Snake Mama Blues ~~ Viper Pickings

Splinter Stories from the Hardware Store

Snake Mama Blues — Viper Pickings

“Lureen!! Hey Lurean!! What shenanigans you getting up to in there you old snake necked Gal! Oooohhh! What’s that foul odor I smells. Stinks like turpentine up in here. You painting agin? ArrUrrggha!! What plots be cookin’ and settling inside that old Tureen the Original Snake Mama gave ya?”

Shut up you Itinerant Scalawag! I’m harvesting words, sentences, phrases for the Queen of Books. Her Majesty you know?! Or maybe you don’t know.

“Don’t Know and Don’t wanna know! Put away that concoction and come play Foxy with me.”

“Viper On! Shouted LurAnn!”

Ahh! Come on Lurean Our Chicklings is Grown and we need to make mo’…… Raise up yo’ drab cloak and let me in.

Benjamin You sanctimonious seed of a nun and a monk! Put back your firestick into it’s sheath! There shall be no couplings tonight.

Benjamin could hear the Thukka, Thukka Boom building in his loins and he needed release. He tired of spilling his seed upon bushes and trees inadvertently creating flowering fanged flowers everywhere he spent. At Day break his salty milk mixed with the new born dew as he thrashed and spewed out his rancid dreams.

He wished a sweet comfy covert chamber that would hug his member bringing consolation to his swollen sword.

Out of the Blistering Sundown Heat came a familiar yet unwelcome voice.

“Benjimim! Benjiamim! Is that you a hollering at that stiff necked gal? Who ain’t gonna give you none no matter how hard you beg?”

Emersom Skreech possessed an unkempt bald bobbly head. Walked with a rolling gait of a seasoned sailor unfamiliar with steady land. Skreech was a raggedy Lyle Lovett Look a Like without the deep pompadour.

Townsfolk keep a clear distance away from Em as he was called for his personality reminded one of a gyrating Alien incubating a Succubus.

“Do you Want Me to Cry While I Leave You Alone? I can build up or I can put down. Now which will it be? Beware the Corpse Queen for she’s just a gilded Mummy encrusted with Jewels.



To Be continued……………………

Provoke | The Daily Post


I’m not as easily provoked now as when I was younger however I do have a bad temper. I warn people to leave me alone and keep their distance but some people are hardheaded or just plain stupid.

We used to have a saying in the Army, Don’t let your mouth write checks that your ass can’t cash. Therefore learn to mind your own business. Nobody asked for your opinion or advice.  When you start paying my bills maybe then I will listen to you.

Keep your fucking hands to yourself.  No Hugs!

Several years ago a snot nosed asshole female coworker made the mistake of calling me out on a Sunday morning in the Staff Cafeteria. I excused myself from my phone call went over to where she was sitting and told her that if she continued with trying to tell me what to do I would meet her outside and break both her arms and legs. She left me alone.  Another time one male co-worker had me pinned up against the wall in the galleries.  I got him off me with no help from my other co-workers who stood there watching.

Last year a crazy woman on the subway actually chased four tourists off the train. Then she came at me. Big mistake! I got up ready to beat her dumb ass. I get that insane look on my face. When she saw I was crazy also she backed up and I made it to work that day.

Anger can be a good thing. The key to survival in a violent world.

I’ve learned not to trust anyone. Yes I’m cynical and jaded. Totally skeptical.

Abuse, Abandonment and betrayal will change your entire lifestyle plus your outlook on life.  Only you have your best interests at heart.  Can’t rely on or depend on anyone in your time of need. I learned to take care of myself because me is all I have.


I’ve had to be tough especially in the type of work I do for a living. Being threatened by both men and women is normal. You either fight back or get your ass kicked. I grew up the hard way and I spent four years in the Army so I’m ready to defend myself at all times. People think that because I’m short and petite that I will let them use and abuse me. Well as a child that was true. I wanted to be liked but not anymore. You don’t have to love me but you had better respect me.

As for therapy, well back in 2015 I was asked to leave the office.  You can imagine why.  Nearly had a fight with the doctors and the stupid ass therapist.  Told both of the condescending quacks exactly what I thought of them.

Keep your bullshit affirmations, platitudes, pity and sympathy.  I reject it all.

No Hugs either because I hate being touched so if you try to hug me my instincts are to slap the shit out of you.


No regrets. No shame. No guilt.

I’m here. You’re there. Let’s keep it that way.

The Unseen Head

The Unseen Head

Splinter Stories from the Hardware Store

The Silicone was a little too life-like even more so than the wax figures in Madame Tussauds on West 42nd Street near the Port Authority Bus Terminal. Even down to the round Charlie Brown skull the head devoid of any cranial or facial hair gave the aspect of a John Doe murdered corpse or a recently discovered bog man released from millennia into time.

The beak like hooked nose overshadowed a somewhat weak chin with the beginnings of jowls but bolstered by a piercing gaze of false eyeballs. Eyes that kept blinking and rotating throwing its caretakers off balance with the morose intakes and outtakes. A side show freak from an abandoned carny encased in double Plexiglas.

The Original building Art Science Museum dates back to over 170 years. The building had many uses during that time period. Built by prisoners whose bones and bodies are rumored to be mixed in with the cement, concrete, masonry, stone, brick and mortar over time its been a Bordello, Playhouse Theater, a Civil War hospital, a prison for debtors, delinquents and those deemed Delirious, Sanatorium, mortuary, Theater, Speakeasy until finally deciding to become ASM just prior to World War Two.

Silicone headcase was housed in the section where Madames and courtesans once entertained morally staid upper class males. Workers in that area have complained of hearing raucous phantom music, dancing and laughter long after business hours. Given the century and a half existence and its various incarnations the building four city blocks or a quarter mile long is a Labyrinth of mazes series of interlocking tunnels connect both old and new museum sections.

Many township Villagers nicknamed it the Castle for the turrets plus other intricate architectural flourishes. The Townies though proud of their history gave this building a wide berth. Many suffered here and died under gruesome circumstances in the Castle. Specters of translucent doctors, nurses and rotting patients have been seen patrolling the hallways replaying a long past gone.

Max Headroom

Internally it was coursing with two gallons of human blood supplied by a network of pipes tubes and other external spaghetti carefully hidden from view. In order to keep the circulation going methodically the gauges always had to read 98.7 Fahrenheit normal human body temperature with no more than a five degree fluctuation up or down otherwise coagulation would begin.

Each time Victor had to babysit this horrendous sanguinary cranium he would break out in goosebumps along with the accompanying spinal chills. This horrid graveyard reject was twice the size of a normal human skull. Victor had to monitor all the external and internal equipment plus be ready to make adjustments when necessary. Just looking at the nasty disgusting thing gave his goosebumps, goosebumps. He quivered and shivered not only from the ice cold temperatures of the galleries but anxiety and nerves.

The “Whooshing” sound of the pipes and tubes each time he made the required visitations. When it was his turn for overnight guard duty, Midnight to 7 am the next day he always prepared himself with several Father, Son & Holy Ghosts plus a few Hail Mary’s thrown in for good measure.

For the last few times he sat beside the demented Max Headroom he had dozed off with a resulting weakness with each session. Victor could have sworn that Dawn came onto too early. Sometimes when Winkin’ Blinkin’ and Nod called his name he felt the creaks and groans. Noises he chalked up to an old house forever ever settling but never finding rest as he too struggled to find his place in a world gumbo Marsala mixture of Art and the dark halls of Science. Victor’s milk and coffee complexion got more milky and less coffee over time.

Dr. Elgin Elgore refused to allow the customary security knaves to guard or even enter the room. Only he, Victor and Ms. Elsa Gonner were allowed entrance. Nor would he allow the Janitors to clean that area or section of the building fearing the the clumsy wipes, mops and dusters would detach Max as he was called from its various umbilical cords that lined the surrounding floors and walls.

In an aquarium off to the far right was a mixture or Plant Growth and steroids that periodically mixed with the blood as a nutrition element.

The machines were the heart and nervous systems of the beast. Throbbing and pulsating with such a convoluted rhythm and pace causing the features to warp into Orgasmic Grimaces and contortions which only added to the Lewdness of its features. The features took on an even more sardonic, malevolent and lecherous tone when my Fem Bone ZyKaiLeiLani arrived on the scene. She was one of a hand full of outsiders sworn to secrecy and silence let in mainly because her father owned the building and contributed heavily to the dual causation and manipulations of science and art.

Honeysuckle. I always smelled Honeysuckle whenever ZyKai was near.

If ZyKai as we called her wore a particularly revealing frock the jibes and leers seemed to increase as those the blood, steroid and plant food combination gave its hellish soul an unnatural understanding of the female frame. ZyKai was luminous on her own radiating outward from an internal solar system. As for her father our Patron we had our lions and lines drawn up bowing, scraping plus all the courtesies to keep the money flowing

ZyKai sat in on board meetings where Dr. Elgin Elgore threw her furtive glances whilst her poker face betrayed nothing all while playing footsie with Victor under the massive oaken table. Often when he passed locked doors he could hear the clinking of champagne glasses, laughter, giggles along with intermittent pleasure groans and moans.

Dr. Elgore’s greatest fear was not the numerous couplings between Victor and ZyKai but that her father the major funding for the Art Science museum would discover them In flagrante delicto and gone would be the Number 1 Funder.

Loss all from disembodied voices in the throes of passion. Light footfalls followed by heavier ones on their way to rendezvous. Speak easy. Speak easy as we take our fill of passion and pleasure. A Smaller tiny tombstone mirrors the Large Grand One behind. Ponds washout to Rivers. Rivers washout to Oceans.

With each performance the head came closer and closer to bursting with frustrated desire and anger.

The evil face turned a purplish blue burgundy under our apt tutelage of what it could only imagine but never do. The pushing and shoving of serums within the Max Headroom’s tubes became too much to bear. Finally the double Plexiglas chamber seem to fill with a noxious Sulfuric acid ectoplasm.

A Great Symphonic Boom Erupted during our 1812 Overture.

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)
























African Author wins Prestigious Literary Prize

Continuing with Black HerStory Month.

African Heritage

Jennifer Makumbi Jennifer Nansubuga Makumbi

A Ugandan author based in Great Britain whose debut novel was initially rejected by British publishers for being ‘too African‘, has won one of the world’s richest literary prizes.

Jennifer Nansubuga Makumbi, the winner of the 2014 Commonwealth short fiction prize from Uganda but now living in the UK, has won one of the Windham Campbell Prizes from Yale University in the US.

Jennifer Makumbi_Kintu1 ‘Kintu’ by Jennifer Nansubuga Makumbi

She will receive $165,000 (£119,000). The prize money is more than double the amount that the Booker Prize winner gets, and organizers say it’s the richest award dedicated to literature after the Nobel Prize. Makumbi’s debut novel Kintu was first published in Kenya four years ago after British publishers rejected it for being “too African”. It was finally released in the UK this January. In Ugandan culture, Kintu is a mythological figure who appears…

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