The Prisoners’ Confessions


 

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/suspicious/

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/assay/

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/premonition/

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/stifle/

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/trill/

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/blink/

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/forlorn/

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/funnel/

 

The Prisoners’ Confessions

 

Robotic Voice

Robotic Voice taking up space inside warm bodies

A Drone whose destiny is predetermined


She only envys the rich not for their designer clothes, private schools, luxiourious trips to secluded beach botanic island hideaways, or doorman apartments

 

 

But for the power and control they have over their lives, their destinies.  Not so much Their ability to make snap decisions to walk away as their option to walk towards new opportunities and fresh uncharted waters with no financial or monetary worries.

Connections and money opening doors where once walls exsisted.  No 9-5 for them. No bully bosses. No evil supervisors.  Whereas the working class batter bloody fists hopelessly against cement concrete thick brick walls.  The working class attempting to climb greased glassed walls.  Attempting to ascend through ceilings made of six foot thick plexiglass that cannot be shattered.

She marvels at the ability to choose from a myriad of excellent options.  All good. None bad.  Always reaping rewards. Never consequences.  The Cornecopia is always and forever free flowing for the rich and wealthy.

The Rest of us have been assimilated into the Hive merely for the conveniece and pleasure of the rich and wealthy. Serfs forced into place. Any who try to escape will face adjustment and return to the Status Quo.

I am suspious. Where have I landed?  Is there really no escape.  Each time I assay the trap holds firmer the noose becomes tighter. Twas my premonition from birth that freedom was only illusion to one who was low caste born. The Village populated by freely elected idiots with a meglomaniac holding the highest office in the Land.

Yet that glimmer of hope within cannot be completely stifled. It trills out sweet melodies calling Her forth to a new land.  A new reality.  A new dimension.

Once mid-Blink I spotted the Promised Land.  Once Forlorn I funnel through swampy muddy bog chambers Seeking Searching for Sunny Sand Surf Elysium.

Black Moses be my Everlasting Redemption. Black  Moses ~~ SHE Who Restores Order to Chaos.

 

 

 

 

My Fellow Baby Boomers will get or at least understand why I chose these two specific popular 1960s British TV Shows. Anyone born between 1946 and 1964 will see the references. Many of the References in the Prisoner allude to the Cold War and Communism but in the 21st Century until the evil wicked mantle of Capitalism its the modern workplce. The Job where you’re nothing but an ID # Number, A badge, a Unit, merely a cog in the wheels of fast moving machinery. Also speaks to the horrors of mental/psychiatric wards where patients are treated like Prisoners. Given pills/drugs and other treatments that do more harm than good.  

 

 

 

 

https://youtu.be/Jblzt_N2FJ8

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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.

Freedom from the Drone/Hive Mentality


Freedom from Drone/Hive Mentality

Spiritual Spring Cleaning: “Purge items and photos that remind you of destructive people or forces, which perpetuate negative life-story patterns. Spring is a great season to begin a new chapter, but you’ll need a blank page to get started.” — Bajay Pitter

Strategies for Deliverance

I love seeing formerly battered and abused women go from victims to Victory. Being a survivor of domestic & sexual violence I can relate to the pain and sufferings of women trying to escape abusive relationships. Even after being delivered from my abuser physically it still took a long time to be delivered mentally and emotionally. I’m still on the road to complete deliverance but at least I’m further down the road than 6 years ago.

The pain is there. It’s real. I’ve learned I must speak my pain but not to dwell within the pain. I must not make a home inside the pain. One of the ways to move past that pain is to destroy any reminders from that time period. I kind of had a waiting to exhale moment. No, I didn’t burn up his clothing but whatever he left inside my house went into the garbage that included clothing, computer junk, his old business cards, anything related to his pigeon hobby, and any photographs of him.

I especially found destroying the pictures to be a type of Cleansing Ritual. It was therapeutic because I was symbolically as well as physically removing my abuser from my life. It was the first step towards healing.  I can remember during the time I was with my abuser I went to a Women’s Retreat with my church. One of the things our Pastor’s Wife had us do was to write our fears or challenges down on little strips of paper and throw them into a fireplace. Fire represents a form of purging and casting photos of the abuser along with the bitter memories into the flames is cathartic. Think of it as conducting our own personal “Burning Man” ritual. Of course depending on where you live and if you live in a house or an apartment it may not be practical to build a bonfire in the backyard or sacrifice our kitchen stoves at the risk of violating our city’s ordinances or creating pyrotechnics worthy of Mrs. O’Leary’s bovine arsonist.

A safer and less risky ceremony would be to take every picture of your abuser and run them through the shredder.  This would accomplish the same fulfillment which is to banish this person as much as possible from your life. Now for me it was easier because we only had a common-in-law marriage and did not have children together. For those ladies who have property and children in common with the abuser this might become more difficult but still doable. If there are children involved I’d save two or three photos for the children to have once they become adults but I’d place those pictures in a safe deposit box or a strong box located in the basement, attic or a close family member or friend’s home to give the kids an opportunity to decide what they feel and make their own personal decisions upon reaching adulthood.

The objective is to begin the process of purification. Wash away the slime, filth and dirt off our bodies and out of our lives. To arise from the ashes like the Phoenix reborn, renewed, and ready to rebuild our lives. Today take up the shattered pieces of your life and build something brand new. A new beginning. A new identity created and defined by you not your abuser or outside detractors and naysayers.

Phoenix arising from the Ashes
Phoenix Arising from the Ashes

Graduate from the School of Hard Knocks don’t take up residence there. Resistance is not futile. Do not be assimilated into the Hive. Our identities and self-worth do not reside within another person but within us. The power to become free resides within us.

There is a Reset button to life. Not to move us back to before our relationship with the abuser but now knowing the signs, how not to be so needy to return to those destructive relationships. How can I Love myself and build up myself so I can attract healthy romantic relationships. Of course none of this freedom is won overnight.

There will still be days of doubt, fear, and frustration but those are the days when we reach out to our support group, our inner circles for help and reassurance that in time everything will work out.

Today I release myself from the Island of Lost Souls back into the solace of self and community.

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