THE STILLNESS

Photography by Stony River/AU

Photography by Stony River/AU

Prophecies are unfolding at a rapid rate. I am stilled to silence as a matter of self-discipline. The ability to be still is a gift that is needed in these times. Each of us needs to find the stillness within in order to forgo stepping on “cause and effect” landmines. We are aware that for each action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. Timing dictates the other “shoe-drop.”

Alice Parris

HAPPY HOLIDAYS FROM ALICE PARRIS

Alice Parris @ 60 yrs old

Alice Parris @ 60 yrs old

I would like to take this opportunity to say to one and all: Happy Holidays! My daughter took this photo from her cell phone a few minutes ago. When I was born, the physician said that I would not live to see two years old. I have exceeded all expectations, for the which I am grateful. Now, two months shy of sixty, I can say that my length of days has been miraculous. Blessings and peace to all.

Alice Parris

ALICE PARRIS FAMILY TREE: MY FATHER’S HOUSE

My father, Harold B. Kelly M.D.

My father, Dr. Harold B. Kelly

My mother with children before I was born

Before I was born

My father with us as young children

When we were young

My mother with us as growing children

As we grew older

These are the houses that my family lived in. Some commentary from my mother about dates

Houses where we lived


These photos are of my father, my mother with my brother and sister (before I was born), My father, brother sister and I young, my mother, brother, sister and I a little older, and the houses that we grew up in. French was my first language because I grew up in Fontainbleu, France from ages 1 1/22 to 3 1/2. We were raised by French nannies, because my mother and father liked to travel all over Europe. Dr. Harold B. Kelly was a Captain in the army and that is where we were stationed. We traveled across the Atlantic Ocean on the Queen Mary. As I have aged, the more random French will roll off of my tongue in the most inappropriate of places.

I do not remember my very early childhood. I have watched films of myself running around at an Easter egg hunt on the grounds of the villa in France. They had to show me where the eggs were. My sister, Rhonda reports that we were locked in the cellar at the convenience of Antoinette or Louisiette, when their lovers would be over when my parents were out of town. I imagine that we were naughty children; my sister, Rhonda, threw a wooden coat hanger from the winding staircase and cracked one of them in the head. She was replaced.

We also lived in North Carolina (with a beach home in Myrtle Beach, S.C.) New Jersey (while my father did a residency in OB-GYN at Harlem Hospital in New York) as well as Shaker Heights, Ohio, as my father’s medical career dictated. I attended tenth grade in the High School where Paul Newman graduated. Alice Parris

ALICE PARRIS FAMILY TREE: MY GRANDPARENTS & CHILDREN

My young grandparents before marriage & their young children, Norma and Plummer

Plummer & Alice Richardson with children

A young Plummer Armstead Richardson-my uncle

Young Plummer Armstead Richardson

A young Norma Louise Richardson- my mother

A young Norma Louise Richardson

My grandfather, Plummer Benjamin Richardson

Plummer Benjamin Richardson-my grandfather

My grandmother Alice Cooper

Alice Cooper-my grandmother

My grandmother, Alice Cooper at an older ageAn older Alice Cooper

My grand father and uncle: Plummer Benjamin and Plummer Armstead Richardson

Plummer Benjamin & Plummer Armstead Richardson

Plummer Benjamin is shown at various stages of his life. Alice Cooper is shown at various stages of her life. While Plummer Benjamin was a mortician, Alice Cooper was a teacher with her Master’s Degree. She continued to pursue her academic career but because of the times, getting a P.H.D. that she could never use seemed pointless. Alice Cooper is a direct descentant of Sir Anthony Ashley Cooper II, son of the First Lord Proprietor of North Carolina, Sir Anthony Ashley Cooper I, per King Charles II in the 1600’s.

Alice Parris

ALICE PARRIS FAMILY TREE: VERY OLD LEAVES

Lucian Battle of Nashville, North Carolina

Alice Parris's great-great grandfatherLaura Battle Richarson in old age

Alice Parris's great-grandmother; Laura Battle RichardsonPlummer Alston Richardson in old age

Alice Parris's great-grandfatherPlummer Alston Richarson in middle age

Alice Parris's great-grandfatherPlummer Alston Richardson’s voting registrationPlummer Richardson's voting registration

Plummer and Laura Richarson with first born, Ethel
Alice Parris's great- grandparents

Lucien Battle was my great-great grandfather on my mother, Norma Richardson’s father’s side. He lived in Nashville, North Carolina. Lucien’s daughter was Laura Battle Richardson. She married Plummer Alston Richardson. Plummer Alston Richardson is shown in his old age. Laura Battle Richardson is shown in her old age. Plummer Alston Richardson is shown in his middle age. Plummer and Laura are shown in their youth, with Laura holding their first born child, Ethel Richardson. Also shown is Plummer Alston Richardson’s voting registration dated in 1902.

According to some family historians, Plummer Alston Richardson left a North Carolina reservation and became a “colored” barber in Nashville, North Carolina. A marriage was brokered by Lucien Battle (Caucasian) for his daughter, Laura (mulatto) to Plummer. Plummer was a European/Native American mixture. During his life, Plummer Alston had become a millionaire from multiple businesses and real estate. What part Lucien Battle played in Plummer’s ascendancy is speculated upon by rumor. His wife, Laura, survived Plummer and lived to be ninety-six years old. This information was not gotten from an ancestry registry. These are the actual photos and documents preserved by the family. Alice Parris

MOVING THROUGH REALMS OF DARKNESS INTO THE LIGHT

 

Faux-photography from Anna Donovan-poet

 
 
 
 I was born a “Sensitive.” This means that I have always been able to gather information that exists in spiritual realms. There are many forms of “knowing.” I will just call it PSI. Because I had such a strong degree of extra-sensory perception, I was recruited by the forces of darkness to be trained as a fortune-teller. This “recruitment” was something as simple as a “reader” telling my mother that I was born to be in the occult. She bought me a deck of  Tarot cards and told me that she would never spend another dime on “readers,” that I was going to read the cards for her. I started out studying astrology. This is the gateway to the occult, in the same way that “pot” is the gateway for other more destructive drug usages.

I got a crash-course in the secrets of darkness, the moment I desired it. It seems as if all of the secrets of darkness from antiquity were downloaded into my consciousness. I “knew” about ancient civilizations, their forms of prognostications, their occultic rituals, their gods. I knew about things as far flung as “The Book of the Dead” in Egypt, to the witch queens of New Orleans and Jamaica. I knew about the persecutions of witches during the period of the “great purge.” I knew about what lies in the dark, as well as who rules in the darkness.

I used to enjoy Halloween, before I understood that it is a holiday for Satan just as Christmas is a holiday for Christ. I hate Satan’s holiday.  It is a day where satanists & wiccans alike become more powerful due to the amassing of spirits who come to do their bidding. There is a great assembly of  demons dispatched to make Halloween special for serious practitioners and thrill seekers alike. What you don’t see are the spells cast, the curses uttered, and the sacrifices performed in the name of their god. It is a dark, grizzly mess. It is on Halloween where spirits are free to roam; to torment, hinder and harrass human beings who are not protected by God. The only way to become innoculated from forces of darkness and to gain the power to overcome them when attacked, is to know Jesus Christ, and know that He and He alone  is the name which will repel them. I learned this the hard way. I have never looked back.

I am a defector of darkness. There is a great spiritual bounty upon my head. I knew the secrets of darkness and turned to the “glorious light.” For ten years after I became a Christian, I wandered in the wilderness. Over a period of fourteen years, I had accumulated a slew of demons who would do my bidding, should I require it. It took ten years for the Lord to undo the “unclean” mess which was Alice. During this wilderness time, I moved to one of the UFO capitals of the world; Arizona. It was there that I backslid into the New Age, which is basically the old occult, repackaged in holograms and crystals. Satan kept trying to get me back, to get me to use my telepathy/clairvoyance/clairaudience for him. He tried continuously to deceive me during this ten years of wilderness. There are others who think that they can call Jesus their Saviour and if their prayers are not answered quickly enough, they dabble in darkness.  They will seek out practitioners of the occult to try and effect the change they want. Most of these practitioners will do whatever curses are required for money. Others consider themselves working for God, but they are deceived.

You cannot have it both ways. This is one of Satan’s greatest deceptions. You are either God’s or you are NOT!  There are many types of demons and fallen angels are the overlords of these workers of darkness. These would be the fallen angels(principalities) which would have rule over countries, very much like in the book of Daniel, where Daniel seeks the Lord and the prince of Persia withstands Gabriel (God’s messanger) Prince Michael (head of the warring angels: the one who physically kicked Lucifer (Satan) and his followers(one third of the angels of the Lord) out of Heaven during the “great revolt.”  Satan remains legalistic. Which means that he knows the Word of God better than anyone. He knows what he and his “crew” are allowed.  The trophy for him is the utter corruption of a human being, for which he doesn’t give a fig. He just wants to deprive the Father of sons and daugthers; the very thing that Christ died for.

Satan has created many prisons upon the earth for his “chattel.” Prisons of fear, addiction, lust, hatred, violence, murder, depression, suicide. The workers of darkness will choose a target. They will then need to adjust the hearing of their human target to the frequency of angels; fallen and unfallen alike. (the high pitch frequency) Once they have done this, they can talk into the head of the target. If the target listens, they proceed to the next step which would be controlling the mind of the target. Parents would see this in dark changes of behavior in their children. The target would gravitate to anything unholy, profane and unclean. The powers of darkness need to accumulate symbols or “accursed things” within the living quarters of the target, which will give them the legal right to operate. Once they control the mind of the target, they will plant ideas of corruption. By direct command they will tell the target to steal, kill and destroy whatsoever it is that will benefit the kingdom of darkness. When a target has been “possessed” by enough dis-embodied spirits, they will become “living evil.” They will no longer be the target or victim, they will be the perpetrator. They would have become a pawn in Satan’s very elaborate scheme to prolong his days and to destroy the human species: which is God’s portion.

During the end of my “wilderness period,” where I was deceived by everything from the New Age, channeling, UFO worship and angel worship, The Lord challenged me. I was on my way to a bookstore to look up some one’s astrological chart when an young, on-fire-man-of-God spoke to me while I was looking in the occult section. He said, “What are you doing here? You know what the Word of God says about this, what are you doing here?”  I was in shock and mumbled something inadequate. He said, “God told me that you believe in reincarnation, too. You know what the Word says about it. What are you doing here?”  I was freaked out! Nobody knew that I was going to this bookstore but me and God. I figured that God wasn’t going to say anything, so I went. I never imagined an encounter of this kind.  It was the fire in this young man’s eyes and his true assertions that burdened my heart. So I had a talk with God.

I said, “Lord, I have all of this occultic knowledge in my head. What am I to do with it?”  I heard Him say, “It destroys your testimony and hinders your walk.” From that day until this, I have never backslid into the occult again. The Lord asked many things of me. One of them was to give up Tarot card reading. I was good enough to teach and I was making money by word of mouth with the cards. I said, “Yes, Lord.” I gave up Tarot cards, occultic practices (used to gain advantage) and any “graven images,” forbidden books and the practicing of numerology, palmistry and telepathic mind control.  It was after this test, that He led me to a “prophetic” church where I was taught the Word and began to operate in the gifts of the Holy Spirit. God will not mix clean with unclean.  He will  not give his gifts nor authority to anyone who thinks that they can “have their cake and eat it too.” God commands absolute faithfulness in those who call him Saviour and those who evolve enough to call him their Lord.

There you have it. I know that there are many who wonder by whose authority I speak. I can feel them. I can feel anyone whose mind is on me anywhere in the world. Occultic practitioners, don’t bother to attack me. You will find it a waste of your time, and dangerous to your health. Curiosity seekers, I hope you have your answers. Christians of all persuasions, I can only tell you about my conversion. I can only speak for myself.  I operate in the prophetic. The Lord taught me how to discern between familiar spirits and the Holy Spirit speaking to me. I keep my dial tuned to the Holy Spirit at all times. This is my only safety. I could turn to any channel and know about anything going on behind closed doors. These things are not my concern. I learned and practiced ‘spiritual warfare” for twenty-one years. There is so much more that I could say, but I will simply say this, pray to be like the sons of Issacar who had knowledge of the times and season that they were in.  If you do not know the Lord, call upon Him, whereby you will be saved from the times which are coming upon the face of the earth. Pray to be counted “worthy.”   Be still; call upon the name above all  other names.

Alice Parris

PRECIOUS GIFTS FROM ANNA DONOVAN-POET

One of the many people I have met online has been Anna Donovan. She is an extremely talented up and coming poet, as well as an amazing artist. She has been kind enough to make gifts for me from some of my photos.  I am going to show you what she gave. I am grateful for her friendship and I would like to share some of her “vision” with you.   Alice Parris

Alice ANIm_98e085eb4dbe4781b48dfcdf946ae9a4[1]m_607b396fb802440aa016a9e0a58ccdf9[1]mon chere amieaparrisaparris2aparris3alicealice4alice parris

LOVE VERSES

 

CONSUMED

Imperial flame
Fire of Love,
Torch me
Till I am
Comsumed…

Urn-clad ashes
Memorial remain:
Love’s sacrifice
Immortal.

Alice Parris 

THE GATHERER

I gather
Your
Facial
Expressions
And
Gestures
As
Crumbs,
I
Myself
Becoming
An
Ant,
Pull apart
And
Drag
From
My
Memory
Every
Morsel.

I have
Stored
Them
For the
Time
Of
Famine
To
Come.

Then,
I
Will
Feast
Upon
The
Shape of
Your eyes
And become
Satisfied
With
The fullness
Of
Your lips.

Alice Parris 

RENDEZVOUS ETERNAL

There is
A sweet spot
Of melting,
Coming together.
No need
For words
We just
Enter in
You and me
Into the
Sweet spot
That is
Our love.
Unspoken
Arena
Where
Oneness
Reveals
Itself
As the
Soul’s
Master.

Let us
Therefore
Once again
Immerse
Ourselves
Into
The Mystery
Of oneness…
Let us go
Quickly
Then,
My beloved
That we may
Enter into
Our
Rendezvous
Eternal.

Alice Parris 

THROUGH TIME
AND SPACE

Through time
And space
I will
Come to you.
When you
Send for me,
I will come.
No evil
Spoken
Of you
Shall stick
To my heart,
For love you
I will
Always.

No heinous
Plot to
Separate us
Shall ever
Secure my
Consent.
To deny you
Is to deny
Myself.
If we fail,
It shall
Not be
Because
I would not
Love you.

Through time
And space
I will
Come
To you.
There are
No partitions
That can
Separate
Those with this
Kind of love.

Alice Parris 

FUTURE PERFECT

Somehow
My timing
Is off
By one
Or more
Degrees
To the
Left
Or to
The
Right.
I cannot
Tell
Which.
I know
You are an
Important
Person
In my life
In a
Future perfect.
But…
My time
Has not
Yet come.
I cannot
Reach you.

Alice Parris                                                               THE TWO SIDES OF YOUR LOVE

Your love
Is like
A
Creme
Brulee
Served
On
Silver
Tray
Carried
By
White-
Gloved
Hands
With
Red rose
Bud
In
Place
In a
Lalique
Vase.

Your love
Is like
A
Dark-
Chocolate
Truffle
Filled
With
Tears:
Bittersweet
And
Difficult
To eat. 

Alice Parris

YESTERDAY’S FEAST

It was
Night
When
I knew
You did not
Love me.
It was not
The harlot
Nor exotic
Creature
Who held
You…
Twined in
Her lush
Tresses.
It was
Memories
Too Painful
To bury,
Places
Too
Tender
To touch
I stood
Outside:
A beggar
Viewing
A feast
That had
Been eaten
By the
Ghost of
Yesterday
Past. 

Alice Parris

MY HEART

My mind,
My mind
Is a
Sampson
With
Waist-
Length
Hair.

My body,
My body
Is an
Aphrodite
With
Luscious
Snare.

My spirit,
My spirit
Is an
Eagle
Powerful
And
Rare.

My heart,
My heart
Is a
Little girl
With
No one
To care.

Alice Parris

CONTRITE COURTESAN

I cannot
Let you
Touch me;
Your power
Is mighty
As you
Wield it
Towards
My open
Heart.
I cannot
Let you
Touch me,
For I am
Mortal
And
I fear
Annihilation.
I cannot
Let you
Touch me
With your
Magic words
And your
Skillful hands.
I cannot
Let you
Touch me,
For my
Heart
Is a
Contrite
Courtesan,
A penitent
Mistress. 

Alice Parris

LOST ULYSSEUS

Too many
False gods
Have
Separated
Us…
Too
Many
Journeys
With
Shard-
Laden roads,
Too many
Days
Of
Waiting.

A Penelope
Hopeless
Has
Rendered
Love
A lost
Ulysses.
Alas,
My love,
My desired
Destiny,
The gods
Of love
Have
Separated
You
And 

Alice Parris

WHEN YOU LOVED ME

When you loved me
I was as a spirit
Set on high,
Soaring at will.
No currents
Could override
The strength
You gave these
Wings of mine
When you loved me.
I was light
And love;
I was music
And muse.
Life at its
Cruelest had
Become beauty
Itself…
When you loved me.

It was then
My eyes beheld
The ill-fated
Piece…
Unraveling the
Lower side of truth:
I understood that
The perfection of
An exquisitely
Adorned world
With all of its
Sumputousness
Was reality
Only when reflected
In your eyes…
When you loved me. 

Alice Parris

THE CITADEL

I have spent my years
A citadel, locked up,
Impenetrable…
Where only fools or
The stout of heart
Dare to gain access
To my inner recess:
A fortress fortified with
Wise walls of protection.
Total devastation
Was not possible.
Neither love nor hate
Could access the
Inner sanctum of
My sanctuary
Where all life
Began and resides…

You came offering
Me love so pure,
So splendid,
So
Noble in character,
That my citadel
Became a living
Breathing wall where
The exchange was made.
You touched me in my
Impenetrable place.
I wept at the way
You loved me.
I wept…
Relieved 

Alice Parris

LOOKING OUT FROM
COLD MOUNTAIN

Tourmaline-
Green silk damask
Curtains hang heavily
From the weight of dust mites,
Entrenched
Yet undetected.

Cobwebs in the corners;
Like lonely Ghosts.

Neatly mounted gold rings
Part the curtains into shoulders:
Golden braided epaulettes.

Diffused sunlight
Streams through dirt-caked windows.
She sits at her piano.

She has found true love,
Arriving at truth
By unenviable longing.

She wonders if she can will
Him to live, if her need
Will bring him back.

There is a fire
In the portals
Of her soul: a hot-blue flame.

The dark world of death,
Staved off by the notes of a
Life-song.

There is hope,
Looking out from Cold Mountain. 

Alice Parris


DARK VERSES

POCKETS OF EVIL

Sinister, snickering,

Spinning, plotting

Destruction.

Awaiting

the unsuspecting.

Venomous lusts

For wrongdoing

Fulminate.

Arising passions

Secrete hatred

And violence,

Unable to contain

This unbridled

Propensity

For evil,

Awaiting

Some passer-by

Traveling unaware

Through a

Pocket of evil:

Sojourners beware!

 

ECLIPSE OF THE SOUL

Each day

Passes

Disappointment;

Like pieces

Of lead

Chained

To a man

Fated

To drown

From the

Weight.

Every day

I die,

Not with

Nobility;

I die

Kicking,

Screaming,

Cursing.

Alongsisde

My dreams:

Fallen

Like

Dead flies.

WHAT SPELL?

What

Spell

Have you

cast

Upon me

Oh,

Mortal

Man?

What lies

In shreds

Is my

Heart:

My cup

Now bloody,

Empty

Of wine

To ease

The pain.

VISION AT THE TOMB

Gray figures

Move like

Zombies,

Lost souls

Shuffling

As though

On Thorozine.

There is

No need

For the

sound

Of chains

To know

That these

Are prisoners.

 

SOUNDS OF THE LOCUSTS

Mutant summer

By reason of

Divine decree;

World devourers

Loosed

For a season.

No blade

Of grass

Shall remain

Once we hear

the sounds of

The locusts.

 

CATACLYSM

Violent seizures

Convulse our universe,

Taking place

When our earth

Belches upheaval,

Violent change.

the world starts

Reeling out of control,

Staggering as a

Drunken man

Helpless

In the wake

Of some

Cataclysmic event.

 

GNARLED BRANCHES

Gnarled,

tortured

Branches,

Growing

Upwards,

Brushed

With gold.

Hiding

Earth’s

Drab

Olive dress:

Surrealistic

By contrast,

Futuristic

By design.

What place

Have the

Amongst

Orchid

Centerpieces?

 

Alice Parris

 

These poems were taken from my book,

Soulgasm: the journal of my life in cryptic verses

with its visions, dreams and fleeting revelations.

These prophetic poems were written in 1993.

Our world has now lived some of these verses.

THE ADDICT IN THE ATTIC

Addiction is one of the most entrenched and difficult phenomenons in society today. It is so complex, so far reaching that I hardly know where to begin. I will start by saying that according to conventional wisdom, it takes twenty-one days to acquire a habit. This would be the repetition of a behavior for a consecutive three week period. Habits are not addictions, but they are the forerunners of all behavior that leads to any type of addiction. Addictions are many and varied. It is easy enough to identify when you see the wasted bodies and lives of those who indulge in “killer-drugs.” These would be opiates, methamphetamines, and cocaine. Those who have acquired these habits are reminiscent of “zombies.” They develop the look of ‘wasting-away.” The appearance of their skin is unhealthy.  Considering the fact that the skin is the largest organ in the body, it is quite revealing. The eyes will look dead; as if there is nobody at home. Inside, their organs are being consumed.  There will be a manifestation of personality changes. The addict’s entire life will revolve around obtaining their drug of choice. If the addict has money, vast amounts of it will be spent without the generation of additional funds, because a true addict will not have the time or ability to engage in consistent work. If there is little money, the addict will engage in illegal activities to aquire the money to obtain their “fix.” Behind every addict, is the person who first turned them “on” to the drug. It could be the physician who is trying to treat intractable pain in a patient, it could be the “friend” who themselves is also addicted, it could be a callous drug dealer who hands out the drug for free until the habit is formed and the habit demands the “fix” in order to make the person feel “normal again” There is a genetic predisposition in the pathophysiology of addiction causation; it is about  the neurotransmitter called dopamine.  Dopamine will be low in those who become addicted.  The addicted seeks out the drug which will boost the levels of dopamine in the brain which will cause them to feel “normal” for awhile.  This genetic predisposition is the reason that the relapse rate of addicts is so high in those who have been to rehab, had the twelve steps, are on a buddy-system, etc.  I, in no wise, want to indicate that there are no success stories. There are. They are inspiring when they occur and are long-lived.

Those who love the addict live with a type of misery which is unspeakable. They wait for the other shoe to drop, always. They wait for a phone call in the middle of the night. They watch for missing items in their houses, they wait for the unannounced visit in which the addict will lie and ask for money for things which are basic to existence (making it difficult for the compassionate mother, lover or friend to refuse the request.)  Those who love the addict have to live with the fact that the one that they love is not only “flawed”, but that they are not even the same person. A stranger has taken over their bodies. Those who love the addict wait for the call from the police. They live with the fear that the one that they love will wind up incarcerated or dead.

Alcoholism deserves adequate attention. How many people living today are the adult children of the alcoholic? How many have horror stories from their childhoods having lived with the alcoholic? The prognosis is not good for those who refuse to try and save themselves. There are the everyday drinkers, and those who binge. Binging is extremly hard on the body, because within days and weeks, the binger has a “bottomless-pit.” It appears as if no amount of alcohol can satisfy.  The binger will usually stop for awhile when they become “sick.” This would be nausea, itching or any of the symptoms that could be associated with early liver damage. The everyday drinkers, who eat and hydrate themselves adequately, can live a long time. My father, an alcoholic physician  used to inject himself with vitamin B-12, to stave off liver damage from his alcoholism. He lived to be almost ninety. Once, while on a fishing trip in Canada, he aquired a cigarette burn upon his abdomen which reached the viscera before he knew that he was burning. It is hard to imagine being so drunk that you do not realize that a part of your anatomy is on fire. There were the “secret stashes” of liquor all around the house. An alcoholic will do this if their behavior is unacceptable to the people that they live with. They will create ingenious ways to disguise their drinking. I cannot tell you how many sports cars were crashed, how much whoremongering occurred, and how much indiscriminate activity occured. I only know that my mother suffered deeply and that my father kept a medicine cabinet full of sleeping pills and benzodiazapines to which my brother and I would help ourselves when bored. My mother slept alot. Spouses of alcoholics might seek sleep to escape the anxiety of living with alcoholic behavior. The alcoholic who is “drying-out,” is meaner than snake-spit. They can be so nasty that those who experience their “dry-drunks” want to go out and get them something to drink, just to assauge their ‘free-floating” wrath. I have seen my father in the lobby of a beautiful hotel in Freeport, Bahamas (where he owned two condos) relieve himself as if he were in the men’s room. Now, I cannot tolerate the smell of alcohol on the breath. I actually caught a case of PTSD from living with an unrepentant alcoholic.

Addictive gambling is pervasive in this country, especially with all of the Native American casinos springing up. Many times, obsessive-compulsive behavior will also be associated with the “nocturnal creatures” who haunt casinos. I have been such a specter. I spent four days and nights in a casino engaging in the repetitive behavior involved in the playing of slot machines. For me, it was never about the money. I would win and play until it was all gone.  For me, it became a way to release anxiety and to engage in obsessive-compulsive behavior. I was never the kind of gambler who just knew they were going to win despite every evidence to the contrary. My first husband was such a gambler. When I was just married at ninteen, my new husband and I made a stop to Las Vegas on our way to sunny California. I stayed in the hotel. In the morning my new husband explained to me how he had lost all of our money and that he had to get it back. He, then, began pawning our wedding gifts. He came and told me that he had to “recover’ what he had lost and he needed a “stake.” He asked me for the title to my sky-blue, convertible 1970 Alpin GT ( my father had given me his car as a wedding gift.) I did not understand the value of money, then. I was so naive that I thought there was no point in owning a car when we could not afford gas for it, so I signed over the title. He lost the money for that and I ended up losing my wedding ring as well as his own. I lied and told my father that we were totaled in a car accident at Boulder Dam and that we needed bus money to go to California. He wired one hundred dollars and we went to live with my husband’s hippie friends. We ended up staying with the bass player(and his family) of the Neil Young back-up band, Crazy Horse. Those were the days! It was 1971 and I was in California. Need I say more? We, then, stayed in an apartment building that my father’s sister (another physican) owned, until she realized that neither one of us was going to work. After that, we stayed at my mother’s cousin’s house-a family of musicians. We stayed with the sister of famed arranger Ernie Freeman who received a grammy for Frank Sinatra’s, “Stranger’s In The Night” We performed in their gospel group called, “The Young Saints.” We performed at Century Plaza. The girls in the group wore red blouses and short white skirts with shoulder straps. We marched upon the stage and sang, “Didn’t It Rain, Children.” Then, we moved into an apartment complex owned by a wealthy hippie. It was free, but we had to sing in the park at his whim. We also had to all do community clean up and various chores related to the upkeep of the apartment complex. My husband finally got a job ( I had never had a job outside of working in my father’s medical office) and we got our own apartment. I loved our little place in Echo Park. One day, he announced to me that he had to go back to Las Vegas and retrieve our wedding rings. He got on a bus for Las Vegas. When he returned, he had literally lost the coat off of his back. I thought, “what a loser!” I got the invitation to be the bride’s maid at my sister’s wedding. She was marrying a dentist. I went back to Shaker Heights, Ohio (where I grew up) During my six-month marriage, we had discovered that my husband was not really my husband, afterall. He was a bigamist! It seems as if his wife had called my father out of surgery to inform him that his daughter had married her husband. My father had a friend who was a judge and in the blink of an eye, I had an annulment and was on my way back to Fisk University in Nashville, Tennessee( still not knowing what I wanted to do with my aimless life.)

Sex addiction is all about engaging in obsessive-compulsive behavior. A thought pops into someone’s head, they entertain the thought,  the thought drives them, then they act it out. If there is poor impulse control(as well as a sociopathic personality) you are looking at a very real potential for serious criminal behavior.  There is no accounting for personal taste when it comes to sex. It really has everything to do with early childhood eroticism. What was the thing which made a child first “tingle” in unidentified parts? Many of these images or scenarios have everything to do with what will turn the adult on. I am no expert in this area. I can only say that I remained anorgasmic for fifty years of my life. I had an inability to let go. Then, when I truly wanted to let go, I did not know how to let go.  A rape at seventeen and a multiple-rape at twenty-one rendered me incapable of surrender, which is required to achieve the “orgasmic state.” I would have an “out-of-body experience” everytime I engaged in sexual activity. It was if someone else was having sex. This was disassociative behavior. I wanted to be healed from it. I read alot and discovered my own anatomy. The only problem that I had was the ability to share this intimacy with another. Trust is a big issue for many women regarding sex. Just because I could not achieve orgasm during an intimate encounter, it did not stop me from trying, and often. After I had analyzed the psychological problem, and checked my plumbing, at fifty, I finally hit the jackpot. I was like a sealed-up dam that burst. It was extreme. I, then, thought that having multiple orgasms might kill me. I understood why the French call it, “les petites mortes” translated means “the little deaths.” I will leave you with a poem from which the title of this piece is taken; “The Addict In The Attic.”

 

 

THE ADDICT IN THE ATTIC

He finds his home in gray matter-

on a sunny day; below my sunhat,

which boasts of its fine Madagascar fibers.

He called at first. These promptings

ignored, he began to yell.

The addict takes his green-scaly

hands and uses his nails to penetrate

my area of weakness: the darknessess

of my mind. To the alcoholic,

“you want a drink, don’t you?”

He mimics the ring of bells that

sound, to the compulsive gambler,

like triple Double Diamond dollars. He

will demand another pill five minutes after

the last pills were shoveled down.

He stretches himself out on a full moon,

then plots and leaves his attic;

takes the bodies of his victims. A

chameleon doing dastardly deeds,

he cruises bars, slings dollars into

G-strings, copulates in anyway he can.

He shoots-up,snorts-up.cooks-up-

in ecstatic escape. Then, quietly, he

returns to the attic, I am not alone.

I live with a madman. I don’t know

when he dug his way in,

his long fingernails, piercing & probing.

Alice Parris