Woken up by banging garbage trucks and banging couples beating their heads along with various other body parts against the headboard filmsly glued to the threadbare walls. Pillows round my head. TV turn up still doesn’t drown out the animal grunting sounds.
Coffee and cigarettes. Tea and toast. Then it’s off to yet another meeting. Yet another convention.
Somebody reminds me that it’s yesterday, today or tomorrow. Or perhaps all three together.
Send them on their way. Send them on their way.
Bubbled. Bagged. Packed and DONE.
Wanderers dispatched inside within Tornadoes, Blizzards, Hurricanes, Earthquakes and Mudslides.
Blitzed with Noise from both within and without.
Journeyman. Journeyman! When will I see the light of day?
Journeyman! Journeyman! Where will I be?
Yet another night in a dingy dirty flea bag motel. Located in still another decrepit long forgotten Fly by night by the hour on the
outskirts greasy spoon dive backwater SROs. Dirty needles and used condoms litter the floors making pathways to dodgy stairwells.
Trains running backwards and upside down.
Residents fixed in place. Darkness of days. Cosmic inversions. Moonless of nights.
Mutilated People have mutilated dreams.
Backhanded compliments seeking FORGIVENESS while repeating their sinful insults over and again. Feigning confused innocence so transparent I see the smirk on your face. Demons wearing Angels Wings.
Melted Molten Sun burnt Icarus no longer flying high. You should never laugh at the Sun.
Who are the Guardians for the Ministers of Peace? Where and when will they appear? Is there no shoulder for we who have offered our shoulders wet with tears? We seek our Lighthouse out of the storm.
Like you I too am lost. Wandering 40 years in the Wilderness. Every day looking for manna from Heaven. I’m No Prophet, Messiah or Savior. Only a fractured fragmented human. I am only a mirage in the merciless sun of endless desert.
My best friends are the birds and beasts of the field.
Save your sermons. No sweet sounding incantations. Searching for the Root of Conversation. Do not weep for the lost. For I await the baptism of dirt.
The Queen of Heaven Welcomes Me Home.
New International Version (NIV)
5 “If you have raced with men on foot and they have worn you out, how can you compete with horses? If you stumble in safe country, how will you manage in the thickets by[b] the Jordan?
The Sassy Sexy Irreverent One has made her way back to the Writing Blogosphere after a very brief hiatus!!
Still suffering the slings and arrows of outrageous misfortune despite all ills, aches and pains the Queen has made her way back to her Throne!! In the guise of Blue Spider Woman and with extra assistance from the Nubian Ninja D-Nice is back in the House!! Three Cheers for her Ladyship!! Hip! Hip! Hooray!!
When the sky erupts spewing stars like spores upon the heavenly tiers. The seas break forth and separate giving up the noble dead. For the people flew forth to Atlantis each speaking their own tongue. Return to the Mother Land. Mother Africa! The Amistad has landed.
I see stitches where the blood has come undone. Skin graffiti. Splotches of blood drops dripping rippling sperm impregnating the earth giving life to dry bones. If crimson be the elixir of life then I shall populate new beings for my Mother. I see my arteries and veins crisscrossing the land. The extent of my DNA lives in all peoples. The Ashanti Empire has been regained and reigns once more.
All Hail Mother Yaa Asantewaa Queen Mother of the Rebel Forces!