he spoke ever so honestly

haven't been around lately. been trying to face and embrace truths. i wrote this poem a year and a half ago. it seems i write poems and then later, much later i allow myself to feel them. like a prep course for the test of experincing emotions.
i post it today because i see i may setting myself up again for this pain. so i am reminding myself to keep clear boundaries and eyes wide open. i also see how i stuffed feeling to get through this. i won't do it again. have i grown? are the lovers trust worthy? will i ever allow myself to hold out for someone who is ready to love me, and has room in their lives for a healthy experience of partnership? or is this all ther is and i need to toughen up a bit?

He Spoke




He spoke ever so

Honestly

His love for her dripping from sharp teeth

Bared but not yet biting

His love for me an after thought

Something to have on a rainy day or when one is bored with tv

I take this alone time in stride

Because I never had him in the first place

I never had no one, ever

As the Smith’s song goes

He wants for me to be his friend

Buddy

Pal o’mine

When my heart was wood

He took an ax and fire to it

So I turned it to stone

With his jackhammer of new love

Almost destroyed again

I tied it together with string

And took a step back from his need

Greed of me

And still I do not give in to the hurt

The ocean of lies he washed over my flesh to get to my good stuff

The almost promise of love

Every time I tried to put out our hearth he claimed he needed

Those home fires burning

Even though I knew of her

He eased me with kiss and touch that she meant nothing

Then just a little something

Then well

in all his honesty he began to swoon about her

until her cruelty reared it’s head and

he cried to me to pick up all the humpty dumpty

put him back together

so he could return to her

and tell the truth that I was merely a whore for the taking and tossing

and I still will not give in to the hate

for he is the last in long, long line of lovers

whose deep wish is to be brothers

shower sister adornment over them all

because I always love that much.

So I become a true sister and keep my legs shut

Sister in the sense of nun

None shall crack the stone further

Let the string meld it back to flesh

I sew my sex shut

In case my legs give way to his words

Shut

Like my mouth

No screams of being led on or any other accusation

Choke tears down

Because he was honest

He did say the score

He can hang you with your wants

You did want him

You stole moments

Maybe some were meant for her

Maybe some meant for his craft

No more criminal mind tricks to keep him close

He spoke ever so

Honestly

Crushing and creating

In one breath

A frigid whore

With no bed to belong in

No arms to cradle this fragile

No open ears to soak up the stories

Only a free woman can tell

No eyes to ease the fear with a glance of genuine

No voice to sing the songs of youth

Crumble by the sweet killing moon

He spoke ever honestly

In response I lie with a smile

And claim to have no heart to break

I set him free as we do with those we love most

He will never feel the haunting

The love I have is no ghost

Sad Poems: Merchants

Sad Poems: Merchants             i wish i could craft images like this

just a thought

when some people find out i am a multiple rape survivor they get excited. my ex husband had a whole book of rape and molestation short storeis written by women. for him it was something to get off on. i see the adds on craig's list for the rape role play games. i know that some women use this as a controlled arena to work some shit out. i know that some women just think it's kinky and naughty thus fun.
for me i tried bdsm and it did not help with my issues. i did learn i had more baggage than i thought. i tried new age healing. and nothing really changed except i got labled a priestess and was excepted to heal others; because i had survived the rapes with grace and still had hope and compassion.
but then i looked at history and art. and rape looks beautiful. incest is the stories of nobel people. much like today bulumia, though a painful illness, has it's societal rewards. so is my pain proof that i am a pussy or proof that that humanity is still in tact. and will there be a time when rape and incest are not fetishized.
here is visual point: Rape of the Sabine Women

so i choose the keep the crime and the grime in my paintings because this does not represent my experiences

a short/unfinished poem

Me and the real world




They say I have a sensitive soul

I feel my senses in ebbs and swirls

Of beyond words

I have been told I am very serious

I don’t know how to have casual conversation with the trees

I have been asked to lighten up

Go with the flow

Relax

How should I ignore the chaos that corrupts what is left of culture

The red flags of indifference

The cries of the tossed aside

It is not that I have not tried to fit in

Get along

Be in the thick of it

I just hoped for something different

Something more real than acceptable cruelty we put upon each other

Because we are in such pain we know no other way

the demon of don't say a word

i wrote this to explain a picture a show few. but what the picture meant can be shared. some time has past and still keep my mouth clammed shut about certin things




The demon of don’t say a word




Six years ago I went on a quest

To find where this darkness came from

I traveled to where the mountains met the desert and begged for guidance

I could not stand the woman I had become

Due to lost childhood I had survived

I did not like the friend I could not be

to those who expressed love to me

“it’s up to you” he said

That man

That year

Up to me to face it

To see it

A vision quest is not what I understood it to be

I took the pain route and found a demon of my own creation seething deep

It is the one that many find

I named it “don’t say a word”

Her flesh sickly green with envy of those who did not know our pain

Her head bald from years of ripping hair from the roots when she felt misunderstood

She has no nose to smell danger with, allowing every cruelty to get us

The gape known as her mouth band aid shut

But still allows access to anyone who wants get off

A pussy and a cock growing from the barren earth where her heart ought to be

A hunting knife protrudes form her cunt barring love and respect to enter

Instead of hands she has hammers

To beat herself to a pulp whenever the threat of light and day appear

Blood not milk careens from her nipples

To feed all the sickness born from her infected loins

But it is her eyes

Wide and round

Seeing all

Never turning away from me

She begs of me

A mercy killing

She never asked to be born

She never wanted to wreak havoc

She is my unfortunate Frankenstein

Cut and pasted together

With trespasses I ignored and truths I could not bear

Six years ago I was ready to face her

Stare her down and take away her power

I was not ready though

To go it alone

All the heroic stories I held dear had an army to do battle

A family to tend to wounds

Friends to give guidance

“you are strong enough to do this” he said

That man

That

Year

But then the devils dressed as friends and relations said I could take another path

They did not see the demon so why should I

They painted a world for me to escape into

A world where all I had to be was court jester

Minstrel

Concubine

What ever was needed I became

Banishing her

My demon

To the tundra

Figuring she would be in a deep freeze

In no time and I could forget

Move on

Like everybody else

Said they did and wanted me to

But I knew

I knew she had survived

For she haunted all my good times

And cursed every attempt at health

Sometimes I wanted to face her again

But I have been to busy fighting for others

Tending to the wounded on this battlefield of current culture

Trying to grab my piece of the pie

Anything to avoid her

Me

Pain



And then yesterday

She whispered

Please expose me to the light

And the day

She craved to become ash

Soot

To be swept out of my hearth

It is safe now

Because the wanna be devils are gone and

And the world they painted has given way to actual nature

Because I have everything to lose

And I am scared

Terrified of letting go the lie

That she is separate from me

There are many who are praying

Chanting for me to fight her

She is begging to be destroyed

She forgives me for making her

And for blaming her

For all my bad behavior

“you are already doing it… you just don’t know it” he said

That man back then

And the faith I lost six years ago

Catches up with me

Giving me

The Courage to Heal

To find those other demon slayers and learn how to be

Once I leave the battlefield

There are those who send me good cheer and hope from soil far away and close to home

Because they have conquered chaos before and they will do it again

For themselves

As I will learn to do

And I will promise that I will not create a beast to take her place

I see her flesh go from green to grey

And smolder in the sun

I see the bloody hammers fall to ground in exhaustion

I see that gaping hole grow into a mouth and grit its teeth

I see a heart of earth grow soft moss and flowers

I trade that hunting knife in for an ax

To chop firewood with

Building a campfire for me to sing and cook by

I see her get a nose and ears to sense the danger that will always be in the world

Her scalp flowing locks that tell the tale

I slay the idea that I need her

To keep secrets

To survive

I slay the dream that I could conquer all that hurt me

This was the first seed of her



With a foundation

With

Truth and sincerity

Love and initiative

Beauty and balance

Strength and determination

Mercy and grace

I try to understand the knowledge given to me on my vision quest

Embracing the revelations from Yemaya

In those watermelon mountains

Yesterday was the start



Today is…

She is fading

As I write my truths and say those hard words

She is crying

In relief that her time and purpose are done

I am crying to

For tomorrow

A relief

That the way to destroy any scraps of her

Is to say the words

Is to let the truth be told

No matter how ugly and awful

I will not have to live in fear of her exposure

I will acknowledge the history of her always

For this is how I got here

This place of restoration

This place where I seek the methods and the art of peace

This long time coming

Being able to be a friend not only to myself but to those

in my life who simply desired the best for me

six years of the wrong road that leads me to the right place

“I may let go of your hands but I will be here” he soothed

That man

That year

And away he went

Leaving me to my own devices

Trusting that I would reach

The beach

And not drown in an ocean of despair

I stand firm on the shoreline giving thanks

Remembering that it is never too late

To hope

sad poems

i feel that sad poems are more than that. they are raw truth poems. the truth of a world we need to except and not turn away from because even though that truth may hurt it can also give us the streangth tho our eyes wide open to the real experience we call life.

Sad Poems

 click on the bold to get to the poem Sad Poems

outsider experience

a fellow writer asked me to write about being an outsider.

Requiem for my Brain 1st draft



I write this from a free place.

I have no traditional history to share.

No regular rights of passage such as first kiss and graduation.

I can express what I have known as an abuse and mental health system survivor.

It is one thing to survive abuse

it is another to survive the system that is supposed to help you but in many cases does harm.

My mental health history can make many people uncomfortable. This stigma creates a wall between me and others. I did not choose to be a mental health consumer. It is something that has happened in my life and I try to manage it. I am aware of it everyday.







At age 14 I attempted suicide.

My reasons were simple at the time, because I was sexually abused throughout my life and

I was having what is now known as a text book reaction.

At the time, I was diagnosed as bipolar and spent 2 weeks on an adult psych ward.

At that young age I felt that I was ruined for the American fairy tale, even one with a twist of subculture.

I felt I had no place within my family and that I had no place in the world.

My Doctor gave me a magic word, bipolar, and a promise that I would be good again, I would feel different about myself.

In that therapeutic process my nymphomania was explored and my over-active imagination.

These are both signs of sexual abuse. Ways of escape to cope with the pain.

But it was 1985.

This is how I manage it currently, putting it in the context of time.

I remember all that talking with him, speculation of esoteric things,

not the concrete grounding I craved.

Are you safe to tell my secret to?

He did not want my secret; he wanted me to fit the word, bipolar,

because that is what he felt comfortable with.

After a year I was sent back to the hospital for medication.

Upon entry I was diagnosed bipolar type2.

I recounted my abuses and I was told those things I either made up or were caused by my inappropriate behavior related to my bipolar disorder. If I take the medication and do as I am told the pain will go away and my parents will love me again.

They also said if I could not heal in 2 years I was looking at a life in the hospital.

Were they just trying to scare me or were they serious?

I don’t know but my parents and I took it serious and we prepared ourselves and life for it.

At the time it did not bother me because the outside world was filled with tormentors and abusers.

It began to bother me when I learned the mental health system is just like the outside world in that way.

There is no escape.

But I was so medicated I could not care.

I got through each day. Walking was difficult and talking was even harder. The doctors kept changing the medication so I did not feel consistent.

Each change meant another way to learn how to maneuver in reality and do the tasks expected of me.



My parent came to visit; they had agreed to experimental psychotropic drugs in my treatment plan. I thought “Pain what pain… thoughts what thoughts… I am here in this chair and I don’t have to give a fuck… and when I am done with chair I will take another pill and dream of off world things… and the next day and the next day and the next”



The other kids in the hospital were resisting, I just settled in.

I took my meds and dulled the pain, because it seemed too much for everyone else to bear,

they just wanted me to be ok and happy and normal as if nothing had happened.

If I just did as they said I would get better and fit in, and I wanted to believe that too.

I wanted to feel real again. I wanted to be a part of things like others did.

But what did that mean to me, I knew what it meant to them; a series of acceptable actions creating behavior and a performance of life, this being achieved through the mix and match of meds.

The blame removed from my parents for not protecting me if my problem was simply chemical; the hospital promised quick results.

But I did not get better.

I just suppressed the healing and became emotionally and functionally stunted.

My young brain undergoing radical shifts and not developing as it should.

So I got transferred to a long term facility and slowly got off the meds.

The problem was I was still in trauma and did fit in to the hospital, mainly because I wanted to stay.

I had no drive to live in the outside world, I was too high functioning for the hospital but could not function in the outside without strong medication or else I start screaming.

The problem with that is no one wanted to hear it.

I did not fit into the proper box at the time.

As times change so does the knowledge base, if they knew then what they know now could I have saved my brain? Would the approach in my treatment been different, less invasive?



My experience of long term was that of an outcast.

Like everywhere else there are cliques.

There are popular kids and the losers.

Everybody else was mad that they were there.

They would bring kids in kicking and screaming.

I was relieved when I walked through those doors.

I BELIEVED IN THE PROMISE OF HEALING AND I WAS VERY MEDICATED.

Finally… quiet. A special room… for me to go and finally break down… and tell the truth about all the fucked up shit in my head because people could not stop putting things into me and telling me I like it.

Sex, Pain and love were all cross wired in my head and I knew it.

I wanted someone to help me.

I took the meds in short term and I existed, feeling the damage to my experience of reality.

I got off the meds in long term and I felt the reality of pain and the loss and I wanted to let it out.



But this was the 80’s and you’ll ruin it for some if you actually try to deal with your issues.

And you may piss off others because you have not seen a true bottom yet.

My pain was earned yet I was taking away a bed from a kid who really deserved a long term mental health facility.

It was made clear that I did not belong there either.

And well my therapist wanted to retire… So I fell through some more cracks, only spent 10 month in hospitals instead of the 2 years to life they told me in the beginning.

I was released and got a new therapist who prescribed new meds.

I had gone from mood stabilizers and anti depressants to anti psychotics all because the actual going through the pain was unacceptable to those around me.

It disturbed their sense of reality.

It was acceptable to disrupt my sense of realty with meds.



A large Public High School is not the place for person experiencing shell shock.

The Navane (anti psychotic) was to help me manage through the day without acting out, being upset by the things I was suppressing.

Dipped in cotton was the poem I wrote for the feeling.

I spent most my days in the health room because I would nod off in class

and this why some faculty and students thought I was a junkie;

add yet another outsider identity.

I learned to move through it.

Move through this other worldly feeling, this detachment that was now my “sane” reality.

And this confused and scared me because I did not feel real at all.

I felt like it was theatre.

I was expected to socialize with my peers.

This did not work out well.

Even though I hung out with subculture kids I was still too weird when medicated to fit in.

Why can’t I relax?

Why can’t I just party and have a good time?



I felt the chasm between me and them.

I could not explain the surreal experience that had become my everyday.

The energy required to think through meds and make sense to others is a quiet triumph.

It was not acceptable to just sit and stare out the window.

I learned that early in my childhood.

I learned to override the chemistry and engage people.

I only lasted 7 weeks before I was readmitted to the adult psych ward.

I spent that summer inside day treatment.

New meds and new therapist and back to school I went.

The safe middle ground of interaction was the arts.

This was the time and place I did not feel bad for feeling alone or for feeling extreme.



Being medicated made art difficult sometimes.

The meds zapped my motivation to create.



What has become of that girl? She became a painter and poet.









To take or not take meds: 22 years of back and forth.
Did I feel anymore connected off meds?

I take meds now.

Not for bipolar but for the side effects of abuse and traumas.

When I was 16 I was scared because I knew I was outside of things. I knew on a gut level that I did not understand myself hormonally, culturally, or spiritually.

So began my quest of self and place.

It has been 22 years of experiments to get my mind right so I can learn how to care for my body chemistry; getting past just dulling pain.

I still feel outside of the shared experience known as society.

But at this point I do not really care.

When I wasn’t on meds I painted and painted and wrote my guts out. I worked, I loved, and I explored the country and met some real good folks and some real bad news folks.



I was also suicidal.

Emotionally reckless and desperate I managed through the 90’s.

No matter how functioning and social I learned how to be I upset people when I tried to face my pain and not suppress it.



So I went off by myself with the intent and drive to figure out what it means to me feel like I belong somewhere.

The struggle was overcoming my under developed sense of self and how to live in the outside world.

I learned how to take meds and create anyway.

Now I paint and write at a more fluid rate.

It has taken many people and many missteps to get me this place.

I tried to take all the roads I went down in stride, but I did get a bit banged up a long the way.

I feel it was worth it and at the same time I am glad I need not go down those roads again. I believe there are new roads.

On these paths fitting in just does not matter.

What matters are questions I am not afraid to ask such as am I sincere?

I know all the ways some people claim I do not fit, but what of all the connection with individuals that I do have?

Do I have to have a group identity to feel inside?

What I found to exasperate my feelings of being an outsider was the over medication and the misdiagnoses.

What truly made me feel like an outsider is the heartbreak when you lose your childhood to the truth of cruelty.

The knowledge that my organic need to heal and feel things was socially unacceptable in the world in which I was born in to and reared in hindered my development.

Medication was supposed to have made me fit socially but it did the opposite.

Art and science as a refuge

To be continued later

last year

i wrote this poem a year ago. i am still struggling with the theme. i now acccept i will continue to struggle with it. until ... i stop struggling with it. last year though it was a different layer lonely. so that is something.


June 26, 2009




I feel the loneliness creep back in.

I try to stop it. But then again I think it better to accept it.

So I am alone

This destroyed me in my youth

I know better now

People can love but that does ease loneliness

This deep despair has been apart of me

Ever since I remember being

This despair began with incest

Expanded during a sexualized growing up

And not in the “I want to explore love and being loved and one day I’ll be married with children”

No not in that way

In the way of a hunger and a need to feel the love that 1st abuser instilled

The hunger and need that was developed over time with one invasion after another

Until invasion is all I know of sex

Of love

Of being

I exist to be invaded

I exist to be used up and then tossed aside

I exist

Holding on for that time

When I feel different

Possibly

Maybe

Whole

Or at least less broken

2002 poetry

in 2002 i wrote this poem outside of myself. looking at myself from the view of a friend i had. some people have issues with drug induced writing. this poem was not written while on mushrooms, it is from the point of view of a mushroom experience. the event never happened. but parts were inspired by real things and people. iam pround of this poem for my honesty and way of expressing what i could say. i have changed since the poem, because of the poem. i do not know the other people in this poem now. last i heard they were struggling with demons as well. but for a moment we embraced each other and believed healing on that path was possible.
the art piece( cannot call it a painting) was the spewing of things i was thinking about at that time in my life.
at that  time in life i was embracing chaos. i had stopped trying to control it and just went with it. since then i strive for balance. i accept that chaos is. how i respond to it has changed.
i am also scared about publishing it. but that is what this blog is about.

naked with two others


9 of grails

an epic expression



I’ve only been in the 2nd city of Atlantis for a short time. There are moments that I still remain in amazement that I made it this far. Roughly a year and one half ago

I called out.

To anywhere. Somewhere. I needed a teacher. Someone to teach me how to get out of this suburban swampland.



out of swamp grows the lotus.



One did… and she brought me here to other shore of the stolen continent so I could learn more.

Davi meets me in the golden park. Hands over a bag of chips. Tells me to eat. I’m not real hungry, I’m thinking. About askin’ him.

Davi’s a monk in the traditions I’m studying.

I need him to teach me everything.

He’s looking at me holding the bag.

Smirking.

inside, are beautiful paynes grey mushrooms.

We’re sitting under a tree while I’m eating.

Listening to this tale he’s wrapping around me.





A space two dimensions or more to the left is an orphaned kingdom.

Twins had ruled the space. A boy and a girl.

The prince and princess were brother and sister to those who lived there.

Neither king nor queen. Simply mentors to guide the prince and princess. And when they died together (always on the same day) they would be born again as twins and the kingdom would grow with them again.

The helix kept moving.

At some point they disappeared.

The kingdom is in perpetual mourning.

A slave vessel kidnapped them to our realm.

They have been reborn here before.

She is the 6th generation here.

She is the prince.

Her princess Tapestry found the portal

and Donnie Darkkoed deep.

Our job is to heal her wounds so she may have strength to make the journey through the Dark Backward

Daat

Daath

Dagda

Death



When he, the princess Tapestry, dwelled in this city before, there was a regal tone to things.

When she, the prince Nikti, joined him here the hue got richer.

For those of us who could not penetrate the princess we could enter the honeyed mooned garden of the prince.

It was not that they look alike, it is that they feel alike.

They were in search of us who can heal the battle worn.

Both stumbled into the arms of mistaken messiahs.

They traveled far down the river de’Nile.

The Princess Tapestry found a Milesian Shiva priest just in time

they made a great escape from this stolen continent

To the Ire eyes

The land with the Galway Glow

The prince required a bit more training

Unfortunately

During a lucky pressure movement

The princess attempted a karmageddon tantrika Edith spill

The 2nd Ganges slide home

Say, say oh playmate.

The princess Tapestry understood about assassins

The prince Nikti did not.

So in this realm he

She

Nikti

Is roaming alone.





The shrooms… all gone

I know he’s talking about our girl. I know she gets lonely in a strange way. I watched her morph into all kinds at the hands of her Shiva Priest Raw Dale.

She hooked me with tools for multiverse experiences.

Hearing the grass moan I feel

Prepared



Davi’s smirking at me again

“you’ll never be 100% pure love… close though… and what more can we ask? A vessel, which can take it all. A Geni Girl Sufi Whirl.”

Wise words hang between us.

How long have we been walking? Where are we? Haight and Masonic… how very… real.

He’s telling me about my special training for tonight. We enter a classic SF flat. My ears immersed in colors I have never tasted together.

bitter

sweet

swaying

in the corner

she’s moving

to roni size



I&I

becomes

i&i

her beauty has jagged truth

butterscotch flesh

witch hazel

eyes

screaming rapes during and after slavery

kamikaze geni antigone

KGA

the tao of now



TAPESTRY

TAPESTRY

TAPESTRY



Yeah so we’re all here. In this room. Davi, setting down a tray. Loudly. The recessed lighting blows blue-white ideas.

All the harmonics that ever breezed through me have returned. To this moment.



“enter the center of the storm with size”

absinthe

a toast

to us

all





can you hear them?

smashing pumpkins boy!

listen close



closer

that’s what we always wanted

that’s what all the songs are about

returning

to

us

primitive reason

some of us

fusion



experience the truth of us

what does it look like

feel like

taste

smell

audio files for

smashing pumpkins

?

cleansing

“today is the greatest day I’ve ever known, can’t live for tomorrow”

the bathroom crawls with stone

the two snakes spew warm water

Davi guides us under the showering

he’s speaking of malkuth

he’s speaking of earth

she is sitting on the stone

“I’ll tear my heart out before I get out”

Davi crouching before her

scrubbing

feet

calves

behind the knee

his carpenter hands kneading her flesh

i’m crouching now

i work a lather between her toes

in the arch of her foot

the foot that treads the earth

that receives all the energy first

roots of her tree

slide over ankles

back down the top of the foot

all these tiny bones

delicate

stems

support all above

“today is the great day I’ve ever known”

waves from my forearms grind into her shins

she is flexing under us

she is expanding

i’m breathing through my palms

grasping her thighs

suds become dirt

dirt i’m grinding back into her molecular structure

her hips are cracking with her ribcage implosion

breasts swelling lava fairy kisses

the miracle voicebox

that leads to her mouth

breathing through the

nose

feeling through the eyes

plantation green

soil

earth

mother

grind into this battle worn

geni

girl

girl

grrrl

queendom

her sheba queendom

“i’ve tried so hard to cleanse these regrets”



Davi agrees

I cleanse the left

The feminine side

He the right

The masculine

The prince

Our girl Nikti

Fusion

Union



setting



“ i use to be a little boy”

I’ve never seen a california king bed

brick fireplace roaring

massive mirror on the mantle

views = rich gardens of city and lights

liquid wall

mirrored wall

the bed extends through it

I can see my other self.

“I send this smile over to you”

Davi is laying her upon white down



We now lay the Foundation

Davi is whisper

#9

what is the goal?

if we understand the goal we can understand what is needed for a foundation

the independence to think and dream

to experience an ada/io/hathor movement

to become human again

Davi pours oil into her skin

rubbing whispers to us

“disarm you with a smile”

during the last time of union our prince worked a store down the road

zoa

everyday she burned a scent to heal the healers

she added her energy freely

frankincense

lavender

orange





slip and slide fingers

touch her now

my breath

becoming

easy



“what I choose is my voice”





with each breath i become invisible…with my faith in the flesh i inhale…with the faith

i will exhale

create the inner alter

my cup rhinnon with blood

the quartet of alter aunties

Kali Isis Yemaya Bast

are the yesod for my offerings to

the Myriadal Spectrus


“the killer in me is the killer you”




send this smile over to you



Dosage



landslide



Davi’s leaning against that liquid wall

Nikti rests against his chest

Her left arm mid gesture

My head now in her lap

He becomes her throne

She becomes her Hedwig

regal from war torn sites

her castration mislabeled

hysterectomy

mercury hod rising

truth sayer

he, the monk that has become her throne, he administers the medicine

swirling Buddha semen slams down lungs creative and formless

he knows what she needs

yes needs.

“I’ve been afraid of changing because I built my life around you”

TAPESTRY

So the ? is how to get her where he needs to go

1st lets go chemically

we understand that due to her history we will have to continue on with current re-imprint process and with bridges built to other molecular structures she is communicating with.

What is mercury? Is it that silver liquid in thermometers or is it communication?

Both you say.

What is beyond both?

What is her re-imprint process at the moment.

Due to long term childhood rapes/molestation’s

Pleasure and Pain models completely fused together

Which ever switch in that fuse box you flip you will be flipping the other as well.

She can go beyond labeled emotions

Go to the root of emotion = feel every thing at once and for all

That is where she Needs to go to get to where she is going to reach Him

So the dosage must be appropriate

organic mind is her mercury mind

removal of reproductive organs is

castration

how does this effect her during emotional

which are also chemical

fluctuations in the body

narcotics are for those who have the capacity to escape

she hasn’t this illusion

hallucinogens provide her with heightened sensory experiences

so she may embrace her true self

mushrooms = our base/ Buddha is her base + mushrooms

dosage

more

i can be an angel baby

my bullet clit ready to soar within once my butterfly wings grow with glory

i fuse the art of organic expression with the truth of this corrupt world

with a Venus understanding of love in mountain pose

lords of acid truth of rough sex love is the answer

splendor of the mind



lighting her bowl I’m wondering what are real angels like? do they live in thoughts memes

are her angels here?



can you taste the copper in her blood?



we all curl up together

sharing smoke

breath and thought

her longing for a lost winter in the desert



“the world is a vampire sent to drain secret destroyers hold you up to the flames and what do i get for my pain betrayed desires and a piece of the game even though i know all my cool and cold-like old job despite all my rage i am still just a rat in a cage”



will you taste the copper in our blood?



her longing turns to girly crush cycle

Davi peaks of netzach

of firm intelligence

4 Sufi swirl above us

one desires us to know

one desires us to love and be loved

another one desires for us joy

and the other one desires for us peace

raja gnana karma bhakti hatha tantra kriya



kissing the smoke into her mouth I chew her lip fruit

sensations of copper course down my throat

Davi is laughing

She is smiling

licking blood she offers me smoke

I inhale with the faith I will exhale

angels have been orphaned too

we can be nephlims in our hearts

in our minds

in our bodies

chemically speaking

inside out

1979



was a good year for her

it was a beginning of ideas manifesting for the 1st time

ideas such of love

all the things that come to mind in an 8 year old in the season of love

an 8 year old dealing with the rejection from her lover

well it’s the truth damn it! He said He did those things because he loved me. And if I loved him the way he showed me everything will be wonderful. And then it

stopped

Davi is massaging her legs open. He murmurs of cherry blossoms and rain swept afternoons. Of dancing around singing off key, not caring.

Her head in my lap now I stroke soft petal flesh

throat groans rumble

now

under my finger tips

nail my heart in your mind

stroke me home

richer rumble rises

up my arms

riding

my shoulder

racing

through the chest

to that pulsating blood gorged

pomegranate

unified

in a 4th dimensional slip

ripping rumbles now

his hand has disappeared inside

muscle in his forearm let me understand he is

soul spelunking

he is after that

goddess spot

that lives in all women

so even if our clits or minds are mutilated we can still experience



a gasp in unison

three feed the tree



light

so, so light

singing with air

the peyote song her Shiva Priest Raw Dale discovered in her

he had told me of that healing story

healing of the 1st non family member rape

so effortless the song

like youth

experiencing the song through touch

I wish I had more sense

You do

You have 7 more to develop

12 in total

feel me more

my palms ride down her body to her sacred garden

I’ve known her in many ways. Never inside out though.

Yoni Oasis

That’s what she calls her garden



withdraw on the exhale

fix on her eyes

they’re clear

crystal baby

never the 1st

always the 2nd

sometimes the 3rd

thought one thrust

thought two ease

thought three ask

easing in

shots of purple imbed in veins

her shell is bark creaking with each centimeter of me

metal arms

nail

nine inches

into that





beauty



David Starry Eyes sears my forehead

i will not be a king solomon and destroy this sheba realm

nine inch nails become golden amber shafts

the sun erupts behind her

a prince can be Jesus’ son

she cracks herself more towards me in surrender

the unbearable lightness

sings again

i surrender to her

the liquid wall washes away

i do and do not have shape

we are crying

for the missed childhoods

for the dreams of 1979

roller rink suburban girls

whose skin is not the right shade

for a couples skate

but just fine for genuine

friends

I touch her there

deep


where sum of us get to go



i see myself




Davi has my elbow

Easy

He

Eases into me

Exhale

Withdraw


“nature’s first green is gold, her hardest hue to hold”

open my soul to shine on the innocence mission of beauty

I put this moment

here



leary circuits 3 and 4

beethoven’s 6th

feel

tiphareth





openness





the end

4

now

a painting

today i worked on a painting. it is big and strong. and everyone thinks it is pretty. the secret is, it is a part two to a painting i did years ago. this piece i love, but have not shown it to many. when i was looking at this piece last year i wrote a poem for my father. he will never see it. because he has asked me not to write like that anymore. i use to write like that all the time. i like writing like that. and painting like that. to me they are as beautiful as the ones that show and sell.
if you click on the picture you can zoom in to see all the details. try to read the cut outs. there is an old madonna song called bad girl. that i lstened to as i made this piece. i listened to it again as i wrote the poem.

 Bad girl

drunk by six

kissing some kind of stranger's lips

somked too many cigarettes today

i'm not happy when i act this way

Listen Father



(Papa Don’t Preach I’m In Trouble deep…)



I wasn’t at the

crack house

Crystal den

to get high

I was there to get laid

And those speedy mother fuckers

Can go all night and not cum

You willing

Dear old Dad

You willing to follow me down

To the drown

THIS is where your father took me

As he tricked me out into the world of slutdom

With each boozy secret visit he made upon my body

Until I learned too late that I had a taste

For it

His cock

After him any

Cockle doodle do

Cock hold dude will do

You willing

Daddy dear to take on my pain

Since you demanded that I live through this

Chin up stoic

I stand

In grand denial

Dressed up like a nun in your love

Never speaking of my war within

My triumphs over prostitution

Only dipping me toe into porn and not jumping all the way in

But not for the reasons you think

Because I saw the stamina of Jenna

and knew

I had to get stronger to make it in this world

Because the world is not what you said it was

I can take the grit and the grime

The lies and the crime

Where is the grandiose culture of my birth

Where is this myth of family

It does not lie within my skin

What rest there

Are fingerprints bruising the memory of

Childhood and love and tender touch

Can you follow me to where

This rough wind blows

Can you keep up

Not with the Joneses

But the true tale of me

Where I was all that time

When you were not around

I dare you to

Follow the leader

We shall play

And I’ll whisper

That I still love you

And forgive your refusal to apologize

For the chaos created

While you tried to change the world for the better

For the destruction of my mother

And the hurt inflicted upon my brother

I forgive you

For putting me on a pedestal

And then leaving me trapped up there alone

Vulnerable to those birds of prey

I forgive you even though I do not believe you will forgive me

For being ruined by him and all the others that followed.

You will never know of those who tamed my wild heart and ways

You will never know of the demons I no longer have to battle

In order to stay alive

You may never understand the price of my peace

But no matter

Dad

I won’t go to the crack house

Crystal den

This time I will not feed my sickness

But my soul

You’ll just never know difference

No different

Than you were before

survivor of shame

emotions frozen
fixed in a tundra

i am a poet and painter
i am also trudging through a painful process called recovery
i have been trying to recover from incest.
currently i am working through the book The Courage to Heal
i have tried to deal with it before, without a good therapist
at times i was ok, able to be comfortable in my openess
others... well... a whisper of self
Tapestry was my soul brother. like a twin who not only could hear me but feel me as well. in the 90's we made alot of art together and pushed ourselves to soul spelunk and bring the truth in everything we created. i had no fear back then because we explored our spirituality and came to a sense of home in Yemaya, Maat and Bast

he believed in my quest and supported the work i was doing. when i got lost he would find me and help me back again. i was creating poetry that really moved me and felt good saying out loud September 10th 2001 he died. he was HIV postive, and when he got pnemonia while traveling he could not recover. he did die in the arms of his true love holding the hand of his mother. he did not pass over alone like some of our friends. i had been trying to get there, his bedside, as others were too. and the next day was 911 so i could not fly to reach him and be there to spread his ashes. that hurt so much i almost gave up. but i knew if he were still here he would push me dig deep and carry on.

i do have other soul brothers. they knew and loved Tapestry too. and they have held my hand and encouraged to finish what i started. in 2003 i was all set and ready, expressing myself freely when my family said i'll lose them if i did not stop airing dirty laundry. so i stopped. and fell apart. and got back up again and fell apart and got back up until last saturday. when another artist pointed out that i really need to be honest. that i do not have to keep those poems secret and not share that art work that upsets them so much.

so here it goes

some artwork

and  a poem

I lay this down

I lay this down

i confess this to my mother

the one that breathes the sea

the one true calling for me

I want to shift this burden off my back

Been carrying it for so long

Too long

Been messing around in polluted pools

Been dragging myself way down

Trying to save my family name/tree

But I feel lynched on that branch of incest

Can I grow from coral instead?

Can I cut these ties that bind

I feel like I am choking on that thread

Shackled with shame

I fight this fight once again

Stooped shoulders

I let the pain slide to the floor

Weak and bleary eyed

I can’t cry no more

I try to forgive them

Even if I can’t forget

I forgive them

As I scream out my regret

Alone at the shore I pray that she can hear me

The loose scent in the trade winds assures

My heart

And so

Up from the dark ocean floor

I grow