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Marcela: Unfiltered

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Gag Me With the Decapitated Head of a Martyr… or Two… The Origins of Valentine’s Day…

14 Monday Feb 2022

Tags

Origin of Valentine's Day

Gag me with the decapitated head of a martyr…

If you hate the consumeristic commercialization of a holiday that literally had nothing to do with romance, rather “originated as a liturgical feast to celebrate the decapitation of a third-century Christian martyr, or perhaps two,” by the Roman Emperor Claudius Gothicus, then please, by all means,  do STOP commercializing and bastardizing it.

I am still a devout Atheist, but that does not preclude my belief that people should not be decapitated, for theirs.

I have long abhorred this particular Hallmark Holiday, single or attached, and have repeatedly requested of my Royal Consorts to kindly, NOT engage.

xoxo

~Marcela: Still the Queen of This here Quackdom, and happily not receiving Valentine-specific overtures from one Salty-Ass Sailing Man, without having to ask, because he gets it, all by his-self.

P.S: Do Check out the Smithsonian link, I don’t just make this shit up to suit my perspectives and beliefs….though admittedly, in this case, it worked out well for me… :)

 

https://www.smithsonianmag.com/history/gory-origins-valentines-day-180968156/?fbclid=IwAR25lxC3FfMdLG63OYqoYEIprvziNDUB5FVlm-BAApebFaa2oAM3qjqB60w

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Posted by ~MyLa | Filed under Unfettered

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Un-learned; an Intelligence of Self.

26 Tuesday Feb 2019

Tags

Poetry, Self, Truth


“The Artist is no other than [s]he who unlearns what [s]he has learned, in order to know [her]himself.”
-E.E. Cummings


The longer I write, create anything, the more I get this on a level so profound it hurts; and it hurts so good that at some point it stops hurting, and serves to validate, that, which I have always known, self.

The less I care about what you or anyone think, of anything I create, written or otherwise, the more I unlearn about all you and they have inured me with: false concepts and ideas, of who and how to be.

The more I unlearn about these things you have gifted me with, the less I need your, and their validation for my art; or anything, pertaining to me, any little thing at all.

And the less I need your validation, the more forth-rightly I can inform you, when you have mis-read me, again, and care little, if at all, about what you do with that. This is a freedom, an intelligence of self, I have not known, here-to-fore.

~Marcela.
February 26, 2019.

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Posted by ~MyLa | Filed under Poetry, Unfettered

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Life is Not a Black and White Photograph

03 Sunday Feb 2019

Tags

Life, Negative Social Response, Personal Power, Relationships, Self, Truth

Talking about this very concept, idea, led to a mass Marcela un-friending, online and in-human, a few years ago. Even following lengthy and meticulously laborious explanation and clarification on my part, these folks continued to deliberately misinterpret pretty much every word I articulated/wrote, and to convince themselves and others, that I was co-signing, excusing, or even welcoming nasty/brutal life events, acts of rape and other violence and vileness that had occurred/been perpetrated against my (or others’) person, physically, emotionally, psychologically, culturally speaking. Things are not as black and white as, if I don’t hate it, I must love it. Drives me crazy, this kind of thinking. We live in living colour, in the grey areas, in the pastels and neons, we travel on goat trails, detours, derailments and on hair-pin turns, but people insist on thinking in terms of black and white, and on linear highways. I do not miss said (un)friends. Not even for a second, but the memory of it all still breaks my a heart a little. Fortunately, I have people in my life today, who get what I was/am putting down in relation to this train of thought and its (positive) impact, on my person and life.
~M.

 

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Posted by ~MyLa | Filed under Commentaries: On what matters to me, My World(s), Unfettered

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She, Valkyrie

18 Saturday Feb 2017

Tags

Love, Mythology, Poetry

 
She, Valkyrie
cradles tattered remnants
a slaughtered spirit,
in her intrepid care.
Goddess vision
greets wounded gaze
and I beseech her,
to choose life,
for an oft wounded,
heart.

To Valhalla
for mead,
and her.
Salve
for the psyche,
soul and flesh,
of gods mythical,
and mortal,
and their concubines. 

~Marcela: beautifully lost, in a real-time myth, of my own creation.
February 18, 2017
Image: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Valkyrie

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Posted by ~MyLa | Filed under Poetry, The 'L' Word, Unfettered

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3 Poems, for a Salty-Sailor-Suitor

12 Sunday Feb 2017

Tags

Poetry

Limerick

I have crushed on a sailor named Zeke
His ‘Salty’ some havoc did wreak
On pink oh-so-tender
Defenses useless he rendered
With nary a peek or a tweak
20170211_084830

 

 

 

 

 

Haiku

On a tranquil sea
A salt and pepper Sailor
Quells this raging squall

20170211_085734

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Cinquain

Let’s sail
said the sailor
my vessel’s safely moored
in the haven of (y)our harbour
moon’n stars

20170210_184359

Yours, fairly unfettered: Myla

February 12, 2017

Poetry and Photographs: All Rights Reserved.

 

 

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Posted by ~MyLa | Filed under Poetry, Unfettered

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“Stop,” she said…

02 Monday Jan 2017

Tags

Life, Love, Personal Power, Poetry, Self, Truth

20161225_133507“Stop,” she said to herself! “Do refrain from accusing the accusers, from negating the Nellies negative, from despising the Debbies downer! And focus, on the freedom that comes with designing, with owning, your feelings, your thoughts, your life and your choices”!

“Know,” she said to herself, “that as long as you are breathing, life will bitch slap you, over and over again! Feel the fury, agonize in the pain, and then stand up to her like the fucking Warrior Woman you are.”

“Love,” she said to herself, “self above all, for it is not an act of ego, rather the only real survival skill you will ever need.”

~Marcela: Moving, at the speed of a woman Too Much!
January 02, 2017

Photograph: My personal collection. All rights reserved.

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As is – III (reNewed)

02 Monday Jan 2017

Posted by ~MyLa in Poetry, The 'L' Word, Unfettered

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Tags

Life, Love, Poetry, Self, Truth

 And as the New Year tolls its bell silently in this tiny Bay
So my spirit whispers to the never-ending purga(s)tory in this 24/7 brain:
“shhh, we are whole again.”

It is not that I was in need of repair because you broke me, for I was never broken
It is that my voice was lost in the roar of the tsunami that was your disdain for me

And as a new blanket of white refreshes the grime of salt and snowplows
So renewed faith in self cleanses my heart of the detritus you left behind

It is not that I was the dung you believed to simply wipe off your sullied soles
It is the vehemence with which you shoveled your manure onto my person

And as the streetlight on the far shore casts a long glowing ripple across the lake
So another crack opens in my heart to allow the light back in

It is not that you succeeded in extinguishing it with relentless revile
It is that I erected shelter for my very core

And as I turn the plans for this, my most recent incarnation into fruitful reality
So I recognize your singular, constructive contribution to my life:

I choose not to forgive you for the myth of forgiveness as salvation is not my creed
I will, however, put you behind me with nary a thought to our dalliance, beyond these words:

I win. Not despite your efforts to destroy me, but because of them.
And I feel nothing for you.

~Marcela: Newer than this year.
January 01, 2017
Photograph: My personal collection. All Rights Reserved.

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As Is… II (More)

01 Sunday Jan 2017

Tags

Life, Love, Poetry, Self, solitude, Truth

 And as the lake reflects nature’s finery back onto herself
So I reflect on the solitude I have come to crave

It is not that I wish to isolate from humanity, 
or reject the risk of a new paramour,
It is that I revel in alone-ness with the passion of a new love
for my own cosmos.

And as the stillness of the quiet-season brings peace 
to my beloved Bay
So the pain of my most recent faux pas is diminished 
in its tranquility

It is not loving one who cannot love that I regret
It is that I am wistful about having snatched up 
your well-baited hook of love-lies

And as the snow-laden branches dump their white weight, 
and spring to a more contented position
So the Warrior Woman I am exhales to release you 
and I find myself here:

I stand well-grounded and know that what you did,
only served to create this:
More big, more bold, more strong, more beautiful, more wise
more too much for some, but most especially, 
much more too much, for you.

~Marcela: As is. Only more.
December 27, 2016

Photograph: My personal collection. All Rights Reserved.

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Posted by ~MyLa | Filed under Poetry, Unfettered

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Craizy-Daizy…

22 Wednesday Jun 2016

Tags

Fear, Love, Personal Power, Poetry

So I sat there making daisy-chains

while you played with the hand grenade

that detonated in my heart

their yellow-white all innocence

belying your true impotence

and the rage of disappointment

a wildflower in captivity

held in the thinly veiled depravity

of the ancient ruse called love

but this here flow’ring maiden

less lackadais(y)cal than brazen

weathers this next storm

~Marcela: standing ground, because it’s not all sunshine’n daisies in here…

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Posted by ~MyLa | Filed under Poetry, The 'L' Word, Unfettered

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Dandelion – Haiku

22 Wednesday Jun 2016

Tags

haiku, Personal Power, Poetry, Truth

Dandelion bursts

stoically through asphalt,

staking out her claim.

~Marcela: (pain)staking claims… June 22, 2016

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Posted by ~MyLa | Filed under Poetry, Unfettered

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Call me Chamomile…

22 Wednesday Jun 2016

Tags

Life, Personal Power, Poetry, Self

Scotch Broom

invasive, unrelenting bully,

has nothing

on Chamomile’s quiet crusade

to propagate and grow,

where no Broom

has dared vomit,

its noxious seed.

Call me Chamomile,

growing, unapologetic

and oh so inconveniently,

right in the middle of the damn road!

~Marcela: Unapologetically inconveniencing, you?

June 22, 2016

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Posted by ~MyLa | Filed under Poetry, Unfettered

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Cancerian Side-Step

10 Friday Jun 2016

Tags

Love, Poetry

Crab-Walker

A cancerian side-step
on the mountain like Otep
Shamaya, that is…
infernal screaming
salt-rivers streaming
crevasses and gorges
eye’s-blood forges
lava lines on a face
botox not to erase
triumphant tall tales
as well the fails
of proportions epic, that is…
stories rife
furious life
noisy this silence
obscuring the violence
mind gone wild
untamed adult-child
mutters insanities
trapped in banalities
of one’s own choosing, that is…
inaudible plea
no chutzpah to flee
this bird-cage un-gilded
wings flapping bewildered
red smear on a white page
reading lines on a stage
one so prudently set
best not forget
designer and choreograph
of this story’s epitaph
she/herself and yours truly
ever most duly
contrary in diction
this life of non-fiction, mine, that is…
dance of cancerian side-steps
while ludicrous forceps
tear out the part
once resembled a heart
and that bitch called love
bleeds on the floor
resembles the whore
that I am…
fuck
me, no,
you.
~Marcela: unapologetically yours.
June 10, 2016

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Pyre (o’maniac)

02 Saturday Jan 2016

Tags

Fear, Life, Love, Poetry

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Derailed, discombobulated
hamster wheel for a brain,
drives my treasonous
heart
that run-amok freight train.

Incessant, the thoughts
constant and circular
brain matter
detonates
fuse lit by vernacular.

Disillusioned, with Life
and other L words,
I question
reality
is flying high for the birds?

Wakeful, I fret
over this, about that,
rue and
regret
engaging with gnats.

Diminished, extinguished?
the yearnings and flames,
all stealth and sneak
fear
stakes a new claim.

Vehement, (m)utterings
implore a but smouldering fire,
(re)torch that heart
woman
get back up on your pyre!

~MyLa: unfettered and spinning, yarns…
(01, 2016)

… t’was a most fitful night… brain ran in circles, how fitting the photo I snapped accidentally on my beloved trail yesterday… and as I coined another fretful ditty, this thought slapped me upside the head: the point is, nothing in my life, ever, has occurred in any sort of logical order, but particularly not in any sort of expected, culturally appropriate, or accepted order or manner. So how could I possibly write about any of it that way? And KaPow, with a random meme about the next 365 days, and a most productive night of wakefulness, the Year of Fly, and the next great thing, is born in the never ending purgastory, that is my 24-7 brain. Stick around and help me feed this baby, give this dragon, (unicorn?) wings. Or don’t. The next level of Unfiltered is coming, either way.

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Posted by ~MyLa | Filed under Poetry, Unfettered

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Contradictions… III

21 Monday Sep 2015

Tags

Fear, Life, Love, Poetry, Power, Self

female-fragment-1.PaigeBradley

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Contradictions… III

I am…
…loosely cemented… no, inured and secured… of far sighted vision… sight lines fully obscured… entire… no partial… I cower… no rise… small silly child… no, crone oh-so -wise… zig zag and waver… no, I walk a strong gait… run to a finish line… no (im)patiently wait… emptiness, hollow… fill my bottomless soul… stubborn… no willing… fragmented… no whole… pieces of puzzles falling down to a floor… fall apart… no together… build a wall… no, a door… treasure inside… open it, open it… no, slam it shut… should have known better… Pandora! You slut.

~Myla: unknowingly certain.
September 21, 2015

Image: Female Fragment, with masses of love and gratitude for the art of Paige Bradley

 

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Posted by ~MyLa | Filed under Poetry, The 'L' Word, Unfettered

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Contradictions… II

21 Monday Sep 2015

Posted by ~MyLa in Poetry, The 'L' Word, Unfettered

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Tags

Contradictions, Fear, Life, Love

TwistedFemale.2.PaigeBradley

 

 

 

 

 

 

Contradictions II

I am…
…of a clear mind… and also perplexed… and running… no motionless… brain overly flexed… silent tears flow in rivers… down this young weathered face… each chases another… a perverse little race… I smile… no grimace… and laugh… no wail… quiet refrain… screams fail, epic fail… I see… no I’m blind… I am cruel… no I’m kind… I am twisted… no straight… occupy rooms full of love… an abandoned house full of hate… agnostic… no atheist… tempting fate, tempting fate…

~Myla: unknowing.
September 21, 2015

Image: Twisted Female No. 2, with masses of love and gratitude for the art of Paige Bradley

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