Capturing a Soul (a story)

Capturing a Soul

I was going about my life, helping my mama with a bit of gardening. Daddy and Ismael were out in the field. Walking behind the horses and plow. Thinking about the lovely dinner we’d be having soon. We’d been baking all day and the pastor and his family were coming to break bread with us.

I had no expectations that today would be my last day. I had the world around me and the love of God ad my family all about. I was such an innocent. But how could I know that the stories were all true?

How could I know that having your picture taken could steal your soul?

In one second, a car drove slowly up the farm lane. Heading toward us. My mama and me. And in the next we were in the ether. Watching our bodies crumple to the ground. Waiting there to be found by daddy and Ismael. Waiting to see the shock on their faces.

They thought they were coming back to a good evening of prayer and food. What could have been better?

But today half of their family was forever gone, with no explanation. No way of getting one either.

The only ones who knew were the strangers in the car, who thought they could do whatever they wanted. Without thought. On our family farm.

In a moment they had taken our eternity from us. We were stuck in the ether forever.

how to be a spy – part 2

how to be a spy – part 2


I’m still chipping away at Burn Notice , and have seen Alias and La Femme Nikita , and have wondered:

how a spy collects their intel.

I’d say the biggest way is to imbed your people in places where they will overhear the stuff they need to. And be there long enough that people start seeing you as the furniture, basically. Then they’ll talk in front of you and you can keep a diary or log for your superiors.

Where could you work? As a janitor, reception staff, or as a waiter in bars, restaurants near offices where people in the upper realms of the entity you’re watching are likely to socialize.

Would you need special training? You’d need good memory skills: names, faces, and what you overhear at least. Which a lot of people who work in service industries have de rigeur. Have you ever gone back to a bar and had what you ordered your first time there waiting for you? Or at least they knew your name and what you ordered, whether they were sure enough yet that you would actually order it again? It often happens to me!

And if you want to know their secrets, so you can blackmail them, the sex industry is a good venue. If they aren’t directly tied to gangs, drugs and guns, they know where they are! They have their fingers on the pulses, so to speak.

If the place is high on tourism dollars, the hotel reception desk is also a great source of intel. Of local “colour”. As well as the local taxis and limos. A lot of the regular drivers know within the block where anything you want to find is. And only the new guy doesn’t. The drivers also have that same type of memory as service staff do. Names, faces, where you usually go when you ride with them. When travelling, they can be your best friend or your worst enemy. They are hooked up enough to local crime that the wrong ride can get you kidnapped.

So, much as you may like to think it’s all about the sex and power shifts of TV fame, maybe it’s not? Maybe you could be a spy. Have you considered it?

what is a spy like?
Patient, calm, thorough would be high on the list. You don’t need to be able to make a bomb or pull a gun apart under duress, You need good hearing and good memory. You need to blend in, more than be so sexy they drool over you.

You don’t want to be noticed.
I suppose fast thinking and being able to defend yourself might be nice, if you got in a jam. But being sensible might be a more practical goal. Don’t get in a jam in the first place. Deflect drama, rather than react to it.

And if you screw up at this level? You’re more likely to get fired than be relocated or imprisoned. So long as you keep your nose clean. You’re there to report, not to be the news after all.

And if you are the one who is out of control, ie drunk, drugged or tomming around with anyone you sniff, you cannot stay under their radar or safe, can you? That is just TV.

Painted Toes (a story)

Painted Toes

King James Bible, Mark 16:18 says, “They shall take up serpents; and if they drink any deadly thing, it shall not hurt them.”


I should have made note of her name. Dorcas. The woman raised from the dead in the Bible. But I thought I was the one with the faith and power on my side. I was named after a deacon in the Bible. Timon. A name I wore with pride. She called me Tim.

I HATED that!

I was a well-known serpent handler. I couldn’t walk the streets of my town without people knowing who I was. Some were glad to see me, some were a bit wary to get close. In case I had a pet with me. I don’t carry my snakes downtown! lol

Dorcas hated my snakes and wanted me to get rid of them and get a money-making job, so I could take care of her, in the style she wanted. I wanted my community more than I wanted money. She didn’t get that.

Dorcas thought I was kind of weird. She wanted a “real man” she said, And I was always attending to her shoes, begging to adore and worship her feet. And when I even got close, she’d kick me in the ribs. She even broke 2 one time! It took a long time before I could bend over again. She was sweet to me then. For the first two weeks.

Dorcas was a whiny, badgering, domineering woman. And if it weren’t for her gorgeous feet, I’d have never been with her. But they were what I first noticed and lusted for about her. And what she most withheld from me.

The only times I got to touch them was when her pediatrist couldn’t scrape her corns. Or her trusted nail lady had to cancel. Esp if it was beach weather and she wanted to look nice in flipflops.

But that little bit would have been ok, IF she hadn’t killed my best show snake!

Zoe was a gorgeous reptile and followed my every lead. I could trust her with my life. in a way that none of my other snakes could deal with. And Dorcas said she was sick of me putting the snakes before her. She wanted to show me that I could live without Zoe.

That may be true… but I could trust Zoe. not Dorcas. Zoe was what brought me a good reputation and following. Not Dorcas.

I could feel the heat rising inside me, and I think at that second that Dorcas understood she had screwed up. Majorly.

So she bought me some baubles and said she would let me paint her toes, even though her nail lady was booked already.

I nodded, and gathered my Zoe and took her out to the shed where I kept the snakes and milked her venom one final time.

I re-entered the house and mixed the venom in with the final varnish that Dorcas liked applied after the colour. It didn’t change the colour or consistency, so I knew it would work.

And I buffed, polished, coloured and varnished Dorcas’ nails. Making sure that her cuticles were a bit raw. After all that, she wasn’t really surprised when her toes were a bit numb and looked a bit off colour. When her nails were dry, she put her slippers back on and went off to nap in front of the TV. Thinking everything was resolved. I wasn’t a “real man” after all.

I went to the church. And prayed and sang with the followers there. And we said our goodbyes to dear Zoe. She was a stellar snake after all.

And I went back to Dorcas’ house, thinking I’d find a dead body. That looked like she had a heart attack. Ready to call 911.

But Dorcas’ corpse was a wanderer. She was in the kitchen making herself a snack of nearly raw beef and horse radish.

I stood in the doorway. So stunned I couldn’t move!

Dorcas started to shuffle toward me with her maw full of partly chewed beef. So raw, red juices were running down her wobbly chins.

And my gags woke me out of my stupor and made me aware enough that I could run! Back to the church!

My followers and I barred the doors and spent the night praying for her body to lay down.

Wax Doll (a story)

Wax Doll

Nenet and Husani took one look at [each other][Roberta Flack –] and fell for each other.  At least that is what Nenet thought…
But soon enough, Nenet noticed that Husani was distracted and she was convinced he was lying to her. He said that he was worried about family business and work. That seemed reasonable, but Nenet couldn’t get rid of the feeling that he was lying to her.
And she knew asking him  would only cause him to lie more, if he was actually lying. Because liars lie when their lips are moving. And yes, you might say that she should trust him. But trust is earned, right?
So Nenet decided to use his fave activity with her to spell him to tell the truth.  He enjoyed a massage with lotion, then her dripping wax onto his back and thighs. She spelled the wax and slowly dripped it.  And as the spell entered him, he told her the truth.
It seems that his family were having money problems and had asked her father for a loan.  He had refused.
And Husani was in love with another woman. And didn’t want to marry Nenet. Ever. He seemed to be using her to get her father’s money. How could he turn his son-in-law down, after all?
First Nenet’s heart broke. Then she got mad.  Then she got vengeful. So she collected the wax from his body with a comb and made sure to collect some of his body hairs as well.
Then Nenet went into another room and formed a doll with the wax and hairs. She covered the poppet with black and white cloths and then used a ribbon of fabric from Husani’s fave tee.
And cut the penis off the doll. Then tested it by trying the things she knew Husani liked to get him to have sex. The flirting, the teasing, the touches.  But nothing worked. Husani was upset.
Step one.
Nenet tied a string around Husani’s left wrist and left ankle, telling him that she would say prayers for his fertility. And went back to the doll. She carefully cut the matching limbs off.
Soon Husani said his hand and foot felt numb.  And he removed the strings, in case they were too tight. But when that didn’t work, he went to see his family doctor.
Step two.
Then Nenet went to have a long chat with her father. About whether this family and this man deserved to be linked to their family and have the money he had worked so hard for. They agreed this union would not take place.
Step three.
Nenet went to the young woman who Husani was in love with and told her about their liaison. She described intimacies about his body and their sex life that made it clear she was telling the truth.  The young woman believed her. And called Husani to say she didn’t want him to see her again.
Step four.
Then she used the doll as a pin cushion. Making Husani query his health. And his doctors and family to query his mind. He was admitted into a clinic for a psychiatric evaluation. Husani got upset, which didn’t help his case any.
Step five.
Nenet’s father made some calls to friends about Husani’s family and their finances. There were some investigations. And they found that the reason their finances were in such disarray were due to the father gamblong and embezzling from his boss. So the father lost his job. And was blacklisted in his field.
Step six.
Nenet was satisfied that everything and everyone that should be chastized was, and dismantled the spell on the [doll.][CCR –] Then destroyed it.


Husani was going to face a long crawl out of the mire he had made for himself. And so would his family.

have you ever been hazed?

Have you ever been hazed?

You wanted to belong to a group. And you were willing to do or endure just about any little thing!! to get in, right?
Was it a fraternity or sorority at college? A sports group? Or the military? Were you undermined about your sexual or gender identity? Were you touched without your permission? Were you coerced into being nude or accepting sexual contact? Were you chugalugging and woke up knowing someone had intruded on you sexually? Were you told to masturbate for members?

Does the fact that these are sex crimes called sexual harassment, sexual assault or molestation change how you remember these events? Or do you look at it like standard practice, and therefore “fun was had by all” no matter how uncomfortable it was for you?

I don’t think I’ve seen a discussion on hazing yet. But it happens. And maybe if we understood just what it is, you might understand that rape and sexual assault don’t always come in packages like weapons and violence and penetration. Sometimes they come in group coercion and your wanting to belong, to please. And it’s not always a man wanting to rape a woman. Sometimes it’s same gender dynamics. They want minions, supplicants, and they are the ones who determine if you belong or not.

So do you endure? Do you keep silent?

Those groups can make a huge impact on the rest of your life, after all. They are critical unions. It’s quite a dilemma, isn’t it?

A discussion of rape’s impact…

A discussion of rape’s impact…

Most people would agree that a bruise means nothing. It’s easy to treat and maybe baby the area a bit, right? But what if you had a clotting disorder? Then that little bit of blood under the skin that impacts very few others is now a medical emergency. And without quick intervention, they could die.
You think I’m kidding?

And what about the person who has had this bruise happen to them repeatedly, and no longer has ways of managing or coping, because they have PTSD?

Or what about the innocent who has never known this was possible, let alone that it could happen to them?

What about the woman who miscarries due to the stress and violence?

What about the people who get an STD?

What about the woman or girl who gets pregnant by her rapist?

Sure we could say that every person is the same under the law, and a bruise is a bruise, until it’s not. A bruise is simple assault. Right?

But what about the places in the world where a woman has to be a virgin on her wedding night, and knows that her only role possible in life is now gone, because she was raped? Is it the same as when a woman who has everything open to her gets raped?

Which might explain why in most lands’ laws, there is a degree definition of what is possible rather than a sole word that defines all. Assault can be aggregious enough to include major harm or even death.

In other words, a bruise is not just a bruise, it is an assault and the impact on the victim matters. Maybe not at trial, but definitely when the perpetrator is being sentenced.

Informed, enthusiastic consent matters. You cannot lie, force, drug, hold against their will, coerce or manipulate someone into having sexual relations. Or it is assault and now we need to know what the victim has suffered to know if in their schema it was rape or not.

And IMO, you don’t get to decide that!!

Diary of a Female Supplicant (a story)

Diary of a Female Supplicant

My mother and I went to the women’s temple when I first bled. She was proud to show off her beautiful daughter. Her respectful daughter. Her smart daughter. Her daughter-woman now.

And in the loving arms of the Goddess, this wasn’t seen as prideful or wrong for her to feel. And was an act of love for the Goddess, not parading her child for marriage or service to men. I was an avatar of the power of the Goddess. I was child of the oh so powerful Goddesses.

And in the temple, I learned about the power of women in the divine, in the community and in myself and my family. I was lifted up, not made to submit to anyone in the world who would have me.

We sat and we ate and talked about our lives. About how we were treated and perceived by the world. And we laughed, and sang with each other in our moments of prayer. Fearing nothing, when in the embrace of the Goddess. We could be immodest, we could commune genuinely. And we did.

And we could serve the community with what we had and be revered for it. We cooked and sewed for the poor. We cared for the ill and dying. We raised the babies and children. And were seen as the expression of the Goddess.

And we saw to the safety and education of our sisters, when men would have us denied these.

We were women, who had power of our own. We were women who had our own stories. And we were loved by the sacred feminine, by the female divine. Valued for what and who we were. Not shuffled off into a corner of the men’s temple or shamed for our natural states. We were women. And we were powerful in our own right and rites.

Candle, fruit and bread came together to mark out a woman’s faith and journey within. With no shame or fear of harm, in the arms of the Goddesses. We were safe.


Mother of the Light, may you reign as a Goddess of Wisdom within my soul.

Be present for me now and in every moment of eternity.

Take my hand and lead me to the Birthing Light of God within me,

for there shall I find my purpose in life revealed.

Mother, greet me at the door,

embrace me in your loving countenance and smile gently upon me.

As your lost child, give me assurance that your grace is with me always.

All streams spring from the font of your heart.

Your eyes shine as the blue sea into my heart,

and you forever find me worthy of your love.

In the spirit of this revelation, I offer to reveal myself fully to you,

who is my Divine Feminine being, at all times and in all ways.

Amen. by Rev. Maia Chrystine Nartoomid

how to be a spy!

how to be a spy!

In my wandering over streaming sites, I found Burn Notice again. I had seen some of the episodes previously and had fallen for some of the traits in this character that made me love the show MacGyver . Michael is really ingenuitive, creative and alert to every little thing around him. And he can turn a garbage can into a weapon or defense system.

Even though I’m not often a spy genre fan, (I cannot stand the Bond franchise for eg) this one hooked me. Bond is the champagne and martinis type, where Michael is the yogurt and beer type. Bond is a slut, where Michael has key relationships.

With Michael, you realize how much espionage (and counter espionage too!) is about more than money and power, though there is that as well. It is also about connections. Who you can trust, respect and who shows you loyalty when your back is against the wall. Who returns your favours. And who doesn’t ignore your calls when you’ve been discarded by your boss or agency. Who helps and when. What gets a jaded spy out of bed, or if you can. And when they see people vs missions.

Michael was an abused child who joined the military to get away from his dad, whose mother signed the forms permitting him to go at 17. Because she saw him heading down a darker path. And the cases that he helps with are often indicative of that background. A woman or child is being or has been hurt.

So how to become a spy? Find friends, care about something besides power and money and know how to put the stupidest stuff together for greatest gain. Realize that things can turn on the drop of a dime. Know that life has value.

And be independent. Because bottomline, you are the one and only one that you can rely on, when things go belly up. You won’t always have a sports car or uzi at hand when you need one.

Animals – Born Free

Animals – Born Free

Once upon a time, animals walked the earth, free range. Sure they were eaten by humans, but they were dead quickly. Not kept as pets or commerce. Not as slaves to our needs. Not as subjects when we were their liege. They were free. Seeing the inside of no cage or pen. They flew, ran, and swam for days and years. They were our gods, guardian spirits and brothers/sisters before the gods.

These days, we have crowded them out of their habitats, killed many species, overfarmed them, made them our table’s delight and cooped them up for years for that one meal. Left in their own wastes, separated from their young, and facing inhumane slaughters.

We have destroyed their habitats with our garbage, in the praise of consumerism and convenience. And put the whole planet in peril.

All because we think that we are better than animals.

… song

Born Free – Matt Monro


ancient dog
ancient cat
ancient horse


animals that work for us
working animals
draft animals


animal milk
edible eggs
methane gas and livestock farming


companion animals
are only humans sentient?

… human captives

a story series I did on what it would be like if aliens treated humans like we do animals de rigeur.
human captives

Diary of a Temple Whore (a story)

Diary of a Temple Whore

Aea woke with a start, worrying that she had overslept on her first day as a temple whore. She had been walked thru the day several times, and was just a bundle of nervous energy now. But Aea noticed that her roommates were still in their beds. So she stretched and smiled. She was looking forward to the services.

But first she had to get herself ready. She would be nude before all the supplicants and her priest, so she had to bathe, smoothe and moisturize her skin, and wax herself properly. Which her friends were looking forward to helping her with. It was going to be a moment of celebration. Fruits and candies, and wine for the maidens of the temple. Which they were served with the mornings of the services.

Then she was supposed to meditate and get herself into the right frame of mind for the services. But she was so nervous about the words and right sequence of events that she kept going over and over what she had to do and say. She wasn’t able to find a moment of calm to center herself.

So Aea went to the head priestess and asked for her help. Which she was happy to do. Aea left her with a smile on her face. Calm.

And went into the sacred room of the temple. It was almost time. The priiest she had been paired with was there. So they ran thru their lines a few times and kissed, so they were comfortable with each other. Before the supplicants were allowed in.

Then they stripped off their robes and gave the cue for the wardens of the room to let the people in.

They were ready to perform the holy marriage now.