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)
“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
Donations to this Ministry for the Housing Fund can be made in U.S. Funds via money order or bank checks made payable to Rochdale Village Inc. 169-65 137th Avenue, Jamaica, NY 11434, Account No. 083-11G-16924 or directly to deborah.palmer280@gmail.com via Paypal. Thank you and God Bless.
Many female legs responding to my erotica stories on Leda Huguette. The leggs in the forefront wish to befriend me. Along with the set of legs on both sides of yellow sister are going to develop wings on their feet and shoulders whereby I can climb up and fly away. We would all lay and caress for hours until a moan escaped and we’d have an excuse to clothe ourselves once more.
Rainbow Leggs
However before such fleet footed appendages appear at their ankles and upon their shoulder blades I tell them there is more way more in underground New York City that they must see. After plying with some of the most perfect Raki ever drunk in Turkey or the rest of Eastern Europe it doesn’t take much convincing on my part that the Troll Market was a must see in terms of underworld tourist sites.
Lilith meet us in Ankara through the bustling city streets and into the building where she and Dagmar labored insensibly through the day. In Ankara officials were often willing to over look necessary paperwork and allowed other documents not as urgently need to be stamped and passed through the never ending red tape.
Dagmar and me around her rather crowded but well organized laboratory. The results of all her experiments were catalogued and contained within glass jars abodes. Encased in one small silicate abode was a petite ballerina, her silk tutu just a bit longer than normal but still short enough that one could see the hair extending over her tiny delicate hooves. She performed an elegant pirouette to Pachelbel’s “Canon in D Major”. Each hoof nail was painted a bright pastel pink further enhancing her feminine qualities which could have been overshadowed by her animal lower half.
The Proposal
Stepping from the filthy foul smelling streets we 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 raping a woman, this predilection of things to come.
Within this underworld in the Gumrok district known to westerners as the Expatriate district we met our sardonic intermediary in sex slave trade, the mirthless dwarf called,
Apep Angra Mainyu aka “The Snake”. Angra had the face of Peter Lorre and the heft and bulk of a miniaturized Sidney Greenstreet. Apep Angra was scurrilous and scrofulous. His rough skin was spotted with scabies and his body emitted a sepulchral odor.
Angra’s manciple Alva Ahriman was the bodily opposite of his master. Ahriman was six feet tall of bulging muscles, narrow waist and sculpted buttocks. His lack of moral fiber and somewhat limited intellectual faculties innate in most normal human personalities could be easily perceived in his cranial structure and his overall physiognomy. The shock of wild reddish brown hair closely cut on the sides of the head, the high sloping forehead, prominent brow ridges, receding nostrils and thin lips, these features put one in mind of a simian head attached to the body of Atlas. Alva’s nature embodied the seven deadly sins from head to foot.
Passing Through the RED
Despite stunted academic capabilities that could be called into question, Alva had been well trained by Angra and daily attempted to enhance what little he had been granted through unholy experimentation by careful observation of Angra’s hidden lifestyle and techniques. Alva’s bedchambers which were divided into three sections one being the actual room where he slept on an ornate Italian Renaissance canopy bed replete with seraphim, cherubim, and putti on the ceiling looking down seemingly blessing the lewd acts committed in that bed.
However outside of Angra, my wife and myself and the poor unfortunate girls who had the bad fortune to see this mockery of sex and religion, Alva barred even the household servants from entering that portion of his rooms. In fact he took responsibility for cleaning his quarters and putting outside the door soiled bed sheets and remnants of any meals partaken within. Upon entrance it at first resembled an Italian studiolo. Scholarly books that he never read, save those dealing with what he felt was the “new science of photography” lined the bookshelves along the walls. There was a collection of opera records beside the Victrola, which he played incessantly even during he was engaged in some vile sexual act with any of the young girls that came to the bawdy house. In fact during those escapades the music became louder more than likely to mask his grunts and groans plus those of his victims.
Angra seeing how fascinated Alva was with photography gifted him with camera and outfitted the third segment of Alva’s rooms with a photography studio and darkroom. Alva was creative in the sense that he stole items from the main bordello in order to outfit his photo studio into period pieces where he photographed the girls before he had sex with them. After developing the pictures he would catalogue each prize in a book complete with a name he gave her in addition to her measurements and any outstanding physical features. The girls were pretty much always naked save for sparse clothing items that Alva felt made superior her breasts, buttocks or genital area. Alva often requested and received more than one girl from the bordello and had them pleasure each other in the pictures while he shot them in various poses.
Fringes
Another one of Alva’s prized possessions in addition to his camera was his stereopticon or “magic lantern” in which his bevy of beauties were preserved for eternity on slides which at first Alva just arranged randomly but over time he began to place the slides in logical order to create pornographic narratives. The stereopticon was for his personal pleasure but even that proved not enough and eventually Alva convinced Angra to give him rudimentary film equipment that he rigged up next to his bed to document his demented exploits with the accursed young women.
Often while Alva was arranging the photos in his scrapbook or creating slides from them for the stereopticon he would play his favorite three operas from Richard Wagner; The Valkyrie,Tristan und Isolde and Parsifal. Later these same three operas would be piped into the castle during Alva’s unholy alliances with Leonara and later, much later the blessed houri Evie.
In time while exploring the lower portions of the house we found a sealed entry way through which we could hear the sounds of a type of market. We decided to get a guy name Psycho Kinesis to open that door, the door that would reveal an alternate universe we had been searching for so long.
Zombie Sushi
At first Big Red wants to try his door opening method which is smashing the door in by brute force. Red tries and it doesn’t work only leaving him with a very sore cut up fist. Next one in our group Captain Nebulizer where he just released the latest in technology. Smoke ascended out of his uniform but in a structured manner only waiting to here the orders emanating from his lips. The ether obeyed — a series of locks were undone and a large doorway swung open to a scene that I only remembered from the bar scene in Star Wars but much more grungy.
The Troll Market opens out from Ankara into it current location under the Brooklyn Bridge. It is revealed to be a veritable bacchanalia of mythological, fantasy, and supernatural creatures from all over the world, mainly attracting dragons. The Troll market is the living proof of extraterrestrial/human evolution. On the other end of it is a Dive bar where human evolution coupled with Abstract Expression gave birth to foreverlazy.com
In the back of the club Mr. Magoo lead the way being followed by the others.Patsy Cline, Barry White, Luther Vandross, Aailyah, Missy Elliot, The LeVerts, Mary J. Blige, Sammy Davis Jr. all got together to sing Beautiful Freaks — http://www.jango.com/stations/28
Confind Man
When the Valentines Day party got into the groove along came Iceberg Slim, RalphEllison,
But I’m a beautiful freak with a heart shaped butt that Eiko can’t stop caressing, touching and hugging. Eiko swears she going to immortalize by my ass in stone and call it the Great BaDonkadonk. My BaDonkadonk would be a national treasure wining awards and accolades worldwide from fitness gurus and the most prefect ass ever.
I entreat the nine muses to come to me once Hypnos and Morpheus have sprinkled their poppies, my eyes close and I imbibe the potion for nightscapes. Brothers Phantasus and Ikelos open the threshold for the Nine Muses to enter in. Each Muse wears a ring with her attribute inscribed therein by Nyx Goddess of the Night.
Calliope was the muse of epic poetry.
Clio was the muse of history.
Erato was the muse of love poetry.
Euterpe was the muse of music.
Melpomene was the muse of tragedy.
Polyhymnia was the muse of sacred poetry.
Terpsichore was the muse of dance.
Thalia was the muse of comedy.
Nyx leads her daughters into my psyche causing my pen to trip lightly across the page at dawn.
Dreams have been defined as successions of images, ideas, emotions, and sensations occurring involuntarily in the mind during certain stages of sleep. Dreams are populated by subconscious thoughts and wishes. Often my dreams are a hodgepodge of things that happened during the course of the day, past childhood and my secret desires. A good night’s sleep can help clear the stress and pressure of the day. For me I often discover the answer to complex problems via dreams or receive reassurance and comfort from my parents. Sleep can bring regeneration, healing and inspiration. Insomnia is the antithesis of a peaceful night. Insomnia is the antithesis of a peaceful night.
The dream space is physical as well as mental. It can be a war or collaboration between the conscious and the unconscious mind. As a child I would sit in class in daydream of where I wanted to be other than in the boring classroom. As an adult my daydreams consist of where I want to go in life and formulating ways to get there. I would call where the mind goes in the waking hours Vision and while asleep Dreams. My Vision is the business, idea and service I’m giving birth to. Dreams are just flights of fancy my mind takes to escape unattractive realities. Vision is the mental outline, framework and building blocks of my pathway towards lifelong goals.
Can those dreams, thoughts and ideas exist after death? Specifically do the dreams of the dead influence the living. Can messages be given across time, space and eternity via one’s dreams? If on my deathbed I had a dream in my heart and a vision in my soul and I kissed that person on the mouth would my soul transfer into that person’s soul?
Are parents or grandparents able to transmit their dreams, thoughts and ideas after death via DNA. Also can children inherit or remember the memories of their parents and grandparents? Is it possible for any person to recall the memories or their ancestors? Supposition: Aunts & Uncles would be let out of the picture because they are offshoots, not a direct lineage. Or like in Kindred the possibility of being pulled back in time to assist that ancestor with some pressing problem becomes alarmingly real.
At night does my spirit travel the astral plane searching for answers, solutions, explanations’ for my physical plane? And what would happen if the silver umbilical attaching me to my body were cut? How would I reconnect to myself? Whether in the body or out of the body I know not, yet still receiving the revelation of God. My quarks and leptons become baryons synthesize into hyper-force exploding into the universe. Fermions and bosons are no longer constrained by the complexities of theories but burst into being. Spun higher and higher faster and faster developing from antimatter into mater. I become the superconductive dreamscape able to transcend all and become all.
In my mind during times of slumber my astral body goes to meet the beloved and is comforted in his arms. Is the dream only a desired illusion? Yet it feels so real, so for now I luxuriate in his touch and together we enter the dream space capsule.
It is an interesting hypothesis that memories could be extracted from another person’s mind, but dreams are not linear because the mind is a labyrinth. The laws of physics do not apply within a dream. Because there are many little rooms residing within each individuals psyche, dreams can be manipulated via brain injury or the use of sedative-hypnotics like Ambien. Portals in the mind normal closed are open causing the user to sleepwalk and sleeptalk. Hallucinations are an alter state of being that I never want to experience. It is interesting to note that Ambien is used as a treatment for persons in a catatonic state. Think “Awakenings” with actor Robin Williams only back in the 1920s the drug of use was dopamine. Many cultures have a history of taking mind altering drugs to stimulate and/or induce visions but if you can’t control the vision you might be getting more than you bargained for. Personally I want to be in control of all my visions.
If I was able to jump inside your subconscious in what landscape would I find myself? Could I understand the scenery generated by your mind or would I just be a stranger in a bizarre and frightening environment trying to escape? However my vision can resonate with your vision thereby creating a shared vision that empowers us both.
Koyaanisqatsi – Life out of Balance, Crazy Life, Life disintegrating.
Ah yes deliberate dissonance, discordant tones and harmonies that somehow weave themselves together to create a beautiful sensory tapestry.
I’ve seen this done in dance with Twyla Tharpe and in a recent performance by the Shen Wei Dance Artists at the Met and also in music with composer Philip Glass who can be a bit extreme.� I think that is also what appeals to me in photo collage, taking things that seem to have no relationship and making one or items that have a logical relationship and changing the way the viewer sees them.
Dissonance strikes its own particular cadence making sense only to the viewers who are tuned it. In fact it strikes out at the viewer engaging him in a seemingly one side fight. I bring together those elements innocuous in and of themselves but joined together create a whole art form. Dissonance is taking the everyday mundane fashion an entire new creation.
It all flows together. It rattles. It shakes. It demands to be heard.
Hit the note on key, then threaded, spread it, flip it and bounce it off the wall a few times. They bob, weave and pirouette.
All together in one tiny room they create a cacophony of what appears to the layman’s ear noise but is actually a symphony of everyday items and the sounds they emit.
Life is woozy with interconnectedness. Word Dance and images assault the five senses fighting for dominion.
It is a cacophony reaching the very core of the brain’s cerebral cortex arriving at a level of distortion where all becomes clear and melts into one. It is the kinetic frenzy of acoustic violinist Lorenzo LaRoc.
How can one in a place of seeming quiet reflection experience the luxurious of a racing mind with images and sound vie for dominance with our core senses? How can we filter the stream and use it to our advantage?
Let the mind wander through the galleries independent from the body and see what happens.
Normal is the mutually created state between self and Goddess whereby you repeatedly step out of one state of being into a personal universe of goals, dreams and fantasies without having a complete psychotic break with the reality at hand. Living inside ones head with the ability to return to the Three dimensional worlds for discourse with earthly flesh and blood. Some forays take you over to the dark side but one must always have a plan or a way of escape or you will be consigned to dwell in the nether regions ruled by the Tormentor and populated murderers, sadistic rapists, and demented of the worst sort. I’m fortunate in that my ancestral angels have not only pulled me back but accompanied me, overshadowing my being with a golden celestial aura.
Anytime I’m dissatisfied with the present reality I retreat to my “Happy Place” π a parallel universe populated by created forces over which I have total control or at least most of the time. Occasionally the inhabitants may get out of hand but my fellows are allowed to stray from their appointed pathway only in the greater scheme of further ends I’ve already predestined for them. π Sometimes the Angels assigned to guide have me morph into alternate beings, with the ability to inhabit the glories of past and future worlds both terrestrial and celestial.
Each chamber of my mind has a doorway that opens to Flights of Fantasy Realms with many alter-egos and avatars each vying to pilot the “Dream Ship Taijhena “!
These dreams and fantasies become my true normal. Normal is the Pharaohs of ancient Egypt coupling with Flappers of 1920s America producing a race of superhuman beings and biomorphic forms who populate the fourth dimension world of Modern Art. The dissolute household, Isis, Ishtar, Nzingha, Makeda, Storm, the Borg Queen Lilith, Juan de Pareja, phantasms from the paintings of Tanguy and Carrington, the Wizard of OZ, Star Wars, all meet in a Great Celebration!
Visiones de Juan de Pareja
Juan de Pareja plays ethereal music upon a 17th Century Italian Harpsichord accompanied by musical voices that have taken the form of African drums, old Negro Spirituals, Baptist Hymns, Native American, Gregorian and Buddhist chants.
Juan’s soul once held captive within the painting is now free and he romances a young African American Woman transporting her through the portals of time into his world, making all her dreams of romance and adventure come true. The Lover has come to claim his Beloved undaunted and undeterred by the passage of time across centuries and continents. Taijhena became his model, his muse, his lover. Her reward; his full Moorish lips joined to hers. Her slender fingers reweaving the tangle of his thick, knappy, kinky curly hair.
The Kaleidoscope Turns
Dwellers from the off center worlds of Yves Tanguy and Lenora Carrington dance a ghostly minuet strangely in time with the aforementioned harmonies. Umberto Boccioni mechanical cubist forms shape shift as each civilization raises its songs of praise to their nation’s way of life. Rumi and Hafiz recite poetry in Old Persian. Surreal images of Magritte and villagers from Chagall mix and mingle in a charged atmosphere.
From shattered bits and broken pieces I recreate Eden. A forest populate with animals, plants, perpetual sunshine; all manner of jewels and precious stones. In the middle a clearing there is a slow moving stream, its banks alternately sandy with smooth rocks dotting the coastline. Looking across I see Beloved transitioned family, friends, even pets from long ago childhood. My suffering now over, Our reunion begins.
All happily exchange and converse within the Stream, that unconscious subtle system of verbal and non-verbal communication. Empaths guided by cues, pheromones, and inner thoughts, dreams and visions.
Always remember, “A Unicorn seldom this way comes to a locked Garden.”
Yes! Normal is the reality I create for myself!
Excuse me but my Creator Mistress signals me to re-enter the story from which I was summoned. π
Contrary to popular belief sensory deprivation rather than sensory overload may be the root cause of alienation. Not enough intellectual stimulation to the cerebellum causes the thought processes to wither and die much like a paralytic who no longer has use of his limbs. On the surface chaos is the semblance of order. Chaos is the first order of discipline.
Life as a collection of items, things, pieces of a whole, separate they are in conflict together they
Hallucinate baby Hallucinate because the world you once thought was real has been challenged by the authentic. I am one with the mad woman who lives inside me.
{Experiments’ in Dissonance}
Suddenly We have a new murder here and it’s wasting along the page.
The make dissonant movements damning the reader or the writer to make any sense of the dialogue. As in Jazz the worlds bob and weave along the page, not necessarily making any sense. Suddenly I’m fight with a perfectly black keyboard. tHIS IS A VIOLENT NEIGHBORHOOD. jUST GOT HIT oVER THE hEA[D WITH a cLEF NOTE.
Pitted where it should have been potted. keys at irregular lines and angles.The keys are diving in hollowing out, making messages peck as peck can. Someone follow J and tell me where he goes. You know that J cannot b trusted. And K, well K is all over the streets timing every Hookah House we know and some we don’t know.
Trouble nothing but trouble just like Q. Not enough known about Q. He’s the fakir in the group.
Hell’s Bells Messers ipad, ipod and laptop we still have to take the all in the questioning.
Found M laying out on the courtyard floor. Was it booze or nose candy? S came by in a sexy outfit hoping to distract the other two B & Y can talk business in the rather mode cyberspace combination of bar mixed drinks complete with Merry Go Round. Suddenly B, Y found R who in the interim met up with P. P left the car idling waiting for us to get in, while we all pondered could we even fit in that rebuilt British MG Midgit.
Y&R&P settled the debate by plying into an old VW bug. We’re leaving here whether you want us to or not and we’re taking the stash with us. B highly upset by this change of plans refused to fix the aerobiplane or the ramshackle ships our only two hope of getting off the island.
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.
Espiritu en Fuego/A Fiery Spirit 