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

Cloud Mists ~ For Lucy


https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/fog/#like-245700

Fog

Foggy Misty Morn Central Park
Foggy Misty Morn Central Park

Misty Foggy Morn

Foggy Misty morn over Central Park in the ball field
Foggy Misty morn over Central Park in the ball field

 

Cloud Mists ~ For Lucy

Mists Cloud your face yet never your smile, laughter, your cheerfulness, your precious spirit.  Life moves on but there will always be an empty space where you once stood.  You were a sweet and gentle soul. All the world is passing by and I want to shout, Stop! Wait a minute! Don’t you know a melody has ceased playing? A familiar song is now silent?  Here I remain stoic yet crying inside wishing I could reach through this veil of tears and take your hand once again.

20130930_074209
Misty Day

Remembrance

Though we be in the Autumn of our lives we still beam the Girlish Dreams of Youth. When the cord is cut mid-stream will our dreams be cast into the raging seas…..ashes scattered to the prevailing winds blanketing the Earth like so many strips of confetti after the parade has ended?

Are our dreams lost forever or merely transferred to future generations. When death stills earthly dreams do they take wings and fly towards the Heavens.  Do our Ancestors dream of those yet to join them? Are we the living dreaming Lineages cut short who seek a bloodline vessel?

Girlish dreams beckon faded broken bodies. Minds kindled by the flames of youth —- yet the structure could not hold.  BOOM!!  And ever so slowly and softly one million photographs gently wafted to earth to be gathered by the Memory Gleaners and placed in the gallery of Lost Souls.

Minnie Riperton: “Memory Lane”

http://youtu.be/2-Z2z5a4mQ4

 

Do Heavenly dwellers have earthly memories?  Can Memories transpose the veil?  And we, if we be close enough or strong enough then death will hold no obstacle.  Essence travels freely no longer bound by fleshly concerns.

Foggy Misty Morn
Foggy Misty Morn

Breaking All Chains and Shackles


Osiris & Isis
Osiris and Isis

Despite the Challenges and setbacks in life my journey takes me to new places, new discoveries and new learning experiences.

Within the Soul the two natures of man exist each seeking the preeminence and each wanting to be the dominant force.  The Sacred and the profane.

The Struggle of the Two Natures in Man George Grey Barnard (American, Bellefonte, Pennsylvania 1863–1938 New York)
The Struggle of the Two Natures in Man
George Grey Barnard (American, Bellefonte, Pennsylvania 1863–1938 New York)

A Lost Soul finds her way home. Chains are being Broken.

Tasha Cobbs — Break Every Chain

My Awakening has happened over a period of time.  I went into the next phase of my  Womanhood as I entered Menopause. Truly over the last several years as I entered my 50s, (I’m 55 now) I’ve undergone a revealing Change of Life.  The Universe has opened up new portals and realms in which I travel taking on the mantle of being an Elder. I take my place within the Council of Elders as I march towards Infinity = Eternity.

The Heavens opened up and all my Ancestors, African, Native American, Christian, Buddhist, Indigenous Faiths began speaking to me on next steps in Life.  I truly believe in the Scripture that says, “The Steps of the Righteous are Ordered by the Lord.”  I’m discovering the Galaxies within. Through my Kindred Ancestors I’ve found into to Leap Forward I had to step back confronting my fears honestly with faith, gentleness, Wisdom and Understanding. I gather each of my broken pieces, honor the Divinity of each shard, embrace my tears, and like Isis I’ve gathered the pieces of my scattered tribes and Ethiopia is Reborn!  Shall these dry bones live?  Yes says the Creator of the Universe!  Once again I sing the Songs of Solomon and Sheba.

Habakkuk 2:2-3 New International Version (NIV)

The Lord’s Answer

Then the Lord replied:

“Write down the revelation
    and make it plain on tablets
    so that a herald may run with it.
For the revelation awaits an appointed time;
    it speaks of the end
    and will not prove false.
Though it linger, wait for it;
    it will certainly come
    and will not delay.

The Land of the Rising Sun embraced me as I entered the Border-less Gardens.

Live the Sankofa bird I’ve returned to myself.  Despite raging battles without and within my Calling and Passion as a Scribe bid me come forth to record my Voyage.  Grounded in the Lily.  Supported by the Lotus.

The Queen has returned to her Queendom. She sits upon her Throne whilst reigning over the Seven Lands, A Judge and a Mother over Africa, Israel and the Americas.

Judges 4 & 5.

Isaiah 54:1-3 New International Version (NIV)

The Future Glory of Zion

54 “Sing, barren woman,
    you who never bore a child;
burst into song, shout for joy,
    you who were never in labor;
because more are the children of the desolate woman
    than of her who has a husband,”
says the Lord.
“Enlarge the place of your tent,
    stretch your tent curtains wide,
    do not hold back;
lengthen your cords,
    strengthen your stakes.
For you will spread out to the right and to the left;
    your descendants will dispossess nations
    and settle in their desolate cities.

Break every chain!  Indigo Children Rejoice!!

Evolution of Childhood InterPlanetary Dreams


https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/planet/

 

Evolution of Childhood InterPlanetary Dreams

Underground Railroad

Grandmas Reign Quilt

Eva Sophronia Gordon Palmer -- Grandmother
Eva Sophronia Gordon Palmer — Grandmother

Epoch Heydays beat rhythm time Tempo bringing Glory Days and Golden Age into Earth, Space, time Continuum alignment around my being. Spiritual Discernment begins the convergence of planets, Moon-Womben Star-gazers endlessly birthing heavenly bodies and floating orbs.

Underground Railroad_2

Mother Africa as Creator Goddess singing Reign Blessings upon her children.

My World, the ones I saw in my Grandmother’s Quilt and the ever expanding Galaxies beyond Earth, Sky, Sun and Moon-Daughter Wishes, Hopes and Desires.

Ancient hand stretching finger Ancestor Dimensions reaching forward into time and eternity bringing revelation knowledge of history long past yet made fresh daily.

Troubles beating bloody fists upon my pate.

Belladonna into Nightshades.

Tethered by an unholy umbilical cord to a dead albatross. Dreams deluge.  Green metal Frigidaire Fan blowing air opposite it’s promised heat relief. Stub toe late shift Dad curses Castro and his Convertible. Bucolic heat wave summer in the city. 25 cent Ice Cream salvation dispensed by Mr. Softee. Martha Reeves and her Vandellas gyrating to Dancing in the Streets while kids follow her Piped Pipers.

Kool-Aid libation sugar screams ensue while transistor talking heads Ralph Kiner and Lindsey Nelson called Shea play by plays. Bygone days of Tri-Corn braids.  Fletcher’s Castoria Beef Iron Wine cocktails.   Childhood freedom beckons signalling release from adulthood chain gangs. Teeter-totter bring unbalanced superimposed idealized memories to double-doubted times past. It’s 1964 and my Dixie Peach anointed head snuggles with Panda pillow transcending time once again in the loving arms of Grandma Eva’s patchwork quilt.

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.