agonizing wolf
online howling wolf tattoo

On your arranged wedding day she will appear before you like a vision —

carried in a carriage on the shoulders of four men ~

bedecked in colors, adorned in jewels, chains and piercings.

. . . . Bright virgin . . .young stranger flower.

No one will be able to take their eyes off her.

You will be intoxicated by your weariness, your horniness,

the loud drums, your ownership of her.

She will be timid.

You will not be timid.


Your friends will revere you like a home-returning warrior

after his conquest.  You will seed many babies into your

chaotic, over-populated, hungry nation

with its holy history.

Sacred people will stand near you during the ceremony

(men, of course) extracting meaningless promises for a non-contract

with sole purpose to breed like cattle exchange and please

the obtuse, old and obsolete in attendance.


You might love her at first sight.

She will certainly love you at first sight.

But the festivities will be distant, empty-eyed —

the dances heavy-footed burdens

for the sake of enchanting Home land and its faux survival.


Then will come the time for the climatic conquest,

when you can remove her heavy coverings and

she will shed her jewels one by one — for you.

Her skin will be amber silk, her breasts will be twins,

her vagina will be tight, tight, tight.

You will fuck, fuck, fuck her until she begs for mercy.

(There is nothing quite so enticing as fucking a total stranger.)

She will weep and bleed for you.

And you will be in love.


You won’t notice or remember the old bitch

sitting on her haunches in the corner of the room —

howling and snapping at the universe with slicing cries. . . .

. . . . Without tears.

She will be there through the entire ceremony and

eternal nights to follow — moaning,

cursing her whiteness,

cursing her agedness,

cursing her high meaningless intelligence, degrees and wildness,

vomiting up bloodied pieces of her shredded heart,

vomiting up her own bones — one at a time.

Short Conversation between a Disabled Husband and Old Wife

They are sitting at the breakfast table.

She: “Honey, this is a heavy philosophical question to ask while you are eating your breakfast sweet roll. But what do you live for? In this world system, it seems to me the only thing that drives it, is sex and money. [He shakes his head.] What is there when you take sex and money out of the equation? Think about it and tell me when you feel like it. What do you live for?”

[He finishes his roll and drinks his coffee. She sits beside him, holds a mirror, and applies minimal cosmetics from a small handmade basket she carries from the bathroom. Companionable silence continues. He sets down his coffee mug.]

He: “Now to answer your question — what do I live for?  You.  I enjoy anything we do together. And I get to see you prance around the house every day. [Slight smile.]  You.”

[She gasps out a throaty laugh, stands, bends over and kisses the side and back of his neck.] “How I love you . . . . ”

Photo ~ taken by Diane Schabo

Loss I and Loss II

Loss 2
Photo ~ my own


In July 2017 I had a glimpse of what it is

to love the Divine above all else.

Seems to be the by-product of letting go voluntarily —

then having even more ripped from you.

There comes a point when you have nothing remaining

except a shred of Hope.

That is enough.


love B 2
Photo ~ my own



I know a man who lost his lifetime of work and wages

to the greed of one person and a system without a whisper of humanity.

Because of this,

within three years he lost his health.

Because of this,

he lost his balance, body strength, energy, vitality

and clear cognitive skills.

(His wife tells him, he has not lost his looks.)

Because of this,

he gradually became unusable to ones who looked upon him

as an object to be used.

Because of this,

near and extended family and friends

fell away one by one.

He is rarely paid much attention.

What he does not lose

is his serene detachment from his chattering ego —

his Zen-like one liner philosophy and

faith in the Joy of living.

Because of this,

he does not lose me —

his first love and second wife.

in conclusion
Photo ~ my own


woman and taz
online art

I am in the grasp of the Divine Taz,

This has been transpiring relentlessly for many months.

Sometimes the whirlwind is more than I think I can bear.

So I hold on for all I am worth —

which seems to be quite a lot —

and gasp at the swirling, breath-giving scape

from above, below, within.

I have sometimes felt unsafe, but not one scratch.

Many helpers whirl with me.

What better passion than to reel

tumult, reel

in the company and design of Holy Taz.