Blackberries

Pub­lished 2008

I wrote this one the oth­er day for Jer­sey Girl and Munch. Yes Munch you hand­some dev­il, you inspired this lit­tle dit­ty. (rip munch)

So this is in trib­ute to Jer­sey Girl’s black­ber­ry con­test.

She is hot she is ready
and she is will­ing to go
then she tells you some­thing
that you did­n’t want to know

you lean back then to lis­ten
with your fin­gers deep inside
between that lux­u­ry soft­e­ness
your hand just gen­tly glides

She stops what she is doing
and looks up into your eye
she starts to speak the dread­ed words
that are going to make you cry

your body is work­ing over­drive
dicks as hard and stiff as rock
hur­ry and fin­ish telling this
all I want to do is have a FOK

She smiles that sweet coy smile now
and wraps her hands around your gun
it twitch­es up towards her
as the juices start to run

hun­ny you know I want you
and your tongue between my thighs
I want you doing dirty deeds
but I can­na tell a lie

tis the time for me of black­ber­ries
the juicy gift from all the gods
that come rain­ing down from heav­en
and make for berry messy clods

So unless you want your face red
or to look like fred­dies revenge
I would­n’t dine down there tonight
in that slick gooey black­ber­ry menge

you take your hand from with­in her
dang you had four fin­gers in
you place your hand upon her back
and let out a lit­tle grin

as you rub her shoul­ders lov­ing­ly
and mas­sage up her curvy back
you lay her gen­tly on the bed
your dicks now on the slack

you cup her face into your hands
and gaze deep into her eyes
there will always be anoth­er day
but for now I have to fly

it takes a minute to reclothe
and leave her snor­ing on the bed
she is smil­ing that secret smile again
as dreams of teas­ing are in her head

you close the door to the apart­ment
and get into the tow­er’s lift
you won­der what her hus­band will think
as he arrives to your fin­ger­print­ed gift

Thanks to which most of myspace has a new slang term to add to their vocab.

Thanks to the judges, the con­tes­tants and thanks most­ly to those friends and read­ers that vot­ed my entry. It was a fun time to be had by all.

Munch­es was the best by far and hence why his lit­tle dit­ty inspired this lit­tle dirty dit­ty.

Wonder Woman

Today I am going to do some­thing a lit­tle dif­fer­ent

but then that is me. Mrs Dif­fer­ent.

When I was a lit­tle kid I loved watch­ing two shows on Sat­ur­days. I had to watch these shows and my fam­i­ly soon real­ized that to allow me to watch them was the best for their peace, tran­quil­i­ty and health. I real­ly looked for­ward to Sat­ur­days because of these two shows. Oh plus hav­ing no school and a full day to explore my world helped.

On Sat­ur­day morn­ings, in amongst my week­ly car­toon dose and fill-up was a show I loved, called “The Secret of ISIS”.

And on Sat­ur­day nights, well there was WONDER WOMAN.

Won­der Woman rocked. Espe­cial­ly the way she would casu­al­ly toss her shiny Brunette mane of hair at the same time as her lit­tle thin gold­en rope and with a secret lit­tle coy smile on her face she would trap and entwine her das­tard­ly tar­gets.

To a kids eyes, she ruled. She showed and taught me so much. I learned that it was ok to be strong, vir­tu­ous and coura­geous and it was ok at the same time to be a lady. That was what was best about her to me. Her fem­i­nin­i­ty. Xena War­rior Princess came well after Won­der Woman as an Ama­zon­ian War­rior female but some­how I just can­not imag­ine Xena show­ing up for her lat­est beau­ti­cian’s appoint­ment after just slay­ing the giants. Or admir­ing the lat­est por­trai­ture at the local gallery fol­lowed by din­ner at a French restau­rant and washed down with soft music and drinks after a busy day sword fight­ing with Mars. I liked Xena well enough, I had to as I had an Ex hus­band that Wood­ied over her as well as a child who idol­ized her but to me, she just was­n’t Won­der Woman.

Won­der Woman was refined and cul­tured. She was dig­ni­fied and hum­ble. Won­der Woman was always on the side of truth, jus­tice, the weak and pow­er­less and all things good in the world. She was strong and intu­itive. She was gra­cious and charm­ing. Every­thing that embod­ies and encom­pass­es WOMAN was with­in WONDER WOMAN. She was woman and is woman. All women have a lit­tle of Won­der Woman deep down inside them. She was every­thing that I admired as a small child and every­thing that I want­ed to be when I grew up.

Oh except the red blue and gold suit dis­as­ter.. sor­ry hun, not my col­ors.. some­thing flow­ing and pur­ple, with some blues and pinks through it may­haps. And real­ly, a tiny skirt would have helped.. yes you have love­ly child bear­ing hips but there is some­things that should be del­i­cate­ly hid­den. SEE ISIS – Her lit­tle pleat­ed skirt num­ber rocked.

.and those boots.. what hap­pened to a sim­ple nice pair of Black CFM boots.

Kids need Heroes and Super­heroes to idol­ize and wor­ship who are always humbly fight­ing the bad and sin­gle hand­ed­ly sav­ing the world in their mild man­nered way so that as those kids grow up they will try to be that hero­ic good per­son, qui­et­ly off sav­ing the world from evil and harm.

 

Dear World — A letter from Santa

My name is frig­gin San­ta Claus
You had bet­ter get it right
I only come round once a year
In the mid­dle of the night

I make toys for all the chil­dren
and for grown up kids as well
They all sit on San­ta’s knee
and whine and have a yell

Please San­ta Claus I want a bike
I want a skate­board or two
Give me a brand new surf­board
It makes san­ta want to spew

You always say that you’ve been good
But we both know that’s not true
I remem­ber all those things you did
when you thought I nev­er knew

I ho ho here, I ho ho there
and get fat­ter by the day
I smile and grin and wave a lot
And ignore what you have to say

You ask for gold and dia­monds
I brings you socks and pants instead
You think your get­ting what you want
I bring you lumps of lead.

I haven’t seen my toes in years
My bum scrapes on the ground
I wear a stu­pid red suit
And my sac that weighs 10 pound

I’m mar­ried to a bloomin’ witch
They call her Mrs Claus
I’m always walk­ing eggshells
She’s always ban­gin’ doors

She’s mean an yells and stamps a lot
and rages on all the year
I love it when she gets that mad
She blows wind out from her rear

But she cooks me choco­late brown­ies
So I think I’ll keep her around
And those deli­cious yum­my pork chops
That make my bel­ly face the ground

I’ve got some bloody rein­deer
along with a very stu­pid one.
They call him Rudolph red nose
I could just kick him up the bum

He gets into my wood­shed
and leaves his Shit in there.
He sneaks into my rum room
and gets pissed as a polar bear

I’m sure the elves are grow­ing weed
Out beyond the gar­den shed
They sneak out there for hours
and come back inside a blood­shot red

I par­ty with the tooth fairy
the east­er bun­ny comes to stay
I dig it when they come around
It means it’s time to play

We go out to the strip­per bar
To an igloo in the next town
the east­er bun­ny buys the drinks
we all perve and skol it down

So If you hear San­ta com­ing
Cov­er the kid­dies ears real tight
I’m off vis­it­ing the girls next door
and spread­ing love and light

to par­ents the whole world over
I have a mes­sage to send to you
If you fan­cy being in my bad books
Then don’t clean the chim­ney flue

If you have a fire blaz­ing hot
Make sure I’ve some­where to land
Cos if I burn my feet one more time
I won’t be capa­ble to stand

If You don’t have a chim­ney
don’t lock the blast­ed door
You don’t real­ly expect San­ta Claus
To climb up the through kitchen floor

I’m sick of milk and cook­ies
They just pour out my bum
I demand some care and qual­i­ty
Please leave out the top shelf rum

And if you are hot and sin­gle
Please turn on the bed­side light
Because San­ta wants to vis­it you
And stay right through the night

I know this let­ter is an epic
But it’s all in fun and free
The mag­ic that is Christ­mas
This is my gift for you to see!!
Mayet
(South Pole San­ta)

Polygamy and Raids

April 2008

May has some­thing to say and her fin­gers did the walk­ing.…. *grins

Last week I touched on the sto­ry of the polyg­a­mist com­pound raid in texas that has seem­ing­ly polar­ized the nation.

I found I have more to say on this mat­ter. SO I decid­ed to blog it today and open some dis­cus­sion.

These bad men were caught and stopped from vio­lent­ly rap­ing and beat­ing their many wives. Chil­dren were being raped and impreg­nat­ed and held against their will. The author­i­ties did a great job in bring­ing these freaks down.

Is that how you saw it?

Yes that is the way it has been pre­sent­ed but after watch­ing it all over the past week some ques­tions are start­ing to raise in my head. Lots of them. main­ly about the wrongs and rights of the whole she­moz­zle.

On the sur­face, in the eyes of men and women in Amer­i­ca today, these women and chil­dren are supressed and abused and liv­ing an attr­cious life.

But are they? Or are we judg­ing these peo­ple to our own social stan­dards?

There is some “issues” I have with the whole debar­cle.

In the 90’s there was anoth­er Tex­an cult. The name David Koresch still to this day sends fear into the hearts of peo­ple around the world and the whis­pered word “cult” soon gets bandied around. In 1996 tanks, armed gun­men, heli­copters and army all invad­ed the Waco com­pound and with­in 30 min­utes there was over 100 dead. At first every­one bought the jus­ti­fi­ca­tion for the raid but soon things emerged that were not quite right. Mis­takes were made. fatal ones.

Now we have the armed com­man­do raid on this polygamy com­pound.

Polygamy right or wrong.

Today as a species we have moved that far from all that is nat­ur­al that WE HAVE FORGOTTEN what is nat­ur­al to us. We have for­got­ten instinct and what is right.

I am not say­ing that polygamy is the way to go for the human race but lets look at nat­ur­al selec­tion for a minute here. It is all around you in nature. The sur­vival of the fittest, only the strongest genes car­ry through. The fight for alpha sta­tus in the tribe and the right to “have the women”. In the kan­ga­roo pop­u­la­tion and I know the same goes for lions in Africa, there are large amounts of juve­nile rogue wan­der­ers. The alpha male gets his pride of females and the juve­nile males are cast out to fight amongst them­selves for supre­me­cy and they wan­der, to find an even­tu­al mate.

Humans used to do this too but then some­thing hap­pened. Oh yes I can hear you say­ing it now. Humans became “civ­i­lized”. Cit­i­zen, civil­ian, servi­tude, ser­vant slave. Oh that right. yes we became con­trolled.

So when we look at nature we can see that polygamy is a nat­ur­al occur­ance to ensure the sur­vival of the fittest. Ok then, so who told us this was wrong, Oh thats right, the bible, the same book that tells us to treat women as chat­tels (Chris­tian­i­ty is the ulti­mate patri­archial reli­gion and sun/son fire male wor­ship­per), it also tells us that homo­sex­u­als should be killed and I could go on with the crap that was writ­ten because of that con­trol. So I should lis­ten to this book that incites hatred should I or should I lis­ten to the birds and the bees and the flow­ers and the trees.. and a lit­tle thing called LOVE.

Who are we to judge how these peo­ple live their lives? Who are we to take their chil­dren. Who are we to tell them the way they are liv­ing is wrong.

Can you say glasshouse and humungous rocks.. boul­ders in fact.….….

Lets look at the dirty side of the coin. These peo­ple work hard, they “slave” away in gar­den to acheive self suf­fi­cien­cy for their fam­i­lies. Their chil­dren are along­side them. We slave away in con­crete office block, work­ing our lives for the man and ignor­ing our chil­dren, leav­ing them to school and day cen­tres to raise.

They pro­duce their own food. Pure and nat­ur­al and not a drain on sys­tem. We pro­duce GM tox­in enriched foods that are slow­ly or fast­ly destroy­ing our plan­et and food chain. We buy hor­mon­al chick­en and feed on madon­alds and oth­er assort­ed fast foods. They live in a qui­et peace­ful soci­ety, rel­a­tive free of crime. We live in a greedy 7 dead­ly sins soci­ety of any­thing goes that is full of dan­gers to us and chil­dren.

They have great access to health care. Many have glass­es and braces on teeth. They are warm and sur­round­ed by love.

These peo­ple have seen the evils in soci­ety today and cho­sen to live apart form it. They see that mankind has sown the seeds for his own destruc­tion and so they have pre­pared them­selves to be an enclosed unit. If this so called dred­ed bird flu sweeps our coun­tries. Who has more chance of sur­vival. Will you have a bet­ter chance in the mid­dle of a big city or town fight­ing for med­ical help, fight­ing for food and water, sur­round­ed by greed. Or these peo­ple who have lov­ing­ly pre­pared them­selves for such an even­tu­al­i­ty. And don’t get me wrong, this isn’t a far fetched anal­o­gy. in 22 arti­cle I pulled up on the bird flu in 2006, every sin­gle one of them had the exact same line in it. Sci­en­tist have FEARS and WARN that the bird flu will mutate into a DEADLY PANDEMIC. wow all thsoe fears.. can you image the chaos when it starts.

These peple wear fun­ny dress­es. Have you seen a goth or an emo late­ly? I actu­al­ly admired the pas­tel col­ors and the neat clean and tidy appear­ance of the fam­i­lies.

 

They share a hus­band. Well lets get down to this. I’ve spo­ken to polyg­a­mists and read and watched many things over the years in my efforts to under­stand. From a wom­ans point of view. She shares chores, instead of her­self doing every­thing, those house­hold tasks are shared, in com­pa­ny, the child mind­ing is shared. Then there is the com­pa­ny and the sup­port. Women need to have their “girls”, some­one to talk to, share fears, com­fort them and to sup­port them in areas that men’s brains are just not wired for. The sup­port and friend­ship between polyg­a­mist wives is incred­i­ble. They are clos­er than sis­ters. They care only about the fam­i­ly. The whole fam­i­ly. That is their gig in life. Their fam­i­ly.

and lets face it girls… you know those nights that you have a headache? ..No such wor­ry.. no pes­ter­ing with the wood­peck­er in the back all night..

In any cul­ture you have rogue ele­ments. Espe­cial­ly ones that can infil­trate such an oga­ni­za­tion and use or be used by oth­ers. Our own chaot­ic and deviant soci­ety full of crimes drugs and abusers infects the very air these peo­ple breathe. So even if they choose o live away from soci­ety, they have no choice but to face soci­eties con­se­quences. They will get freaks and odd­balls try­ing to join for their own agen­da.

It brings me to mind the witch tri­als and reli­gious per­se­cu­tion of the ear­ly cen­turies. Burn them. Kill them, they are dif­fer­ent.

Are we going to raid nud­ist camps next and take their kids?

So every­one cries out “but there was an alle­ga­tion of abuse”

When an orga­ni­za­tion becomes to big and inde­pen­dant for their boots and starts hav­ing peo­ple lis­ten to them and achieve some inde­pen­dance from the sys­tem a cam­paign is start­ed, to desto­ry cred­i­bil­i­ty and to give a ‘rea­son” for the takeover and bring­ing down of inde­pen­dance. How easy would it be, to slip some­one next to a known sex offend­er and have him whis­per in his ear about this mag­ic place where he could have 4 or 5 young women all at once. Zap, dude would­n’t even ask ques­tions except for direc­tions before he would be off like a shot. Done deed, let nature take its course and two years lat­er a whis­pered phone call alleg­ing abuse of a girl who has since not been found, is all the excuse you need.

Until 1830 or so the legal age of con­sent in Eng­land was 13. There are still many nations where the age of con­sent is that low. Do we run in with com­man­do raids to those coun­tries and take over with guns and take the chil­dren oh wait we used mis­sion­ar­ies for that.. cos the bible told us so.…do we march in and tell them they are liv­ing wrong, they should live like us in con­crete jun­gles, with arti­fi­cial food, shit­ty health ser­vices, crimes, drugs, divorce, abuse and *sigh.….…. yeah.…..

50 years ago in Aus­tralia we had the stolen gen­er­a­tion of Aus­tralians. A whole gen­er­a­tion of abo­rig­i­nal babies tak­en from their moth­ers and placed with white fam­i­lies because they had a bit of white in them. (well hey, I have a bit of black in me, does it make it right for abo­rig­i­nals to take my chil­dren and return them to the tribe? tit for tat). It was done because soci­ety said it was wrong for those chil­dren to live with their fam­i­lies, it was wrong for white chil­dren to live with black fam­i­lies. It destroyed a gen­er­a­tion.

Today the gov­ern­ment says sor­ry it was wrong.. small peace of mind for the stolen ones

40 years ago babies were tak­en from sin­gle moth­ers and adopt­ed out. The moth­ers were told it was wrong, that it was a sin, that it was a crime. Anoth­er gen­er­a­tion destroyed. Those chil­dren did­n’t get an apol­o­gy.. unlike­ly they ever will.. they just see the con­fu­sion of a soci­ety that accepts and con­dones and encour­ages in some areas what they were cast out for at birth.

You see as many read­ers know I was one of those chil­dren, tak­en from my moth­er who was 18. SHe was told it was a sin to have me and not be mar­ried. I was tak­en from her arms and adopt­ed into a nice chris­t­ian fam­i­ly and led to believe all my live as a child that my moth­er had sinned. I was that much of a shame­ful sin that i was­n’t even afford­ed the lux­u­ry of a labour ward and mater­ni­ty ward. No I was born behind a sheet to hide me from the sur­round­ing dead bod­ies, in a morgue. The shame of my birth was that great that I was bought into life in the bow­els of death. Can you imag­ine how I felt as a sin­gle moth­er of 19 hold­ing my fuzzball of a baby daugh­ter in my arms for the first time? The first ever touch and bond with any­thing of my blood? The thoughts of how some­one could have their baby tak­en away.….

I grew up ask­ing why. Why was I so bad and so sin­ful that no one want­ed me. I grew up to find out I was stolen so in turn their was some­one else out there ask­ing why was I tak­en from them. My broth­er is a won­der­ful per­son. He has a great job, a beau­ti­ful fiancee, a baby on the way, a new home and a gen­tle nature.… he is loved and adored by his moth­er, they are very close, they talk every­day and the bond betwen them is incred­i­ble.… his moth­er, our moth­er should be proud of him and she is. Don’t get me wrong. I adore my adop­tive par­ents and wor­ship the gorund they walk on, they have done so much for me.

I was judged before I was born and have been ever since. My life’s choic­es have nev­er been conventional..they nev­er were, how could they be when con­ven­tion­al­i­ty was ripped from my grasp with my first breath of air. It has giv­en me some­thing I am hap­py with. A per­spec­tive of look­ing at things form all sides.… not just the one that is being fed to me.. I can feed myself and pre­fer a fork to a spoon.

I guess what I am say­ing is .. you have lis­tened to the media blitz on these 400 or so chil­dren and yes the tri­al will be the best cir­cus I’ve watched for many years. You have seen that nice lady say­ing how she had tak­en cus­tody of all those chil­dren to fos­ter them out and go to court. Those chil­dren were tak­en from their par­ents by the gov­ern­ment because they were dif­fer­ent. What was wrong with going in and work­ing with these peo­ple. Oh we have heard that there is some­thing going on here.. ra ra…

No we had to have the “phonecall” the “excuse” the “media cir­cus” and jus­ti­fi­ca­tion. This sends a mes­sage to the peo­ple .. hmm is it a good one or is it fear? I hope you have looked at the pho­tos I have put here and I hope you have looked at the oth­er side of this coin and the impli­ca­tions of the loss of free­dom. No I do not con­done abuse. There is abuse every­where. If one child is abused in a day­care cen­tre are all the chil­dren tak­en from their moth­ers?

This is abuse.

This sure looks like love to me.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/YFZ_Ranch

 

Sarah

Sarah stopped and straight­ened, wip­ing the sweat from her brow as she looked around at the moun­tains sur­round­ing her. It was a steamy spring day in the trop­ics of Aus­tralia. On the hori­zon threat­en­ing fore­bod­ing stom clouds gath­ered and slow­ly drift­ed inland.

She turned to review her morn­ing accom­plish­ment in the gar­den and walked back slow­ly towards the farm­house to make lunch for her her­self and her small son Bai­ley, who was play­ing qui­et­ly under the man­go tree which was burst­ing with pre sea­son fruit near­by.

As she stepped into the house, she stopped a moment and frowned, peer­ing out­side again into the sun­shine. It was so still, unusu­al­ly so for this time of day, calm and very silent. No birds were chirp­ing away in the trees that were gen­tly sway­ing on the hills nor were the rab­bits skip­ping over the mead­ows and play­ing hide and seek with each oth­er. “Eerie”.

She shrugged as she stepped inside and went to switch the tele­vi­sion on as she made the sand­wich­es.

She froze as the pic­ture came on and the voice boomed into the room. The mid­day news­cast­er was high­ly agi­tat­ed as he splut­tered out his lines. Sera lis­tened and watched intent­ly, try­ing to grasp exact­ly what she was hear­ing.

“I repeat, New Zealand has been total­ly destroyed by a mas­sive vol­canic erup­tion and numer­ous death­ly shock­waves that have caused the island coun­try to sub duct between two tec­ton­ic plates. It is believed that hun­dreds of thou­sands of lives have been lost in the cat­a­str­phic dis­as­ter”

“No, thought Sarah and shook her head, this can­not be hap­pen­ing and leaned for­ward to hear more.

The news­cast­er con­tin­ued, Sarah’s face and body was begin­ning to reg­is­ter the hor­ror and enor­mi­ty of what she was hear­ing. A chain reac­tion had occurred along the Pacif­ic plate, start­ing with deep quakes reg­is­ter­ing in the New Guinea region and after a peri­od of calm it seemed all hell had bro­ken loose. Vol­ca­noes spew­ing molten lava had sud­den­ly sprung up along the pacif­ic and naz­ca plate edges where it inter­sect­ed with small­er plates, instant­ly cre­at­ing new islands where none had pre­vi­ous­ly exist­ed. The stress­es caused from the plates shift had caused quakes all over the plan­et at it’s weak­est spots, cul­mi­nat­ing in a mas­sive hor­i­zon­tal slide of two plates inter­sect­ing south of new Zealand.

Shak­i­ly while still lis­ten­ing to the news­cast­er Sarah ran and called Bai­ley inside, stop­ping a moment to reflect and observe the dark for­ma­tions on the hori­zon, they took on new mean­ing now, she thought as an ice cold chill ran up her spine.

She lived inland about 200 kilo­me­tres from the sea, on a moun­tain mead­ow, which seemed at the moment to be a safe spot as the news­cast­er began to list the areas affect­ed by the mas­sive tsunami’s that the series of seis­mic events had cre­at­ed. Her face fell as the tele­vi­sion switched to footage of a mas­sive wall of churned up mud­dy, dirty brown water bar­rel­ing towards the Syd­ney Har­bour Bridge, swal­low­ing the Opera House, with just the peaks of the sails vis­i­ble as the water con­sumed every­thing in it’s path.

What was hap­pen­ing here, she hugged Bai­ley to her chest, He seemed to sense some­thing was wrong and he looked quizzi­cal­ly into her eyes, His own deep blue eyes star­ing inno­cent­ly and ques­tion­ing­ly at her. “Mum­my” he said and touched her face with his tiny warm hand. “What is mak­ing you sad”.

Sarah choked and could­n’t answer him, she kissed him, then held him tighter as the voice and images droned on and on through her sens­es. The news­cast­er was fair­ly yelling now, his face was beet red as he told of the cur­rent­ly hap­pen­ing destruc­tion of Cal­i­for­nia. Ten min­utes before­hand Mt St Helens had explod­ed, blow­ing a near­ly a kilo­me­tre off the top of her and spew­ing lava miles into the sky, the shocks had trig­gered the San Andreas fault to give way in a reac­tion of quakes through to south­ern Cal­i­for­nia, each mea­sur­ing over 9 on the Richter scale.

The news­cast­er stopped as a hand came into cam­era view and passed him yet anoth­er sheet of paper. He frowned and sighed as he turned to face the cam­era. It was almost with a dull monot­o­ne that he read from the lat­est item to hit the desk.

“Due to the mas­sive series of seis­mic events along the pacif­ic rim of fire, the earth has cre­at­ed such a wob­ble that it is now believed the moon has been thrown errat­i­cal­ly out of it’s nor­mal orbit around our plan­et. It seems that these events will con­tin­ue and it is as yet unknown when the events will sub­side. Emer­gency mar­shal law has been enact­ed all over the coun­try. Please stay tuned for instruc­tion bul­letin to fol­low.

Sud­den­ly the earth beneath Sarah’s feet became unsta­ble. She squealed loud­ly as she felt a rush of pow­er come towards her. She felt like she was on the edge of a high cliff, with a steam train rush­ing at her full steam, a roar rang in her ears as she ran to escape the con­fines of the house, Bai­ley still held tight­ly against her chest. Sarah fell out of the front veran­dah and laid there as the Earth ren­dered, shook and screamed beneath her. The air around her rushed and roared. Bai­ley start­ed scream­ing, his voice blend­ing in with the screams of the earth. The wrench­ing and tear­ing con­tin­ued as the sky dark­ened and a thick orange brown cloud filled the air. Inside the house the TV became silent, but the shak­ing con­tin­ued, get­ting stronger and stronger.

Sarah pulled Bai­ley clos­er and crawled away from the house as behind her the foun­da­tions of the 150 year old farm­house tore away and the build­ing col­lapsed with a screech of torn met­al. The ground tore apart in front of her and she stopped crawl­ing and she watched in seem­ing­ly slow motion as the gar­den she had ten­dered to so lov­ing­ly that morn­ing slid away down into a pit that had appeared, swal­low­ing it all in one long move­ment. Sarah screamed now as on the dis­tant moun­tain peaks, bright red rivers of molten lava appeared, burst­ing into the heav­ens like New Year’s fire­works against the dark­ened skies.

Bai­ley stared trans­fixed as steam vents siz­zled up in gey­sers and all around cracks appeared on the ground like a maze of spi­der webs over the area. Trees were uproot­ed and crashed back down with an almighty wrench­ing sound

The roar was loud­er now, the shak­ing seemed to be build­ing to a crescen­do, a sym­pho­ny of hor­ror and Sarah found she could not move or make a sound and then it hap­pened. The crescen­do peaked, there was a flash, a crack of sound, blind­ing colour and in that instant of ago­niz­ing pain Sarah called Bai­ley’s name. Then there was noth­ing as an explo­sion ripped through the solar sys­tem and the Earth was no more.

 

======================================
Well I wrote this for a con­test but do not wish to kill the sto­ry­line by cut­ting it in half to fit the 600 word cri­te­ria …so i thought I would post the sto­ry again for you all to read and hope­ful­ly enjoy. This is only the first draft. It still needs refine­ment. I like to write and then leave my piece for a bit and come back all fresh to do the sec­ond draft as I always look at it dif­fer­ent­ly then. Sera

The Key to Bill (BILLS)

I am going through my true “Mid Life Cri­sis” at present.

It is the time of my life when I am fil­ing away the past and wash­ing it all away so I can step for­ward into the future into a “new” life with­out any bag­gage. (edit note 11 Novem­ber 2024 I am still going through that midlife cri­sis)

So it is a very reflec­tive time as my reg­u­lar read­ers may have guessed by the tone of some of my recent “Pieces.” So I do apol­o­gize if the blogs are a lit­tle weird.

The Con­tes­sa bought up a point yes­ter­day in my Melan­cholic 1984 Blog about peo­ple stand­ing on their soap­box­es com­plain­ing about the drugs and youth, not actu­al­ly look­ing around and see­ing the alco­holism around them.

Years ago, I was speak­ing to a big drug deal­er (lit­er­al­ly he weighed 400 pounds) «Obvi­ous­ly did­n’t par­take of his prod­ucts.

We were talk­ing about peo­ple and addic­tions. In the small fish­ing vil­lage I lived in at the time, I was sur­round­ed by alco­hol and drugs. Our lit­tle town was a dis­tri­b­u­tion point for the entire cor­ner of the state. And the guy I was talk­ing to was THE dis­trib­u­tor.

He was a “mate” of my ex, who he met through one of the abalone fish­er­man and this par­tic­u­lar day he “need­ed” me to help him on a pick up as I was the only one in the group that had a license. So we drove along with me try­ing to keep the car, which was lean­ing rather dan­ger­ous­ly heavy down on the left hand side, con­trolled and dri­ving straight on the road.

Every now and then in life some­one says some­thing to you that makes you sit up and lis­ten. And you car­ry that con­ver­sa­tion through in life. You learn some­thing from it. Scar­i­ly as it seems, Bill taught me a lot about peo­ple.
He turned to me and said “Mar­garet, every­one has a crutch in life. You find out what it is and that per­son is yours, they will do any­thing for that crutch.”

So sim­ple but yet so pro­found. That one lit­tle phi­los­o­phy is what I call to this day

“The Key To Bill.”

That sen­tence turned around in my head and around again. I began to open my eyes and real­ly look at what was going on around me. Bill was the “Can­dy­man” and I watched as his pock­ets seemed always to be filled with every­one’s favorite type of can­dy. I watched as his car boot was laden with box­es of black mar­ket abalone, the fresh­est buck­ets of sil­ver bream, bas­kets of still crawl­ing lake prawns and box­es and box­es of fresh gar­den veg­eta­bles and fruit. It was amaz­ing that with­out word or com­mand, he had an army of troops, run­ning around doing his bid­ding.

I began to watch oth­er peo­ple. I watched the group matri­arch sit upstairs of an evening with her earplug in her ear, eaves­drop­ping on the con­ver­sa­tion at the table in the den below, sip­ping away at bot­tle after bot­tle of white wine. Every now and then she would get up and go to a cup­board and take a pill from a box. (She is a whole sto­ry in her­self).

I would watch the fish­er­men jump off the boat after a few days at sea, get paid cash off the skip­per then lit­er­al­ly run to the Bay Hotel. Once they got there, that mon­ey would sit on the bar until it was all most­ly gone. The land­lords and wives would be wait­ing at the bar when the boats got in, ready to grab their share before that was gone too.

I watched as Trevor, the crew­man on Ray’s trawler, sat at the bar’s pok­er machines for hour upon hour, push­ing but­tons, smok­ing cig­a­rettes and drink­ing beer until his hand was to shaky to find the but­ton and his voice was that of a tod­dler.

I would watch the oth­er crew­man spend­ing it all on hors­es, or the dog races and foot­ball.

And I would watch Bill at the end of the bar, watch­ing them and watch­ing me watch­ing them, with a glass of lemon­ade in one hand and a meat pie in the oth­er. This was his busiest time but he did noth­ing but watch. No one both­ered him or came near him, yet every minute his pock­ets were fill­ing with hun­dreds of hun­dreds of dol­lars. He had “the broth­ers”, who were two of his lap­dog junkies, run­ning around the bar doing his dirty work in exchange for a piece of can­dy at the end of the night.

He was right. I have watched the world for the 15 years since he said that to me and he was right.

Whether it be an addic­tion crutch or base need.. .…

Every­one has some­thing that they rely on to get through. crWhether it is speak­ing to their best friend on the phone every day, a dozen cups of cof­fee, a game on the Wii, a beer at the pub, a gam­ble, a work­out at the gym, sex, love, Coke a cola, sug­ar, Tv, drugs and the list goes on.

If you take that away, the per­son will wal­low to get it back.

Con­trolled through addic­tions and base needs.

And it is used by soci­ety. Our addic­tions cost more. The gov­ern­ment uses our addic­tion to gain more tax mon­ey through gam­bling tax­es and alco­hol and cig­a­rette tax­es. Instead of the Gov­ern­ment fix­ing the prob­lem, they actu­al­ly aid to “water it” or make it grow. These addic­tions are used to con­trol peo­ple.

A note to the Gov­ern­ment here.

If Cig­a­rettes are as tox­ic as you make the com­pa­nies put on their labels then you have a duty of care to your peo­ple to ban the sale of this tox­ic sub­stance to be con­sumed by the peo­ple. After all you banned pot. As cig­a­rettes in “your own words” are HIGHLY ADDICTIVE, you have the respon­si­bil­i­ty as our cho­sen lead­ers to stop pro­duc­ing and mak­ing such mas­sive amounts od dol­lars off this prac­tice of addic­tion, mis­ery, poi­son and death.

These addic­tions are fod­der for peo­ple with bad intent. The teens of today are con­stant­ly being tar­get­ed through their “crutch­es” by mas­sive mar­ket­ing cam­paigns. The can­dy­man is con­stant­ly dan­gling a bag of good­ies in front of soci­ety all over.

Addic­tions to tech­nol­o­gy, keep­ing up with the Jones’s, the lat­est and great­est in Video Games and week­end play toys, are played on and pushed towards peo­ple on a mas­sive degree. It is one big mar­ket­ing machines tar­get­ing your weak­ness­es.

If some­thing proves to be a “must have” addic­tion, the price goes up. Mat­ters not because peo­ple “want it” and they will buy it. They may com­plain a lit­tle but still put their hands in their pock­ets.

Basic needs can be the tar­get…

The price of fuel ris­es, you need it, you have to have it, so you pay for it but noth­ing extra is com­ing into your pock­et to cov­er it. The price of tobac­co or wine ris­es, you pay it. Elec­tric­i­ty even, yes can you do with­out it? The price ris­es by 17 per­cent in six months but you don’t blink, you pay it.

Imag­ine if you were told one morn­ing no more phones, no more com­put­er, or no more elec­tric­i­ty, no more cof­fee.. and you were cut off from that one thing.. How would you feel?
The Plug Pulled?

Peo­ple feed off oth­er peo­ples needs and weak­ness­es. The com­pa­nies and drug deal­ers get rich­er and rich­er and the peo­ple get more and more reliant on them to dish out the can­dy.

 

The Pyramid

YOU opened up the door­way
AND risked a look inside.
YOU could­n’t share the vision
AND the truth you had to hide.

YOU did­n’t build the pyra­mid
AND struc­ture things just right.
YOU went and split the atom
AND were blind­ed by sun­light.

YOU for­got to use a mir­ror
AND reflect it all around.
YOU turned away, closed the eye
AND did­n’t speak a sound.

YOU did­n’t see me watch­ing
AND know­ing all the lie.
YOU kept on chain­ing spir­it
AND did­n’t hear it’s cry.

YOU lust­ed for more pow­er
AND greed went hand in hand.
YOU acquired gold and dia­monds
AND built cas­tles in the sand.

YOU built up debt to Moth­er Earth
AND that will nev­er be repaid.
YOU reap the crop that you sowed
AND now lay in the bed you made.

YOU have asked for nature’s fury
AND that is exact­ly what you’ll get.
YOU know nature is the bal­ance
AND at dawn the sun will set.

Suicide Moth

Sui­cide moth
with the brains of a doth
you are bang­ing away at the screen
It is night time out­side
and it’s a full lunar tide
Whether you’ll live remains to be seen

the rain’s pour­ing down
on your face like a clown
makes you look like an eerie dark green
I peer at your face
right out there in space
and won­der why nature is harsh and so mean

you’re bang­ing away
with wings beat­ing in fray
to the light you seem to be keen
why don’t you give up
There is glass is in the cup
the knowl­edge of which sure­ly you glean

but seem­ing­ly not
you don’t seem to stop
that bang­ing away at the screen
I bid you good­night
and close blinds out of sight
of that light from which your life is so lean

you would think you would learn
light also can burn
and char­coal can tar­nish the sheen

cre­at­ed 2008

It rained today for the first day since we moved to the farm. Tonight I was sit­ting on my bed look­ing out the win­dow when a Bogong moth sim­i­lar to the one  above that I snapped on the front door a minute ago, decid­ed to keep me fas­ci­nat­ed by the way he kept try­ing to get through the glass win­dow into the bed­room to the light.

It was so fun­ny, Kahleah was sit­ting on the bed with me and I said to her “look at the fairy on the win­dow”.

She walked up with a puz­zled expres­sion on her face (up to now she has­n’t actu­al­ly “seen” the fairies we play with) and she peered at the win­dow close up. She took a step back, looked at me, looked back at the moth and did a dou­ble take, peer­ing clos­er again.

She then turned to me with a look of con­ster­na­tion on her face and said “its a yucky look­ing one isn’t it mum­my”.

I laughed and laughed. I then explained it was a big moth. The wing span from tip to tip was about ten cen­time­tres and the body length was about 6 cm long.

She asked me if I could open the win­dow to get a bet­ter look as he was hang­ing on the insect screen. When I opened the win­dow she again peered at it up close, exam­in­ing it with fas­ci­na­tion.

Glen leaned for­ward and said, look you can scratch it on it’s tum­my and he gave it’s tum­my a bit of a rub through the screen. She then reached up and touched it through the screen and gen­tly pat­ted it’s tum­my with a look of com­plete awe on her face.

When I closed the win­dow we sat there and watched the moth for ages, just con­tin­u­al­ly beat itself against the win­dow in it’s futile effort to get to the light.

One again nature and my lit­tle girl inspired me to write this poem. Hope you enjoy.

The Bogong Moth
The moths are huge and appar­ent­ly edi­ble. You notice I say appar­ent­ly. I don’t see them on my menu in the near or dis­tant future. I live in south East Queens­land which is their breed­ing ground.

Post­script.
As I am post­ing this Glen spoke up from behind me at the din­ing table where he was watch­ing me post the blog. We were hav­ing a cof­fee before bed and he said “Here you are the cats got one now”

Sure enough I turned around and the cat had pre­sent­ed one to Glen at his feet. I grabbed the cam­era as Glen grabbed the cat and it flew into the kitchen. The cat got away from Glen and sat there eye­ing the moth. Glen took the cat to the sleep­out while I res­cued the moth and put him out­side.

When Glen walked back in he said “All that effort and there’s a bird out­side that is prob­a­bly thank­ing us for din­ner about now.

Well at least he did­n’t end up the cat’s din­ner.. tonight any­way.…

Icarus

Tower

 

The tow­er is struck by light­en­ing
from nowhere it seems to come
dark­ness flash blind­ing light
there is no place to run

Only from the depths of sad­ness
the emp­ty feel­ings of despair
can open up the emo­tion­al heart
and bring new light to bear.

So now its time to start from scratch
to build it up for gain
with extra rein­force­ments
to pro­tect from that same pain

The tow­er is built time again
until some­thing knocks it down
when you learn the les­son well
then you’ll wear the crown.

The Wheel

 

 

The wheel goes up
the wheel goes down
the wheel keeps turn­ing
around and around

Light­ing the mir­rors
on the curves of life
accel­er­at­ing the image
on the blade of a knife

Through one loop
and out the next
faster and faster
base over apex.

The light trav­els for­ward
gath­er­ing to it a past
grow­ing brighter and brighter
how long can it last

Before it explodes
from all into one
and from the big end­ing
a new uni­verse called nun

Again on its jour­ney
star­ing fresh and anew
some facts only known
by an elite cho­sen few

The light that starts off
with a mes­sage to send
remains essen­tial­ly unchanged
from end through to end.

Colours of Your Soul

 

If you could see inside of you
at the colours of your soul
You would see the sparkling sun­shine
not an emp­ty dark black hole.

For the colours of the rain­bow
shine when bounced off gold­en light
liq­uid fires in the mir­ror
is a glo­ri­ous splen­did sight.

The days of deep dark sad­ness
of stormy clouds and rains of tears
show an emp­ty blank reflec­tion
that stretch­es back through the years.

When you search for hap­pi­ness
above all else in life
you get to feel the sad­ness
the sharp cut­ting edge of the knife.

Mirrored Scales

 

 

The fright and the ter­ror
that cre­ates all life’s tears
is born of reli­gion
which cre­ates all life’s fears.

Satanism or hatred
Chris­tian­i­ty alike
all are just mir­rors
on the scales of our psy­ches

Fol­low thy leader
all the rule books do say
obey and work hard
to earn a weeks pay

Day and day out
year after year
sleep­ing and work­ing
’til the end­ing is near

Not hav­ing no time
nor ener­gy for fun
liv­ing life bleak
the work nev­er done

Cre­at­ing sup­pres­sion
of instinct and light
blind­ing the glo­ry
of nature’s delight

Cloud­ing the images
of the spir­it called man
The soul put in chains
cross and nails in his hand

but whether the cross is upright
or spun in reverse
as you see from these lines
its mir­rored its curse.

Good and evil are cre­at­ed
from fic­tion not fact
to explain it this way
is a mat­ter of tact.

 

Skye

Once upon a bright lit plan­et
Shin­ing bright­ly in the Skye
Beam­ing down reflect­ed light
from night there way up high

The mir­ror spins in all its glo­ry
cap­tur­ing in it the sparkling sun
and turns the image round and round
send­ing it back down the line to nun

For a light that begins upon it’s jour­ney
Encoun­ters mir­rors on its way
though they once said I am the light
it may yet dawn a  cloudy day

As above as so below
or so they said to me
but as long as there is north and south
For every he there must be a she.

 

Axis

Alone in the dark, alone with your thoughts
over­come with deep feel­ings of dread.
all of your hopes and all of your fears
are flow­ing ran­dom­ly around in your head.

search­ing for courage, the spark that’s inside
to stand up and face what the fates bring,
sup­press­ing inside you the need to be free,
as slow­ly the voice stops to sing

when you final­ly stand up and step on to the future,
from the tears that are all done and all cried,
fac­ing the fears of all that is unknown,
that takes courage born of blood and of pride.

the torch­es of knowl­edge which light up the way
will help guide you to take one step more
the light may grow dim and flick­er about
but the spir­it comes from deep in the core

The book of today has already been writ­ten
the pages are num­bered from the days of your life
it’s signed in your blood and then sealed with the laws
ready to cut through your soul like a knife

Look deep in the mir­ror at you star­ing back
you see time etched and marked on your face
inno­cence gone from those eyes which now turn away
a know­ing deep far­away look in its place

Anoth­er day old­er theres no going back
no chang­ing the past with a pen
the les­son is learned reac­tion to action
it is time for the deep wounds to mend

A red dawn breaks out from under the dark­ness
as nature waits for the new day to begin
Con­scious­ness wak­ens and stirs from it’s sleep
the world has turned on it’s axis again
Mayet

Aqua IV

Nor is it the begin­ning
Nor is it the end
It’s just a place on the bend
whether you lose or whether your win­ning
in the eyes of the law
you’ll always be sin­ning
who made em judge
who made em jury
who chose the day for nature’s own fury
the pass­ing will come and no one will know
as time has before, the future will go
if all was for naught
as naught was for all
then the flow­ers may droop
but the trees will stand tall
the moun­tains will crum­ble
and fall into dust
the earth dis­em­bow­elled
in nature’s own lust
the days of his­to­ry con­cealed and elect
on Earth they are for­got­ten In the stars they reflect
no sin goes unpar­doned who’s eye can but see
form­less lines on an unbri­dled sea
the sailor arrives back home at last
inside the sto­ry, that began in the past.

 

Kei­th Swan

Keith Allan Swan
Kei­th Allan Swan 5th April 1951 to 19th of July 2007. Ares.

My Birth Snapshot

Mar­garet Ruth Boyle
MAr­garET  Maet Ma’et Mayet (pearl)
Mar­garetruth
21 Novem­ber 1966 04:11  (AEST)
Uni­ver­sal Time (UT/GMT):
20 Novem­ber 1966 — 18:11
Local Side­re­al Time (LST):
08:13:01
House sys­tem:
Placidus sys­tem
Lat­i­tude, Lon­gi­tude:
33°52’S151°12’E
City:
Syd­ney
Coun­try:
Australia Aus­tralia (AU)
Place of Birth  Annan­dale Morgue (Queen Vic­to­ria Hos­pi­tal)

Syd­ney ‑Heart of the ser­pent Land of the rain­bow ser­pent

Arrived by my moth­er who was cov­ered over with screens block­ing her from see­ing me with hor­ri­ble Nuns, dead bod­ies draped in sheets,

My arrival was hid­den in the dis­grace I was.

Name my moth­er was going to call me Kat­ri­na McLeod 

My moth­er was dragged to a pres­by­ter­ian wom­en’s home where she was made to scrub floors and walls with a tooth­brush all day with nuns stand­ing over her telling her how evil she was and she was for­sak­en by God, She was des­tined to hell where she would spend eter­ni­ty pay­ing for her sin of lust.
Note January 5th 2025 7 31 pm: I do not know whether they will ever come a time that I can relive, revisit and replay this even without having to stop, breathe, walk around and count to a million or so before I scream.

Adopt­ed out at 3 days old.

Adop­tive Moth­er : Frances Fay Twiss                  ‑water Can­cer
Adop­tive father : Gra­ham Edward Boyle GEB  ‑Earth Vir­go
Birth Moth­er Del­la Kris­tine McLeod                    —  Air Libra
Birth father Syd­ney Leo Hartin                              — Fire Sag­i­tar­ius

Cusp of Rev­o­lu­tion
sun in first house

Ascen­dant Scor­pio
Moon Pisces
Mer­cury cusp Scor­pio Sag­i­tar­ius
Venus
Mars
Jupiter — Sta­tionery
Jupiter ret­ro­grade begin date

DoTh, Reflections of

First Pub­lished 01 Jan­u­ary, 2008 08:59 mayet666 Myspace
Updat­ed Pub­lished on: Nov 18, 2024 at 15:26
Edit Pub­lished on: Jan 11, 2024 at 09:09
Edit Pub­lished Jan 11 at 11.11
Edit Pub­lished Jan 13 at 04.04

Next edit
Edit to be Pub­lished 13 Jan­u­ary Aest with­in 8.26 hours it is now 1434 

Reply

Alexander Ham This is what i mean ..


Alex, I kinda sorta have ALOT in my mind at the moment and at this point my reply to you will sound as nuts as the earlier ones with the hit and run dot points. In order to understand my other comments from where I stand sit and so on, it is time for revelations, starting first with where I have been, where I am and where WE are all going as such.

It is part of the rectification of Share as hesitant as I am to open this raw part of the DoTh experience ... I am ready, that was my answer before all this started, however, is the world ready?

DoTh has chosen you for this reply, from my experiences with you while I was still "before" Otherwise I wouldn't be doing this here. I know there is something for you to take forward. If you know Telsa's work, then you may easily understand mine/DoTh premise concept ..it is not just for me it is for all. A prometheus moment, . The Law is for ALL. Also your name backwards is MahLa i like that ..

DoTh is the Dogs Days of Thoth.
and FUCK WOW SPEECHLESS but all speech and more

My Reply Above and below to a Con­ver­sa­tion with ALexan­der Ham, an

and now on the oth­er side of mid­night, I fur­ther reflect, with what is was and always will be my “DOG days of ThoTh.

I can­not put my thoughts or the “jour­nal” of the DoTh in one doc­u­ment because DoTH is non lin­ear. DoTh is .. huge is not the word .. infi­nite comes close..

My whole “time” with DoTh was no time and yet all time. The 21 Days in the sanc­tu­ary were anoth­er dimen­sion.

My Sto­ry starts long ago but we will skip that for now and talk this last 58years. I was born 21st Novem­ber 1966. A most impor­tant day in the scheme of great things. As a child I had an ency­clo­pe­dia of astron­o­my and right there on the solar eclipse pho­to it said on the cap­tion “the dia­mond ring effect of the Nov 21 1966 Solar Eclipse”.

i was awes­macked, I was born under an eclipse. I danced for a week on that one. Years lat­er when I was doing eclipse work, the inter­webs said the Solar eclipse was actu­al­ly the 12 of Nov 1966. Of course lied to again, either way I had that piece of paper that stat­ed the 21st so I was all good.

I kept that pho­to and still have it today even though the cap­tion is now sep­a­rat­ed from it.

I was born in a morgue and adopt­ed at 3 days old and I always knew who I was. There are sto­ries avail­able on site here and more will be pub­lished over time, so I will skip most of it here. I remem­ber the first conun­drum around 8 years old when Damien Omen 1 was released.

I sat there gob­s­macked and clear­ly recall being in shock because I knew, I don’t know how I knew and I knew it was crazy but I knew, Damien Omen 1 was all about me.!! and I knew from what I was see­ing that the world hat­ed me and was fear­ful of some­thing they did­n’t know.

I don’t remem­ber putting stuff togeth­er back then. I believe my first 11 years was total­ly inno­cent with no shocks bar one, a car acci­dent in the valiant sit­ting in the  cold wet rain look­ing at the wrecked val.

How­ev­er I knew who/what I was and it was some­thing I kept to myself . It just did not seem  impor­tant at the time, I did­n’t need any­one else to know and I knew that before if an when any­thing did hap­pen, I would be pre­pared a tad bet­ter pre­pared than watch­ing a Sat­ur­day night movie on tv for enlight­en­ment. So I kept it to my chest and fig­ured I could do with­out years of ther­a­py by just accept­ing and get­ting on with life.

In 1992 Kei­th Intro­duced me to Aleis­ter Crow­ley and that intro­duc­tion turned into a life encom­pass­ing Crow­ley’s Work. Not long after from 92 to 95, I uncov­ered the Mayet Sys­tem which was imme­di­ate­ly stolen by friends of Kei­th’s who worked for CSIRO. So I put it all away. Not to be touched again until 2018, when I dis­cov­ered the Key to ThoTh in the Hor’ver.

Between 95 and 2018 I raised my six chil­dren on a promise to Kei­th, I guess deep down we BOTH knew what was going to hap­pen, there was a part of us both that Knew and a part of us both that did­n’t have a clue.

my 8 years with Kei­th will be talked about in it’s own space. I miss him, I miss being in his arms, I miss the chem­istry, the flow, the mag­net­ics, the cur­rents. the colours, the anti grav­i­ty­sex where he would swing me effort­less, in an amaz­ing won­der­ful wow expe­ri­ence. I miss the fam­i­ly we had the poten­tial to be.

I always look for Kei­th in every man I meet, he is nev­er there, he is only inside me now, even his chil­dren will not think about him and refuse to lis­ten to any sto­ries I have on their father, the father.  He was unique, there was only Kei­th, the one they called the father, dad­dy. My love, my soul­mate both bought into a world where we were not want­ed and did­n’t belong.

One night i was in bed with Kei­th, I had always tried to astral, some­thing that came easy to Kei­th but no mat­ter how much i tried, I would just fall asleep. There is some­thing pro­grammed into me to do that, med­i­ta­tion, astral, yoga, tv, I fall asleep like some­thing out of sleep­ing beau­ty with snores.  This night though, I actu­al­ly start­ed sink­ing. YAY suc­cess, but it would­n’t go that step fur­ther, instead I heard a wom­an’s voice ask “is she ready yet”. Kei­th’s arm tight­ened around me at the moment and his answered, “no she is not ready”.

I was puz­zled about that, he had often told me of the lady that vis­it­ed him and made him “cum” and he would talk about the coun­cil. One day we were talk­ing and judge­ment day came up, and he was out on a branch surf­ing at the time and he turned and looked at me with those cold dead black eyes and said “I gave them anoth­er 1000 years” and walked off nev­er to explain.

Kei­th nev­er ful­ly land­ed, he was always halfway between here and mars. See Kei­th was Mars in Aries and I am Mars in Scor­pio well part of me is, and that is the secret Key I  open in Atu XIV; my parts.

More to come in the lead­up and prepa­ra­tion of the Dog Days Of ThoTh after i have writ­ten the actu­al event. It is all part of the puz­zle that is.

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Now on the oth­er side of mid­night on the Dog Days of ThoTh I sit here and just go wow, what a fuck­ing trip. If you had said to me back in Sep­tem­ber, get pre­pared you are about to trans­mute, I would of been very puz­zled because my ThoTh deck the pis­sy tiny one which was all I could afford, had been in my “trea­sure Chest” untouched since 2019 and I had just spent every­thing i had on build­ing my gar­den, buy­ing over a 1000 of shit­ty crap soil, fix­ing my car, get­ting new tired, and  buy­ing my chick­ens and chick­en run, hun­dreds of plants and fruit trees for plant­i­ng over sum­mer, think­ing for once I can build up for the future. Yes­ter­day I left town for the first time in two months. It felt sur­re­al, it all feel  sur­re­al out there now.

So I am all pre­pared to keep build­ing my gar­den of bro­ken dreams when The Lying Line of Lyon Lons, decides he want to play the game. One after­noon in Novem­ber I was sit­ting here when his ugly gor­mi mug came up in my time­line for one of his “dick lives” with its vapid “benign­not” I nev­er get more than a minute inot his vids they are so cringe and fake so I was only half lis­ten­ing to his big OTO and hissle­f’s announce­ment.

while I am updat­ing please read some of my fol­low­ing work

Pan­do­ra – Gar­den of Bro­ken dreams

In The Begin­ning; Trin­i­ty Egypt Style.

I Was Born in a Morgue

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Cin­na­mon Reflec­tions

Of a morn­ing I like to climb out of bed before the sun even thinks about peep­ing it’s head into my office win­dow. Usu­al­ly about 4 am I walk into my office in the dead still and peace and qui­et and write for a few hours, before I am dis­turbed b rugrats and the demands for break­fast.

I have my crea­ture com­forts sur­round­ing me in my office and my lit­tle “treats” in life with­in arm’s reach. My lit­tle col­ored crys­tal pyra­mid has to sit in just the right spot on the right side of my desk with my hand­less Bud­dha and nat­ur­al crys­tal rain­bow pyra­mid near my three lit­tle green frog friends Gary, Ger­ry and Rory (don’t ask me, my sev­en year old daugh­ter named them).

Next to them is my hap­py smil­ing cow with the straw on it’s back and trin­kling bell around his neck, sit­ting in front of my wibbe­ly red wood­en pen rack that my 11 year old girl made at school for me on moth­er’s day.

In the mid­dle of the desk, of course is my mon­i­tor and hang­ing off the side is my sis­ter’s sil­ver and dia­mond but­ter­fly neck­lace that she used to wear, along wio­th her zodi­ac Leo Sil­ver charm. Under the mon­i­tor are the two gifts my eldest daugh­ter Krys­tal bought me for my birth­day, a pink crys­tal wire box and on the oth­er side is a pur­ple crys­tal can­dle hold­er. Off to the sides are my 5:1 Log­itech speak­ers and on the far left is my paper­work in.out tray.

Sit­ting in the mid­dle at the front of the mon­i­tor is my mini­ture chi­na cham­ber pot and bowl with the pret­ty pink and pur­ple flow­ers around it and to my left is my antique Limo­ges ash­tray. My vol­ume con­trol is at my fin­ger­tips in front of my rose quartz and near my won­der­ful lov­able Ganesh stat­ue.

I have my cof­fee on it’s lit­tle duck place­mat to my right and sur­round­ed by my four pur­ple walls with Papyrus prints and Egypt­ian paint­ings Egypt­ian Stat­ues and my rain­bow water foun­tain, my lit­tle book­case and reclin­er sofa chair, I am ready for the day in the office.

The oth­er day I was speak­ing to Michelle, a love­ly per­son I met and befriend­ed on a Cana­di­an Web­site we both write for and I told her I was sit­ting down to my morn­ing cup of cof­fee with cin­na­mon and cream. There was no mes­sage back for a bit and then the line “OMG”, which puz­zled me to say the least as I had­n’t thought my morn­ing cof­fee was dra­mat­ic in any way. Michelle soon explained. Every morn­ing when she gets up she makes her­self a cup of cin­na­mon cof­fee and cream before start­ing to write for the day.

Such a sim­ple thing, two peo­ple lit­er­al­ly a world apart. Both writ­ers, both women in a man’s world (our sub­ject mat­ter) and both only take cof­fee with cin­na­mon and cream.

It got me think­ing, as the lit­tle things often do. We have some­thing in com­mon with every­one. We have just got to find it. When­ev­er we meet on those cross­roads there is always some com­mon ground some­where.

Each of my friends around the world is unique, yet I share some­thing with all of them. Male and female alike, young or old, back or white, rich or poor. I share an expe­ri­ence, or way of life or even a cross­road or sit­u­a­tion that has hap­pened to us both at some time or anoth­er through­out our path­way’s in life.

When I meet new peo­ple I look for that share, the com­mon ground and then I begin to com­mu­ni­cate through that link or bond, grad­u­al­ly learn­ing more and link­ing more and more to that per­son in com­mu­ni­ca­tion and famil­iar­i­ty and knowl­edge.

I embrace those unique aspects of each and every per­son and trea­sure it dear­ly. I believe every­one I meet has got some­thing to teach me and show me and share with me in some way.

For as much as we find sim­il­iar­i­ties in oth­er peo­ple, we also find the dif­fer­ences, the new expe­ri­ences to our eyes. For as much as a per­son is like as, they are just as much unlike us. Because they are not us.

Even with a seem­ing­ly neg­a­tive meet­ing on those cross­roads of life, I try and take a pos­i­tive from the expe­ri­ence. I try to learn from that per­son in some way just as much as I try to learn from a sug­ar and spice an all things nice cross­road meet.

But while each of us is unique, we are drawn to the same. There is a mir­ror in every eye we look into, a reflec­tion of you. You see your­self, that part of you look­ing at them is look­ing back at you.

That, of course can be pos­i­tive or neg­a­tive, depend­ing on the view of the eye you are look­ing out of at the time. Whether you look to be steered by your inner eye, the Her­mit or steered by the periph­er­al noise that is decay.

That reflec­tion you see in anoth­er eyes is you. That nas­ti­ness you see in their eyes is your nas­ti­ness. Like meets like.

If you do see that neg­a­tive in some­one’s eyes, step back a lit­tle, change the reflec­tion, come back from a dif­fer­ent angle. See through the reflec­tion at what is inside.

If you stay in that posi­tion, you will only see the reflec­tion of you, the part of you that is like them. Don’t con­front meet the per­son from the side.

The part of them that you see and don’t like is the part of you that you don’t see unless you are look­ing at a reflec­tion and that is the part of you that you don’t like.

For a reflec­tion can nev­er see through itself.

I am still reflect­ing on Reflec­tion and on reflec­tion of reflec­tion I have reflect­ed that I may have more reflec­tions tomor­row to reflect on.