There are No Scars without first Wounds


 

 

There are No Scars without first Wounds

quote-it-s-easy-for-someone-to-joke-about-scars-if-they-ve-never-been-cut-william-shakespeare-146-47-60

 

Got a good report from the ENT (Ear Doctor) today. Apparently the clicking and popping noises in my right ear are due to an Eustachian tube that does not open all the way.  A simple prescription with Flonase will hopefully alleviate the problem. Actually the noises are more annoying than anything else. The ear is not painful.

Eternal Internal Chaos

Being Cut. Wounds produce scars. Sometimes Life rips the scabs off the scars before the wound has healed. Infection. Pus. Filthy. Gangrenous. Foul Smelling. The Book of Job Revisited.  An open pestilence of the soul forms. While others judge never fully knowing internal battles.  Turn and face your demons but remember they are armed also.  She who fights and runs away may live to fight another day.  The devil and his/her demons come in many forms awaiting your vulnerabilities. Your weaknesses so they can rip our your heart. Eviscerate your innards.

Rejoicing. Laughing. Watching your guts litter the battlefield which has become your graveyard. So you run. You hide and wait for Resurrection and Rebirth. You Lurk among squalid corners. Slink close to the walls like rats who relish the dark afraid to come out in the open but secretly ready. Planning your Vengeance.  This time there will be No Negotiation.  Oh Attacker! You programmed me well. I now know and embody all your devious devil devices. Your imprint is on my mind. Now I use your weapons against you!!  Beware O’ Wicked One! The Victim has now become the Victor!!

Slammed down into the red brick earth. Enemy not knowing that you can sustenance and strength each time you hit the ground. Earth Mother receives your bloody wounded corpse. Sends animation Life Force through your firmly planted feet. There. A Baobab Tree. A Mighty Oak. A Banyan Tree. Close ranks around you. Gaia protects her children. Filling a Fallen Sister with Kinetic Force. Ready to do Battle. The Enemy lies defeated before he has yet begun. Yes. Even the Forest Must have it’s Revenge. 

So now I’m back to my Royally, Bitchy, Crazy, Raunchy self. Mean and Gritty. Getting down in the City.

Earned my Advanced degrees in Chill Out and Chillaxin’ ~~ Not caring what people say or their reactions.  If you don’t want to go along for the ride. Don’t get in the car.

Bitch Mode is now in effect………..  Back to Our irregularly scheduled programming!!

Soldier Survivor!! Woman Warrior!!  Resistance Fighter!!

Using Her Blasts of Power Surges aka Hot Flashes as Weapons of Warfare!!  Mass Destruction to idiots, fools, morons and all those who get in my way….. Talk to the Hand, cause the Face ain’t Listening!

 

Halloween 2015
Halloween 2015

 

Sade – Soldier of Love

 

 

 

 

Romantic Lies and Deceptions


 

We are in Love with the idea of Love but Reality is oh so different. Romance is a broken down heap in an unused garage with a drunken clipped wing Cupid splayed out beside it swilling in his own vomit.  The illusions of Cupid were shot down by his own arrows.  Arrows tipped with poison that turn healthy beating hearts into gangrenous rotting putrid shells. Love is anxiety, disappointment, hurt, pain and stress coupled with fear.  Vitreous Spears of viperous snakes slithering from brain to core corrupting of part of human life.

Last night I spied Venus and Mars exiting the House of the Rising Sun on their way to the local dive bar. Yup Love and War. Two sides of the same coin.

Cupid and his mother Venus are thinking of getting their own Reality show called Life’s Broken Dreams. Broken Dreams lead to Broken Hearts. Walk in the Light of Truth and kick both Cupid and Venus to the curb!  The Steel Iron Armor has sealed my Amore and the key has been thrown in the River Styx.

Cupid shot by his own Arrow.
Cupid shot by his own Arrow.
Rape of Tamar

Memoirs of a Cubist Odalisque


Memoirs of a Cubist Odalisque

Sophie’s Story

Odalisque in Grisaille Jean Auguste Dominique Ingres  (French, Montauban 1780–1867 Paris) and Workshop
Odalisque in Grisaille
Jean Auguste Dominique Ingres
(French, Montauban 1780–1867 Paris) and Workshop

Gumby Lovers

 

“I Know that I’m not much to look at but I used to be the Crown Prince of Manhood, the Courtier of Cum among Royal Lovers.”

This laughable boast came on an exultation of foul and fetid breath akin to human waste lying in the bottom of a sewer emitting from this wizened and emaciated corpse like figure with a red bulging knobby doorknob on the end of a shriveled pecker. How it managed to stand at attention was a miracle from the saints or gods of nonstop porn.  His face was a veritable road-map of lines, wrinkles, valleys, pitted scars with a bird beak blue veined appendage masquerading as a nose jutting forth from sunken cheeks.  Above the beak nose were two rheumy eyes topped by beetle brows which looked more like two warring caterpillars wrangling for domination of an egg shaped skull sprouting tufts of errant hairs growing from the beak nose, elongated ears and the various moles on his scrofulous person.

Then it began. I closed my eyes and did my best to disengage all my senses as this old bag of bones began his pitiful assault upon my body.  I tried to drown out the sound of the Click-Clacking of false teeth in rhythm with hurried asthmatic prods that gradually became more pathetic and feebler though he put his hairy back best with his pecker pushing.  Thankfully he was done in under four minutes.  The way he panted and gasped for air I thought he was having a heart attack and about to cum and go at the same time!

Four minutes of torture and hell. Because I have Scoliosis I had to deal with the runts of the litter. Yup I get all the Gumbys and Pokeys.  Though we are fed, housed, clothed and housed like Renaissance Odalisques there is still a pecking order of beauty.  My face, my sun-kissed umber skin, my small perfectly round breasts and long curly wavy chestnut locks got me a reprieve from just being another filthy dirty street urchin but this curvature of the spine has relegated me to servicing the worst of the many Geezer patrons who pass through these palatial doors.  The soldiers, sailors, traveling merchants or other Spew head Jimmy’s as many of the Ladies were want to call them rarely came my way unless they too suffered from a disfigurement of the mind and/or body which they saw reflected in me.

Stepping from the filthy foul smelling streets men 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 coupling with a Centauride.

I saved my favorite costume for my only true Lover, Semper Fi.  It was a beautiful blood red silk satin with lace trimming with velvet calf length skirts. However as joyful as I was when I donned the frock what pleased me even more were the Bordello Shoes—Red Velveteen Victorian button-up Boots with a two inch heel. My long thick Chestnut hair was caught up in a chignon ala Gibson Girl but I captured the Bohemian spirit of the Flapper.

Few and far in between are opportunities to be with my Beloved Semper Fi a robust man in his late 40s. Mattered not to him my twisted spine as he guided me gently onto his massive bull staff. Skillfully bringing me to numerous orgasms complimenting me on my long curly chestnut hair, my perfect A Cup breasts gifted with large sensitive raisins that grew even larger as he sucked and licked me into ecstasy. What gave me even more pleasure than his substantial endowment was that he chose me. Semper would call at least two or three days in advance specifically requesting my services.  I felt honored to be chosen by this man among men……………………………………………………………………..

 

 

Rape of Tamar
The Rape of Tamar

 

 

Sophie’s Origins

My Name is Zipporah Sophia.  I am from the once favored issue and Kingdom of Jephthah whose bad choices and decisions cursed my clan

 

I came to this Bordello from a rural backwater village that held onto the 19th Century in custom, culture and values long after its demise, after a disastrous arranged marriage. From my birth I was considered “Damaged goods”. Upon seeing me after I was born my father was ready to throw me to hyenas and rabid dogs that fed on discarded garbage in the town dump.  My mother, grandmother and aunts stayed his hand. So ashamed of me was him I called father that he kept me within the compound as much as possible and I was only allowed outside on infrequent shopping excursions with my female relatives for food, house supplies and to buy enough fabric to make clothing which would covered the misshaped hump that dominated my form.  Around the ages of 14 and 15 when most young women were making suitable marriages I had no suitors. Every young man in the village knew of my deformity though I rarely made an appearance in town.  Bad news travels fast.  My family was fairly well off and we lived quite comfortably so I had a somewhat considerably dowry, yet I still had no takers.  No man wanted to love me.  Eventually as I approached my 18th birthday having resigned myself to being an Old Maid my father finally found a match in a far flung outpost where no man knew my embarrassing truth.  Negotiations began. A Wedding date was set and I was delivered to my betrothed.  The Festivities nearly two days and my future husband was eager to retire to our luxurious tent to consummate our union.

But there was no consummation because once my betrothed removed my clothes, he screamed in disgust that he had been saddled with a hunchback for a wife.  He refused to do his husbandly duties and angrily return me to my father’s tent.  My father ashamed and now disgraced in not one but two villages sent me packing out from our tribal home into what I perceived as an unknown and dangerous wasteland.  So great was his fury and so hurried his dismissal that I hurriedly left with only the clothes on my twisted back and what few personal possessions I could carry, rushing to escape his stormy anger.

Good Fortune did smile on me as I traversed pock marked, poorly lit, rubble strewn road leading away from the only home I had ever known.  Angels in the form of my mother, aunts and sisters had extinguished my father’s fiery rage through liberal applications of wine spiked with sleeping potions. They then saddled horses from his stables and intercepted my wilderness journey.  We hugged, cried, and mourned the passing of me, Jephthah’s daughter cast out like Hagar from those she loved traveling who knows where.

They had also bargained with the disgruntled groom and his family to win back half my dowry which gifted me along with one strong but sway back donkey, an animal who mirrored my disability and fortitude.  I a prodigal daughter who had committed no sin in my youth and innocence only to be rescued by the House of Sin…………………………………

 

Semper Fidelis

Semper Fi never removed his spectacles even in the heat of desire. His pince-nez caught, captured and dispensed salty yearning drops of sweat upon whichever passion princess he had chosen for his evenings of lust.

His bull powered thrusts accompanied by violent shakes and heaves of the Brass headboard threatened to crash through the plaster thin wall and into the adjoining room. Fellow patrons and madams nicknamed him the Bull in the China Shop for his furious jackhammer prick pounding he gave to Ladies of the Evening with his equine sized crimson member.  His broad face with flaring nostrils and rather full lips rendered him some animistic qualities which he gladly played out in the boudoir.

His sonorous speeches gave way to primal grunts, groans, and growls that increased with intensity of each hammer G-Spot driven plunge. At the crescendo when he could no longer hold back the volcanic force surging inside he withdrew to spew his semen eruption over his mistress rounded abdomen, full firm breasts and thick thighs.

During the week he was a respectable Antique Bookshop Owner dealing with annoying customers and fickle publishers and shady book collectors. By the weekend it’s like all that ferocity wrapped up inside he was ready to be released in the Ultimate Weekend Fuck Fest. Sometimes he was able to release building tension with whichever out of town female research bookseller/collector was in town for a convention or a project.  He was usually able to win them over with his humor, charm and dinners at the finest restaurants in town.  Fortunately for Semper Fi his begetter though rich in seminal fluids was totally devoid of sperm otherwise he would have sired legions offspring with the many young fertile women he serviced on a regular basis. On first glance his dangling appendage had ample girth but seemed to lack length but that assumption was quickly falsified during arousal.

Such was his reputation that every Friday when he made his grand entrance into the Pussy Palace Bordello all the Ladies in Waiting vied for his attention by wearing their most entrancing scintillating garb so that they would be the chosen mare to be rode hard and put out wet.

Semper Fi with his musician fingers explored every nook, cranny, crevice and grotto of the selected woman’s body blessing her with multiple orgasms before entering her moist dark chambers with his elephantine rod of steel.

The aromatic oils that he liberally anointed his body daily provided powerful pheromones when mixed with his natural man musk scent.  Sometimes his spurting semen cascaded over the woman like golden glistening raindrops against a window pane.  Other times he ejaculated copious white cream which sprayed over flaming hips and thighs like a profuse foggy mist mixing with her fragrant perspiration musky internal womb perfumes.

His favorite of the entire harem was Zipporah or Sophie as she was generally called whose twisted back gave him a thousand pleasures in mind and body while away from her or when tracing his fingers along the S-shaped curve that she desperately tried to hide with elaborate costumes……………………

(To Be Continued)

 

 

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!!

Brooklyn Redux Remix


Brooklyn Go Hard Morning ~ Raunchy, gritty, grungy, hardcore, dirty, filthy, artsy-craftsy, petal soft primal woodsy, wild. Designer baby strollers, Citi-Bike riders, health food buyers, vegan organic garden juxtaposed within a few blocks of BodegaLand wilted fruit, shrunken veggies, seven churches on one block, artery clogging foods, liquor stores, Loosies, shopping cart pushing poverty stricken poor beings hustling up another meal from the local food pantries.  The B25 Bus will take you to all worlds in one short ride.

homeless_women_with_cat

Bumble Bee Buzz Razor sharp concepts ideas, plans, exciting, off the chain, rose scented thorns up your crazy cool a$$ fantasy, all the way live, drama, Elegance, earthy, witty, Wow! The Borough of Kings filled with Queens. City of Dreams. Poems and Schemes. Living the Grind to expand my mind. Peace out!!!!!!!!!

homeless-with-dog-2

 

Brooklyn Evening Downstream Rush

Brooklyn ~ Land of Drama and Dreamers, Hipsters, Hucksters and Healers, Shirkers and Workers……

 

Amidst the filth, dirt and refuse he sits. Sleeping dog by his side.  I stopped. I had to stop for my Guardian Angel bid me pause.

As I got closer I realized underneath the grit and grime of Broadway Junction, the light deprived space next to a ramshackle breakfast, bagel, Danish, egg sandwich cart was a white man possibly in his 30s or early 40s.  Unwashed tousled hair steady gaze. Hoping. Wishing. Praying that passersby will stop, recognize him a human in distress only needing a few dollars which more than likely will be used to buy dog food for faithful canine companion and maybe whatever the food cart was not able to sell during the day.

In him I see me. I was almost there. Paid my rent. Nothing left to buy food for either myself or my two feline friends. I prayed and my Guardian Angel caused the local junkies to drop $9.00 on my doorstep.  Nine whole dollars which went to Fancy Feast for my beloved cats who love me down and out, rich or poor, in sickness and in health.

Homeless with Catster

Was this man who sits peacefully and patiently once a King, an Emperor, and a contender for something greater than a Brooklyn street? Today he is a homeless man his only companion his faithful dog who arose in friendly anticipation of monetary dispensation.  Only $2.00. That’s all I could give him today. Wish I could have given more. He generously thanked me. I saw his heart through his eyes.

Homeless with Doggie

Maybe once he was a Warrior, now beset by the slings and arrows of outrageous misfortune.  Did Desert Storm take the wind out of his sails? Who or what abandoned him to this desolation of watching teeming hordes of semi-purposeful beings trod the garbage strewn path to catch departing buses and subway trains to who knows where? In another life was his ever present Prince Valiant Pup a trusty steed in King Arthur’s court?  Did he reign over the Knights of the Round-table? How came he to this ignoble end, yet still maintain a semblance of dignity?