Black Widow Oblivion

This is another fictional story from The black widow series. Enjoy. All characters are just figments of my imagination. Any or all resemblance to an individual is merely coincidence.

She (the black widow) sat hours in her easy chair, oblivious to the world around her, including her children. She furiously stretched her mind into the massive organ it is by spending countless hours crushing candy as if it were her only reason to live. She spent every waking moment doing as little as possible just so she could crush those striped candies into a big win.

Without a care in the world the widow crushed candy all the while ignoring her husband as if he never existed, whilst her children were raiding the pantry for every sugary, carb loaded treat they could find. Laundry was piled into mountainous heaps in the garage as if the washer itself had violently vomited them across the floor. Which isn’t surprising since the clothes often smelled so putrid and so sour it would make you gag if you smelled them, thinking they were clean.

The widow was typically in a real maddening hurry and had no choice, but to run over the laundry with her car. She never had a problem rolling over those stacks of dirty jeans, t- shirts, towels and underwear like speed bumps in the car line at school. She couldn’t be bothered with that stufg, she was just too tired. She wasn’t even going to be able to cook because she was so tired. Besides, she really needed to get to her easy chair and crush candy.

She spent so much time engrossed in candy bombs that she never saw the beautiful bombs chasing around her very ignored husband by her back. They snickered and laughed, asking him why he was even with her. They loved coming to her parties where she tired to sell some kind of plastic bowl or scented waxy shit because the widow loved to drink. And, when she did… They would go on the hunt for that sexy husband of hers that she didn’t even know she had. She would sit on her sofa, pounding beer from a bottle, laughing about menial things no one really wanted to talk to her about. That gave the perfect little out for a friend to slip out to the garage.

The widows friend spotted the highly attractive husband in the garage. He had been hiding from the cats in the house when one, bad, little kitty escaped. She pawed and nipped hoping he would play. The kitty friend told him the widow never had to know, meowing like a cat in heat.

To be frank here, this sort of thing happened quite often. But, as fate would have it, the widow wouldn’t have noticed. She couldn’t have because, she was so very very busy. Busy making ass imprints on the sofa with her dildo, that is….

It was obvious she didn’t want her husband like the babysitter did. And, she couldn’t possibly want him like those women at church who loved their fitness training. They frequently invited him over for some cross training, if ya know what I mean…

The widow sure loved the energizer bunny, while her closest, and dearest friend was still fantasizing about the time she had her way wity the widows husband. Of course, the dear friend never told the Widow, but then again, she never told the widow she had once warned her husband before their marriage not to marry her because she was a user.

Which of course, all of that said was true. The woman couldn’t do a thing on her own, she needed him to do everything for her or slave her children out. She couldn’t clean the house and she couldn’t cook, and she certainly couldn’t do laundry anymore than she could clean her ass. She was busy you know and that was a chronic problem, but then again so was her month long periods too.

Behind her back people whispered. She thought she had snowed them all including the congregation at her church, but her husband had been two steps ahead the whole time. He never let an opportunity go without sharing to the Pastor and other deacons about her “personal issues”.. Like the one where she puts her ass print on the sofa…

Unbeknownst to her, he forwarded her emails she sent him, photos of food rot crusted in the fridge, laundry stacked in the garage and filth everywhere she never cleaned. He recorded her cussing like a sailor and let the pastor hear what she really sounded like when no one was listening. He even sent the church, the most damning email of all, where she admitted to all her egregious acts.

One day, her husband decided that he had never loved her and put her to the curb. He had only felt sorry for her little snot nose toddler she had when he met her and against his better judgment stayed for the rug rat. But, that rug rat had grown up and it was time. He hadn’t found her attractive for years and years. He couldn’t stand her voice anymore than he could stand her, so… he left.

She thought she had won. She gloated around town like she had just taken him to the cleaners, except he didn’t want anything she got. Andvthe best part was he had the last laugh. He had bested her in her own playground.

Every week she went to church after he left, and told the poor abandoned wife tale, they placated her and then snickered all over again. They laughed and made fun of her knowing she was the liar and fake that she was. They knew, because her husband made sure to let everyone know the truth, just before he divorced her. In fact, she may never have known what all those sideways glances were actually for and probably wouldn’t have wanted know either.

She had been made a fool in her own backyard. If it couldn’t get any worse for her, it did when her son began telling the world about her drunken escapades with men from dating apps. She thought no one knew, but everyone knew. Her place of employment knew, her church, her neighbors and even her so called friends.

The black widow had been stripped of her power and dethroned. Her crown was stripped and she had to sell the big house, trade in the mom mobile and take the demotion in front of the entire world and God.

Thank you for reading ❤️

The Artful practices of a Witch

THAT WHICH IS BELOW CORRESPONDS TO THAT WHICH IS ABOVE, AND THAT WHICH IS ABOVE CORRESPONDS TO THAT WHICH IS BELOW, TO ACCOMPLISH THE MIRACLE OF ONE THING, THROUGH THE MEDIATION OF ONE MIND, SO DO ALL CREATED THINGS ORIGINATE FROM THIS ONE THING THROUGH, TRANSFORMATION.

Witchery is most often misunderstood and typically by those with the inability to think bigger than their linear worlds allow. If a person, such as myself decides to understand the world in its complexity, and, all for the sake of enlightenment, then I must see the things that are undeniably in front of me.

The spiritual aspect is the greatest one, and if anything, it’s the single most important one altogether. Communication to Source/G-d, goes way beyond the act of prayer by simply bowing a head and talking to what most people think of as an empty space. I’ve heard countless times different people explain that they hope God heard their prayer as if be wouldn’t for some reason or walk away from prayer as if it was a request tossed into a box fof review. In other words, talking into a phone without ever waiting for someone to awnser.

Witchery is far beyond the “casting” of “Spells”. A person must actually have an intuition first and that’s a whole different conversation, but it essentially begins with a very intimate, two – sided conversation between source/G-d and the “witch”.

These conversations and the sheer ability to do it, set you apart from the rest. And, witchery, and not necessarily Wiccan as that’s a completely different form, is derived from those gifted enough to tune into our higher being. We use that as a medium or backdrop into which we create energy for healing, growth and really, a million other categories.

Christianity, and when I say that I loop that as most people following or categorizing themselves under that title, not the actual meaning of of being Christian, with that said, in my opinion, Christianity is like the warning label on a hairdryer. It stands as those ridiculous instructions written for simple minded people prone to stupidity and require a certain set of rules to follow. They are the same people who never take the time to ask the question, “what if there was more?”

“What if, (I) can actually use the G-d energy to work through me like the early Alchemists did, and or mistakenly labeled as magic?” “What benefits could I have from healing others, growing herbs and (i. e. poisonous plants) for the sake of healing tinctures and other compounded apothecaries?” Or even “Can I change the structure of a persons emotional state, spirit or outlook just by fixing a special tea or prepared nourishment ?”

The awnser to that is, yes. So, by using the G-d energy through direct communication and conjuring if the mind (power of thought) we can manifest powerful things. These conjurings, in most cases have been life changing for many people. Some even without their own knowledge and that goes to say there are some out there working magic unbeknownst to themselves and unknown to those they encounter. In modern terms we become doctors, herbalists, artists, green witches and even house witches. There are by far plenty more titles in specific genres or areas in which we work but for now I’ll just labeled the easiest to understand.

I think it’s also important to understand the meaning of, that which is above is like that which is below. I think it should be studied and pondered, not as scripture but as divine insight into something greater than it was even originally written about. Insights, communication and enlightenment often comes when we least expect it and it is with the trained eye and ear that we recognize it when it comes to us.

So, if you have done this and study this you will find that Heaven and Earth mirror each other, over lapping. Again, this particular subject is another separate conversation, but essentially the mind is the conduit that powers everything, the engine. That includes energy around us, and, those of us skilled enough that they can manipulate that very exact and precise energy into what we need it to do.

I’ve written a few times before about the ideas inside the popular book titled the “Secret.” However, that book was based from the anonymously written book “A Course in Miracles”, as a kind of… compendium to the written stories in the Bible. Let me clarify that it’s not as a second book of the Bible or even considered as one but more like the instructions to the Bible that are missing.

I have used these practices for quite some years in exactly as I spoke, art but more so in the teas and soups to achieve healing in different forms with 100% success. All of which is documented in my grimoire, in great detail. These writings are private and only used or shared through me to another witch. I do not publish them in any way. Why? Because they are my spells, specific to me. Most are instinctual and created from that very spiritual center inside my being.

It’s important for every practicing witch to do these things on her own, in conjunction to deep meditation, G-d energy and communications. It’s a deeply spiritual experience and truthfully, most people aren’t capable of doing the work it takes to get to this place. You, She, the practing witch, must shed her skin in a sense, to rid herself of earthly baggage. This, is a huge undertaking, and only when this has been done can you move into a spiritual, light worker or witchery workings.

It came naturally to myself and my work only took intent focus. Others, it takes longer but if the call is there, you will be successful.

Thank you for reading ❤️

Miss. Piggys Menopausal delusion.

I do say your honor, I think that piggish woman might, just potentially be, and or is, slightly menopausal.

I mean, she’s not exactly the most beautiful thing there is to look at with that rotund fat face and short tree trunk legs. Matter of fact, and that is of course if I were guessing, but she seems like the sort of woman who isn’t getting fed enough in her ol piggy pie. If ya know what I mean….

It must be difficult for a fat woman with a shrewed heart and badly cut bangs to find a sausage for her piggy pie. What a sad little world it must be for Miss. Pig, no one to love and no one to use. I don’t think she’s read the book titled Ego, as it is evident hers has taken over in an unsightly way.

If you’re asking me why, I have to think it’s because she is so seething with jealousy her mind is full of pork. Her soul is a fatty ball lumped into her large and sagging chest where she still flips over letting her grown children drink from her nip, although it’s been dry for quite some time.

Ah, yes. Her mouth, you ask….

She does, indeed have a large mouth of teeth to match her fat cankles, but one can’t help such flaws, not all pigs are as perfect as is a swan. Which if you must know, is what made the Pig snorting jealous. The swan.

It must be damning to watch from the mud and shit she stands in at the beautiful swan across the field in a stunning pond of her own. Pig, sad and pathetic as she is, must be forced to watch the Swan elegantly swim so deliciously in the water with her handsome Cob at her side and a brood of beautiful little ones swimming so perfectly behind her. The swan family is as happy as happiness could ever be only reminding Pig, she will always be exactly that, a Pig.

The honorable one speaks.

It is with my expertise and years of experience that it goes against the law of nature to take a Pig from its slop and put in the pond and expect it to be anything other than a Pig.

Someone important, although they remain anonymous, You can take a girl from the trailer park but you can’t take the trailer park outta the girl. Once trash, always trash, or Pig.

This song isn’t about you. None of them are. But, I wouldn’t want them to be.

Thank you for reading ❤️ Everyone knows a Pig.

DISCLAIMER :

These are colorful blog posts written from a vivid imagination about no particular person in general. Any likeness to a person /persons is merely coincidence as it’s all artful storytelling. Cheap. Therapy.

The Great Happenstance

Hermetic Goddess

As above, so below.

This dictum in astrology is the central pillar of Hermetic thought. Essentially, it says the map of the heavens is a map of the earth, and those who can read the heavens will understand the workings of all things on earth.

In a very simple understanding, if I can read the stars as if they were words in a journal, I would have profound knowledge written by God. It has been said in ancient text by the Myan people, fallen angels gave them the foresight to see the stars in such a way and how to decipher them. Hence, the Mayan calendar and further predictions were born. Clearly coming from their ability to read the stars.

This has made me think keenly about what it all means as my mind races to put thousands of puzzle pieces together in one quick instance. What if the map is more than just foresight of what’s to come but, quite literally, a map. What if this map has the ability to show not the “Heavens” but Heaven, itself. And, if that is possible then it also would be able to tell us more than just Heavens layout. It would tell us where God is.

Before I go further, I am aware or in the belief that God is everywhere and in everything. He is the Great matter of all things. The source of which everything began, but let’s suppose that even with that understanding we can reverse the engineering and take apart each layer of this equation. If we do that, then what we would possibly see is the proverbial “man behind the emerald curtain”. Remind you of anything? The Emerald city?

When L. Frank Baum wrote the novella, Wizard of Oz do you suppose he based anything from his writing from the Emerald Tablet?

Baum wrote about an allegorical quest to enlightenment, hence the yellowbrick road of all things to symbolize the Buddhist belief in a “golden path to enlightenment”.

I highly encourage you to actually read the book. It’s quite different from the Hollywood version, by which only highlights the outer most workings of importance in his story.

Which only illuminates the idea that for centuries, those of us in tune enough to look, can see there is something far more important in the constellations than just twinkling lights playing backdrop to the moon in the darkness of night. It’s designed, rather by a breach or on purpose to tell us something. It’s not only a map, but a key. A very important key that unlocks a doorway that most people can’t grasp it’s understanding.

I think it’s important to note here, Alchemists were the first, in a sense, to break down the information and begin to put into action. This is not meant by looking for any such map or doorway, but to attempt this through the transformation of one thong into another through the process of energy.

Alchemists faced plenty controversy being that it appeared to deviate away from religious beliefs and institutions of the earliest times. One such idea in the Alchemists book was called the “Mind the maker”. This particular section was certainly not something you dare mutter allowed in those middle age, witch burning years without putting a person directly on the stake to die by the scorching heat of fire. “Mind the maker” would suggest that God does not directly participate in our world. Instead, God projected the Word of God into our existence as something to the likes of a template to follow or as described in another Alchemy text, a computer program that the Emerald Tablet calls the Pattern. These writings are not something you san over think but let float across your mind. In doing so, if your so capable, you’ll be able to comprehend what it’s saying. I would compare that style of comprehension as the same used to read in the course of miracles. Should you over think or try to analyze too long your mind short circuits and it becomes confusing and indecipherable. In my opinion, that would only given more proof that we have the ability to vibrate at different frequencies like an antenna. Matter of fact, the very principles inside the Emerald Tablet are recognized and used in the teachings of the popularly known movement/book/film known as The Secret.

However, back to where I left off, it would be a mistake to believe Alchemists were not believers of God. In fact, they sought to unveil the divine light in everything, so to perfect it. Which of course was the truest nature of the Great Work. It begins Below, with the duality of matter.

These particular findings were indeed important to the church, but done so with great caution and discretion for certain verbiage. I stated earlier that it was “those who could read the heavens”. In my opinion that would suggest people who are not only in tune, but sighted in some way. Obviously, in those days it meant to be gifted with foresight. To be precise, that meant plainly, the ability to for tell the future or have spiritual communication with spiritual beings. Rather that be the the dead or angels it nevertheless got you the title of being nothing more than a tool to the devil. Alchemists and their studies were slightly reclusive and anti social for lots of reasons, but, it equally did nothing to help their case in being “Godly” followers or believers in Christ. Alchemists were much like the Saint Joan of Arc in the way that the Church was curiously interested in the work and knowledge but never recognized it or forgave those who practiced, minus our lovely maiden, Saint Johanne of Arc. She was one the only humans given Saint status after her execution for what at that time they deemed witch craft.

There’s a theme here. It would suggest further more that those capable of reading, deciphering or understanding these “Heavens” are either burned, crucified, shunned, banned or imprisoned.

Which brings me to question, how do we read it. Especially, if we already have that inclination, then how do we educate or per se, raise our frequency, in such a way that we not only receive divine information, but the education of translation. Is it even truly possible? Although, I strongly believe it is. I believe a certain number of us have this gift and it is coveted or would be by those who are unworthy to understand it.

Which would be the exact reason it’s not easy to do or find without being the “one” who would have enough enlightenment to do so.

This particular knowledge could, and, would, be a dangerous weapon if used improperly. I imagine that would be classified as treasonous enough to piss off a heavenly host of Arch Angel warriors bent on protecting their domains.

Again, I do ponder who might be the reader of such things. The “hermetic” reader. The keeper of the greatest secrets and yet somehow I believe without a doubt is or will mostly definitely be a feminine of the greatest divine light. A Goddess, a witch, a mother, a creator of life and also the apple of God’s affection, a female.

I will further discuss this topic in more depth, next blog post.

Thank you for reading ♥️

Pythoness

Flames lick the air, seeking another soul to devour. Greedily, it calls out.

Our names are carried on a breeze, like a haunting whisper. They drift among sleeping clouds, through open windows and slip effortlessly into our slumbering dreams.

Fear is daft, unknowing to the things in the universe it can not understand. Seeking to destroy all that challenges it with reckless abandon.

You can burn us if you want. You may bury us beneath our own ashes if you so choose, but you can never eliminate us.

For every tree you take down, releases a million seeds to grow from the ashes.

We are the granddaughters of all the witches weren’t able to burn, as are we the seeds from the ones you did.

You thought you buried us, but we were the seeds that flourished.

Broken tea cups and loose leaf pekoe

Staring into the deeply etched porcelain crack of a dainty little tea cup, I carefully follow the zig zagging line to the invasive chip perched just so perfectly on its edge.

I ponder if I might still drink from the cup, and I could, just so as I don’t forget the break and cut my mouth in the worst formidable way.

I examined the little tea cup, it was one of my favorites, and I loved it so with its warming colors. Once there had even been a void in the cupboard, but this little cup had filled the void in just the way that the emptiness before, wasn’t so painfully obvious.

It’s true, this one little cup wasn’t a part of a set, nor did it have the same likeness as all the others, but nevertheless, I believed it was stronger than it was. I even thought it would last for a very long time, if not possibly forever.

I realize now, I misjudged this little cup. I mistook it for fine China, whereas it was merely cheap porcelain, and, although it’s monetary value doesn’t change the fact that I loved it so, it simply is the product of its making.

I could most certainly glue the little fragmented piece of cup into the chipped break of the porcelain, but the break would always be there, reminding me that it wasn’t quite the cup I thought it to be.

I could equally push the little cup to the back of the cabinet, but what would that do for me, I have to wonder. I ask myself if it would only keep the space or would it find its way back to the front, being that it has none of the same elements as its cabinet mates?

I suppose stranger things are fiction and I have never doubted the power of the little train that could, but it must first want to be as the others before it can ever try to be. I think if it is without cause or desire then the little cup is nothing more than wasted space and although it fills a physical void, it can not change that the void still exists rather it sits in its space or not.

Perhaps greif is the best way to fill an empty space than to replace it with something of an imposter, faking it’s way into my mind, daring me to think it was just as grand as the Prince Albert’s it resides next to. Perhaps, I should have accepted the empty space, and then, maybe.. Just maybe, it would bring the one that had been stolen back to it’s place.

However, it is also fair to understand that the stolen cup, long gone now, shall never return as it was just as the chipped cup will never be as it was either.

I don’t think I have the heart to toss the little cup just yet, it is true that I love it, but I don’t think I’ll mend it either. Instead, I will wait.

If it so chooses to wish hard upon a star, then it might find out what wish was granted to a little wooden boy who wished to be real. Perhaps the little cup will wish for the same thing, but I know that it mostly will think a star is too far to wish on.

It is with great sadness as I return the little cup to its place on the shelf, but even with that sadness I will give it the chance to prove its worth, because even broken things can be fixed with desirable worth if they want to be.

Thank you for reading ♥️

A Bed of Hollies

Daphne, cranked her petaled head over to Diedra and whispered curiously, “So, I just have to ask, but do you think she’s a witch?”

Big ears from below Daphne called out, “Who!?”

Diedra sighed, “Good heavens Dharma, Daphne was talkin to me, but if you must know, I presume she means her” Diedra said pointing a bright yellow petal towards the woman in the yard watering.

“Well, do you?” Daphne asked again

Deidra rolled her eyes to Daphne, “Darling, of course she is. How else could we possibly be talking right now?”

Daphne winked, “I thought so, I just thought I would see if you all had been inclined to notice.”

Dharma snickered, “Now Daphne, I just can’t sit here in this dastardly heat, wilting as I am, and listen to such nonsense. I just know with all of my pink peteled self, there is no way you would have asked Deidra if you had known the awnser in the first place, And, I have to say, as for myself, I am a little perplexed by the notion you didn’t know.”

Delia looked up warily, “I think it’s the heat Dear. It really does cause momentarily stupidity in some”

Giggling, Deidra flapped a petal as if to brush off the fact that Delia just mentioned Daphne might have grown daft in the blazing sun and went straight into, “Ladies, I just have to ask in my complete boredom this mundane Tuesday, has anyone heard any new gossip they might want to share? .” Diedra asked quizzically

With excitement, Diana awnsered, “I certainly do, and boy do I know it’s just gonna blow your mind. As a matter of fact, you’ll never believe it.”

“Do tell, Darling!” Delilah called from underneath Daphne.

“As it is Ladies, you know that shrub over there at bikini broads, the big one that goes by Hank, just outside that fence….well, either way, I had something itching my mind and I shouldn’t have but I just had to ask if he knew what ever could be going on behind that fence.. And you know what he said?”

Darlene shook her head, while Daphne blurted out “OH lord, what on God’s green earth did he say?”

“He said they put in a pool, but not just any pool, no no..So, let’s just start by saying, it’s about time, especially since that woman has been parading that bikini around for 15 years without even the tiniest blow up pool, but I suppose that husband of hers was slow to get the message, anyway, Hank the Shrub said that pool is one of those nudie pools. That’s why they put that wooden fortress of a wall up. “

“Nudie pool? Whatever could that be?” Daphne asked

Diedra sqweeked, “Oh for Christ sake Daph, surely you aren’t serious right now…. A nudie pool… As in that woman loses her bikini and floats around that pool like a raisen in a bowl of milk!”

Daphne cupped a petal to her mouth “Good heavens, I just can’t imagine how that poor shrub must be getti’n along. It should just be a crime, I mean, if you asked me it is. Can you imagine being forced to watch that horror show through the very cracks in the fence”

Dharma made a gagging noise, “I may be quite ill if I had to picture it, I do believe I shall pass this time sister.”

“I always knew there was something uncouth about that whole fence business, especially when that bikini broad stopped loitering in the side yard so often.” Diana said

“Just to think, we never knew such a thing existed right under our noses” Darlene said with disdain.

“Well… all I can say ladies is I am just so thankful for that tree graveyard for a barricade, otherwise we would surely have succumbed to the rust” Diana said matter of factly.

Diedra snickered at the same time Dharma laughed sarcastically.

“I would say, perhaps being planted on the other side of the house would have been better, but I truly think watching that old man mow his yard every other day would be such a bore. I mean, what is the fun in that .” Daphne said.

“I do believe, you are right” Darlene added. “Now can someone explain what in the name of Christ is that kid doing, is that skate boarding or is he researching the speed in which he will be visiting a medical professional, I swear watching that is like eating a jalapeño with gasoline on a mid August day. “

Diedra smiled, “Oh lord, here we go again.”

Thank you for reading ♥️

Hollies follies

Let’s see, there is, Daphne and Darla, Delia and Diana. Delilah and Diedra, Darlene and Dharma.

All of which are vibrant ladies with the utmost southern charm, although originally they resided along the English countryside.

Delilah would say “Why Darling, its those of us adapting the fastest, that have the most charm.”

“And, I would add, with sugar in my words and the highest integrity, what Miss Delilah says is absolutely true” Dharma quipped

“Yes dearie, it is rather true. And, if I might say, I rather like it here. There is no other place in which a dame could watch the neighbor, a D name I think… shocking, I know but even though peculiar as it is, she is all but 65 years of age wearing that skimpy bikini like an 18 year old in the front yard. ” Daphne boasted.

Diedra wasted no time chiming in, “Mmhm, that’s right”

Darlene waved a pink petal, “Ladies, ladies” she scoffed “Now, I do remember that other fellow down the way, you know the one, he drives that ridiculous barge of a truck.”

Diana squeeled in delight, “OH yes! That’s the neighbor down the street who has confused that barge for one of those toy Tonka trucks or has simply mistaken it for a tractor”

Darla snickers, “I do believe, that, is what we call a right fine Hill Billy, with those mounds of dirt he uses for a parking pad. If you couldn’t have guessed by that accord, then I highly encourage you to notice the life-sized plastic, halloween skele-a-dog perched over his drive. I am guessing he doesn’t realize the gulf is another 500 miles, due South by the looks of the large cut out boasting Salt life next to the bone dog.”

Daphne but in with a mission, “My God, I swear to the baby Jesus that I have wished that dog thing that looks like recycled garbage pails would launch itself silly in a thunderstorm, but you know as the heavens have it, that hideous thing lives on like a Celine Dion song.”

Diana sang out “or, a lambchops song… You remember the one… The song that doesn’t….”

Dharma interrupted her with a vengeance, “Now Diana, you just stop that nonsense right now, no need to punish us all night long “

“I think that’s quite true, let’s not take ourselves down that God forsaken path dear. Now, let’s get back to what we just couldn’t enjoy if we were living among an English country side”

Darlene waved her petals, “Well, I don’t know about you but I just can’t fathom their would be those weird postal clerks who can’t seem to organize themselves in a way to deliver all packages at once, let alone back their vans into trees. I mean, it’s no wonder Frank the post oak wasn’t mowed down by that rotund man with a plumber crack. I just know he has a scar. “

Daphne, “OH, you mean those jungle people, the ones from the Amazon.”

Deidra clicked her tongue, “That’s the one”

Diana smirked, “Do you think they are really from the Amazon or could it possibly be they come from that junk yard down the street, you know the one where Chevy trucks go to die and dogs find themselves chained to their side steps, what ever is that blokes name? “

“I couldn’t tell you his actual name, Mister fat asster is what I think to call him, but I prefer to be a lady and call him junkyard Dan, although, I am quite aware that isn’t his Christian name, but then again who cares.” Diedra said

Daphne laughed, “OH dearie, You said it best! Nevermore were truer words than who cares. Such the dullard that man is sporting around in a jeep like he is a woodsy fellow to then trade it for one of those loud, two wheeled horse things they call hogs.”

“Tacky” Delia said “It’s just tacky. Thank the Good lord he doesn’t live next door, at least all we have to worry about is staring at the back end of that old broads pruned up bottom, aimed to the sky like she has mistaken herself for the Greek goddess of rain”

Dharma shook her petaled head, “Now, I do believe we have spoken our days gospel. I can’t imagine the characters in the countryside being any more colorful than the likes of these bumbling donkeys. My cousin, Donna said all that ever passes her by is a heard of sheep or the occasional family on holiday. “

The Hollies all sighed in unison, shaking their beautiful little heads together.

“Well, I suppose we ladies should retire for this evening, I mean a lady sure needs her beauty sleep. Especially in this dastardly heat.” Daphne said

“Good idea Daphne, I am quite tired and I have had my eye on that Wisteria bush over there.”

The Hollies all giggled together as the last of the sun faded. Fireflies blinked their lights against the deepest shades of night as the moon rose high across the southern sky.

Thank you for reading

The Southern Oracle

Sixth painting from the series Southern Oracle
Oil on panel 24×36
Mandi Mk Fowler

I don’t exactly like to divulge the reasons or meaning behind a series or specific painting. In my opinion, I find it crippling to the viewer and diminishing to the work.

Several years ago I attended a concert for one of my most beloved female artists. I had listened, cherished and held close the lyrics close as if they were written specifically for me. I carried these musical treasures as if they had the ability to save me from every monster in the closet. It had been a long journey from the time I was 15 all the way to my 30s. In those years that music was exceptionally powerful and in some ways spiritual to me, because it was those words so eloquently written and sang with beautifully chilling vibration that literally held me through some very difficult years.

I felt this strange closeness to it, a connection. I was beyond excited to actually go see her live, let alone have some kind of deeply enlightening experience.

It definitely was, but not exactly in the way I hoped for. You see, it went wrong when she decided to explain every song she ever wrote, why and what she was going through. In those moments, it was like she had just belted me in the face while belching out everything I ever thought about those lyrical chords was all bunk.

Nothing, and I mean nothing was at all what I had believed it to be or mean. In one swift move she had completely ruined this savior I had clung to, this understanding kinship and spiritual meaning.

I learned then, that although it was interesting to know, I wished she had kept that to herself. The music was only subjective when I didn’t know anything other than what the universe wanted to say through it.

I was so upset that for awhile I put her music away and let everything she babbled about mull out of my brain. It took some time before I returned to it but when I did there were still a few songs that she had out right obliterated. I couldn’t hear anything other than her marriage dissolving or a stalking fan. Which I can assure you was never anything I heard when I had found refuge and solace in those albums.

Therefore, I choose to keep my deepest emotions, thoughts and secrets about my series or even individual paintings to myself for the sheer fact that if there is something hidden in them that’s meant just for you then I wouldn’t want to diminish that by telling you anything that might taint that view.

I have never wanted to paint anything that was merely static or white noise for a wall. In fact, I have strived hard to paint things I felt were moving or powerful. Some viewers might not experience that but they wouldn’t choose it because it matched a great set of French curtains or some HGTV make over. I wanted to create something that would speak without anyone saying a word.

I wanted them and hope they elicit a secret to be told only to you, the viewer and that somehow it has a bigger meaning than even the viewer would want to share.

Art should be loved with great conviction so that it never bores or tires. It should always speak to you.

If it doesn’t, then it’s just wall filler.

Sometimes, I like to share my direction but after that it’s up to the viewer to decide, and, I find that more prophetic than a set of tarot cards and a mystic reader.

The only thing anyone really needs to know is that every painting, no matter the subject matter, size or media has a piece of me in it.

Usually, it’s the tiniest of details, or hidden symbolism that no one knows but me, but nevertheless they are there. In some ways, I have often thought they took on a life of their own. They occasionally feel as if they breath in when I turn my back and I know without a shadow of a doubt that late at night, after the lights have been turned down I hear them talking amongst each other as if they are bestest of friends.

I suppose in some ways, they are.

Thank you for reading. ♥️