Tuatha de Danaan
|Posted on November 21, 2016 at 11:15 PM|
Yes, I've been out sick for a very long time, but You can keep up with Hex Yeah, etc., now, here:
|Posted on August 27, 2016 at 7:00 AM|
Collinwood is a two-and-a-half foot hand painted, three story, doll house. The shelves and sides are half inch stained pine, and the painted façade is particle board. It is six inches deep. It is way to big to ever ship, but will be available for local pick-up when complete for $555. It will have six rooms. I will use it for videos, and the dolls will be for sale in my Etsy shop. If You decide to pick it up, it will be worth the road trip and all inclusive, dolls and all...
|Posted on May 28, 2016 at 4:50 AM|
He might have sprung from dream:
golden head, the ram, not what he seemed.
Great, he emanated a powerful shine,
enlightening my despair; I thought him divine.
Anthropomorphic, he appeared,
robed in an illuminated garland pattern, entwined:
three sisters: maize, squash, and beans,
serpents, and trees,
and dangling ornament: wampum, nuts, and seeds.
Awe struck, he grew, changed, ascending
through the cosmic heavens, time, pending.
I rolled over, my chrysalis, maybe in fear,
I thought myself evil, I might have been blessed,
for this is what he communicated
from his blazen chest:
He had risen from the ahchu,
come from the hill,
older than ancient, and older, still.
He was visiting from The Underworld,
blown in by the wind,
to appease The Lenape,
consecrate the sin.
They slept in the mound of earth
behind the seed mill,
where the blackbirds gather to watch.
Their coffins are dry roots,
Sumac and such.
The sepulcher is empty,
but the cairn is not deserted,
the strong shades hunt at dusk.
The Metinuak had known him,
so long ago,
when man respected nature and lived by the bow.
Now the spring had run dry, exhausted,
and needed fed,
if not by magic teeth and mythic toads,
then by willing victims, sleeping in their beds.
He came if called, still sullen, stoic,
he came here to reap.
He joined in the harvest, slash, and burn.
He must've been curious, or sensitive: deep,
for he spared me a slaying, and I settled to sleep.
I was haunted by his vision,
drowning in guilt,
I felt I'd been lassoed and
buried in silt.
I reasoned him demonic, going on what I knew,
my suspicion grew.
I believed him from another dimension,
beyond the sun and stars.
I imagined him meeting Hercules,
Min, from Mars.
He had been dashing, but it was those horns.
I figured him from Lucifer and fired my scorn.
Still, he'd creep into my painting,
he flooded my thought.
I made him a doll,
I thought I should not.
The doll, named, Ram I Am, is crafted of clay,
and I began to find him within my own psyche that day.
It became a wonder, I started to look,
rooting through archives, I read every book.
I found him six times in Egypt,
in a cave in Crete.
He is ritualized in Exodus, Leviticus, too,
Celtic chief of The Underworld,
He is of spirit: life force, sacred to some.
The Grandfather, guardian,
passion of love.
His blood is holy
and blesses the home.
He rules from his mountain zone.
Far from my enemy, he is Netap,
He was here in the beginning
and will burn through the end.
I plan to self publish this poem in a little chapbook. And, knowing me, they might be available on Etsy next week, so tune in...
|Posted on September 22, 2015 at 4:45 AM|
Although I could say it All Really began a quarter of a century ago, believe it or not, and I wouldn't be lying...
It began when my Best Fabulous Blue Witch sent me a vintage doll house kit as a late birthday gift and has become an all encompassing three week labor of love, fun, friendship, and mostly magic*! First, here's the magic set loose, then see the magic in the making. I must say it started to become magical when I added a photo of we three witches to the cellar ceiling, wrapped in gift wrap. Come join the Grand Opening Gala!
|Posted on August 30, 2015 at 4:20 AM|
Passing through the blue mountain,
into the darkening wood,
lush, green like a memory,
as the moon drops down,
so big in the indigo sky,
until deeper, down,
back with the trees,
yet, bursting with song,
You cannot see,
they are everywhere.
Tree frogs, sprung from the creek bed,
warm, in their shelters, is it them you can smell?
Or the moss, or fern, or downy bosom of some great sleepy bird,
singing a nocturne?
No, joining the song.
The song is traditional, rare, and strange.
Familiar, so haunting, a prayer of great joy,
caught in wonder at the same old song,
the soul of the trees,
mystical devas conducting their eternal August song.
|Posted on July 20, 2015 at 1:45 AM|
Obviously I have Way Too Much Fun not sleeping at night...
I call this: You Say Cicada
I've never come across such a fresh fellow. He fluttered his wings for me.
|Posted on May 20, 2015 at 9:25 AM|
We take our news like our milk:
98% opinion, 2% fact,
fit for consumption,
|Posted on April 21, 2015 at 3:35 AM|
Five by seven inch cardstock book containing ten full color paper dolls, instructions, accessories, props, and a set. Decadent fun by Dana Lee. You will get Federico Fellini, Giulietta, Marcello, Anouk Aimee, Anita Ekberg, Sandra Milo, The White Clown jumping jack, The Whore of Roma, Casanova, and the dancing doll. Inspired by: La Strada, (1954), La Dolce Vita, (1960), Juliet of the Spirits, (1965), Clowns, (1970), Roma, (1972), and Casanova, (1976): over twenty years of Fellini history. Too bad I couldn't fit Satyricon into this publication, so don't be surprised if You see something Satyricon coming soon... And, of course You realize I will be making Fellini Fest videos with them too!
The originals are available at forty-five dollars for a set of two. Contact me if interested.
Long Live Fellini!
(I just finished these and will be getting them printed in the next couple of days, but they are available for pre-order now. Thank You!)
These are ten dollars each, and You can get them here:
|Posted on March 26, 2015 at 6:25 AM|
Maybe it's cosmic,
something in the air,
forces of nature,
forces of free will,
working for or against,
Forget the plans.
There's more to it
than that, and
there always is.
One eye, watching,
the spot light sun
of early summer
kept under one God,
splicing the encoded film.
The resolution, always fateful,
keeps the happy endings
tangled in a basket,
hidden in the sisters' house.
|Posted on March 25, 2015 at 7:40 AM|
Yes, I'm at it again, working on too many things at once, that is. I was decorating a ruined castle keep doll house, when Fellini and his wife decided to take over my mind. I believe they are having a good time, at that. I've seen all of Fellini's films, even the ones never dubbed into English, and I can say that like the DARK SHADOWS Paper Dolls, I could work on these for years and never be done with them, so I will try to contain the extravagance, and keep this down to a small, reasonable book... But, Fellini says, "Good Luck with that." I don't understand Italian. The cover features many memorable characters that are not likely to make it in the book, but, of course, Giulietta, as seen in La' Strada, will be there. So far, this is how I think it will be laid out: Dolls: Federico and Giulietta, Marcello Mastroianni and Anouk Aimee, (La Dolce Vita '60), White Clown, jumping jack, (Clowns '70), and Donald Sutherland with the dancing doll, (Casanova '76). The inside cover will be a set, probably out of Juliet of the Spirits, (maybe the ghost house), and the back cover will have Felliniesque quotes as well as instructions, and hopefully another miniature character or two... I also wanted to add Satyricon, '69, The Whore of Rome, Anita Ekberg, Sophia Loren, Anthony Quinn, and soo much more... So, we'll see! It's sure to be a picturesque trip any way!
|Posted on March 15, 2015 at 4:00 AM|
God, with one eye opened, envisioned it all from the get-go...
with a spark of a blink, probably proton,
geometrical, white light.
The Sun, burning sphere of vital light,
the Moon, rocking the dark tide,
planets, all, and stars alike,
casting die, fate,
drawings on the wall of a cave.
The nut never falls far from the tree
should rather be the fruit,
for where the father
may be Johnny Appleseed,
Orion, analyzing the situation,
running with the changing game,
cheating to win,
too quick to know which end is up,
from the mother we feed,
blood stained tears from the Moon,
memories, ghosts from the cave,
what to gather, and where,
herbs, poison, cures,
salt left at the mouth of the tidal cave.
She was Lilith, or a saint,
witches and whores,
sin and passion.
Pluto was so far removed
that he sold The Way to love for silver,
who was not forsaken
to the organized mob of cruel nature:
Science, Philosophy, politics, economics, religion in general,
name it... but, rather, returned to the one constant comforting chaos of
light, alive and well, riding the wave of eternity.
|Posted on February 17, 2015 at 8:25 PM|
The esteemed writer discusses Wuthering Heights with Cousin Barnabas and Daphne.
|Posted on February 8, 2015 at 1:50 PM|
Here is something totally new! I've created all sorts of fun fabric in my ZAZZLE shop: owls, faeries, TAROT, DARK SHADOWS, and more. I wouldn't get the cheapest combed cotton option, but I'm looking forward to trying out the Pima cotton. I only say this, because although I haven't gotten any of this particular fabric yet, (I'm kinda' a fabric junkie), I have gotten artist created fabric from one of the most well known manufacturers in the past, and although it's okay for crafts, it's no good for sewing, (totally cheapo crap). I also refrain from linens as they wrinkle just for looking!
|Posted on February 4, 2015 at 6:50 PM|
You will get one five by seven inch handmade card made with a print of my Look to the Rainbow watercolor, professionally printed on card stock and left blank inside for a personal message, and the do-it-yourself finger puppet theater that is easily assembled with just a small pair of scissors. It's also professionally printed on card stock and comes along with Fred as Finian and the leprechaun finger puppets. These are very limited to thirty sets and will come signed. I should have these ready by next week, but You can pre-order them now. Thank You!
***May the wind always be at your back...***
These are $10 US
Shipping: $1.25 US, $5 Everywhere Else
|Posted on January 14, 2015 at 8:10 PM|
|Posted on November 10, 2014 at 1:30 PM|
Coming soon... (I should have these hot off the press next week.)
Very limited to thirty numbered sets: the final of my Fred Astaire print sets. A fun and festive gift! You will get one holiday card, handmade with a print of my Merry & Bright watercolor, inspired by The Belle of New York, (blank inside for your personal note), one Little Fred bookmark, and one ice skaters set articulated paper dolls, (they are a bit over eight inches when cut out and simply assembled with brads. Use a needle or small scissors to poke the holes for the brads, as a hole punch is too big). All professionally printed on cardstock, and instant holiday decorations!
(Available in my Etsy shop.)
|Posted on October 19, 2014 at 11:05 PM|
Mama Moonlight Pumpkin, timid and white, made it through four feet of frosty snow.
How she was able, I'll never know.
After Saint Valentine's her sweet surprised look had passed away.
But, something secret, magic, had already begun that day.
Seeds, frozen, dreaming, tucked in winter's bed,
began to lift their pale green heads,
and reached up soft swimming arms,
responsive to Saint Valentine's love it may have seemed,
for by Easter Sunday the wooly vines had been weaned,
from their Mama Pumpkin, who was now a shriveled shift,
caught a light wind, and drifted away.
The new orphaned wards trusted Mother Nature,
dug, crawled, climbed, danced along the warming ground,
and by The Fourth of July, spot lit,
shooting bright floral fireworks towards the heavens.
Each big flower hoping to be Halloween stars,
loosening petal paper ponchos, revealing who they really are.
For, yes, again, it's the pumpkin parade,
seven new pumpkins, shining, what a sight,
when they're decked-out on Halloween night!
|Posted on October 13, 2014 at 12:55 AM|
Ebili crouched in dark wet caves,
away, away from men,
waiting in the dark,
with her coven of bright eyed bats.
Warm mothers, a colony, each
knowing her single child's bat scent,
leaving a stink filth warning,
Ebili's protective spell,
to keep man away,
away from her cave,
into The Nether Worlds,
with only the dark worms feeding.
The camp is taken:
netted, murdered, skinned, and eaten:
travesty reserved for worst enemies,
travesty against Ebili,
dark sister, in the cave,
now loosed vengeance,
cunning, and swift,
eating from the inside,
descending, dark reign.
|Posted on September 18, 2014 at 7:45 PM|
We are all children on the inside:
Wounds that will fester,
wounds that won't heal,
self inflicted scars,
and numbed nerves of steel.
Quietly we bubble over,
in the crucible of cast iron,
or run rampant,
live electrical cords.
You can define humanity in a word or two:
Sin and Mortality.
Feel it and Death,
and this is The End*
|Posted on September 18, 2014 at 7:05 PM|
I know where he comes from,
and it isn't pretty,
nasty, pain, and gore.
She's just a bird,
shopping for the nest,
ruffling her feathers,
but she knows where he comes from too.