The Queen – Chapter 1 – The palace of the Queen

Her voice, a siren on the rocky shore, drew me in, to places forbidden and dangerous. The allure of the illegal, the sensual, kept me long after my defenses buckled. I saw her in the black light shadows, scantily clad, the glistening drops of sweat running down her ample chest. Seeing my hungry eyes, she turned to her pleasant task. Her back, arched cat like as she crawled to the pole, the center of her throne room. I, like an obedient subject, took my place among the ranks of worshipers. Her eyes never left mine, except when her quickened moves took her face from one side to another. Long her spell kept me there, reaching for my money, her money, till I had emptied my pockets. Then desire fated me to stand in line with her other hapless captives, to empty my account, her account. This is why I work my mundane, back breaking job, so I might see her and escape from the listless world that was mine, outside this Queen’s castle.

Related posts: The Queen,  Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10,  Part 11,, Part 12, Part 13

Also published in: Broowaha 
11242011

  Image Credit: ivor-kovic.com
            

Collateral Damage – Know when to let go of that hell bent soul

“She doesn’t know what she is doing
Only acting on what was taught her
Behaving irrationally and using
Destroying those who loved her

She goes on with her life
Only causing pain
There is always strife
Collateral damage, no gain.” – DMW



Hurting people, hurt people. It is no surprise, when you chase a hell bent soul to the edge, that your drawn down after them. Stand strong on your ground and know when to let go. Some people cannot be rescued. They must live out their destiny, which they have chosen, and you must let go. Beware then of collateral damage, for their life is like an exploding bomb and you can be hurt without seeing the wound. Collateral damage, the best defense is to not be there.

“We met one day after I was diagnosed

But I didn’t tell you.

You liked Wes Anderson

So did I

You listened to Bright Eyes

I did too

And one day, you told me

That you liked me

But I didn’t

So I kissed you instead

And told you about

How I liked to be on top

And how I wanted you

To be rougher

And I didn’t want you

To say my name and ruin the mood

All the things that seem personal

But really aren’t

But you said it

You said

That you loved me

But I didn’t

And this time

You wanted more than a kiss

So I went and kissed your father instead
Right in front of you

I wanted you to remember me like that

You didn’t talk to me for weeks

And then you showed up on my doorstep

Happily drunk on misery

And you said I destroyed you

And you said

I destroyed you

I said, Oh Honey

I didn’t destroy you, I destroyed me, you were just

Collateral Damage”lickallbrook

Published in: Broowaha
111611

Collateral Damage – Know when to let go of that hell bent soul

“She doesn’t know what she is doing
Only acting on what was taught her
Behaving irrationally and using
Destroying those who loved her

She goes on with her life
Only causing pain
There is always strife
Collateral damage, no gain.” – DMW



Hurting people, hurt people. It is no surprise, when you chase a hell bent soul to the edge, that your drawn down after them. Stand strong on your ground and know when to let go. Some people cannot be rescued. They must live out their destiny, which they have chosen, and you must let go. Beware then of collateral damage, for their life is like an exploding bomb and you can be hurt without seeing the wound. Collateral damage, the best defense is to not be there.

“We met one day after I was diagnosed

But I didn’t tell you.

You liked Wes Anderson

So did I

You listened to Bright Eyes

I did too

And one day, you told me

That you liked me

But I didn’t

So I kissed you instead

And told you about

How I liked to be on top

And how I wanted you

To be rougher

And I didn’t want you

To say my name and ruin the mood

All the things that seem personal

But really aren’t

But you said it

You said

That you loved me

But I didn’t

And this time

You wanted more than a kiss

So I went and kissed your father instead
Right in front of you

I wanted you to remember me like that

You didn’t talk to me for weeks

And then you showed up on my doorstep

Happily drunk on misery

And you said I destroyed you

And you said

I destroyed you

I said, Oh Honey

I didn’t destroy you, I destroyed me, you were just

Collateral Damage”lickallbrook

Published in: Broowaha
111611

The Beautiful Rejected Ones – Spontaneous acts of kindness

 “Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a harder battle.” – Plato
“If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other.”
Mother Teresa
 
paintingmania

How strong am I? I didn’t know until I faced death, loneliness, depression, lost a loved one, felt the pain of hating my body, experienced the betrayal of a lover, and wrestled with an addiction. These I have done and come back from, being rewarded with an understanding and compassion for those teetering on the point of no return. So many people on that edge, looking self loathing, rejection, and death in the face. These are the outcasts, the downtrodden, the incarcerated, the elderly, the dis-formed, the dysfunctional, the addicted. I will be a friend, a partner to those rejected by the crowd. Starving for affection and acceptance, withering beneath the blazing sun of rejection by family, by friends, by society. Orphans, left behind, stranded on islands of disorders: disorders of eating, thinking, mobility, and socializing. I don’t know their pain, their reason for leaving the path to wander aimlessly through a deep and lonely sea, finding themselves without a way back. I will be the ship on the horizon. I will send up the smoke of my prayers that they may see a sign before they see me and have hope.  Many don’t want, or will refuse help. I mean no offense to their independence, I don’t want to change them, that they must do themselves, if they need to change at all. I wish only to offer a respite from their routine. That is my resolution for this new year, to travel to the edge of my world, the edge of the parties, the edge of church services, the edge of bars, the edge of communities, and bring to them a concerned and loving hand of compassion. I will bring hope, an opportunity to get back up and try again, a break to breathe easier, refreshing them. With this sip of cold water, perhaps I may save a life or revive a weary soul to get up and come out of the cold, into the warmth of love. Look for me this new year, you will find me in the company of these, the beautiful rejected ones.

Also published in: Broowaha 
12312011

The Beautiful Rejected Ones – Spontaneous acts of kindness

 “Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a harder battle.” – Plato
“If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other.”
Mother Teresa
 
paintingmania

How strong am I? I didn’t know until I faced death, loneliness, depression, lost a loved one, felt the pain of hating my body, experienced the betrayal of a lover, and wrestled with an addiction. These I have done and come back from, being rewarded with an understanding and compassion for those teetering on the point of no return. So many people on that edge, looking self loathing, rejection, and death in the face. These are the outcasts, the downtrodden, the incarcerated, the elderly, the dis-formed, the dysfunctional, the addicted. I will be a friend, a partner to those rejected by the crowd. Starving for affection and acceptance, withering beneath the blazing sun of rejection by family, by friends, by society. Orphans, left behind, stranded on islands of disorders: disorders of eating, thinking, mobility, and socializing. I don’t know their pain, their reason for leaving the path to wander aimlessly through a deep and lonely sea, finding themselves without a way back. I will be the ship on the horizon. I will send up the smoke of my prayers that they may see a sign before they see me and have hope.  Many don’t want, or will refuse help. I mean no offense to their independence, I don’t want to change them, that they must do themselves, if they need to change at all. I wish only to offer a respite from their routine. That is my resolution for this new year, to travel to the edge of my world, the edge of the parties, the edge of church services, the edge of bars, the edge of communities, and bring to them a concerned and loving hand of compassion. I will bring hope, an opportunity to get back up and try again, a break to breathe easier, refreshing them. With this sip of cold water, perhaps I may save a life or revive a weary soul to get up and come out of the cold, into the warmth of love. Look for me this new year, you will find me in the company of these, the beautiful rejected ones.

Also published in: Broowaha 
12312011

At War With Me – Inside the mind of schizophrenia

Schizophrenia cannot be understood without understanding despair.” – R. D. Laing
hubimg

Alone again, sitting on the edge of shattered dreams

Looking out across the littered landscape
On surreal castaway emotions
Lining up for the battle, players in full effect
No penalty getting called, game plan checked
Time for confrontation
Many people in the same head, crowded conditions
Please raise your hand before speaking
Miserable summations.
We say I’m crazy, I believe we got it right
My friends in my head, they speak at once
Which part of we is normal?

Is this me or we?

 Also published in Broowaha
01122013

Angel, Part 4 – Her Stripper’s Initiation

We drove through the country, past dense forests of deep green and fields of tobacco, all pasted against the bluest sky I ever saw, a backdrop to the drama about to unfold. The club was lackluster, mud stains crawling up the faded white siding, weeds growing in sparse clumps in the dirt and gravel parking lot. The tires crunched through the gravel, announcing our presence to those waiting inside. We walked in, the dark welcoming us to the wantonness concealed from the day. She interviewed quick, verbally. I knew what they wanted to see for her qualifications. Posturing up like a good sentry, my eyes narrowed to slits, not smiling at anyone, being sure to let them know this was “my” angel, I was not coy about expressing my concern. I saw several girls milling around, asking for drinks from the pitiful few customers that were scattered like debris across the club. All typical things, the only thing not typical, was the look on my angels face, and her knight, faithfully by her side.  My imagination was wild, things ugly and uncontrollable fleshing out my limited understanding. Every violent movie, crime drama, news report, every violent and perverse concoction I ever heard and saw, all weighed heavily on me. My heart, now beating with sickening thuds, girded on by bursts of adrenaline, felt ready to explode. I knew something was about to happen. The dim interior, with its moon and stars of black lights and liquor neons, and mirrors reflecting their entrancing light, created a hypnotism that affected even me. Through a slight haze of smoke, I walked through the foreboding gauntlet to the edge of the stage. Sticky carpets, a memoir of drinks spilled night after night, created a smell that was oppressive on its own. My angels eyes were wide with excitement, her innocence was obvious to all there, exciting the few mangy patrons like the smell of blood excites the pack. Feeling them undress her with their eyes, hearing them lick their lips in anticipation, fidgeting in their chairs, ordering fresh drinks for the unveiling of the new talent, my mind and heart throbbed. The sound of blood rushed through my ears accompanying  music that boomed from the speakers, both mercifully loud enough to cover the conversations whispered from hedonistic men to the objects they desired. A couple dancers, with well rehearsed moves, their eyes vacant, staring off into space, went through their sets. They were all beautiful, except for blank stare in their eyes. Finally it was my angels turn, she looked so, cute, coming onto the stage, her moves very unpracticed and hesitant. Her eyes, like doe eyes, so innocent. She pranced childlike to the front of the stage, stopped, then swaying with the music, looked me directly in the eye and began her descent. Inside I heard a voice, urgent, and by the second, louder in its instance, STOP!!! I could scarcely restrain myself, the knight, caught between doing what she wanted and trying to wrestle a way out of this most helpless of circumstances, all of me under the sword of concern, all of her on the precipice of her dream. I held her look while she peeled off her shirt, my angel, her silken skin, her glorious curves, my skin, my curves. The shirt covered her eyes on its way off to oblivion, and when it fell from her hands, falling past her gentle eyes, I watched the purity leave her. It went from her like the sun falls from the sky, she growing darker on the sunset of her innocence. I sat stunned. My angel was no longer an angel, she was something that I had never seen before, her visage marred by an unseen hand. I felt my stomach ache, a deep, growing pit forming, nausea slapping me like a bully. I knew little of what was to become of the wildness that was birthed in her that night, little of what her desire for escape would drive her too, little of what it would do to my innocence, my soul.


Also published in: Broowaha

 

Angel, Part 3 – The Trap Is Sprung

The days turned to nights, endless nights of ruthless passion, uninhibited pleasure. The sun, many mornings, rising on our exhausted frames. She did take me to where my wife never would, the price for this journey, never spoken. Soon, the path away from my angel, was closed altogether. At first, little signs, which looking back were not so little. Indiscretions, as I called them, finding her with other men in compromising positions. Times when she disappeared, only to be found later, somewhat tossed in her appearance. Each time, her apologies and a healthy dose of gratuitous sex, sedated my opposition to the truth. One of those long days, working to bring her trinkets of my affection, I came home and saw her, lying down, seemingly asleep, in one hand, a stash of little blue pills. It was perfectly staged, this suicide attempt. SNAP! The trap was sprung. My angel cried, told me how unhappy she was, how she had only one dream that would make her happy. That dream was for her to be a dancer. No not just a dancer, an exotic dancer. A man in my position is helpless to do anything but take care of her now, to save her, or so I thought. What did she need in this pursuit but a man to push ahead of her as she whispered which path to take? I was wholly naïve concerning the whole culture and its surrounding pitfalls and malevolent characters. But, the white knight was born, the rescuer, the one who will guide this angel through the dark and dangerous night. Little did I know that this would begin a journey through a hell deeper and hotter than I have ever imagined. How easily I slipped through the safety net of common sense and self protection, into the hold of a hell bent soul. In her lustful grip, she would, in the end, take my soul.



The Queen – Chapter 3 – Chasing the Queen

She tucked herself close to me, I covered her, encouraging her shelter. Pulling her close, my mind raced with anticipation. How will my queen reward me? Would she possibly let me be her king? How can I, plain and awkward, be a king? That would be…..I was yanked from my fantasy by her frantic tug. We walked quickly but as I turned to my familiar escape, down the lit side street to the paid parking…she pulled me down the alley, into the unknown, a dark way, a mysterious exit. It was a typical alley way by all estimations, lined part way with overflowing garbage cans, the rest lit gloomily by a couple naked bulbs, cutting out their tiny share of hope in this most miserable darkness. I hesitated for a moment, instincts alert, I should follow her, after all she was my queen. She pulled me close, looking up at me with eyes so innocent, and full of fear. I could see a tear forming in both corners of those clear beacons, everything in her so scared and, is that desire I see? Her hand, full of strength from adrenaline, and from excitement, pulled me close, she stood up straight, her cat like arch, long ago left on her stage. Her kiss was hot, intense, her tongue not shy about expressing its new found freedom. I responded like a little kid, almost as if I had never kissed before, how does one kiss his queen? Finishing her assault on my senses, she whispered words that intimated an urgency, which urgency I immediately felt when I heard the scuffled footsteps scrambling toward us. I could only see one at first, but the noise announced several more soon to appear. My queen, what have you done? It doesn’t matter to me, my thoughts now on protecting my queen and, surviving. After all, this is why I work my mundane, back breaking job, so I might protect her and escape from the listless world that was mine, outside this Queen’s castle.

Also Published in: Broowaha