Maelstrom Devolution ~ Realm of the Abortinates


Maelstrom Devolution – Realm of the Abortinates

The sun was soft and the boat rocked gently. It wasn’t so bad running out of fuel, until, the appearance of two fins circling our now powerless boat. Sharks. But sharks unlike ones I’d ever seen before in books, films, or aquariums. These looked like amalgamous leftovers from some prehistoric age. Fins coupled with scales and hideous appendages jutting out from every angle and portal of their bodies. Sea creatures sent from Hades to devour us. Every so often one would rear its ugly head and bear its ferocious teeth. Snap.. Snap… The jaws of death.

Fortunately or at least we thought so at the time, appeared the mast of another sailing vessel approaching us. We shouted and waved cloths to get their attention. It got closer and closer. One of their crew fired into the water scaring away the hungry sea monsters. At this point we were so frightened that we quickly responded to their offer of rescue and boarded their vessel without further hesitation.

One of the hideous primitives played out a line behind him quickly and efficiently securing our now forlorn vessel to theirs.

My fiancé and I were hungrily welcome aboard the rather ragtag vessel by a scurvy crew of men shouting orders at each other in a foreign tongue that we could not comprehend.

Still another of the monstrosities that I hesitate to call a crew member but must for lack of a better word collected what few personalities we had brought with us on what was supposed to be a romantic sail. There went our small ham radio, the stereopticon, and my black bag containing medical instruments that I used in my studies of phrenology, a small notebook containing my writings. Our ship of salvation quickly turned into a “Flying Dutchman”.

During our sojourn upon the island I was to use this notebook to record the lives and cultures of the barbarous captors. Male and female were employed upon this accursed ship but save for the pendulous breasts of the females the mutants were virtually indistinguishable one from another.

We tried to communicate with them. Trying to explain that we were Her Majesty’s citizens, subjects of the Empire but no sooner than we had begun our implorments than we were thrown into the filthy hold. An area teeming with vermin. Several other curious animals in not so sturdy cages were housed with us in this den of darkness. Every so often what we were to later find to be an equally retched enslaved servant came down to feed us and give us fresh water for drinking and bathing. Excretion and elimination was in another bucket emptied twice daily. They kept us clean and fed enough for survival but imprisoned without the benefit of sunlight or fresh air save once a week to be inspected by the hedonistic captain. Once he was satisfied that we would survive the voyage we were again rudely returned to our cruel holding place. Then after a time we were allow daily excursions onto the  deck to promenade before the crew members as we came to be considered oddities, curiosities worthy of entertainment. We who were free servants in the royal court now stood enslaved by malformed opiate dwellers.

While upon one of our daily constitutionals we gained the intelligence of what became of any manimal who died onboard. The flesh of any creature or crew member who died was not wasted but that animal was boiled, skinned and deboned becoming part of a stew partaken by all the others. Often the flesh was not cooked at all and many times we saw one disfigured boar like crew member disgorge the contents of his meal from his stomach. The regurgitation was then collected by a fellow crew member to be reused for another type of stew the contents of which looked something like the vomit regurgitations of birds and cows. Pestilence should have taken hold and reigned upon necrotic menagerie however the bodies of these mutants of science and nature proved very efficient in combating disease. Any deaths usually resulted from accidents or murders committed by unhinged temperaments.

The Beloved and I ate only the porridge, roots from the ground and limited vegetation served us daily. We abstained from the flesh.

During one of our brief stays on deck my love and I could see a small island off in the distance. Not having an expert knowledge of geography, mapping or topography we were at a total loss to determine our destination but as time passed we slowly became accustomed and acclimated to the grunts, shrieks, groans and hurls of the crews unintelligible language to hear one word repeatedly. Moreau. Yes we were headed to the former island and laboratory of the infamous Dr. Moreau……………..

Suddenly we realized that we had been captured by a race of pseudo humans. Abortions birthed before the full levels of development could be completed. The Abortinates left behind when Dr. Moreau was killed. These creatures managed to not only survive but to thrive and procreate. Having a semblance of a human mind their technology advanced to the point of allowing them to build boats and seize luckless travelers who happened into their pathway.

Over a period of time my beloved and I began to acclimate ourselves to the island and gradually deciphered the fractured tongue of these savages who held us captive. We the purveyors of culture entombed into a society of devils and demons.

Desecration of the House of Order

Unlike the refined lovemaking of my Beloved One and I, yes they did allow us conjugal time and space, these creatures coupled like the savage beasts they were the males entering the females from behind. One could hear their frantic animal sounds of lust, which to me were like the ones of defecation piercing the night air on an almost hourly basis. These deformities of nature had a predilection for giving over to the baser instincts anytime, anywhere stopping the task at hand to copulate demonically.

As we learned to speak their language we gained their confidence and one day we were whisked away to a city translated from their tongue called Maelstrom. It resembled a series of root systems into which the souls of men were sucked up and their bodies transported via journeys to destinations at various points of the underground. Each root was a bustling Metropolis unto itself. These misconceptions of the unnatural actually possessed the ability to construct a thriving city meeting the needs of the greater populace.

Revelation

It was amazing to the Beloved and I how this race of corrupted beings could achieve such levels of higher technology and skill possessing such low level deviant minds and rotted souls.

Then the answer came when one night shortly after we had been taken into their confidence we were allowed to view one of the many satanic evil ritual worship services located in what was once Dr. Moreau’s living quarters. What was once the house of order had become a foul smelling shanty subject to the febrile predilections of a race of deviants.

One night as we observed one of their phantasmagorical rituals we saw one of the secrets of their atypical advancements. During their satanic services which were held at the end of every week at approximately the midnight hour we saw them imbibe a potion an elixir of sorts made from a recipe left behind at Dr. Moreau’s abandoned laboratory located on the surface of the island.

As they made their way over to what once was or rather formerly the home and bedchambers of the Creator-god Moreau. At the start of the service the Holy Book was raised and presented to Anton the head demon that not only kissed the book but devoured a portion of it. He was joined by a profane Votary who read incantations from their vile scriptures dedicated to the black arts. Together they invoked the spirits of the underworld. “Spirits of the Underworld. All that is unholy and unworthy come forth!” As they gave utterance to the sacred passages, Anton, leader of the services smote the book and Kali the many armed one came forth.

Kali known as the “black one” consort of Shiva, wore a thin garment adorned with considerable jewelry: gold earrings, a three nose rings and three necklaces for the unholy Trinity. Her headdress had tassels that framed her forehead. She tore one of the malformed offspring from one of the beasts, decapitating it with her fangs all whilst ripping the still beating heart from its tiny breast to be partially devoured the rest placed upon the altar as a sacrifice.

Inflamed and intoxicated by perversity the beasts renewed their orgy with a renewed fervor and vigor. Pounding drums beat out a rhythm to match the melee. Without warning a full moon appeared in heretofore almost completely blackened night sky and a Goddess arose from the night mist like unto the Beautiful one.

“My name is Light and it is spelled with symbols from the Moon, Stars and sun.” As the Goddess raised her arms and as her raiment fell away florescent symbols ignited by the armada of light emanating from the night sky were revealed upon her muscular arms, upper shoulders, upper and lower back. Energy proceeded forth from each transcription radiating to her Janus sister. The Beautiful one came as bright sister to Kali to preside over and sanction the lewd rites.

Prior to the recitation of the Initiate the Beautiful rose up to give this agonized prayer. To my amazement my Beloved arose with her and together their spirits made supplication.

As the two sisters ululated their lip spoken voices died away and the symbols began to chant the words; sacred, secular, profane.

 



 

Return to the Realm of Maelstrom Deviation Cycles of Time

On dark inky blue moonless nights of wicked worship they would gather dried herbs they cultivated from the island’s rough soil place them into a type of incense burner and inhale the fumes, transporting worshippers into a trance. Once in the trance they would commence to dance. First in a line then in a circle arms linked together chanting to their unholy god. Finally the ritual would end in the drinking of the potion and they would retire back to their rude dwellings that they called homes.

At first they attempted to evangelize the Beloved One and I into their morbid séances but we declined and for whatever reason perhaps because they sensed our innate superiority allowed us to watch and pretty much left us to our own devices in the evening hours.

Sometimes late in the night after the Beloved and I had retired to our chambers we could hear rough guttural Gregorian Chants in the distance.

The Road to Hell

But this place which we referred to as The Island was not just the former dwelling place of an evil man who attempted to usurp God and nearly succeed in destroying the authentic world but it was a step into another dimension. A place that did not exist on any map made by man. Once again another realization came upon the Beloved and I. We had entered into one of the realms of the underworld. A Hades, a Hell, a living personal nightmare populated by the demons that lurked within our very minds and souls. Suddenly a veil was lifted and we found ourselves within the dark caverns of the sea. The sisters of Ishtar goddess of death and destruction, good and evil, love, war and lust had delivered us to her lower sister via the sea. Oceans of dead souls washed over us. Those dark, serpent-like many limbed sharks were just dark angels who identified potential souls for the kingdoms of darkness.

These whom we had lived with and come to know were really the spawn of the goddesses Ishtar and Lilith. Those creatures, once mortal men had loved the twin succubae had suddenly and for no reason offended them and were cruelly ejaculated from their sexual paradise; rejected by them constrained to live in an immortal plane feasting on captured souls for nourishment.

Island of the Damned -- Bocklin

A Building at Rest ~ Goth Holiday at the Museum


A Building at Rest

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
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
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 -- Bocklin
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.

Emptiness and Futility of Life
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.

Descendant Daughters’ of Jephthah and Tamar


Descendant Daughters’ of Jephthah and Tamar

Rape of Tamar
The Rape of Tamar

Lord I Believe Help me overcome my unbelief. Father please remove all fears, self-doubts and my nagging sense of failure from my troubled heart and soul.  I am the broken winged sparrow lying shivering cold, bereft of hope, hungry for acceptance, on yon forest glen. A Woodland Tragedy. Will Jesus the Gentle Woodsman gather up my shattered heart and bind up my bloody infected wounds? Lord Hear my plaintive cries.

Which voices do I believe? The Judging critical voices of men with ravenous sharp toothed dogs or the brutal voices of women holding sharp knives ready to strike and drive men into grave ground. Or Dear Lord your Tender Still Small voice as you Cradle me in your arms, safety bound.  Oh God comfort the descendant Daughters’ of Jephthah and Tamar that we may find solace, peace and sanctuary in a weary heartless land.

http://www.aboutbibleprophecy.com/p349.htm

 

Fort Tipii


Fort Tipii

Tepee-Hut
Tepee-Hut

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 Stick Hut
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
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.

Love,

Cassandra Verity

Soliloquy for Gia Allemand


Soliloquy to  Gia Allemand

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
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!!

Dearest Gia,

Bonnie Raitt – I Can’t Make You Love Me

http://youtu.be/7_SIfLzccbc

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.

The Judds – Love Can Build a Bridge

http://youtu.be/_pqGOf_V2T4

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

http://youtu.be/H_a46WJ1viA

Today The Water is being troubled, I promise to be that Bridge Over Troubled Water. Take my hand and let us journey together.

Rest in Peace.  

Gina Marie Allemand (December 20, 1983 – August 14, 2013)