Shall we regard our girl children as Jephthah’s Daughters? How long will we continue to perpetuate the adage, “Women love their sons, but raise the daughters.” Every child deserves the opportunity to succeed in life but success comes through accepting responsibility and learning to be accountable. Any child male or female who constantly lashes out at authority figures in a bid to always be “right” is a child bound for prison or the graveyard. Stop making girls the sacrificial lambs!!
Ladies, let’s love our girl children and stop putting them on the altar in order to save a son who does not wanted to be saved and does not think he needs help or worse some no account man who should not even be a part of our households to begin with. Let us not return to ancient times when girls and women were thought of as little more than chattel or commodities to be bought and sold. (See below for more details on ancient economies)
“One of the unusual things about the Bible is that it preserves some bits of this larger context. … It would seem that the economy of the Hebrew kingdoms, by the time of the prophets, was already beginning to develop the same kind of debt crises that had long been common in Mesopotamia: especially in years of bad harvests, the poor became indebted to rich neighbors or to wealthy moneylenders in the towns, they would begin to lose title to their fields and to become tenants on what had been their own land, and their sons and daughters would be removed to serve as servants in their creditors’ households, or even sold abroad as slaves.
“[This is what the biblical book of Nehemiah is referring to in the passage,] ‘Some of our daughters are brought unto bondage already: neither is it in our power to redeem them.’ One can only imagine what those words meant, emotionally, to a father in a patriarchal society in which a man’s ability to protect the honor of his family was everything. Yet this is what money meant to the majority of people for most of human history: the terrifying prospect of one’s sons and daughters being carried off to the homes of repulsive strangers to clean their pots and provide the occasional sexual services, to be subject to every conceivable form of violence and abuse, possibly for years, conceivably forever, as their parents waited, helpless, avoiding eye contact with their neighbors, who knew exactly what was happening to those they were supposed to have been able to protect. … http://www.delanceyplace.com/view_archives.php?2009
Donations to this Ministry for the Housing Fund can be made in U.S. Funds via money order or bank checks made payable to Rochdale Village Inc. 169-65 137th Avenue, Jamaica, NY 11434, Account No. 083-11G-16924 or directly to deborah.palmer280@gmail.com via Paypal. Thank you and God Bless.
Listen to my voice. Listen to the sound of my voice.
Leda & Radu
Leda began her hair color ritual in the usual way. She carefully laid out the tools of her trade on the bathroom sink and the top of the commode. Being a small bathroom there was not much space but Leda made do within her sanctuary. Hair color, towels, mirror, comb, gloves, check. Now Leda was ready. Using a wide tooth comb she divided her thick unruly curls into sections applying even amounts of color first to her roots then all the way through to the ends. Pulling the comb through her mane Leda envisioned Radu’s well groomed hands entangling themselves within the kinks and knaps of mother Africa all the while gently massaging her scalp and kissing the nape of her neck. Leda massaged the remaining color through her tangled tresses then set the timer for 25 minutes walking the short distance to her bedroom to meditate while the process worked its magic.
During the 25 minutes of meditation Leda visualized her lover Radu sitting next to her on the bed speaking softly and gently in his Eastern European accent all the while kissing her brows, the bridge of her nose and finally her lips. She could feel the bristle of his closely manicured beard against her face all the while falling into a deep blend of olive skin intermingled from Slavic, Romanian, Turkish and Macedonian blood lines. From his lips issued the voices of ancient Kings worshipping the Queens of Africa, Sheba and Candace.
He sometimes stopped to look deeply into her eyes mentally willing the both of them to become one flesh.
Suddenly the buzz of the timer interrupted her reverie and off she went to turn on the shower preparing to rinse out the excess color treatment. As Leda stepped under the powerful flow of the water Radu’s spirit stepped in with her and they were transported to the thunder of Caribbean waterfalls, enveloped in thunder of the cascading streams. Radu’s hands were like the streams of water entering into every sensitive place of her temple. She could feel his lips and hands as they worked their way down from her neck, breasts to that soft mound of flesh above her pubic area where he loved to rest his head after a night of lovemaking. Water and color ran down over all the nooks and crannies of her curves.
Ring, ring, ring, the sound of the phone brought Leda out of her fantasy and quickly toweled off and managed to answer before the machine kicked in.
“Ello Layda. I just arrived at JFK. Taking a taxi to your place. See you in a few minutes.”
Leda rejoiced. Her fantasy was about to become real. Her Lover was almost home. Her thoughts wandered to a romantic tryst in the hot tub at their friends chalet.
Addiction – some habit usually unhealthy that takes over your life, an activity over which you have no control. For those lost in the throes of prescription addiction there is no escape from the horrors of the mind except via medications freely doled out by more than willing physicians and pharmacists. Drug induced hallucinations for those possessed by insecurities, depression, psychosis and various types of mental illness open previously closed doors in the mind. The addict seeking to escape earthly pain often unwisely even unknowingly opens portals to new cerebral dimensions, portals that eventually lead to the gateway to Hades.
I find myself walking through Bedlam calmly and quietly observing the poor wretches imprisoned within the only separation of safety between me and they glass with reinforced steel bars. Until I come to a long hallway on either side a series of rooms each secured with double bolt thick steel doors the only openings a slot in which to slide a plastic meal tray and a small window used by roaming psychotherapists who occasionally looked in upon the inmates deciding which mental miracle drug to dispense to these unsuspecting unfortunates. Compelled to stop in front of one particular door I peer through the small grimy window only to be shocked yet not too surprised to find my gaze met by my doppelganger. There I stand frozen to the spot my extremities taking root and branching out seeking crevices with which to penetrate the unyielding door that separates me from myself.
Jesus explained the dilemma of mind altering drugs the best in Luke 11:24-26
New International Version (NIV)
24 “When an impure spirit comes out of a person, it goes through arid places seeking rest and does not find it. Then it says, ‘I will return to the house I left.’ 25 When it arrives, it finds the house swept clean and put in order. 26 Then it goes and takes seven other spirits more wicked than itself, and they go in and live there. And the final condition of that person is worse than the first.”
Sherlock Holmes is one of the most celebrated fictional drug addicts known to most Americans. As played by the late Jeremy Brett, Brett’s Holmes captures the true brilliance of a man possessed by a troubled mind. He is the quintessential eccentric elitist, misanthrope and misogynist. In between cases Holmes uses cocaine to escape from the commonplaces of existence. Subject to long bouts of depression his drugs of choice morphine and cocaine, hence the 7% solution in his reasoning clarified and stimulated the mind. Often this is the case with talented, gifted genius level individuals. They abhor boredom and stagnation; craving constant mental exultation whether through industry, work, artistic, musical or literary projects. When the normal stimulants’ of challenging work are unavailable the well respected and recognized addict resorts to any number of remedies to recreate and/or achieve the same high gotten from recreational pursuits.
Holmes is the atypical functional drug addict. This is not to glorify or elevate prescription drug use above the use of common street drugs; the results from both are about the same. Both types of addicts experience dependence, cravings, reliance, and slavery to substances that destroy mind, body and spirit, eventually leading to death.
Like many possessed of a tortured brilliance only known by members of the “Talented Tenth” Holmes is an insecure elitist. The luster and sparkle of genius seeks to be delivered from the mundane, the trivial and from the insecurities that threaten to destroy a superior intellect. The trick is to elevate and expand the thought processes and at the same time hoping to eliminate present daily realities of pain and suffering.
Drug addiction is a false cure, a fake hope, phony sanctuary, ever failing to grant rest or repose to its seekers. If the Sherlock Holmes character was updated to these modern times his drug of choice might be Ambien the sleep aid that bridges the gap between conscious and subconscious mind.
Ambien transports ones soul to that place between wakefulness and sleep. It appears to enhance ones innate natural creative abilities. Users of cocaine and speed often make the same claims. These drugs both legal and illegal offer a false escape from the mundane. Substance abusers even leave the natural human sexual relationships in order to experience the multiple mental orgasms they cannot achieve through physical sex with a partner. Reality becomes the bad dream. The user finds her/himself caught up in an almost inescapable quagmire.
In one episode Holmes states that, “There’s no escape from the terrors of the mind.” Many times I secretly wished that life was like Etch A Sketch, that famously popular toy we children of the 60s played with for hours on end. If only life were like that little plastic Neanderthal laptop where with a few vigorous shakes you once again had a clean slate and the ability to start over.
It was a secret desire born out of stress, depression, and hard times to return to a time of innocence and being care free. However I realized that there was no turning back the clock. I had to face my inner demons. I had to ask myself did I want to live the rest of my life in the Twilight Zone when everyone around me constantly telling me I have a gift, a gift that needs to be shared with the world. Also what about my family? What about my beloved autistic brother? Where would he be if I suddenly was not on the planet anymore? In addition how could I ignore the calling I knew God had on my life? The answer is I couldn’t. Never at any time did God give up on me. That in and of itself amazed me. God kept sending people my way to set me back on the path of life. Even when I wanted to let go of this earthly life and move onto another plane, God said not yet. I’m not ready for you yet. You have more work to do on this earth.
No God did not immediately take away all the problems and challenges I’ve been experiencing but He did reveal to me better ways to cope. Through my gift of writing He has opened doors for me that never would have opened had I allowed myself to sink into the substance abuse quicksand. Of course there will continue to be bumps and potholes along the roadway but isn’t life somewhat like an obstacle course where the prize for those of us who esteem intellect the ability to successfully negotiate those obstructions by being quick thinkers and thrill in the victory of being an Overcomer? Enjoy the Treasure Hunt! Enjoy the excitement of the chase while in your right mind because you’ve been given everything that pertains to life and godliness and you are Empowered to Succeed!
Many female legs responding to my erotica stories on Leda Huguette. The leggs in the forefront wish to befriend me. Along with the set of legs on both sides of yellow sister are going to develop wings on their feet and shoulders whereby I can climb up and fly away. We would all lay and caress for hours until a moan escaped and we’d have an excuse to clothe ourselves once more.
Rainbow Leggs
However before such fleet footed appendages appear at their ankles and upon their shoulder blades I tell them there is more way more in underground New York City that they must see. After plying with some of the most perfect Raki ever drunk in Turkey or the rest of Eastern Europe it doesn’t take much convincing on my part that the Troll Market was a must see in terms of underworld tourist sites.
Lilith meet us in Ankara through the bustling city streets and into the building where she and Dagmar labored insensibly through the day. In Ankara officials were often willing to over look necessary paperwork and allowed other documents not as urgently need to be stamped and passed through the never ending red tape.
Dagmar and me around her rather crowded but well organized laboratory. The results of all her experiments were catalogued and contained within glass jars abodes. Encased in one small silicate abode was a petite ballerina, her silk tutu just a bit longer than normal but still short enough that one could see the hair extending over her tiny delicate hooves. She performed an elegant pirouette to Pachelbel’s “Canon in D Major”. Each hoof nail was painted a bright pastel pink further enhancing her feminine qualities which could have been overshadowed by her animal lower half.
The Proposal
Stepping from the filthy foul smelling streets we were ushered into exotic elaborately decorated quarters decorated with expensive Persian rugs, medieval tapestries, silk draperies hung upon windowless walls, tables adorned with Tiffany lamps. A subtle scent of incense permeated the airways. The decorations seemed incongruous yet harmonized together in an irregular yet pleasing manner. Palatial taste a bit ostentatious like a Renaissance bordello. The furnishings were highly articulated and faceted Baroque/Rococo objects, many with deep gouges and gashes suggesting transparency and interior penetration. This room and much of the house as well as the street urchins who passed through seemed to us an Orientalist fantasy. At the far end of the living room hung a painting of a Minotaur raping a woman, this predilection of things to come.
Within this underworld in the Gumrok district known to westerners as the Expatriate district we met our sardonic intermediary in sex slave trade, the mirthless dwarf called,
Apep Angra Mainyu aka “The Snake”. Angra had the face of Peter Lorre and the heft and bulk of a miniaturized Sidney Greenstreet. Apep Angra was scurrilous and scrofulous. His rough skin was spotted with scabies and his body emitted a sepulchral odor.
Angra’s manciple Alva Ahriman was the bodily opposite of his master. Ahriman was six feet tall of bulging muscles, narrow waist and sculpted buttocks. His lack of moral fiber and somewhat limited intellectual faculties innate in most normal human personalities could be easily perceived in his cranial structure and his overall physiognomy. The shock of wild reddish brown hair closely cut on the sides of the head, the high sloping forehead, prominent brow ridges, receding nostrils and thin lips, these features put one in mind of a simian head attached to the body of Atlas. Alva’s nature embodied the seven deadly sins from head to foot.
Passing Through the RED
Despite stunted academic capabilities that could be called into question, Alva had been well trained by Angra and daily attempted to enhance what little he had been granted through unholy experimentation by careful observation of Angra’s hidden lifestyle and techniques. Alva’s bedchambers which were divided into three sections one being the actual room where he slept on an ornate Italian Renaissance canopy bed replete with seraphim, cherubim, and putti on the ceiling looking down seemingly blessing the lewd acts committed in that bed.
However outside of Angra, my wife and myself and the poor unfortunate girls who had the bad fortune to see this mockery of sex and religion, Alva barred even the household servants from entering that portion of his rooms. In fact he took responsibility for cleaning his quarters and putting outside the door soiled bed sheets and remnants of any meals partaken within. Upon entrance it at first resembled an Italian studiolo. Scholarly books that he never read, save those dealing with what he felt was the “new science of photography” lined the bookshelves along the walls. There was a collection of opera records beside the Victrola, which he played incessantly even during he was engaged in some vile sexual act with any of the young girls that came to the bawdy house. In fact during those escapades the music became louder more than likely to mask his grunts and groans plus those of his victims.
Angra seeing how fascinated Alva was with photography gifted him with camera and outfitted the third segment of Alva’s rooms with a photography studio and darkroom. Alva was creative in the sense that he stole items from the main bordello in order to outfit his photo studio into period pieces where he photographed the girls before he had sex with them. After developing the pictures he would catalogue each prize in a book complete with a name he gave her in addition to her measurements and any outstanding physical features. The girls were pretty much always naked save for sparse clothing items that Alva felt made superior her breasts, buttocks or genital area. Alva often requested and received more than one girl from the bordello and had them pleasure each other in the pictures while he shot them in various poses.
Fringes
Another one of Alva’s prized possessions in addition to his camera was his stereopticon or “magic lantern” in which his bevy of beauties were preserved for eternity on slides which at first Alva just arranged randomly but over time he began to place the slides in logical order to create pornographic narratives. The stereopticon was for his personal pleasure but even that proved not enough and eventually Alva convinced Angra to give him rudimentary film equipment that he rigged up next to his bed to document his demented exploits with the accursed young women.
Often while Alva was arranging the photos in his scrapbook or creating slides from them for the stereopticon he would play his favorite three operas from Richard Wagner; The Valkyrie,Tristan und Isolde and Parsifal. Later these same three operas would be piped into the castle during Alva’s unholy alliances with Leonara and later, much later the blessed houri Evie.
In time while exploring the lower portions of the house we found a sealed entry way through which we could hear the sounds of a type of market. We decided to get a guy name Psycho Kinesis to open that door, the door that would reveal an alternate universe we had been searching for so long.
Zombie Sushi
At first Big Red wants to try his door opening method which is smashing the door in by brute force. Red tries and it doesn’t work only leaving him with a very sore cut up fist. Next one in our group Captain Nebulizer where he just released the latest in technology. Smoke ascended out of his uniform but in a structured manner only waiting to here the orders emanating from his lips. The ether obeyed — a series of locks were undone and a large doorway swung open to a scene that I only remembered from the bar scene in Star Wars but much more grungy.
The Troll Market opens out from Ankara into it current location under the Brooklyn Bridge. It is revealed to be a veritable bacchanalia of mythological, fantasy, and supernatural creatures from all over the world, mainly attracting dragons. The Troll market is the living proof of extraterrestrial/human evolution. On the other end of it is a Dive bar where human evolution coupled with Abstract Expression gave birth to foreverlazy.com
In the back of the club Mr. Magoo lead the way being followed by the others.Patsy Cline, Barry White, Luther Vandross, Aailyah, Missy Elliot, The LeVerts, Mary J. Blige, Sammy Davis Jr. all got together to sing Beautiful Freaks — http://www.jango.com/stations/28
Confind Man
When the Valentines Day party got into the groove along came Iceberg Slim, RalphEllison,
But I’m a beautiful freak with a heart shaped butt that Eiko can’t stop caressing, touching and hugging. Eiko swears she going to immortalize by my ass in stone and call it the Great BaDonkadonk. My BaDonkadonk would be a national treasure wining awards and accolades worldwide from fitness gurus and the most prefect ass ever.
I wish I was a combination of Cat Woman, Bat girl, & Storm, (but not Wonder Woman, she’s too wholesome, but I do need her Cloak of Invisibility) so I could fend off the slings & arrows of outrageous fortune. So I would not have to step into the House of Pain without my armor.
To defend myself against the ‘haters’ my so-called friends and peers?
Slowly day by day I realize that I am not only one of the Called but She who was Chosen.
I’m a Misfit and OutCast, one who is always ostracized because I don’t fit in… Forever the outsider, eccentric, oddball, nonconformist, rebel….
Some say I have a gift not knowing the gift comes with a steep price. Every day I pay to receive daily anointing for my calling stigmata burned more deeply into my flesh.
Sometimes to relieve the pain I wish that I could step out of this body and back into the Universe from whence I came.
Often I’ve wondered if the rejection will ever end and just when I think my footing is solid the rug is pulled out from under me, ground shakes, breaks in two and swallows me up to endure a new round of punishment for actions inherent, a lifestyle gifted to me from Powers Above.
My only acceptance comes from the Beloved and I eagerly await His return. Once more He shall revisit my tortured soul to carry me back to the gates of Paradise forever to be united with Angels and Ancestors transitioned to Glory.
Espiritu en Fuego/A Fiery Spirit 