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Lola Tahlulah - by Lola Tahlulah

Releasing the Thorn

May 6th 2009 21:26


This is my pristine chapel of sparkling white. It is pure where I tread as it is the temple created to invite the weary traveler and the raging hearts alike.

A soul who is bound by an ethic that encourages self pity and harsh cruelty at once is one shackled to a stone wall of miserable confounded and tumultuous fury.

A storm brews therein, pleading to release its torrent, but always holding back the deluge just long enough to be certain that a trespass has been carried out.

For one who is entirely outwardly cocksure whilst clandestinely capable of intense apprehension, a bit of self reflection is required.

Under a flimsy guise of certitude, the seams become creases become cracks become canyons become caverns of thick limestone that blot out the morning star and allow creeping darkness to distort robes that sparkled in the clear light of day.

If I were a painter I'd use the walls of that cave as a canvass, and concoct a landscape that would portray a field of sunflowers. The yellow blooms setting the field ablaze with resplendent beauty that could match even your perceived pulchritude.

Cimmerian shade is skulking, slinking, slithering, sneaking into this place. To keep it uncorrupted, I must purge the creeping mist and absolve you of your debts. Not to me, mind. Your debts are owed to the guild. I cannot unburden you of this millstone. But on their behalf, I can release you from blame, and perhaps free my own albatross at long last.

The encumbrance with which I have been saddled will be lifted from these tired shoulders, and perhaps your feeble hands will begin to adhere to the code that was set forth in times long past.
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No Retreat Epistle

May 5th 2009 11:17
pollination


A buzzing bee seeks desperately to pollinate dead flowers in a garden long forgotten by name and time.

Lest we forget that we too were once bouncing from blossom to blossom in a futile attempt to extract manna from withering vine.

Milquetoast combatants call Charge! but I have only just begun to prepare my ordnance.

Chilled to the marrow and in deep incorporeal debt. Pay the piper, pick the penny, draw the line. The sand is wet. It sticks to the stick that drafts the dispatch on the beach that lines the shore that signals the end of my line of defense and the beginning of yours.

Take comfort in lost engagements as they herald the promise of a skirmish to come.

Take care of lost comrades as they herald the rise of a new amiable congregation.

Take heart in the sunrise as it heralds the moon's realized zenith.

Most of all, be well my friend, as I have only begun to lament the passing of affinity on one flank and the soaring of new zeal for my inamorata.
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Would that I could be like those that I admire.

Speaking loudly, carrying large sticks and impaling those that oppose.

Alas, I am soft and understated. Not mild. Not afraid.

Change comes to all those in search of renewal. I seek such cleansing and put aspirations to action promptly.

Liars among us. There is no such thing as honesty where the unholy tread. Those that engage in the vile act of conspiracy toward their fellow men and women must atone for their trespasses. Against us all, I say. Against you and I and all that wander in and out of these pages and these halls.

Baseless accusations from the less than pristine souls. Unfounded and unfortunate. Willful liars seek and destroy. Seek to destroy. Search and dismember. Foul is called.

Do I speak of you? Why ask? Soiled conscience? Yes. I speak of you. The least of my virtues swims in a sea of gold in comparison to your highest self appointed honor.

Self labeled. Self assured. Self assuredly self labeled by thine own arrogance.

Amid hazy green clouds of self loathing and shame you prop up your works as true and virtuous. I perceive a libidinous longing emanating from your general vicinity. It smells of trembling fear. It reeks of pomposity not grounded in tangible proof.

Wide oceans separate bodies while mere molecules stand between my soul and yours. Consciousness binds us and allows me to feel your truth. It feels like a slow rot. An empty rut. A lousy lie from a pitiable prevaricator. You are a shameless promoter of your own false witness. A shameful advocate of hate wrapped in wool.

Peddle your pretense in open chambers and reap what you sow. The vastness of the universe cannot conceal the anathema that is your core. The facade is bright. The innards are tainted and cold.

To strip away the garments of my own timid persona, I am compelled to peel back the layers of your deceit. Indecent proposal of the highest order.

Countless wasted moments spent in solitude have prepared my heart to reclaim its rightful place among the worthy. The worthy appear in varying forms. Least expected become worthy allies of the psyche. To a new target of my rhapsody. You are not near to me but you are dear to me dear Lady nearly dead.

I return to the former sitting duck. Worthless raging against a reliable opponent have rendered you impotent. Comely features used as weapons against a bruised target. To what end? High caliber weaponry of angst and disgusting liberal usage of buzz words lessen the blow dealt by the lesser woman against the shrewd antagonist.

Duplicitous nature revealed in a paper trail of your own design. How droll. Too true.

I say good sir, where have you gone when you are needed most? While I mourn your passing from this ever evolving toward oblivion venue of my unfortunate choosing, you are left unaware. I long to share my misgivings. I long to trumpet my praise. I yearn to shake you and take you and scold you and hold you and tell you I love you amid a sea of scorn.

The silver link and silken tie from the true poet's pen reveal a sinister axiom. To thine own self be true. Quote the bard passe you say but the skill of the quill escapes me. Replaced with tap tap tapping like a hen. So inelegant but efficiency is the key to the key.

Returning to the link and the tie, must it be both, or can I cast a line toward your heart and make you feel me? Can I will you to know me?

Your weary nature is palpable through the digital fortress where we may one day meet in love but never in the physical. Destiny is a cruel master (not mistress, for a mistress is cunning and wise while a master merely commands from a throne of earth and sensations of only the five).

What the masses call a vice I see as your advantage. Your sting is your fortitude. Both the bark and the bite belie an inner sincerity rarely seen. They call you pariah, I call you unicorn. Beauty rarely seen and never captured but always sought even by those who would dub you mere chimera. I know you. I've known you. Do you see me?

Bare your vital source once more. I will press you to my virtual bosom with the fervor of a long lost lover. My chains are loosed here in this otherworld. Underworld. Bright overlord of the netherworld.

The woman who cries bloody murder into the bitter night and curses the stars for their brilliance and powerlessness longs to see you shackled, but make no mistake. She also wants you loosed. She wants to hear you howl at the moon so that she can claim your moon is false and undeserving of your howling. You howl in vain for there is no moon says she. Touch the moon to prove it is concrete. Dear me, the moon is beyond my reach you cry. Then there is no moon. The substantial is the only reality and there is no light beyond the General. General electric, I might add.

To bleed to sweat to cry to excrete. But what of love? How does love taste? Is it salty or sweet or bitter or all or none of these? Substantiate love with a smoking gun or allow it to be hearsay. Will my testimonial suffice? The evidence manifests itself in suffering and bliss. I can make you feel them both. Will you then believe? Will this be a suitable token?

To my paramour, be still. Be sure and true as ever. To my foe, I say be still as well. Throw back your head and feel the warmth of the morning star. Reflect on your tactics. You are no revolutionary. These antics are not new. You are lost in a valley of turmoil. Your bewilderment as evident as your failed attempts at benevolence.

To foe I share my grace. To my secret lover I share my infinite gratitude. Perhaps somewhere in the depths of the void we will meet and be as charged particles or more likely you as sage and I as student. Measureless and boundless is my exultation. Bottomless and futile is my mirth.






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You know, I am so busy lately that I rarely get the chance to blog it up. But, these videos were too good to keep to myself, so please enjoy


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Lola makes her triumphant Return!

August 4th 2008 02:50
How was that for an intro?

I haven't blogged much recently. Primarily because I am no longer living in my own place. I moved out of state and am staying with my friend and her husband while I look for a place of my own. Third wheel much? Yes, indeed. It does feel that way sometimes


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You may have read in my previous post about my cat Nicodemus. Allow me to introduce the new love of my life, Obediah!


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My Paramour

May 3rd 2008 05:37
I've never had love. Always lovers, but no true love. But I may be in the midst of a breakthrough as I've entered into a relationship with a man who shows me more tenderness than I have ever known.

Increasingly I've sensed that this man may be the one to rescue me from the solitude I've always known. However, more and more my insecurities have driven me from expressing to him that I have such fondness in my heart


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The Wind was Deafening

May 3rd 2008 05:14
Greetings. My name is Lola Tahlulah and I am a writer, a lover, and a builder of walls. The walls that I build are not of brick or stone, but of stories and words. I build these walls to shelter myself from those outside of myself.

I am deep inside the dungeon of my own making, and my escape is not into the world of the living. Not into the realm of flesh and blood. My escape happens now as I share the words and stories with anyone who will read them. They are not always eloquent, and not usually profound...but they are my words, and your invitation to read them is the key to my liberation


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