In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “1984.”
You’re locked in a room with your greatest fear. Describe what’s in the room.
Rats, Roaches, Waterbugs and the only way out involves a Cliff precipice or a creaky old wooden foot bridge across a bottomless chasm!! Heights are not my friend. Sounds like that Horror movie Saw!!
Ian Brown – F.E.A.R.
2 Timothy 1:7 New King James Version (NKJV)
7 For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind.
F.E.A.R ~~ False Evidence Appearing Real
We hide behind that Wall of Silence thinking if I’m just quiet enough I can slip under the radar. They won’t see me. I can hide and everything will be alright not knowing or not caring that Silence = Death.
We’ve become a society of trained apathetic circus clowns who when the powers that be say jump we ask how high. If we shuck and jive continually bowing down to the institution plantation head clowns. If we kiss their ass long enough perhaps we will be permitted the privilege of being allowed to slave another day.
Reduced to a mass of sniveling groveling cowards we’ve sold our birthrights for the few crumbs that drop from the Overseers table. We rant and rave against Ferguson, Staten Island and other atrocities but back away from the injustice in our own backyards. Completely ignoring all the weapons within reach, easily at our disposal. All we have to do is pick them up use them but instead we say it’s not happening to me so I’m safe. Safe for how long? Who guarantees that you’ll magically be released at the age of 62 or now 66? There are no outside saviors.
It’s you that will make a difference. Do you really think that by ignoring the cries of others that evil, harm, & wickedness won’t come your way? You’re living in a glass bubble. And why post scriptures of peace, love and redemption without acknowledging that even Jesus got angry and threw the money-changers out of the Temple. But No we mix idly among thieves, robbers, rapists, stalkers tethered to electronic mind numbing devices entranced by technological marvels ignoring the mud and filth accumulating on our clothes while building empires in the sand. Yes the brainwashing has been completed successfully and the new slave masters smile from on high. Disconnect. Disconnect. Disconnect.
Interesting how some men feel that women should sit down, shut up and be quiet when it comes to abuse, bullying, stalking, threats and/or sexual harassment. If it happens to the woman personally or friends of her, she is cautioned to keep quiet because the attacker is of an alabaster hue and she resides in Ebony. Too late. Pillsbury Dough-boy meet the Nubian Ninja.
When I was a kid I heard some Black people say, “If you’re white you’re alright. If you’re Brown stick around. If you’re Black get back!”
That was then. This is now. Those days and that bullshit thinking is over.
But any attempts to silence me will only cause me to cry out louder, talk more, yell, scream, fight and organize against injustice. Never tell a woman who has survived being battered, abused and harassed to hold her peace. I already bear the scars of war so what’s a few more? Yes there should be an expectation of safety in your home, at your workplace, house of worship and school. Not only will I stand up for myself but also for any woman who needs me and requires my assistance. Who taught me to be such a Sassafras? Edward G. Palmer. I am my Father’s Daughter. I am a Soldier. I am a Righteous Warrior of God. I am unafraid. Who took up the Sword in my defense? My Mother Mable Elizabeth Palmer. I am My Mother’s Daughter. Warrior Queen!
You Gotta Keep the devil Way Down in the Hole.
Blind boys of Alabama, way down in the hole
I’m Still Here…………
Today I am 55 years old. It is a Blessing to be this age. I have depression, anxiety and panic attacks. I’m also a domestic violence and sexual abuse survivor. I’m the person sitting next to you on the bus, subway, at work and in church. No I don’t want pity just acceptance. Recently I had a conversation on my Facebook page regarding mental illness. It was good sharing with my FB buddy who works in the mental illness field about the obstacles and hurdles faced not only by the mentally ill but their families. The government just seems to put more roadblocks in our way so we wind up taking many detours towards a place called Wellness. My mother Mable Elizabeth Palmer lived most of adult life as a functioning schizophrenic. There is a serious lack of support services for the mentally ill thus we read of all these horror stories in the newspapers but for the most part many mentally ill folks carry on with their daily lives. Despite all that I’ve been through as a child and again as an adult I’m happy to be alive.
Sometimes when I tell my story people who have these “happy lives” meaning a satisfying long term marriage, house in New Burbia, kids, grand-kids, successful careers feel sorry for me, pity or think I’m a walking tragedy living a substandard life. Not true! I live in full life in spite of my numerous desert and valley experiences. Perhaps an even fuller more substantive life than those who eat from silver platters. Mine is not a half-life of only the sunny side of the street but a full life that includes the alleys, back-roads, ghettos, and dimly lit streets populated with voices yearning to be head. I like it that way.
Nothing to be sorry about. Despite all the things my parents went through, especially my Mom’s battles with her demons, she was also an alcoholic, overall I had a good childhood. We have a choice to dwell on the sad past or the fond happy times of the past. I think about the good things. The fun stuff our family did when I was growing up. Of course now being an adult I have a different perspective. I was not so accepting myself when I was younger but age, maturity, experience and time changed my viewpoints.
It’s the government and people’s approach to mental illness that needs to be healed. It should not be a stigma. I readily admit to my struggles with depression, anxiety and panic attacks. That’s my life. It is not a tragedy.The tragedy is other peoples reactions and perceptions of mental illness. My Mom was a good wife and mother. I served my country in the Army, earned my BA in English, held down jobs all my life, went to church, now a full participant in Shinnyo-en Buddhism etc… It would be good if people with mental illness were more accepted. If there was more help for those of us suffering. If people would stop trying to impose their expectations on me of what happiness means. Everybody has a past. Everyone has a story. Life goes on. I’m just happy to be alive. Pitiful prayers, slapping oil on my head, telling me the latest New Age positive thinking strategy 12 Steps to Happiness, and sad sack face looks going tsk, tsk, tsk are an insult to my intelligence as a human being. It is what it is. Raw, exposed and uncut.
I have health insurance so I do have the option of returning to those mind-numbing anti-depressant drugs I took after my mother’s death but I choose not too. I choose the full gamut and range of my emotions and feelings as opposed to being a drug induced zombie. During the high points in life I love my odd slightly off center sense of humor. The times when I’m at my lowest are the times when I’m most creative. I’m a better writer, a better photographer because I know what it is like to live life in the margins, the outskirts of society, to be a misfit and an outcast. I’m drawn to people living alternative lives. That’s why I love Street Photography. I don’t want what’s staged, posed or set-up. I want real. The nitty gritty. The down and dirty. The quirky and unusual. If life was meant to be perfect happiness or total sadness the books of Job and the Song of Solomon would not be in the Holy Bible.
What would the world look like if gave a helping hand to the Mentally Ill by supporting organizations like NAMI, prosecuting men who abuse their wives and girlfriends and pulling the collars off ministers who are rapists. What if we weren’t treated like modern day lepers? Instead of further victimizing people living with mental illness write to your Congresspersons and Senators to create laws that will enable us to receive the treatment and support systems we so desperately need.
No I don’t need to be “healed” but our society does.
Maelstrom Devolution – Realm of the Abortinates
The sun was soft and the boat rocked gently. It wasn’t so bad running out of fuel, until, the appearance of two fins circling our now powerless boat. Sharks. But sharks unlike ones I’d ever seen before in books, films, or aquariums. These looked like amalgamous leftovers from some prehistoric age. Fins coupled with scales and hideous appendages jutting out from every angle and portal of their bodies. Sea creatures sent from Hades to devour us. Every so often one would rear its ugly head and bear its ferocious teeth. Snap.. Snap… The jaws of death.
Fortunately or at least we thought so at the time, appeared the mast of another sailing vessel approaching us. We shouted and waved cloths to get their attention. It got closer and closer. One of their crew fired into the water scaring away the hungry sea monsters. At this point we were so frightened that we quickly responded to their offer of rescue and boarded their vessel without further hesitation.
One of the hideous primitives played out a line behind him quickly and efficiently securing our now forlorn vessel to theirs.
My fiancé and I were hungrily welcome aboard the rather ragtag vessel by a scurvy crew of men shouting orders at each other in a foreign tongue that we could not comprehend.
Still another of the monstrosities that I hesitate to call a crew member but must for lack of a better word collected what few personalities we had brought with us on what was supposed to be a romantic sail. There went our small ham radio, the stereopticon, and my black bag containing medical instruments that I used in my studies of phrenology, a small notebook containing my writings. Our ship of salvation quickly turned into a “Flying Dutchman”.
During our sojourn upon the island I was to use this notebook to record the lives and cultures of the barbarous captors. Male and female were employed upon this accursed ship but save for the pendulous breasts of the females the mutants were virtually indistinguishable one from another.
We tried to communicate with them. Trying to explain that we were Her Majesty’s citizens, subjects of the Empire but no sooner than we had begun our implorments than we were thrown into the filthy hold. An area teeming with vermin. Several other curious animals in not so sturdy cages were housed with us in this den of darkness. Every so often what we were to later find to be an equally retched enslaved servant came down to feed us and give us fresh water for drinking and bathing. Excretion and elimination was in another bucket emptied twice daily. They kept us clean and fed enough for survival but imprisoned without the benefit of sunlight or fresh air save once a week to be inspected by the hedonistic captain. Once he was satisfied that we would survive the voyage we were again rudely returned to our cruel holding place. Then after a time we were allow daily excursions onto the deck to promenade before the crew members as we came to be considered oddities, curiosities worthy of entertainment. We who were free servants in the royal court now stood enslaved by malformed opiate dwellers.
While upon one of our daily constitutionals we gained the intelligence of what became of any manimal who died onboard. The flesh of any creature or crew member who died was not wasted but that animal was boiled, skinned and deboned becoming part of a stew partaken by all the others. Often the flesh was not cooked at all and many times we saw one disfigured boar like crew member disgorge the contents of his meal from his stomach. The regurgitation was then collected by a fellow crew member to be reused for another type of stew the contents of which looked something like the vomit regurgitations of birds and cows. Pestilence should have taken hold and reigned upon necrotic menagerie however the bodies of these mutants of science and nature proved very efficient in combating disease. Any deaths usually resulted from accidents or murders committed by unhinged temperaments.
The Beloved and I ate only the porridge, roots from the ground and limited vegetation served us daily. We abstained from the flesh.
During one of our brief stays on deck my love and I could see a small island off in the distance. Not having an expert knowledge of geography, mapping or topography we were at a total loss to determine our destination but as time passed we slowly became accustomed and acclimated to the grunts, shrieks, groans and hurls of the crews unintelligible language to hear one word repeatedly. Moreau. Yes we were headed to the former island and laboratory of the infamous Dr. Moreau……………..
Suddenly we realized that we had been captured by a race of pseudo humans. Abortions birthed before the full levels of development could be completed. The Abortinates left behind when Dr. Moreau was killed. These creatures managed to not only survive but to thrive and procreate. Having a semblance of a human mind their technology advanced to the point of allowing them to build boats and seize luckless travelers who happened into their pathway.
Over a period of time my beloved and I began to acclimate ourselves to the island and gradually deciphered the fractured tongue of these savages who held us captive. We the purveyors of culture entombed into a society of devils and demons.
Desecration of the House of Order
Unlike the refined lovemaking of my Beloved One and I, yes they did allow us conjugal time and space, these creatures coupled like the savage beasts they were the males entering the females from behind. One could hear their frantic animal sounds of lust, which to me were like the ones of defecation piercing the night air on an almost hourly basis. These deformities of nature had a predilection for giving over to the baser instincts anytime, anywhere stopping the task at hand to copulate demonically.
As we learned to speak their language we gained their confidence and one day we were whisked away to a city translated from their tongue called Maelstrom. It resembled a series of root systems into which the souls of men were sucked up and their bodies transported via journeys to destinations at various points of the underground. Each root was a bustling Metropolis unto itself. These misconceptions of the unnatural actually possessed the ability to construct a thriving city meeting the needs of the greater populace.
It was amazing to the Beloved and I how this race of corrupted beings could achieve such levels of higher technology and skill possessing such low level deviant minds and rotted souls.
Then the answer came when one night shortly after we had been taken into their confidence we were allowed to view one of the many satanic evil ritual worship services located in what was once Dr. Moreau’s living quarters. What was once the house of order had become a foul smelling shanty subject to the febrile predilections of a race of deviants.
One night as we observed one of their phantasmagorical rituals we saw one of the secrets of their atypical advancements. During their satanic services which were held at the end of every week at approximately the midnight hour we saw them imbibe a potion an elixir of sorts made from a recipe left behind at Dr. Moreau’s abandoned laboratory located on the surface of the island.
As they made their way over to what once was or rather formerly the home and bedchambers of the Creator-god Moreau. At the start of the service the Holy Book was raised and presented to Anton the head demon that not only kissed the book but devoured a portion of it. He was joined by a profane Votary who read incantations from their vile scriptures dedicated to the black arts. Together they invoked the spirits of the underworld. “Spirits of the Underworld. All that is unholy and unworthy come forth!” As they gave utterance to the sacred passages, Anton, leader of the services smote the book and Kali the many armed one came forth.
Kali known as the “black one” consort of Shiva, wore a thin garment adorned with considerable jewelry: gold earrings, a three nose rings and three necklaces for the unholy Trinity. Her headdress had tassels that framed her forehead. She tore one of the malformed offspring from one of the beasts, decapitating it with her fangs all whilst ripping the still beating heart from its tiny breast to be partially devoured the rest placed upon the altar as a sacrifice.
Inflamed and intoxicated by perversity the beasts renewed their orgy with a renewed fervor and vigor. Pounding drums beat out a rhythm to match the melee. Without warning a full moon appeared in heretofore almost completely blackened night sky and a Goddess arose from the night mist like unto the Beautiful one.
“My name is Light and it is spelled with symbols from the Moon, Stars and sun.” As the Goddess raised her arms and as her raiment fell away florescent symbols ignited by the armada of light emanating from the night sky were revealed upon her muscular arms, upper shoulders, upper and lower back. Energy proceeded forth from each transcription radiating to her Janus sister. The Beautiful one came as bright sister to Kali to preside over and sanction the lewd rites.
Prior to the recitation of the Initiate the Beautiful rose up to give this agonized prayer. To my amazement my Beloved arose with her and together their spirits made supplication.
As the two sisters ululated their lip spoken voices died away and the symbols began to chant the words; sacred, secular, profane.
Return to the Realm of Maelstrom Deviation Cycles of Time
On dark inky blue moonless nights of wicked worship they would gather dried herbs they cultivated from the island’s rough soil place them into a type of incense burner and inhale the fumes, transporting worshippers into a trance. Once in the trance they would commence to dance. First in a line then in a circle arms linked together chanting to their unholy god. Finally the ritual would end in the drinking of the potion and they would retire back to their rude dwellings that they called homes.
At first they attempted to evangelize the Beloved One and I into their morbid séances but we declined and for whatever reason perhaps because they sensed our innate superiority allowed us to watch and pretty much left us to our own devices in the evening hours.
Sometimes late in the night after the Beloved and I had retired to our chambers we could hear rough guttural Gregorian Chants in the distance.
The Road to Hell
But this place which we referred to as The Island was not just the former dwelling place of an evil man who attempted to usurp God and nearly succeed in destroying the authentic world but it was a step into another dimension. A place that did not exist on any map made by man. Once again another realization came upon the Beloved and I. We had entered into one of the realms of the underworld. A Hades, a Hell, a living personal nightmare populated by the demons that lurked within our very minds and souls. Suddenly a veil was lifted and we found ourselves within the dark caverns of the sea. The sisters of Ishtar goddess of death and destruction, good and evil, love, war and lust had delivered us to her lower sister via the sea. Oceans of dead souls washed over us. Those dark, serpent-like many limbed sharks were just dark angels who identified potential souls for the kingdoms of darkness.
These whom we had lived with and come to know were really the spawn of the goddesses Ishtar and Lilith. Those creatures, once mortal men had loved the twin succubae had suddenly and for no reason offended them and were cruelly ejaculated from their sexual paradise; rejected by them constrained to live in an immortal plane feasting on captured souls for nourishment.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.