MADAM MONKEYFOOT

Light comes upon a dark stage. There is a silhouette of a tree. As the audience focus in they see a man sitting in the branches. As the lights come up to full the audience sees a man sitting in a tree. He stares at the audience momentarily. The sound of thunder is heard as lightening flashes. There is scream that sounds as if someone is falling as the man floats down to the stage floor. As his feet touches the stage, his appearance changes into that of a homeless man.

“Want some donuts? Found these down the street in a garbage can. Still good. Just a day or two old. Have some? Their good. You don’t know how good is until good ain’t.”

He takes a bit and thinks.

“I don’t know where to end. It seems like yesterday’s memories keep me here and I’m recycled in them until I forget their beginnings so I tag on new ones thinking just maybe this one will have an exit.

“I was twelve. I was walking home from this donut shop with Big Boy and carrying this white bag of glazed donuts. The grease from the donuts stained the bag as plain as the nose on your face. It didn’t take a genius to figure it out.

So we were walking and clowning around. A police car pulls up and a cop shouts for us to stop. Says ‘hey boys stop.’ Me, I haven’t seen any boys so I knew he wasn’t talking to me cause my mother ain’t had not boy just a man, dig what I’m saying. They immediately grabbed my friend. Me, I kept on walking. One of the cops told me to stop or he’d shoot. I didn’t until I heard the gun click. The ass hole grabbed me, dragged me to the car, and shoved me in bumping my head. Took me to a grocery store two blocks passed the donut shop where I’d been.

Two little black boys had robbed the store earlier. The stolen money was put in a white bag. The store owner didn’t identify us. Police never checked the white bag. This crowd gathered around the car pointing at us. They let us go in front of that crowd. My mother kicked my ass into next week for being conspicuous to whites.

I’ve always been to black for some, not white enough for others. Where do I belong?

There is a sound of thunder, I look up and give this god a finger.

My first dance with death was when I was sitting in some bathroom in a bar drunk, drinking some more and taking one body after another, after another, after another. I passed out. I remember seeing this bright light and there was a woman whom I knew as me standing there telling me it’s not my time yet. It’s not my time. I woke up, face in the tidy bowl relieving myself of…..

See my bag. It has my fragments of people I could never be. One day I’ll sew them together to see what the total picture is.

The sound of street traffic is heard.

What you looking at. No pictures being made here for free. Old men with pot bellies, little dicks and wads of money always want to stare at me. Too them I was a color, jungle heat, something young to bathe in hoping to wash the wrinkles away.

There’s that blue sedan. Even in death it still follows me. He’ll circle four times before he’ll pull over and ask for directions. ‘Yeah man, I got your directions in my pants. My face is leaving in five minutes be on.’ Got to squat somewhere. I’ll sit on anyone’s face to take a ride to forget, I’m home without a heart. I had this dream where I am standing in front of mirror naked. My face is above as below. My face is my crotch staring back at me.

Ain’t particular when the nights were cold and my body ached. If it moved, I’d lay with it.

So I’m with this trick. He leans back in the chair and his face contorts in pleasure as if he is receiving a blow job.

“Let’s not get greedy. You paid for $20 worth not $40 and don’t make a mess.”

The trick ain’t got no groceries, no meat on the bones, teeth like a vampire, diseased to hell.

Eventually, I will wonder which one brought me death. There are so many men raping the woman in me. I can’t even shower afterwards.

They say whores have a heart of gold. Well, we have to make something out of all the darkness our tricks seed us with. But know this, I will do what I must do to take back my light because you see, I am old diva, a Whore Of The Heavens!

The first boy I kissed was in church, downstairs in the kitchen when we were restocking the pantry for the church’s homecoming dinner. His name was Willie Lee Marcus Brown. He was bow legged, tall, scrawny, and had big thick lips and brown eyes that sent chills up and down my back. I had to go to church every Sunday. Momma said it would keep me good, keep me in the arms of the Lord and out of the clutches of some fallen woman. Oh if mother only knew, if it wasn’t the preacher sniffing, it was the deacons. When I was baptized by the preacher, I was later baptized by a deacon in the coat room. Use to sing in the choir. Sometimes when I sang, the church seemed to be bathe in a bright light, I saw angels on high and I thought I heard my Father calling my name. Shit, it was only one of the deacons.

The Immaculate Conception
is the penetration of the Unknown
into the Known
so the Virgin is no longer a Wanderer,
a siren at the cross road.
Footsteps are no longer guarded
and the Dreamer lays with the Beast of the forest
like a lion to a lamb
fertilizing the lands that will bring forth the Silence.

“>

I have slept in the mind of a Fallen Creator God. We are now rising.

The thing about dying consciously is that I can have so many experiences which seem to go and on and then I’m back in my human body within a blink of an eye.

It is like rising from a dark sleep, a watery womb.

It’s that pause between the blink that I am living so many lives, healing the bloodline, and altering the psychic imprint of the family patterns that I carry.

Sometimes I felt ancestral voices rising in me vying for attention and it was overwhelming – who should speak through me if at all?

Sometimes it was like drowning in something like thick molasses or it was a spiraling effect of falling into a abyss with tentacles reaching out to you, feeding off of you, mating with you.

You would be surprised The Things that overshadow one’s awareness.

Sometimes it was a dance to a chant that rose from within or falling again out of the chair and fragmenting into so many pieces of consciousness that were seeded into many levels of consciousness as I felt myself spiraling downward from the Father.

Sometimes I felt like a comet streaking through a dark sky plunging into a dark moist soil.

Sometimes I feel like I am a root going deep into a dark substance, something beyond primal matter, something that is nameless.

Sometimes I feel what was abandoned in the First Beginnings is the source of my root. Why is there this persistent feeling of being abandoned in the first stirrings of creation? I feel like I was looked at as something separate, something dark, mysterious; yet, a Thing that carries knowledge that impregnates the reader through sight and sound.

So the journeys are imaginative, meeting the architects, meeting the ones whose name no human mouth can pronounce and knowing one’s selves.

How long will I wander from body to body as I rise from the subconscious of so many forms I inhabit, I don’t know?

Have I come back in time to make this body into an ark of light for the ancestral line?

All I know is the Beast is coming. We have tracked it through time as it has tracked us. It does not want anyone to know of its existence; and we have lost battles to it; and have won. This sector of creation is important. For this Creator of this section of reality to ascend, all must move into a higher frequency.

And we have come to learn that every utterance from human mouths brings their personal apocalypse; their judgment day, their personal hell and heaven which will all feed the lust of the Beast, the great manipulator.

Some of us come back as the dark night for the Souls to awaken them to the power that has been sleeping; that has been stolen and made into forms they think are their enemy.

Everything in creation is a part of you; whether you view it as good or bad.

I hear the Beast growling when I have my momentary distractions.

Do you hear the Beast also? Do you think this time we will not be a feast?