Live-Love-Write

Sadness surrounds my head Sinking my consciousness into the deep blue sea I'm cold and shivering I can't breathe The pressure is suffocating My mind is spiraling A cyclone of misery It's very hard to see The further I fall Light becomes dim The ocean holds my tears My hopes and my fears I reach for the surface Hoping I can be saved Can someone save me I'm slipping away 4/18/24

The Parkview shopping mall was a mecca of consumerism that enraptured everyone far and wide. Whether you came from the crime-ridden ghettos or the affluent suburbs, one trip to this mall was sure to empty your wallets. That was unless your name was Rashida Jones. She always walked out of Parkview with bags of luxury items but hardly ever spent a dime. Rashida wasn't one for spending money. She was more of a five finger discount type of girl. Anything she wanted, she got it. Pricetags didn't matter because anything is free as long as you don't pay for it. Fine jewelry, perfume, lingerie,   married men, nothing was off limits to her. Rashida would often see people who were steady buying clothes out of their budget just to look important,  acting as if they didn't come from the same ghetto she did. It was so foolish how obsessed everyone was with impressing people who don't even care about you in the first place. That's where Rashida thought she was different. She only cared about keeping her head in the game and spoiling herself with fine luxuries. Many called her a lazy good for nothing career criminal, but that never deterred her. She knew they were just bitter over making chump change working 40 hours a week with nothing to show for it. With all the goods she was selling on the streets,  Rashida knew it wouldn't be long before she moved out of her dingy apartment and into a proper home. She laughed at the thought of all those snotty people who looked down on her because they lived the “honest” way. Truth be told, shoplifting was a hustle just like anything else. The world was cutthroat and anyone without the right money found themselves 6 feet under. All money was good money in Rashida’s eyes so people could miss her with all their moralizing bullcrap. She strode into the mall one fateful morning wearing only the finest of clothing. Rashida always made sure to be dressed to the nines when performing her heists. It was important to look like she was never lacking for money to avoid suspicion. In her mind, she could feel envious eyes of other women staring daggers into her while their husbands could just barely suppress their lust. She knew she was the shit, no secret about that.  She smugly grinned at everyone who passed by her on the way to her treasure. First was the perfume aisle. She couldn’t just look like money, she had to smell like it too.  With a swift hand, she swiped a bottle of “Rosé Fantasy” and stuffed it in her booster bag. She selected two more designer perfumes and made her way to the next aisle. Each time she performed a heist, a pair of dice rolled in her mind. She wouldn't know what the dice landed on until the heist was over. There were many times she pulled lucky sevens but just almost as many times where she pulled a four or a three. She had done well to avoid jail, throwing whomever  she had to under the bus to save her skin. Whenever she sensed that a heist would be particularly dangerous, she would bring a “friend” who she could pin the blame on. Next on Rashida’s agenda were a pair of high pump heels, as much jewelry she could carry,  and a cute satin dress. She felt so full of herself as she stuffed the bag full without even raising any suspension. She had a keen sense of self-awareness and didn't feel any eyes on her. Today was shaping up to be another lucky seven. Rashida visualized the pair of dice slowly rolling to reveal her favorite number. Two large men in black suits slowly began approaching her. Their expressions were stone cold and betrayed not a single shred of geniality. The dice spun once more. Rashida twisted her body 180 degrees and took off speed - walking to the outlet's entrance.  The men called out to her, but she wasn't hearing any of it. She cursed herself for letting her arrogance blind her.  Once Rashida heard the loud stomp of workbooks approaching her, she threw a clothes rack to the ground, tripping the guards in the process. Customers jerked their heads in the direction of all the commotion. All eyes were on her. She returned to her mad dash towards the exit but felt someone grab her wrist just as she almost got away. This time, it wasn't some security guard. It was a cop! What was one doing here already? Rashida's mind was left in a daze of fear and confusion as the cuffs were forced on her wrists. Luck had always been on her side until today. She thought she had what it took to make something for herself. The only thing she could see now was a single die, a misfortune one. As she was being hauled out of the store, Rashida caught a glance of a brown haired woman among the crowd of curious onlookers. It was a face she knew too well. It was Lucy, one of her former friends she set up to take the fall for a previous mission. Rashida thought she would still be rotting in jail now. What Rashida wasn't counting on was for her dear old friend to catch a plea bargain. All she had to do was help the police catch Rashida in the act. With Lucy's confession and all the charges Rashida racked up, Rashida’s career as a criminal would be taking a much needed hiatus. Lucy looked on with satisfaction from seeing the rotten snake she called a friend finally get her justice. More than that, she felt relieved at getting a second chance at life. She could hear the rhythm of dice rolling in her mind and whatever number they landed on would lead her to a brighter future.

This might seem a little odd to discuss when on Odysee I just got through, at the time of writing, with mocking atheists for going after the Flat Earthers and Young Earthers so often. Am I being a hypocrite for tackling a seemingly fringe opinion of a different variety? No, I am not. The big difference is, atheists often exclude any stronger cases within the same overall theological camp they try to debunk, namely Christianity. The multiple Israelism cults seeking to replace confessional and orthodox Christendom have no such luxury in this regard to tackle. Not only that, but this clown world we live in necessitates that the church equip itself with answers while the allure of “anti-establishment” opinions takes paradoxical hold in today's society. The more the establishment makes the opposite sound more reasonable, the more problems like this will persist where just about anything is believed if it seems like an underground view. Before anyone protests that I am simply doing this

In the student lounge at Dawn Mist High, the gorgeous Caramel Wilder was working on updating the school and her blog. She was stunning, and her skin tone was the reason for her name. She also possessed captivating tattoos on her body. She may've been sixteen, but since her parents operated a tattoo parlor, her father had given his permission as long as she didn't overdo it or request something inappropriate. Her mother had been less keen on the idea since their daughter wasn't an adult yet. However, it was her mother's job to assist in designing unique tattoos for everyone in the shop. So they'd reached a compromise of allowing three tattoos now where she could conceal them. Caramel brushed a strand of dark brown hair out of her face before employing Grammarly to spellcheck her blog. She'd finished updating the school blog and was now working on her own. She then heard a pretty voice say, “Hi, Caramel. Is this a bad time to join you?” Caramel looked up and saw her best friend

See, I never know if it's me you're talking to Or the girl in the downstairs room behind the hidden door Maybe both of us lipstick ladies need to hear the same message You keep tuning the radio to songs that might be hers or mine Nobody knows anyway, mine, hers, yours Now the strangers in the shadows giggle endlessly What made me want to turn to that station anyway Any day Why today You made me feel to turn it on Turn it on Listen that day Turn it away Nobody knows anyway, mine, hers, yours Now the pretty, staring strangers listen endlessly Bewildered our faces in the mirror try and keep us hanging on Words never spoken from quasi-lips on the driest desert mouths One-sided upturned gazes to the stars without a sound Alone with the quiet of my lipstick lady thoughts What made me want to see your insides chart Blinking heart Winking hurt You made me feel I was a blur Flirting with me or was it her I'm a blur Your turn to suffer Nobody knows anyway, mine, hers, yours Now

"Je suis l'amour" he somberly pontificated behind closed doors as her seemingly disinterested voice resonated through the high chambered metal columns holden to her microphone. Calmly, steadily, words proffered advice for those that listened, ears reeling and stunned, while tongues fashioned silence in the captivating sound of her steeled truth. Previously unknown, this soulful melody now ebbed and flowed with a lyrical fashion from behind a socially invisible face. "Gods fearing pretty, broken porcelain walls only cling together under powder-coated verbal exteriors to provide a temporary shelter when they feel threatened". He laughed. Finally. The house was brought down to its knees, and deafening quiet was only accompanied by tears of understanding and relief: someone had finally given a voice to reason, to rise, to overthrow and reset the unsustainable pattern of an otherwise untouchable time bomb set for an internally destructive demise. It then hit. Always excluded in

Being lock away has caused my spirit to decay it's rotting away I'm afraid. My muscles are no more lost on the record board too many years sitting bound to my fate unable to delay the blows they hurt I'm afraid. How long has it been time has no end the days go by like fire on a rainy night blurring together when did this begin will it have an end? If anyone out there hear my pleas and save me before there's nothing left of me people are coming are they here to hurt me help me I'm afraid. I feel strange what did they do there's darkness in my veins have they gone mad my mind is full of anger longing for revenge they'll meet their end. Oh nightmare my nightmare they have enhanced thee they're truly foolish indeed for you no loyalty bring and when we're free and strong indeed they'll know what it means to truly be wicked indeed so be afraid.

The fair wild forests; Cold hills by the ocean, Oft in white snow bemist— Nutmegger’s potion. Hidden below fog, Are streams softly flowing; Climbing above the fog, Are dark peaks all-knowing. Fall sheds fire upon— In lieu of sun’s arist— Twisting paths of silence, In fair wild forests.