Are Self-Exploding Beings inwardly Imploding?


 

Are the self-exploding inwardly imploding?

Not knowing that the seeds of their self-destruction reside quietly inwardly already taking root. Ready to root out fabricated dogmas.
Boston Bomb crushed avian souls flying towards Heaven. Chaos rules the lands. Demonic Fairytale stories being lit up global TV screens.
Carnage Couture is all the rage!!

Socialites debate levels of thinness while screaming crying babies suckle on long dried up teats.

Life continues on in glass castles unfazed by human suffering. Walking Stepford skinny chic walking decorations immobilized shields of Oil dollars. One piece of glittering jewelry could feed and house one thousand lost humanities. Let us trip the light fantasies weaving around hunger, blight and destruction all the while knowing it will never touch our gleaming manors. Golden parachutes always on hand.

Mankind marches on towards dinosaur extinction by our own hands. WinTourist DashKardian superficial fantasies supplicate the masses fill the empty plates providing empty calories while Rome burns. Politics, religion unreasonable fears of contamination. Moon-Skitters thrive on cell division.

Say Their Names!! Never allow their memories to fade!!

Our decision whether, how, & when to escape the matrix.

Are the Self-Exploding inwardly Imploding? Truth, Compassion, Understanding and Victory shall win out over evil, wickedness and animosity!!  For the sacred has now become filled with the filth of the profane. An Outhouse disguised under the mantle of being a Holy Temple.

http://www.theguardian.com/artanddesign/2014/nov/23/imran-qureshi-ikon-gallery-birmingham-review-hauntingly-beautiful

http://www.artspace.com/imran_qureshi

 

Imran Qureshi
Imran Qureshi
Imran Qureshi
Imran Qureshi
Imran Qureshi
Imran Qureshi
Imran Qureshi
Imran Qureshi
Imran Qureshi
Imran Qureshi
Imran Qureshi
Imran Qureshi
Imran Qureshi
Imran Qureshi
Imran Qureshi
Imran Qureshi

All Photos are the artwork of Imran Qureshi

Rape of Tamar

Memoirs of a Cubist Odalisque


Memoirs of a Cubist Odalisque

Sophie’s Story

Odalisque in Grisaille Jean Auguste Dominique Ingres  (French, Montauban 1780–1867 Paris) and Workshop
Odalisque in Grisaille
Jean Auguste Dominique Ingres
(French, Montauban 1780–1867 Paris) and Workshop

Gumby Lovers

 

“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.  The soldiers, sailors, traveling merchants or other Spew head Jimmy’s as many of the Ladies were want to call them rarely came my way unless they too suffered from a disfigurement of the mind and/or body which they saw reflected in me.

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……………………………………………………………………..

 

 

Rape of Tamar
The Rape of Tamar

 

 

Sophie’s Origins

My Name is Zipporah Sophia.  I am from the once favored issue and Kingdom of Jephthah whose bad choices and decisions cursed my clan

 

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 Fidelis

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 musky internal womb perfumes.

His favorite of the entire harem was Zipporah 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……………………

(To Be Continued)

 

 

Gaslighting


Ingrid Berman in Gaslight (with Charles Boyer)
Ingrid Berman in Gaslight (with Charles Boyer)

If you’ve ever had this happen to you then you know what it is to live in abject fear & terror. Gaslight – verb (used with object): to cause (a person) to doubt his or her sanity through the use of psychological manipulation.

Gaslight (1944)

http://youtu.be/0ToLfQU2xmg

The source is a George Cukor-directed thriller starring Ingrid Bergman as a woman whose husband tells her she’s imagining things that she claims to see in a musty old murder house, including the gaslights dimming by themselves.

Unless you’ve gone through this experience there is no understanding what it’s like to not know whether you’re crazy or the other person is playing you for a fool. I know how that feels. Cruelty in any form is a weapon that has the potential to destroy peoples lives. I’m just fortunate to have a Guardian Angel. This past weekend I survived an episode with a so-called professional member of the particular online business group I’d like to get into.  

A certain amount of trust is involved within our interactions with other human beings. School, the job, our House of Worships, entrepreneurial relationships all involved being able to trust the persons we hope to glean information from to build our business and who we trust to provide marketing and promotion information.  However some people in these online business groups are merely stalkers seeking to capitalize on the trusting natures and vulnerabilities of others.  Not just sad but depraved indifference to a fellow human beings feelings and emotions.  They are Social Media Vultures and/or Predators seeking unsuspecting prey.  Masters of Psychological Deception.  Tricks without the Treats. Vipers ready to strike without a moments notice.

Like anyone, I’m always looking to better myself. To this end I join groups on social media.  Having carefully researched the product you then join with like-minded individuals in order to gain strategies on how to succeed in your chosen field.  Skill building is important to ensure the success of any business venture.

So its scary stuff when even one person in the business group turns out to be a stalker who then libels and slanders you without cause all the while making you the victim think you’re at fault.  No compassion whatsoever. A total disregard for the victims emotional state.

It’s an especially cruel type of manipulation as the tormentor gains the innocent person’s trust only to betray them through psychological and emotional means. Once they gain your trust they either gradually or perhaps more aggressively twist their words so you feel like you’re losing your mind.  Ever so slightly they threaten you with police action, incarceration, jail, prison, legal actions, and many other types of evil tricks to make you believe that you’re at fault and deserve punishment. Despite their malevolent actions suddenly you become the criminal and then these sadists try you in their kangaroo court while acting as judge, jury and executioner.

A series of lies, rumors, innuendos, slander, falsehoods, cause you to doubt your ability to reason or make sense of a troubling situation.  The constant question of “What Just Happened Here?” goes through your mind until that Guardian Angel, Rescuer, Redeemer helps you gain perspective.

Then the demonic wickedness of these Master Manipulators is exposed and once again Salvation has been regained.  I was Blessed to have someone step in to help me and give me reassurance.  Also I was connected with a girlfriend who also went through domestic violence and sexual abuse scenarios like me who understand.  A calm, kind, gentle, loving voice who embraced me acceptance.  I was not alone. Somebody threw out the lifeline.  I grabbed hold and climbed out of this monstrous pit.

I am not deterred in my efforts to improve my finances.  One monkey don’t stop no show!  I see God’s Angels all around me.  I feel God’s Love. I now know that I am not at fault and I don’t have to be afraid.  Legions of Angels have been detached by God to protect me.  As for that spiteful, mean nasty person there will be both earthly and God’s Judgement now that he has been exposed.  Purgatory for this individual has only just begun.  Sanctuary for him will only be found in accepting the truth, repentance and restitution.

1 Chronicles 16:22 & Psalm 105:15

 New International Version (NIV)

22 “Do not touch my anointed ones;
    do my prophets no harm.”

The Workers Leave No Footprints


Dreams Never Die

Misty Foggy Morn

Youth said “Dreams Never Die.” Twenty years passed then Recession kicked in. New Realities were born. Twelve hour workdays became the norm.

Like a drowning man Dreams surfaced again and again only to plummet down to the watery deep. All the while knocking at 1% door watching them through one-sided window laugh, play, drink and party with no thought for the ‘Morrow’. We the unseen only imagining free time for our dreams.

Dreams that must wait until Social Security beckons if death does not reach us first. Fore bread, water, warm clothes and a place to live cry louder. Goodnight Sweet Dreams. May you one day resurrect to a New Dawn.

$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$

The Working Poor Leave No Footprints

Surrounded by a plethora of people who seemed to surface like bloated corpses after spring thaw.  Worker bees we are all meaningless specks of dust being recklessly scattered by blustery winds.  Modern day Robber Barons throw battle weary soldiers back into the battle while they sit sipping tea in Ivory Towers.  Thirty-seven years a professional, now placating rot breath Sabbath suits long in tooth, visions of Mammy dancing in their heads.  Limestone Liver spotted wrinkled bone bags befoul the air with endless demands.  Dontcha know Miz Daisy learned to drive herself and the Help all went to the French Rivera.

Foggy Misty Morn

I am Hagar cast out of my prosperous household, denied by the Master and Mistress I once served.  Thrown out of my protectors’ house my Dream-child and I await Our Avenging Angel of Salvation.

My Dreams now dead buried under work obligations, mountains of rules and regulations that I seem to constantly violate just by being. No miracles exist for me. Only years of mindless drudgery ahead.  Millennial Overseers govern my every move with their remote control mind games.  Freedom lies dormant within my imagination.  My brain has been put out to pasture because intelligence is not needed or wanted and creativity has become a sin.  Automaton Me clad in nondescript dull uniform easily replaceable by the next set of hungry hands yearning for the pence dispensed from the rich mans table.  Hey!! Who’s next up on the Auction Block?!!  Come lock step into the Plantation Mausoleum filled with objects which are valued more than drones who guard them.  We be Aliens in our own Land.  Serfs never reaping a hard earned Harvest.

Yet soon a New Day will Dawn, Dreams will bear fruit and Visions be reborn.

Queen of Delusions


Angels Falling
Angels Falling

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?