Manchild Reborn into the Void


Manchild Reborn into the Void

Chain Gang Georgia
Chain Gang Georgia

Looking out my lonesome boxcar I see my brothers in bondage singing freedom songs.  Wondering when their healing will come as I seek mine.  Islands of Lost Souls sentenced to endless purgatory.

Lightning- Long John (Old song by a chain gang)

http://youtu.be/4G5KtQynWvc

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.

Chain gang
Chain gang

Southern Prison Blues Rosie Chain Gang Blues YouTube

http://youtu.be/es-5VEFM49Q

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.

Chain gang 1937
Chain gang 1937

Berta, Berta

http://youtu.be/sxC04N23U3o

Early morning every morning I rise on the wrong side.  I cut myself on shards of volcanic ash but the boulders cannot crush my soul.  Freedom is a lonesome word.

Prison Songs – Early In The Mornin’

http://youtu.be/zsiYfk5RV_Q

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.

I Be So Glad… When The Sun Goes Down

http://youtu.be/C-zlSq4mWiE

Spun Golden Woven Fibers of Fate


Spun Golden Woven Fibers of Fate

Foggy Misty Morn
Foggy Misty Morn

Mother was held in a panorama spun by coveted lovers, who were harlots through celibacy. Invasion of the Body Snatchers whilst the Queen Borg keys jangling at her side hovers and wanders abandoned cells. Caught up in super glue strong web awaiting sacrifice to whatever gods may brought forth. Brain septic by glowering imps sowing discord and muddle.

Reminiscences dance in the fog of false recollections. New realities dawn upon hazy cloudy dew kissed shores. Sand castles washed away by strong willed breakers. Molecules and atoms dripping essence along rosy silt coastlines. Scamps and scalawags populating geographical dungeons.

With this confession my Mother’s Soul residing within me is at rest. She rages no more, her anguish has been extinguished.

My mother and I share broken lives, shattered in similar places we cut ourselves on shards of pain, our fractured lives seeking to mend.

Madame Sultan with no edit button or filters to gauge this new animation wondering where to fit in. Butternut pancakes with a side order of Squash.

Now I attempt to retrieve the scattered pieces, seeking to restore the scattered jigsaw puzzle of Isis, long in disarray, bent and twisted from misuse, abuse and false accusations. Fraying the edges making impossible even imperfect fits.

Sitting across from her flesh & blood ghost, linking hands we grant each other absolution long sought from others outside our circle but only possible for us, from us. I am she and she is me into perpetuity.

Misty Foggy Morn

Approaching My 3rd Act


3rd Act

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.

Queen Tiye
Queen Tiye

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!!

Ted Talk

http://www.ted.com/talks/jane_fonda_life_s_third_act

 

Romantic Lies and Deceptions


 

We are in Love with the idea of Love but Reality is oh so different. Romance is a broken down heap in an unused garage with a drunken clipped wing Cupid splayed out beside it swilling in his own vomit.  The illusions of Cupid were shot down by his own arrows.  Arrows tipped with poison that turn healthy beating hearts into gangrenous rotting putrid shells. Love is anxiety, disappointment, hurt, pain and stress coupled with fear.  Vitreous Spears of viperous snakes slithering from brain to core corrupting of part of human life.

Last night I spied Venus and Mars exiting the House of the Rising Sun on their way to the local dive bar. Yup Love and War. Two sides of the same coin.

Cupid and his mother Venus are thinking of getting their own Reality show called Life’s Broken Dreams. Broken Dreams lead to Broken Hearts. Walk in the Light of Truth and kick both Cupid and Venus to the curb!  The Steel Iron Armor has sealed my Amore and the key has been thrown in the River Styx.

Cupid shot by his own Arrow.
Cupid shot by his own Arrow.

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.

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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.