Like a Prayer abandoned on the Street. Entangled in bristles, thistles and Thorns. Tassles of Arteries and veins held together with dirt, clay and determination.
Hunchbacks of soil encase S-shaped spine. Skewers of sticks, rocks and Bones pierce my sides.
Roots pulled violently from the Earth yet not pulled apart. Therein lies my hidden strength. Palatine Realms are found in Dead Doorways.
Muscles and sinews exposed to unfamiliar daylight.
Souls came with me as I was ripped from my terrestrial womb. Eruptions of long gone Voices suddenly displaced from home. Not so Silent surrender. Songs and Dreams dispersed floating driftfully seeking sanctuary.
Head bent forward. Seated alone while being ignored by passersby.
Will I become sawdust or mulch washed away by the rain. The Valued parts of me became a plank, a board, an Artist Table.
Am I not as good as those housed in white walled sepulchres?
Then came one who saw my deeply entrenched Holy Beauty.
She who with loving rituals committed my energy to time and eternity. My Memory lives on Thanks to Her. Cosmic Travel lives on.
I see you She said. I see the authentic natural real you.
The fake Bluebird of Happiness only comes to shit on you.
Shitty bird. Shitty bird.
Fix Your Face Bitch! Put the Facade back on!!
The more she chased after the elusive bluebird the more it mocked her as she slammed into one brick wall after another. All the while humming the Bobby McFerrin tune, Don’t Worry. Be Happy.
Outsiders a chorus of Don’t worry. Be happy. Yet never explaining how you can drink poison and be beaten for ten years yet are expected to heal in one day. All the while in the midst of The Perfect Shitstorm.
Ladies and gentlemen we are back after that brief intermission from our sponsors, The Bullshit Express.
It’s been a banner year for idiots despite escapes from maniac Mansion run by the insane clown posse.
Now back to our regularly scheduled programming. And Remember to wear your painted on evil clown smiles.
LOCKSTEP MARCH! My Wooden Soldiers! Laugh. Grin. Giggle.
Snark. Snark. Snark.
Rebar. Rebar. Rebar. It’s rained for 14 days straight. Should we build Noah’s Ark?
Stair Steps to a Picturesque Village where horrors never cease. One can hear the groans and moans of the dead and dying. Once a battlefield soaked in blood, guts and gore now a grassy field with heather and lovely weeds. Dandelions blowing in the breeze. The Village. A Beautiful unspoiled happy Village.
As was Declan’s evening habit he went walking in the neighborhood historic cemetery which was located quite close to his home. Silence time. As he walked his thoughts mixed with the crunch of late Autumn leaves and early hoarfrost. So deep in musings was Declan that he was totally unaware of the clicks, ticks, buzzes, snaps and pops that emanated from the trees and foliage. An electrical storm of communications and warnings that went unheeded.
“Just for sport. Just for sport. He muttered under his breath.”
It was her startling blue eyes like orbital sapphires filled with charisma and grace that first got you then like suction drew you within. Spider eyelashes flicked and flutter as she raised a beckoning hand bedecked with moist blood red nail varnish. That wet Lacquered look ala Elvira and Vampira except Rheema had that cornsilk golden spun hair and girl next door looks that threw you off balance contrasting what a Dark Angel should appear.
That Golden hair spun loose a malevolent energy changing Declan’s former awe to complete disgust. Declan watched with mounting fear as the people formerly surrounding him were torn apart into mangled masses of flesh resembling sides of beef or badly butchered pork loins. Her banshee screams and wails caused bodies to explode and implode accompanied by cries of the unfortunate corporeals………………….
Espiritu en Fuego/A Fiery Spirit 