!
Victory is mine.
All bullies shall feel sharp cold steel against their necks.
Negotiation has come to an end! This time all abusers shall be repaid 100 fold for their unholy acts.
Never again shall my precious temple of mind and body suffer desecration!
Arise My SiStars!! Arise My Warrior Queens!!
The Thieves shall be banished from my Holy Temple!
Ready for Battle!
Prince ~~ Thieves in the Temple
Matthew 21:12-13 New King James Version (NKJV)
Jesus Cleanses the Temple
12 Then Jesus went into the temple of God[a] and drove out all those who bought and sold in the temple, and overturned the tables of the money changers and the seats of those who sold doves. 13 And He said to them, “It is written, ‘My house shall be called a house of prayer,’[b] but you have made it a ‘den of thieves.’”
Post Script ~~ Dear Folks of the Caucasian Persuasion. Do Not Touch my Hair. This is not a petting zoo. Do not ask me stupid questions like, “Do you comb your hair?” Do Not compare my braids, locs or cornrows to Medusa and I won’t say anything about your wrinkles, age spots or your open audacity and stupidity to think you can come up to any random Black person that you don’t know and just spew the first idiotic thing that issues forth from that pie hole in the middle of your face. And No you Do Not have the right to become offended if I call you out on your arrogance and foolishness. Keep your ignorant racist sexist dumb words and attitude to yourself! Don’t get it Twisted. Mammy and StepAndFetchIt are long gone. In fact do me a favor. Shut the Fuck Up and stop commenting on my appearance! Don’t Fuck with the African Goddess! I am a Proud Uppity Black Woman with Attitude. Don’t you forget it.
A PASTOR? OMG what a dirt bag. He drinks booze, probably smokes dope, lives in sin with a woman who isn’t his wife. For regular people NOT in the thug life, in order to murder someone in cold blood, you gotta be on some kinda high octane drugs that give courage required to follow through with heinous acts of vengeance filled violence. And don’t get me started on his skanky wife. Down in the Lower Level we call her a ‘toss up’, ya know some female who throws her legs up in the air, and doesn’t care whose bed they land in. These days’ pew warmers can be some of the MOST amoral people around. Cold blooded Son of a Bitch. Need another shower after watching and listening to this sadistic drivel.
She shall bear fruit in the time of seed not in the time of man.
We were enveloped in the sweet Smokey darkness of a sultry summer night. Taking nocturnal strolls over graveyards filled with the illicit offspring of priests and nuns. Seedlings of the new reforms. Corpses a series of japes littering the landscape with embryonic fantasy dreams. A Feast of Flesh for maggots and worms. Chaos and terror. Blood everywhere. Odor of lingering 12 day ferment piss hang languishing in the stagnant atmosphere.
Leave no ghost upturned for there are barnacles affixed to near Charnel House ringed with concertina wire.
I see voices on the trench bottom questioning me on ways of escape. I find myself sinking in quicksand people with their backs to me on the periphery.
Soils of different waters tell eat and drink stories whilst jettisoned troubadours poison their listeners with liquid gold.
Svengalis’ in full regalia present alien babies ready for baptism.
Wisdom. Understanding. My Truth. Freedom. Moving towards my 3rd Act ~ Age 60 but not yet there. What aging was for my mother’s and grandmother’s generations is a whole new ballgame for me and I’m a Free Agent enjoying the ride.
I’ve been thinking about how I see myself as opposed to how other see me. Slowly I’m freeing myself from the constraints of youth. Actually I’m happier and more pleased with myself that I ever was 30 or even 20 years ago. I’m not running behind or chasing some man. Nor am I desperate to be in a relationship. Even in the face of emotional pain and heartbreak I have the courage to step away from a relationship that I know will never work and is not meant to be. I ignore the preconceived notions of what a woman should be. Of course like every other human being on this earth I deal with insecurities, fears, obstacles, all human faults and fragilities. After all you gotta break some eggs to make an omelet.
Each decade brings its own crises and a new set of questions and self-knowledge at least for those who are honest. In my 20s was my wild and crazy time. My 30s a decade of challenge where life’s tables were turned as I lost both my parents within the space of three years. My 40s I became more self-aware as my intellectual and academic lives merged and soared higher than a spaceship reaching for an unknown planet. As the economy crashed and burned after 2006 my life also took an unexpected detour actually several unexpected and in some cases unpleasant detours. Turning 50 in 2009 brought new possibilities but new queries. Health challenges via high blood pressure and a mini-stroke, retina surgery, vision loss. Changing lifestyle in my quest towards well-being and dealing with my new menopausal body. My new friend Mr. Arthur Itis who decided to make his presence known in a powerful way earlier this year. Stilling fighting Arthur with exercise but to be honest sometimes Arthur wins!! Yet in my mind I’m dancing. In my dreams I’m still that idealistic eighteen year old young woman who was always ready for the next adventure in life! Nowadays my body does not always obey my minds commands but I’m excited about my Third Act. After listening to Jane Fonda’s Ted Talk on new ways to view aging I’m looking forward to turning Sixty!!
Comfort levels also change as one gets older. In some areas of life one gets not only older but bolder. In other areas there is some hesitation born out of experience and caution. I find it is never good to make split second decisions especially if I’m angry or upset. Sleeping on it and allowing myself a good cry enables me to cleanse my system of sadness and worry. Letting my emotions out vents my soul then I can put things into perspective instead of committing self-sabotage. Also it’s okay to just stop. Stop. Put it to the side until I’m in my right mind. Screw all the people who tell me to keep going. Everyone needs a break. Sometimes I just need to sit for a few hours, day’s maybe even weeks and veg out.
Why be overwhelmed just to satisfy all the folks who want me to be strong, to be some fake, phony Super Woman who does not exist. Even I’m guilty of looking at a girlfriend’s life and asking, “Why does she stay in that situation? Why not just pick up and leave?” But in their life as in mine there are always extenuating circumstances that I will neither know nor understand. Hidden motivations that keep them in place because it is not yet time for them to move on.
There are thousands if not millions of voices out there disguised as “Life Coaches” and “Motivational Speakers” who demand you take control of your life on their terms but only you can make that decision. Only you know when is the right time to move onto the next phase, stage or level. As the Bible says you cannot put new wine into old wineskins. The most important voice you need to listen to is your own.
Despite the fact that financially I’m struggling that struggle does not define me. I still pursue my writing and photography dreams though I may never “get paid.” Writing and photography are my heart and soul passions that are beyond material gain. There is no need to sacrifice who I am to meet the outlooks of society. Art is Life! Back in Feb. 2014 when I turned 55 my Theme Song was I’m Still Here. Next year I’m Bringing back Sexy because it never left. By Age 56 Feb. 2015, I’m Taking it to the Next Phase! Third Act ~ I’m on my way!!
She put her hand to the Stone and a million millennia of memories coursed through her soul and out from her pores.
She put her hand to every boulder and heard the rocks cry out their praise to Our Creator.
She put her hand to the magnificent Oak Tree and received the voices of streams, rivers, oceans, lakes and streams.
She put her hand inside Gaia Mother Earth and heard the calls of sacrifices, bog dwellers, cave peoples, the cries of those murdered all crying out for justice.
She extended her hands within the forest absorbed the singings of creatures past and present reverberating within her spirit. Her fingers touched the voices of cave dwellers imbuing their drawings with Life. And in the fullness of time vibrations echoed through the eons.
She put her hand upon the Rock of Ages and they extended their hands inside her inner being enveloping her with knowledge, wisdom and understanding.
What Are The Akashic Records & How to Access the Akashic Records
Well I’m a Wacky, Crazy, Hyper Kinetic ball of High strung Nervous energy which I blame either on menopause or being born and raised in New York City. The Big Apple. The City that Never Sleeps and sometimes neither do I.
Could I be Type Epsilon. Maybe my personality traits, quirks and characteristics could be best described or explained within the Greek Alphabet.
Perhaps I’m a Twisted Sister of the Insane Sorority!
I think I’m a combination of A & B personality aspects because I look calm on the outside but am usually seething on the inside. Thank God for my writing also because that helps keep me sane. It’s the Unicorn in me. I am many voices, many faces, a conduit for spirits past, present and future. Forever eternally fueled by internal energy sources emanating from a bottomless well and my border-less garden.
Definitions’ may describe some of my more unusual characteristics but labels cannot define or contain me.
As for people opinions and expectations I say “Let me be Zany, Zaftig, Madcap, crazy, cool enough to always keep them guessing!!”
Kinetictra is Born & Lives Among Us!!!
New Super Hero Name!! This will be My New Super Hero Identity! Kinetictra ~ Kinetictra produces energy molecules that become entities who are entirely under Her Dominion and Command. They do the will of their Mother Creator vanquishing ignorance and evil, restoring balance to the planet, drawing from the forces of multiple Galaxies. Kinetictra also has the ability to suspend time allowing her the ability to travel backwards and forwards through eons.
She also is a Clairsentient or more commonly known as an Empath, one who perceive and intuit people’s energies. She is able to pick up on others’ desires, wishes, thoughts, and moods. Kinetictra can perceive physical sensitivities and spiritual urges, as well as just knowing the motivations and intentions of other people. By possessing the ability to read Auras of all sentient beings Kinetictra can draw from past, present and future lives to prevent evil and guide troubled souls towards goodness and Wellness!
Those of you who are Artists Please Draw me as Kinetictra. She must have my facial features, coloring and build. No cartoony or comic figures. Bring back my Locs for Authenticity. Thanks!
“Kinetic energy is an expression of the fact that a moving object can do work on anything it hits; it quantifies the amount of work the object could do as a result of its motion. The total mechanical energy of an object is the sum of its kinetic energy and potential energy.The total energy of an isolated system is subject to the conservation of energy principle.
Kinetic energy is the energy of motion. An object that has motion – whether it is vertical or horizontal motion – has kinetic energy. There are many forms of kinetic energy – vibrational (the energy due to vibrational motion), rotational (the energy due to rotational motion), and translational (the energy due to motion from one location to another). To keep matters simple, we will focus upon translational kinetic energy. The amount of translational kinetic energy (from here on, the phrase kinetic energy will refer to translational kinetic energy) that an object has depends upon two variables: the mass (m) of the object and the speed (v) of the object. The following equation is used to represent the kinetic energy (KE) of an object.”
DeBorah Ann Palmer
Proverbs 31: 10-30
Writer, Educator, Researcher, avid book reader and Tattoo enthusiast
“I Know that I’m not much to look at but I used to be the Crown Prince of Manhood, the Courtier of Cum among Royal Lovers.”
This laughable boast came on an exultation of foul and fetid breath akin to human waste lying in the bottom of a sewer emitting from this wizened and emaciated corpse like figure with a red bulging knobby doorknob on the end of a shriveled pecker. How it managed to stand at attention was a miracle from the saints or gods of nonstop porn. His face was a veritable road-map of lines, wrinkles, valleys, pitted scars with a bird beak blue veined appendage masquerading as a nose jutting forth from sunken cheeks. Above the beak nose were two rheumy eyes topped by beetle brows which looked more like two warring caterpillars wrangling for domination of an egg shaped skull sprouting tufts of errant hairs growing from the beak nose, elongated ears and the various moles on his scrofulous person.
Then it began. I closed my eyes and did my best to disengage all my senses as this old bag of bones began his pitiful assault upon my body. I tried to drown out the sound of the Click-Clacking of false teeth in rhythm with hurried asthmatic prods that gradually became more pathetic and feebler though he put his hairy back best with his pecker pushing. Thankfully he was done in under four minutes. The way he panted and gasped for air I thought he was having a heart attack and about to cum and go at the same time!
Four minutes of torture and hell. Because I have Scoliosis I had to deal with the runts of the litter. Yup I get all the Gumbys and Pokeys. Though we are fed, housed, clothed and housed like Renaissance Odalisques there is still a pecking order of beauty. My face, my sun-kissed umber skin, my small perfectly round breasts and long curly wavy chestnut locks got me a reprieve from just being another filthy dirty street urchin but this curvature of the spine has relegated me to servicing the worst of the many Geezer patrons who pass through these palatial doors.
Stepping from the filthy foul smelling streets men were ushered into exotic elaborately decorated quarters decorated with expensive Persian rugs, medieval tapestries, silk draperies hung upon windowless walls, tables adorned with Tiffany lamps. A subtle scent of incense permeated the airways. The decorations seemed incongruous yet harmonized together in an irregular yet pleasing manner. Palatial taste a bit ostentatious like a Renaissance bordello. The furnishings were highly articulated and faceted Baroque/Rococo objects, many with deep gouges and gashes suggesting transparency and interior penetration. This room and much of the house as well as the street urchins who passed through seemed to us an Orientalist fantasy. At the far end of the living room hung a painting of a Minotaur coupling with a Centauride.
I saved my favorite costume for my only true Lover, Semper Fi. It was a beautiful blood red silk satin with lace trimming with velvet calf length skirts. However as joyful as I was when I donned the frock what pleased me even more were the Bordello Shoes—Red Velveteen Victorian button-up Boots with a two inch heel. My long thick Chestnut hair was caught up in a chignon ala Gibson Girl but I captured the Bohemian spirit of the Flapper.
Few and far in between are opportunities to be with my Beloved Semper Fi a robust man in his late 40s. Mattered not to him my twisted spine as he guided me gently onto his massive bull staff. Skillfully bringing me to numerous orgasms complimenting me on my long curly chestnut hair, my perfect A Cup breasts gifted with large sensitive raisins that grew even larger as he sucked and licked me into ecstasy. What gave me even more pleasure than his substantial endowment was that he chose me. Semper would call at least two or three days in advance specifically requesting my services. I felt honored to be chosen by this man among men…………………………………………………………………………….
I came to this Bordello from a rural backwater village that held onto the 19th Century in custom, culture and values long after its demise, after a disastrous arranged marriage. From my birth I was considered “Damaged goods”. Upon seeing me after I was born my father was ready to throw me to hyenas and rabid dogs that fed on discarded garbage in the town dump. My mother, grandmother and aunts stayed his hand. So ashamed of me was him I called father that he kept me within the compound as much as possible and I was only allowed outside on infrequent shopping excursions with my female relatives for food, house supplies and to buy enough fabric to make clothing which would covered the misshaped hump that dominated my form. Around the ages of 14 and 15 when most young women were making suitable marriages I had no suitors. Every young man in the village knew of my deformity though I rarely made an appearance in town. Bad news travels fast. My family was fairly well off and we lived quite comfortably so I had a somewhat considerably dowry, yet I still had no takers. No man wanted to love me. Eventually as I approached my 18th birthday having resigned myself to being an Old Maid my father finally found a match in a far flung outpost where no man knew my embarrassing truth. Negotiations began. A Wedding date was set and I was delivered to my betrothed. The Festivities nearly two days and my future husband was eager to retire to our luxurious tent to consummate our union.
But there was no consummation because once my betrothed removed my clothes, he screamed in disgust that he had been saddled with a hunchback for a wife. He refused to do his husbandly duties and angrily return me to my father’s tent. My father ashamed and now disgraced in not one but two villages sent me packing out from our tribal home into what I perceived as an unknown and dangerous wasteland. So great was his fury and so hurried his dismissal that I hurriedly left with only the clothes on my twisted back and what few personal possessions I could carry, rushing to escape his stormy anger.
Good Fortune did smile on me as I traversed pock marked, poorly lit, rubble strewn road leading away from the only home I had ever known. Angels in the form of my mother, aunts and sisters had extinguished my father’s fiery rage through liberal applications of wine spiked with sleeping potions. They then saddled horses from his stables and intercepted my wilderness journey. We hugged, cried, and mourned the passing of me, Jephthah’s daughter cast out like Hagar from those she loved traveling who knows where.
They had also bargained with the disgruntled groom and his family to win back half my dowry which gifted me along with one strong but sway back donkey, an animal who mirrored my disability and fortitude. I a prodigal daughter who had committed no sin in my youth and innocence only to be rescued by the House of Sin…………………………………
Semper Fi never removed his spectacles even in the heat of desire. His pince-nez caught, captured and dispensed salty yearning drops of sweat upon whichever passion princess he had chosen for his evenings of lust.
His bull powered thrusts accompanied by violent shakes and heaves of the Brass headboard threatened to crash through the plaster thin wall and into the adjoining room. Fellow patrons and madams nicknamed him the Bull in the China Shop for his furious jackhammer prick pounding he gave to Ladies of the Evening with his equine sized crimson member. His broad face with flaring nostrils and rather full lips rendered him some animistic qualities which he gladly played out in the boudoir.
His sonorous speeches gave way to primal grunts, groans, and growls that increased with intensity of each hammer G-Spot driven plunge. At the crescendo when he could no longer hold back the volcanic force surging inside he withdrew to spew his semen eruption over his mistress rounded abdomen, full firm breasts and thick thighs.
During the week he was a respectable Antique Bookshop Owner dealing with annoying customers and fickle publishers and shady book collectors. By the weekend it’s like all that ferocity wrapped up inside he was ready to be released in the Ultimate Weekend Fuck Fest. Sometimes he was able to release building tension with whichever out of town female research bookseller/collector was in town for a convention or a project. He was usually able to win them over with his humor, charm and dinners at the finest restaurants in town. Fortunately for Semper Fi his begetter though rich in seminal fluids was totally devoid of sperm otherwise he would have sired legions offspring with the many young fertile women he serviced on a regular basis. On first glance his dangling appendage had ample girth but seemed to lack length but that assumption was quickly falsified during arousal.
Such was his reputation that every Friday when he made his grand entrance into the Pussy Palace Bordello all the Ladies in Waiting vied for his attention by wearing their most entrancing scintillating garb so that they would be the chosen mare to be rode hard and put out wet.
Semper Fi with his musician fingers explored every nook, cranny, crevice and grotto of the selected woman’s body blessing her with multiple orgasms before entering her moist dark chambers with his elephantine rod of steel.
The aromatic oils that he liberally anointed his body daily provided powerful pheromones when mixed with his natural man musk scent. Sometimes his spurting semen cascaded over the woman like golden glistening raindrops against a window pane. Other times he ejaculated copious white cream which sprayed over flaming hips and thighs like a profuse foggy mist mixing with her fragrant perspiration murky perfumes.
His favorite of the entire harem was Sophronia or Sophie as she was generally called whose twisted back gave him a thousand pleasures in mind and body while away from her or when tracing his fingers along the S-shaped curve that she desperately tried to hide with elaborate costumes……………………
Living my life on my own terms and conditions, I've celebrated life at every given opportunity. Here I take the opportunity to share a few of my experiences in form of poems, short stories or articles.