Haiku My Heart + Heeding Haiku with Chèvrefeuille: A Year of Many Endings

Background image by David Mark on Pixabay

Words/text art by The Real Cie

Carpe Diem Weekend Meditation #86 + Weekend Mini Challenge: A Portrait of Dystopia

Dystopian Portrait

Photoshop Manipulation by The Real Cie

Utopia was

Only ever a sad lie

Flawless fallacy

Pretty cars, pretty people

Not a place for those like me

~Cie~

Notes:

Today I found a couple of great prompts and flipped them upside down. 

The Carpe Diem Weekend Meditation prompt asks us to examine the concept of utopia in a Haiku or Tanka. Mine is more a Senryu than a Haiku. I do not question the existence of Utopia, but I postulate that it is more like Metropolis. It exists for a very small percentage of people. Most people are on the outside looking in, and some are completely crushed beneath the boots of the beautiful and careless dwellers of Utopia.

So, what portrait did I paint?

That of one of the people crushed beneath unrealistic expectations of beauty and brilliance and casually cast aside, not worthy of any sort of rescue because they do not adhere to society's standards of prettiness.

The person in the portrait is me. I chose it because I was sitting at a rather dismal-looking bus stop on the day of the 2017 Women's March. I would learn that day that not only had my health deteriorated more than I previously realized, but people are utterly self-absorbed, even the ones who claim to be "progressive" in their approach.

I managed to get through the entire march, which is a miracle in itself considering that I almost stopped several times along the way because I was becoming weak, but I had also become confused enough that I was afraid I wouldn't be able to find my way back to the bus stop. 

When the bus stopped, everyone else shoved on board and the bus driver told me he wouldn't be able to take me. I said I understood, and I understood his position, but I kind of thought all those other people were assholes. I started feeling that wouldn't have happened to me if I was young and pretty.

 I was ravenously hungry. I had a Snickers bar, but I was trying to conserve it for "the right moment." With a lifetime living with ED (stands for Eating Disorder), I had learned to deny myself food up until things became critical. They were critical, but not critical enough.

I got on the next bus about a half hour later and had to stand. I was wobbling all over and my eyes were rolling back in my head. Exactly nobody gave any fucks. In fact, one spectacular dudebro about my age chortled and said: "I had to stand all the way there, now it's your turn."

Despite the fact that my eyes were glazed over, I managed a withering glare and said in a steely if somewhat shaky voice: "Buddy, I had to stand the whole way there too. Don't even try to pull that crap on me!"

He turned away and noticed a confused-looking young woman holding a bus schedule. He grinned and invited her to sit down in his seat. She didn't speak much English. He leaned in close to her in order to better "help" her, I suppose, because he was just a helpful kind of guy, at least if the person in need of help was a pretty young woman.

When a seat finally opened up, I scooted my ass into it as quickly as I could and scarfed the Snickers bar as if I hadn't eaten in a year. By the time I got off the bus, my feet were swollen and aching so badly I could hardly walk. This time, however, an angel appeared in the form of a very sweet Latina lady in her late 30's or early 40's who offered me a ride. I thanked her profusely. After the callousness I'd just experienced, her generosity brought tears to my eyes.

I knew at that point that I could no longer take part in events such as marches because I was no longer strong enough to do so physically.

I lost my job a couple months later because I became extremely ill and was pushed to keep working by my supervisor in spite of having a serious respiratory infection. I had a small stroke while working one night and ended up getting fired. Once my savings were gone, which happened reasonably quickly, I ended up living in poverty and have been there ever since. If it weren't for my son allowing me to couch-surf, I'd be sleeping in my car.

Utopia exists for a very small percentage of people. I used to dream of being something wonderful, of being a star, but over the years I've come to see that often those dreams end as nightmares.

So, you have a portrait of the kind of person that society doesn't want to acknowledge even though there are a lot more of us than most people care to think, and my skepticism that Utopia exists for anyone but the well-heeled in anyplace but dreams.

NaPoWriMo 2019 Day 15 + Poems in April 2019 Day 4 & 15: The Haibun Ballad of Cie

My Eyes Have Seen Version 4

Photoshop Manipulation by The Real Cie

(Yes, that's my big, ugly, Neanderthal forehead)

So, you want to know about me.

My truth will make you uncomfortable. You may end up thinking that I’m lying because surely in modern society, nobody could be allowed to fall through the cracks that much. But you asked, and so I’ll answer as briefly as possible.

I was born in 1965 in Denver, Colorado to a doctoral student in literature who had once wished to travel the country like his hero, Jack Kerouac, and his wife, a former nurse with a degree in fine arts.

My parents had abandoned the church but returned to it when I was seven years old. My then-three-year-old brother and I were baptized and became Catholic.

My bipolar disorder onset when I hit puberty, and I was always misunderstood.

I am fifty-four years old and live in poverty.

If you are broken

If you are damaged or odd

You will be cast out

~Cie~

(Telling it like it is)

Prompt #4

Prompt #15

Notes:

By the way, I do write flash fictions in Haibun form because I like to.

Come at me!

The ending verse was inspired by a quote from the character John River, portrayed by the brilliant Swedish actor Stellan Skarsgard.

In this world, no-one can be different or strange or damaged, or they lock you up.

--John River

NaHaiWriMo 2018 #8: Monkeying Around + The Fight Against Perfectionism

Notes:

Click the image to enlarge.

"So then I artistically blurred my photo to give a sense of moving back through time."

Nah. I moved my hand while the photo was being taken.

"But why would you want to use a photo like that? Any photographer worth their salt would delete it forthwith!"

I don't really consider myself a photographer. I'm a person who takes pictures because I enjoy it. 

This blurry photo isn't without its merits. It inspired me to create this Haiga of questionable quality.

Nobody is ever going to consider this to be a high-fallutin' work of art to rival the classics. But it is fun, and it illustrates the idea that you can make your mistakes work for you.

I have been battling perfectionism all my life. Embracing my mistakes is helpful for me. Perfectionism is an extremely destructive quality. I would like to share the ways in which it has harmed me from various perspectives.
In this post, I would like to share how physical perfectionism has caused untold harm to me and many others. Some of what I share involves my own perfectionism, and some of it involves the unrealistic standards which society imposes upon people.

On a physical level, we live in a society which demands that Number Twelve Looks Just Like You. We are supposed to aspire to a certain standard of beauty and fitness, and, if we fail to achieve such, we are deemed failures not worthy of even basic decency in the way we are treated by others.
However, rather than inspiring everyone to become super duper supermen and women, this attitude has a tendency to backfire. You end up with people who do not trust doctors because doctors continually shame them for their physical appearance or failure to be compliant with regimens that it may be impossible or intolerable for them.
So, instead of engaging in a program of regular visits to the doctor for preventative care and maintenance of chronic health issues, people avoid going to the doctor until they experience a critical problem. This helps no-one.
When my current doctor addressed my slightly elevated triglycerides (a common issue for diabetics) with "have you been indulging in treats?" I snapped. I said "I make twelve thousand dollars a year and generally eat only one or two meals a day. I eat what I can afford to purchase. I do not 'indulge.'"
In spite of the fact that this doctor is by far the most effective doctor that I have ever seen, I am considering going back to the guy who was burned out and had no fucks to give, because my current doctor has given me ample reason to mistrust her. The 'indulging in treats' bit is mere sprinkles on the body-shaming cake.
This doctor presented herself as offering a 'safe space' for larger people, and, during my first visit, appeared to live up to her promise. Thereafter, she suggested weight loss surgery and blamed my abnormal endometrial thickening on "obesity."
If you want your larger patients to believe for a second that you have any respect for them, you need to ditch the "o" word. "Obesity" is "other." "Obesity" is a pariah. "Obesity" is shit. "Obesity" is always said with a sanctimonious sneer. If you use that word, I do not trust you.
Abnormal endometrial thickening is correlated with a larger body type, but correlation is not causation. It is also correlated with being over fifty (guess I need to step into an age-regression machine), white (guess I'd better start tanning), and diabetic.
A larger body type is also correlated with type 2 diabetes. Again, correlation is not causation. I am inclined to think that abnormal pancreatic function is a strong contributing factor in both the tendency to gain weight and the endometrial hyperplasia. There may be a third factor which causes all of my endocrine issues. A heavy body type is correlated with endocrine issues, but it did not cause these issues. In fact, the reverse is true. None of my endocrine system works properly. It would be highly unlikely for me to have a thin body unless I were to become deathly ill, regardless of how little I eat or how much I exercise.
So, having a bench in your waiting room rather than just chairs with arms does not constitute offering a "safe space" for people of all sizes. I don't trust you, and that makes for an ineffective doctor/patient relationship, regardless of your ability to diagnose and possibly treat health problems.
People are not inclined to take care of things they hate, and that includes their bodies. While cleaning out my storage unit, I found numerous artifacts from the many years I spent trying to hate myself thin. Looking over the awful things I wrote about myself, thinking about all the money I spent playing a game that almost nobody wins, realizing that I caused wear and tear to my body equivalent to the harm done to it by the many years I spent working long hours at physically punishing jobs, thinking back on the times when I was sometimes spending five hours at the gym when I should have been spending that time with my son, I became extremely depressed.
To top it all off, none of this shit brought me to the goal of Magical Thinness, which would have won me the Handsome Prince with the Exactly Correct Body Fat Percentage, a billion dollars for every pound I lost during my incredibly successful "weight loss journey," fame and adoration of the masses, or anything but a far thinner wallet and a soul filled with self-loathing.
Thinspo is crap. Fitspo is crap. Dieting is crap. It's all harmful. None of it will bring you happiness, and it won't even bring you health. It will bring you self-loathing and turn you into an awful person that nobody likes.

Dieting is not about health. It is about perfectionism. The pressure to be perfect is purely for profit. Stop paying into a system that doesn't give a damn about you and thrives on your failure.

"In the long term, dieting is a spectacular waste of time for everyone except statistical unicorns." --Louise Adams

~Cie~

NaHaiWriMo 2018 #4: Picture of the Photographer

Notes:

Images copyright Cara Hartley/The Real Cie. I allow the use of my photographs in other creative blogs with credit to me. 

The person in the photograph is my 28-year-old son, Michael, who is taking photographs of some specimens at the Denver Botanic Gardens. Michael has overcome a lot of challenges in his life, and I am very proud of him. He has worked hard to manage depression and anxiety without medication, as the medications don't work for him. Although he still deals with these issues, he has developed excellent coping skills.

Psych meds work well for some people, but they don't work for everyone. In Michael's case, they don't work at all. In my case, they make me manic and psychotic, which I am usually not. 

People tend to want to "fix" those who have neurological and psychological differences. Instead of trying to "fix" us, which tends to make us become defensive and shuts down conversations, try instead to understand our perspective, which opens the doors to understanding and possibility.

~Cie~

NaHaiWriMo 2018 #1 and Shadow Shot Sunday

Notes:

I loathe this laptop with the fiery passion of a thousand supernovas. I will be glad to have my desktop back in action this week.

Click the above photos to enlarge them.

It appears that Rick from 19 Planets (19planets.wordpress.com) is not doing Haiga prompts this year. It has become a tradition for me to do Haiga in September so I will continue that tradition. The Haiga may occasionally be mixed with other prompts. 

If I miss a day, I will try to double up on another day, but I'm not going to be a strict disciplinarian with this. I'm not in school and this isn't homework. It's supposed to be enjoyable. Life is far and away stressful enough without my adding to the stress by beating up on myself for not having my Haiga done on a strict schedule.

My Haiga this month will probably become Haibun more often than not, as this one has done. 

I will be using more of my own photos than I have in the past. The above photo, with and without the Haiga, is mine. You are welcome to use and share it, but please credit me back. You can link to this blog, but at least provide a copyright credit to Cara Hartley or The Real Cie. You are welcome to alter the original photo, i.e., to make your own Haiga or use for a photo prompt, but, again, credit me for the original photo. I'm pretty easygoing about the use of my work as long as I'm credited for it.

In other news, my financial situation is still awful, and my son suggested that I move in with him. I would never have asked him to let me do this, and I was surprised and grateful for the offer. He has grown up a lot, and it shows in the fact that he saw the way I was struggling and offered this solution. I think it shows that I have made a few positive changes as well.

One change that has come in the past year is my reaction to acknowledgment (or lack thereof) of my work. In the past, it has been very upsetting to me that I do not generally receive comments on my creations. This has tended to have a negative effect on my work. At this point, I seem to have taken enough Fukitol that I really don't give any fucks whether people comment on my work or not. 

I also don't care if people are offended by my liberal use of profanity. I'm assuming we're all adults here. I cannot possibly be the first person you've encountered who has a tendency to drop f-bombs. I used to post warnings all over the place and apologize any time that I typed a post full of swears. Fuck that shit. If you have a problem with profanity, this is your notice that I'm not someone whose work you want to read. Full stop.

I will not apologize for being politically liberal, being horrified by the reptilian aliens who have taken over the United States Government (I don't actually think they're reptilian aliens, this is an example of hyperbole), my tendency to be hyperbolic, my being agnostic with a tendency to metaphysical beliefs, my tattoos, my mental health issues, my physical issues, the size of my body, my dead libido, or my outrage at the state of the world.

I will not apologize for the fact that in spite of the financial upheaval my physical decline has wrought, I am greatly relieved to never have to work in healthcare again. Although there could be a sense of accomplishment, I realize that I was extremely stressed out and more often than not miserable doing this kind of work. The physically and emotionally difficult jobs I worked in the past took a toll on my body, and I'm not sorry to be done with them.

I will not apologize for working a low-paid job as a delivery driver for a restaurant. I should not have to apologize for that.

I will not apologize for needing to receive Medicaid. I will say that it's bullshit that I should have to make sure that I don't earn over $1100 a month because if I earn one cent more than that, I lose Medicaid. Everybody in the U.S. should have Medicaid. Full fucking stop, no fucking apologies.

I will not apologize for writing gloomy poetry.

I will not apologize for writing Haiku.

I will not apologize for being an outlier. I used to beat myself up for not being able to belong to any group, including so-called "writer support groups." These groups tend to only be supportive if you are a very select type of person. I am not a very select type of person. Whether accidentally or on purpose, the Universe broke the mold after it made me. I think the Deities probably said, "holy shit, we can't have another of those running around!"

So, here we are, my first Haibun of 2018. I think. I may have done another somewhere along the way, but, as far as I know, this is the first one.

I may make a virtual chapbook of this year's NaHaiWriMo. (I'm pretty sure I stole that term from the aforementioned Rick.) All proceeds will go to helping me pay my plethora of back bills. Stay tuned for more!

~Cie~

Double-Dip Shadorma: Whatever We or I Want

I ran this photo of the Douchebag Family through a bunch of filters, not to protect their identities, but because it was fun. You can see the original photo and read about how they came to be known as the Douchebag Family here.

 I

When they were

 Caught carving their names

 On public

 Property

 The darling daughter replied

 In her lovely way

 II

 We can do

 Whatever we or 

 I want to

 Narcissist

 Product of narcissistic

 Social ideals

~cie~

Notes:

The prompt today was narcissism.

I chose to paint an unflattering portrait of a narcissistic family who saw fit to deface public property in a national park.

The Cheese Grates It + 30 Days of Haiga 2017: Day 29: Desert of Dreams

Click to Enlarge

Original background image copyright Devesh V. Tripathi

Verse and text manipulation by The Real Cie

Thoughts:

The image and the prompt made me think of all the things I planned to do in life, most of which fell through due to fighting with a very misunderstood disease, the prescription for which was pills that made me feel even worse and the edict that I should "just stop that stinkin' thinkin' and be happy for what I have." 

While western society has a somewhat better understanding of mental illness than it did when I was younger, the treatment of both mental and physical illnesses in many countries, including first world countries such as the United States is out of reach for many citizens.

I do not respond well to medications or to this particular aspect of me being treated in a completely clinical fashion. I have often felt that I, as a person, have been ignored in favor of seeking textbook symptoms and outcomes. One of my son's EMS instructors wisely said: "treat the patient, not the chart." This is something that practitioners treating both body and mind all too often fail to do.

I would have done well to learn skills to cope with my particular mental presentation, rather than having wrestled for so many years with failed attempts to turn me into something I am not: a happy robot, gleeful to take my Soma and take on my prescribed role as a cog in the machine.

At this point in my life, I am no longer devastated by not being famous or adored, but I am awfully tired and a bit sad at the way some things have turned out. I try not to feel like a failure. I deliver groceries rather than speeches on the Red Carpet (or what have you) as I accept an award for my wonderful performance or book. 

Delivering groceries while clad in modest attire does not make me any less worthwhile than those delivering acceptance speeches for their grand performances while clad in glamorous gowns or sleek suits. However, I am tired and I ache and I am sad to see so many people I have known both in real life and through their work which inspired me becoming ill and dying. I would like to stop working for a living and start simply living. 

This isn't likely to happen anytime soon, and I fear that what happened to my father will happen to me. Less than a week after taking full retirement, my father had a hemorrhagic stroke which forever altered his life and the lives of his immediate family. He went through six years of decline, including more strokes and congestive heart failure. In the end, he was like a frightened child trapped in an adult body.

I don't want that to be my fate. But I fear a similar fate awaits the majority of us who live in a society which sees people as flesh androids rather than souls operating through corporeal vehicles.

The most humble of us and zir dreams is equal in importance to the most celebrated among us. Perhaps it is time to celebrate the most humble members of society and give weight to their hopes and dreams.

~The Cheese Hath Grated It~

30 Days of Haiga 2017 Day 23 + OctPoWriMo 2017 Day 8: Box of Truth

Original background image link

Words and text manipulation by The Real Cie

30 Days of Haiga Day 23 + OctPoWriMo Day 6: The Hand Dealt

Original Background Image

Copyright: thirteenfifty / 123RF Stock Photo

The Story:

This Haiga-turned-Haibun started out being about me and my chronic condition of being overworked, broke, and tired, but I decided instead to dedicate it to someone who was tough yet tender, a kind gentleman with a rough exterior who cared about others but would suffer bullshit from no-one.

Lemmy Kilmister has been gone from this world for close to two years now, but his music will live on forever. He can never be imitated, but his influence will continue, to be sure.

This one's for you, Lemmy, with thoughts of love, friendship, and admiration always from one of your fans from way back. I hope the Afterlife is amazing because you deserve nothing less.

Love ya,

Cie

OctPoWriMo 2017: Day 2: Ship of Lost Dreams

Background image from publicdomainpictures.net

Verse and text manipulation by The Real Cie

The Story:

Today's prompt for OctPoWriMo asks us to tell why we write.

I write because I'd commit suicide if I didn't, and then I'd have to haunt the bullies who love killing dreams and torturing misfits. It's so much easier to just stick around and keep pissing them off by remaining alive.

I'm old, I'm tired, and I'm blunt. I don't take others down, but I tell my truth with no apologies. I have had a difficult year, and there was a period of time when I didn't know if I could write anymore.

I continue to do so because I don't want the assholes who said I couldn't do it to win.

Even if I'm the only one who reads my words, I've written them. So the bastards haven't won yet.

There you have it.

~Cie~

For all -666 readers of Fetch:

(peppersfetch.blogspot.com)

I share this Haiga with you because many of Pepper's experiences are fictionalized mirrors of my own. Eventually, the Team will get back to writing the tale, and you will see.

30 Days of Haiga 2017 Day 19/OctPoWriMo 2017: Day 1: Opening a Can of Worms

Original background:

Copyright: fergregory / 123RF Stock Photo
Verse and text manipulation by the Real Cie

Cie's Notes:

With the addition of prose, the Haiga becomes a Haibun.

This is today's Haibun. As it happens, the prompt for 30 Days of Haiga and the prompt for OctPoWriMo both work well for today's post, so I'm going to use this  Haibun for both. 

This is not a happy little tale of colorful flowers and chirping birds, unicorns farting rainbows, or boy meets girl and they live happily ever after in a glorious palace in twoo wuv forever.

This is my story, it's sad but true, about a crazy old curmudgeon that some of you knew.

Let's go back to my childhood now, boys and girls, so maybe you and I can understand some of the things that make me the way that I am.

Even today, when I am approaching 53 and my mother will be 79 in the middle of next year, my relationship with her is still complicated. But I won't convolute things by talking about the current dynamic between us. For now, we will stay with the incident that happened long ago which prompted the creation of this Haibun.

When I was a young child, no more than five or six years old, my mother took to singing The Hearse Song to me.

The Hearse Song dates back to the time of the Crimean War. Here are the lyrics.

"Don't you ever laugh as the hearse goes by,
For you may be the next one to die.
They wrap you up in big white sheets
and cover you from head to feet.
They put you in a big black box
And cover you with dirt and rocks.
All goes well for about a week,
Until your coffin begins to leak.
The worms crawl in, the worms crawl out,
The worms play pinochle on your snout,
They eat your eyes, they eat your nose,
They eat the jelly between your toes.
A big green worm with rolling eyes
Crawls in your stomach and out your sides.
Your stomach turns a slimy green,
And pus pours out like whipping cream.
You'll spread it on a slice of bread,
And that's what you eat when you are dead."

When she reached the line of "that's what you eat when you are dead," she would poke me in the belly and laugh. I would run to my room screaming. My parents found this quite amusing.

A little background on my mother. On her mother's side, she came from a very strict religious family, the kind which believed in End Times prophecies. One such relative believed that even the legs of tables needed to be covered and that animals such as cats were Satan's creatures because they are prone to lifting their tails in the air and showing off their privates. Pretty much everyone was thought to be going to hell because there were so many rules that it was nearly impossible not to break them.

This family did not produce a lot of happy people.

I don't know much about my great-grandmother on this side of the family as she died before I was born. I do know that she had a lot of children, the last one of which was born when my mother and aunt were already in their teens. This child fell off a piano stool and injured her back when she was two years old. She subsequently developed meningitis and died. I saw the picture of her in her casket. I initially thought she was lying in a bassinet. When I was younger I thought this picture was "gruesome." Now I just find it sad, and, in its way, beautiful. These were people who came from a time when there were not a lot of pictures taken. Sometimes a "memento mori" was the only image they had of a loved one.

My great-grandmother was a stout, sturdy woman. She was only five feet tall and weighed around 300 pounds. I am not pointing this out to shame or berate her, and I do hope others who may choose to comment will have the maturity and courtesy not to do so as well. From learning more about her and the other members of the family, it's clear to me that she had endocrine problems, which I share. I'm taller than she was, courtesy of my father's side of the family, but I have a large body type, which my father's slender relatives would find shameful and something that "needs to be dealt with."

My great-grandmother died from acute myelogenous leukemia at the age of 79. Within the space of a year, she went from 300 pounds to 95 before passing away.

My great-grandmother held beliefs such as a red moon being a sign of a coming war. She was also extremely religious, and, inadvertently, religiously abusive. The superstitious beliefs she clung to came from her predecessors and were passed down to her descendants.

When I entered puberty, my bipolar disorder onset, but being type 2, which is harder to diagnose, the true nature of my psychiatric condition was misdiagnosed until I was nearly 40. Looking back, it was easy to see the ways in which the religious paranoia and the bipolar disorder fed each other. I used to study my Bible, particularly the Book of Revelation, for hours on end, looking for prophetic signs. I was devoutly religious until I got into my late teens when encountering far too many judgmental and hateful people calling themselves "Christian" caused me to start questioning my faith.

I went through a New Age phase which lasted nearly 30 years and also ended in disappointment as New Age ideals share more than a little of the judgmental, victim-blaming attitudes of Christianity. 

At this point in my life, I'm an agnostic. I dislike organized religion and feel it spreads a lot of harm, but I acknowledge having met people of faith who are genuinely Christian in their attitudes. I find full-on Atheism far too depressing, and, while most Atheists I know are good people who simply don't have any religious or metaphysical beliefs, I can't tolerate the acerbic sort who love to sneer at anyone who does. Thus, I fall in the middle and garner criticism from both sides.

I no longer fear the worms, but I still can't sleep in total darkness. It feels too much like being trapped in a coffin. Also, I've left instructions with my son that when this old carcass goes belly up, he is to arrange for it to be cremated. Although I'll no longer be in it, I can't abide the idea of it being stuffed into a coffin and buried in the ground. 

My attitude about my corpse is similar to my attitude about the zombie pancreas which currently resides in it. When I inject the insulin necessary to maintain my life in a body with a non-functional pancreas, I gleefully think: "take that, you stupid zombie pancreas! I don't need you after all."

With my vacated body, my thought is "fuck you, Worms. You ain't getting none of this!"

However, I still wish I could reach back in time and tell the frightened and overly sensitive child that I was that it's okay, that the worms aren't going to get me, that it was wrong of my mother to sing the Hearse Song to me.

My mother wonders what I did to cause myself to have all my endocrine and psychological problems. I've never said it out loud because it wouldn't be worth the trouble, but my thought is always "I'm related to you."

And now you know what you're all dealing with. So you can avoid it like the plague, which most people do. Or you can stick around because there's lots more to come.

~Cie~

Here's the Hearse Song as performed by Harley Poe for your listening pleasure.

Prompts:

30 Days of Haiga 2017: Day 18: Autumn Approach

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Copyright: andreka / 123RF Stock Photo
Words and text manipulation:
The Real Cie

30 Days of Haiga: Day 14: Lament for My Flag

Original background image:

Copyright: milena1234 / 123RF Stock Photo

Fighter planes image (upper left corner) source NPR News

Racist graffiti image source: Olean Times Herald

Misogynist quote source: Donald Trump

Notes:

I like to think the piece speaks for itself, but I will include a little personal history. 

When I was a young child in my early school years, I was very proud when it came time to say the Pledge of Allegiance. I sprang to my large and far from dainty feet, puffed out my scrawny chest, put my hand over my stalwart young heart, and spoke those hallowed words in my biggest voice. 

I was born in 1965. I didn't go to Kindergarten. Many years later I had a nightmare that Ronald Reagan ordered me to go back to school starting with Kindergarten. Initially, I attempted to comply, but then I realized that there was no legally binding reason for me to do this and I said "I quit," and walked out of the classroom to the sound of Mr. Reagan's voice berating me as a loser.

From first through third grade, the Viet Nam war was still taking place. I believed that the United States would eventually see that the war was a bad idea and would end it, so I said the Pledge proudly because I believed that my fine country would eventually do the right thing because we were the Good Guys.

During the next several years, the country was healing from the aftereffects of the Viet Nam War. I believed that we were headed in the right direction, and I thought that Jimmy Carter was a fine president and would continue to take us that way.

The Reagan era began when I was fifteen years old and I came to believe that we were all doomed to either eat flaming death in a nuclear holocaust or freeze to death in the nuclear winter which would follow. The Pledge of Allegiance lost its former wondrous appeal to me, but I still said it because I felt it was my duty as a patriot to try and believe in my country.

As my son says, the United States is still one of the best countries to live in, but we have a lot of problems. The election of Donald Trump brought a plethora of pathology boiling to the surface. 

We are not post-racist or post-misogynist and we are severely intolerant of anyone who isn't a God-fearing American "Christian." I put Christian in quotes because I don't think the behavior of those who subscribe to the ideals of American religious fundamentalists is Christ-like in any way. There is a frightening new wave of nationalism, and free speech is under fire. There is normalization of bigotry and intolerance.

This is not the America that young me believed in when she put her hand over her heart to proudly say the Pledge of Allegiance every morning at school and even at home in her bedroom on Saturday and Sunday because she thought it was the right thing to do.

This America brings tears to the eyes of middle-aged, working class me as I write these words. I despair for the loss of innocence in the heart of the child I once was and fear for the future of who I have become, for those I love, and for my fellow citizens of this world.

~The Real Cie~

As real as it gets

30 Days of Haiga 2017: Day 11: End of Story

Background Image Copyright: tomertu / 123RF Stock Photo

Text manipulation by The Real Cie

Notes:

Without going into too much detail, which would detract from the viewing of the image, I have had a difficult year. I have changed jobs six times and eventually ended up changing careers entirely. 

There are aspects of my current job which I really appreciate, but it is not an easy job and I do not make as much money as I did in my previous profession, which there are several reasons I can't go back to, the biggest one being changes in my diabetes which lead to fatigue and weakness if I don't pace myself.

I feel like I have lost the things that made me who I am: my imagination and my ability to enter other worlds astrally and psychically. My heart is heavy and I feel broken. I feel that I am constantly being punished and that there is no need for external hells when all the hell I need is here in the loss of that which made me who I am.

Cross-posted to:

Crazy Creatives Cheerleading Camp

Dark Hearts Love Too

Dream About Me Sweet Brother

Encyclopedia Netherworld

Esoteric Escape

Fetch

Netherworld Writer's Guild

One Love

Starry Demons

Strands of Eternity

Tears for the Lost

Photoshop Manipulation by The Real Cie
Tears for the Lost Version 5

Dementia destroys beautiful minds like his.

Love,

Cie

Soul Calls

At The Beginning of the End: Version 6
Photoshop manipulation by The Real Cie

This is my final post on the Cie Loves Mal tumblr. 

I am no longer using this blog for its original purpose. I feel far too vulnerable doing so. I feel like I have revealed things that are much too personal. 

I was intending to delete the blog, however, I am leaving it here with one final post. I am creating a new blog for my artwork, stories, and personal thoughts. If you want the URL, say so in the comments. I don’t read messages.

I remember one time a blogger wondered why she had such strong emotions for James Hetfield, a person whom she has never met. Sure, she loves his music, but this emotion went far beyond the rational. As someone who has had a lot of experience with the metaphysical, I did not believe what she was feeling to be irrational, but at the time I couldn’t explain this phenomenon. I now can, and I hope to be able to save other people a lot of grief by doing so.

The information I discovered is in this post. Please read it. It will save you a lot of heartache. I wish I had known about this phenomenon when I was much younger. It would have saved me many years of pain.

The phenomenon I refer to is known as a Soul Call.

People with empathic abilities are particularly susceptible to soul calls.

The soul call explains why some people always have a tendency to find stray animals. It also explains why some people have a tendency to find wounded people whom they try to save, only to end up with a broken heart.

The soul call also explains why an otherwise rational person could feel as if she is falling in love with (for instance) James Hetfield, whom she has never met. It has nothing to do with lust or wanting to bang a rock musician for the thrill. She might not even necessarily want to have sex with him. She does, however, find herself wanting to be close to him. The desire to do so becomes all consuming.

This happens because James (or whomever) is feeling troubled about something. He may not even be consciously aware that he is particularly troubled, but his psyche is reaching out, saying “does someone have an answer for me?”

I am hoping that understanding the nature of soul calls can help quell the miserable feeling of unrequited love that all empaths feel at one time or another for a person whom they cannot possibly get close to, and whom it might not even be a good idea to get close to.

For my own part, I would have been saved 26 years of misery wherein I felt a strong pull towards someone who turned out to have both substance and sex addiction problems. This person haunted my dreams, literally. My need to find and get close to him destroyed my marriage. Fortunately, what I wanted never transpired. In fact, during my final astral encounter with him, I ended up telling him to stay away from me or I would hit him in the face with a shovel.

For the record, the person in question is not Malcolm Young.

Regarding Malcolm Young, his soul is screaming and has been for many years. I do not mean to imply that he is in a literal hell, for this is not the case. I only mean to impart that he is extremely troubled by his situation because he is sorry for hurting those who care about him and he can’t do anything about it.

I believe that what Angus said about Malcolm not being in his body at all any more is true. He is, for all intents and purposes, in spirit. The fact that his body remains in the material world is disconcerting and distressing to him.

Certainly there will be empaths who will hear this call and feel as if they are falling in love with such a spirit. However, romantic love is not what he needs or wants. Blessings, prayers, and peaceful vibrations are helpful to spirits in a situation such as Malcolm’s. Regarding Malcolm in particular, I think he would greatly welcome such assistance. 

In closing, yes, dear empathic souls, the love in your heart for the one whose soul call you are receiving is real. On closer examination, you are likely to find that it is not, in fact, romantic love. Look deeper. Ask how you can help. If you cannot sense anything concrete, simply send white light or say blessings or a prayer on behalf of the one making the soul call. Believe that it will help. It will.

I know now that I have received many soul calls over the years. I have been severely damaged by feelings of unrequited love and of loss, and it will take time for me to heal. I hope that I can save some of you the grief I have known. That is why I leave this here for you.

Peace, 

Cie

Wordless Wednesday Fail: Spiraling Into the Past

Spiraling Into the Past, Version 6

Spiraling Into the Past, Version 7

Photoshop images by The Real Cie

Back in the present, Pepper listened to the strains she'd discovered all those years ago. Then they had been the sounds of freedom and rebellion. Now, although her love for these songs had never died, there was something quaint about them, accompanied by a heart-wrenching sense of loss.

From "Fetch," Team Netherworld's WIP Novel

Dedicated with love to Malcolm Young for everything he made possible

*********************************************

Hello, and welcome to another Wordless Wednesday Fail, where the Real Cie shows images (often things she's done in Photoshop) and refuses to comply with the "wordless" part of "Wordless Wednesday".

Youth is wasted on the young. When I bought this album, I was young (fourteen) and super stupid. I think I really believed these guys would be like they are on this album forever. Older than me but still young enough. Sassy, impish, but nowhere in the vicinity of actual evil, like some morons made them out to be. Actually, in spite of the provocative humor, they were really sweet people who just wanted to make the world a more enjoyable place. I loved that about them.

I never thought that less than a year after I bought this album that Bon Scott would be dead.

I could not have imagined that Phil Rudd would end up a meth addict, estranged from the band and in trouble with the law for making foolish, drug-fueled threats towards a person with whom he had a disagreement.

I certainly never thought that Malcolm Young, who created the band, would have his cognitive abilities destroyed to the point where he could no longer remember the works he created, where he didn't know the brother to whom he was so very close, and where he didn't even know who he himself was.

Y'all can't tell me that this plane of existence isn't Purgatory. I'm convinced that it is. Those of us who are stuck here are just trying to get by. Some of us, like these guys, try to make it a little nicer for their fellow inmates.

Maybe if we all learn the lesson that we need to treat each other a little more kindly, we can get out of here.

~Cie~

A Real Angel

 

This is my first shot at a photoshop where I add wings to my subject.

Actually, I had reason for doing this other than messing around in photoshop.

This person actually does exude angelic energy.

He's not a perfect person, in fact there were times in his life that he was kind of a mess.

He's struggled with depression during his life, which it would seem that incarnated angels tend to.

I think there may be a reason why the manner of his final days on Earth are such a trial for him and so heartbreaking for the observer.

I don't really know what that reason is. But I do feel there is one.

Blessed be, Beautiful. You were always strong and good, even if you slipped sometimes.

 

In love and light,

Cie

Nuclear Winter of the Soul

Erasure

Image created in Photoshop

My son's best friend is an eighteen year old trans man who has known very little but tragedy in his short life. He has the third type of Ehlers-Danlos syndrome, which is one of the most painful and devastating varieties. His parents were very abusive. His father sexually assaulted him. One of these assaults resulted in the birth of a son, who died at the age of four from an allergic reaction to a bee sting. 

This young man was just starting to get his life together, and has now been diagnosed with bone cancer.

The person whom I've been trying to help achieve a very improbable, miraculous healing "pulled the plug" on himself on the astral level. He told me to stop devoting my energies to helping him and instead devote them to helping my son's friend, who has a shot at remission. He said he will also devote his energies to helping my son's friend.

He signs his own death warrant by doing this, and he knows it.

I have been devastated, both by my son's friend's diagnosis and by my friend's decision. On a logical level, I know he's right, and it makes me love him all the more deeply for being both pragmatic enough and caring enough to do this. The choice was always his, and really, the chance for him to not just survive but heal enough to be functional was very remote. Still, it hurts to realize that it isn't going to happen.

I did a reading for my friend's decision. I will share the results.

Celtic Cross spread using the Lovecraft Tarot.

	The card at the center of the cross, represents the atmosphere surrounding the central issue. The Crawling Chaos: Completeness and intricacy of design. A great work. Achievement, reward, and well-earned recognition. A time of success, prosperity, security and joy. May also indicate travel or a change in residence. (My subject was a highly intelligent and creative person. He has such severe dementia at this point that he can't remember anything he's done, who people he's known all his life are, or even who he is. In my assessment, a "change of residence" can only mean leaving his body.)
	The card visible at the center of the cross represents the obstacle that stands in your way - it may even be something that sounds good but is not actually to your benefit. Queen of Sites (The Church on Federal Hill): The essence of earth behaving as water, such as a hot spring: A warm and generous host, providing shelter and comfort for all who would seek it. A person steadfast, practical, and domestic, able to create opulence and stability in any setting. The qualities of maturity and sensibility, coupled with an innate appreciation for nature and the material world. (This person currently resides in a comfortable care home. He's an "easy patient," the kind that caregivers like doing little extra things for because he's sweet-natured and compliant.)
	The card at the top of the cross represents your goal, or the best you can achieve without a dramatic change of priorities.Knight of Tomes (The Ponape Scriptures): The essence of fire, such a great conflagration. One filled with vitality and passion for life. A sexy and exciting person, daring in their actions, cocky in their attitude, and utterly without fear. Absolute sincerity, coupled with violent emotions that swing wildly from one extreme to another. Boundless creativity and lust for a change of both pace and place. The rapid approach, or more likely departure, of something that sets your world ablaze. Often suggests travel or escape. (This person was actually very shy by nature but as a creative person was very expressive in an artistic sense. He was generally friendly but had a temper if provoked. At least one person who pushed him too far ended up getting decked.)
	The card at the bottom of the cross represents the foundation on which the situation is based. Queen of Artifacts (Stone of Nepemiah Derby), when reversed: The dark essence of air behaving as water, such as a cold rain: A person gifted with both keen logic and natural intuition, giving them uncanny powers of perception and insight. One who easily sees the weakness in any argument, and savages friend and foe alike with biting sarcasm. Dry and vicious wit covering a hollow sense of isolation and dissatisfaction with life. (This individual was actually highly psychic. He made no bones about the fact that he believed he talked to ghosts, and he was able to communicate telepathically with his closest sibling.)
	The card at the left of the cross represents a passing influence or something to be released. Eight of Artifacts (Resonator), when reversed: Learning a valuable lesson from the unexpected consequences of prior decisions. Narrowly escaping criticism, censure, and the imposition of external restrictions. Focusing on the crux of a problem and freeing oneself from a difficult situation. Coming to grips with a past failure or humiliation and moving on. (He actually felt like he had unresolved situations and was having trouble moving on because of this. I think that at this point he realizes there's nothing further he can do in this life to resolve these situations.)
	The card at the right of the cross represents an approaching influence or something to be embraced. Four of Sites (Whateley Farmhouse): Cleaving to earthly power in the desperate fear that it will be lost. Making yourself an obstacle to progress due to lack of originality and a desperate fear of change. Believing that security and identity are based primarily on the possession of material things. Coveting things and people. Living in a cloud of suspicion and prejudice. (This person does not fear physical death, but he wasn't ready to let go of this life. He felt that his life was prematurely cut short. He felt that he had more to do.)
	The card at the base of the staff represents your role or attitude. Ace of Sites (Yuggoth), when reversed: The seed of luxury, debauchery, and physical gratification. The seductions of the material world draw you away from an opportunity for stability and comfort. The need to focus on the practical and understand the dynamics of your environment. May represent a gift, document, inheritance, or physical event. (I believe this addresses his current attitude; that he needs to address the realities of his current situation rather than pursuing a nearly impossible miracle.)
	The card second from the bottom of the staff represents your environment and the people you are interacting with. King of Tomes (The Black Book): The essence of fire behaving as air, such as lightning: A great and daring leader who inspires others to rise to challenges alongside him. An artist who can take hold of an idea and make it a reality through bold action. One who is forceful, charismatic, and honest, leading by example, but unafraid to invest authority in others. A dashing and magnetic personality, carrying authority naturally, and striking at the world with swiftness and grace. (This describes the subject himself. He was one of those people who, as the song says, had the grace to hold himself while those around him crawled. He refused to humiliate himself to gain approval or to put on airs, pretending to be something he wasn't. He was always genuine and always stood his ground, both on his own behalf and on behalf of others.)
	The card second from the top of the staff represents your hopes, fears, or an unexpected element that will come into play. Ace of Tomes (The Necronomicon), when reversed: The seed of a new crisis - perhaps as yet unseen. The start of an explosive situation threatening to consume all who get too close. The herald of birth, invention, or upheaval. An innate and primal force unleashed. May suggest a surge of vitality, creativity, or fertility that can set dangerous events in motion. (The element is my son's friend's illness.)
	The card at the top of the staff represents the ultimate outcome should you continue on this course. Nine of Artifacts (Pickman's Model): Debilitating mental anguish or ill health. Being dragged down by the dishonor of others. Participation in a shameful or regrettable act. Inescapable guilt, mistrust, and doubt. May indicate a death or other catastrophic loss. (The unsurprising but devastating final outcome in this case is death of the subject's physical body.) I was unable to begin spell work on behalf of my son's friend tonight. I was too devastated. I do have a white electric candle burning to clear the air. I hope I can begin the work tomorrow night. Some words from my spectral friend. He has rather an odd sense of humor, which is one of the things I like about him "Please don't feel sad. The choice is mine. I'm grateful for your help. Also, don't think I'm easily gotten rid of. I'm sort of like a fungus. I lurk in dark places and am impossible to eradicate!" If anyone would like to send healing energies or perform spells/say prayers on behalf of my son's friend, his name is Quin. I guess I'd also appreciate any encouraging thoughts at this time. The landscape of my soul feels rather devastated by all this. Love and light to you. ~Cie~ .