American where is my traveling train? Darkness enters dawn diminishing shadows play havoc with sun, moon, and stars. Tuning Forks humming. When will I see my Rosie again? Overseer rifle gun trained on me.
Southern Prison Blues Rosie Chain Gang Blues YouTube
Steamer Trunk moth riddled clothes. Ashes scattered into the Ganges. Speckled Watchmen screaming swing that pick boy. Keep that rhythm. Berta, Berta every day is Monday. I’ve fallen into a dark place with no sight of myself. Cleansing Monsoon wash me into dank sinister funeral sands.
When that sun goes down then I escape in mind if not in body. In my dreams I see her beside me. A voice keeps calling me. Is it my honey sweet baby or an Angel fit to carry me home? Death Angel. Death Angel, holding the reapers sword.
Wisdom. Understanding. My Truth. Freedom. Moving towards my 3rd Act ~ Age 60 but not yet there. What aging was for my mother’s and grandmother’s generations is a whole new ballgame for me and I’m a Free Agent enjoying the ride.
I’ve been thinking about how I see myself as opposed to how other see me. Slowly I’m freeing myself from the constraints of youth. Actually I’m happier and more pleased with myself that I ever was 30 or even 20 years ago. I’m not running behind or chasing some man. Nor am I desperate to be in a relationship. Even in the face of emotional pain and heartbreak I have the courage to step away from a relationship that I know will never work and is not meant to be. I ignore the preconceived notions of what a woman should be. Of course like every other human being on this earth I deal with insecurities, fears, obstacles, all human faults and fragilities. After all you gotta break some eggs to make an omelet.
Each decade brings its own crises and a new set of questions and self-knowledge at least for those who are honest. In my 20s was my wild and crazy time. My 30s a decade of challenge where life’s tables were turned as I lost both my parents within the space of three years. My 40s I became more self-aware as my intellectual and academic lives merged and soared higher than a spaceship reaching for an unknown planet. As the economy crashed and burned after 2006 my life also took an unexpected detour actually several unexpected and in some cases unpleasant detours. Turning 50 in 2009 brought new possibilities but new queries. Health challenges via high blood pressure and a mini-stroke, retina surgery, vision loss. Changing lifestyle in my quest towards well-being and dealing with my new menopausal body. My new friend Mr. Arthur Itis who decided to make his presence known in a powerful way earlier this year. Stilling fighting Arthur with exercise but to be honest sometimes Arthur wins!! Yet in my mind I’m dancing. In my dreams I’m still that idealistic eighteen year old young woman who was always ready for the next adventure in life! Nowadays my body does not always obey my minds commands but I’m excited about my Third Act. After listening to Jane Fonda’s Ted Talk on new ways to view aging I’m looking forward to turning Sixty!!
Comfort levels also change as one gets older. In some areas of life one gets not only older but bolder. In other areas there is some hesitation born out of experience and caution. I find it is never good to make split second decisions especially if I’m angry or upset. Sleeping on it and allowing myself a good cry enables me to cleanse my system of sadness and worry. Letting my emotions out vents my soul then I can put things into perspective instead of committing self-sabotage. Also it’s okay to just stop. Stop. Put it to the side until I’m in my right mind. Screw all the people who tell me to keep going. Everyone needs a break. Sometimes I just need to sit for a few hours, day’s maybe even weeks and veg out.
Why be overwhelmed just to satisfy all the folks who want me to be strong, to be some fake, phony Super Woman who does not exist. Even I’m guilty of looking at a girlfriend’s life and asking, “Why does she stay in that situation? Why not just pick up and leave?” But in their life as in mine there are always extenuating circumstances that I will neither know nor understand. Hidden motivations that keep them in place because it is not yet time for them to move on.
There are thousands if not millions of voices out there disguised as “Life Coaches” and “Motivational Speakers” who demand you take control of your life on their terms but only you can make that decision. Only you know when is the right time to move onto the next phase, stage or level. As the Bible says you cannot put new wine into old wineskins. The most important voice you need to listen to is your own.
Despite the fact that financially I’m struggling that struggle does not define me. I still pursue my writing and photography dreams though I may never “get paid.” Writing and photography are my heart and soul passions that are beyond material gain. There is no need to sacrifice who I am to meet the outlooks of society. Art is Life! Back in Feb. 2014 when I turned 55 my Theme Song was I’m Still Here. Next year I’m Bringing back Sexy because it never left. By Age 56 Feb. 2015, I’m Taking it to the Next Phase! Third Act ~ I’m on my way!!
“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…………………………………
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………
She put her hand to the Stone and a million millennia of memories coursed through her soul and out from her pores.
She put her hand to every boulder and heard the rocks cry out their praise to Our Creator.
She put her hand to the magnificent Oak Tree and received the voices of streams, rivers, oceans, lakes and streams.
She put her hand inside Gaia Mother Earth and heard the calls of sacrifices, bog dwellers, cave peoples, the cries of those murdered all crying out for justice.
She extended her hands within the forest absorbed the singings of creatures past and present reverberating within her spirit. Her fingers touched the voices of cave dwellers imbuing their drawings with Life. And in the fullness of time vibrations echoed through the eons.
She put her hand upon the Rock of Ages and they extended their hands inside her inner being enveloping her with knowledge, wisdom and understanding.
What Are The Akashic Records & How to Access the Akashic Records
Epoch Heydays beat rhythm time Tempo bringing Glory Days and Golden Age into Earth, Space, time Continuum alignment around my being. Spiritual Discernment begins the convergence of planets, Moon-Womben Star-gazers endlessly birthing heavenly bodies and floating orbs.
Mother Africa as Creator Goddess singing Reign Blessings upon her children.
My World, the ones I saw in my Grandmother’s Quilt and the ever expanding Galaxies beyond Earth, Sky, Sun and Moon-Daughter Wishes, Hopes and Desires.
Ancient hand stretching finger Ancestor Dimensions reaching forward into time and eternity bringing revelation knowledge of history long past yet made fresh daily.
Troubles beating bloody fists upon my pate.
Belladonna into Nightshades.
Tethered by an unholy umbilical cord to a dead albatross. Dreams deluge. Green metal Frigidaire Fan blowing air opposite it’s promised heat relief. Stub toe late shift Dad curses Castro and his Convertible. Bucolic heat wave summer in the city. 25 cent Ice Cream salvation dispensed by Mr. Softee. Martha Reeves and her Vandellas gyrating to Dancing in the Streets while kids follow her Piped Pipers.
Kool-Aid libation sugar screams ensue while transistor talking heads Ralph Kiner and Lindsey Nelson called Shea play by plays. Bygone days of Tri-Corn braids. Fletcher’s Castoria Beef Iron Wine cocktails. Childhood freedom beckons signalling release from adulthood chain gangs. Teeter-totter bring unbalanced superimposed idealized memories to double-doubted times past. It’s 1964 and my Dixie Peach anointed head snuggles with Panda pillow transcending time once again in the loving arms of Grandma Eva’s patchwork quilt.