Fallen Heroes for the Masses

No heroes or heroines that is my motto for life.

I like to be inspired by other human beings.

The whole myth of heroes is based on demigods.

The immortals, but sadly enough our modern heroes are anything but immortals

or something to be a cult follower of.

Lance Armstrong, Clint Eastwood and Alfred Hitchcock.

are falling down, falling down.

We human beings are a strange brew.

As the ‘ole song says…

I rather listen to the blackbirds…Conk-a-reeeee, Conk-a-reeeee…

An Image of Mother’s Passing…

If you cannot get rid of the family skeleton, you may as well make it dance. – G.B. Shaw


My brother called to tell me mom passed. There were few tears to shed.  A year before I shed my tears knowing that this day would come soon enough. Giving birth and waiting for death are so much alike in their ways. One waits and endures through the pain while caught in the eternity of this waiting. It passes. Human beings are born and then they die.

 

The funeral director was called by phone to come and receive my mother’s body in death. They arrived quickly. A gurney was brought into the house. The man asked if my father and I would like to join my brother downstairs.

“Many family members find it hard to witness their loved-one’s bodies being placed on a gurney.”

My father and I stayed. I watched as the mortician picked my mother up as a bride over the threshold. Her body hung down lifeless. A vivid image of Christ on the cross came to mind. Then she was placed on the purest white sheet I ever saw. Then they wrapped it round her. She was the center of a beautiful white Lilly. My father bent over and kissed her, I followed and kissed her, and he followed again. Then she was gone.


The Marriage of Heaven and Hell by William Blake




I only have a copy of this book from the library. It is one of the most valuable of valuables of my heart. I like this man because he attacks perfection. He attacks technology and he attack big egos. I think everyone should read this book. Blake is a humorist; he is very esoteric and clever. He seems to know human nature best because he shows he has been burned emotionally by friends.

Betrayal is the great realism or knowledge of the heart.

Blake includes nature and art. What a remarkable creation. Why are all the interesting people dead… well maybe not so? I feel like maybe he is around somewhere when reading his work.

Get it and make some wrinkles in your clothes. Go out and misspell something. Be imperfect in grammar and voice.

But never-never be insincere, greedy, or inhuman.

Read. Intelligence of the heart is the game he plays… and you got to have one to play Blake’s game of intelligence…brain, heart and honesty and William Blake.

I find so much decadence, arrogance and lying in the world today…How comforting it is to have Blake in the world to read!!!!!!!!!!!!


Three Impressions From My Macabre Youth

“I have seen the dark universe yawning
Where the black planets roll without aim,
Where they roll in their horror unheeded,
Without knowledge, or luster, or name.”
H.P. Lovecraft



One impression from my childhood was of the invisible monster. This is how I remember the monster which is my first impression from my macabre youth.

The whirlwind went round & around. As a child I watched it while sitting on the concrete steps. Was a monster in the whirlwind? All week the kids talked ’bout the monster. They were chasing the monster. They were running from the monster. This week was the week of the monster. A pack of kids from the neighborhood grabbed me. I was encircled by them. We ran down the hills. We hung from the trees. We dug for thin white crystals deep in the earth. Playing, laughter and stories filled our days. One of the kids said,

“There over there, there it is the monster!”  They were all now pointing their fingers at something I could not see.

“Where, where I yelled?” Then I ran with the others to the safety of a home.

Gales of wind and rain outlined the monster while looking out the windows. The storm ended and we all raced outside.  Our rain boots left footsteps in the mud.

“Look I found a large footprint. The monster is here the monster is here too!” A child yelled.

We all looked at it and yelled. We all ran down the muddy dirt road. We ran by some trees.  As we passed the trees a strange coolness ran through me. These were the same eerie and cold pepper trees that were always moving, was this the place where the monster lived?

Another impression from my macabre youth is an image based within a story told to me by Gigi. She was my best friend at eight. On Friday we walked down to Gary’s market on Topanga Blvd and for 25 cents each of us got a bag of candy.  This would fill a pillowcase and was a must for our Friday night sleepovers.  There were only two channels to watch on Saturday mornings on TV.  It was either cartoons or scary movies. We watched The Werewolf, Frankenstein, and The Mummy. Gigi’s room was on the other side of the single-story house, which was far away from her parents, giving us a lot of privacy and time together. Gigi had a fantastic way of telling stories.  I did not talk much so I was always listening to her narratives. This is the one that made a deep impression on me. Etched, inked, and printed in my memories.

Gigi’s Story.

All the lights were out in the house. There was a thunderstorm over the valley.  The light of the thunder lit up the rooms. The trees scraped the windows. The howling of the wind blew past the house.  I was all alone and walked into the kitchen to turn on the lights for a glass of water. The lights were not working. Then … then I noticed a shadow outside the kitchen window. I hid behind a curtain. I saw nothing. My parents were coming home soon. They did come home with lots of candles and some food. We lit the candles and had our supper. My brother and I were then put to bed. Later that night I heard more scratching and scraping on the windows and could not sleep.  I got up to get another glass of water when I stopped and listened.  I heard a scratch at the front door. It got louder and louder. I had to pass the door to get to my parent’s room. I walked very slowly, very gently as a cat. I stopped breathing as I looked at the door. It was open and I felt the cold from outside. The only thing holding the door from opening was a gold chain lock.  I closed my eyes and continued to walk. I had to take one more look before I burst into my parent’s bedroom.  There before my gaze was a long black strand of hair and hands pushing at the door. The fingers glowed white with long fingernails.

The last impression that I will share here to you the reader is a about a place that still mystifies me. I don’t remember how Linda, Gigi and I found out about the fairy land.  It was a couple of miles up the-hill from where we lived.  It was on a very round mound surrounded by eucalyptus and pepper trees.

Our trek took us past many homes while walking up a winding country road. We would sneak away to go there. We kept this place to ourselves. We only visited there a few times as children and lost interest as we grew older.  I think at 11 years old we may have visited it about five times in the month of Autumn.  I noticed, while passing a few homes on the way, women looked out of their windows at us. The neighborhood caught on to our journeys to the hill.  We knew this. It was a magic place to be protected.

A path led us up a hill to a small church. There was also a small house and a watermill on the side of this structure.  A large waterwheel was part of this without any water to move it. We often strolled over a broken wooden bridge that arched over a dry stream bed. A miniature deep empty swimming pool was found as we walked down stone filled steps. Here was placed a large statue or totem pole. Strange faces were engraved on this that frightened us. We took long moments to wonder about these things. Funny, the buildings here were built for people smaller than 11-year-old girls. It was a magical place, we imagined, just for us. We played and dreamed in our fairy land.

The fairy land still haunts me. We never thought to take pictures of this enchanted place. Which is now gone. Bulldozed over with new homes placed upon it hiding its magic secrets. Yet, cameras and cellphones were not an option back then. The only likenesses are here in my mind.

This ends my three impressions from my macabre youth. Stories told by an adult about a time “without knowledge, or luster, or name.” No Mr. Lovecraft I disagree there is a luster for me still each time I remember!


Angry Angry woman

While driving my long drive home home I noticed a sign outlined in bold red,

“Reiki treatment for shyness.”

I hate this.  Sometimes Wellness clinics go too far. I don’t see anything unhealthy with being shy. As though it is an illness to be healed.  This in-your-face culture is what we have become and it gets me down. To many reality shows galore to bore bore us. Why should we all be confident, outspoken and extroverted?  This sounds like death death to me and it gives me a headache too.

Today at Trader Joe’s I went to get some free yummy coffee coffee. I noticed the pot was bubbling and empty. I said to the  mature lady behind the counter,

“Hey, The coffee cow is empty.” Saying this directly and softly to her as she avoided my face.

She must have  heard me because she quickly replaced it with a new full pot of hot hot coffee. Talking the whole time with a group of mature women. I was not included in the conversation. I felt it. I became a shadow shadow that bothered them for a short time. Was it because I was too young, or was it my tattoos, or maybe the pimple on my chin? No that was not it. It is because these ladies had the talk down. That talk talk that is so peer peer la de da older women talk.  They talk low and from their deep voice. Vacuum intense where  the whole world is just focused in on them them. In this maze of  healthy shopping charts.  I am not part of their hub hub.

Professors and older christian missionaries with PhD’s are like this too. I’ve been around them too much at the university university. They give their their lectures of the century. Their heads are so big big and what they are doing is so grand grand … they forget to take a break to breath and say,

“I am not God yet but I am gonna be.”

Man this makes me sick sick with fervor when I get around these types of women.

Being shy, lack of confidence and being an introvert is a normal part of life and I like it. I am so tired of hearing that it is strange, weird and stupid.

“Your son, he is so quiet?”

The nice lady teacher says to me, while the rest of the kids all bazooka out.  Hey, you should be happy happy that a child is paying attention and is sensitive to their environment Mrs Teacher Teacher.

Being Shy and introverted is cool. It means one is respective. Being respective means being engaged with the world around you. The activity of the brain, heart and mind is an amazing quality to have… one is in tune like a tuning fork!

This is why we all love love beer, poetry, beautiful art,  Carl Jung, surfers, punks, beatniks, Ross from GBH and James Dean.  I include my two sons and myself in this gander of shyness.

We tend to stand obscurely behind the lines making faces at the loud important people who are so full of themselves they forget to squeeze out a fart fart.

So full of themselves that they can not even realize that there are others more intelligent than they are, and unlike them,  have instead chosen not to brag about it.

Braggadocio braggadocio take a look at yourselfcio and get over yourself!

my animus animus !!

 

 

Am I assuming too much? Why not be horny for peace instead!

CAIRO – Ema Mostafa, a village girl was shot and killed last month when she dared to spit in the face of the man who groped her.

~ Los Angeles times taken from article by Reem Abdellatif

I looked up the word groped in the Urban dictionary,  http://www.urbandictionary.com/, and it means what I know it means but put the word down and dirty on the kitchen table.  It defines the word as to touch or fondle someone sexually to get em horny! This man was horny but the 16-year-old woman was not. The fact that she was brave enough to go up against a patriarchal system that she did not create amazes me. I think of all the young women who did not.

Think of all the women who did not…pause! This man was not charged with taking this young woman’s life. So he has done it before and will most assuredly do it again. Am I assuming too much? The article does not speak of any relationship between this man and young woman. The fact that she spit into the man’s face tells us the whole story very clearly.

Cairo Egypt on the red sea part of the Nile Delta. Oh Cleopatra! She now adds to her hidden army of women in the eternity of the afterlife , waiting. This death does not go unknown to the world.   Ema is brought up and out to  our attention knowing that here in the united states there is an accountability associated with such as action against any woman.   She would find justice here, hopefully so!

I see a multitude of Ankhs turned toward this part of the fertile crescent. Forcing them to put down their political beliefs and ideologies and work strictly towards drafting a constitution for their [our] Nation.  Why not be horny for peace and communication, where men and women come together in the continuity of history that goes back before this hateful inane patriarchy. CAIRO ! Listen to your women! Something old and new calls this place of women and their young girls and it is not to succumb to the hands of disrespectful men.

Song Of Solomon Chapter 4 1-2.

How beautiful you are, my love

how very beautiful!

Your eyes are doves

behind your veil.

Your hair is like a flock of goats,

moving down the slops of Gilead.

Your teeth are like a flock of

shorn ewes

that have come up from the washing

all of which bear twins,

and not one among them is

bereaved

Merge

The vine with  purple flowers makes its way to our chimney every summer.  By the cold of winter it declines and we pull it back. One year we let our home insurance lapse. The insurance agent came out and told us that we had to trim the bush back so it did not even touch our home.  It was a fire hazard and we could not be insured. In California we do not have that many fires in the fire-place. As long as we do not let the insurance lapse the insurance agent will never know.  The relationship between the red man-made  brick and the lovely nature made  vine well keep their date of  summer merging.

I thought I was over doing it man…or lady?!

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