Wednesday, May 21, 2008

updates, musings, rants and more of the same

I haven't blogged for awhile... I've been doing
more activities and my jewelry in my spare time.
But, I'll catch up here.

First, I was happy that David Cook won American Idol.
That other David didn't do it for me. In fact, I had a
creepy vibe from him. Something spiritually
unsettling about him... I got cult vibes, don't ask
me why, and I just didn't like his voice. I guess I
will still watch Idol next season. It seemed like they
pimped the karaoke kid all season, and if mediocrity
was what they were selling, after two seasons of
who I considered pretty mediocre winners, another
dismal ending would seal the deal for me. As it is,
I barely watched after Carly left and David A. stayed.

The big news for us today was that Hillary Rodham
Clinton came to my condo, and was here this afternoon.
It's not the first time she's come to our place. My mom
met her in the 90s when she came. I was thrilled when
we learned yesterday that Hillary was coming, but,
from 7am, there was a dizzying mob of over 60s
waiting outside, like a geriatric rock concert. Between
them and the crush of of Secret Service, not to mention
90 degree heat with 100% humidity, I didn't have the
fortitude to compete with those grannies. I didn't stand
a chance, but, it was somewhat comforting knowing
she was walking distance across the courtyard in
our large clubhouse auditorium.

I love Hillary, and my disappointment in the Muslim's
overwhelming sweep has put me in the worst mood.
I don't watch the news. When I see him, and his
pit bull sourpuss wife, I feel glad that Jesus is coming
soon and my hope for this world is gone. I don't think
the Muslim can win, but, even if he does, Jesus said
that our hope is not in this world.

I know I'm inconsistent, because if Hillary by some
miracle wins the popular vote and then secures
the delegates needed, I'd be over the moon, and
I'd definitely be campaigning for her.

Still, I was thrilled that our country's most illustrious
female leader was so near today, even though I
would have cherished the opportunity to meet her.

It's funny though. I met my sister-in-law for lunch
and when I got home, a Secret Service guy, with
a toolbox, was coming from my floor, and he was
startled and grim when we came face to face. I
know he was Secret Service, not a repairman, because,
well, I just know. I seriously wondered if I am on
the SS radar because of my family's role in
Communist Russia? My computer is filled with
ostensibly subversive material, not because I'm
a Soviet, but, because, well, it's my family.
I can't help it if my grandfather was a Russian
spy, or his brother killed the Tsar. There's a
part of me that cherishes that anti-hero thing,
even though I know they were as much a
part of the world Illuminati thing as the
Royals. Still, the Antichrist is Caesar, and
it's symbolically cool to me that my blood
was part of offing the last Caesar.

Maybe that's not a PC way to think, since the
Romanov's have become retro-saints. People
who glamorize them fail to realize how much
suffering they caused. Not that my grandfather,
or his family were saints. They were all masons
and conspirators. Black on black.

These days I am trying to focus more on my
dad's Levi blood. His grandfather was still
part of the rabbinical order, and while his
parents didn't impart any Torah to him, he
has a true spiritual and mystical nature that
I believe is the legacy of being a Levi.

Mary, mother of Jesus, was part-Levi. Her
mother was Levi. We learn this in Luke 1.
Elisabeth was Mary's cousin, and she was
a daughter of Levi, married to a Levitical
priest. That means Mary's mother was Levi.
Her father was Judah, with lineage to King

I'm not saying all this to puff up.. OK, well,
maybe I am. Everyone feels some pride in
family lines, and I won't apologize that I find
my lineage fascinating. My dad's line of rabbis
and my mom's line of Marxists and spies.
It defines me every bit as my hazel eyes and
auburn hair.

My sister-in-law and I have been like sisters
all our lives. She started going out with my
brother when we all were in camp, and she
was my counselor. She looked just like
Britney Spears looked as a teenager. In fact,
she was a beauty pageant winner, Miss
West Chester, and ran for Miss Pennsylvania.
She was my star and idol.

She was just told that she has a suspicious
lump in her breast, and goes for a biopsy
on Tuesday. I pray to the LORD for her to
have the grace to endure the horror of
cancer, if it is God's will to allow her to have
this terrible disease. I lost my ma to breast
cancer, and I will die inside if I lose my
only sister. I still pray that by the Lord's
infinitely merciful miracles, she will learn
the lump is benign. The fact that the doctors
feel pessimistic has me very down. I don't
know how I could possibly cope with her
being that sick.

My brother is very sick as well. I think he has
a chronic encephalitis related to a horrible
Herpes Simplex I infection that took hold when
he had leukemia and was immunosuppressed.
He won't go to a doctor, and subsequently,
has just been going downhill, having seizures,
periods of delirium and dreadful pain.

It's very hard to face the mortality of my loved
ones. My dad is in relatively good health, but,
in his 80s, even though he looks 60, he shows
signs of going into that late autumn of his life.
It's funny, though, how good he looks. Yesterday,
a very attractive woman in her mid 50s asked
him out to dinner. She picked him up at the
supermarket, asking him if his wife had a good
recipe for something they were looking at.
When he said he was a widower, she feigned
horror, but, then told him she's noticed him
around and would love to go out with him.

He only has a few odd grey hairs. I have more
grey. He is amazing. I told him that contrary to
how Hollywood depicted Moses, with white hair
and looking 120, that in his 80s, like him, he
was given the commission to lead the children
of Israel into the Promised Land, and he didn't
have grey hair, nor did his shoes and clothing
age either. With God, nothing is impossible.

You would never guess my dad is in his late
80s. It's mystical to me. We have a relatively
benign blood disease, that affects clotting, but,
I've been told since I was 18, that if I don't
die from trauma, this blood disorder will keep
me young. I was even sent to the Mayo clinic
for them to use me in a study they were doing.
The doctor conducting the study said that
the blood disorder may be a mutation that's
beneficial. As a clotting disorder, in the
mild hemophilia category, the lack of
stickiness in the blood, also inhibits tumors
and prevents all heart disease. One doctor
called it the fountain of youth.

There's so much mystery in this bloodline.
Not that I want to dwell on the flesh, but,
it thrills me that our bloodline goes back
to my heroes in the Bible. Why shouldn't
I feel blessed, even though that doesn't
guarantee anything more than a physical
link to our LORD. Christ told my ancestors
that God can make stones children of
Abraham, so not to be cocky about it...
In the Spirit, I am only a child of God through
the blood of Jesus Christ, my Savior, not
through any mystical heritage in my genes.


When you have low self-esteem, like I do,
it's nice to feel double-y blessed by feeling
closer to Christ through his blood kin, and
my own. Not that I'm the blood of Christ,
God forbid I imply that. But, I could have
blood ties to Mary as a half-Levite, and
Moses, for sure. That ain't chopped liver.

Oh well. I'm as boring as ever, but, I thought
I'd update the blog.

It's soooooooooooooooooo hot in Florida.
I think there may be something to this
global warming after all. I am very stricken
in my heart knowing about all the suffering
in the world lately, between earthquakes
and cyclones.

Much of my obsession lately has been towards
learning and praying about the poor people
in the African nations. OMG, from the Congo,
Darfur, to South Africa, the suffering, starvation,
tyranny and genocide is appalling. God has put
it in my heart to bleed for these poor souls.
I wish there was something I could personally
do to contribute to even one woman and child's
life in the Congo or Darfur, other than contribute
money. The problem with money is that we're
not convinced the money ever gets to the
poor people who are dying. The ones in control
take the money, using it to buy more weapons
and persecuting the people we feel so sorry for.

Why is this happening to these people? Why
can't we stop the monsters from being in
control and terrorizing those gentle women
and children being raped, tortured, starved
and persecuted? When I think of the cruelty
they're subjected to, it exceeds the bestial
monstrosity of the Nazis. That's what is
truly terrifying.

My whole life was spent pondering the Nazis,
and I knew that the Antichrist was a figure of
that demonic entity in Hitler, being empowered
by a principality. I know intellectually that the
Antichrist is worse than Hitler, and I see signs
of this everywhere, especially when not turning
a blind eye to the horrendous suffering and
genocide in the nations of Africa. Literally
all of them are imploding under the greatest
evil imaginable.

All I can do is pray for them, and I do pray.
I urge every person who prays to keep them in
daily prayer. Where evil abounds, grace more so
abounds. Through this unspeakable horror,
there are valiant saints being formed, the likes
of which I am not worthy to lace their shoes.

I also feel grieved by the suffering in China
and Burma, but, China also scares me. I know
I have a drop of Chinese ancestry, on my
mom's side, but, my mom's family were
rather scary when you think of it. The army
of Armageddon always seemed to me to
be representative of the way China will
impact the end of days. We'll see. I don't
trust them.

Other than being devastated at Hillary's
slim chances at overcoming the surge from
the Muslim candidate, I don't really get too
worked up about him anymore. I think he
is an ignoble and controlled shill, like
the proverbial Manchurian candidate.
He fits the profile of one theory of the
Antichrist, as well, so, in a way, it's still
reassuring that if he somehow becomes
President, the clock starts, and we'll
get off this cooked planet in 4 years.

I am very ready for the return of our LORD
and if it takes suffering through the tribulation
of wars, rumors of war, earthquakes in divers
places, and reaping the whirlwind, then, at
least there's that rainbow at the climax of
the cataclysmic storm. Unless a kernel of
corn dies and falls to the ground....

In death there is rebirth, and so it goes.

OK, I'm all over the place, as usual.

Right now, I'm doing a very fulfilling and
rewarding study in Psalms which has blessed
me. I forgot how cleansing Psalms are. They
strengthen the weak spirit and heart. They
fill me with passion and love.

Have I mentioned lately how much I adore
Jesus Christ? I love him so much that when
I think of him, I want him so badly that I
close my eyes until I see little fireflies.

I'll try to blog now that I've found my way
back. :-D

- shell

Sunday, May 4, 2008

The Nine Sisters

This is a poem i just wrote. I know it's
I hear in rap meter. I wish I wouldn't. It
makes me rhyme too much... anyway...

There is a crack in the prison door,
and those doing time can hear,
The music which makes the wind chime,
The music of ethereal beings.

In the interminable silent night
The insomniac seeks the elusive dream...

Men devise fanciful schemes,
They call themselves geniuses.
The blind believe they hear music in their minds,
The deaf believe they can see.

While time connects men to demons,
Their clubs, their lusts are legion.
Their lofty state, the reprobates
In the Hellfire Lodge they find their reason.

George Washington thrust his hand in vest.
Ben Franklin's key flew up to touch the demon.
Bringing fire down he became renowned,
Thank the Nine Sisters for the stormy season

Lenin lodged with the satyrs too,
Lennon knew, but he was not amused.
John Kennedy tripped and fell.
They're all in that Lodge in Hell.

Now we fly at lightening speed.
Gates opened the door to Hell indeed.
And the masters are satiated by lust...
They need pills to adjust,
They are even bored with greed.

While the beUteefull beyotches starve to show
off their bones,
The children of the world eat dirt to
ease their moans.

In the Congo the beasts devour living flesh,
The pumping hearts of their victims.
In the war rooms they play chess.
In the board rooms they devour souls and
concoct increasing misery.
The whole place, the whole race is a living mess.

The strings are aligned in perfect harmony.
The Angels are waiting to perform.
Gabriel's lips are pursed and ready to blow
accompanying the Archangel's bow.

The forsaken dreams of a place of rest,
The hungry dream of being fed while
the powerful dance on the soon to be dead.
Laughing and puffing at their success!

All the meager plans of mice and men
All the spiteful games of the eternally fallen,
And the virtue of men whose crown was woman
has been taken away by an evil wind.

The remnant is few but strength is from God.
May He shine His Light from on High.
May there still still be a little time.

God is merciful, for in Christ did he devise
a way for our pitiful race to survive.
Soon the shining city of God will arrive.
Like a diamond cube in the dusky sky.

The clubs of damnation and the music of abomination
will no longer hold the souls and minds of the meek.
We will hear a new sound, and peace will abound.
We will soon start a new week.

The nine sisters be damned. The satyrs be bound.
The men's clubs will no longer found.
The infernal noise of the bad boyz will be brought down.
Peace and joy will be the music's sound.
PRAISE to the morning star we rejoice.
PRAISE to GOD forever the echoing voices.

Friday, May 2, 2008

The May Queen

          This is one of my favorite
          poems of Lord Alfred Tennyson.
          It is layered in so many delicacies,
          and crowned with salvation. Rich
          in metaphor and allegory, it delivers
          a rich reward.

          THE MAY QUEEN

    You must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear;
    To-morrow ’ill be the happiest time of all the glad New-year;
    Of all the glad New-year, mother, the maddest merriest day,
    For I’m to be Queen o’ the May, mother, I’m to be Queen o’ the May.

    There’s many a black, black eye, they say, but none so bright as mine;
    There’s Margaret and Mary, there’s Kate and Caroline;
    But none so fair as little Alice in all the land they say,
    So I’m to be Queen o’ the May, mother, I’m to be Queen o’ the May.

    I sleep so sound all night, mother, that I shall never wake,
    If you do not call me loud when the day begins to break;
    But I must gather knots of flowers, and buds and garlands gay,
    For I’m to be Queen o’ the May, mother, I’m to be Queen o’ the May.

    As I came up the valley whom think ye should I see
    But Robin leaning on the bridge beneath the hazel-tree?
    He thought of that sharp look, mother, I gave him yesterday,
    But I’m to be Queen o’ the May, mother, I’m to be Queen o’ the May.

    He thought I was a ghost, mother, for I was all in white,
    And I ran by him without speaking, like a flash of light.
    They call me cruel-hearted, but I care not what they say,
    For I’m to be Queen o’ the May, mother, I’m to be Queen o’ the May.

    They say he’s dying all for love, but that can never be;
    They say his heart is breaking, mother–what is that to me?
    There’s many a bolder lad ’ill woo me any summer day,
    And I’m to be Queen o’ the May, mother, I’m to be Queen o’ the May.

    Little Effie shall go with me to-morrow to the green,
    And you’ll be there, too, mother, to see me made the Queen;
    For the shepherd lads on every side ’ill come from far away,
    And I’m to be Queen o’ the May, mother, I’m to be Queen o’ the May.

    The honeysuckle round the porch has woven its wavy bowers,
    And by the meadow-trenches blow the faint sweet cuckoo-flowers;
    And the wild marsh-marigold shines like fire in swamps and hollows gray,
    And I’m to be Queen o’ the May, mother, I’m to be Queen o’ the May.

    The night-winds come and go, mother, upon the meadow-grass,
    And the happy stars above them seem to brighten as they pass;
    There will not be a drop of rain the whole of the livelong day,
    And I’m to be Queen o’ the May, mother, I’m to be Queen o’ the May.

    All the valley, mother, ’ill be fresh and green and still,
    And the cowslip and the crowfoot are over all the hill,
    And the rivulet in the flowery dale ’ill merrily glance and play,
    For I’m to be Queen o’ the May, mother, I’m to be Queen o’ the May.

    So you must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear,
    To-morrow ’ill be the happiest time of all the glad New-year;
    To-morrow ’ill be of all the year the maddest merriest day,
    For I’m to be Queen o’ the May, mother, I’m to be Queen o’ the May.

            NEW-YEAR’S EVE

    If you’re waking call me early, call me early, mother dear,
    For I would see the sun rise upon the glad New-year.
    It is the last New-year that I shall ever see,
    Then you may lay me low i’ the mould and think no more of me.

    To-night I saw the sun set; he set and left behind
    The good old year, the dear old time, and all my peace of mind;
    And the New-year’s coming up, mother, but I shall never see
    The blossom on the blackthorn, the leaf upon the tree.

    Last May we made a crown of flowers; we had a merry day;
    Beneath the hawthorn on the green they made me Queen of May;
    And we danced about the may-pole and in the hazel copse,
    Till Charles’s Wain came out above the tall white chimney-tops.

    There’s not a flower on all the hills; the frost is on the pane.
    I only wish to live till the snowdrops come again;
    I wish the snow would melt and the sun come out on high;
    I long to see a flower so before the day I die.

    The building rook’ll caw from the windy tall elm-tree,
    And the tufted plover pipe along the fallow lea,
    And the swallow ’ill come back again with summer o’er the wave,
    But I shall lie alone, mother, within the mouldering grave.

    Upon the chancel-casement, and upon that grave of mine,
    In the early early morning the summer sun ’ill shine,
    Before the red cock crows from the farm upon the hill,
    When you are warm-asleep, mother, and all the world is still.

    When the flowers come again, mother, beneath the waning light
    You’ll never see me more in the long gray fields at night;
    When from the dry dark wold the summer airs blow cool
    On the oat-grass and the sword-grass, and the bulrush in the pool.

    You’ll bury me, my mother, just beneath the hawthorn shade,
    And you’ll come sometimes and see me where I am lowly laid.
    I shall not forget you, mother, I shall hear you when you pass,
    With your feet above my head in the long and pleasant grass.

    I have been wild and wayward, but you’ll forgive me now;
    You’ll kiss me, my own mother, and forgive me ere I go;
    Nay, nay, you must not weep, nor let your grief be wild;
    You should not fret for me, mother, you have another child.

    If I can I’ll come again, mother, from out my resting-place;
    Tho’ you’ll not see me, mother, I shall look upon your face;
    Tho’ I cannot speak a work, I shall harken what you say,
    And be often, often with you when you think I’m far away.

    Good-night, good-night, when I have said good-night for evermore,
    And you see me carried out from the threshold of the door,
    Don’t let Effie come to see me till my grave be growing green.
    She’ll be a better child to you than ever I have been.

    She’ll find my garden-tools upon the granary floor.
    Let her take ’em, they are hers; I shall never garden more;
    But tell her, when I’m gone, to train the rosebush that I set
    About the parlor-window and the box of mignonette.

    Good-night, sweet mother; call me before the day is born.
    All night I lie awake, but I fall asleep at morn;
    But I would see the sun rise upon the glad New-year,
    So, if you’re waking, call me, call me early, mother dear.


    I thought to pass away before, and yet alive I am;
    And in the fields all round I hear the bleating of the lamb.
    How sadly, I remember, rose the morning of the year!
    To die before the snowdrop came, and now the violet’s here.

    O, sweet is the new violet, that comes beneath the skies,
    And sweeter is the young lamb’s voice to me that cannot rise,
    And sweet is all the land about, and all the flowers that blow,
    And sweeter far is death than life to me that long to go.

    It seem’d so hard at first, mother, to leave the blessed sun.
    And now it seems as hard to stay, and yet His will be done!
    But still I think it can’t be long before I find release;
    And that good man, the clergyman, has told me words of peace.

    O, blessings on his kindly voice and on his silver hair!
    And blessings on his whole life long, until he meet me there!
    O, blessings on his kindly heart and on his silver head!
    A thousand times I blest him, as he knelt beside my bed.

    He taught me all the mercy, for he show’d me all the sin.
    Now, tho’ my lamp was lighted late, there’s One will let me in;
    Nor would I now be well, mother, again, if that could be,
    For my desire is but to pass to Him that died for me.

    I did not hear the dog howl, mother, or the death-watch beat,
    There came a sweeter token when the night and morning meet;
    But sit beside my bed, mother, and put your hand in mine,
    And Effie on the other side, and I will tell the sign.

    All in the wild March-morning I heard the angels call;
    It was when the moon was setting, and the dark was over all;
    The trees began to whisper, and the wind began to roll,
    And in the wild March-morning I heard them call my soul.

    For lying broad awake I thought of you and Effie dear;
    I saw you sitting in the house, and I no longer here;
    With all my strength I pray’d for both, and so I felt resign’d,
    And up the valley came a swell of music on the wind.

    I thought that it was fancy, and I listen’d in my bed,
    And then did something speak to me–I know not what was said;
    For great delight and shuddering took hold of all my mind,
    And up the valley came again the music on the wind.

    But you were sleeping; and I said, ‘It’s not for them, it’s mine.’
    And if it come three times, I thought, I take it for a sign.
    And once again it came, and close beside the window-bars,
    Then seem’d to go right up to heaven and die among the stars.

    So now I think my time is near. I trust it is. I know
    The blessed music went that way my soul will have to go.
    And for myself, indeed, I care not if I go to-day;
    But, Effie, you must comfort her when I am past away.

    And say to Robin a kind word, and tell him not to fret;
    There’s many a worthier than I, would make him happy yet.
    If I had lived–I cannot tell–I might have been his wife;
    But all these things have ceased to be, with my desire of life.

    O, look! the sun begins to rise, the heavens are in a glow;
    He shines upon a hundred fields, and all of them I know.
    And there I move no longer now, and there his light may shine–
    Wild flowers in the valley for other hands than mine.

    O, sweet and strange it seems to me, that ere this day is done
    The voice, that now is speaking, may be beyond the sun–
    For ever and for ever with those just souls and true–
    And what is life, that we should moan? why make we such ado?

    For ever and for ever, all in a blessed home–
    And there to wait a little while till you and Effie come–
    To lie within the light of God, as I lie upon your breast–
    And the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest.