Mirrored Objects are Closer than They Appear


 

 

Mirrored Objects are Closer than They Appear

 

Welcome to Floozy Fridays at the Asylum

 

Stay Tuned for the next Meat Grinder Edition

 

When the smoke clears the Conflagration will arise

She an Elliptical Orbit floating on Clouds

Enter the Meat Grinder

Play me some Sleep Dance music an Ode to the Great Cathedral Mausoleum

Building those Great Cathedrals in the Sky

 

Red Lips. Cloudy Eyes.

 

Watch the Closing Doors

Shouting Out the Kewl Breeze Shysty fiesty One

Two pages stuck together with Lust Juice

Hairy Arms and Bare Legs Tussle

And Then a relaxation of bed covers

All is Finished. All is silent except silent snores piercing blustery night breezes

Whilst TaiQuai watched him sputter and gasp his way into eternity. Her sardonic smile belied the Trickster Elixir that sent him into permanent exile. Away from his many serial wives he wooed and lost.

 

Max Headroom, The Best Bits Ever!

Chuckle berries are being served up now

 

Sprocket Rocket

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

No Man is an Island by John Donne


https://www.poemhunter.com/poem/no-man-is-an-island/

https://www.poemhunter.com/poem/no-man-is-an-island/

 

No man is an island,
Entire of itself,
Every man is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less.
As well as if a promontory were.
As well as if a manor of thy friend’s
Or of thine own were:
Any man’s death diminishes me,
Because I am involved in mankind,
And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls;
It tolls for thee.

 

 

 

 

A Disfigured Soul


 

 

A Disfigured Soul

Something inside me broke. Perhaps because I have so much internal conflict and when I’m with Stephen I can take off the mask. But then again I’m broken. I’m a Nightmare the gods

For several weeks something within me has been breaking, collapsing, pieces falling apart. Rolling across the earth. Some swallowed up. Whatever Control I thought I had is long gone. Tiredness and exhaustion have stolen my immortal soul. When you’re lost you no longer know who you are.

As I try to erase and blot out the voices of those telling me who I should be and how to get there. But I know to ask why. Don’t Put Your Chains on me for I’ve Made My Bed in the Land of Other.

Because I don’t want to join your journey………… For I’m Only a Few Steps Away from Grace….

 

For Mable Palmer who did not survivor cancer but lives on in our collective memories.

20170630_135243

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Gaia Reclaiming Her Land


 

Land formerly wood, concrete and metal of long forgotten torn down buildings must give way to Queen Gaia as she Reclaims Land abandoned whilst She Festooning it with wild Beauty.

No. Not weeds to Her. But cordial Flora, Plants, bushes, sapling trees, flowers finding a home plus phenomenal growth where no man can pass allowing birds and small animals sanctuary during spring into summer.

Dancing happily flowing with gentle breezes. Tonight the woodland Nymphs shall dance with abandon around and through dusky moss green covers.

All Photos taken along Fulton Street in Brooklyn, NY.

 

Bertie Died……………2014


 

I must have ran 40 blocks after I got the news. And that damned parrot would not shut up! Aunt Beatrice came and got him while me flying down the streets with no coat, hat, gloves or even a scarf on a cold freezing pre-Christmas day.  Down Fulton Street. Decomposition. A Rotted Christmas Gift. Which Morgue? I’m assigned to find you.

To this day I still hate Christmas and always will.

Fulton’s Folly redux.

Oblivious to cars, speeding past rickety boarded up storefront churches, racing around and through stagnant pedestrians.  Cars honking. Screeching to an unexpected halt as fleet form weaves speed through traffic Loom gossamer spider webs.  If I run fast enough to the morgue maybe I’ll still have a chance to remind his body to arise for the Tree Lightening Ceremony.

The Forest. I’ll run into the woods. There I found the magnificent corpse of a Unicorn. Majestic but I didn’t know what to do with it. Wasps had made a home inside the stomach cavity. Carrying life from death. I could smell syrup and honey mixed with Holiday Candy Canes. My dreams, goals and plans for the future. Disemboweled.

The Way of Wings is to fly. Where Sweet Harbor lies.

She Triumphant Playing Parlor Games exuded Vibrato from wild god’s Olde Apothecary Shoppe.  When a Heroine falls. She dies alone. Forgotten and lost to the ages.  She had only a passing acquaintance with sanity.

Each Day Jesus Cries for those condemned to the altars of bloody sacrifice.

Simon says. You learn quickly to do what Simon says or you’re out of the game. For Simon is Jigsaw.

This world done. Ready to implode.

 

This Old Soldier will fade away……

Disconnect………..Disengage………Disappear……..Retreat…….Off Grid……..