I heard him asking, “Where’s Michelle? Where’s Michelle?” So I walked into his room and sat down on the edge of his bed. He seemed relieved as he looked at me with a weak yet thankful smile and I said, “here I am” and then he pulled me down towards him so that he could hug me while he lay in his bed until I was nearly laying on top of his rail thin body from the waist up. His hair had turned white and his bright eyes were sunken. I could feel his heart pounding and he was clammy and shaking. There were tubes going into his nose and into a hole in his stomach and a big oxygen tank was beeping rhythmically in the corner. I laid there very still just listening to his erratic and strained breathing and at first he was just quietly crying which turned into a soul wrenching wail and then after a few minutes a desperate and uncontrollable sobbing was released as he tightly clenched his thin arms around me. I felt like I would die inside of him or because of him or instead of him if I could just take away his torment of pain and terror, but I couldn’t and I didn’t know how. My mind was blank with shock and all I could think was “how can I take this away from him?” I became paralyzed by the intensity of our final union. I was helpless to do anything but be there while he suffered…my life was over.

actually, it’s true, my life was forever changed by those days leading up to his death. Nobody knew me after that day. I didn’t know myself. I couldn’t find myself in the mirror. I would stare and stare and Michelle was just gone…

anyway, after a few minutes I pulled away enough to look into his tortured eyes and I said, “Dad why are you crying?” and he said, “because I never want you to leave.” My mother and brother had come to stand in the door because of all the noise. They said he hadn’t cried at all until then while he was hugging me. He died the next morning and that was the last thing he ever said to me before he left, “because I never want you to leave.” I stood in the doorway in the early dawn and I saw saw him exhale and then nothing…it was a sunny summer morning. He died on the summer solstice and as the men in blue suits zipped up the body bag and carried it to the van I could hear the birds singing in the tree above me. My brother was yelling and beating the side of the house. My mother had collapsed. Everyone else was standing around comforting each other. I felt nothing but vast emptiness. And I didn’t want to do it but they made me sing at his funeral, my first public performance, and I sang this song my boyfriend suggested “Thank You” while he played the guitar,

“If the sun refused to shine, I would still be loving you. When mountains crumble to the sea, there will still be you and me.

Little drops of rain whisper of the pain, tears of loves lost in the days gone by.
My love is strong, with you there is no wrong,
Together we shall go until we die.
An inspiration is what you are to me, inspiration, look… see

And so today, my world it smiles, your hand in mine, we walked the miles,
Thanks to you it will be done, for you to me are the only one.
Happiness, no more be sad, happiness….I’m glad

If the sun refused to shine, I would still be loving you, When mountains crumble to the sea, there will still be you and me.” led zeppelin

and then I sang,
Om Namah Shivaya

and then I sang,
“May the long time sun shine upon you, all love surround you and the pure light within you guide your way on….”

The priest had tears in his eyes. I was numb. The military shot guns and folded a big flag and gave it to my mother. My father sat there as ashes in a big vase but I only remember his blue eyes and the sun. I kissed his forehead that morning before the men came to take him. He almost smiled at me, I whispered “goodbye. I love you.” into his ear….

did you hear me?

He came to me in dreams after that for several years and he was young and healthy and told me no one could see him but me. He is my father like the eternal sun in the endless sky and he will forever shine in my heart as god.

What he gave to me. He did it all for me. He killed for me. He died for me. He made me see who he became. He showed me where to go. He left me to carry the moon there by myself. He used to carry me on his shoulders. I can barely remember his face or his voice.

He never complained about the pain.
He never said he was afraid.
He even laughed and said “Om”

My father became death.
He was a lion that roared for me
until I shined for him…

because love never dies.
Sunshine Devi ☀️

because nothing moves me

I ascribe physicality to a much deeper occurrence. I attribute emotional language to being everything we need to know. And I allocate the mind to being practically worthless beyond the understanding of what I just said.
Everyone is on some trip with me like I said something or I did something to end us up here, on the page and as clueless as ever. It’s all my fault that my words broke the bank. You were obviously saving something and weren’t going to give it up to me. How can I describe bankruptcy to a bank that has no money. Value is as value does and while your eyes scrape the ground and your mouth sucks the juice- you are getting what you want so don’t blame it on the one who was going somewhere else…and everyone is talking their game or trying to be someone they are not- even if that someone is different than the one last month…trepidation, unfounded new beginnings, worthless striving to get to the top of my ladder.  It isn’t always about you and I know that’s hard to believe. From what I see and hear, I am absolutely misunderstood, misconstrued and mistaken which is so clear but makes no sense at all. What is so clear is how unclear this picture is becoming. Be yourself, that’s all I meant.

A creative outlet is better than masturbation and masturbation is better than murder….

And that’s how I talk and how I see. And it’s a ripple in transparency that shocks you into really seeing…and it’s a snag in the time warp that shakes you to fall…and it’s a rip in the veil that lets in the air…and so the reading of my words for now is just experienced as intriguing or perplexing without understanding of my movement at all- like what about results of our actions and what about a rebel without a cause? And there I go again, never walking a straight line, at least not with you…and to mimic or mime is worse than being a geek if that’s what you are. Speak your language and know the one speaking before you assume what’s beyond your scope of action…and it’s all too much clarity cut up in pieces and thrown onto your floor…

I know all about rejection on the cutting room floor.

Yet to be an outcast or a butcher is far more enlightened than being a team player who talks shit like a people pleasing coward- out of fear you stomp yourself out and then out of self loathing you passively and aggressively hurt even the most rich and beautiful beings- and I don’t mean appearance and money-like cash- which is another major problem, where you’re looking for what’s worthy…

we’ve got a lot going on here and my words are as rich as wine…but it takes the drinker to tell, to recognize the wealth inherent in quality intoxication as opposed to some cheaper version of a passable thrill- a more economical way to get your jollies off I guess but really where is the appreciation for elegance, stealth and sophisticated integration? Dionysus wouldn’t be happy with your choice, let’s just put it that way…learn how to get drunk properly so that even the gods can get off is what I mean….

I think sexuality is a lion with wings. You can take it from there…I think sensuality is a panther with heart. You can see where I’m going with this…and I think finding what you’re looking for takes a feline shaman who knows them all. There are lots of big cats out there…

jokes on you, little jumping monkey.

So you’re not my target or my dinner, my words are only mine and not personal but universal -and the hills and valleys cover all the land -and we all live in many places…and if you don’t live near hills or valleys you can still imagine the gesture intended… because wherever you are, it’s always a jungle out there…

Postulation. Emulation. Copulation. Fixation. Speculation. Castration. Propagation. Retardation. Validation. Nullification. Vindication. Strangulation. Suffocation…

whatever the order,

I am the One bringing the gifts.


Head in the bag. Wide open wound. Breath a little deeper, there’s nothing left but you…

and I’m still on my royal lion throne going nowhere….

because nothing moves me.

Sharada Devi


Dear hopeful one,

I have scars on my wrists and hands from this holy raging fire. Pulling out prayers written on tiny folded up pieces of paper that missed the spark when you went astray. I will find you in the spitting flames when you don’t know how to pitch the fork…and I will bring you back to the embers of supplication that hear your moaning and make you forever blissfully mine. I have bumps and bruises from being hit by horned rage and still I stood fixed solid and I took it like a sun filled man of light. I have nowhere else to go but where my darker, heavier sister lies…in a sheetless, messy bed with me, on top of you, as a dormant, volcanic flash of a pagan God. Genius unspoken and left undiscovered, I saw you barely walking and I said, “Come over here, you look like you just spent everything you had” and you said, “I’m empty” but I already knew -and it doesn’t matter anyway when my fingers are already broken off inside of you -digitless- no more one plus one- and it happens because I am pushing on dangerous things -adding it up…the monkey dangles from the stake- and he’s green and  horny -and it hurts to get hurt, but the foul smelling lie never changes, when you pray for wet snow in the sweltering summer, nothing happens…nothing yet anyway. That’s really all I meant to say. Sometimes even god is impotent. Don’t push the dire truth away from the letter you threw -and don’t blame God for my deathtrap mistakes -and don’t be so sad that I didn’t answer you sooner -because I am busy burning my flesh and breaking my back and starving my guts out for you…
I never forgot all your wormholes and nobody squirms but me, your velvet dagger stabbing my picture, your fragrant sound listening inside of my voice, your fermented wounds infecting my ageless body and your lightening rod rooted deep inside of my soulful, animal eyes. Bodies melt and they always will. Time fades and death kills everything. Memories surface and then drown deep inside, nothing goes forgotten only submerged. Faces float in the water as the menace of cold missing things and we get limp going deeper to find me smoldering and slimy and climbing up your danger zone where bombs explode and we can’t say anything that makes any sense…just below the surface of this visionary consummation- where I am always beside you, inside you, consuming flesh and prospect and pulling your loss into me. Blindly I breathe searching for more breath…breathlessly caught in a welded, brainless embrace…I’m telling you the real reason for my life, I’m telling you that I am an ethereal line and hook sinking, looking for you under plundered waters…into what lies beneath you, I bore and pierce the last unknown place. I never go to sleep until we are one again and again…and since good and bad seem to tirelessly mock me…I have a message for you coming from above…
Don’t get me wrong with all my sweet sentiment, I’m not on some moral high horse-I’ll fuck almost anything that gets hard and you’re no exception. Once that snake rises, all hell breaks loose and I’m more than happy to get on and get off repeatedly. I’m not looking to feel loved, I’ve got love covered in the other room…seriously, and a flame is a spanking flame is a serpent goddess dancing like a swan…and I don’t even want a face or a name or a feather because that’s not what I ever desire…I desire base flesh into pungent fire, give it up to my faceless godfire, your big head broke open by me -and your pitiful spiritual name…holding onto an advanced version of heaven sent- it’s all disguised as abject horror subjugating anything reasonable- and I’m still turning tricks anyway regardless of investments lost…I don’t exist to you in the same way that you don’t really matter to me- and I’m as void as a vortex inside plunging or purging as a saint or a sinner… I’m happily vexing like a pliable, retrograde worshiper of all hidden and forbidden things- and so no love is ever lost here in my wandering eyes or wherever you look- I’m as cool as an unknown side effect -you’re only getting her wildest fire from me and why? Cause I’m burning out of control….and what I’ve got for you is the hottest socket that electrocutes the biggest baddest shark. It’s more than just any open, lawless fire made by some trained boy scout-no WAY. This raven screeching bitch burns now on the immediate spot of annihilation- let me out. I am your exhalation -AND the bigger the tooth the badder the bite. You aren’t anything rock hard like the secret books describe and you aren’t nearly as ready as She Who Is As Red As Blood because she gave death some time off today….so this scouring rage isn’t even remotely carnal enough to spur or buck me off the bull….not a thorn or a thicket sharp enough to poke all my christian places enough to evoke a sexier kind of less boring penance….a penance requiring a whip or a studded belt. “Nope not I” said the one getting nailed. Hahaha! So get off that morbid, stillborn, stick up your ass cross and do something real with your time…because I do care about you and tomorrow is not coming EVER -and I do love whoever you are- otherwise you don’t exist…so it doesn’t really even matter if I’m alive or dead it only matters that I’m fed the head- the hardwire of baseless desire is all she requires….until now, this meltdown between us isn’t a spark that lights up the room without friction- and that takes fast hard rubbing…and a good wet grip. I think we do see eye to eye…or you know, face in the forbidden place and then beyond…the warm and wet open mouth and the swollen and determined tongue is my idea of a good time…a good time creating endless wreckage on a sweaty, dirty floor covered in pig skin and squeals, moving forward, torching the sty…eating pig is fine with me.

So anyway, that’s all I wanted to say.
Until next time…
bacon and grease and
fat sexy asses…poking the pudge
and eating the pudding.
I’m all good.
Sharada Devi


I used to try to be really good which made me think I was really bad which made me feel I was really hopeless because I was useless and I knew it. The dilemma kept me snagged and lying, twisting and cringing at the thought of me. Oh not the me, with my cute little practiced porcelain smile, the me with all my secret dripping poisonous fangs. Stop lying to yourself ok? It only makes things worse. He’s a biter because we all are, not because he’s a little dog with a lot to prove.

And I bet you wonder how I did it, how I became so perfect without even losing a tooth. Perfectly sanctimonious and sound, totally drinkable, as hot as any ass could be and as cold as a Queen. Hahaha! I’m not even kidding this time. I’m only laughing because the truth is so awesome and I can do anything AND you know the saying, “It’s never as good as the first time “Well, I am the living testimony that- THAT is a fallacy. I am better EVERY time. Trust me. Hahaha! (don’t you wish you could) AND I always make a lot of food so no one is ever hungry for more of my delicious poisoned love. I’ll fuse you to me like a wire to a battery. I would have said, “Look before you leap” but it’s more fun this way…squirming with desire, as confused as hell, whitewashed under heavens bake- all cooked up and worried…beaten by the best, bruised with red lines across your butt, sparked in the worst way, with no outlet but a brighter way to  commiserate. Hell hath no fury like my love for you! HAHAHA! I was like BAD but then I was GOOD and then I was like FUCKED UP and then I was FUCKED both ways AND from every direction and position -and believe me there are ALOT of ways to say, “Thank you Your Majesty” (that’s all you need to know right now) and so anyway, after a bunch of awkward borderline creepy and mutually sadistic scenes- something just popped like the Virgin Mary when Jesus was conceived- and I knew exactly which way to turn or bend -like some saintly jockey hellraiser whose mastered the master- she’s an expert- I AM- and you know what they say, “The GURU IS WITHIN” ain’t that the truth! (if they only knew what that really means! DUH- sometimes these sayings are literal-people are so stupid…)

So I did what I needed to do and sucked up to whoever and put it all out there- exposed to the world. “Are you a slut?” Funny you should ask…
what do you mean when you say, “How did you get there? ” It’s a fairly easy equation for anyone with half a seeing brain- head full and shockingly
absorbent- you gotta be the One. And it’s almost like being in the circus- like an acrobat and yes of course being flexible helps, I mean, can you touch your toes? Does it hurt to bend over? Can you do the splits? How long can you hold your breath? This sort of expertise goes A LONG WAY
in the right direction- and with nothing left to spare or expose for that matter- everyone knows already if your packing something large or small- if you can swallow the truth or are you just a big spitter? Are you a bear hugger or do you paw like a puppy? Do you ask for a Kleenex? (because that’s utterly pathetic)

So this is how I got enlightened. I mean, if you even care…like I told my friend with that naughty cat, it’s tantra on the HOTWIRE. I’m hot and wired is the point- and there is someone who can fix you, I know it. Hahaha! You’re driving too slow, you’re afraid, you’re not having sex with God (with a capital G if you didn’t notice) because you’re too intimidated-it’s obvious, so why don’t you just admit it so we can move forward into this wild progression of obsession becoming perfection? I know everything about that which lies beneath your rusty hood- get your foot off the break and stop watching other’s wriggle and squeal- be the ONE. Ok? I can tell you God moves fast- like for example, first base gets totally skipped- holding hands? Whatever. I don’t think so- stop being a BABY! Do you need to feel understood? Too BAD! Maybe you’re hoping for some prolonged eye contact- just to get that reassurance that we’re going down on each other now -and everything’s going to be ok- please 🍼
It’s now or never BIG BOY. And you can’t pretend you know the ins and outs no matter how vicious the technique-I love God (capital G- pay attention!) and you should too. And girls get in the way of their own toes, I know that- I’ve been there, honestly it took me about 6 weeks to get with the program…and the winner does take all again and again- and every TIME.

And the perfection achieved through a hit and run union is that you get hit and thought you could run…and the goodness of a one night stand is that the night goes on forever and I still don’t know his f’ing name. And the bad bad girl I have become is that I suck the daylight out of the sun. And I’m not even worried about being easy or intrepid or anything! I’m not even worried if you love me or Ohhh “Respect me in the morning” there IS NO MORNING! HAHAHA!
I’m so funny and sexy and deep and understanding I could FUCK myself FOREVER with no problem. Lips on the mirror and holding tight to the image of dry prickly skin and strange fat deposits- I’m sorry, did you think sexy meant looking at smooth shaven valleys and shiny lumpless slopes? No thank you! Not me! God is in the wind and he pushes the sky and the sky is eternally masturbating heaven into hell and the bliss of the rain that falls is that I accept the forbidden like a jewel accepts the shell it’s buried in. EAT ME. Love in the shell is hollow and burdensome. GET OUT. Love beyond the sea is where I’ll take you if you’re good so you can be worse than you were before you knew me, as if that were possible. LOVE IS BLIND. God, I throw all the dice, I make the first move, I take off my clothes, I come on and I come off and STILL you’re reading this going,

“OMG, Is she crazy? Does she really FUCK strangers? What does she mean? Is she evil? I really hate her. I wonder if she’ll FUCK me?”


HAHAHA and the lists of requests goes on and on and I try to answer every prayer, I really do and I try to be nice so you won’t be afraid…
but like that sign in the temple beneath His Holiness’s picture that reads, ” IT IS WHAT IT IS”
ain’t that just the truth sweetheart?”

“What is IT?”
I knew you were going to say that…
Sharada Devi

thunderbolt of sanctuary

I don’t have a tongue. I cut it off and fed it to the hungry dogs. I sacrificed myself to her hunger long ago as a missing organ pulled from it’s orifice. Gone for good, more blood in the bucket. And she is me, just as a sucking tentacle that reaches into you looking for him. I am Shiva. As her I give rise to his reign. I lie beneath her blackened force, bleached by her trident gaze. Understood, untouched and as timeless as a living stone. I see Shiva, supremely wanton and so I want nothing. A white lily opens… penetration, piercing the skin, deep into her boundless space. He sees up and in and through all that has been outsourced. I am definitely Shiva. I don’t have any holes or protrusions that shed or that leak. I lay spread open and flat, shimmering like the desert sand, a maze of meaning beneath the blazing sun. I don’t have anything that hasn’t been subdued or extracted by her rhythmic movement. Lost in this aimless love is only a flagrant mirage. I never wept when I was cut open. I am Shiva. I am the One who doesn’t split or look or bleed. I am the one who simply sees. She wound me from my timeless sway until I became the king of the cobra, ashes to ashes, smeered into the all seeing diamond eye. I don’t breath this stale air and so you can’t smother me with futile need or a reckless life. My heart is silent and my blood is clear and gone. I am Shiva looking south to where she stands holding my sacred gun. Nothing is black. Everything is blinded by me as her white light of otherworldly madness. She is naked and blue with solid gold hands and feet. Shiva sees her as the root of an ancient tree, as the outline of an edgless sky, as a steep blue mountain, moody and shadowed. I am Shiva, don’t doubt my good luck. I don’t go anywhere. I belong where I am, beneath her.

Perched on the rooftop a dark bird watches every crackle take place in time. Swooping down as if this last time has come by chance. And just like a torch through the night long fog, wings of fire and brimstone consume and become the savior of my plight. Come back, come back and try again. I hope you don’t get stuck in her throttle. Her throat is deeper than it is long, and there is no turning back. Once you enter her sight you cannot ever turn around, you can only go deeper. She is bottomless like the sinking rain that has neither origin or destination. Because nothing is really black you can’t hide from your underside. Shiva does means EYE after all. His erected probing eye becomes her lift that peaks the valleys into the white and red orb of their eternal honeymoon…a frenzy of lunatic chaos churning the night sea of enlightenment.

We did not push back. We didn’t really care…we did not beat our hearts in fury for what we could not find. We did not hold our heads up high when we knew that we forgot. We did not care that we do not know the day or hour of the coming of the lord. Who you are seeing isn’t me, my dark birdlike eyes are watching from behind the setting sun waiting…while the sky is made of looking glass through which me as Shiva sees. You have not seen me. I stand behind her front and turn the pages you can’t see. Beyond the face of her clock or hand, breathing out, just wasting love on the fear of what remains, pretending we have legs to run with. She told me long ago that I can’t move at all- as just a sticky spew of breaking bones, old blue eyes, bald spots and dried up tears.

“Why have you forsaken me?”

I never forgot that I didn’t remember and so I was going, offering my lesser face and my ticking heart to the eraser of a grimmer fate…and so it’s over at the end of this pale world and my searching, tell all love, as what confuses a heavy head, is written upon the pages of who I hold as the passing of time come true. Into her endlessly unfolding arms I am her belonging. And so I have nothing. I am Shiva possessed by God and holding the the eye of the perfect storm.

I am the thunderbolt of sanctuary.

Sharada Devi