Cigarettes and coffee and you.

If I had to name three things I couldn't live without,
I guess those would be the things. But it’s not an addiction,
per say. I only like cigarettes when your callused fingers
offer them to me,
your wordless expression showing concern and contentess.
I blow away our pain and worries and pass it on for later,
thinking I’ll make some coffee again today.
For both of us like I usually do.
Coconut milk in yours and creamer in mine, right?


My toes are suddenly cold
I dip them in these tender aqua waters,
juxtaposing itself with the Tampa humidity
that laces my cup. I can't tell if
you resting your arms around my waist
brings a fire within me
or if it gives me chills.
I start swaying to some synonymous tune
that happens to play in both of our heads at this moment,
even though the only music is
the wind whistling
through the shells and stems of the palm leaves.

My lips are, coffee and cigarette and you stained.
The painful heat always disrupts this heavenly time for us.

So we’ll meet here, same time tomorrow.
I wouldn't want to live without it.

Everytime we close our eyes,
Trying to remember our mother's lullabies
Warm tears, sparkling like diamonds
Running down our cheeks, hiding behind eyelids

When we look in the mirror and all we see is hate
There is no one to break our fall except fate

We judge our eyes, ear, and...oh did I mention that nose is fake
You people are fickle, you criticize until we break

They say "God" created us all equal and that beauty is in the eye of the beholder,
But how can you say that, you hypocrite, let that smolder

Because while you sit on a throne of discrimination
We scramble and hide to find our place in this nation

He can't even go home to his family because of his ****** domain
He loves his partner but his fathers inane

She breaks her back at work everyday, does more than any man will ever do in a decade
But still riding on her gender, her paycheck begins to fade

And when you see us crawling, fighting with need
You kick us down for the feeling of greed

He tries to get a job and because of the complexion of his pigment,
They don't hire him, nada, that's the end of this segment

She walks down the street covered from head to toe, with only her eyes to show
It's her beliefs but that doesn't make the ***** looks a lesser blow

We fee; the hurt and the pain everyday.
While you sit on your ***** in Tampa Bay

And when we can't be accepted in society,
We don't know any other way for prosperity

So we find a way to numb the pain
The drugs, the razor biting the skin, the *** with mysterious men
Anything with a gain

Please don't hurt us, please don't shut the door in our faces
Because we always seem to wake up in stranger places

Believe us, because this world should not be dog eat dog, it should be full of empathy
Way past the point of poetic sympathy

Break our bones, our courage, our love but inspite of it all
We fight on so that we're with the ones we love on the day that we fall

Drag us out and hang us like a beacon
Because we are not the ones who should be beaten

We are the kings of the world, no prejudice only love
Because love is love even when push comes to shove

Please enlighten us on how being different is bad
And we promise you, despite the real truth, we won't be mad

He's in love with his boyfriend. He asked him just last week to marry him
Never to break his vows until they bury him

She's a single mom of three kids, always making sure they have a good life
But in spite of it her bosses always cut her down with a knife

And he needs to pay for his wife's kemo
Every night he's struggling to ask from people at his mother's Bingo.

And when she walks down the street, she takes pride in what she believes
Always wondering why the man in the window is angry at what he sees

This is us in every way.
We know you wish this was just friendly foreplay

But we will bury you, smolder you with the ashes of our last exhumation
Without you this world would have a better function

Ok, maybe we're astray from the norm
But who says we won't be the end of this petty storm

Dose us with gasoline, light us a flame,
Watch us burn at the stake like it's a game.

But we'll shine so brightly you won't want to fuss
Because, in the end, you'll finally see US.

I live in a small town outside of Tampa which used to be a small farming community, and still maintains some of it's small town charm; railroad tracks and farming fields. This being said, we live right off of the main road leading in and out of Tampa, and if we were to take a right onto said road, we would hit a SuperWalmart on the right just a couple miles up.

Around January of this year, I noticed a black military helicopter flying very low, back and forth along the above mentioned road - almost as if they were surveying it. I thought it was strange because it happened several days in a row during the work week and during the same time of day - middle of the afternoon. the flight pattern was the same each day - always on the same side of the road (the Walmart side of the road) with the helicopter making it to just about where the Walmart is before turning around and coming back toward our neighborhood to the the nearest intersection - then back to the Walmart again. This all happened a few months before JH was disclosed, so while I thought it odd, there was nothing to connect the dots to - until now.

Last week as I was driving my child to school and was shocked to see that 2 ****** recognition cameras (one pointing in each direction of traffic) had been erected at each stop light along the main road. These cameras were not there the afternoon before when I picked my child up from school. During the middle of the night, during the time span of about 12 hours, these cameras had been placed all along the main road of our small community, which also runs along a railroad track and leads right up to the Walmart.

4 days ago, there was a black helicopter hovering very low over our neighborhood with a man sitting half outside of the helicopter, his legs hanging outside the door, facing our homes and pointing what appeared to be some sort of scanning device toward the homes in our neighborhood. They were so low and so close that I could have tossed a tennis ball to them and they would have caught it. I noted that this helicopter activity also occurred during the middle of the afternoon, and on a weekday (when most folks are at work and would maybe not notice this type of activity). This continued for almost 10 minutes, rattling my windows and my nerves.

2 days ago a Sheriff's helicopter was hovering over our neighborhood, in the same area, but above the homes instead of in front of them like the helicopter from the previous 'visit'.

Now I'll share what I saw today that makes me feel we have much less time than we thought: This morning my husband and I drove to the feed store to pick up more chicken feed - which is just a few miles up the road past the Walmart I referenced earlier. As we were driving past the Walmart I saw an unmarked beige prison bus with blacked out, bar-covered windows driving up FROM BEHIND THE BACK OF THE WALMART. With all of the talk of Walmart storing up equipment for JH and the FEMA camp round-ups, I felt that his was very noteworthy. Anyone who has seen a correctional institute bus knows that correctional institutes mark their transport buses with the name of the correctional facility they belong to - this was not marked at all.

I don't think it's a coincidence that people all over the country are reporting the same combinations at the same time (military movement - helicopters and vehicles / Walmarts / train tracks / ****** recognition cameras / FEMA prison buses - some, like the one I saw behind a Walmart).

Please everyone - get ready - get right with God. Repent. Pray. Ask God to show you how to be ready and what to do when things unfold.

Your Sister in Christ

cigar capital                    
Florida state fair held there
subtropic Tampa

People live forever in Jacksonville and St. Petersburg and Tampa,
But you don't have to live forever to become a grampa.
The entrance requirements for grampahood are comparatively mild,
You only have to live until your child has a child.
From that point on you start looking both ways over your shoulder,
Because sometimes you feel thirty years younger and sometimes
thirty years older.
Now you begin to realize who it was that reached the height of
imbecility,
It was whoever said that grandparents have all the fun and none of
the responsibility.
This is the most enticing spiderwebs of a tarradiddle ever spun,
Because everybody would love to have a baby around who was no
responsibility and lots of fun,
But I can think of no one but a mooncalf or a gaby
Who would trust their own child to raise a baby.
So you have to personally superintend your grandchild from diapers
to pants and from bottle to spoon,
Because you know that your own child hasn't sense enough to come
in out of a typhoon.
You don't have to live forever to become a grampa, but if you do
want to live forever,
Don't try to be clever;
If you wish to reach the end of the trail with an uncut throat,
Don't go around saying Quote I don't mind being a grampa but I
hate being married to a gramma Unquote.

Doctor and Mr Granger have gone on holiday
They boarded an interstate bus at seven thirty am yesterday
By three this afternoon they'll be sunbathing at Tampa Bay
It's been years since they ventured down that way

Mrs Granger needed to escape the winter chills
Which had been so extreme in those Tennessee hills
The warmer Florida climes would give her such thrills
As the sun in this location has always heated her blue gills

The good Doctor Granger is a wonderful chap
He didn't want Mrs Granger to be in the cold snap
And he made sure she'd not have to feel its cold wrap
Hence the nice holiday into Tampa's warm lap

The Grangers will be staying in the South region for a while
Where the sun ever displays its radiant dial
And gives Mr Granger a good reason to smile
As she gets away from Tennessee's frozen wiles

Moons ago I smoked till the filter,
Drank Johnny’s backwash
And slept hungry.
How can you know an empty stomach,
Without dancing in Tampa for a buck fifty?
What’s for breakfast?
“cowboy killers.”
lunch I asked,
“Kentucky deluxe.”
Dinner?
“A bent Porto Rican kitten.”
But people are seasons
And springtime had come.
Now it’s easy, but still stiff.
In the end of the day.
ehh.

i hate this town
and all the memories
tied to it
like broken symmetry,
loose wires
misfiring
in a fragile mind.

flea markets
and dog parks,
the Orpheum
and Foundation,
every inch
of this
coastal city
whispers quietly
of you.

each moment spent
in this ******* apartment
is a constant reminder
that waking up
beside you
felt like coming home.

Allow me today to sit and talk, while sipping on my cherry Kool-Aid – which by the way, tastes just fine to wash down my prescribed addiction,

I sit and relax today, I so rarely do – well, in truth, I have sat in boredom for months while life, people and chaos have come and gone, only to all visit again over and over and over…

I have focused so much on what is ideal that I know nothing about what actually is.

I have listened to sirens beneath my window, the ambulances, the fire trucks, searing into my brain a desire to be able to ignore them as they pass all while holding good thoughts for those who the sirens attend to,

My dog and I sit, he by me, me by him – along with the cat, sitting day in and day out – wondering.

Wondering – what if I wasn’t sick?

What if I had been a writer like I wanted to be?

What if I had learned to play the violin?

What if I hadn’t been molested as a child?

I write these words because there is no one.  No one with whom I can converse.  My dog – in his antsy fervor – has yet to utter a single word in contribution to my many attempts at conversation.

I don’t know where things changed.  I hear that people don’t like to be around people who are depressed.   I don’t want to be around me much either.  

Suicide, though an answer, I don’t have much courage for.  My mother always said suicide was a sin and you’ll go “straight to Hell” for doing it, then followed that up with “don’t even think such things!”  Rest In Peace mom but I think of it every day – but it’s a good thing I never learned to have courage in life.

The ice in my Kool-Aid is melting. Perhaps it’s a metaphor – a representation of what is happening in my life.
The bright red of life is watered down, becoming pink if the Kool-Aid to ice ratio is just right.

My heart is broken – again.  I continue to believe that somehow the one that I love will love me wholly without the need for sordid little rifts in the back seats of cars that sit far off in a parking lot, not under the lights – maybe under a tree that hangs over the last spot in the corner.

And where am I when this happens?  Home.  With the dog and the cat.  Cooking dinner, I imagine.  Knowing and oblivious.  Intuitive and in denial.

You used to love me so.  On our hours long bike rides through St. Petersburg – never venturing to Tampa because I didn’t want to ride on the Gandy bridge.  We sat time and time again at Mirror Lake contemplating our future together.  Happiness ensued and you were beautiful.  It felt as though our souls fused each and every time. And then I began to wonder.

Wondering – will I always be enough?

Will our lives be happy together?

Nine years into our relationship, will you still see me the same way?

I have changed – through no fault of my own – a series of strokes can change a person.  They can leave you blind on more than a physical level – but that too.  I didn’t mean to be different.  I didn’t choose to be cross-eyed and wounded.  I wanted to be more for you.  I, for some reason, need you to believe in me, for me to be better.  Are you still here?

Somehow, though, I knew that I would not always be enough for you.  It came as no real surprise when it was confirmed the other day.  The question is: what do I do now? (Oh, and… are you in love?)

I have no self-esteem.  I have no one around me to help pull me from the clutches of happiness turned sad.  Social media and a telephone are no replacement for a hug or a hushed conversation in a coffee shop – where I embarrassingly admit the emotionally crippling downward spiral of what I have allowed for myself to endure – the shame.

I deserved to be loved too.  I deserved more than cherry Kool-Aid, a prescription addiction and time spent wondering who you’re with.

Mom, are you sure you were right? Just wondering.

A Story of Scientology and the
Mental Health System Connection

THE CAUSEWAY

By the time I got to Tampa Florida I was so weary that I was stumbling off my feet. I hadn't had any proper sleep in 4 days. My bones felt as if they had eaten a cancer. I can't remember sitting and waiting for motor pool to pick me up from the bus station. I must have been sleeping on my bags. Not that there were that many of them. I had very little clothing or toiletries. In fact I believe all that I owned was in one tiny suitcase and a carry-on duffle.

I don't remember the name of the man who picked me up that day. We'll just call him Noah. And the white van that traversed the Courtney Campbell Causeway carrying State Road 60 from Tampa to Clearwater? We'll just call that The Ark. Because we were about to meet a *deluge...

The first part of the trip I was nervous. It was raining and extremely windy. I remember asking Noah if we could wait for the storm to pass. He told me that he was under orders to get me to the Fort Harrison within a certain time frame. He would meet those orders come hell or high water. He didn't actually say that but that is what he meant. And that, my friends, is what we got!

The first part of the causeway appeared to be wide. It had palm trees on either side and some greenery. But at a certain point all it was was some roadway perched upon pylons. The engineers had started construction of the causeway in 1927. It was a total of 52,165' long. And, brother, I was feeling EVERY INCH!!!

The wind was blowing so hard that the rain was almost at a horizontal slant. The waves worse. They were spilling over the roadway and frothing. There was no one on the road of course. Nobody else would have been crazy enough to go out in that storm over that Causeway. But Noah had his orders, by God. And he was going to carry them out. That's how brainwashed and insane some scientologists are. Especially in the Sea Organization. Failure to follow "Command Intention" could be seen as grounds for the RPF. More on that horror later.

Well. I remembered Elsie. How she said the Lord Jesus Christ answered prayer. She'd told me that if you confessed your sins with a pure & contrite heart and asked anything of him, he would grant them. That's just what I did. I recall closing my eyes and talking to a man. I didn't know Him. But I told him I was sorry. And if he'd just get us to our destination safely I promised I'd try to be a better person...

Noah was terrified. I can still see his face locked in a rictus of fear. But now I felt strangely calm. Even when we hydroplaned over the asphalt I wasn't afraid. Finally we arrived at the end of that terrifying strip of water and wind. I don't recall exactly. But I believe Noah stopped the van and wept. For the first time in my life I thanked God. I recognized the event for what it was... A PURE MIRACLE.

*AND I WILL ALWAYS REMEMBER IT AS SUCH.

walking through the big flea market

off of highway 19 north of Tampa

looking for whatever and something

curious and kitsch or campy



merchants selling in the parking lot

used blenders and old cameras

burnt out or faulty devices

DVD cases and game cartridges



old rednecks shout out opinions

in a cacophony of drawled signifiers

representing visions of despotic rulers

reigning a tyranny of taxes and decline



old glass containers and windshields shine

scattering high afternoon sunlight in the Sunday sky

sitting and resting used and content waiting

waiting for the wear and reduction of time



the market continues into indoor aisles

criss-crossing within a ramshackle structure

plywood walls supporting sheet metal roofing

an aroma of every greasy food wafting into one



people wrapped in worn fashions

whites in Ts and denim

muslim women in headscarves

a black deputy strapped down in uniform



the deputy enforces commerce laws

around the alternative marketplace

a variety of commodities are still available

bongs and e-cigs and incense and **** ****



parakeets cry out down one aisle

a stack of blue aquariums drone a bubbling hum

the stench of cedar and rat **** and hamsters

reptiles basking in the arid glow of heat lamps



all is right in America’s America

the flea market is the floorboard of that promise

an opportunity for anyone to begin

or start again and over and over



a liberal conservatism can be guarded well

with rifles or tazers at bargain rates

a conservative liberalism is applied openly

in the atmosphere of everyone for anything and everything



the dream of the flea market

a black market and a carnival

all of America’s cheap art on display

its people swirled into one



equal in their struggles and desires

reaching for resources and derivatives

buying low and selling higher

stealing and selling short



walking through the big flea market

on a hot and cloudless Sunday afternoon

looking for whatever or something

it’s a fun thing to do


**originally posted to my blog https://sublimeobscenities.wordpress.com on 4/27/2014