The Return of the Prodigal Daughter 


 

Happy New Year 

The Return of the Prodigal Daughter 



Havana Heart Cabana 

 

Blame it on the Bossa Nova

ROOM OF NOCTURNES

 


 

That Sweet Husky Whiskey Lauren Bacall voice back-lit by fruit and mint flavored jalousies was no match for the Gold, pearls, diamonds and rubies sparking against Obsidian skin.  Sky high stiletto heels worn as birds of prey. Ready to strike at any given moment..

Gourmand cigarillos distilled in Gin.

Nubian Night Cinnamon Cinema.

Queen of the Smokey eye. One quarter open. Three quarters closed.

Her scorching nature aligned with me.

Hair fallen over one eye Aladdin’s Veronica Lake.

JoyBaieda Rueine was the ruin of many a poor man’s soul.  An Enchanting Hazy Super Moon simmering coming to a boil just below the surface.  A Sassy Sexy Sultry Siren.  Springing up during the Gold Rush and leaving just as quickly.

Blame it on the Bossa Nova 

JoyBaieda was an impromptu Madam when necessity dictated.

He Caught wisps of ghosts as she passed by.  Softly illuminated by ambient light gentle rings of smoke formed Saturn’s Hallowed Halos around her womanly curvy body. 

 

Truly she was a conversation Stopper.  Men were lost in Ruminations absorbed in her sensuality.

We are Ebony Swans Ravens in Gilded Forests

 

Saturn’s Sunset Moon Rings

 

JoyBaieda Rueine slowly turned her elegant head barely acknowledging my presence whilst giving me that once over slow up and down visually assessment that Onyx Women are so very good at doing.  Ever so gradually turning the rest of her towards me her lips opening beckoning yet the words burst the mood.

“This place smells like old mens ball sacs.  It’s filled with filthy beer, whisky and gin soaked bums who look like they were just released from the local Bowery Mission hall.  You’re operating a Holding Pen Wastrels!  Are you running a homeless shelter populated with forlorn drunken losers?  No. Wait. I just answered that question. 

You promised me an elegant Bar & Grill serving upscale clientele. An elegant seaside Cabana. Now I feel like I’ve thrown my money down a sewer and invited all the Mole people to come in for cheap drinks on check day!  The Eclipse will be here sooner than you think and you’re still not ready. And if we’re not ready. We can’t go and we’ll be left behind in the mid-1950s forever!

Pig headed bastard!  You’re nothing but a Pretender to the Throne!”

 

Dream Lover Fantasy aborted. Bitch Mode in process. Engage. I felt like I was sitting in a cold damp mist after exiting a relaxing soothing sauna. Breath.

It took all the mental and emotional effort that Emerson Skreech could muster to form sentences that made sense.  Word Selection. Operate.  Emerson had to go through a mental flight plan each time he uttered a sound as he struggled with ill-fitting dentures as well as a pronounced lisp.

Breath. In. Out. In the midst of getting my scrambled thoughts into coherent words She made that serpentine motion with her tongue removing the salt from the edge of her drinking glass in one fell swoop.

 

Room John 3:16

JoyBaieda had consistently checked the dials, gauges, and meters wondering why the absorption rate was glowing so slowly that it was almost at a stand still. Formerly troublesome tremulous Nepenthes had ceased leaving their home-base making it even more difficult to feed the diameters so the process could continue. Even the formerly tremulous thermostat was silent. Quiet. Too quiet…  Made her wonder if the Settlement would survive  Then wonder why the Dayforming process had slowed down to the point of going in reverse.

Must employ the Wisdom of the Strix and their descendants The Nephilim

 

“There were giants on the earth in those days… the sons of God came in to the daughters of men and they bore children to them”. (Gen. 6:4) the Nephilim?

 

 

At that thought She spotted the little multicolored Whirlwind. As she watched it began to spin. As it spun it grew larger whilst moving in a circular pattern as it approached her. Then it began to take the form of a young man with a handle bar mustache, top hat and frock coat.  Unexpectedly a beautiful young woman materialized along side him.

 

With the coming of the Strix Eclipse the Dead shall Mock the Living.

 

Quite the Dapper Gentleman aren’t you Uncle Henry and I see you’ve brought along Aunt Carrie!  Carrie beating Henry to reply with a gentle noble head said, “I tired of the Gibber jab of Hibernia Watson and decided to accompany Henry on this quest,.

JoyBaieda breathed a sigh of relief that Aunt Carrie had accompanied Uncle Henry as Aunt Carrie was a skilled Steamstress.  Surely Aunt Carrie could get to the root of the problem, speed up the Dayformer in readiness for the Eclipse.

Well Now Folks Let the Soiree Begin!

 

 

henry-keyser
Henry Keyser

 

aunt-carrie_george-gordons-sister
Aunt Carrie ~~ George Gordon’s Sister

Weeks Prior

Here’s the Key.   Persevere and keep it safe.  Without it The Eclipse won’t accept you or your family.  And with those words of encouragement Busker Boodle and his band of Merry Henchmen were on their way into the Universe.

The memory jerked itself from his mind then became morose and downcast at the uncertain yet certain reality any future relationship with the Gorgeous Hellecat.

Gorgeous Hellecat.  The Odalisque.

Produce the Key and Live.   No Key = Condemnation to a washed out Time Warp Fairy-tale Oasis.

 

 

The rate of Absorption is glowing slowly. And I know why.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Rising Sun
Psycho Barn House

 

 

 

 

 

https://youtu.be/JiTUpvIJ2TU

 

https://youtu.be/-ThbSJsQRMM

 

https://youtu.be/EXv9yderPxc

 

https://youtu.be/TrytKuC3Z_o

 

 

https://youtu.be/CI2ieY4qqYQ

Trickster Robes of Decayed Bones


Zanni mask
Zanni mask

Only bowing to the King of Kings and Our Lord of Lords never kneeling to False Prophets aka false profits, whited sepulchers walking dead mens’ bones filling their coffers through vice and trickery. I eternally serve the One who died for me!  All the rest are greed filled knaves and fools bilking desperate hearts in need. Spreading a blasphemous Gospel of Greed.

Staining the House of God from within and without. Lord Jesus Mighty Conquering comes riding upon the Black Horse of Justice swiftly dispatching all who besmirch his Holy name.

Fakers. Wearers of many faces leaping forth with slithering tongues. Cacophony of fabricated hopes and bogus promises. Backward collars. Backward minds. Trickster preachers wearing perfumed fine robes covering rotting flesh and decayed bones. Strutting. Posturing, Pontificating Piped Pipers leading the Flock astray.  I never knew you. Never again will you be permitted to utter profanities on sacred ground.  Be gone into everlasting oblivion you counterfeiters of Truth.

Masquerade
Masquerade
Storm

Kinetictra – Backstory Beginnings


https://dailypost.wordpress.com/discover-challenges/superpower/

Kinetictra – Backstory Beginnings

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/discover-challenges/superhero/#like-249543

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/do-you-believe-in-magic/

“Kinetic energy is an expression of the fact that a moving object can do work on anything it hits; it quantifies the amount of work the object could do as a result of its motion. The total mechanical energy of an object is the sum of its kinetic energy and potential energy. The total energy of an isolated system is subject to the conservation of energy principle.

Kinetic energy is the energy of motion. An object that has motion – whether it is vertical or horizontal motion – has kinetic energy. There are many forms of kinetic energy – vibrational (the energy due to vibrational motion), rotational (the energy due to rotational motion), and translational (the energy due to motion from one location to another). To keep matters simple, we will focus upon translational kinetic energy. The amount of translational kinetic energy (from here on, the phrase kinetic energy will refer to translational kinetic energy) that an object has depends upon two variables: the mass (m) of the object and the speed (v) of the object. The following equation is used to represent the kinetic energy (KE) of an object.”

Rather than making my Super-Heroine Kinetictra a blind college professor I’ve decided to give her an Identity closer to home. Kinetictra public identity will be as a Security Guard at the Gotham Museum of Art aka One Million Hands Touching. Kinetictra’s Tag Line will be, “It’s time to shiver a little…!”  Her Dread Locs will be weapons used to ensnare villains. Her magic spirals will capture and vanquish evil doers. They are composed of Zentangles swirling and whirling.  These amazing locs are purple with deep blue highlights and can at will assume all shapes, forms, sizes, types of silky, satin curly koils. 

Have not yet decided whether to place her on Early or Late Watch but I’m leaning towards Late/Night Watch. More morose, crazy, quirky, scary, stuff happens at night especially in the wee hours of the morning — between dusk and dawn Angels and demons battle for the souls of humans…………………………………

Two Men Contemplating the Moon Caspar David Friedrich (German, Greifswald 1774–1840 Dresden)
Two Men Contemplating the Moon
Caspar David Friedrich
(German, Greifswald 1774–1840 Dresden)

My name is Kinetictra, my day time hustle is as a Protector of Antiquities aka security officer at the Gotham Galleries located in an upscale neighborhood on the Upper North-West Side the Gold Coast of Gotham. A cultural institution where old money and new money meet, shake hands, make deals, and then stab each other behind the back when the other looks away. An eclectic menagerie of worldwide artworks that often seem to have no rhyme or reason in placement with just a focus on aesthetics.

As for our visitors especially the foreigners may as well be named, “One Million Hands Touching.”  That’s one of the reasons why I moved from Day Shift to Night Watch. There’s only some much of saying, “Don’t Touch” and fielding questions about where are the bathrooms and restaurants are before you’re ready to pull your hair out and commit hari-kari. Yup, it was a relief to get off days and into the nocturnal peace, calm and tranquility. For me the sun’s rays are sting like an Albino left out on the beach mid-day 95 degree temps with no protection.

For years I dwelt with the bottom feeders. Those moronic visitors who feigned an interest in art but only really wanted to get out of the weather. They were walking cadavers alongside big boob butt bimbo skanky hoes who never had to work a day in their lazy lives.

Now no more cigarette shit breath tourists way too close for comfort invading my personal space with their foul body odors dispensing lame pandering foolish remarks like knives of ignorance into my flesh.

The museum is populated by a wonderful yet mysterious quiet & peace undisturbed by the frenetic masses. Silences punctuated only by flowing water, the endless hum and shifting of building machinery.

Even normal noises can be unsettling. Especially those associated with people. The building has become a living breathing organism Uttering creaks moans sighs groans from over 140 years of footfalls, voices, radios, songs, cantatas, the chiming of clocks, exclamations of awe & wonder. Whispers from a Victorian century long past to digital diversity.

Oh what secrets lie transfixed within these silent walls yearning for release. 

The immortality of brick, mortar & steel record the march of ethnicities & nations who roam free these hallowed halls.

Sometimes the sudden interruption of footfalls becomes ominous, invading the sanctity of the Holy Sanctuary. Even the sound of my own steps is somewhat menacing. What spirits accompany me on perambulations among the saints and sinners?

The feeble burbling of the fountain stream’s half-hearted attempts to empty its essence, struggling to pollinate magnificent coins.

The day is at end, the light has faded. Now the night crew enters to continue the evening melody.

Nighttime stillness is the best time to pick up on all the little signals, cries, sighs, moans and whispers recorded by the walls and replayed for my delight during the hours of darkness. Sometimes during my rounds I place my hands upon the 150 year old walls and I listen in on conversations dating back to Civil War times.

The Universe is composed of vibrations. Every living thing has its own unique pulsations which emit tons of information going back minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, decades, and eons well into past lives. Darkness brings not only moonlight but night terrors, fears that become flesh and then my mission begins………

The Workers Leave No Footprints


Dreams Never Die

Misty Foggy Morn

Youth said “Dreams Never Die.” Twenty years passed then Recession kicked in. New Realities were born. Twelve hour workdays became the norm.

Like a drowning man Dreams surfaced again and again only to plummet down to the watery deep. All the while knocking at 1% door watching them through one-sided window laugh, play, drink and party with no thought for the ‘Morrow’. We the unseen only imagining free time for our dreams.

Dreams that must wait until Social Security beckons if death does not reach us first. Fore bread, water, warm clothes and a place to live cry louder. Goodnight Sweet Dreams. May you one day resurrect to a New Dawn.

$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$

The Working Poor Leave No Footprints

Surrounded by a plethora of people who seemed to surface like bloated corpses after spring thaw.  Worker bees we are all meaningless specks of dust being recklessly scattered by blustery winds.  Modern day Robber Barons throw battle weary soldiers back into the battle while they sit sipping tea in Ivory Towers.  Thirty-seven years a professional, now placating rot breath Sabbath suits long in tooth, visions of Mammy dancing in their heads.  Limestone Liver spotted wrinkled bone bags befoul the air with endless demands.  Dontcha know Miz Daisy learned to drive herself and the Help all went to the French Rivera.

Foggy Misty Morn

I am Hagar cast out of my prosperous household, denied by the Master and Mistress I once served.  Thrown out of my protectors’ house my Dream-child and I await Our Avenging Angel of Salvation.

My Dreams now dead buried under work obligations, mountains of rules and regulations that I seem to constantly violate just by being. No miracles exist for me. Only years of mindless drudgery ahead.  Millennial Overseers govern my every move with their remote control mind games.  Freedom lies dormant within my imagination.  My brain has been put out to pasture because intelligence is not needed or wanted and creativity has become a sin.  Automaton Me clad in nondescript dull uniform easily replaceable by the next set of hungry hands yearning for the pence dispensed from the rich mans table.  Hey!! Who’s next up on the Auction Block?!!  Come lock step into the Plantation Mausoleum filled with objects which are valued more than drones who guard them.  We be Aliens in our own Land.  Serfs never reaping a hard earned Harvest.

Yet soon a New Day will Dawn, Dreams will bear fruit and Visions be reborn.

Island of the Damned -- Bocklin

A Building at Rest ~ Goth Holiday at the Museum


A Building at Rest

The museum Thanksgiving Day 2012
the museum is populated by a wonderful yet mysterious quiet & peace undisturbed by the frenetic masses. Silences punctuated only by flowing water, the endless hum and shifting of building machinery.

Even normal noises can be unsettling. Especially those associated with people. The building has become a living breathing organism Uttering creaks moans sighs groans from nearly 150 years of footfalls, voices, radios, songs, cantatas, the chiming of clocks, exclamations of awe & wonder. Whispers from an Archaic Victorian century long past to digital diversity.

Oh what secrets lie transfixed within these silent walls yearning for release.  The Hunger has been unleashed upon the populace.

The immortality of brick, mortar & steel record the march of ethnicities & nations who roam free these hallowed halls.

Sometimes the sudden interruption of footfalls becomes ominous, invading the sanctity of the Holy Sanctuary. Even the sound of my own steps is somewhat menacing. What spirits accompany me on perambulations among the saints and sinners?

The feeble burbling of the fountain stream’s half-hearted attempts to empty its essence, struggling to pollinate magnificent coins.

The day is at end, the light has faded. Now the night crew enters to continue the evening melody.

Hotel California
Hotel California

Reflections Goth Holiday 2013

Cadaver Mind A.D.D.

Heaving sighs and moans.  Creaks, chrupping of brick, mortar, steel and glass pane windows. Blood oozes and drips from open wounds in Laymen’s red brick walls. Elevator doors open and a thousand wailing, howling, grieving souls swoop through the air and into the Medieval Court crying for revenge. Flight of the Valkyries. The Martyrs avenge their unjust and untimely deaths. Swirling and whirling like profane dervishes from netherworld’s portal of the undead.

Angels Falling
Angels Falling

Hail Mary Echoes from thousands of Knights, monks, Nuns, bishops, and church saints racing through Byzantium corridors. Spirits of Reliquaries issue forth warnings and admonishments to modern day savages. Reliquary Fingers of Blessing Inflict Pain Yanking Opening Death’s Door breaking off bits and pieces of flesh, bone, teeth and hair for deposit into ossuary banks.

Slats opening and closing mindfully as though giving some secret Morse Code. Dioramas of Death act out murderous suicidal dramas. Eagle slays Dragon plucking out blinded eyes from empty orbs.

Medieval castle built long ago by invaders long forgotten. A grand foyer flanked by two long hallways of Byzantine art leading into Medieval Sculpture Hall filled with statues of Madonnas, Saints, Mystics, Relics, and tombs from Egypt, Europe, Greece, Cyprus and South America. Kali goddess of the sarcophagus raises her many arms in Victory. Subterranean pipes hissing steam clanking unrest.

Island of the Damned -- Bocklin
Island of the Damned by Bocklin

Secret panels opening up to Mausoleum subterranean chambers containing overturned ossuaries, bones bleached white scattered throughout the tombs.

Abruptly Angels on the Christmas tree come to life and like ravenous vampire bats attack unsuspecting visitors. Reanimated Reliquary Arms reach out to throttle throats of fleeing patrons. Fang toothed Egyptian mummies arise and break through display cases to satiate their ancient eon hunger upon frenzied victims. Their desert saliva spreading infection causing festering vile pus filled carbuncles to captive prey.

Emptiness and Futility of Life
Life’s ignoble Ending

Desire run rampant as sacrilegious effigies coupled and reached radiant necrophilia orgasm stone bodies now made supple. Mystics and Monks glowered lecherously all the while reciting Gregorian chants, dirges and cries for absolution filling the room with the intensity of their mating.

Gargoyles descended from illicit trysts with human females and warlock man beasts gave into the licentious behaviors’ anointing themselves and fleeing clienteles with seminal fluid oily slick.

Orgasm became an exceptional obsession.

Viscous gleaming blood, shimmering with glided preternatural flakes of light. Black Iris her breasts like soft fragrant pillows.