Jephthah’s Daughters


Jephthah’s Daughters.(Click here to read more)

Shall we regard our girl children as Jephthah’s Daughters?  How long will we continue to perpetuate the adage, “Women love their sons, but raise the daughters.”  Every child deserves the opportunity to succeed in life but success comes through accepting responsibility and learning to be accountable.  Any child male or female who constantly lashes out at authority figures in a bid to always be “right” is a child bound for prison or the graveyard.  Stop making girls the sacrificial lambs!!

Ladies, let’s love our girl children and stop putting them on the altar in order to save a son who does not wanted to be saved and does not think he needs help or worse some no account man who should not even be a part of our households to begin with. Let us not return to ancient times when girls and women were thought of as little more than chattel or commodities to be bought and sold. (See below for more details on ancient economies)

Girl Sacrifice

“One of the unusual things about the Bible is that it preserves some bits of this larger context. … It would seem that the economy of the Hebrew kingdoms, by the time of the prophets, was already beginning to develop the same kind of debt crises that had long been common in Mesopotamia: espe­cially in years of bad harvests, the poor became indebted to rich neigh­bors or to wealthy moneylenders in the towns, they would begin to lose title to their fields and to become tenants on what had been their own land, and their sons and daughters would be removed to serve as servants in their creditors’ households, or even sold abroad as slaves.

“[This is what the biblical book of Nehemiah is referring to in the passage,] ‘Some of our daughters are brought unto bondage already: neither is it in our power to redeem them.’ One can only imagine what those words meant, emotionally, to a father in a patriarchal society in which a man’s ability to protect the honor of his family was everything. Yet this is what money meant to the ma­jority of people for most of human history: the terrifying prospect of one’s sons and daughters being carried off to the homes of repulsive strangers to clean their pots and provide the occasional sexual services, to be subject to every conceivable form of violence and abuse, pos­sibly for years, conceivably forever, as their parents waited, helpless, avoiding eye contact with their neighbors, who knew exactly what was happening to those they were supposed to have been able to protect. … http://www.delanceyplace.com/view_archives.php?2009

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The Lover


The Lover

Writing is the neglected Lover who calls me away from a stifling my 13 hour workdays.  It is the hunger that demands to be fed.  The passion that must be satisfied.

The dilemma: money vs. true love.  I need the money but I must feed my soul.  Only when I answer the voice of my muse am I truly engaged in this life.

My fervor is akin to amusing myself with dilettantes whilst the face of my Lover is ever before me.  The Lover is the orgasm I seek on a nightly basis.

I feel his long slender fingers playing over my body like the keyboard on a piano.

The music he produces brings an exotic mixture of pain and ecstasy.  It’s an addiction that dominates my mind, soul, spirit and body.  A craving only he can satisfy.

Only his lean taut body, his touch can bring me to spiritually fulfilling orgasmic pleasure when after hours of lovemaking I lock my legs around his torso in those final eternal moments of sensual paradise.

Sometimes he comes to me on the wings of a night bird. A beautiful dark & twisted fantasy.  A Midnight Dream so real you’ve only exchanged one dimension for another.  Whilst the full moon reigns I pass through many long and varied portals.  I taste the sounds of evening on your lips.  Feel the words slipping through fingers.  The crested muse rides the galactic wave gliding silently o’er my cerebral universe seeking a docking station whereby I may be subsumed into His flesh.

Prosperity vs. Adversity


She seemed like such a lovely lady.  A beauteous form can hide the darkest of hearts.  The face of an Angel, a lithe and exquisite body, however, does not the Holy Writ say that the devil is disguised in the purest of forms? Was he not known in the beginning as Lucifer and could he have not had a female counterpart.

And what is the appearance of a Fallen Angel? It is thus, a slightly prominent forehead, below are wide deep set eyes, high sculpted cheekbones,  an aristocratic nose, full sensuous lips with a generous mouth encasing small pearl like teeth, and a sturdy jaw line. Such a classic face was enveloped in a halo of thick curly black hair with a shock of white in the front.

All these gorgeous outward features contained in alluring golden brown skin kissed by the sun. This regal head was attached to a small lissome body.  Her fine-looking face and petite frame hid the advancing years very well.  

Being diminutive enabled her to pass quickly through narrow spaces without touching the sides, almost like an apparition, you felt air, looked back only to see the rustle of drapes or curtains but not the actual being. Leonarda’s physical movements whilst working the room at a cocktail party were not unlike her charming yet devious personality.

And when Leonarda was speaking with you the entire world fell away, you became the complete focus of her intentions and she seemed to exalt your small ideas, thoughts and words just with a nod of her classic head. That night as would be the case in future events, every guest in the room magically disappeared leaving only me, Leonarda and the martinis we held in our hands

 Who would have thought she was really a succubus, sent to drain men’s souls. Every night when I lay down beside her I would become as vigorous as a lion to meet her insatiable demands which left me as weak and mild as a lamb.  She drained my daylight strength from me. Yet at the dawn of the next day her preternatural words would enliven me so I could carry out her wishes. 

Those wishes which at the time seemed the mildest of suggestions caused my former friends to fall away from me much like the strangers in the room where she and I first met. Somehow my boon companions sensed her evil and knew from whence she derived her wealth, power and authority but alas I did not or rather I did not want to listen when they tried in their various communications to alert me to the danger I allowed into my life.

Leonarda La’Velle hailed from New Orleans. She was rumored to be a direct descendant of the mulatta and sorceress Marie Laveau. Leonarda had anglicized her name in an attempt to throw off track anyone who tried to research her background, but her attempts were futile to the superior talents of my friends and co-workers who were by trade paranormal researchers trained to recognize the schemes and incarnations of the wicked.

Like her infamous ancestor Marie Laveau, Leonarda La’Velle had as her patron an elderly rich white lover, so enamored of his mistress’ guile and subtleties that he scarcely realized that he was being cuckolded on a daily and nightly basis.  From him she drew money, from me, Christophe Dumell she was able to drink my very essence because I made the error of falling in love with the witch.

No doubt when I was under her spell, whenever I expressed some dissatisfaction, no matter how small she would caress my face with her tiny hands all while singing soothing melodies, songs which proved to be carefully crafted spells designed to keep me under her power. I only lived to satisfy Leonarda.

We all resided in Ulster county section of the Hudson Valley within the small town of Monrose, New York, population, 6666, one more than the devil’s number, not more than one hour from Satan’s major domain of New York City.

Monrose was a town comprised of transplants, those even too freakish for New York City proper. Small trade guilds of artisans flourished in this place, an abode of freethinkers, magicians and curiosities steeped in their own rituals and rites they believe preserved Monrose and allowed it to prosper.

Leonarda was a consultant of sorts. Wealthy businessmen came to her with their dilemmas which she solved for them all while extracting personal information which she later supplied to her primary patron, but unbeknownst to him, she used these intelligences to blackmail her clients. She had files and illegally taped conversations on all of them. She had witnessed either firsthand or via her spies, who operated all over the city compromising positions and conflicts of interests of the most powerful city fathers. Some o f these power brokers when called to Leonarda’s boudoir to confess their sins and make restitution initially balked at the idea of paying her blood money until she showed them her evidence and threatened to expose them. Fearful of being stripped of their power and positions they all acquiesced except one…………