Sipping in the Solarium while Snacking on Speckled Nebula

Sipping in the Solarium while Munching on Speckled Nebula


Splinter Stories from the Hardware Store


Saga of JoyBaieda Rueine


The Old Churchyard’s rough terrain was akin to the contents of an kitchen junk drawer and the neighborhood junk yard minus the dog.  Our planet was slowly but surely spinning counterclockwise to it’s Axis.  Bumping along like a car with a broken Axle.  The issues and problems with the malfunctioning Ancestor cards were becoming more urgent each passing solar revolution. She cringed when thinking about the upcoming meeting with JoyBaieda Rueine. Very little progress had been made concerning corrections  to the process.  Time was running out for Home Planet.


Female Ancestor from my Dad's side, Name lost to Time
Ancestor known only to God.

Zahara the Sentinel carefully watched and observed all the scribes but the one called Jabez caught her eye for more careful examination.

The Lust filled doe eyed fool Emerson Skreech had made no headway in releasing the Ancestor cards therefore a trip in the Escape Pod was necessary.  The Dayforming Process was in danger of imminent collapse.


Something about Scribe Jabez. He possesses a supernatural connection to the selection process.  Must make a study of Jabez.  He might possess the Keys to Salvation of Home Planet.  Such an unscholarly Scribe as Jabez just might have access to the Elders of Nephilim granting access to the Wisdom of the Strix.


Must employ the Wisdom of the Strix and their descendants The Nephilim



All Day and well into the night the Scroll Scribes searched The Book analyzing seeking a solution for the troubled planet.


Scribe Jabez had the air of damaged goods about him.  He walked with such a Lumbering Lurching gait that caused him to tread on his face so severely etching out pathways, streets, avenues, highways and byways that his skimpy beard barely succeeded in covering.  His reddish brown beard seemed to have been plucked out in places by attacking hordes of birds or fleshing eating insects.

Watching him was such a painful ordeal that the other Scribes were relieved when he sat down and on pins and needles when he arose for bladder relief or food.  His shock of vibrantly magenta red hair seem an anachronism of youth mismatched with old age.


During his fasting times Jabez was more specter than corporeal. His appearance discomfiting his fellow scribes who desperately wish to be excused from their research/writing duties.  But Alas for most Scribes Freedom meant having Furies cut the soul cord binding one to the terrestrial like a mid-wife cuts the umbilical cord at birth.

Jabez’s family was a small Village of petty and career criminals.  Try as he might Jabez was not a Member of the Collective and had not the recommendations nor the credentials to be more than a fringe dweller. For entry into the hallowed framework of the Collective one could not just simply be absorbed but had to be scrutinized and evaluated.  In the case of Jabez his Javelin wasn’t right.  It failed to hit the mark.

Jabez state of mind also hindered his progress.  He was obsessed with a Woman he had never met.  He had only met her in his vivid reoccurring dreams.  At night his body seemed to take flight through the Mandala where his soul was whisked via Windmills to the entry of a complex Labyrinth.


A Maze guarded by a malevolent Sphinx whose riddles sent many a time traveler into a Abyss where they were trapped for One Thousand years until their turn came round once more.  Each time his spirit was deposited at the Sphinx regal paws.  The sandy soil dissolved through his toes as though he was at the beach feeling the surf place and displaced by the tides.

Most times Jabez Javelin would change course. When that happened Jabez repeated his solemn mantra.  “Lord of the Universe, Make my feet like hinds feet that carry me to my high places.”  During Astral Flight Jabez’s Javelin morphed into an Arrow then a Feathered Plume piercing his side drawing out his blood transforming into an old fashioned Fountain pen. Each time the Blade Sharp Arrow Plume Pen stabbed him it then began of its own accord to ink his precious blood onto ancient Holy Papyrus.


Jabez felt the Sphinx ride him like an unbroken angry steed. Bucking him to and fro.  Digging in her talons so deeply that he cried out to Nightwatchman Charon whose multiple sets of keys could be heard loudly jingling out harmony, safety, peace and tranquility as the patrolled the Wastelands.  He felt his life tremble.  Violent tremors that caused dirt and dust to quake.  Upending Jabez into Stalactites and Stalagmites opening his arteries and veins.


Blood pouring out of his wounds like a swift running river soaked deep into the earth enriching the soil so as the surrounding rocks, stones and even small pebbles migrated to the crimson streams absorbing the nutrients, putting down roots, breeding, multiplying into Pompeii faces frozen death masks of fright.  Souls buried deep in the ground grow deep roots that reach out for the living.


Disembodied Lava flow flames arose and began to lick the flavored air.  Claps of Thunder resounded off the cavernous walls signalling to mummified bodies found encased inside enormous forest trees.   Giant Millennia Tree trunks encapsulated Beings crouched in the fetal position like insects in Amber.  Arboreal hugs for forgotten beings. Revealed when furious Lightening Storms split said trees to splinters exposing the mystical mysterious cadavers. Choirs of graves, tombs, markers, sing out at dusk pining for souls that could never rest.

Enter the Nephilim.





1 Chronicles 4:9-10 New King James Version (NKJV)

Now Jabez was more honorable than his brothers, and his mother called his name Jabez,[a] saying, “Because I bore him in pain.” 10 And Jabez called on the God of Israel saying, “Oh, that You would bless me indeed, and enlarge my territory, that Your hand would be with me, and that You would keep me from evil, that I may not cause pain!” So God granted him what he requested.



Oedipus and the Sphinx
Gustave Moreau (French, Paris 1826–1898 Paris)
























Seascapes Sea-Escapes Photo Spouts

Seascapes Sea-Escapes Photo Spouts


Okay Folks, I was able to find two Fan Brushes in the basement therefore this Waterfall attempt might be somewhat better.  As you can see I’ve added tiny nighttime photos to the first one.  The photos have saved the painting giving the effect of cascading along the waterfall.

I do realize that these paintings are Wonky but one has to start somewhere.  Personally I’ve always enjoyed the simplicity and directness of Folk Art and self taught artists.

On the second one (without photos but two waterspouts on either side of the Waterfall), that I just started you can see that I used the Fan Brush with much better effects. Must improve my wrist action. I will never be the next Monet but I’m enjoying the experiment.  My goal is to take my Mixed Media Photography to New Levels.



Seascapes Sea-Escapes Spouting Photos
Seascapes Sea-Escapes Spouting Photos


Seascapes Sea-Escapes Spouting Photos
Seascapes Sea-Escapes Spouting Photos


Seascapes Sea-Escapes Spouting Photos
Seascapes Sea-Escapes Spouting Photos



Waterfall using Fan Brush
Waterfall Using Fan Brush







I’ve nowhere near the expertise of Bob Davies  or Darrell Crow

However I will keep trying. Gives me a fun indoor activity to do during these cold winter days. Eventually I will advance to the Midnight Moon River phase with Lady Jane  ~ Painting with Jane

Painting A Waterfall With Acrylics










An Overgrown Pond




An OverGrown Pond


Where the Koi Jumped for Joy into the sky for the water comes from the sky then returns to the sea

Pistons, electrons, neutrons






By a Picnic Table caught up in sand

Beside a Piano wrapped around a tree

Where I had cracked an egg filled with red ants over his face

Where once I had tried two more times to plant myself on the portico of the place I had lived posthumously

Every day he would come to the drawing room dressed in a new wig and caftan ready to work on his latest illustrated sonata.

His goal ~~ The Chapel where the outline of an over grown cherub with upturned mustaches, a five o’clock shadow, cigar and swollen gonads graced the ceiling


In Her Long Flowing Caftan expectations were high.  Higher than ever before

As she crafted her Caftan Swung to and fro in the Breezes

Swirling & Twirling like a dance in Homage to the Muses and Goddesses of Ancient Times

Swaying Sometimes Billowing Out

Billowing Waving Flapping in Upturned Winds

Powered by gusts of frenetic kinetic energy her billowing Caftan swept over the town and villages spitting out flags, Semi-phores, and coded messages to family cemeteries

Leaving behind satisfied scripts which she added to her burgeoning collection


Sending Signals across the Mesa







Then the Joyful Koi began to play Ragtime 

They jumped up and struck the keys in sequence creating beautiful melodies












The Quilted Loom

The Quilted Loom


In an abandoned open lot with an empty battlefield grazing behind it the Gingery Burnt Orange hair Sienna  skinned Weaver sits at her Loom.



People passing by alongside the adjoining sidewalks were totally oblivious save for the dozens of Calicos wandering to and fro between aspects of scenery.


Weaving Knitting Needles, Silken cacophonies of Symphonies, Singing Satin Brocade Ballads, and Crocheted mittens, rugs, tapestries, curtains, draperies, silken robes,,,,,,,,,,,,,,


The Weaver’s arms set a Frenetic pace birthing galaxies, solar systems Whirling out into distant dimensions. Hurtling through time and space.


She had to hurry before those three hags returned. Especially disturbing was the Cackling Crone with the shears.  No vermin that foul should have the power of life and death. Each harridan who cloaks composed of silent screaming emerging faces crying out in unheard agonies.


Falling Stars and Meteors


Parasols clanged with Umbrellas fighting to grow into Spears, swords, Bows and arrows

Delusion and Illusion were flung out into the Abyss


Double Fold in the Ears.  Click Clack.  Click Clack.


Out flew words, sentences, paragraphs and phrases from every language and worldly alphabet Calendars, days, weeks, months and years flew forth whipping by that any passersby would have been violently slapped if in the pathway The came the faces of Goddess/God Swirling, Twirling, Spinning, Revolved, Jumping Leaping into the Arms of the Beloved…………


Kali reached out with multiply arms to grab all defectors.  Banishing them to Eternal Limbo in Purgatory 


The Mystical Arms of the Seed of Abraham Join Forces in Homage to Yemaya Oshun Jumping in and out of the Sacred Circle Each one grabs a thread intertwining round the Banyon & Bodhi  Trees


Levitating and Pirouetting in ecstatic ecstasy


Turtles and Trees know the true story


Mighty Oaks, Sturdy Sequoias, and wistful Palms sprung up with ease sheltering the dancers from the burning sun and blowing hot Sirocco  sandy Harmattan


Bonnetted Women Blew in from Dusky Shore line Forests selling their wares to thirsty travelers.










Incendiary Guest House



Incendiary Guest House


Splinter Stories from the Hardware Store


Every time I left the Boarding House to explore the town outskirts my fellow lodgers gave me looks of lit torches ready to set me afire first change they got.  Malevolent Bleak-stone Villagers Willing me to return with Blazing Fury.  Her was an abandoned Bohemian kept on a short leash. Apparitions wandered about seeking solace with the solitude.  Slaying dragons only they could see.

With the Ascending Sun ushering in Daylight we are bound by the Eternal Truths of human nature not easily displaced or dispersed by culture, religion or tradition.  For the heart, emotions and feelings over rule dogma, doctrine, regulations and rules.  Skies willfully approached us beckoning forth our path.





In the Caves I saw She who was without nose with bubs for fingers shoveling earth with scooped perdition.  Her looked into my questioning eyes spoke forth, “The Krocodyll ate my fingers and cut off me nose.  As she snorted, sniffed and shot up another dose. 



Frozen Dead stare out blankly from the casements as thick fog obscures, increasing the rift between reality and fantasy.  Embryos seemed to sprout from thin spaces of adjoining floor planks. Babies manifested like flies on dead bodies. Despite dusty streets kicking up sand and sawdust, shaky hovels ready to collapse if the occupants sneezed too hard the Town was Vibrant and Overwhelming. Attacking all five senses encompassing the wearer in pure pleasure sensory of overload. Each individual sense fighting for its turn to experience Village Succulent delights. The inhabitants levitated elevated on unseen puppet strings guided herky jerky marionette Punch & Judy Dance moves.  The church that sprang up in the very spot where a journalist was blown to bits not many years ago. His blood and entrails mixed in with adobe mortar.



This small city was like a Grand Bordello in tastes, textures and sounds all reverberating off each other.  Walking the streets was discovering  a series of abandoned unlocked room that had been sealed for 200 years. Push aside the cobwebs and dust to find hidden personal and historic treasures. Interiors frozen in time still waiting for the original owners return.  Invisible inhabitants ~~ Ambassadors to times long past.

Merlin snapped his fingers, wiggled his nose, clicked his heels together and waved a magic wand transporting us to a city ideal in imagination.



Stepping from the heady aroma of fragrance filled perfumed streets visitors 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 a surrealist Orientalist fantasy. At the far end of the living room hung a painting of a Minotaur coupling with a Centauride.


He waited an lifetime for his passion which never came.  The poorly dressed country boy from the backwoods was now an elegantly attired Metro-sexual, fop, a dandy of no substance.  He knew the price of everything but the value of nothing.

As he walked out from the restaurant where we had all dined his body shivered and shook in the 90 degree heat.  Such quaking was a premonition of times to come.

Not my type. Not my type at all she thought at first glance. He was tall, thin with curly hair wearing a handlebar mustache and mutton chop sideburns that had gone out of style ages ago.  But he proved to be a sorcerer, wizard and warlock drawing her gently into his web.  He spoke images, pictures and portraits weaving together words that appeared onscreen before your eyes bringing you places you only envisioned in your dreams.  He said I was a Rosebud of Great Elegance and I bloomed before his eyes. 

He was tender. Oh so tender. Like slow cooked meat falling off the bone.  Breathe. Breathe. Breathe, said my mind.  Fall inside his soul said my Heart.  Fused into one.  From this Fusion came a girl child wild and free willed.  So much like her Father.




He had not a penny, peso nor centavo to his pocket and I am not one to live solely on air and dreams. His claim to fame was the largesse of his friends.  Such generosities soon ran out as his artistic abilities ceased to translate into food, clothing, baby food, diapers or rent.  Our lives resembled Cubist paintings populated by beings with both eyes on one side of their heads. 

I had to become a She-Wolf protecting my lone cub. Zasu!  Zasu My Love!  I could hear his cries as he ran alongside the train. But I neither looked or responded for to have met his gaze would have melted my resolve.

Even long after I left the bond was still there. So strong. Unbreakable. What is joined together in spirit cannot be thrust apart by circumstance or physical distance. Later his best books written in the depths of poverty were celebrated and honored long after his infirmities prevented him from accepting previously designated awards.  Undiscovered he had worn his books like a Dunce Cap.

Books once frustrated and flustered now burst forth bursting with confidence and pride.  Posh parties, syrupy words and embarrassing praises sprung up out of nowhere. Famine had turned Feast. Gentrification aliens spouted slick words of little understanding for experiences  only glimpsed from behind gilded windows, Red doors with brass knockers leading to golden paved streets.  Claiming a world known best to their maids, nannies, butlers, doormen and house servants.  Those who live in mansions and estates know nothing of tin roofed shacks and shanties bereft of indoor plumbing or expected amenities.  Then you know that it wasn’t rain that hit you but a flock of birds resting on the pole lines above your head.    .  


Figures on the Paddle-wheel encouraged us to sing and dance to pass the time.  Sparks of madness couple with insanity flew out from street cars and trams attempting to ignite my swollen spirit. Broken down Market Boats moored in temporary docks became Non-Stop parties until parts could be found to continue journey crossing.  Such a trip morphed from a Vacation into a Vocation.

One event can easily split history in two: Before and After.  Narrated stories like Jig Saw Puzzle pieces come together from different perspectives as though looking at the same event from various angles and distances.  Yours could be a date stuck in history like the Ides of March, Armistice Day, Dec 7th or 9/11.  The story and the people are One.  Always.  Revolutions, Revolutionaries eventually become the Establishment Status Quo.  There’s that flock of birds again. Blessing all those who sit below them.

Her was an unknowing prisoner in that house for a long time.  Her mind a thicket of brambles and nettles. Stinging with cunning hooks and sharps.

Her ~~ Returning to the home time and again.  It was a part of her distant past and daily present. The House was a gifted sanctuary to her brittle psyche. Within the burning hot coal city I was surrounded by icy cold rains, pounding sleet and frequent blizzards.