What happened to the goddess?

We used to be more in touch with nature than we are now, supposedly. This may be myth itself – after all, not many, if any, civilizations we’ve set up on this planet have actually been sustainable, and I would hope that sustainability is at least a basic principle of being in touch with nature, but, that aside, at some point homo sapiens really did have goddess religions and earth mother rituals, and at some point these were all crushed and killed and forgotten, supplanted by all the patriarchal abrahamic cults and priests. So, why? We still sort of think that mother knows best, don’t we? But we don’t really act on it, or follow it through. Let’s try this – Santa Claus as the Anti-Goddess – patriarchy reacts to the power of the feminine in magic and spirit – SC is a technology of reward, with little to no ritual required, and minimal sacrifice. How easy it is to admire the giver, with the instant gift, rather than acknowledge the nurturer, whose toil was constant and overarching rather than sudden and surprising.

Was following and worshipping a goddess too much hard damn work with no quick reward? Was Santa Claus an invention of the patriarchal priests to satisfy the grasshopper in all of us?

Melania reveals what she does while Donald plays with his balls

“I like black cock,” says Melania Trump, in an exclusive interview by our DC correspondent, Ethyl White.

“Donald spends very little time with me, after all. He’s always either on the golf course or in bed with his little Tweet toy.”

Melania was lounging in her library in the White House, resplendent in a turquoise shift and Converse sneakers. She was drinking a sauterne she has smuggled in from Hungary by diplomatic aides.

“I have a reliable stable of gorgeous black boys who I so enjoy. They don’t need toys, like Donald does, to do me right.”

She pointed to a small nightstand where her usually absent hubby keeps his battery powered gadgets.

“He comes by a few times a month, when his phone needs charging, so he’s restless, I guess. I fake it for him.”

“I have pictures, but I’ll never use them. He gives me plenty of money.”

We’ll have more exclusive and totally truthful tidbits from Melania, including some juicy details about the surgeries Donald made her undergo.

Keep watching.

Just another mail order, after all

More of the same

They’re painting what’s good to think, not eat

Tunes to Hum Along With

– Lacrimae Sitis –
– For Ann –

Recently, it has been discovered that salt water exists on asteroids- the tears of eternity.

I wish I could gather all the things I ever saw myself being, but it seems that all of the ropes are out of my hands. And since I can’t regain the vision, even the sight becomes forgotten. And yet I still strain to think I can crawl a little further on and finally see over, finally feel the light from a long dream ago.

The ability to measure any distance is also a gauge of the future.

Sometimes I also feel that I’ve told it all, in pieces here and there, in shards of memories placed in mosaic along the time I spend with another. But what do I do with the gems of your tears, and the dew of your words, mirror-smooth upon your softness, warm against my fingertips, and alive between my lips?

Small machines, scurrying over alien soil, are already our eyes and tongues.

My fear is the kind that silences the cry for help, that fills the territory with long paths in uncertain directions, traipseless distance.

Truth is always something freed from an obsessive longing.

But I always want my sadness to be a knowledge, since it is the earth beneath my feet, and the melody between my ears. And I guess I wish it to be the wind at your back.

But how cruel wishes can be.

Only a child would put an alien in a closet.

My sadness is deep, but I know there is a happiness on the other side, a simple turn away, but I will clutch the air until the poles reverse.

And I always wish, inside down deep, that it could all start over, that every sad and wet tear would prism the world anew, butterflies in the breeze, sun on our skin.

Rings in our eyes.

Tunes to Hum Along With

Title of the unrecorded, unreleased, album.