really…REALLY?
we are here, this place bleeding out arterially
black blood cells fused from antique plants
and dainty dinosaurs and precious people
deemed damned
and all we care about is our artesan chocolates
and our tan designer bedrooms that match
our pocketbooks in fashion and depth
damned dumb…
we simply must face it,
we are on the brink
of loss blind as wind
and empty as death.
but loss is a gift
when you think about it
it gives us some space
and cleansing tears too
it gives sacred questions
pathways to the center
and old maps long lost
to ancient deep wells…
This poem is written in recognition of all that culminated in the legal name change I obtained three years ago today. I am very happy with this poem, rich in allusions and metaphorical double-backs…
It will reward the diligent who read it and then meditate on it. Resonances emerge like poetic harmonics and sing of many strange and holy waters.
“…the stone under my head grows soft
and i think about my long ago
half-brother, and his ladder.
i search the brooding night sky
for mine, my eyes
pleading like puppies
hungry for milk
but my ladder is my heart.
i know that, finally,
and the skies will open
only as my heart pries open
to spit the pearls formed
within this shell-shocked soul
the stone under my head becomes flesh
and i think about how jacob named
that stone, that ebenezer memory
of open skies and accessible heavens…
bethel…and it echoes in the dark,
rings midst the stars and
chimes in cloudy choruses.
that stone,
that living stone had legs
to wander, God’s house sojourning
from place to place and time to time
ever wandering…
the stone of Scone
stone of destiny
stone of coronation
old, red, sandstone
the stone under my head becomes red
and throbs and thrums and thrills
my soul open and searching the skies,
and i sense it will speak
as it spoke so long ago
and whisper my name,
my new name from heaven.
but it pushes me to listen elsewhere,
my answers not from
rock and sand and ruin
but from the Cornerstone Rock
and its bloody open hand
red and throbbing and thrumming…”
This poem is the sister poem to another one I wrote on the exact same day, several minutes earlier.
It was three years ago, and it was the day of my court hearing which would change my name legally…it was a huge day of excitement and anxiety…and it led to my professional execution less than 2 weeks later.
Ohh, but even in the loss of so much, it is worth it…for in it were the seeds of becoming.
I hope you enjoy one of my own personal faves
…and me…spit up and emptied
and waiting for You
to fill the silent spaces
that ate grace and jeered
while feasting on my food.
me emptied, waiting …
and my heart,
ego-stained and washed clean,
captured
by Your face,
Your gift,
Your grace…
waiting…for that one grain of sand
to start an avalanche within me
of hope, nay!
of Hope…
It was a couple years ago that the rage was the coming “Super Moon”…
This was my heart poem for that event…
“i sat in peace, calm and still
while whirling around me
excited and thrilled
the people stirred, woke up
and looked outside at the moon
hanging serene in the sky and unchanged
pictures were snapped…”
This is written to my Beloved…I really like this lil poem
last night
i heard your kiss calling me.
in the night it sang,
flutes forlorn in fog, i think,
in mist it sang of
how your heart has missed me.
i think
i’m the only one who knows
the name of your true kiss.
it’s on my salty lips and in my utterance
it takes wing in song and then flies past me.
i breathed
out of my heart, into my throat,
your kiss’s secret song.
on my tongue it sat and pushed
with pepper palms, it tapped
its fudgy fingers on my teeth
in code to thus release me…
(Continued at Source: The Sound of The Name of Your Kiss | Charissa’s Grace Notes)
Please read this…and grapple with yourself.
“…In saying that these athletes are protesting the flag or the Military or the Anthem—you are choosing to listen to your bias and not their actual words. You’re simply ignoring their repeated statements, in order to perpetuate the narrative you need to oppose them without feeling any responsibility to wrestle with the difficult issues they raise.
“By creating a black and white “Traitorous NFL Player vs. America” storyline, you’re able to completely ignore the stated and repeated impetus behind Kaepernick’s initial protest (and every one that’s followed): the plea for people of color to be treated with equity by law enforcement, the criminal justice system, and our government. When the President labels these men “sons of bitches” who should be terminated—he’s only proving why their protests are valid and necessary to begin with…”
Source: These Protests Aren’t About a Flag, an Anthem, or the Military—and You Know it
If you are reading this…and you are white…this is the hour of your visitation. Wake up and get on the proper side of history. If you don’t, your hidden racism is showing
“…Kaepernick began his silent, kneeling protest at the beginning of last season, not as an assault against the United States military or the flag but as a dissent against a system that has, with a great degree of consistency, failed to hold accountable police who kill unarmed citizens.
“Since he did this, forty-one unarmed individuals have been fatally shot by police in the United States, twelve of them African-American, according to a database maintained by the Washington Post.
“The city of St. Louis recently witnessed three days of protests after the acquittal of Jason Stockley, the former officer who, while still working for the city’s police force, fatally shot Anthony Smith, an eighteen-year-old African-American motorist who had led officers on a chase.
“Stockley emerged from his vehicle, having declared that he would “kill the motherfucker,” then proceeded to fire five rounds into the car. Later, a firearm was found on the seat of Smith’s car, but the weapon bore only Stockley’s DNA.
“The issue is not imaginary…”
Source: From Louis Armstrong to the N.F.L.: Ungrateful as the New Uppity | The New Yorker
“…for words to sing, we must
somehow be entered into them,
so that we are not watching them,
we must become the word incarnate
for they are us
our essence
in squiggles and symbols,
and when we have the faith
to possess them bodily
(and be possessed by them)
they become contagious,
we become contagious
beyond the most virulent virus!
our words replicate themselves
in the heart and soul of the hearer
and then…
mutate
into something else
if guided by love something grander
if guided by hate something murderous
if guided by indifference something monstrous…”
I really like the moon metaphors…
*****
“…and i am the moon
growing in silence
fattening on gentleness
increasing with time
and in finding myself…”
Another older poem…based on an overheard conversation, and then what I “saw” as I looked up…
I saw her, hair caught,
transfixed on dancing
wild breezes that lifted,
poofed, primped and pinched
braids and bangs and barettes and her eyes
lit with that autumn afternoon fading fire
gleaming from behind the clouds
carrying water for Miss Autumn in Her sudden rush and approach.
This lil poem is a year old…
**************
and it is in night…
like a babe in fresh blankets
snuggled and seeing,
quiet and jumping
in jammies with footies
singing of safety,
hot chocolate and nibbles,
then raindrops on rooftops
tingtingtingthrumthrumthrum
silver tin foil lightning…
(entire poem at Source: Of Rain On Rooftops | Charissa’s Grace Notes)
This was written the same day as “For JP” which I just told of my horrified discovery regarding how it was defiled and twisted.
Catch the irony that on the same day that I wrote that poem, I also wrote this one, which describes the very deepest desire of my heart.
and i must find the courage
to smear me on the world
like oranges on the morning
smeared on the fingertips
that pry with nails sharp
i must be resolved
to be spread thick and creamy
on hearts so dry and crumbly
and tasteless in their leaven
like butter sweet and salty
I wrote this for a friend who occupies a very distinct and unique place in my life and history. She is a woman that I have never met, exchange conversation with “occasionally”, or at least compared to other friends…she is of similar spiritual ilk and call, and is cut from the same cloth as me. My beloved one and only knows about her, knows her…and we have never been anything other than what we are: “Litter-mates”.
If you have ever had a dog who had puppies, then you know what litter-mates are…pups born at the same time from the same conception…and they are together until around 8 weeks when they all blast off to their families where they live…litter-mates are more than close…they are simply litter-mates…siblings.
My friend is like that to me, and when I first encountered her, I flashed on so many more things than I can write about, but HAVE written about here, and here, and a few other “here“s too…
This poem was written in that blissful innocence and joy that two people have when they meet and just know they are fast friends and sisters forever…it is my heart, flowing and pouring forth such beauty that it is capable of retaining from the Beauty That Comes With Poetry…it was in the moment and will always be my pure commitment to her, my sister.
And then I discovered to my horror and defilement that it has been used to accuse…that JP and I are accused of being “lesbian lovers”!! Remember, we have never met…and that I myself am accused of being a “predator” who was “grooming” my incredible friend (whom I have never met, and whom my one and only till death we do part beloved knows about and rejoices in)…that I was grooming her for…this part I still do not really comprehend.
It is two years later…and my poem is now covered in shit and filth…from a literal whore-monger and thief and also from a religious dementor who is so deranged she makes the Pharisees look like the blessed meek. One of them is sex addicted…and both of them are self-addicted…and I find out that they violate this poem, they violate JP, and they violate me…and I feel so sick and nauseous at this…this absolute shit.
Maybe it is the picture that did it in their minds…which is stupid because each woman has on her swimming suit, and even if they did not it would STILL not necessarily say anything!! The picture represents the utter joy and abandon that comes when one is cleansed of all extraneous distraction and burden. The water is the Divine Flow…the exhilaration is freedom.
Asshole Pervert: I will never ever talk to you or have any contact with you ever.
Religious Dementor: YOU I will give a chance if you ever find the One that you doll up in your shitty clothes and filthy rags imported in from the Law so you can feel like you are adding your work to the work of the One who said “It is FULL” which is usually translated “It is finished” and it means “It is totally summed up and completed”.
Sadly, for me? This poem will ever be shit-stained by a monster and poisoned by a daughter of the slithering viper of poison tooth…but I know Mama will cleanse it, and those stains will at last be the colors which make JP and my friendship even more close, and even more surrendered to the Holy…to the good.
JP…Jennifer…I love you with my whole and true and innocent heart, dear Litter-Mate and fellow prophetess.
i clothe myself in wonder
for you, wrap myself in night
i am your pirate plunder
you can have without a fight
the milky way my shining sash
the moon my pendant true
and cricket song my lingerie
i give myself to you
you there, so strong, so brilliant
straightforward as blazing suns
your ready laugh, your brewing storms
the way your rivers run
from mountains high, jagged austere
you flow into the sea
for you i wait, indigo here
for you to give you me
we…night and day bonded and true
and joy our wonder-fates
you wrapping me, me inside you
Mama’s happy litter-mates
Source: For JP | Charissa’s Grace Notes
I wrote this two years ago for a dear friend I have never met. I call her “Lil Mama” cus she has helped be a Mama with skin on.
*******************
i don’t run so well these days,
what with clouds of unbecoming
filtered thru rejection
inhaled into my heart
asthma my constant partner
i suck air in like water
and splutter to get breath
a leaky bellows creaky
and riddled with these tears
that steal away my power
but i like you so much
i follow here, behind you
and see the place your feet
left rainbows in the rocks
and fuzzy from your socks
so i just trot along
me, gretel in this stone
but looking not for witches
but for your heart, my friend
and your smile leads me home
and just when i despair,
and my way seems so blocked
i find your evidences
that you want me to follow
and I can face tomorrow
The keepers are all that remain, the ones
with both feet anchored to Earth
and their hair being pulled by the stars
to the Milky Way and Beyond
They’ve learned how to swallow it all, it all,
the medicine of ghostly tragedy
they can hear the high keening stories
the stories of tender hearts’ piercings
The keepers, the ones that remain, remain
they keep the connections to meaning
they keep the transitions so sacred
and they bridge life and death with their bodies
they become that bridge, graceful, suspended, suspended
unseen and constructed from blood
and composed in the song of the blood and the sweat
and revealed in the sacred teardrops
and they stretch over oceans with skin, with their skin
they anoint with the oil so sacred
of trauma endure-ed and conquered
by outlasting its flailing last gasps
and they hold in the dark, in the still dark
like an armor that never needs donning
and that never need be taken off
they are Mama’s Heart in skin and bone
The keepers are all that remain, the ones,
The ones too stubborn to leave
the ones too persistent to wipe out
The keepers alive in Her flame
Sometimes I am asked if I illustrate my poems…but please PLEASE note this:
All images are found online unless I specifically state otherwise that they are either pics taken by me or drawings done by me.
This particular illustration is from a major book I am working on for my friend. It is unique and one of a kind. It will be the only one, and were I to illustrate it all over again, the exact same poetry, it would look completely different.
I am really really happy with Scars though…I think I might never attempt it again, as it feels like it captured it. Oh…and for you who need a lil help mining for the diamonds, here is a lil “key” to the poem.
I am so enjoying posting old work for a while…
certainly so many things rushed out of me in the trauma flow that
many nuggets got carried further downstream than where people stand to pan for the gold.
I’m often told I’m confident
(like the march of blazing sun
across the hills of night
awakening each day)
I’m told I look like rushing waves
that roll in from the sea
and pounce upon the sand
in joyful swelling sounds
This makes me laugh inside my heart
because I’m more like fog
that silent moves unsure
which way it wants to go
But still committed to the march
inexorable and slow
to be true to myself
in soft embrace sold out
to be completely there
and wrapped around all things
I cherish in the hug
of insubstantial presence
there, and yet untouched.
what did you see there,
on that road when setting sun
began to blink again, again
and turned into a threatening heart
beating so slow and pumping out
the blood of stars and planet-scars?
How did it feel when phantom friends
just went on walking, on and on
oblivious to open wounds
in skies above, your breast below
and the railing reached and grabbed your hand
and tired death grinned madly dull?
You heard a noise, a scream of sun?
A scream of clouds, of blood or heart?
A scream that slashed thru everything
so real, so loud, so everlasting
What to make of that? That sound
When the whole world howls and howls
and howls?
“I was walking along the road with two of my friends. Then the sun set. The sky suddenly turned into blood, and I felt something akin to a touch of melancholy…My friends went on and again I stood, frightened with an open wound in my breast I stood still, leaned against the railing, dead tired. Above the blue black fjord and city hung clouds of dripping, rippling blood. My friends went on and again I stood, frightened with an open wound in my breast. A great scream pierced through nature.”
Edvard Munch
Last year there was some sort of change that occurred within me…the events of 16 years ago, horrendous as they are, began to appear to me as a boil, a corpuscle, a pimple deeply infected…a symptom.
I decided that I was not gunna write anymore tribute poems, because been there done that.
Nothing else really can be said about the ones faced with horror thrust upon them in the land of ease and plenty.
But what of those, millions rather than thousands, who have had empire shoved down their throats and up their ____ …? I started thinking about things differently.
Becoming the fuck toy of Empire never ends well. Supporters of ttaf are soon gunna discover this.
One year ago…I think I began to nail it a bit.
“…and what of empire…
or is it Empire
and how
it sanctifies itself
in the blood
of many martyrs
in the tears
of all the saints
and quenches
every thirst
in the wailings
of the haints…”
Ahhhh…last year I wrote this to try and express how closely the ecstatic and the erotic dance in me as I connect to poetry and the words enter, flow and exit…
I’m asked sometimes if I write erotic poetry, and I allus laff and ask “Why?”
The question is like asking someone if they are eating McDonald’s french fries during the best feast of their life…
So anyway…this poem is about Poetry, about connection with the Divine, and yes, it can be about connection with the person you love to…connect with.
PS: this selection is towards the end of the poem…there is a staircase that gets you there, but you have to decide whether you ascend these steps, or descend them…either one is wow!!
…I am buried living-forward
I’m resurrected dying-backward
I am stained forever always after
with that pungent glory,
with Her Glory running down
my chin and from my lips so wet
and thus I shiver deep within
all the way from my down-low throb
to the very roots of my
ecstatic shining hair…
Three years ago…
Are ashes ever really dead?
Or just a different form of life?
When you see that I have died,
when you look into that place
where my odd, quirky connections
once melded resonant
and found resonant splendour
in heart…and in hearts too
and you see the ashes, chilled,
overlaying stone cold coals,
become grey overcoats
covering what I finally learned
to be so ashamed of?
Scrape those cinders up
shovel and shoe them,
trowel and trough the grits,
find a yearn to place them in,
decorative and strange,
intricate and engraved
and singing,
like me back then…
and carry that vase back
across the silent square,
and toss my ashes high,
yes toss them in the air
Let them fly across the sky
in one last kiss, then wave goodbye,
and falling, floating, snowing what made
me special and vibey…
I will let go gently…and slip away,
away…
We have all experienced this, haven’t we? Everyone?
That moment when our head goes from Bugs Bunny’s smug smile
to a jack-ass head because we feel so foolish and dumb?
Or is it just me who feels this…
it lays there, bloated
in between when you
and the other person
connected and laughed
(or that’s what you thought)
and when you speak
and your heart falls
out and open
on the floor
with the inscription
would you like
to come over
for dinner and wine?
eyes narrow,
furrowing brows
and glance off
to the side
and it shifts
and it’s game over
flowers fade
the smell of smoke
and burnt cookies
lingering
I am reposting a lot of old poetry…not because there is nothing new…but because these are some very nice lil poems that few eyes ever noticed…and they deserve a moment.
I sat down by the fire
in the middle of the roses
planted all around
and fragrant with buzzy bees
so busy in the dusk.
The air shimmered
as you approached
skimming across the grass
like a clipper ship
under full sail and
high on the sea.
And when you sat down,
beside me there in
the crackling fragrant
breezy busy air
it was like the entire
universe had come home
and I was at the center
of all things.
a foggy night in late summer
seems like such a strange thing,
seeping up from the ground
like bathwater draining in reverse
we go walking in this cool
clammy oddly warm chill
orange under streetlights…
I wrote this for the first human other than my dearest darling to really see me, Charissa…she has never not seen me. She has never seen him, even though she knows all about him, and I have told her everything about him that matters and also that she has asked…
I would tell her everything without reservation…but sometimes, she simply is bored by him, because he is an absent caterpillar and she loves the butterfly.
By the way…where do caterpillars go when the enter the chrysalis?
I love you Dani…you are my first friend and my dearest heart of friendship…special and distinct from the many friends and sisters I now have. ❤
PS: Pay attention to the line length…just a hint
Listen…
you can hear
my words in waves
breaking on your beach
and celebrating…
lament at long last left limp
in clammy depths
‘neath the surface of seas
of blessed forgetfulness
and chuckling…
midst the shells and sand swirling,
rejoicing surf returning resurrected,
remembered, sanctified by sorrows
faced and sorted…yielding
wholeness certain, sure…
on this shore I break,
we break,
on this shore gently
and joyfully too
we break…
on that shore
that someday shore
we will unbroken break
on that shore and in that circle
by and by…in that circle
by and by…
Source: On This Shore I Break,We Break | Charissa’s Grace Notes
Come, my love…
walk out in the river with me on waters
still and soft beneath our souls
and slightly giving underneath our feet
the surface dips and we will sink
but never past our ankles, just deep
enough to get our hearts wet, soaked
in mysteries of our journey-dance
and underneath the Moon-Glow Glance…
I wrote this a couple of years ago…about being othered by dull insensate humans…or did I write it about supporters of ttaf…or likely I wrote it about evangelical so-called christians whose blood sport is the judgement and death of anything that sings, that moves in beauty…
or did I write it about you?
There is still time to influence who it is about, with your true song and love.
it was eyes,
everywhere each one
attached to a beak, each beak
trilling so shrilly, chattering
in clakkety chirp-chirruping
in brackish raucous screams
loserloserloserloserloser
this forest was once a place
of wonder and the night
so full of promise but now,
it’s like the stars have fallen
from the sky and become
these birds, these birds with eyes
and beaks and nothing to sing,
just screams in a trackless forest
with a past turned out to be a dream
and a future that’s just a strip mine
yet unzipped, yet undug yet torn open
and a present consisting of merely
the sound of these eyes so sharp
and beaks blunt just like red clubs
and no melody down here in sight
Source: no melody down here in sight | Charissa’s Grace Notes
SO loving this old one…”old”…HAH! Just a few years, very early on in transition…and a word play via homophone leads the way in this one.
The scent of our home,
funky quaint and riddled
with books and bikes,
and the long laid scent of family.
The scent of the kitchen,
yesterday’s dinner
and the overlay of croissants
like fierce french washer women
scrubbing away all other scents.
…the scent of our clothes,
and our laundry soap…
the scent of the air cooler,
that of the soft night air
waltzing in,
slow and sleepy
from her night out
amongst the stars,
and carried in drowsy
on cricket wings…
…the scent of popcorn
shared on the couch,
of our wine wafting
from bottles possessed
by only the last 12 drops,
our lil garden outside,
and the auto sprinkler
which has come on to water
in the dark and the cool…
the scent of your currents,
your deep distant observing soul
that hangs back and watches,
even in the midst…
i do go on…
from here…from now…
in the sweltering heat,
where you and I lay,
you sleeping,
me watching you sleeping,
soft face limpid and languid…here…
listening to tides of eternity
race round and round
inside our veins, our universe…
i do go on…
This is all about how you, supporter of ttaf, now prefer the National Enquirer and absolutely crazed versions of reality than the actual truth.
You are the Enquirerer Generation…and you make me want to vomit.
This is the literal actual picture of what that racist domestic terrorist did…caught in the act. And yet you would rather believe all the craziness of stories made up, fabricated…and the preferred media of ttaf himself, the National Enquirer.
If you have a shred of decency, you will read this article, about a person who was there…filmed it and posted that film…and then started getting death threats from the racist assholes.
I witnessed a terrorist attack in Charlottesville. Then the conspiracy theories began
Hi. If you are someone from my past and you read here, I want you to know something. You are welcome to read here. If you are someone from my past, and you are genuinely open to learning new things…
Source: To All From My Past Who Read Here | Charissa’s Grace Notes
While everyone is looking
directly where they cannot look
and seeing silver rings around
the black and gaping mouth of nothing
I am gunna look around
and underneath and over at
the stuff that isn’t visible
because of sunlight blasting
(like Mercury, visible at last
and heaving sighs of dark relief
in being seen for what he is
and seen for what he’s not)
Counterintuitive, I know…
typical ditzy move, Charissa
that’s what will be said, and I
will drolly nod my head and sigh
and look around in dark’s strange light
at what can only be seen then
that moment, neither day nor night
not time that was…but time again
Ahh, Dark’s Strange Light revealing all
that can be seen by one who’s small
I speak in faith and deep knowing
that this monstrosity, this asshole manifested
in-human flesh and somehow flying
in the fair and tender skies so blue
just gibbers deep in ravings mad
derived from sucking his own soul
dry, vampire of his diseased self
his narcissistic empty self
and though he floats, he’s counterfeit
he is no poem, he is no moon
so take heart even while he sets
his sights on devouring the sun
and moves and gobbles greedily
and here beneath his blighted run
the darkness grows so threatening
he ultimately simply falls
pulled grave-ward by futility
imploding…that monstrosity
of incoherent hubris mating
with such ignorance towering
and as the sun is wont to do
it beams and scours dark away
and dries the eyes of every tree
that monster vile will just dead be
and us left waiting in the moment
wondering what just happened here
oh…that dark floating shade up there
was just a mirror………..have a care.
I think prophetesses are cray cray,
sometimes cackling, always peering
deeply into foggy noggins
past the eggy soggy boggins
at the slick silver toboggans
shimmering in dancing air
to run the ride down truth’s face fair
and standing in the circle broken
hearing profound wholeness calling
symphonies of glory sounding
Mama all around in Wonder
spilling, splashing peeling thunder!
All the while the people slumber
neath the broken blankets lumber
over shards and nails and thorns
while Wonder blows her Golden Horns
and wholeness plays that glory
oh that glory
Yeah, we cray cray,
looking at this shattered world
blemishes and ugly cuts
just like punches to the gut
so why do we think differently
and call out so instinctively
that this ain’t the “Supposed to Be?”
Why do we think we were fashioned
made for wholeness, transformation
by a beauty big enough to
embrace life as well as death
that gurgles in the swamps of dazed
and drunken creature comforts crazed?
It’s seen, a fleeting flashing glimpse
in roaring subways rumbling
a quiet act of kindness given
a cup of water cool and sweet
to quell the fires and cool the heat
of hurt and hate and slaughtered meat
just dim glimpses, visions dark, muddled
when we see the face of God
and recognize what we have yet
to see, and know we always knew it…
Cray cray?
Maybe so
maybe not
hidden skeletons
in the closets
of our bodies
clicking, clanking
jumping here
in muffled squeaks
and stifled squeals
of bone on bone
that living song
when bone is drawn
across soft flesh
so low, so long
that drumming thrum
when chuckling bones
are rubbed together
…firesticks, or
matches potent…
like secrets pushing
at our lips
between our hips
because we all
have secrets living
in our bodies
in our bones
that wanna shout
louder than life
but were they heard
t’would break our hearts
I am not
the only one
here, brown and small
wearing a mask
so fearsome, fell
created from
conflicted heart
streaked red and blue
colliding with
my resting soul
green on those hills
those tumbled hills
there, brown and small
You need to watch this. Period. I do not care who you are. This woman is a lover of God, a Reverend, and was at the heart of the events that unfolded. She personally witnessed them, she personally EXPERIENCED them.
If you cannot, will not watch this, then it means you are intentionally choosing the skewed and false version of this presented by ttaf…you are not facing the fact that ttaf is an out and out racist.
Which, of course is a domino tumbler for ya, ttaf supporter…because now all of the so-called Christian voices who say that ttaf is God’s anointed are now saying that God sanctions and anoints an openly racist pussy-grabbing sex abuser.
Can you not see how far you have fallen to swallow that shit from HELL???
I comment because I care. Your wake up call will cause you to grieve more deeply than you can imagine.
Remember: handsome is as handsome does. I was taught that as a very small child…it is grievous to need to teach the teacher.
ttaf has just flat out taken off all his clothes and abandoned every pretense that he is anything other than a flat out racist. He did this in a press conference…and he did it with relish and boasting.
He lied about what happened over the weekend, in lies that are so easily fucking debunked that it beggars the imagination that he could be so bald-faced.
He reminds me of a serial killer who just finally gives up pretending and just wallows in the blood and gore.
He sought to equivocate, which is a bit like comparing the sides of the Allies and the side of the Nazis and saying they are equally morally reprehensible.
He is completely ignorant of the difference between Stonewall Jackson and and George Washington.
ttaf supporters…you put a mirror in the White House, and your faces are the ones he reflects…a liar, a racist, and a bloodthirsty bully.
God have mercy on your pathetic souls.
Below, I post a comparison of leaders…George Bush Sr is a man of principle, and this is what that looks like.
“I just felt I had to speak out.”
Source: How one former president handled the Klan speaks volumes.
This is what happened…and commentary about it. A GREAT think piece!!
“Over the weekend, Charlottesville became the site of an extended white-supremacist revival meeting. On Friday night, like a nightmarish graduation procession, a few hundred white supremacists marched with torches down the long green lawn that leads to the Rotunda, the University of Virginia’s signature building.
“They chanted Nazi slogans in the open, undisguised, unafraid of being photographed, proud to be seen. They circled a statue of Thomas Jefferson and attacked a group of student counter-protesters who held a banner reading “UVA Students Act Against White Supremacy” at the statue’s base.
“On Saturday morning, flanked by militia men carrying automatic weapons, the white supremacists assembled in McIntire Park, with swastikas and Confederate flags fully visible; David Duke was there, along with other representatives of the Ku Klux Klan.
“The counter-protest had grown. Religious leaders had gathered at dawn to pray, and progressive and anti-fascist groups tracked the demonstration to Emancipation Park, which was once named Lee Park, after the Confederate general. There, the violence implied in a “white pride” protest erupted, and the rally was dispersed.
“As the counter-protesters moved on foot towards the adjacent Downtown Mall, a man who had come to town to show his support for white supremacy drove his car down a wide pedestrian alley, killing one woman and injuring nineteen people; he then backed out of the alley and drove away.
“This wasn’t the first white-supremacist rally held in Charlottesville in 2017, and it likely won’t be the last. On Saturday, the self-promoting white supremacist Richard Spencer, a proponent of oxymorons (“peaceful ethnic cleansing”) who is also a University of Virginia graduate, filmed himself saying, “Your head’s gonna spin, how many times we’re going to be back here . . . We’re going to make Charlottesville the center of the universe.”
“The white supremacists have successfully pushed a narrative that they chose Charlottesville because it represents progressive values. Ostensibly, this is all a protest over the impending removal of a large statue of Robert E. Lee. Jason Kessler, the organizer of Saturday’s rally (and another U.V.A. graduate), calls Charlottesville a “very far left community that has absorbed these cultural Marxist principles advocated in college towns across the country, about blaming white people for everything.”
“In fact, Charlottesville, while it is home to many progressive people, skillfully models the exact sort of coercive propriety and self-exculpation from the legacy of American racism that has allowed white supremacy to publicly re-emerge….”
Source: Charlottesville and the Effort to Downplay Racism in America | The New Yorker
Here is a link that goes to a Face Book Post of an eyewitness account of the weekend’s racist events
Supporters of ttaf: you do not get to have your own private reality where anything you don’t like or agree with you simply label fake news and say it doesn’t exist.
SHIT IS HAPPENING IN THIS WORLD THAT EXISTS!!! In Charlottesville VA this weekend a 20 year old Neo-Nazi drove his car into a crowd at high speed and injured several while killing one…and those people were COUNTER-PROTESTERS and not of his own ilk.
It was an act of terrorism…committed by a white male (surprise surprise), a person born on the soil of this nation…a person who is not Muslim…
This person would fall under the umbrella term of the alt-right, which this article is about…and you need to read it if you want to maintain even a semblance of relationship with the truth.
The willingness to live in your own fantasy world is onerous at best…but it is heartbreaking and sickening at worst, in that you are openly christian and your stance about this, about getting EVERY LAST SMIDGE OF INFORMATION ABOUT NEW FROM FOX NEWS…is that you are besmirching and blackening the Name of the Saviour you claim!!!
It is in the name of Jesus that you have hated Barak Obama and Hillary Clinton, accusing them of being forces to undermine America…while turning a blind eye to how ttaf supports and condones the Alt-Right, and THEY KNOW IT!! They are right now posting on their message boards that ttaf’s statement about Charlottesville was a smoke screen cover that actually affirms THEM!!
You are quite literally deceived because you choose to be.
Let me ask you a question: you do believe that it is possible to tailor the news to present a completely fabricated picture of “what’s going on”. That is a given…otherwise you would not say all things but Fox News are fake news.
So if this is possible to do, is it also possible for Fox to do it? Surely you see that logic demands your admission this is so…Fox WOULD be capable of this deception.
The next question is this: why do you believe that Fox News does not shape the news according to their own views? What evidence do you have that Fox is trustworthy? Or if your belief is not founded in any evidence, then it must be due to your being entangled in confirmation bias, which means that anything which confirms your view of the world you assume is true…BECAUSE YOU BELIEVE IT!! Not because it IS true.
A third question: Given that I once identified as conservative, was far better than you at tracking multiple news sites and triangulating to an understanding…Given that I have undergone a deep examination of self, of the world and my views…and given that I now hold different views, derived from intelligent examination and reassessment, would you believe me to be unaware of what Fox claims…and why Fox claims it!!??
Or would I be more qualified to assess these things? To recognize error and misstatement and lying?
It is heartbreaking that the most deceived people on the planet firmly believe that anyone who disagrees with them is possessed by a demon of deception.
Well…here is a fabulous article to assist you to climb out of the pit of deception if you have the courage to read it.
At the core of the alt-right movement is idolatry—the idol of ‘whiteness.’ In building their identity on shared genetic traits the alt-right divides humanity and leads people away from the only source of true identity: Jesus Christ.
Source: The FAQs: What Christians Should Know About the Alt-Right
Our culture is infected nigh unto death, and death is walking the planet in the guise of human skin…in pustules of hate that infect the brains of privileged THINGS that are fallen OH SO FALLEN from grace, from their birthright…
drunk on privilege and wasted on hate and mainlining the toxic excitement of hunting and killing, these sorry pitiful lost WRECKS have willingly gone werewolf and become nothing but sentient beasts.
Quite simply, you must. YOU MUST. Effect some change in your life right now this very day…and NO!! GET AWAY FROM ME, asking ME what it is you can/should do…why are you asking this small child, when there is a Slain One who showed us the way in the days of His flesh, and He lives even now and speaks to this world thru Holy Spirit, my Mama, who sheds light into darkness…
and into the darkness of your unknowing She IS SHINING and will speak if you listen…
…and then act. DO. DO WHAT SHE SAYS.
Maybe you should walk to work everyday carrying a sign that says something on it.
Maybe you should go next door, a block away, and reach out to the person that rises in your heart to reach.
MAYBE WE SHOULD CANCEL EVERY FUCKING CHURCH SERVICE TODAY AND WALK THE STREETS IN SACK CLOTH AND ASHES FOR OUR UTTER FAILURE TO LIVE OUT THE GOSPEL!!
We need some kind of antibiotic to kill the strain of bacteria loose in our body politic…well, I think that antibiotic is the Gospel of Jesus Christ (not the gospel of evil so-called preachers and fearful status-quo priests)…and I think that every single one of us who can still see that this is evil and deadly are the white blood cells.
I see a culture that has engaged in self mutilation, has engaged in drugging itself…and I see a people in power who wring their hands and say there is nothing we can do that is a sickening echo of the mantra that was shoved down my throat when I was executed and cut loose from a place that supposedly thought I was something valuable and yet when it came right down to it the man-made thought up written down rules were held more sacred and inviolate than my bleeding torn and tattered heart.
How has there not been a dropping of all things and a rising up?
We need a nation-wide deliverance.
And even within my own circle of acquaintances, I KNOW there are those who blame the BLM protesters rather than the racist, drunk on demonic doctrines of death, hate infused SENTIENT BEASTS who have willingly discarded their Divine Spark…
and this makes me so sick I wanna puke.
To be very vulnerable, I don’t know if I am safe around people today…well, to be more honest, I don’t know if they are safe around me…Because
I WANT to inflict THE WOUND THAT WILL NOT HEAL UNTIL WE SEE OUR SISTERS AND BROTHERS OF ALL RACES AND RELIGIONS HEALED…
I WANT to step on your toe so hard you will limp forever, blessing the name of the Wounded Healer Himself…
I WANT to vent your side, so that you would never again gather possessions to it to feed rapacious greed and instead would gather the least of these to staunch the flow of sorrow and slake their thirst for mercy…
When the prayers of the people go up this morning, and the presiding human says to offer the prayers not yet prayed, how do I not just SCREAM AND SCREAM WITHOUT CEASING…so loud, so offensive, so volatile that NO RELIGIOUS SPIRIT COULD STAND IN THE SUMMONING OF THE HOLY SPIRIT OF GOD TO HAVE MERCY ON OUR SORRY GREEDY SLUMBERING ASSES?????
How can I not pray for an hour, in vehemence and tears?
And to be quite honest? I TRULY and DEEPLY suspect that the vast majority would call for me to be disciplined and reprimanded, more upset with my disrupting of the expected order of a worship service than the absolute defiling of our culture with the disruption of justice and the flow of mercy.
Yes. The Cows of Vashon would mill and moo and low and trample…and chase me out the door straightaway…Or WOULD they?
What are the odds that during the night the watchmen have been gathering sack-cloth and fashioning slip on garments, and burning the watch-fires to collect ashes
(why Charissa, you dumb bitch, it is not Ash Wednesday, wtf with the ashes, idjit???)…
What if the leaders are ready, handing EACH person a garment made and saying that unless you don that cloth and take a mark of ash, for THIS SUNDAY, you do not come into the house…for it is a time of repentance and rending garments. It is a time for face falling and weeping aloud and BEGGING for the streams of justice to wash thru the House.
Well. What an…EXTREME..girl you are, Charissa.
Umm…okay. SO I WILL SETTLE FOR THE TRUE HEART ATTITUDE OF SACK CLOTH AND ASHES THIS MORNING!!!
Can you even summon the fucking COURAGE for THAT??? Can you BURN your fucking programs and orders of the day and expected liturgy and smear your own HEART with ashes and let your face be rent with tears on this day??
What the FUCK is there to preach on if not this?
If our dire and needful moment is NOT front and center and a call to repentance not issued then we do indeed serve a false god made from human hands and not the GOD of gods, the One who came and suffered and bled and invited the outcasts first.
Let us go outside the city, bearing His reproach…for there He awaits for us among the outcast. And in returning to the city after, let us draw near to the gates, and to the entrance of the doors, and to the high hill beside the Way where our paths meet…and hear the voice of WISDOM…the voice of Holy Spirit…the voice of MAMA who is SHOUTING SHOUTING SHOUTING to all fools and indolent ones DRAW NEAR!!
Statements by ecclesial bodies are just that, especially when the orthopraxy of said bodies still is exclusionary in so many ways and practical applications.
I don’t know what to do with myself right now. My chest is red and scratched as I claw and claw seeking to tear this pain from my heart.
I am well and truly troubled and do not know the way forward today.
“For the back of the house: no, all Trump voters are not white supremacists. YES, all Trump voters were comfortable electing a white supremacist to the highest office in the nation. This tweet is weak because the President doesn’t want to upset the members of his base because the members of his base are either okay with this or they are the very tiki-torch-lit assholes pictured above. These are guys wearing MAGA hats. These ARE the faces of your base. This IS the same rhetoric that Trump has always espoused. It’s Racism Classic™, now with Extra Tiki.”
Source: My fellow white Americans. | I Am Begging My Mother Not To Read This Blog
There IS no “other hand”. There IS no “other side” that must be heard.
There is hatred and devotion to satanic ideologies that have slaughtered millions and millions…and there is resisting this.
If you are not against this, and openly against this…then you are for it.
Period.
Any attempt to ameliorate this, to talk it away, to justify it…any attempt to “Fox News” it is in itself evil and enabling.
++++++++++++
From the Anne Frank Center for Mutual Respect:
MR. PRESIDENT, LEARN THESE WORDS FROM ELIE WIESEL OF BLESSED MEMORY: “We must always take sides. Neutrality helps the oppressor, never the victim. Silence encourages the tormentor, never the tormented.”
ttaf supporters…the ones in the background are your family now.
Not me…not anymore…not until you denounce them, and their new avatar of bigotry ttaf.
ttaf is saying to us that there is moral equivalence between the Nazi demonstrators and the counter protesters…
there is not.
If you think there is, then I have no truck with you. Ever.
I denounce ttaf. I denounce all of his supporters. I denounce the hatred and bigotry on display. I denounce those who claim the name of Jesus who refuse to have their eyes opened by this orgy of hate and racism.
God save us…we are truly entering into hell.
ttaf supporters…
if you write this off as “fake news” you sign the line that satan offers you…your own piece of mind and security and prosperity in exchange for your soul.
Charlottesville, VA – A group of hundreds of neo-Nazis, KKK members, and other white supremacists in town for Saturday’s ‘Unite The Right’ rally assembled at ‘Nameless Field’ on University of Virginia (UVA) campus Friday night. The group was marshaled by a security team who instructed them to march in a column bearing lit tiki torches. […]
Congratulations supporter of ttaf…
you now know that you would have supported Hitler
I am a broken girl and I am
not so easy to love like
carefree normal confident girls
next door in cotton and flannel and lace.
I live inside a fortress and I hide
inside shields and my soul
lives centuries in seconds
I am a survivor of wars
that break the strongest
men so flimsy.
Can you love me so strong that mountains
collapse into the dust of quiet surrender?
Can you melt my doubts and burn my soul
hotter than cold death and abandonment?
Can you endure my very worst days and stand
me not knowing that I am beautiful,
can you erase the thousand tormenting words
the sibilant whispers from hell’s pits of isolation and horror? 
Can you stand that I am thinking even now “Why would you?”
Why would anyone?
I run from you,
but do you see that I run
far slower than I could?
Do you even know
what that means?
Why won’t you chase me?
Could you provide me anything
that I can rely on, any routine
that will be as sunrise and sunset
again and again?
Could you give me a pet name?
Could you kiss me, touch me?
Then do it again, and again.
I am a broken girl and I am
thirst itself so strong that Sahara is oasis.
I am a broken promise but I love
with loyalty that is the stars
commitment to shine in the night.
I am a broken girl and I am
Charissa's Grace Notes 
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