A Broken Battered Hallelujah



A Broken Battered Hallelujah


I was pulled from the murky Underbelly of a concussion. I felt like I kissed a rose filled with Thorns.  Once again I was a victim of the hairy handed one who throbbed with sordid bacchanals.  I felt a tad messianic from the rancid ambrosia that I had imbibed from the night before

The gossamer cadaver skin. So pale. So venous. The Hairy Handed One was just a series of protruding Vulgarisms.  Venal Vulgarisms that vibrated my body into a macabre dance.

I once brought my Lover a Bobcat. It ate all our poultry and terrorized the hounds.  To Celebrate that night we had Snail Tacos which are considered a real delicacy in these parts.  The Hairy Handed One had a Mullet that didn’t make it.  Lyle Lovett meets the Wolf man.  Me ~~ Just an Abstract Tart.  Then he vanished like fog into the mist.

The Queene Anne Sanitarium was built so that every floor opened out to the cliffs behind the “Health Spa.”  An open invitation if I ever saw one!!  Parson Krown was renowned for telling the families of potential patrons the story whilst they toured this magnificent abode.  Good compost for the garden. For a Man of the Cloth Parson Krown constantly made puzzling statements.  As they tumble backwards over steepness and onto the razor sharp craggy rocks.  Many times in the late night early dawn and late dusk I’ve ventured out to the shore line. It can’t be described as a beach even though the ocean laps its shores.  The ground is littered with black stones of all shapes and sizes. Even what little sand there is is of a pebbly granular consistency.

It’s always those quaint, quiet picturesque villages that have the most undertow.   Some days I spent a quiet time in my room only to realize that quite unexpectedly that my room was no longer my room but a brand new room populated with unfamiliar objects.  I felt myself being drawn into a mysterious Rectangle.





Just spitballin’ through life.


The scent of decomposing flesh and decaying blood permeated the entire shore line. Someone had formed giant sand stupas each one commemorating the death of a fallen. In place of my heart was a bloody effusions.





Ecclesiastes 12:1-8

New King James Version (NKJV)

12 Remember now your Creator in the days of your youth,
Before the difficult days come,
And the years draw near when you say,
“I have no pleasure in them”:
While the sun and the light,
The moon and the stars,
Are not darkened,
And the clouds do not return after the rain;
In the day when the keepers of the house tremble,
And the strong men bow down;
When the grinders cease because they are few,
And those that look through the windows grow dim;
When the doors are shut in the streets,
And the sound of grinding is low;
When one rises up at the sound of a bird,
And all the daughters of music are brought low.
Also they are afraid of height,
And of terrors in the way;
When the almond tree blossoms,
The grasshopper is a burden,
And desire fails.
For man goes to his eternal home,
And the mourners go about the streets.

Remember your Creator before the silver cord is loosed,[a]
Or the golden bowl is broken,
Or the pitcher shattered at the fountain,
Or the wheel broken at the well.
Then the dust will return to the earth as it was,
And the spirit will return to God who gave it.

“Vanity of vanities,” says the Preacher,
“All is vanity.”
















The Return of the Fiery Spirit


The Return of the Fiery Spirit

Happy New Year!!



Yes I’m back. After a much-needed break during which time I gave myself the opportunity to reflect. My blog had taken off in a wrong direction. Basically I was caught up. Lots of frustration. Too many obligations and responsibilities. Trying to juggle this concept of balance and harmony neither of which I achieved. Therefore it was time to let go.
When you fly too close to the Sun like Icarus you burn or in these modern times burn out.  A Fucked Up Life = A Fucked Up Blog.  I’m not Wonder Woman. The older I get the more I’m willing to admit defeat.  More people should pay attention to the expression Beating Your Head against a brick wall.  Well I have a bloody head.

Every so often you need to say, “Fuck it All.’ Like in Gone Girl I’m tired of being the Amazing Amy. Sometimes you must walk away from certain aspects of your life. My body does not handle stress well.  Finally around the time my laptop died I was having terrible headaches every day. Collapse. Nobody there to help me or pick me up.  As always I was and still am on my own.  My life had become a fucking circus of putting on acts of well-being.  Now I begin to tell the truth of a life filled with failures and flaws.  No perfection. No promises. No happy endings.  We deserve or think we deserve happiness, peace, joy and prosperity but life does not owe you anything. In this life you get many unexpected “gifts.”

If God/Universe gave out report cards my would be filled with F’s.  This is the truth I live with every day. Again I don’t sugarcoat anything. One can never go back. It’s like saying you’re still a Virgin after the hymen has been broken or a baby has passed through your womb. No returns.

I Am Not a Performance. I am Truth.

I don’t like to be typecast or put into a stereotype. That’s why I don’t take to so-called Life Coaches, Life Hacks, Therapists or sellers of happiness snake oils.  I don’t do Affirmations or Memes. They are totally lost on me. You don’t need to be a happy person to have Happy Times. I’ve had many Happy Times and will continue to do so. Happiness itself is situational. Just like anyway else who is brave enough to admit it I Love certain aspects of my being, my personality, my looks but their are other secret areas that come to plague me at night. That allow me no sleep.  Those are my demons and I welcome they. My demons are my closet companions. Reliable. Always there. Sometimes they even save me for where would they be without me. We are bound to each with an umbilical cord that stretches but never severed. To know me is to see a stubborn mass of contradictions. I’m a paradox wrapped inside an enigma.

Woman Deconstructed Renewed in Partial Forms




It is what it is. I follow my own mind and make my own decisions. I admit to being high strung, nervous, lacking patience and mercurial. Anxiety attacks are my normal.

Temperamental and sometimes ill tempered. Blunt. Straight. No Chaser. I’m not the Replacement Bitch. I AM THE BITCH. B.I.T.C.H. Being in Total Control of Herself.

Basically I wanted to trash this blog totally but I realized I needed the archives being that I lost many of my MS Word documents.  Also I needed a break from this writing blog to focus on my Photography Blog Roaming Urban Gypsy.  However after increased demand and support from my Subscribers I will once again serve up offerings of poetry, prose and opinion.  On My Own Terms.

Bits and pieces of my Life were in the Pawn Shop. Set up life a Museum dedicated to my past. Slowly once located I went back whenever possible to redeem and rescue pieces of my past so I could reassemble it into the future. Remade and Renewed through my own efforts or at times lack of efforts.

When one world dies another is born. And most don’t care unless it affects them directly.

I’m the Pegasus Unicorn in the Room.

It’s a Cold Broken Hallelujah



Black WoMoon Rising 2018!