Completed Book Reading List

Ongoing list of completed book Reads

(should have been doing this a long time ago)

6/5/2021:

The Law of Love by Laura Esquivel***Very Good and Completely Unique Storytelling accompanied with music and graphic novel sequences. Way ahead of its time when it was released. Now I believe the masses are more open to the ideas and concepts in this. Past life regressions, astroanalysts, reincarnation, oneness, spirit guides/guardian angels. The experience is unique and finds purpose in every life on the planet and all the lessons we experience during our life missions whether good or bad. The musical sequences and graphics dealing with characters learning they were raped or the rapist (sometimes both in past lives) really led to deep sobbing as a reader. A lot of powerful emotional release happens during this and the ending is a beautiful, happy one. At times it is a little silly and over-the-top yet i rolled with all the elements and enjoyed it. The grandmother character led to lol’s at times. Overall i would say this book unlocks a lot of deep healing and can awaken readers to the bigger picture if not already aware.

5/20/2021:

Dune by Frank Herbert *** Very Good. Important themes of water, perseverance, leadership, individual liberty/autonomy, community interdependence, religious extremes, and creating green/sustainable situations out of environments/situations that appear to be dire or impossible. Cautionary themes of religious extremes and hero archetypes. Looking forward to the Denis V. Film. Thus far, have not received immediate enthusiasm for continuing the Dune saga from readers I know. I may pick up another along the way though. We’ll see. Many great Classic memorable quotes within this read to return to again and again. Will always associate the Hugh Jackman HBO film, Bad Education, with Dune as his former student who becomes his lover expresses how much Dune impacted him and Hugh Jackman’s character fondly remembers.

More ReadUp 7.0 Praise from Substack writer Adam Bartley

Need more motivation to get on http://www.ReadUp.com ?

Read this Very Well-Written Personal Testimony regarding ReadUp’s impact on his own life and his Wonderfully Detailed breakdown of all the reasons joining ReadUp is a plunge any Reader/Writer will want to take:

Attention WordPress writers & readers: ReadUp version 7.0 is Here, a GameChanger and potential passive income generator for you!

I will get back to posting poems and fables next, I promise. I just needed to get some vocal action out there to support the protection of wolves and now I NEED TO LET YOU KNOW ABOUT A LEGIT NEW ETHICAL READING PLATFORM APP THAT YOU WILL WANT TO SUBSCRIBE TO AS A PASSIONATE READER. IF YOU ARE A WRITER YOU CAN GET COMPENSATION.


In the fall of 2020 I officially began a detox of the social media Giants; all except for YouTube which I still use for music, education, etc.

I scaled down to basically just one app that has single-handedly been changing my life – encouraging more Focus, expanding Self-Sufficient Learning, Independent Thinking, Creativity and more.  The app? ReadUp.com.

This month May 2021 begins a whole New Chapter of ReadUp with the latest version of the app.

Prior to May 2021 the co-founders of ReadUp and RU’s snowballing community have helped generate slow growth and evolution of the ethical reading platform over the past 5 years of hard work yet work each co-founder/community Reader significantly enjoys.

The app has been a game-changer and on the forefront of the app kingdom due to their Most Transparent Privacy Policy in the world, their lack of distracting ads.period.Ever., the civil discourse created inherently by the nature of RU’s algorithm/built-in features, the community (kinda feels like being a member of the Goonies or Ready Player One or takes one back to the days of making friends on simple message boards) the app fosters for Readers, the inherent betterment of autonomy the app fosters and more.

Now with the latest launch RU is becoming a forefront game-changer in publishing writers and compensating them, transparently.  For a subscription price (there are three tiers to choose from which each Reader/Writer selects) Readers are able to see through a carefully created color wheel exactly how much of their subscription goes to the writers each Reader Reads.

If you are new to ReadUp and reading this with further questions I highly recommend that you, the new ReadUp Reader dive into co-founder bill‘s catalogue of blogs easily accessible within ReadUp archives.  By doing so you will be able to get a clearer picture of all the benefits of this Game-Changing app.

If you are a reader and love to read…ReadUp is for you and Will Change your Life.  If you are a writer you will be able to import your self-publishing and receive compensation for each read your writing receives.

So what are you waiting for?  Download today.  This is just the beginning of an amazing new chapter in ReadUp.com’s journey and there is an Amazing Community within excited to Connect – Interdependently.

Today I updated my ReadUp version to 7.0 and paid my first month at the Reader Level Subscription.

🪶✌️💓💯🎰🎯🌈

Here is official info from ReadUp.com to get you started. If you have any questions feel free to comment below or message bill@readup.com

Read anything you want.

Easily import articles from your favorite publishers and blogs. Or browse Readup’s collection of top-quality articles.Reading view without clutter or distractions

Reading perfected.

Readup’s iPhone app and browser extensions offer immersive, 100% distraction-free reading. No time to finish? Readup bookmarks everything, automatically. Transparent recommendation mechanism

Algorithms you can trust

Readup doesn’t have likes or upvotes. Instead, Readers “vote” with their time and attention. All algorithms are fully transparent and Reader privacy is always respected.

Civil discourse. Finally.

On Readup, it’s impossible for anybody to comment on any article that they haven’t fully read. Readup is troll-free, non-toxic, and non-addictive.Readup distributes your money directly to writers

A brighter future for writers

You pay a monthly subscription to read on Readup. Readup keeps 5% and distributes the rest to the writers you read. Everything is transparent, ethical, and humane.

Pricing: Pay what you want

You can pay any amount you want to read on Readup.
All Readers at all levels get full access to all features.

Readup takes a small cut (5%) of your payment and distributes the rest to the writers you read — transparently, down to the penny.

  1. $4.99Budget option.Individual Writer payouts will be small.
  2. $14.99RecommendedA meaningful investment in journalism.
  3. $24.99Super Reader!Bigger tips for the writers you read.

Readup has earned $195.82 for writers.Total Revenue: $219.88

What our Readers say

We’re proud to improve the lives of our Readers on a daily basis.
Check out these spontaneous testimonials from real humans beings.There is something inherently decent and civil about reading on Readup. It will be an important experiment to see if it can stay a healthy community.— PlumMy best online reading experiences have happened here.— EZ1969I’m so grateful to have Readup in my life.— KaylaLolaReadup gave me my brain back!— KarenzIt’s fascinating to see (and super exciting to be part of) Readup’s growth. Here’s to so much more 🥂❤️✨— chrissetianaI cherish Readup as a safe place for productive and empathic conversation.— thorgalleReadup has fundamentally changed the way I read online.— bartadamleyI used to have several magazine subscriptions and now I have all of it at Readup. — PegeenI’m a believer in this project and eager to see what the market will say.— RavenLove Readup and love recommending it to my friends and family.— skrt

Dear Idaho Governor: Please Veto Bill SB 1211

Dear Governor,

You hold a position of immense responsibility and power – both of which one in your position should stand strongly against abuse of and share your power in abundance with the people, land, nature so sacred and so dear.

In this Spirit I write to you and join the voice of many others in asking you to please veto SB 1211 which calls for the reduction of wolves. The amount of money willing to committed to this bill is unjust in the wake of the clear benefits wolves bring to balancing natural environments.

As evidence I present:

  1. https://www.outsideonline.com/2422854/fact-checking-idahos-wolf-eradication-law-sb-121-bill
  2. simply Search within Youtube: Benefit of Wolves in Yellowstone for more video evidence for the case of Protecting wolves.

The money of the taxpayers and people should be spent on helping protect living beings rather than destroy and kill them which in turn affects Us All in dire ways; some visible and some invisible until further down the timeline.

We should be using 500,000 plus dollars to feed and clothe and house the homeless and protect our precious nature cycles and environment. The circle of Life should be edified and rectified rather than annihilated and violated.

This decision is so much bigger than killing wolves. Please Veto SB 1211 and allow Nature to Harmonize and Balance and Centralize on its own terms and in its own wild ways. In the wake of your veto, work with those opposing forces to suss out alternatives which keep the wolves alive and the lives of those affected by the living wolves to maintain their best lives as well.

Thank you for reading and listening.

Hummingbird J (of Taos, NM)

Ka~Ki~I~Sil~Ma (Our Elder Turtle StoryTeller) or An Outcasts’ Fable

Quelleayin Sharp was born with holes in his back. Weeping wounds. Three circular wells that scaled down to the bone, tissue after tissue, as if he’d been balefully bitten by a brown recluse within his mother’s womb. 
Blood ran out of each. One drop at a time; slowly; incessantly . The three circles formed a tilted triangular shape on his lower back. The tilt’s center was near the base of the spine and if the triangle were traced dot-to-dot it would appear to point downward towards Quelle’s left buttock.*

_______________________________

*(or more specifically the left space where those attractive backside dimples eventually form on a maturing body)

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

Quelle’s father, Tertius Sharp, was aghast when he saw his newborn child’s back for the first time. He noted the glaring imperfection and steady bloody droplets with disgust. Tertius was an anomalous 8 foot tall world renowned Grand Piano pounding Icon & Creator of the first Surreal Levitating Grand Piano outdoor concerts. Tertius was a controversial performing artist with a raging temper and had no time for dealing with a needy, ugly child who needed 24-7 back care bandages for the wounds.

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

Quelleayin’s mother, Illustra Sharp, was, conversely, compassionate. She did not mind the full-time wound care her outrageously success-hungry, distracted and ever-mystifyingly cruel husband refused to take part in. Each night before bed Illustra would wrap her suffering son tightly in a blanket, lean close and whisper “I’m Here; Q,” as her son bravely, quietly let out only an occasional grimace or moan during what was clearly a painful routine. First, Illustra would wash the wounds with gentle dabs of moistened gauze. Next she positioned a tiny handcrafted cone-shaped gift from the local apothecary into each wound. The cone was crowned with a slow pour opening at the top. This feature allowed the design of a spiraling nexus chamber within – ideal for even application and downward stream of Quelle’s myrrh wound-healing tincture (often containing tea tree oil, lavender, lemon or peppermint) – all the way down to the bone. No matter how often this was applied, though, the wounds always returned to tender red, pink, purple inflammations. The final step was the bandages along with a steady stream of music or bedside reading. Each evening sat by their humble abode’s warm hearth Illustra couldn’t help but imagine her irrationally volcanic husband as the source of some vile, rabid, arachnid spermatozoic invasion; fully to blame for this atrocious affliction on her precious boy. 

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

As a result of Quelle’s early childhood care routine Illustra developed a passion for nursing and decided to train hard to become a leader in the field. After accomplishing high marks and full graduation from nursing school clinicals Illustra set upon a remarkable career within their town. She balanced an intuitive integration of scientific medical advancements with an ongoing apprenticeship at the local apothecary which unfortunately led to her short career’s downfall. Illustra’s skillful career and upward trajectory were put on hold when she was wrongfully accused of neglectfully mistreating a patient in a case of “malpractice”. This was an outright lie given wings by local holier-than-thous, clergy and even darker malevolent forces hidden in the shadows of the church who did not approve of her time dabbling in the tinctures and holistic nature of the apothecary; mainly because the eccentric, polyamorous throuple – known for throwing elaborate orgies – who maintained the apothecary had taken in a teenage sexual deviant known for disturbing accusations of beastiality and child molestation and other sexual perversions with a focus towards helping the afflicted teen sans extreme permanent hell-fire-brimstone judgement. The truth of the “malpractice” matter was that Illustra had nursed Spaniel, the outcast teen, back to health after a particularly brutal knife attack that nearly left him dead. These attacks were common against Spaniel in town due to all the vast accounts, allegations, accusations and gossip of sexual deviancy and abuse. Illustra had seen first hand the constellation of healing wounds, multi-colored bruises and permanent scars wrapped around the young man’s body from a community bent on a perpetual cycle of relentless violent retribution rather than second chances or legitimate forgiveness in the face of authentic, repentant remorse. Her time spent within the apothecary meant Illustra was privy to the kind of environment and psychological demons Spaniel had been born into and traumatized by for years. Spaniel had suffered and acted out because he hid thoughts he was ashamed of and thus acted them out in his early teens when his hormones were raging in a murky, guidance-free cesspool of confusion. Illustra was fully aware of the goals of alternative rehabilitation that Ace, Ana and Ezra focused on integrating into Spaniel’s life to steer him towards a less ostracized existence. They knew the rehabilitation essentially began within guiding Spaniel’s storytelling of brokenness and authenticity within himself. As a community citizen Illustra vehemently did not condone Spaniel’s prior criminal behavior; especially involving children; however she did not walk around separating her own self from the “otherness” of tormented souls like Spaniel. Because she was within the walls of the apothecary and got to know Ace, Ana, Ezra and Spaniel’s internal and external wounds well she knew the hard work, plant medicine and healthy sexual education the throuple had invested in steering Spaniel towards transparency regarding his inner shadowlands. Through honest writing and artistic outlets as well as tinctures and therapeutic conversation where any topic was considered available to discuss openly Illustra could truly see Spaniel come alive. The whole apothecary family, including loyal patrons, developed a deep imagining of the very best for both Spaniel and everyone around him. As a mother with a son suffering his own physical lot in life Illustra couldn’t help but extend that maternal compassion and empathy in Spaniel’s direction. During Illustra’s nursing of Spaniel she never brought Quelle with her to the apothecary so the two never met. Illustra, at the time, would have honestly admitted being hyper-protective of her child around a known child predator; though as time went on she would have softened that barrier as Spaniel built up radically transparent trust and communication with anyone around him who allowed the appropriate time and space for his transmuted past aggressive, self-harming trauma.

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

The aforementioned unforgiving holier-than-thous, hypocritical church folk and nefarious dark arts forces who fed on shadows of gossip and fear in town did not approve of Illustra nursing Spaniel back to health multiple times. Many felt he deserved death, castration or lifelong torture. Yes, in fact, that last worst attack involved townsfolk stripping Spaniel bare waist-down and attempting to cut his testicles off. A miracle happened in the park that night as a giant bear scared off the attackers right at the most gruesome critical moment. Spaniel reported afterward within the sanctuary of the apothecary walls that the bear walked over, sniffed his exposed groin, licked off a stream of blood, grunted and mercifully walked away. In Spaniel’s eyes Goddess judged him with the most intensive and balancing scale of grace and mercy that dark night of the soul and pardoned him of his past sins.

*****************
The main culprit behind Illustra’s false malpractice accusation was the wife of a local church leader. When Illustra was called to defend herself she said, “I treat all patients as equal. They are my own mirror and, thus, I create the kind of nursing experience I would want to experience myself; though Spirit knows I am not perfect.”

The head of nursing held Illustra in the highest esteem and believed her. Despite this, the church leaders put pressure on the head nurse and gave him the choice of letting her go or him losing his job.

Illustra’s fate was cemented. Her passion for career diminished, but not her purpose as a mother and wife (though her megalomaniacal husband deflated the latter time and time again).
Later, once Quelle was grown into an eccentric, strange young man Illustra would learn in her final years as a divorcée (eventually; widow) how to support her son as his wounds ultimately led him to stand up and speak out against that dark, blasphemous, manipulative stronghold of the town.

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

As Quelle grew older he often had to learn about Real life on his own or by those living on the fringes.

When he was 15, as fate would allow, Spaniel showed up at the Sharp residence with gifts from the apothecary. Normally, either Ace, Ana or Ezra were the deliverers. This was an ongoing stream of benevolence from the throuple as a thank you for Illustra’s ongoing support and an apology for the shit she was put through by the bureaucrats and narrow-minded of the town. Spaniel had been asked to deliver because each of the three guardians were busy with clientele house visits.

“She’s not home right now…and I am kinda in the middle of something,” Quelle said, holding up bloody bandages in his hands.

“May I help?”

“You are Spaniel. Accused of dreadful acts with precious animals and children. Why should I allow you to help?…’specially with Mom away?”

“I Am. I Am He. Spaniel the Accused. I Am ashamed to tell you that past of mine is not entirely untrue; though, in this present moment some in our town and especially some of them church folk are guilty as sin right now for either equal or worse than I’ve done. I’ve answered for my crimes and been judged by Mother Nature. There are confused and afraid townspeople who feed off of building and building ugly cases to bring anyone different down to their knees. My guardians and the apothecary have nearly been shut down, burned down and run out of town. They have been fearless and have managed to overcome with the other courageous eccentrics and outcasts of the town.

Ace, Ana and Ezra helped awaken me. They have helped me learn to speak my Truth when I am feeling uncomfortable feelings or unusual inclinations. They have taught me to write and express and create so as to avoid further hurt to myself and others; my past is not the definition of who I am today, young holy man.

Should you choose – and it very much is your choice without coercion or force – to allow me in to help and if I begin to start experiencing anything uncouth within my body I will speak it. We will also speak True to your mother, as well, once she arrives home. I trust she will trust us.”

Sensitive young Quelle felt an ease in his Spirit.

“Come in…we will keep all the windows and doors open as I show you.”

“This is entirely fair.”

“Spaniel, you may call me Quelle or Q. I can tell you speak ‘young holy man’ as a term of endearment. If I’m honest it makes me feel a little too woo-woo and hokie for my liking.”

“Quelle…as I am now a daily writer it is a lovely ode to the…”

Suddenly there came a loud, jarring sneeze outside.

Quelleayin’s face fell and he whispered knowingly as to the nuisance source of the sneeze.

“Oh dear, Spaniel…have you been followed?”

Quelle peeked out the window for confirmation. Yep, Havana, the wife of a head church leader. Outside.

“Quelleayin! Quelleayin! Where is that irresponsible Mother of yours? I must speak to her at once!”

“It’s best I not hide. i am in the window. Best not to hide.”

“Agreed, Spaniel.”

There were the sounds of clanking metal rattling at the door due to sudden bursts of wind.

“Quelleayin, do you need help, young man? I have a switchblade and I am not afraid to use it. We don’t need sexual deviants spoiling our innocent town brood!”

Quelle confidently stepped into the doorway and addressed this toxic snitch courageously.

“Lady Havana, why do you choose to suddenly worry about or speak to me now? You and your children have only ever neglected and bullied…or ignored me and my loving mother for nearly 15 years. Now suddenly you want to intrude here? You, after all, are the culprit of her career’s demise.

Which of us is worse and damned to hell more in the eyes of your angry, hateful god? A reformed sexual deviant or a grotesque bloody backed boy?”

The wind picked up and stirred relentlessly outside. The sound of glass breaking could be heard in the distance. Anytime Quelle heard glass breaking he had been taught that it was a benevolent sign that an old pattern had been broken to make room for better ones.

Quelle boldly proclaimed, “Get outta here, Lady Havana! You have no business intruding in my family again!”

Illustra emerged from around the corner having heard every word of her son’s speech and added:

“Get outta here, bad bitch! And while you are at it…have you seen that garish husband of mine in your arms or another like you? What a coward – a nest of cowards! The whole lot of you!”

Crows began to fly in circles overhead in a chorus of support.

Havana cowered and barked, “The church will hear about this, Illustra! You can count on it!”

Window shutters banged and huge, rolling storm clouds appeared instantly out of nowhere.

Quelle became deeply angry unlike any emotion he had felt prior.

He shouted at the top of his lungs, “All you hypocrites and haters are your own self-fulfilling creators of hell, deceptress Havana! You yourselves are spreading a current wave of destructive toxicity here and now!”

Suddenly, Quelle screamed out in pain and anguish.

Spaniel was behind shirtless Quelle and declared, “Illustra! Illustra! His back! His wounds are heavily inflamed! We must do something, Nurse Illustra!”

Quelle stepped out of the door of the house, down the street and began shouting:

“My wounds have stories to tell! Everyone WILL LISTEN!”

Illustra began to weep, knowing this was an essential step of Quelle’s purpose. She’d dreamt of this day’s arrival during the past 15 years of silent, painful repression.

Spaniel started to speak and say “We must stop him!”, but as soon as Illustra turned to him and said, “Let him go. He needs to let this out! This is bigger than Quelle. This is Awakening Us All.”

An esoteric language in Illustra’s eyes passed to Spaniel through a lineage of unseen Present ancestors.

In the blink of an eye they both knew where Q was heading.

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

Spaniel arrived at the Town Square after stopping off, briefly, at his room adjacent to the apothecary.

He found Quelle standing upon the Town’s obscene towering statue of his father, Tertius, sitting at a Giant Baby Grand Piano. Quelle stood upon the piano with the urgency of a barking newsie. He shouted over and over:

“My wounds have stories to tell! Everyone WILL LISTEN!”

A concerned and curious crowd was forming. A gossipy, gawking crowd was forming. An intermingling of diverse townsfolk; some rich, some conservative, some liberal, some independent, some eccentric, some families with children, some poverty-stricken homeless and some outcast were gathering around the piano with Q elevated as if a maestro calling forth a potential orchestra.

Before long some townsfolk began to shout out:

“He’s Crazy! He’s a Lunatic! He’s an addict! Can you believe at just 15?!?”

In response, Quelle began incorporating stomps upon the piano as he repeated the shouting phrase again and again. Each stomp of his foot reverberating from the belly of the piano outwardly. Each shout casting a wavelength with palpable vibrations into the crowd and beyond.

One by one the naysayers and shouters of the slanderous verbal shards began to choke and cough; eventually unable to shout out clearly any longer. A flubbery, puttering out of stagnant vocal cords. Throats so obstructed there was no choice in speech; simply silence.

Upon witnessing this, a few of the previously silent, fearfully dogmatic and narrow-mindedly indoctrinated began to step forward with further accusatory shouts:

“He’s the Devil! He’s Cursed! He’s in cahoots with the Sexual Deviant now and expects to remain unscathed! He Is Bringing Armageddon Down Upon Us Now and has the uncouth Power to Silence Us!”

Quelle kept stomping and the second wave of shouts began to diminish in the wake of the energetic vibrations.

A distinct drumming began to sound upon the perimeters of the Town Square booming in slow build intervals from each of the four corners. At first, the Source of the drumming was unseen.

Every shutter on any building around the Town Square began slamming. All of the ristras around the square were shaken creating the steady sound of maracas. Every kiva ladder around the square began tapping in rhythm to the diasporic drumbeats wafting into the Center of Town.

Suddenly, out of thin air, ghoulish shadows began to dance over faces in the crowd. Some in the crowd began to feel the prickle of tiny needles repetitively tapping around their head unseen.

“Devil!” *coughing fits*
”Dev-! Chi-!” *damned up indistinctions*
”Now…ouch!…he…” *choking sounds*
”brin-ssss…plaguessssss!” 

A moment of Silence and Hush fell from the coughers and chokers and interrupted speakers. Even Quelle stopped shouting and his hands flew upward as he fell to his knees.

Suddenly, a kettle drum fell from the sky and landed at Quelle’s feet. A wave of quiet was met by every eye of every folk in attendance. After seconds of townsfolk looking around questioningly and cowering with fear over whether there were any further threats from above an uninterrupted voice began laughing loudly above the circle of quiet.

The laughing continued a bit longer before a voice said, “He’s playing games with us! This is all part of a new Tertius Sharp perform————“

Quelle rose to his feet and interjected with direct eye contact with the speaker:

“My wounds have stories to tell! You WILL LISTEN!”

On queue, Spaniel walked up to Quelle with clear foresight and handed Quelle the prismatic drumstick with colorful thin threads of tassel which he had brought from his apartment.

Each blinked an unspoken syllable and Quelle accepted the hue wrapped baton and began to bang the kettle drum with the surround sound of beats coursing through the Town Square’s veins with laborious elaboration.

The drum was so loud it brought the silenced and some of the unsilenced to their knees. Each bang piercing their ear drum with a pain too unbearable; buckling their hatred in Surrender. The rest of the crowd appeared to stand unaffected and were creating hums and vocalizations extending suspension sound bridges in between the spaces of beat.

The drumming kept building and filling in closer and closer from outside the boundaries of the square perimeter.

By this point majority of the homeless, families, poor, outcast and a generous portion of the rest of the eccentric independent thinking townsfolk stood in appreciative awe; All One Divine Whole of distinctive authenticity unaffected.

Some of the unaffected began to Dance to the drum. Some lay prostrate and sang. Some clicked their heels and shouted in Celebratory Joy:

“There’s No Place Like Home! There’s No Place Like Home!”

Spaniel looked around and took it all in as he stood in Guardian Purpose for Quelle in the absence of his Mother’s arrival (as far as he could tell). Spaniel looked into the smiling Goddess eyes of Bon-Bon nearby. Beautiful Bon-Bon; whose mythology within this town matched in many ways his own. Her mythology so Grandiose out of the folkloric seeds of gossip that by now no one seemed to know Her Real Story. To some she was just a joke of a whore, to some she was a domestic violence survivor who once stood in the way of a shotgun. To some she was a town spy. To some she was a man-hater who just wanted to rip off every guy’s cock n balls (which led some in town to question if she had, in fact, been the “bear” at midnight who saved Spaniel). In sum, Bon-Bon was a larger-than-life town question mark.

As Spaniel shared this moment of precious eye contact with her there was once again unseen Ancestor Presence allowing his energetic field to become privy to One Clear Transmission – Bon-Bon’s eyes Are Sharing the same language mine and Illustra’s spoke earlier, he epiphanied.

One and the Very Same.

In a polyvisionic flash Spaniel saw what his next step was in this Epic Diegisis.

In the very next instant Bon-Bon began shouting:

“I Am Your Very Best Goddess! Goddamn Town! I Am Your Very Best Goddess!”

Then in Unison both she and Q began shouting alternately:

“My Wounds have stories to tell! You WILL LISTEN! Our wounds have stories to tell! We Must Listen!”

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

Spaniel now stood hand-in-hand. A human chain now formed with all the town’s unaffected-by-drumbeat outcasts and outcast supporters.

One-by-one Spaniel had been the guiding light from one unaffected standing to another and another in conga line fashion until all circled around Quelleayin standing upon the Tertius Sharp Grand Piano Statue.

In Unison, the Circle stomped and shouted the phrases Together:

“My Wounds have stories to tell! You WILL LISTEN! Our wounds have stories to tell! We Must Listen!”

while the silenced either lay or knelt in Surrender.

With each stomp the Four Directions of drumming finally manifested physically into the Town Square.

From the West came a group of Cacti – Drumming as One.

From the East came a group of Porcupines – Drumming as One.

From the South came a group of Pine Trees – Drumming as One.

And From the North came a group of Rainbow-Attired Indigenous Diaspora with vastly different skin tones; each with a colorful animal totem accompanying – Drumming as One.

When each of the Four Directions reached the Town Plaza Green – 

each stopped.

Everything Stopped.

Not a Sound was Made nor Heard.

Sacred Spirit.

Sacred Source.

Sacred Silence.

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

A rush of invisible feet could be heard.

A stampede. The sound of Mammoth Beasts and Bison.

Quelleayin, the Outcasts, Spaniel, Bon-Bon, Illustra (emerging from behind another body in the crowd) and the Four Directions joined in the shuffle of feet making sounds.

Suddenly Quelle raised his hands and a large Rainbow Canopy flew over the heads of the whole crowd.

“Do Not Fear the next moment! No harm will be brought upon Our heads today! What you will hear now is the breaking of our old hurtful, painful, wounding ways to make way for new behavioral patterns. For if one of Us suffers, We All Do! Just as a bottle is broken to christen certain ceremonies of the past – so this moment ushers in a New Age.”

In that moment Quelle began shouting in agony!

“I Killed My Father! I did this secretly! Today I Am Free of this Secret! For my Father tried to kill me! A handful of you knew and stood by and did nothing! He would have taken out his wife, my mother, Illustra, too, if I had not stepped in. Now! I Am Free! My wounds knew this Greater Wound of Destiny all along! I Am Alive Now! More Alive and More Free than Ever Before!

I AM FREE! I AM ALIVE!”

These Are My Wounds Speaking!”

Quelle turned his back to the crowd and suddenly every one present realized that the wounds were speaking as Quelle spoke.

At the same moment every glass storefront window or any glass in a 360 degree radius for that matter blew into floatational pieces above the crowd and canopy; ushering in a breath of new neural pathways into the Town Square and every living cell around.

Simultaneously, every needle from every cacti, porcupine and pine tree flew off of their bark and skin. The needles flew over the crowd of the surrendered and poked holes into the levitating rainbow parachute canopy until petals of sunlight shone through in streams upon the Surrendered heads.  

Then the needles took a threatening menace turn as they hovered above the silenced ones on the ground.

Spaniel then knew it was his time to join in leading the orchestra for in a moment of exhaustive weakness Quelle was allowing the silenced Havana and her dark minions to attempt to hijack his reparative anger; to cloud His True-True Nature. 

Spaniel lifted his hands like a musical conductor.

“No! This is Not how Our Wounds Speak anymore, Most Holy High One! Your Power is Being Hijacked! Not cyclically violent, Q! No more, wounded warrior! No More Bloodshed!”

Spaniel turned to face the mind-manipulators; both male and female, who were clearly working based on their tense faces.

“Enough Bad Bitches!”

All the needles fell to the ground instantly without harm to the heads of the townsfolk.

Spaniel walked with the most dignity and poise the town had ever seen over to the Rainbow Of the North.

He looked each one in the face with eyes growing moist with deepest remorseful final remembrance, coffin nail closure and eternal karmic release.

“A long time ago I hurt animals! A long time ago I hurt children! In doing so I was hurting myself and my community even more. I AM FREE! I AM ALIVE! These are my Wounds Speaking!”

Spaniel went quiet and let the exclamations settle. Then seeing Quelle’s body shaking from sensitivity to all of the activity converging, Spaniel said:

“Rainbow of the North, would you join Quelle on the Baby Grand? His body is wracked with much pain and sorrow.”

The Rainbow of the North and each of the members’ identifying animal totems stepped up to and surrounded Q.

His wounds began crying out and speaking confessional story after story of all the wounded present. The wounds spit blood as they spoke and generated bodily convulsions.

Spaniel walked over to his 15 year old friend and said calmly with certainty:

“Quelleayin, the burden of these stories are no longer your own. It is time for us to step aside. To share our stories, yes, as we have done…and Ultimately to Step Aside.”

In Unison, all the Townsfolk began shouting their own dark confessions and deepest secrets. Even the silenced ones were finally allowed to speak…and speak and confess every one finally did as One; Together.

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

Suddenly, the sun shone full and bright upon the town square.

The Rainbow of the North and their animals each pulled out a feather quill from either their hair or their fur. Each quill was laid in a respectful pattern.

Suddenly, each of the quills levitated as the Rainbow of the North stepped back.

An old tortoise with a walking cane emerged from the alive animal totems along with a human Rainbow of the North elder.  

A tiny bristlebrush cactus bounced out of the crowd of large cacti drummers.

A runt from both the porcupine and pine tree drummers emerged, as well.

Each one stood in the direction of the Four Corners from which they had emerged.

The levitating quills shivered.

Quelleayin’s back still faced the crowd.

Now, the tortoise revealed his back.

Three wounds could be seen.

The bristlebrush, the runts each revealed the same.

Spaniel waved his hands fluidly.

The quills flew to the wounds of each back and dabbed inside; drawing blood for ink.

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

For days in the aftermath of that fortuitous gathering, the Town was awash in candid, transparent stories.

Months and years later there existed more camaraderie amongst the townsfolk as a result of all the Honesty.

Rectification was taking the Town into new, creative, innovative Focus and Directions it had never imagined possible before.

There was an Expanding Awareness of both the Land and Spirit. No one was afraid to share their darkest secrets. If the secrets could potentially hurt another then it was acknowledged that it was much better to write them or share them without acting upon them. This method aided in addicts cleaning up quicker without unrealistic pressure of perfectionism or blemishless rehabilitation. If any being like Spaniel felt icky emotions to abuse then they were encouraged to share so the dark was known and could be artistically and therapeutically dealt with.

During this New Age, the Tortoise became a leading StoryTeller of the Town and Sacred Keeper of story texts and archives.

Now, any time the Tortoise encounters tourists; We speak with noble essence and grateful kinship acknowledgement:

“My name is Ka-Ki-I-Sil-Ma. Thank you for visiting Our Authentically Sacred and Autonomously Fun Town. Our Town, just like your own, has stories – both wounded and wonderful. We Imagine and Dream you will LISTEN to each One with an Open Nature and Creative Extension…Take what you need, give what you don’t and dearest One, Please, Share this Imaginative True-True Dream back Home with All Our Love-Is-Love ones. Do you have any wounds to share? If so, We Will Listen. We learned a long time ago the value of Courageous and Tender InterdepenDance. As long as We Are. Still. Breathing; We Always Will Be. We Always Will.”

##########################

Hummingverbs Sings: Cover Songs & Original Lyrical Poetry/Songwriting

I have a Dream of Being a Songwriter & Nashville Psychedelic Country/Dance/Pop Rainbow Cowboy.

For any followers interested in checking out the music humming.verbs. creates – both Original Material and a plethora of cover tunes- under the name HourGlass Mandala please visit the SoundCloud link here:

https://soundcloud.app.goo.gl/24asHzh3GKwToRX7A

Coming up next: an original fable humming.verbs has been working on typing up for a while. Stay tuned.

🌈🦚🪶✨🕺🏽💫🌻🦜💓

Touch And Go

Might as well –

Get used to losing you Now

Because sooner or later

You’ll eventually Be gone.

By then the heartache;

Still,

Wretched –

Petrified In

Gigahurtz’ own catch

of loss

Will already have resilient roots

Rejoicing deeply;

Extending upliftingly

Unto Swaying Storytelling

Springs ~

Wings

Flapping Language of Repetitive

Reckonings

A Rapture

Practiced

Within All those Soul*Mate

Years

Of weeping you away unto the vast foreign wildernesses

and French*Kissing you back unto this crowd surfing Spirit Team

Supporting thrusts and bursts of

Human Nature

Wrapped Raw

In Pink flush of Pearlescent

Rosebud

Enveloping with Paternal Arms

the Practice of Exhausted Grief in temporary pleasure

as Preparation Garden for the Surrender of Exhumed Relief in

Impermanence’s Extreme Measure.

Still Will Sting

Letting Go Will already Redeem a slice

of cakewalk easement

That Vile, Sweet Being

Now Gone

That Vital, Fleeting Dream –

New Dawn.

Cabin Fever (circa 1860)

*written in Arroyo Seco on 5/15/2019


Unsettled,

Brittle twig

Alive in the fall

Speak not of seasonal

Action,

A light unto gravity’s pull

Robust,

Breasted savior,

Timid in tepid landing

Alike – in our kindred

Shy – not in potential

Shaken – by our ways gone to sleep

As

baby blue bars

abandoned by the Carpenter

Blow all outside of rudimental

park

near the table

serve, a meal upon Nature’s Benevolent Paw.

A HOT BATH

*Written circa 2005-ish in Nashville apartment before I came out.  I would often sit in the baths and stew with the turmoil of being closeted with unmanifested desires.*

The tub is home. If, but for 30 minutes he sits inside a think tank replaying the past, sweating the future, and soaking up the moments of just being. His mind is New York City. Too many actions at once, all a swirl. Where is that button? The one that maintains a frozen order to the mecca of bees zipping to and from too many promising honey trees. He’s never satisfied. He’s got shackles. He’s got strings and no scissors. The drip of the faucet is a consoling conversation. How sad it is. And the same language falls from his cheeks. The ripples of both parallel universes converge and only disappear to meet the unknown.
Home is where the hurt is, h​ e muses.
I want to stay in this water for the rest of my life​, he decides.
I am a numb ragdoll.
I am just a lifesaver floating in the water.​ Funny that, dead yet helpful somehow, haha.
He sat numb in scalding bathwater. He knew that when he got out, areas of his pale, untanned skin would be a deep flush of pinkish red, like a lobster. Lobster feet up to the ankles. Lobster buttocks. Lobster arms. At the moment, that wasn’t of concern. All that mattered was the void between his ears, between his lungs, between his angels and demons. At the moment, nothing felt good, nothing felt bad. It was all jelly broken down into liquid and nullified by the tempature that gripped his body. He stared forward, sunken to the point of his chin barely dipped in the feverish fluid. He concentrated on the desperate escape of each droplet of water from the faucet. He imagined each drop making a huge sound upon impact. A sound of importance and attention. He imagined it and then the thought flushed as quickly as it began.
He leaned his head back against the white tile that surrounded the tub. He stared at the ceiling. For a moment he wished he could mentally shift the bathtub to the center of the room, perfectly aligned with the naked bulb on the ceiling. The bulb and the young man were both naked. One bright, the other dim. The young man sat up, his body rubbed against the bottom causing the tub to belch an unhappy sound. The young man sighed. Blew his lips into a flubbery vibration and sighed again. To his right his washcloth floated like a dead dove. He slowly reached for it and then draped it over his head. All four corners of cloth spat streams down his head. Over brows. over ears. over eyes. Then he reached up and swept the washcloth in an arc over the bridge of his nose and let the cloth cling there warming his forehead. He imagined the cloth as a glorious rainbow trout jumping over him and frozen in midair on his face. His eyes were closed and in his head he felt light. Was it a headrush? That would be nice. A headrush. Blood flowing again. To change the traffic lights to green so the New York City cells could roar and beep and yell thoughts around block after block in his brain. Typically, the headrush came after he stood up from the boiling baptism. That moment of dizziness always delighted him somehow.
A hot bath was a great escape for him. It stopped time and soaked in the pain, the fury, the dreams, the regrets of life. Typically, he stepped into the tub overloaded in weight. Heavy waves of impending confrontations, to do lists, handcuffed secrets. They all were stirring around in head, heart, mind, soul. Shaken up just like those snow globes. Then with one foot bravely planted in the grip of stinging water and then another and the slow descent of full body contact, the snow began to lose its momentum and flake away to the bottom. It began to disolve like sugar stirred into coffee. Making thoughts sweeter and slowly stalling them.
Questions rattled off as he would dip his cloth in for its first taste of wetness. What am I doing here?

Why am I worthless? When will I come clean with all this shit that keeps tormenting me? Why do I keep on failing to get a foothold on finances and a career? Why am I riding a motorcycle round and round the same small neighborhood? Why am I shy and afraid? What does my past mean? What is my purpose? and then slowly, the water would grip everything in the heat and the whirring motor of question marks puttered out… and all was quiet….all was nothing…. he sat numb in scalding bathwater….contemplating everything and nothing at the same time.

Rainbow Dipper, Pine Cone Flipper

Rainbow Dipper,

Pine Cone Flipper

Best Self

Love Letter

Dropping Boldly

^Upright^

^Upon^

Sledgend’s Fran-tastic 

Frameless Pathway;

of Glittery asphalt;

of Guardian Sprite;

Sprockets Smoothly Engaging

Lucky, 

Charming,

Fearlessly

Fluttering Delight.

Greenest Wavelengths

of HUUUUUUU(e)-D Mind

Of Sync-quinned Soul;

Of Dual Spiritual, Medicinal Flight ~

Full Parole.

Rainbow Dipper,

Pine Cone Flipper’s

Lush Beyond

Love Letters

Licorice’s

Low Cures;

Authentically mine;

Autonomously yours.