Today I am reminded of artists, self-proclaimed whom I name by their actions.
Rape is an atrocity most often committed by men.
It requires a grandiose sense of MEanness.
I have been.
The 1st time was by a door-to-door preacher.
He professed to be committed to a Universal Calling
Of Ascended Masters and the Mother Prophet. He knocked.
He locked. One hand over my mouth, the other guiding
his missile forcibly between my todays and tomorrows.
“If you are a victim of your goodness” then where
is your protector, my boyhood friend, your husband?
I knew too well if I could scream, it would become a gang
coming.
The hours, days, years to follow – like a
stroke of insight
they bare witness to cognitive dissonance – the left brain poking
at details that the right
brain could no longer associate with life, laughter and love.
Rehabilitation is the
work of day mares. Numbness cloaks
secrets in would be truth. Never to be a next time, forever closed
until ...
Taken with the authority of a preacher fox, counselor on family
matters. Come, give voice to loss.
Trust in the Word. And man, bearing the title husband –
thrust unwanted to claim my tomorrows.
Pressed against the headboard – colorful words filled my
pages. Disconnected like the pornography
that overlay an ethics video. * This story told once in private to a fox and the other day someone who could believe.
No youthful beauty remains.
Numbness defeats the possibilities.
Yet some days I trust in serendipity and the right brain seeks
light and images and music. The art comes.
Words try to protect – cautioning no full disclosure.
* 300 hour linear editing project with footage from Ethics Lectures at Yale that was copied over with the excess of a life of depravity @ 1986.
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