Fort Tipii


Fort Tipii

Tepee-Hut
Tepee-Hut

I couldn’t build a proper tree house.  Too high up and anyway I’m afraid of heights, so instead I built this little fort of sorts as a place to gather my thoughts after a hectic day.  Made my best efforts with whatever materials the forest floor offered up as building materials.  There were enough twigs and branches to construct more ground level tree houses or make my current enclosure larger but I chose to save some for kindling for warmth against the chill night air and the rest I kept stacked as a type of cord-wood in a womb like nook Mother Nature had carved into a tree that had been struck by lightening. Eventually I decided to construct another Tipii twig abode to store my few belongings I had gradually began to sneak away from The Family Residence.

These Tree/Tepee/Tipii/Twig aka T3 structures became my holy sanctuaries and safe havens I return to again and again to re-connect with Mother Earth and nature. Too small to stand upright clicking my heels together three times was not an option so I was forced to remain seated. With some degree of discomfort I could lay down in a fetal position while I imagined myself re-entering an alternate womb to be reborn into better circumstances. Mine were a tepee shelters without the buffalo skin covering all exposed bones and framework.

Tipii Stick Hut
Tipii-Hut

Sometimes I’d hug my knees and rhythmically rock back and forth while repeating what I thought were calming mantras, occasionally wishing that the earth would open up and swallow me whole transporting me some place free from pain, misery and cruelty. Like a shaman I chanted using my homemade rituals attempting to silence the drumbeat of voices incessantly chattering inside my head versus the declarations of the Family.  They created a dissonance tear in the time frame continuum of my thoughts.

You see our house, The Family Home if you could call it that is a ramshackle structure; a hodgepodge mixture of stone, wood and stucco additions and afterthoughts as different parts of the building were constructed at different times upon the whims the directors and caretakers.

I was forced to share this mishmash cottage with twelve other inmates, bordered on this expanse of woods providing me a refuge from leaky roofs, busted walls, peeling wallpaper, lukewarm baths, moldy musty scented showers, not to mention all the yelling, screaming, arguments, fights, thefts of food and personal belongings and constant disagreements of a house too small to accommodate the number of people residing within its creaky ramparts.  The Family nicknamed it the Hotel California. You know the place where you check in but never check out. The nails across chalkboard voices of The Family were constant knife thrusts to my brain making daily life a constant battle that did not end even has the diurnal gave up residence to the nocturnal for they all snored, wheezed and gasped through the night abyss.  The utter desolation of the place crept into your bones and took root nourished by hopelessness.

The Family’s house sits on an oddly place piece of land, our house gives way to forest which in turn after several miles gives way to craggy, rocky shores of a steep cliff, where if one sits perfectly still you can hear the violent waves crashing against rough jagged rock formations that looked as though they were designed by the devil himself. It is said that in olden times there used to be many shipwrecks where sailors were either impaled on the razor sharp Stalagmites. Sometimes you can even hear the shrieks, moans, cries and groans of the unfortunate wretches mixed in with the howling winds. The few who weren’t dashed to pieces by the razor sharp jagged rock formations tried to climb up to safety but were thwarted by the steep incline.

Forest Hiding Place
Forest Hiding Place

So I periodically retreated to my exoskeleton asylums as a sentry medium between earth and sky. I can never turn my mind off completely but within my secret hiding place the voices were kept to a low roar and bid to change direction and pace.

The last straw that broke the camels back came when my moronic addled brained cell-mate Pearl kept throwing her nasty, dirty towels, underwear and flip-flops over to my side of the room. When I returned from the canteen or our common dining area there were moldy wet towels plastered to the floor like throw rugs that accosted the dividing line between our two living areas.  Pearl was known as the filthiest female in our wing tossing food and drink to and fro fully expecting that a squad of personal maids and sweepers were following in her wake. One night after I returned from my many woodland sojourns I decided that I had, had enough and soaked all her grimy towels in gasoline and lighter fluid obtained from an unlocked supply closet near the motor pool.  Pearl had a tendency to drink like sailor on shore leave and sleep just as soundly so she never had an inkling as I piled the towels around her bed, built a kindling fort for good measure and added effect, led a fuse from a doorway to an open window, climbed out and lit said fuse.

The Kindling delivered me from The Family’s vocalizations. I tried to warn them before. I tried to silence the voices through escape, but it was not working so I had to try another plan. The crackles and pops of my campfire seem to be in sync with the screams and cries for rescue from the patients locked inside their rooms but eventually those voices will die out also, and then sleep.  Blessed sleep.

Love,

Cassandra Verity

My Secret Hiding Place


My Secret Hiding Place

The Hiding Place
The Hiding Place

I couldn’t build a tree house.  Too high up and anyway I’m afraid of heights, so instead I built this little fort of sorts as a place to gather my thoughts after a hectic day.  Made my best efforts with whatever materials the forest floor offered up as building materials.  There were enough twigs and branches to construct more ground level tree houses or make my current enclosure larger but I chose to save some for kindling for warmth against the chill night air and the rest I kept stacked as a type of cord-wood not too far away.

It has become my sanctuary and safe haven I return to again and again to re-connect with Mother Earth and nature. Too small to stand upright clicking my heels together three times was not an option so I was forced to remain seated. With some degree of discomfort I could lay down in a fetal position while I imagined myself re-entering an alternate womb to be reborn into better circumstances. Mine was a tepee without the buffalo skin covering all bones and framework.

Sometimes I’d hug my knees and rhythmically rock back and forth while repeating what I thought were calming mantras, occasionally wishing that the earth would open up and swallow me whole transporting me some place free from pain, misery and cruelty. Like a shaman I chanted using my homemade rituals attempting to silence the drumbeat of squatter voices incessantly chattering inside my head versus the declarations of the Family.  They created a dissonance within the time frame continuum of my thoughts.

You see our house, if you could call that ramshackle structure; a hodgepodge mixture of stone, wood and stucco addendum and afterthoughts as different parts of the building were constructed at different times upon the whims the directors and caretakers.

I was forced to share this mishmash cottage with twelve other inmates, bordered on this expanse of woods providing me a refuge from leaky roofs, busted walls, peeling wallpaper, lukewarm baths, moldy musty scented showers, not to mention all the yelling, screaming, arguments, fights and constant disagreements of a house too small to accommodate the number of people residing within its creaky ramparts.  The Family nicknamed it the Hotel California. You know the place where you check in but never check out. The nails across chalkboard voices of The Family were constant knife thrusts to my brain making daily life a constant battle that did not end even has the diurnal gave up residence to the nocturnal for they all snored, wheezed and gasped through the night abyss. The Family’s house sits on an oddly place piece of land, our house gives way to forest which in turn after several miles gives way to craggy, rocky shores of a steep cliff, where if one sits perfectly still you can hear the violent waves crashing against rough jagged rock formations that looked as though they were designed by the devil himself. It is said that in olden times there used to be many shipwrecks where sailors were either impaled on the razor sharp Stalagmites. Sometimes you can even hear the shrieks, moans, cries and groans of the unfortunate wretches mixed in with the howling winds.

So I periodically retreated to my exoskeleton asylum as a sentry medium between earth and sky. I can never turn my mind off completely but within my secret hiding place the voices were kept to a low roar and bid to change direction and pace.

The Kindling delivered me from The Family’s vocalizations. I tried to warn them before. I tried to silence the voices through escape, but it was not working so I had to try another plan. The crackles and pops of my campfire seem to be in sync with the screams and cries for rescue from the patients locked inside their rooms but eventually those voices will die out also, and then sleep.  Blessed sleep.  As I drifted off I thought I heard sounds creeping up on me.  Maybe it could be…. Naw.  How would those deviant mutations get all the way out here.

While pyrotechnics roared and exploded beyond the glen my dream state thoughts went to Calista and Cassandra those Kudzu Chia matronly tumbleweeds who wreck havoc and chaos wherever they spore and spawn and their equally troublesome and problematic one-legged Siamese twin cousins Morton and Milton.

Love,

Cassandra

Being In Total Control of Herself {B.I.T.C.H.}


Bad Ass Bitch Does Overtime ~ B.I.T.C.H. ~ Being in Total Control of Herself

Well those lazy hazy days of Summer have nearly come to an end and full swing overtime is in the house. It’s full speed ahead at the Gotham Art Gallery. Crazy hour’s Double shifts are back. Made it home before 2am despite the fact that the L Train tried to thwart my efforts. Made everyone get off to catch a Shuttle bus to the rest of the L Train line. Oh Joy the normal workings “Chaos of the MTA workings” driving Brooklynites crazy!!

Honey the cheese done slid off your cracker!

 

Asshole Repellent
Asshole Repellent

Kraftwerk – Trans Europe express

http://youtu.be/qBGNlTPgQII

Of course this being Brooklyn the wackos, drunks, hoes, druggies and mental cases were out in force. Brooklyn a borough inhabited by residents escaped from Flip Mode Squad and Insane Clown Posse.

I really thought two big psycho heifers were gonna throw down on the platform or in the Shuttle bus. I swear they take courses in Creative Cursing 101 because they called the MTA and their fellow riders, everything but a child of God. The kids riding the bus with their parents will have an entire new vocabulary in time for the start of school Sept. 9th.

Fully expected Old Skool dwarf rapper Bushwick Bill to make an appearance along with a strange new group called the Flatbush Zombies. I kid you not! Brooklyn, never a dull moment day or night!

MC Dee Righteous bids you a fond Good Night!

Baby Boy

Baby Boy Got $200 sneakers as a reward for cussing the teachers and failing in school. Teacher or principals fault. Grades all F but it ain’t me you fucked up can’t you see! School’s for Fools. Some place I don’t want to be.

Baby Boy he never wrong. They got it all mixed up seeing me strong. Y’all know I’m the King of my crew. God’s Gift to everything.

But in the back of your head all you can see is yo’ no count Daddy, welfare system and crackhead Momma staring back in the mirror saying you gonna be like me.

Hanging out in the upper class nabe with my hoodrat crew. See a few things I wanna take. Wait a minute! What’s that I hear! A siren in back of me. Starting to fear. Next thing I’m on Lock down in Juvie Hall. Where my crew at now when as I’m taking this fall.

 

Baby boy lying in a ditch. Off to Rikers to be somebody’s Bitch.

Baby Boy. You Done. You Done.

 

 

Germ Warfare


Germ Warfare

After a fruitful and pleasant visit to City MD Urgent Care at 336 East 86th Street I was diagnosed with yet another sinus infection. I seem to get them every 3 to 4 months. Why I don’t know?! CityMD Urgent Care are very efficient using Google Maps to locate the Walgreens in my neighborhood Fulton & Nostrand send them the prescriptions so all I had to do was pick it up.

Carnival Cruise 2004
2004 Carnival Cruise

Now I’m back to being a pill factory. A veritable cornucopia of pills, ear drops, nasal spray, and my buddy Azithromycin. Damn! There’s no escaping old age, body decline & being tired, exhausted and drained, no matter how much healthy organic foods I eat; water, juice, and Kefir I drink, yogurt I consume or daily exercise. Guess I’m just a magnet for germs.

Ah the joys of living with Acute Sinusitis! Since last Thursday I have drunk more tea with honey and lemon and eaten so much garlic that even though it did not kill the germs I was not visited by any Vampires. By Labor Day I was so wiped out by hacking and coughing the previous night I had morphed into a raccoon. I do believe I left behind a lung, kidney and parts of my diaphragm at my workplace.  I looked like I had gone a few rounds with boxer Muhammad Ali in his prime or spent three weeks without sleep since I had two black eyes. I could barely speak and became a raspy voice Joe Cocker harlequin at the Annual Palace Ball!

Being a soldier I fought these invaders to my system with humongous amounts of liquids, eventually consuming cloves of garlic in a nearly raw state so much so that I could have repelled an Army of the Undead. By Monday Labor Day I was pushed into the role of Zombie Guard at my workplace. Tuesday I stayed home to recover and felt well enough Wednesday to attend an outing in Central Park with friends.

For several days now, Mr. Nasal Congestion, his wife Missy Mucous invited what sounded like an entire team of Flamenco dancers to torture my right ear.  The clickety clacking sounds were so loud that obviously the Flamenco dancers were using extra loud castanets! The accompanying pain was like Flamenco dancers were driving a nail, spear or knife through my right ear ala the Vincent Price, Dr. Phibes! Enough! Thus my journey to CityMD Urgent Care for relief from pain, congestion and coughing. Now I’m about to put these ear drops in my right ear and murder all those inconsiderate castanet playing tap dancing Flamencos!! Die you evil bastards!!!

Folks it is like being a host for the Germ Factory Club. Gonna make you sweat with a delightful roasted body fever. You feel the Invasion of the Body Snatchers partying inside your body doing the Cha, Cha, Cha, Tango, Rumba and Foxtrot all up and down my sinus cavities!  The beautiful static noise inside my right ear reminds me of the point when the needle touches the vinyl on old fashioned records.

Today I may be a member of the Walking Wounded but I will repel these nasty malevolent trespassers away from my being! Next in my arsenal, super duper strength vitamins! Get back you wicked virus!  My sword released from its sheath and I will win the battle and the war!