Tarot for Beginners

Tarot for Beginners

“Draw
a card before you go,”
She interrupts.
Not stopping 

my story
I reach out
& blindly pull one
at random; lay
it face down
between us.

“You’re not
going to look?”
She asks, smiling,
staring at the paper
destiny I simply
ignore.

“I’m still talking
here,” I reply,
“and if you can
just keep
your mind on
that, when I’m ready,
I’ll flip it over.
Otherwise, feel free
to flip it for me.”

“Oh no,”
She replies as
Her smile spreads
to her eyes,
as She glares at
her neglected Tarot.
The card itself
expands
like a sponge soaking
in moisture, but I hold
true to my word
& wait until I’m ready.

¡Flip! It’s Death
& we both start
laughing. “Death
doesn’t mean death,”
She begins.

“It means change,”
I finish, “I know.
My mother pulled
Tarot for friends
when I was young.
You learn that
Lesson One.”

“That’s right,”
She replies, finally
looking me in the eyes
—that sea of golden
brown flecked green
exploring what’s inside
me. ¿What does she
see? ¿The Fool
or The Hanged Man? 

¿The Zero

or The Hero?

¿& why couldn’t I
have drawn Lovers?
I suddenly remember
why, which makes me rise,
say my goodbyes, & fly
before She has me
draw another,
like The Tower,
which would make
the world crumble
right before my eyes.

A Woman's Kiss

A Woman's Kiss
There is something that lives
in a woman's kiss,
behind the pleasure
of her lips slipping
against mine,
sof' friction awakening
the beast in the soul.

It is something to know
how a woman tastes—
tongue touch tongue
soul touch soul—
impossible
to better comprehend
anyone,
to reveal yourself,
naked to her palate,
pure.

It was a kiss that made me,
a kiss that destroyed me,
a kiss that consoled me,
a kiss that controlled me,
but only one kiss to save me:
the one from those
luscious lollie lickin' lips
that let the sun rise
once again
on this languid life
and left me lost
to anything less
than our destinies,
intertwined
like the ideal
lustful, lingering, loving
kiss.

Killing Lilith Excerpt: The Cannibals

So, there's been some discussion about the various other internet madness that has occurred since the beginning of the Information Age. Most would agree that the German Cannibals take the cake. They actually make a cameo in Killing Lilith. Here's a snippet of that for your reading pleasure:

A graphic depiction of Armin Meiwes serving  Bernd Jürgen Brandes his own penis

I did as he instructed, opening a separate window for the newsgroup so that we could continue to chat. At the time I don’t know what scared me more, what I read and saw there, or the fact that it was suppose to offer some insight into SlowHand. The thought of either spread a tide of fear over me, powerful and uncontrollable.


Regardless, I scrolled down a macabre list of topics and subtopics. As I did, I wondered what new game I was playing. Was I intentionally seeking out a succession of increasingly outrageous realities? Why? How far would I go? What was I looking for? As I gleaned over the postings, tested my frontiers, I could feel the walls that enclosed my morality and protected it from the absurd. Yet, I could not stop.


As I glanced at the overwhelming number of images—pictures of rotting corpses, serial killers and their victims, mob hits, accident scenes, mass murder and burial sites, charred bodies pouring out from the ovens of Krakow, a manifesto by someone calling himself Billy The Killer, people sprawled like mad sparrows as they tumbled down the towers, the towers themselves—crumbling, gigabytes of Abu Ghraib atrocities, bloated bodies floating like swamp grass in New Orleans in Katrina’s aftermath—I climbed over undeterred. I was past the realm of morality. I had not yet discovered my new domain’s name.


SlowHand: Click on the one titled “the germans”. It’s my favorite.


I scrolled down the list of gruesome titles, Man sleeps with dead wife, yoboy with face blown off!, Killing Strays with Hammer, until I found the right link. It automatically opened up my media player. After a lag, a video began to play. A dark shot of an wok sizzling on a stove. An arm reached into the frame with a bottle, liquor of some sort, and poured it into the wok. It ignited.


LiLith: What’s this? Some kind of cooking show?


SlowHand: Keep watching.


The camera zooms out for a second before zooming back in, closer. The flames died down as the alcohol burned off. I could barely make out what was being flambéed. A sausage? Then it dawned on me.


LiLith: Is that a penis?!


SlowHand: Yes.


The arm reached in, turned off the stove and pulled the pan off the flame.


LiLith: Like what? Dog?


SlowHand: No. His.


The scene cut to a man, seated at a table, not all there. He looked tired, worn. Another man, the man with the arm, pan in hand, came to the table, set the pan down on a trivet, picked up a knife and started slicing. The seated man seemed to perk up.


LiLith: You’re putting me on, right.


He wasn’t. I could remember hearing something, somewhere. A news clip. Maybe a few words in passing. Some Internet chatter. Did you hear about those cannibals in Germany?


SlowHand: The man who is seated is Bernie. He met Arnie, the carver, online in 2001 through an ad Arnie placed looking for people willing to offer and share some of their flesh. Apparently, Bernie was the only taker, or giver as the case may be. Just google “german cannibals” if you want to read all about it.


I opened a third window and did just that, incredulous that this could even be real. I skimmed the article at the top of the list as I tried to keep up with the action on the video. I could only shake my head as I watched Arnie serve Bernie, and then himself. I felt my stomach roll as they both sampled their gruesome meal.


LiLith: Heavy price to pay for a taste of human flesh, don’t you think.


SlowHand: It gets heavier. Arnie convinces Bernie to let him kill him. Keep watching. You get to see the slaughter… if you can handle it. Bernie videotaped the whole thing, It was supposedly suppressed by the german gov, but I guess someone leaked it. These things always get leaked.

I couldn’t. I had seen enough, more really than I could take back then. I wanted to close my player. I didn’t. I couldn’t.

The Lilith Legend

Only thirty more pages to edit, as of 1:00pm today. I can finally see the light at the end of the tunnel. Editing is actually moving at a fairly quick pace, which is a great sign. It means that I'm not finding anything blatant that I think I need to change. We'll see. the true test is a week from tomorrow when I meet with my critique group (¡Hi Barb, Holly & Tracy!).

Anyhow, my brother, Carlos, was talking about Killing Lilith yesterday, and he referenced some of the legends of the mythological Lilith. So I decided to post this small excerpt for him. Don't forget to check out the Killing Lilith Facebook Page and click "like" for news, updates & more excerpts!

Artwork by Kara T. Wells

 My father considered himself the consummate bible scholar and student. “You learn until you die,” he would say, “What you learn is up to you.” Obsessed with origin myths, he would use my misbehavior as an opportunity to expound on the legend of Lilith. “There are those who study the secrets of the scriptures that believe, before Eve, God made another woman for Adam.”

These same secrets are now sold with a red bracelet and a bottle of blessed water to any celebrity looking to ride a new wave to enlightenment.

“Certain students of Kabala believe that lost versions of the B’reshit (or bear shit as I would joke about the first book of the Torah behind his back; ‘bear shit, smut bear shit and smut,’ I would mock once he left the room after one of his lectures) tell her story—Lilith’s. She came not from Adam’s rib, but from the same earth from which Adam was formed. Some even say she came from Adam’s filth. Like you, she went against the word of her father. She rebelled against her husband and was banished as a demon. Do not follow her path child; it will prove a difficult one.”

The more he called me by that name, which he did more often as I got older and wilder, the more I identified with her. Why couldn’t we be equal? What made him better? His knowledge? His wisdom? His rib? The power of his voice? Men and women swooned, even shuddered, as his vibrato tenor resonated throughout the temple, the words of the scriptures pouring over them as if from the mouth of God himself. All I ever heard were his admonishments.

Dying to be My Muse

A class photo of Sharon. She's the one in the cap, staring off to the right.

A little over fifteen years ago I was taking a class, Writing for the Internet Age—one of the first of its kind. During the ides of October, word came of a woman's body being found buried under a child's swing set in a trailer park in North Carolina.

Within days, as the police discovered during what they thought was a murder investigation that the victim, Sharon Denburg Lopatka—a housewife from Hampstead, MD—had solicited her executioner, Robert Glass, to torture, rape & kill her. He wasn't even the only one. Glass was just the first to follow through.

While many dismissed her as yet another crazy, I was fascinated with Sharon. As I  researched her story, a novel took shape in my mind. Click on Sharon's photo to read about the woman who inspired Killing Lilith.
Don't forget to check out the Killing Lilith Facebook Page and click "like" for news, updates & more excerpts!