The Soulz Ink: June 2009

Monday, June 29, 2009

My Soulz Ink ~ my muse , wet paint

In my prior life B.C. (Before Cancer) I was a writer working on a novel, a screenplay & hand dancing much poetic verse. It was my life & greatest passion. Since being diagnosed with Ovarian Cancer in 2002, although the passion still exists. Sadly, I have not been able to re-kindle the fire & flame that once fueled my Souls Ink. Hoping to reclaim that part of me that went lost.

I recently found this post & a few others which were written before my diagnosis. I was sick & in daily pain.

Intuitively' I knew that something wicked like Cancer was coming, on Oct 21st, 2001-- a Bird confirmed it.

Sunday, October 21, 2001

Through assessment a mind scrolling of sorts I’ve come to realize “ I’m weary” I feel emotionally exhausted, thus causing me to feel frustrated. My dissatisfaction exhibits itself in many forms, often as though a separate entity has spawned itself from me. “Remember the Creature from the Black Lagoon”? So I embellish a wee bit. I’ve taking a breather from most things, a hiatus from obligatory, it’s autumn after all, and I must refuel. It’s been a bumpy year, a rough one many trials & tribulations it’s just catching up to me now, settling in like an unwanted visitor, who hasn’t showered in weeks & wants to borrow money.

Those who know me or rather love me best interpret my mood as bound toward them. This is where weariness begins; I’m tired of defending others from myself, excusing & clarifying, lather, rinse, and repeat. The truth is; I believe I’m simply weary from sustaining my stance. I’ve tried balancing this temple with opposing pillars for far too long. I want to let go, I refrain simply because I’ve rehearsed & prepared enough times that I dread the crashing sound of inner destruction, I simply just don’t have the fortitude to sustain the backlash. Coward! A knotted mess, this life be. I’m tired of untangling the good from the evils, so this large ball of bullshit sits like a Cheshire cat waiting, just waiting. Let it wait! I need coffee.

I am haunted I am the haunting. This wretched phantom lurks in quest of light, for a candle once burned here. Whether it was accidentally on purpose, by design, obligation or need, at any rate IT BURNED. Having affirmed this I am called to wonder, perhaps we are given one opportunity to glow, to shine, just one chance to burn brilliant. I allowed my candle to flicker out, snuffed out by self-doubt no less. Beaten by a weakling. Such a fool, such a fool, such is life, I’m told.

Striving to better, oft we mar what's well. Always striving for greater intelligence, the gift of truly understanding, how foolish of me. I’ve come to learn in perception or be it self-made theory, intelligence is an intermittent concept much like the timely or untimely spangle of a candle. The poet within me failed to see that without light we are without shadows. It’s the imagery of the unseen, the profuse glow of nothingness- that stirs the hairs on the back of our neck, awakening acuity. These shadows possess truths.

I chose to delve deep into the dark without recognizing its significance. Too dark I could not find my way back home, ultimately I abandoned my pursuit, and I surrendered. Coward! Requisite To say that a concept is polymorphous, I am simply a concept of an unknown source, laughs...say it isn’t so! Blind spots intrigue me, always will, demon plodding, I do what I do cause “ I must” no rhyme or reason here. Like a shark biting on a full stomach.

I’m distracted! Ever hear something outside the realm of what we know to be normal noise? Then hear it again & again. Propelling one to speculate whether this is the sound of madness calling? I had thought the chariots were approaching, unhinged madness coming to drive me home “ Swing low sweet chariots” Well’ wrong again Batman! Just when the world appears to be intact (HAAAAAA) a thumping occurs, thump, thump, drag. I’m laughing at the paradox of it all. Thoughts drop upon me like snowflakes,disappearing before I have a chance to consider the one before.

Normal noise, a world intact, a well-mannered madness calling ahead of its imminent arrival. How absurd! Unconvinced however I mirror all things, measuring mind against matter. Poor Bird, caught within the confines of consequence, been there. He/she (it) sought light, perhaps the intimacy of such rhyme and reason. I’m a poet assimilating of course, I do that. : ) This brave bird took the road less traveled only to come face to face with an undesirable outcome. Love to faults is always blind, always is to joy inclined. Lawless, winged, and unconfined, and breaks all chains from every mind.

How clever stupidity can be when debts are low. Incapable of nourishing a notion for any desirable span of time, I find myself caught once more in wonder. I wonder if Poe had heard this sound too, I wonder could this be what Poe had heard? Is this the noise, which inspired Poe to craft “ The Raven”? While I pondered weak and weary.Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore.While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my fireplace door- Tis some visitor,’ I muttered, “ tapping at my fireplace door- only this and nothing more.” You see I hear this rapping, Though I’d call it a sort of tapping A tap, tap, tapping Upon my fireplace door. It’s a bird, I believe a Robin not a raven Seeking a safe haven Fluttering behind my fireplace door My children expect me to correct him With hopes that I’ll eject him Instead I laughed & said, “ Let him be” after all;

Nothing can come of nothing. Look at me.

There’s a bird in my fireplace, wrestling to get out, desperately trying to fly, be free. I can relate.

The bird came as a warning.

The Awakening of Feminity's Hysteria" 1996

"The Awakening Of Femininity's Hysteria"

Tread softly on my incubating tomb
For I am female, branded with urges
I lack a penis, though I encumber a womb
A new day gives birth, as the woman emerges
Breaking the ancient manmade mold,
advanced intellectual capabilities believed
Pre- existing theories become old,
nonconformity defiantly achieved
And I sing Dora, Dora, Dora on Freud's grave
he who pioneered the primitive theory of Femininity
Stone by stone permeating years of detriment as he paves
Befuddled with notions of genders inferiority to masculinity
Dr. Mandelet called them repulsive, abnormally insane
Resentment to authority created fear and male anxiety
Misunderstood, misdiagnosed from the masturbated brain
Intelligent woman were seen as witches of the occult society
Oedipal-Penis-Envy-sexual-repression
Edna refused to accept the boundaries of conformity
Leonce feared losing control of his possession
Dr. Mandelet saw her resentment as a mental deformity
Edna fought the walls of ignorance and oppression
And I wonder what Freud would say today?
Peculiar, mentally ill, hysteria or depression?
Hysterical grew from fear of mans intolerance of dismay
Freudians shallow phallocentric perspective closed doors
Femininity the frustrating enigma , mysterious and complex
The patriarchal society governed by male gender laws
Those who reject were declared insane, hysterical, and perplex
Mystical, pseudo-intellectual super-spiritual beings possessed
Mentally ill are those who exercise a degree of autonomy
Caged will succumbs in the confines of the female suppressed
Abandoning her feminine duties conflicting the sexual dichotomy
Disturbed was the female who sought more fulfilling accomplishments in life
Dora was a victim of corruption and assumptions in the wave of repression
Diagnosed by the hypocritical man who permitted incest and denied her strife
Her pain of sexual corruption was discredited as a sexually obsessed confession
Females have endure the agony of procreation and menstruation
Freud calls it penis envy, Mandelet says woman are inferior to men
Was it insanity, hysterics or ambivalence that provoked Lorena to castration
I wonder what Freud would say? she had a penis and threw it away..AMEN!!!!!
Khristina Lupinacci 1996

Sunday, June 28, 2009

"Specter Of Mortality" 1996

"Specter Of Mortality"

Clouds sail above me

Like cotton covering pills

The sun goes down on my heart

The avalanche of sacrificing wills

I fuse corrupting poison with evil

Swallowing it into my head

Erecting my hands mirror to deliverance

A tortured ode to chanting dread

With the devil's tongue in my mouth

And God's white glove upon my cheek

I escape the specter of mortality

Eclipsed by the moon the sun is weak

I descend within the dragons mouth

As deaths shadow lurks in the wings

Like emptying the box of cracker jacks

In search of the purest plastic ring

With Pagans and infidels at their post

Extricated from my minds catholic home

Like the fragrance after a rain storm

The cross bleeds my hand begins to roam

Crossing over the perils and pitfalls

Into the cellar of galactic desolating hate

The icy tears of yesterdays child still warm

Alas the final confrontation I contemplate

Adrift the crossroads of my oasis capturing my eyes rain

Like sending postcards of yesterday to tommorows gate

I hobnob with my sorrow and lionize with my pain

Oblique words and turmoils wet paint my muse... my fate

Khristina Lupinacci 1996

Thursday, June 18, 2009

Beckoning in Search of Reckoning

"Beckoning In Search of Reckoning"

Vacant hearted within the realm of my minds home
A fierce awakening ignites my brain to roam
The train door closes, and they come beckoning
Knocking on the chamber door in search of reckoning
Bemoans the grim phantasm of lurid remorse
Decaying war painted walls shed fading mossShaking today the skin of yesterdays halls
Flaking dismay and sin as destiny calls
Like sugar in tea, dissolving the pain of history
Disrobing the haunting curse of unfaced mystery
Rouge colored fragments peel and surrender
Carpeting the ground plaguing those who remember
Like lifes recipe, raspberry covered guilt
Every flower deserves the chance to wilt
We preserve the shadows of antique lands
So to see ourselves within ghostly hands
Madness manifests suffocating within the walls
We heed the melancholy screams as insanity calls
Echoing to the parade of marching shadows in white
Whispering secrets to black eyed angels in flight
Merciful wings stir an unrest of self branded humility
The mind spins the revolving doors of hollows futility
Stripped naked in the absence of eternal light
Comes the dawning of ancestral reflection tonight
I ask the vision within the mirror " Are We Happy Yet ?
And she replies with ghostly blackened eyes " Have we met ?
Khristina Lupinacci 1996

"Autumns Last Breath" 1996

"Autumns Last Breath"

I search beyond the realm of the painted sky

Beneath the leaves of Autumns last breath

Behind the remorse of one man's cry

Within the symphony of Beethoven death

Shaded by suspicions cloth

Within the tapestry of painted hills

The closing leaf comes forth

Bearing winters barren relentless wills

And destiny lingers with antiquities hues

The sky colored mahogany's sage

Autumns eternal breath within a muse

Amid the fields of tinted rage

Autumn graciously hints farewell

The truth falls upon my bitter sorrow

Cradled within an insipid hell

Whispers the death of tomorrow

Cornfields splinter with a story

Destiny's fantasy unravels endless dreams

The death of flaming glory

Eclipsed within the chorus of emerald beams

Khristina Lupinacci 1996